by RJ Blain
Dad sighed. “How did this become about me?”
“You’re the eligible bachelor. Once I’m done making plans for Matia’s wedding, I in—”
“Wedding? What wedding?” Dad twisted around in his seat, and his dismay and shock were so potent I sneezed.
I flattened my ears and glared at my grandmother.
“The one I will plan for my beautiful granddaughter, of course. As if I’d let some wolf cart her off without marrying her first. She shall be properly chaperoned, too, Ralph Daniel Evans. Am I understood? No couples will be sneaking out of New York to elope. Take responsibility.”
“How is this my fault?”
“You refused to let me bring in suitors for her. If you didn’t want her with a submissive, then you should have let me arrange courtships. This is entirely your fault.”
I turned on Ryan’s lap, nosed my way under his shirt, and hid, wishing I could disappear.
Things had been so much easier before I had become a Fenerec, but I couldn’t help but think I had dodged a very nasty bullet.
The high rise apartment building wasn’t home, but it smelled like Ryan, although his scent had faded. Someone had dusted the place recently; to a human nose, the offensive lemon cleaner was probably pleasant.
A sleep-befuddled Ryan staggered into the suite, fumbled for the light switch, and made it to the couch before collapsing, half his body hanging off the cushion. I wanted to fall into a stupor with him, but Dad refused to put me down, cradling me in his arm.
“This is Ryan’s place?” Dad asked, turning to Dalton, who was hanging his coat on the rack beside the door.
“One of them. He has at least one place in every major city along the east coast. He has three apartments in New York City. I picked this one because it’s closest to your residence. The Inquisition owns most of them, though.”
My grandmother swept past my father, slowing long enough to snag me by the scruff and take custody of me. “That’s unusual. Why?”
Dalton strode into the kitchen and sat on one of the stools surrounding the island. “It makes his work easier. If he doesn’t have to worry about where he’ll be staying, he can focus on his assignment. He can give you more details about it later, if you’re interested. For now, I’d like to lay out our current assignment and find out what you know.”
The rest of Dalton’s pack came in, beelining for the living room. Most, like Ryan, found a place to flop and were asleep within moments. Gavin remained awake, sitting beside Dalton in the kitchen, his attention focused on my grandmother, who set me on the island counter.
While my grandmother was a force to be feared all on her own, my grandfather was even worse, and he stood tall and straight, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring down his nose at Dalton. “Explain the assignment.”
“The Inquisition wants Ryan and Matia to hunt down Harthel and deal with him. Once he’s gone, they’re to track down the rogue pack responsible for bombing La Guardia.”
“The Inquisition is sending Fenerec to kill a Normal?” my grandmother shrieked.
Dalton sighed. “If necessary. The first phase of the assignment is to find out if it’s possible to get sufficient evidence to incarcerate him. If it isn’t possible, yes, the Inquisition is sanctioning the death of a Normal. He’s too much of a risk to your son, your granddaughter, and the entirety of their business, which employs a substantial number of witches and Fenerec.”
“Risk management,” my grandmother spat.
The anger in my grandmother’s scent worried my wolf, and I retreated across the counter. While I was tempted to jump and make a run for it, it was a long way to the floor. With a huff of dismay, I sat, curled my tail around me, and flattened my ears.
“Necessary risk management. My pack has been given authorization to help. I can put in a request for your pack’s assistance if you can convince your Alpha to help.”
My grandparents exchanged long looks, and my grandfather growled before saying, “He won’t. She’s not a part of our pack, and neither is Ralph.”
The silence stretched on, broken by the hum of the refrigerator and the faint honking of a horn somewhere far below on the streets. Gavin thumped his elbows to the counter and clutched his hair. “Your Alpha is a waste of air. A coward, a worthless mutt. He acts like he’s entitled to his territory and does nothing to protect it. La Guardia is part of his turf. He should have been the first in line seeking justice and putting an end to the rogue pack.”
