by Hattie Hunt
Emma had put a stop to that as well. Jordan had zero access to the Elliot accounts. Everyone’s cards had been canceled. Personal accounts had been frozen. If people thought they could control her, they were going to be in for a rude awakening.
Chuck nodded, taking them down a wide path with damp, overhanging ferns on either side. “That is good and wise.”
She didn’t know if he was reading her mind or Mal or what. “What can you tell me about the Hatfields?”
Chuck shrugged. “Only that they are recently from Alaska where they’d tried to claim some territory up there.”
“So, land grabbers.”
“Money, too. They’re not a rich pack, nor are they particularly powerful.”
Well, that was good.
“They’re mostly bears, but they also have several wolves and a few coyotes.”
“So, they’re a standard pack.” Also good news. “Not a clan.”
He nodded.
Packs could be powerful, but there was a reason Cheryl had fought so hard to ensure their clan remained a clan, that all the bear lines remained strong and pure. It made them stronger together, harder to defeat.
“Is it possible they could gain ground on another pack?” she asked. “Dexx’s, for instance.”
“Why would you ask that?” His voice actually rose in pitch.
He’d fought to get the Whiskeys added to their regional pack, but that didn’t mean that everyone believed he was right. She certainly didn’t.
“First of all, they’re not gaining ground on the Elliots.”
Chuck made a noise that said he didn’t necessarily believe her.
Whatever. “Second, they’re the weakest pack you have.”
“Really.” He sounded interested, but his expression remained soft and accepting, the corners of his lips raised in question.
“He has a handful of wolves and a hyena.”
“You forget what he is.”
“It’s a little hard to forget that.” He didn’t let anyone forget that he was an extinct, powerful cat. “But, I doubt he’s a match for a bear with a full clan behind her.”
Chuck sighed and stopped. “Cheryl had the clan behind her. You don’t.”
Emma frowned. “I have them. I feel them.”
“You defeated their alpha, but you don’t have them.”
He was right. She hated it when he was right.
“It doesn’t feel as though you want to be there. Why?”
She closed her eyes, breathing to three, and then opened them again. “I forced my will on them.”
He didn’t say anything as he watched her, but then he looked away. “It has to be done occasionally.”
“Except that with this clan, I feel as though they need it often. Cheryl beat everyone into submission and now they expect it.”
“Then, give them what they want.”
“Except that it’s not good for them. They can be so much stronger without it.”
He tipped his head in agreement. “But this is not the time to appear weak.”
“The Hatfields,” she said with forced patience, “have no foothold through us.”
“Unless you fail as alpha.”
His words hit her as if they were knives aimed at her heart.
His blue gaze met hers finally. “If you fail, Jordan will take your place. He’s the only one and with what your mother did to him, it will be like she’s ruling. Only it will be worse. As time goes on, he will fight her further. And the Hatfields will get in.”
“They won’t.”
“With you no longer as alpha, you will be shunned. They will force you out. You will lose control of the accounts, the enterprises, the income, the house, the land. Jordan will control everything. And Cheryl’s will on his soul will start to wear him thin.”
“Then break her control on him.”
Chuck turned away. “I am trying. But I can’t if he becomes alpha.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said, stopping again, “he will have no alpha to will him to me to be ‘healed.’ He won’t come on his own when the one controlling him wants him to remain broken.”
So, to protect Jordan, she had to stay right where she was. “What other choice do I have?”
Chuck started walking again. “Do you know how I met Faith?”
No one knew that story, at least not that she was aware of. Emma matched his steps. “No.”
“She had run away from her home. Her alpha had raped her. That’s how she got that scar on her face. She fought against him. He’d forced his will on her to make her compliant.”
“She’s an alpha.”
“She wasn’t born that way. She gained it in that moment, taking charge of her life, forcing him to back off.”
Emma frowned. Was that something she could use on Jordan? Force him into a situation to drive his own will upward?
“My pack warned me against her. She was broken. She brought bad blood with her. Her pack followed, seeking retribution.”
Emma wasn’t quite sure where this was going.
“But she made me feel complete.”
Oh, crap. That’s where he was headed. Mason.
“I did what I knew was best for me and for her.”
“And what happened?”
“At that time, I was a young alpha, had a small pack.”
It was hard to imagine Chuck as a young alpha making mistakes.
“But that situation forced me to step up and be stronger.”
“And?”
“I took down that pack’s alpha. I took the pack into my own. And I became stronger.”
That…wasn’t going to work for her. “Mason is a porcupine.”
“He is.” Chuck stopped again. “It worked because my needs and the needs of my pack were the same. But when they are not, the needs of the pack outweigh the needs of your heart.”
Emma sighed. This was not what she wanted to hear. “What do I do? I…don’t want to be alpha.”
“Unless you want to invite the Hatfields into your clan—which is what quitting before Jordan is ready would look like—then I recommend you table Mason, build Jordan, and protect your clan. When your clan is stronger and Jordan can take your place on his own, then you can step down and follow your porcupine.”
“He would be following me.”
Chuck chuckled.
“How do I build Jordan?”
