by T. S. Joyce
The other ghosts along the wall moved closer, shaking their heads, trying to tell him something he didn’t care to listen to, so he flicked his fingers and banished them from the house. They disappeared in plumes of mahogany smoke. All but Dad, who lingered.
“She’s important.” Dad hadn’t moved his lips, but his words rang clear as a bell through the house.
With a snarl, Asher banished him, too. Fucker knew better than to talk to him. He hadn’t tried until now, and something about that made Asher angry. His first words should’ve been, “I’m sorry.” They should’ve been, “I was wrong to kick you and Roman out of the pack, wrong to choose Gentry as my favored son, wrong for sending you straight to Hell.” Not, “She’s important.”
Asher picked up a vase from the table by the door and chucked it at where Dad had stood. It shattered against the wall, but didn’t make Asher feel any better. The darkness was still swallowing him up.
Outside sounded the soft rumble of Ashlyn’s car starting up.
Blaire hadn’t really answered the phone. She couldn’t. She was out in the woods of Winter’s Edge, running as a wolf with Gentry, Roman, and Mila. Asher had just pretended, and then instantly regretted it when he saw the hurt on Ashlyn’s face. She must be one of Blaire’s friends to show the slap of betrayal on her pretty face like that.
Pretty face, pretty color. Blue like her eyes. Chestnut-brown hair streaked with little honey-colored highlights. Side swept bangs covering one of her eyes. She had this direct way of looking at him that made him uncomfortable and excited all at once. It made him feel like she would see him and maybe he should hide. But it also made him want to step out of the shadows and into the light so she could tell what kind of monster he really was. He wanted to test her and see how fast she fled from him. Silly human wouldn’t survive long if she had no instincts against barging into the lair of a beast. He snorted at the thought of her demanding hot chocolate in that harmless, sexy voice of hers. Pissed-off kitten demanding milk from a demon. A smile began to stretch his lips, but he stopped it. It was dangerous to be amused by that pretty little creature. Dangerous for her.
He was The Taker, and she would be The Giver, and he could ruin her life with the flick of his fingers.
She’s important.
To Blaire maybe. Not to Asher. Nothing was important to him.
Lie, his inner wolf snarled.
Asher let off a long, low growl. Dark Wolf was overstepping boundaries. He was growing soft around Roman and Gentry. Around Blaire and Mila. He was connecting with living things in a way he shouldn’t. Nothing survived him. Asher needed to leave soon, but first, he would bring in the wolves because the thought of Ashlyn waiting out in the car in the cold was something he suddenly couldn’t stomach.
Disturbed by that inconvenient instinct, he opened the back door and jogged down the slick stairs, then knelt at the edge of the dark tree line. He could call them in with a howl. He could force their Changes and drag their unwilling bodies right to him in a matter of moments. Power like that drained him, though, and he had to be careful with The Taker. Especially with something so tempting sitting in the parking lot while blaring—Asher tilted his head and strained his ears—Backstreet Boys? She was singing every word, too. Nice voice, but she was punching out each word at the top of her lungs.
God, what a mess. A beautifully dangerous mess.
Asher knelt in the snow and touched the cold ground with the flats of his palms. Inhaling deeply, he rolled his eyes closed and searched for them. Ears straining, senses stretching, he was flying over the woods. The trees glowed blue, and the ghosts stood stock still, scattered among them. He followed trails and tracks, faster and faster until he could feel them close. Mila and Blaire were playing. White wolf. Gray wolf. Glowing, transparent like the ghosts, but they were still alive. He could feel them. They always made him hungry, but he would never hurt them. He would cut The Taker from his veins before he drained them. They were good. Angels in wolf forms. The girls had earned his fealty. The fealty of the biggest demon. Lucky them. Gentry and Roman were fighting fifty yards away from the girls. Ripping into each other, they were serious. Always serious. Wolves like Strikers needed blood and pain to stay steady. That was Mom’s bloodline that had done that to them. The blood that sprayed the snow looked black from way up here above the trees.
Time to bring them home.
