Yours, Mine and Howls: Werewolves in Love, Book 2

by Kinsey W. Holley

  Ally waved her away. “My stupid leg is already healing. I noticed you’re not shocked by the whole Becca-is-a-cat thing.”

  “Well, no, I’m not. I already knew she was a dyrkona.” At Ally’s blank look, she added, “That’s the Old Norse word for a female shapeshifter.”

  “You knew—” Ally gaped at Sarah Jane’s calm expression for a second.

  Then she lost it. “No. You know what, Sarah Jane? No. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of the way you and Dec have been keeping secrets and dropping hints and acting like you’re so anxious to tell us what’s going on, but you never seem to actually get around to telling us what’s going on, and you pop up out of fucking nowhere in the middle of the fucking woods acting like everything is just hunky dory—where the hell did you just come from, anyway?—and I swear to God if I find out any of this could’ve been avoided by one of you just talking to us, I’ll kick both your asses off the ranch and it’ll be a very, very long time before you see that little girl again, you hear me? Grandmother or not, you can’t just swan around here like— Are you crying? Oh hell, Sarah Jane, stop crying.” She put her arms around the older woman and hugged her.

  Nice going, Dead Girl. Make the grandmother cry.

  “You’re right,” Sarah Jane sobbed. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told Cade everything years ago, and so should Declan, but none of that had anything to with Stapkis, I promise. And—and I promise we’ll tell you everything as soon as we find Becca.” She cried a little more, then broke away with a small shake, wiping her eyes. “But your leg, honey, really, you need to sit down. We’re not far from that old hotel. Have Michael—”

  “What old hotel?”

  “She’s talking about the Fourmile Inn. It’s that way.” Michael pointed in a vaguely western direction. “We think that’s where Stapkis has been holed up.”

  “Wait,” said Ally. “Why didn’t the guys check—?”

  “I DON’T FUCKING KNOW!” he roared. The surrounding trees and underbrush exploded as startled birds took flight and small mammals dove for cover.

  Michael closed his eyes, shook his head, and took a deep, exasperated breath. “Sarah Jane,” he said wearily, “who are those guys?” He jerked his head toward three silent men standing beneath the trees lining the clearing.

  Ally knew at a glance they were high Fae. They were very tall and slender, all pale blond and beautiful in a way that made her skin crawl.

  “They’re here to take Adnar back to Keflavík.”

  “They might just be takin’ his body back, old girl,” said Dec, appearing with a black kitten in his arms.

  “Becca!” Ally shouted as she sprang to them. Or tried to spring to them. If Michael hadn’t caught her at the last minute, she would’ve collapsed. Her leg was healing, but it still wasn’t interested in doing its part to hold her up. Dec handed her the kitten.

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah Jane asked.

  Declan looked over at the three Fae. “You are the most useless fuckers I’ve ever seen in me life, and I’m deeply, deeply ashamed to be related to you, no matter how distantly. Every goddamn species on this earth evolves except you lot.”

  One Fae looked at Dec as if he smelled bad. The other two stared pointedly elsewhere.

  “Just checking if they speak English or not.” He winked at Ally.

  “And a good thing for you they don’t,” said Sarah Jane. “One of them has a talent for pain infliction and one can throw fire.”

  “What’s the third one’s talent?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Location, of course.”

  “If he has a talent for locating, why aren’t they with Adnar already?” asked Ally.

  “His talent can’t pinpoint it so precisely. It doesn’t work that way.”

  Dec grinned. “See? Fucking useless.”

  “Take us to them, Declan. Right now,” said Sarah Jane, tears vanished and air of elegant authority restored. She stroked Becca’s head and patted Ally on the arm. “We’ll see you in a minute, dear.”

  “Wait!” Ally said as they walked away. “Dec, where’s Cade? What’s he doing with Adnar? Dec? Shit! I’m sick of the way they ignore me like that!”

  Michael and Ally looked at each other.

  “She played you with that crying bit.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “All right. Let’s get going.” He scooped her up in his arms.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she shrieked, nearly dropping Becca.

