“Maybe it does,” Clay says. “We broke with the pack. We don’t ever really hear about what happens to the ones who go rogue. Maybe it’s this. Maybe they become a new pack, and someone new becomes alpha.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say.
“It’s the best explanation I can think of,” Clay says. “But put it to the test, if you want. Give me an order.”
“I am not giving you an order.”
“It’s the only way to know for sure. Go on, just tell me to do something harmless, and we’ll see if I can resist or not. If I can, it means you’re right, you’re not our alpha, and we won’t bother you about it anymore.”
I don’t want to do it. Giving orders goes against everything in me. How many times have I been on the receiving end of orders from Harlan that have made me want to hit him, only to find myself incapable of even moving in a non-approved direction? I can’t be an alpha, because being an alpha would mean having that same power. The power to manipulate Clay and Mike like puppets on a string. I’d never treat them that way. I’m just a good leader, that’s all. That’s what they’re picking up on.
But Clay is right. Testing his theory is the only sure way to disprove it. And if I can convince the two of them that this alpha business is nonsense, we can put it to bed. Besides, I’ll rest easier if I know that nothing has changed, that we’re just three equal members of the same pack and nobody is in charge.
“Okay,” I say, hating myself even though the command I’m giving is completely harmless. “Go get a bottle of water from the vending machine.” I reach into my pocket and hand him a dollar.
Clay takes the bill, but for a minute he doesn’t move. And in that moment, I’m convinced, and blessedly so, that I was right and he was right. He’s not obeying me. I’m not his alpha.
Then his body shudders slightly.
And I know exactly what’s happening, because I’ve felt that same tremor run through me when I’ve received a command I didn’t like from Harlan. Clay is fighting, trying to resist. But he’s already feeling the compulsion to obey. And that’s as good as proof right there.
“Go on,” I say quietly. “Don’t hurt yourself over it.”
He gives me a look of gratitude and strides out of the room.
Mike, who has been watching the whole thing from the bed Lane isn’t passed out on, looks up at me. “How, though?” he asks. “I thought to become an alpha you had to be a part of the bloodline.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “The bloodline dies with Harlan, though. So maybe that changes things.” Harlan and Emily never had a child. I’ve wondered before what it would mean for the future of the Hell’s Bears, who would take power when he died. But Harlan’s the kind of man who just might be counting on living forever.
Clay returns with the bottle of water I sent him out for. I take it and place it on the table by Lane’s bed in case she wakes up. “We should sleep in shifts,” I say. “We’re not far from that barn, and if someone comes looking for the men who broke up the prostitution ring, we’re going to need a fast getaway.”
“I’ll take the first watch,” Mike offers. He looks completely jacked up on adrenaline. I’m not surprised he isn’t tired.
“Okay,” I agree. “Two hours tops, all right? Then I want you to wake me up to switch with you. And keep an eye on Lane.”
Mike nods and settles into a chair. I crawl onto the vacant bed, leaving room for Clay beside me, and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
FOUR HOURS HAVE GONE by when Mike finally shakes me awake. I pick up the clock, look at it, and then look back at him pointedly.
“You were tired,” he says defensively. “You needed to sleep. And I was fine.”
“Yeah, okay, but you’re going to crash in the morning if you don’t get enough sleep, and I don’t want to have to stop tomorrow when we’re trying to cover more ground,” I say. “I told you to wake me up.”
“You didn’t give an order,” Mike says. “You said you wanted me to. That’s not an order.”
“Don’t do that.” I can feel a surge of anger welling up in me. This position I’ve been put in, whatever it is, is going to be almost impossible to live with even without having to worry about my packmates undermining me. “Don’t make me give you orders.”
“You’re the alpha. If you want people to obey you, you should use your power.”
“Why do I feel like you’re enjoying this?”
