by J. A. Saare
The second was a phone, complete with internet and satellite service. I knew how to slide plastic through a machine at the grocery store, but I was otherwise clueless about technology. The tiny button on the bottom of the sleek screen was so dark it blended into the phone seamlessly. I swiped at the glass and it came to life. I had to use my thumbprint to unlock the gadget and gain access.
The door across from me opened, and Noah slid into the vehicle. He frowned when he saw the cause of the lurching and shaking. "Can’t you do that when we get home?"
I stared at the phone and mumbled absently, "Why would I want to?"
Noah started to respond when Michael and Barney stepped into the vehicle and settled in the front seats. Neither turned around, nor did they have to. It was easy to sense Noah's displeasure by the surge of power that hummed inside the cabin. I looked away from the phone to glance at him. His eyes were completely silver, framed along the edge with a beautiful rim of contrasting black. He didn’t have to say a word—an extended absence hadn’t diminished my memory—I knew the look. I lowered myself into the seat and discreetly shoved the phone beneath my leg and the cushioned leather. Noah’s eyes only turned sliver when he was walking a thin line and the wolf was in control.
He removed the distance between us, pressing his much larger body into my side and shoulder. His hand came down, grasping my left thigh firmly just as his mouth brushed the outer shell of my ear. The heat of his breath caressed my skin when he warned in a throaty growl, "Don’t push me, angel."
Taking his hand from my thigh, he pulled me against him, swathing me in his power, presence, and scent. A long time ago, I might have chastised him for the clear display of dominance and possession, calling him a modern day Neanderthal before shoving him away in play. He would have smiled and nipped at some random part of my body—be it my ear, neck, shoulder, or mouth—and the bright glow from his irises would have dimmed.
But now…
I wasn’t sure how he would react.
The suburban roared to life, and I accepted my lot in life, relaxing into him as I’d done often enough in the past. My body was still sore, fatigue overriding everything else. It was hard to rely on anger when all you wanted to do was sleep. Barney flipped on the radio, tuning in to light rock favorites from the seventies as the vehicle moved. The sounds were relaxing, the soft beats and voices lulling me to sleep. At some point the exhaustion became too much, and I dozed.
I was dreaming about a talking Venus flytrap plotting ingenious ways to snare a pesky cricket when a gentle nudge and Noah’s raspy voice interrupted my slumber. "Time to wake up."
I came to awareness slowly, dragging myself through the foggy grips of sleep, and comprehended that at some point I'd draped myself across Noah’s lap. My hands were placed under my head, shoulders bunched together, and my legs were stretched out across the seat with my feet dangling near the floorboard.
"We’ve stopped at Velma’s for breakfast," Noah said, combing fingers through my hair, causing the skin along my nape to tingle. "Michael needs to speak to Vern before we go home, and I thought you might be hungry."
"Crowded house?" I guessed, aware of the answer when he lifted his head, scanned the parking lot, and grinned.
There was laughter in his voice. "Of course."
The foundation for Velma’s Diner was laid by Vern and Velma Martin in 1907. Long before a greasy box of fries and an artery clogging Big Mac became more convenient than sitting down at a table and enjoying a hot plate slammed with down-home country food. The wooden slats forming the outside of the structure were darkened with age, as was the original aluminum roofing covered with a scattering of rust spots that didn’t diminish the bright glare brought on by the sun.
Velma’s was a monument in the southern werewolf community, opened by one of their own before they revealed themselves to the public. By the time she and her husband had come clean about their nature, everyone loved her concoctions too much to give a damn what species she was. Fresh apple pie, fried green tomatoes, country fried steak, and battered corn meal squash, were just a few favorites people drove from miles around to sample.
"We’ll save you seats," Michael said, exiting the suburban with Barney.
I removed myself from the comforting softness of Noah’s lap, stifling a yawn. Though I was stiff and achy, I felt a lot better.
"You still talk in your sleep," Noah informed me softly.
My eyes flared in panic.
