by Lori Drake
The mattress creaked behind him, and Chris turned around to find Reginald sitting up against the headboard. Chris grabbed a random book from the shelf and walked back over to him.
“Need anything, Dad?” he asked as he settled into a chair by the bed.
Reginald shook his head slightly, eyes downcast.
“What happened in the studio?”
Reginald’s mouth worked, his tongue passing briefly over his lips. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”
The words were so quiet that even Chris’s wolf ears had to strain to hear them. “Of course it does.” He set the book aside and leaned forward in his chair. “Those paintings were beautiful. Why did you destroy them?”
“For her eyes only.” Reginald’s voice was rough from disuse. He moistened his lips again and picked up the water glass from the nightstand, taking a swallow.
Chris’s chest constricted. “You destroyed them because you didn’t want anyone else to see them?”
“No.” Reginald tipped the glass and drained half of it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Because no one else has ever seen them.”
The act did have a certain tragic poetry to it. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Dad.” It was a lie. Adelaide may have been the steel core of their family, but Reginald was its heart.
Reginald answered with a shrug, and Chris ran a thumb idly along the spine of the book in his hand. Uncertainty filled him. He didn’t know if he should try to keep Reginald talking, or just settle for being glad he was sitting up and drinking water. So far they hadn’t had to resort to intravenous fluids, but the option was still on the table if things got much worse.
“Have you ever met Abby Walker, Dad?”
Silence was his answer, at least for a few long seconds. But eventually, Reginald lifted his eyes and focused on Chris. “Abby Walker? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”
“Joey didn’t tell you she was in town for the funeral?”
Reginald’s gray brows drew together. “I… Maybe she did. I don’t know.”
“It’s okay, Dad. What can you tell me about her?”
“She’s an old packmate of your—” His features pinched in pain, but he pushed through it. “Of your mother’s.”
Chris tilted his head. His instincts told him to change the subject, but they didn’t quite override his curiosity. “Packmate? So, she’s a relative?”
“No. When Addie— When your mother was younger, she struck out on her own for a while. To hear her father tell the story, Abigail’s pack all but kidnapped her. But the truth was more complicated. Addie was… different back then.” The ghost of a smile warmed his face, and as he became more lost in his recollections, the sorrow and tension that pinched his features eased. “She was a real firebrand, your mom. Her daddy had his hands full. I think he was secretly relieved to have some peace for a few years, but I never got a chance to ask him. It was a real scandal, Addie running off the way she did. It was a different time, but your mom… She was a twenty-first-century woman born two centuries too early.
“Abigail’s pack… Well, it was Roberta’s pack back then. They raised eyebrows wherever they went, a group of gun-toting women in men’s trousers, traveling the country on their own. They put on shows wherever they went. Trick riding, marksmanship, rope tricks… at least one of them was wanted for horse rustling, but their greatest crime, the one society couldn’t forgive, was nonconformity.” He paused, tipping his glass and peering into it.
Chris remained silent and still, afraid of breaking the spell but eager for Reginald to continue. The silence stretched. Reginald’s hand started to shake. He lowered the glass to rest against his leg and leaned his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes.
“Well, hopefully they’ve given up horse rustling by now,” Chris said in an effort to get him started again. “It’s not a hanging offense anymore, but it’s bound to throw a wrench in the works.”
Reginald emitted a quiet snort of a laugh but kept his eyes closed.
“Someday I’d like to know how Mom went from being a rough-riding cowgirl to an art historian.”
“It’s not a happy story. Not all of it, anyway.”
Chris studied him in silence, hoping a lack of response might tease more of the story out, and he wasn’t disappointed.
“Addie enjoyed her freedom while she had it, but duty called her home. Her daddy was sick—cancer, we think. It took a while for her to get her mother’s letter, since she didn’t exactly have a steady address at the time. By the time she got home, her daddy was gone and a lone wolf had taken up with her mom and installed himself as Alpha. To say Charles and Addie didn’t get along would be putting it mildly. He was a real bastard, and the first time he got violent with her mom, Addie threatened to rip his balls off. The second time, she ran him off their land with a shotgun. I heard it took Doc Wiley three hours to pick all the silver buckshot out of his ass.”