He shrugs. “I am a little. I’m used to alphas being like Harlan. You know, so used to their power that it’s never occurred to them to imagine what it might be like to be compelled to do something you didn’t want to do. If you’re really an alpha, you’re one I genuinely want to follow. That’s all. So, you don’t have to feel weird about giving me orders.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, turning away from him. It’s a nice speech, but there’s also the fact that he deliberately went against something he knew I wanted —something as harmless as waking me up on time —because I left him a loophole. Because I didn’t make it a command. And what that tells me is that if I am the alpha of this pack, they will always look for ways not to obey, just as we always did under Harlan. No one wants to be ruled.
Mike takes the empty spot on the bed next to Clay, and I move to the motel window and look out. We’re just off the side of the highway, and at this time of night it’s pretty dead out there. No cars rushing by. No potential threats. The Hell’s Bears haven’t come looking for us, and the men we took Lane from haven’t come looking for her.
I glance down at her on her own bed. She’s kicked off some of the blankets in sleep, and the color has returned to her face. I can tell she’s feeling better. Still, her features are pinched into an expression that might indicate pain or maybe nightmares. A part of me wants to wake her, talk to her about what happened to her, reassure her that none of us would ever hurt her. We can double back to Quebec City in the morning and take her to that women’s shelter if she wants to go there, or she can just head out on her own.
But what if she’s really a shifter? I know there are rogue bears all over the province, unaffiliated with any pack. She could belong to us, be one of us. If she’s alone in the world with nowhere to go, we could take her in.
I approach her bed, feeling strange and slightly creepy as I lean over her. Mike has always had the best nose, but if the scent is on her I should be able to pick it up —
I inhale deeply, breathing in a woodsy aroma. Bear.
Why would she say she wasn’t a shifter? What’s the point in lying about that once we’d revealed we knew about that world? She should have told us. It would have been a way to cement our friendship.
There must be a reason. Something kept her from confiding in us.
Hesitantly, I reach out and brush a lock of hair out of her face. She really is lovely, with dark hair and big eyes. I have to admit, I can see why she would appeal to the kind of men who sell women. But if she’s a shifter, why didn’t she shift when they tried to take her? Why didn’t she take bear form and claw their eyes out, smash her way out of that stall, and take her freedom by force?
There’s definitely something strange about her. Something intriguing. I want to know her. I want to know what pack she’s from, and why she chose to run. Is she like us, on the run from a dictatorial alpha? Or is it more benign than that? Did she just make the decision to opt out of pack life? If that’s the case, I know there’s no chance of her joining up with us.
But, I realize, I will be sad to see her go if she does choose to leave us tomorrow. I’ve been so single-minded since we left Harlan. I’ve been entirely focused on putting one foot in front of the other, protecting Clay and Mike, getting us all one step closer to the future I know awaits us if we can just leave the past behind us. Nothing about this new life has felt fun or exciting or free, the way I imagined it would. And, I realize now, I had resigned myself to thinking it would be like that long-term. That I wouldn’t relax and feel joy again until I was c
ertain we’d put Harlan and the Montreal chapter of the Hell’s Bears behind us.
But now, looking down at Lane’s face, something is stirring in me. I don’t know what it is. It’s not a feeling I recognize. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before. But something in her seems to call out to something in me on a deep, primal level. And though it feels dramatic to think it about a girl I’ve only known for a few hours, letting her go feels like it would be tantamount to losing a piece of myself.
Which is crazy. I dig in my duffel and pull out a bottle of whiskey. Shaking my head, I sit down at the table and take a swig. This night has been too intense and I’m letting myself get carried away. Just because she’s a shifter doesn’t make her one of us.
Chapter Ten
LANE
The pain wakes me, along with the harsh glare of light behind my closed eyelids. I want to fall back into the dream I was having, where nothing hurt and nothing was trying to harm me, but the ache in my ribs has reminded me of where I am and of everything that has happened. There is no gap in awareness while my mind catches up, the way there sometimes is when I wake up from a deep sleep. I remember my circumstances perfectly.
