Call of the Lycan (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 3)

by Deidre Huesmann

  As soon as she slid the glass door open, Nathan leapt to his feet and grinned. “Miss Rachael!” He guided her over to a small table they had set up, spreading his hands to show off his display. “Welcome to Fighting Lycans, Lesson One!”

  His buoyancy shone at stark odds with how she felt. Rachael surveyed the items he had spread out and her throat tightened.

  Ana Sofia joined them, quietly sipping from a juice box. Her brown eyes were fixed on the table with open curiosity and excitement. She looked at Nathan and grinned. “Conmadre.”

  “She said, ‘very cool,’” explained Nathan.

  “Ah,” said Rachael faintly.

  On the table laid a varied assortment of items: ballpoint pen, steak knife, cast iron skillet, can of hairspray, wrench, an empty bottle, and a curling iron with the cord wrapped neatly around the base.

  “So, uh... is the theme garage sale?” she joked feebly.

  Nathan giggled. “Close! It’s stuff you can find in rooms of the house.” He placed his hands on the edge of the table, his expression growing serious. “You could be surprised in your house, so you gotta know what you can use. Anything’s a weapon, but some stuff is better than others. Some stuff only works sometimes.”

  Rachael couldn’t believe he’d managed to structure the lesson cleverly enough to hide what had happened to her. She drew in a long breath. “Okay, so all of this is the best stuff?”

  He just shrugged. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “On what you can do.” He nodded toward Ana Sofia. “She’s real strong now, so I taught her how t’ use cords for choking people if she can’t be a wolf. But, um... no offense, Miss Rachael, I don’t think you can.” He picked up the steak knife first. “And I dunno if you can use this. You’re real nice. Stabbin’ someone is gonna be hard for you.”

  The idea did make her queasy, but Rachael knew she’d have to strengthen her resolve. “I think I should still learn,” she said.

  The boy blessed her with a kind smile. “I’ll teach ya. And you too, Fia.”

  Rachael wasn’t certain how she felt about having a five year-old in her “class,” but she did appreciate that Nathan’s way wouldn’t give rise to a lot of questions. “Okay, so. What’s first?”

  One moment Nathan traded glances with Ana Sofia; the next he launched himself over the table. Rachael scurried back but he slammed into her, knocking her to the porch. Her breath escaped in a painful swoop and Rachael’s head smacked the wood beneath her. Quickly she threw her arms up, but after a moment of cowering she realized Nathan was no longer moving. Trembling, she lowered her hands to find him straddling her stomach. One hand wielded the knife while the other rested near her throat. His eyes were blacker than hematite.

  “Now you’re dead,” he said with disturbing softness. “I just got your eye. While you were screamin’ and trying to get the knife out I turned into a wolf and tore out your throat.”

  Behind him, Ana Sofia said solemnly, “Faster.”

  “She’s right. I’m faster.” Nathan climbed off her, setting the knife on the table. He offered a hand to help her up, but Rachael scrambled to her feet on her own. The leftover adrenaline chilled her blood. Nathan hadn’t scared her so badly since she saw him shift into a lycan for the first time—her introduction into their world. It was terrifying for such a small, sweet-looking boy to be so deadly.

  With a shaky inhale, Rachael said, “So how do we make me faster?”

  Nathan shook his head, tossing blond hair in the sunlight. “Can’t. Not like a human. Not fast enough to block that without gettin’ hurt. So you gotta be stronger and use more, uh...” He scowled at the table. “Uh... Aaron! What’s the word I’m lookin’ for?”

  From the living room, Aaron’s voice said flatly, “Resources.”

  “Thanks!” Nathan nodded emphatically. “You gotta use more stuff.”

  “Do not ask if you are not going to use the word,” snapped Aaron.

  Nathan offered her a sheepish smile. “Resources. Anyway. That’s what the table’s for.”

  Now that she had calmed down, Rachael was somewhat impressed he hadn’t knocked the table over. His feet had to have cleared it entirely and pressed his weight directly in the middle for it not to topple.

  Nathan picked up the pen and pressed it into her hand. “Harder to use than a knife, but it works. You gotta stab hard.” He made a downward swinging motion with his hand. Behind him Ana Sofia mimicked the motion. But she forgot about the juice box in her hand and started when she spilled some over her arm and the porch. Her expression crumpled.

