by Jan Delima
Porter grunted, a crude sound that confirmed his view on the subject.
“Of course not,” she snapped, offended. “But what of Sophie and your son? How will she react once she’s learned what you’ve lured her back into?”
“They are safest with me regardless.” Dylan began to pace, annoyed by his sister’s insight. “My son is without training—helpless in a fight. Weak like a human. Without me, he’s vulnerable and ignorant. Alone and unprotected.” Fear merged with disgust. “Besides, it’s imperative the gathering remain unnoticed. If all goes well, Sophie won’t even know they’re here.”
“And if all doesn’t go well?”
A valid possibility with seven dominant leaders in unfamiliar territory.
“Then she’ll learn the reality of my world. I kept her too protected before. She accused me of making her a prisoner—”
“You did make her a prisoner,” Elen pointed out, her sensitivity toward that particular subject well known.
“Well, then.” Dylan growled, his patience with this conversation finished. “Maybe it’s time she understood why.”
Elen walked toward him and placed a gentle hand on his arm, stilling his motions and calming his anger. “Just don’t choose our safety over your own happiness.” She lowered her voice. “I’ll not allow that a second time.”
Four
NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND
AYRES ESTATE, THE OLD SERVANT’S COTTAGE
BALANCING TWO GROCERY BAGS IN ONE ARM AND HER keys in the other, Sophie shoved her way through the front door of their cottage. She set the bags down on the counter, and hung her coat and keys on the hallway hook.
“Hello,” she called out. “I’m home. Sorry I’m so late.” Due to traffic, the drive from Providence to Newport had taken over two hours, plus she had stopped at the grocery store to get a few things for their trip in the morning. She checked the clock. Almost eight. Joshua must be starving.
Tucker, a Great Dane mix, trotted into the kitchen. He nudged her arm and waited for her usual greeting. Sophie bent down and kissed him on top of his head. “Have you behaved yourself today, Tuck?”
The dog huffed, as if bored with her petty demands of proper conduct, and then turned away, snout up, with obvious dismissal.
“Hey, Mom,” Joshua yelled from the hallway. He bounced into the kitchen a second later, like a plow truck fueled by pure adrenaline. At fifteen, Josh had the body of a man with the energy of a two-year-old, awkward and lanky, as if his limbs hadn’t yet adjusted to his ever growing height.
“What have you been up to?” She yanked off her boots, dropping them by the door, mulling over the best way to break the news to her son.
He grinned, wagging his eyebrows. His dark eyes, so like his father’s, twinkled with mischief. “Ask me why I’m awesome.”
Sophie groaned, yet, unable to resist her son’s antics, she played along. “Okay . . . why are you so awesome?”
He yanked up his T-shirt with one hand, showing off his midriff. “Look at this six-pack.”
The muscle tone was there, barely. “Oh, God . . . put your shirt down. You’re going to traumatize your mother for life.”
He laughed, letting the shirt drop. His confidence at fifteen boggled the mind, something else he had inherited from his father.
“What’s for dinner?” Joshua hovered over her, crowding the kitchen.
“Did you find the subs I left you?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Thanks. I had those for a snack.”
Sophie thought of food in the fridge that needed to be used. “How about a meat loaf?”
“That takes too long.” The deep timbre of his changing voice contradicted the whine of an adolescent. “How ’bout chicken Alfredo?”
“The chicken’s frozen. Do you want a BLT?” She worked around him, organizing food on the counter. Not an easy task considering he was a half foot taller than her and twice as solid.
And hungry.
“Come on, Mom. I’m starving. BLTs are, like, hello, a lunch. I need real food. Cheese. Pasta. Chicken. I’m wasting away here.”
“Ravaging locusts eat less than you do, I swear.” She searched the fridge for Parmesan cheese and cream. “I don’t know where you put it all.”
“I’m a growing boy.” Again with the grin. “That’s why you should make me chicken Alfredo.”
“Okay,” Sophie conceded, putting four chicken breasts in the microwave to defrost.
“Thank you, Mama.”
“Mama” was his latest term of endearment when she caved on something he wanted. She tended to give in a lot.
How could she not? He was, it seemed, her only weakness. She had done the unthinkable to keep him close. And she would do so much more if necessary.
“Where’s your grandmother?” Sophie chopped garlic for the Alfredo and set it aside. She then pulled frozen basil from the freezer, along with cream, wine, cheese, and butter from the fridge to start the sauce.
Joshua leaned his head out of the snack cupboard, his hand in a bag of Oreos. “Huh?”
“Your grandmother?” she repeated. “Where is she?”
“Playing chess with Mr. Ayres,” Joshua mumbled around a mouthful of cookies.
“We need to talk,” Sophie said calmly, even though her insides heaved in protest.
Joshua stilled, eyeing her warily. “You’re using your serious voice.”
Sophie waited until she had added the wine to the pan, and then set the sauce to simmer. She turned to face her son, searching for the right words, and decided on blunt honesty. “I called your father today.”
His reaction was physical, a slight shifting of skin and an unnatural narrowing of the skull, hardly visible and gone in a second.
The changes were so minute a regular person might not even have noticed. But she wasn’t a regular person. She was his mother.
