Fire Of Love: A Wolf Shifter Mpreg Romance (Savage Love Book 2)

by Preston Walker

Isaac’s eyes slid over in his direction. He blinked a lot, his gaze skittering and jumping like he was having a hard time focusing on anything. “Moody? What’re you doing in my house?” He slurred when he spoke, house turning into houshe. He lifted one hand in greeting, the answer to his question apparently of no particular concern to him. His wrist was limp and floppy, and he seemed to forget what he was doing halfway through actually doing it.

  It would have been funny, had Moody not been so damn worried.

  Moody crouched down in front of Isaac, staring hard into his pale eyes. Isaac looked at him with blank curiosity.

  Suddenly angry, knowing that he was really more scared than anything, Moody lashed out and knocked the bottle away. It went rolling across the floor, then clinked against the wall and was still.

  Isaac squinted, looking as if he was trying to be offended. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Why are you drunk?” Moody demanded. “You left your bike outside, your door unlocked. And no one’s seen you for days. What the hell have you been doing? And who was that strange wolf you were seen talking to?”

  “Who wants to know?” More slurring, delivered in an accusatory, pouty tone. “Aren’t we all strange wolves? Not normal to be able to turn into an animal, you knows. Nose? Know.”

  Moody leaned back a little, stunned. Of course it was normal. They were shifters. That was what they did. To suggest their natural ability was strange was like saying that it was weird for birds to fly. That was just what happened.

  Whatever had happened between Isaac and that other wolf, it must have been bad.

  He tried another tactic. “Cain said he wanted to talk to you. He wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “And you?” Isaac glared at him. At least, he tried to. He didn’t seem to be much up to it, struggling with his own facial features. “Cain coulda come here on his own. Why you?”

  “Because I was the last one to be seen with you,” Moody said, speaking slowly, like he was talking to a toddler. “And because I know something was wrong when you chased me away. What were you so scared of?”

  “Ain’t scared of nothin’,” Isaac huffed. “Anyone who told you that is a fucking liar. You’re the one who should be scared. I’m a troublemaker. It’s the reason I’m back here. I didn’t know where else to go when I left, ‘cept for here. Because of you. Didn’t know anywhere else.”

  All of this was too confusing. Frustrated, Moody shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean. How are you a troublemaker?”

  Isaac suddenly shifted positions, trying to stand up. Moody rose with him, alarmed, wondering how he would be able to catch the alpha if he fell over. Luckily, Isaac didn’t have much of a journey planned. He just flopped gracelessly down on the edge of his bed, sinking deep into the mattress.

  Regarding his hands as if they held some secret, Isaac started speaking again. He went slower than before, clearly making an effort to be coherent. There was nothing he could do for the slurring though, so Moody listened to him more intently than he ever had in his entire life.

  “Where I live, Daphne, there was an arsonist. No one knew who was doin’ it. Vacant lots burned up. Stuff like that. Then, buildings. No one could catch the fuck.”

  Are you the arsonist? The troublemaker?

  “Someone in my pack got their house burned down. Then, someone else’s apartment caught on fire. No damage to their place. Fuckin’ close call, though. It went on for a while. More of my pack were bein’ affected. We started to think we had an enemy out there.”

  “Then, the place where I worked burned down. Hundreds of people without a job. The firm was just gone, Moody.”

  Moody pulled in a surprised breath, horrified at the news. Already, he could see where this was going.

  “My pack thought it was me. I was the only one working there from my pack. An’ I was also in my pack. I was the only one with that connection. They kicked me out.” Isaac sighed, very deeply. “They went to the cops, tried to get ‘em to arrest me. I got questioned and protested…No. Processed. I got processed. But there wasn’t enough to convict me, so they had to let me go.”

  “My pack didn’t like that. They said they knew it was me, said it had to be me. Couldn’t be a coincidence. They chased me out of the city.”

  “I didn’t know where to go, Moody. I didn’t know what to do. I came here because all I could think about was going somewhere where I knew someone, but I was so sure you were going to hate me. Then I realized you was…were…in a biker gang and I joined the opposite one. I don’t know why. I wanted to be somewhere near you. Except I knew you were going to hate me. So I never did anything.”

  All of this made sense now, at least what he could piece together.

  Everyone in Shadow Claws had heard about how Isaac was the only one who had given any support to Markus Tremors, Destiny’s mate. If not for Isaac, if not for his single opinion amidst a sea of argumentative wolves, Markus might not have gone on to locate the third pack that was killing everyone. So many more people might have died, if not for Isaac.

  No one had known why Isaac gave his support, why his was the voice that was raised.

  But Moody knew now. It was because Isaac understood what it was like to be accused, to have no one come to his defense.

  And maybe he had also done it because Moody might be hurt if the fighting between their packs continued on.

  “That wolf who you’ve been talking to,” Moody said. He wanted to reach out to comfort the other wolf, and was very aware that he shouldn’t. This didn’t change anything about what had happened between them. No reason to cause Isaac more pain.

  “What about him?” Isaac rubbed his eyes. He looked very tired, very childlike, and Moody’s heart ached with a sudden protectiveness. No one should have to hold on to such memories as this, not all on their own.

