Hundred Twenty Seven

Melody drove up to the familiar house, the smell of burnt clutch heavy in the cabin of the vehicle. Melody didn't know how to drive a manual, let alone an old truck with a heavy gear shift and broken power steering. Thankfully it didn't matter. The truck just had to get her here. Looking all normal, and human and alone. If the truck had to stay behind because Melody had wrecked the transmission on the relatively short easy drive over, no harm done. Flint would carry her to Alec's pack lands and virtual sanctuary until they could arrange to get back to their own home.

The home looked significantly worse than she was prepared for. The picket fence she had admired that first day hadn't been painted in a while when she had left, and hadn't been touched since. Many boards were missing or broken. Beverly must have hated it, she had been a realtor and she was good at it. At making homes look good enough that people wanted to live in the warm homey environments she created. Looks were often d