North Wolf

by M. A. Everaux

  “I’ve called the pack together tonight,” Connor said into the gloomy building.

  Eben stopped his hammering and looked over at him. “Does she know?”

  Connor nodded. “She’s nervous about it. She doesn’t like people staring at her or watching too closely. And she’s embarrassed about the scars.”

  Eben nodded and went back to hammering. Every time the hammer struck, sparks flew, but he didn’t seem to feel them.

  “I’m also going to announce my retirement. Officially, it’ll be at the next full moon, but I’ll float it around tonight.”

  Connor watched as Eben tensed all at once. He stopped the hammer in mid swing.

  “I’m too old to answer any more challenges,” he continued, watching his son carefully. “I don’t even want to. I want my art and grandchildren.”

  Eben let the hammer hang at his side. “Does Christian know?”

  Connor snorted. “Lad, most of the pack knows you’ll be taking my place. Even more, they expect it. You’re a strong Alpha, Eben. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Were to match you.”

  “Theron’s going to challenge me for it.” Eben turned and thrust the steel back into the coals.

  “Yes, as well as some others. And you’ll need to be careful. He doesn’t fight fair, Eben.”

  “If he makes any move, I’m killing him.” Eben’s pale eyes connected with his, cold and steady.

  It was stated evenly, with no emotion. Connor winced slightly but accepted it. Eben never left anything to chance, especially when lives were at stake. “I know.”

  “Call me when I need to get ready.” He went back to the bellows and began pulling.

  Connor walked toward the door and pushed it open, breathing in the cool air with relief. Just a few minutes in the shop and he was drenched with sweat.

  Taking in another deep breath, he said over his shoulder, “She’s stronger than I realized. All she needs is to learn to live and relax. That’s going to be your biggest hurdle. Once she learns to relax with you, she’ll be fine.”

  “I won’t allow her to leave,” Eben stated, pulling heavily on the bellows. Flames roared up in answer.

  Connor sighed. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. But, be prepared for her to be nervous, and a little scared. She’s young, Eben. And being stuck in a hospital at such a tender age…” He shrugged. “It doesn’t help, either.”

  “I won’t let her leave.” Eben repeated. “I won’t.”

  Connor nodded. “I know.” He silently left the building.

  Gwen hardly even noticed the cold by the time they were done in the barn. She was warmed up from brushing the horses and hauling feed. She’d tried to lift the water pails and ended up splashing more on the floor than stayed in the bucket, but the hay she could handle. After the horses were fed, Christian instructed her on the proper cleaning of stalls, laughing the whole time as she struggled with the pitchfork.

  “You need muscle,” he said, smiling cheekily and taking the instrument of torture from her hands. She was panting too hard to reply.

  But by the time they were done, the barn was spick-and-span, and she was acquainted with all six of the horses by name. She adored each one.

  “Who rides them?” she asked, petting the older of the two mares. She wasn’t as large as the others, and was a beautiful bay color.

  “I used to, but haven’t in a while. Eben and Connor never really learned. Plus,” Christian added as he held out a piece of apple for a gelding, “the horses don’t like either of them. They make them nervous.”

  “Huh.” Gwen couldn’t imagine Connor making anyone nervous.

  They returned to the house after 6:00, both covered with snow and shivering. Gwen had snow leaking down her jacket in clumps, as well as snow frozen in her hair, thanks to Christian’s overly enthusiastic push into a snowdrift.

  For some reason, it didn’t feel strange to treat him like a brother. He just naturally fell into that role with her, and Gwen appreciated it. She understood what kind of man he was, one who saw women as an enjoyment, indulging himself with them whenever he got the chance, and she liked the fact that he didn’t look at her in that way.

  Connor met them at the door, took one look at their disheveled appearance, and rolled his eyes. “To the showers. Both of you. And Christian, you had better be ready in an hour. I refuse to have a son who takes longer to dress than most women.”

  Christian flipped him the bird, and with a laugh, shot up the stairs. Gwen couldn’t help but smile at his exuberance.

