Rogue Huntress (Wolf Legacy Book 3)

by Aimee Easterling

Rather than trying to explain away parental heartlessness that sat even less well with my own inner wolf than it did with my human half, I instead filled in the gaps for my attentive companion. “Sarah was a kid when she had me,” I offered. “Nineteen years old. It’s possible that she’s different now.”

  Possible, but not necessarily likely. Because when I’d done a deep-dive into my birth mother’s history eleven years earlier, I’d found three marriages on record, all to men who appeared to be entirely human. That didn’t count her previous matings in the werewolf world either—first to my birth father, then to a young male I was pretty sure Sarah had used to escape her initial partner. Given Sarah’s usual speed of hooking up with new contenders and the ten years between her last known werewolf mating and her first known human marriage, there were likely other romantic interests in the interim as well.

  Definitely one at least. My kid brother had to have come from somewhere.

  “So Derek’s father...” Sebastien nudged, following my line of reasoning as easily as if I’d spoken aloud. But despite our shared sentiments, I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I found myself peering out the window in awe, gaping at a landscape that had grown even more opulent as we passed under an arching stone gate and entered the property Sarah called home.

  The estate my mother had married into was beyond impressive. We’d crested the hill by this point, views of the ocean rising on our left flank while other houses soon disappeared behind a row of tall vegetation off to our right. Meanwhile, the land around us was so elaborately manicured that it must have required a team of gardeners to keep in tip-top shape. The evening light was fading fast, but I still picked out multiple fountains, intricately cobbled walkways, and a circular rose garden decked out in multi-colored blooms. And off to one side...was that a topiary snipped into the shape of a running wolf?

  “Who knows,” I answered at last as we continued toward whatever residence lay in the heart of this artfully designed space. “Derek is four years younger than me. That puts his conception solidly in the middle of Sarah’s lost years.”

  Then we’d arrived, rolling to a halt in front of a mansion that boasted turrets and alcoves and perhaps even a tower way off in the back. The living space extended across such a large acreage that I wasn’t entirely certain where we were supposed to go in.

  Okay, so that’s a lie. The tremendous front entranceway was as obvious as it was ostentatious. But when I slid out of the rental car before Sebastien had even put it into park, I followed my nose instead of my eyes. Around the corner, past a small loading dock, and into a door that smelled like paradise.

  Someone was baking chocolate pastries. Perhaps I would indulge in a smidge of reconnaissance—and attempt to cadge a bite—before bearding the lion that was my mother in her lair.

  Chapter 15

  In my haste to follow the chocolate trail, I’d moved so rapidly that I left my partner behind. Or maybe Sebastien thought I needed a moment to myself after the revelations I’d recently come out with. Whatever the reason, I slipped through a small back door into a steamy kitchen with no companion save my inner wolf, and together we padded deeper into the opulence that was my birth mother’s home.

  Inside, scents of cookery were so heady I couldn’t even smell my own skin. Someone was boiling lobsters for dinner, an undercook whipped up mashed potatoes seasoned with rosemary, and off to one side a tall, thin female busied herself putting the finishing touches on what appeared to be triple-chocolate cupcakes. Assuming the menu had been approved by the lady of the house, it looked like Sarah and I possessed similar tastes in one area at least.

  Maybe our first meeting won’t be so awkward after all, I decided, shoulders relaxing down into their usual orientation for the first time in hours. But then the pastry chef’s gaze rose from her task, latching onto mine as unerringly as if she’d somehow heard me step inside despite the din. And I froze as the woman’s inherent authority stilled my wandering feet.

  “Who are you?” the female demanded.

  Abruptly, the kitchen went silent. Mixers and stove hoods and the pleasant chatter of voices—everything powered down in unison as one gaze after another swiveled around to face in my direction.

  Meanwhile, the huge ceiling fan above all of our heads finally threw the crew’s scents toward me. Grapes and granite, peppermint and ozone. They were shifters, every last one of them. Apparently my birth mother wasn’t the only one hiding in plain view here in human society.

