Awakened by the Wolf

by Kristal Hollis

She strolled down the produce aisle. Blackberries occupied the space where the cherries had been last week. They didn’t look any better than the peaches. On her small budget, she refused to pay the outrageous price for the blueberries.

  Tapping her nail against the plastic handle of the shopping basket, Cassie dismissed the notion to purchase a can of pie filing. Imogene had thumbed her nose at that particular convenience and taught her daughter to do the same.

  Cassie’s heart smiled. The good recollections of her mother were rare and all involved the kitchen. Those memories were a radiant shield against the fallout from her mother’s reputation.

  Imogene had shacked up with any man who’d take them in. Sugar daddies, she called them, although Cassie saw nothing sweet or fatherly about them. All of them had used her mother. Then again, Imogene used them. For food. Shelter. And whatever else mother and daughter needed.

  The irony of Cassie’s current situation wasn’t lost on her. Neither were the lessons she’d learned from her mother’s mistakes. A man couldn’t give her a better life, but he sure could wreck it.

  Regardless of the undeniable attraction between them, Cassie would not sleep with Brice.

  Okay—technically, they slept in the same bed. However, they wouldn’t have sex. And she would not fall in love.

  Their breakfast make-out session had nothing to do with magic bonds or soul mates or destiny, and everything to do with hormones. Hormones she could handle. She just needed to keep an iron grip on reality.

  Cassie stopped at the apple bin. Margaret loved her apple strudel.

  Remorse heated Cassie’s throat. She should have called Margaret Granny, at least once. The opportunity had passed, and there would be no more.

  Cassie adjusted the basket in her hands. Wallowing in regret made for a miserable life. Another lesson learned from Imogene.

  Cassie picked through the apples for those bright green in color with a tart, mouth-watering smell and just beginning to soften. Careful not to bruise the fruit, she placed eight in her basket.

  At the checkout, two women stepped in line behind her. Cassie guessed they were close to her age, but their vivacious energy made her feel dowdy and old.

  Through the storefront window, Cassie watched a black truck park next to her beat-up clunker in front of The Flower Stop on the other side of the town square park. A few seconds later, Brice climbed out, then leaned back inside the cab.

  “Mmm, mmm,” one of the girls behind Cassie hummed. “He has a fine ass.”

  I know how fine his ass looks without pants.

  Cassie squelched her grin before she got herself in trouble.

  Brice closed the truck door and looked across the park, seemingly through the market’s storefront window and straight into Cassie’s eyes.

  “That better be my ass you’re thinking about, Sunshine.”

  Crisp and clear, Brice’s voice tickled her ear. Confused, she nonchalantly scanned the store to see who’d actually said what she heard. There wasn’t a man in sight, at least not inside the store.

  Annoyed with her imagination, she flipped through the latest edition of Monstahz magazine to an article on the sightings of Big Foot in the Everglades. Yikes! Not that Cassie believed in Big Foot; however, a few days ago she hadn’t believed in werewolves, either. She shoved the magazine into the rack and stepped forward as the customer ahead of her finished.

  “Oh, here he comes,” the girls behind her gushed.

  Against her good sense, Cassie watched Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome as Sin limp across the grassy square. Her heart fluttered the same funny little trill that first appeared when she hovered at the threshold of Brice’s hospital room and recurred every time she saw him.

  He waited at the curb for a car to pass on the one-way street. Cassie met his gaze through the window and offered a weak shrug. Something warm wrapped around her shoulders, and her neck tickled. She stopped herself from flicking away the fabricated sensation, afraid that the action would give credence to her ridiculous imagination.

  “You’re beautiful, Sunshine.”

  The tips of Cassie’s ears heated as hot as her cheeks. Jeez, if she fantasized about Brice calling her beautiful after nearly a week, what would happen to her brain after a month or two?

  Placing her items on the checkout conveyor, she wondered if the hallucination might be a manifestation of the bond Brice mentioned. Excitement rushed through her head to toe. For all of three seconds before common sense flushed it out.

