Haven

by Mary Lindsey

  “Who is it?” he called though the door, adrenaline swirling. What the hell is wrong with me? He’d never done something cautious and fearful like that before. This place—these people—was getting to him.

  “Open the door, Rain,” Freddie said from the other side.

  When he peeked through the window near the door, he saw his motorbike on the driveway. He opened the door, and she pushed by without hesitation, then she slammed the door shut and locked it.

  “Way to scare the shit out of me,” she said. “Why didn’t you text back?”

  “I did.”

  “Yeah. Five seconds ago! I thought you were dead.”

  She pitched her backpack on a chair and paced the living room like a caged animal, shoulders slumped and fists clenched, reminding him of the strange posture right before she went all Moon Creature at Enchanted Rock. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her clothes were ripped in a couple of places. “I thought Wanda Richter had made good on her threat.” She took a deep breath and released it as if fighting for control.

  He couldn’t help but be flattered by her intense reaction—and relieved. He leaned back against the closed door, smiling. “Admit it.”

  She stopped pacing. “Admit what?”

  “You like me.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, then she crossed her arms over her ribs. “Of course I like you or I wouldn’t have… We wouldn’t have…” Her neck and face flushed red, and she made a wild, exasperated gesture to the ceiling. “You know.”

  He found it interesting that as bold as she was about everything else, she seemed shy about what had happened in her cabin.

  “Hold that thought,” he said. “I really need some aspirin.” She grabbed her backpack and followed as he pushed open Ruby’s bedroom door. “And some answers.”

  “No. What you really need is this.” She pulled a half-empty wine bottle out of her backpack.

  “Hell no. That shit almost killed me.” He strode to the tall dresser against the wall of his aunt’s bedroom and pulled the top left drawer open. There was nothing inside but loose change. The right drawer had what he was looking for. He pulled out the aspirin and unscrewed the top.

  “You need this, not aspirin,” she said, pushing the bottle toward him. “It’s not the same formula you drank before. It’s like an antidote.” She set the bottle on top of the dresser when he didn’t take it. It was a tall green bottle with a gold label bearing the name Hair of the Dog.

  “Clever name.” He shook three aspirin into his hand.

  “Clever product. Why don’t you be clever and drink some. Aspirin won’t help moon sickness. In fact, it’ll make you barf.”

  Moon sickness. He dropped the pills back into the bottle, screwed on the cap, and placed it on top of the dresser. He took the wine bottle and removed the cork. “How much do I drink?”

  “Depends on how bad you feel.”

  Pretty damn bad. He took a sip and shuddered at the bitter medicinal taste before reaching to put it back on top of the dresser. A framed photograph caught his eye, and he almost dropped the wine bottle as he stared at what could have been his twin, only a couple of years older, and his mother, who looked gorgeous in a flowing white wedding dress.

  He took another swig of the wine, hoping to hell it worked and his head would clear enough to form a coherent thought. His mom had lied about this, too. He grabbed the framed photo and carried it to the window to check it out in better light.

  “You okay?” Freddie asked.

  “Yeah.” But he wasn’t—not even close. Staring at the photo, he took a deep breath and released it slowly, already feeling the clearing effects of the wine. He ran his thumb over the glass covering the picture of a familiar stranger. Aunt Ruby had been right. Rain’s resemblance to his father was uncanny. His mom grinned out of the photo at him. It was the first genuine smile he’d ever seen on her face. Equally natural was his father’s smile. The man and woman in the photo were so happy. They’d had a wedding. What the hell happened that turned her into a lonely, bitter addict? It was almost worse knowing where she came from and what she could have had. What he could have had.

  Instead of a life here, growing up with both parents and his aunt in a comfortable house, he had been raised as an unwanted mistake on the streets. Her rain cloud. And it was all lies.

  “So, wanna tell me what’s going on?” Freddie asked, picking up the wine bottle from the dresser and offering it to him.

