by Kat Kinney
Thor: Ordered some more stuff for Fancy. Amazon’s gonna two-hour it over to your place.
Me: GODIVA
Me: And you realize you’re becoming one of *those* people? An entire box of cat toys? Organic kitten food? Could this be why she’s suddenly afraid of us?
Thor: Did she eat it?
Me: I sense you’re missing my point.
Thor: Figured with the whole shoving her in a grapefruit box thing the other night, plus you not letting me feed her that cupcake…
Me: Please see the refrigerator once more for the list of allowed kitten foods.
Thor: …a few catnip mice couldn’t hurt. Got her a cat tree for my place, too.
Me: Um, you remember the part where it took us an hour this morning to trap her?
Thor: Fancy’s got skills.
Me: We are so never telling anyone we got our asses handed to us by a four-pound cat.
“There’s something wrong with this town.”
I froze, instantly recognizing my mom’s altered tone. My phone chimed traitorously with a new text notification. I stuffed it into my apron pocket. Shoving away the trays of turkey and smoked sausage, all of which had been provided by The Spoke, I dragged her straight past the cranberry jelly station to the door.
“I remember. They came late at night—"
“It’s okay.” Tears blurred my eyes. I punched the crash bar to release the door, ushering us into the blinding midday sun.
Right now all that mattered was getting her home, convincing her to lie down and take her meds. For whatever reason, deep sleep caused her mind to reset. The episodes never seemed to come while she was working. The concentration required to stay focused when she programmed kept her centered. My mom didn’t wander away when she slipped into one of her episodes. She didn’t set the stove on fire. I was the source of her anxiety. I had caused it. If I wasn’t there, she called me obsessively until I answered. And I came running. But it was the same every time. She couldn’t work her way out of the mass of thorns the Tracers had left of her neural pathways, couldn’t untangle real from not real, and existed suspended in a world where a voice in the back of her mind recognized something wasn’t right but was unable to touch it because of the mental blocks in place.
“We have to get out of here,” she slurred as I shook one of her pills out of the dark orange medicine bottle. “They’re coming.”
“S’okay.” Tears blurred my eyes. “I won’t let them find us.”
My phone chimed again just as I was peeling out of the parking lot. Dallas, no doubt. For one terrible, selfish second, I allowed myself the wish that my mother and I could have had a different sort of relationship, one where rather than constructing lie upon lie, I could have cried with her after what had happened with Ethan. Where I could have told her I was scared I might be falling for Dallas, the two of us bonding like epic mom and daughter duo Lorelai and Rory Gilmore over coffee and Indian takeout. In another world, I would have taken Dallas home to meet my mother. I could see it now, the three of us shouting at Top Chef over buttery popcorn and my latest batch of cupcakes. How many times had I wished I could step back in time to that fateful night and make a different choice, take back the answer I’d given when she’d looked up distractedly from her laptop to ask where I was going, one split-second decision rippling out across time and space to change both our futures.
An alternate reality where Dallas and I never would have existed at all.
The night after Dallas was sent to Calgary, my mom’s memory was wiped by Tracers. Gone were the nights where I lay with my head in her lap while we watched Gilmore Girls, her cool fingers playing through my hair, arranging it into braids. Gone were the rainy Sundays where I’d danced through our kitchen baking cupcakes to Shakira while she coded and threw out crazy flavor combinations like peanut butter banana and blueberry bacon. Gone were our special mother-daughter brunches with banana macadamia nut pancakes to celebrate after my Saturday morning track meets. All of it erased, an alternate reality constructed in its place where a Lacey who never existed slammed out of the house, stayed out all night and told her mother she hated her.
The second week staying with the Caldwells, I snuck into the bathroom with a pair of scissors from Sofia’s sewing chest downstairs. Eyes cast downward, I released my hair from the ponytail holder. The cold metal shears scraped across my scalp, my heart hammering, the rasp of the blades seeming to scream in the silence. And then it was done. My hair lay strewn around me on the woven bathmat like the feathers of a plucked bird. I couldn’t go back. They’d already killed every part of me that mattered. Everything I’d once loved. And I wanted no part of the girl I’d become.
