by J. A. Saare
"Save it." His voice was distorted and throaty. A very possessive hand gripped my neck, gentle but heavy. He moved against me, and I was aware that he needed the nearness. "Don’t say anything else. I’m already walking a precariously thin line. If you set me off, I’ll have a hell of a time keeping my wolf in check. Then we’d both lose control."
We sat together as the air in the truck cabin became oppressing and heavy. Beads of perspiration formed on my forehead and trickled down my back. As much as I loved the south, I despised the humidity that came along with it. When Noah finally spoke, his voice was normal, his control rock solid.
"When we get inside, I want you to go to our room and shift. You need to rest and heal. I’ll handle Trish and Jon. You can speak to them before we leave to visit Peter."
I nodded in response. I felt relieved, grateful, and with the sweat dripping along my face and spine, dreadfully icky.
He pressed his body against me, his chest sliding over my shoulders as he reached for the door handle and tugged. The fresh air was a relief against the stale furnace we were trapped inside, allowing us both to breathe easier. As he moved away I righted myself, pushing sweat drenched strands of hair away from my face. I slid from the sticky leather seat, landed on my good leg, and closed the door behind me.
Noah retrieved the keys from the ignition and exited the vehicle. The door slammed, and I listened to the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes as he walked from the truck to the house. He combed his fingers through his sticky hair, clearly agitated as he took the stairs two at a time. Three long strides across the porch brought him directly to the front door.
He stopped and turned. Dark blue eyes accentuated by wisps of silver along the pupils homed on mine. "I mean it. Go to our room, shift, and get some rest. No phone calls, no distractions. "
Nodding again, I cleared my throat. "Okay."
Noah grasped the handle and stepped inside, leaving the door open.
I made my way across the gravel favoring my right leg. When I came to the door and stepped inside, I was assailed by the familiar smells of the pack, along with fresh wood and paint. Traces of each individual that resided there we present, on the furniture and in the walls. A few things changed since my departure. The furniture was updated, the carpet was new, and the flat screen had been exchanged for an enormous 4K television that was bolted into the wall.
Trisha’s soft voice was muffled as she spoke with Noah in the kitchen. After a moment, Jon’s deep baritone joined them. I could have eavesdropped, discovering exactly what Trisha and Jon thought, but I started for the stairs against the far left wall instead, navigating each one cautiously. The hallway at the top went further to the left than before—the extension to the new part of the house. Two doors were on either side of the hall, and both were closed.
I went the opposite direction, hobbling to the door at the end of the hall on the right. Considering the events of the last seventy-two hours, opening a door should have been easy. But it took every ounce of courage I had to grasp that cool, metal door knob and open it.
Noah’s scent was everywhere, cramming the space and encasing me.
I stepped past the frame and closed the door before I lost my nerve. Everything was exactly as I remembered. The king sized, four poster bed was in the same spot against the wall, adorned with dark red linens and a matching duvet. The large drapes that had been pulled open revealed the massive stained glass window Noah had installed just for me. My brush was in the same place on the long oak dresser—a smattering of dust littered the bristles and random strands of blonde hair—the diamond stud earrings that were a birthday gift from Noah rested just beside it. I walked to the closet and peered inside. My clothing also remained untouched, hanging neatly on the right side rack directly across from Noah’s.
Memories of happier times arose, and I tried to keep them tucked away. A few managed to slip past and, understandably, they were the worst. I’d lost more than my virginity in the very bedroom I stood in. I’d also learned the truth about Noah, the pack, and what they'd done when I'd arrived at the compound long ago.
It was devastating and so very wrong.
My heart had been broken in the same place it had awakened.
My right thigh throbbed—breaking me free of the past—and reminded me of the reason I’d come to the bedroom in the first place. I needed to shift and rest. A good, solid sleep would do me right and allow a short reprieve from what I was sure to face later in the day.
