No Crones About It

by Amanda M. Lee

  That wasn’t exactly an answer. “Has anyone ever told you that answering a question with a question is a sure sign of guilt? I mean ... you’ve done it twice now. That seems to indicate that you were involved with the things that happened at Covenant College.”

  “I agree.” Gunner moved slightly closer to me. Whether he realized it or not, it was a warning gesture to the other wolves who were trying to listen to our conversation. He was ready to bare his teeth — and maybe more — if it came to it. “The timing of your arrival here hasn’t gone unnoticed, Cyrus. Quite frankly, if you want the shifters in this area to treat you with respect — and stop laughing behind your back — you’ll have to admit the truth instead of telling weak lies.”

  This time I was certain I saw malice flash in the depths of Cyrus’s coal-colored eyes. He was furious, the anger radiating off him. Somehow, he managed to hold it together.

  “I’m not lying,” he replied after a moment. There was a hint of strain in his voice, but otherwise he put on a calm face. “I’m a truth teller. I always have been. That’s why people rallied behind me during the schism years ago.”

  “I will agree with you there,” Gunner offered. “You told the truth. It was a racist truth, but it was the truth.”

  Now I was behind again. “He’s a racist?”

  Gunner kept his eyes on Cyrus and nodded. “There’s a faction in the wolf world who believe that we shouldn’t inter-marry. Remember I told you what happened to our ranks because there were more boys than girls? Well, some people don’t care about that. They only want wolves mating with other wolves.”

  That was interesting. “Even though your population was shrinking?”

  “Their solution was to make more bitten werewolves, which are weaker and therefore subservient. They’re basically slaves in the hierarchy.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “Oh, well ... .”

  “It’s not that I don’t think there should be no breeding beyond the pack,” Cyrus countered. “I simply think that the breeding should be carefully monitored ... and only allowed if it benefits the pack.”

  Slowly, I started to catch on. “Like me,” I offered, my stomach twisting. “I would be one of those allowable instances because I have magic at my disposal.”

  “It’s not nearly as simplistic as that,” Cyrus countered, pinning me with a dark look. “You would be an allowable instance because you’re important to Gunner. We think he’s a good fit for our pack. I’m assuming you would be part of the package in that scenario. That means we would allow you to join.”

  “Oh, well, you would allow me?” I turned my incredulous gaze to Gunner and found him smiling. “Can you believe this?”

  “Actually, I can. This is exactly what I thought they were doing here. The thing is, they’re much more interested in you than they’re letting on. They’re pretending that I’m the big catch to inflate my ego — and kudos on that because it would work with a normal wolf — but you’re the one they really want. I’m just an added bonus because it will upset my father.”

  Cyrus shook his head. “That is not true. I’ve always respected you. I told you, your physical prowess as a kid was expected. When you tested better academically than the others your age, that’s when I knew you were special. I’ve always wanted you.”

  “But I don’t want this,” Gunner countered. “I don’t want pack life. I never have. That’s why I joined the group I’m with. I have very little to do with pack politics. I’m guessing you already know that, which is why you approached me. I seemed an easy bet for turning. Sadly for you, I’m not.”

  “And I’m never joining a pack,” I added. “I don’t care about wolf politics.”

  “You’re with Gunner,” Cyrus countered. “If this relationship continues, you’ll have to join a pack. Those are the rules.”

  “Those aren’t the rules we live by any longer,” Gunner countered. “Scout has a choice in her life. I respect that. Either way, we’re not going to play your games.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing.”

  “That’s reality.”

  Twenty-Three

  Cyrus obviously wasn’t happy with Gunner’s quick shutdown of his offer. He retreated to his spot near the bonfire, offered up a series of stories to make random observers believe things were going his way, but didn’t refrain from casting dark looks in our direction during the next two hours.

  “How long do you want to stay?” I asked as Gunner handed me a bottle of water from one of the coolers.

  It was dark now, the only illumination coming from the fire and moon. I was growing antsy.

  “Do you want to go?” He turned to me. “I thought you were having a good time watching all the antics.”

  That was true ... for the first thirty minutes. I found myself fascinated watching the younger wolves compete against one another. I’d never seen anything like it. There was one boy, clearly stronger and faster than the others, and the adults and children alike fawned over him. I wondered if it was like that for Gunner when he was a child — Cyrus said he was in a power position during his youth — but that didn’t feel like the sort of question I should ask when there were so many prying ears. Besides, Gunner was never keen to talk about his childhood.

  “I’m fine,” I reassured him quickly. “We can stay as long as you want.”

  He studied my face for a long moment and then shook his head. “We don’t have to stay. There’s nothing else to learn here.”

  I wasn’t sure that was true, at least from his position. He never once grew bored of watching the games. In fact, there were times he seemed exhilarated. “Maybe we should stay a bit longer. You know, just in case.”

  He worked his jaw. Before he got a chance to respond, a shadowy figure detached from the darkness and invaded our space. I sensed Drake an instant before I could make out his features.

  “You should listen to your girlfriend,” he offered, his smile sly. “She knows what she’s talking about.”

