Howl of the Sequoia (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 1)

by Deidre Huesmann

  Jackson finally pulled into the driveway. He shut off the engine immediately, but when Rachael started to get out he grabbed her by the arm. It was a struggle not to flinch; his hand was in the same place Aaron’s had been just an hour ago.

  “Look,” he said, face pinched. “If he ever bothers you, tell me. Right away. And if he really did hurt you, I’ll take care of him. Just don’t lie to me.”

  You couldn’t ‘take care of him’ if you honestly tried, she thought in despair. It broke her heart to look him in the eye and fib, yet she knew if she didn’t, the consequences would be far worse than the threat of life-long night terrors. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Holden—he’s just not who I thought he was, that’s all. I can’t be friends with someone like him.”

  Like a bulldog grudgingly releasing a bone, Jackson dropped it. All the same, the hardened look in his eyes promised if he happened to run across Holden Cavanaugh again, someone was going to end up with something more than a few broken ribs. Rachael could only hope it wouldn’t be her brother.

  Aaron had never felt more peaceful and composed.

  Upstairs Nathan sniffled in the living room, nursing his wounded ego. At Aaron’s feet Holden was still on the floor, clutching his tender shoulder and staring at the door with deadened eyes. The study was stifled and cold in Rachael Adair’s yawning absence.

  If he were to be brutally honest with himself, the exposure had been a resounding success. When he shared that thought with Holden, his charge looked like he was going to explode.

  “How the ever-living hell was that a success?” Holden screamed.

  Arching an eyebrow, Aaron replied, “How was it a failure?”

  “Are you kidding me? She left. She ran. Because of you and your stupid obsession, she hates us!”

  Well aware neither his smile nor tone were nice, Aaron said, “You mean to say, she hates you.”

  Holden’s cheeks flamed. “Well then screw me for caring,” he snapped. “You’re right. I don’t give a damn if she wants you to rot in hell. But she’s a good person and barely has any friends as it is and you blew all that up for no reason!”

  “I had reason.”

  His charge used his good arm to help himself clamber to his feet. Holden was an utter mess, Aaron noticed. Rusty brown hair tousled, eyes bloodshot, though a tear had never been shed even with his blatant agony, face pinched inward . . . a complete, childish mess. It was one of the many times Aaron was weary with Holden’s stubborn refusal to reign in his overpowering emotions. It was like he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he had been a teenager and was determined to remain one.

  Succinctly, Aaron said, “I meant it when I said I did not—and do not—intend to turn her into a lycan at this time. Regardless, all the signs are there, so if she does end up desiring the option later on, an exposure is the beginning to showing her the ugliest side.”

  Disgust bowed Holden’s posture. “Rachael’s life is hard enough. All you did was make it worse.”

  “That is a possibility,” relented Aaron.

  “Then there was no point.”

  With the most difficult part of the day behind him, Aaron found his patience wearing thinner than an overused rubber band. “The point,” he said emphatically, “is that when you start seeing our nature as potential for good instead of a hideous curse, you are able to help those whose lives are already on the brink of disaster—or the lives that have since been obliterated, given the person.”

  Holden argued, “Even if that was true, Rachael’s not there. Not even close.”

  “Is that so?” Aaron began ticking reasons off his fingers. “Her mother, to whom she is unhealthily attached, is going to die in the near future. Her father is already on his way to being a neglectful, potentially alcoholic widower. Jackson is distant. She has no ties to community, no friends and, due to her mother’s condition, no aspirations for the future.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I do not yet know enough to determine if she is suicidal—”

  “She’s not,” cut in Holden heatedly. “And she does have friends.”

  “As I recall, she just admitted to loathing you.”

  “Vera,” snarled his charge. “She has Vera.”

  That stopped Aaron cold. He zeroed in on that name, rummaging his memory for some indication that this Vera was supposed to be someone he knew of. All he could turn up were old recollections of a chubby classmate of Roxi’s twenty-two years ago and one of his father’s many, many mistresses in the 1700s.