Still, I don’t open my eyes yet. The men I came here with have me at a disadvantage, and one of the only things I have a hope of doing to regain some ground is picking up information. Maybe if they think I’m still asleep, they won’t be careful what they say in front of me.
At least one of them is asleep. I hear deep snores emanating from somewhere nearby. Someone else is moving around, though, rustling what sounds like paper. Finally, my curiosity gets the better of me and I squint my eyes open.
Two of the men are asleep on the bed beside mine. One is Bruno —his face is toward me —but I can’t tell who’s lying behind him. I can see an arm slung up, trailing off the bed, but I can’t tell who it belongs to.
“You’re awake,” a quiet voice says.
Damn. I thought I was being subtle. I shift into an upright position and my ribs protest. The man watches as I arrange the pillows behind me so I can lean back, propped up and not quite so uncomfortable. “Yeah,” I say.
“We’ll probably stay here a few more hours,” he says. “Let Bruno and Mike get some rest. Do you want breakfast?” He holds up a fast food bag. So that was the paper I heard. “I have flapjacks and hash browns.”
I’m hesitant to take anything he offers, but I am also so very hungry. “Yes, please.”
He fishes out the food and hands it over, along with a fork and a napkin. I dig in. It’s cold and greasy, but it tastes like a five-star meal to me. It’s the best food I’ve ever had. For several minutes I’m too distracted to pay any attention to the man and we eat together in silence.
Finally, he speaks. “Your name is Lane?”
I can’t remember telling them that, but I guess I must have. My stomach rolls over. Last night is a blur, aside from the very important details. What else slipped out when I was semiconscious on that motorcycle? What else do they know about me.
He doesn’t seem to realize he’s spooked me. “I’m Clay,” he says. “Beta member of the Hell’s Bears, Montreal Chapter.”
I swallow my bite of flapjacks. “You’re pretty far from Montreal.”
He looks uncomfortable. “That’s kind of a long story, and Bruno should really be the one who tells it, not me.” He grabs his duffel bag, digs around for a minute, then hands me a bottle of water. “The short version is that we’re moving on to better things.”
“I guess that’s me too,” I admit. “Moving on to better things.”
He nods. “How long were you in that barn? If I can ask?”
“They only had me for a few hours,” I say.
“Wow.”
“I left home earlier last night. Then those...those men...picked me up on the side of the road.” I take a swallow of water. It seems to revive me a little. “And you three came along just a little later.”
“Thank God for that,” Clay says, and tugs at his hair anxiously. “Where are you headed?”
“Someplace. I don’t know. Toronto, maybe.” I could get a job, an apartment. Start my own life. Be safe.
Clay frowns. “I know Bruno is going to want you to stay with us.”
“He said he wouldn’t make me, though.” I can feel my pulse increasing. “He said I would be allowed to go.”
“Oh, you will be. Bruno would never force anyone to do anything against their will.” Clay smiles, as if at an inside joke. “It’s a pretty serious subject with him, actually.”
“Yeah. Well.”
“Are you really not a shifter?” Clay asks. “Mike is positive you are.”
“I’ve never even heard of that,” I say. “You asked me that last night, too. Or...he did.” I point to Bruno, passed out on the bed. “Is that the name of your motorcycle gang?”
“We’re not really a gang,” Clay says. “We’re a pack. And no, I told you, we’re the Hell’s Bears.”
“So, what’s a shifter?”
“If you’re not one, you don’t need to worry about it,” he says.
I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I focus on my breakfast. Clay fixes his attention on his own meal —he doesn’t sit and watch me eat, which is a relief. I can almost pretend that he isn’t here, that I’m alone. It feels like forever since I’ve been alone. But sitting here in the motel room with these three men, I can almost feel something like safe. Maybe I will stick with them for a while before setting off on my own again. If what they said is true, if they’re really not going to hurt me, it would be a good way to rest and recuperate. I could get my legs back under me.
My attention is diverted as Bruno stirs and sits up carefully. “What time is it?” he asks.
