My mouth developed a bitter taste from the repetitive thought of “moving on.”
Why did the idea of Wick dating another hurt so much? The empty void that once greeted his news about mating with Christine with indifference had filled in. With what, exactly? No clue. But whatever filled my heart now ached with knowledge of Wick choosing another.
My wolf popped into my head again and growled. When I flinched, she disappeared.
Be honest, the stag whispered in my ear. I jumped and turned around, but the stag hadn’t appeared.
Mel glanced at me, eyebrows furrowed. “I barely swerved that time.”
Be honest? I clenched my jaw and squeezed my fists. I’d never stopped loving Wick. Not really. But now… Now it was too late. I’d ruined everything. Not just my relationship with Wick, but myself as well.
Tristan’s death had occurred over five months ago. He’d been gone longer than our entire relationship. Although it hurt to think of him, and the loss of what we might have had, my soul had spent a lot of time mending on the Haida Gwaii. My brother’s presence and love, combined with the silent strength and freedom of the surrounding nature, had helped immensely. My mind had replayed Sonny’s sage words about letting go over and over, until it healed the gaping wound from losing Tristan.
Enough to accept a new mate? Maybe. But I was too late—entirely my fault, too.
Mel cleared her throat.
“That was fast,” I said, voice catching.
Mel nodded. “He met her through work. Her name is Amanda. He’s not fooling anyone. We know he’s trying to distract his wolf and keep him quiet. He’s filling the void with someone else. It’s very new.”
“But serious?” How could it be? He hadn’t left me on the Haida Gwaii that long ago, and before that he’d been with Christine.
“No. I was going to say it’s not serious. Not yet.” She glanced at me. “There’s still a chance.”
“Mel…”
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “Don’t lie to me. We’re too good of friends for that crap. I know why you chose Tristan, but I also know you never truly let go of Wick.”
I sucked in a breath. How could she sound so sure?
“You would’ve mated with Tristan already if you had,” she answered, as if hearing my unspoken question.
I shifted in my seat again and stared at my hands. Images of intimate moments with Tristan flashed through my mind, particularly one instance where I’d bitten him, hard, nearly claiming him as mine. Almost. Something had held me back. At the time, I’d explained my inaction as fear of commitment after my experience with Dylan.
Though very dead by my own hands, having a past featuring a sadistic, abusive ex who claimed to be my mate and tried to force a bond on me made my reluctance to jump into any mate bond understandable.
Now? Now, I wasn’t sure I could lie to myself like that and believe it.
“And—” Mel bit her lip and pretended to shoulder check.
“No point in pulling punches now.” Even if they were poorly formed.
“And I always thought you forgave him too easily.”
She didn’t need to elaborate the “who” or “what.” I’d told her how Tristan had killed my biological parents when I was a baby. “He was under Ethan’s control, and it’s not like I remember the incident or my birth parents.”
“But you always wondered about them, and what your life would have been like. I know you loved your adoptive parents, but Tristan’s actions, even if directed by Ethan, robbed you of your intended childhood.”
“It wasn’t easy to forgive him, Mel.”
“No, but it was easier than forgiving Wick.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. The car swerved again as Mel changed lanes. Or at least that’s what I hoped had happened. “Wick acted on Lucien’s orders when we were together. Well, sort of. It’s still very vivid.”
“And it triggered memories of Dylan and the pack.”
My eyes popped open, and I watched my friend. She still bit her lip. Anger no longer flared at the mention of Dylan and his fucked-up Werewolf pack. The pain he’d inflicted and the nightmares of my time under his control no longer plagued me at night. Tristan had helped me heal from that part of my brutal past.
“But I always thought there was more to it,” Mel continued.
The honking horns, swearing, and screeching tires faded to a background hum as I waited for Mel’s next words. Hovering like some starving seagull waiting to swoop down on a dropped French fry.
