The Wolf's Concubine

by Erin St. Charles

  It didn’t matter what he was doing. It only mattered that she was alone right now and could get away.

  She opened the door and slid out of the truck. When her feet hit the ground, she grabbed her hobo bag from the cab and slid it over her shoulder, and gently closed the door, trying to muffle the sound of the door latching. Phelan was a wolf, and everyone knew wolves had extremely good hearing. It was unlikely he would agree to her plan to go to Dallas.

  She kept her eyes on the store, noting the flashing neon “OPEN” sign and the movement of bodies inside. Phelan’s truck was the only one at the fuel station. The air was cool and she drew his black leather jacket around her, wrinkling her nose as his scent washed over her.

  Leave the jacket, or take it?

  Leave it. She believed in travelling light, so she wouldn’t take anyone else’s baggage. She could deal with the cold for a few hours, and certainly the Glide would have heaters. She removed it, folded it, and placed it on the hood of the truck before she hurried down the road.

  All she knew about Perdition was that it had been a pack town back in the days before mandatory segregation was abolished and shifters began to self-police. All she needed to do was find the Glide station, get back to Dallas, and go back to her life.

  No problem.

  Chapter 8

  Phelan stood at the register holding his purchases and smiling to himself as he thought of the future he and Lola would have. He felt much lighter in spirit than a man who hadn’t slept all night had a right to be. The checkout girl, a tall, willowy blonde with long pink braids and a nose ring that pierced the side of one nostril and linked to her earlobe with a delicate chain, peered at him suspiciously. Her brows drew together, and she looked at him as if he might be deranged.

  I must look like a lovesick fool.

  He smiled at the girl, made his purchases, and headed for his truck, which still had the fuel line attached to it. It seemed as if the sun had completely risen in the few minutes it had taken him to make his purchases. As he approached the vehicle, he considered again the woman therein. She was tiny, yet mighty, he thought, judging by the way she’d fended off the changeling. She would be a passionate lover, a strong life partner. His face broke into a broad grin.

  Phelan figured he’d return to Perdition one day, but never imagined it would be with his fated mate in tow. He hadn’t been avoiding the place, but after his parents had retired to Belize to run with one of the packs there five years ago, there hadn’t been any real reason to go home. And since he’d heard that Dominick Novak took over as pack alpha and installed his idiot son Dennis as sheriff and head enforcer, he had even more reasons to stay away.

  But Perdition had something to recommend it: his family’s old hunting cabin, which would serve as a great safe house until the situation with the missing women was resolved and/or until he convinced Lola he was the right man for her. They could get to know each other in privacy. He would protect her, keeping her safe from danger, and win her heart. She would fall in love with him and pledge him her mind, body, and heart.

  When he was a younger wolf, he would have been appalled at his current predicament. But that was then.

  Now, a whole world of possibilities stretched before him.

  Now, he had a mate to build a life with.

  Now, his lone wolf days were behind him.

  Now, the most important thing in the world to him was in the cab of the truck. His truck. The thought made him feel ten feet tall.

  As he drew closer to the truck, he could feel something was off. Then he saw his jacket, which he had spread over Lola against the cold, lay on the ground in an untidy heap. Panic raced through him as he yanked open the door on the passenger side.

  Inside, nothing remained of his mate but the fading traces of her scent.

  Just a couple of miles up the road from the fueling station, the town of Perdition sprang up from the prairie out of seemingly nowhere. The first thing Lola saw as she walked into town was a boxy, low-slung building with a sign in front that proclaimed “Perdition H.S.! Home of the Gray Wolves!”

  She thought the little town was adorable and exotic with all the features typical of fictional small towns from old videos. The popular shows had been remastered to accommodate the three-dimensional images and videos people now expected from their Omnis. She herself avoided such entertainment after watching an episode of Leave it to Beaver and it had made her burst into tears for the kind of life she would never experience.

  Beyond the home of the Gray Wolves, Lola passed a barber shop, a diner, a thrift store, a beauty parlor and other assorted small businesses lining both sides of the street. The streets were blacktopped and smooth. There appeared to be no more than two stop lights on the main drag of the town.

  Places like this didn’t exist for urchins like Lola who ran the streets of the French Quarter, trying to survive while dodging the shifter agency enforcers who ran security for the Quarter and every other red-light district in the country. As a full human, albeit one with special abilities, being caught by the enforcers meant getting put back into the system. She would’ve been forced to live with whatever family the Department of Human Child Family Services could find for her. Life on the streets meant freedom. It meant taking care of herself, rather than relying on people who only wanted her for the monthly greenbacks allowance HCFS provided families for her upkeep. Or worse.

  When she was of age and in need of a trade, entering the concubine program seemed the most sensible choice. She wasn’t likely to be placed—few women were—but she’d have room, board, and a small stipend. She was only required to live in the Pantheon dorms and do a little requisite training and attend rituals like the Fertility Rite for selected concubines. Not much work really, and when she left the program, she was in a position financially to pursue her own dreams.

