by J. A. Saare
"Bowen flew in from Alabama two weeks ago," Noah informed me curtly. "He wasn’t able to break through."
"Bowen couldn’t get him to talk?"
Sebastian Bowen was the only one who could break me out of my shell in the first few weeks I'd spent at the compound. He was the alpha of a pack in Alabama, all which were made instead of born. The male was someone I truly respected. He always made me feel comfortable in my skin. He also took pains to listen to my every complaint and worry, and he never made me feel stupid or childish.
If anyone understood me, it was Bowen.
"Speak with him," Michael ordered. His voice deepened in what I easily identified as annoyance. "It’s not as though you have anything to lose by doing so."
Now it was my turn to be peeved. "I don’t want to push this poor man to extremes, and believe me, I know all about those." The response got me nasty looks from Lucas and Brianna. "He needs space and distance. Not another person invading his life and pretending to have common ground. The more you push, the harder he’s going to push back. Give the man time to get his shit together."
"Ray, listen to me for sec." Noah wasn’t condescending anymore, and the cocky smile was gone. "That’s the problem, we don’t have time." He took a deep breath, looked me in the eye, and continued, "Last week, I paid a visit to Peter’s cabin. He’d lost a massive amount of weight. His hair was falling out. I could smell wolfsbane oozing from his skin. When I confronted him about the use, he didn’t deny it. He’d rather die than become what we are. If we can’t convince him to trust Michael as his alpha, and give himself over to the other side of his nature, he’ll die from bane."
The entire room seemed to slow to a crawl and stop, sound immediately muted, faces going distant and out of focus.
"He’s using bane?" I whispered hoarsely, completely mortified by the prospect.
Werewolves were vulnerable to two things—silver and wolfsbane. There were theories regarding the reactions experienced when in contact with the stuff—the inability to heal properly, the regression of the wolf beneath the skin, certain death if allowed to remain in the system for an extended period—usually of the mystical variety involving magic and old wives' tales. Regardless of the reasons, both were extremely lethal. The poor bastard was poisoning his body to kill the wolf inside him, but in the end, it would only finish what was started when he was bitten weeks ago.
He'd be dead.
Noah nodded and glanced over his shoulder. Ally appeared from the back with a tray weighed down with our breakfasts and beverages. He took his coffee from her and said, "I planned on driving out to his cabin this afternoon. If you're up to it and want to tag along, I’d welcome the company."
My attention shifted to Michael.
One of the terms of our agreement was I participate in pack business, and helping out my fellow wolf-man might provide a welcome distraction.
"Okay," I slowly agreed, taking the orange juice directly from Ally’s outstretched hand. "I’ll go."
"Are you talking about Freaky Petey?" Ally crinkled her nose and glanced at me, lips pressed tightly together in revulsion. "He’s weird, Raven. Vern has to take his order when he makes the rare trip into town because none of the girls want to go anywhere near him. He reeks of bane and gives us the creeps."
"Maybe that’s because he senses your distaste," Michael growled, and when I peered over my glass of orange juice, I noted the white flash of his knuckles as his fingers gripped the coffee mug tighter than necessary. "It’s not difficult."
Ally paled and finished handing out the dishes and glasses, head lowered and eyes focused on the table. When finished, she scurried away and bumped into a man seated at the counter, sending his coffee all along the bar. He cursed and jumped from the seat, but she didn’t stop to apologize and vanished into the kitchen.
"She doesn’t mean any harm." Barney apologized for his niece and sighed, shaking his head. "She’s just young and impulsive."
Michael took a deep breath and the white skin along his knuckles gradually returned to a more natural shade. "The person that changed Peter isn’t the only one responsible for him. As a community, we are equally as accountable. It’s difficult to convey how painful it is to be an outsider to those that have lived under the shelter of pack since birth."
"Ain’t that the truth," I quipped, hoping to lighten the mood.
I was rewarded for my effort.
