He hated admitting it on a certain level. There should have been nothing particularly spectacular about her. Over the years Holden had met a lot of women, from ages 13 through 54, a few who were amazingly attractive, and even fewer who had personality. There was 42 year-old Betty-Marie, 17 year-old Stephanie, violet-eyed Cristiana, vicarious Molly, even innocent yet savvy college student Olivia. Several personalities, countless backgrounds, and yet it was Rachael who snagged his attention.
It wasn’t that her situation was particularly sad. It wasn’t even that she was more endearing than any of the others. But there was something particular, something about her young, human naïveté and peculiarly sharp animal-like instincts that drew him in. She had a spine yet was conflictingly timid in the face of controversy. She intrigued and frustrated him.
For a couple of weeks he managed to do nothing but work and trudge through his newly regulated duties. However, the lack of sunlight Rachael managed to shine upon him became a sore spot. Once he was positive it was becoming cancerous, Holden had cornered Aaron and demanded to speak with him.
“What’s going on with her?”
Aaron had fixed him with a cool gaze. “Which ‘her’ might you be referring to, pup?”
Even reverting to his old name—the name Aaron required all new lycans in his pack to be referred as—sparked Holden’s ire. Wrestling that down, he’d said through his teeth, “Rachael.”
“Oh, her.” His leader’s flippant tone belied the sharp interest his eyes had taken at the mere pronunciation of her name. “You may be rest assured she is still alive and relatively well.”
And that was all Holden could get from him. On the rare occasion he could convince Nathan to ask his brother, the boy received the same curt response.
One month into his new job, just as autumn was reaching its brittle peak, Holden’s resolve broke. It was creepy. It sunk him to a new level that was hardly better than Aaron. It was desperate and stalker-esque even if he was a werewolf with inhuman, irresistible instincts.
He went to Rachael’s house unannounced and uninvited.
Her garden was gradually beginning to wilt and wither, he noticed from his hidden spot near the back of the fence. Holden crouched low, the fur on his belly tickling slightly. He could distantly hear her from inside the kitchen, the subtle squeaks from the home that indicated her pacing, the way her pitch rose and fell depending on what she said. A couple times, Rachael laughed.
Holden never expected her to step outside, so when the sliding glass door opened it was all he could do to lie still and hope she didn’t see him. Rachael stepped out, holding a wireless telephone to her ear, her eyes distant as she spoke into the mouthpiece.
Maybe it was due to being in his wolf form, or maybe he had never really stopped to actually observe her, but Holden found Rachael to be unusually pretty just then. She was wearing loose, thick sweatpants and an oversized long sleeved shirt sporting the letters W. K. H. S. over the logo of a stallion. Her hair was pulled off into low pigtails—since when did she start wearing her hair anything but loose?—and she kept self-consciously pulling at them as though she were hyperaware of their presence. Body lax, lips moving softly as she spoke, eyes brightening when she smiled . . . she certainly seemed well off compared to the last time Holden had seen her.
After a quarter of an hour ticked by, Rachael finally said her goodbyes and ended the call. She whirled to go back inside, paused, and glanced over her shoulder. Holden tried not to shrink back, lest the movement catch her attention. Her lips were pursed, expression gone from relaxed to nervous, but she didn’t appear to see him. With a shake of her head, she stepped back into the warm comfort of her home.
It became an addiction. Not just to see her at her home, even if it was just a glimpse of her walking out to the mailbox, but to see her at Vera’s house, or any of the other new friends Rachael seemed to have made in his absence (Jain being the only other one he recognized).
Holden was happy for her, he really was. The more friends she had, the less likely it was Aaron’s focus would continue on her. In time, he might even want to move on and leave her alone to live her blessedly human life.
Still, Holden missed her sorely. It was difficult not to take advantage of his monstrous nature to see her once in a while. Holden’s disgust with himself kept him from approaching her, and after a couple weeks of his behavior he finally tried to stop cold turkey.
He made it four days before he made his stupidest decision yet: going back to West Keeton High School.
