by Sierra Dean
“I know you’re in here,” I bluffed. I had no idea what to expect. Maybe the orb had just glitched when I released the spell. Somehow, though, I was still sure it had found something.
“How the hell could you possibly have known I was in here?”
I started. The last thing I’d been expecting was to have someone answer me. I’d figured my monstrous stalker might pop out and terrify me again, not start a conversation. Hearing a human voice threw me completely off-guard. I stumbled backwards, like I might make a break for it, but braced myself against the door instead.
The faint fragrance of motor oil was my first clue. And then Wilder stepped into the light, confirming the theory my brain had only begun to develop.
“Jesus, Wilder. What are you doing here?”
“Ahh, so you didn’t know it was me.” He smiled in a self-satisfied way. “I wondered if you had magical powers or something. I was fairly certain no one saw me come in. I knew you wouldn’t make out my smell. This whole place is werewolf scent-ral.” He emphasized the pun he was making on the last word.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice low so as not to rouse any alarm from the compound. I’d shout in a heartbeat if I thought Wilder posed a danger to me, but right now he was only talking. Perhaps I ought to raise the alarm. After all, hadn’t I learned mere hours earlier that Wilder might have killed someone? Just because I wanted to believe he was innocent didn’t mean he was.
“Whoa, chill.” He took a step back, staying in the light, and held up his hands to show me they were empty.
As if a weapon was what I worried about.
An adult male alpha could demolish me in hand-to-hand combat. If I factored in my magic, I might have a chance, but that implied I’d be able to cast a spell before he was on me.
If I doubted my odds, a human girl wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Obviously my change in attitude towards him wasn’t going unnoticed.
“Ben told you about Holly.”
Well, that was surprising. I’d expected him to hide it, or at least thought I’d need to drag the truth out of him interrogation style. After all, who runs around admitting to murder? No one with any common sense.
“What makes you say that?”
He snorted. “Earlier you had no problem slipping me your phone number, but now you’d rather jump off a balcony than be alone with me. It doesn’t take a genius to do the math.”
“Yeah, well, forgive me for not wanting to ask you to go get a beer at The Den after finding out you’ve killed someone. And I gave you my phone number so I could come get my car, that’s it.”
“Sure it was.” He smirked, and I didn’t like the effect it had on me, making my heart skip a beat.
I was reminded of what Ben had said about being able to smell my attraction to Wilder and was suddenly mortified.
“You need to get out of my room.”
“So that’s it? You’re going to believe his version and not even talk to me about it? Go figure. I thought you were the sensible McQueen sibling.”
“I don’t think there are any sensible McQueen siblings.”
He laughed, a clear, wonderful sound, and for some reason I felt guilty for engaging in banter with him.
“Would it matter if I told you I had nothing to do with Holly’s death?”
Um, maybe. “Ben wouldn’t lie to me.”
Wilder sighed and stepped out of the light, forcing me to move backwards. I hit the door with my back, and it shut behind me, closing us in together. He sat on the end of my bed, giving no indication he planned to come any closer.
I let out an unsteady breath.
“You would be terrible at poker, you know?” Wilder said. “I bet you couldn’t hide a good hand to save your life. You wear what you’re thinking on your face all the time.”
I blushed.
“It’s cute,” he added.
“Wilder…” This was not the most ideal time to have him flirt with me.
“You think your brother wouldn’t lie to you? That’s rich, kid.”
“Sneaking into my bedroom and saying my brother is a liar isn’t the best way to endear yourself to me. Especially since you haven’t explained why you’re here in the first place.”
“Okay, fair. Sorry.”
I came farther into the room, but the bathroom light was making it hard to read his expression. Finally, with a sigh, I shut off the light, leaving us in darkness. I could have turned the bedroom light on, but I was paranoid someone might be able to tell I wasn’t alone.
My eyes adjusted to the gloom, but instead of sitting next to him I pulled an armchair into the center of the room and sat down facing him.
“Tell me about the girl first,” I said.
He’d been watching me the whole time I moved around the room. I’d felt the weight of his gaze with every step, and couldn’t decide if he was worried I was going to make a break for the door and rat him out, or if he just got a kick out of observing me. Now that I was within his line of sight, he was still staring, like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.
It was a lot of scrutiny to bear, but I kept my eyes locked on his face. I wouldn’t be the first one to blink.
“Talk,” I urged, when he was silent too long for comfort.
“Right. Sorry.”
Had Wilder Shaw gotten distracted by staring at me?
“I’m only guessing at what Ben told you. He probably mentioned we went to high school with a girl named Holly Benson. Popular girl, real pretty. You know the type: blonde hair, blue eyes, belongs in an ad campaign for the benefits of zit cream or something.”
Oh yes. I knew plenty about that kind of girl thanks to my brief experience with sororities as a freshman.
I considered the way he spoke about her, warmly but unattached. He didn’t resent her or the popularity she had, but he also didn’t sound like someone carrying a torch. And he most certainly didn’t sound like someone who had killed the girl.
