Shifters After Dark Box Set

by S M Reine et al.

  I nod to all of them and go straight to the coffee machine perched on a special high table on the opposite wall from the windows, pouring myself a huge mug. Kayla Spaulding works at a coffee shop in Stewartville, and she makes sure we have the good stuff for pack gatherings. The caffeine barely touches our accelerated metabolism, of course, but I’m more interested in the taste, smell, and general normalcy of the drink, the comfort of coffee ritual. I fuss around for a few minutes with sugar and creamer—one of the few benefits to werewolf magic is that I never have to count calories—and find a place to stand with my back against the wall.

  After my first sip, which is every bit as delicious as I hoped, I catch Kayla’s eye and nod appreciatively. A dishwater blonde in her early forties, she smiles briefly before looking away. With the exception of Caroline Brooks, the alpha’s sister, the other females in the pack have avoided me since I was first sent here six months ago.

  I try to focus on my drink.

  Speaking of Caroline, I hear her cheerful voice yelling, “Hello, the pack!” as she comes into the lodge through the upstairs door. For a moment my heart lifts, because being around Caroline is like stepping into sunshine after a week underground, but it plummets again as I hear the second set of footsteps stomping along behind her. Of course Luke would carpool with his sister. I exchange glances with the other members of the pack. Those who were playing with cell phones hurriedly put them away. Luke insists that these “pack retreats” be as technology-free as possible. He wants us to get in touch with our connection to the wild, to our shifter magic, which would be pretty respectable if he didn’t beat the crap out of anyone who disobeys him.

  Everyone else in the main hall is shrinking back into the furniture a little, so I yell for all of us, “Hey Caroline! Hey, Luke!”

  The siblings come bounding down the stairs, Caroline with her bright eyes, pixie cut, and easy smile, her brother right behind her. Luke is broad-shouldered, with side-of-beef muscles and a devilish black goatee that he cultivates way too carefully. To my surprise, Caroline comes over and hugs me, her head only reaching my shoulder. There’s not much strength in her limbs, for a werewolf, because Caroline is the pack’s sigma, the least powerful among us. “It’s so good to see you!” she says to me, and turns to face the rest of the room. “Good to see all of you, I should say. Is that coffee? Oh, Kayla, you rock my world.”

  Kayla beams with pride, and although she’s currently a bipedal, you can practically see her tail wagging. As Caroline goes over to get herself a mug, Luke steps forward and surveys the room, meeting the gaze of each pack member in turn. They all drop their eyes immediately, showing their submission. He saves me for last, and I move my gaze to the floor too, because it costs me nothing and I’ve learned there are better battles to fight than a staring contest.

  Luke doesn’t stop there, though: he stalks slowly toward me, and when I look up I see him staring, his eyes raking my body. I am wearing old cutoffs and a simple tank top with a built-in bra, but shit, he’s gaping at me like I have suddenly appeared in nothing but a diamond-studded thong and some tassels. He’s in that kind of mood.

  I know without looking that everyone around the room will have formed a sudden fascination with their own toes, so I just continue to focus on my coffee, staying calm. Don’t start a fight has become my mantra in the last six months. Not that it’s done me much good. “How’s it going, Luke?” I say into my coffee cup, because it throws off his predatory instincts when I force him to think like a human. “Is business picking up for the summer?”

  He stops moving when he’s about a foot away from my chest, well within my personal space, but not really touching me. “Yeah. Yeah it is,” he says, with a little haze in his voice. Luke owns a construction company that specializes in private homes, and he employs a couple of the other pack members. “Lots of people building houses.”

  I nod amiably, but the exchange hasn’t really deterred Luke’s interest in me, and the tension between us begins to build again. He inches forward a little more, and I see his nostrils flare. He is processing information from my scent: what I’ve eaten, how much I’ve been exercising, who I’ve touched, where I’ve been. I’m scrambling to think of something else to deter him, but out of the corner of my eye I see his hand coming up. I can’t help but flinch, taking an involuntary step back. Luke’s face breaks out into a hungry leer, and his hand continues its journey to stroke my cheek. Stupid, Astrid, I curse myself. Running will only make him want to chase you.

  Without thinking, my eyes dart sideways to Caroline, who understands a plea for help when she sees it. “Do you want some coffee, Luke?” she calls from across the room. Her voice is just as cheerful as it was earlier, but I can detect a thread of tension in it. Luke does, too, and his attention flickers away from me for a moment.

  “Oh,” he says sheepishly, like she’d caught him staring into space. “Yeah, I guess so.” He begins to step away from me, toward the coffee machine. I feel my body relax, a relieved sigh pressing out of me.

  The sound is like a twig snapping in a silent forest. Luke’s head whips back to me, his eyes narrowing. He closes the distance between us in half a second, bending his head to press his mouth onto mine, hard enough to bruise.

  At first I hold still, hoping a complete lack of response will remind him that we are standing in front of the whole pack, but the kiss is violent enough to prevent me from breathing. I start to panic, and when he takes my face in his hands to press even further, I can’t help myself: I shove him backward with both hands, my werewolf strength sending him veering harmlessly across the room.

