Adam takes the road up to the packhouse. There are no other vehicles in the parking area when he arrives, so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him when he tumbles out of the truck the moment that the wheels stop moving.
He lets himself fall to the gravel on his hands and knees, stretching his leg out behind him like he’s doing some of Jax’s yoga.
The rain falls on him like a warm shower.
The relief isn’t instant, but the spikes of pain diminish and then finally fade completely.
Adam gets to his feet and scrambles in the cab for his cane. Driving a long distance with this damned hip is worse than driving the same distance with a full bladder. He is sick to death of it. The sooner he can have that operation, the better. Pack leader or not, be damned.
It’s not like he’s any good like this anyway.
He’s slipping the key into the lock of the front door when a flash of movement catches his eye.
He swivels his head to the left, but there’s nothing there. All that can be seen are Gregor’s neatly trimmed hedges, rose bushes and the myriad of exotic plants that Adam couldn’t name in a million years.
He turns his attention back to the door, subtly flaring his nostrils to try pick up any new scents.
His heart skips a beat. “Ivan?”
Adam cocks his head, listening.
“Ivan?” he calls out again.
He turns as fast as he can on his heel and sets off down the path alongside the rosebushes as fast as he can, cane click-clicking against the wet stone. “Ivan? I can scent you. Your dad is worried sick.”
He turns the corner, and there he is: a small gray-coloured wolf cub, fur slick with rain. Ivan’s ears are lowered against his head and his tail is curled up under him. He’s wearing a collar and a lead.
“You’re half right,” Ronmin says, holding the lead up. “Were you looking for this?”
THOMAS
heavy rain and a hot shower
It’s one of them. It has to be. Thomas is holding back barely concealed rage, and the other omegas are giving him a wide berth.
Thomas is sitting, one leg under him, on the sofa by the window so he can keep a watch out of the crack in the blinds.
This cabin is nicer than the other one. It’s actually inhabitable for one thing, and has electricity and hot water for another. It almost certainly also contains someone who has been selling them out to Ronmin and stolen Thomas’ child.
Rage begins to rise though Thomas’ veins.
Okay, breathe. It’s starting to get dark – don’t think of Ivan out there alone in the dark – but they’ve kept the lights off.
Hard summer rain continues to fall against the tin roof of the cabin. Thomas breathes in deep and concentrates on the sound of the rain. He’s not going to get anywhere if he loses it.
He needs to think about this, the same way he has been wracking his brain for the last five hours. He’s desperately trying to remember anything that might tell him whose phone was left in the Van Zyle cabin.
Cam said he found it. He might have. It makes sense that he wouldn’t say anything. The kid is terrified of his own shadow, yet not so terrified that he didn’t manage to escape from whatever hell gave him those scars on his legs.
Thomas wants to shake it out of him, but there’s no guarantee he’d get a straight answer. If it’s not Cam, then it’s Shannon, and if it’s her, then she’s not going tell the truth either.
She was asking questions about what came next in the chain all the back in Fort Gosford, but most of the runaways do that.
He wracks his brain, trying to remember everything they said and did back at the cabin. They spent most of the time playing cards and making endless mugs of tea and coffee. It’s not like there was much else to do.
“The shower’s free if you want it?” Jacob’s voice sounds from behind him. By seeming unspoken consent, he’s been designated the spokesman for the other three when talking to Thomas. Possibly because Thomas has been glaring daggers at Cam and Shannon ever since they left the Van Zyle cabin.
It won’t have been Jacob. It can’t have been. Can it?
“Okay, don’t bite my face off.” Jacob snaps.
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You didn’t need to. You look like you’re ready to punch someone.” Jacob turns on his heel and stalks off.
Thomas consciously unclenches his fists and lays his hands out flat on his jeans. His little cousin isn’t wrong. When all this is over, he is going to have to apologize.
Assuming Jacob isn’t the asshole who had that phone.
