CHAPTER ONE
The boy’s bedroom door was open. Knowing he’d tell her to go away if she knocked, nine-year-old Aspen Montgomery instead walked right on inside like she did it all the time.
Sitting at his desk, he didn’t look at her. Camden hardly ever did. But the young tiger shifter would know she was in his room, he’d easily pick up her scent.
Since moving to the group foster home, she’d gotten to know everyone. Except Camden Priest. She’d tried talking to him, but he always ignored her. He ignored everyone other than Corbin, the grizzly bear shifter who owned the house. Camden only talked to the other kids when he was picking fights with them. Fights he always won.
Aspen glanced around. The room was like hers but not. She’d tacked posters and drawings to her walls. His were bare, just like the corkboard. No personal things sat on his nightstand or dresser.
Unlike the other kids, he didn’t have a computer console or TV. Not anymore anyway. He’d broken his on purpose. Like smashed them to pieces.
He’d also torn up his room a few times—shredded the bedsheets, upturned the furniture, ripped up all his clothes. Corbin never got angry. He just tidied the mess while Camden sat in the corner staring at nothing.
A piece of paper peeked out from under the bed. It was a drawing. A drawing of a man who had blood pouring from his wrists. She’d heard that Camden drew “messed-up stuff.” Like a woman holding a little boy by the throat.
Aspen turned to look at him. Other than the set of colored pencils, the only thing on the desk was the glass he’d tipped upside down to trap a spider. He was watching the insect struggle to find a way out. She knew he’d kill it eventually. Camden didn’t only draw messed-up stuff, he did messed-up stuff. Like claw open the stomachs of the plush toys.
When Corbin asked why he did it, Camden had replied, “Just practicing what I’m gonna do to people.”
Everyone had told Aspen to keep her distance from “the weird kid.” She wanted to help him, though. Especially after overhearing Corbin talk about Camden’s past with the therapist, Dr Cooper. He and Aspen hadn’t been through the exact same thing, but it was similar enough to count.
Even her inner bearcat wanted to help him. Which wasn’t normal for her. The animal had no real interest in anyone, but she was curious about Camden and felt bad for him.
Aspen sidled up to his chair, wrinkling her nose as she watched the trapped spider. “Why do you always pluck off their legs?” He hadn’t done it to this spider yet, but he would.
He very slowly turned his head her way. Blue eyes landed on her. It was like looking into a doll’s eyes—there was nothing there. He didn’t answer her. He turned back to the spider.
“What do you do with the legs anyway?” she asked.
“Maybe I eat them,” he eventually replied, his voice sort of flat.
She felt her face scrunch up. “Gross.” She didn’t think he really ate them. He probably just wanted to freak her out so she’d leave. Aspen looked at the insect again. “Why do you hurt them?”
“Maybe I like it.”
“Huh.” Then she’d been wrong in what she’d thought. “I figured you liked to watch them die.” Which had creeped her out.
“Maybe I do.”
She cocked her hip. “So is, like, ‘maybe’ your favorite word?”
He slid her a bored, sideways look. “Maybe.”
She held out her hand. “I’m Aspen.”
“Bye, Aspen.”
He wasn’t getting rid of her that easily. “You’re Bogart, right?”
He frowned at her. “What?”
“It’s a name.”
“It’s not mine.”
“It could be. You look like a Bogart. I think I’ll call you that.”
He cut his gaze back to the spider. “Camden,” he muttered. “My name is Camden.”
“That suits you better.” Aspen crossed to the narrow bed and sat on the springy mattress. “So how come you live with Corbin?”
He shrugged. “Got nowhere else to go.”
“Same here. I have no clan. My mom was human, so me and my parents lived as humans. When they died, social services stuck me with a human family. They were okay. But they wanted rid of me when they realized I was half shifter.” Watching the spider continue to struggle, she said, “You should let it go.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not nice to hurt living creatures unless they’re bad or hurt us first. The spider’s not a baddie, and it didn’t do anything to you. So if you really like to hurt things or people, you should save it for the meanies. There’s lots of them.” If her dad’s clan hadn’t been full of mean people, things might be very different now. “Where’s your mom and dad?”
“Dead.”
She blinked. “You sound glad. Were they meanies?”
Still staring at the spider, he tapped the glass. “I was a baby when my mom tried to kill me the first time.”