by Tami Lund
* * * *
They left the old maroon sedan Freddy had procured for them in the hotel parking lot. Lisa’s SUV had plenty of room to fit everyone, and Tanner informed them he felt more comfortable with the group secured in one vehicle. Olivia foolishly complimented his pack master skills, and he growled at her like an angry dog.
They stopped for the night in the middle of Iowa. Everyone was exhausted. It had been a long drive, especially because they stopped every two or three hours so Lisa could feed her newborn pup. Ariana was weakening as well, and Tanner had refused to let Olivia heal her while they were driving. Cecilia and Sofia were cranky because they were both bored and tired of sitting in the car. Dane fretted over Lisa and her pup like he was the new mother, not her.
It was definitely time to take a break.
Unfortunately, Tanner was not quite comfortable enough to rent two hotel rooms, so they still were forced to pile into one suite together. On the bright side, there was significantly more space than in the SUV.
Once they were settled in the room, Lisa, Dane, and the newborn pup retired to one of the bedrooms. Ariana relaxed in front of the television and Sofia and Cecilia lay on the floor and colored in one of the many coloring books that they’d purchased along the way in an effort to keep the four-year-old entertained while in the vehicle.
“I’ll go find the nearest grocery store, get some supplies for dinner,” Tanner said, once they were settled inside. “You,” he said, jabbing his finger at Olivia. “Do not heal my mother until I return. And make sure this room is warded against shifters. I’ll call when I’m two minutes away.”
When he was done issuing commands, Olivia politely asked, “May I go with you?” She thought perhaps if they had a few moments alone, she could talk to him, ask him what was wrong, why was he in such a prickly mood. She did not want to offend him—he had saved her life, after all—and if she was doing something he didn’t like, she would like to know.
“No.” He stabbed his finger at her shoulder. “And don’t you dare heal my mother until I return,” he reiterated, and Olivia felt an urge to throw something. Preferably something heavy and hard. At his head.
She watched as he stormed out of the hotel suite, leaving Olivia to stare at the closed door and wonder what in the name of the lights she’d done this time.
“He’s frustrated, dear,” Ariana said, coming up behind her and placing her hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “And he’s been out of touch long enough to have forgotten how to treat people, it would seem.”
“Why is he so frustrated?” Olivia asked.
“Oh, lots of reasons, I suspect,” Ariana mused. “He’s worried, I’m sure, that he’s put Lisa and I and the pups into danger by taking us with him. That’s the reason he left alone, ten years ago. I’m the one who actually pointed it out to him, back then. I told him that if he took anyone with him, Quentin would hunt them down and kill them. But if he left on his own, Quentin would let him go, because my mate is just egotistical enough to believe that his legitimate, natural-born son would, at some point, return to the pack to take his rightful place as the future leader.”
“But he never did,” Olivia guessed.
“Not yet.”
“What happens when a pack leader dies and there is no son to take over?”
Ariana gestured at the small balcony across the room, and Olivia followed her over there, so the two women could stand in the waning sunlight.
“It doesn’t have to be a son,” Ariana explained. “Male or female, it doesn’t matter, so long as it is the pack master’s child. Typically it’s the firstborn, although there has been occasion over the years of a pack master declaring one of his other children as heir, if they are smarter or stronger or seem better equipped for the position. It doesn’t even have to be a legitimate child, although Quentin has always maintained the blood is purest if it is legitimate. I’ve seen enough pups running around that pack who bear a remarkable resemblance to my mate to know that if he were so inclined, Quentin would have plenty of illegitimate prodigy to choose from.” She gave a small shudder before continuing.
“To answer your question, if there is no declared heir when the pack master dies, the position is up for grabs. Unfortunately, we shifters are a bloody, violent bunch, so the way to win the position is to fight for it, literally. Some packs fight to the death, some only until one cries mercy. The one who wins each fight must continue to fight each contender until no more step forward. The process has been known to go on for days, weeks, sometimes a month or longer. The longest battle for dominance on record was several hundred years ago, and lasted for half a year. By the time the winner was declared, there was hardly a pack left to lead.”