Peeling off the sweaty clothes allowed the chilled air to cool my sweltering skin, and I didn’t rush to shift, enjoying the excellence of quality air conditioning until I worried Noah might decide to check in.
Lowering myself into a crouch and bowing my spine, I willed the wolf to emerge. The painful ache in my bones increased and the burning stretch in my muscles and skin took over. Shifting was never enjoyable. The agony of going from one form to the other was something I wasn't sure I’d never get used to. I kept my miserable whimpers muffled, even as the bone in my right leg constricted, found shape, and reformed. Once that was taken care of, the rest occurred quickly. When blessedly finished, I laid limply across the carpet, chest heaving and muscles protesting.
It served me right.
Changing infrequently meant shifting didn’t come easily or naturally.
Somehow, I scrounged up the necessary energy to leap from the floor onto the bed. The soft billowy comforter padded my landing, floating outward from the sides of the bed before settling beneath my paws. I rotated in a semicircle on the cushiony material and situated myself in the center, leaving my throbbing right leg stretched out.
Noah’s unique earthy scent was stronger in the place he slept. I drew the woodsy fragrance into my nostrils as I had done so often in the past and closed my eyes.
Memories surfaced again, and for the first time in years, I allowed them to. It was impossible to ignore them here, in the house I had once called home, in the bed Noah and I had once shared. I basked in the recollection of the events that brought me comfort versus pain, pretending they were dreams instead of actual memories.
I was so defeated and exhausted, weariness took over.
Within minutes, I slept.
◆◆◆
The jangle of the door knob jarred me from the land of dreams into a hazy wakefulness. I forced my weighted lids open and lifted my head from the mattress just as Noah walked in. He met my sleepy eyes as he stepped into the bedroom and closed the door with a flick of his wrist.
"Sleep well?"
A shallow grunt was all I could manage.
He smiled and moved over to the bed, taking a seat beside me. He nodded at my straightened limb and asked, "And the leg?"
The moment of truth.
I would have grumbled and complained if I had the proper set of functioning vocal cords to produce comprehensive syllables. I held my breath as I brought the leg toward my belly, waiting for a sharp burn or dull pain. To my relief, the motion was smooth with only a mild ache.
"Good." Noah’s relief was obvious.
He smiled and reached over with his large hand to rub behind my right ear. The contact was incredible. He found the most sensitive spot right behind the flap and rubbed gently. My eyes slid closed as a soft whoosh escaped my nostrils, crafting a contented sigh.
I leaned into his touch, glorying in it.
"Still stubborn. Still holding a grudge." He bent closer and whispered, "Still predictable."
Snorting, I twisted my head free of his grasp. I stood and leapt from the bed, bracing for impact as the floor swiftly approached. My legs handled the weight easily—including the once lame right.
Noah sighed and rose. Folding his arms and peering down, he stared at me from across the bed. "I wanted to let you rest for another hour or so, but Max called. He said we could show up for dinner at his place before or after we meet with Peter. I chose after."
My shoulders slumped, and my tail sagged.
Damn it to hell. My father.
Leaving my mother was reason enough to resent the man, but ditching her for another woman—who happened to be his mate—was an even bigger one. He dropped out of the picture in deference to Mom's wish to raise what she had hoped was a completely human child. He sent checks in the mail each month, supporting me even if he didn’t technically raise me. It wasn’t fair of me to hate a man for something he and his mate couldn’t control. However, over the last twelve years, I’d managed to do a pretty fine job of it. Max soaked in the good life with Barbara while my Mom had lived in a trailer park, raising a rambunctious daughter on her own.
Aware of exactly where my mind was, Noah reminded me softly, "Best to suck it up now, angel. If you don’t, Max will be waiting on the doorstep by the time we make it home."
Knowing he was right, I snorted my agreement, turned, and padded into the bathroom. After spinning around and peering up at Noah for a moment, I slid the door closed with my muzzle.
The docket was booked. I had enough of my plate for the moment.