  Connor sighed as he watched the blond head disappear. “He’s always been a handful, that one.”

  She shrugged and slipped off her jacket. “He’s funny. A little immature, sure, but funny.”

  Connor smiled at her. “I’m glad you had a nice time at the barn. Why don’t you get cleaned up, hmm?”

  With a little nod, Gwen handed her coat over and went to her room. After closing the door firmly, she did a quick inventory of her wardrobe and sighed. What did one wear to meet new people when there were severe wardrobe limitations?

  She didn’t have many clothes, and those she did have were mostly thin, long-sleeved undershirts. She generally wore a T-shirt over them, printed with something appropriately rude, but she wasn’t really in the mood to insult a bunch of people she’d never met, especially since she didn’t want to make Connor look bad.

  She tapped her chin absently and considered her options. She was stuck with jeans, which sounded fine for a pub, and finally, after digging through what she did have, she settled on a thin, red shirt with long sleeves. She’d never worn it before. Her mother had presented it to her the second Christmas she’d spent in the hospital.

  She just hoped the bar was nothing fancy, because fancy she definitely couldn’t do. With a worried glance at her outfit, she grabbed a towel and hit the shower.

  The drive was short, maybe ten minutes, and then they were pulling into a gravel lot and parking. The pub was a low building surrounded by trees on three sides, its rough exterior weathered to a dark gray. It didn’t look fancy, which made her nervousness abate for a minute.

  Christian jumped out first and held the door for her with a courtly bow. Gwen slid out and waited for Connor, needing someone strong and comforting beside her before she went in to face a bunch of strangers.

  “Looks like most everyone’s here,” Christian commented, scanning the vehicles parked in the lot.

  Gwen shivered again and tightened her arms around her middle. The drive had been bad enough, with Eben doing the driving and looking all dark and disapproving. And now she was here, and by the number of cars in the lot there were a lot of people inside.

  Connor led the way in and held the door for Gwen. “Don’t be nervous,” he said softly as she passed through. “They’re all very friendly.”

  Gwen took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  Immediately, the smell of hot food and beer flooded her senses. It truly was a pub, with the same type of atmosphere as those found all throughout the United Kingdom. It wasn’t lit too brightly, or decorated crudely with deer antlers. Instead, it was all wood, darkened with age. Something soft played in the background, and there wasn’t a pool table or dartboard in sight.

  It took her a second to grow accustomed to the dim light, but the minute she did, she noticed that everyone was staring at them.

  Connor came up beside her and scanned the pub. He nodded to a group of men. “Gerard, Mike. How are you?”

  The two men smiled and stepped forward, their hands out. Connor shook their hands and grabbed each man into an embrace.

  They must be close, Gwen thought, watching the exchange, and then nearly stumbled back in surprise when what looked like half the crowd gathered around, greeting Connor by name and murmuring softly to him, almost always in French, tugging him deeper into the pub. Apparently the closeness extended to everyone.

  It was a lot of people. At least thirty, and there were still more in the bar yet who were looking o
ver at Connor and waiting.

  Gwen stepped back, bumping into something large. She turned, saw Eben standing right behind her and nearly jumped away.

  “Don’t worry,” Christian whispered in her ear, standing to her right. “Just hang out and no one will bother you. When he introduces you, just nod and you’ll be fine.”

  He was right. She was acting ridiculous. It was just meeting new people, nothing difficult. Taking a deep breath, Gwen nodded. She could do this.

  “Come on,” Eben said, motioning for her and Christian to walk before him.

  Christian looked left and broke out in a smile. “Hey, I’m going to go say hi to John,” and with a wave, he was gone. Gwen’s heart sank.

  “Come,” Eben ordered again, and slid an arm around her waist, moving her in the direction he wanted. “Connor’s waiting.”

  Feeling a shiver of alarm, she let him lead her to a table and took the chair he indicated. Rather than sitting across from her, he took the chair next to her. Just seconds later, Connor joined them, taking the seat opposite. Another man sat next to him, and yet another pulled a chair over and sat at the end.