  Eyes narrowing, I unfroze my muscles with an effort and took a step closer to the female whose domain I’d invaded. “I’m looking for the mistress of the house. Sarah....” I paused, uncertain whether my estranged parent had taken her newest husband’s surname or kept one of the others she’d accumulated over the years. There were so many to choose from that I could be left guessing all day.

  “Sarah...?” the pastry chef prodded, drawing out the name the same way I had. But there was no welcoming widening of the eyes and raising of the brows to go along with that repetition. Instead, the female’s nostrils flared aggressively and I got the distinct impression I was inches away from being evicted from this kitchen by brute force. “Are we supposed to know who that is?” she asked, hissing out the final syllable.

  Sure enough, out of the corners of my eyes, I noted fingers closing around butcher knives, muscles tensing for battle. The rest of the assemblage might appear to be a simple kitchen crew, but they acted like a werewolf pack in every way that mattered. I’d stepped uninvited onto their turf, which meant I was likely an enemy. No wonder they’d responded in kind.

  So I spread my hands to show their emptiness even as I bowed my head in submission. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” I promised. “I just want to talk to....”

  Then the broad double doors leading toward the rest of the house swung open to reveal a giant of a man. He had gray at his temples while the scent of humanity hung heavy around his furless skin, but both stance and build promised that the newcomer was still in the peak of his prime. The male’s gaze snagged on mine for a split second, but then his attention flew directly toward the pastry chef with whom I’d been conversing.

  “There’s someone at the front door looking for you, Sarah,” the male started. But I lost the thread of the rest of his words as I realized that this tall female wasn’t hired help. No, the cupcake baker—as should have been abundantly obvious from the moment I’d stepped into the kitchen—was my biological mom.

  Chapter 16

  “Someone?” my mother said vaguely, her body angling toward the tall male even as she continued piercing me with cold blue eyes. “Could you ask them to come back later, sweetheart? I’m afraid I already have someone to deal with right here....”

  The way Sarah said that second “someone” made me regret having trekked across the country to meet her. But, of course, I’d never hoped for a tearful reunion...well, not after my teenage self delved into my birth mother’s history and realized the sort of life she’d chosen to live after leaving me behind.

  Instead, I reminded myself that I was here to rendezvous with my brother. Derek had promised to meet me at “Mom’s” and both Chase’s and Becca’s safety depended upon finding him in a timely manner. The goal was to fulfill my mission then leave, no happy ending or cupcakes required.

  As such, I opened my mouth to ask my questions and get out of Sarah’s hair. But before I could interrupt, the tall male stepped further into my mother’s domain, his huge fingers coming up to brush lightly across her flushed cheek. “I’m afraid I invited our visitor to dinner, darling,” the human told her, his aspect so hangdog that I wondered for a moment whether he really was the master of the house. “He seemed like an interesting young person you might like to meet. I’m afraid I can’t send him away quite yet.”

  And as he spoke, the pair’s eyes locked together...making me realize that I’d been mistaken about the nature of their relationship from the very start. I’d assumed, based on the tremendous size of this mansi
on and on Sarah’s remarkably well-maintained appearance, that this male had installed my mother in his home as an ornamental trophy wife. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Sarah had chosen comfort over affection.

  But I was wrong. The tall male loved her. Cared about her feelings. Perhaps—had he known Sarah was a werewolf—might even have accepted her as his mate.

  My surprise must have been relayed along the scent trail. Because Sarah wriggled away from her husband’s proximity and shot me a glance so venomous it nearly ate through my skin. Don’t you dare, my biological mother told me silently. And just as when we’d first met, I held out both empty hands in a promise of innocence.

  “That’s my friend at the front door,” I said instead, hoping to lower the intensity of the teeth-clenching tension that continued to swirl through the air around us. Because the undercooks hadn’t gone back to work when the master entered their domain. Instead, they’d drifted yet closer to their mistress, knives and skillets and rolling pins ending up in clenched fists as shifters menaced me just barely covertly enough to keep the sole human present from catching on. “I just need to talk to Sarah for a few short minutes. Then we can hit the road and leave you in peace....”

