Howling on Hold

by E. J. Russell

  He raised his chin, sniffing the air, searching for Hugh’s scent. If he could find the place they’d emerged, that should give him the best odds.

  There.

  He batted aside fir branches and blackberry brambles until he found the narrow path. But he stumbled to a halt when he detected another, more well-known smell.

  It can’t be. It’s not possible.

  But it was, because Uncle Patrick appeared around a curve in the path, his brow knotted in familiar concern and his cashmere duster billowing behind him in his haste.

  “Uncle? What are you doing here?”

  “Tanner, my boy.” He rushed forward, his arms open, and Tanner had just enough time to shove Jordan’s phone into his back pocket before Uncle Patrick enveloped him in a hug. Tanner took a shaky breath, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of L’Homme cologne, glove leather, and pipe tobacco that meant Uncle Patrick to him, the one constant in his life since his parents died. “You’re my pack. Where else would I be when you said you needed me?”

  “But I didn’t,” Tanner murmured into his uncle’s shoulder. I’m sure I didn’t.

  “Well, not in so many words.” He patted Tanner’s back. “But you asked me to come get you. Now, you said, so of course I left at once.” His low chuckle rumbled under Tanner’s cheek. “The fae may be annoyingly high-handed at times, but their new transportation system is certainly efficient. Although insisting on oak leaves as tokens is rather inconsiderate for those of us whose territory is coniferous rather than deciduous.”

  “H-how did you find me?”

  “It certainly would have been easier if you kept your phone charged.” He gripped Tanner’s shoulders and eased him away. His unwavering gaze made Tanner want to hang his head, just like it always did. “But since you contacted me from your RA’s phone, it wasn’t difficult.”

  “Oh. Right.” Stupid. Jordan had just mentioned that the Find My Friends app could track Chase.

  Uncle Patrick glanced around. “Where is he? I was under the impression that you were together when you called.”

  Tanner gestured in the general direction of the cabin. “He’s back that way.”

  Uncle Patrick’s jaw tightened. “Did he do something inappropriate? Is that why you asked me to collect you immediately? Do I need to report him?”

  “What? No!” Tanner swallowed, the click of his throat as loud as a gunshot in the silence of the woods. Silence is good, right? If I can’t hear fighting, maybe it’s over. Or maybe he was simply too far away to hear anything. “I didn’t ask you to collect me at all. I asked you not to come.” Damn that wonky cell connection. It obviously cut out the most important words.

  His brow knotted, and was that hurt flickering in his eyes? “But why not? Surely now that you’re of age, there’s no reason to delay returning to the compound.” Patrick’s face took on the same expression he wore whenever Tanner disappointed him—something Tanner had seen regularly throughout his childhood. “What have I always told you?”

  “Pack is pack,” Tanner mumbled.

  “Exactly. And we take care of our own. But I can’t very well do that if I don’t know what the problem is. Now tell me why you decided to leave your Residence.”

  Even though Uncle Patrick’s words were a command, he hadn’t imbued them with alpha authority, so technically Tanner didn’t have to answer. Tanner gazed up at him and bit his lip. How do I tell him his son might be a traitor? An attempted murderer? Uncle Patrick had experience with Finn’s antics and always dealt with them severely, but Finn had never tried something of this magnitude. That I know of. Who knows what Finn might have learned during his own Howling? He took a deep breath. Might as well start at the beginning.

  “There’s something I didn’t tell you when we spoke on the phone.”

  Uncle Patrick squeezed Tanner’s shoulders once, then released him, tucking his hands into his duster pockets. “Somehow I suspect there may be more than one pertinent omission.”

  Tanner smiled wanly. “Maybe. But on my birthday back in November, I saw Finn in Portland.”

  “Finn?” Uncle Patrick’s voice took on the edge of impatience that he always got when Finn disobeyed orders not to bother Tanner. “In Portland? You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely. He was in one of the pack Town Cars. I recognized the dent where he backed into the tree that time.”

  “If it was just a similar car—”

  “No. I saw him. He was in the passenger seat. He saw me too.” Tanner dropped his gaze to his feet, flexing his toes in the carpet of pine needles. Gods, I’m pathetic. I’m running around the woods in socks again. “And the thing is . . . I think the same car nearly ran me down earlier.”

