by Sylvia Frost
So Rex forgot about the phone. After they landed, he had to carry his darling out of the plane because he didn’t want to wake her. Then, picking his Maserati up from beside the airport, he blasted through the curves of desolate country highway toward Crystal Creek.
The house was like something out of a ghost story. Located at the end of a dirt road, surrounded by the now-abandoned Camp Kikanoo, their backyard was overgrown trails and their only landscaping was the woods. In autumn, the leaves were painted in such bright jewel tones that when the sun set, it all looked on fire. But now in March, with the sun having set long ago and the woods just beginning to sprout, the silhouette of the mansion and greenhouse was a light purple bruise against the ragged black line of trees behind it.
The greenhouse. A hollow ache grew in his stomach. He remembered when Samson had first told him that he was buying back their childhood home in a bid to help track down their wayward brother, Luther. Samson had made him promise he wouldn't turn the house into a memorial for their parents. But despite his brother’s best efforts to make it his own, how could it be anything but?
Cynthia slept in the seat next to him. Her lack of sleep yesterday, coupled with the exhaustion from their mating, had kept her unconcious for the entire ride. As he shifted from manual into park and eased onto the dirt driveway in front of the farmhouse, he knew that it was time to wake her up. He needed her beside him for this.
“Darling.”
“Mm.” She swatted at him with one hand, her eyes trying to open, but drooping with sleep.
Rex unbuckled his seatbelt and left the car behind him. Slamming the door with more force than was necessary, and if judging by the screech of metal, safe for the vehicle, he opened Cynthia’s door and gestured for her to exit. He tried not to behave angrily, because he wasn’t. His wolf was just nervous and not ready to face tomorrow or the lingering ghosts of many yesterdays past.
Stretching upward, her cleavage jiggled pleasantly as she smoothed out her rumpled dress. She moved with no self-consciousness after their months of sleeping together. The hollow ache grew. Just when she’d finally learned to trust him, to love him, he would have to reveal exactly why she shouldn’t have.
He scooped up her hand in his, and without further ceremony, he began to lead them to the house. They were quiet as they walked, Cynthia still shaking off some of the lingering sleep if her slow pace was anything to go by, and Rex relishing the dual sensations of the brisk spring air and the warmth of his mate on his arm, however fleeting.
She let him lead her with little protest as they climbed the steps up to the porch. The soles of his shoes caught on the treads Bel had added to the stairs last year after she kept tripping on them in the icy winter.
The inside of the mansion was just as dark as the outside, and the smells freshly turned dirt and tentative green shoots lingered here too. It immediately reminded him of the greenhouse. Of his mother. Above that were the twin scents of Samson and his mate.
Careful to avoid the creaking floorboards, Rex, herded Cynthia up the stairs and down the hallway that led to his old childhood room. When they got to the door, she hesitated.
He thought she might ask him again why he had brought her back to his old home. If she did, he wasn't certain he could lie anymore.
But all she asked was, “What about suitcases?”
“I’m going back down to get them, and then I'll be back to join you. You can settle in. The Wi-Fi password is CarvedDeerofDarkness, if you want to get some work done before you sleep.”
She winced. At what, Rex didn’t know. “Thanks. I think I’m probably going to go to bed too.”
“All right.” Rex stroked down her bare arm. The goose bumps from the outside cold had almost completely faded. He squeezed her hand. “Sleep well.” He tried to turn to go, but she didn’t let him.
“I meant what I said, you know.” Her voice was husky with sleep, but clear. “I love you, Rex West.”
Rex’s throat swelled up in gratitude, but he couldn’t echo her statement. His wolf was quiet but restless inside of him, and for the first time, he wished it wasn’t. He wished it would overwhelm his mouth and let him tell her the truth.
“I’ll see you soon.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and let her close the door while he went downstairs.
He only made it two steps.
“Welcome home, brother.”