“Five-thirty,” Clay says.
Bruno takes in our breakfast. “Did you go out? I told you to watch her.”
“I went out while Mike was still on watch. You know I can’t defy orders.” Clay says this with a grin, and I wonder what he means. What would happen to him if he defied orders? Are they some kind of militant biker gang? Would Bruno punish him for disobedience?
Maybe I shouldn’t stay with them.
Clay tosses Bruno a bag. “I got you an egg and cheese sandwich,” he says. Bruno digs it out, unwraps it, and takes a huge bite. “And I’ve been talking to Lane,” Clay adds. “I think her ribs are broken.”
I didn’t tell him that. I’ve been trying to cover that up. How did he know?
Clay looks at me apologetically as if sensing the questions on my mind. “You winced when you sat up,” he explains. “It’s clear you’re in pain. I can wrap it, if that’s okay with you. Then you’d feel better.”
I want to say no. I’m nervous about letting him touch me. But the promise of relief from the pain I’ve been feeling since last night is too much to turn down. “All right.”
Clay nods and reaches into his duffel again, emerging a moment later with some gauze. “Can you take off your shirt?” he asks.
My mind recoils from the very idea, but even though my hands are shaking, I do ask he asks.
Clay works clinically, gentle but detached as he probes my ribs with his fingers. “This isn’t too bad,” he says. “We’ll just strap you up and wait for it to heal, and you’ll be doing better in no time.” And he sets about winding the gauze around my torso. It’s tight and a little uncomfortable, but I can already feel how it’s supporting me and how it’s going to decrease the pain I’m feeling.
Bruno takes the seat Clay was sitting in. “Lane, we need to talk.”
A chill passes through me. “You’re still planning on letting me go, aren’t you?”
“If that’s what you want, of course,” Bruno says. “But I want to understand something first. Why did you tell us you weren’t a shifter? I caught your scent last night, just like Mike did, so I know that you are. I don’t mean you any harm, but I want to know why you lied about it. And if it’s not too much, I’d like to know what pack you’re run
ning away from.”
“I’m running away from my family,” I say, confused. “What do you mean by pack?”
“Maybe if she shows us her tattoo,” Clay interjects. “Is it in a place you’re willing to show us, Lane?”
Now I’m really perplexed. “I haven’t got any tattoos. Why would you think I do?”
Clay looks from me to Bruno and back. “Are you sure about her?”
“Smell behind the ear,” Bruno says. “That’s where the scent tends to lock in.”
Clay makes eye contact with me for a moment. “I beg your pardon,” he says, and lifts my hair away from my neck, inhaling deeply. I don’t know why I allow it. I’m just so wrong-footed by all of this that I don’t feel capable of raising an objection.
“Oh,” Clay says, letting my hair settle. “Oh, you’re definitely right. She’s a bear for sure.”
And something slides unpleasantly into place.
She’s a bear.
You’re a shifter.
Those strange, animalistic changes that have been coming over me at times of great anger for years now. The inner beast that I’ve never been able to control. Dark brown hair — fur —sprouting all over my body, and the sense that I’ve grown much larger than the human self I’m used to. This puzzle piece about me has never made sense. I’ve always known I was less than human. And now, sitting here on a motel bed surrounded by strangers, I’m finally having it confirmed.
I’m a bear.
I’m not a human being. I’m a bear.
They knew this about me the moment they saw me. Not only do they know that the world contains things like me, they also knew I was one of them. One of us, Mike said last night when they found me in the barn. What does that mean? Are these men animals —shifters —too?
What does this mean? What is my life going to be now? I’ve spent years pretending not to know this about myself, pushing it away, unable to understand it or fit it into my definition of who I am. And now that I’m being confronted with it, I can’t deny it any more. Whatever it means, whatever I am, I’m going to have to accept it now. And I can tell, immediately and without question, that it’s going to mean learning a whole new way to survive.
The Hidden Omega Page 6