  The man at the end was one of the first Connor had greeted, Gerard, Gwen thought. He was large and middle-aged, with kind eyes. She liked him immediately.

  “You’ll introduce me, Connor?” He smiled at her and winked.

  “She’s not his to introduce,” Eben said smoothly, his eyes connecting with the older man’s.

  Gerard lost his smile. Nodding, he said with equal parts respect and wariness, “I apologize. Would you please perform the introductions, Eben.”

  Gwen watched the exchange, confused and astounded over the rudeness. Feeling a bit brave, more from irritability than anything else, she stuck out her hand. “Hi. My name’s Gwen Branson. I’m staying at Connor’s for the week. Maybe a little longer.”

  Gerard took her hand, obviously a little uncomfortable, but he smiled anyway. “Nice to meet you, Gwen. You can call me Gerard.” He dropped her hand and his eyes darted to Eben for a second.

  “Eben, she doesn’t understand,” Connor said in French, watching the interaction between his son and friend. Eben appeared completely in control, as calm as anything, but it was a lie. His eyes were ice cold. “You’re already confusing her with your behavior.”

  Eben’s eyes were still locked on Gerard’s, warning. “She’s mine, Gerard. Be sure to tell the others.”

  Gerard’s eyes dropped and he nodded. “Yes, Alpha.”

  Hoping to dispel the tension, Connor smiled at Gwen. “What would you like to drink?” he asked in English.

  Gwen looked at the four men, trying to figure out what was going on. The other man, sitting next to Connor, was about his age, somewhere in his late fifties or early sixties, but shorter and thin. He wouldn’t even look at her.

  “Gwen,” Connor prodded.

  “Water with lemon, please,” she said, slightly irritated. She hated when they switched to French. All the good conversation happened then, and she had no hope of getting any of it.

  Smiling tightly, Connor left the table and walked to the bar.

  “Christian seems well,” the older man murmured, his eyes still downcast.

  Beside her, Eben nodded. “He is.”

  “Will he be staying this time?”

  “Yes. His wandering is over.”

  “Just in time for Connor’s retirement, then,” Gerard said.

  A minute later, Connor came back carrying three glasses, with Christian trailing behind with three more. They set glasses in front of everyone and Connor sat down. Christian pulled over another chair and took the unoccupied end of the table.

  “It’s good to see you, Christian.” The old man nodded to him and took a sip of his beer.

  Gwen squeezed the lemon into her water and stirred it with the straw. She noticed the beers in front of Connor, Christian and Eben were so dark they were nearly black.

  “What are you drinking?” she asked, frowning.

  Christian held his glass up. “Guinness, hon. Wanna try it?”

  “Um, no. Thanks.” She would have rather drunk battery acid than the almost-black beer. Her stomach would have probably handled it better, too.

  Christian took a sip and licked the foamy mustache from his upper lip. “You turned twenty-one while you were cooped up. You didn’t even have a chance to enjoy becoming the legal drinking age. And here, the age is nineteen. Live a little.”

  “It’s fine.” Gwen pulled her water closer. “I’m good with this.”

  “You don’t want that stuff anyway, Gwen,” Gerard said with a grimace. “It’ll make you sink to the floor it’s so heavy.”

  “Are you insulting my taste in beer?” Connor asked with a smile.

  “God, no. If anything, you’ve my respect being able to drink that stuff. I just can’t figure out how you do it.”

  And the conversation progressed, moving toward more mundane things. Gwen tried to be inconspicuous as the conversation leaned toward hunting and the large buck that had been spotted in the woods. Carefully, she scanned the rest of the pub, watching as the people laughed and talked with each other, almost all in French. There was very little English, and what there was, spoken so low she could hardly hear.

  There were a few women, but mostly men. She wasn’t sure if that meant there weren’t many women in the area, or whether they just chose not to frequent the pub. Whatever it meant, the people frequenting the establishment looked perfectly ordinary, most wearing faded jeans and boots and heavy tops that ranged from flannel to thick sweaters. There wasn’t a single mountain man in sight, or at least none that she recognized.

