by J. A. Saare
"Michael’s here, so I can imagine. What happened? I can’t remember everything."
His frown meant only one thing—bad news.
"Channels are reporting a crazed animal went on a rampage inside a bank and killed three men. A few mentioned the lives saved, but most are terrified a werewolf was inside the bank in the first place."
"Ouch." Leave it to terrified humans to assume the worst. "The minute a person sprouts fur and a tail, all bets are off."
"Yeah, well, not all of us lemmings are so easily duped. I managed to eavesdrop on a conversation between two of the officers who were on scene the night they brought you in. They stormed the building after the first shot was fired. They expected to find suspects waiting just inside, but what they didn’t count on was the crazed wolf devouring them. They're still in shock." He cocked his head to the side. "You said that Michael was here, as in Michael Preston?"
Being involved with a shifter meant doing your homework, and Steven had two years to ingest supernatural knowledge. What he didn’t learn from first-hand news accounts available in the library, he made up for with late night Google searches and various books he purchased online.
I nodded carefully. "The very same."
He whistled and closed his eyes, his head drifting from side to side.
"I know, I know," I muttered. "He’s come to take me back to the pack like a good little pup."
He tried to sound nonchalant when he asked, "With Noah?"
Steven knew all the sordid details of my previous relationship, including the reasons I chose to leave pack lifestyle in the first place. It wasn’t a big deal, just another personal story shared between two close friends. But Steven didn’t want to be just a friend anymore, having transcended that hazy grey line that oftentimes accompanied male and female friendships. I was certain all of the details I shared weren’t so easy to swallow with the competition present and in the flesh.
"If I go back to Tennessee, it will not be because of Noah."
"I introduced myself the night he arrived and came into your room. He didn’t take it well."
I chuckled despite my best intentions. "I bet."
His slightly rough and callused hand wrapped around mine. "I got the call while I was rebuilding Mitch’s transmission. When the officer’s voice came over the line…" He exhaled shakily. "I’d forgotten how terrifying those kinds of calls can be."
A surge of guilt overcame me in that moment.
Steven had lost his wife, Deborah, and eighteen month old daughter, Elizabeth, when a drunken driver had plowed through a four-way stop. He didn’t talk about them often, only from time to time, but I knew how deep his wounds went.
He missed them terribly.
"I’m so sorry." I twined my fingers around his, squeezing. "I didn’t have any other choice. Those men were at their breaking point. Crazed people are a lot like the mad wolves that don’t retain the human element when they shift. There is no semblance of right or wrong, decency or depravity. When they took that little girl…" I recalled her terrified little face, clearly picturing the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I just reacted."
"You don’t need to explain. I would have done the same." His thumb brushed over the top of my hand—the motion familiar and comforting. "I’m just damn thankful. The gunshot wounds were bad, but your leg was what kept you under sedation. The damage was nearly irreparable. The bone nicked the femoral artery when it split, and they had to call in a surgeon to reset the femur when it started mending wrong. If it weren’t for your accelerated healing, you would have died."
"So that’s why it hurts like the dickens," I joked lamely.
His warm, caramel colored gaze lifted. "I don’t want you to go."
His emotions were right there, out in the open for me to see. That was the refreshing thing about human males. There was no need to dominate or control. Steven was smart, confident, and witty. He was also good looking, successful, and charming. He wasn’t an alpha who demanded complete adoration or devotion and, oddly enough, he didn’t have to be.
I sighed and pressed my head against the pillow. "I don’t want to go, but I don’t know how much of the decision is based on what I want."
"What if I speak with Michael and we make our relationship official?"
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
"You're human." We'd talked briefly about the issue but hadn't worried about it overly much. I never thought I'd see the pack again. There had been no reason to. Things were now very different. "They won't approve."
"Werewolves mate with humans. Your mother was human."
"You know how her relationship with my father ended."
"We're not them."
"It’s complicated," I responded evasively, not wanting to lie but unable to tell him the private eccentricities that pack life entailed. Our friendship started on the foundation of a lie, but fortunately he had seen past it. I didn’t want to stretch the man as far as I could in order to see when he'd snap.
What he said was partially true.
Humans and werewolves did mate in the literal sense—when male werewolves didn’t find what they were looking for inside the pack and needed to scratch a sexual itch—but wolves didn't bond with humans. Or at the very least, the male population didn’t. When males finally homed in on their prospective mate, all romantic entanglements between the human females they’d used to ease the lusts of their inner animal were severed.
Werewolves made excellent lovers. That was a well known fact. But there was a catch. They may or may not be there the next month, the next week, or the next morning. It was a hard lesson learned each and every day by scorned women the world over—including my own mother.
Were females capable of forming such attachments with humans while their male counterparts were not? I didn’t know, and neither did anyone else to my knowledge. Females were kept away from human society like prized eggs, tethered to their packs until the right male came along. That was another reason Michael was sure to be angry. I'd broken a huge pack rule by leaving without permission or maintaining close contact with my alpha. Even worse, I'd insulted his entire community by doing so as a female.