  Luke stands there for a second staring at me, breathing hard, his face dark with anger. There is the slightest scrape of chairs and sigh of couch pillows as the other pack members get out of their seats and file silently out of the room, away from the two of us. They’ve seen this show before, and we’ve pretty much all figured out that it goes better for me without an audience. Only Caroline stays.

  “Luke,” she says warningly, but he ignores her, and I can smell the rage and confusion pouring off the alpha. For a moment I almost pity him. He can’t understand why I won’t give myself over, why after all this time I continue to fight. There are instincts inside him screaming that he should put me into my place, make me submit.

  Unfortunately for both of us, I have instincts too, and they keep insisting that I’m my own fucking person.

  He storms back over to me, his arm moving in a blur as he strikes my face hard, fingernails slashing across my cheek. Blood spurts in my mouth, and I know the blow would probably have broken my neck if I were human. More blood is dripping down my face and into my shirt. I swallow the blood and square my stance again, my shoulders held back, my chin high. I keep my gaze on the floor, but the body language is enough to further irritate Luke, and I brace myself as I see his hand pulling back again.

  But suddenly Caroline is right behind him, grabbing his arm. He and I both look at her in shock as she holds it above his head. “Brother,” she says gently, “this isn’t you. It’s the magic and the hormones and—”

  Luke grabs her opposite hip with his free hand and uses his leverage to simply flip her where she stands. I think he meant to dump her on the floor, but there is a chair in the way, and Caroline goes down with a terrible oof as the chair’s wooden arm forces the breath from her body.

  “Caroline!” I cry, rushing to crouch next to her. Luke knocked the wind out of her, and she’s sobbing for breath, her big eyes wide with fear. I look up and see that our alpha is frozen with a horrified, shocked expression on his face. He has never struck Caroline before. She is the pack’s weakest member, and hitting her is like hitting a three-year-old.

  I grind my teeth and that’s when my instincts completely overwhelm my reason.

  I attack Luke.

  4. Sashi

  In the parking garage, Will leads me to a dented little pickup truck the color of November grass. He offers me his left hand to help me up, and altho
ugh I don’t need it, I place my hand in his, enjoying the strength that seems to emanate from it. None of the guys I’ve dated at Northwestern had much in the way of confidence or inner strength. It made them very easy to influence, especially when I needed to keep them at arm’s length. This guy is different. No wonder he has my mother nervous.

  Then again, I’m not exactly a typical college kid either.

  He smiles at me as he helps me up, and although I know my face is a mess and my hair can’t be much better, I grin back. Something about this man just lifts my mood. I am used to a double existence, compartmentalizing people and activities to make sure no one asks too many questions about my family or my ambitions. But Will makes me feel like my natural self, as hokey as that sounds.

  I give him directions to the house, and we make small talk about Rochester and school. When I can resist no longer, I start quizzing him about all the places he’s traveled. The list is amazing, and I wish I had a pen and paper to note down countries. After a little while the conversation turns into a game-show banter, with me throwing out questions he has to answer as quickly as possible.

  “Best weather?”

  His forehead wrinkles with thought, which is adorable. “Greece,” he decides.

  “Most enjoyable overcrowded tourist attraction?”

  This takes him a moment. “The Night Bazaar in Chiang Mai,” he says finally. I make a mental note to look that up later. I don’t even know what country that’s in.

  By now I am getting low on questions. “Creepiest place to visit?” I venture.

  No hesitation: “The catacombs in Paris.” He pantomimes a shudder. “My friend wanted to go, but…yeah. Never again. There are some things that are just unnatural.”

  I shake my head, marveling. “Wow, you really have been everywhere.”

  “Thanks to your mom,” he points out again. “She was the third oncologist I had in as many years. Without her, I don’t think I would have made it to eighteen.”

  The thought is sobering, and before he can ask me anything else about my mum, I blurt, “What about now, what do you do for fun?”

  That easy smile again. I decide it’s more infectious than anything in the hospital, and immediately berate myself for cheesiness. “Nothing, really. I work at the brewery during the summer, bartend a little during the school year. That’s how I traveled around for so long,” he adds. “Everywhere needs bartenders.

  “Other than that,” he continues, shrugging. “Let’s see…I manage intramural softball and hockey teams. I’m in the Elks Club, and I’m a Big Brother, you know, like Big Brothers Big Sisters. Not like 1984.”

  “Jesus,” I say, impressed. “You sound like you’re applying for Citizen of the Year or something.”

  He laughs, a warm, surprised sound, and waves me off. “What about you?”

  “What do I do for fun?” I think about this, and can’t come up with an answer I’d be willing to admit to him. Compared to Will, I’ve been nowhere and done nothing, other than emigrating to America when I was a kid. I feel a rush of shame. What the hell have I done with my life? Reading to cancer patients this morning is the most impressive thing I’ve done in years—on paper, anyway. I can’t exactly mention training to be a thaumaturge witch. The Old World does not look kindly on humans who find out what we can do. “I don’t do much over the summer, except for this new volunteer gig,” I admit. “And during the school year I’m busy with academics and friends.”