  Rachael began to ask if she was okay, but Nathan spoke again and Ana Sofia stared right at him, already captivated. Pressing her lips together, Rachael turned back to her tiny tutor.

  “Hairspray’s just as good as pepper spray. It’s gonna hurt ‘em but not for long.” Nathan touched the curling iron. “If this is hot, it’s gonna burn ‘em real bad. Doesn’t work very good when it’s cold. So that’s what I meant about it, um, depending on what’s going on.”

  He hefted both the empty bottle and wrench in his hands. “These are both great. Break the bottle and cut someone. Or just hit ‘em with this—” Nathan waved the wrench. “—and you might be okay. We heal fast, but not that fast. Hammer works, too. Whatever’s in the garage.”

  Rachael slowly realized that each item could be found somewhere in her house—in any house, pretty much. She gave a sideways look to the skillet, which Nathan finally picked up and handed to her. His expression left no room for humor.

  “You hit someone hard enough with this,” he said quietly, “And they’re gonna go down. If you don’t, you’ll just make ‘em real mad like everything else. This one you gotta get real good at swinging, Miss Rachael. Cuz if you hit hard enough, they’ll never get back up.”

  Ana Sofia’s eyes widened a touch. “Dead,” she whispered.

  “Muerto,” agreed Nathan. He and the little girl nodded at each other as though sharing a secret, though it was very clear what they’d just said.

  Rachael felt the weight of the skillet. It was, of course, very top-heavy and felt unsteady in her hand. She stepped away and took a couple practice swings. It was a little easier once momentum kicked in, but she realized she’d have to actually practice with it if she wanted to strike a person instead of drywall.

  She lowered the skillet, grimacing. “I got a lot of work to do, huh?”

  “Yup,” said Nathan cheerfully.

  Ana Sofia shook her head insistently. “I will help,” she said in her thick accent. “And learn. Yes?”

  “Yup.” Nathan nodded.

  Rachael looked over her weapons of choice again. She understood what he was saying, but thinking about having to strike somebody with intent to harm, particularly with these instruments... her gut churned.

  She swallowed her misgivings and placed the skillet back on the table. “Okay. So what should I be doing? Practicing with these things?”

  “Nuh uh.” Nathan pointed inside. “First we gotta go in each room and figure out what we can use. Then see if you can block me.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I could hurt you.”

  Even Ana Sofia shot her an exasperated look. The little girl took a long, bubbly suck on her juice straw and flounced inside toward the kitchen. Her flowery skirt billowed behind her.

  Nathan said, “You won’t hurt me, Miss Rachael. Not even close. It’s gonna be a long time before you can. Besides, Aaron will stop you if you get lucky.”

  So that was why he’d remained within earshot. Rachael exhaled slowly and nodded.

  “Okay,” said Nathan cheerfully. “So where do you wanna start?”

  Chapter Eight

  The kitchen now looked like an armory. Knives, pots and pans, a corkscrew, heavy dishes, even a couple stout glasses caught her eye as she worked.

  But in that moment Rachael wasn’t looking for a weapon. She was boiling hot dogs.

  It made some sense, she supposed. Nathan was to po
unce her when she wasn’t paying attention. Just like real life, he explained. If she knew it was coming, then her reaction would be different. But of course she still knew it was coming, so she was still anxious.

  The front door slammed, making her jump. Rachael peered out into the hallway in time to see Jackson remove his coat. When he looked at her a frown scrunched his mouth. “What’s wrong, RayRay?”

  “Nothing,” she said, hurriedly turning back to the stove. “Wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

  “Yeah, well, slow day at the shop so the manager sent me home.”

  Jackson entered the kitchen and leaned his large frame against the counter. Once a stocky, round-faced teenager, becoming a lycan had transformed him immensely. Two years ago his dirt-brown hair had reached his shoulders; these days he wore it short and easily manageable. Since starting work at the local home improvement store, Jackson had traded black parachute pants and trench coats for Carhart jeans and a dark grey windbreaker. Unlike their father who had gone from construction-worker tough to soft in the belly, Jackson had shed the last of his baby fat and packed on solid, blocky muscle. These days he allowed his facial hair to grow into light, slightly reddish stubble. It easily added three years to his appearance.