Home. The vision wavered as Asher frowned. Home was Hell, not these woods. He forced himself to cling to the vision harder, to focus, and then he dove toward the earth like a missile until he hit the snow and blasted into a cloud of black smoke.
Come back to 1010. Now.
Yeah, he’d given them an order. He used to be more careful, but fuck it all, they knew he was messed up. He’d let his façade slip too much in recent weeks. They knew he could order them around and control them like he was a real alpha. He wasn’t, though. He was just king of the monsters.
Asher opened his eyes and smiled as a long howl lifted into the air. Gentry was pissed.
He stood and made his way through the woods, brushing his fingertips against tree after tree, pulling from their life-forces until he felt sated. One of the trees splintered at the lower trunk and fell immediately, crashing through the woods and landing on a smaller pine at an angle. Good. Firewood.
Dusting snow from his hands, Asher made his way in through the back door of 1010. Fuckin’ house. Roman and Gentry had decided Asher needed to be the one to live here while he stayed in Rangeley. They said he needed whatever magic mojo Dad had been convinced this place had. He knew what it was, though. Gentry was trying to distance himself from Dad’s memory by living with his mate Blaire in one of the smaller cabins instead of Dad’s old house. And Roman knew the damn place was haunted by Dad’s ghost and thought if he lived with Mila in the middle cabin, Dad would leave him alone. Sucker. Thanks to a boring afterlife, Dad had nothing better to do now than stand around and stare at them, Roman included. Gentry was so fucking lucky he didn’t see ghosts. All he got from his lineage was a wolf that was separate from his human side. Boo-fuckin’-hoo.
Asher had a separate wolf, saw ghosts like Roman, had easy access to black magic, and had The Taker. His life revolved around trying not to kill everything in his path. But good for Gentry and Roman for shacking up with some great girls. Asher snarled and slammed the back door behind him. Why the hell was he envying them? It wasn’t like he could ever have that. He couldn’t have pretty things. Pretty things turned gray and ugly in his hands.
He could see everything inside the cabin. It wasn’t a lie when he’d said he liked darkness. The shadows comforted him. It’s where a creature like him belonged. He could see better in the dark, hear better, sense better. The light in the fridge was too damn bright as he pulled a beer from it, so he closed it fast and twisted the top off the bottle, dropped the cap to the counter, and took a long swig. He stared at the stupid I love you beary much magnet Roman had made for Dad in second grade. That was before Roman had realized he couldn’t win Dad’s affection unless he morphed into Gentry.
Annoyed, Asher ripped the magnet off the fridge and chucked it into the trash. This place sucked. Carefully, he lifted the blind on the front window. Ashlyn was rubbing her hands together, her shoulders hunched like she was cold. Her mittens were the same eye-scorching pink of her jacket and ski pants. Did the woman own anything that wasn’t neon?
The blue of her aura was so wide it encased the entire car. She was still singing, but too soft for him to understand the words now.
The back door flew open and banked against the wall. “What the fuck, Asherhole!” Roman yelled.
He really hated that name.
Asher let the blind fall and turned slowly as Roman flicked on the light. The illumination hurt, but Asher composed his face as Roman hissed at him like a vampire. A naked vampire who apparently didn’t give a shit about clothing himself in front of Mila and Blaire. He’d always been the potential nudist of the family.
Bl
aire and Mila were naked, too, but were at least covering themselves as they slunk up the stairs toward the bedroom where there were changes of clothes in the closet.
Gentry didn’t bother with shaking him down. Nope, Gentry blurred to him and cracked Asher across the face with a closed fist. “I told you to stop forcing that stuff!” he yelled. “We aren’t your pack, you prick! We’re rogues and don’t answer to an alpha, and you’ve been pulling that alpha shit way too much lately.”
Asher didn’t even fight back, just licked blood from his split lip and gave his middle brother an empty smile. “Blaire’s friend is here.”
“What?” Gentry asked.
“Ashlyn is here to take Blaire home.” Asher strode by Gentry, slamming his shoulder as he passed. “Your mate, your problem. Get rid of the human before the Bone-Rippers figure out she’s here.”
“The Bone-Rippers won’t hurt her. They aren’t under Rhett anymore.”