Olivia shook her head in amazement. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
Ariana smiled. “You can say nothing at all, if you’d like. I did not say our way is right, only that it is our way. How does your kind handle the transition of leaders? Or do you too live for eternity, as the fae do?”
“We are mortal, just like you, although we live significantly longer than humans. My fa—there is a king, and if he bears a son, his son automatically takes over as king when he retires or dies.”
“And if there is no son?”
“He can declare his daughter’s mate as the future king. Or, he can skip that generation altogether and wait for his daughter and her mate to have a son, and the grandson would be declared as future king.”
“But not his daughter?” Ariana watched Olivia steadily. She would not meet the other woman’s eyes.
“No. Not his daughter. Ours is a very patriarchal society.”
“Interesting, considering, as I understand it, you were born of the fae, and they have almost always been led by a queen.”
Olivia shrugged. “Our first ruler, a male, brought us here to the human world to escape from the fae, who were warring over the right to essentially enslave our kind. When shifters learned of our magic and tried to kill us, the faery queen actually helped our king create the coterie, which is where we live. Each subsequent king has descended from him. We are a routine-oriented bunch, I suppose. Having a king has always worked for us, so we’ve seen no reason to change.”
Ariana nodded thoughtfully, and then changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to our next healing session,” she confided. “While it simply felt good to be healed, the process itself was rather ... heady, I suppose. It felt the way I used to feel after several glasses of good wine.” She smiled, her eyes sparking with humor.
“Tanner insisted I not do it again until he returns,” Olivia reminded the woman.
“Of course he did,” Ariana said knowingly. “He wants to be here for you, as you are doing for me.”
“What does that mean?”
“After you healed me yesterday, you passed out and began shivering quite violently. As soon as Tanner touched you, the shivering stopped. It was almost as though ... as though his touch calmed you, in some way.” She frowned at Olivia’s incredulous expression. “That isn’t normal?” she asked.
Olivia cleared her throat and turned to look out the glass doors leading to the balcony. “No,” she said finally. “At least, not between unmated individuals.”
* * * *
They’d stopped in a fairly typical small Midwestern town. The nearest grocery store was a Walmart, and it was the apex of the community. Everyone within a forty-mile radius shopped at Walmart, and on a Tuesday evening in early summer, the place was teeming with people.
Not all of the people were human, Tanner noted. Shifters were recognizable to other shifters, even in a crowd of humans. Besides the fact they tended to be bigger, more formidable, and slightly scarier than most humans, they had an essence, a scent that was undeniable. A shifter could no sooner hide his scent as he could resist the shift after so many days without. To shift into the form of a four-legged creature on a fairly regular basis was simply a part of a shifter’s nature.
As he wandered through the grocery sec
tion of the store, Tanner kept his eye on a small group of young shifters, kids who were likely in their late teens or early twenties. They had that cocky, idealistic I-believe-the-entire-world-is-at-my-fingertips look about them. Tanner was pretty certain he never had that look. He was never given the chance to be idealistic. Not with Quentin Lyons as a father.
Besides, he’d left his pack, barely into his twenties, and had been forced to figure out how to live in the world alone. It was a hard task for anyone, but it was doubly hard for a shifter, who was hard-wired to seek the company of other shifters. Living alone had eliminated any possibility of Tanner enjoying an idealistic youth.
There were three males and a female. The female and one of the males resembled one another so strongly that Tanner guessed they were siblings, or cousins at the very least. The female was blatantly trying to capture the attention of one of the other males, who was just as blatantly ignoring her attempts. Her brother looked annoyed at her actions, but the fact that his friend was paying her no mind kept him from doing anything about it. To Tanner, they appeared and acted like typical young adults, and typical shifters.
