by Sierra Dean
Callum was waiting for us on the front porch, looking as regal and impressive as I remembered him. In spite of what a pain in the butt it was to be brought here, and in spite of all the things he’d done to drive Lucas and me apart, something in me still warmed to the sight of Callum McQueen. He felt like family. Not in the same way Grandmere or Eugenia did, but he had his own special claim on me.
I didn’t want to like him, but I did.
He waved a group of pack members towards us, and they converged on the van, opening the back doors and helping unload the two kennels as if it were a task they’d performed a hundred times before.
“Take them to the dovecote, please.”
I nearly smiled, remembering the crumbling medieval pigeon coop where Holden had hid the first time we came here. I’d assumed it was never used otherwise, but apparently Callum found ways to keep it occupied from time to time.
After getting out of the van, I reclaimed the cardboard box from the front seat. The plastic garbage bag we’d used to line the inside of the box crinkled loudly as Mercy’s head wobbled inside. I moved towards Callum, with Desmond following close behind. Holden stayed back near the car, not needing to be told he didn’t belong in this particular interaction.
The vampire didn’t go unnoticed, though. Callum’s gaze fixated on Holden for a moment before returning to me. Amelia brushed past me, going to her place next to Callum. She made sure to stand one step below him so he had the top riser all to himself.
Technically the only person here who could stand as tall as him was me.
I chose to stay on the grass.
This meant Amelia needed to move off the stairs entirely or find another way to make herself shorter than me. She opted to move to the side and take a seat on the nearby porch swing.
If the Southern wolves wanted to play the whole werewolf tradition card with me, I was going to prove to them I could handle it as well as they could. And if they happened to realize how stupid those rules were in the process, then it was a double win.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, my dear.” Callum offered me a warm smile, which soon faltered into a half-grimace. “I do wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Don’t we all.” I tucked the box under my arm, waiting for the appropriate moment to deliver it to him.
A commotion behind him put a damper on the whole exchange. The double entrance doors to the house burst open, and a small woman with dark curly hair stomped out.
My breath caught in my throat, and I almost dropped the box to go for one of my weapons. The new arrival was the spitting image of Mercy. Everything from her hair down to the unhappy glare she was giving Callum absolutely embodied my mother.
I wanted to check the box to be sure.
Desmond shot me a nervous look.
It was Grandmere who stepped between us and diffused the whole situation.
“Savannah,” she cooed, approaching the steps with her arms held wide.
The woman froze, staring at my grandmere as if the old woman might bite her. “You didn’t tell me she was coming,” she said to Callum.
“I wasn’t a hundred percent sure she would.”
Callum and Savannah McQueen, Mercy’s only siblings and Grandmere’s two surviving children.
I’d had no idea Savannah looked so much like Mercy. They weren’t twins, and upon scrutinizing my aunt’s face more closely, I could see key differences in their features, but all the same it was like seeing a ghost.
“You were supposed to tell me when they arrived,” Savannah snapped.
She seemed to share her sister’s sunny disposition.
“Savannah,” Callum replied coolly. “Our guests have arrived.”
She socked him in the arm. A bold move for anyone to try on a werewolf king, but it seemed she got carte blanche to torment her younger brother however she chose because he did nothing to stop the behavior.
Savannah gave Grandmere another uncertain look, then came down the steps and approached the older woman. For a moment they simply stared at each other, and I could read every changing emotion on my aunt’s face as clearly as though she were speaking them aloud. Anger, resentment, betrayal, sadness. They were all there. And after the flurry of feelings left her, she reached out and wrapped her arms around her mother, pulling Grandmere in for a tight, nearly crushing hug.
My heart skipped a beat.
Savannah turned towards Callum. “Well, come on, you big lummox.”
I wondered how this might play out. Callum was the reason Grandmere had fled in the first place. She’d been terrified of what he might do when he learned what I was. Now, though, things were different. Callum had told me in no uncertain terms the pack protected its own. I wasn’t sure if he understood entirely what that meant, but he knew there was something different about me.
And he’d sent members of his own pack to protect Grandmere when she’d needed it.
I watched as he stared at her, his face imploring her for some sort of sign.
At long last she smiled, her eyes brimming over with tears, and she crooked her fingers towards him. I struggled not to cry as Grandmere hugged her two children for the first time in twenty-four years, knowing I was what had kept this moment at bay for such a long time.
When they finally broke apart, Savannah’s attention was all for me.
“So this is Mercy’s other daughter.”
“Don’t hold it against me,” I replied. The joke missed its target by a mile, not making Savannah so much as crack a smile.
“You’ve married a wolf king,” she said.
I wanted to tell her not to hold that against me either, but this time thought better of it. “I am.” Though who knew for how long? I glanced towards Desmond and gave him an apologetic smile. He had to know this would come up amongst the wolves. As soon as it felt appropriate I would talk to Callum and try to establish whatever the werewolf version of an annulment or divorce was.
There was more pressing business at hand, however.