Holden tried to justify it—Only for a minute, just to get a look, just to see if she’s actually okay—yet he couldn’t even convince himself. Approaching the walls of the school sent trills of excitement, fear, and shame through him all at once.
Worse, when she looked him dead in the eye, Rachael’s horror had cut through him like a cleaver. Slowly, dreamlike, her mouth had tightened to form an O, her complexion going ashen to match her eyes. She was still afraid. For one heart-wrenching moment, Holden was certain she was going to scream.
Even when she was silent, Rachael’s cries echoed between his ears.
When one of the girls beside her demanded her attention, the contact broke. Rachael’s attention diverted and the creepy reality of his actions overwhelmed him several minutes too late.
So he left.
Seeing her face had one good effect, at least: Holden stopped spying on her. The mere remembrance of her sickened expression was enough to deter him.
Apparently it was also enough to draw Aaron’s attention. Just hours after seeing Rachael for the last time, Holden had been summoned downstairs.
The instant the study door closed, Aaron had said, “Let us talk about your latest hobby, pup.”
Holden’s muscles had tensed. Doing his best to meet their alpha’s dark, masked gaze, he’d replied, “Which one, sir?”
The teeth Aaron had flashed were sharp and nasty. “I will allow you a five second reprieve to decide precisely how forthcoming you wish to be.”
He’d had to hide his fists behind his back to avoid giving in to the urge to lash out. The scars on his abdomen had taken to burning when Aaron threatened him and were really Holden’s only way of recognizing when he was coming stupidly close to starting a fight he couldn’t finish. Closing his eyes, Holden had eventually said, “I’ve been seeing her again.”
“Obviously. And yet I do not recall assigning you such a task.”
Gritting his teeth, Holden had said tightly, “I’ve been doing it in my free time.”
Upon opening his eyes, he noticed Aaron had stood still in the middle of the room, his hand on the desk and expression utterly lacking. If anything, he’d exuded boredom. Carefully picking a piece of lint off his crisp white sleeve, Aaron had responded coolly, “And what has stalking Ms. Adair told you?”
See? Even he calls it what it is, a snide voice in Holden’s mind had taunted. It was eerily condescending and the tone reminded him uncomfortably of Roxi. Aloud, Holden had only said, “She’s better off now.”
Eyes flaring, Aaron had snapped, “So keep it that way and leave her alone.”
For once Holden couldn’t find a reason to argue. Since then he had reluctantly obeyed, trying to quell his urges to see Rachael by throwing himself into his meager work and finding chores to perform around the house. He did well at his job, earning him enough clout to work the counters as winter approached and the course slowed down, and the house practically shone from the inside out—empty, meaningless accomplishments.
Equally empty and meaningless were the approaching holidays. Occasionally the pack would participate in festivities, depending on local customs, but this year only Roxi and Nathan had any school-related obligations (a school play and a couple “friends” who expected gifts, respectively). Holden offered to work Christmas Eve to give the Rolling Fields owner a day off. Somebody had to enjoy their family, at least.
It was early in the shift with only one guest on the driving range when the pho
ne had rung. Now, numb and dazed after hearing Rachael’s nervous voice, Holden couldn’t dredge up even the slightest ounce of joy. She didn’t miss him, she wasn’t looking to keep him in her life—she only wanted to ask a few questions.
Questions that, Holden knew, he would readily answer if it meant he could see her again.
He put off telling Aaron until late that night. Near midnight, the cusp of Christmas day, his leader was seated on the leather couch, cradling room temperature scotch in a crystalline whiskey tumbler. Nathan curled up on one end of the couch, his bare feet on his brother’s lap, and Roxi was stubbornly clinging to Aaron’s free arm, staring at her darling rather than the coverage of a multi-pile car wreck featured on the news.
There was no doubt Aaron was aware of Holden; they all were. But where Nathan and Roxi shot him the occasional curious glance, Aaron stared a little too intently at the television, his rapt attention in sharp contrast with his lax pose.
Loudly, Holden announced, “I’m seeing Rachael on Tuesday.”