But I’d watched enough Dexter to know sociopaths could blend in with normal society. Maybe he didn’t feel things for anyone.
He continued, “She and I hung out a bit. She didn’t like to be at home. Her stepdad…” Wilder stopped looking at me for a minute, like he was afraid I might glean something secret from his expression. “Her stepdad was awful, and he deserved everything that happened to him in prison. I don’t often say people deserve to die, Princess, but trust me, that asshole had it coming. If it could have been worse, I’d have been glad of it.”
I wasn’t sure how to feel about the direction this confession was going. On one hand his story was aligning with the way police thought Holly had died. But my less naïve mind told me it was awfully convenient to blame the stepdad if the only other option was thinking Wilder had killed her himself.
“You’re saying the stepdad did it?”
“I’m saying not only did he kill her, but he terrorized her, chased her, hunted her through the woods like she was an animal, and made damn sure she felt every bit of it as she died.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because she was still alive when I found her.” He stared at his hands, and for the first time since he’d started talking, I turned away as well. The raw pain on his face was too much. Either he was telling the truth, or he was a damned good actor, and I didn’t think anyone could fake emotion like that.
I wanted to touch him, to comfort him like I had earlier, but I was afraid to move.
“It was during a pack run. He’d left her out there, half-buried, but he hadn’t bothered to make sure he finished the job. I was in wolf form when I came across her body. I’d gone after the blood thinking a trapper might have caught something I could steal. You know how it is when you’re in the fog. Blood is food. You’d follow that smell to the ends of the earth.”
I nodded tightly. The feel of the hunt was a familiar one. Not even a full twenty-fou
r hours earlier I’d been hunting a rabbit myself. I couldn’t fault him for doing what came naturally.
“And what you found was the girl.”
“She was a mess. He’d…” Wilder balled his hands into fists. “He’d torn her apart. I could smell him all over her. I…” He looked up, his skin pale and his eyes shining. “You don’t need to hear about this.”
I didn’t argue. Having not known Holly or what had happened to her, I didn’t need to hear the gritty details of her death. It sounded like it had been awful, regardless of who had killed her. Bile tickled the back of my throat, and I suspected if I heard more, it would only get worse.
“What happened then?” I asked.
“I recognized her scent, but she obviously didn’t know who I was. It was the height of the full moon. I couldn’t shift back to help her, and just me being there scared her worse. She was sobbing when Ben found us. Not long after he showed up, Holly died. And no matter how often I explain it to him, he won’t listen. He didn’t bother to smell her, didn’t look anywhere else for the truth. Ben wanted to believe I was capable of murder because he didn’t like my brother and because he was convinced he loved Holly. He thought I killed her so he couldn’t have her, like she was a chew toy we were fighting over.”
Now his anger was apparent, chasing away the former sadness in his voice. I urged the conversation forward. “So you left the pack?”
“Callum didn’t know what to believe, but he knew keeping me and Ben in the same place would be impossible. We got into some brutal fights, knock-down-drag-out, broken-bones-and-blood kind of fights. I think if we’d been forced to live together at the compound much longer, one of us would’ve killed the other.”
It wasn’t hyperbole, either. Two Alphas butting heads often led to one of them winding up dead. That was the way of the pack. You couldn’t keep alphas together for long before things came to bloodshed. I don’t know how the Eastern pack managed so long with a strong Alpha as the King’s second-in-command and never came to a coup.
“I only came back because I knew Hank was stirring up shit. He’s…difficult. I get that. I’ve lived with him most of my life. And I know you guys think he’s hateful and has no redeeming qualities, but you’re wrong. Yes, he has awful views on things, and no I don’t agree with him about any of it. He’s a racist, he’s an asshole, he’s vulgar and speaks his mind much too freely, especially when no one wants to hear what he thinks. I understand why people hate him. But I also know the Hank that raised me and made sure I was fed and clothed and wouldn’t let foster care take me away. He worked three jobs to earn enough to keep us together, and he loves me. He may not be the kind of person we want as a poster child for the pack, but he’s not beyond redemption, Princess. And I was hoping if I could convince you of that, you might talk some sense into your uncle for me.”
Ahhh, there it was. His motive for coming. “You want me to convince Uncle Callum to let you go after Hank and the Church of Morning?”
“If anyone could do it, it would be you.”
“Then no one can do it.” I got up, and after a moment’s hesitation I sat next to him on the bed. I’d meant to leave some space between us, but my added weight made the mattress dip, and I ended up right next to him, our thighs pressed against each other. The sudden warmth of his body beside mine made me grateful for the darkness of the room because I was blushing something fierce.
“I figured—”
“I know what you figured. But believe it or not I can’t convince Callum to do anything he doesn’t want to. Talking him into letting me go to Tulane was like ripping out my fingernails with my teeth. If he thinks what you’re planning might negatively impact the pack, he’ll refuse it. Flat out. And frankly I agree with him. If you go after the Church alone, you’re going to do something that either proves their point or puts us all at risk. Or worse, gets you killed.”
“You think me dying is worse than the pack being put at risk?”
