What the hell?

“That’s not⁠—”

Heavy boots crunch on the gravel outside, and Abram turns away from me to pull open the door. I try to follow right after him, but Carver, Byron, and Donovan somehow get there before me. Their massive bodies clog the entryway. I’m not sure if they’re keeping me inside intentionally or if they’re just oblivious.

“Who are you?”

Even through the wall of Gunners, I can hear Warner’s voice.

“Move, you oaf!” I shove at Byron’s back, but he barely shifts his weight, waving me off as if I were distracting him from an entertaining show.

“You’re the one who showed up here, unannounced.”

Great. He’s decided to be Abram the Asshole.

My oldest brother has a history of anger issues, but I thought he was dealing with them.

Apparently, therapy isn’t working.

I growl and try to shove Donovan to the side with my shoulder. He smirks down at me before leaning to block even more of the doorway.

“Where’s Zoey?” A deep warning note twists into Warner’s question.

Trust my brothers to piss off the most easygoing werewolf in all of Pine Falls.

“Busy. Not that it’s any of your business,” Abram replies, voice cold.

This is quickly turning into an Occurrence.

And I’ve had enough.

“Stupid, overprotective, moronic, pigheaded brothers,” I mutter to myself as I stomp over to a window.

The glass has grown wavy with time, and I still need to clean the panes to see out of it properly. But I’m not looking to wave from a window like a damsel in distress. This Rapunzel is getting out of her backwoods tower.

With an angry tug, I swing the window open, then throw my leg over the low sill.

“Stop trying to start a fight, Abram!”

All the men—scratch that, boys—whip their heads in my direction in time to see my toe catch on the windowsill, causing me to stumble onto the porch. I’m just able to keep from falling on my face, or my ass, and I make sure to come up glowering.

Warner seems relieved at the sight of me and even manages a tight smile before turning wary eyes back on my brother.

Abram stands on the top step, arms crossed, blockish face wearing a foreboding scowl that he still has turned on Warner. Most people would find the sight intimidating. My brother is huge in a Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson kind of way.

But Warner is a werewolf, so yeah. Game, set, and match.

Not that Abram knows he’s got nothing on Warner.

“Get back inside, Zoey,” mutters my brother.

“Get your head out of your ass, Abram!” I’m yelling. My family can always get me to yell. “This is an irrational response, and you three are enabling him.” I throw my glare toward the Gunners lingering in the doorway.