by J. A. Saare
Michael sat in the black faux leather recliner in the far corner, the newspaper in his hands flared wide. His thick mahogany-colored hair fell to his shoulders, the front strands tucked behind his ears. His black tie was loose inside the collar, the noose drooping below the loose buttons at the throat. A matching jacket was slung over the arm of the chair, placed directly above the suitcase near his feet.
He kept his eyes straight ahead as he scanned the newspaper. "You have some explaining to do."
I swallowed nervously and struggled to find my voice. "I didn’t know what else to do. Those men—"
"I’m not talking about the robbery. We’ll get to that soon enough, I wager." He turned the page, the sharp crack of the paper ringing in my ears. "For now, let’s just start at the beginning."
My tongue felt heavy, and my throat went dry.
The moment had been four years in the making.
During that time, I'd visualized explaining myself to Michael if he came a calling. Those first few months when fear of discovery overwhelmed me, I would practice in front of the mirror, attempting to nail the dialogue like those inspirational Oscar acceptance speeches. Unfortunately, I wasn't a high-caliber artist, and I sucked at lying.
Desperate, I tried to do as he requested. "I couldn’t come back."
"No, you could have come back. You didn’t want to come back." He extended the words could and want for added effect. "There’s a distinction."
I made sure to keep my voice level and calm, each word softly spoken and deliberate. There was no need to piss off the big bad wolf. "I don’t expect you to understand my reasons for leaving. You’re an alpha whose been around since Christ was born, Michael. All you see is pack. Personal wants and needs don’t figure into the equation until after the rules that govern the wolf are in play."
"That’s true." He closed the newspaper and folded it with his large hands.
He returned the paper into a rectangular shape and sat it atop the briefcase. His amber-colored eyes finally met mine. I immediately lowered them, staring at the dark brown stubble across his chin. He moved to the edge of the recliner, resting his elbows on top of his knees while bringing his hands together and interlacing his fingers.
"At least you’re smart enough to appear remorseful." He sounded mildly amused but the humor was fleeting, replaced immediately by clear reprimand. "If you’re going to harp on the idiosyncrasies of pack, you should also remember that you too shoulder a portion of the blame for what went wrong. You never gave the pack any real chance. You were too busy holding a grudge against your father and the portion of yourself you considered a curse. Leaving something you couldn’t acclimate to, I can understand. But you didn’t give the pack the common courtesy of putting forth the effort."
There were several things I could have said, but I chose not to. What Michael stated was true. I did consider my genetics a curse, and I did push them all away. Those indelible teenage years were bad enough without the complication of learning I had a wolf lingering beneath my skin. My mother—and anyone with access to a television and Dateline News—knew children conceived between a werewolf and human had less than a fifteen percent chance of inheriting the gene. Even less for successful conception and a pregnancy to term between the species. She’d banked on percentages and the power of prayer instead of modern science.
She had felt really guilty about that later.
The change had started a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday. The warning signs were easy to dismiss as growing pains. Then my skin had started to burn, and my bones had started to ache. My shoddy eyesight had improved, and I started to smell everything within close proximity.
When the full moon came, I'd been doomed.
The first shift a half-breed experiences is normally done with an alpha in attendance for a good reason. They have the power to bring the wolf forward from within, calling it to the surface to shorten the change and alleviate the agony.
I hadn't been given that.
Shifting from one form to the other went beyond all the concepts of painful. The bones break and splice, the organs and tissues reform, and the skin has to stretch to cover a larger area. I suffered my first change for over an hour, stuck between the body I knew and one that was strange. My throat had become so hoarse I couldn't scream after the first fifteen minutes. When the ambulance and police contacted by a concerned neighbor arrived and realized exactly what was going on inside Mom's hand-me-down trailer, they hadn't stuck around.
Afterward, my mother accepted what she’d long denied.
I was not the normal, perfect daughter she’d prayed I’d become.
Despite her best efforts, I carried the genetics of the man she'd become pregnant by. She'd been forced to hand me over to him after my shift, placing me directly into the keeping of the one person she vowed never to speak to again. I'd been taken to a place werewolves affectionately referred to as the compound—or, as humans referred to it, the dog pound—a private neighborhood built on several hundred acres of forest land with fences and warning signs littered around the property line.
Even though there were two established packs in the county, I was the only one of my kind in Rhea: an outsider and halfling raised by humans who were just learning to shift. My father had tried to make the transition as painless and stress-free as possible, but at that time, he seemed like another strange thing.
Speaking of dear old Dad. "Why didn’t Max come with you?"
"He wanted to, but Noah refused to stay behind. I told Max he needed to stay home and watch over things in our absence. A lot has changed in the time since you left. I would hope you’ve kept abreast of pack matters via the news at the very least. It’s not safe to be werewolf, or any other supernatural creature, these days."
Was that the understatement of the decade?
