by Michele Hauf
He hadn’t cried at the funeral. He had shed copious tears as he’d knelt in the snowy forest over his father’s dying wolf. So why now? Tears would not bring back the dead, nor could the dead know he was heartbroken without him.
Beck slapped a palm over his chest. Heartbroken?
No, he was— It certainly felt as if something inside him had been broken. Cracked open. But heartbroken was a stupid word. It was something lovers felt after breaking it off. The heart didn’t really break. It just felt like that sometimes.
But if he admitted it to himself, his heart had been torn apart and pried wide open by his father’s death. And it hurt in ways he couldn’t explain.
New tears spilled down Beck’s cheeks. He slid down against the door and squatted, catching his forehead against his palms. Angry with himself for such a weak display, he slammed a fist behind him, punching the steel door. He swore and punched the door again. Turning and standing, he pummeled the door with both fists, over and over, jaws gritted and muscles tense. He shouted, releasing foul oaths he’d never speak in front of others.
And then he pressed his forehead to the cool steel where his knuckles had carved in dents. An exhale climbed from his being, slowly, resolutely. Lungs panting and body shaking, he no longer shed tears. But his heart felt hot and heavy, oozing with something he had only felt that night of his father’s death.
Very well. His heart was broken.
And within him stirred the ghost wolf. The part of him that knew how to manifest his pain. It howled and clawed. His biceps flexed, tingling with the urge to shift.
Beck twisted his head to eye the door at the back of the shop, placed there as an exit into the night for the werewolf. He pulled off his sweater, and even as his arms began to lengthen and shift, he toed off his boots and shuffled out of his pants.
The door swung open as the werewolf’s howl greeted the cold, winter twilight.
* * *
Bella had listened to the sounds echoing out from behind the steel door of her late husband’s shop. Her son hurt. And he didn’t know how to let go of that pain.
Beck’s howls brought tears to her eyes. And then she could only hope that perhaps by beating his anger out on something like a steel door, it could begin to help him heal.
Now she saw him dash across the yard in werewolf shape. Yet—that wasn’t Beck. What was that creature?
She raced to the patio door and pressed a hand to the glass. The werewolf loping off behind the hedge was taller than usual and sleek. Less fur covered his body than a normal werewolf. He was pale, almost ghostlike.
“White?”
That wasn’t Beck. When he shifted, he took on much the same fur color as his father’s dark brown, yet with some blond shades mixed in.
As the werewolf howled and dropped to all fours to race across the vast meadow behind the house, Bella clutched a hand to her throat. She’d seen the news stories. Could it be? Her son? But how?
“Oh, my God, Beck, what have you done?”
* * *
Early morning woke Beck with a freezing clutch at his skin. He came alert abruptly and looked about. He was lying on his parents’ snow-covered patio deck before the tarp-covered pool. Naked.
He immediately checked his hands. No blood.
He lashed his tongue around inside his mouth. Didn’t taste any blood—a sure sign his werewolf had been successful on the hunt.
Glancing to the patio door, he looked for movement. His mother slept late. A vampire thing.
Stepping quickly toward the back door, he found a shop towel to wipe off the melting snow and dirt, and then dressed. He’d leave, and call his mom later. She shouldn’t question his shifting and going out for a run. He did it often. They owned a vast parcel of land, and it was safe here. His werewolf always stayed on the property.
Opening the shop door, Beck was startled by his mother, standing in a long red velvet robe that caressed her swollen belly. Her hair was down, and her eyes were puffy. She hadn’t slept.
“We need to talk,” she said, and turned to stride into the living room.
Chapter 20
The morning was too bright. And oddly warm. Daisy dashed across the street in a long pink sweater and some brown leggings. Her rubber-soled riding boots splashed in the slush. Yes, slush in mid-January. The sun was bright and the weatherman had promised forties, if only for the day. Wonders did not cease.