My mother believed Dallas and I had broken up after a year in Calgary. She had no idea that for the past five years he’d snuck across the road to visit me nearly every night in between checking the smokers. She could never know about our secret shared language of cupcakes, beef ribs and memories of a night we could never take back. Most days, the false memories the Tracers implanted held. When they didn’t, and she fought to recall what had really happened despite splitting headaches, nausea and dizziness, seizures and blackouts followed.
My phone chimed again just as I was pulling into my mom’s driveway.
Thor: Our proof of life. (One of us wore herself out playing with the laser pointer.)
Attached was an image of Godiva asleep on a familiar chest, her paws curled beneath her, nestled in Dallas’s favorite Cowboys shirt. Shutting off the ignition, I let my head rest against the steering wheel.
What was I doing? How much longer could Dallas and I keep pretending this, whatever it was, didn’t have an end date? What kind of future was there for a relationship that would always have to be kept a secret? The answer had been there from the start. I just hadn’t wanted to face it. Because as much as I wanted there to be an us, no way was I putting my mom at risk. Not again. Not after everything I’d already done.
* * *
A thin line of clouds blanketed the sky close to dusk when I pulled into the circle outside the sprawling Caldwell pack house in the Blair’s catering van. The two-story ranch house was built of white limestone with flagstone patios and wraparound porches overlooking miles of Hill Country farmland. This late in the year, the fields were fallow for the winter, a few rows of peach trees stretching their stark, naked limbs up towards the cold November sky. Little potted Christmas trees with sparkling red and gold balls stood at either side of the front door. A fragrant evergreen wreath tied with a fat red velvet bow hung over the brass knocker. Twinkling icicle lights hung from the eaves. No doubt Brody hadn’t been able to wait another second to start decorating.
“We were about to send out a search party.” In a vintage black A-line dress printed with tiny white daisies, a leather choker and platform heels, Hayden Crowe came nearly to my five foot nine.
“Hoping my invitation would get lost in the mail?”
“And risk not getting my cake?”
Movement over her shoulder caught my eye. Topher Greer hovered in the shadows behind one of the tall limestone columns flanking the door, a battered paperback shoved under one arm, looking like he might incinerate the first scented pinecone or jingle bell that crossed his path. As I watched, he jerked like he’d been electrocuted, gaze shifting north. But it was his eyes that sent a chill creeping up my spine—fixed on the horizon, and yet somehow utterly vacant.
“Is he—"
Hayden examined her nails, which were painted a dark raspberry. “It’s whatever. He came by Dark twice this week. Hung out.”
“Is that safe?”
Rolling her eyes, she grabbed a box of bread and followed me into the house. “He didn’t bite anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. West was off from classes. He stayed with him the entire time.”
“How’s that working out?”
“Who can tell? If you ask me, their whole dynamic is really freaky. I’ve never seen two people more in need of a good hate-fuck.”
“Pretty sure West is too much of a boy scout to go there.”
“You think? Doesn’t mean that isn’t their problem, though.” She peered into the cake box. “So am I allowed to see it before the ceremony?”
“Isn’t that bad luck?”
“Like I haven’t already been bitten and turned into a werewolf?”
The Caldwell kitchen was bright and airy with a large center island. A window over the sink looked out onto the patio and herb garden. I loved everything about this kitchen, from its walk-in pantry to the state-of-the-art appliances, to the brightly colored hand-painted Mexican accent tiles set into the backsplash. I lifted the cake onto the rolling stand and began making final adjustments. Which of course was when Hayden crowded in like she had no idea the zoom function on her phone was even a thing.
“Are those supposed to be music notes?”
Because after everything, she was seriously throwing shade at my icing technique? Which was perfect, btw. I growled, so ready to tell her to back off. But then she bit her lip. I darted a glance over just in time to see hard-core punk rocker Hayden Crowe of the coal-lined eyes and ragey lyrics, the same girl who’d made my life hell for the past two months, look away like she was trying not to cry.