  “She does,” Gunner agreed, not mustering even a word of argument for the “girlfriend” distinction. “She’s bored, though. There’s nothing worse than a bored woman.”

  I pursed my lips. That felt like an assault on my gender, but it was obvious Gunner was trying to feel out Drake. I decided to keep quiet ... at least for now.

  “Bored? How could she be bored of this? Gatherings are great. They’re the heart and soul of our people.”

  “Your people,” Gunner corrected. “The heart and soul of our people is a bar.”

  Now that he mentioned it, that was sort of true. The Cauldron was definitely the heart and soul of the Hawthorne Hollow Spells Angels operation.

  “You really don’t see yourself as part of a pack, do you?” Drake’s expression reflected confusion. “I don’t see how you can be born into this world, earn the accolades you did as a kid, and not want to be pack.”

  That was an interesting sentiment. Drake had let something slip. Did he realize it? More importantly, did Gunner? I shouldn’t have worried about that. Gunner was on top of things, per usual.

  “I didn’t realize you were part of the original pack,” he said smoothly. “I don’t remember you.”

  Drake realized too late what he’d said and scrambled to cover. “I just meant that I heard you were quite the competitor. Flint mentioned it a time or two.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Gunner’s expression was hard to read, especially in the limited light. I knew him well enough to recognize he was thinking, though, ... and thinking hard. “What did he tell you?”

  “He just said that you dominated.”

  “I liked the games. I didn’t really think about it as dominating. I enjoyed competing ... and, of course, I liked winning. Dominating has a negative connotation. That makes it sound as if I held down others for glory.”

  “Didn’t you?” Drake’s tone was accusatory. “I mean ... did you even let others participate in your games? It seems to me that only those of a certain birthright were all
owed to play.”

  Well, if I wasn’t sure before, I definitely was now. That feeling Gunner had about knowing Drake from somewhere was spot on. Drake’s bitterness was clearly personal.

  “I don’t remember you ever trying to participate in the games,” Gunner prodded. “I don’t remember you at all. Maybe you should refresh my memory.”

  Drake gritted his teeth. “I already told you ... I wasn’t part of your pack. My family joined Cyrus’s pack when I was a teenager.”

  “And where is your family now?”

  “I ... what does it matter to you?” Drake’s demeanor turned quickly and he went on the offensive. “Why does my past mean anything to you?”

  “It doesn’t.” Calmly, Gunner slipped his arm around my back and tugged me to his side. “I was just making conversation. I didn’t realize it was a sore subject.”

  “I didn’t say it was a sore subject.” Now, on top of being annoyed, Drake was also petulant. He’d nearly turned into a pouty teenager in front of my eyes. That was ... interesting.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” Gunner offered. “I thought there was something familiar about you. Apparently I was wrong. No harm, no foul.”

  Drake muttered something under his breath. I was going to ask him about it, but Flint picked that moment to join the party ... and he was the last person anyone wanted to see.

  “Well, this looks like a cozy group,” he supplied, his grin wide as he moved to stand next to Drake. “Everybody having a good time?”

  “We’re having a fabulous time,” Gunner drawled. “It’s an evening for the ages.”

  Flint clearly wasn’t good on picking up sarcasm because he bobbed his head in agreement. “I know, right? This is going to be one of those nights our children talk about in hushed tones twenty years from now.”

  That was way over the top ... and delusional. “And why would they do that?” I asked.

  “This is an important evening. This is the night Gunner decides to join our pack. I mean ... that’s a really big deal.”

  I could think of a few other words for it; none of them were pleasant. “Excuse me?”

  Gunner’s hand was warm on the center of my back. “What are you talking about?”

  Flint’s expression faltered. “My father said you were attending because you were interested in joining our pack.”

  “Your father is confused or misinformed.”

  Gunner was much more diplomatic than me. I would’ve called Cyrus out on the delusional nutbag he was. Clearly he had other thoughts on the subject.

  “But ... .” Flint slowly tracked his gaze to Drake. “I guess I’m confused.”

  “You’re always confused,” Drake groused, shaking his head.

  “You’re at least confused on this front,” Gunner agreed. “There are no plans for me to join your pack.”

  “But ... .” Flint broke off, licking his lips, and then regrouped. “What about you?”

  It took me a moment to realize his gaze was on me. “What about me?”

  “You’re joining the pack, right?”

  I wanted to laugh, maybe throw some pointing and ridicule in for good measure. Instead, I remained placid ... but it wasn’t easy. “No. I won’t be joining any pack, your father’s or otherwise. That’s not really of any interest to me.”

  “But you’re with him.” He jerked his thumb in Gunner’s direction. “You have to be considering joining a pack if you’re with him.”

  Gunner cleared his throat to get Flint’s attention. “Not that it’s any of your business, but things don’t work that way in our pack. Scout doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

  “Besides, that’s a long way down the road ... if at all,” I added.

  “Not all that long in the grand scheme of things.” Gunner’s smile was tight. “It doesn’t matter. She can live her life however she wants. That’s the beauty of a free pack. We don’t believe in despots.”

  “That’s an inflammatory word,” Drake shot back. “You should be careful what you say. You might not be joining this pack, but respect is still required.”

