A Pack of Vows and Tears

by Olivia Wildenstein

  And then he said it again through the mind link.

  And again.

  And with each apology, he moved closer to me, chipping at the defensive wall I’d erected around myself. He must’ve sensed he was getting through to me, because he didn’t stop advancing until we were standing toe to toe.

  I raised my hand and pressed my palm into his black T-shirt. “Stop.”

  I wasn’t sure if he would, but he did.

  He stopped.

  Stopped speaking.

  Stopped moving.

  My hand tingled with his strong heartbeats, and my forehead prickled from his warm breaths. I lowered my gaze to his chin, smooth from a fresh shave.

  His lips moved to form my name.

  A slow burn traveled through my blood, concentrated in my navel, ignited there.

  “I need you,” he whispered.

  “Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that.”

  My words had the adverse effect on him.

  It untied his tongue, made him speak all the reasons he needed me—that I lent him strength, that I calmed him, that I made his life sweeter, brighter, better.

  “Give me another chance, babe. Give us another chance. I won’t screw it up this time. I understand what I stand to lose.” His chocolate eyes glowed in the lines of sun spilling through the blinds. I swear it on the pack.

  I hated his entire declaration, not because it was too little too late, but because it was too much too soon. “Don’t swear on the pack,” I whispered.

  “On my life then. I swear it on my life.”

  Shaking my head, I let my palm drift off his T-shirt, off his heart. My eyes stung.

  From Aidan’s scent.

  From Liam’s.

  “Liam, I can’t.”

  For a moment, his expression shuttered up, turned into his firm Alpha mask, but a flush had risen to my cheeks. A chink in my armor. Even though he didn’t lay a single finger on my body, his gaze traced the contours of my face. His earlier remorse and tentativeness were gone, replaced by something that all at once sharpened and softened all of his features.

  Hope.

  Even though I realized my grudge had faded, I also realized that giving Liam hope was unfair.

  “Not now, Liam. Not until my mind and body clear of the mating link.” Even though I appeared collected on the outside, chaos reigned inside of me. I was a mess of jumbled emotions and peculiar thoughts.

  “I’ll wait.” He gave me a look that was so bruisingly ardent my heart fired like a rifle. “The same way your . . . ”

  His voice dimmed as I noticed the hulking figure darkening the open doorway. My stomach contracted. How long had August been standing there?

  Liam exploited my moment of inattention to touch me. His fingers were suddenly on my face, pushing a lock of hair off my forehead.

  I pranced backward.

  He unhurriedly returned his hand to his side, seemingly unshaken by my reaction.

  “What did you just say? The same way my what?” I repeated tersely.

  “The same way your father waited for your mother.”

  “My father?” I frowned. “I don’t understand.” I glanced over his shoulder again, but the doorway was empty.

  “Remember how I told you mates didn’t always end up together the night of the pledging ceremony?”

  Ice filled my veins. “My father had a mate?”

  “No. My father had one.”

  What did Heath having a mate have to do with my father—

  Oh . . .

  Oh.

  My hand climbed up to my mouth. “My mom was your dad’s mate?”

  He didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. Just looked at what his revelation was doing to me. At the thoughts detonating inside my skull.

  My mother had been intended for Liam’s father, not for my own.

  Yet she’d picked my father.

  She’d loved him, not her mate.

  “It created quite the stir back in the day,” Liam said, walking over to the bed to sit on it. The stiff mattress creased under him. “Your mom was sixteen and had already been dating your father for three years. And my father . . . Well, he wasn’t looking to settle. But the mating link made tensions rise. I don’t know the full story. Just bits and pieces. My father was an angry drunk, but a voluble one.” Liam rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “A month or two into the link, he decided he did want to be with your mother, so he tried to woo her away from your dad. But, Maggie, she was in love with your father.” He studied one of the lines of sunshine that slashed the squeaky clean linoleum floor. “So you see, I don’t put much stock in mating links, Ness.”