The Coalition of the Sun was just coming into prominence when I left the pack seven years ago. It was only a matter of time before The Watchers of the Moon followed. Both organizations were ignorant, bigoted, and completely delusional on the lifestyles of vampires and werewolves. They worked hard to establish laws for human protection, creating a new version of informed consent for the workplace, ensuring the average human was shielded from the wolves and bloodsuckers that could transmit what they believed was poison. The proud brotherhood claimed to be religious, doing God’s work. Funny, as I'd always functioned under the notion that the Lord loved all of his creatures.
Including those prone to sunburn and howling at the moon.
Michael lifted the newspaper so that I could see it. A picture from the bank surveillance camera was plastered across the front. Even with the grainy black and white texture, the person was easily identifiable.
"Your face has been plastered on television stations and newspapers for the last three days."
My voice deepened, my vocal cords tight in agitation. "I saved that little girl."
"True, but in the process, you possibly transmitted the infection to a child. A female child. If the worst happens and she inherits the trait, she won't survive the first shift. You essentially stepped in and prolonged her life. The question is, for how long, if at all? The Watchers are having a field day, spinning this story for all it’s worth. You're not supposed to be here. You're not even licensed or registered with any of the nearby packs. They held a press conference in front of the hospital the first day you were sedated, demanding the hospital administration cease rendering care. They are using what happened as an example of what will occur if werewolves are allowed to live in anonymity, claiming we are a menace, even those the best of intentions." I attempted to speak, and he held up his hand, silencing me, and plopped the newspaper back onto his suitcase. "You don’t have to explain your actions. The bank had several security cameras. I’ve seen the tapes."
Stomach queasy, I murmured, "They released tapes?"
He shook his head. "Even werewolves have civil rights."
"Thank god." I breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing into my pillow. S
hifting was something I preferred to do in private. Just knowing strangers had seen my body during the vulnerable stages of transition made me want to vomit.
"The kind gents at the police department all but signed your euthanasia certificate until they saw what was captured on film. They know you did them an enormous favor, even if a child was bitten in the process. It’s the only reason they’ve agreed to release you into my custody."
Noah’s distinctive, woodsy scent arrived seconds before his body appeared in the doorway. He had changed clothing but still dressed in a suit, this one a dark navy instead of black. The shade complimented his eyes. His broad shoulders accentuated the long lines of the sleeves and cut of the jacket. I knew he was pleased my gaze was already on the door when he came into the frame, and a smile formed on his unfairly sublime face when our eyes met.
"How do you feel?"
Damn his voice with such a husky cadence and tenor. There was more than one reason I didn’t partake in phone conversations with him after I departed Rhea.
I quickly looked away from his expectant face. "Alive."
If he was offended by my reaction, it didn’t reach his voice. "The doctor says she’ll be able to fly within the next twelve hours. Her wounds are healing, and her femur has successfully fused."
"She," I informed Noah angrily, "is right here."
"I’m sorry." He moved to the bed, bumping the side of the hospital mattress, goading me to look up at him. "I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me. Now that I know otherwise, I won’t make the same mistake again."
His dark blue irises were peaceful, his demeanor totally playful.
I broke eye contact before he could gauge my response, rubbed my hand across my face, and then pinched the bridge of my nose. No one had the ability to get under my skin like Noah. I’d almost forgotten how fine the line between love and hate could be.
"Have you made arrangements with Barney?" Michael asked.
"He’s waiting with Norma-Jean at the airport."
Barney Owen was a long-standing member of Michael’s pack—a very longstanding member. A fighter pilot during World War II, he dubbed his vessel Norma-Jean. He'd come through the experience virtually unscathed, but Norma Jean hadn't. To commemorate her, he named each plane he commanded in her honor.
"I’m not going," I said quietly, knowing they would hear.
Stillness also has a sound, but it’s not created by normal actions like most noises. Instead, you perceive loss of movement by the various sounds that come into focus in their absence. The room went very still. The soft purr of the air conditioner and the steady ticking of the wall clock were almost thundering in the quiet.
"Hey, Ark Man, I saw a café downstairs that advertises breakfast around the clock. Why don’t you go get us something?" Michael spoke as if Noah had a choice in the matter, but we all knew it was an order and not a request. Noah moved from the bed, and I could tell he was frustrated. Undeterred, Michael instructed, "I want pancakes and sausage. Make sure to shut the door behind you."
The sound of the door closing prompted me to come out of hiding.
Michael was watching, studying my body posture.
He only observed me for seconds, but it felt like minutes.
Powerful things, Michael’s eyes.
When he spoke, there was no blame in his voice, just honesty. "Since you came to me as a young woman, nothing has been ordinary. You've always pushed buttons and have, for the most part, gotten away with it. That ends now. This hasn’t been easy for any of us. Not for me. Not for your father. Not for the pack. But it’s been most difficult for Noah. He knows what he did was wrong. His remorse is genuine. The three years you spent in Phoenix were a damned good indication of what it would be like without you, and he suffered as a consequence. You would have discovered that if you’d stuck around after your mother’s passing. It was cowardly to leave as you did, by the way. Even if the timing worked in your favor."
If an illness can arrive at a good time, I suppose Mom's had.
I'd needed to get away, and she needed someone to care for her.