Two green eyes gleamed at him from the darkness. It was a testament to his brother’s abilities as a hunter that Rex hadn’t heard him walking through the hallways. It was also a testament to his brother’s strength as an alpha that Rex’s first instinct was to cringe away from the rumble of anger hiding in the base ranges of his brother’s voice.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Rex said.
“We’re going for a walk,” Samson said, not bothering to conceal the werecall laced through his tone.
Rex bristled. Rex was pleased to find his reaction to his brother wasn’t blind obedience, but annoyance. That was new. Having had let his wolf free had some benefits. “Let me get changed then.”
“No, we’re going now.” Samson was dressed in one of the same outfits he wore every day, jeans and a flannel shirt, and his muscles practically popped out of both. Rex was fit as well, but just because you had biceps didn’t mean you needed to show them off.
“Fine,” Rex said through gritted teeth, gesturing ahead of his brother toward the door. “Lead the way, alpha.”
Samson’s eyes narrowed, but if he noticed the sarcasm—and it was possible he didn’t—he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he prowled toward the door and threw it open, sending it banging.
Rex found his own wolf snarl in response to the show of force as he followed. Yes, he hadn’t called his brother. But other than that, what did Samson have to be uppity about? Rex not telling him about Cynthia?
Rex hadn’t mentioned her before because no doubt his brother would’ve laughed at him and called him an odd wolf, as he always did. Which was his brother’s way of saying he wasn’t really a wolf at all, something that until now, Rex would’ve taken as a compliment.
The coldness of the early March air hit him square in the face. The moon was full in the dark sky, gilding the first leaves of the trees in silver. Small animals and night birds were beginning to wake in the distance, hooting and scratching.
Samson was already halfway down the driveway by the time Rex had finished closing the porch door and walking down the steps. “Are we going for a walk or for a run?”
Dirt dusted up around Samson’s feet as he pushed forward, practically stomping like a child. “Don’t be smug with me now, Rex.”
Samson never could control his temper, and at the moment, it was catching. Rex fought back a sneer, although he didn’t try hard enough to keep from showing the hint of his canines. “Are you upset because I didn’t return your calls, brother?”
“I’m upset because I had to hear from a cat that you apparently turned in the middle of Central Park.”
“Bane,” Rex hissed.
Samson grunted, turned, and strode back to Rex. “Don’t make this about Bane. You’re the one shifting where any human could see you. If I’d known you’d be an idiot, I’d have never let you go back to New York.”
“Let me?” Rex laughed and was surprised by the bitterness of it. “You’re not my father.”
“No, but I am your alpha.” Samson crossed his arms, his snarl subsiding into a calmer expression. Although his wild black hair and feral thick eyebrows seemed to be in motion even while still.
Rex clenched and unclenched his fists, just to make sure claws wouldn’t sprout from his fingertips. If he shifted now, he would get in a fight with Samson. That wasn’t a fight he could win.
Moonlight dusted the dirt road that curved into the woods, tendrils of it calling to Rex, urging him to crane upward, much the way the guests at his party had gaped up at the chandelier all those weeks ago. For all his love of the old-world trappings of human culture, it was
the moon that spoke the language his heart knew. Unobstructed as it was now by skyscrapers, he realized how much he had missed it.
“I lost control,” Rex said finally.
“Why?”
To Rex’s surprise, there was none of his brother’s trademark gruff scorn, but he didn’t look away from the moon to confirm it. “I mated with Cynthia, and then she ran away.”
“Astrum and Terrum,” Samson swore.
This time, Rex did glance away from the moon. Samson’s thick brows were furrowed, and he looked almost… guilty. It was puzzling.
“I should’ve flown out with you when you left,” he said. “I knew there was something strange with you.”
“You’re not angry at me for lying to you?” Rex asked.
Or disgusted by the fact that my wolf was so weak I couldn’t find my mate immediately after mating without some cat’s help.
“I’m angry with myself for making you feel like you couldn’t tell the truth.” Samson shook his head.