  Uncle Patrick muttered something under his breath. “That’s . . . quite an accusation, Tanner.”

  “I know. I’m not entirely sure that it was the same car, since I didn’t see inside it, and it might have been an accident. I was in black and its headlights weren’t on. But later, I definitely saw Finn.”

  “You said Finn was the passenger. Who was the driver?”

  Tanner swallowed against a metallic taste in his mouth. Is this what disillusionment tastes like? “I think it was Lou. Although I’m not sure. It could have been Gerald. They look alike from the back and side.” If Lou had really tried to run him down, had abetted Finn in whatever his plan was, Tanner couldn’t ever trust his instincts again. He liked Lou. The man had always treated Tanner with careless kindness, had even carved him a set of wolves in different poses. He’d said, “You can practice with this pack until you’re ready to take over your own.”

  “Lou, you say? Hmmm.”

  The continued silence crept like insect feet down Tanner’s spine. It’s too quiet. Where are the birds? The squirrels? Could the golems be in pursuit? Then, with the crack of a twig, someone appeared from between the trees behind Uncle Patrick’s shoulder.

  “Finn,” Tanner croaked.

  Uncle Patrick whirled, placing his own body between Tanner and Finn. “What are you doing here?”

  “Maybe I just wanted to spend a little time with my dear old dad. And what do you know?” Finn smiled tightly. “Like you said, the FTA is pretty damn efficient. I just called for a ride and said ‘Follow that fae,’ and voilà, I got to witness this touching reunion.” His smile morphed into a sneer. “You never even bothered to check behind you.”

  “As I recall, you’re confined to the compound until after the equinox.”

  “Oops.” Finn widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Guess I forgot. Shocker, I know, since I’m usually so obedient. Oh, wait. That’s not me. That’s him.” He took a step forward. “You might as well cut the bullshit, Father. I overheard the call. I knew you couldn’t resist scampering off to Tanner’s side, same as you always do.”

  “Jealousy doesn’t become you, Finn.”

  “Jealousy?” Finn snorted a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Envy, then.”

  Tanner clenched his fists. “Is that why you tried to run me over? Because you envied me?”

  Finn frowned at him. “What are you talking about? I didn’t try to run you over.”

  “Oh, right,” Tanner scoffed. “You weren’t driving. But there’s no point in pretending. I already told Uncle Patrick that you were in Portland on my birthday.”

  “You what?” Finn grimaced. “Great. You never did know when to shut the fuck up.”

  Tanner wanted to cringe and creep away, out of reach of Finn’s words and fists, just as he always had, but he stood his ground. “So you don’t envy me?”

  Finn’s gaze met Tanner’s. “Maybe once. But I learned a lot at my own Howling.” His gaze returned to Uncle Patrick’s. “Probably more than you wanted me to. For one thing, now I can recognize a toxic relationship when it’s staring me in the face.”

  Uncle Patrick heaved a sigh pregnant with disappointment. “If this is to be another diatribe about what an unsatisfactory father I am, this is hardly an opportune time o
r place.” He tucked his hands into his pockets again. “Return to the compound immediately.” His voice took on the ring of alpha authority. “And while you wait, reflect on what it takes to be a satisfactory son.”

  Even though the command wasn’t aimed at him, and even though Finn had never done anything to earn Tanner’s sympathy, Tanner couldn’t help but hunch his shoulders. If Uncle Patrick had spoken to him that way in front of a witness, he’d have been mortified.

  Finn, however, simply stood there. And smiled. “Surprised that I’m not running home with my tail between my legs, Father? You shouldn’t be. Although it’s interesting you assume the toxic relationship I mean is the one between you and me.” He fixed a fierce gaze on Tanner and took another step forward. “Haven’t you ever wondered why my dear father keeps you leashed like a junkyard dog? Maybe you didn’t notice, maybe nobody noticed except me, but he’s been priming the pack for the day when he puts you dow—”

  Before Finn could take a second step, Uncle Patrick whipped a gun out of his pocket.

  And shot his son.

  Finn uttered a strangled cry, clapping a hand to his shoulder. Tanner gaped, head ringing. “Uncle P-Patrick,” he croaked.