First on the itinerary was a hot shower. Second was the reunion with my former best friend, Trisha, and her husband, Jonathan. Afterward came what could be a good or bad meeting with the wolf-man, Peter.
Until then, Max would have to wait.
He would get my attention soon enough.
◆◆◆
Three things I noted upon setting eyes for Trisha for the first time in years. She was still as beautiful, tall, and blonde as her sibling. She retained a good portion of guilt over her involvement in my absence, which I could ascertain from the scent of her nervousness and fear. And she was pregnant
Very, very, pregnant.
There was a reason for the recent renovations to the house, leaving the scent of fresh wood, sawdust, and paint lingering heavy in the air. A new addition to the pack was on the way. As I gawked at her belly, Trisha fidgeted, her long legs covered by a billowy purple skirt shifting from left to right. Jonathan remained glued to her side but didn't say a word, letting her be the first to speak. His dark eyes did dart in my direction several times, and I saw the silent warning aimed in my direction. Being angry at an old friend, he would allow. Being spiteful with his pregnant mate, on the other hand, would not be tolerated.
After an extended silence, she said, "You look great."
"So do you," I replied automatically. I couldn’t stop staring at her enormous tummy, or the protruding belly button that pressed outward from her very snug camisole.
My attention caused her to wrap both hands around the rounded swell, her fingers gently caressing the surface in a circular motion. She peered past my shoulder at her brother. "Noah didn’t tell you?"
"No, he didn't." I shook my head, still gawking, and cleared my throat, coming out of the shock zone. "Congratulations."
"Thank you." She gave me a breathtaking grin that could move mountains.
Feeling awkward and desperate, I struggled to find something—anything—to say. I glanced at Jonathan. "When’s the baby due?"
"It’s a girl, and she’s due in three weeks," he answered.
Jonathan placed a large tanned hand over Trisha’s. He wasn’t as friendly, but I didn’t mind. He was protecting his mate, watching out for her. That was his job, and if memory served, he was damn good at it. Trisha smiled again, relaxing her slim shoulders as she laughed.
"If I make it that long," she confessed. "I was warned a pregnancy in the summer was the worst, but I had no idea. The hot flashes are bad enough without his heat."
I contemplated her basketball shaped belly. "I bet."
"So how are you?" Trisha’s laughter vanished, her blue eyes serious. I recognized the shimmer in them. She was trying not to cry. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the hormones, or if it was a part of the guilt Michael said she experienced after I’d left.
"I’m good," I answered in the happiest tone I could manage.
"When we got the news..." Her voice cracked. "We’ve been so worried, Ray. We didn’t know where you went or—" She stopped, and I felt her fear and worry intensify, the febrile, peppered scent of her anxiousness potent and heady. "If you were dead."
"I'm fine. See? I'm standing right in front of you. I’m okay, really." I managed to produce a smile, although it was weak. "I needed a change of scenery after..." Damn it, I didn’t want to discuss Mom or her illness. I spoke without thinking. "New York is perfect. You’d love it there."
Jonathan’s narrowed eyes, Noah’s low growl, and the surge of energy that surrounded me, clued me into the fact that wasn’t the right thing to say.
Great Raven. I peered over at the livid alpha behind me and then back at Trisha’s imposing husband. Remind them why you left and what it meant for them as a unit.
"Back off, you two," Trisha snapped, her blue irises shifting silver in the centers. "She just got back. Cut her some slack."
Tense seconds lapsed, the steady ticking of the nearby wall clock pounding in my ears. Jonathan quieted before Noah did, making sure I got a nice, look long at his seething glare, before he glided past Trisha to the fridge and pulled the stainless steel door open. He might have taken my side before, but I was willing to bet my mistakes with the pack were far worse than he perceived Noah’s to be.
"I’m going to get Peter’s file." Noah’s throaty and angry voice echoed from behind me. "Then we have to go. Max is expecting us for dinner by seven."