Mel’s blue gaze flicked to me and she released her lip. “I know you loved Tristan, and part of you always will, but I don’t think you ever cared for him as deeply as you do Wick. It explains why you were such an irrational head case when Christine threw herself at him, why Wick’s betrayal cut you so much, and why you let him go.”
Because I love him, whole-heartedly and unequivocally.
My wolf chose this moment to pop into my head again and howl. Loudly.
Tension flowed from my muscles as the truth moved in. I already knew I loved Wick, but now I had to face Mel’s words and accept them. No more running. No more pretending. Big girl panty time.
Mel said it was still possible to win back Wick’s heart, but what if she was wrong? A lump grew in my throat. “Dammit, Mel. I’ve made a mess of things. I’m a mess.”
She reached out and grasped my nearest hand. “You’re human.”
I laughed. I’d already told her about my experience in the clearing with Feradea.
“Well, mostly.” She turned to wink at me. “By the way, Amanda is a norm—”
A car cut in from the inside lane.
“Look out!” I screeched.
Mel dropped my hand, gripped the wheel, and swerved. The motion flung my body into the interior side of the door. My head whipped against the frame. Pain lanced out from my right temple and shoulder.
The vehicle settled. Mel regained control and composure. Maybe I shouldn’t have left Wick’s truck with Sonny and driven back instead.
Mel pushed the window button down. When it opened, she thrust her hand out to give the other driver an inappropriate gesture. The cold air rushing into the SUV flipped her big blonde hair in all directions and her laughter filled the interior.
I laughed along. “God, I’ve missed you, woman.”
****
A Norse God opened the door to his home for us. His smile didn’t reach his intense gaze, and his posture remained stiff.
Mel, a sub in his pack, shifted her weight from foot to foot.
Great. Whatever she sensed through the pack bond put her on edge.
“Mel. Andy. Trip okay?” he asked as he moved to the side to let us in. His gaze quickly scanned our bodies, not in a sexual way, in a checking-for-injuries way. His gaze lingered on me before snapping away.
“Just swell.” If you count three more hair-raising near misses on the road and the emotional turmoil bubbling in my gut. I moved past Wick and tried to shut my senses against the rosemary and sugar scent licking off his skin.
Mel mumbled something polite behind me, and we shuffled into Wick’s beautiful home.
“Just swell wouldn’t be the words I’d choose to describe Mel’s driving,” Wick commented.
“Hey!” she protested.
“Well, we survived. So it was a successful trip.” I chuckled.
Mel grumbled as we walked into the large, open plan living room. Naturally lit with bay windows, the calm neutral taupe of the walls, dark espresso furnishings and crisp white trim, embedded with Wick’s rosemary and sugar scent, brought back a flood of memories. Some bad, some good, some incredibly naughty. My cheeks flushed as images of Wick and me on the couch resurfaced.
The majority of Wick’s pack waited in the living room, among them stood Steve, Ryan, John, Jess, and Mel’s mate Danny. Stan, Veronika, and Lucus had also traveled in to join us. No Sid. Apparently, the need for the “big gun” hadn’t arrived yet. The one individual I didn’t recognize was the curvy,
short redhead with enormous green eyes. Her boring as paper norm scent trickled in with the others, but unlike Stan’s, infused with manly-man soap and leather, her dainty signature smelled wrong in such a setting.
Huh. Wick’s girlfriend. He couldn’t have gone for someone more opposite than me—at least appearance wise. What the hell was she doing here now? I planned to rip people apart and coordinate the takedown of a super powerful evil Vampire empire. I didn’t have the time or patience to placate sensitive norm ideals.
I waved a silent hello to everyone before Stan enveloped me in a large hug. My eyes stung as I returned his squeeze.
“Hey partner,” I whispered.
“Hey.” He sniffed and pulled back. Were his eyes red? “Getting too sissy around here without your cursing.”
I laughed.
“Hey!” Steve called out. “I resent that. I added at least three new slurs to my vocabulary.” His emerald gaze twinkled against his café au lait skin. His casual demeanor often clashed with his role as a pack enforcer.