  “My parents were married.” He showed her the photo.

  She swapped the bottle for the photo and studied it. “I knew Ruby Ryland had a twin, but I never met her. It’s cool they were married, though, right?” She handed the frame back.

  He put it in place again and took another swallow of wine.

  “Here’s another picture of them.” Freddie pointed to a photo thumbtacked to the wall near the closet. His mom and dad, wearing goofy hats, were in the boat from the shed—the one named Ruby. Again, their happiness as they grinned at the camera seemed to make his childhood even bleaker.

  As he stared at the couple in the faded photo, Freddie wandered into the open walk-in closet. Metal hangers clicked together as she passed toward the back. “There are a bunch of men’s clothes in here,” she said.

  “Probably Ruby’s dad’s.”

  “Hey. Look at this!” She held up a white wedding dress covered in a clear plastic cleaners bag. Rain had no doubt it was the same dress in the framed photo.

  She hung the dress back on the rod. “Maybe this was your mom’s room.”

  “There are only two bedrooms. This was Mom and Ruby’s parents’ room, and they shared the one I’m staying in. Aunt Ruby moved over to this room when her folks died. My mom had already left New Wurzburg.”

  She’d been right. He didn’t need aspirin. The wine had worked a miracle, and he felt almost human. He grabbed the aspirin bottle and opened the drawer to put it away, stopping short. In the back of the drawer was a diamond ring. A wedding ring. He pulled it out and stared at the photo—at the same ring on his mother’s finger.

  Swallowing hard, he put the ring back where he’d found it and joined Freddie at his aunt’s desk, which was piled with junk—old birthday cards, clipped coupons, and a ton of bills. Freddie shuffled through some cards and letters in the back corner of the desk and handed him a stack of papers.

  “What are these?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. There may be something in them about your mom and dad.” She picked up a bunch of envelopes and rolled off the rubber band binding them.

  Rain glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

  “Hey, check this out. These are letters and notes between Ruby and a guy named Roger. That was your dad’s name, right?”

  “Yeah. Roger Blain. What kind of letters?”

  “Love letters.” She put one down and picked up another. “And whoa. They’re hot.”

  His mouth went dry, and he almost wished his head were still fuzzy so the truth wouldn’t sting so much. His dad had cheated on his mom with her own twin. No wonder his mom hated him and never mentioned she had a sister.

  No wonder Ruby felt compelled to bring him to New Wurzburg. She was making amends to her dead twin. Damn. He pressed his palm over his chest to stop the sharp ache under his ribs.

  His mom must have been pregnant when she found out her husband had cheated with Ruby, and she just took off rather than stay and deal with it. She’d only been twenty when he was born.

  “Huh…” She turned over the piece of notebook paper and read the back. “Um…”

  “What?”

  She glanced at the photo on the dresser, then handed him the paper. “I think we got it wrong.”

  He squinted to read it in the dim bedroom light. “I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t seduce Roger. You accused me of planning it all out, but I didn’t. Neither did he. It just happened, you know? I hope some day you’ll forgive me for ruining your marriage.” It was signed, Lynn.r />
  “That makes no sense.”

  “Yes it does if you look at it the right way.”

  He stared down at his mother’s familiar scrawl, totally confused.

  Freddie picked up the photo. “What if that’s not your mom in the wedding dress? What if it’s Ruby?”

  His knees and legs grew soft, like Jell-O, and he slumped onto the end of the bed.

  She handed him the photo, then opened and scanned a letter from her stack, put it back in its envelope, and picked up another. “I mean, look at the name of the boat.” She pointed at the photo thumbtacked by the closet. “And why would your aunt have kept her sister’s wedding dress?”

  Somewhere deep down, those had all been disconnects because he wanted so badly to believe his mom had experienced at least a brief time of love and happiness with his dad. That he wasn’t the product of an unhappy drunk one-and-done. He saw what he wanted to see.

