Shattered: The Sundance Series

by Rider, C. P.

  I AM NOT HIM.

  There was a sensation of loss, of rage and gnashing teeth, accompanied by a sound like cloth tearing, as I was forcibly thrown from his brain. It hurt. The last time I'd experienced anything similar in force was when I was inside my uncle's head just before he died.

  "Guillermo?" I sat up in the bed, touched my nose. Sure enough, it was bleeding again. Thank goodness I'd had the foresight to put one of Juan's oversized bath towels over my side of the bed. I glanced to the unprotected left to make sure I'd kept the blood on the towel. It was then I saw a small object nestled in the center of the pillow.

  A dead bee.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "A dream illusion takes a lot of energy. Not to mention that dire wolves can't manifest objects. We can trick you into thinking you see one, but this isn't a trick, is it?"

  Alpha Juan stared down at the very real bee on his desk. After the strange dream encounter, I had dressed, scooped up the bee, and gone to find him. We were in his office across the hall from the dining room where we would be eating shortly.

  "No." I clasped my hands and set them in my lap.

  "I don't know what to say. Guillermo shouldn't be a dire wolf at all, much less a dire wolf able to conjure up real objects. There has to be a witch involved." He cursed as he picked up the bee and threw it in the trash behind his desk.

  The desk was a beautifully weathered oak table, and the only items atop it were a laptop and external monitor, a silver cup of pens, and a framed photo of what I took to be Juan's dad, grandfather, and an infant that had to be Juan himself. The old desk went perfectly with the rest of the room, which was decorated in wood tones and shades of cream, and I assumed it was another family heirloom, probably handcrafted by his great-great-great-grandpa.

  A big part of me envied Juan his family history. I didn't know much about my family, and most of what I did know was a lie. It must be nice to be able to connect with generations of family through your home and the furnishings inside it. All I had of mine was the bell that hung on La Buena Suerte's front door.

  "Guillermo did tell me something about a leader. Maybe the leader is a witch."

  "He shared this with you?"

  "Well, no. I spiked him and dug the answer out of his brain." At Juan's unguarded, horrified look, I added, "My intention was not to kill the wolf. This time. But he's not himself, and if we want to find him and whoever is behind his abduction, we need knowledge."

  "Yes." Juan stood and ran a hand through his hair. He looked different without his cowboy hat. More vulnerable. "I'm sorry. It's just that if he really is Gil, I can't help worrying—"

  "He has assaulted me and people I care about. Physically—" I pointed to my neck. "—and mentally. He came to my town with the purpose of dragging me back to his organization and turning me over to be broken by his leader. I was in a sanctuary only weeks ago. I know what it means to break someone."

  "You said the wolf didn't hurt you this time."

  The hope in his voice was hard to take because it was mingled with such terrible sadness. Juan didn't want to believe the wolf was his brother, but deep down he knew the truth. There was no one else it could be. No one that made sense.

  I unclasped my hands, splayed them on my knees, then pushed to my feet so that we were both standing. "Look, Alpha Juan—"

  "Jesus, just Juan, Neely. I think we're beyond formalities." His forearm muscles flexed as he squeezed his hands into fists, leaned them on the desk, and hung his head.

  When we'd first walked into the spacious office, which matched the rest of the house in its rustic stone charm, Juan had sat me down in an upholstered chair in front of his desk and taken the identical chair across from me. It was friendly, one amigo chatting with another.

  The second I told him I'd had another run-in with his brother, his demeanor had changed to distressed and defensive. I was suddenly the enemy, and that wasn't fair.

  In fact, it was bullshit.

  "Okay, Juan. You need to understand the stakes here. I want to save your brother, but I won't let this organization take me. If the person behind it all— this Elijah or witch or whoever—gets me under their control, it's over. A lot of people will die."

  "I know." He let out a long, tired sigh. "You truly are dangerous, aren't you?"

  "Yes. I am."

  "I don't mean to attack you, Neely. I believe everything you've said." He released another sigh, then stood up straight. "What's confusing me is the bees."

  "It's definitely perplexing."