“Gavin,” Dalton warned.
“Damn it, it’s true, sir. We’re limited to a fraction of Long Island while that so-called Alpha cries if anyone tries to edge in on his territory. If he can’t protect it, he doesn’t deserve to have it.”
“While I’m not disagreeing, be respectful. He does let us infringe on his territory.”
“Don’t feel like you need to hold your tongue,” my grandmother said, offering her sweetest smile.
I knew trouble when I saw it, and between my wariness and my grandmother’s expression, my wolf retreated to the recesses of my head, leaving me to cope with her on my own.
If she decided to join forces with my grandfather, I doubted even Dalton would be able to withstand them. On her own, my grandmother was enough to worry me, but my grandfather was the quiet, stealthy type, biding his time for the perfect moment to strike.
Most of the time, he orchestrated pranks on his victims. Sometimes, he revealed his most potent weapon: his sharp but honest tongue.
The truth was difficult to fight against, and my grandfather only picked battles he knew he would win.
“I fully intend to pressure Ryan into joining my pack,” Dalton declared, matching my grandfather’s stiff posture and cold expression. “Your Alpha is incapable of safeguarding someone so submissive, nor is he capable of handling someone like Matia.”
My grandfather relaxed. “Now you’re talking sense, Mr. Sinclair. You’re correct. Our pack is ill suited for a submissive, and of course my son’s girl would be dominant. We raised her right.”
Dad sighed. “Can we get back to business, please? Some of us have to go to work tomorrow.”
I twisted around in search of Sam and spotted him near the door. With an arched brow, our driver said, “How are you going to handle that, by the way? Everyone knows she was kidnapped.”
“I’ll tell them she was found and is recovering, and I’ll do a good job of complaining about how she cruelly forced me to work. I’ll come up something. I’m not going to let Chuck get away with anything, which means I need to keep going to work and close every last loophole he might use to infiltrate Pallodia. I also need to keep searching for anyone who might be one of his accomplices.” Dad clacked his teeth together and shook his head. “Until I can figure out how to hide the fact Matia is well, it’s best she doesn’t come to the office at all.”
Dalton nodded. “You have to maintain appearances, too, Mr. Little.”
Sam sighed and nodded.
“One of my pack will be tailing your car to make sure nothing happens to either one of you. With your permission, I’d like to use you as bait. If those responsible for Miss Evans’s kidnapping are still around, there’s a chance they might follow you to find her.”
“Those?” Dad demanded. “Chuck has accomplices?”
“We have no way of knowing. Until there is evidence he’s working alone, I’m going to assume he has people helping him. That’s safer for everyone involved.”
“How is Matia going to be involved?”
“For the moment, her exposure to the assignment will be limited to intel gathering and drawing Harthel out. Infiltration is more Ryan’s specialty than mine. Consider me the firepower of the operation.”
During the long silence following Dalton’s words, everyone stared at the Fenerec sprawled on the couch. I wanted to join Ryan, but I wasn’t willing to sacrifice the opportunity to learn more.
Watching him sleep was enough to make me yawn.
“I wasn’t expecting him to p
ass out like that,” Dad admitted.
“Ritual sickness,” Dalton explained. “Normally, the entire pack would have helped, but since he doesn’t have a pack, he’s been doing the work alone. I doubt he got more than a few minutes of sleep since he found her. I was hoping he’d stay awake longer, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Tomorrow, we’ll begin the groundwork, find out what we’re up against, and start building a plan. I’ll contact you about the insider information we’ll need regarding Harthel and his activities. Someone is already going through all the correspondence we have on him. Until Ryan’s back on his feet, there’s not a whole lot we can do, and we could all use some sleep.”
I was relieved when everyone agreed with the Alpha, although it was almost another hour before Dad and my grandparents left with Sam. Dalton and his pack stayed and stood guard over Ryan, which my wolf was grateful for.