Chris couldn’t help but chuckle, though it wasn’t entirely funny. “So, she took over as Alpha after that, eh?”
Reginald lifted his head and opened his eyes, nodding. “You’d think that’d be the end of it, too, but ol’ Chuck came back for more. He just couldn’t stomach the thought of being bested by a woman. He issued a formal Alpha challenge. I’m sure he expected her to back down, but Addie was forged in fire. Heck, I even tried to talk her out of it. I offered to fight him for her, but she nearly took my skin off with the rough side of her tongue. I’ll never forget that night. Charles may have been bigger and stronger, but Addie was just plain vicious. She went at him like an angry badger, whooped his sorry ass, and we never saw or heard from him again. I learned two things that night: one, never underestimate Adelaide Grant, and two… I was going to have to work way harder if I was ever going to convince her to marry me.”
Chris smiled, but it was bittersweet. His chest was tight and he felt the loss of his mother no less keenly, but he’d gotten a rare glimpse into her past, and a little insight into her relationship with Reginald. That was worth a lot, in his book. “Well, I’m glad you did. Wait… her maiden name was Grant? Did you take her name?”
Reginald shrugged. “By the time I finally did convince her to marry me, I would’ve agreed to just about anything. I hope Josephine doesn’t make you work that hard. I’d kind of like to walk her down the aisle, and I don’t know how many years I have left.”
Chris took comfort in the fact that Reginald was still measuring his life in years, not hours or days. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Maybe getting him talking had done him some good. “Hopefully a lot of years, but you might not need them. She asked me to marry her.”
“Just like her mother. Never does anything the conventional way.” Reginald huffed and lifted his glass to his lips, but paused. “Wait. You’re getting married?” His brown eyes sparked with sudden hope.
Chris hated to snuff it out, but he didn’t want to lie to him, either. “Nothing would make me happier, Dad. But it’s… complicated.”
Reginald moved faster than Chris thought possible, considering how weak he’d seemed. In the blink of an eye, Reginald came off the bed and grabbed the front of Chris’s shirt with both hands, practically lifting him from his seat. Bending, he put his face inches away, eyes locked on Chris’s. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are, Christopher? Don’t waste a second. Not a single second. Do you hear me, son?”
All Chris could do was stare up into his father’s face in shock. A wave of dominance rolled off Reginald, more powerful than Chris had ever experienced. The air between them practically crackled. His father was so mild-mannered, had played second fiddle to Adelaide for so long, that it was easy to forget he was also an alpha in his own right.
“Yes, sir.” The words sprang unbidden to Chris’s lips, but he had no urge to take them back. What else could he say?
Reginald held Chris’s gaze a moment more, then blinked and seemed to return to himself, releasing his grip on Chris’s s
hirt and smoothing it carefully. Withdrawing, he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his temples. Chris watched him, once again afraid to move, but for an entirely different reason this time.
“I’m tired, son. I think I’m going to get some sleep.”
Chris swallowed and nodded, daring to speak once more. “I think that’s a good idea.”
He helped Reginald get settled and drew the covers over him, then retreated quietly from the room with the plate of snacks.
Don’t waste a second. Not a single second.
Reginald’s words lingered in the back of Chris’s mind as he went downstairs to cover the plate with cling wrap and tuck it in the fridge.
I’m trying, Dad. I’m trying.
3
With the heat radiating from the bonfire, Joey was easily able to ignore how chilly the night had turned. A smile lingered on her lips as Abby regaled them with another story. Her brothers listened every bit as raptly, though Sam’s features had taken on a skeptical look the more outrageous the stories became.
He leaned over and asked in a low voice, “At what point does this cease to be fun reminiscing and become speaking ill of the departed?”
