by Lola Taylor
In a way, even a tiny bit, saying Mom and Dad to people she knew weren’t really her birth parents stung. Because it reminded her she hadn’t been good enough to warrant keeping, hadn’t been worth fighting for.
But she had. Her mother had sacrificed so much to save her. She realized that now, and the peace and joy that brought her lit up her soul. But there were still things to be said, as close to her parents’ faces as she would ever get in this lifetime.
It took her a moment to collect her thoughts, gather her courage. “I don’t know what to say, not really.” Her voice was barely audible, even to her own ears, though she felt her lips moving. An acute sense of shyness nearly rendered her mute. Were it not for Elijah’s warm hand on her shoulder, followed by a comforting squeeze, she might not have found her voice again.
“I’ve always wanted to meet you. Always wondered when I was a child, in my dreams, my nightmares, my hopes, what you were like. Why you aba…why you left.” She wet her lips. “I thought it was because you didn’t love me or want me. You found out what I truly was and were so disgusted you sealed away my powers in the hope of protecting the interests of the Underworld and mankind alike. There are many more reasons than that, but those were the most predominant ones in my mind. A million reasons that, I see now, could not be farther from the truth. You did love me. Loved me so much you died trying to protect me. Not just from myself, but mostly from those who sought to do me harm. And you know what? It worked. I’m safe.” Tears started to fall as her voice broke on a sob. “I’m safe, Momma. Daddy. My mate is safe. The whole damn world is safe because you, Momma, loved me enough to sacrifice your life to help me. I just wanted you to know that, both of you. To know that I am safe, and I am loved, and…and…I want you to know everything is going to be all right now. I’m going to be all right now. So don’t worry about me. You’ve done enough. More than enough. Go rest in peace now. Your baby girl is going to be just fine.”
She paused right as she was about to stand and, almost as an afterthought, placed two fingers to her lips, pressed a kiss there. She then touched those same fingertips first to her mother’s name, and then slid them down over her father’s. Her fingers lingered against the cool stone, not quite ready to release. She didn’t want to walk away but knew she had to.
When at last she stood, Elijah had to help her up because her legs were too wobbly to hold her. He looped an arm around her back, let her stand there as long as she wanted. The sun had fully crested the horizon by the time she was ready to leave. Even then it took Elijah’s gentle prodding to get her going.
“We should hit the road,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close. His warmth knocked away the early morning chill; his lips nuzzled her ear, her neck. Chills of a different sort skittered through her. “Our flight leaves in two hours. Being a holiday, I bet security will be a bitch.”
“Yeah. Okay.” She nodded, her voice thick. Linking hands and casting one last look over her shoulder, she let Elijah lead her back down the hill.
“You know,” she said after a moment of comfortable silence, “I do actually feel better, but…” It still hurts, to know I’ll never get to know them. She couldn’t say it aloud and didn’t know why. Maybe because she’d be admitting a weakness, and her past had schooled her it was dangerous to show weakness, even to those you loved.
Looks like Elijah isn’t the only one with some emotional baggage to sort through, she thought wryly.
Elijah gave her a sympathetic look. “I know, baby. The hurt will fade over time, but it never truly leaves. You just learn to live with it.”
Live with it. Something so simple, yet so hard to do.
But she was ready to. She was ready, at last, to move on.
Elijah’s throat tightened in an attempt to keep him from spewing his guts all over Crescent Manor’s immaculate marble steps. His toe caught the lip of a step, making him stumble forward.
Verika gripped his arm to keep him from kissing the marble. “You okay?”
“I blame the dress shoes. Not used to wearing them.” At her disbelieving look, he reached up, loosened his tie a little. Damn thing was driving him nuts, like wearing a collar. A distant, haunting image drifted like a ghost through his mind’s eye: him locked away in a dark cell, deep within the earth, away from sunshine and freedom, where the air tasted like urine and metal, and cold iron chafed the skin around his neck. But, thanks to weekly therapy sessions he’d grown strangely fond of, the memory didn’t linger in his brain, didn’t elicit the fear that had once ruled his life. No, for the first time in, well, forever, he was able to remember the past and not get sick from it. He was free.
