by Kyle, Celia
“Thank you, Nora. I think now’s a good time to take a break.”
Hatred seethed in his heart, and he barely noticed Nora’s wariness when he strode past her and out the door. He ignored everything—the piles of garbage littering every corner of the pack house, as if some frat boys had held a rave the night before. Even though Brian had been arrested weeks earlier, they hadn’t gotten around to the mess. He stripped off his shirt and quickened his pace. By the time he pushed through the back door, his fangs had descended.
There was too much horrible shit in this small part of his world for him to keep it all together. He needed to run, to rage against the evil that was Brian Riverson, to dig his claws into the dirt until his head and heart no longer ached.
“Anders! Quinn!”
The sentries were stationed just inside the tree line, on either side of the pack house. The leaves softly rustled when they darted out and joined their leader.
“You should already be running,” he growled, his voice gravelly from the power of his wolf.
The men didn’t need to be told twice. Breaking into a sprint, they tore their clothes off as they raced and then shifted into their wolf forms. Black fur sprouted along Gavin’s spine, and his muscles twitched and contorted while his body lengthened. Once on all fours, he howled loud and proud, relieved to let his animal take control.
His men had already disappeared into the dense forest, so Gavin darted in after them, eager to chase them through the woods—and chase away the fury that had built inside him.
Brian Riverson was in the past. All of the suffering he’d doled out was in the past.
Now it was time for a little fun.
Chapter Two
Rick, the line cook at The Hill Shack and Rachel Fields’ primary pain in the ass, leaned through the pass bar, glaring at her as always. Rachel just ignored him and continued wiping down the mess an overzealous six-year-old had left on the counter.
“I need a favor,” he rasped. Twenty years of smoking unfiltered death sticks—or as the rest of the world called them, cigarettes—had done a number on his voice.
Rachel blew out a heavy sigh, a dangling chunk of blonde hair swinging with her puff of annoyance. “Yeah?”
“I want—no, I need—you to change the station.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Rick, I need to get this place ready for the dinner rush. I don’t have time for this.”
“It’s never the right time for a revolution, darlin’, but I can’t take your dopey eighties music anymore. If I hear ‘Jessie’s Girl’ one more time, my brains are going to melt out of my ears.”
“Don’t know what to tell you, Rick,” she shrugged. “It’s my day to pick the music.”
Rachel hustled over to clear the dishes from another table before he bitched some more. Normally, she wouldn’t have minded switching to his favorite classic rock and roll station, but the fluffy eighties jams calmed her frazzled nerves in a way Lynyrd Skynyrd never could.
As if living under Brian Riverson’s cruel rule for six years hadn’t been nerve racking enough, now the National Ruling Circle was intent on breaking up the Fields pack once and for all. They’d even sent the enforcer from the Blackwood pack to Burrman to handle the “transition.” Transition, right. She nearly snorted aloud. Rachel called it being uprooted from everything and everyone she’d ever known.
Except Eric. They were each other’s only family and she loved him just as much as she would her own child. She’d murder the world to protect him, and she wasn’t about to allow some usurper to force them to leave his school, his friends, her job…their home. After everything they’d both been through, she was determined to live life on her own terms. And that went double for—
“Eric Jasper Fields!” the little boy’s raucous cry broke through the gloomy fog of her thoughts and, if only for a second, the knot in her stomach loosened just the tiniest bit.
“Eric Jasper Fields is right,” she gave him her most reproving glare—which he naturally ignored—as she picked up the tub of dirty dishes. “What makes you think you can come running in here shouting like a rabid banshee? You might have disrupted Jacob’s lunner.”
The portly older fellow in the corner looked up, smiled, and flapped a hand at them.
Eric tilted his head like a curious puppy. “What’s lunner?”
“It’s the meal between lunch and dinner.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re making that up.”
Rachel gave him a wink and set the tub on the counter. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Regardless, you shouldn’t yell like that in the diner.”