With so many others around, others she believed wanted to keep Ryan safe, we were able to sleep.
Hunger woke me. Ryan’s scent filled my nose, and it was tempting to fall back asleep, but the nearby presence of so many other Fenerec roused my wolf and put her on edge. The males slept on the living room carpet, their snores and fainter whistles filling the silence between horns honking on the busy streets outside.
I wiggled out of Ryan’s arms, worked my way to the edge of the couch cushion, and jumped down to the floor. The landing jarred my bones, and my sore muscles protested. Ignoring the ache, I dodged around the sleepers littering the floor and padded my way into the kitchen.
Staring up at the refrigerator and distant cupboards, I understood the pleading stares of dogs far too well. If I wanted food, I needed hands. My wolf agreed, but if she knew how to begin the painful transformation process, she didn’t reveal the secret.
Since wishful thinking wasn’t going to satisfy my stomach and I wasn’t quite hungry enough to resort to cannibalism, I explored Ryan’s apartment, nosing open doors and breathing in the scents.
His presence was strongest in the bedroom. I nosed the door closed and sat, huffing my annoyance at my ignorance. Ryan and the other Fenerec had no difficulties shifting shapes, and while he had assured me it would take time and practice, feeling so helpless and small was driving me to the end of my patience.
All I wanted was breakfast—and coffee.
Coffee could fix anything, or at least make it tolerable. I had so many questions and no way to ask them, which didn’t help my mood in the slightest. I wanted to return to work and retreat to the comfortable familiarity of my life.
Until Harthel was dealt with, I’d worry about everyone around me. The man had used me to hurt my father once, and I had no doubts he’d try to do something again. I had no idea what I could do about the Fenerec behind the bombing of La Guardia, but I’d ask as soon as I was a human again.
But how?
When Ryan forced me to shift, he always looked me in the eyes. A split second before the pain began, there had been a tugging in my head. Closing my eyes, I focused on my memories of transformation, tensing in anticipation of my bones breaking and muscles snapping.
My wolf whined her hunger and impatience in my head, and I voiced a growl at the distraction. The noises I made only served to reinforce the fact I was no longer human.
If I managed to shift, I would be one step closer to being able to resume my life. It could be done. My family had proven that much to me.
While Dad wasn’t a Fenerec—a werewolf—his parents were, and they had hidden the truth from me all my life. What else didn’t I know?
The life of a Fenerec seemed brutal and dangerous. If they had lied about being human, leaving me in the dark about the reality of their life, what else had they hidden from me?
I blamed my worries on my inability to unlock the trick of transformation. Shame at my failure to become human drove me into hiding under Ryan’s bed, and the fear of doing something I would regret while a wolf kept me there.
Chapter Twenty-One
Overcoming limitations had been an integral part of my life before the bombing of La Guardia airport. My inability to become human was another failure in a string of them, and I hated myself for my helplessness and ignorance. Anger and frustration boiled in my veins, and my wolf retreated, wary of the rage kindling under my skin.
If I couldn’t control which shape I took, how could I regain any control over my life? How could I do anything? I would be a risk to those around me. Ryan didn’t seem to mind, but Dad had been convinced I would hurt him before I learned how to control myself.
I had hurt Dad enough. I wanted to go home, where everything was normal—except there was nothing normal waiting for me at home.
My grandparents were Fenerec, too, and Dad knew far more about the supernatural than I ever had believed possible.
The hardest day at work was far easier than trying to adapt to life as a Fenerec. Despite being aware of my wolf and her impulses, I couldn’t control them—or her. How long would it be before she took control of me?
Worse, how long would it be until she ate away at my humanity? Knowing Ryan would one day fade away and be killed as a dangerous, uncontrolled beast was bad enough. The fear he’d be killed stabbed me deep.
The solution seemed so simple but so difficult at the same time. A pack would solve everything, but as long as Ryan feared being constrained and restricted, there was nothing I could do.