  As Lola made her way through the small town, she didn’t notice any sign of a way out.

  “Where is the Glide Station?” she asked her smartphone.

  Her device chirped and gave her directions to the Glide station. She paused when she reached it. Instead of the concrete platforms she was used to in the city, the station was a long, wooden structure with a boardwalk for a platform, painted red with white trim. It had clearly been retrofitted from an old-fashioned train depot, the type she’s seen in the videos, and that prompted a pang of longing.

  She didn't see any people around and the station looked deserted. With an annoyed frown, Lola sat on a bench facing the train tracks.

  “When is the next train?” she asked her smartphone.

  The next train departs Perdition in approximately two hours, thirteen minutes.

  Lola tapped her fingers on her lap as she decided what to do for the next two hours.

  Hang out in the Glide station for two hours? Explore the town?

  She didn’t relish the idea of her so-called protector looking for her in town, once he realized she was no longer in his truck. Then again, if she happened to run into him, she could tell him she was no longer in need of his services, she could take care of herself.

  Her mind re-visited their heated encounter at the stop light the previous night, when their lips were a hair shy of touching. She experienced a twinge of regret at the thought of leaving town, leaving him. She lingered over the moment in her mind, thinking of how blue his eyes were, and the constellation of freckles under his jawline…

  Snap out of it, she admonished herself. She needed to get back to Dallas, back to her job, back to her goals. She fingered the communications device like a talisman.

  “Savings account balance,” she ordered her device.

  It chirped and responded with the balance, the result of two years of serving drinks and stroking egos, and she sighed in relief. Checking on her money always made her feel better. More in control.

  She retraced her steps to Main Street. She stood on the sidewalk and looked in both directions. As she looked at the various storefronts, something caught her eye in one of the
displays. Amid the jumble of old lamps, dusty chandeliers, scuffed sports equipment and mannequins wearing faded clothing, was something she had actually never seen in person.

  The antique Singer sewing machine perched atop a small wooden desk. A spool of red thread sat on top of the shiny machine. With her eyes she followed the path of the red thread through various hooks and levers, then through the needle.

  She held up her device, engaged the camera, and leaned closer to the display window to snap a photo.

  “Identify this item.” She heard the wondering tone in her voice. She had to be sure.

  The device beeped. Singer sewing machine Model 403, Slant-O-Matic. Manufactured in 1963 in Elizabeth, New Jersey, USA.

  Lola stared at the machine, her eyes bugging in amazement and her heart thumping with excitement. This machine was more than 100 years old. She’d heard these antique machines were sturdy as hell and ran like a metronome. She leaned in closer, looking for a price tag. She didn't see one.

  She craned her neck and peered through the plate glass window, looking for the proprietor. The lights were on, but no one seemed to be inside. She stepped over to the door and placed a hand on the knob. She was about to turn it when warmth spread through her body and the hairs on the back of her neck lifted.

  Phelan.

  His hand covered hers, stopping her from turning the doorknob.

  “What are you doing?” His voice, low and rumbling, seemed tight with irritation.

  She whirled around, saw his turquoise blue eyes go dark in anger.

  “Ah…” Was all that came out, because what else could she say?

  “You do realize I’m trying to protect you, don’t you?” he snarled.

  A mix of confused emotions assailed her. Pleasure in seeing him mixed with annoyance at him stopping her from entering the store. On top of it all was an immediate blazing sexual attraction that blindsided her with its force.

  She found she had nothing to say, and that bothered her more than any of the rest. She had grown up belonging to no one, belonging to no place, shunted from family to family. She had always been independent and alone and her heart had long since made room for that reality. It was best that she not desire anything, then she would never be disappointed. She had learned to do everything on her own, including protecting herself. No one had ever told her they wanted to protect her.

  But she didn’t have time to process these complex emotions. So, she rallied her bitchy, streetwise persona.

  Wrenching her hand away from his, she spat out, “Get your hands off me.”

  A look of astonishment crossed his face and his blue eyes seemed brighter. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself. His mouth set in a hard line and he grabbed her firmly by the elbow.

  He steered her away from the thrift store. His truck sat parked at the curb only a few steps away. Without a word, he opened the passenger side door and shoved her in. As soon as she was completely in the car, he closed the door with barely restrained fury. Then he stomped to the driver’s side. He started the engine, then turned to look at her as she sulked in the passenger seat.

  He sighed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She eyed him suspiciously and he shook his head with a sarcastic smirk to his lips.

  “Buckle up,” he told her.

  Chapter 9

  Phelan never imagined his fated mate would run away from him. He assumed meeting her should have been an experience steeped in passion, mystery, and a longing both ignited and fulfilled in the same moment.

  None of these assumptions seemed to apply to Dolores Black.

  When he returned to his truck to find it empty, he thought she had been kidnapped. It simply didn’t seem possible that Lola would have voluntarily left him. He could tell she had felt the connection at the stoplight. While they hadn’t actually discussed the implications, he had every reason to believe they would have a heart-to-heart after getting to the safe house.