He approached them casually, in the snack aisle, while they stood and argued over whether to purchase potato chips or tortilla chips—or both, suggested the lone female, who was trying to compromise since it was her brother who wanted potato chips and the object of her adoration who wanted tortilla chips.
“That’s probably a good idea,” Tanner said, agreeing with her. The brother, he noticed, immediately placed himself between Tanner and the rest. A leader-like move. Tanner focused on him.
“You part of the local pack?” he asked, directing his question at the brother.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly, trying to assert his dominance. If Tanner were a dick, he would have challenged the kid just to put him in his place, since it was damned obvious to all of them that Tanner was older, stronger, and undoubtedly meaner. But he’d never been like his father, not even a little, and so he let the kid show his dominance and did not offer a challenge.
“Who’s the pack leader?” Tanner asked.
“My dad,” the kid said proudly. Tanner had never uttered those words with pride in his life. He felt a surge of jealousy toward this kid, who was who he was simply by the luck of the draw.
“What’s his name?” Tanner knew most of his father’s cronies’ names, those pack leaders who, even if they did not believe in the Lightbearer myths, had sympathy toward Quentin Lyons’ obsession, and thus were more likely to let Quentin know that his only son had just arrived in town.
“Rick Pantera.”
Pantera. The surname did not set off any alarm bells. But Tanner wanted to be sure.
“You guys have any connection to any of those packs out west?” he asked casually, as if he was just an inquiring neighbor.
The young Pantera still looked suspicious. “Not really. Why?”
Tanner shrugged noncommittally. “Just asking. We’re from out east. Maine. Heading west for vacation. I’ve heard some pretty fucked up rumors about some of those packs out there. They believe in hoodoo magic and shit.”
The female pushed past her brother to speak to Tanner. “You’re talking about those Lightbearer myths,” she guessed. “That’s a bunch of crap,” she pronounced. “Everybody knows the Lightbearers died out hundreds of years ago.”
Everybody would be wrong. He kept that thought to himself. “I agree,” he said instead. “Listen, I’d like to talk to your pack master. See if he has room for a couple of strays. We’re looking to transfer to a more temperate climate.” He didn’t bother to ask if they had a midwife in their pack, for Lisa and her pup. Nearly every established pack did. It was just common sense.
“Why don’t you give me your information instead?” the brother suggested. Tanner decided he liked this kid. He was smart, and did not trust easily. He would make a good pack master some day.
“You got it,” Tanner said, and he scribbled a fake name and his cell phone number onto a piece of paper. “We’re only in town for a night or two, so ask him to give me a call as soon as he can, okay?”
The kid snatched the piece of paper and stuffed it into the front pocket of his shorts. “Yeah, right. Come on, y’all, let’s go. Grab them both. Chuck’s paying.” The one Tanner assumed was Chuck protested, but the female snagged both a bag of chips and a bag of tortilla chips off the shelf, and then turned around and gave Tanner a quick wave before following the three males down the aisle and around the corner.
*
When they piled into Andy’s ancient pickup truck a few minutes later, he cranked the engine but did not pull out of the parking space. “What are you waiting for?” Chuck wanted to know.
Chuck and Derrick were in the extended cab, while Andy’s sister, Leah, sat up front. Chuck hated sitting in the back, and it irritated him that Andy let Leah sit up front just because she was his sister. Derrick was their cousin, and he was male too, so if anyone should get that seat, it should be him. Or better yet, it should be Chuck, since he was the only one who wasn’t family. But not Leah. She’s just a girl.
She was an annoying one at that. She’d had a crush on Chuck for as long as he could remember, and when she finally filled out and started looking more like a woman and less like a girl, he took advantage of her crush and screwed her in the back of his ancient pickup truck. Unfortunately, all that did was make her like him more, and now she followed him around like a frigging stray dog.
To make matters worse, he couldn’t be mean to her to get her to leave him alone, because Andy was her brother and Andy would kick his ass. And neither could he tell the world that he screwed her, to humiliate her into leaving him alone, because again, it would get back to Andy and he would kick Chuck’s ass.
