Nodding enthusiastically, Rachael grabbed his wrist and checked his watch. Her hands were soft and warm. Holden was more than willing to enjoy her touch, and was more than disappointed when she released him.
“I gotta go,” she said apologetically. “School tomorrow.”
“There’s a vague memory of going to school somewhere in my history,” remarked Holden.
She granted him a wry giggle. “Then maybe next time you can just do half my homework for me.”
“One fourth. I’m bringing the tasty baked treats.”
“Deal.”
Even as he waved her off, Holden felt the dread seeping back in. There had never been much hope in Jackson moving back in with his remaining family; not for long, at least. But this concrete divide between father and son still, and always would, point back to Aaron. Aaron, his former alpha, the man determined to always be his alpha, who never so much as lost a wink of sleep over his atrocities. He could clock in as many hours as he wanted, caring for a pup, and even doing a decent job as he had with Jackson.
To Holden, he would always be a savage beast. And he had to find a way to protect Rachael from that.
The mattress could have been a thick slab of ice, and Aaron would still wake in a cold sweat. He knew, without looking, that the moment he peeled himself off the T-shirt thin sheets he would see a drenched outline of his own body. As police callously chalked the shape of a corpse, Aaron’s nightmares leaked out of his spirit and onto his bed in the shape of his body.
Instead of sitting up, he wallowed in his tepid filth. Two years. Two years had passed, but the shame would always remain with him.
Aaron could admit he was pretty much a close companion of death. As a human, he had skirted it through miracle alone. As a pup, he had witnessed the agony of those who didn’t survive the transformation. He was a hunter as well. Killing for food or survival was a fact of lycan life. As an alpha, death was so depressingly common that he had to hoist the job off on another just to keep his sanity on the safe side of intact.
But snapping the neck of one of his own still haunted him.
There were no excuses. From start to finish, Beatrice’s decline rested heavily on his shoulders. Infecting her, regardless of her edging the brink of death at the time, had been a mistake. Failing to discipline her, and instead coddling the girl and allowing her wild nature to run virtually unchecked, was his fault. He should not have permitted her so much freedom. He should not have dismissed her obsessive infatuation with him; should not have excused her recklessness out of pity.
Aaron should have recognized the signs of her instability and acted upon them. As a result, Beatrice had literally frightened Rachael’s already sick mother to death and Jackson was now a lycan. Against his will, even if he was adjusting rather well.
His failure as an alpha meant he would forever hear the bone-crackling finality of Beatrice’s life. Nearly every night he dreamt, he relived the terrible moments of her and Rachael’s vicious fight. Rachael, the strong, brave ray of sunshine she was, had done her best, yet ended up slashed, bruised, and asphyxiating at his charge’s hands. She had been rapidly losing the fight. Her life was within Beatrice’s jealous grasp.
So Aaron had snapped Beatrice’s neck.
Then he forced his brother to bury her.
And still couldn’t muster the rationale to be angry at anyone but himself.
The bloody hues of dawn began to seep through the hotel’s sheer crimson curtains. Exhaling softly, Aaron reluctantly shook off the last remnants of his grim night. In daylight he couldn’t afford to self-flagellate. He had a pack to care for.
Clothed in little more than boxers, he briskly made his bed. The musky salt stench was barely hidden. Hotel blankets were as cheap as they appeared.
He tired of hotels. Finding a home was the next pertinent step to their triumphant return to Keeton. Jackson had enjoyed some time with his sister; now it was time for work.
Prior to opening the door conjoining their rooms, Aaron knew what to expect. Same as the past couple years, Jackson’s large frame had curled into a neatly compacted ball in his side of the bed. The thin wool blanket pulled snug over his shoulders, encasing him in a warm, probably itchy cocoon. Juxtaposing him, Nathan splayed his arms and legs across the other ¾ths of the bed. His nightly squirming had taken him closer to the foot, one leg dangling over the side.
Wordlessly, Aaron strode over to the tightly closed curtains and threw them open. The results were instantaneous; sheets rustled and Jackson’s joints popped as he stretched.