That grabbed everyone’s interest. Nathan’s was most exuberant; the boy practically leapt off the couch, his dark eyes wide. “Miss Rachael’s coming back?”
Roxi scowled deeply.
Holden shook his head. “No. I’m just going to see her. Alone.”
Emphasis on the last word was the puncture that deflated Nathan’s excitement.
Mildly, still watching TV, Aaron said, “I thought we agreed you were to leave her alone, pup.”
“We did. But she called me.”
That finally got Aaron’s attention. The man turned his head, dark gaze unreadable, though his idle twirling of the scotch glass had frozen. The softness of his voice took a dangerous turn. “Is that so?”
For once, Holden was happy to tell the whole truth. So he did, starting with the phone call and ending with his acknowledgement that the encounter wouldn’t mean much in the end. All he needed was Aaron’s permission.
Their superior didn’t hesitate to grant it, though he went out of his way to sound reluctant. “You already made the plans. You may as well keep them and not become twice the liar.”
He really was not going to let go of the omission, was he? Holden bit his tongue and agreed.
Voice lilting into a whine, Nathan said, “I wanna go!”
Ignoring Aaron’s tired rebuke of his brother’s poor enunciation, Holden said, “She still hates us. If more than one goes, she might not talk to anyone.”
Aaron lifted one side of his mouth in a mocking smirk. “Yes, and the pup is so terribly competent when it comes to advocating the lycan lifestyle. It makes perfect sense as to why he should do it. I assume you have kept the brochures and created the appropriate PowerPoint presentations?”
He almost retorted that the obvious reason was that Rachael was very clearly comfortable with only him, if any of the lycans at all. Fearing the revoking of permission, Holden wisely said, “Not really. Maybe you should send someone else.”
“I’ll go,” offered Roxi.
The look on Aaron’s face betrayed his distaste. “I think not, my dear.” He waved a hand at Holden, turning his attention back to the television. “You may meet with her provided you do what you know is right.”
He didn’t mean apologize or be the perfect ambassador. At this point, either would be wasted efforts.
The sneaking suspicion that Aaron would have his nameless, invisible spies nearby didn’t escape Holden. That didn’t matter. None of it mattered. So long as Rachael gave him a fair chance to speak, Holden would consider himself fortunate.
Chapter Seventeen
Christmas was difficult to enjoy. There was a meager exchange of gifts before Rachael’s mother had to retire to bed and Henry went to work. With Jackson back on his computer, sporting new noise-cancelling headphones, Rachael was left in the living room to flip through holiday movie specials and think.
The up and coming meeting with Holden had her frightened out of her mind. Was it the right thing to do? Would confronting Holden the Monster bring any sense of closure? Did she even want closure? Rachael was torn between patching up their friendship and driving him completely away. She missed him. He frightened her. Sometimes he made her want to float to the clouds. Lately she’d only wanted to run sobbing to the darkest, safest pits of the earth. Her stomach erupted with the birth of a dozen butterflies when she pictured his face; simultaneously, her heart cemented with terror when that face molded into a muzzle.
About the only thing that kept Rachael from calling Holden to cancel was her mother. The sickly woman was wearing down more quickly each day, but there was still a slight flush in her cheeks and a lightness on her step that had been missing just months before. Her mother had delightedly approved the upcoming meeting when Rachael told her, parroting Vera when she’d said, “Worst case is that you hear his side and you still can’t be friends.”
The thought was forefront in Rachael’s mind when the doorbell rang Tuesday afternoon.
Heart in her throat, Rachael jumped up from the dining room table and abandoned her bowl of cheese-and-bacon macaroni to get the door. This was the moment, she realized, and it was painfully surreal.
How Jackson reached the door first, she’d never know. Rachael heard her brother’s snarl before she saw him.
“Get away from my house!”
Rachael raced up behind him, managing to grab the door before Jackson could slam it shut. For a split second she caught Holden’s eye. He seemed to have no reaction to Jackson’s fury, his green-fringed eyes passive and overcast.