  “I don’t agree there either.” Gunner downed his water and then tossed the empty bottle in a nearby trash receptacle. “But it hardly matters. We’re on our way out. We won’t keep you a moment longer.”

  “That’s probably best for everybody,” Drake agreed, his eyes glinting with malice. “It’s obvious you don’t want to be here.”

  Gunner prodded me toward the area where we’d parked our bikes. “It looks like you’re getting your wish and we’re leaving early. We’re going to have alone time later. Whatever are we going to do with the extra time?”

  My cheeks burned at the unsaid suggestion. “You’re just unbelievable sometimes. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “I tell myself that regularly.”

  I’d almost turned my full attention to what we were going to do for the rest of the evening when we crossed in front of Flint. I should’ve seen the move coming — seriously, he wasn’t bright enough to hide his intentions — but I was distracted by other thoughts.

  As if in slow motion, Flint’s hand darted out and he reached for my rear end. I saw the motion out of the corner of my eye and opened my mouth to warn him, but it was already too late. The second he made unwanted contact the curse I’d warned Gunner about earlier sparked to life. It was like an explosion, a fireworks display without the holiday.

  Flint’s hand sparked, fire erupting from his fingertips, and he was blown back a good ten feet before he hit the ground. He looked dazed as he sat there, his eyes glassy and his reflexes clearly off because he didn’t realize his hand was still smoking.

  “Son of a ... !” Drake hopped to action and raced in his friend’s direction, a bottle of water in his hand. He upended the bottle over Flint’s smoking fingertips and stared into the confused man’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve never been better,” Flint replied dreamily. “I just saw heaven and it was glorious.”

  I pursed my lips as Gunner slid me a sidelong look. It was probably best to keep my mouth shut, so I did.

  “That’s your curse?” he asked finally. “I was expecting more ... though you got a really good arc on him. I like the way he flew through the air like a football.”

  “It’s not quite all,” I said. “There’s more.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He returned his attention to Flint, his eyes going wide when he realized the man’s pale demeanor was turning a different color. “Are those ... spots?”

  “Cold sores,” I corrected.

  “So, you’re saying he’s going to have cold sores all over his face? That is ... awesome.”

  One look at Cyrus’s furious expression — he’d joined Drake in front of Flint when I wasn’t looking — told me he didn’t feel the same way. “We should probably go,” I prodded. “I think we’ve officially worn out our welcome.”

  “Yeah, but what a way to go.”

  GUNNER WAS STILL LAUGHING ABOUT the turn of events when we arrived at my cabin.

  “Oh, I would pay real money to see his reaction when he wakes up tomorrow and realizes he’s a walking case of herpes. That’s going to impact his love life for the foreseeable future.”

  There was actually more to the spell — a small bit of magic I added when I was feeling particularly mean one day — but I thought it best to allow Gunner to discover it on his own. It might put a damper on the rest of our evening.

  “Something tells me it’s going to be a loud morning.”

  “That’s what he gets for putting his hands on you.” Gunner’s expression went momentarily dark. “I hate the idea that you were touched in that manner so many times you had to come up with a spell to combat it. That seems somehow ... wrong.”

  “It’s basically a karma spell,” I explained. “I made a few enhancements, of course. The herpes was added after the fact, but I think it adds a certain something.”

  “It was a stroke of genius,” he agreed, walk
ing me toward the porch. “I’m glad I was there to see it.”

  “Yeah, well ... .” With every step we took toward the cabin, my heart rate accelerated a notch. I sensed something would be different about this night. Of course, my hormones were lodging their opinion on the matter. Heck, I could practically hear them cheering me on. “What do you think will happen now?” I was desperate to buy time. “Will Cyrus try to get you into the fold again?”

  Gunner shrugged. “I don’t know. The effort he put in tonight was sloppy.” He leaned against the porch railing and folded his arms across his chest. “He either thought I was going to jump at the chance to join his pack or was only going through the motions.”

  “Which is more likely?”

  “I don’t know.” He rolled his neck and looked to the sky. “My father and I have issues. That’s obvious to anyone who has ever spent any time with us. We’re ... like cats. We can’t seem to stop ourselves from fighting.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” I countered. “You seem like a normal father and son to me. I don’t have much experience in that area, but I saw a lot of parental bonding when I was in the foster care system. I’m talking about kids who were reunited with parents after an extended period and others who lived in the houses because their parents volunteered to take kids in.

  “Fathers and sons can’t help but butt heads because there comes a point when a son wants to be as powerful as the father and that causes static,” I continued. “You keep talking about how bad your relationship is with your father, but I see the opposite.”

  His eyes were keen as they held mine. “Oh, yeah? What is it you see?”

  “I see a man who feels as if he failed his child and almost lost him in the process. Your mother almost killed you. Your father blames himself for allowing the situation to get so out of control. Worse, your father believes you still blame him.”

  Gunner made a protesting sound. “I don’t blame him. My mother was a nutjob. There’s no getting around that. He did the best he could.”

  “Have you ever told him that?”

  He balked. “No. We don’t talk about feelings. Believe it or not, my father is much like you. He likes to collapse inward and shut out the rest of the world. That’s why I can so easily deal with your moods.”