“Still having side effects, pup?” inquired Aaron without turning. While the sun was out, fat grey clouds in the horizon promised the day would be unfortunately dreary. More was the pity. He preferred to look at homes in broad daylight, where the sun could gleam and he had more light to determine all the promises and faults.
“Some,” Jackson admitted. Zero traces of slumber tainted his voice. From the start, he had been pleasantly quick to alert and rise. “Mostly in my knees, now.”
That meant he was still adjusting well to the change. Only major joints were popping now and then, and mostly after a good night’s sleep. His blackout periods were much fewer and further between, and he was growing stronger and quicker. Also notable—though not precisely positive—was that it was becoming a little harder for him to retain information. Just like a healthy lycan.
Not allowing his satisfaction to show, Aaron approached his newest recruit. Jackson knowingly bared his teeth and allowed his alpha to prod.
“Six months and twenty-three days since your last bleed,” murmured Aaron.
“One hundred years and eight months since mine!” Nathan piped in.
Add seventy-four years and seven days to that, thought Aaron. Ignoring his brother, Aaron tested the tips of Jackson’s fangs. “You are still biting,” he observed when the teenager stuck out his tongue. “Shall we go back to the mouth guard?”
“If you think that’s best, sir.”
Sharply, Aaron said, “That is not what I asked you.”
A brief pause before Jackson spoke. “No. I’m not biting nearly as hard or often as I used to. I don’t want to resort to that, yet.”
It was the yet that made Aaron agree. The pup was smart enough to know his limits. So much about him was a breath of fresh air compared to Holden. “Very well. Both of you get dressed. We have much to do.”
A sullen humph resounded from the boy behind them. Overdramatically, Nathan tore off his pajamas and stomped into the bathroom. Moments later, the familiar sounds of over-used, old knobs creaked and water sloshing onto porcelain reached the main room.
“Make it a shower,” Aaron snapped.
“I know!” Nathan shouted.
Suppressing the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, Aaron turned back to Jackson. Wisely, the pup hid his grin the moment he realized Aaron moved. Hopefully he would hide his amusement quicker soon.
“Today we are to find a new home,” said Aaron simply.
Brown eyes clouded with confusion. “What happened to the one you guys used to have?”
Poise was a virtue with all lycans. Patiently, Aaron explained, “We sold that one. The new owners are quite fond of it. We have had this conversation before.”
Jackson sheepishly scratched his head. “Right... I forgot. Sorry.”
“Do not be sorry. Quit forgetting.” Harsh, perhaps, but leeway had ultimately been the demise of Beatrice, and Aaron was not about to forget it. Still, he softened his voice a touch. “You are to take Nathan to the library and do some research. Find any houses in the area with at least one unfinished room.”
“For sound-proofing.”
“Precisely.” Aaron headed back to the conjoined door, and the pup did not disappoint by failing to follow. On the nightstand were the keys to the rental car. Aaron tossed them to Jackson. He chose not to comment when the boy fumbled and dropped them. “Email or text the addresses to me. I will take care of the rest.”
Jack
son fiddled with the key, visibly excited at the prospect of driving on his own. It had been some time since Aaron had allowed it. “Then what?”
“Whatever you like,” replied Aaron pleasantly. “Just be back here by five.”
“What if we need to find you?”
“Come back to the hotel and wait. If that is not an option, go to the woods and find a suitable place to hide.” Aaron was unconcerned. They wouldn’t need him. Even if they did, he was confident the boys could handle themselves. The territory was familiar, and both were adequately trained at this point.
More importantly, Aaron had a house call to make, and he would not stand an interruption.
Posing as a teenager offered quite a few problems in the 21st century. A few decades ago, a part-time job could have funded both a tiny apartment and some college classes. Nowadays, the same time clocked in couldn’t even pay rent on Holden’s studio, much less help him afford luxuries such as a television or cable. Ergo, he strove to obtain more hours, and his entertainment these days remained restricted to the radio.