  Brice drank two beers last night. Nothing he said afterward was trustworthy. Imogene made many promises when she drank. None came to fruition. Ever.

  Cassie paid the cashier. Meager basket in hand, she walked outside, head held high and heart mopping the floor.

  Brice stepped onto the sidewalk. Cassie’s stride faltered beneath the turmoil in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  He gathered her in his arms, pressing intimately into her. His warmth soaked into her essence, and she was too indulgent to push him away.

  “Someone killed Mary-Jane McAllister’s chickens last night. Her farmyard is a mess,” he said in a soft heave.

  “Is she okay?” Cassie bought eggs from Mary-Jane. Poor woman fussed over her chicks like a mother hen.

  “Shocked, mostly.” Brice stroked his thumbs across Cassie’s cheeks. “We think Wahyas are responsible. I doubt it’s anyone from our pack, but we have a lot of wolfan visitors here for Granny’s memorial.”

  A tremor of unease ran through Cassie’s body. Hadn’t he told her wolf people were civilized?

  He pulled a cell phone from his back pocket. “I got this for you.”

  “I don’t have anyone to call.”

  “Me, Cas. Call me.” Brice smacked the device into her palm.

  “This isn’t necessary,” Cassie began. Brice’s fingers fastened around her hand, his jaw frozen in a stubborn clench. “But if you insist.” She dropped the phone into her purse.

  “I do.” Brice slung his arm over her shoulder. “And until we find the culprit who raided Mary-Jane’s chickens, I don’t want you out alone at night.”

  They strolled leisurely toward the florist. When Brice opened the door, Cassie expected the heady scents of fresh-cut flowers. Perhaps Brice didn’t. He sneezed several times. His eyes glazed, and he looked a little peaked.

  Cassie touched his face, allowing him to rub his nose against her wrist.

  “Good afternoon,” Alethea Duncan, the florist, greeted them. “I’m sorry for your loss, Brice.”

  “Thank you.” His grip on Cassie’s shoulder tightened, and she stroked his hand until he relaxed.

  “Please make yourselves comfortable.” Alethea walked them to a table. She opened one of four large three-ring binders. “I’ll give you a few moments to look at the selections. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  * * *

  Brice’s cottony mouth made it hard to speak. His heart beat out of rhythm, and he had a feeling of no longer being in his body. Only the heat from Cassie’s hand resting on his thigh kept him anchored.

  “Take a deep breath.” She brushed his hair from his damp brow.

  Brice struggled to follow her instruction.

  “Now let it out, slowly.”

  He tried, but his breath came out in a rush.

  Wouldn’t his father be proud? His heir to the Alphaship not only barfed at the sight of blood but also fainted, or soon would, inside a fucking flower shop.

  Cassie tapped his face. “You can do this.”

  God, he was thankful she had come along. Her touch, her scent, her very presence soothed him.

  “Breathe in.” She demonstrated. “Breathe out.”

  Brice exhaled when she did.

  “Good. Do it again.”

  Such a trooper. He loved that
about her. After a few more attempts, the probability of him collapsing on the floor passed.

  Leafing through the selections, Brice linked his fingers with Cassie’s. What did he know about flowers or what would be appropriate for a grandson to order for his grandmother’s memorial? He didn’t want to pick out the wrong thing.

  “What is this?” He pointed at colorless buds woven together in a floral carpet.

  “A white rose funeral spray.” Alethea appeared behind them. “It’s placed on top of the casket during the service, then laid on the ground at the burial.”

  “No, no. That won’t do.” Brice wiped the perspiration from his forehead on his sleeve.

  “Can I get either of you something to drink? Coffee? A soda?”

  A bottle of bourbon would be nice.

  Cassie frowned in the most disapproving way.

  “No. Thanks.” Brice slapped the last book closed. “May I look at these?” He grabbed two more binders from the shelves above the table.

  “He needs more time,” Cassie said to Alethea. “I’ll let you know when he’s ready.”