The wash of pale moonlight seeped through Rex's skin into his blood, mesmerizing him so much, he couldn’t even pull away. “You’re very honest tonight.”
“You have Bel to thank for that. She’s taught me to be more aware of my own faults.”
Privately, Rex thought Bel should perhaps be a bit more aware of her own faults, especially where messiness was concerned. Although his brother had once hired her as his pseudo-maid after her father stole one of their mother’s roses, she was perhaps the most disorganized person he had ever met.
In fact, not too long after she had moved in and Luther had left to roam the country looking for his mate, Rex had jetted back to New York. The dreams hadn't started then, but Rex had been unable tolerate Bel’s clutter. He wondered what Cynthia would make of her. Annoyance, probably. The same annoyance he had for his brother.
Still.
If Bel could get Samson to see beyond his simplistic worldview of hunting and woodcarving and admit that there was more than one way to be a werewolf, perhaps her disorganization was worth it. “It wasn’t your fault, Samson.” Rex swallowed down the stiffness in his throat. “Do you remember that day when I went for a walk and Bel broke into the backyard?”
A wistful smile tugged at his normally stoic brother’s mouth. “How could I forget?”
“Right,” Rex said. “Well, just before that, I met my mate too. Cynthia.”
Samson finally looked down from the moon and then glanced over at Rex before starting to walk again, guiding them both down one of the side trails that ran along the outer perimeter of their house, edging against the woods without entering. “Did you know then?”
“Immediately.” Rex followed. He wanted to turn and look over his shoulder at the moon again, but he resisted. He would be a man and talk to his brother without the sedative of the silver orb. “But I lost her after a girl shot an arrow at me.”
“Red,” Samson said sourly. “I’d ask you to sic your lawyers on her for all the annoyance she’s caused us, but Bel says she’s disappeared.”
Rex closed his eyes, searching for calm. “After that, I couldn’t track her. My wolf wasn’t strong enough. I had spent too much time trying to push it down and away, so I could work on Father’s business.”
He was not yet brave enough to state the real reason why he hated his wolf so much. But he had a feeling his brother knew. Just like Rex had known why Samson flew into such a rage when Bel’s father stole one of the roses. It had nothing to do with the fact that each bloom was worth a little over a million dollars.
“When you lost her, it took control.” Samson’s strides were long and fast, but Rex easily kept up. It was a relief, not having to worry about hiding the extent of his strength.
“Yes.”
To Rex’s surprise, Samson began to laugh. A low booming sound that could’ve blown the newborn leaves off the oaks huddled around the trail.
“What’s so funny?” Rex asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious of his suit and expensive shoes.
“I’m just relieved.”
“Why?” Rex said. “Glad that I was finally able to shift? Worried I was too weak for the pack?”
His brother pivoted in surprise. “Too weak for the pack?”
Rex remained silent, already realizing he had given up too much.
“Did you ever actually listen to anything Father said that didn’t involve stocks?” Samson asked.
“No.”
“Well. Father always told me the mark of a werewolf’s strength isn’t their ability to shift, but their ability not to.”
“Platitudes." Rex’s gaze was drawn to the darkness in the thickening forest off the path. The shadows and nooks where Luther, Samson and their father had so often stalked their prey while Rex sat alone inside. “He was as quick to use his werecall as anyone else.”
“He knew his faults.” Some of Samson’s werecall infused his word, as if it was a command. Although Rex wasn’t exactly sure what his brother was trying to command him to do. “Gods. Do you have any idea how jealous I am of you, Rex?”
Rex raised an eyebrow. “You’ve always seemed perfectly content living like a lumberjack.”
Samson shook his head. “I don’t mean your money. I mean your control.” He ran a hand through his untamed mane, shadows moving across his face as an owl winged overhead, landing on a nearby branch. “If I had half the control you did, I would’ve never lost Bel in the first place. I wouldn’t have yelled at her and…” He frowned. “God knows if our father had been half the wolf you are…”
What Rex would’ve given to hear his brother say those words only a few scant weeks ago, but now they felt hollow. In the distance the owl hooted a long cry that belonged to more to winter than spring.