Stan said something rude to Steve, but I ignored it, pulled back my shoulders, and approached the stranger in the room.
“So you’re Wick’s ex?” she asked before I had a chance to introduce myself.
I halted. “Um, yup. My name is Andy.”
“You’re taller than I expected.” Her lips faltered before curling up in a friendly smile. It didn’t fool me. Her shifting gaze and sickly sweet scent gave away her nerves. Guess she saw the news coverage, too.
“Uh…” The “ex” phrase didn’t effectively cover my relationship with Wick. If we used social media, “it’s complicated” fit better.
Her smile froze, and she pulled her hand in gently while still holding mine, giving me the choice of either staggering forward or starting a tug-a-war.
I stepped forward.
“I really like him,” she whispered.
Her smile wavered, and she reeked of fear, but she had strength. She might’ve used nice words, and her knees probably knocked together, but in the Were world, she’d verbally staked her claim. Kind of unnecessary.
And kind of ballsy in a room full of supes, including myself. Hello? Beastly badass, here.
My mind continued to reel from her contradicting actions. Was she clueless to the significance of her actions, or had she read up on Were etiquette in anticipation of this moment?
A number of individuals existed out in the world drawn to supernaturals of all kinds, especially Vampires. Nothing wrong with that, but sometimes they brought unrealistic expectations with them. Did she dream of Wick turning her into a Were? The process killed most women, and Jean Baptiste Lamarck’s theory of change occurring through desire and need had been disproved long ago.
Still, anger flared up and boiled my blood. I quickly breathed in, trying to flush the feeling away. Wick didn’t need to smell my anger or jealousy. That would make this entire situation’s awkwardness grow exponentially.
Everyone around us tensed. Wick’s gaze narrowed. His nose flared.
Crap.
“Yeah, um…” I glanced at Mel.
She shrugged.
Well, double crap, that wasn’t helpful. I turned to Amanda and went for honesty. Mostly. “I’m here to kill shit. So unless you plan to get in my way, or you secretly work for my enemies, you don’t have to worry about me.”
She needed to worry about Wick. Had he not told her about the difference in lifetimes? Wasn’t it common knowledge? No matter how intense their relationship got, it had an expiry date. Maybe I could just wait her out. Unless…
Unless Wick planned to mate with a norm to end his life prematurely with her shorter lifespan.
A chill ran up my spine.
Wick continued to watch me, his jaw clenched.
He couldn’t plan that. Could he?
My stag chose this moment to appear, full force, not ghost-like. Everyone in the room gasped. A few wolves growled.
Fight for him, he said, before nuzzling my face. He blinked out and disappeared.
“What the hell is that?” Ryan growled, his freckled cheeks flushing to match his flaming red hair.
“My new fera.”
“A deer?” John’s voice sounded incredulous. “A goddamn herbivore is going to lead us into battle?”
“I’d spit that mule out for dinner,” Ryan said.
I spun to them, pulled the beast, and let her form flow through my limbs. I halted the shift before I ripped through my clothes, but the majority of the beast features pushed through. Including the horns.
I focused my feral gaze on a frozen John. The divine energy of the beast rolled over the crowd. Amanda swayed. Stan narrowed his gaze.
“No,” my deep beast voice rumbled. “You have the power of a Carus, the progeny of Feradea with the skills of the divine.”
John blanched. The beautiful dark tone of his skin somehow paled, and sweet sweat broke across his brow.
My beast swelled, pushing forward, demanding domination. The seams of my shirt groaned from strain. Something ripped. Instead of going with the change, I pushed the beast back and flipped my hair away from my now-human face. A quick survey of my clothing revealed small tears in the seams under the arms. I shrugged. Still good.
“I know there’s history here,” I addressed the group. “But I came to kick some ass. Keep your shit opinions of me to yourself and if you’re not going to help,” I paused to give Ryan a pointed look.
He snarled.
