by Kati Wilde
For now, I close my eyes and lean back the seat until we arrive at the ranch. Another county vehicle is parked in front of the barn. Either the fire inspectors or forensics. Ethan’s truck is pulled up beside mine, but this time of day, he’s probably down at the other end of the pasture, moving the herd. He was with me at the medical center most of the night, then returned here just after dawn. The cow needed to be milked, the animals needed to be fed. Life still goes on at the ranch, even when the whole world crashes down around the people who own it. Since the dogs don’t come running up to me, I assume they’re with Ethan.
“So I just want you to go in, look around,” Kyle tells me as we head through the back entrance. “See if anything’s missing from inside the house.”
Because Ethan already accounted for all of the equipment outside and in the barn. Last night, it didn’t even occur to me to look in the house. I simply left in the ambulance with Jonas. But apparently, whatever happened started in the house.
And I braced myself for a horror, for blood and maybe worse, but in the kitchen there’s just a few toppled chairs and shattered Mason jars. I stay at the edge of the room, where Kyle tells me to stand so that I don’t disturb any of the evidence.
“Judging by the blood on Jonas’s hand and out in the yard, we figure Jonas must have cut him or stabbed him. But we don’t know what the weapon was yet. Do any knives seem to be missing?”
Yes. But not from here. “It would have been his silver knife,” I tell him, and measure with my hands. “About this long, a carved wooden handle, a straight blade.”
And it can kill cursed werewolves.
Or Ethan.
Kyle makes a note. “Anything else jump out at you?”
“No.”
Not until we reach the library. I stop in the doorway and stare at the empty shelves, my stomach hollowing out. “My father’s notebooks.”
“What?”
“His research. All his research.” I cup my palm over my trembling lips, my vision blurring in a rush of loss and grief. “It’s gone.”
“What was it about?”
“His novel,” I lie, my voice raw.
“That werewolf story we used to talk about with him all those years ago?” Kyle asks, eyebrows lifting.
I’d forgotten about that. But probably all my close friends who ever visited my house regularly knew what my dad was working on. “Yeah.”
He frowns. “Was the book finished? Would someone take it to publish, maybe?”
“No,” I say hoarsely. “It was just…lots of notes.” And such a huge part of what I had left of him.
But it doesn’t make any sense. We’d originally thought the attack on the herd was one of the bearkin, trying to exact revenge for my uncle getting his own revenge for my parents. But Ethan’s certain that blood was from a werewolf—someone who’d been bitten and cursed. Someone who I can’t imagine having any connection to us at all.
If it’s someone who’s been cursed, I can easily understand why they might want the notebooks. But how would that person even know to take them? How could he know what was in them?
And if he’s also the one who opened up the silver mine, how could he know anything about that?
But I can’t ask Kyle any of these questions. Only look through the rest of the house, where nothing else seems to have been touched.
Ethan is returning from the pasture when we finish up and head out through the front door. With eyes like golden embers, he strides straight onto the porch and wraps his arms around me, holding me close. I bury my face in his chest and tell him, “They took my father’s notebooks.”
He stiffens slightly against me. Just as confused by that as I am. But he only presses a kiss to the top of my head and asks, “How’s Jonas?”
“The same,” I tell him on a little sobbing breath.
Kyle fills in, “They’re pretty sure he has a concussion from all the blows to the head, so they don’t want to keep him under too long. So they’re easing up on the sedatives and hoping he’ll come around by this evening.”
“All right.” Ethan steps back, cupping my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. “Did you get any sleep?”
I shake my head.
“Your room or the bunkhouse?” He gives me two options, and not sleeping isn’t one of them.
Kyle takes one of those options away. “I’d like to get forensics to finish up in here first. We’ve got the blood outside, but I want them to sweep for fingerprints in the house. As soon as Jonas wakes up and identifies him, we’ll tie this asshole up tight, Makena.”