The programs were much less impressive than when the airwaves were first utilized for public enjoyment. In his earlier lycan years, he had rather liked the noir tales dictated in over-exaggerated English accents. The stories had always offered intrigue and suspense, human suspense. They had made for delightfully lively evenings.
Whenever a DJ shouted that the latest caller had won backstage passes to an artist Holden was barely familiar with, his eyes would twitch.
So he preferred listening to talk shows and county news. The reports on a missing local 5 year-old and updates about traffic weren’t ideal for background noise to cooking, but it kept him from dwelling on less pleasant concepts.
Baking in particular soothed him. Red velvet had such a distinct, rich smell, and the thick cream cheese icing only served to sweeten the atmosphere. Holden made sure to keep a careful distance as he decorated, holding Rachael in the forefront of his mind as he turned the knife in decadent swirls over the cupcakes. Someone else’s appreciative taste always aided his motivation. Knowing how much she adored his food only sharpened his eye for flair as well as flavor.
The internal battle over pearl sugar or nonpareil sprinkles was in the midst of raging unrelenting war when Holden’s scars began to smolder.
Jolting his attention away from the sweets, he scrutinized the apartment from the kitchen counter. He heard nothing, smelled nothing, yet he knew. Whether human or lycan, that gut instinct was rarely ever wrong.
A few breaths eased his anxious shivers to mild tremors. Shoulders squared, chin set, Holden took the few long strides to his front door.
Unlike at the Adair home, Aaron Moreno didn’t wait for an invite. He walked straight past him, and Holden couldn’t bring himself to stop the man. His fingers tensed while his alpha—former alpha, he corrected himself—took a brief survey of his new home.
Expecting a snide remark, he was unprepared when Aaron looked at him and said simply, “Once your lease has expired, you are coming home.”
“You don’t even have a house,” was all Holden could think to say. Well, he could think of other things but Aaron had a pet peeve for unnecessary crudeness and Holden wasn’t looking for a fight. Yet.
A knowing smirk told him Aaron knew his statement had been more an intelligent conjecture. “Home is where the heart is. More importantly, you have work to do.”
Shaking his head, Holden brushed past him back to the counter. He attempted to regain his interest between Rachael’s cupcake sprinkles. “I’m not coming back.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“I do not believe I offered a suggestion.”
“I’m not your bitch!”
Shouting only made him feel his feeble control over the situation slip. The lines across his abdomen enflamed, and Holden pressed his hand against them to quell the pain.
With that enraging calm, Aaron said, “I quite agree. You lack the appropriate reproductive organs. However, points for being a lycan, so at least your term is partially accurate. One cannot say the same for humans when they use such crass vocabulary.”
There were far worse words Holden could have pulled from his century-old lexicon, but he choked them back. Aaron was pushing his buttons, and he knew precisely how and which order to do it. Getting angry had never worked, and distance had not given him any ideas on how to deal with it, particularly since Holden had barely given it any real thought. Clearly his biggest mistake was allowing the months to render him complacent.
Through his teeth, he stated, “You knew what I meant.”
The red was still fading from the rims of his vision when Aaron changed the subject. “The presentation of your art has improved dramatically.”
“Thanks,” said Holden before he realized it. A rough shake of his head hurt the back of his eyes more than cleared his thoughts. “I’ve had more time to work on it. You know, things I like.”
“And it is admirable,” remarked his former leader.
Holden rolled his eyes. “Like you care.”
With disturbing gentleness, Aaron said, “You will recall I never dissuaded you from your hobbies.”
Disbelief flooded his vocal chords. “It’s not like you signed me up for any cooking classes.”
“How strange,” said Aaron dryly. “It is almost as though you did not take to it on your own time. Certainly my memories of you attempting to learn how a modern stove worked into your mother’s methods must be false.”
“Oh, stop acting like you care,” spat Holden. “How many times have you gone out of your way to remind me my parents are dead?”
“As I recall,” said Aaron, “I commended your culinary skills—which were, quite honestly, lacking at the time—and insisted your mother’s natural skill obviously had passed on to you.”
