Owen might be an idiot teenager, but Carly wasn’t that much older than him, either in human appearance or mental growth. Given she was more or less in her late twenties, oftentimes Maryanne felt like the odd one out.
And yet, for whatever reason, they were the two she gravitated toward the most—aside from Avery. But he had made it clear that with Olivia gone, his heart was with the children.
Stifling a sigh, Maryanne pushed him to the back of her mind. That was her old life.
Now in a much better mood, Carly began to scan the area for attractive men and point them out to Owen. Maryanne didn’t find it conducive to scouting.
Then again, she’d been reluctant to come in the first place. That she’d tagged along was her own fault, in the end.
Eventually Owen found free parking on a sidewalk and they exited the car. Maryanne admired a fluttery, soft dress in a department store window. She wondered what sort of job she should take up now that their old Paradise hotel was surely out of business.
A chilled breeze swept past them. Unlike the humans nearby, none of them felt the cold.
Owen glanced down the street and said, “I’m going to check out this way. Either of you ladies want to join me?”
“Maybe we both should,” said Maryanne. “If someone thinks of attacking us, greater numbers might make them think twice.”
“Might also make sure they see us before we see them,” pointed out Owen.
She sighed in response.
Thoughtfully, Carly tilted her head in the opposite direction. “Isn’t the hotel they were staying at the other way? Might be a good place to start.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “They won’t be there anymore.”
“I know,” she said defensively. Her cheeks tinted pink. “But we’d be stupid not to double check. Nobody’s confirmed that.”
“I’ll go,” said Maryanne in resignation. “You two head the other direction. We can meet up in an hour.”
Seeming satisfied with that, Owen put an arm around Carly’s shoulder and wandered off with her. To anybody who didn’t know them, they probably looked the young couple out on a stroll. How cute, thought Maryanne dryly.
She knew she’d offered to take on the grunt work, but sometimes that couldn’t be helped. Besides, if they did find Aaron or his pack, they couldn’t engage yet. There was nothing to be lost in her little venture.
While she strode toward the Peppermill Resort, Maryanne was careful to keep her senses open. It was imperative she utilize her peripheral vision and sense of smell at all times. At the moment, like most days, all she sensed were humans.
Once at the hotel, she feigned the act of a submissive yet aggrieved wife who was certain her husband was having an affair. As she’d hoped, this gained her the wincing sympathy of the clerk. He couldn’t give up any rooms, he explained, but there had been two checked out, and her “husband” had, in fact, been attached to a younger blonde woman. Oddly, said the clerk, they seemed to come with family.
“Yes,” whispered Maryanne in her best good-wife tone. “I’m afraid they are family. I can’t believe he’d....” Quickly she looked away and swiped at her eyes as though to dry tears.
The clerk shifted uncomfortably. “Look, ma’am, I’m sorry. I wish I could help more. But... I mean, they checked out early. Booked the rooms for three days but left after the first.”
Maryanne stiffened. She kept her eyes lowered to the ground as she said quietly, “It’s been almost two weeks... he must have run off with her.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I wish I could help.”
He kept repeating the same tired lines. Maryanne decided she had enough information and thanked him with the barest of breaths. Then she turned and trudged out the door.
Once she got a block away, she raised her head and sighed. As to be expected, the pack wasn’t there. They’d even left early—probably a smart move. She wondered why the clerk seemed to recall them so vividly. He’d made no mentions of odd behavior.
She supposed it could simply be that not many had eyes like Aaron’s; black and merciless as the icy depths of the ocean. But Maryanne had the feeling there was more to it than that.
At least she could act the part expected of her, she decided. Her ethnicity likely played an enormous role in that. While her mother had been fair-haired and blue-eyed, her father had been a direct immigrant from Korea. Maryanne felt she had been blessed with the best of both attributes; smooth skin, beautiful slanted eyes, luscious dark hair that curled if she just put a little effort into it. And that was the thing: looking Korean, if all she did was play on her quiet nature and pretend to submit, Maryanne could easily pass as a subdued foreign housewife.
