by Renee Rose
Three hundred yards below us, men stream in coordinated lines up the mountains towards us.
“Abort mission. Get to high ground,” Rafe orders.
Barking fills the air.
“They got dogs,” Lance announces the obvious, and picks up his pace. We pound over the ice slick rocks, climbing the mountain peak. The air is thin, and my lungs burn, struggling to adapt. My legs scream for more energy while my head gets light.
“Come on, Deke,” Lance calls. “Race you to the summit.”
I push myself to climb faster. The snarls of the guard’s dogs echo around us. They’re getting closer. I hope our alpha’s planned a surprise exit; otherwise, I don’t know how this ends well.
My boots skid on black ice, and I halt, considering. I should stand my ground, give Lance a chance to escape. This is the way I could go out a hero. No one but my packmates would mourn my death.
And Sadie…
“Deke, what the fuck are you doing?” Lance skids to a halt a few yards ahead. Behind us the shouts and scrape of the militia's boots and barks of the dogs grow closer.
But there’s another sound, this one up ahead. A thuk-thuk-thuk of helicopter blades.
Lance’s face splits into a grin. “Sonofabitch,” he murmurs. “He’s done it again.” We both turn and race up the mountain, headed for the snowy ridge as the bird appears, hovering over the summit.
“Heard you needed a ride,” the pilot shouts over the din of the helicopter blades.
Rafe sticks his head out of the side and throws down a ladder. “Get the hell up here.”
Lance leaps on the ladder and starts climbing. The militia chasing us shouts, and I grab the bottom of the ladder. Any second now, they’ll start shooting. It’s a miracle they haven’t started already. Guess Deiter didn’t think to ready any long range guns.
A few heartbeats later, Rafe and Channing haul me into the chopper, and the pilot spirits us away.
“What the fuck happened?” Rafe asks.
“He had eyes on us,” I tell him. “He knew we were there.”
Rafe curses. “I can’t believe this.”
“Is there a leak on our end?” Lance asks.
“No one knew about this except Colonel Johnson and our team. Deiter knew we were going to be there. Somehow, he knew.” I can hear Rafe’s teeth grinding.
Rafe growls and pulls out his phone. As soon as he's in range, he'll report to Colonel Johnson: Mission Aborted. We failed, but we’ll live to try again another day.
When we’re back at HQ, I pull up my phone and check to see if Sadie's texted me. I don’t even have a picture of her, only her name and number saved in my Contacts folder, but seeing her name makes me scent her candy sweetness.
“Deke’s texting his girlfriend,” Lance singsongs.
I bare my teeth at him, and he chuckles and elbows Channing. “I’ll bet you twenty bucks says he has her under him by full moon.”
I don’t think, I don’t pause. Red washes over my vision, and the next thing I know, I’m on top of Lance. He’s on the floor, and I’m pounding him with my fists.
“What the fuck,” Channing shouts and tackles me, dragging me off of Lance. Lance’s pretty face is bruised and bleeding, but the fucker is laughing hysterically. I push Channing away and retreat to the corner, trying to get my wolf under control.
“Settle down,” Rafe orders as if we’re kids roughhousing on a playground instead of three fully grown werewolves trying to kill each other.
“Well, you can’t say this wasn’t fun,” Lance grins at me, his teeth streaked red. He’s as crazy as I am, he just hides it better.
“Plane’s almost here. Get cleaned up, so we can go,” Rafe orders.
“Any other missions?” Channing asks Rafe.
“Nope. Next few weeks are quiet. Two security gigs and some surveillance. Oh,” Rafe shoots a glance in my direction, “and visiting Sadie Diaz’s kindergarten class.”
My heart thumps when I hear her name. My wolf gets agitated in a new way. A far more frisky way.
Once I’m on the plane and strapped in, I reach into my pocket and find my phone. I swipe my thumb across the surface, touching it like a talisman.
The aftermath of battle has always been hard on my wolf. I’ve been honed into a killing machine, and it’s difficult to come back to civilian life. The bloodlust, the need for battle hums in my veins.