Noah believed me when I told him I’d return to the pack after my mother's passing, taking me at my word when I said I needed time and space to think about our relationship. He had been unaware my decision to flee had already been set in motion. I knew the proud and dominant male I’d left behind had only been allowed to reside in Michael’s territory to keep the peace during Michael's frequent trips—as a backup alpha to ensure the packs stayed in line when a lone beta wasn’t enough—meaning I’d left all of them vulnerable. Now that I had been found, they knew I'd become involved with another male—a human.
Steven’s jaw ticked, and I could sense his rising anger. "Is that a no?"
"That’s an 'I don’t know', because I don’t. If anyone were willing to lend a sympathetic ear, it would be Michael. His first wife was a human, and two of his four children were born from her. But he’s going to be furious with me, and I don’t know what he’ll say or do. I haven’t spoken to him, or had any contact with his pack, in the four years since Mom died."
Steven’s fingers were gentle around mine, but he squeezed harder than I was sure he intended. "Since you ran, you mean?"
I closed my eyes, nodding. "Yes."
"Do you mind if I go to Michael to plead my case? "
My lips curved into a smile, and I looked at him again. "What will you say?"
"I don’t know." He returned my grin and released my hand. Moving from the chair, he eased his weight carefully onto the bed. He stroked a lock of blonde hair from my face, tucked it behind my ear, and cupped my chin. He brushed his thumb along my jaw. "Maybe I’ll tell him that I love you."
My chest caved and my heart melted, but I didn’t let on. Frowning in play, I sighed. "Love doesn’t dictate pack life. It’s nice if it’s there, but it’s not a requirement."
He lowered his eyes,
staring at my mouth, speaking absently. "It doesn’t matter. I have something that will make it impossible for him to keep you from me."
I brought my hand up and wound my fingers around his wrist. The brush of my warm skin got his attention, and our eyes met. "And what exactly do you have?" I questioned. "Hidden connections to the PBI?"
"No, I have something better." When he didn’t continue, I wanted to throttle him. He chuckled at my expression, and I knew that was his intent. He wanted to tease me. "A secret weapon."
"What secret weapon?"
"Money," he answered, leaning forward, kissing me lightly. He pulled away, brown eyes determined. "Lots and lots of money."
"You can’t buy my way out of the pack, Steven." My voice was soft, the words etched with pain.
If only it was that easy.
"I know that." He shrugged. "But what I can do is tell your master and commander if he won’t let you leave Tennessee, I’ll purchase a large stake of land and move down south. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live a Dukes of Hazzard lifestyle. With you beside me in cut-off shorts, I’ll be living the dream."
I stared affectionately at the man before me.
Several months ago, Steven had invited me to his place under the pretense of sharing a casual dinner and a partaking in a cheesy horror movie. Nothing had occurred at dinner, but during the show he'd moved closer to my body nestled on the very far arm of the couch. Then closer still. When the end credits rolled, he had ended the night with a bang by kissing me for the first time. Time had mended his heart, just as it does with many things. He was ready to move forward with his life, and he wanted the person he shared it with to be me. We were still in the precarious dating stage, taking things slowly. So far we'd engaged in nothing more than heavy petting.
I regretted that decision now.
I smiled, picturing the future together as he described. I would be amenable to it. "Who knows? Maybe we can find an old Dodge Charger in need of a restoration. We can drive to Velma’s on Sundays for the best homemade biscuits and grits below the Mason-Dixon."
"That sounds perfect," he agreed, yet he also seemed puzzled. "But I have a question."
I frowned at him, curious. "Okay?"
He arched a dark eyebrow and asked, "What’s a grit?"
◆◆◆
I didn’t need the assistance of enhanced smell to the identity the visitor in my room the next time I woke. The glorious hum of power radiating from him was evident all along the nerve endings in my body, prickling both above and below the surface of my skin. I opened my eyes and turned my head, focusing easily in the dimly lit space, the blaring florescent bulb over the nearby sink the only viable light source.
Michael sat in the black faux leather recliner in the far corner, the newspaper in his hands flared wide. His thick mahogany hair fell to his shoulders, the front strands tucked behind his ears. His black tie was loose inside the collar, the noose drooping below the open buttons at the throat. A matching jacket was slung over the arm of the chair, placed directly above the suitcase near his feet.
He kept his eyes straight ahead as he scanned the newspaper. "You have some explaining to do."
I swallowed nervously and struggled to find my voice. "I didn’t know what else to do. Those men—"
"I’m not talking about the robbery. We’ll get to that soon enough, I wager." He turned the page, the sharp crack of the paper ringing in my ears. "For now, let’s just start at the beginning."
My tongue felt heavy, and my throat went dry.
The moment had been four years in the making.
During the time I'd been gone, I'd visualized explaining myself to Michael if he came a calling. Those first few months when fear of discovery overwhelmed me, I would practice in front of the mirror, attempting to nail the dialogue like those inspirational Oscar acceptance speeches. Unfortunately, I wasn't a high caliber artist, and I sucked at lying.
Desperate, I tried to do as he requested. "I couldn’t come back."
"No, you could have come back. You didn’t want to come back." He extended the words could and want for added effect. "There’s a distinction."
