Shattered: The Sundance Series

by Rider, C. P.

  "Are you certain he knew?" Amir stared through the windshield, wincing as Gert hit a pothole in the road.

  "Yes. He told me."

  "What did he say?" Gert asked.

  "He asked me to stop," I replied. "He also said something else I'd rather not repeat."

  "Feel free to repeat it. I'm always looking for new curse words to shock ol' Barney with. He's old-fashioned about women cursing. Acts like an old man even though he's only eighty-seven."

  "Nothing new, I'm afraid. Only the old favorites."

  "Well, that's disappointing," Gert said.

  Amir reached into his pocket, handed me a tissue.

  "Again?" I pressed it to my nose, but it came away clean.

  "Ears," he said.

  Bleeding from my ears from a shallow spike? That couldn't be good.

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. I texted Dottie and told her about the white wolf attack, and about the necklace globe charms I'd found. Asked for a quick take and told her I'd call back later since I knew the witches weren't overly fond of communicating via text. She and Dolores agreed that the charms were likely inert, but anything was possible, so I was to be careful.

  Story of my life.

  Back at Juan's, Amir and I parted ways with Gert after she made sure we exchanged cell phone numbers in case—her words—"that fool Barney flakes out on us."

  Amir carried the heavier box to my room, and I carried the other. Once we'd stepped through the bedroom door and set down our boxes, he closed and locked it, grabbed my hand, and hauled me into the bathroom. He held a finger to his lips, waiting to turn on the shower before speaking.

  "What did Lewiston really say?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Look, you may have thrown Gert off with the 'he also said something else I'd rather not repeat,' followed by the implication of cursing, but I know you a little better than that. What did he say?"

  "Don't. Please." I performed a bad imitation of Lewiston as I wadded up the bloody tissue and tossed it into the trash. "It's not something I can share."

  "What was it?"

  I took a washcloth out of the cabinet and dampened it with the water from the shower. The bleeding had stopped, but I still had smears around my ears and down my neck. "You remember when I told him about the names Legion and Elijah?"

  "The ones you got from the dire wolf, yes."

  "He recognized them. In fact, he not only knows them, they're connected in some way to my dad's case."

  Amir leaned in, subtly sniffing me. My uncle, a beta wolf shifter, had often done the same thing. He'd once said that his nose was more reliable than his intuition. "I was paying close attention to his vitals and his scent when you said that, and I didn't pick up anything."

  "I don't doubt it. Lewiston is very good."

  He straightened. "Why didn't you want Gert to know what you saw?"

  "I'm playing this whole thing close to the chest. I have no reason not to trust the Martinez wolves, and I've been transparent with them until now…" I trailed off.

  "But…"

  "But this is about Juan's brother and Gert's grand-nephew. I'd be a fool to think they'd protect me over him. Also, Lewiston. I mean, the man may be as slippery as a greased banana peel, but my interactions with him have been on the level so far. If knowing that I'd picked up on his lie and read him when he didn't say anything out loud didn't compel him to tell me about his familiarity with Elijah and Legion, then he has his reasons. I'm going to allow him a little wiggle room. But not much."

  "As slippery as a greased banana peel?" Amir chuckled. "You sound like Gert."

  "I don't mind that one bit, feathers."

  "Never repeat that." He shuddered.

  "Promise."

  "Neely. I hate asking this, but I need to know. Did you have to spike Lewiston to get the information? Could you have just read his thoughts?"

  I need to know? What the hell was that supposed to mean? "Telepathy gets me nowhere with Lewiston. He's nearly as good as my dad at hiding his true self."

  "It's just… You're spiking a lot these days."

  "Yes, I am." I reached in and turned off the shower. We were finished speaking about sensitive things. Besides, I'd been in California too long not to be sensitive to water waste. "I don't want to hear a word about how I'm being reckless and un-Neely-like, either. There's no room in my life for second guesses. I can't and survive in this world."

  "No, you can't. It's what happens to us all, eventually. I just didn't want it to happen to you."