Well, almost. He was still a work in progress.
“No, I’m not okay,” he admitted. “I feel like I’m thirteen again. Like I’ve been caught drinking my dad’s beer and he’s taking his belt off. Like something horrible is about to happen.”
Verika gently took his hands in hers, turning him ever so slightly to face her head on. “Nothing bad is going to happen. Well, it’s a werewolf Thanksgiving. Gage warned me when the pack gets together for holiday meals, it can be like World War III. But it won’t be the whole pack. It will just be family.”
World War III he could handle. Kind of already did, in a way, back in the woods when he’d torched the house. It had all been very cathartic, though the smell of charred flesh, of kindling, never left him. He dreamed about it. Thought about it, smelled smoke even in the middle of a perfume store. The therapist said that memory was burned into his mind due to the severity of the trauma it wreaked on him.
Like he said, he was a work in progress.
“But what if something bad does happen?” he asked in a low whisper. “What if I show up and things go to hell? What if I ruin Thanksgiving for everyone?”
Verika’s eyes turned sympathetic. Her warm palm cupped his cheek, the silk of her thumb caressing the light stubble blanketing his jawline. “I know it’s been a long time since you’ve celebrated a holiday with family. But there’s nothing to be afraid of. Contrary to what you believe, your sheer presence doesn’t bring on death and destruction. You’re amazing, Elijah.”
“I didn’t mean it as a sympathy plea,” he said with a wry smile. “Though you can keep up with the ‘You’re amazing, Elijah’ stuff.”
She rolled her eyes, tried suppressing a smile. “You’re hopeless.”
“At least some things never change.” Nervous butterflies tickled his gut. He started pacing, which only made it worse. “God!” He stopped, ran his hand through his hair. Sweat had started to form on his brow. “I mean, I don’t know, baby. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter. They weren’t happy times at my house growing up. They were usually just another day for Dad to get drunk, for him to take out his anger and frustration on Mom if she burned dinner. Besides.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to face them.”
“Face them, or face Nik?” Verika said quietly.
Damn it all, she was right. That’s exactly what this was about, his unresolved tension with Nik. Nik hadn’t spoken to him at the memorial, hadn’t called or answered his emails or texts throughout this past long, hard year while they rebuilt their lives. Gage and he had started speaking again, at least a few times a week. But Nik…Nik had remained silent.
Elijah supposed he should count the fact Nik hadn’t blocked his number as a blessing.
A soothing hand rubbed his back through his thick black wool coat. “You’ll be fine. You’re making this out to be a bigger deal than it is.”
“It’s a big deal to me.”
Verika sighed, let her hand drop away. Her head hung. “I’m sorry, Elijah. I didn’t mean it like that, to say it like it doesn’t matter.”
“I know you didn’t, love.” He took her hand, squeezed it, kissed the back of her knuckles. “God, your hand is freezing. We need to get you thicker gloves.”
She smiled wistfully. “Maybe Santa will bring me some, along with a few other
presents when he sweeps down the chimney.” She lightly pinched his butt, making him burst into deep, hearty laughter.
“Sounds to me like I need to block the chimney. This Santa Claus character sounds kind of unscrupulous.”
Her brows rose. “Look at you, using fancy words. His Royal Gage-ness is rubbing off on you, after all.”
He snorted. “He wishes. Although he has started to sound more posh since becoming High King. Must be all the wealth going to his head.”
“Jealous?”
“Nah. Wouldn’t want the title, or the responsibility. Besides, real estate taxes on that castle must be a bitch. Not to mention the insurance.”
“Tell me about it. I’m content with our little country home, far removed from the city. And its sky-high real estate.”
“I’m with you there, love.”
It still made him proud to say it aloud, made his chest puff out, his shoulders pull back, his chin raise an inch—all with a genuine smile on his face.