And… crap.
I thought of Ethan, who would be surrounded by all his brothers at the ceremony. Hayden’s sister, Ellie, had chosen to have her memories erased rather than be turned into a werewolf after the Council had discovered she’d figured out the truth about shifters. Ethan, despite how much he might empathize, would never understand what it was like to have to lie to your human family day after day, weeks becoming months becoming years, lies told for their protection and yours forming fault lines until they eroded away even the strongest bonds. Until there was nothing left.
And suddenly I wished I could have taken it all back. I wished that Hayden Crowe and I could have met differently, after one of Daisy Addiction’s killer shows down in Austin or when she’d come in to buy cupcakes, her introduction into our world and to me defined by anything other than fighting over a guy.
And… screw that. If there was one thing the past ten years had taught me, it was that a mistake didn’t have to define the rest of your life. Every day was a choice, and today, I was making a different one.
“Ethan said you love dark chocolate, so that’s what I went with for the cake layers. I made the filling from crushed Thin Mints and buttercream. Lots of people want delicate and lace for a mating cake, but I thought the dark motif was more your style. The flowers and pearls are all sugar, so they’re edible. The guitar and coffee mug on top are fondant, which not everyone likes, but—”
“I can’t believe you made this for me.” Hayden examined the explosion of pale cream roses interspersed with dark blue daisies and violets that swirled up the three tiers of the cake. “It’s totally sick.”
“Thanks. And if you say that about my masterpiece in one of your blog posts and tag us on social media, I will egg Dark before your next open mic night.”
“Savage.” She held out a fist for me to bump. “You know, for the record, my sister and I went hungry a lot when we were growing up. Our dad struggled with addiction. Making sure we had food in the house wasn’t always a priority. Your program to collect leftover food from local restaurants every day and donate it to people in the community dealing with food insecurity? Pretty damn awesome of you.”
And before I could think of a response, she was gone.
* * *
“Nice night for this.”
Wrought-iron chairs were set out on the patio at a table long enough to seat ten. The bougainvillea and fragrant lavender wisteria had been cut back for the winter, their brittle vines snaking up the trellises. So far out in the Texas Hill Country, the evening sky was uncluttered by light. Stars scattered across an endless black canvas. The moon blazed overhead, sending rippling waves of power pulsing through the pack. My skin tingled, my other self wild with the need to get out. Dallas leaned against one of the posts supporting the wide arbor that stretched out over the patio. Our eyes met, his irises flaring gold.
He let his gaze slowly travel the length of my body. I’d paired a form-fitting sweater dress with leggings and short ankle boots. “You look amazing.”
Heart pounding, I closed the distance between us. His hand found my hip, thumb tracing circles through the fabric over the mark from his teeth. Butterflies burst across my skin, tiny wings fluttering as my pulse spun out of control. I was panting, on fire and shivering all at once, a match begging to be lit. I gasped and Dallas gripped the back of my neck, gently biting my ear.
Someone once told me a kiss could hold a thousand meanings. A forbidden I love you where every promise could turn into a curse. A slow twirl beneath a canopy of stars, the only place a human girl and the son of the pack Alpha could truly be free. Seventeen-year-old Dallas had touched me like I was the oxygen he couldn’t survive another second without, like every time his fingers grazed my skin, it destroyed a part of his soul.
Now he kissed me like every time might be the last.
Dallas released me and raked both hands through his hair, eyes wild. Excusing himself with a growl, he went into the house.
Everyone else had gathered with Ethan and Hayden beneath the circle of hundred-year old live oaks behind the house where pack ceremonies were held. I’d decided to hang back and watch from the patio. It felt right to give them their space today. Besides, someone needed to finish setting out all the food.
I slipped Major one of the bone-shaped peanut butter cookies I’d brought from Blair’s. All-natural, of course. I could respect the diet. He inhaled it from my palm, making happy crunching noises.