Thomas sinks his face into his hands. He can’t take this paranoia anymore.
It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you, he thinks. There’s a reason he’s hiding in the dark...
He hasn’t had a proper wash in days. Heating water on the gas camping stove and washing out of a bucket doesn’t really count.
He squints through the gap in the blinds one more time. There’s nothing visible outside. Not even the truck which is hidden around the back of the cabin, nor Gregor or Luke although he knows that they’re out there somewhere in the rain and the dark.
He’s hardly taken his eyes off the others since they arrived. No one’s objected, or at least not to his face. There has been plenty of whispering at the other end of the room.
“Call me the instant anyone comes,” Thomas says to Jacob, who gives him a curt nod.
The bathroom is damp and steamy when he closes the door behind him, and smells like shampoo residue and toothpaste.
The shelves are untidy and stacked with half-empty tubes, bottles and tubs. Not for the first time, he wonders whose cabin this is and whether they even have permission to be here.
Not my problem. That’s one for the alphas outside to deal with.
He strips off, letting his clothes drop where they fall. He’d grabbed what he could when they left the Van Zyle cabin but there hadn’t been time to do anything more than scan the place and grab stuff as fast as he could.
He wonders if they’ll have enough time here to put his clothes through the washer dryer. In the meantime, he’s going to have to get back into the dirty ones. He suppresses a grimace at the thought.
He steps into the shower before it has a chance to warm up. The cold water hitting his skin feels somehow right, as if it’s sluicing away all his problems.
Wash fast. Get out. He needs to be there the instant that the wild wolves come out with Ivan, and not a micro-second later.
Ivan. He’s still not sure what happened. One moment, the kid was there, safe and fast asleep, and the next he was just gone. Thomas is certain now that he must have overheard the argument between him and Adam, but even if he had run off, he’d have come back by now.
Oh God. What if he goes back to the Van Zyle cabin? The cabin that is now still and dark and empty, unless Ronmin’s men are there already.
Shit. He pumps shampoo into his hand in a single squeeze, and rubs it into his hair, scrubbing hard enough that it hurts.
Wash fast. Get out, he thinks again furiously.
Just as suddenly, his hand slows. What’s he even rushing for? He has no options. Gregor and Luke aren’t suddenly going to go rushing back to the cabin on his say so.
He can’t leave.
He can’t tell anyone what to do.
He can’t trust anyone to tell him the truth.
He can’t call anyone.
He can’t do anything except stand in this stupid shower and wash his stupid hair.
Thomas lets himself fall forward, cracking his forehead against the cool of the tiles. His eyes burn as tears begin to fall, his mouth turning into a rictus grimace as he sobs into the falling water.
Once loose, it all comes out. Fear, grief, the utter terror in his heart that he is never going to see his son again. Even Adam.
Adam didn’t come back. He got in his truck and he didn’t come back. He probably doesn’t want to see Thomas ever again.
Thomas gulps in great hiccupping breaths, as his face runs hot with tears. It feels too hard to breathe.
His muscles give way under him. He crumples to the bottom of the shower, and stays there, hugging his knees to him as the water swirls around him.
He startles at someone bangs loudly on the door, then his heart gives a leap.
Ivan!
Jacob’s voice sounds through the door, high-pitched and panicked. “Get out. Lex is here. He’s arguing with the Winterstokes. I don’t know what to do. I think we need to go.”
Ivan. Something’s happened to Ivan. “Is it Ivan?”
“I don’t know. Just come.”
Thomas wipes his face with the side of his arm, and swallows hard. His muscles are still hot and jellied.
“Thomas!”
The fear in Jacob’s voice finally gives energy to Thomas’ legs. He scrambles to his feet, careful not to slip. He doesn’t have the luxury of falling part right now.
The fear is feeding something else. Pure hot-bellied rage.
Enough waiting. He wants his son. Now. Thomas gets out, wraps a towel around his waist, and goes out to give them all hell.