“Leave that to me.” Chuck turned toward the house. “I’m working on him. He’s close to breaking Cheryl’s hold on him.”
“What will break it?”
“He will.” Chuck shrugged.
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “And until then?”
“I need you to remain alpha.”
Damn it.
She didn’t want to have that conversation with Mason. It would break his heart.
She definitely didn’t want to do that.
Dang it. She didn’t want to do any of this.
29
Emma’s heart was ripping in two. Or three… maybe four. She held her phone in her hand, the cracked screen a reminder of everything that had happened. Where it started. What needed to be done.
The screen lit up . A message from Mason. It even had a heart emoji. Of course it did. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to do this.
She needed to do this.
Shit.
Mal?
Yes. He was on alert, senses sprawling in all directions.
Emma could tell he was only giving her half his attention. And she knew the last thing he wanted to talk about was the porcupine.
Never mind.
You were going to ask me what to do about Mason.
Mason? Not “the porcupine?” Great.
It’s fine. I am taking care of it.
Mal pulled back, wrapping Emma in his presence. It wasn’t unlike a hug. He changes you.
And?
Mal growled. Not in anger or warning. In surrender? It is a good change.
&nbs
p; Emma smiled. Thank you, Mal.
Don’t thank me yet. He is still a porcupine.
I don’t think he will come back.
Dangle a bone in front of his nose.
Emma opened her eyes and blinked. Once. Twice. Then she swiped open her phone and replied to his message.
When she was done, that’s exactly what she would do.
The casserole in the oven made his entire house smell like heaven. Mason wasn’t even biased because it was his own cooking. And, it wasn’t burnt. He tapped his thumb impatiently on his phone. Emma hadn’t responded yet. She could be shifted. Or maybe she was still dealing with bear stuff. But she had said that she would be there.
And after yesterday—well, he wanted everything to be perfect. Right down to the candles on the small table. He didn’t know if she was the candlelit dinner type. That was why he had chosen the casserole. It balanced things out.
Mason tapped the side button to light up his screen, checking for a message even though his phone hadn’t buzzed. Sometimes it didn’t. He frowned. The casserole could cook for a while longer before it was overdone. He could even turn off the oven. Yes. He would turn off the oven. And mix the dressing into the salad.
Sliding the phone into his back pocket, he opened the fridge. Then closed it again. The oven had heated up his house, and if he took the salad out, it might wilt. He didn’t know how far away she was.
He pulled his phone back out and reread his last message. Maybe the heart had been too much. But, shit. Last night. Things had changed. Mason knew he wasn’t crazy or imagining things. Bones had felt it too. He didn’t know exactly what that meant, coming from him, but things felt right.
The phone buzzed, and Mason nearly dropped it in the rush to open the message. Bones chittered in a way that could only be laughter.
“Shut up.”
Mason’s stomach dropped. His heart skipped a beat. He reread the message half a dozen times, shaking his head. I need a break. Please don’t call. Sorry, Mason.
Bones rustled beneath Mason’s skin, but he didn’t come out. The fact barely registered in Mason’s thoughts as he stared at the phone without seeing. The words were burned into his vision.
His finger hovered over the call button. Don’t call? How could she even ask that? Something had to be wrong. Unless he had been wrong. Mason didn’t know how to do this shit. He slammed the phone against the fridge, and the whole thing tipped backwards, rocking once before thudding back onto the tile.
Should he even message her back? What would he say? Screw that. He knew exactly what he would say. One word. No.
Mason chucked the phone onto the counter and reached into the oven. He had a hold of the casserole before he realized he hadn’t grabbed the mitts, and he lurched back. The dish slipped after him, bouncing once off the oven door and then falling top down onto the floor. The glass cracked once and then split in half.
“Fuck.” Kicking the dish aside, he bent over the sink and turned on the cold water. The burns weren’t too bad. They stung like a son of a bitch, but they weren’t deep. He would heal in a couple of hours.
Bones flitted around in his conscience, squeaking and chittering in duress. Still, he stayed back. Mason noticed. And hated it. He didn’t feel like himself. Until a couple of weeks ago, Bones would have burst out far enough to shred his clothing. Mason would have scolded the thing and taken away shifting privileges for a week. The same way a father grounds a son.
But Bones had learned. He was trying. And it was all because of Emma. Mason shot a look at the phone on the counter. The light in the top corner was flashing. He suddenly didn’t want to know.
Mason pulled off two paper towels and ran them under the water. Then he wrapped one around each hand, covering the burns. Bones whimpered.
“We will be fine.”
The porcupine wasn’t convinced.
Leaving his phone on the counter, Mason grabbed his car keys. Emma had told him of a shifter bar, and he needed a drink.
He almost turned around twice to get his phone. He even went around the block once before he parked in front of the Fox Hole. A shifter bar. One of the many anomalies that came with living in a shifter community. A woman named Ripley ran it. And she was in a relationship with Emma’s brother. The reason he had been kicked out of the clan. Apparently.
Maybe that was what happened. Emma decided she couldn’t be with him because he wasn’t a bear. She had made him think it didn’t matter.