  He raised his gaze back to my face. Although I was no longer clasping my mouth, it still gaped. I wasn’t sure whether it would ever close again.

  My mother and Heath?

  I shivered.

  “Maybe the moon, or the wolf God, or whatever’s up there”—he gestured noncommittally to the ceiling—“opens connections between people, but in the end, those people are still masters of their own destinies. Of their own hearts.”

  Dust motes spangled the air between us, coming in and out of focus.

  Liam didn’t speak for a long moment as though understanding that I needed time and silence to process this.

  “You and August have history. And unlike my father, August is a good guy, so I understand if you’re confused about how you feel about him—”

  The chill that had enveloped my body was replaced by lava-hot heat. I palmed the back of my neck, hoping my cool hand would drive the heat back down.

  “—but don’t forget how you felt about me before he came into the picture.”

  How the hell did he know I felt conflicted about August?

  Was it obvious?

  I didn’t want to have this conversation with Liam, the same way I hadn’t wanted to have it with Matt.

  Matt!

  He must’ve talked to Liam. Shared our weird conversation.

  I couldn’t handle this right now. I blinked out of my daze and started toward the door, my strides hurried.

  “And, Ness?” Liam called out.

  I didn’t stop. I just kept walking. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I couldn’t take anymore.

  But his voice trailed after me, clanking inside my mind: Remember that how you felt about me had nothing to do with magic.

  I clamped my hands over my ears—not that it could keep his voice out—and sped up, exiting the hospital.

  That night, over dinner, I asked Jeb about what Liam had told me, because I’d begun to have doubts. Doubts that Liam had planted this story inside my mind to redirect me toward him. He knew how deeply I’d admired my parents’ love, how deeply I wanted what they had.

  Jeb raked his hand through his thinning hair. “How did you find out?”

  “Liam told me.”

  I prodded the shrimp on my plate with the tines of my fork, just pushing it from one side to the other.

  “It’s true.”

  I whipped my gaze off the shrimp.

  “Should’ve seen your father . . . ” He got this faraway glint in his eyes. “Callum was terrified he would lose her, terrified she’d pick Heath, but Maggie never even spared Heath a glance. Your father was her first love. Her only one.”

  He inhaled a rickety breath and rocked onto his feet, gathering our plates without asking if I was done. He took them to the sink, scraped the rice and crustacean remnants into the bin, then hand washed both plates thoroughly.

  “True love is rare, Ness. But Maggie and Callum, they had it,” he added, wiping his hands on a towel.

  “Did you have it too? With Lucy. Before . . . everything.”

  “I thought I did. Perhaps I did.” He folded the towel, then refolded it. “To be honest, I don’t know anymore.” He set the plates on the drying rack before scrubbing down the sink and countertop.

  My uncle was a surprisingly neat person. I wasn’t sure why I’d assumed otherwise. Because he’d had a staff of cle
aners?

  Speaking of . . . “What’s happening with the inn?”

  Without removing his attention from the countertop, he said, “I’m trying to break the deal Everest—” His voice caught on his son’s name. He swallowed, which made his Adam’s apple joggle in his scruffy throat. “I’m trying to break the deal he struck with Aidan, trying to prove he wasn’t in his right mind when he struck it. What with Becca’s death . . . ”

  I hadn’t thought of Becca in a long time. Was Everest with her now? Did people find each other again in the afterlife? Was there an afterlife? I scraped off a congealed splash of coconut-curry sauce from the dining table with my fingernail.

  “My lawyer believes I have a real chance at dismantling the deal, but he warns me it might get pricey and could take a long time. He also warned me that he got a visit from a colleague yesterday who advised him to back off.”

  I felt my lids pull up real high. “He was threatened?”

  “You’re surprised? We are talking about Aidan Michaels, a man who shot his own wife.”

  My eyes widened further. Jeb knew about Evelyn? Had she told him or had Frank?