  But the male would hear none of it. “Of course you won’t go running off into the darkness. Young people need to be fed. Plus, what’s the point of having a house this big if we don’t fill it?”

  He waved vaguely at the chandeliers dangling overhead, bringing my attention to the fact that the space was nearly as large as a ballroom. This was precisely the kitchen I wanted if I ever won the lottery and had money left over after taking care of the needs of my pack. I could almost understand why my birth mother had chosen such supreme luxury over my clan’s offered friendship...although I knew I’d never make a similar choice.

  Unfortunately, Sarah wasn’t nearly as distractible. “Eddie....” she interjected, sliding one hand onto her spouse’s bare arm in a werewolf request for leniency. “We don’t even know who they are....”

  Only, as I took in the rubber-band tightness of my mother’s muscles and the twitch above her left cheek, I realized that Sarah had guessed my identity. Had likely recognized me on sight even as she tried to think of a way to usher me out of her kitchen before I could be given a chance to speak. And why shouldn’t she, since I looked exactly like the photos I’d seen of Sarah when she was only a little younger than my current age?

  The realization that my own mother was trying to eject me from her life without even acknowledging our kinship wasn’t entirely unexpected...but it still hurt. Ignoring the pain in my throat, though, I reminded myself that I had a job to do. A job that didn’t involve ingratiating myself to a parent who had no interest in including me within her life.

  So I walked up to the bear of a man who was the obvious weak link in Sarah’s chain of defenses. Then I held out one hand by way of greeting. “Sir, I’m glad to meet you. My name is Ember Wilder-Young. And if I’m not much mistaken, you’re my biological mother’s current spouse.”

  THE REFERENCE TO SARAH’S previous marriages was a childish jab, and I regretted it as soon as the words left my lips. Because the formerly amiable male’s jaw squared up as he accepted the blow like a man...then he just as quickly forgave me as he pulled me forward into a hug.

  “So this is the long-lost daughter,” he said over my shoulder, emotional warmth pulsing out from his body in near-visible waves. And even though Eddie didn’t really know me, I abruptly felt encircled by pack. As if the duo’s bond didn’t merely part and flow around me, but actually engulfed me within its midst.

  Then I was being held out at arm’s length by a man who reeked of human cologne and expensive cigars. “I’m Bruce Edward Worcester-Green the Third,” the male informed me, eyes twinkling as if he understood how entirely ludicrous that overstated name was. “But you can call me Eddie. Everyone else does.”

  I could believe it. Eddie was jovial even in the face of my prickliness and my mother’s obvious displeasure. In his shoes, I would have been worried that a fully grown stepdaughter would pound on his door for one reason and one reason alone—looking for a steady flow of cash. But Eddie welcomed me as easily as a werewolf might greet a formerly unfamiliar pack member, ushering me out of the kitchen and down a long hallway toward a dining room as massive as it was ornate.

  “Eddie....” Sarah started as she flowed through the space right alongside us. “We don’t know what Ember is doing here. We don’t even know if she’s in trouble....”

  “Are you?” Eddie asked, planting his feet and swiveling so abruptly that only lupine reflexes prevented me from slamming into his broad chest. “Because if so, we’re here to help.”

  His voice had lowered to a register that nearly resembled the growl of an alpha wolf. And, in the face of such unexpected protectiveness, I found myself strangely unable to lie. “Moderately in trouble,” I admitted with eyes downcast. “But I won’t stay here long enough to bring it down on all of your heads. I just need to talk to Sarah about my half-brother, then I promise you won’t hear from me ever again.”

  At the mention of Derek, the barest wheeze of breath emerged from my mother’s lips. But I didn’t have time to find out whether Sarah was surprised, angry, or worried. Because Eddie was pulling us further into the heart of his domain, the male’s implacable movement impossible to deny.

