by Lola Taylor
“Yeah, but I still felt pissed off all the time because of the pain inside.” He smiled sadly at her. “Sometimes you don’t realize how much you care about people until they’re gone.”
The tension and ice that had been draining out of her returned. She could feel her shoulders knotting up.
God, what did she think about losing her family? Hell if she knew. Even after weeks of diary therapy and “therapist” therapy, she was still no closer to figuring out the tangle of emotions inside of her. All she knew was she was sick of feeling hurt. And numb. Or crazy pissed off. It was always one of the three. Either she hurt like hell, or she didn’t hurt at all.
Except when she had sex with Nik. It felt so damn good to be with him, to give herself over to her more carnal nature.
Unfortunately, Nik had started catching on. He hadn’t said anything about it yet, but he’d started cutting their sexcapades short.
He rolled over onto his back and patted his chest. She curled up next to him, laying her head against his beating heart. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, staring at the crackling flames.
“Don’t be,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I know.”
She smiled her broken smile. Hey, it might have been broken, but at least it still worked. That had to mean something. Maybe she wasn’t completely unfixable.
Or she was a damn optimistic idiot.
She heaved a shaky sigh as the fear that she’d never feel like herself again returned. A moment later, as if out of some natural instinct of self-preservation, the numbness started to take over. Call her a coward, but she let it. Every. Single. Time. Because feeling nothing was easier than trying to face the real problem—why she gave a damn her father and mother were gone in the first place.
She cleared her throat, mostly so she could swallow again. Her throat had gotten so tight, it was even getting difficult to breathe. “What time are Gage and Danica coming over?” she asked, ready to change the subject.
Distractions were her other means of coping, whether it be in the form of a book, exploring the manor, or whatever else she could come up with. Long, empty periods of time to just think, think, think and worry, worry, worry were her enemies. “Just stay busy,” her therapist had said. “It’ll help with the depression.” Alara didn’t think she could get any more depressed than she already was, but hey, she wasn’t the licensed shrink.
“Noon,” Nik said, glancing at the clock over the mantel. “And I have some new real estate contracts to look over, as well as some bills to discuss with our treasurer before then.”
The Moonstruck Pack was run much like any other organization. Some pack masters made their mates their Betas, but not Nik. He’d surprised everyone by claiming dual leadership, making her his equal in every way. Dual Alphas were nearly unheard of in the Underworld. She was always included at every meeting, her opinion weighed in on every decision. It meant so much to her that Nik would stop at nothing to include her in his life, to make this pack mean more to her than she’d meant to her last one.
Which was nothing other than a pawn.
Being crown princess had felt a lot like wearing shackles, but not here. Here, she was a queen in her own right, and the pack treated her as such.
So why couldn’t she just be happy?
Alara sighed. “Do we have to get up?”
“Afraid so, love.” He kissed her head again, and together they rose. They went over pack business as they showered and got dressed for the day. It was a familiar routine, and familiar was comforting. She started to relax and not feel quite so on edge and lost. Nik seemed to sense her need for distraction, and she appreciated it.
He kissed her at the door. “Leave some of those punching bags for me later, killer.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a killer if I did,” she said coyly over her shoulder.
He laughed. “That’s my girl.”
She smiled at him as he went one way and she another, decked out in her favorite sweats, sneakers, and tank top. Such tight-fitting clothes would have made her uncomfortable before, considering her curves. Nik was slowly starting to help her overcome that. He worshiped her body, saying he preferred her soft curves to cutting himself on the skin-and-bone she-wolves he’d dated. And besides, considering everything that had happened, worrying about her appearance seemed… silly. Trivial, even. There were so many larger things at play here, things that demanded her attention.
Like kicking the shit out of a punching bag before she turned into a green rage monster.
Before she reached the stairs, a catcall sounded from across the hall.
She made a little show of shaking her hips for her mate and grinned when he chuckled a moment later.
God, she loved that man. Maybe a little too much.
He could be taken from you just as easily.
No. No, that was the one thought she could never, ever think. It was bad luck. Had to be, as if even thinking it would make it come true.
Curses be damned. This girl was getting her shit together.
She marveled at how much she had changed on her way to the gym. Gone was the perfect little princess. In her body was a proud, sassy woman ready to take charge of her life.
She just had some anger issues to sort out first. Okay, so maybe a lot of anger issues, but that was what the punching bags were for.
There was just enough time for a brief thirty-minute workout before she had to get ready for her morning meetings. There was a lot to do before the High King and Queen of Werewolves made a visit to them, most of which she was in charge of. It made her feel proud to be trusted with all these responsibilities, and she took her job seriously. She was determined to do her best. No one in the pack would respect her if she behaved like a spoiled lapdog. The days of being “seen not heard” were over. Now, she proudly earned her keep. It was so nice to be thought of as more than a puppet.
She arrived at the massive gymnasium and turned on the lights. It was underground, so it stayed nice and cool. Mirrors lined every wall, and large TVs and expensive stereo systems dotted the corners. Most of the time she didn’t even turn the TV or stereo on, but today she needed more distraction.