  “Are you going to pursue it?” I asked.

  “I built this inn on a parcel that’s been in the family for generations. You can bet I’m going to fight for it.” His tone made me jump. “Michaels has taken enough from this family, don’t you think?”

  I nodded. “I know Everest was probably killed by the Creeks, but do you think Aidan had a hand in it?”

  “He owns a hotel on Creek territory. Is it so farfetched to think they owed him a favor, and he collected on it?”

  No, it wasn’t. It absolutely wasn’t.

  “Have you told Liam about your theory?” I asked, stretching my arms over my head and yawning.

  “Yes. And he’s looking into it.”

  I wondered if Liam had found out anything. Wouldn’t he have called a pack gathering if he had, though?

  That night, I dreamed of Liam. But suddenly, Liam morphed into another man.

  One who looked so much like him.

  Heath.

  I woke up with a scream that had Jeb crashing through my bedroom door.

  “Sorry,” I rasped, trembling all over. “Just a nightmare.”

  Jeb’s eyes, which had started glowing like his wolf’s, dimmed. “Got plenty of those myself.” He turned to go but paused. “Want to talk about it?”

  I tucked my frigid hands under the pillow. “No.”

  I hadn’t spoken about the night I’d posed as an escort to get access to Heath with anyone but Everest. I’d hoped that not speaking about it would somehow erase the memory, but it had simply repressed it.

  “Wake me if you change your mind.”

  I closed my eyes, willing the nightmare to vanish when the sheets rustled. Jeb pulled the comforter over my shoulders and tucked it around me. And then he placed a palm on the top of my head.

  “I hope better dreams find you. You deserve better dreams. You deserve better everything.” His eyes shone like freshly buffed bone.

  Once he left, I watched the wall that divided our bedrooms for a long time, finally understanding why my mother had listed him as the emergency contact on my school forms. She’d known that if I ever needed saving, he would come through for me.

  29

  I was supposed to start at the Watts’ the following day, but August texted me that it would be better if I began once his mother was released from the hospital. He’d have more time to show me the ropes.

  So another day passed before I drove myself to my new job.

  Jeb sat in the passenger seat. Where Sarah liked to tell me every little thing I could do better—she was annoying but thorough—he offered advice sparingly. Mostly he complimented my driving, which felt incredibly empowering, and then he told me Greg would come over that evening to give me an eye exam.

  “Greg’s an ophthalmologist?” I asked, sliding to a stop in front of the Watts’ warehouse.

  “No. But our eyes . . . our eyesight . . . it’s not quite the same as humans.”

  My mouth rounded. And here I’d been ready to book an appointment with any old eye doctor. Good thing I hadn’t.

  Jeb got out of the Boulder Inn van and walked around the bumper. I took off my seatbelt and hopped out. As he took the seat I’d just vacated, he said, “You know, I could give you an allowance.”

  “And you know I would never accept it.”

  “Just as stubborn as Maggie.”

  Proud, not stubborn, although I would take any comparison to my mother.

  “Call me when you’re done,” he said. “I’ll come pick you up.”

  “Jeb?”

  Although he clutched the handle, he didn’t swing the car door shut. “Yes?”

  “I’m happy I forgot to collect my high school diploma.”

  His forehead grooved, but then it smoothed, not entirely but a little; too much grief left indelible traces. “I’m happy you forgot too.”

  We smiled at each other a moment, then he tipped his head to the warehouse. “Scram, kiddo. You don’t want to be late on your first day.”

  I backed away from the van and strode toward the warehouse. The second I set foot inside, memories of the last trial came pouring down over me. It was as though the semi-circle of men glaring down at me, the girl who’d challenged their boy, was still here. I looked away from the sawdust-covered floor and scanned the brightly lit space with its aisles upon aisles of tall metal shelving and its enormous worktables upon which carpenters were measuring slabs of wood or sanding them down.