“Look out, big guy.” Luring Major away so that his tail cleared the potato salad, Dallas peered over my shoulder. “Any updates from Naomi on our cat?”
I passed my phone over. “Mind explaining the cat tree?”
“Which part, the cat or the tree—"
“The part where it’s taking up half my living room.”
“Your apartment is the size of a postage stamp. The new whisk I got you for Christmas won’t even fit in your kitchen.” He squinted at the screen. “Check out those green eyes. Obviously she gets her looks from my side.”
“Yes, the arctic wolf gene is strong in that one.”
Across the field, cheering broke out.
Dallas looked down. “Good for them.”
“To happy endings.”
The Spoke had catered smoked turkey and beef ribs, garlic mashed potatoes and gravy, and jalapeno cornbread stuffing. I loaded up my plate, then added on green bean casserole, cranberry jelly and two fresh yeast rolls. “You make these yourself, Caldwell? Little heavy on the butter.”
Dallas smirked. “Nothing better than a woman telling you how to cook in your own kitchen.”
August hooted. “Did I call it or what? They’re together now and it’s official. Ten bucks.”
Hayden raised an eyebrow. “And define official.”
Dallas snapped the serving tongs closed. “Like I’m falling for that. Who still needs food?”
“They got a cat. E and Hayden don’t even have a goldfish.”
“Violet still gets hangry every night after sunset,” Ethan said dryly. “And Cal doesn’t do that kind of therapy.”
Hayden pinched his side. They exchanged a glare that quickly dissolved into Ethan cupping her face with a smile so private I had to look away.
We were just sitting down when Brody’s cell went off, blaring Bad to the Bone.
West narrowed his eyes. “And I’m the one who’s been taking shit all week about my status updates?"
Quickly passing his plate off to August, Brody pointed to Topher. “In the house. Now.”
Which shut everyone up real quick. As Brody paced across the patio, all but snarling at the person on the other end of the call, the rest of us bent over our plates, making no secret of the fact we were all listening in because, 1) shifter hea
ring, 2) no one could do nosy like the Caldwells, and 3) it wasn’t like Brody was trying that hard to hide his half of the conversation.
“—when… how many… you’re sure?” He propped a hand at his hip. Growled. “You’ll want to try that again without the side of smart ass, because I’m really not in the mood. Yeah. Okay.”
Punching off, he stalked towards us.
Dallas jerked his chin. “You gonna tell us who that was?”
Brody glanced around. “Topher inside?”
“Yeah. West is with him.”
“That was a source. The bombing two nights ago was traced to one of the vamp covens in Houston.”
“That where they sent Cal?” August asked.
Brody shook his head. “Usual deal with Cal. Need to know only. The Council called before dawn, told him to pack a single bag, that someone would be there within the hour to take him to an undisclosed location.”
The patio fell silent.
It wasn’t the first time Cal had been suddenly called away to head up a trauma response team. But given the events of the last forty-eight hours, the checkpoints set up along all the major highways, and the newfound knowledge there was a mole on the werewolf council, no one liked the looks of this.
“Why are we being targeted?”
“No lead on that yet. But my source heard the entire coven’s gone.”
“That can’t be right.” Dallas shoved back his chair. “The entire coven? To do that, they would need—”
“I know.”
“Who’s this source?” I cut in. “Because if they’re right, someone may have just restarted the Blood Wars.”
Brody stared at his phone. “Yeah. So about that.”
We all turned in unison at the sound of an engine. Two black SUVs outfitted with armored plating and bulletproof glass pulled around the circle. I hadn’t seen River Caldwell in close to a year. Back then, he’d worn a perpetual scowl to go with his black fatigues. That part hadn’t changed. If anything, his face had grown harder, any trace of the boy who’d once hacked into the town traffic cams at age twelve just so I could see my mother stop at Blair’s for her morning coffee, gone. As the others climbed from their vehicles, he immediately began making a sweep of the yard, gun drawn.