  Which meant Holden had withheld information.

  “So what you are telling me,” he began slowly. “Is that you have failed to divulge all you knew regarding Rachael.”

  The fury in Holden’s eyes began to fade, replaced with blue-green illness.

  Through his teeth, Aaron said, “If I had known, the exposure would not have taken place tonight, if ever.” He had already disciplined Holden once today, so it was a struggle to keep his enmity in check. Really, it had been an uphill battle since the last time Holden had tried to abandon them, and sometimes Aaron had a hard time discerning whether it was because of his charge’s conduct or his own shortening tolerance.

  Worse, Holden’s actions since meeting Rachael were only testing his patience more frequently. This latest revelation had him dangerously close to boiling over.

  After a time, Holden said, “I didn’t think it was important.”

  That was the boiling point.

  “You clearly did not think,” Aaron growled. “Or else you would have realized that her having a friend—”

  “It’s not like they knew each other forever,” Holden protested. “This is new.”

  “So the fact she recently formed a new, close connection with someone her age, who I assume is quite sympathetic to her plight given how guarded our little sunshine is, somehow did not seem important? This was not deemed as vital information?” It had been years since Aaron had shouted, and for good reason. He was already aware his focus was wavering, that his rage was peaking to a needle-point heat.

  Holden was equally taken aback; it took him longer than it should have to respond. “How was I supposed to know?” he finally muttered. “For all you told me, you were just stalking her like a creepy old man.”

  Actions spoke louder than words. The phrase was as much a cliché as it was a hard truth. That was why Aaron strove to keep his temper in check, to respond to tenuous situations cool and collected, to put forth an image of respectfulness as well as brutal honesty. It was why he did not do things like swipe everything off his desk in a blundering fury. Yet in an instant his laptop, pens, books, and the coffee mug Rachael had used were thrown across the floor haphazardly and Holden’s shock was palpable.

  Aaron swung around to roar at his charge, “The next time you believe you are doing something right for that girl, how about you stop, think, look at the bigger picture, and not behave like a self-centered son of a bitch!”

  After that he had to pace, deliberately picking a spot between the door and Holden so his charge couldn’t consider running. Just blinking brought new colors of red and orange to his vision, like flames continuously dancing in the wake of his periphery. He actually briefly considered lighting Holden on fire. Eviscerating him had clearly done very little to teach him anything.

  It took far longer than he wanted to cool down enough to speak at normal volumes, but Aaron managed. He also managed to eliminate the crasser language from his vocabulary, a slip he was not proud of.

  “You are going to quit school and find a job,” he decided.

  If Holden wanted to argue, he wisely bit his tongue. “Why now?”

  “If I fail to give you a reason, are you going to screw this up and lie to me again?” Aaron asked icily.

  “I didn’t lie!”

  “Omission is lying.” Aaron stopped pacing to pin him with his hardest stare. “Omission also makes you less reliable and therefore useless in espionage.”

  Holden’s jaw tensed as he ground his teeth. “Who�
�s going to watch Rachael, then? She could tell someone anyway.”

  As if he even had the right to ask, raged Aaron inwardly. “I have other resources that are apparently more useful than you. Do not push me,” he added fiercely when Holden opened his mouth. “You have provoked me more than necessary, and quite frankly I am sick of even looking at you. Just do as I say and leave me in peace.”

  Holden didn’t need to be told twice. Scowling, he stormed out of the study and up the stairs.

  Once the door closed and his privacy was guaranteed, it was all Aaron could do not to collapse into his chair. Instead he began to clean his mess. Rachael’s mug had a crack nearly separating the handle from the cup and the cord for his laptop had yanked out violently, but otherwise nothing sustained any notable damage.

  Only when everything was back in its rightful place did Aaron sink into the leather chair. He leaned back as far as it would allow him.