She knew her child.
Just as she knew the shifts caused him considerable pain, although he tried to hide that fact. They had begun three weeks ago, each one more pronounced than the last.
He could die.
Her stomach clenched with the sickening reminder of those words, and she reached out to her son. The instant her hand touched his arm, gooseflesh formed on her skin as if kissed by lightning.
An unusual scent filled the air, like rain on hot sand, elements colliding. Nature manipulated. The scent was sharp and distinct and forever ingrained in her memory. It took her back to the only time she had witnessed Dylan become the wolf . . .
* * *
LEAVES AND PINE NEEDLES CRUNCHED UNDER HER SNEAKERS, crisp from rain starting to freeze. Evening clouds obscured a waning moon, masking their journey with darkness. Dylan held her firm, dragging her by one arm down a cleared path as Luc, Porter, and five other guards walked ahead and behind, blocking all escapes.
They were far from the house now, deep in the forest, surrounded by trees going dormant for winter, with leaves shaded red, orange, and yellow, happy colors muddied by night that didn’t soothe her racing heart.
Sophie shivered, more from disbelief than fear. “Where are you taking me? Why are you doing this? I don’t understand . . .”
Dylan pulled her farther into the woods, his grip unyielding, bruising her pride more than anything else. He spoke for the first time since their argument. “There is much about my world you don’t know or understand.”
She yanked at her arm, numb to the wrenching pain as she fought for freedom. He always spoke in vague references, alluding to some great secret, as if she were a child too naïve to comprehend his adult reality. “You can’t keep me here against my will.”
“Yes, I can.” And his voice held complete conviction in his ability to do just that. “And I will . . . as long as you carry my child. If you choose to leave after the birth, I will not interfere, but if you do leave . . . the child will remain with me.”
Sophie felt a tear slide down her cheek, disgusted by her own weakness but unable to stop the rush of emotion. She w
rapped her free arm around the small bulge of her belly. Protective. Instinctive. Possessive.
Hers.
He let her go suddenly, almost as if he felt her intentions. She stumbled forward into a glen sheltered from the rain by an arching oak tree.
Dylan walked before her, his blond hair plastered against his face and neck, streaks of rain trailing down his rigid jaw. There was no warmth in his expression, no emotion other than harsh resolve. The passion they had once shared as lovers had turned to anger months ago. Once he’d become aware of their child, everything had changed.
He changed.
His eyes met hers, black as death in the distance, holding her rooted to that spot in the glen, even though every instinct in her being screamed, Run!
“Now you will know why I keep you guarded, Sophie. Why you must forget your old life.”
He methodically began to remove his clothing until he stood before her naked. The lure to watch was potent. Shadows danced across the hard planes of his chest and stomach, like a gypsy’s dance teasing a potential lover.
Even in anger, she was drawn to him.
Undaunted by their audience, he stood before her confident and glorious, his wide shoulders squared under her inspection, his thick legs braced a foot apart, his stance unconsciously dominant, innately beautiful.
His sex hung dark and heavy against his thigh.
Luc and two other guards surrounded him, like warriors falling in behind their leader. Dylan opened his arms wide, tilted his somber face to the sky—and the forest wept.
The scent of elements filled the air, rain and earth and heat churned by the wind. Nature combined, melded together into one constituent of furious power. Leaves fell around her feet like snow in a blizzard, night creatures stilled, and the earth went silent in one hushed moment before reality as she knew it irrevocably changed.
She watched in stunned horror as the father of her unborn child melted into a mound of distorted flesh. Bones snapped and reformed, fur covered skin, human moans turned animalistic, and then there was no sound at all as the black eyes of a golden wolf returned her stare.
And she ran.
She ran out of fear, yes, but also for other reasons, intuitive reasons. As her mind struggled to accept the impossible, she was certain of only one thing: Dylan would never let her leave now that his unearthly secret had been revealed.
His earlier comments were spoken only to pacify her into compliance. She would be guarded forever by people-wolves—these things that despised her. And eventually, if she stayed, so too might her child one day follow their example.
Or worse, be taken from her.
They were slow to react, or perhaps too sure of their ability and her limitations. It gave her an edge, a slight advantage.
But soon, too soon, the breath of wolves and the shouts of guards closed in fast at her back. Frenzied, her stomach cramping, she stumbled off the trail and crawled into the husk of a rotting tree. There she willed her body into stillness and prayed in silence, forgotten prayers from childhood Sundays, desperate prayers of need and promises.
God answered, she supposed, in His own way. A nest of skunks didn’t appreciate company in their cozy home—and, ultimately, blessedly masked her scent.
Or, more likely, disabled the wolves’ keenest hunting ability.
Except for one.
Siân.
The female wolf had watched Dylan’s little demonstration from the woods, silent in the shadows, waiting until all the others had gone to search the roads and all human exits from their territory, unaware their prey had never left . . .
* * *
SOPHIE TOOK A DEEP BREATH AND SHOVED THOSE UNWANTED memories to the back of her mind. Hysteria, she had learned a long time ago, was a useless reaction.
“Joshua . . . can you hear me?” She shook his arm.