  "Not that he used insects to distract you. No, that doesn't bother me, because it makes sense. Bugs conjure up a deep-rooted fear in a lot of people, which can be useful when using our abilities. Any other bug wouldn't have stood out to me. But bees? Gil would never choose to use bees to block someone from his brain. He hates them."

  "Why?"

  "Because he's severely allergic to them."

  "Allergic?" I'd never heard of a shifter with an allergy, except for when Lucas claimed an avocado allergy, which I was pretty sure was his way of getting out of eating avocado toast for breakfast.

  "We can have allergies. Ours may or may not kill us, but we have them." He stared over my head to the bookcase behind me, lost in thought. "I just don't get it. None of this makes sense. The bees, and Guillermo being a dire wolf. There's got to be a logical explanation."

  "I wish I had more to tell you," I said.

  "Yeah. Me too." Juan glanced over his shoulder, peering out the window behind his desk. When he turned back around, he still carried a sad, glazed look in his eyes, but he was also smiling. He rounded the table and held out his elbow. "Let's eat. I think better on a full stomach."

  I didn't take his elbow. "Are you sure you still want me here?"

  "Yes."

  "Juan, I like you." My gaze held tight to his. "Genuinely. And I'm more grateful than you will ever know for what you did to help me escape from that sanctuary, not to mention your help on the way here today. However…"

  One dark brow lifted. "However?"

  "My feelings for you won't stop me from killing your brother if I have to. I understand if you'd rather not have me around."

  His elbow dipped down a little. "That's … straightforward."

  Yes, it was. I was beginning to see the benefit of telling painful truths. When you didn't lie to others, it was a lot easier not to lie to yourself. "I figured you'd prefer honesty."

  "I do."

  I racked my brain for a way to explain, to soften my words without lying to a man I not only liked, but respected. "Something the dire wolf said to me made a lot of sense."

  "What was it?" His voice was whisper-soft.

  "When I called him by the name Guillermo, he said, 'I am not him.'" I tried hard not to wince at the pain in the alpha leader's eyes. "I'm telling you this because I believe the dire wolf is your brother. I'm just not certain he's still your brother."

  Juan towered over me but didn't loom. He was a lot like Lucas in that. Strength without dominance.

  "Guillermo has always been a good man. Strong and kind. He wouldn't hurt a soul that didn't have it coming. If he's hurting people … well then, maybe we should listen to what he's saying. Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe it's not him … anymore." His eyes shut tight and then reopened. "Let's keep this between us, though. It would break Gert's and Mom's hearts to know that."

  Given the sadness in his eyes, it was already breaking his.

  And mine.

  "I'm not ready to give up on him."

  In truth, I wasn't either. I felt as if saying so might give him false hope, though, so instead I said, "I will do everything in my power not to kill him. You have my word."

  "Can't ask for more than that."

  He could, but I was relieved he didn't. I finally took his elbow and allowed him to escort me back down the hall.

  The area adjoining the formal dining room was the size of an average living room, twelve by twenty feet or so. The dining room itself was twice as
big—the length and width of Lucas's eat-in kitchen, inside which I could fit both my car and my apartment. Martinez family portraits lined the long wall, their frames crafted from the same weathered oak as Juan's office desk. Each of the paintings was assigned a museum-style light fixture, and they were all switched on.

  The centerpiece of the room was the twenty-foot banquet table, the carved magnificence of which eclipsed even the stone corner fireplace with the enormous Texas star above the mantle. The enormous table dominated the room—in fact, it seemed to me that the room had been built around it rather than vice versa.

  La Familia Martinez may not dress for dinner, but their staff did serve aperitifs, and that freaked me out nearly as much. I always felt a bit like a bull in a china shop during these sorts of gatherings.

  Juan excused himself and headed for the kitchen, presumably to check on dinner. I sought out Amir, who seemed to be trying to blend into the bookcases on the far wall of the room. He was sipping what looked like water, but probably wasn't.

  "Did you tell him?" the eagle shifter asked.

  "Yes. He was understandably disturbed." Immediately after my dream, I'd run across the hall to tell Amir and ask for his advice.

  "It's good to tell him. Make him understand how dangerous his brother is. If you have to…" He left that part unsaid. "At least you'll have prepared him."