“I’ve brought you something,” I said to Callum, feeling overwhelmingly uncomfortable about Savannah’s intense stare. What was I expecting though, a hug? She and I were complete strangers. The only history we shared was in the box I was holding.
No wonder she wasn’t feeling terribly cuddly towards me.
“Bring it forward,” Callum commanded.
I adjusted my grip on the box and became vaguely embarrassed when I realized it was a carton for biodegradable toilet paper. Was there really any better option for transporting the head of my dead mother though? Might a box for eggs or shampoo have been less offensive?
After setting the box down in front of Callum, I took a step back. Was I supposed to open it and present him the head? Fat chance.
I crossed my arms, and we both stared at each other then simultaneously looked at the box.
Was it just that he didn’t want to bend down to open it?
Werewolves, I thought with an inward sigh.
My grandmere stepped away, turning her back to the scene, and Savannah was in no hurry to offer us any assistance.
Rather than give my own directions to Callum’s pack, I suggested, “Perhaps Magnolia would be gracious enough to open it.”
I felt bad subjecting the poor girl to the contents of the parcel, but we were otherwise at an impasse, and she was the most subservient wolf present. When I glanced over at her, she appeared uneasy about the suggestion, but if Callum asked, she wouldn’t hesitate.
“She wouldn’t have to look inside,” I added.
The queasy greenish pallor that had colored her complexion faded, and she relaxed visibly.
“Very well,” Callum agreed. “Magnolia, would you be so kind as to open the box for us?” He and Savannah moved out of the way to give the girl some extra space.
Mags approached us carefully, evidently hoping someone might change their mind at the last minute and let her back down. In spite of the fact she didn’t have to look into the box, everyone who�
��d gathered around understood what I’d brought with me. There was something deeply unpleasant about knowing we’d have to acknowledge it eventually.
The young woman, her hands trembling, stooped down and pulled apart the top flaps of the box which I’d folded over the top of each other. The plastic bag crinkled, and she gasped.
Guess she peeked.
“That will be quite enough, Magnolia, thank you.”
She’d gone green again, and I was pretty sure she might vomit at any moment. For a girl who ran with a werewolf pack—one who routinely hunted down and ate wild animals—it was remarkable how unsettled she was by death. That sort of squeamishness could spell trouble for her in the future. Wolves sensed weakness, and Mags reeked of it.
I hoped for her sake she found a way to belong in the pack, either by marrying a more alpha wolf or finding herself a niche to make her useful to them. Otherwise she was going to stay bottom of the totem pole her whole life, and that was no place to be among werewolves. She would be taken advantage of, even in a pack as well managed as Callum’s. There were always bad apples willing to pick on those weaker than them.
Callum and Savannah returned to the box, both peering over the edge to the contents within. I imagined Mercy’s blank, dead eyes staring up at them.
My uncle looked up, and for the first time since I’d met him I didn’t know what to make of his expression. There was something of it that reminded me of fear, but fear wasn’t an emotion Callum would express while others were around. Perhaps, then, it was awe or admiration? But he, too, appeared queasy about what he saw.
“You told me to bring her head,” I reminded him.
“How did she die?”
“After she kidnapped Vivienne, we dealt with most of the members of a rogue pack she’d established. She ran. I chased her. We fought. She died.”
“How?” Savannah asked, her voice edging on angry.
I stared at the aunt I’d never met and saw only my mother, which made empathy for her loss exceptionally difficult.
I pulled out my sword and held it flat in both hands, showing I meant no harm to those who might leap in to protect Callum. “I used this to stab her through the throat into a tree and watched her bleed out.” My gaze never left Savannah’s. After a moment she looked away. “Any other questions?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The last time I’d gone for a run on my uncle’s property, I’d been a wolf.
I’d also managed to get shot by a would-be assassin.
Overall it hadn’t been the most positive experience of my life.
This time around, though, I cast those memories aside and focused solely on the way things felt, smelled and sounded. I’d left my boots and socks behind, and removed my jacket, so I was wearing only jeans and a tank top. If my inner wolf had her way, I probably would have gone naked, but I opted against that.
Desmond offered to come with me, but this run was just for me.
I tore through the trees, running as if my problems were tangible things chasing after me. I relished the stinging pain of twigs and pine needles prickling underfoot and the way my skin slipped across the damp night grass. The whole world was alive with smells. Out here, with nothing from the city to contaminate things, the air smelled of leaves and grass, of wet earth and free-flowing water.
Each breath I took was crisp and clean, and with every foot, I got farther and farther from the things threatening to drag me down. It was a temporary reprieve, but one I would embrace while I could.
This was as close as I could get to letting my wolf out without actually changing, and though she wasn’t satisfied, she was wide-awake and making her presence known. Given that she normally spent most of her lucid time revolting against the decisions I was making, it was nice to feel something from her akin to happiness.
She wanted out, but since I wasn’t going to let that happen, this was the next best thing.