What the hell had I said?
My odd and creepy talent for blurting secrets and inner longings while dreaming was legendary. I once ruined a surprise birthday party for my father by blabbing the master plan during a cat nap on the battered leather sofa in the living room.
Noah chuckled at my abject expression and offered reassuringly, "Don’t worry, it was mostly mumbling." He gave me a quirky look and added, "Something about a cricket?"
I closed my eyes, shook my head, and muttered, "Don’t ask."
As I climbed from the suburban, he retrieved the crutches from the back. He came around to my door, offering me the offensive pieces of metal and plastic. I slid from the back seat and stepped onto the graveled lot.
"I hope I won’t need these much longer," I grumbled, taking each from his outstretched hands.
"You can probably toss them if you shift when we get home and take a long nap. The doctor at the hospital didn’t seem to understand the complexities of our healing. I tried to explain that we mend faster in wolf form, but he insisted animals weren’t allowed in the hospital."
"Animals." I snorted at that. "Why would he understand? He’s a human doctor. Not a preternatural one."
Preternatural doctors were referred to as Dr. Dolittles. So as you could imagine, acquiring a job practicing that brand of medicine was near to damn impossible. Especially as those holding the doctorates were usually werewolves and vampires themselves. Hospital administration, and the legal counsel representing them, were concerned about the possibility of transmission. Also, the staff wasn’t keen on the notion of sharing a work place with creepy crawlies that might very well do more harm than good. Vampires near blood and werewolves near babies and small children—do the math.
I pressed my weight into the cushioned padding atop the crutches and situated my hair behind my shoulders to avoid trapping the strands. The parking lot was crammed with cars, trucks, and vans. The air was thick with the succulent smells of sausage, coffee, and pork grease.
Business was well and good at Velma’s.
I was happy to see it.
We came to the wooden door with the squared glass center, and I had to fight the impulse to dive behind Noah for cover. Every fur sprouting individual occupying a table would know who I was, and worse, that I’d run from my pack. There was actually an expression for my kind, one I was sure to hear whispered at least a time or two during breakfast.
Noah held the door open so I could hobble inside, and as luck would have it, I heard the word in the very instant my head popped inside. The voice was loud, chiming crystal clear over the combined voices from the back of the room.
"Stray."
Now sticks and stones might not break my bones, but words spoken by vengeful pack member could definitely hurt me. It was a direct insult—a challenge—in a room full of werewolves. Technically, I wasn’t an alpha’s lupa. Noah and I had to take our vows before the packs to make that official, and I’d left before he was able to seal the deal as it were. Still, he’d made it clear who he intended to take as his mate a long time ago, meaning I couldn’t let a little thing like mudslinging slide. Doing so would mean I was weak and, by association, so was he.
The volume of the room decreased as the werewolves stopped conversing, mutedly enjoying their grits and bacon while they waited to see my reaction. The few humans in the room continued prattling on, oblivious to the insult. When they realized everyone around them had gone quiet, they quickly did the same.
"Ray," Noah warned, asking me to let it go without s
aying so directly.
"You’re the one that brought me home, Noah." I turned, met his gaze, and reminded him, "This was bound to happen at some point. Best to get it over with."
I slid my arms free of the crutches, leaned them against the counter, and propped the ends on Velma's antique register. Then I turned to the room full of patrons, skimming over attentive and recognizable faces. I hesitated when I located Michael and Barney seated at a large round table on the left side of the restaurant with Lucas and Brianna. Out of respect for my alpha, I waited for his approval. Michael’s lips curved into a knowing grin when our eyes met. He reached for the brown mug of coffee in front of him and brought the steaming brew to his mouth. Then he nodded his head obligingly.
To my relief, my cursed lame right leg bore my weight with nary a limp. I started down the aisle to the right, walking past tables and booths occupied by curious wolves and wide-eyed human spectators. The bearer of the insult was nestled in the far corner against the bar, perched on one of many rotating swivel seats, facing in my direction.