  I felt like a kid again, visiting my father at work. August would pick me up from school, then, after a pitstop at the ice cream parlor, he’d drive me over here. I wondered if the ice cream was as good as I remembered.

  “Ness.” A gravelly voice jerked my mind off the past.

  August was standing by one of the aisles, an electronic tablet clutched beneath his arm. I walked over to him, garnering quite a few curious gazes from the employees.

  “How’s your mother?” I asked, tucking strands of loose hair behind my ears.

  “Already on her feet when she shouldn’t be.” There was a startling gruffness to his tone, as though he was angry with his mother. “Let’s get you set up in the office.” He strode toward the glass enclosure at the back of the building without uttering a single word to me.

  Once we reached the deserted office, I hooked my bag to the peg by the door.

  “Dad jotted down some adjustments a client of ours requested. I need you to pull up the quote we gave that client, check what we’re taking out, type in what we’re adding, then look through our list of suppliers, call them up, and find us the best and timeliest deals.” August handed me a stapled printout, turned on the office computer, and pulled up a file that listed all the amendments that were to be made.

  I took my seat on the wheelie chair. “Do I factor in any commissions to the prices I obtain?”

  “No. We charge a rate on the overall project.” He stared at the huge beige printer in the corner as though it had wronged him.

  “Are you okay?”

  His green eyes flashed to mine, then to the computer keypad. “Just tired,” he said before returning to the door. With an almost clinical detachment, he added, “Once you’re done updating the quote, email it to me. August@Watt.com.”

  And then he was gone, and I didn’t see him the rest of the day. But I did get an email from him with more things to do. Working kept me busy and kept me from thinking about his crabbiness. The warehouse grew silent as the hours ticked by, as I double-checked spreadsheet after spreadsheet to make sure the money received corresponded to the money owed.

  I’d always liked numbers, so the job August had saddled me with didn’t feel like work at all. I’d even have called it fun, albeit a tad disheartening. Disheartening because my access to the company’s finances showed me how it had thrived. Would my father have managed to turn his carpentry business into the hundr
ed million dollar construction company it had become?

  A knock snapped my gaze off the computer monitor.

  “August told me to close the place down for the night,” said a man with an enlarged nose, teeming with burst blood vessels, and cheeks that were slightly purple. He had a smear of wood stain across his temple and a couple more on the top of his denim overalls.

  “Oh. Okay.” I saved the document before shutting down the computer and grabbing my bag. As we walked through the deserted warehouse, I sensed the man glancing my way repeatedly.

  When I caught him at it, he reddened all over and said, “You look exactly like your mom, but with Callum’s dimples.”

  I blinked at him, sifting through my memories to place him.

  He hooked his thumbs under the straps of his overalls. “Tom. I’m Tom.”

  “Uncle Tom?” I said so excitedly that he shot me a toothy grin.

  The nickname had been given to him by my father who’d considered him family. Especially after Tom lost his wife, daughter, son-in-law, and grandkid one blustery Christmas Eve. He’d been behind the wheel when he hit a patch of black ice. The car ended up wrapped around a tree.

  “I can’t believe you still work here,” I said.

  He grimaced. “I’m old, I know.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t why I said that!” Aw, crap. Now I felt awful. I hooked my bag higher up my shoulder. “I’m just surprised to see a familiar face, that’s all.”

  His grimace finally receded. “The Watts are good people.”

  I smiled at him. “They are.”

  “How long—” He darted a glance at his scuffed work boots before looking at me from underneath stubby blond lashes. “How long will you be helping out? Rest of the summer? Or just until Isobel gets better?”

  “That’s not up to me.”

  He held the door of the warehouse open for me to step through. As he shut the heavy door, he asked, “Still carving little figurines?”

  “No.” I lifted my eyes to the star-strewn immensity over our head. “Haven’t had a chance to do that in a long time.” My father had taught me, but I wasn’t ever good at it—not like August. Everything he carved looked so lifelike.