by Dana Archer
The unspoken plea is there. I don’t need Mira to spell it out. She wants me to stay and be here for Josh. “He’ll be fine. Guys have been pacing the hospital floors for years while their wives have been in labor.”
“Not over the babies. He’s not worried about their delivery at all. He’s concerned about what will happen afterward.”
I jerk my gaze to my sister-in-law. “Why? What happens then?”
Mira shrugs. “Nothing. Something. I honestly don’t know. Josh is anticipating a visit from my birth pride or the Shifter Council or one of the other high-ranking prides, maybe even one of those associated with the Purist movement, or even someone from the human government. Who knows?”
I step closer to Mira. “And if one of those people visits, is Josh expecting trouble?”
“Yes.” Mira rubs her belly. “He is, actually. So is Kade and Shifter Affairs and all our close friends. Everyone’s worried. Me? I can only worry about one thing at a time, and at the moment, I’m focusing on a safe delivery.”
“What kind of trouble?” I drag the other chair closer and perch on the edge of the seat. “Will they hurt my niece and nephews or try to take them away?”
“They might try.” Mira’s voice takes on a deadly edge. “But they’ll fail. Nobody will threaten my children and live. Someone so much as looks at them the wrong way, and they’ll die. It’s what happens after blood’s been spilled that has everyone on edge.”
“Why?”
“There’s tension in our world. Some members are angry we formed an alliance with the humans. Those shifters are very much of the mindset we should live in obscurity and not associate with humans. They view our species as superior and want to be able to live as our primal instincts demand, not bow down to an agreement they had no say in forming with a species they view as inferior.”
“They want a world where the strong prey on the weak.” The short time I spent with the Alexander pride in those days before I took off last summer gave me a glimpse into the darker side of the shifter world, one that thought nothing of killing children they deemed feral or forcing women to become breeders.
Mira cradles her belly. “Yes. They call themselves Purists, and their numbers are growing, but thankfully, they lack a leader. Many of them are too polarized to follow anyone. Doing so is, in and of itself, a sign of weakness. They all want to be seen as the biggest and baddest of our kind.”
“What are Josh and the others doing to prepare for the threat they pose?”
Mira slides her hands over her belly, hugging her unborn children the only way she can. “Collecting information—names, associations, supporters…that sort of thing. Violence is supposed to be our last resort. We think that’ll push the Purists to fight back. A war among our kind is the last thing we need. Especially if my babies are the cause of it.”
The rushing of blood in my veins echoes in my ears. I push to my feet and study the woods visible from the kitchen window while the hairs on my arms rise and an itch spreads. My inner warning signal is off the charts, and since luck and my gut instincts have kept me alive so far, I won’t dismiss this feeling.
Whipping around, I focus on Mira. “And my brother just let you come out here? Alone? I can’t protect you unless you want me to be fodder while you run, and I hate to say it, but I don’t think you’ll get far.”
A small smile plays on Mira’s mouth. “Josh is outside talking to Jarah. We’re both safe. Everything will be fine with the babies too. Don’t worry about anything.”
Josh won’t let anything happen to his kids just like he wouldn’t allow anyone to take Mira from him. That I believe. He’ll simply find a way to protect them, no matter the cost. Too bad I couldn’t do the same for my family.
My shoulders slumping, I glance at the stairwell. This angle doesn’t allow me to see the door. “Why is Jarah here?”
“Watching over you, of course. He took over for Kade, who was here all night.”
“All night?” My breathlessness catches me off guard. Dang if I know why either.
“Yes.” Mira scrunches her brows. “You didn’t actually think he’d leave you unprotected, did you? Especially on your first night back in town.”
I cross my arms, the wetness an uncomfortable sensation over my breasts. “I’m not in danger, and I’ve done quite well on my own for close to a quarter century.”
With the side of her hand over her mouth, Mira turns her head, but not before I catch the sight of her amusement. “Save your argument for Kade. Though, honestly, it won’t dissuade him. You’re his beloved human. He’ll want to protect you, especially now that there’s a chance Vince will be released from prison.”
“Does everyone know?”
“About Vince? Ella’s informed her agents. Kade’s one of them. About the details of how you lost your family or how Vince is involved…” Mira uses the hand she’d used to hide her smile to rub at her nose. “Nobody knows anything that’s not already public knowledge. Not even me. Josh has been adamant that it’s your story to tell.”
Tightness eases, relaxing my shoulders. “I bet not knowing irritated Kade.”
“A little.” Mira grins. “Be prepared for a grilling. He’s made it clear he wants every detail.”
“Then he can get used to wanting and not getting.” I head to the bedroom, yank off my stained shirt, and pull out a dry one from my duffel bag. Tugging the clean top over my head, I turn.
Mira’s standing in the doorway, her attention on my stomach. The black tee falls into place, covering the scars. Few people have seen them. Not even Kade. He might’ve had me in his bed once, but he didn’t get me naked. After I puked all over my shirt, he gave me his and turned his back while I put it on.