Nik scraping the topic that was the real source of her problems had set her on edge more than she cared to admit. Not to mention that remembering who was visiting them today reminded her of the titles her deceased family had previously held. She knew she’d go mad if she were forced to think of them for long.
Don’t be a time bomb. Work it out.
Settling in to her routine, she wrapped up the sensitive, broken skin along her knuckles and took up a defensive stance in front of her favorite punching bag. She pictured the face of Gerard, of all the snotty-nosed brats at the palace, and everyone else who’d ever shunned her or let her down. She hit as hard as she could, pouring all her negative energy into the bag as her therapist had instructed.
All of her anger came to a boil, rising up from the dungeon she kept it chained in and making her skin burn. She bared her teeth, and she snarled at the bag as her frustration built.
Damn you, Gerard.
Damn you, Mistress Black.
Damn you, Order.
Damn, damn, damn.
It started out as the prickling of hairs along her arms and neck and then turned into the heightened sense of being watched. A shadow swept past the door. She’d been so caught up in her anger that she’d almost missed it. Catching the movement in the mirror, she whirled, eyes searching the dark hallway.
She waited, wolf ears pricked and listening for footsteps over the chatter of the TV.
There. Someone was walking away.
As quietly as she could, she approached the door. Grabbing one of the knives she still had yet to learn to use properly from the weapons rack, she braced herself and stepped into the hall. She glanced first to the left, then to the right, then back again.
It was empty.
And yet the signature of something she’d never felt before lingered in the hall.
; Her heart was beating faster when she went back inside the gym. It was keycard-entry only, with solid steel doors reinforced by spells and wards, so it wasn’t as though just anyone could bust in.
Yet she found she couldn’t shake her discomfort as she resumed her position at her bag. Cursing herself for being such a coward, she went to the opposite side of the bag, putting the door right in her line of vision.
As well as anyone who might be watching her.
Nik Johnson fucking hated meetings. Since he was a pack master, however, they were a necessary evil.
When he thought his head couldn’t possibly be crammed full of any more nonsense about real estate, a welcome knock came at the door to the meeting hall. He glanced at his watch. It was scuffed as hell, but that was what he loved about it. They’d been through shit together. He’d never been the type to splurge on pricey shit just for the hell of it. “Pricey” often meant “status symbol” to him, and he fucking hated that shit. Living in a manor had always set him ill at ease too, but at least he had a roof over his head.
Nik wrapped up the meeting and adjourned the three men before him. Sometimes running the pack felt more like being the president of a very rowdy private club. They had a president (him), VP (his Beta), a treasurer, a scribe, and so on. They met once a week to discuss pack business and get their affairs in order.
Definitely not the rock-star life he’d imagined as a kid.
After everyone had cleared out, a throat cleared, and Nik looked up to see who had rapped at the door.
The werewolf stopped before him and bowed his head. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, the unofficial uniform of the Moonstruck Pack. Nik really should make them clean up and look like respectable werewolves, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. It was the least of his mounting concerns.
The werewolf smacked his fist over his heart, the token sign of respect and loyalty among the pack. “Sire, the High King is here.”
Nik had to resist the urge to growl. Now he knew exactly how irritated his brother had felt when called “Your Highness,” “Sire,” “Exalted One,” and whatever title Nik could come up with just to needle Gage. “Thank you,” he said, forcing his lips to stretch in a tight smile. “I will meet with him in the drawing room.”
The drawing room was just a fancy phrase for Nik’s office, but it was still fun to say it. He smiled inside. Maybe some of Alara had rubbed off on him after all.
His office had made quite the change since Malachite’s reign. For one, there were no longer skulls and stuffed wolf heads in there. The whole thing had been fucking morbid, and he’d torn it all down and completely remodeled it first thing. Well, actually, Gage had done that. He couldn’t stand it either.
While Gage’s tastes were more muted than Nik’s, the office was functional. No bells, no whistles, no fancy pencil sharpener, because let’s admit it, who the hell still used pencil sharpeners? Nope, just plain and simple. Nik had, however, indulged himself in adding pictures of motorcycles everywhere, along with some motorcycle knickknacks just for the hell of it. He had to make the office his somehow. Telling himself it was because he was a werewolf and they marked their territory was how he’d justified buying all that shit.
He followed Bracken, an older werewolf who looked as if he’d been a stoner in the seventies, into the office. The manor was crawling with more watchful werewolf eyes; Gage’s royal guards had apparently had no problem dispersing themselves in strategic positions. Everyone seemed wary but civil, at least. It was the best he could hope for in any event combining werewolves from two different packs.
A pair of guards—his, judging from the holey, torn jeans and all-around “thug” look—opened his office doors. He strolled in, the office stretching before him. It was long and big, no pun intended, at least twenty by thirty feet. He had a sitting area with some comfortable leather furniture, since no man cave was complete without it. Considering he practically lived here, or in the bedroom with his mate, this was as close to a man cave as he was going to get.
The other half of the office housed his massive oak desk and row upon row of shelves filled with books, files, and other important documents.