Holy shit, he owned a house. He had a respectable job as a security advisor to the DPI. He lived in the beautiful Southern state of Florida, close to in-laws and a scant thirty minutes from the ocean. He was married to a beautiful woman, who was the most incredible person he knew. If someone had told him his life would be this perfect a year ago, he would have laughed.
Elijah the Fuck Up, get his act together? Bitch, please. Never in this lifetime. He was a damned soul, destined for an early grave.
But Lady Karma could suck it because he just showed that bitch up. He was done with the haters, with the people and thoughts who told him he’d never be good enough. Because he was, dammit. And he would show them—show the entire damn world, if he had to.
Newsflash, Universe—Elijah Johnson had turned over a new leaf.
And he was willing to fight every damn day for it.
He shook his head. “You’re right. As usual.”
“You can keep saying that, if you like.”
“Look at you, being all cheeky and sexy as hell. I like it.” He kissed his wife dearly, his mouth lingering over her lips. “And I plan on showing you just how much I like it when we get to the hotel.” Not wanting to crowd Alara and Nik, Verika and Elijah had opted to stay at a Holiday Inn in the next town about thirty minutes away. Moonstruck had a motel, but it was questionable at best. Maybe if a horde of roaches, stale coffee, and stained sheets were your thing.
Really, the idea of “crowding” Alara and Nik in this mansion was laughable. But Verika had insisted. Elijah secretly knew why, though they’d never spoken of it. Neither of them knew how tonight would turn out. Elijah could very well be leaving here with blood on his burnt-orange, pressed button-down and slacks, but neither he nor Verika was willing to say it aloud. Doing so might jinx them.
He offered Verika his arm. “Shall we?”
She took it, smiling warmly. “We shall. Lead the way, Mr. Johnson.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Johnson.”
She leaned in to kiss him sweetly on the lips. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”
“And I’ll never get tired of saying it.”
They started to kiss again, when the door opened.
Nik stood there, stone-faced, unreadable. And…and was that a tie he had on? Verika searched her brain. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him wear one before, didn’t think he owned one among his wardrobe of greasy hoodies and beat-up T-shirts. She scanned the rest of him. Khakis, dress shoes, a button-down—she nearly gasped—and it was tucked in with a belt to match his shoes. She nearly fainted from shock. Probably would have had she not felt her husband’s tension crackling through their mate-bond.
Her eyes snapped back up to Nik’s face.
Both Verika and Elijah froze, like two horny teens who’d been caught making out on Mommy and Daddy’s porch.
Nik stared at Elijah.
Elijah stared back.
Verika just held her breath and prayed this wasn’t about to turn into a fistfight.
Nik finally smirked, as if relishing the fact Elijah was about to shit a brick. He rolled his eyes in exaggeration. “Oh, come on. They’re making out on the front steps. No wonder it was taking so long for them to come inside.”
Gage appeared in the doorway behind his older brother. Dressed much the same as the other two brothers, only he didn’t look nearly so out of place in the more formal attire. In his hand, he clutched a wine glass partly filled with white wine. “What the hell are y’all doing out there? Get your asses in here. Danica and Alara just about have dinner ready.”
Verika clutched the pecan pie they’d picked up at a diner on the way in town, feeling suddenly insecure about her choice of dessert. It was a homemade pie and probably delicious. But Danica and Alara were both rich. Which was a stupid reason for thinking they’d be able to cook well solely because of their money, but it was the first thing to pop into her head. Should she have brought something fancier, something more sophisticated?
They’re going to love it, Elijah said, as if reading her thoughts. And if they don’t, I’ll sure as hell eat the shit out of that pie.
Thanks, baby, she said with a warm smile.
Both of them took a deep breath as they ascended the rest of the steps and walked into the house. Warm air from the roaring fire in the parlor immediately blasted them. The fire and fall decorations—glittering leaves, glistening pumpkins, and Happy Thanksgiving signs—gave the manor a homier feel.