  “Gwen…”

  “Hmm?” She frowned—there was something about them all that struck her as being slightly off. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe—

  She nearly jumped when a firm hand turned her head. Eben filled her vision, his face and eyes as unfeeling and calm as before. “What will you have for supper, Gwen?” His voice was deep and rumbly, like he needed a drink of water.

  Swallowing, she shook her head slightly. “I’m not hungry.”

  His jaw clenched and anger crept into his eyes, but rather than warming them, it made them even more chilling. “What will you eat?” he asked again, the authority in his voice leaving no room for argument. “You will eat, Gwen.”

  With her mind in a whirl, she pulled back from him, and his fingers let her chin slip away. With no wish to fight in public, she whispered, “Soup will be fine.” Soup was easy.

  “Vegetable, beef or clam chowder?” the bartender asked, a pad of paper in his hand. His name tag said his name was Joe. He stood over by Christian and looked at her expectantly.

  “Vegetable.”

  He scribbled it down and then looked at her again. “And?”

  Christian rested his chin on his hands and smirked at her.

  “Th-that’s fine,” she stuttered.

  Eben fired off something terse in French. Joe nodded and scribbled something down before turning to Connor, who ordered salmon.

  After everyone had their order taken, the men went back to speaking in French, and Gwen sat back and listened, happy to let their conversation flow around her. Christian didn’t add anything, and seemed content to sit through it like her.

  The food came, and Joe handed huge plates to everyone. He handed her a plate with a bowl of soup, and another with a huge turkey sandwich.

  “I didn’t order this.” Gwen glanced down at it in question. A scoop of potato salad sat on the side, garnished with a large pickle.

  Joe’s eyes shifted to Eben. Cautiously, he said, “He got it for you.”

  “Eat it,” Eben ordered, taking his own plates of food from Joe. He’d ordered a steak, gigantic, with potatoes, carrots and a lobster tail.

  “At least try,” Connor seconded, digging into his own meal.

  Christian laughed silently into his arm. Gwen stuck her tongue out at him, which just made him laugh harder.

>   Sighing, she set the sandwich plate to the side and started on the soup. It was excellent, with a tomato-base broth and large pieces of vegetables. It was served with a slab of sourdough bread big enough to choke a horse. Gwen scowled resentfully at the sandwich as she ate.

  “Theron’s not going to like it and neither will his uncle,” Gerard said, chewing vigorously.

  Connor shrugged. “Then he can challenge, just like anyone else who feels they’ll do a better job.”

  “You’ll need to be careful of that one, boy.” The older man next to Connor stared hard at Eben. “He’s as likely to shoot you in the back as to challenge you directly. Or he’ll get a few other challengers up first, hoping you’ll get injured.”

  “Let him try,” Eben murmured. “I can take it.”

  Gwen laid her spoon aside and raised her brow at Connor. He smiled back at her and took another bite of fish.

  The conversation continued and became even more confusing once they began to talk about “clan rights”, and “structure”. Halfway through, they switched to French.

  Sighing, Gwen pushed her bowl away and slumped in her chair.

  “You didn’t eat your sandwich,” Eben said. The conversation around them came to a sudden stop.

  She glanced from her soup bowl, to his plate, which was completely empty. He’d even mopped up the liquid from his steak with a piece of bread.

  “Eat your sandwich, Gwen.”

  She looked at the sandwich, sitting so innocently on its plate. Was it right to resent a sandwich? Especially when the sandwich was an innocent bystander? For some reason, she felt like she was twelve and in her mother’s kitchen, being forced to endure the pageant torture of makeup and curlers.

  “No,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm.

  His head turned slowly until he faced her. “Did you say something?”

  He asked it calmly, as easily as he would have asked about the weather, but there was steel in it, and the expectation of obedience.

  A frisson of fear surfaced, fluttering below Gwen’s heart. Irritated, she pushed it away. Staring at him, with the barest hint of a waver in her voice, she said, “No thank you. I’m not hungry.”