  “It’s either this or I sling you over my shoulder. You really shouldn’t walk anymore, Freaky Girl.”

  “It’s Dead Girl. And I can feel my leg healing.”

  “Whatever.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  He forced himself to toss the beautiful blade in the air a few times, catching it by the embossed leather and gilt bronze haft, pretending to admire the weight and feel of it.

  He was ashamed, but not surprised, at the fear and revulsion coursing through him. It wasn’t the knife that had butchered his father, and he wasn’t the child who had witnessed it—but he found he had to keep reminding himself of that as he stared at Adnar.

  In spite of all the countless scenarios he’d devised for slaying his own personal monster, he’d never imagined it would be so easy and still so terrifying.

  Ally and Michael were talking somewhere nearby. For a moment he thought he heard Sarah Jane’s voice as well. He let it all fade into the background as he stared at the Fae who’d killed his father, driven his mother to suicide and his brother to an early grave, and haunted his childhood dreams off and on for over thirty years.

  “Nothing, nothing, has frightened me since I was eleven years old, because you were the scariest goddamned thing I’d ever seen in my life,” he surprised himself by saying out loud.

  If Adnar shared his surprise, he didn’t show it. It wasn’t like the Fae could understand him. Cade supposed he could call Dec back, or go find Dylan to translate. But he doubted Adnar would have much to say, and he didn’t really care if he was talking to himself.

  “I always thought killing you would…I don’t know. Help, somehow. Ally would say I was looking for closure.” He shrugged. “Maybe I don’t need closure. Maybe I’ve always had what I needed—my family and my pack. Whatever Dec has to tell me won’t change that. I don’t even think I’m gonna have The Dream anymore.”

  Adnar remained on his knees, motionless, but his eyes followed the knife as Cade talked, tracking its path up into the air and back down, again and again.

  Suddenly Cade caught it, wrapping his hand around the haft with the blade pointing up. Their gazes locked.

  He fought the shudder that threatened to rack him as he met Adnar’s cold and alien stare. He wouldn’t swallow, or take a deep breath, or do anything which might betray even a hint of what he was feeling.

  If you couldn’t make everyone else believe that you believed you were the most fearless son of a bitch on the planet, you had no business being a Pack Alpha.

  “I think you’re the one who needs closure. You spent thirty years waiting for another chance to go after my mother, and now you find out she’s been dead the whole time and it’s all your fault. I mean, Jesus. Killing you would be a mercy.”

  He finally took a deep breath and adjusted his grip on the knife. “But I’m gonna do it anyway.”

  One clean motion, right to left, ear to ear. He sidestepped the geyser of blood, as dark and red as any human’s or werewolf’s. The body pitched forward. With the toe of his boot, he turned it over and stared, waiting until the last, faintest flicker of life was gone.

  Then he exhaled.

  At three stories, with gabled windows and a big front porch, the Queen Anne-style bed-and-breakfast looked like it must have been charming at one time. Now it looked like something out of a bad horror movie, the kind of place where unsuspecting teenagers seek shelter after their car breaks down, only to be picked off one by one by the freaky caretaker or the family of cannibals who live in
the attic.

  “Ick,” she said as Michael helped her up the sagging front steps.

  Once inside, they found themselves in a small, dusty parlor. Something had chewed away part of the reception desk. A tattered couch and nasty-looking armchair were the only furniture. Leaves and trash were strewn about the floor, as well as something that looked like animals bones, which Ally resolved to ignore.

  Near the couch were some coolers, along with some blankets and cardboard boxes. She couldn’t sit on that couch. Clutching Michael’s hand, she lowered herself down to the dirty hardwood floor and put Becca down next to her. The kitten crawled under the armchair, curled up and fell asleep.

  Michael opened one of the coolers, took out a couple of bottles of water, and passed one to her.

  “I smell booze,” she said.

  “You shouldn’t be able to do that. But yeah. Scotch. Maybe later.”