  He nods very amiably. “You’re what, twenty?”

  “Twenty-one,” I correct him.

  “Twenty-one,” he amends. “When I was twenty-one, I was wasted eighty percent of the time. So you’re probably doing okay.”

  I shoot him a grateful smile, and we arrive at my mother’s house in northwest Rochester. Will parks on the street. As soon as he turns off the ignition, the heat from outside seeps into the vehicle. It’s only the end of May, but the temperature is well into the 80s at midday. I stare out the window for a moment, trying to see my home through Will’s eyes: sunny street, well-kept lawns, fit neighbors in expensive Spandex walking Labradors. It looks like a suburb in a movie, and when I consider the well-traveled man next to me, I am embarrassed.

  “I’m really glad I met you this morning,” Will says with a smile. I smile back, but the comment reminds me of how I spent my morning, and how I’m supposed to spend every morning for the rest of the summer. I realize I don’t want to be alone right now. More specifically, I want to continue being not-alone with Will.

  “Um, do you want to come in?” I ask. “I could make us some sandwiches or something.” There’s a complicated look on his face, and I’m suddenly certain I’ve overstepped. “Sorry, is that too weird? With you being…” I trail off, not really wanting to bring up my mother again.

  Will smiles ruefully, understanding my discomfort. “It’s not that, I’m just…I’m a lot older than you, Sashi.”

  Now it’s my turn to quirk an eyebrow, annoyed at his presumption. Even if it was more or less accurate. “Excuse me? I’m pretty sure I invited you in for a mediocre turkey sandwich and some conversation, not a nooner.”

  He bursts out laughing, and I realize that I might have just put out a let’s just be friends signal, which isn’t exactly what I wanted, either. “Besides, you’re what, twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  I throw up my hands theatrically. “Omigod, twenty-six! Well, that changes everything. Do you need help getting out of the truck? Or maybe you need someone to change your adult diapers? Are you late for an early bird special somewhere?”

  Laughing again, he takes the key out of the ignition. “Mediocre turkey sandwiches? Sign me up.”

  I make the sandwiches, and pull out some chips and fruit to go with them. We put the food on plates and take our lunches into the living room, which has a large couch, two loveseats, and an armchair. Without comment, we both choose the couch. While we eat, Will and I talk about travel, and movies—we’re both looking forward to the Lord of the Rings films—and eventually our childhoods. He tells me he grew up in Goodview and has two older sisters there, which is why he ended up going to Winona State.

  When we have deposited our plates on the coffee table I stretch out sideways on the couch, comfortable enough with him to drape my long legs congenially across his lap. My legs are probably my best feature, and I am pleased that I shaved them the night before. Will looks unsure at first, but after a moment he relaxes and leans back into the couch, resting his hands casually on my ankles. His fingers warm against my skin.

  The topic of conversation switches to college. I get Will laughing over a story about my freshman-year roommate, and he admits to feeling self-conscious about being older than his classmates. I have to smile when I realize he’s entering his sophomore year, which puts him two years behind me.

  As the hours pass, I realize that this is a perfect afternoon, the kind you could never plan or schedule, that just blossoms out of nothing into one of the best days of your life. I love sitting here having a real conversation with this gorgeous man who laughs easily and wants to know about me—not my British accent or my famous mother or my secret abilities with magic, just me, Sashi.

  Outside the window, the sky has grown dark and overcast, signaling a summer storm. As the living room darkens I lean back to stretch far enough to turn on the lamp on the table next to the couch. When I straighten up, I catch Will staring me, his brown eyes intent. He looks away quickly, embarrassed to have been caught ogling me. I manage not to smirk, though the thought that he’s interested thrills me. “I didn’t even ask, what are you majoring in?” he says. “I’m going back and forth between business and architecture.”

  Crap. Another topic I’d rather not get into, but asking a college student about their major is almost a conversational requirement. “I’m undecided,” I admit.

  He’s trying to be polite, but I see his eyebrows shoot up. “I know, I know. I’m going into my senior year; it’s ridiculous,” I confe
ss. “But my mother and I have this…ongoing disagreement. She thinks I should major in chemistry or biological sciences in preparation for med school.”

  “What do you want?” The question is so simple, so obvious, but I can’t remember the last time I heard it.

  “I’ve got the credits for bio, I just…” I trail off, not wanting to admit that I don’t want to spend my life helping people. How do you say that a former cancer patient?

  Especially this one.

  “Don’t want to be a doctor?” he offers, throwing me a line.

  “Not really,” I say in a small voice. I want to major in journalism and become a travel writer, but I have never said this out loud, and the words are stuck inside me.

  Will nods thoughtfully, looking at me. “You don’t want to be your mother,” he states.

  I sit up, pulling my legs off his lap and tucking them under me. I suddenly feel very young and rather stupid. “I know she’s your hero and everything—” I begin.

  “I don’t want to be my father,” Will interrupts. His voice is quiet, and there’s a thread of determination running through it that makes me forget whatever I was about to say. He looks a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting to say that. I just sit still, waiting for him to continue.