“Bunkhouse, then,” Ethan says, then looks to Kyle. “Have you got someone guarding him at the hospital?”
“A deputy at the door. But I figure that the only option this asshole has is to run. When Jonas wakes up, he can point a finger. Yet if this asshole shows up there and tries to do anything to Jonas before he can identify him, there’s too many people to see him. He’ll be identified either way. I think he’ll cut his losses and run.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I wouldn’t have left my wife in the same room with Jonas if I wasn’t pretty damn sure that she’d be safe there.”
“Fair enough.” His amber gaze meets mine again. “You go rest, and we’ll head back there when you wake up. All right?”
Considering that I’m already drooping in his arms, I nod. “A few minutes,” I agree.
* * *
I panic when I wake up and see the time. Late afternoon.
Scrambling out of Ethan’s bed, I grab one of his big T-shirts and haul it over my head, then run outside. Ethan’s in the corral, spreading ointment over a filly’s singed flank. The county vehicles are gone. The horrible acrid smell of smoke still lingers everywhere.
He sees me coming, and before I can say a word, he calls out, “He’s still sleeping. Not even stirring yet. So as soon as you’re dressed, we’ll drive over.”
My heart settles down. Standing outside the corral fence, I take a second to look around. From the outside of the barn, I can’t see much damage except for around the doors, where the smoke stained the paint. I’m afraid to even look inside.
Ethan always reads me so easily. “It’s not that bad,” he reassures me. “Some water damage and smoke damage, but nothing structural. And you lost a couple tons of hay.”
Only what was in the loft. We have tons and tons more stored in the hay barns.
So it could have been a lot worse. I know that. Still, my too-ready tears fill my eyes again. “I should have sold the place when Rudder did. If I had, Jonas wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed right now—and I wouldn’t have almost lost him.”
“Maybe that’s true. Or maybe whoever this fucker is would have followed you somewhere else. And then I wouldn’t be here to help you.” Reaching through the corral fence, he pulls me close, kisses me softly. “He’ll be fine, Makena. The barn will be fine. And as soon as we know who this fucker is, we’ll get those notebooks back. You won’t have lost anything. All right?”
I nod, sniffling, then rise up to kiss him again—a kiss so soft and sweet and strong, like the comfort he offers so readily.
Comfort…and protection. I know he hears something by the way his mouth goes still against mine. He lifts his head, staring toward the road.
“Someone’s heading this way?”
“Yeah. I don’t recognize the engine.” Bracing his hand on the top rail, he easily vaults out of the corral. “But they’re coming in a real fucking hurry.”
Because it’s the UPS guy. As soon as the brown truck comes into view, I start giggling in what feels like the first time in forever. Ethan grins, too. And since I’m only wearing one of his old white T-shirts—which hangs halfway down my thighs but the thin fabric does almost nothing to conceal my tits—he heads out to meet the driver.
He returns carrying a small package stamped with a pretty floral pattern. My laughter dies as I realize what’s in it.
“Makena?” His tone goes shar
p. “What’s the matter? Is this something you weren’t expecting—or it means something to you? Who sent it?”
Fingers tipped with claws, he turns the package over as if thinking someone sent me a body part in it.
And I guess they did. Because my heart’s wrapped up in that little package.
“I ordered it,” I tell him hoarsely. “It’s Aidan’s weed.”
A frown darkens his face as he looks the package over again. “The flower that takes away scent?”
“Yes. If it’s made into a tea.”
He goes still. “And who’s going to be drinking this tea?”
“Me.” I draw a ragged breath and force the rest out. “So that when you have to leave…without my scent pulling on you, it’ll be easier for you to go.”
Eyes burning gold, he stares at me for a long, long second. Then he shrugs, holds out the package for me to take. “All right. Why don’t you go ahead and make that tea right now.”
Pain rips through my chest. A hot lump fills my throat as I take the package with numb fingers. I thought I’d have to fight him on this. He’s told me so many times how much he loved my scent.