Pounding footsteps signaled his departure, and Trisha offered an encouraging smile. "I'm glad you're home. I've missed you." When I didn't respond, she asked, "You’re going to see your dad?"
For a split second, I considered walking to the center island, taking a stool, and telling her everything. It was like old times being around Trisha. She was always easy to talk to, super supportive and easy to get along with. Completely unlike her brother. Which was why I had been so overcome when I learned she'd repeated all of our conversations to Noah, telling him anything and everything he wanted to know about me.
Damn it.
I couldn't lose my temper right now. Things were already heated.
Reclining against the nearest counter, I shrugged. "I don't have much of a choice in the matter. He’ll come here if I don’t go there."
She gave me an odd look. "A lot has changed since you left."
It was an incredibly weak but true statement. "That’s the rumor."
"I’m glad you find this so amusing," Jonathan remarked in a flat tone, walking to the center island. "While everyone here has wondered if you were dead or alive, you’ve been living the good life with a human."
"Jon," Trisha’s said, distressed, "please."
"I can't help it, Trish." He peered into her anguished face, and his eyes softened. "She needs to hear this. She can’t just waltz back into the pack like nothing has happened. She's acting like what she didn't affect any of us. She caused all of us so many problems. We lived in absolute chaos for years. Her lack of remorse is intolerable."
He was right, but I didn't want to hear it.
I had my reasons for leaving.
They were well aware of them.
"Actually," I stated, giving them a thin smile. "You don't have to tolerate me for that long. I’m only here until the full moon. After that, I'm going back to the city."
Jon’s black eyes flashed amber. The plastic bottle in his hand was crushed between his fingers. Water exploded along the island, his hand, and the floor. Trisha’s reaction was a quiet gasp, and a fresh wash of tears. She clutched at her stomach, as if the child nestled inside her womb might experience her pain as well. I stared at Trisha’s swollen belly, fighting the instinctual urge to comfort, protect, and shelter her in my arms. If things were different, I'd have been given the chance to love the little girl as though she were my own. Now, as things were, she was a child I may or may not know from afar.
Regret hit. Crashing over me.
These two, no matter what they had done and how much I resented them for it, had feelings, too. I had once considered Trisha and
Jonathan dear friends. I had watched over them and looked forward to becoming their lupa. They had been left weak and unprepared when I'd left them. The loss would have been devastating. And there was zero doubt trouble had arisen when I'd gone missing. I realized they must have thought I'd returned to make amends. Up until then, they'd only contemplated forgiving me and moving forward.
Noah hadn't told them.
They had no idea I intended to leave them again.
Words formed in my mind, but I couldn't speak.
I couldn't have if I tried.
For the first time in years, I felt truly ashamed of myself.
The loud stomping of Noah’s shoes on the stairs spurred me into action. I looked into at Trisha’s pensive face, then gazed at Jonathan’s outraged one, and said the only thing I could.
"I’m sorry."
My hip caught the edge of the counter when I spun around to flee the kitchen, but I absorbed the impact without a sound and embraced the pain. There was a reason pack mates were willing to bleed for one another. If they hurting, it was only fair that I be hurting too.
Chapter Four
Noah bestowed a nice slathering of the silent treatment while en route to Peter Doe’s house, which suited me just fine. I needed the time for more important things—like coming to terms with what had happened at the house, maintaining control of myself, and going over Peter's file.
He was a thirty-something, blond haired, brown eyed male, standing at an approximate six feet. He had tons of distinguishing marks—as in scars galore—along with an intricate tattoo just over his groin. The circular shape formed into a strange pattern, resembling tear shapes with black dots along the inside. He was discovered on the Tennessee side of the skyline by two hunters. He'd been bare ass naked and completely out of his melon. There were no witnesses aside from his rescuers, and missing person reports and fliers didn’t do squat to identify him. He seemed to have little to no memory of what had happened, and he didn’t know where he was from, what his full name was, or why he was wandering around the woods in the first place.