  He leaned over the stove to eye her floating, cold hot dogs. “RayRay, do you know you barely even have the heat on?”

  Before she could answer a white blur whipped past Jackson and lunged for Rachael’s throat. With a shriek, Rachael grabbed the pot and yanked it off the stovetop. Lukewarm water splashed over the wolf and her brother, and then the pot slammed into the wolf’s head and knocked it back.

  Jackson shouted in surprise. The wolf shook itself and stood, dripping over the kitchen linoleum. Rachael remained frozen in shock, her heart racing painfully. The hot dogs scattered across the floor seemed to highlight the ridiculousness of the situation.

  She took a deep breath just as Jackson whirled on the wolf and shouted, “Have you gone insane?”

  The wolf cocked its damp head and sat on the floor nonchalantly. Puzzled, Rachael breathed, “It’s just Nathan.”

  “I know who it is,” snapped Jackson. He kicked at one of the hot dogs and it flopped forlornly across the floor. “What I don’t know is why he just tried to kill you!”

  Nobody told him. Groaning, Rachael covered her face and rubbed her bandaged palms over her eyes. “He wasn’t. I mean, he kinda was, but not really. We’re training.”

  Jackson stared. Incredulously he asked, “For what?”

  “Self-defense.”

  Then his face melted into disgust. “With him?”

  Her chest tightened. “Well... yeah, I guess?”

  For several months Rachael had noticed he carefully avoided speaking to or even being in the same room as Nathan. She had assumed it had to do with Vera—after all, Jackson had once dated her. According to both of them it had ended amicably. When she died he’d withdrawn and avoided pretty much everybody but Rachael initially. But then he’d thrown himself into an auto repair hobby and his new job. Overtime he’d warmed up again, even to Ana Sofia.

  But not to Nathan.

  “No. No way,” said Jackson tightly. The gold specks in his eyes glared to life like sparks in a fire. “I’ll do it.”

  “That is not what I recommended.”

  Everyone turned toward the smooth, familiar voice. Aaron stood calmly just outside of the kitchen, his arms folded nonchalantly over a dark shirt with very thin, widely spaced silver lines threaded downward.

  Jackson’s fists tightened. He took a few deep breaths, and Rachael realized she was watching the results of the self-control Aaron had instilled into him during his time away from home. It was amazing how different he was from the impulsive, angry teen she’d always known.

  “Am I the only one who remembers what he did?” asked Jackson in a strained voice. “I mean I get it. It’s Holden’s fault Vera is... gone. But none of it would have happened if he hadn’t gone and infected Ana Sofia behind our backs.”

  Rachael winced. Hopefully Ana Sofia remained upstairs and out of earshot. She didn’t need to hear this.

  The wolf in the center of the kitchen looked away from Jackson, its head bowed.

  Aaron glanced down at the wolf form of his brother. Mildly he said, “I have not forgotten.”

  “Then please forgive me if I don’t think he should do this.” Jackson flexed his fingers, the muscles of his forearms twitching. One strong visible vein pulsed beneath the skin near his wrist. “I can teach her. I know a lot.”

  “Yes, you do,” agreed Aaron. “But Nathan knows more.”

  Jackson turned to his sister and frowned. “Didn’t you ask him about turning?”

  Rachael flushed.

  The look Aaron gave them both spoke volumes of his quiet disdain. “I see,” he said, his tones deftly calm. “So when you asked to become infected, it was at your brother’s behest.”

  She cringed at his thinly concealed rage. Behest wasn’t the word she would have chosen. Suggestion, maybe.

  “Aaron,” she started.

  He held up a hand to silence her. Rachael clamped her mouth shut, her ears burning ferociously.

  “Nathan, please continue,” said Aaron. He refused to look her way, which made Rachael’s humiliation complete. She could tell from the worried folds on Jackson’s face that he was equally uncomfortable. “Ensure this kitchen is cleaner than you found it, Ms. Adair.”