But if he can so effortlessly give up a part of me that he loves, how easily will he give up all the rest?
Blinded by tears, I turn toward the house.
“Makena.” His tone is hard and flat and halts me in my tracks. “You make sure to bring a real sharp knife out here when you’re done drinking that tea.”
What? I glance back, and my heart stops. Because he’s looking at me—he’s looking at me—and the harsh pain on his face matches the agony tearing through my chest.
“You bring a knife,” he repeats with crushed gravel in his voice. “So that when you’re done cutting off my nose, you can gouge out my eyes, so I’ll never again see your smile or the sun shining through your hair. Then you better start in on my ears, so I can’t hear you laugh or that sound you make in your throat when I’m kissing you. And don’t forget to slice out my tongue, so I can’t taste your sweetness or tell you how damn amazing you are. Then you’ll need to chop off my fingers—or better yet, just flay every inch of my skin—so I can’t ever feel you against me again. Maybe after all that, it’ll be easy to go.”
My tears spill over, and I shake my head. “Ethan—”
Except he’s not done. Stepping closer, he growls softly, “But it still wouldn’t be. So you’d have to get to my brain, just scoop it out, because I damn well know there’s no woman in the world for me but you, and that your scent doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with it. And when you’re finished with that…” He captures my hand, brings it to his chest, where a thundering beat pounds beneath my palm. “You make sure to carve out my heart, Makena. Because as long as it’s beating, I will love you. I’ll love you so much that leaving will always kill me.”
Sobbing, I launch myself into his arms. He catches me and clutches me close, and I whisper brokenly against his neck, “I love you, too.”
“Then you damn well know that nothing in this world will make leaving easy,” he says hoarsely, his face buried in my hair. “But I swear to you, Makena, that after I go—I’ll fight to my last breath to come back to you.”
“You have to.” I pull back, catch his face in my hands, seeing everything he feels burning in his eyes and praying he can see the same in mine. “You have to.”
“I will.”
“And you have to marry me before you go.”
“I wi—” He goes still. His throat works, then he says gruffly, “Are you asking me?”
“No. I’m telling you.”
His mouth crashes down on mine, and I take that as a ‘yes.’ Smiling, laughing, I hold on tight and kiss him with all the love I have in me.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes gleam with a hot amber light. “I’m gonna give you so many babies.”
My inner muscles clench in response to the hunger in his voice, but I better lay this out from the get-go. “Maybe just two. Or three.”
“All right. However many you want will be the perfect number. But I’ll practice at least a hundred thousand times.” Happiness deepens his voice and he kisses me again. “I have so goddamn much to come back for.”
Longing pierces my joy. “I wish I could go with you,” but he’s already shaking his head, and he doesn’t have to explain why. He’s leaving to assure our future, and our family’s future—and his very right to live. So I’ll stay, and assure the other part of our future. The one I’ve imagined so many times with him here. With a sigh, I hold him tighter.
After another kiss, he sets me down. “All right. You run and get dressed, and we’ll go see your uncle.”
I nod, but his hands tighten on mine before I can walk away.
“You don’t leave my side until tomorrow morning,” he tells me, but it’s not just a romantic declaration. “Tonight’s the full moon…and there’s a cursed werewolf on the loose. One I can’t smell or track.”
“I’ll stay close,” I promise.
22
Ethan
As we enter the medical center, I can hear the commotion Jonas is causing in his room even before Makena’s phone buzzes with a text.
“Oh shit,” she says, reading it. “Carrie says he’s trying to leave.”
We hightail it to his room, where a nurse is glaring daggers at the old man struggling to sit up, while Kyle and Carrie hover around him, trying to convince him to calm down.
“We gotta blow that goddamn mine!” he tells them—then looks relieved when Makena goes rushing in, until she tells him, “You don’t move from that bed! You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”
He shakes his head at her. “It’s gotta be done. You can’t do it. He can’t do it”—he gestures to me—“so I’m the only one.”