Chuck was really in a hard spot here, and it was getting to be a bigger pain in the ass by the day. He was tempted to pack a bag and get in his truck and drive, but his pack-like instincts kept him from doing it. If he definitely had a place to go, he’d do it. But without a plan, Chuck was too beholden to pack life to leave.
He thought about that kid he ran into at the local bar a few months ago. The kid had been underage, but he had a fake ID from Wyoming, and the uncaring bartender had barely given it a cursory glance before serving the little punk.
The kid, whose name, Chuck learned, was Duane, really was from Wyoming, although the age on his ID had been fake. He’d been sent on a scouting mission, he boasted, as he grew drunker and drunker on good old-fashioned corn-filtered moonshine. His pack master had sent him out to search for Lightbearers.
Chuck and Derrick had both been there at the time, and they’d laughed at the kid. “Man, your pack master’s a moron,” they sneered. “Lightbearers went extinct five hundred years ago.”
But Duane was stubborn and refused to give up his beliefs. His pack master had done a hell of a job brainwashing him, Derrick and Chuck joked later in the evening.
Before he drunkenly staggered out of the bar, Duane slapped a business card down on the smooth wooden surface. “Here’s my number,” he slurred. “Call me if you ever see one. My pack master has a shitload of money and he’ll make it well worth your time.”
Two days later, Chuck recalled his parents talking about some, “idiot shifter from out west,” who went and got himself arrested by the human authorities. He’d killed four humans, claiming he thought they were Lightbearers. Chuck had been certain it was Duane.
Dumb motherfucker.
Too damn bad that kid and his pack master were so screwed up in the head. Otherwise, Chuck could pull out the business card that for some reason he hadn’t thrown away, and give the kid a call. He could come up with some dumb excuse and ask if he could head out west and join the kid’s pack. Except that Chuck didn’t believe Lightbearers even existed anymore, and the idea that he would have to pretend he did didn’t sit right with him. It was bad enough having to pretend to be nice to Leah, and she really wasn’t such a bad person. She was just annoying.
“I’m waiting for that guy,” Andy said, in response to Chuck’s question. “I want to follow him. Check him out before I decide whether to tell my dad about him.”
“Come on, man,” Chuck whined. “I thought we were heading back to your house to play video games?” Leah hated video games. Chuck hoped that would be enough to get her the hell off his jock for a while. She’d been a good lay, but her constant adoration was a giant turn off. Chuck wasn’t interested in taking a mate, and Leah had mate written all over her love-struck face.
“Here he comes,” Andy said, and they all turned and watched the tall, muscle-bound shifter with long dark hair leave the store and head toward a newer model American-made SUV. Leah made a little sighing noise and Chuck scowled and decided he needed to work out more. That guy was probably ten years older than Chuck but he was twice as in-shape. Maybe Chuck needed to lay off the video games. Maybe he needed to screw Leah again, and regularly. She had been a hell of an enthusiastic lover, that one time. They’d probably burned a thousand calories each.
Andy, it turned out, was good at following people without letting them know it. Probably came from being a pack master’s heir. Andy’s dad taught him all kinds of shit that Chuck’s own drunk-ass father never did.
When the guy pulled his SUV into the parking lot of a hotel near the interstate, Andy pulled his truck into the parking lot and circled the building, pulling into a space under the shade of a cluster of trees. He sat there, watching the hotel and not saying anything for so long, Chuck began to fidget.
“Come on, man. Let’s go play video games.”
“I have a better idea,” Andy replied. “I’m going to take you home to get your equipment and then you’re going to head back over here and snoop around, under the pretense of fixing the ice machine.”
Chuck scowled. He thought that was a lousy idea. Chuck’s drunk-ass father owned his own business, a small equipment repair company. He worked just enough jobs to pay the bills and buy his whiskey, and he made Chuck call on any excess customers.