  “Who is he?”

  Isaac sighed softly. “He’s a member of my old pack. From Daphne. He says it’s started again. The fires. Except I’m over here now. It’s not me. I’m not doing it. I didn’t do it in the first place. It’s not me!”

  Alarmed at the way Isaac’s voice rose up as he spoke, reaching a crescendo, Moody held up both hands. He didn’t know exactly what it was he was going to do with those hands, though. He made calm-down motions with them, feeling completely stupid.

  However, it seemed to be working. Isaac pulled in a deep breath and then let it out again, then repeated the process.

  It either worked or it’s just a coincidence. Either way, I’ll take it.

  “I believe you,” Moody said. He kept making those dumb motions, wondering now at what point he would be allowed to stop. “All right? I really do. You aren’t that kind of person.”

  “Thank you, Moody. I should never have left you. You’re right about that. We could have worked something out.”

  “Let’s just talk about you right now,” Moody said, as gently as he could. He wasn’t going to take advantage of this situation, dammit. He wasn’t even sure that Isaac was telling the truth about what he’d just said. Being drunk made a person do all sorts of weird things. What if Isaac lied, instead of dancing or singing or getting angry? “What did this guy want you to do?”

  “He wants me to come back to the pack. I don’t wanna.”

  “To stay?”

  “No.” Isaac growled a little, although right now it came out as more of an ineffectual warble. “To help figure out what’s going on. Like they think I know somethin’ about this. Fucking idiots.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “I don’t have a choice. I don’t think Arlo is gonna leave until I go with him.”

  “We could chase him away,” Moody suggested. He was getting tired of standing around awkwardly. Maybe he would be able to bring this conversation to a close right here and now. “If he’s just here alone, he wouldn’t have much of a choice. There’s dozens of us and only one of him.”

  “Then I’d look guilty.”

  Isaac abruptly went silent.
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  Moody finally put his hands down, though now, they just dangled uselessly at his side and that didn’t feel much better. “Okay. Then, we don’t do that. But I’m going to support you through this, okay? Just like you supported Markus. You won’t be alone.”

  He hadn’t known that he was going to say that until he said it, and by then it was too late to change his mind.

  For all their difficulties, for all the bad things that had happened between them, Moody understood being misunderstood. He knew what it was like to be judged. Of course, he’d brought that upon himself, but he still understood. His status as a social outcast had been a choice he made after his mother died, because he knew he would never feel as close to anyone as that ever again. No point having friends, having fun, when the shadow of what he had lost would always be there to remind him about what he would never have again.

  His mother was his fan club, his best friend. Without her, everything else sort of lost its purpose.

  Isaac had lost something, too. And he hadn’t had a choice about it. He’d been wronged. Betrayed by the ones who should have stood by him.

  Thinking of his father, Moody realized he could understand that, too.

  And he knew he was going to follow through with his words.

  “I’ll be here for you.”

  He looked over at Isaac, feeling shy and uncertain about how the alpha would react, despite his conviction to go through this no matter what.

  Isaac wasn’t responding because he had passed out at some point, his head tossed back against the wall. His mouth was open, a faint trail of drool trickling from between his parted lips.

  Something happened inside Moody, then. Something he didn’t want to happen, not that he had much of a choice. His heart gave a twinge in his chest, a twisting sensation that could only properly be described as tenderness.

  Old feelings were hard to banish, that was all. Nothing more.

  If he moved Isaac to make him lie down, he figured he ran the risk of waking him up. He needed his sleep to recuperate from his depression-fueled bender. Instead, Moody just shifted the covers and draped them over Isaac’s shoulders.

  Then, there was nothing else for him to do.

  He left. Isaac knew where to find him in the future, if he needed him.

  Returning to the garage, Moody stopped by his room to make sure that all his poems had been returned. All of his various papers sat neatly on his makeshift desk, exactly where they belonged.

  There was also a new scrap of paper which looked to have come from his supply, which he kept under his bed. Something had been written on the scrap in an unfamiliar hand, the letters neat and blocky.

  Bending down, he lifted the paper and read the note.

  It said, “I tried not to, but I couldn’t help but see some of your poems as I was picking them up. You have a lot of talent. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  Cujo had signed her name at the bottom.

  Moody set the scrap back down on his desk. There was a very odd feeling inside him right now, something light and fluttery, and he had no idea what to do with it. Rather than sit there and question it, he went in search of Cain and Destiny to tell them about what he’d learned.

  It wasn’t until he’d found them and was walking in their direction that he realized what he’d been feeling was called happiness.

  5

  The next day, when there was still no sign of Isaac, Moody went out to look for him again.

  He made his way through the cluttered trailer park neighborhood. More people were outside as he went through this time, sitting in dull silence on their lawns. The dog which had barked at him was gone, its chain a silvering snake in the torn yard. Whatever happened to it was something it was probably best not to think about.

  No one called to him or asked what he was doing here. In fact, no one even seemed to be looking in his direction. He couldn’t feel any eyes on him, not even the most cursory of glances.

