Chapter 17 The Reveal
Elena was waiting for them on the porch before the SUV even came to a full stip. She stood with her arms crossed, checking the postition of the sun against the treeline like a drill sergeant checking a stopwatch.
As soon as Fennigan killed the engine, she was at the driver's side window.
"Did you get the training clothes?" she asked, skipping the pleasantries.
"Yes, ma'am," Fennigan answered, popping the trunk. "And the boots. And the rest of the inventory."
"Good," Elana nodded. "No time to put things away. That's for later. The sun is already dipping and we have daylight to burn."
She pointed a gloved finger toward the house.
"Take the bags up. Find something to train in--something flexible, something durable--and meet us back here in ten minutes. Do not make me come get you."
Fennigan saluted lazily. "Yes, Alpha."
He grabbed an armful of bags-mostly the heavy boxes of boots and tactical gear--and Leela grabbed the softer bags filled with clothes. They hurried up the stairs to her room.
Fennigan dumped the boxes on the velvet bench at the foot of the bed.
"I'm going back for the rest," he said, breathless. "Dig deep, Sparky. Look for the black bag with the athletic logo."
He disappeared back into the hallway. Leela fumbled with the bags, tossing tissue paper aside in a frenzy. She found the bag Fennigan had mentioned, Inside, she found exactly what she needed.
She shed the cozy cable--knit sweater and the leggings she had worn to breakfast. She pulled on a pair of high performance black spandex pants. They were thick, sleek, and hugged her legs like a second skin. Fennigan had said they were "perfedct for the training field," and she could see why--nothing to snag, nothing to get in the way.
She paired it with a fitted black turtleneck that protected her throat but allowed her to move. She grabbed a hair tie from a new pack on the bench. She scraped her blonde hair into a high, ponytail.
She sat on the edge of the bed and was just pulling on her socks when the door pushed open.
Fennigan backed into the room, his arms loaded with the remaining shopping bags.
"Okay, that's the last of the--"
He turned around and dropped the bags, and the words died in his throat.
He stood there, still holding the bags, his eyes traveling from her tactical boots up the sleek line of the spandex pants, over the fitted turtleneck, to the sharp line of her jaw exposed by the ponytail
He had only ever seen her in oversized hoodies, stolen t-shirts and blankets. He had seen her hiding.
Now, she looked aerodynamic. She looked ready.
"Wow," Fennigan breathed, the bags in his hands forgotten.
He cleared his throat, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his face.
"Not that you weren't beautiful the first time I saw you in that motel parking lot," he saidm his voice dropping to a low rumble. "But all I have to say is ..damn."
Leela felt the heat rush to her face, but she didn't look away this time. She finished pulling up her sock and stood up, smoothing the fabric parts.
"Oh, shut up," she said rolling her eyes.
But she didn't mean it. She smiled at him--a confident, playful smile that matched the fire in his eyes.
"Are you going to keep holding those bags," she teased, "or are you going to show me how to fight?"
Fennigan laughed, dropping the bags onto the rug.
"Let's go teach teach you how to fight," he said, offering her his hand. "But just so you know...you're already winning.
She looked up at him as she took his hand, her fingers with his,
For a split second, her old instincts kicked in. She scanned his face the way she used to scan her parents' faces--bracing herself for the flinch, the sneer, or the heavy sigh of diappointment. She searched for the hate, the contempt, the loathing that usually greeted her presence.
But the map she had learned to read didn’t work here.
There was no darkness in him. The only thing that stared back at her were amber eyes filled with liquid warmth and utter, wavering devotion. He didn’t look at her like she was a problem to be solved; he looked at her like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
It took her breath away.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m ready.”
Finnegan squeezed her hand, anchoring her to the present.
“Then let’s go,” he said softly. “Mom hates waiting.”
They walked out of the room, leaving the shopping bags and the blooming bed behind, and headed downstairs to meet the Alpha. It was time to find out what a Spark could really do.