“Yeah?” Asher asked too loud, turning at the stairs. “Who are they under? Mila hasn’t claimed her place yet. She hasn’t even fucking told them she took alpha. You’ve got a pack of monster wolves that Rhett fucked up, all without any leadership, all human-haters. But sure, Blaire’s friend is probably super-safe in Rangeley. It’s a good risk to take.”
Roman flipped him off, and without a thought to the consequences, Asher gave into his anger and snapped his fingers. Dad appeared right beside Roman in a plume of black smoke. Roman startled hard and then set his shocked gaze on Asher.
“Flip me off again and see what I can really do,” Asher dared him.
Wide-eyed, Roman covered his dick, sidled away from Dad, who was staring at him, and then angled his face to expose his neck to Asher.
Not that he cared about Roman showing submission. Asher knew he was monster. Knew he was dominant. Didn’t want it and didn’t need the fealty of his brothers or anyone else in this world. It was just another stupid reminder that he was different.
He curled his lips back and gave Roman a hate-filled glare before he climbed the stairs behind the hearth two at a time and made his way into the bathroom. There were too many Striker brothers in too small a space. It made him want to kill things.
He turned on the light out of anger to punish himself. They had everything—mates… Well, they had mates, and that was everything, right? They had companions, and he was destined to walk this earth alone. The light flickered and buzzed as Asher stared at his blazing silver eyes in the mirror. And for a second, he imagined it. He imagined holding hands with a woman like Ashlyn—someone light and happy, who sang at the top of her lungs and wore bright colors.
His aura was black, and hers was blue, and a beauty and a beast did not a power couple make. Not when it would get the beauty killed.
Asher gripped the edge of the sink as the lights buzzed harder and one of the bulbs blew.
It wasn’t fair.
“Asher, cut it out!” Blaire yelled through the bathroom door. “You’re going to kill the power to the inn again!”
Fuck. Asher sighed and closed his eyes, loosened his grip on the sink, and thought about the way Ashlyn had demanded hot chocolate like she wasn’t a fragile Red Riding Hood talking to the hungry wolf.
Blaire and Gentry would fix this, convince her to leave, and all would be well in Hunter Cove again.
Only the thought of her leaving did something strange and awful to his wolf, and the rest of the lights popped and showered him with sparks.
Downstairs, Roman yelled, “Seriously, Asher? God, you’re such a boob-dick!”
Asher sighed and gritted his teeth, then shoved off the sink and yanked the door open. Blaire and Mila were feeling their way down the hallway toward the stairs, holding hands and looking all pitiful. They were wolves, and their vision would adjust soon, but in the meantime, he snuck past them quietly and jogged down the stairs to go mess with the fuse box.
He smelled her before he saw her. He turned around and ran right into the little pink-clad hellion. She cried out and scrunched up her face, her hands splayed on his chest. Asher froze. Her touch felt so fucking good. Heart hammering, breath coming in short pants, he whispered, “What are you doing in here?”
“I saw the lights go out.”
She was looking up in his general direction, but couldn’t see in the dark like him. God, she was pretty, her face all upturned like that, her hair cascading around her shoulders, lips pursed in confusion, delicate eyebrows arched. The others were talking low around them, but Asher couldn’t make out a single word as he stood here, trapped under her soft hands. He pushed her hair back off her shoulder just because he could, just because he wanted to feel its softness.
Could he kiss her? Would she let him experiment? Would she let him touch his lips to hers if she knew how dangerous it was? He shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop staring at her full bottom lip. He wanted to suck the lip gloss off it.
Slowly, he cupped her cheek and leaned forward, only to have a squealing Blaire rip Ashlyn out of his arms.
They were hugging now, but Ashlyn’s searching gaze was still in his direction. She wore the cutest little frown he’d ever seen, as though she was as baffled as he felt right now.
What had possessed him to almost kiss her?
And what had possessed her to let him touch her cheek and not flinch away?
The lights came on, and the moment was ruined with him wincing. Probably best. His eyes would be light silver right now, and even though Ashlyn was talking to Blaire, her gaze was still on him.