Even now, Holden could not recall his mom without the imagery of her destroyed flesh. “I’m sick of you pretending that you ever gave a—”
“Had I not desired you to pursue both the honor of your heritage and obvious talent,” interrupted Aaron, “the punishments for your several insolences would have been far more grueling than dinner responsibilities and pupsitting.”
His control over the confrontation wasn’t slipping, Holden knew. It was completely obliterated. The anger was present, and the knowledge he would not, could not, respect Aaron would always plague him.
The worst part was that Aaron was dreadfully consistent in making his point.
Exhausted, Holden said, “I don’t want to come back.”
Aaron took a step closer, the meticulous shine of his shoes in contrast with the ratty blue carpet beneath them. “That much I am aware of.”
To his horror, Holden was fighting back tears. He blinked rapidly. “Then why make me? Why not just leave me alone?”
It had been so long since Aaron had laid a hand on him that wasn’t forceful or violent. Holden felt a burst of shock when his alpha took hold of his chin with a firm but notably gentle touch, turning his head until all Holden could see were the cold dark eyes he had loathed for decades. Except now they weren’t cold, and the blackness of his irises seemed strangely empathetic.
It was 1892 and Holden was the terrified, desperate child all over again.
“You know,” was all Aaron said.
He couldn’t make a decision. Not now, not when he felt so vulnerable. The stakes were too high, his morality too low, and his alpha had crawled too deep under his skin. It was as though the man had thought the scenario out ahead of time, planning his words, predicting Holden’s reactions. But no matter how long he took to decide, both knew the outcome.
Aaron was always right.
Chapter Six
Nearly three weeks passed since Jackson’s return before Rachael noticed the fliers.
Initially, when her father had charged into his emotional manhunt, one the first actions he had taken had been to post MISSING posters of Jackson all over the county. No light post, store w
indow, or notice board had gone without her brother’s dark eyes glowering out from beneath long tresses. Even West Keeton High School had his stare following every footstep down the hallways.
After the first few months, nobody bothered to replace the fliers. By the end of Rachael’s junior year, only the ones by the nurse’s office and the school events board were regularly swapped out for untorn, smooth revisions. At the time she had stopped pretending to look. She had known he wasn’t technically missing, even if she’d had no idea where he was.
Still, the images had been burned into her brain so harshly that she was surprised to find she hadn’t noticed the new posters. Also MISSING fliers, albeit of a Hispanic child with small glittering eyes and beautifully high cheekbones.
When she paused, so did her classmate, Shawna. Sharp eyes traveled between the notice and Rachael’s face before the girl spoke. “You didn’t hear about it?”
“No,” said Rachael softly. “I stopped watching the news after Jackie went missing.”
Leaning against a nearby locker, Shawna explained, “It’s been on almost every channel. The kid was just adopted, disappeared last month. Everyone thinks she was kidnapped.” She paused. “Good thing Jackson came back, or people’d think we have a serial kidnapper.”
A painful tightening in her chest almost halted Rachael’s speech. “Poor girl,” she murmured. She turned and continued walking at a brisker pace, heedless of Shawna’s hurried heeled feet attempting to catch up to her.
It couldn’t be the lycans, she told herself. They planned to stay. Both Jackson and Aaron had said so. Only sheer foolishness would make them turn another person so quickly. The timing was just a coincidence.
She had to talk to Jackie.
When she got home that afternoon, Rachael rushed to the kitchen. A large sheet of paper with a hotel and room number was trapped beneath half a dozen magnets on the fridge. She frantically dialed and requested to be connected.
No one answered.
Just a coincidence, Rachael told herself. Nothing more. She was just jumpy because of the incident with her brother two years ago. Justifiably so, but it didn’t mean anything. The news was not rife with missing people because lycans were rare and infecting humans was even rarer. Holden had told her so. There were rules; codes; laws. They couldn’t just take anybody they wanted and turn them.
Secrets in the Fade (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 2) Page 4