I had given my word, and I already regretted it. If I couldn’t master transforming between wolf and human, I had no hope of doing anything to help him, no matter how much I wanted to.
There were shoe boxes and storage containers under the bed, and I hid among them, curling up so I could tuck my nose under my tail. I still hungered, but I didn’t want anyone to see my failure, to see me unable to do as they did, shifting at will despite the pain of transforming.
It was a lot easier to pretend I wasn’t afraid of my inadequacies when I stood on two feet, could speak, and take care of myself. How could I protect Ryan from those who would cage him if I couldn’t handle life as a Fenerec—as a werewolf?
What could I do?
Nothing.
I had no idea how he did it, but Ryan found me with ease, snaking his arm between the boxes to grab hold of my scruff. With a triumphant huff, he pulled me out from beneath the bed. “What are you doing?”
I pinned my ears and bared my teeth at him.
Unperturbed by my display of aggression, Ryan set me on the middle of the bed and flopped onto the mattress beside me. “I sent the others away for a while. They’ll be back tonight with your father. I suggested it might be wise to give you a chance to make yourself at home before they come stomping in your territory.”
I sighed.
“You’re upset. Ah, you want to shift?” Shaking his head, Ryan gave my head and ears a brisk rub. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It could be several months before you get the hang of it. It took me almost six months to shift without someone helping me. Once you get the hang of it, you’ll be able to influence other Fenerec to shift, too. It’s easier for dominants.”
I sighed again.
“We’ll talk about it once you’re human again.”
Ryan took hold of my muzzle and forced me to look him in the eye. A sense of something being tugged in my head was all the warning I had before the pain of shifting took hold. When it finally faded, I panted to catch my breath.
Sweat covered me, and I shivered in the room’s cool air. Ryan leaned over me and pressed his lips to the side of my neck. My body relaxed under his touch.
“I’ll make you something to eat. There are sweats that should fit in the dresser. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
It was tempting to stay nestled in the blankets. While my wolf’s presence remained in my head, she dozed. I trembled from the aftermath of transformation, but I worked up the willpower to crawl out of bed and dig through the dresser for a pair of sweats.
Black and grays dominated the collection, although one of the gray
hues seemed brighter the rest. I picked the set and pulled it on. Stifling a yawn, I headed for the kitchen.
Ryan dumped a cutting board’s worth of meat into a frying pan. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, flashed me a smile, and returned to his work.
“What color is this?” I asked, gesturing to the sweats.
“Neon pink.”
I stared down at the shirt and plucked at the soft fabric. While the hue—color—seemed bright, I had been under the impression neon colors could blind with their intensity. “You have neon pink sweats?”
“I try to keep a collection of clothing suitable for all ages and genders; makes it easier when another Fenerec comes calling. We tend to destroy clothing.”
“I thought neon colors were a lot brighter than this.”
“It’s bright.” Ryan picked up a bottle next to the sink and held it up. “What color do you see?”
“Gray.”
“It’s bright blue. Pinks are a part of the red spectrum. I avoid the color red usually.” Ryan set the bottle down, looked around the kitchen, and held up a knife. “Do you see any color?”
I shook my head.
“It’s yellow. Give it time. Maybe you’re not really seeing the actual color yet. We can do some experiments later if you’d like. I hope you like stew. I’m a one-trick pony when it comes to the kitchen.”
“I don’t mind stew.” I was hungry enough I would’ve considered eating the meat raw. “Want any help?”
“There are potatoes in the cabinet there.” Ryan pointed. “Ten should do.”
Despite knowing how much I could eat, the potatoes hammered home how becoming a Fenerec had changed me. Before, one would have filled me. Instead of complaining about it, I rinsed them in the sink. “Skins on?”
“Please.”
I found a second cutting board near the knives. Content with having a task, I went to work, chopping while Ryan watched the meat. The silence comforted me, as did the knowledge I didn’t have to speak.