The Panera restaurant was a favorite meeting spot for her and Stryke, who waved her to the table where he sat. The only one in the family who didn’t do coffee, he sipped a huge cup of chai latte. He splayed his hand over the plates already sitting on the table.
“You ordered for me?” She sat and immediately forked into the egg-and-steak breakfast platter. It was hot, and the tomatoes tasted summer fresh. “Have I told you lately I love you, brother?”
“Not often enough. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Yep. But I suspect that is not the reason you called this morning meeting.”
“I just wanted to see my big sister. Does everything have to have a reason?”
“Probably not. And most especially not with you. I’m sorry, Stryke. You’re right. We haven’t had a good talk in a while.” She slid a hand over his and rubbed his wrist. “So how are you healing?”
“Truth? I feel great.” He rubbed his shoulder where the arrow had skimmed him while in wolf shape. “That witch’s spell herb stuff worked like a charm. There’s not even a scar. Wolfsbane. Whoda thought? Almost believed I was going to bite the big one.”
“You’re tough. All the Saint-Pierre men are.”
“As well as the women.” He winked.
“You know it. Though the fact that there’s a hunter out there with silver bullets and arrows disturbs the hell out of me and—” Daisy shoved in a fork loaded with egg to keep from finishing that sentence.
“You and Beckett?” Stryke prompted. He set down the chai and rapped his knuckles on the table. He wore a platinum ring on his thumb, fashioned by their father.
“I thought you guys approved of him,” she defended.
“Trouble liking the lone wolf is not the mark of approval earned, Daisy Blu.”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes at her brother’s pompous assumptions about Beck. “He’s the first decent wolf I’ve ever dated.”
“He is also packless.”
“He’s kind and caring.”
“I sure as hell hope you haven’t bonded with him.”
Eyes flashing wide, she met her brother’s discerning brown gaze. “That’s none of your business, Stryke.”
“Daisy.” He leaned across the table. His voice lowered, and his stare intensified. “Don’t be stupid about this. Sure, you can date the guy and piss off Dad all you like. But you know bonding with another wolf is serious shit.”
“I know.” She set down her fork and leaned forward to clasp Stryke’s hands. “Don’t worry. We’re just having fun. Dating and, you know, doing stuff like playing a little one-on-one pond hockey. I like the guy, okay?”
“Yeah, well, we all know what ‘like’ means to you.”
“Because it means the same to you.”
They’d shared their ideas of love and like a few summers ago, after Stryke’s first devastating breakup with a human woman who had moved to New York for her career. How he had wanted to follow her, but family compelled him even more.
“And since you’re in like,” Stryke said sharply, “pretty soon you won’t be able to resist the urge to bond.”
“Like you would know. You’ve never bonded with anyone.”
“And I don’t intend to until I find the one. Someone in a pack, whom my family approves of, and who will give me children and—”
“Really? Stryke, you’re not making an order. Bonding with someone you love is a real thing. You don’t do it to please anyone but yourself and that person. You make it sound so clinical. Like it’s been written down in some rule book, and you have to check off all the right boxes b
efore it can happen.”
“Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Daisy, the pack has rules.”
“I know. But how’s a lone wolf like Beckett Severo ever supposed to find someone to bond with if he isn’t allowed to date within packs?”
“That’s his problem, not yours.”
Daisy stabbed her fork at the thinly sliced steak. “I can’t believe you’re being like this. You’re always the one to see both sides and weigh things rationally.”
He sat back and rubbed a palm over his close-cropped hair. Daisy liked that he kept it shaved a quarter inch to his scalp. His eyes were so bold and bright, so telling, and nothing should distract from her brother’s appeal.
He was being anything but appealing right now.
“Much as you may not believe it,” he said, “I am standing on middle ground. Good for you that you’ve found someone you enjoy spending time with. I mean, it’s difficult for us—our breed—in the mortal realm. Much more so for us males.” He lowered his voice, his eyes taking in the half-filled dining room. “It’s not like the female werewolf population is vibrant up here in this neck of the woods.”