There weren’t a ton of other cars in the parking lot, and Mason didn’t recognize any of them. Not that he knew many cars to recognize, except for Emma’s. It wasn’t there. He didn’t expect it to be.
The Fox Hole’s interior reminded Mason of the dive bars he had been to in DC. Dimly lit, old as hell jukebox playing modern pop hits that didn’t fit the crowd. There was a scattering of scratched up round tables. Green glass lamps hung over each of them, casting the entire place in a murky, sick pallor glow. Most of the occupants sat around the bar, served by a single bartender who looked like he had been around a while.
Bones peeked forward, reaching out to sense the people in the room like they had been doing in every public place they went into for the last week. Shifters. All of them.
Mason considered taking a seat at one of the tables, but decided immediately that the only way he was going to get a drink would be at the bar. He at least managed to find a place with an empty stool on either side of him.
“Haven’t seen you before. I’m Toot.” The burly man reached across the counter, the rolled-up cuff of his flannel dragging through a damp spot on the bar. He had the most impressive beard Mason had ever seen. Enough so that it made Mason reconsider his standard five o’clock shadow.
They shook hands. How the hell had this guy been named Toot. Really? The guy was the size of a bear with the grip of one.
“Mason Covey. I teach at the school.”
“You do? Well, shit. You probably know my Babs.”
“Babs?” Mason had no idea who he was talking about.
“Babs Jolene. Little phoenix shifter about yay big.” He held his hand palm down over the bar, about half the height of a normal kid.
Mason still knew exactly who he was talking about. “Oh. Jo. Yes. She’s a firecracker.”
Toot’s face fell a little as he said Jo, but the man shook it off and smiled. “That she is. What are you drinking?”
Mason settled onto the stool. “What’s good?”
“How about some raspberry pie?”
“I thought you said drink.”
Toot leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s Elliot moonshine. It will knock you on your ass.”
Elliot moonshine. Of course. Mason cringed, and then held out a thumbs up. He kind of wanted to be knocked on his ass. Toot ducked below the counter and emerged with a fucking mason jar sloshing with amber liquid and a jam jar like what his grandmother used to use for her homemade spreads. Toot spun the ring off the mason jar and popped the sealed metal lid with a bottle opener. He filled the smaller jar half way and slid it across the counter.
“Give it a taste and see what you think.”
Mason took a deep, steadying breath. He didn’t drink much. Lifting the jar to his nose, Mason inhaled. And raised his eyebrows to Toot. It smelled just like a homemade raspberry pie. Toot nodded and pulled up another of the small jars. He only filled it a quarter of the way and lifted it up to Mason in a toast. “To new friends.”
Friends might be going a little too far, but Mason clinked his glass with Toot’s and took a hesitant swallow. It was kind of like someone had taken the world’s most epic raspberry pie, tossed it in a blender, and spiked it with vodka. And it was delicious, burning down his throat just like a pie that was still hot from the oven.
Toot downed his small cup in one shot, tipping his head back and emptying the small glass with a satisfied groan. “I stay away from this, usually. Gets me in trouble every time. But you seemed liked you could use a pick-me-up.”
Maso
n had thought he was holding it together pretty well, all things considered. Apparently not. He shrugged. “Long day. Thank you.”
“Hey, Toot,” a man yelled from the other end of the bar, waving an empty bottle in the air.
Toot pushed the jar of raspberry pie towards Mason. “Duty calls. I’ll leave this here. Just take it easy. I wasn’t lying when I said it would knock you on your ass.”
Mason nodded and watched as Toot walked away. He could already feel the alcohol doing its job, a little bit of heat building along his cheek bones. He believed the man. Mason toasted to no one and refilled his glass—only half way.
The volume in the bar increased as more people filtered in. Mason hadn’t planned to pay that much attention, but a mirror lined the entire wall behind the bar, and looking at everyone else was way better than staring at himself. The majority of the volume came from a single group of men that had gathered around one of the tables behind Mason. He recognized two of them. What were their names? Evan and… Frank? They helped around the school on occasion.
Bones balked, curling up against the back of Mason’s conscience. What’s up, dude? Mason wasn’t about to talk out loud to Bones, even if they were in a shifter bar.
Bones growled, tipping his head towards the table.
They aren’t hurting anyone. They are just loud.
Bones didn’t respond, and Mason shrugged, watching the group through the mirror. They really were loud. He sipped at the drink, the heat of the liquor in his cheeks moving to numbness. Shit, that stuff was strong.
Mason didn’t realize how badly he had been staring until the one called Evan looked up and met his gaze. Then sneered. Mason looked away immediately, but he could still see Evan watching him from the corner of his eye. Fucking mirror. Who had the genius idea to put mirrors in a bar?
Evan’s voice rose behind him. “It’s a shame she didn’t at least pick a bear if she was going to sleep around. I’d have fucked her without a thought. Have you seen her ass?”
Mason’s fingers clenched around his cup, fire scorching the back of his neck.
“Dude, you don’t want that ass. She has been around. Remember high school?”