A tall man stood to greet him.
A smile immediately spread across Nik’s face. “How’s the first month in office treating you, Your Highness?”
“You’re never going to stop calling me that, are you?” Gage said, smiling widely as the two brothers embraced.
One of the royal guards still lingered nearby and cleared his throat.
Gage held up a hand. “It’s all right. He doesn’t have to bow and all that.”
Nik grinned. Gage was already turning out to be a fine king. He leaned in, keeping his voice low. “About damn time we put someone on the throne with an even head on his shoulders.”
Gage’s eyes shone with pride. His eyes cut to his guard, who looked ready to draw his gun on Nik. “It’s fine. Tell the others to see that my queen is okay. You are dismissed.”
The guard looked uncomfortable at leaving but obeyed. Once the doors were shut and they were alone, they relaxed their shoulders. Gage closed his eyes and sighed. No one would guess by looking at his button-up plaid shirt, jeans, and boots that he was a king.
“It’s so good to be back,” he said, glancing around. “I see you’ve redecorated. Have you taken Alara out for any bike rides yet?”
“A few,” Nik said. “She still wants to hold on too tight around curves.”
“And that’s a problem?” Gage asked with a suggestive smile.
Nik snorted. “Nah. You know how I am.” Which was perpetually horny. He definitely wasn’t complaining about feeling Alara’s generous breasts bunched up against his back whenever they went for bike rides. It took everything in him not to pull over and tug her into the woods on some of their longer rides.
Gage’s eyes lingered about the room, and his smile slanted sadly.
Nik didn’t need him to explain. He walked up to his brother and grasped his arms, squeezing. “This is still your home too. Anytime you need to get away.”
Gage’s smile broadened. “Thank you, brother.”
Nik gave him a gruff nod. It felt a little weird not seeing his brother in a month. He’d always been looking out for him, always protected him, but now he had an army to do that. The sting of being unwanted was tough at first—until Nik realized how fucking stupid that was. It wasn’t as if Gage were a toy that only Nik could play with. He was a High King now, with responsibilities. Both were now kings in their own rights.
Though Nik loathed the political bullshit that went along with the title, he vowed to be the best damn king he could. His brother had entrusted him with this gig, and no way in hell could he let Gage down and make him look bad.
Gage seemed just as uncomfortable in the awkward silence as Nik. He shifted his weight around and smiled.
Time to break the ice.
“Want a drink?” Nik asked, heading to the beverage counter.
“Would I ever,” Gage said, following behind.
Nik poured the two wolves four fingers of whiskey, and they sat down together on the leather furniture.
The two brothers sat in silence for a moment before Nik cleared his throat. “Well, since you know I’m not one to beat around the bush, I’m guessing you didn’t drop out of paradise just to say hello.”
Gage smiled. There was a tightness to it that set Nik’s wolf senses on edge.
Gage stared into his drink, swirling the glass’s contents. “I talked to Verika.”
Well, that wasn’t anything unusual. “And?”
When Gage didn’t look at him, Nik sat up. “Spit it out, bro. What’s eating you?”
Gage went still. When he lifted his gaze, it was as hard as stone. “Elijah is still alive.”
Nik thought he couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. He snorted and blinked, settling back on the cushions as he took a long swig of his whiskey. “Yeah, right. That son of a bitch ended up in a ditch a long time ag
o. Had to have, with the type of company he liked to keep.”
No, that last part didn’t sound bitter at all, his inner prick drawled.
“It’s the truth.”
When Gage didn’t once crack a smile, the giggles drained right out of Nik. A chill went through him. “You shitting me?”
“No,” Gage said roughly, downing the rest of his alcohol. “Never about this.”
Holy fucking shit. Elijah—Eli—was alive.
Nik had no idea how to begin to process how he felt about that. Relieved? Pissed off? Angry? It wasn’t anger at Elijah being alive, per se, as much as anger that the asshole was alive and hadn’t bothered saying anything to them about it.
How long had it been since they’d spoken? Years? Their childhood felt like a lifetime ago. Hell, it was a whole other life ago. They’d been completely different boys then.
Now, they were men with baggage.
Fuck.
Every curse word Nik knew spewed out of his mouth. He stood, pacing and still swearing.
Gage stood with him. “Verika called when Danica and I were in Colorado,” he started. “I would have called to tell you, but it didn’t seem like the type of thing you casually spoke of on the phone. I needed to tell you in person.”
No shit. He might have been tempted to blow it off as a lie or an ill-suited joke had Gage spouted this off on the phone.
Gage launched into the conversation he and Verika had had, how he’d picked apart everything she’d said. Nik knew Verika well enough to know she’d never joke around about something like this.
He felt as if someone had punched him in the gut and knocked the wind out of him. The itch to drink burned his throat more than the whiskey did as he gulped it down like water. Before he could squeeze it any tighter and break it, he set his empty glass down and gripped the back of the couch. “Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkk.” He heard the tear of leather. His nails had sharpened into claws as his inner wolf momentarily took over.