He broke into a grin that lit up her heart. So what if his smile had a big black gap where one of his front baby teeth had once been. It looked pretty close to perfect, as far as she was concerned.
“It’s okay, Rachel. I swear.” Eric nodded hard, hair flopping.
“Oh, and why is that?”
His little feet bounced up and down, which set his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack jouncing on his back. “Because I wrote my whole name at school today!”
“What? Your whole name? Every letter?”
She rushed around and scooped him into her arms, hugging him tightly. He pulled back and held her face in his little hands, his expression ecstatic.
“Every. Last. Letter.”
“That’s a cause for celebration!” She sat him on the counter and grabbed the tub. Then she grinned and tipped her head while she backed toward the kitchen door. “Scoot your boot to a stool and I’ll bring back a special treat.”
“Treat?” His eyes widened, and she got another gap-toothed grin.
As the door swung closed, she caught a glimpse of him quickly scrambling onto a stool topped with sparkly red vinyl and shrugging out of his backpack. She dumped the tub next to the industrial dishwasher and set about making a truly magnificent hot fudge sundae.
By the time she returned to the front, Eric had laid a piece of paper on the counter in front of him, his big brown eyes waiting and hopeful. Of course, the moment he spotted the sundae, all bets were off. He licked his lips with cartoonish glee and dug in as soon as she set it down.
“Is this it?”
“Mmhm,” he mumbled, mouth too full to speak.
“Good job, little man,” she ruffled his brown hair.
The door chime tinkled, announcing the arrival of a new customer. That was followed by a gust of wind from outside, which brought the musk of wolf and the scent of blood. It smelled as if someone came looking for a healing and as the omega of the Fields pack, it was her duty to take care of the physical and mental well-being of her pack. Something that hadn’t been an easy task for quite some time.
But this wolf definitely wasn’t from her pack. Fields wolves generally had a lighter, brighter earthy scent, but this one smelled of leather, spice and aged whiskey. Probably one of the National Circle sentries who’d been assigned to the “transition team.” She’d already healed a handful who’d sparred just a little too intensely. After watching one of their sessions, Rachel figured she’d be kept pretty busy until things settled down.
She should hop up and help the sentry but the drive to heal him wasn’t like the one she experienced when it was a Fields wolf needing help. She wasn’t about to interrupt her time with Eric to heal some careless sentry. The guy could just take a seat and wait his turn.
“Mrmph rumph breph,” Eric tried to say through a mouthful of ice cream.
Rachel laughed as white goo dribbled down the kid’s chin. Grabbing a napkin, she wiped his face clean and tapped the tip of his nose.
“Swallow and try again, little man.”
Eric, ever the showman, swallowed in such an exaggerated manner, even old Jacob chuckled from the corner. Then he opened his mouth as wide as he possibly could to prove it.
“Aaaaaah!”
“Ew, you know how I feel about see-food,” she said, tickling him under his exposed chin. “Now what were you trying to say?”
With one stubby finger, he traced each letter as he sounded out his name. “Eric. Jasper. Fields.”
Someone nearby sucked in a harsh breath, finally drawing Rachel’s attention away from Eric. Her gaze landed on the one wolf she’d worked so hard avoid.
Gavin Blackwood.
She’d seen him from afar—his shock of wild, black hair, broad shoulders, and intimidating build were hard to miss—but she’d steered clear of him. Her wolf had been on board and everything. At least, until this very moment. Now it had something else in mind entirely. As much as she’d fought to keep her distance, her wolf pushed to get closer.
By all accounts, he’d led the investigation into the debauchery of Brian’s Ruling Circle with the kind of compassion she never would have expected from an enforcer. She’d respect him and be thankful for his presence if his primary job wasn’t to relocate every last wolf from the Fields pack. Since she had no intention of moving, it only made sense to avoid him.