  She spun to look for a towel. The quiet footsteps that disappeared up the stairs told her of his absence, and to her horror she felt her eyes start to sting.

  “RayRay?” Jackson grabbed her shoulders and turned her. He appeared confused and embarrassed. “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not,” she muttered, blinking hard. “My eyes hurt.”

  Her brother glanced toward Nathan and scowled. “Dude. Can’t you give us a moment?”

  The white wolf let out a small whine and climbed to its feet. With lightness that should have been criminal, it trotted off and after its brother.

  Jackson kept silent for a few moments, as though waiting for privacy. Then he spoke very softly. “I’m sorry. I should have asked him myself. But I just thought he’d entertain the idea better from you.”

  Rachael smiled faintly. “Don’t be. It’s not like you forced me. I thought... I guess it seemed like a good idea. Become a lycan, stay with you, have something close to a family again. Especially with Daddy being so distant.”

  “Yeah, but I knew Aaron hates being lied to. Or tricked.” Jackson crossed his arms, dejection dimming his eyes. “Damn it, RayRay. I’m shouldn’t have opened my dumb mouth—”

  Rachael threw her arms around her brother before his self-deprecating rant could boil into anger. Strong arms pulled her close and in that moment she fully realized all she had to lose. Jackson, safety, comfort, family... All her sorrows welled up until the tears she’d tried to stave off finally flowed over.

  In a voice so soft she had to strain to hear, even with his mouth right next to her head, Jackson swore, “I won’t leave you behind. One way or another, even if I have to leave the pack and take you with me. I’ll infect you myself if I have to.”

  She feared saying too much in this house. So all she murmured was, “I love you, too, Jackie.”

  The tender moment fractured when a small voice cleared its throat. The siblings separated and Nathan walked in wearing a new outfit. “We still gotta train,” he said cheerfully.

  Rachael wondered how much he heard. But Nathan just watched them serenely, giving away nothing.

  Jackson scowled but pecked his sister on the cheek. “I’ll drive you home tonight.” Rachael smiled and he left—though not without shooting Nathan a bitter stare.

  The boy pretended not to notice and jumped right back to business. “What you did could’ve been good if the water was boiling.”

  Rachael acknowledged his semi-praise and opened a drawer. She grabbed a white towel. Slowly she knelt to the floor, picki
ng up the pot and hot dogs while wiping the linoleum clean.

  “But,” continued Nathan. “You shoulda grabbed somethin’ else. If I was a different lycan I would’ve kept attacking. You can’t stop. You gotta keep fighting or run, but you can’t ever stop no matter how scared you are.”

  Rachael nodded. “Got it.”

  With a shining smile Nathan beckoned for her to follow. “C’mon. It’s Fia’s turn.”

  He wanted to keep his ears open for any potential unnecessary damage. Nathan could be quite heavy-handed, though he rarely meant to. So Aaron settled in his room with a worn copy of a signed book from his favorite guilty pleasure author. William W. Johnstone was rather underrated in his humble opinion. Oh, certainly there was a fair share of Western fiction enthusiasts, but Johnstone was more than that. And while the werewolf novels amused him, Aaron was particularly drawn to The Last Mountain Man.

  He had barely turned the second page before a shriek and crash reached his ears. Normally the surprise attack Nathan had set for Rachael might have elicited a smirk.

  Unfortunately, he was still sore with her.

  Aaron understood his feelings weren’t entirely fair. Whether the request came from Rachael or Jackson’s heart, the end result would be the same: she would be dead from the infection or with his pack and, more importantly, her brother. Objectively, Aaron understood no wrongs had been committed, even if the siblings had conspired together in some way.

  But it bothered him deeply. That Jackson would hide such an important thing from him was just the tip of the iceberg. Aaron had hoped to have won more loyalty than that. At the same time, he understood that the bond of blood family could trump the bond of the pack. Had he not infected Nathan for that very reason?

  Rachael was another story. And hers was all the more maddening because he couldn’t justify why it upset him. Yes, the conniving was there, but he should have been able to shrug it off several minutes ago. That it continued to plague him was troubling.

  Aaron turned a page without noticing he hadn’t read the words. He’d absorbed this series so many times he could quote paragraphs of his favorite passages with perfect precision.