  When this Vera person had been a nonissue, the exposure really had been a success. In the past there had been those who had applied a measure of reason to the discovery. Back in the day, when tales of witches and ghouls and sun gods had been accepted as fact, the concept of werewolves hadn’t seemed as far-fetched. Now in most modern and first-world countries it was rightfully shrugged off as ancient mythology. The rarity of his kind aided that perception. So when Rachael had screamed and tried to run, it told Aaron two things: that she was mentally hinged and his first impression of her instincts had been spot on.

  Now that he knew there was a Vera, the entire fiasco today only told him he had unnecessarily revealed their world to a girl who clearly had emotional ties to the human plane. Not that there didn’t exist people who could survive drastic tragedies using their own inner strength, but in his experience those quiet heroes were much rarer than humans wanted to believe. Given the option, several had seized lycanthropy with both hands eager.

  Changing someone who had shattered inside and took the lycan existence in stride had been his second-worst mistake since Aaron’s first transformation.

  An overanxious knock on the door broke his grim reverie. Aaron managed to assume a blasé expression before Roxi burst in.

  Speaking of my second-worst mistake, he thought wryly.

  A new detail distracted him. “You missed this rather vital dinner to bleach your hair?”

  Roxi’s glimmering eyes widened. “I just wanted to look good.”

  More like she wanted to look like Rachael. Even her clothes were similar, her skirts and tiny heels traded in for ripped jeans (fashionably, not naturally) and a plain pink long-sleeved shirt.

  Aaron decided to keep that to himself. Besides, he had no proof Roxi had even met Rachael. There was such a thing as coincidence. “What do you need from me?”

  Her brilliantly green-gold eyes fixed on him hungrily. Every time she looked at him, Aaron had the impression she would devour him in one piece if she could. “To tell you I adore you.”

  “Every day,” he acknowledged more than agreed.

  She sauntered forward on faerie-light feet. “Why’s Nathan crying?”

  A grimace pulled the ends of his mouth. “He has had a rough evening performing the task that should have been yours.” The hope had been that if Rachael associated the horrifying transformation with a stranger, she would be less susceptible to taking it out on either Nathan or Holden. Aaron would have taken the job himself, but he’d learned a very, very long time ago to never make his back vulnerable to his pack. No amount of love and devotion in the world could guarantee the prevention of sudden mutiny.

  His rebuke rolled off Roxi’s back. “So that girl—” She pronounced the word with delicate revulsion. “—isn’t gonna be one of us then, huh?” Smugness rolled off her tongue and stained her smile. “It’s okay. Not everyone can cut it. Should I go kill her now?”

  Aaron scowled. “What makes you think that is necessary?”

  The way her smile faded told him she had been expecting a different answer. Indignant, Roxi said, “She knows too much now. We can’t let her blab!”

  The sheer hypocrisy only served to darken his mood. Tersely he replied, “Coming from the only wolf in this pack who is burying human bodies in the woods, that is awfully harsh. Are you suggesting you also need to die, my dear?”

  Roxi blanched. Her mouth opened and closed several times. To her credit, she didn’t bother denying it. “That’s different. It’s self-defense.”

  Oh, this promised to be classy. Aaron flashed his most enigmatic smile. “Do tell.”

  Immediately she launched into a story about how hunters were always shooting at her. What else could she do but kill them before they got her first? He had to understand; she was just a small, delicate wolf up against .25 caliber bullets. As she described how she was forced to murder these people, Roxi began to wildly pantomime her epic survival tactics.

  Aaron could only hope his expression wasn’t as glazed over as his attention span. He waited until she began to imitate burying the bodies before interrupting her.

  “That is enough. Stop.” Roxi straightened up, smoothing her now-sunflower blonde hair back. Aaron leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped. “I believe you.” And he did, to an extent. He had no proof she was lying, even if he’d never seen hunters anywhere around Douglas Park. All he had was Holden’s confirmation that she was, indeed, burying bodies.

  Roxi seemed pleased. “I’d never lie to you, my darling.”

  “Of that I am certain.” Aaron had no trouble lying to her.