Michael actually smiled.
"I think time together will benefit you both," he mused aloud, and then nodded, as if he’d uncovered the hidden secret to Atlantis. "All wolves yearn to be nurtured, even if they are not yet aware of it. He’s been ostracized by the select few he’s reached out to, who are mainly females that pose no threat." He met my eyes and said, "Offer him friendship and understanding, and the man and beast will respond."
Words weren’t necessary once Michael nailed you with his shining peepers and issued an order. "You got it, boss," I replied and reached for my fork. The smell of pork grease was extraordinary, making my mouth pool, and all I wanted to do was devour the entire mass of food before me.
I snagged my fork, pressed the tipped edge into one of the smoked sausages, and cut a portion free. I lifted the slice of succulent smelling meat toward my mouth, anticipating that first taste of Velma’s hickory smoked sausage as it made contact with my tongue, when another familiar voice asked, "Raven, is that you?"
My forked returned to the plate along with the mouth watering piece of sausage, and I greeted Tom Winfrey, as well as his mother and father, followed by several other pack members with well-wishes and greetings.
When the crowd died down, and I finally got around to my cold breakfast, I realized smoked sausage is best enjoyed when the juices are fresh and piping hot, and the fat is still in liquid form. When cool, the thin outer wrapper turned leathery in consistency, the meat tasted like flavored rubber turf, and when swallowed it’s as thick and unappealing as Elmer’s Glue.
I excused myself in pretense of using the lavatory, forgoing the crutches all together, and exited the diner from the door used for cigarette breaks. The sun was rising along with the thick humidity that comes with a southern summer. I groaned and hurried to the suburban to retrieve my cell phone, determined to return Steven’s call before I started to melt. After several failed attempts at returning the call via the number displayed as incoming, I decided to go the old fashioned route of dialing out directly.
Steven answered on the first ring. "McDaniel’s Performance Shop." I could hear the sound of weighted metal being plopped down on concrete flooring.
I lowered my voice, murmuring huskily, "I’m in the market for a Chevy big block from ‘69 or ’70, but the machine casing the motor has to have a good frame. The body should always showcase what's beneath the hood. You can’t have one without the other."
"Jesus, I miss you," he whispered, going from professional to sensual.
"Me too." I laughed, slammed the door of the SUV closed, and hobbled to the side of the building. "I’m sorry I missed your call."
"I won’t lie and say it’s fine. Just thinking of you so far away, forced to stay with…" His heavy exhale into the phone told me all I needed to know.
I finished quietly, "Noah?"
"Yes." His tone was angrier than I expected.
"Telling you not to worry won’t help, so I’ll just tell you the same thing I did before we said goodbye at the hospital. I’m coming home, Steven. I know who I want to be with, and I know where I want to be."
There was a hesitation. "You left off the best part."
"I did?" I knew teasing him was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. "Let’s see, I’m coming home. I know who I want to be with and where I want to be." I paused and said, "Damn, I can’t remember anything else."
I could hear the fear in his voice, the need for reassurance. "Tell me."
So I did.
"I love you. I’ll be home soon."
Chapter Three
I kept telling m
yself, There's no place like home. There's no place like home. The thoughts didn't work. I was still terrified. I tried to clear my head and start again. There's no place like... Damn it. This isn't Kansas, and I'm not Dorothy.
Time to face reality.
With the exception of a massive structure rising along the left side of the residence, Noah’s home hadn’t changed. There was still glass, glass, and more glass displayed inside of rows of dark colored wood. Windows of various shapes and sizes littered the upper and lower floors, allowing those approaching the domicile to see into the house nearly as well as those within could see out.
Butterflies returned to my stomach, building nausea and creating a bitter tasting bile that coated the back of my throat. Meeting with members of Michael's pack in Velma’s had been easy. Most of them lived on the property, kept to themselves, and tried to carry on normal lives. A select few in the compound, however, were strictly about pack business and dealing with the PBI.
