Serpent Lake Cinnamon girl

He stalked with the same, seething rage that'd powered him since he'd come home to discover the burrow empty. No ornery, back-stabbing woman. No precious, never-done-wrong daughters. Not even the cat, which he'd hated anyway — it was part of that pretty picture, though. He'd thought he'd get there while the kids were asleep, and he'd crawl in next to Jovi and whisper in her ear. The cat would hiss, but fuck the cat. It knew he'd throw it out on its ass if the girls didn't love it so damn much. It knew not to test him.

Anyway. Jovi would pretend like she was still mad, but he'd convince her he was sorry, and he'd tell her he would do better, and she'd apologize for —

Satya stood still for a moment, trembling, breathing hard through his nose, feeling as though his heart might burst as red clouded his vision —

He couldn't think about that. He couldn't think about anything until the other man was dead. He couldn't think about anything until Jovi was reclaimed. He couldn't think about anything until he'd found his baby girls and that stupid, good-for-nothing cat.

He couldn't think, period. Jovi had always said that was his problem.

Said, shouted, shrieked like a banshee on several memorable occasions... who was counting?

It didn't matter. She was always saying things, but she always took him back, too. And so what if she'd finally done as she'd so often threatened? He always brought her around in the end. She always caved when he talked real sweet, and they'd be kids in love all over again, and they'd take the girls out to the lake and fuck, that godawful cat could come, for all he cared.

He searched for their scents. He searched for the man's.

He found Legend.

His first thought was, oh, thank god, because she looked so much like Jovi it hurt. His next thought was... No thoughts at all.

Jovi always said that was his problem.

Satya laid close in the reeds, eyes half-lidded, and watched.

Maybe she'd seen something. Maybe she knew something.

Maybe he wanted to just think about something else for a while.

"Hey," he called, cajoling. "You okay?"

Just checking in. 'Cause he was a nice guy, a good guy. He cared about people. He cared about girls out on their asses, down-on-their-luck — Jovi never got that about him. She just called him a dog and told him to go jump in a lake.