Something was wrong with Ezekiel, but he lacked the ability to communicate it with his uncle. His body had not responded as the boy had hoped. Anger boiled through his heart, turning his face dark. When it jerked up to glare at the older man, he resembled his wicked father far more than he would have liked. “You don’t get it,” Ezekiel growled lowly, his dark-tipped hackles rising in a subconscious response to the threat his body read. Yet the boy did not move beyond this, for even if an attack would come, he would welcome it. Anything to break the monotony.
“I needed to fight someone,” he tried to explain. “I haven’t been in any combat since I came here. Closest I got was Talitha throwing books at me,” the coyote added sourly, his ears fanning back. His sister’s reaction still baffled him, which was why he hadn’t sought her out. A plastic smile found its way onto his face, one that lacked humor but showed he found something funny about the situation. “Is your side of our family crazy too, or is that just my dad’s?”
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