  Brice thumbed the pages. Why hadn’t he thought to buy Granny flowers before she died? Why was he expected to give them to her now that she couldn’t enjoy them?

  “These won’t do.” He shoved the books away. Some tumbled to the floor. His elbows on the table, he pressed his forehead into his palms. “What kind of grandson am I? I can’t even pick out the right flowers, for chrissakes.”

  “Margaret thought the world of you,” Cassie whispered in his ear. “That’s the kind of grandson you are. Forget those books. What kind of flowers would you give her right now if you could?”

  Brice remembered the armful of bright-colored blossoms he’d picked from a meadow for her birthday when he was six. Granny said she loved the bouquet more than all of her other presents.

  “Wildflowers.” He lifted his head.

  Cassie motioned for Alethea. “Do you have wildflowers?”

  “Yes, I have plenty of those. It’s the roses and lilies that are running low.”

  “I want your largest bouquet of wildflowers,” Brice said, his heart lighter than when he walked into the florist shop.

  “Are you sure you want those for the funeral service?” Alethea’s concerned expression made Brice uncertain about his decision.

  Cassie’s smile chased away his doubts.

  “Granny would’ve loved them,” he told Alethea. “Can you deliver them to the church before the service on Saturday?”

  “Of course.” Alethea scribbled on her order pad.

  As he paid for the arrangement, Alethea handed him a card to sign. He couldn’t fathom why Granny needed a card when she wasn’t alive to read it. But she couldn’t smell the flowers, either. Grabbing a pen, Brice wrote:

  Granny, you are in our hearts forever.

  Love, Brice and Cassie

  He escorted Cassie to her car, cursing each step that would separate them for the remainder of the afternoon. He brushed the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. The innocent touch caused his fingertips to tingle. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Happy to help. Have a nice lunch at Mabel’s with Mr. Krussen and Mr. Bartolomew.” Cassie turned her face from him. She was blocking the mate-bond, again.

  He wasn’t worried. He knew she heard his thoughts at the market. Although she didn’t respond telepathically, she had looked around the store as soon as his thoughts transferred and hid behind a magazine after his compliment. For now, he needed to be patient. Allow her to accept what was happening at her own pace, and give himself time to adjust to it, as well. This was a new experience for them, and there was no need to rush.

  Chapter 26

  “Brice Walker!” Mabel Whitcomb’s loud Southern twang silenced the commotion inside her diner. Seventyish, robust, dolled up in an unnatural red-colored beehive hairdo and sky-blue eye shadow, Mabel took her time rounding the counter. Arms open, she flapped her fingers in a come-here-and-give-me-a-hug signal. So he did, squeezing her until she squealed like a schoolgirl.

  “Lordy, it’s been a dinosaur’s age since I last saw you. So sorry about your granny. Sweet lady. God bless her soul.”

  “Thank you, Mabel.” Brice marveled that she looked the same as when he and Rafe used to sit at the counter scarfing cheeseburgers and slurping strawberry milkshakes after school.

  “Gracious.” She fanned herself with a menu. “Why, if I was forty years younger.”

  Her gaze trolled past Brice’s shoulder and snagged on the elderly gentlemen behind him.

  “My, my.” She pushed Brice aside. “Who are your handsome friends?”

  “Seriously?” Brice lifted his hands, palms up. “I just got here and you’re dumping me?”

  Mabel pinched his cheek. “You’re too young, sug. But your friends...aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

  “Mabel Whitcomb, this is Philip Bartolomew and Michael Krussen.”

  Both councilmen gushed extolments of her beauty and the praises they’d heard about her fine establishment.

  Worn carpet, ’80s-style decor and a menu fit for a greasy spoon, no one in their right mind would mistake Mabel’s Diner for a five-star restaurant. Still, Mabel beamed, and Brice appreciated the older men’s graciousness.

  “What can I get you gents to eat?” she asked, seating them in a booth.