  "He sounds okay, but he keeps vacillating between believing the wolf is Guillermo and believing it's impossible for it to be him. Trust me, he's not in any way prepared for me to spike his brother."

  "We'll handle it." He shrugged, and I was struck by how distant and cold he was acting toward me.

  "Sure." I glanced up at him and then away, suddenly uncomfortable. "Amir, did I do something to make you angry?"

  "No. Why do you ask that?"

  "It's just that you've been … different with me lately. Standoffish. Annoyed. I'm sorry Lucas made you come with me to Texas when you're clearly uncomfortable here. And if I've made you mad in another way, I'm sorry about that, too. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry for it. You mean a lot to me. I hope I haven't ruined our friendship."

  "I'm not uncomfortable here. I like Austin. Too much, in fact." He smiled a little, let his shoulders drop a fraction. "And you haven't ruined anything."

  "Tell me the truth. Is it because of Dan? I know him being challenged was because of—"

  "His own shit attitude? Dan's behavior toward you was a hindrance to the group. I liked the guy, but I'm not sorry to see him go." He sipped the drink that I was now certain was not water, because I was close enough to smell it. Vodka, if I had to guess.

  "Neely, I like you very much. We're friends, but when you became my alpha's mate, our relationship had to change. I am similar to Alpha Blacke in size and alpha strength. I'm not a prehistoric, but in a fair fight, I could hold my own with nearly anyone."

  It dawned on me then. "You're worried that Lucas will see you as a threat."

  "Not him, exactly, but his animal. Alpha Blacke would do everything in his power not to challenge me, but it would distract him and destabilize the group. So, I took a step back from our friendship—yours and mine, I mean—to reassure his tiger that he has no cause for concern."

  "If he was really worried about us, he wouldn't have sent you out here alone with me."

  Amir stared into his drink. "Yes, he would have. I am one of the strongest alphas in the group. He would send me because he knows I'm loyal and will kill or die to protect you. But that doesn't mean his animal is comfortable with our proximity." He shrugged. "Barbaric, I know, but it's difficult to contravene shifter biological imperatives."

  Before I could respond, Auntie Gert bulleted into the room, snagged a glass with two-fingers of whiskey in it from one of the servers, asked if it was the Tennessee "good stuff," and when she had the answer she wanted, threw it down her throat like a rodeo cowboy who’d just lost his championship belt buckle.

  "Pace yourself, Gert." The woman who said this was tall and willowy, with dark brown, gray-highlighted hair that hung in a straight, shiny curtain down her back. She wore snug Western-style jeans, a white cotton top, wide silver hoops in her ears, and bangle bracelets on her slender wrists. I hadn't noticed her come in behind Gert, as the woman seemed to float rather than walk, and Gert had thundered in like she was getting ready to kick something.

  "Tell me, Dahlia, where exactly is the fun in that?" Gert grabbed another glass, this one with four fingers of whiskey in it.

  "You've got me there." Dahlia's voice was like bells in a church. She smiled at the older woman and took a glass of water with a lemon wedge from the tray.

  "Hey there, Eagle, Neely." Gert threw back half the glass of whiskey.

  We both returned the halfhearted greeting.

  "Hello again, Amir." Dahlia's brown eyes gleamed with humor and … interest.

  "Hello, Dahlia," Amir replied in a silky tone I hadn't heard him use before.

  With no small amount of effort, the woman pulled her attention away from him and set it on me. "You must be Neely. I'm Dahlia, Juan's mom. Nice to meet you."

  His mom? If Dahlia was Juan's mother and Juan was Lucas's age, she had to be around sixty years old. The woman in front of me did not look sixty. Or rather, what I thought sixty looked like, which probably meant I needed to reevaluate my ideas about age.

  "Nice to meet you too, Dahlia."

  We shook hands as Gert slammed down the rest of her whiskey and stormed through the dining room. "Johnny, if you don't get rid of that old coot Barney Drath, you and me are going to have words."