  He’d caught her scent trail and puzzled, followed it — and her — into the town. He was astonished to find Lola peering into a storefront, looking hale and hearty.

  Who in their right mind would run away from the person protecting her? Especially when they had been attacked by a vicious changeling no less?

  Lola Black, that’s who.

  He glanced over at her in the passenger seat, still clutching her bag with two hands, her knuckles gone white with the strain. He frowned in confusion. Why was she holding onto it like that? He thought back to how she had behaved when the changeling had attacked her. Even then she wouldn’t let go of the bag. What was in it that was so important? He resolved to find out later.

  For now, all he wanted to do was get her to the cabin, get something to eat, then go to bed. Yesterday had been a really long day.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice barely louder than a squeak.

  “Someplace safe,” he told her. “That’s why it’s called a ‘safe house’.”

  “But where?” she pressed.

  “Someplace no one knows about," he said, impatient. "Now be quiet.”

  She slumped back in her seat, looking grumpy. Good. It would be best to stay grumpy himself. Under the circumstances, anger was better than lust.

  “How long until we get there?”

  Unbelievable. After he’d just asked her to be quiet. His mate was turning out to be a very exasperating person. He rolled his eyes at her, but said nothing.

  “Half an hour? Ten minutes?”

  “Just… sit tight. We’ll be there soon.”

  She gave him a self-satisfied smile. “I knew I could get you to talk to me.”

  He fought to suppress a smile of his own. Fool that he was, her voice made his insides melt an aggravating degree. She could be annoying… but he liked it. She made him feel… wild. Feral. She made him hot. He shifted in his seat.

  “Look, let’s just get to the safe house and get some rest," he said, his tone softening. "We would’ve already been there had you stayed in the car. But you didn’t do that, did you?”

  His patronizing tone seemed to get her hackles up. Her cheeks went red under her smooth, bronzed complexion.

  “Fine, be that way.” She clutched her bag closer to her and stared out the window, fuming. After a few minutes, they turned off the main road to a one-lane road, then again at a gravel paved road that disappeared into a small copse of trees. The road got more rural, and while his truck could handle it, it became bumpier as they went.

  “We’re almost there,” he said.

  She didn't acknowledge his comment and continued to stare out the window. As irritated as he was at her, he could not help but admire the graceful line of her profile, the smoothness of her brown skin. So pretty.

  Soon they came to a long sloping rise, and then a clearing. The area between the trees was their destination. The oversized cabin sat next to an outhouse that his parents had kept as a novelty item, a freestanding garage, and a building that had once been a barn.

  “Nice place,” she scoffed. “Does it have indoor plumbing?”

  Yeah, really funny.

  “You’re alive, and you’re safe here. Be grateful.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. Then she turned her back to him and jerked at the door handle. When nothing happened, she did it again with a bit more force. The door didn't open.

  “After your little stunt, I turned on the child safety locks,” he said calmly.

  She whipped around to glare at him. “I do not appreciate that!”

  “Really? Because I do not appreciate you deciding to take off on a whim.”

  He ignored her dark expression, hopped out and went around to the bed of the truck. He grabbed several bags of groceries and let himself into the cabin. With deliberate care, he placed the groceries on the kitchen counter.

  Then he took his sweet time going around the cabin, switching on lights and opening windows. He found linens and towels in air-tight bins his mother stored in la
rge numbers, as if waiting for the apocalypse. He had no idea why his parents even kept the place, but he was grateful to have a safe place to take Lola. He put the groceries away and returned to the truck.

  Lola sat there, looking as pointlessly angry as a wet kitten. She glared at him through the glass.

  “Let me out!” she screamed, pulling at the door handle.

  He stepped back from the car and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “If I let you out, I expect you to behave yourself. Deal?” Just because she was his fated mate, didn’t mean he had to take shit from her.

  “Deal,” she said eagerly, eyes bright with hope. Phelan didn’t believe her for a minute. She would run the moment she got a chance. At least, she would try to run. She just wouldn’t get very far.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I took off,” she said, her shoulders slumping as he opened her door and she stepped out of the truck. “I guess I’m still in shock from the attack.”

  Lola clutched at the ratty bag, all the while casting him suspicious, side-eyed glances. She clearly still mistrusted him. He probably should wait to thrust this fated mate business on her.

  He waved a hand at her. “Forget it.”

  Phelan held open the front door and she cautiously stepped inside. He watched her closely as her large brown eyes took in the great room, her gaze sliding over the stone fireplace, the rustic open kitchen, the open door to the bathroom, and the closed door that led to the only true bedroom in the cabin.

  Her eyes landed on the ladder that led to the loft and she looked unsure about it. For a human, he supposed it would be a steep climb to the sleeping loft.

  He was amazed his parents never installed a proper staircase. But they were simple wolves, immigrants from the old countries. They had moved to Texas at the invitation of the Perdition Pack, whose membership had been depleted as a result of a pack war.

  “You hungry?” he asked when she continued to stare silently at the ladder.