Cyn hears her voice warble. Her bottom lip trembles as her eyes burn with tears she won’t shed in front of Julia.
Jules keeps smiling, and Cyn walks backward so the image of her best friend stays with her. When it becomes clear Cyn’ll break her neck if she doesn’t turn around, she does.
Her makeup gets wrecked anyway.
Truman says nothing, but he’s a stoic dude, quietly offering support with his presence.
Cyn didn’t feel much like chatting anyways.
Truman
Cynthia is moping, trudging along at his side and so down in the mouth, he can scent it.
Karl doesn’t have a bit of Singer blood to dilute the Red that his forced change surfaced—along with the help of buried Lycan genetics.
He smells all kinds of shit.
Some of it is really great. Like Cynthia, which he feels guilty about. Technically, she’s way past “of age.” So his hesitation is for nothing.
His brain gets it. But he was a cop for almost three decades and was after these missing four for a long time as a human. It was Karl’s last case.
And now it’s closed. He’s a Were—a Red.
And Cynthia is part Lycan, part Singer.
It was Slash who warned Karl he might not want to get tangled up with a female who wasn’t pure Lycan.
But the rub there was that Were females are really rare too. So big diff to him? And there seems to be a good dose of prejudice about mixed-race supernaturals. They don’t fit in well anywhere, seems like.
Besides, his beast—or wolf or whatever the hell he changes into every month—is A-okay with Cynthia. His beast doesn’t mind that she’s an irregular changer.
He’ll be damned if he pressures her by telling her his thoughts. Right now, he’s fine with the old motto: less is more.
And he isn’t going to tell her that Slash encouraged him to make his way down to the Northwestern to strengthen that pack sans Cynthia.
Slash isn’t keen on the packs to the south and north. He hadn’t heard good things about the snooty suckers of the Hoh. And Tahlia didn’t seem to be thrilled about her home pack. Not something that she said in the short time they were acquainted.
Nope.
He’d gotten a whiff of her unease about returning.
Lots of mysteries to clear up. That’s fine by Karl. After all, he was a detective, and that part of him hasn’t dried up. It’s part of who he is, he figures.
Even now. Being Lycan hasn’t dampened his cop instincts. If anything, they’ve sharpened after the change.
He glances at a silent Cynthia as they trudge a well-beaten path that leads to the main highway.
Cynthia doesn’t need to know the welcome mat might not be out for her at the Northwestern.
He’ll take care of her.
Even if she doesn’t know it yet.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Tahlia
As the sun hangs like smeared molten gold at the edge of the horizon, slanting into the bank of glass that backlights him, Jake paces back and forth, shoving tense fingers through sandy hair that’s unusually long for a Were.
Finally giving up, he ties the entire load of thick dark-blond hair at his nape.
Whirling, he faces Tahlia. “Listen, I know you’re a hotshot Lanarre princess.”
Wonderful. A Lanarre royalty hater. Just what I need.
Sighing, Tahlia parks her chin on her hand, drumming slender fingers on the huge banquet table the Were take meals at.
Susan, the wonderful elder, has left the building, leaving Tahlia alone with Jake, her reluctant guard.
“Am I boring you?” His blue eyes grill her.
He doesn’t, but Tahlia is hiding how nervous he makes her by feigning boredom, though she’s never been terrific at scent camouflage.
Lifting her head from her hand, she sets her hands on the solid wood surface. “No. I’m just not used to being attacked from the beginning.”
Jake smirks.
He would be quite handsome if he hadn’t been half-glaring at her since the moment he picked her up from the Arletta convenience store.
“I’m trying to be compassionate.” Jake’s face smooths, voice going low and gritty. “Because I can scent your injuries.”
Tahlia’s gaze shifts from the penetrating dark blue of his. She does not want to recount the horror of the beating by the humans. She is ashamed she faced the humans alone because she left Drek to face all those back-stabbing Lanarre on his own.
