by J. A. Saare
Stomach queasy, I murmured, "They released tapes?"
He shook his head. "Even werewolves have civil rights."
"Thank God." I breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing into my pillow. Shifting was something I preferred to do in private. Just knowing strangers had seen my body during the vulnerable stages of transition made me want to vomit.
"The kind gents at the police department all but signed your euthanasia certificate until they saw what was captured on film. They know you did them an enormous favor, even if a child was bitten in the process. It’s the only reason they’ve agreed to release you into my custody."
Noah’s distinctive, woodsy scent arrived seconds before his body appeared in the doorway. He had changed clothing but still dressed in a suit, this one a dark navy instead of black. The shade complimented his eyes. His broad shoulders accentuated the long lines of the sleeves and cut of the jacket. I knew he was pleased my gaze was already on the door when he came into the frame, and a smile formed on his unfairly sublime face when our eyes met.
"How do you feel?"
Damn his voice with its husky cadence and tenor. There was more than one reason I didn’t partake in phone conversations with him after I departed Rhea.
I quickly looked away from his expectant face. "Alive."
If he was offended by my reaction, it didn’t reach his voice. "The doctor says she’ll be able to fly within the next twelve hours. Her wounds are healing, and her femur has successfully fused."
"She," I informed Noah angrily, "is right here."
"I’m sorry." He moved to the bed, bumping the side of the hospital mattress, goading me to look up at him. "I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me. Now that I know otherwise, I won’t make the same mistake again."
His dark blue irises were peaceful, his demeanor totally playful.
I broke eye contact before he could gauge my response, rubbed my hand across my face, and then pinched the bridge of my nose. No one had the ability to get under my skin like Noah. I’d almost forgotten how fine the line between love and hate could be.
"Have you made arrangements with Barney?" Michael asked.
"He’s waiting with Norma-Jean at the airport."
Barney Owen was a long standing member of Michael’s pack—a very longstanding member. A fighter pilot during World War II, he dubbed his vessel Norma-Jean. He'd come through the experience virtually unscathed, but Norma Jean hadn't. To commemorate her, he named each plane he commanded in her honor.
"I’m not going," I said quietly, knowing they would hear.
Stillness also has a sound, but it’s not created by normal actions like most noises. Instead you perceive loss of movement by the various sounds that come into focus in their absence. The room went very still. The soft purr of the air conditioner and the steady ticking of the wall clock were almost thundering in the quiet.
"Hey, Ark Man, I saw a café downstairs that advertises breakfast around the clock. Why don’t you go get us something?" Michael spoke as if Noah had a choice in the matter, but we all knew it was an order and not a request. Noah moved from the bed, and I could tell he was frustrated. Undeterred, Michael instructed, "I want pancakes and sausage. Make sure to shut the door the door behind you."
The sound of the door closing prompted me to come out of hiding.
Michael was watching, studying my body posture.
He only observed me for seconds, but it felt like minutes.
Powerful things, Michael’s eyes.
When he spoke, there was no blame in his voice, just honesty. "Since you came to me as a young woman, nothing has been ordinary. You've always pushed buttons and have, for the most part, gotten away with it. That ends now. This hasn’t been easy for any of us. Not for me. Not for your father. Not for the pack. But it’s been most difficult for Noah. He knows what he did was wrong. His remorse is genuine. The three years you spent in Phoenix were a damned good indication of what life would be like without you, and he suffered as a consequence. You would have discovered that if you’d stuck around after your mother’s passing. It was cowardly to leave as you did, by the way. Even if the timing worked in your favor."
If an illness can arrive at a good-time, I suppose Mom's had.
I'd needed to get away, and she needed someone to care for her.
Nothing else would have swayed Noah to let me leave.
He'd known how angry I'd been, how betrayed I felt.
I remembered how frustrated he'd acted. He detested the idea of my departure with things so unsettled between us, but there was nothing he could say or do to stop me. I'd never contacted him in the entire three years I'd spent with Mom, going so far as to erase his messages on the machine without giving them a listen.
His voice might have been my undoing.
When Mom was on her deathbed, she'd told me not to attend her funeral. She wanted me to use take the money we'd saved and go somewhere, anywhere, I wanted. She'd sympathized with my situation in a way no one else possibly could have. If not for her planning and advice, I wouldn't have had a chance to flee from the pack. They'd have stuck to me like glue as soon as they arrived at her service.
"I’m glad he’s seen the error of his ways, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not getting involved with Noah Cameron again. He’s like quicksand. Harmless on the surface but dangerous once you dive in for a better look. The closer you get to the man, the further you sink. Especially if you're stupid enough to trust him."
"You’re going to have to face what exists between you and Noah. He sees something in you that he will never see in anyone else, and though you don’t want to admit it, you see something in him, too. That’s why you can't walk away from each other. He’ll keep pushing until you evaluate the situation and give him the opportunity to make things right between you."