“You need to go to Europe. I hear the werechicks are abundant over there.”
“Is that so? Werechicks?” He winked and sipped his chai. “We are heading to Paris next summer for Kambriel’s wedding.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Can you imagine me falling in love with a fancy Parisian werewolf? That’s never going to happen.”
“Why not? You think the wolves in Paris are too good for you? I think you’re too good for them. You’re a wolf out of place, Stryke. A renaissance man stuck in the land of ten thousand flannel shirts. I know you’d fit in well in Europe.”
“Just because I don’t wear flannel like the rest of the population doesn’t mean I don’t fit in.”
“Sure.” But she really wanted to see her brother flourish, and to find that woman he dreamed about. “We’ll leave it for the trip, eh?”
He tipped his latte to her, then sipped. Suddenly Stryke sat straight. His chin lifted as he sniffed the air. He set down the cup without a sound.
“What is it?” she asked.
Staying her curiosity with a subtle lift of his forefinger, he slowly turned about, taking in the patrons sitting nearby. The restaurant was peopled with all sorts, including a few hunters in flannel and orange vests who had stopped for a fuel break during the morning hunt.
“He’s here,” Stryke said. “Call your boyfriend.”
“What? Who’s here?”
“The hunter who almost killed me. The one with the silver arrows. I can smell him.”
* * *
Beck got the call from Daisy just as he was trying to avoid talking to his mother about what she had seen last night. His cell phone jangled. Bella glared that motherly “don’t you dare” look at him.
Beck put up his hands, signaling he’d let the call go to voice mail.
“Are you the ghost wolf?” Bella asked.
“Mom, I don’t know what you think you saw, but it was definitely not that.” He hated lying to her. But she didn’t need that kind of angst right now. “The snow was blowing last night. I’m sure your vision was blurred.”
“I have excellent vision,” she snapped. “And I know what I saw. That werewolf was not you.”
“So maybe there was another wolf around the house last night? I should go take a look around. Make sure everything is secure—”
“Beckett Severo, stop lying to me!”
Beck’s phone rang again. He clenched a fist near his hip pocket.
“Answer it!” Bella entreated.
He dug out the phone, saw it was from Daisy and answered. “Hey, I’m at my mom’s right now. Can I call you back?”
“I don’t want to bother you, Beck, but I’m with Stryke, and he’s one-hundred-percent sure we’re sitting in the restaurant with the hunter who has been using the silver in his ammunition.”
“Does your brother recognize his scent?”
“Yes. We’re at Panera. Can you get here fast?”
“Yes. Uh...” Bella silently waited for his attention. “Yes. Ten minutes. Don’t let him get away.”
“He just sat down. You’ve got maybe twenty minutes at most.”
“Thanks.” He shoved his phone into a pocket and grabbed his coat from the rack by the door. “Mom, we’re going to have to take a rain check on this conversation.”
Shuffling around to block his path, Bella flattened her back against the front door. “What was that about?”
“It’s Daisy. She’s....” Beck exhaled. “She thinks she’s found the hunter who killed Dad.”
Bella’s jaw dropped open. Her hand went instinctively to her belly, smoothing across the swollen signal of life beneath the red robe. In an instant, his mother was reduced from a confident woman to a frail, needy girl who just needed to be protected from all the bad things the world put before her.
He pulled her in for a hug. But if he didn’t move now, he may lose this only chance. “I have to go.”
She gripped his coat. “What are you going to do if it is him?”
Beck ground his jaw tightly.
“Don’t you dare, Beckett Severo. Your father would never—”
“You know I would never hurt another man, Mom.”
“Do I? Beck, if you are the ghost wolf—what I saw on the news the other night...”
He hugged her because he didn’t know what else to do to quell her fears. Because her fears were real. And even he wasn’t sure what the ghost wolf would do to the hunter.