  "Thank you for saying that. I know it's because you care."

  "I do." He pressed his lips together. Nodded grimly. "However, whether we like it or not, the paranormal world eventually molds us all into its image."

  "It makes us harder, yes. Stronger."

  He nodded his approval. It wouldn't have changed anything if he hadn't approved of my choices, but it was easier knowing that he did.

  "Well, I'm going to report in to your mate. Excuse me." He lifted a hand. I assumed that he was going to pat my shoulder, reassure me that everything was going to be okay.

  Instead, he lowered it back to his side and walked out of the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I took a successful nap after lunch, meaning there were no bee illusion attacks or threatening visits from rogue dire wolves, and I was feeling more like myself. Gert, Amir, and I were supposed to meet Barney the mystic at six. I knew Juan would want to be there, so I set out to find him in his sprawling house.

  "You looking for me?" Juan set down his pen and stood from his desk when I poked my head through the doorway.

  "Yes. If you don't mind my interruption, I'd like to speak with you." I stepped all the way into the office and closed the door. I hadn't noticed it the previous night, what with the delicious food smells permeating the house, but Juan's office had a smell. My mind classified it as a male sort of smell—leather and sandalwood, and the smoldering embers of a partly extinguished log fire—but that was because I'd only known men to smell that way.

  "I don't mind. Were you able to go through your boxes?"

  "A little, at my dad's house today. Right before I was thrust into a wall of bees."

  "I heard." His shoulders drooped. "A white wolf this time."

  "Yes. Sampson Ibarra showed up and was able to hypnotize me—or whatever weird brain magic that man does—into seeing through the illusion."

  "He can do that?"

  "Yep. Apparently his skills can be helpful when he's not employing them for deception and backstabbing. Who would have thought it?"

  Juan gestured for me to sit in front of the desk, and once I had done so, he did the same at his desk chair. "I see you haven't forgiven him for that shit he pulled on you at the sanctuary."

  "No. But I have to get better at tolerating him. He's agreed to help us. I've asked him to help me bring down Guillermo without killing him. He's not sure it can be done."

  Juan rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was wearing old boots, worn jeans, and a blue cotton T-shirt—what he called his "barn clothes," and there were dark smudges under his eyes.

  When he'd come to see me in Sundance last fall, I would have guessed his age somewhere around mine, although Lucas told me Juan was a year older than him, which meant he had to be thirty-seven. Tonight, he looked every one of those thirty-seven years.

  "You told Lucas and me that it's not possible for Guillermo to be a dire wolf because there's already one in his generation." I softened my voice. "You."

  "That has always been the accepted thinking, yes."

  I let the silence spin out between us. What I had to say next was going to be hard, but we had to stop pretending there was a chance it wasn't Guillermo and start trying to figure out how and why it was him. "Juan?"

  "Yes?"

  "It's him. You know for sure, right?"

  "I'm not the only dire wolf in the world, Neely. As far as the wolf using Gil's name, well, I keep what I am a secret, but that doesn't mean p
eople don't know. I've thought a lot about it. Luke is one of the few shifters in the world who might best me in a fight and vice versa. It would benefit anyone who hated either of us, and there are many, to set us against each other."

  It was sad to watch him continually deny what he knew in his heart to be true.

  I pointed to a painting of his family behind and to the left of the desk. "I saw Guillermo in human form, twice, and he looked like that. Longer hair, thinner, but it's the same man."

  "Fuck." Juan's chest pumped like a bellows, his breath spitting from his mouth as he sprouted red-brown fur on his arms and neck and face. Lethal canines sliced into his bottom lip as they grew, and a puddle of blood pooled on the papers in front of him.

  Now, I'd assumed that me forcing Juan to face the fact that his brother was the dire wolf would upset him, but this seemed an over-the-top reaction.

  Juan threw himself to his feet and faced the window behind him. At a loss for what to do or say, I got to my feet and quietly headed for the door.

  "There's only one way," Juan croaked.