I stopped inches away and folded my arms across my chest.
Caroline Cummings—I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl, considering the last name she'd inherited—was a subordinate in Michael’s pack with aspirations of making it to the top. I could have let her little display go, turned the other cheek, and blew her off. But if I did, she would sink her teeth into me at some point, compelled to act upon any sign of weakness.
"Caroline." I growled as a warning, hackles rising, staring directly into her toffee-brown eyes. I surprised myself in the process. I’d kept the wolf hidden for so long, I’d forgotten what it sounded like to exude authority, demand and command respect, and bring that portion of me willingly to the surface. To Caroline's credit, she maintained the eye contact for several seconds. She only dipped her head when my anger intensified, and the wolf within me warned her to fall back in line. I knew my eyes had shifted color, which informed her to shut the hell up.
She lowered her head until her chin was pressed against her chest, shoulders caving as her back hunched. The submission was evident not only in her posture, but in her tone of voice. "Welcome home, Raven."
Conversations restarted as if they’d never stopped. The crisp and loud clatter of forks and spoons ringing off of thick porcelain plates soon followed. Reveling in another’s humiliation wasn’t our way, even if the person responsible for the confrontation had it coming. I stared at Caroline’s bowed head, mesmerized by the tight ringlets that cascaded down her back in spools of shimmery red. I was torn between two very different emotions—dominance and pity. My wolf nature insisted I drill the message home, ensuring she would never make the same mistake again. However, the human portion of me wished to exhibit some form of kindness.
Sometimes saying nothing was better than saying anything at all.
That was the path I chose to take.
I spun on my heel and started back in the direction I’d come from, moving a bit slower this time. I continued to mask my injury. Limping, but only slightly. My busted right leg was throbbing. A dull pain pulsated inside the bone.
Noah didn’t wait to be asked. He wound his arm around my waist as if we were a devoted couple, assisting me in the process. He snagged the crutches with his free hand, and we started the trek to our table. After helping me into a chair, he propped the crutches against the wall. Then he slid into the empty seat to my left. I realized Michael could had planned the seating in advance. Alphas always sat to the left of their lupas, as their mates were considered their right hands.
Michael might have been sending a clear message.
Or maybe it was random happenstance.
"Confronting Caroline was a smart choice," Michael said quietly, nursing his coffee. "You’ve reestablished your place, and since it happened in public, word will travel quickly."
"Great." I rubbed my fingers across my eyes. "My first day back, and I’m already big news on the playground."
"Raven, is it really you?"
It was a good thing my hand was obscuring my face. Otherwise, everyone at the table would have witnessed my involuntary reaction upon hearing the inquisitive voice—a face contorting wince. My little confrontation with Caroline had just gotten its very own broadcast station, and she went by the name Allyandra Susanne Owen. A tiny blonde with doe brown eyes and a blabbering mouth of gargantuan proportions.
Not wanting to be rude, I dropped my hand and forced a smile. "Hi, Ally."
"It is you! I thought so." She spoke dramatically, pressing the left hand holding a green order pad across her chest. "I saw the story on the news. What you did, well, it’s something else. You were so brave. Saving that little girl? Everyone's talking about it." She swiftly changed the subject. "I can’t believe you’re back after all this time. Must be good to be home, huh?"
I gave an uncomfortable nod and chose my breakfast without aid of a menu, eager to see her off to the kitchen and away from the table. "I’ll have the buttermilk pancakes with hickory smoked sausage and a tall glass of orange juice."
She jotted the order down, and Noah came to the rescue, chiming in with his breakfast of choice, followed by Brianna and Lucas, and then Barney and Michael. She swiped the pen across the paper when she finished the large order but didn’t leave. I eventually peered up, and she smiled.
"So." She nibbled at her full, lower lip and glanced at Noah. Then her attention darted back to me. She tapped her pen on top of the order pad. "How long will you be staying?"
Clever little bitch.
No matter how I answered, I would give her fuel.