  “Oh, yeah. Here we go.” She turned an envelope toward him addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Blain. “It’s a Christmas card.” She pulled it out and flipped it open, then read, “Dear Ruby and Roger, Wishing you a happy first Christmas as husband and wife. Love, Mom and Dad.”

  Shit. From the end of Ruby’s bed, he stared at the wedding picture in his lap. Poor Ruby. Every day since Rain had moved in, she not only saw a face that looked remarkably like her cheating, dead husband, she saw the result of the worst kind of betrayal.

  Freddie straightened the stack of envelopes and came to stand immediately in front of him, and laid her cool palm against his jaw. “You okay?” Her voice was soft and soothing, bringing him back from the edge like he imagined a lullaby would a small child.

  No. He wasn’t okay, but the fact Freddie was with him made it bearable. “Why did she bring me here? It has to be tearing her apart.” So many things clicked into place: the matching bikes, Ruby’s reaction to cooking eggs that night, her shock when she saw him the first time. “Poor Ruby.” Gently, he placed the framed photo back on the dresser.

  Freddie took both of his hands in hers. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Maybe having you here makes her feel better. Maybe she’s looking for something good in all of it. That’s what we do when we’re grieving. Look for a reason to justify senseless loss.”

  He fought back a pathetic laugh. If an English teacher had asked a class to write a paper on the central theme of his life story, it would have been about senseless loss.

  She raised the scarred knuckles he’d used to pound so many people over the years to her soft lips and brushed light kisses across them, sharpening the hollow ache in his chest with hope. He closed his eyes against the emotion welling up inside brought on by her one tender gesture.

  “Do you want me to go?” she asked. “Give you some time alone?”

  “God, no.” The words came out faster and louder than he’d intended. He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “I want you to stay.” He needed her to stay. “I want…” He didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but holding her seemed like a good start. He pulled her close and she wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his shoulder like she craved the comfort as much as he did.

  He wanted to tell her that everything was okay. That all of this was just a road bump and everything would be back to normal soon, but he knew the words would be hollow. Neither of them would reach normal. His life had been screwed up from the time he was born, and her situation was worse. The loss of her father had been devastating and the threat to her safety was real. Too real. Purpose pushed the ache of loss aside, and he took a deep breath.

  He ran a hand from her neck down her spine to her waist and back up again to reassure himself as much as her. He’d find the killer. He’d keep her safe.

  Trailing his hands down her arms, he froze when she flinched in pain. He stepped back and studied her carefully. The last time he’d seen her, she was wearing an evening gown that revealed a lot of skin and not a single visible injury except for the one cut on her arm that was partially healed. As she put down the bottle, he noticed there were several new gashes on her upper arms, peeking out from under her shirt. He reached out and lifted up on the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head, revealing multiple injuries.

  “I guess you’re feeling better, huh?” She grinned, adjusting her sports bra.

  Rain focused on the multiple distinct canine bite marks on her shoulders and upper arms. “Who did this?” Adrenaline raged through him, making it hard to stay calm, especially when her only response was a smile. He wanted to know. Wanted to kill him…or her. Shit. Obviously there were girl wolves, too. He was looking at one. “Who did it?” His voice was gravelly.

  She remained relaxed and still. “You know who did it.”

  “Thomas.”

  She shrugged. “I think Kurt got a nip in, too.”

  “A nip.” He was so pissed, he wanted to go hunt them down.

  “Down, boy. I don’t need a defender.” She took a step back. “See, here’s the thing. Bites on the front of the body—the head, shoulders, nape—those mean you stood your ground. Bites on the legs, back, and lower half of the body mean you were running away.” She slipped her jeans off and did a full circle, exhibiting a maddening amount of unmarked skin. “As you see, I was not running away, but Thomas and Kurt are gonna have trouble sitting for at least a week.”

  He smiled at that image.

  She scooped up her shirt and pants and pulled them back on.