I made sure to keep my voice level and calm, each word softly spoken and deliberate. There was no need to piss off the big bad wolf. "I don’t expect you to understand my reasons for leaving. You’re an alpha whose been around since Christ was born, Michael. All you see is pack. Personal wants and needs don’t figure into the equation until after the rules that govern the wolf are in play."
"That’s true." He closed the newspaper and folded it with his large hands.
He returned the paper into a rectangular shape and sat it atop the briefcase. His amber colored eyes finally met mine. I immediately lowered my gaze, staring at the dark brown stubble across his chin. He moved to the edge of the recliner, resting his elbows on top of his knees. He brought his hands together and steepled his fingers.
"At least you’re smart enough to appear remorseful." He sounded mildly amused but the humor was fleeting, replaced immediately by clear reprimand. "If you’re going to harp on the idiosyncrasies of pack, you should also remember that you shoulder a portion of the blame for what went wrong. You never gave the pack any real chance. You were too busy holding a grudge against your father and the portion of yourself you considered a curse. Leaving something you couldn’t acclimate to, I can understand, but you didn’t give the pack the common courtesy of putting forth the effort."
There were several things I could have said, but I chose not to. What Michael stated was true. I did consider my genetics a curse, and I did push them all away. Those indelible teenage years were bad enough without the complication of learning I had a wolf lingering beneath my skin. My mother—and anyone with access to a television—knew children conceived between a werewolf and human had less than a fifteen percent chance of inheriting the gene. Even less for successful conception and a pregnancy to term between the species. She’d banked on percentages and the power of prayer instead of modern science.
She had felt really guilty about that later.
The change had started a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday. The warning signs were easy to dismiss as growing pains. Then my skin had started to burn and my bones had started to ache. My shoddy eyesight had improved, and I started to smell everything within a close proximity.
When the full moon came, I'd been doomed.
The first shift a half-breed experiences is normally done with an alpha in attendance for a good reason. They have the power to bring the wolf forward, calling it to the surface to shorten the change and alleviate the agony.
I hadn't been given that.
Shifting from one form to the other went beyond all the concepts of painful. The bones break and splice, the organs and tissues reform, and the skin has to stretch to cover a larger area. I suffered my first change for over an hour, stuck between the body I knew and one that was strange. My voice had become so hoarse I couldn't scream after the first fifteen minutes, and when the ambulance and police contacted by a concerned neighbor arrived, and realized exactly what was going on inside Mom's hand-me-down trailer, they hadn't stuck around.
Afterward, my mother accepted what she’d long denied.
I was not the normal, perfect daughter she’d prayed I’d become.
Despite her best efforts, I carried the genetics of the man she'd become pregnant by. She'd been forced to hand me over to him after my shift, placing me directly into the keeping of the one person she vowed never to speak to again. I'd been taken to a place werewolves affectionately referred to as the compound—or, as humans referred to it, the dog pound—a private neighborhood built on several hundred acres of forest land with fences and warning signs littered around the property line.
Even though there were two established packs in the county, I was the only one of my kind in Rhea: an outsider and halfling raised by humans who was just learning to shift. My father had tried to make the transition as painless and stress free as possi
ble but, at that time, he seemed like another strange thing.
Speaking of dear old Dad. "Why didn’t Max come with you?"
"He wanted to, but Noah refused to stay behind. I told Max he needed to stay home and watch over things in our absence. A lot has changed in the time since you left. I would hope you’ve kept abreast of pack matters via the news at the very least. It’s not safe to be werewolf, or any other supernatural creature, these days."
Was that the understatement of the decade?
The Coalition of the Sun had just been coming into prominence when I left the pack seven years ago. It was only a matter of time before The Watchers of the Moon followed. Both organizations were ignorant, bigoted, and completely delusional on the lifestyles of vampires and werewolves. They worked hard to establish laws for human protection, creating a new version of informed consent for the work place, ensuring the average human was shielded from the wolves and bloodsuckers that could transmit what they believed was poison. The proud brotherhood claimed to be religious, doing God’s work. Funny, as I'd always functioned under the notion that the Lord loved all of His creatures.
Including those prone to sunburn and howling at the moon.
Michael lifted the newspaper so that I could see it. A picture from the bank surveillance camera was plastered across the front. Even with the grainy black and white texture, the person on the page was easily identifiable.
"Your face has been plastered on television stations and newspapers for the last three days."
My voice deepened, my vocal cords tightening in agitation. "I saved that little girl."
"True, but in the process you possibly transmitted the infection to a child. A female child. If the worst happens and she inherits the trait, she won't survive the first shift. You essentially stepped in and prolonged her life. The question is, for how long? If at all? The Watchers are having a field day, spinning this story for all it’s worth. You're not supposed to be here. You're not even licensed or registered with any of the nearby packs. They held a press conference in front of the hospital the first day you were sedated, demanding the hospital administration cease rendering care. They are using what happened as an example of what will occur if werewolves are allowed to live in anonymity, claiming we are a menace." I attempted to speak and he held up his hand, silencing me, and plopped the newspaper back onto his suitcase. "You don’t have to explain your actions. The bank had several security cameras. I’ve seen the tapes."