It was kind of disgusting, really.
She folded her arms and looked around. Her pithy adventure had only taken fifteen minutes. Now what?
Maryanne wandered back toward the car. Along the way she hesitated to admire some dresses and shoes in shop windows that caught her eye. It had been a long while since she’d had a real wardrobe, she thought wistfully. Almost as long as her father’s day of passing—which was a kind way of putting that he had been torn apart by a lycan.
Etan Wolfe, specifically.
Even now she subconsciously bared her teeth at the memory. Finding her father ripped to shreds and only half his liver eaten was an image she could never shake. It had made her transition and infection nearly unbearable. But for the fantasy of getting back at Etan, she might not have pulled through.
Maryanne never had the chance, of course. While Olivia initially soothed her by promising to keep her twin in line, it rapidly became clear where her true loyalties lay.
Not to her pack, that was for damn sure.
Quickly her mood darkened. Hoping to ease it, Maryanne decided to duck into a boutique and browse.
She didn’t have much money to her name, so for the time being she was just window-shopping. More the pity; some of the dresses were extremely cute. Maryanne was particularly taken in by an off-white affair with lace baring the midriff and small, intricate beading around the collar.
One glance at the price tag confirmed it would take her months to save up for it. After she got a job. So far her half-hearted attempts had failed to yield any results.
But hell, she decided, why not try it on?
Within minutes she wished she hadn’t. Maryanne gazed longingly into the mirror. She looked stunning, like she could easily fit in at a summer tea party or an extravagantly fancy dinner. The top was cut modestly and the skirt flared to flirtatious perfection.
Add a pastel blue belt and a silver necklace and I’d be set for a fun outing, she thought wistfully. The store hadn’t had any appropriate belts, but they had an array of thin chains with small fake jewels. She held one up to her neck, shook her head, and secured it so the twinkling fake diamond rested against her breastbone. Absolutely magnificent. If only it was a real diamond; she could have walked down a red carpet and fit right in.
Her delusions of grandeur occasionally amused her, at least.
Heaving a sigh, Maryanne reluctantly reached behind to unzip her dress. Once she had changed back into her street clothes, she left the dress hanging in the fitting room and strode out the front door.
Back near the car, she quickly strode into the next store. She still had a little time, and that fluttery dress from earlier still caught her eye.
When she emerged again, Owen and Carly waited by the car. Owen seemed in a mood; presumably he hadn’t succeeded in today’s mission.
“Ready?” asked Maryanne.
Rather than answer, Carly’s eyes narrowed at her collarbone area. “What’s that?”
“Hmm?”
Owen finally looked up, followed Carly’s gaze, and groaned. “Seriously, Maryanne? Again?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quietly. “Let’s go.”
The two reluctantly complied, but once they were on the road, Carly twisted in her seat to glare at her. “Never again, Mary
anne. Okay? We’re not going through another klepto phase of yours!”
Maryanne toyed with the fake jewel and frowned. “The store won’t even miss it. It’s like, ten bucks.”
“I knew I should have gone with you,” griped Carly as she turned to face the front again. “You’re impossible. You’ve been clean for months!”
“It’s a necklace,” snapped Maryanne, her voice all the more startling since she rarely ever raised it. “Not a shot of heroine. Now shut up and tell me where we’re going next.”
“Nowhere,” said Owen crossly. “We’re going home. And we’re going to talk to Holden, since you apparently think he’s just going to accept your habit of sticky fingers.”
Maryanne waved away their concerns, but didn’t argue. Holden could say what he wanted. They weren’t a package deal. If he decided a little theft here and there was too much for him to handle, then he was just as pathetic as Olivia.
Besides, he should have more important things to worry about. And while Maryanne could respect her alpha, she bowed to no one.
Ͼ
Holden didn’t quite expect to come home to what looked like an intervention. He stopped dead in the living room, staring at his pack. Every last member was there, even Lacey.