I found a well-worn path through the trees—their bark coated with thick moss—and kept running until I could no longer hear or smell Callum’s estate. I leapt over fallen logs, ducked beneath cracked trees and pushed myself forward harder and harder until my legs felt hot and my lungs began to protest.
Only when I no longer knew where I was did I stop running and take a moment to catch my breath.
My heart raced, and I was glad for the reminder I was alive. I stared into the darkness and wondered how far I could run. Could I just keep going? Would there come a point they’d all realize I wasn’t coming back again?
I crouched low, bracing my hands against the hard-packed earth, and felt the hum and vibration of the land through my palms.
I could do it. Run and run and never stop running. It wasn’t the adult thing to do, nor was it a brave move, but it would be a way out.
But then what?
Desmond and Holden would be left behind, and I’d never get to see either of them again. All the people I cared about and loved would wonder what had become of me, not knowing one way or the other if I was all right. And all those problems plaguing me? They wouldn’t just vanish.
Aubrey Delacourte wouldn’t stop wanting his favor, and he might take it out on those I cared for.
The Council, especially Juan Carlos, wasn’t likely to forget the lie I’d been living, even if I wasn’t around to be punished for it. There was always someone else to pin the blame on. Would they take it out on Holden or my father? Probably.
I had people depending on me.
I had responsibilities.
And the thing about running was, once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. That would become my whole life from this day forward. Changing names in each city, not being able to trust anyone again.
I might be alive, but was it really living?
Sighing, I got back to my feet and wiped the dirt off my palms. Funny how the so-called easy way out was never all that easy. Instead of running again I decided to walk, taking my time and letting myself focus on what came after this. I needed to talk to Callum when I returned and sort things out with Desmond.
Then came the inevitable trip home, where all the real fun, nasty stuff was waiting. Perhaps that was why I was taking my time going back to the estate. Once I was with other people, I had to face reality. And there was a solid chance I was going to get royally screwed, and possibly killed, as a result.
It wasn’t a complete day in the life of Secret McQueen unless my life was at risk from someone.
I was finding it difficult to care now, though.
Be it death by Fairy King, death by Tribunal, or secret life as an FBI agent, none of those options seemed as drastic or awful to me as the threats of Peyton or Mercy. I was no longer a prisoner of my fear. And though I didn’t feel free in the most traditional sense of the word, I also didn’t feel shackled anymore.
Now, if I was going to die, it would be on my terms.
I could accept that kind of arrangement.
Soon enough the lights of the cabins appeared, and the raucous sounds of music and laughter spilled out from the pack’s private bar, The Den. They’d had to build their own after their antics proved too much to handle for any of the local establishments in St. Francisville.
I considered seeing who was participating in the party, until I saw Desmond sitting on the porch of one of the cottages, my boots and jacket neatly stacked beside him. He was staring right at me but didn’t call me over. For a long moment we simply stood, me in the trees and him in the mostly civilized world.
Run with me, I thought at him, knowing even as I considered it how impossible it would be.
He smiled and patted the empty space beside him on the porch.
The little cabin was different from the one where Lucas and I had stayed last time. It was painted bright green and looked smaller than the more luxurious one the king had been assigned.
I already liked this one better.
Sitting next to him, I threw caution to the wind and leaned my body against his, resting my head on his shoulder
and taking a deep breath, savoring the fresh burst of lime that danced across my tongue.
Home, thought the wolf.
Yes.
For once, she and I were in complete agreement.
“You’ve been gone a while,” he observed.
“Yeah. Running.”
“Do you feel any better?”
“I don’t know, honestly. Thought about making a break for it.” I tried to chuckle and pretend I was kidding, but once again my joke fell flat. Desmond looked none too amused by the idea of me fleeing. “I mean, I didn’t, obviously.”
Backpedaling wasn’t helping.
He snaked his arm around my shoulders and hugged me close, placing a gentle kiss on the side of my head. “I get the feeling you want to talk to me about something.”
Clever man.
“About what happened in the barn,” I began, wondering how to word my question so he didn’t feel like I was accusing him of anything. “I know it was a high-tension situation. Things were looking bad. I totally understand if you only asked because you thought—”
He interrupted my speech with a loud, joyous belly laugh that sent a shiver of delight through me.
“You thought I wanted to back out?” He kissed my forehead, my cheek, my lips, then laughed again. “All this time you kept giving me these queasy looks, I assumed you had changed your mind.”
“I didn’t want to force you to stick to something you didn’t really want to do.”
“Man alive, Secret. I love you, but you’re so stupid sometimes.” He smiled at me, and it was hard to take offense. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled something out, setting it down on my knee. “I didn’t propose to you because we were in danger. I always, always, planned to ask. I was just waiting for the right moment, and when we were in the barn, it seemed like it might be the only moment. So I went for it.”
A black velvet box was balanced on my knee.
Hesitantly, and with my pulse trapped in my throat, I lifted the little box and opened the hinged lid. When Lucas had proposed, he’d done it with a ring so large and intimidating I’d sometimes been embarrassed by the sheer size and sparkle of it.