“Then stay out of my way.”
Silence settled over the group like a prickly wool blanket.
Jess cleared her throat. Her spikey hair tipped blue today. “But a deer?”
“He’s a stag, actually, and he was a gift from Feradea.”
“The goddess of animals and the hunt?” Amanda asked in a hushed whisper. Her tone implied disbelief. “You spoke to her?”
I turned to Wick’s new girlfriend and let my smile grow wide. “I’ve spoken to her more than once.”
“Oh!” Her head snapped back.
The Weres in the room stiffened, smelling the truth of my words. Mel beamed and practically vibrated beside her mate. If we stood closer, she’d probably try to high-five me. With terrible form.
The Witches exchanged a look, and Lucus rose from the oversized armchair he’d perched on. “You’ve come into your own, Andy. A fully-realized Carus. Congratulations.”
I nodded. Images of the day in the clearing and meeting with Feradea flickered through my mind and warmed my entire body. The Weres unfroze and started mumbling among themselves. I didn’t catch what they said, I didn’t try. Amanda went to snuggle into Wick’s side. From all appearances, he remained a stiff rock.
Lucus’s head shone almost as brightly as his teeth. “We’ll have a chance now.”
“Against the Elders?”
He shook his head. “They no longer have the boys.”
“What?” My sharp tone drew everyone’s attention.
Stan walked over to place a hand on my shoulder.
Veronika leaned forward. “The Elders gave the Witch den to the Pharaoh in exchange for immunity from whatever plans the Pharaoh has for the Lower Mainland.”
Wick ushered Amanda out of the room. I pulled my attention away from their retreating forms.
“How can they do that?” My voice rose an octave. The willingness of the Werewolf pack to help me made more sense now. Before it had been Wick’s desire to help me, but now that I was safe from the SRD, the pack really had no interest or connection with the Witch den. The Pharaoh on the other hand…
Lucus and Veronika exchanged another look.
Veronika answered my question. “The Elders justified the trade as a reasonable penance for the den for their part in Bola’s massacres. The Pharaoh is supposed to release them after a year of servitude.”
“The Elders will pay for this.” My fists clenched and each knuckle popped.
In the distance, my Shifter senses followed Wick’s progress. He walked Amanda
to the door. They exchanged a mumbled goodbye, followed with some lips smacking. The door opened and closed.
“Andy…” Stan started.
I tried to shrug off his hand, but he clamped down.
“The Elders are fucking twats, but they made our job easier,” Stan said. He grimaced, or possibly tried to smile, his teeth like slats of a crooked picket fence.
His statement got my attention. The tension flowed from my muscles and I turned to my friend. “Huh?”
Wick walked back into the room, Amanda’s norm scent radiating off him like nauseating cologne. He stood to the side and folded his arms across his chest. His jaw remained clenched, his posture tense.
“Instead of going against the Elders and the Pharaoh, both formidable foes, you only have one target now.”
“Why should I let the Elders get away with Witch trafficking?”
Lucus cleared his throat. “It’s not actually illegal, and some would argue Ben and his den deserved it.”
I grumbled. Maybe Matt, Patty, and Christopher, but not Ben. The Witches he mentored had snuck around behind his back and when they realized their mistake, they’d hid it from him.
“Andy?” Mel asked.
“Yeah?”
“The Pharaoh?”
“Fucking dead,” I spat.
The room relaxed and some of the wolves nodded. Time to plan.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Confrontations
“Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.”
~Oscar Wilde
With my hand on the doorknob, I froze. Rustling in the hallway told me I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. The scents trickling in told me Wick and Mel were both up, and from their forced tones, they weren’t happy with each other.
I pressed my ear to the door and pulled the beast close to listen in. Her hearing trumped any of my feras, and probably surpassed the wolves as well. The Were-proof door no longer provided an adequate block for sound. Not like it prevented Weres from hearing beyond the door if they were close enough, but it had acted as a barrier to my once inferior Shifter hearing.
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