“I can handle this,” he said. He would have to handle it. “But I have to hurry. I’ll call you later.”
“No, I’ll stop by your place,” she called as he dashed outside into the daylight.
“Mom, don’t do that! It could be dangerous.”
He thought she said, “Danger doesn’t frighten me.”
Beck shook his head as he fired up the engine. His mother had been fearless when his father was alive. It was the vampire in her. It had emboldened a woman who had once been merely mortal, a website designer and dancer who hadn’t asked to get involved in the realm of all she had once believed fantasy. Love had changed her life irrevocably.
He could completely understand that emotional power now.
“Too many people could get hurt,” he muttered as the truck spun out of the driveway. “Have to stop this now.”
Fifteen minutes later Beck spied Daisy in the Panera parking lot, walking alongside the brother with the short hair. Stryke, the one who had been hit with the hunter’s arrow yet had recovered well enough to deliver him some punishing blows in the bar.
Beck touched his ribs over the kidney and muttered, “Damn faery.”
Clad in a pink sweater darker than her hair, and knee-high brown riding boots, Daisy waved to him, pointing north with a mittened hand.
He drove up alongside the siblings, rolling down his window. Stryke ran around to the passenger side and hopped into the truck.
“He just left,” Daisy said.
“Drive,” Stryke said. “I’ve got his scent, but now that he’s in a vehicle he’ll be harder to track. Step on it!”
Beck leaned out the window and kissed Daisy. “Thanks. I’ll be back for you.”
“I’m good. I’ll head home. You two do what you need to do.”
“Right,” Stryke directed as they pulled out of the parking lot. “He’s headed south, out of town.”
Beck followed directions, his fingers clenched about the steering wheel. His senses were so heightened, he couldn’t get Daisy’s smell out of his brain. And combined with Stryke’s subtle aftershave, he had to lean his head out the window and suck in the brisk air.
“Chill,” Stryke directed. “You’re on edge, man. I can feel your need to shift. Relax. We’ll get him. We just need to follow him, discover where he lives.”
Beck could indeed feel the shift. It stirred in his fingers and felt as if his gut muscles were
being stretched up and down. The last thing he wanted to do was reveal what he was to Daisy’s brother. That would end any possible relationship with the sister right there. And he didn’t want to hurt the guy.
“I can’t let him wander out to harm another wolf,” Beck argued. “We’ve got to stop him now.”
He stepped on the gas, tracking the hunter’s car only four car lengths behind.
“I want to get the bastard as much as you do, but we have to think about this.” Stryke rubbed his hands together.
“You called me. I have to assume you wanted to go after the man as much as I do.”
“Yes, but to track him. Get a bead on him. There has to be a better way. A way that involves more than you leaping in to break his neck. You need numbers.”
“Numbers?”
“More wolves.”
“Why? To give that asshole more targets?”
“If you think some big white ghost wolf is scaring hunters, what do you think a whole pack would do?”
“Yeah well, I’m fresh out of a pack.”
“I’ve noticed.” Stryke rapped the car door with his knuckles. “My brothers will help.”
Beck winced.
“Dude, you want to date my sister? You’d better get tight with her brothers.”
Right. But getting tight might involve shifting, and that way was too dangerous. And if not that, Beck wasn’t sure how many more beatings he could take from the quartet.
Once out of city limits, the hunter’s truck pulled off the road and drove up a private driveway. Beck pulled over to the side of the road and parked.
“I can do this myself.” He pulled the key out of the ignition and grabbed the door handle.
Stryke’s fist twisted his jaw sharply to the left. Beck shook his head. “What. The. Hell?”
“I’ve thought about it. We do this with my brothers or not at all.”
Beck rubbed his jaw, unsure if the bone had cracked, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it had. “Fuck.”
“Look, that’s the only option I’m giving you. Otherwise I knock out your lights, drive you back to town and leave you to sleep it off in the cold again.”
“I can take you.”
“You want to try?”