ADAM
a collar and a stack of pancakes
“You’ve gone too far this time,” Adam says. Every part of his body is urging him to snarl and shift, and finally rip the irritating creature’s throat right out of his body.
Only the awareness of Ivan’s eyes on him holds him back.
“Not this time,” Ronmin replies casually. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that it’s raining. He’s soaked through, water dripping down the sides of his neck. “Here.”
He holds out the lead for Adam take. Adam reaches out and grabs it, expecting a trap even if he has no idea of the shape of it.
“Found the kid wandering,” the other alpha explains innocently. “I thought I’d better get him back to you before someone starts worrying.”
That is utter bullshit, Adam thinks. He says, “You put a collar on him.”
“So? I didn’t want him running off, and who knows who he might have run into? Not everyone’s as nice as me.”
Adam ignores him. He gets to his knees, brushing off the twinge of complaint from his hip, and undoes the collar from Ivan’s neck. “It’s okay, kid. You’re not in trouble. Everyone’s been looking for you.”
The wolf cub cocks his head, and his ears raise slightly.
“Come on,” Adam says. “Let’s get you inside. You’re soaking. I’m pretty sure I’ve got some hot chocolate in the kitchen. You like hot chocolate?”
“I do,” Ronmin says, and Adam shoots him the dirtiest look he can while still trying to look relaxed for the kid.
“Come on,” Adam says again. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
And then I’ll get you back to your dad. He gets to his feet, using the cane to push himself upwards, then starts heading towards the front door.
There’s the sound of air displacement, then a young voice says, “Are you really my dad?”
Adam stops where he stands, then turns around.
Ronmin looks as if he has won the lottery.
Ivan is watching him, his face still and serious. The rain continues down, pasting his dark hair to his scalp, and trickling in rivulets down pale skin. He shivers.
“Yeah, I am,” Adam replies. “Lets talk about this inside. Please.”
Ivan nods. He puts his small hand in Adam’s and lets Adam lead him inside the packhouse. Ronmin saunters after them.
When they get to the door, Adam unlocks it, then stands in the doorway so that Ronmin can’t get past. “Well, thank you for bringing Ivan home.”
“Oh, my pleasure.” Ronmin doesn’t move.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you,” Adam says pointedly.
“Oh, you’re not. I’ve got no plans today.”
“Aidan, please. I need to see to the kid.”
“We’re on first name terms now, are we? I am pleased, but don’t worry. I’ll just come in and have that hot chocolate you promised, dry off a bit and then I’ll be on my way. Pinkie swear.”
“Okay, fine.” Ronmin’s not going to do anything stupid. Not now. Or at least, Adam doesn’t think he will. He’ll just have to ignore him until he goes away.
The inside of the packhouse is still, empty and dark. The rain makes a hard-pattering sound as it hits the roof.
Adam grabs a folded blanket from one of the armchairs in the common room. Ronmin helps himself to another, then takes a seat, watching them.
“Here you go,” Adam says, wrapping it around the boy. “I’ll get you a proper towel in a minute. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Ivan shakes his head.
Adam remembers the suitcase in the backseat of the truck. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a sec.”
He retrieves the case and brings it back into the packhouse, then hauls it up on the bar counter with not a little difficulty.
“I should have some clothes in here for you.”
“Oh,” Ivan says, standing by Adam and peering into the case. “You got my toys. How did you know which ones to get?” He pulls them out one by one, tucking them under his arm in order to get another.
“I just picked the ones that looked like they’d had the most love. I couldn’t bring all of them.”
“That’s okay,” Ivan says. He’s finally stopped shivering. He looks like a mini-super hero with the blanket pulled around his shoulders like a cape, Adam thinks. A particularly lumpy superhero with all the stuffed toys now clasped underneath it.
“I’ve got some clothes for you too,” Adam says, pulling out the selection he’d taken from the apartment. “You want those ones? Okay. Let me show you where you can get changed.”