  They drank in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

  “So. You break one wolf’s neck, you outrun another one, your leg’s healing, you can hear and smell as well as we can. What’s your deal?”

  “I don’t like to talk about it.” She took another swig of water. “So. You have dreams that come true. What’s your deal?”

  “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “Okay.” A few more minutes of silence passed. “What do you think Sarah Jane’s deal is?”

  “I’ll bet you money she’s Fae.”

  Ally sighed. “Shit.”

  “You all right there?” murmured a voice at his shoulder.

  “I didn’t know Fae were so easy to kill.”

  “They’re not, but you nearly took his fecking head off,” his uncle replied. “Most anything will die if you cut off its head.”

  Cade wasn’t surprised at MacSorley’s reappearance; he’d figured he would be sticking close by. Rather more disconcerting was the person with his uncle.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” Cade asked Sarah Jane. “And don’t tell me it’s a long story.”

  After a pause, she said, “Keflavík.”

  “It’s in Iceland,” MacSorley explained. “That’s where Adnar was imprisoned. She’s the one who brought the cavalry.”

  “You just happened to catch a flight all the way from Iceland and showed up out here in the middle of nowhere, right when all this goes down?”

  Sarah Jane pursed her mouth and stared at him for a few seconds before replying, very evenly, “I didn’t have to catch a plane because I’m half high Fae and can transpose myself wherever I need to go. My talent is precognition, and I had a vision of you killing Adnar. I brought a few of his jailers back with me. They wanted to capture him before you had a chance to do it.”

  “For Christ’s sake, woman,” groaned Dec. “Give him some time to adjust!”

  “Well, he’s the one who didn’t want to hear it’s a long story.” She frowned down at the corpse. “But now they’ll be taking his body back instead, and I think I have to go with them to explain everything.” She looked back up at him with a wry smile. “I’m sorry, Cade. Revenge is never as satisfying as you expect it to be.”

  “Actually, Sarah Jane, it was satisfying as hell. And now I don’t have to worry about him showing up in a few years thinking Rebecca is my mother.” He took a second to savor her shock as she thought about that one. Then he turned to his uncle. “Where is she? And where’s Ally?”

  “Michael was taking them to that Fourmile Inn place.”

  “Good. Let’s go. Have fun in Iceland, Sarah Jane. Don’t hurry back on our account.”

  She looked like she was going to say something more, but he turned his back on her and took off west through the woods. His uncle was right behind him.

  “Are you all right, Cade?”

  “You already asked me that.”

  “Aye, and you didn’t answer.”

  “Don’t put your arm around me, MacSorley.”

  “Could you at least start calling me by my first name?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence.

  “Cade!” She flew to him when he walked through the door, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him with all her strength.

  All her strength was exactly what he needed that that moment.

  “Oh, thank Christ,” MacSorley said. “I smell scotch.” He made straight for a cardboard box and pulled out a bottle of Glenfiddich. “Who’d like to join me?” He settled down on a doubtful-looking sofa, ignoring the cloud of dust that rose around him. Cade spied a tiny black kitten sleeping beneath a filthy chair.

  “Where’s Dylan?” Ally asked with her face pressed into Cade’s chest.

  “I imagine he’s still running around out there,” said Dec. “He needs to hear what I’ve got to say.”

  “I’ll go find him,” said Michael.

  “Would you stop by the Rover while you’re out there and grab Becca’s clothes?” asked Ally. “They’re in the backseat. I won’t have her running around naked when she shifts.”

  His mate—practical even in the midst of the weirdest shit.

  “You’re such a mom,” Cade murmured into her hair as he pulled her back in and locked her in his arms.

  He reeked of blood and guts. MacSorley had said she was disturbed by his attack on Stapkis. He could understand that, but he couldn’t let go of her right now. He needed her warmth, her steely soft strength.

  She propped her chin on his chest to gaze up at him. “Are you okay, baby?”

  “I’m filthy and bloody, but fine. What’s wrong with your leg? Where’s Becca?”

  “I got shot, but it’s healing. Becca’s sound asleep under the chair.”

