The Gift (The Original Sinners #0.5) Kindred (The Kindred #1)

As the King’s firstborn started gumming the tires, Bitty danced back to the tree and hunted around. The last present is for you, Uncle.

You want to cover the TMI bases? she thought. What was really TMI was what she and Craeg had done in that clinic. Or rather … what he had done to himself.She looked away just to be sure the blush that hit her face didn’t get noticed.

You’re different, he remarked.That brought her head back around quick. How so?I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I remember how great you did.

As he stared over at her, she knew he was saying sorry again, and without thinking, she leaned in and gave him a hug. Thank you for that—A series of bumps and then a noticeable decrease in speed made her break away. Are we there already?

Peyton took out his phone and checked the time. Forty-five minutes since we left. So yeah, probably.

The doggen who was driving announced over the loudspeaker that their destination had, in fact, been reached, and one by one, they all stood up, filed out, got off.I agree. Boy, Mary hated to bring up the abuse. The reality is, though, that your body has been through a lot. It doesn’t mean that you won’t get through your transition and be tall and strong. But what if there’s something we can do now to make sure that happens?

Is it because of the broken bones?Bitty fell silent, picking up the hairbrush and running it through the long brown waves that fell past her shoulders—even though she’d already brushed them. And Mary gave the kid space, passing the time looking around the room … and wondering what else they could do to make the otherwise formal surroundings more what a thirteen-year-old girl would be into. Bitty didn’t demand anything, though, and she seemed content.

There also had been a lot of new purchases lately—and it was hard not to give the little girl the world.Hard, too, to stop the frickin’ Brothers from spoiling her rotten. Bitty had arrived at the Brotherhood mansion with two battered suitcases, a doll head, and her old tiger, Mastimon—and within a night or two, her football team’s worth of overprotective pains in the asses, better known as the BABUs (Bad-Ass Big Uncles), had been laying things at her doorway like offerings to an altar.