She’s also come to his pack basically hat-in-hand, to seek sanctuary against a pack that is three times the size of this one.
Essentially, she’s put the Northwestern in danger.
But what choice does Tahlia have? Go rogue? Not an easy life for a female Alpha and besides, she is too hurt to do that at the moment.
“If you’d tell me—hell, tell Marley—what the fuck happened to land you here, without the high-and-mighty Drek, then maybe I wouldn’t be such an asshole.”
Tahlia gives him the look the comment deserves. “I highly doubt that.”
In a blur, Jake leaps the length of the table, and Tahlia is already up and out of his path before he lands.
Crouching, she lets her arms hang by her sides, ignoring the tenderness the move cost her ruined ribcage.
Breaths she would take stall out in her shattered ribcage, and stars burst before her eyes.
She pants, riding the wave of instant agony. Tahlia has not allowed anyone to examine her wounds. She’s not keen on others knowing how hurt she still is. Them scenting injury is different from an experienced male or female running hands over her body.
And she didn’t want the help of a male’s essence. What if the process tied her to him? It doesn’t always, but that’s too much of a potential for Tahlia’s fragile headspace at the moment.
Jake straightens, silver rims overtaking the navy of his irises. “I will not harm a female.”
“Okay,” Tahlia says, remaining exactly as she is, but she reaches a palm to the wall she’s near and helps herself straighten upright in slow, excruciating movement.
“Scent my truth, you stubborn female.”
Tahlia flares her nostrils, sucking in a breath that just plain hurts.
Concern penetrates her senses, and underneath that, lust. It’s her heat. A natural thing that cannot be helped. But the timing is terrible, like such things usually are.
“Let me help you. I know you are more injured than you’re letting on.”
“You’re trapping me.”
He gives a curt nod. “Not going to lie. The only reason Howard and I are here is because we were scouting when Laurent massacred the pack.” His eyes rove her face. “We would have been killed like the others. As an Alpha male with some age, I would have been first on the list.”
Tahlia understands that potential, having encountered Tony Laurent personally. A good night’s rest and a few wonderful meals aren’t enough to right the damage the baseball bat did to her body. She was low when it happened, scared, starving, and depleted.
Jake reaches her before Tahlia can react, gripping her shoulders, and she yelps.
He loosens his hold slightly. “You’re hurt, female. Let me heal you.”
Gritting her teeth, she says, “I thought I might not be to your liking, being Lanarre royalty.”
His nose dips low, moving to the crook of her neck. “Your horrible injuries won’t leave me alone. I can’t think for scenting them.”
Tahlia begins to panic.
Jake lifts his head. “Let me heal you, then tell me what’s happened. I don’t want our new pack to get fucked up because you’ve got a secret.”
His face screws into a frown. “Why are you frightened?”
Tahlia opens her mouth to speak, then they’re interrupted.
“What are you doing, Jake?”
Slash.
Jake’s expression goes feral instantly then vanishes. He turns his head to Slash as Tahlia stares at his profile.
“Tryin
g to convince Tahlia to take healing.”
Slash moves with slow deliberation, coming around the table and faces them both.
Tahlia notes the distance he maintains. Better for reach if it were to come to that.
Tahlia gets ready to sink to the floor in case the males pummel each other. That’s all she needs—fresh injury on top of old.
Slash’s eyes flick to her for a moment, assessing. “How do you feel about a healing from this male, Tahlia?”
I feel like I’m at the beginning of my first heat and can’t take a breath without pain. But she says, “I’ll heal. I’m fine.”
Jake snorts, outstretching a palm in her direction. “Surely you scent her injuries, Alpha?”
Slash nods. “I do. But sharing of essence is a commitment. And as we all know…” He faces her for a moment, baring a disfiguring scar that bisects his face. “My apologies…” He hesitates before stating the obvious. “You have begun your heat.”