  “Under the—oh.” Baby Girl was still furry. “I guess she’ll shift after she’s had time to rest. I wonder if she can control it.”

  “She can’t,” MacSorley said. “Not for a few more years.”

  “But if she can’t control the shift, then it could happen in public, or…” He trailed off as the implications sank in.

  “Yep,” MacSorley said. “You’ll have to be aware of it at all times, and you’ll have to teach her to be aware of it too. Fortunately, at this age she doesn’t shift often. It’s usually under stress. If you ask her what happened the afternoon the nanny ran off, you’ll probably find she was upset about something. Now. Glasses. Where are the glasses?”

  “Never mind the glasses. Where’s Sarah Jane?” Ally asked.

  “I’ll tell you about it later,” Cade replied. “I promise. I don’t want to talk about Sarah Jane right now. MacS— Dec, what about that transport shit?”

  Declan was busy rifling through one of the cardboard boxes. “Huh? Oh. Not transport—transpose. The ability to move from place to place just by thinking about it. Fae shit. Aha!” A delighted grin broke out across his face. “Styrofoam cups! Now, who wants drinks?”

  “Pay attention!” Cade growled. “Transposing. Can Becca do it?” The implications were horrifying.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. Relax, pup. She doesn’t have near enough Fae ancestry. Neither do you. Even humans who have enough Fae blood to have working talents can’t transpose. Sarah Jane’s father was pure high Fae, and her mother was a half or a quarter or something like that.”

  “So how old is she?” asked Ally.

  “She was born in Ireland in the 1700s, but I’m not sure exactly when.”

  “Holy shit,” Ally breathed.

  “That’s nothing,” Cade said. “My uncle claims to be six hundred.”

  She broke away with a gasp, spinning around to stare at Declan. Cade got his arms around her again and pulled her back against his chest.

  Dec just smiled at them. “Would you care for a drink now, Ally girl?”

  She nodded mutely. Cade sank to the floor and stretched out his legs. Ally settled down next to him, and Dec passed them each a cup.

  Michael and Dylan walked in, Dylan in h
is blue jeans but shirtless and shoeless. Michael dropped Becca’s clothes on the floor next to Ally and went to pour himself some scotch.

  “Okay. Another one,” Cade said after a couple sips. “If Adnar didn’t speak English, how’d he convince the cops to let Dylan and Lind go?”

  Dec shrugged. “Eh. More Fae shit. When he exerts his talent, it works even if the target can’t understand the words. It’s been a couple of lifetimes since I gave a rat’s arse how such stuff works.”

  “Um, excuse me!” Ally said loudly. “Who cares? Let’s get back to the part about you being six hundred years old.”

  “What the fuck?” Michael said, thunderstruck.

  “Dude!” Dylan looked at his great uncle with awe. “You’re six hundred years old?”

  Declan grinned. “Thereabouts. I’d have to look it up. I was born a year after the Black Plague wiped out half the Faroes.”

  Cade looked over at Michael. “What we talked about the other night. Vargalf. Fae wolves. Fae longevity, Fae talents. He’s one. And I guess I am too, and Dylan.” He glanced at his nephew, who’d pulled his iPhone out of his pocket.

  “He’s six hundred and sixty,” Dylan announced as they stared at him. “According to Wikipedia, the black plague wiped out half the Faroe Islands around thirteen forty-nine.”

  “Do you go anywhere without that thing, pup?” asked Dec.

  Dylan grinned. “No.”

  “But I thought you were Irish,” Michael protested weakly.

  “Not originally. I was born in the Faroe Islands, as was Cade’s mother. We all went to Iceland later. I didn’t get to Ireland ’til I was a couple hundred years old.” The ancient werewolf shrugged. “For that matter, Declan MacSorley’s not my original name. I was born Dougall Mac Sumarliddison.”

  “Your first name is Dougall?” asked Dylan. “Like MacDougall?”

  “Aye. It’s a family name. One of Somerled’s sons founded the clan MacDougall.”