Nothing else could or would have swayed Noah to let me leave his side.
He'd known how angry I was, how betrayed I felt.
I remembered how frustrated he'd been. He detested the idea of my departure with things so unsettled between us, but there was nothing he could say or do to stop me. I'd never contacted him in the entire three years I'd spent with Mom, going so far as to erase his messages on the machine without giving them a listen.
His voice might have been my undoing.
When Mom was on her deathbed, she told me not to attend her funeral. She wanted me to use the money we'd saved and go somewhere, anywhere, I wanted. She'd sympathized with my situation in a way no one else possibly could. If not for her planning and advice, I wouldn't have had a chance to flee from the pack. They'd have stuck to me like glue as soon as they arrived at her service.
"I’m glad he’s seen the error of his ways, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not getting involved with Noah Cameron again. He’s like quicksand. Harmless on the surface but dangerous once you dive in for a better look. The closer you get to the man, the further you sink. Especially if you're stupid enough to trust him."
"You’re going to have to face what exists between you and Noah. He sees something in you that he will never see in anyone else, and though you don’t want to admit it, you see something in him, too. That’s why you can't walk away from each other. He’ll keep pushing until you evaluate the situation and allow him to make things right between you."
"Why do you think I left?" I whispered in a voice filled with pain. "After I found out that he’d basically manipulated my entire life and confronted him…" I shook my head, angry and hurt, as I recalled the way I'd felt, the emotions still raw and open. "Noah was sorry because I was so upset over what he’d done, not because he felt guilty for it."
Michael shrugged my response aside. "He shouldn't feel remorse for providing for his mate. When you came to the compound, you were lonely. He sought to ease that."
"By having people establish friendships with me under false pretense." I was livid at the memory. I didn’t hold back, allowing my temper to claw free and shine through. "He had his friends, family, and pack spying on me. From the very first day. There is no excuse for something like that."
"Maybe they did spy. At first. But the affection and friendship everyone extended to you was very real. It's true they wanted Noah to be happy, but they also wanted you to be happy, Eleonora. Not as Noah's mate. Not as their lupa. As their friend. The love they expressed was genuine." He adjusted his tie slightly and added, "Trisha hasn't forgiven herself if that makes you feel any better. She feels responsible for all that’s happened."
"At least she came clean about what she’d done."
"What did she do to you exactly? Become your friend? Help you adjust to the changes taking place in your body? Teach you what to expect with your wolf nature? Make your life easier?"
"Do you have any idea what it’s like? Learning everything you’ve ever said in confidence was immediately repeated to someone else? I thought she was my friend. I told her all of my secrets. She knew every single one of my fears, hopes, and dreams. The things we discussed in private were never meant for Noah's ears. I trusted her. I trusted them." I recalled how devastated I'd been. It had been a lie. When I'd learned the truth, I'd experienced the deepest kind of bitterness, anger, and heartbreak a person could suffer. "I will not feel guilty for something that isn’t my fault. They knew what they were doing. They just never thought I'd find out."
"Eleonora Raven Carthy," Michael used my full name, and I knew the conversation had gotten serious. "I’m going to ask a question, and I want an honest answer." He didn’t continue until I met his stare. "Can I trust you not to run again?"
I didn’t look away, answering truthfully, "I don’t know."
Returning to a pack was something I could learn to live with if absolutely necessary. St
ill, there were certain allotments that had to be offered, certain promises that had to be made.
As if knowing which direction my thoughts drifted, Michael said, "I had a lengthy discussion with Mr. McDaniel. Would you like to know what he told me?" I shrugged and he continued, "He’s prepared to hire an attorney and challenge the pack for you. He’s already contacted realtors in Rhea to acquire property that borders the compound. "
I glanced down at my hands, staring at minuscule nothings under the nails. "That sounds like Steven."
"Although I could have told him to no and let everything play out as he wished, I decided to hear the man out. He's hot-headed but reasonable enough, especially for a human. He was willing to listen to me, which I personally appreciated. But," Michael stated, sighing, "He's not one of us. You might think it'll work out between the two of you, but I know better."
Michael always thought he knew better. "What did you tell him?"
"Several things."
Was he going to make me beg for the answer? "Such as?"
"It doesn't matter. We came to an agreement, but there’s a stipulation, and I’m not willing to compromise. I'm going to put the offer on the table. What happens next is entirely up to you."
I wasn’t surprised. There were always stipulations within the pack.
"What’s the agreement?" I waited, finding myself tense and edgy. I was bound to whatever he chose, agreement or no. Whether I liked it or not, Michael was the boss.
What Michael Preston said went, period.
"You will spend the next month at the compound until the full moon. I expect you to be active with the packs, no isolating yourself. For once, you will be a part of us. All the way. No half measures. There are several cases we’re working on with the PBI, and I want your participation in at least one of them. You always had a strong nose. You might as well put it to use during your stay. If you still want to leave after the time has passed, you can return to New York, but you have to agree to return to Rhea every month for the full moon. There will be no more hiding from your family or from what you are."
