by J. J. Massa
He sent her a smile and she smiled back shyly, looking away to talk with Tracey again. His heart raced and his blood heated. The thought of crawling in bed next to her later blotting out the worry that was never far away.
When he glanced over at Sherman, he wasn’t surprised to find the silver-haired human looking at him speculatively. Myles flipped him a little wink and a half smile.
Reassuring, calming he hoped. Sherman turned back to Victoria and Serena, letting them tug at his shoelaces and tease him. Tayler lay resting near Rafe.
Ashley was in danger. Ashtholdt had hated his daughter. What this meant for Sherman couldn’t be good either.
“I know Marc’ll want to come,” Riker observed, taking in the fact that Tayler had joined Rafe on the edges of the pup-play. “I expect that means Bernadette, too, don’t you? I’m surprised she’s not here already,” he mumbled wryly.
“Yeah,” Lakon glanced over at Tyler’s curled form on the ground by Rafe’s chair.
“It’s a toss up whether Rafe or Bernadette is the worst about smothering that pup.” He looked over at Jacob. “You sure he can’t go home now?”
Jacob’s jaw tightened. From nowhere, Christopher moved up behind his brother, hands landing on his shoulders in an impromptu massage.
Finally, Jacob spoke. “We need Tayler here for Rafe as much as anything else. We’re going to need every one of us…and more.” Nobody spoke. Jacob closed his eyes.
“The wind has shifted. A dark storm is coming. There’s more danger than we can guess.”
“Cryptic,” Myles grumbled. “He’s very good at that.”
****
Home of T Paul and Lacey Fonteneax
10 Harbor Ridge Road
North Maryland, LA
“But Daddy!” Two identical southern voices in perfect harmony whined at just the right pitch to make T Paul Fonteneax check to see if his ears were bleeding. “We’re good for Tayler, and Ashley. Of course we’ll be good for this Sherman man, too.”
“If you don’t kill the poor bastard first,” T Paul grumbled.
“Oh, thank you, Daddy!” Missy, the eldest of his twin daughters by a minute and a half, threw her arms around T Paul’s neck. His complaint was obviously interpreted as permission. Correctly.
The other twenty-one year-old, tall, elegant blonde wrapped her arms around her father a split second later. “Daddy, you won’t regret this!” she squealed.
“I already do,” T Paul groaned, attempting to peel the girls off. “Why don’t you two pack? And remember, it’s fall in the mountains of Georgia. It’s likely to get cold.”
Extricating themselves from their father, the two leaned toward one another. “Oh, Missy, that gray cashmere cardigan, it looks so good with your eyes.”
“And you could try my sand-colored Ughs…you’ve got great legs…” Heidi offered, taking her sister’s hands.
T Paul shook his head hard. He tried not to wonder if they realized that complementing each other was like complimenting themselves. The two girls were so identical that even their scents were almost interchangeable. He knew that, while they appeared superficial, there was so much more to this stunning offspring. Sometimes he wondered how much of their behavior was natural and how much a cleverly crafted act.
But he had something else to bring up.
“Girls!” he interrupted them sharply.
“Yes, Daddy?” they answered in unison.
How to start he sighed to himself. “I just spoke at great length with Myles…you two know that.”
“Yes, Daddy, we know,” they answered, still holding hands and still in perfect synch with each other.
“Ashley and Sherman…they are likely suffering from post traumatic stress disorder as a result of…” Did he really want to tell them what had happened? Maybe he would when he could get his mind around it himself. For now, “Myles’ family…” he tried again. “They’ve had a trauma that they seem to be reliving…” No, that wasn’t going to work. “Myles’ family is fragile. They’re fragile.” He sighed with relief. That was it— that was right. “Just…remember that.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Missy sighed, tears welling up in her wide silver eyes.
“We really can help,” Heidi’s lower lip trembled.
“Thank you for telling us, Daddy,” they murmured together, hands clasped, they turned as one, talking softly to one another as they left the room.
