Chapter 937

Cristof seems to move in slow motion, grasping the handle to the car door, pullingnoveldrama

it open. Jackson's body moves without him, stumbling after Cristof, bending low to see inside as the door swings wide.

Jackson blinks into the darkness, his eyes adjusting.

And then he sees her, the little girl.

Asleep, curled up in some ragged towels and blankets, her dark hair spread all around her in a wild tangle.

Jackson's wolf howls as soon as he sees her.

Ours, Jackson's wolf snarls. Grab her, take her - she is ours -

But Jackson can't move, not...not believing it.

A child.

Hank said - Hank said that there were no children born that autumn in the Community -

She - she would have been on the record -

But, if Tasha had run away...

Jackson groans, stepping towards the open door, and he trips over his own feet, falling hard against the side of the car as soon as her tiny little girl scent hits him. Because even if his wolf knew it upon sight, her scent -

Pine and winter, and flowers and sun - half him - his.

His child. His...daughter.

Jackson just stares into the car, his entire world unraveling around him, with this new tiny creature at the center of it all.

"How..." he whispers, unable to take his eyes away.

"Her name is Marigold," Cristof whispers, his voice thick with tears.

"What the fuck..."

Jackson half hears Rafe's awed whisper, but he can't take his eyes away from the little girl in the back seat of the car. His little girl in the back seat of the car. Marigold.

"She's a good kid," Cristof says, starting forward suddenly, his brisk movement surprising Jackson into sucking in a deep breath. "You'll like her - and she's easy - she won't give you any trouble -"

“Wait, what?” Jackson whispers, his

entire body starting to shake as Cristof bends into the car, gathering the tiny little girl into his arms. Her face scrunches and Jackson watches in awe as she moves her eyes open, bleary and looking around.

as

He stills again, his heart stopping when he realizes that her eyes are...blue.

A dark, pretty blue.

God, they're just like his.

"She doesn't talk much," Cristof says, straightening with the girl in his arms, frowning at her a bit and pushing her hair back. "But I haven't been able to figure out if that's because she's...stupid. Or if just doesn't like to."

"She's not stupid," Jackson growls.

Cristof looks Qver at him with a shrug, talking fast. "I didn't think she was, honestly. She watches everything, all quiet, and she listens a lot - she understands everything I say. It could just be that she was alone with her dead mother for like, days, Jacks that probably does

—

weird shit to a kid -"

Jackson groans, his arms reaching for the girl without him realizing what he's doing.

"But I think if you feed her up, she'll be fine," Cristof says, passing the child over into her father's arms.

Jackson stares down at the girl, shocked by the sudden weight and reality of her in her arms. He stops breathing again as the little girl looks up into his face and just...stares back at him.

The pair look at each other in complete silence for a long, long moment before the little girl's face crumples, and she tilts her head back, and bursts into screaming tears.

"Oh, yeah. And she does...that." Cristof says, putting his hands on his hips and grimacing a little. "More regularly than I'd like."

The little girl shouts wordlessly, her voice somehow at once tiny and light and maddeningly loud as she turns in Jackson's arms and reaches for the man she knows. Jackson gasps, nearly dropping her, snapping his gaze to his friend.

"It's all right, Marigold!" Cristof says, stepping forward and smiling at the girl, stroking a hand over her hair. "You're with your father now! This is where you should be! He's – he's going to be nice to you!"

She screams louder, reaching for Cristof, wriggling harder in Jackson's arms. He curses lightly, working hard to keep hold of her.

"You're going to be nice to her, right?" Cristof asks, snapping his eyes up to Jackson's with a frown.

"Of course I'm going to be fucking nice to her, Cristof,” Jackson growls, his eyes darting between the wriggling child and his friend. He hoists the little girl up, pressing her to his chest, one hand flat on her back while the other supports her little rump. She continues to wail, panicked, her head tilting back so that the sound rings out to the sky.

Jackson stares at her for a moment, shocked that such a little person can make that much noise.

Then his eyes flash to Cristof as he moves for the front of the car.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going," Jackson snarls, closing the distance between them as Cristof slams the back door and reaches for the driver's handle, yanking it open.