  I froze in place.

  "The dire wolf gene, to use human science terminology, is in all Martinez wolves. In one wolf per generation, the gene is expressed. In everyone else, the gene is repressed. It's there, but will never become active."

  I tossed up my hands, spun around. "Look, I know it sounds impossible. I don't understand it either. I'm only telling you what I saw. Hell, maybe it was an illusion. As you said, people hate you and Lucas. Maybe there's another dire wolf running around pretending to be Guillermo."

  "You've been in his head. Talked to him."

  I nodded, looked away. "Yes, but I can't be entirely sure that it was your brother."

  "That was a lie." He pointed to his nose. Smiled sorrowfully.

  He was right. I'd seen enough to know it was him.

  The fur covering Juan's body retracted, as did his canines. "Truth be told, I was certain it was Gil when you said he played that song on the jukebox at Chandra's bar. I didn't want to admit it."

  "Seven Year Ache?"

  He nodded. "After Dad died, Gil and I would stop by the bar to help Mom clean before opening. It was our way of keeping an eye on her while she grieved. She played that song often, but she played other songs that meant a lot to her, too.

  "I believe there's a particular significance attached to this song. A message for me." He picked up the bloodied papers on his desk, considered them for a second, then dumped them in the trash. "Seven years ago, my brother walked out on the pack. He and I butted heads. A lot of small things that snowballed into big things. It culminated in his challenging me for the business and the pack."

  "Obviously, he lost." I leaned on the back of the chair I'd been sitting on earlier.

  "Yes. He's a strong alpha and he was determined. If I hadn't been a prehistoric, he might have won the challenge. I always figured the main reason he left after that was because he wanted his own pack. Now … I'm not sure. Maybe he really did leave because he hated me. He certainly acted that way."

  Juan drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. He seemed to touch it more when he was unsettled about something, as if he drew strength from it.

  "Is your desk very old?"

  An odd question considering the conversation we were having, but I asked anyway. Anything to get that lost look out of Juan's eyes.

  "Been in the family for generations, in a sense. It was crafted with wood from the original barn built by my great-great-great-grandfather, Don Manuel Juan Martinez. You'll see it throughout the house, most noticeably in the dining room table." He said this absently as he stared at the bookcases on the wall behind my head.

  When his attention didn’t return to me, I asked, "Are you all right? You seem tired."

  His gaze and full focus remained on the bookcases. "Last night and all day today, after chores and my meeting, I went through those books." He finally dragged his gaze to mine. "I spent hours searching for something I was sure I'd read years ago, when I was a kid, and this stuff was new to me. Back then, Gert and my father directed me to these old books and told me to read them. It was part of my training." He touched the desk again. "I asked Gert if she knew of any stories about there being two dire wolves in a generation, and she recalled a story, but not the book it originated from. She wasn't sure if it was true or a parable. My ancestors loved a good parable. They were all about moral lessons."

  "These have been passed down through generations?" I asked. "Your generations?"

  "Yes. But they're living books, too. Each new generation appoints a scribe to document our histories as wolves and as dire wolves. Other than appointing my cousin as scribe when I became Alpha, I hadn't thought much about the books in years. A few minutes before you walked in, I found the one I'd been searching for. Inside the tome was a story of a distant ancestor who was changed into a dire wolf despite his sister being the chosen one of their generation."

  "So, there's a precedent?" I felt encouraged by that, as if we were a little closer to getting some real answers.

  "Yes. But it's not a good one." Juan's shoulders lifted to his ears, then slowly lowered again. He was breathing to calm himself, I could tell, because with each inhalation, fur sprouted on his arms and with each exhalation, it disappeared.

  "What did the book say?"

  "The wolf in the book—the brother—was a strong alpha, but as I said, not the chosen one. His sister was the alpha of the family and the dire wolf chose her to lead. The brother accepted this, but was ultimately unhappy with her leadership and left the pack. He was captured by another group of shifters." Juan swallowed. "The atrocities they performed on him were fully documented, but I won't go into that. Suffice it to say, he was tortured in ways that only we shifters can be."