  Closing his eyes, he forced himself to focus on something other than her skin. “I need you to answer some questions for me.”

  “Sorry. Gotta get back to the winery.” She stepped into her shoes and headed to the door of Aunt Ruby’s room.

  He followed. “You drove my bike here. How are you getting back?”

  “I was hoping you’d take me.”

  Maybe that raise-the-beast wine he drank last night hadn’t worn off, because his body was tuned to her like a radio station, and her smart-ass smirk made him want to kiss her senseless, which would be really uncool in his aunt’s room.

  Taking her hand, he led her down the hallway to his own room. Her eyes flitted to the bed, and she gave him that grin he was beginning to recognize as a signal that things were going to get interesting. This wasn’t the time, though. If he was going to keep her safe—keep himself safe—he needed answers. Focus Ryland.

  Stopping in the center of the room, he crossed his arms over his chest to keep from touching her and getting distracted. “The way I see it, you owe me some answers.”

  “The way I see it, I don’t owe you anything.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she leaned closer. “But I’d like to give you something.”

  He took her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake, wishing he could shake himself hard enough to make his teeth rattle and his body stop responding to her long enough to get some answers. “Stop this. I almost died because of that wine your cousins and Grant gave me.”

  Her expression hardened, brow furrowing. “God, I hate that I pulled you in to all this. I know you want answers, but the more you know, the more danger you’re in. You’re better off not knowing any specifics.”

  “Way too late for that.” He ran both hands through his hair. “The chief threatened to kill me if I didn’t turn into a Watcher. She thinks I know everything, so I intend to. I want to know what I might die for.” He sat on the foot of his bed and buried his face in his hands, frustrated by the helplessness caused by his unfamiliarity with this world he’d fallen into.

  “The chief thinks you know everything, huh?”

  “Absolutely. And she brought me home anyway.”

  With a huff, she sat next to him on the bed. It seemed like forever before she finally spoke. “The Weavers came first. They brag about how they were here from the beginning of man. Watchers weren’t around until the mid-1500s, when the European covens created them for protection.”

  So they were like magical guard dogs. “Protection from what?”

  “Humans.�
� She drew her knees up to her chest. “Magic started freaking out normal people. Weavers will tell you the fear resulted from humans’ jealousy, because all Weavers are self-absorbed assholes. History books will tell you it was simply the ignorance and superstition of the Middle Ages in Europe as well as changes in the Church.”

  “So how did Weavers and Watchers end up in Texas Hill Country?”

  She played with the white threads on the frayed edge of the hole in her jeans. “My pack settled this area in the late 1800s but came to the United States as early as the 1600s after fleeing from the Bamberg and Wurzburg witch trials in Germany.” She shuddered. “Village leaders over there kind of went nuts and were burning people left and right. Watchers guided as many Weavers as possible to safety in the forests, protecting them from witch-hunting parties, but not everyone got out. Hundreds of innocent humans were murdered alongside the remaining Weavers in the frenzy.” Her gaze was on the calendar above his desk, but her focus was far away. “They tortured them first. Some were just little kids. Four years old. Burned alive.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Can you imagine burning a four-year-old? Fear makes people crazy. Get enough crazy people together and the insanity makes sense in some bizarre way, and the weaker ones will follow authority, even if it’s out of control.”

  Yeah, he’d seen that enough times with gangs. “Pack mentality.”

  Eyes narrowed, she snapped her head toward him. “Crowd mentality. Packs have order and discipline if the Alpha is strong.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough.”

  That seemed to satisfy her, and she relaxed, running her fingers over his thigh, once again making it impossible to concentrate.

  “You’re intentionally distracting me so that I’ll stop asking questions,” he said closing his eyes as she ran her forefinger up the inseam of his jeans. His breath hitched as she moved higher.

  “It appears to be working,” she whispered in his ear.

  “I wish you’d stop.” He stilled her hand, which caused his body to riot and hers to tense.