  Patrick stared down at the gun as if he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there. His gaze slid from the gun to Finn to Tanner. He cursed under his breath.

  And shot Finn a second time.

  The impact spun Finn halfway around, and he collapsed onto his knees and then forward onto his face.

  For a moment, Tanner was rooted to the ground, his stomach threatening to climb up this throat. But when Finn’s fingers spasmed in the pine mast, Tanner staggered forward.

  “Stay back, Tanner,” Uncle Patrick barked.

  “B-but you shot him.” Tanner’s voice sounded dead in his ears. “I didn’t mean for you to shoot him.”

  “He threatened my pack. Nobody threatens my pack, especially not my miserable excuse for a son.” Uncle Patrick strode past Tanner and gazed down at Finn for a moment, then dropped to one knee. He turned Finn over, and Tanner’s breath whooshed out when Finn blinked. He’s still alive. Thank the gods.

  Uncle Patrick bent over him, his back blocking Tanner’s view of Finn’s torso. And his wounds.

  Finn turned his head, his gaze meeting Tanner’s, and his lips moved. Tanner couldn’t hear anything so he crept forward, Finn tracking him until he was standing at Uncle Patrick’s shoulder. “Your pack,” Finn said, his voice barely a whisper.

  Tanner frowned. “What?”

  “It’s your pack.” Finn cut his gaze to his father. “He said his pack.”

  Tanner’s stomach reversed course. Uncle Patrick stilled. Then he straightened up slowly until Tanner could see what he’d been doing—wrapping Finn’s fingers around the gun.

  “Uncle Patrick.” Tanner started to edge away. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think?” He swore softly, then slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out several bullets that glinted with the sheen of pure silver. “I’m solving two problems at once.” He gazed down at Finn, disgust and contempt flickering over his face. “You’ve always been such a disappointment to me. It’s typical of you to show up precisely when you’re not wanted.”

  Finn’s hand moved amid the pine needles, and he flipped his father off.

  Tanner glanced around wildly. “Mal’s not far away. Quentin. Ted.” Chase. “Somebody’s bound to have heard the shot. Someone will come.”

  “Don’t be stupid, boy. I’ve got a silence sphere spell in my pocket. No one can hear anything outside a ten-foot radius. Besides, I’m sure they’re all rather busy now—although of course we can’t hear them either.”

  “Y-you know about the golems?”

  Uncle Patrick—no, just Patrick. I don’t have an uncle anymore—snorted. “This should have been finished months ago. I suppose you were too busy daydreaming in a corner to put the ring on before. You never could focus on the important things.”

  Finn reached a trembling hand for Tanner. “Wanted you to know. Sorry. About everything.”

  “You.” Fury suffused Patrick’s face as he glared down at Finn. “You were going to warn him, I suppose, with that clumsy trip into Portland. Pathetic.”

  Finn’s laugh caught on a gasp. “Stupid,” he murmured. “How far we’ll go . . . to prove . . . someone loves us.” He closed his eyes. “Even when it’s clear . . . they don’t.”

  “Patrick?” Tanner could barely force the words out. “How did my parents d-die?”

  He smiled, and the look on his face—gods, has he always looked this smug? Have I mistaken self-satisfaction for kindness all this time? “They were caught in a . . . mudslide.”

  “A mudslide.” Tanner remembered how the golems—relentless, animate mud—had risen from the earth. “Would this have been shortly after my father received his new signet?”

  Patrick huffed impatiently. “Brigid wasn’t supposed to be with him, the fool. I warned her. But she didn’t listen to me. She never did when it came to your father.” He shrugged. “So she paid the price. A pity, but it was her own fault.”

  Tanner gaped, his breath lost somewhere beneath his throat. His uncle, the man who he’d looked up to, who had raised him, who had protected him . . . It was all a lie. He stared down at Finn. This is the toxic relationship he meant. The one between Uncle Patrick and me.

  Tanner inhaled sharply, then darted forward and yanked the gun out of Finn’s lax fingers. Gripping it with both hands, he pointed it at Patrick, the barrel wavering in his trembling hands. “Don’t move.”