But when I’m with Sadie, all that pressure lightens. I forget that I’m a killer. I can remember that my wolf isn’t just a weapon, he’s a wild creature, and there’s more to life than fighting.
Chapter 6
Sadie
Career day comes, and my students haven’t been this excited since I brought them the jackalope toy. I have them sit in a circle and caution them to be on their best behavior, but when the four towering soldiers arrive, the classroom erupts with excitement. I try to smooth my features but can’t stop smiling either, as my heart thumps wildly. As usual, Rafe takes the lead, greeting me and addressing the class in a smooth, deep voice that settles the children faster than I ever could. Deke hovers in the back, his thick shock of black hair making him a bit taller than his friends. He’s stone-faced and silent. Not once does he look my way, which is fine. I need to focus.
Rafe introduces his brother, Lance, and I recognize the blond from the alleyway. He winks at me, and I narrow my eyes at him. The fourth and final member of the group is Channing, who waves to the class before crossing his arms in front of his chest, making his biceps pop even bigger. All four of our guests look badass in a mix of camo and civilian clothes. Deke’s in an unbuttoned camo shirt with the long sleeves rolled up. Underneath he’s in his usual outfit of black jeans and t-shirt.
I tear my eyes away from him and get back to doing my job. “Everyone, this is Mr. Rafe Lightfoot. He and his friends are here to talk to us today about their service in the Army. But first, can we name the four branches of the military?”
The kids sing-song “Army, Navy, Airforce, Marines,” in dutiful chorus. Except for Jackson in the back, who thinks it’s funny to replace “Marines with “GI Joes.” The two kids next to him immediately inform him, “That’s wrong. It’s the Marines,” and I have to settle their squabble before things get too heated.
“The Army’s the best,” little Owen in the front row pipes up. “My dad said so.”
Rafe crouches right down in front of Owen, his eyes crinkling. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Owen nods, wide eyed.
“Your dad is right. But it’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone. Because then the service members in the Airforce, Navy and Marines will be jealous, and they’ll all want to become soldiers like us.” He winks at Owen, who’s overcome with awe and rises. “Every branch of the military is important. We all make a team. Teamwork is important.”
For the rest of Rafe’s talk, I fight to keep from looking over at Deke. I lose the battle, but when I glance over, he’s wearing his shades over his eyes. Lance notices my attention and gives me another wink. I roll my eyes.
Rafe is almost done, and the class is getting restless, ready for recess.
“Do you have any questions for Mr. Rafe and his friends?” I ask. Ten hands shoot up. Owen has both his hands up when I call on him.
“Did you shoot lotsa bad guys?” he asks, and there’s a swell of sound from the rest of the class, who are excited by the prospect of learning about violence.
“Sometimes,” Rafe answers seriously. “But only if we were sure they were bad guys, and we had done everything else we could to keep the peace.”
“Do you have lotsa guns?” Owen asks at the same time Jackson shouts from the back. “Did they die right away? Was there lots of blood?”
“Okay, that’s enough questions!” I trill. “It’s time for recess. Everyone say, thank you, Mr. Rafe.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rafe,” half the class singsongs. The rest want to know the answers to Jackon’s questions. I had no idea they were so bloodthirsty. My teacher aide comes to help the kid
s into their coats for recess. I’m caught up in a swirling eddy of brightly-clothed children, but head over to Rafe as soon as I escape the tide.
“Thanks again,” I say.
“No problem. Great kids.”
“You guys are great with them.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Owen approaching Deke. The big soldier kneels to help the kindergartener tie his shoes, and my ovaries melt.
And as I leave for the day, I’m even more determined to figure out what’s going on with Deke. What’s stopping him from getting close? It’s like he has this big secret, something he’s keeping from me and the rest of the world. And I just want to throw my arms around him and tell him I don’t care.
That’s what I’ll do, I decide as I get in my car to drive home that night. I’ll lure him out and seduce him. Or something. Enough of this sitting around. I’m all in on Operation Deke.
I just have to figure out how to do it.