  “Unacceptable,” he flung over one shoulder as his long strides led us past a formal dining room larger than my entire house and into another corridor on the other side. “No daughter of mine is driving back into danger unassisted. You’re staying here until we can sort this trouble out.”

  Daughter. Now it was my breath that hitched, Eddie’s easy acceptance of our convoluted kinship speaking to my deepest childhood yearnings. What would it be like to add a warm-hearted bear of a man like this to my large extended family? To forge actual alliances to a family related to me by blood?

  But then a whiff of Sebastien brought me back to the present and reminded me of the current stakes. I couldn’t afford to lose myself in this male’s open-armed acceptance. Not when the lives of Chase and Becca hung in the balance.

  So I swiveled to face my mother, intent upon forcing words from her lips sooner rather than later. But Sarah was gone. Between one doorway and the next, the lady of the house had slipped away from our entourage. And in a mansion this size, it would take an army to track her back down.

  Chapter 17

  “Sarah needs a little time to get used to the idea of a daughter,” Eddie explained as he led me into an intimate dining nook within which my mate was already seated before a wide array of covered dishes. The food must have been delivered via a less roundabout pathway seconds before our own arrival because the air was redolent with the warm scents of lobster and vegetables along with the rich yeastiness of newly baked bread.

  With the chance to speak to my mother off the table, it took only a little nudging on the part of our host to prompt me and Sebastien both to dive into the meal. And while the professor exhibited perfect table manners, my wolf was suddenly so starving that I lost track of human words for several long moments after that.

  Only when the final morsel had been scraped off artfully painted china did I meet my stepfather’s eyes again at last. He was watching me, I noticed, with an indecipherable expression half hidden behind bushy eyebrows. “So,” the older male asked once he was sure he’d gotten my attention, “how long can you stay?”

  “Stay?” I parroted, my brain not quite having caught up with my lips. I’d assumed we’d be cast out into the darkness once the meal was over, would have to find a hotel then think up an excuse for hunting Sarah somewhere far from her home base. After all, for a packless werewolf, Sarah was remarkably well protected by her lupine kitchen mates and human partner. She wouldn’t be an easy shifter to track back down.

  But it appeared that Sebastien and I were instead being offered carte blanche to spend the night, an invitation I knew better than to reject.


  “My house contains thirty-three bedrooms,” Eddie added by way of answer, eyes twinkling with amusement at his own largess. “I think I can find a corner to squeeze you into somewhere. I’ll talk to Sarah this evening. Then maybe tomorrow...? Well, who knows.”

  Eddie clearly had no more confidence in his ability to get Sarah interested in her unwanted daughter than I did. But, whatever his reasoning, the master of the house appeared to be on my side, for the present moment at least. So I bowed my head by way of thanks and accepted Bruce Edward Worcester-Green the Third’s generous offer.

  “Lead on,” I told my stepfather before slipping my hand into that of my mate.

  EDDIE WAS CLEARLY UNUSED to housing werewolves despite living in a house full of them. Because he set us up in supreme privacy, both within the same wing but at opposite ends of a portrait-lined hall. “Ancestors,” our host explained vaguely as we walked past rows of large-shouldered men and their linebacker children, none of whom appeared to share much in common with their dainty and delicate wives.

  Then my analysis of the mating habits of the rich was abruptly truncated as we paused in front of an open doorway. This room had clearly been selected for my mate, if the deer heads on the walls were any indication. “Thank you for having us,” Sebastien said formally, only a twitch of his lips portraying the amusement he clearly felt with the hunterly decor.

  The professor didn’t walk directly into the room, though. Instead, in the moment of silence that followed, I could have sworn an unspoken understanding passed between the two men as easily as if they’d been wolves conversing down a pack bond. Whatever the reason, I gave up all hope of slipping into the professor’s room at midnight to salve my lupine loneliness. Something in the painted ancestors’ eyes told me this wasn’t the sort of household where unwed youngsters were welcome to shack up.