He frowned down at her as if she’d lost her mind. Not that she could blame him, having thought the exact same thing on countless occasions since that night in the woods.
“Ah . . . yeah, Mom. You’re like a foot away from my face.”
She laughed, her heart thudding in her chest to hear the normalcy of his voice. “We’re going to Rhuddin Village.”
The bag of Oreos fell from his grasp, forgotten. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Big dark eyes widened with unease. “Was he mad?”
The childlike question broke her heart. “The only reaction your father had was concern for you.” She masked her fear, keeping her voice decisive. “The time has come for you to meet him.”
He nodded slowly, accepting her decision. “How long are we going to stay?”
His lack of argument was both a worry and a relief. The worry lingered longer. “As long as we need.”
He gave a jerky nod, absorbing that information. A hint of a smile touched his lips, more, she knew, for her benefit. “I’m going to miss my last quarter of school.”
“I’m telling your teachers you have mono. There’s a good chance you’ll have to make up your classes this summer.”
A false hope, she knew. But did it matter where they were this summer, or the next, or the one after, as long as Joshua was there to experience them?
No. Losing him was the only thing she could not handle.
She gently tucked a strand of light brown hair away from his face, the one trait he had inherited from her. Everything else was Dylan. “I love you more than life itself, Joshua.”
“Love you too, Mom,” he said automatically.
“Are you ready for a new adventure?” It was the question she always asked just before a major change, usually a move. They had moved too much in his short lifetime. The cottage was their longest stay in one place, almost four years now, thanks to a generous employer.
“Yeah,” he said, and for the first time not complaining. “Is Grandma coming too?”
“Not this time.” That saddened Sophie to no end, but it was too much to ask of her mother, especially without disclosing all the facts, and Sophie didn’t intend to do that anytime soon. Her last attempt had been rewarded with a lecture on drug use.
“Does she know?”
“Not yet.”
He snorted. “Good luck with that.”
* * *
A BITING WIND RUSHED THROUGH THE AYRES COURTYARD, carrying the scent of salt air and turbulence. Red streaks appeared along the horizon, tempering the blue shadows of dawn, as if nature forewarned a difficult journey.
“Mom, we have a problem.” Joshua’s voice echoed across the brick driveway where Sophie stood with Matthew Ayres.
Shooting her boss an apologetic smile, she called back, “What is it?”
“Grandma won’t give me the keys.”
“Don’t think for a second, Sophie Marie, that you’re going anywhere without me.” Waves crashed in the distance, mingling with the sound of her mother’s adamant message.
Matthew cocked his head to one side, golden curls whipping about wide shoulders. He wore the blue sweater and plaid pajama bottoms Sophie had given him for his birthday, looking more like a surfer forced to wake before noon than the heir to a massive fortune.
A slight grin tugged at his perfectly sculpted lips. “I think you might have a dilemma.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she yelled to her son, then turned back to Matthew. “I’m sorry for the short notice.”
Aqua blue eyes focused in on her. “Tucker’s going to be heartbroken. I think he’s forgotten that I’m his owner.”
She nodded, finding it unusually difficult to say her farewells. Matthew valued his privacy, maybe even more so than she valued hers, but a friendship had developed regardless. As his personal cook and housekeeper, a certain amount of intimacy had been unavoidable. He had no surviving relatives that she knew of.
And for whatever reason, it felt wrong to leave him alone. “You have a week’s worth of meals in the freezer. The cooking instructions are taped to the top.”
“I’ll be fine, Sophie.”
“I should only be two weeks.”
“Okay.” He smiled as if somehow he knew she wouldn’t be coming back.
“Good-bye, Matthew.” On impulse, Sophie leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. They had never touched before and the gesture became more personal than intended.
He covered the spot she had kissed with his hand and then turned away as if to leave. “Wait here a moment.” Reluctance darkened his request. “I have something for you.”
Sophie frowned as she watched him walk back up to the main house. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother dragging a duffel bag down the walkway, clothes spilling out.
“Oh, come on, Mum,” she hollered over, frustration making her voice harsh. “We discussed this last night.”
Francine straightened, glaring back at her daughter, yesterday’s mascara smudged under her eyes. Her dyed brown hair, cockeyed from sleep, added to the impact of her displeasure.
Her mother never left the house without makeup. Sophie had intended not to wake her; the plan hadn’t worked out so well.
“Do you honestly think I’m going to let you go there alone?” Francine straightened to her full height, barely five feet, hands on hips. Tyrant position in place. “I’ll lay in front of that car first.” Her brown eyes snapped with defiance. Even at fifty-eight, bedraggled and furious, her mother was a stunning woman. She lifted her chin. “You know I will.”
Nerves raw from lack of sleep and concern for her son, Sophie threw her hands up. “Fine, Mum, you can come. But remember—I warned you not to.”
Francine gave a smug smile. “Joshua, you heard your mother. Come help Grandma put this bag in the trunk.”
At the sound of a soft chuckle, Sophie turned back toward the house. Matthew had returned holding a brown paper grocery bag rolled closed at the top.
She eyed the no-frills packaging and couldn’t help but smile. “What is it?”
“Just a little something,” he teased.