Normally, I’d call up my girlfriends and get them to come over for wine and a brainstorming session, but they’re super busy right now. Adele is taking more catering jobs to cover the slow season at the chocolate shop, and Tabitha is helping her. Charlie is busy too, with some secret project she’s not telling any of us about. Besides, they’re not entirely pro-Deke. They’re firmly pro-Sadie and seem to think I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to him. I get it—I haven’t made the best choices when it comes to men. They don’t want me to get bulldozed by a domineering man again.
Deke isn’t like that. He’s strong, but he doesn’t bulldoze me. Besides, he’s not even interested or available for a relationship. He can be my wild fling.
I’ve never had a wild fling.
I’ve never been wild. And Deke definitely makes me feel wild. In the most wonderful way.
I get home, kick off my ballet flats and rub my hands together. I’m about to call Deke when I see I’ve missed a call, and I’ve got a voicemail.
My heart sinks. It’s from my father. “Sadie, we need to talk.”
Thirty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of the uptight restaurant my father likes. I didn’t have time to dress up as I know my father would like, but I changed into a fancier cardigan and ballet flats. My battle dress. Too bad I can’t roll up in a tank and wear a suit of armor. Not that my father can’t pierce those sorts of shields. I square my shoulders and march inside.
My father’s already seated at a table right in the center of the restaurant, where everyone can see him. He’s town councilman and prides himself on knowing everyone “worth knowing,” as he’d put it.
He introduced me to Scott.
“Darling,” he says as I dutifully cross to him and bend down to give his cheek a kiss. “I took the liberty of ordering already.” He gestures for me to sit.
“Great.” I’ll have to pick at whatever he ordered for me. Last time it was freshwater trout and a salad of mostly arugula. I hate fish and a little arugula goes a long way.
I look longingly at my wine glass but shake my head when the waiter offers a drink menu. I’m a total lightweight. Besides, I only drink in public with people I absolutely trust not to mock me, like my girl posse. When I was out with Scott, I ordered a lot of cranberry juice with club soda. With my father, I don’t bother with a mocktail. He’ll drink enough for the both of us.
My father is commonly a handsome man, with silver tinsel in his hair. He’s tan and fit from golf at the country club and skiing in the winter. He’s already getting a few appreciative looks from two forty or fifty-something ladies with yoga tight bodies and Botox tight faces. They keep glancing over at him, and he pretends not to notice, but I know he does. He perfected the art of hiding his wandering eye back when he was married to my mother. Now it’s a habit of his to pretend to be oblivious to other women’s attention, at least in public.
Another similarity he shares with Scott.
I clear my throat. “You said you wanted to speak to me?”
“I did.” We’re both absorbed in separate tasks, me placing my napkin on my lap and him inspecting his whiskey glass. We’ve yet to really make eye contact. All part of our regular farce of a father-daughter dinner. “How was work?”
“Wonderful.” He doesn’t care about my teaching career, so I skip telling the latest stories about the moments this week when my students were particularly cute. He doesn’t deserve them. “How’s yours?”
He launches into some city council story, and I nod and murmur at the correct places like a dutiful daughter. Another thing Scott had in common with my father. All their stories revolved around work or golf but mainly them being Very Important. That and their stories seem to get longer and more boring each time.
About twenty minutes into the story, my father clears his throat. “That’s the project Scott proposed, by the way,” he says, seemingly casually, but he makes eye contact with me for the first time. “Have you seen him?”
“Who?” I am busy making a big show of cutting into my trout. Poor dead fish, sacrificed to this dreadful dinner. I wish I could go back in time and toss it back into its mountain stream. Then one of us would be free.
My father clears his throat again. “Scott Sears. Your boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” I say with a big smile. Probably should tone it down, but I am very happy Scott is my ex.
“Really? That’s a shame.” My father signals for another single malt scotch. “I thought things were going well.”
“Mmm.” I pretend my mouth is full of arugula.