Utterly confused by how urgently his wolf wanted to scrabble toward the strange beauty, he swallowed a growl and made his way out the back door as fast as he could. And only when he reached the woods, the cabin far behind him, did he turn around. The ghosts were gathering again, watching him stare after Ashlyn.
Little mystery all dolled up in pink and blue.
Pink and blue. Dark Asher, and she was a colorful siren that begged him to test his boundaries.
Dangerous creature.
Ignoring the ghosts around him, Asher pulled off his T-shirt and shucked his pants. He needed to do something with the energy that hummed through his body. His fingers tingled where he’d cupped her cheek. So warm and soft, and she’d trusted him to touch her in the dark.
His body wanted her. His head knew better.
The Dark Wolf exploded from his body and hit the snow on all fours.
Ashlyn was a delicate flower, brightly colored to attract, and he was the storm that would rip her to shreds.
He—Asher Striker, The Taker—was better off far away from such fragile beauty.
Chapter Three
Asher had almost kissed her.
Right?
Ashlyn was trying to focus on her reunion with Blaire, but she was having trouble keeping her attention off the back door where Asher had disappeared.
“Ashlyn! Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Blaire asked.
Ashlyn blinked hard and dragged her gaze back to her best friend…who somehow looked completely different and exactly the same. Her hair was still the same copper-red, and she wore it in long beach waves, but her cheeks were rosier, and her eyes looked a couple shades lighter than she remembered. There were other things, too, differences, but for the life of her, Ashlyn couldn’t put her finger on what.
“You seem…” Ashlyn narrowed her eyes, searching for the right word.
Blaire’s eyes flashed with worry. Just an instant of concern before she was smiling again. It was a plastered smile, though. “I seem happy?”
Ashlyn parted her lips to say “no,” but yelped instead as Blaire dragged her over to a tall man with spiked-up dirty-blond hair and bright green eyes.
“Gentry, this is Ashlyn, my best friend. Ashlyn, this is…my Gentry.”
My Gentry.
Blaire and Gentry were looking at each other so openly, so lovingly, Ashlyn clung a little more desperately to her hatred of him. Whatever was happening to Blaire here, it was bad. Gentry had stolen her fri
end away, kept her at this commune of giant—albeit sexy—brothers, and had made Blaire forget her entire life, including her best friend.
Maybe she was on drugs.
Ashlyn pulled Blaire’s face toward her and spread her eyelids wider with her fingers, checking for pupil dilation.
Blaire swatted her hand and laughed. “Stop it, Ash.”
“Remember that one time you ate that pot cookie, and then you went paranoid crazy for a day, and nobody could find you?” Ashlyn asked.
“I’m not on pot cookies!”
Ashlyn sniffed her for weed just in case, but she just smelled like vanilla, like always.
“Uuuh, nice to meet you,” Gentry said, offering her his hand.
Ashlyn glared at it and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know what you’ve promised her, but this is all ridiculous.” She waved her hand around the cabin. “Blaire has a good job—”
“Which I’m still working, just from here.”
“—and a good life—”
“I was divorced with zero dates coming my way and an urge to buy, like, seventeen cats.”
“—and the best friend ever, and she just packed up and moved. No! You didn’t even pack up. You made me do it! You couldn’t even come back to say goodbye and get your stuff? I had to pack up your big-ass house, and I had to talk to your stupid-face ex about his stupid record collection, and I’ve been falling apart at home, and you aren’t there.” Ashlyn hadn’t meant for the last part to happen, the part where her words turned to a sob and her shoulders hunched. “And I miss you,” she whispered through tightening vocal cords. “So, whatever is happening here, I want it to stop. People don’t do this. Especially not safe, careful people like you, Blaire. They don’t just go on vacation and never come back to their real life! They don’t just leave their friends behind.” God, she sounded pathetic, but there it was. All on the table so Blaire could see the error of her ways.
Blaire’s green eyes rimmed with tears, and she hugged Ashlyn tight. She didn’t say anything, only swayed with her while Ash fell to pieces and speckled the gray sweater Blaire wore with her tears.