Joey nudged him gently, refusing to let him spoil the moment. “Shh.”
He grumbled, but straightened.
“So, then June straight up dared Hellcat to do it,” Abby said with a grin. “And if there’s one thing Hellcat couldn’t resist, it was a dare.”
Wendy leaned forward, eyes wide. “What happened?”
Joey smiled, casting a glance over the others. Sam seemed to be the only one not enjoying the story. He sat quietly beside her with his arms folded and eyes staring off into the darkness. Really, the stories weren’t that bad. Joey, at least, appreciated how they humanized her mother, who’d always seemed so distant to her. Prim and proper, as befit a woman of her breeding and station. Basically, everything Joey wasn’t. Learning about Adelaide’s checkered past actually made Joey feel closer to her, in a way. At least she could see where she got some of her rebellious tendencies.
“What do you think happened?” Abby chuckled. “Hellcat snuck into that bear’s den in the middle of the night, knife in hand, and sauntered out a few minutes later with a handful of grizzly fur.”
Wendy’s chin about hit the dirt. “Really?”
Abby cackled. “Hell no! She came bolting out with an angry bear on her heels, screaming bloody murder.”
Everyone joined her in raucous laughter. Everyone but Sam, anyway. Joey guffawed so hard that her still-healing abdomen twinged in pain. She pressed a hand over the spot, not that it helped, and sucked in a breath, trying to swallow the lingering giggles.
“You all right, Joey?” Abby asked, studying her with a frown.
“Yeah,” Joey said automatically, forcing a smile.
Abby didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press the issue.
“Did she get the fur, though?” Ben asked with a curious tilt to his head.
“You bet your ass she did.” Abby grinned. “But she was jumpy about bears for months afterward. She slept in a tree one night because one of the girls mentioned seeing bear tracks when she went into the woods to relieve herself. I didn’t have the heart to tell her bears can climb trees. Much less that Virginia wouldn’t know a bear track if she saw it.”
Everyone laughed again, and Joey glanced at Sam as he stiffened beside her. The sudden tension in his large frame was unmistakable. His nostrils flared as he scented the air. Joey sniffed too, but couldn’t smell anything but woods and smoke.
She leaned over. “What’s wrong?”
“Not sure,” he said, eyes roving the darkness beyond the circle of light from the bonfire.
Ash stood, leather pants creaking with the movement. “Speaking of pissing in the woods, I’m gonna go prevent a forest fire.”
“If you see Gina, remind her that straining is how hemorrhoids happen,” Raven said, her eyes following Ash. “She needs to get her ass back here before she misses all the good stuff.”
Ash gave her a two-fingered salute and sauntered off into the darkness. Joey watched her go, then looked at Sam again as he also stood. Her eldest brother radiated unease, and she wasn’t the only one picking up on it.
“I don’t think she needs help, bro,” Ben said. Both he and Jon watched their brother carefully.
Sam shook his head. “Just need to move around a bit.”
“I’m getting stiff too. I’ll join you.” Joey stood and stretched, then fell in with Sam as he wandered a few paces away from the bonfire. She trusted his instincts, and he was definitely wound up about something.
Sam stopped just inside the circle of light. She touched his arm, and her fingers tingled. His wolf was close to the surface as he stared out into the darkness. Focused. Intent.
“Are you okay? Talk to me, Sam.”
“There’s something out there.”
A chill went down Joey’s spine. “How do you know?”
“I don’t know. I just… can’t ignore it. Something’s not right.”
Joey frowned and looked off into the darkness. The fact that Sam may have picked up on something she’d missed bothered her. Clearly, she’d let her guard down too much. If she was going to be responsible for the health and safety of her pack, she needed to step up her game. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to tune out the conversation behind them and listened intently for more distant sounds.
The shrill scream that pierced the quiet night a few seconds later didn’t require supernatural hearing to pick up. The conversation around the bonfire halted abruptly. Sam was already in motion, sprinting for the trees.
Joey waited only long enough to bark an order over her shoulder. “Jon, Ben, stay with Sara.”