"Why do you think I left?" I whispered in a voice full of pain. "After I found out that he’d basically manipulated my entire life and confronted him…" I shook my head, angry and hurt as I recalled the way I'd felt, the emotions still raw and open. "Noah was sorry because I was so upset over what he’d done, not because he felt guilty for it."
Michael shrugged my response aside. "He shouldn't feel remorse for providing for his mate. When you came to the compound, you were lonely. He sought to ease that."
"By having people establish friendships with me under false pretense." I was livid at the memory. I didn’t hold back, allowing my temper to claw free and shine through. "He had his friends, family, and pack spying on me. From the very first day. There is no excuse for something like that."
"Maybe they did spy. At first. But the affection and friendship everyone extended to you was very real. It's true they wanted Noah to be happy, but they also wanted you to be happy, Eleonora. Not as Noah's mate. Not as their lupa. As their friend. The love they expressed was genuine." He adjusted his tie slightly and added, "Trisha hasn't forgiven herself, if that makes you feel any better. She feels responsible for all that’s happened."
"At least she came clean about what she’d done."
"What did she do to you exactly? Become your friend? Help you adjust to the changes taking place in your body? Teach you what to expect with your wolf nature? Make your life easier?"
"Do you have any idea what it’s like? Learning everything you’ve ever said in confidence was immediately repeated to someone else? I thought she was my friend. I told her all of my secrets. She knew every single one of my fears, hopes, and dreams. The things we discussed in private were never meant for Noah's ears. I trusted her. I trusted them." I recalled how devastated I'd been. It had been a lie. When I'd learned the truth, I'd experienced the deepest kind of bitterness, anger, and heartbreak a person could suffer. "I will not feel guilty for something that isn’t my fault. They knew what they were doing, they just never thought I'd find out."
"Eleonora Raven Carthy." Michael used my full name, and I knew the conversation had gotten serious. "I’m going to ask a question, and I want an honest answer." He didn’t continu
e until I met his stare. "Can I trust you not to run again?"
I didn’t look away, answering truthfully, "I don’t know."
Returning to a pack was something I could learn to live with if absolutely necessary, but there were certain allotments that had to be offered, several promises that had to be made.
As if knowing which direction my thoughts drifted, Michael said, "I had a lengthy discussion with Mr. McDaniel. Would you like to know what he told me?" I shrugged and he continued, "He’s prepared to hire an attorney and challenge the pack for you. He’s already contacted realtors in Rhea to acquire property that borders the compound. "
I glanced down at my hands, staring at miniscule nothings under my nails. "That sounds like Steven."
"Although I could have told him no and let everything play out as he wished, I decided to hear the man out. He's hot-headed but reasonable enough, especially for a human. He was willing to listen to me, which I personally appreciated. But," Michael stated, sighing, "he's not one of us. You might think it'll work out between the two of you, but I know better."
Michael always thought he knew better. "What did you tell him?"
"Several things."
Was he going to make me beg for the answer? "Such as?"
"It doesn't matter. We came to an agreement, but there’s a stipulation, and I’m not willing to compromise. I'm going to put the offer on the table. What happens next is entirely up to you."
I wasn’t surprised. There were always stipulations within the pack.
"What’s the agreement?" I waited, finding myself tense and edgy. I was bound to whatever he chose, agreement or no. Whether I liked it or not, Michael was the boss.
What Michael Preston said went, period.
"You will spend the next month at the compound until the full moon. I expect you to be active with the packs, no isolating yourself. For once, you will be a part of us. All the way. No half measures. There are several cases we’re working on with the PBI, and I want your participation in at least one of them. You always had a strong nose. You might as well put it to use during your stay. If you still want to leave after the time has passed, you can return to New York, but you have to agree to return to Rhea every month for the full moon. There will be no more hiding from your family or from what you are."
All things considered, his agreement was extremely generous. The full moon arrived last week, meaning I only had to sacrifice three weeks of my life for virtual freedom.
I took a deep breath and asked the big question. "What’s the stipulation?"
"Noah absolutely refused to accept any agreement in which you leave the compound. I don't blame him, either. By rights, you should be part of his pack. All decisions regarding you should be his to make. The only reason you’re still one of mine is a technicality, and I wouldn’t push the issue if your father hadn’t asked me to intercede on your behalf." He allowed several seconds for the words to sink in before he informed me, "There was only one way Noah would agree to this, and I think the condition is more than fair. While you’re at the compound, you will reside at his home. You will live with and be part of his pack."
A part of me wanted to die, then and there.
My worst nightmare was coming to fruition.
Spending time with Noah was bad enough, but doing it surrounded by those who would die for him made it so much worse. They would be as angry at me for leaving, just as I was at them for betraying my trust. It wouldn’t be a happy homecoming. In fact, it was likely things would turn out badly for all involved.
"What’s the verdict?" Michael asked, calm and collected.
I asked to be certain, "After the full moon, I can come back?"
"If that’s what you want."
"You won't let Noah stop me?"
"I didn't say that. What happens between you and Noah is between you and Noah. You'll have to figure that out on your own."