“Actually, that’s why I called you here. I wanted to talk to you about Scott.” He gives me a look under his thick brows, a look that means I am very serious. We are having a Very Important Talk. “He’s a good man, Sadie. There aren’t that many in a town this small. He’s going places. He’s an important part of the growth and development of the town. I think you’d be very happy with him.”
Seriously?
“When you decided to become a teacher, as you know, your mother and I were concerned.”
I grip my fork tighter to keep me from going for my knife. I hate it when my father talks about mom like he knows her and can speak for her opinion. As far as I know, he and mom haven’t spoken in years.
“But we thought if you could find yourself a good man with a stable vocation, you’d be fine. Besides, once you start having children, you’ll want a man to support you.”
I can’t even.
“And, Sadie, Scott is that man.” My father starts rambling again, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Which is so unlike me, but what am I doing here? It would be so easy to just stand up, throw my napkin down on my mangled entree and stride away from the table. I could even grab a bottle of wine on the way out. I don’t need to drive home—I could call Deke. Tell him I need a ride, and that I’ll owe him another favor. He’ll ride up on his big bike just as I’m finishing the wine, hand me a helmet, and I’ll straddle that giant, vibrating beast, all that power between my legs and...Mmmmm.
I’m halfway through a motorcycle-ride-with-Deke fantasy when my father says. “And of course, there’s the wedding. You’ll need to iron things out before you two travel together.”
I’ve half tuned my father out, but this snags my attention. “Wedding?” Oh God! How could I forget Jenn’s wedding? I blocked it out.
My father steeples his fingers and purses his lips to signal his displeasure. He can tell I haven't been paying attention. “Aren’t you two both in a wedding together? For your two friends in Santa Fe?”
Gaaaaaaah. “Jenn and Geoff. Yes.” I resist the urge to rub my head. Suddenly I’ve got a headache. Jenn is a high school friend from Taos. Her boyfriend Geoff is Scott’s friend from college. They’re the ones who set us up with each other when Scott first moved to Taos from Santa Fe.
“You’ll be in Santa Fe for a long weekend, right?”
I suddenly realize why my father looks so smug, why he knows all about this wedding and organized this dinner with me.
“You talked to Scot
t,” I accuse. “He called you and told you all about this. That’s why you wanted to talk to me.”
My father frowns again. “Scott and I talked, yes. He’s involved in business around Taos, as am I. And our paths cross often.”
“Of course. You’re birds of a feather.”
I don’t mean it as a compliment, but my father takes it as one. “Yes. And he mentioned this wedding, that you’ll be spending time together in an idyllic setting. It’ll be the perfect time to talk about your relationship and smooth out your differences.”
Only my father would refer to Scott cheating on me and being a total butthole as “differences” and expect us to simply “smooth them out,” meaning he expects me to overlook them. Like my mother overlooked my father’s indiscretions until she finally got the courage to leave him.
“It’s perfect,” my father continues. He’s all jovial now, cutting his steak. “I always said you and Scott were meant to be.”
I would do my best impression of Munch’s painting The Scream, vocals and all, but I am truly speechless.
“I’m your father,” he finishes. “I simply want what’s best for you.”
When I finally stagger back home, I have a splitting headache. Dinners with my father are always like descending to the Ninth Circle of hell, but that was something else. Apparently my father’s vision for me is to become some sort of 1950s desperate housewife. And Scott would heartily approve.
They colluded on this. I found my backbone to stand up to Scott, but the two of them working in tandem? It’s just too much. I don’t know—I’ve always been a doormat to my dad. He has a very dominant personality. After he drove my mom away, and he was all I had, I think I was afraid of ever displeasing him for fear the only parent I had would reject me.
It’s old, stupid stuff, but the resonance is still present in every conversation and interaction we have. He’s telling me what to do with my life, and I’m doing my best not to get steamrolled.
But I have more pressing problems than learning to stand up to him. The wedding is two weekends away. Scott and I and the rest of the wedding party are all expected to be at a resort in Santa Fe for a long weekend. I know Jenn’s family spared no expense. The groom’s family comes from money, too, which is why Scott was so excited to be involved.