  "Can we eat before we have those words, Auntie? I'm hungry." Juan came out of the kitchen carrying a platter of barbacoa. He was followed by servers carrying fresh corn tortillas, a molcajete filled with salsa, and various accompaniments, including freshly roasted vegetables, potatoes, and beans.

  Gert sniffed the air. "I suppose it can wait a spell. But no longer than that."

  We ate well. I hadn't realized I was starving until I took a bite of the barbacoa, but after powering down two helpings, my stomach was full.

  True to her word, Gert waited until the meal was over before confronting Juan again. "Fire Drath. I mean it."

  "What did he do now?"

  "Drove his Cadillac straight into the fence at the entrance. Damaged the fence more than the car and Barney, but now we've got to work on repairs and that sets us behind on the barn extension."

  Dahlia folded her napkin beside her plate. "Now, Gert. I'm sure it was an accident."

  "If you ask me, that's one accident too many. He needs to go."

  Juan set his fork down. "Barney has been with the family for years. Sure, his depth perception is a little off lately, but his magic is as sharp as ever."

  "Sharp, my foot. He's acting weird, I tell you." Gert harrumphed. "If he ever does that again, I'll tan his ever-lovin' hide."

  "No, you won't. You'll bring him to me, and I'll deal with him." Juan raised his voice, not in volume, but in power. "Do you think it's easy to find a meteorological mystic? Because it's not. Any rancher or farmer in the world would love to have Barney working for them, and they wouldn't be put off by his fence destruction, either. Hire a driver for him, or drive him around yourself, Gert. Hell, move him into the empty guesthouse so he doesn't have to drive at all."

  She grumbled.

  "Don't stay mad at Barney, Auntie Gert." Dahlia smoothed her napkin and set it on the table beside her plate. "He's sweet on you and it will hurt his feelings. I hope you didn't yell at the poor man."

  "He's lucky I didn't wallop him into next week." Gert folded her arms over her chest and winked at Amir. "Don't worry. You can wreck my fence anytime, handsome."

  "Auntie Gert." Dahlia shook her head. "We discussed this."

  With a sheepish look, Gert said, "Fine. I apologize, eagle. I've been letting my tongue get away from me since you got here. You've been a real gentleman and I've been acting ugly."

  "Apology accepted." Amir's expr
ession was kind, if guarded. It was clear he didn't one hundred percent buy Gert's apology.

  Dahlia's phone buzzed. She took it out of her back pocket and tapped on the screen. "Great. My nightshift bartender didn't show up again." She stood. "Sorry, ya'll. I'm going to have to skip digestifs. I have a bar to tend."

  "Amir makes great drinks," I blurted. I had no idea if that was true, but it was obvious he liked the woman, so I thought I'd give him a helping hand.

  "Is that so?" Dahlia turned in her chair and gave Amir her full attention. "Would you be willing to fill in for a couple of hours? Just long enough for me to get ahead of my other work so I could take over? I'd owe you a favor."

  Amir smiled softly at Dahlia. "I would be happy to help you in any way I can, but I can't allow Neely to go out unescorted, and she intends to visit her father after dinner."

  Helpful little ol' me spoke up again. "You know what? That would actually work because one of my dad's people was going to pick me up and take me to the house tonight, but he called an hour ago and asked if we could do it in the morning instead. I guess something came up." Or it could be that I was going to call and cancel as soon as we were done here. Either way, the answer was the same. "Juan and Gert will be here. They can keep an eye on me."

  Gert winked at me. "You bet."

  "Wonderful." Dahlia grinned at Amir. "You can ride with me and drive my truck home. I'll catch a ride home with one of my employees—if you want to, of course."

  "I want to," he said, gazing at Dahlia somewhat dreamily, then cleared his throat and nodded. "I'd like to help."

  They excused themselves and walked out.

  Juan tossed his napkin onto his plate and leaned back in his chair. "Which of your father's people was he sending for you, Neely?"

  "Lewiston. Do you know him?"

  Lewiston, a lion shifter, was another one of the people who had come to find me at the sanctuary. Unlike the others, though, Lewiston was sent to help on orders from my dad. He was young and tall, had dark brown skin, hair, and eyes, and was about as nondescript as a beige house in a mid-priced suburban neighborhood.