If I said I was staying at the compound indefinitely, it would lead to the question of Noah and the status of our relationship. If I said I was only home for a limited time, it would cause unrest with wolves and undesirable females would start sniffing around, making my life absolute hell for the next three weeks.
I cleared my throat and peered around the table.
Brianna and Lucas looked smug, Michael seemed curious, and Barney was obviously uncomfortable. When I stopped on Noah’s smiling face, he chose to answer the question for me. He moved closer and draped an arm along the back of my wooden chair. He skimmed his fingers along my shoulder and throat in an intimate display. I glared at him from beneath my lashes, making a personal vow to seek future retribution. The sneaky bastard knew I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
"What did I tell you about gossip mongering, Ally Sue?" Barney chastised after an extended silence, shaking his head and glowering at his niece from across the table. She tried to interrupt, but he surged ahead. "It’s going to get you in trouble, that’s what I said. Stop pestering Ellie and put in our order. We’ve had a long flight, and I want to eat and relax before making the trip home." When she didn’t move fast enough to suit him, he snapped, "Go on now, skit!"
I didn’t release the breath I was holding until Ally darted into the back and vanished behind a set of swinging doors straight out of a John Wayne western. I swatted at Noah’s fingers and said, "You can move out of my personal space now, stud."
He did as requested, but not before his fingers drifted against my neck one final time. "Your wish is my command."
"Now wouldn’t that be something," I muttered.
In true Noah fashion, he did the one thing that would irritate me most. He met my furious gaze with an unnaturally happy one and winked.
"Eleonora." Michael’s voice ripped my mind from revenge, and I turned away from Noah before I clobbered him. "Noah’s working a case with the PBI, and I’d appreciate your input."
Appreciate your input.
Michael was superb with words, always giving the impression he was allowing the freedom of choice. We both knew better.
I played along. "What kind of case?"
"A few months ago, we were contacted about a stray wandering in a hunting area in skyline. He didn’t have any clothing or identification, and he couldn’t remember who he was. The hunters said that when they fou
nd him, he was incoherent and unable to speak. From what Noah’s gathered, he was bitten at some point near the full moon, meaning the change took place almost immediately following transmission. Oh, he’s a wolf-man, too."
"He survived?" The hitch in my voice conveyed my horror, shock, and disbelief.
There was a good reason wolfen kind didn’t bring those they loved into the fold. The chance of surviving the change with your brain fully intact was slim. There were a few known wolf-men in the United States, the majority of which were created when a rabid wolf tore through a small mining town in California in 1881. Of the sixty townspeople infected in the massacre, only fifteen survived the shift.
The term wolf-man was just as it implied. While a few could manage the shift from man to wolf, many remained trapped in a mutated form straight out of scary movies. Like a Sasquatch but with pointed teeth, sharp claws, and a propensity for violence.
Noah took over the conversation as Michael sat back. "He not only survived, but he appears to have retained all of his brain function. The problem is, he can’t remember anything about the night he was infected. What he has recalled, he’s not willing to share. We need to know if the wolf responsible is still on the loose before he kills or changes someone else."
"Why do you think I can help?"
"You’re more like he is than we are," Noah stated as if it were obvious.
He didn’t have to clarify; I knew exactly what he insinuated. I might grow fur and shift like he did, but I was born and lived much of my life as a human. "I don’t know how that is going to help you. Both of my halves respect one another. I can shift between the two. There is no competition for dominance between the human and the animal. "
Noah arched an eyebrow. "Isn’t there?"
"This isn’t about me," I snapped, narrowing my eyes. "This is about a person who just discovered he turns into a monster once a month. Sharing a history of being human is the only connection we share, and if you want me to be honest with you, it’s a weak one. I remember what it’s like to be stuck between forms, and I can’t imagine how terrible it would be to experience it over and over again every full moon. He probably just needs time and space to compensate for the changes and all he’s lost. Forcing your presence in his life will only make the situation worse. If you want to get him real help, call in those like him."