And then their eyes locked, gazes meeting across the diner, and everything changed. Rachel knew that keeping away would no longer be possible. Her heart rate ratcheted up to dangerous levels and her wolf howled for her to climb the burly man like a tree. It was more than attraction—it was desperation, and she felt it in every cell of her body.
Gavin Blackwood was not a man she could ignore. Her wolf followed that thought with another… She couldn’t ignore him ever.
Unable to so much as move her stare away from him, Rachel watched helplessly as he approached the counter. It was only a few steps, but even in that short space of time, her anxiety had managed to double over on itself, her heart thundering a million miles a minute.
He was close. So close that she could reach out and touch him. He breathed deeply, and his barrel of a chest expanded to its full, very impressive breadth. Once toffee-colored eyes flashed amber, and in them Rachel found a mixture of relief and something else…desire. A desire mirrored in her own soul.
Unable to break free from Gavin’s hot gaze, Rachel clasped Eric’s hand. “Little man, why don’t you go to the office and show Miss Hazel your letters.”
“Awww,” he whined and pulled his sundae closer.
“Take your ice cream with you.”
“Really?” He didn’t have to be told twice.
Eric climbed onto the counter and held out his arms—sundae in one hand, paper in the other—and waited for her to help him down. As was their habit, Rachel swung him in a wide arc before setting him on his feet. She expected him to bolt through the swinging doors in search of The Shack’s owner, but when he caught sight of Gavin standing so close, he stopped. His little head craned back until he met Gavin’s eyes.
“Hi,” Eric smiled up at the big man. “Who are you?”
“Eric,” Rachel scolded, praying Gavin wouldn’t mention werewolves, or packs, or even worse, that he wanted to make them move somewhere that wasn’t home.
“No, it’s okay,” Gavin said with a soft smile, then he kneeled down until he was eye level with Eric. “My name’s Gavin. I’m a friend of Rachel’s.”
She panicked for a moment, wondering how he knew who she was, much less her name. But then she caught his gaze drifting to her name badge, as if to confirm he got it right. Either that or he just really liked her left boob.
“I’m Eric Jasper Fields,” Eric replied proudly, holding up his paper. “See? I can even spell it all by myself.”
Gavin took the paper and inspected it carefully before nodding. “I heard you saying your name when I came in, but I didn’t know you could spell it. It says so right there. Eric Jasper Fields.”
Eric’s little chest puffed up with pride. “Just like my daddy…” Then sadness shadowed some of the brightness in his eyes. “But he’s gone now.”
A dark cloud flitted across the little boy’s face, so Rachel snatched the paper from Gavin’s hands, thrust it at Eric and hustled him toward the kitchen doors.
“Time to go show Miss Hazel now.” She nudged him through the swinging door.
Not daring to meet Gavin’s intense gaze again, Rachel focused on cleaning Eric’s footprints from the counter. With the exception of Jacob and a young human couple canoodling in a far corner booth, they were alone.
Not a good thing. No matter what her wolf said.
“That’s Alpha Fields’ son,” Gavin said slowly. “The one he had just before…”
“Just before Brian Riverson murdered him,” she finished for him, leveling her coldest glare at him. “Yeah, I’m aware. Eric’s been with me since that horrible day.”
“But why are you raising him?” Gavin asked. “Who are you to him?”
She crossed her arms and straightened fully. She wouldn’t back down from this wolf. “I’m the closest thing to a family that little boy has ever known and that’s all the information you need. Now maybe you can tell me what you want?”
One dark eyebrow shot up. “You know what I want. Decisions need to be made, Rachel, and you still haven’t come to the pack house to discuss things. Nobody’s even bothered to tell me about Eric.”
“That’s because Eric is mine and he’s not up for discussion,” she retorted.
If she didn’t know better, she might have thought the enforcer looked taken aback by her tone. It seemed unlikely, but just in case she’d managed to gain the upper hand, she pressed on.