Maryanne sat primly in a kitchen chair, centered before the TV as though she were the star of a droll preschool performance.
“What’s this?” asked Holden cautiously.
Maryanne’s dark eyes met his, the gold dulled to copper. She seemed bored more than anything.
Lacey turned in her seat. She looked good, he thought with a start. Since Sage’s passing she seemed to have stopped caring at all about her appearance. But now her eyebrows were plucked, her makeup softly yet expertly applied, and she wore fashionable clothes instead of old jeans and a T-shirt.
“Holden, sweetie,” she said with brittle calm. “We seem to have an issue that our new friends here failed to divulge to us.”
Laelia sat beside Lacey, nodding enthusiastically.
Folding his arms over his chest, Holden stepped closer to the couch. He kept his face as impassive as possible. “What is it?”
Jesus, I sound like Aaron. The thought revolted him.
But before he could address that disturbing idea, Carly said heatedly, “We thought she was over it. Olivia made her kick the habit. But—”
“Maryanne’s a klepto,” said Owen bluntly.
While Carly berated the young man for interrupting her once more, Holden observed Maryanne. She didn’t look his way, preferring to play with a cheap necklace around her throat. He narrowed his eyes, uncertain if he’d ever seen her wear it before. From the compound several years ago wasn’t as easy to recall despite Aaron training him to have near-photographic memory.
“How bad is it?” asked Holden.
Maryanne’s eyes flickered toward him, but Lacey spoke up. “It’s longstanding, apparently. She’s been like this since becoming a lycan.”
Irritated that his ex-Primary had spoken for Maryanne, Holden stepped around the couch until he came to a stop directly in front of Maryanne. She finally gazed up at him, her mouth unapologetic.
Evenly, Holden asked, “How bad?”
Maryanne lifted one shoulder. She lowered her eyes briefly and said with murmuring intensity, “The urge comes and goes, but I usually don’t take anything worth more than $35.” A wry smile twisted her mouth. “I’ve found that’s the limit before people start getting antsy and will actually follow you around the store. Most places won’t notice or care about five dollars of merchandise missing here or there. Not to say I can’t lift pricier things, but it takes a lot more patience and I can’t exactly do it on impulse.”
Raising one eyebrow, Holden considered her. She looked back to him. Her expression remained clear, calm, and open.
After some thought, Holden asked, “Have you ever been arrested for it?”
“Once,” said Owen unhelpfully from the left. Holden sighed.
“Once,” repeated Maryanne. “I tried to wear a designer jacket out the door. Lesson learned.”
It put him in a bit of an awkward situation. Holden rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his head to face Carly and Owen. “Is that about the gist of it?”
They nodded.
Holden sighed and folded his arms again, shifting so his weight was mostly on his right foot. He looked around at his pack; Carly and Owen seemed anxious, Laelia excited, and Lacey expectant. If Maryanne had any thoughts to her fate, she kept them carefully hidden behind the façade of not caring.
At last, Holden shrugged and began to walk out.
“Sweetie?” asked Lacey with edge. “Don’t you want to do anything about this?”
“No,” he said shortly, only pausing to address Maryanne over his shoulder. “Don’t get caught. If you’re arrested, I won’t bail you out.”
His ex practically hissed, “That’s it?”
He scowled at her. “Yeah, Lacey. That’s it.” At everyone’s stunned expressions, he clarified, “We’re not going to be in pretty business here, guys. I know how to pick locks. So does Lacey, and she can act. Laelia’s scrappy, and now we know Maryanne can usually steal without getting caught.” He met each individual gaze for emphasis. “This isn’t a detriment. It’s useful.”
Holden turned his attention to Owen and Carly, sizing them up. After a meaningful breath of hesitation, he added, “I hope you two brought more to the table than the ability to cut off an alpha’s head. Maybe you should take some lessons from Maryanne.”
As he left to head for his room to shower, Holden caught the pleased smile that danced upon Maryanne’s inviting mouth.
Chapter Twelve
Withdrawing the money was a painful process that kept Aaron out of the house more than he would have liked. But it couldn’t be helped.