  Patrick didn’t bother to look up. He studied the bullets in his hand, rolling them around as if to pick the perfect one. “Tanner, put the gun down.” His tone was normal, matter-of-fact, no hint of alpha authority, as if he were asking Tanner to do nothing more momentous than pass the orange juice. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  Finn’s laugh caught on a cough. “Heaven forbid. That’s . . . his job.”

  If Patrick didn’t think it was necessary to use alpha authority on Tanner . . . He must truly think I’m useless. It was time to prove him wrong.

  “You,” Tanner said between clenched teeth, a buried scream caroming inside his chest, “can go fuck yourself.”

  Then he spun on his heel and bolted into the woods.

  Chase’s instinct was to follow Tanner into the trees, but his other charges were still here, facing a football team’s worth of animate mud.

  Mal swore as the golems surged closer. “Gods bedamned golems. The sword’s almost useless. Lop off an arm and another one grows in its place.” He aimed a low sweep at their legs, momentarily slowing them until the lower part of their body split into two and they lumbered forward again. Even though they were shorter, they were growing as they sucked more earth, leaving gaping holes in their wake.

  “These bozos are ruining the landscaping!” Ted hollered. “The dryads are gonna have a fit!” Beyond the flash of Mal’s sword, Chase glimpsed Ted tearing off his clothes and then shifting, with a sound that reverberated in the bones under his ears, into the biggest grizzly Chase had ever seen. Ted rose on his back legs and waded into the golems who were surrounding the other weres, ripping clods off them with his massive paws and tossing them aside.

  Four golems turned from the guys and just . . . fell . . . on Ted, engulfing him in mud that immediately started to solidify.

  Quentin roared, and wings burst out of his shoulders, shredding his suit. Claws tipped his fingers, and he swooped on the mud tomb.

  He’ll be too late. It’s too deep. Chase’s gaze landed on the other weres, huddled together, watching with enormous eyes, and suddenly he had an idea.

  “Jordan!” Chase pointed at the hardening mud pile. “Dig!”

  For a moment, Jordan stared at him. Then he whooped, kicked off his shoes, dropped his pants, and shifted, the rags of his shirt flapping around his neck. He bounded over to the mud surrounding Ted and started to dig for all he was worth, joined almost im
mediately by the other guys, also in shifted form.

  “Where’s that bloody ring?” Mal panted, still lopping off parts of the golems that hadn’t stopped going for him. “I’ve got a neutralizing spell, but we can’t cast it unless the thing’s in hand.”

  “Not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t understand how this can be—” Chase winced as Mal sliced off a golem’s . . . head? Head-shaped lump, anyway.

  “The signet is cursed. As soon as it touched Tanner’s flesh, the spell was invoked.”

  “But that can’t be right.” Chase scanned the grass, trying to detect a wink of gold, but the weeds were so tall. “Tanner touched it on his birthday, I’m sure of it.” He scuttled out of reach of another golem. “Well, pretty sure.”

  “What time? Was it before his birth hour? Because if he wasn’t of official age—” Mal sliced both golems through the middle, sending their top halves toppling to the ground “—the spell wouldn’t activate. Shite.” All four golem halves started reassembling—the legless ones stomping new feet out of their waists, the headless ones popping roundish lumps directly on top of their truncated chests. “For the Goddess’s sake, Chase, find that bloody ring!”

  Chase scrabbled around in the weeds, but then he heard a yelp, and one wolf went flying across the clearing and landed in a heap at the base of a tree, whimpering. Oh, no! Chase tore off after him and discovered a naked, muddy, human Jordan huddled on the ground. Shit, he’s only eighteen. What was I thinking, ordering him into the fight? He still can’t maintain his shift through trauma or shock.

  Chase helped him to his feet. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. One of ’em just got me from behind.”

  “Why not head into the woods? Wait until this is over.”

  “Are you kidding? This is awesome! This is the first time anyone’s ever wanted me to dig! I can shift again and—” Jordan stared wide-eyed past the pile of mud, wolves, bear, and incubus. “Thor,” he breathed.

  Chase turned to see Rusty Johnson, whom he’d met several times as part of Lane pack renovation projects, pounding down the path from the lodge, his teeth bared in battle rictus, a sledgehammer in his hand. He reached the first of the golems harrying Mal, and with one swing of the hammer, obliterated it into nothing but clods.