Then she took off after Sam. She wasn’t alone. Abby’s pack was on her heels, all of them sprinting in the direction the scream had come from. Ahead of her, Sam crashed through the underbrush, snapping twigs and scattering pine needles. Sam was big, but Joey was fast. She caught up with him easily, but his large frame blocked her view when he skidded to an abrupt stop. Her sneakers slid across the slick carpeting of pine needles, and when she collided with his back, it was like hitting a wall of solid muscle. He didn’t budge.
She smelled blood, and her sharp ears picked up the sound of sobbing even before she moved out from behind Sam and saw Ash kneeling in the dirt beside Gina. Joey took a step forward, but Sam threw out an arm, stopping her. She glared up at him while Abby and the rest of her pack rushed past them. Sam met her eyes evenly and didn’t back down, but she didn’t have time to get into a pissing contest with him over whose wolf was stronger. She had more pressing concerns, so she shoved his arm away and stepped forward for a better look. Even as she did, she could sense Sam at her back, alert and wary.
Gina lay sprawled on the forest floor, eyes open and glassy. Her neck and chest were dark with blood, and Joey surmised from the lack of blood above the neck that her throat had been cut. Had she simply bled out before she had the opportunity to heal? Warily, she shifted her focus to the trees around them. Whoever had killed Gina might still be out there, but were they foolish enough to take on seven wolves? Make that eight. Justin had joined them. Joey had forgotten all about him when she gave her hasty orders.
Tears ran down Abby’s face as she closed her second’s eyes with shaking fingers. Then she threw her head back and howled. The rest of her pack shifted uneasily, looking around them warily. All but Raven.
Anger radiated from Raven as she tore off her shirt and tossed it on the ground. “Time for a hunt.”
It wasn’t until Abby nodded that the rest started taking off their clothes and preparing to shift.
Joey reached instinctively for her own shirt, but spat out a curse when she remembered she couldn’t shift without her stitches tearing up her insides. She turned to Sam. “Go with them.”
He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you unprotected.”
A growl rumbled from Joey’s throat.
She grabbed the front of his shirt and locked eyes with him. “I’ll go back to camp with Justin. You knew something was wrong before anyone else. Go. Find whoever did this.”
He hesitated, his wolf still so close to the surface that his brown eyes shimmered gold in the moonlight. After a tense moment, he lowered his eyes in submission. “Yes, Alpha.”
Joey released his shirt and gave his chest a shove. “Go.”
Sam shed his clothes in record time and dropped into a crouch. The air shimmered around him and a large gray wolf stood where he’d been. Despite the delay, he was the first to shift. The others swiftly followed. Once the wolves identified a scent trail, they streaked off into the darkness, leaving Justin and Joey behind.
“Help me carry her back to camp,” Joey said, latching on to the task in an effort to not worry about Sam chasing a killer in the woods. Her big brother was more than capable. He could handle himself. But if anything happened to him… She didn’t want to think about it.
“I’ve got it.” Justin crouched and gathered Gina in his arms as if she weighed nothing. As he did, her head tipped back and the wound in her neck stretched open. It was then that Joey realized the killer hadn’t merely slit her throat. He’d damn near taken her head off.
Joey pushed Gina’s head up until it was resting against Justin’s shoulder, then led the way back to camp. They hadn’t gone very far, really. She could glimpse the bonfire through the trees. The fact that Gina had died so close to them with no one the wiser sent a chill down her spine. Hastening her steps, she hurried through the trees with Justin at her back, her eyes and ears alert for threats.
No threats manifested, and when they emerged from the trees, Ben hurried to meet them. “What happened?” He reached for Gina’s carotid before Joey could warn him and recoiled when his fingers slipped through the blood and into her neck. It must’ve been just enough pressure to displace her head, which fell back again, turning her neck into a yawning maw. Ben recoiled, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ!”
Wincing, Joey pushed Gina’s head up again. “Let’s put her by the fire.”