He didn’t have just one account. There were several, some with a few thousand and others with numbers in the seven-figure range. He’d had two hundred years to accrue interest, shift banks, work both low-end and lucrative jobs, and play with a lot of death and inheritance schemes. The latter had become nearly impossible in the age of technology, but by then he’d done well enough to just let the money sit.
Having Nathan as a relative truly helped. Some years, when they went off as wolves, Aaron could fake his own death and have cash set aside for the boy in a trust fund. Once Nathan allegedly reached that age, it had been easy to pose Holden as the young man due his money.
But taking out such large sums was not easy, even from multiple locations. It would take Aaron nearly the entire week to pull it off properly.
Appearances were everything. For this exchange, he utterly relied on that rule.
By Thursday, Aaron was satisfied with what he had. A couple more small withdrawals and they would be golden. With some of the cash he pulled, he had Jackson buy a lockable, steel briefcase.
Friday he meant to sit down with his pack and go over the plan calmly and collectedly. But before that could happen, Rachael’s infection seized hold of her in the worst way.
Aaron woke in the daybreak hour to violent thrashing from the nearby bed. Before he even opened his eyes he was on his feet, abandoning his position on the floor to be at Rachael’s side. Only he couldn’t, because she flailed so horribly there was nowhere on the bed to sit at any given moment.
Whatever demons she fought were intense.
This fit was near soundless but vicious. Eva and Ana Sofia spent every few days checking her nails to keep them trimmed short, but even if they were cut to the quick, Rachael found a way to dig deep into her own flesh and tear old and new wounds alike. Her chest was still raw from her last attempt, and the incident before that left still-healing marks running up the length of her shins.
This time she attacked her arms and writhed to reach her back. She fought against herself as though gripped by the desire to remove every last square inch of flesh from her bones.
Eventually Aaron managed to get hold of her somewhat unharmed
wrists and bring them down. He used his softest voice, hoping to lull her to a sense of safety. But when Rachael looked at him, it was clear she didn’t see him. Helpless rage turned her eyes to molten steel. She began to emit garbled curses.
“Rachael,” tried Aaron again. “You are safe. Please calm down.”
She shuddered and tried to jerk her arms back. Days without more than sponge baths left her hair stringy with oil, and the bitter transformation could make her eyes deranged as they were now. She tried to strike but Aaron kept a firm grip.
Eventually the fight began to seep out of her. Rachael didn’t quite slump over, but her shoulders sagged and she leaned as far away from him as she could without the ability to break free. Aaron kept a silent gaze on her.
Then she began to cry.
Aaron bit down on a tired noise. He tried to pull her close, but she surprised him by shoving weakly against his chest. “No,” she choked. “How many times do I have to tell you no?”
Curiosity coursed through him. Aaron wondered if she was recalling their earlier, tense years of interaction, or something and someone else entirely.
Though he knew it was like snooping, he decided to poke. “I have lost count.”
She whimpered. When she looked at him her expression was distant, this moment very clearly in her head.
“So have I,” she whispered hoarsely. “You never hear me. I don’t want to watch anymore.”
Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “Watch what?”
She growled and flexed her fingers as though they were claws. “You. Fucking her.”
He sat in dreaded quiet. Aaron didn’t trust her state of mind enough to release her just yet, but he did allow his grip to relax a touch. The horrible feeling that she was reliving her time in Holden’s captivity sluiced him. Given all of Holden’s pack had been women, she must think he was Holden himself.
Quietly, Aaron said, “I shall not do it again.”
Rachael launched her entire body at him. With rapid skill, Aaron managed to subdue her physically, but she was infuriated.
“You liar. You’ve always lied to me, Holden! I hate you—since you killed Vera I hate you! I don’t want to be with you, I don’t want to see you, and I don’t care what you think I did, I don’t want to screw you!” Spittle flew from her mouth in her rant. “I don’t care how much that girl liked it. I never wanted to see that.”
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