“And me?” Ronmin asks from the chair. “Do I get a towel?”
“There’s a bathroom through there,” Adam counters, pointing at the guest bathroom. “There are towels in the closet.”
He doesn’t wait to see if Ronmin follows. Instead, he shows Ivan into his bedroom, then waits outside while the boy gets dressed.
He doesn’t want to risk calling and having Ronmin overhear something he shouldn’t so he taps out messages to his brothers instead.
I’ve got Ivan. Safe and sound. R is here. Pls confirm situation yr end..
He deliberately adds a double period to the end of the sentence. It’s one of the fail safes they agreed years ago to prove that the message came from them, and not just someone with access to their phone.
Both messages just sit there with a single tick showing they’ve sent, but not yet received. Adam suppresses a frown.
He’s been wanting to fund for an extra cell mast for the town for years. If squabbling with Ronmin and his goons is going to be their life now, they’re going to have do something about the patchy signal.
His brothers will send one back with one of a handful of a pre-approved bad auto-corrects.
The door opens and Ivan appears, dressed and holding more stuffed toys than he strictly has hands for.
“You hungry?” Adam asks.
The boy nods.
“Come on, then.”
Ivan follows Adam into the kitchen, taking a chair at the table while Adam potters around, grabbing implements and ingredients. “You like pancakes?”
Ivan nods again. “My dad makes them sometimes.”
“He make them with blueberries?” Adam asks, pouring ingredients into a bowl.
“How did you know that?” Ivan asks.
“That’s the way your dad always liked them. Right from when he was a little boy. He used to sit right there where you’re sitting now and I’d make them for him.”
Ivan’s face screws up in a frown. “Weren’t you also a little boy?”
“Yeah, but I always liked to cook, even when I was a kid. Thomas used to eat all my experiments and he never ever complained.” Adam leans over and whispers. “And sometimes they were terrible.”
It works. Ivan giggles.
The scent in the ai
r changes and Ronmin appears, toweling off his wet hair. “Ooh, pancakes.”
“Plates are over there,” Adam nods towards the cabinet. “Put them out, will you.”
The corner of Ronmin’s mouth turns up in a small smile as if he’s won a battle, if not the war. Adam’s willing to let him have this one. He doesn’t have the energy to argue.
He checks the batter, then drops spoonfuls onto the skillet.
Ronmin pulls plates out and sets them out on the kitchen table, then starts searching the cabinets for syrup.
He finds what’s he’s looking for, then turns to Ivan.
“Chocolate spread or maple syrup? Both?”
“Yes, please,” Ivan replies politely.
Adam watches them out of the corner of his eye, as he flips over the browning pancakes.
Ivan doesn’t seem to be unnerved by the other alpha’s presence, although he has fallen silent. As soon as Ronmin leaves, Adam can ask him what’s going on.
The food doesn’t take long. Moments later, he slides stack of pancakes onto the table accompanied by mugs of steaming hot chocolate.
“Thank you.” Ronmin grabs a plate and helps himself to a couple from the stack. “These look really good. Wow, they taste really good too.”
It is my day job, Adam thinks, but he’s pleased, despite himself.
Ivan is wolfing down the contents of his plate like he’s never seen food before.
Ronmin puts his fork down and reaches for his mug. He sniffs at it before taking a sip.
Paranoid, Adam thinks. Or maybe not. There are probably a lot of people out there who would poison the man if they were given the chance, and for a lot less provocation.
“I don’t have horns, you know. You can stop staring.” Pale green eyes meet Adam’s. Ronmin takes another bite of pancake. He’s poured enough syrup on that he could be legitimately said to be drinking pancake soup.
Ronmin has a sweet tooth. Adam squirrels away the thought in case it comes in useful later. Now, who’s paranoid?
“I meant what I said about negotiating,” Ronmin says with his mouth full. He points his fork at Adam. “And about good terms.”
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