Finally, Mira raises her gaze to mine. The understanding is there in her expression. The shiny white scars are from claws, not a blade, even though yesterday, I would’ve insisted they were the latter. I’d forgotten how I’d gotten in the way, forgotten how it felt to have sharpened nails rip deep through my belly, forgotten it’d been Vince who caused me to hemorrhage and lose my baby, forgotten how he’d left me to die.
“Vince did that, didn’t he?”
“Yes. It’s crazy, but I’d forgotten about it.” PTSD, maybe. My shrink warned me I’d experience it. I motion to my stomach. “How these are claw marks, not knife wounds, I mean. My guess is Josh did too, so it’s a good thing he never told Kade anything. Your husband would’ve been lying to your alpha, and somehow, I don’t think that’d go over well.”
“And will you be telling him the truth you’ve remembered?”
“Josh, yes. I’ll tell him now.” I head to the stairs to call him up. “But Kade’s ownership claims didn’t kick in until after I got these scars. I’m under no obligation to tell him anything about my life before him.” Not that I know all the details. Sketchy bits and pieces don’t qualify as remembering.
Mira follows me, grabs on to the stair rail, and steps on the tread behind me. “Kade will want to know. He’ll want to comfort you. He’ll—”
“He’ll have to deal with it. My past is mine, not his. That’s just the way it has to be.” I move next to Mira and support her, urging her to lean on me as we make our way down the stairs, one slow step at a time. Shadows creep into our path, and regret hits me. I forgot to turn on the stairwell light.
“I think you’re underestimating Kade’s persuasive abilities. He’ll get the information out of you, and you won’t even realize you’ve spilled all the details until—”
The basement door opens, cutting an arc of light to chase back the shadows and stopping Mira midsentence. Josh steps through the open door with Jarah trailing behind him, then rushes up the stairs to meet us. My brother takes my place, slipping his arm around Mira’s waist. “You were supposed to reach out to me when you were ready to leave. I would’ve carried you down.”
There’s no reprimand in my brother’s voice, only concern. Mira’s smile shows no sign of annoyance over Josh’s suggestion either. L
ove practically oozes into the air around them, giving the outward impression they’re one cohesive unit as they make their way to the bottom. All the while, they speak softly to each other. Mira’s giggle and the way she glances at my brother adds to the happy little scene and builds an ache in my chest to add to the one I always carry.
Then they’re gone, slipping past Jarah and leaving me standing here on the stairs. Jarah closes the door behind him, shutting out the morning sunlight. Although not completely dark, shadows obscure the basement, concealing the path to the door and the assassin standing there.
“If you’re here for the money you gave—”
“Kade was looking for someone to watch over you until Zach could get here. I volunteered.”
With my hand on the railing, I hold my ground and ignore the biting fire racing over my skin. “Isn’t guarding someone a little out of your realm of expertise?”
“How so?”
“Assassins generally kill people, not watch them.”
“How do you think we can take down our enemies without them knowing they’re going to die? We watch. We wait. Then we act.”
Sunlight from the room behind me illuminates the upper portion of the stairs where the light switch is located before blending into the darker section of the basement where Jarah’s standing. He has to come up this way to reach me. I’ll notice his approach. Whether I can react in time is another thing. I’ve seen how fast shifters can move.
And the gun I normally carry is on the pillow next to the one I slept on.
I lift a foot to the tread behind me but don’t retreat. “That sounds a little threatening.”
“It should. I normally kill people like you.”
The pounding in my chest turns into a warning beat I feel in my veins. “People like…me?”
“Yes. You’re a threat, and it’s best if you’re eliminated before you realize just how much.” The rustling of clothes is loud. And deliberate. A booted foot shows the section of the floor where light and dark blur into shadows. “But you’re an exception, and the threat you pose has been contained. Or at least it was contained, buried deep within you. The door has been cracked, however, and, if not curtailed, everything locked away will all come pouring out and choke you with knowledge you don’t know what to do with.”
Uneasiness leaves me coiled, ready to fight or flee. “Curtailed by who?”
“Your therapist, of course. Dr. Fairchild’s his name, right?”
“Yes.” My voice is small, even though I can’t say why his name sparks fear within me. The professional therapist assigned to me by the state after I lost my baby and fiancé never touched me. Dr. Jeremiah Fairchild never so much as stepped into my personal space or shook my hand. He treated me with nothing but respect even while everyone else called me crazy. “But I didn’t see him willingly. They made me.”
“Who made you?”
“Child Welfare, I guess. I was under eighteen. I’ve had them threaten my parents before over other stuff. They’ve been fined too. I got into trouble a few times growing up, so I know how they do things, and after everything that happened, I didn’t want my mom to have to deal with it. So I went to see Dr. Fairchild like I was told to.”
“Do you remember what he talked to you about?”
“No. Not really. It was years ago.” I bristle, standing straighter, and fist my hand. “And if I did, I’m not telling some random stranger.”
“We’re not strangers. We met yesterday. I gave you my number too. Why haven’t you called?”
“Okay. This is over. Get out or—”
“I’d have to advise you against threatening an assassin, Ms. Conway. We don’t like that and are obligated to take you up on your threat. That usually doesn’t turn out well…for the person running their mouth, anyway.”
“I don’t like this creepy conversation.” I grip the railing harder instead of wrapping my arms around me. “Either tell me why you’ve remained in here to lurk or leave. Simple as that.”