That would be impossible. Noah would never let me go.
"What if I don’t agree to any of this and stay in New York?"
His eyes sparked at that, and I scented his outrage. His irises morphed, changing from amber to vivid gold. I sensed his fury, strength, and dominance. I knew better than to provoke him. The instinct to cower had me pulling the sheets and cover tighter against me.
When Michael became angry, everyone ducked for cover.
His voice was heavy, words rippling as he growled the answer. "Then you’ll be forced to take your chances with the police department and the Watchers monitoring all the exits to the hospital. And lest you forget, Noah knows where you are now. He won’t be dissuaded by a mortal man with a hotshot attorney and money to blow. He will stay right where he is and confront whatever comes his way to remain by your side. You can give him what he wants for now, settle things between you, and return to your domestic life after the deed is done, or you can make this harder than it needs to be and wish you’d told me yes."
Just then, the door to the room opened, and the man of the hour appeared. He was holding several boxes that smelled gloriously of buttery toast, pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, and fried ham. My stomach rumbled at the delicious aromas, and Noah grinned. Closing the door behind him, he strode confidently to the bed.
I looked away from him and peered at Michael.
He was waiting for my decision, watching me, poised at the edge of his seat.
I nodded quickly and somehow found the strength to meet his gaze.
His eyes returned to their normal shade as he relaxed, recovered the newspaper, and lounged in the recliner.
Noah rolled a creaky hospital table to the bed and maneuvered the tray over my legs. He placed a square Styrofoam box in the center. I reached for a container, and he pushed my hand aside, opening it as if I were a child who couldn’t manage despite my protests. I stopped arguing and allowed him to baby me, perfectly still and docile as he laid out the food. He hesitated before leaning across the bed. I waited, afraid, and felt him pressing a tender kiss against my forehead. His chest hovered above my face, shirt opened at the collar and his tie gone. The smell coming from his skin was intoxicating—wood, pine, and forest intermingled with his own unique scent.
He whispered, "I’ll go get your juice."
It wasn’t until I caught myself staring into an empty doorway that I realized my eyes had trailed Noah as he left the room. I sighed and turned away, inadvertently glancing at Michael. His focus wasn’t on the paper, his attention remained on me, and his expression wasn’t comforting.
He seemed to be silently screaming, 'I told you so'.
I snatched the plastic fork, stabbed a portion of scrambled egg, and shoved it into my mouth before I could say something I might regret. The old adage is true. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Three weeks with Noah and the pack.
Life was going to be hell.
Chapter Two
We were forced to fly out of New York during the early morning hours. We exited the hospital through an ambulance bay located in the basement to avoid the Watchers and news stations outside the building. I was exhausted by the time we moved from the plane to a convoy outside the Nashville International Airport, weak from my injuries and quickly losing the minimal energy I’d regained during my hospital stay.
As anticipated, Lucas and Brianna weren’t thrilled to set their eyes upon my battered form. Their dark hair contrasted sharply with their matching amber colored eyes. The intense discoloration of their irises clued me in to the fact that the wolfen portion of them wasn’t happy with the reunion, either. They were twins—a rarity in any pack—and exhibited the rare ability to communicate with one another while traveling on two or four legs. They went ahead of Michael before he made any trips, scouting locations and preparing escape routes in the event he needed to make a hasty retreat from a venue or speaking engagement. Being the most renowned werewolf in the world had its drawbacks, especially when a radical group of crazy people were determined to put an end to your species as a whole.
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br /> Michael was well aware of the fact.
Fortunately, Barney seemed far more amenable to my return, patting me on the head like a devoted grandfather as I boarded Norma-Jean, saying only, "Good to see you again, Ellie."
The phone jammed inside my blue jeans vibrated in an unexpected pulsating rhythm, and I stumbled over a line in the concrete. I ventured away from the airplane that had recently landed. My hands tightened on the spongy grips situated over the middle brackets of the torturous crutches I intended to destroy in another day or two. I didn’t complain, however, suffering the miserable devices and reminding myself to be thankful.
The shower I’d taken prior to our departure allowed me to inspect the severity of my injuries. Steven had been right. I was lucky to be alive. The small white circles with ragged edges along my torso and abdomen would eventually disappear, but the thick jagged line that ran from above the kneecap to mid-thigh would be slower to fade and would probably scar.
I waited until I ditched the crutches and climbed inside the back of one of the waiting SUVs to pull the phone free. I struggled when it wouldn’t slide from my pocket and placed all my weight into my left leg to compensate for the lame right. The seat and floorboard shifted with my movements, swaying the suburban from side to side.
Steven had given me two things when he brought my clothes and toiletries, and we had been forced to say goodbye. The first was a credit card for any expenses I might have, as in the funds for a plane ticket in the event things didn’t work out as planned. The furious look on Noah’s face when Steven handed me the card stopped me from declining the offer all together.
I wouldn’t use Steven’s money, but Noah didn’t need to know that.