Those wolves belonged to Noah.
They were the pack I should have inherited but chose to leave.
"Trish and Jonathan should be home," Noah said as we neared, breaking the silence for the first time in miles. He remained quiet after Michael and Barney dropped us off at his shiny silver Dodge truck, though he had taken to studying me from the corner of his eye. I was sure he knew I’d contacted Steven, but he didn’t mention it.
Swallowing thickly, I tried to reinforce my suddenly pliable backbone. "What about everyone else?"
The small indentions in his forehead smoothed, and I knew he found my discomfort both amusing and deserved. "Brady and Mark are on the trail of a mutt in Memphis. Stanley and Mari went back to skyline to go over the area Peter was found one last time. And Jasper traveled down to Gossamer with Bowen."
Relief at his answer made my shoulders sag.
Patricia and Jonathan would be the easiest pack members to face.
Noah’s sister, and her mate, had taken my side when the shit hit the fan, insisting everyone back off and give me the time to evaluate the situation. I'd taken advantage of their support, leaving as soon as the coast was clear. They would undoubtedly be angry at me for running, but out of all the pack, they might be the only two who'd understand why I'd decided to go.
"How is Bowen?" The question was intended to satisfy my curiosity and to ease the lingering tension building inside the cabin of the truck. Plus, I'd hoped I'd get to see him soon. I might not have missed a lot about the compound, but I'd missed Bowen. He had been the only real friend I had.
"It's always Bowen with you, isn't it?" I heard the teasing in his voice. "He’s doing well. His pack is up to eight." He cleared his throat and added, "I’m sure he would have stuck around if he knew you were returning. He worried about you. We all did."
His wolf rose to the surface, invisible to the human eye but palpable.
I felt his emotions then, as deeply as my own.
It was difficult to stay in control and keep my wolf contained.
If we allowed our wolves to acknowledge each other in the open, of our own free will, we wouldn't need words. That was another interesting, but potentially problematic, bond Noah and I shared. If we didn’t work to mask our emotions and keep them tamped down, they were unbelievably easy to transmit. He drove the truck toward the porch and stopped, mindful of the thick gravel that shifted us forward when he pumped the brake. Then he turned the ignition off, killing the motor. Taking a shaky breath, I lifted my chin, staring directly ahead. The front door was closed, but I had seen shadows moving behind the glass.
Someone was definitely home.
"Raven." Noah kept allowing his emotions to waft into me, forcing me to focus harder to keep my wolf contained than I would have liked. I felt his loss, his pain, his regret, his heartache. Even worse, his love. "You have to give me the chance to make things right between us. I understand why you left. I do. But I can’t change the past. "
I struggled to force the emotions that threatened to consume me aside, and tried to replace them with the ones I’d kept buried for the last seven years. When the anger, bitterness, and hurt arrived, I heard Noah wince and experienced the emptiness within my soul as his wolf retreated.
"You played me, Noah. You took advantage of me." I spun my head around and nailed him with a scathing look that expressed my absolute devastation and outrage. "You wouldn’t change the past. Even if you could. You'd do it all over again."
Anger and determination replaced the tenderness and regret in his expression. His thick brows came together, his forehead knotting and voice distorting as he and the wolf addressed me in unison. "You're right, I wouldn’t. Everything that has happened—every single decision I have made—has been for you. For us. I knew the minute you stepped off the bus at Velma’s that you were mine, and so did you. You might not have known what your feelings meant at the time, but I did."
"Yeah, well." I reached for the door handle and turned from him, ready to leave. "That was then. This is now."
He lurched across the seat, and snatched my arm at the elbow, eliciting a gasp. "Don’t try to run. There is nowhere you can go that I won’t find you. You’re not in the city anymore, and you’re not being protected by Michael or your father. We will sort this out. There will be an understanding between us."