  Then it was back to brisk and ugly business. “So are we killing her or not?”

  He eyed her suspiciously. After brief consideration he said, “Let us hold off on that for now. If or when the time comes, I promise you will be the first to know.”

  Apparently that guarantee wasn’t good enough. “What if I see her doing it?”

  “You do not have permission to murder,” he said sharply. “For that matter, the next time a hunter is after you, I prefer you run. If that is not suitable enough, perhaps you ought to only hunt with a partner.” The buddy system was not a preferred method; a pack seen together was rare though understandable, and a solo hunter followed the age-old “lone wolf” adage that failed to raise questions in humans. Two, however, was more dangerous.

  All this she knew, but Roxi seemed thrilled with that idea. “It would be safer,” she agreed happily.

  “Good. Holden is your new partner.”

  “What? No!” Her unconvincing sweetness melted as she stamped her feet on the plush carpet. “I want to hunt with you! We used to do it all the time.”

  “You needed it back then,” Aaron pointed out. “You were brand new.”

  “I need it now,” she whined.

  Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose to quell the incoming headache. “I literally do not have the time to babysit you. Holden does, now that he will be quitting school. Until he finds a job or you keep your hunting closer to home, he is your partner. Not me. Not Nathan.”

  She moved closer, smelling of lilacs and jealousy. Roxi laid a bird-boned hand on his arm switched from tantrum to doting pup in a matter of seconds. “My poor darling,” she purred, nuzzling up to his ear. “Can I do anything for you? Anything at all?”

  Without pulling away completely—as exasperating as she could be, Roxi was still one of his own and at heart a little girl who craved affection—Aaron plucked the mug from his desk and pressed it into her free and. “Yes. Some water would be lovely.”

  Her molasses switch turned off again as she practically recoiled, holding the mug at a distance like it was vermin. Her tiny nose scrunched. “It still smells like her.”

  It most certainly did.

  Huffing, Roxi backed up. She paused in the threshold before saying, “I bet she threw up. She’s never coming back.”

  The thought made him strangely sad. “No,” he murmured. “That little ray of sunshine is gone.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Holden nev
er came back to West Keeton High. For the first few days after her meltdown at the Moreno house, Rachael was terrified he’d be lurking in the hallways, watching her at her locker, nagging her from behind in Environmental Science. It wasn’t until Vera confirmed the rumor he had dropped out that she gradually stopped jumping at any sound vaguely similar to his voice or the slightest whiff of his clean-shaven sandalwood scent.

  His absence ended up producing two separate benefits: Rachael’s peace of mind while she was in school, and the completion of Coleen’s fall from grace. Without Holden has her primary ammunition and with Vera’s influence against her, what sway Coleen’s accusations once held had vanished in a puff of smoke. Even her bandaged leg failed to yield much sympathy outside of a few boys who still wanted to pursue her. Not that the harassment didn’t continue, just that it went from taunts about Rachael’s mother’s condition and rumors of her non-existent promiscuity down to sullen scowls and the occasional nasty letter slipped into her locker.

  It wasn’t like Rachael experienced a sudden spike in popularity. Though she ate lunch with Vera often now, only Shawna and Jain made conversation with her otherwise. Amanda apparently didn’t feel she and Rachael had enough in common, so a lot of her friends gradually segregated with her from the table.

  If Vera minded she never showed it. Once, when asked, she only smiled and said, “Cliques are like that. It’s fickle.”

  As autumn sank deeper into winter, Rachael began to spend more and more time with Vera. They had sleepovers at least twice a month, something Henry was surprisingly lenient about. Perhaps it was because Vera was a girl and therefore not a threat, or because they actually produced schoolwork-related results from their sleepovers. Whatever the reason, Rachael was pleased to find Vera and her family becoming familiar faces.

  By late November, Vera had finally convinced Rachael to vie for a higher chair in band class. When she lost her first challenge, Vera assured her, “It’s only because you were nervous. This is one time you should be like Coleen. Never give up.”