Chapter Twenty
Home of Tracey and Tavist Darke
Darke Woods Road
Talking Rock, GA
“I think I should dye my hair that color,” came a wry, smooth and deep woman’s voice from behind her.
“Girl!” Tracey giggled, opening her arms to her sister-in-law. “They can’t put this color in a bottle. It’s so hot, it’d melt the plastic!”
Bernadette laughed, her voice low and husky. “You know you’re right, and it’d probably make my skin look orange.”
“It might turn you white,” Tracey commented, holding out a pale arm. “It turns mine brown in spots.”
Bernadette choked, doubling over with laughter. “I can always tell when you’ve been hanging around Mik. Your sense of humor turns wicked!”
Tracey smiled but stepped back. She couldn’t stay angry with Bernadette, however, she did have a bone to pick with her.
“You should have told me, Bernadette,” Tracey said, her voice hard.
Bernadette sighed, her throat full. “I couldn’t, Tracey,” she managed. It was suddenly hard to talk. “At first, I didn’t know you. Ashley was with me for a year before I met Marc. And then…well, I had already promised, you know?”
Tracey looked at her, trying to stay mad. Finally, she sighed, her own eyes filling with tears.
“Yeah, I know,” she allowed, her own voice thick. “I don’t like it though.”
Bernadette nodded and the two women stood awkwardly in the well lit kitchen, not looking at each other.
“Marc!” Tayler’s happy voice rang out.
Both women turned to the window, watching as Tayler made his halting, limping way across the yard to Marc. Finally, his painful trek complete, Marc leaned down and lifted him into the air, hugging him tight. At thirteen, Tayler might have been considered too old for such childish treatment, but he and Marc had a dozen years to make up for.
Bernadette smiled sadly at Tracey. “I’m so glad he’s as well as he is…it’s just painful sometimes,” she whispered.
“I know,” Tracey agreed, nodding toward the gap in the woods that opened into the back yard.
There, both women watched as Ashley clung to Myles, frantic, her face a mask of fear as he coaxed and praised her every step of the way, one arm around her, never letting go. More than once, Ashley stopped, burying her face against Myles’ chest and shaking her head, obviously pleading for him to fix something that only time could heal.
Bernadette slipped an arm over Tracey’s shoulders and Tracey leaned into the taller woman.
“It’s going to take him another ten minutes to get her in here. Longer if anyone tries to help,” Tracey sniffed. “Then, he’s got to go back and get Sherman. That’s going to be about a half hour or so.”
“Does…” Bernadette broke off, and then started again. “Is Sherman like that?”
Tracey shook her head, tearing her eyes away from her beautiful daughter. “No. Sherman usually gets a little way along, and then he kind of…zones out. Myles says he goes back there in his head, to that cave. Myles can usually bring him around, but if anyone comes up to him, or the wrong person says something, he turns around and goes back to the little house. Myles has to find him and talk him around again. If it takes too long, Ashley gets worried.” Tracey sighed. Saying this all out loud just made it seem that much worse.
The thing was, if anyone should ever hear what was happening to these people, Bernadette needed to. This was her doing in a way, though Tracey knew the other woman would rather cut her own hand off than see this happen to two people that sh
e loved, or for that matter, any two people at all.
Tracey reached out and took Bernadette’s hand, leading her to the marble covered island for a cup of coffee. She fixed herself a cup of Folgers instant—her preferred blend.
For Bernadette, a nice hot mug of freshly brewed coffee, courtesy of Tav and Mik, who preferred it to instant.
“Myles has scheduled them both appointments with a pack psychiatrist who specializes in PTSD—post traumatic stress disorder. She told him that it’s best to let them go through the symptoms and the depression of their experiences and get them to talk about it as much as they will, like debriefing. She’s going to come to the little house this evening and talk to them, for a first appointment,” Tracey explained. Myles had explained it all to her and Tav the other evening when it was quiet. She had to admit that she was pleased that he wasn’t wasting time with this issue.
“Umm,” Bernadette was trying to marshal her thoughts and Tracey waited patiently, sipping her coffee. “Okay, two things.” Tracey nodded. “Why are they staying in that house over there when it’s so much trouble getting them over here? And why Myles?”