“Why the sudden rush?” Makena asks. “I thought we talked about this.”
The old man’s jaw hardens and he eyes Kyle. “I want to talk to my family alone.”
“Not going to happen,” Kyle says. “Not until I get a name.”
“You don’t want to go anywhere near this person.” Lips thinning, Jonas glances at the nurse. “How about you clear out this room? Then I’ll just sit and talk to myself.”
Where I can still hear him. So he’ll tell me who it was…and then I’ll go handle the fucker.
But the nurse shakes her head. “If I leave this room, are you all going to keep him in that bed?”
There’s a chorus of affirmation from the others, which leaves Jonas looking disgusted but satisfies her.
“All right, then. You settle down,” she tells him and heads for the door. “And you cooperate with our nice sheriff, or me and the other nurses will start treating you bad.”
And this is another time when everyone here seems to be familiar with one another, I realize. Not just Makena and Jonas and Kyle and Carrie, but the nurse, too.
But I’m not familiar with her. At least not enough to do anything more in front of her. So as she leaves, I stand in front of the door, making sure it won’t open again. Jonas begins grumbling, and for a minute there’s just an argument with him on one side and the three younger friends on the other.
Then Carrie sucks in a breath and asks, “Makena…is there a reason your employee is taking his clothes off?”
“He’s not my employee anymore. I fired him the first time he stripped in front of me,” she replies easily, but I can read the question and worry in her eyes.
“I just want to answer a whole slew of questions as quick as I can,” I tell her. “And because if Jonas is dead set on closing that mine, we’re going to need their help. So it’s just better to get past this now.”
Swallowing nervously, she nods—the looks to Carrie and Kyle. “So. You guys. Ethan’s going to change into a werewolf, and he’ll seem really scary, but he’s really gentle as a lamb.”
I snort. “And because when we’re married, this isn’t the kind of thing you’ll want to keep from your best friends, yeah?”
&n
bsp; “Yeah,” she agrees.
Carrie looks surprised, then confused, as if she’s not sure where the joke is supposed to be. Kyle just watches me. Since his hand isn’t anywhere near his gun yet and I’m naked in front of them, I figure this might go over pretty well.
“Try not to scream,” I tell them. “And if you’re the fainting type…well, you should probably hold onto something.”
Kyle reaches out and holds onto his wife’s hand. Crouching, I glance at Makena.
And change into my wolf skin.
They don’t faint. Carrie gives a muffled shriek, and jumps backward, fear leaping through her scent. Kyle draws her behind him, gaze skimming me from pointed ears to clawed feet.
Makena watches them both, her face tense with worry.
Finally Kyle says, “I knew there was something off about you.”
I’ll take that. Changing back, I start pulling on my jeans. “Now, there’s a whole lot that won’t be real clear for a while, but this way you both know we all aren’t crazy. So, Jonas—you want to tell us who did this?”
“Luc Fauconnier.”
Makena gapes at him. “Are you serious?”
Carrie echoes that, while Kyle looks grim as hell.
Jonas nods and gestures to his battered face. “He recognized me. Or thought he did. I look a lot like your dad.”
Makena’s brow furrows. “Dad? How did he know him?”
“From before.”
Ah, fuck. “You’re saying Fauconnier was in that organization of hunters?” I ask.
“More than that. He’s the one they were running away from.”
Makena begins shaking her head. “How? He must have been like…fifteen years old when they left it.”
“I’m guessing he’s closer to my age, actually. I told you they were messing with occult shit. Or maybe he just ages well.”
As if staggered, Makena sits down hard on the edge of his bed. I’m reeling a bit myself. Because I’d been ready to leave soon so these hunters would never find her…yet they’re already at her door. Carrie and Kyle aren’t saying much, just look as if they’re desperately trying to keep up. But in the short silence that falls, Carrie asks tentatively, “So, Makena…your parents…?”