“As for the rest of what you’re organizing, don’t bother worrying about Eric and me. I may be a wolf, but I’m like a cat in a lot of ways. I have nine lives and I always land on my feet.”
She turned back to scrubbing the counter, but Gavin remained where he was, staring at her. Finally, she huffed her displeasure and gave him the look he deserved. “What?”
“Whether you want to or not, we have a lot to discuss. We can either talk right here and right now, or you can give me your address and we can speak after you get off work. One way or another, we’re going to have a discussion.”
Breathing deeply—and doing her best to ignore her wolf’s pleas to throw Gavin Blackwood on the freshly cleaned counter and get it oh-so-dirty again—Rachel considered her options for a long moment.
“Fine, pick me up at the end of my shift at seven, and we can talk somewhere away from Eric.”
Gavin gave her a solemn nod, his eyes still flashing amber. “I’ll be back.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel and opened the door, ensuring another gust of wind blew his delicious scent back in her face.
She didn’t like that. Not at all.
She didn’t like her wolf calling her a liar either.
Even if it was right.
Chapter Three
Patience.
It was the word of the day. No, the word of Gavin’s entire trip.
Patience.
And right now, he was running short of the stuff.
He leaned back in his desk chair and scrubbed a hand over his face as Nora set his third cup of coffee of the day in front of him. Gavin struggled to maintain a pleasant demeanor, in spite of his wolf’s snaps and snarls. It’d be too easy to blame her. Just as she turned for a hasty retreat, he stopped her.
“Nora.”
The word was barely above a whisper, but she flinched as if he’d shouted. Turning slowly to face him, she kept her eyes focused on the floor. She squirmed under the weight of his gaze, but he was too aggravated to try to calm her just yet.
“Want to take a guess where I had dinner last night, after our difficult day?”
Nora shrugged and kept her head down.
“The Hill,” Gavin answered. “Or is it The Shack? Something like that.”
“The Hill Shack. The Shack for short.”
“Right.” He leaned forward, feet thumping on the hardwood floors as he rested his forearms on the desk. “Now, imagine my surprise to discover the elusive Rachel Fields behind the counter.”
Nora shifted from one foot to the other. “She does work there.”
“Uh-huh,” he drawled. “
It’s curious that you never bothered to mention that little fact. You know she’s one of the few Fields wolves who hasn’t responded to my invitation to meet. It’s even more curious you failed the mention she is the sole caregiver of a pup you led me to believe was dead.”
Nora froze. It didn’t even look as if she breathed, but a vein in her temple throbbed crazy-fast and the scent of her fear filled the air. He didn’t want to frighten her—God knew the Fields pack had been through enough—but he needed answers. Real answers.
“Why did you lie?” he asked, working hard to keep any hint of his true feelings out of his voice.
She winced just the same.
“It wasn’t a lie, per se…”
“Enough!” he slapped his hand on the desk for emphasis.
Wrong move. Fuck, but he was an asshole. The woman curled in on herself and shut down. Cursing his foul mood, he shoved his chair back and went to her. Pulling her into a fierce embrace, he rubbed her trembling back with long, slow strokes. Why the National Ruling Circle thought an enforcer was a good choice to oversee an abused pack, he’d never know. This needed someone who didn’t default to violence.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she kept mumbling into his shirt, her entire body a solid mass of tension.
“No, Nora, I am. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I know you’ve all had a rough time of it. I know it’s hard to trust anyone who says they’re going to wave a magic wand and make it all go away, but that’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“I know, Gavin.”
Releasing her, he perched on the edge of the desk. “Unfortunately, Rachel stood me up after her shift ended, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to her about the situation. I’m told she called in sick today.”
His wolf had been all too eager to run back to the greasy spoon to ogle the sexy blonde with dangerous curves. Under any other circumstances, Gavin would have given his wolf free rein to hunt all the hotties, but he had to tread lightly in Burrman. The Fields wolves were skittish enough as it was, and he didn’t want a sexual harassment charge laid against him with the NRC.