“Jackie, stop it,” she protested, wriggling between her brother and Holden. She stood in the threshold, facing Jackson. “I invited him. Mama said it was okay.”
Glowering, Jackson retorted, “Who cares? You said you’re not friends.”
He looked ready to slam the door again, so Rachael firmly placed her hands on her either side of the threshold. The chill winter air bit her bare fingers. “It’s none of your business.”
Jackson’s nostrils flared. “Get in the house, RayRay.”
Just because she was familiar with his overprotective attitude didn’t mean Rachael was pleased to deal with it—especially now. Already weary of his behavior and quickly incensed, she snapped, “You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not Dad. Just go away.”
The red bleeding into Jackson’s face made him look like he would explode. “Fine. What do I care what you do with your life?” This time he outright kicked the door shut. It was all she could do to jump back and avoid having her fingers smashed. The deadbolt slid into a locked position with a ferocious slock.
Dumbfounded, she slowly turned to Holden. The boy stood there, hands in his jeans, his brow furrowed. Though he was hardly dressed well for the frigid weather, he didn’t shiver or get gooseflesh on his bare arms.
An awkward silence followed as they both stared at points just past each other’s ears. Now that she had argued with Jackson and found herself locked out of her home in little more than sweatpants and a wool sweater, Rachael could only think of one thing do say. “Well . . . now I’m cold.”
A grim smile showed a sliver of Holden’s teeth. “If I’d known you’d be locked out, I’d have brought my jacket.”
The last thing she wanted to appear was afraid, yet Rachael backed up so she was ostensibly leaning against the door rather than putting extra space between them. “It’s okay.” She frowned. “Why aren’t you cold?”
Holden opened his mouth to reply, paused, and then sighed. “Can we talk somewhere else?”
Monster.
Fearfully, Rachael shook her head. “I need to stay home,” she insisted, her voice rising.
He flinched as though she’d slapped him. “I only meant like . . . in the driveway. Not by the door.”
Still uneasy, she agreed and waited for him to lead the way. Either Holden wasn’t aware of her anxiety or understood she needed to see his back; he turned and walked a few feet out. His boots left large footprints in the froste
d grass before he hit the pavement, something that struck Rachael as odd. It took her a moment to realize there were no footprints leading up. There was no paved walkway to the front door, just a dirt path her father had put off filling in once Sheila was diagnosed. That, too, was untouched.
Rachael glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was still visible from the living room windows.
Heavily, Holden said, “I’m not cold because I wouldn’t be cold as a . . . in my other form. The fur’s not there, but my blood runs hotter than yours. I think the only time I’ve ever worn a jacket out of necessity was when we were in northern Canada fifty years ago.”
The number stunned her. Her tongue thick, Rachael said, “Uh, fifty?”
Holden frowned. His silence was so intense that she could practically see the gears grinding in his brain. “Technically, I think I’m 124 years old now.”
Surprisingly, the information wasn’t as frightening as she would have expected. Attempting to imagine somebody living so long was admittedly difficult, just not as difficult as seeing your friend’s guardian’s little brother literally change the shape of his body at will.
“I see,” was all she could manage. She couldn’t do math in her head in a normal state, much less when bamboozled by supernatural information, but she roughly guessed the number meant he’d been born in the 1800s. “So you’re, um, immortal? Like a vampire?” A new paranoia struck her. “Oh, God, are those real, too?”
Holden bit down on a smile. “No. At least, we’ve never seen any. And no, we’re not immortal. We just . . .” His voice trailed off as a delicate frown marred his features. “No lycan’s lived past six hundred. I think the oldest was actually 560-ish. Somewhere around there.”
“How old were you when . . . I mean, were you born like this?”
With a shake of his head, Holden quieted his voice. “I was four.”
“What?”
The cloud hanging over his demeanor darkened. “I’m not ready to talk about that yet. But I can say that making the change is brutal. Three to seven years old for a healthy kid has the best chance, but it’s still only a fifty-fifty sort of deal.”
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