I didn’t need to see him to know he was smirking. How could he do that? Bare his heart to me one moment and in the next be flirting again like he hadn’t just told me one of his darkest secrets. This guy was something else.
“For you it would be,” I replied.
“Maybe. But if it meant I could help Hank, I wouldn’t think twice.”
“And therein lies the problem. You need to think twice. You need to think about it three or four or a hundred times before you go running after these people by yourself.”
“So come with me.”
“What’s more is, you’re associated with the pack, and because we’re out in the public now anything you do—” I stopped talking mid-sentence and blinked at him. “What did you say?”
“I said come with me. I know Callum said we shouldn’t act, but you know I’m not going to listen. And a nice, rule-abiding princess like you will keep me in line. Make sure I don’t cause more harm than good.”
Going with him had been my plan all along, but I wanted to hear his sales pitch. I feigned uncertainty. “We’ll already be doing more harm than good just by disobeying Callum. I’m sure he’ll love the idea of you taking a pack princess right into the heart of danger, when he brought me home explicitly to protect me from those crazy assholes.”
I was actively formulating a plan, in spite of my protestations. If I was going to run into the fray with Wilder, I wanted to sure we all came out of it alive.
“I’d protect you.” Wilder’s voice was low, distracting me from my thoughts. His lips were so close to my ear I shivered. “But something tells me you don’t need anyone else to keep you safe, Princess.”
Chapter Thirteen
What is it some people say when they’re about to do something completely idiotic? It’s better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission? I’d always thought it was a silly copout for getting busted instead of being smart enough to avoid trouble in the first place.
Now, with my arms wrapped around Wilder’s waist and the night air blowing by us as we sped down the highway, I saw the logic at last. There was no way in hell Ben or Callum would have consented to this. My brother would rather lock me in my room like a storybook princess in a tower if it meant keeping me from doing what I was doing right now.
And Callum? He wanted to keep me safe. On his terms. He’d be furious with me for leaving. But then again, given some distance and time to consider it, I think he’d realize I was making a bold choice. I was doing something a leader would do. He’d learn to respect me for it, even if he didn’t like it.
I had left a note under Lina’s door, knowing if she was the one to break the news to the men, they wouldn’t be able to lash out at her. Her sweet, forgiving face might help dampen their immediate rage. She’d also soften the blow when she gave them the news, breaking it to Callum gently as soon as he was awake. Knowing her, she’d follow that up with an enormous breakfast, and it’s really hard to be mad about anything with a belly full of bacon.
Still, I expected the angry phone calls to start around six in the morning, which meant Wilder and I needed to know where we were going and what we were up against before Callum considered calling in the National Guard to drag me home.
Since we didn’t know where the Church of Morning was holding Hank captive, we would be chasing our veritable tails unless we found a reliable lead.
Which meant I was going to be an asset Wilder hadn’t realized he would need. I might come across like a goody two-shoes, but I was also the great-granddaughter of La Sorcière. In Louisiana—especially in New Orleans—that had a lot of capital. I’d made my share of friends in low places since starting school, and those friends were going to come in handy now.
A couple hours later we left Wilder’s bike in a hotel parking garage and made our way in tense silence down Canal Street towards Bourbon. The closer we got, the more bustle we encountered with lines of people snaking out from every bar and restaurant we passed. It was Wednesday night, but days of the week were meaningl
ess to the tourist crowd on Bourbon Street. The streets were barricaded against car traffic, allowing drunk coeds to stagger along the cobblestone with booze in hand and not risk getting flattened.
I tried to avoid this part of the Quarter whenever I could. There was a narrow corridor of the city that outsiders seemed to believe constituted real New Orleans flavor. Tacky beads were draped over wrought-iron balconies no matter what time of year it was, and if you weren’t careful, an overzealous party girl might smash you in the head with them. Bourbon Street was a hedonistic shooting gallery. You had to watch your back and your wallet at all times.
Piles of horse manure from the mounted police mingled with fresh vodka-based vomit on the streets. Broken beads littered the sidewalk, and bright neon lit our path like an airplane landing strip. Every other person we passed was drinking sugary abominations that warned right in their names they weren’t meant to be consumed. Fish bowls. Hand grenades. Hurricanes.
Someone shoved me hard, and I bumped against Wilder. He put a hand around my waist and pulled me to his side. It was a protective move, meant to keep me close so he wouldn’t lose me, but the warmth of his hand sent a thrill through me.
Being near him made me wonder how many people I’d be begging forgiveness from when this whole thing was over.
I shook off the thought and focused on the plan ahead. We needed to get our information and get the hell out of town as soon as possible. I could practically feel the invisible eyes on us as we made our way through the crowd. Maybe it was paranoia, but I still believed Callum always had some idea of what I was up to at any given time. His control over the Southern packs was far reaching, and though the number of pack wolves in New Orleans wasn’t huge, they would all stop what they were doing at the drop of a hat if it meant pleasing him.
Our destination wasn’t a werewolf establishment, meaning Wilder and I would be safe there, but I didn’t feel anything close to secure exposed on the street.