Instead of obeying, Jarah climbs the stairs, the wood creaking under the weight of his massive frame. I hold my ground. If Jarah wanted me dead, I would be already. He practically told me that.
He stops a couple of treads below me so we’re eye level with each other. With the edge of his hand under my chin, he keeps my head steady and focused on him. “What did Jeremiah tell you to forget?”
Jeremiah’s lulling voice rises from the depths of my mind, whispering the word…forget. Jaw clamped, I shake off Jarah’s hold and point past him. “The door is that way. See yourself out.”
After a moment, Jarah inclines his head. “Call me when you want to remember everything.”
The flashes of memory I’ve recalled since getting that text from Shifter Affairs skip across my mind. The clips from the night I lost my family are random tidbits of everything that happened. I might’ve remembered some things, but not all. “For a price, right?”
“Doesn’t everything come with a price?”
“I don’t like paying for things. Free is so much sweeter.”
“You like free, huh? Fine.” Jarah smirks. “Then I won’t charge you anything. For you, my services will be completely free and clear.”
“Then who pays?”
“You have a fixation with money, don’t you?”
“No. I wouldn’t be able to live the kind of life I have if I did.” I pinch a section of my newly dyed hair and lift it. “This is the only thing I’ve splurged on in months.”
“Does Kade like it?”
I freeze, willing myself to keep any reaction from showing on my face. “What Kade thinks doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it?” Jarah makes an amused sound. “Then why did you wax his car right before you returned to his pride lands? Or spend a good twenty minutes with a toothbrush getting all the bug guts off the grille and headlights?”
My sharp inhale betrays my shock. “You watched me?”
Jarah nods. “From the moment you paid for gas and a bottle of wax with a handful of loose coins to the minute you pulled into the sporting goods store outside of town.”
“And? I stole his car. If he caught me, I wanted him to at least know I was taking care of it.” The anger over the loser with the cart returns and stiffens my spine. “As best I could, anyway.”
“Because his opinion matters.”
“Who pays?” I demand instead of being tricked into admitting the truth. What Kade thinks does matter. It shouldn’t, but at least he smiles at me when he’s pleased. I can’t say the same for anyone else. Whenever I’ve seen him with other people, he’s worn a permanent scowl.
Jarah turns his back without answering and retreats into the shadows. The door opens, flooding the front part of the basement in sunlight. His silhouette in the doorway blocks most of the light a moment later. “There’s only one thing I fear, Zoe Jane Conway.”
The memory of our conversation from yesterday returns along with the question I posed to Jarah about wanting to know what he fears. “What’s that?”
“That I’ve killed my true mate. Maybe over and over throughout the ages.”
“Why would you do that?”
“People like you are killed on sight. It’s safer that way.”
The door closes behind Jarah. I stand there a moment more, then make my way back to the kitchenette. I never did finish my coffee.
Or let everything that’s happened this morning settle over me. Memories often surface when I’m alone. Sometimes my crazy side even talks to me about things. Sometimes she makes sense too. And I want to remember everything else that happened that night, because whoever said ignorance is bliss has never questioned anything they’ve done or didn’t do. I have. I’ve replayed the past over and over, but one thing always remains.
I didn’t do enough. If I had, BJ would’ve gotten off drugs and our baby would be getting ready to start kindergarten in the fall. I messed everything up, though.
Then again…maybe not remembering all the details about ho
w badly I failed is a blessing in disguise.
Four
Kade
With Zoe home and Zach taking a turn watching her, I can focus on the alpha duties I’ve neglected. I’d much rather be with my beloved human, but my younger brother is more than capable of guarding her. Actually, any of my pride mates would do everything in their power to protect Zoe. They’re all powerful, each in their own way.
No other member of the Alexander pride can take my place in this meeting, however. Only alphas are permitted to speak in this circle, and then the strength of the alpha determines whether the other members listen. The last time I participated in one of these video conference calls, the other alphas hung on my every word. That was months ago, however. Many things have changed since then.
One more slow survey of my office shows everything in order. Copies of our society’s law books are front and center on the massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelves behind my desk. Photographs of each Alexander pride member cram the other shelves, the tribute to my growing pride showcasing their exoticness, vitality, and strength.
I roll the sleeves of my dress shirt until the folded cotton strains over the muscles in my forearms—part genetics and part endless hours of hard labor before I matured, and my body froze into the one I’ll have for eternity. The rest of my body is equally strong—a physique my father insisted on refining until I couldn’t gain another ounce of muscle. Each of my brothers and cousins have a similarly powerful body.
The Alexanders have an image to uphold—primal strength, honor, intelligence, and an allure that compels those around us to bow down to our will. My pride has excelled in all those things.
Until I became alpha.
Turning my back on the display that’s purposely missing one member’s picture, I trail my fingers over the gleaming dark wood desk before sitting on the cushioned leather chair and angling the camera so the view from the windows on either side of the bookcase show the trees of the woods surrounding the house, not the piles of landscaping rock and dirt sitting in the backyard since last summer. With everything as perfect as can be, I join the alpha call that’s already in progress.