  “The adorable young lady who checked us into the resort said you had the best open-faced roast beef sandwich platters in the area.” Philip flashed a pearly smile at Mabel, but his gaze drifted to Brice.

  “Well, she didn’t lie, hon. Some say it’s the best in the state.” Mabel touched her hair, grinning broader than a debutante at her coming-out party. “But I’m not one to brag.”

  “Ah, my dear, it isn’t bragging if it’s true.” Philip leaned back in his seat. “One platter for me and a glass of iced tea, please.”

  “I’ll have the same.” Michael winked.

  “What about you, sug?” Mabel asked Brice.

  “A glass of water,” he answered, not trusting his stomach.

  “Let the gals know if you change your mind.” Mabel moseyed to the kitchen.

  “We saw you across the street with Miss Albright when we arrived.” The calculated interest in Philip’s eyes undermined his conversational tone.

  “How long have you known her?” Michael asked.

  “We met Saturday night.” No need to confess that an innocent encounter five years ago had sparked a mate-bond. “Is your interest idle curiosity or something else?”

  “The question is, Brice, what is your interest?” Michael’s expression gave no hint as to what he expected to hear.

  A waitress dispensed their drinks and scurried to the next table.

  “I promised my grandmother that I would take care of Cassie.” Brice dropped his wadded straw paper next to the silverware wrapper Philip had placed at the edge of the table. “Not that it should concern the council.”

  “Your affinity for Miss Albright does concern us. A great deal.” Philip folded his paper napkin over his lap. “The Woelfesenat appointed you to an apprenticeship.”

  “I haven’t accepted yet.” A week ago, the opportunity had been a sweet song of redemption. Today it sounded more like a screeching bagpipe.

  “The offer is unprecedented, Brice.” Michael squeezed a lemon into his tea glass. “A unanimous vote. You’ve impressed everyone on the council.”

  “The assignments they asked me to handle were sticky, but not complicated. Any experienced negotiator would’ve had the same outcomes.”

  “It is your method that intrigues the council.” Philip rested his arms comfortably on the table. “Particularly with the Maldean incident. In the past, we eliminated anyone unfortunate enough to discover what we are
and threaten exposure. You resolved the situation without violence.”

  “How, exactly, did you convince that reporter not to release the footage of Congressman Maldean’s nephew turning Wahyarian?” Michael asked.

  “Negotiation with a side of intimidation.” Working for a legal powerhouse provided immeasurable leverage. “He thought a werewolf tape would get him noticed by the networks, so I hit him hard with the unbelievable factor and convinced him that a public release of the questionable video would damage his credibility and ruin his chances of ever landing a job with any reputable news agency. Eventually he understood the ramifications and surrendered all the evidence. In turn, I arranged a job interview at WNN.”

  “Did he get the position?” Michael asked.

  “When a partner in Adam Foster’s law firm asks for a favor, not even a news conglomerate will say no.” Although Brice never abused his uncle’s influence, he was grateful for its far-reaching scope. Only time would tell if they would continue their work relationship.

  The waitress plunked two lunch platters on the table. “If you need anything else, just holler,” she said before rushing back to the kitchen.

  Eyes closed, Michael inhaled the scent of his food and sighed. “Our secret is safe and the human lives. You’re very resourceful, Brice.”

  “Which is why the council wants you.” Philip cut into his open-faced roast beef sandwich, lifted the bite to his nose for a sniff and popped it into his mouth. A satisfied smile curved his lips as he swallowed. “Times have changed. The council wants to change, too.”

  “Will those changes allow council members to claim mates and have families?” Brice downed his water in two gulps.

  “Never.” Michael put down his silverware and fisted his hands on the table. “The Rule of Unattachment ensures the Woelfesenat remains impartial and uncompromised.”

  “I know it seems harsh, but the council can’t risk divided loyalties.” Philip’s white brows knitted together. “Have you changed your mind about bachelorhood?”

  “I’ve always wanted a family. After I lost my scenting abilities, I didn’t believe I would find a mate.”

  “And now you have?” Philip’s black eyes softened.