Exasperated, I yanked free and faced him. "What did you expect, Noah? Did you honestly believe I would run into your arms after all this time just because that’s what you want?" I laughed at my own words, finding them incredibly spot-on and ironic. "Why does everything have to be about you? What about how I feel?"
He moved to lift the squared partition between us and tossed it back. I sensed his intention and pitched my weight toward the door, but he grabbed my waist before I could grasp the handle to escape. He tugged my struggling body onto his lap. The wolf inside him came to his skin, caressing and surrounding me with his scent and strength. As much as I wanted to deny him or feign disinterest, I couldn’t dissuade my own feral half from responding.
"Don’t," I groaned and rotated between going flush against his heated body and finding the strength to pull away. "Please."
I knew he could hear the submission in my voice, the fear, but on the other side of the blinding terror of losing control was an animal who longed and ached for her mate—her long missing absent half. And he felt that equally as much as I did. My body erupted in violent tremors, a battle of wills between wolf and woman taking place.
God, I’d forgotten how hard this was.
How excruciating.
He growled and nuzzled my neck, nipping lightly with his teeth. Hot breath tickled my sensitized skin, and I moaned even as I tried not to. "I know how you feel, and I know exactly what you want. Even when you try to deny it. You want me as much as I want you. You need me as much as I need you. We are one, angel. You’ll never have this with that pitiful human you fancy yourself in love with—never."
Noah couldn’t have chosen better words to clear my muddled head, and the moment they escaped his lips, he knew it. My wolf, while mated to Noah, had a fondness for Steven. She rankled at the insult and gave me the strength to rip free, allowing the woman to retreat from the animal’s blinding lusty heat. There was a small problem, however. My wolf was dangerously close to losing her grip. I’d kept her caged for so very long, and Noah smelled positively scrumptious. I whimpered and tried to combat the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
The change was on me. I was going to shift.
Shit.
"Easy," Noah instructed, his voice a soothing balm, calming and relaxing my tense muscles. The alpha in him took charge, ready and willing to put me in a balanced state. "Easy, angel."
A throaty growl came from my throat, but Noah wasn’t dissuaded.
He crossed the distance between us, grasping me firmly by my nape.
His power overcame me, his own beast extending outward and commanding submission. Immediately, my wolf settled, going quiet. I couldn't breathe normally, swallowing air i
n eager gasps. I bent at the waist and almost banged my head on the dash.
"That's right. I've got you. I'm here." His hand remained at my neck, but his fingers massaged the tight muscles, easing the terrible pulsating in my joints that refused to abate with the animal. "I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?"
"Tell you what?" I panted, voice raspy. "Not to be an asshole?"
He refused to take the bait. "When was the last time you shifted?"
"At the bank," I answered evasively, but I knew where the conversation was headed. I knew precisely what he meant. The fingers at my nape stilled and then tightened. Damn, damn, damn! I cursed myself silently, not wanting to answer but knowing he wouldn’t let it alone. Shifting on the full moon was a given. But unlike the movies and stories that depict otherwise, werewolves need to shift more than once per month. And when they do, they have natural animalistic needs. Like a good run or a hunt. It was essential to ensure the wolf remained sated and content.
Noah would be livid when I told him the truth.
"Raven," he growled, the deep sound echoing off the windows, dash, and roof of the cabin.
"Before Mom died," I blurted and closed my eyes, keeping my head buried between my knees.
The fingers clamped around my neck went rigid.
Noah’s breathing changed, becoming heavy.
He was furious. I knew he would be.
I had only shifted once per month for the last four years, during which time I confined myself in a sturdy kennel reinforced with silver. It was a dangerous game I played, keeping my wolf in constant check, knowing I was taking a risk in doing so. Now Noah knew I’d all but abandoned that part of myself—his wolf's mate—for years.
I exhaled unevenly, still struggling to breathe. "I couldn’t exactly go for runs in the city. What did you think? That Steven took me for walks in the park on a leash?"