  As shifters can heal most injuries—even regenerate missing limbs—that sounded hideous.

  A thought occurred to me and I felt ill. "The bees."

  Juan whispered, "He's severely allergic. An allergy like his would kill a human."

  My mind ran wild with images of Guillermo being covered with bees, being stung over and over until he was too weak to fight. Until he was broken, shattered into pieces, to be gathered up by the leader and remade. The words had enraged me when the dire wolf first said them. Now I felt only terrible sadness.

  "How long did they torture the wolf?"

  Juan's voice broke. "Twelve full moons."

  Roughly a year. There were sometimes more than twelve in a year, but never fewer. At least, I'd never heard of that happening. He'd been tortured for an entire year.

  "And after the twelve moons?"

  "The sleeping wolf awakened. His prehistoric form took him over absolutely. Even in human form, he was entirely dire wolf. It was a possession."

  "It saved him."

  "Yes. But it also killed him. His wolf existed in berserker mode, which caused him to murder everyone in his path, friend or foe. In the end, his sister had to put him down. He was … feral."

  If Guillermo was a dire wolf, it was due to a year of torture.

  This was everything I feared about being turned into a telepath-spiker-shifter crossbreed. The wolf in the story had been changed into something that transcended wolf and man, something unnatural. His mind gone, he'd killed mercilessly and indiscriminately. What was worse, the only person strong enough to put him down was his own sister.

  "I'm sorry, Juan."

  The Austin alpha lowered himself into his chair, dropped his face into his hands. "Me too. I'm sorry he chose you. I'm also sorry that I'm pleased that he chose you."

  "Pleased? Why?"

  "Anyone else would have killed him by now, collateral damage be damned. You didn't kill him because collateral damage is unacceptable to you."

  "I hate to say this, but it might be easier for you if I had."

  He shook his head. "Nothing makes this easier. Whether by my hand or not, if he's truly feral, my brother has to die."

  We sat for a few minute
s, both reflecting. Me on what lay ahead, and Juan—well, he was probably thinking the same thing.

  I glided across his thoughts. Yes, he was.

  "Would you like to me to call Lucas?"

  Juan knew what I was saying. I saw it in his expression. If he was unable or unwilling to take down his brother, the only other shifter we both knew who was strong enough to do it was Lucas. Possibly Gert, but she'd have the same problem as Juan. They were family.

  "Not yet. But soon."

  I told him to meet us at Auntie Gert's house in an hour, and went back down the hall to my room to call Lucas. No sense getting to Gert's house early. Barney the mystic wouldn't arrive until six.

  Back in my room, I picked up my cell phone, ready to call Lucas, when the box from my dad's garage caught my eye. It was a different shade of white from the other three boxes he'd left for me. It didn't appear to be one of the boxes he'd sent from whatever overkill secure storage location he'd used to stow away the others. And yet Lewiston seemed to think it was important I have it.

  Lewiston. The one person who probably knew my dad better than anyone, including me.

  I set my phone aside and lifted the lid off the box. With tempered excitement, I peered inside. I'd expected photos, maybe more jewelry, or even a birth certificate. What I got was a lone leatherback book. Sticky notes protruded from it, the binding was loose, and some of the pages were falling out. The whole thing was held together with thin elastic double-wrapped around it.

  It was a journal.

  Gently, I unwrapped the elastic. It was old and didn't stretch well, and I didn't want it to snap off. I sent a little prayer to all available deities that this was my mother's diary and not my father's, because the nervous buildup to this moment was too much for me to handle the disappointment.

  Flipping it open, I was surprised to see that it was neither my mother's nor my father's journal. It was both.

  Dear Cornelia, it began. I want you to know how very much I love you. How wanted you are. How much your father and I dreamed of your birth. I want you to understand this because there may come a time when you'll think otherwise. Please don't. Please know that your mommy loves you with all of her heart. Your daddy, too.