Even though Tahlia cannot help her femaleness or that she is entering heat, it’s still embarrassing to have a male call it out. Hiking her chin a bit, she agrees, “Yes.”
Slash grimaces. “You do need what Jake can give you.”
Moon.
“No male here will want a female to be in pain.”
Taking a huge inhale, Tahlia winces. “Jake doesn’t like me, Alpha.”
Slash turns to the male with surprise stamped on his features.
“She is Lanarre royalty, her presence endangers us.”
The Alpha of the Northwestern nods. “True. So?”
Jake grumbles. “Tahlia has not told us why she appears here seeking sanctuary instead of being accompanied by Drek—why she has grave injuries that make her breathing staggered.”
Tahlia frowns. She tried to be smooth, but they could all pick up on the mess of her healing body.
“Since when is giving our essence to a female contingent on us knowing why she finds herself here?”
Jake shoots her a considering look. “I hated your pack.”
Ah. That’s why he has animosity. “Have you spoken to Marley about what life was like for her at the Redwood?”
Jake nods. “Yeah. It sucked. Look at her. You raise a hand, and she cowers. Your kind made her that way.”
She doesn’t refute his comment, though Tahlia was Marley’s savior more times than she could count. Instead of answering, she walks into his personal space, like a male would.
Challenging. Defiant.
“You don’t know anything about me or my life. You want to know what happened? Fine.”
She gives Jake a shove that puts him five feet from her position.
Her ribs ping so horribly, the move steals her breath.
Slash’s nostrils flare. “Female.” His voice is low, careful.
“Tahlia,” she corrects through a breath that causes her to flinch as she clutches the wounded side.
“Get Howard,” Slash says to Jake.
“No,” Jake says, chest heaving as he moves toward Tahlia.
She’s hunched by the pain but moves to upright, preparing to battle an Alpha male who hates what she stands for.
Slash barely moves in front of her, his hand sending Jake sprawling. “There is more to being an Alpha than assuming, dominating, and commanding. We have a female whose body resists healing because it’s too damaged to on its own—quickly.”
That’s about everything, Tahlia silently agrees.
“Don’t let a beta give her what she needs, when an Alpha’s essence is superior.”
He’s all but doing a Tarzan impersonation, beating his own chest.
Frustrated and angry tears begin to roll down Tahlia’s cheeks. “I won’t take what you don’t want to give. I’m grateful any male would heal me.” She swipes her eyes, giving a sad smile. “It’s been a rough few months.”
“And we would like to hear it all,” Slash says, “but first, you must be fully healed.”
Jake bounds to his feet, facing Slash.
Slash stares.
Tahlia would never challenge a mature Red Alpha.
Jake thinks he might; she can see the ambivalence in his features. “Fine,” he says curtly. “But you know that is an exclusive privilege for Alphas.”
“Yes,” Slash replies softly. “I do know.”
What he doesn’t say but Tahlia can hear so well is: if Jake can’t act the role of Alpha, how can he expect the privileges?
In the Redwood, he would have already fought within the hierarchy of the pack. Here, he behaves as a spoiled child might.
At least from Tahlia’s perspective.
Jake wrenches away from Slash’s quiet contemplation and stalks out of the dining area.
Far away, a door slams, signaling his exit into the twilight.
Tahlia’s shoulders droop, and without a word, she shuffles to the long, wooden table that appears as though it’s sat in that same place for a hundred years.
She gingerly slides onto the rough-hewn bench seating that runs the length of the table.
“I’m sorry, Tahlia. Forgive him his impetuous nature. I am the new Alpha and usurped Quill in his absence. He’s learning a new structure.”
“It’s all right,” she says.
“No, it’s not. But though rashly delivered, Jake has a point. We will have all things regarding your circumstance revealed before this day is through, but know this: a male will heal you, and there will be no transgression.”
Good. Tahlia understands how awful it will be for the male, whoever it ends up being.