Tracey chuckled. Why Myles indeed… “Nobody’s sure exactly why Myles, except that, in a way, Ashley and Sherman had Myles in common. He was the first one to reach out to each of them and offer them care and protection. That’s the psychiatrist’s prevailing theory. He asked her. He was worried that…you know Ashley…they seem to have ironed out a lot of their problems and I guess he was afraid that…” saying that part out loud did seem wrong some how.
“He was afraid that she’d dump him when she got better?” Bernadette asked, pulling no punches. “Being direct was never a problem for me,” she grinned, a little abashed.
Tracey chuckled. “Well, yeah, I guess that was a concern for him.”
“Valid,” Bernadette shrugged. “Can’t blame the boy. So, why aren’t they staying over here?”
That was a sticking point for Tracey, too. But both Ashley and Sherman had reacted badly when she’d made the offer. Later, Ashley had confessed that there were too many people around, it was too dark and too close. She began to hyperventilate during her explanation to the point that Myles had to come and help her through it.
Privately, she suspected that they both needed to be closer to Myles and that was the best way to ensure that they were. She did wonder what would happen when the time came to move on, though she hoped that it was a ways off—she’d missed her daughter— and she hoped that a great deal of recovery would take place between now and then.
“They’re both a little claustrophobic,” Tracey told Bernadette, keeping her explanation brief. “And having all these other people around them makes them nervous.”
She inclined her head toward the door. “I think he’s got her up on the porch now. You can go say hello if you want.”
****
Intersection of Jones Mt. Rd and GA-136
Talking Rock, GA
Becker pointed to a wide, barren path leading into the woods. “Park there,” he rasped, glancing over at the pet who was driving.
This one called himself Tim even though his name was Richard. It made no sense, but he was a durable pet. Not as durable as Jack, but he was useful when the bad was just beginning.
Tim parked the car and Becker hefted himself out. All muscle, Becker was a heavy man. He tipped the scales at two hundred and seventy-five pounds and was as hard as a rock. He didn’t like hauling himself around when he had to sit for long periods.
Jack’s enemies had yet another strike against them for causing him to sit still for an hour at a time—two if he considered the drive back. And another drive would be necessary before this was over.
Tilting his head back, Becker turned, flicking a look at Tim. Tim followed, knowing better than to speak.
They had climbed a high peak, looking down at a shorter one, just across an abbreviated valley. It wasn’t another hill or mountain so much as an add-on to the one he was sitting on. But it was far enough away that his scent wouldn’t be obvious.
Leaving Tim next to a large tree, Becker edged around a short outcropping and then found a seat. Yes, perfect. He could see the two houses. One was real big—the other was small.
Wolves—wolf-people. He could tell the difference, like a dull neon shine. There were lots of them down there. And that wasn’t all. Becker looked over the two houses, saw so many lives there. But there was energy down there. There was powerful good down there.
Becker had always been able to see the good and bad in people. It was like a glow, very distinct to him. And the more the good he saw, the more he wanted it. Like a forbidden fruit, the good in people called to him, made him want to hurt them, break them, take away from them what he didn’t have in himself.
About thirty-five years ago, in celebration of his twentieth birthday, Becker had tortured a young cleric to death, reveling in his screams of pain, his pleas for mercy. His life sentence had been judged served at thirty years, his behavior in prison exemplary.
After all, he had not killed since then—crushed perhaps, but for all appearances, Becker had been a model prisoner. No one had looked too close at the model.
Something snapped and crackled in the cool mountain air. Becker could see a man, frozen in place. The shoulders were broad, he was dark, with the look of—it was vague, but Becker could see Jack in the profile of the man. Jack…but energy…some kind of power. This could be one of Jack’s sons, though Becker couldn’t tell if the man was good or bad. He was different.
That wasn’t all though. Like a beacon, something called to him. A light— something good that he could change. The good thing radiated pain already—a hopeful pain—but Becker could make it sing with his own kind of hurt, the pain of desolation, of begging, of punishment by the bad. Yes, a good person, a good wolf-person, someone that Becker could hurt, could enjoy hurting. And was that a second, fainter glow?