  Maybe the heat had something to do with the lackluster behavior, bright sunlight pouring down from above. Either way, he was only too glad to finally park out in front of Isaac’s trailer. Dismounting, Moody went up the steps to the porch again and knocked on the door. Having done this same thing only the day before, he experienced déjà vu for the first time in his entire life. Isaac wouldn’t answer the door, because he was still inside getting drunk. Nothing new would happen today.

  Lifting up one hand, Moody started to knock again, just as he had yesterday.

  The door opened before he could make contact, his fist striking against empty air. Isaac stood in the doorway, somehow managing to look better and worse than he had last time Moody saw him. His eyes were still red, though now it seemed to be from a lack of sleep. His hair had been washed and was styled, though without finesse. His skin was pale, making the dark hair of his beard stand out all the more starkly.

  “What are you doing here?” Isaac asked. His voice was very rough and he winced when speaking, a clear sign he was dealing with a massive hangover. Judging from how much he’d had to drink yesterday, and possibly the day before that, Moody wasn’t the least bit surprised. What did surprise him was the fact he could still smell alcohol on Isaac’s breath. He must have had a little hair of the dog that bit him.

  “You still haven’t shown up at the garage or talked to anyone, and I was worried.”

  “I can’t go anywhere,” Isaac said. He lifted one hand to press two fingers against the bridge of his nose, attempting to alleviate what must have been a severe headache. “My bike is out of gas.”

  “Oh.” Yes, that was right. In the face of everything else that had been happening, all the things that had been on Moody’s mind, he’d almost completely forgotten about Isaac’s bike having run out of gas. “Well, that’s not a big deal. I can go get you some, okay?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t really want to listen to the sound of a motorcycle engine right now. Can you just go away, please?”

  Moody took a step back. His hip hit the side of the porch railing, the pain jostling him back to reality. For a second there, he had been caught up in the memory of the last time Isaac had told him to go away. The urge to run away overtook him, so strong that if it hadn’t been for the pain in his hip he might have already been on his way out of the neighborhood.

  “I’m not going to leave,” he said. His voice cracked a little and he tried again. “I’m not going to go away. What about everything you said?”

  “I was drunk. It didn’t mean anything, okay?” Isaac tried to growl, but the sound was more like rattling nails than an animal noise. “People do all sorts of dumb things when they’re drunk. I can’t even really remember what all I said.”

  “I don’t care,” Moody said. He kept his voice low, hoping that his sensitivity would earn him some brownie points. “I know what I said, and I meant what I said. I’m going to help you with all of this.”

  “No offense, but what if I don’t want your help?”

  Moody shrugged. “You’ve got it anyway. Anything you want, I’ll do it.”

  “I want you to go away.”

  “Anything but that.”

  Isaac pushed his fingers against his eyes now, then groaned. “You’re so fucking stubborn, you know that?”

  “Hey, one of us has to go through with something for once.”

  It wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that Moody realized they were a little harsher than he’d meant, carrying a double meaning.

  Isaac lifted up one corner of his mouth in an attempt at smiling. “You got me on that. Just, before I let you come inside, tell me how much of a fool I made of myself yesterday. I know you came over but I can’t remember much of anything. I can only imagine the things I said.”

  “It was pretty bad,” Moody said.

  Isaac let out another groan, then stepped back from the doorway. “Great. Well, come on in and fill me in on all that, why don’t you?”

  Entering the living room, Moody found it t
o be much the same as yesterday. The kitchen had been tidied up slightly, empty bottles removed and the spill wiped up. However, the Grey Goose had been broken into at some point between then and now. A curved glass standing near the vodka bottle held a finger’s worth of liquid at the very bottom.

  “Help yourself,” Isaac grunted, having seen him looking over at the counter.

  “Maybe later.”

  As a rule, Moody didn’t drink much. He wanted to have a clear head for this conversation. Maybe when they were done recapping the events from yesterday, he’d take a sip just to see what it was like.

  Heading over to his chair in the living room, Isaac lowered himself down into it like an old man. His joints creaked and popped, and he sagged deeply against the back. “God, I’m tired.”

  Moody went over and sat on the futon that served as Isaac’s couch, placing his hands in his lap because he didn’t know what to do with them. That was a problem he’d been having a lot lately. He supposed he’d need to figure out how to go about solving it, sooner or later.

  “So,” Isaac said. He leaned his head back against his chair and closed his eyes. “What’d I say?”

  Moody told him, relating each detail as precisely as he could remember. He made a point to leave out how Isaac had acted.

  Isaac listened intently to what was being said, and then he sighed. “I just went and spilled my guts, didn’t I? Goddamn. I’m lucky I didn’t actually do anything wrong or you’d have all the evidence you could possibly want.”

  “Of course you didn’t do anything wrong,” Moody said. “That’s just not like you. And…” He hesitated, wondering if he should really say what was on his mind in this moment.

  “What is it? I told you everything, so now you have to do the same.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “Lucky you,” Isaac grumbled. He went back to kneading at his forehead with his fingers, trying to ease the stress away. “So, what were you going to say?”

  “Just that if you left me so you could keep working where you did, you probably wouldn’t have burned down the place where you worked. Unless you had a sudden change of mind.”