“I had all the control in the world, Samson. I lost my mate anyway,” Rex said. “Then I didn’t have any control, and I found her. Controlling ourselves doesn’t mean we can control the world around us.”
“I suppose…”
They rounded a corner out of the woods, completing their circle back to the house. Rex sighed. There was one more thing he had to tell his brother. “I’m going to change for her tomorrow.”
“Good luck.” Samson nodded and slapped Rex on the back with more force than was necessary. It would’ve sent a human sprawling to their feet.
As it was, Rex merely rocked, glaring at his brother out of the corner of his eye. “What if she leaves?”
Samson sighed, both of their gazes rising up to the moon again, now free from the still skeletal fingers of the trees. “Then you let her.”
“How?” Rex rasped. “How did you know that Bel would come back? How could you let her go?” Both knew neither one was just talking about Bel.
“I don’t know.” Samson’s sad smile looked strangely familiar. Rex realized it reminded him of his mother’s. “I didn’t have any other choice.”
The loamy fresh earth gave way to the tighter packed texture of their driveway as they made their way to the foot of the porch. Before entering the house, both men turned for one last time to gaze at the moon, but it had disappeared behind the greenhouse, illuminating the glass panes.
Samson clapped a hand on Rex’s shoulder, lighter this time, and said, “Mates are like the moon, brother. They leave, but they always come back.”
Rex just nodded.
He didn’t reply with what was on the tip of his tongue. That while the moon was full tonight, tomorrow it would wane. Because nothing lasts forever.
Chapter 30
How to Deal with Conflict: The Boxes & Broom Corporate Culture Guide.
1.) When possible, please try to mediate interpersonal staff conflicts on your own before coming to a superior. We trust you to communicate well with your coworkers. Focus on understanding the other person’s position and maintaining respect.
2.) Be mindful of your tone. Body language can be just as powerful as words.
3.) Treat people like they matter.
4.) Don’t communicate probl
ems via email.
Cynthia always woke up earlier than usual when she was in Crystal Creek. Even when sleeping in a farmhouse she had long thought was probably inhabited by serial murderers… or ghosts. The lack of city chatter and light pollution made her slumber heavy, and when the sunlight pierced the floral curtains hanging over the window opposite the bed in the morning, staying in bed was impossible. Cynthia blinked away crustiness at the edge of her eyelids.
The clock on the bedside table read six AM. It actually had hands and a bell on top. The rest of the room was just as quaint, although she had been too tired last night to appreciate the lowness of the ceiling or the bed-and-breakfast homey quilt on the brass-knobbed twin bed.
But the first and most pressing detail about the room had nothing to do with the house at all. It was that Rex wasn’t in it. If Cynthia was honest with herself, she had known that even before she opened her eyes.
The comforter rustled as she scooted up in bed, grabbing her smartphone from the side table. Despite the lumpiness and thinness of the mattress, her muscles felt fluid against her bones. Her heart drooped in her chest.
Something was going to change today between her and Rex—she knew it. And even if it didn’t, by Monday, her world would be drastically different. Boxes & Broom would be gone.
Flipping over to the Excel document on her phone, she checked the numbers one last time, hoping for one final miracle to appear hidden in the red-and-green columns and line graphs. She even went over the detailed workflow and time tracking of her employees’ cleaning process, from travel, to arrival, to the steps of organizing, taking out the client’s things, parsing them into categories, and then rearranging. But there was no way to streamline the process any further without sacrificing quality. It was a paradox. She needed one employee to be able to do the work of two, or to pay two employees the salary of one. Maybe the model itself was just unworkable. Maybe that was why no one had done it before.
Cynthia pushed down the niggling certainty that she was missing something. Even if she was, it didn’t matter. It was too late to fix anything. She pulled up her email app and began to draft her company’s obituary.