One of the butlers took their coats and scurried off out of view. Verika felt herself start to relax. Elijah, on the other hand, looked more wound up than ever standing in the presence of both his brothers. For the most part they seemed welcoming, affectionate even. Well, Gage was. He pulled Elijah into a hug soon as he stepped through the door.
Nik shook his hand in a grip that might have been a bit tighter than required. There was a hardness that lingered behind his eyes, a sense of distrust as he stared at his older brother. That didn’t surprise Verika. She expected the distrust, knew it would take years to mend Nik’s faith in his brother. She was just thankful no blood had been spilled.
Yet. The night was early.
She shifted her weight while the brothers chatted, looking around, not wanting to butt in.
Nik spotted her discomfort. “You can take the pie and put it in the dining room. They have a dessert table set up. Here, I’ll show you.” He pulled her away. She cast a smile over her shoulder at Elijah before disappearing around the corner.
The smells wafting out of the dining room were amazing, and her mouth immediately began to water. “Hmmm…smells divine.”
“Tastes even better. I’ve been dipping a spoon or fork into every dish they bring in. You know, to make sure it’s up to the Johnson quality standards.”
Verika snorted. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
Nik’s eyes softened. He seemed to have more wrinkles, now that she noticed, and several silver hairs streaked the dark brown. “I’ve changed a lot,” he said quietly. “Some for the better…”
He didn’t need to say the rest. “Yeah,” she said. “I know what you mean.” They’d all been changed since that night. A night when the moon had ridden high in the sky, gazing down at a field awash in blood and death.
She shivered, shook her head, and shoved the thought far away. Not tonight. This was not a night to dwell on darkness. It was a night to be thankful for what one had. And she had so much to be thankful for.
They dropped off the pie, nestled it between a tri-layer carrot cake, a chocolate cream pie with girlish chocolate curls on its frosting, and red velvet brownies with cream cheese icing. She couldn’t wait, in particular, to dig into those.
Nik ushered her into the massive state-of-the-art kitchen, a culinary kingdom of gleaming black appliances, glittering orange- and dark-red-flecked quartz countertops, and shining black tile flooring. An assortment of messy cooking aids—wooden spoons, measuring cups, timers, brushes, and mixing bowls—sat along the countertops. It sme
lled amazing; the warm aromas of roasting turkey, green bean casserole, and apple pie mingled in the air and reminded Verika of her own holidays back at home. Her parents hadn’t minded one bit that she was going to spend Thanksgiving away from home, considering she’d already promised they’d spend Christmas there. Her father still wasn’t too happy about her marrying Elijah, but he was warming up to the idea. It was hard to stay mad at a man who’d risked everything to save his daughter’s life.
Danica and Alara scampered about in a cooking frenzy, checking this and that, all dolled up, hair and makeup perfect, aprons on to protect their dresses of silk and taffeta. The aprons were black, with I heart werewolves sewn across the front in swirling cursive script.
Danica wore gold, which looked fantastic on her. Really set off the paler yellow of her hair, which had been swept up into a messy yet elegant updo at the nape of her neck. Diamonds sparkled at her ears, and a gold-and-silver bracelet glittered about her wrist. Though she’d given birth about six months ago, her belly still held a bit of baby weight. The generous silk of the A-line gown rippled like water as she moved. She looked beautiful and elegant. Her face looked rounder, her arms plumper.
Verika smiled. Secretly, she wished that would be her someday. Elijah and she had talked about kids, had both decided they wanted them. They had already started trying, though nothing had come of it yet.
Yet.
A secret, hopeful wish, one she would pray for tonight at dinner.
But she wasn’t bitter or jealous. After all that had happened, after every trial and tribulation they’d endured, she was thankful for everyone around her. For the jewels in her life, for they were many.
Her heart swelled with gratitude.
Alara wore her hair down, though tied halfway back at the base of her neck. She wore rose-colored taffeta and sequins that stopped right above her knees, and silver, sparkly pumps. A bit flashier than Verika had seen the werewolf princess wear, but she still looked no less poised for it. She had the feeling Alara could wear a bath towel and make it look glamorous.