Because she’s a female royal in the first stages of heat, healing her without tying her to himself will be a horrific challenge for the male.
Some things can’t be helped.
CHAPTER THRITY-ONE
Drek
L icking wakes him, and slowly, Drek opens his eyes. The large head of a canine cousin hangs over his face. Large dark eyes are lost in the mass of ebony hair.
Drek cannot move.
His paralysis is complete. He is so weak, for a moment, he believes he might be in a suspended sort of heaven.
Until the second head joins the first.
A female.
She gives a yip, vocalizing something, and like a piece of softly descending snow, the meaning strikes Drek a moment after her quiet snorts, yips, and chuffs fall silent.
They are talking about his death.
He smells of death, she huffs.
The male shakes his head—or so it appears to Drek—answering in the negative.
He lives, is the sharp retort.
The male’s coal-colored eyes lock with Drek’s.
Drek easily understands the male wolf's final, abrupt bark. It’s an apology of what must be done in the next few moments.
Drek can’t scream from his ruined throat as the animal’s jaw opens wide. Its teeth sink into one bicep.
The female lays claim to the other.
They drag Drek from his final breaths at the shore of the Dosewallips River.
Before he passes out from the pain of first the pebbles scraping his back and the eventual moss undergrowth of the forest, he understands his brethren will do what they can.
Drek feels his life hanging in the balance between this realm and the one that lies waiting for all creatures after they depart this one.
He closes his eyes against the impossibility of it all.
Tahlia’s fate is unknown.
The only body parts he can move are his eyes.
Then those eyes close and once again, he knows no more.
Laz
One of the humans spills a female from the confines of the truck, and Laz blanches as her knees take the impact when she falls, her hands tied behind her back.
“She smells like you somehow, Laz,” Tahlia whispers at his side.
Stress has caused the female’s horns to break the surface of her scalp, and the smolder of her skin is subtle, but of course, Laz would recognize one of his kind anywhere, especially Between.
>
Her skin has the exact pale hue as his own.
“I am sorry,” she whispers.
Laz’s vision turns to a red haze, and he replies to the female demonic not two yards from his position, “Sister, you will be free this day.”
“Sister?” Tessa says.
Laz doesn’t answer. Instead, he lays siege to those who would use one of his kind to find more who dwell in Between.
Especially an unknown relative.
He has many questions.
Laz moves forward as one of the humans raises an antiquated weapon, pointing it at Laz.
His mind reaches out, capturing that of the human with the weapon, pulling all the evil deeds he has ever executed or contemplated to the surface of his mind. Then Laz scrambles that into a toxic soup of insanity.
The man drops, weapon forgotten.
Three more level similar weapons on Laz. He grabs their brains with his mind, tearing them to shreds as they weave, hands to their heads, screaming.
His sister rises on unsteady feet, takes a staggering step toward him, and a human rushes her from behind.
But his gorgeous Redemptive faces the charge. Swinging her leg high, she brains him with a well-executed kick to the head.
The Were are strong, and the foot planted in his skull breaks it open.
Tessa grabs his sister and yelps.
A consequence of the heat of her skin.
Her fingers smoldering, Tessa grits, “Cool it!”
His sister nods and allows herself to be dragged toward Laz as the male slumps behind them, brains spilling onto the sidewalk.
The other humans grab the sides of the open vehicles, heaving themselves to the drab gray asphalt.
Many wear the sign of He Who Shall Not Be Named around their necks.
One holds up a hand. “We’ve come to negotiate.”
“She’s a seeker of your kind.”
Laz feels his eyes flip to black.
A fat human retreats a step as he observes Laz. “Fuck, Howie—he’s scary as fuck.”
Howie nods. “Yes, he certainly is. High demons aren’t to be messed with.”
Laz never takes his eyes from the wretched group, but sensing Tessa is near, he hauls his Redemptive and the female off the sidewalk and behind him.
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