Whatever or whoever was down there, Becker needed it. Needed to take it. It was good and he wanted to own it, taste it and make it his. And all of it, so much of it, was gathered in that pretty, big house.
Suddenly, he was overwhelmed, wracked with pain. Hot, burning pain and the profile that reminded him a little bit of Jack changed. The man was looking at him, his arm raised, pointing. Now, a white-hot, blue-green fire joined him. The air was thick, icy, hot, sharp and it hurt. He felt stinging sharp nips, like bees or small mouths eating him up.
Becker stumbled backward, away from that place. The further he got away from the looking man, the better he felt. The hurt was less now, but the memory of it chased him, pushed him past Tim until the young man followed him, stumbling but quiet, afraid as they made their way to the car.
Becker was shaking. He felt something that he couldn’t ever remember feeling. It wasn’t nice. It didn’t satisfy. As he looked at his eyes in the car’s rearview mirror, he identified it and he hated it. Fear.
Tim glanced nervously at him. Yes, it was fear and he’d never felt it before. He liked to cause that, not feel it. He would awaken the fear in Tim when he got home.
While he was enjoying Tim’s fear, he would figure out what had happened up there on that mountain.
After he was finished with Tim, he would call Jack. They would attack the wolf people tomorrow, maybe sooner. He wanted to find whoever had the good glow on that mountain. He wanted to find the person who’d made him feel fear, too. They would both be very sorry. Becker would enjoy hearing them sing in pain, hearing them beg.
****
It was much quieter around the house this morning, and Jacob was grateful. Even though Marc and Bernadette had just arrived, there were far fewer family members around than the day before. He stopped halfway across the yard to listen to Tayler describe Talking Rock Creek to Marc. Yes, it was peaceful around here right now.
Riker, Lakon, Kaden, and Yancey had all gone to some concert and promotions related meeting, taking Philly with them. Jacob’s fifteen year old twin sisters had
gone off on a school ski trip which Christopher had valiantly volunteered to chaperone, down time of a sort. That left only a handful of people around for the next day or so: Jacob himself, Kameron, Marc and Bernadette, Mik, Tracey and Tav, Tayler and Rafe, and of course, Myles, Ashley, and Sherman. It was a veritable ghost town.
Out of the peace filled morning, a ripple of unease arrested him, sending a shiver dancing up his spine. The hair at his nape bristled and stood on end.
Jacob looked up, an arc of energy snapping, popping in the air, crackled between him and…what? There, on the far peak, off of what must be Jones Mountain Road, he saw a vague shape, but the power that pulsed from it was bad, possibly evil. And then it shifted, Jacob could feel it looking, searching.
“Tayler!” he shouted, spinning. “Get Tayler inside, get him inside!”
“Wha--?” Marc and Tav turned.
“Son?” Tav asked.
“Pick him up, Rafe!” Jacob bellowed, his eyes fixed once again on the angry, red-orange pulse from the neighboring peak. “Run, damn it! Get him out of here!”
Rafe had sprinted across the yard the instant Jacob had shouted. He knew that.
Not really an alpha, Rafe was conditioned to act under the right set of circumstances. Had another alpha ordered, Rafe would have responded—but for one single thing. Tayler was his final, complete alpha. If it was for Tayler, Rafe would do anything. And thank God, Tayler had told him to listen to Jacob first before everyone besides him.
Tayler was the ultimate alpha. He knew what each of his people needed and how to give it to them. In time, he would be magnificent.
Right now, Jacob was just grateful that Ashley was inside, out of sight, and to a lesser extent, Sherman. This pack, this family had been blessed. Two seers were needed because they had more angels then potential devils here. Ashley, beautiful, special Ashley, his little big sister, was so good, too good. And then there was Tayler, the future of the pack. Maybe they both were. Jacob didn’t know where Sherman fit into the mix, but Myles’ family was two thirds pure, and one third indestructible. He had no doubt they’d keep him on his toes.