“Hey!” She sat up straight and turned to look first at Seth, then Dylan. Dec stirred in his corner. “Y’all have been arguing since we left home. Shut it, right now, or we’re listening to Sarah McLachlan the rest of the way.”
A terrified silence settled on the car.
Fremont straddled the Arkansas River two hundred miles south of Denver. Dec had lived in mountains before—it seemed Dec had lived everywhere before—but the other three hailed from a notably flat region where the only hills were freeway overpasses. They gawked with awe at the Rockies in the distant west.
“I gotta pee. Let’s take a break,” she announced as they drove into the city.
“Me too and I need to stretch my legs.” Seth had been driving all morning. This close to their destination, everyone was antsy.
Highway 50 became Main Street as it entered Fremont. The scenic little town of eight thousand boasted the best climate in Colorado. Tree-lined, partially cobblestoned Main Street ran through the downtown area and featured a mix of modern architecture and Old West-looking buildings. It was an altogether more picturesque place than the sprawling suburbs of Houston, Texas.
Seth turned into an unpicturesque gas station and fast food restaurant complex. “Don’t take too long, people. I told Michael we’d be there by two.”
“Whatever,” muttered Dylan.
“I hate teenagers,” Dec said with a crooked grin before heading off to the convenience store.
Dylan grabbed her from behind as she walked into the little restaurant, wrapping his arms around her waist and carrying her up to the order counter. He paused to jiggle her a little bit. He’d started picking her up when he was fourteen. He hated when she did it to him.
She laughed as she shrieked, “What? What do you want?”
“I’m rattling the piggy bank.” He dropped his voice a couple of octaves. “Hungry. Feed me.”
“Okay, but put me down! I have to pee and you’re squeezing my stomach.” She pulled out her wallet and peeled off a ten. Then she thought about Dylan’s appetite and peeled off another ten. “Here. Get me a Diet Coke.”
“You’ll just have to stop and pee again.”
“And shut up.”
Dylan grinned and turned toward the counter. She put a hand on his arm.
“Hey.”
He looked down. “What?”
“You know I love you, right? We both do.”
“Jesus, Ally, why are you…?”
She reached up to butt his forehead with the heel of her hand. “Watch your language. I asked you a question. You know I love you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know you love me.”
“And you know I’ll do what I think is best for you, even if it pisses you off?”
“What am I, six?”
“No, you just act like it. Fine.” She pushed him away. “Go feed your face. Don’t forget my Diet Coke.”
She came out of the restroom to find Dylan didn’t have his food yet, so she sat down at a table near the counter. This part of the restaurant was deserted but for two werewolves in the far corner.
She could hear their whispered conversation. As always, it made her acutely uncomfortable—it wasn’t as if she tried to eavesdrop. She tapped her foot, whistled tunelessly and tried hard not to look in their direction.
The guy with the deep voice sounded young, frightened and angry. “I said I’d call if I had anything to report. I don’t.”
The other guy’s voice was higher. He sounded confident, belligerent. “Aaron, you’re not going to ignore me. We have an arrangement. That means you talk to me.”
“But I don’t want anyone to see us together!” Deep Voice Guy—Aaron—sounded a little frantic. “This could get me kicked out of the pack! That’s why I want to talk on the phone.”
As if on cue, her cell phone rang. Her stomach roiled when she saw the number. Unanswered, the call went to voicemail.
On the other side of the restaurant, the werewolves’ heated discussion continued. No matter how much she tried not to listen, she still caught the words “I don’t want to do this” and “you don’t have a choice”.
By the time Dylan returned with her Diet Coke, he had to go to the bathroom himself, so she decided to wait for him in the car.
She reached the door at the same time as the remaining wolf. Average in height, he had short brown hair and soft brown eyes. He held the door with a quiet, “Please, you first,” and she realized this was Aaron.
Seth was alone in the car when she slid into the front seat.
“Seventy bucks. Seventy damn dollars to fill up the car.”
She shrugged. “When the Fae give us that stuff they say everything can run on—”
“Yeah. When the Fae give us the formula for perpetual motion.” Seth, a master mechanic, would be out of a job. “And when the Fae give us the secret to time travel, I’ll tell my daddy not to go swimming when he’s drunk off his ass.”
She laughed and buckled her seat belt.
“I just got off the phone with Tomas.” Seth’s deep-set eyes were filled with worry.
“Yeah, he called me too, but I didn’t answer.” Tomas Alcevedo, a Fort Bend County sheriff’s deputy, was a friend of theirs back home. “What did he want?”
“He said Lind’s been talking about you around town. Says the guy looks like shit and he’s telling people you beat the hell out of him. Tomas asked me flat out if one of us did it.”
When werewolves and humans fought, the wolves were usually assumed guilty until proven innocent.
Her stomachache got worse. She did some deep breathing exercises and focused on slowing her blood pressure, not wanting Dylan or Dec to smell her anxiety.
“What did you tell him?”
Dec and Dylan piled into the car before Seth could answer.
No one said anything for the next couple of miles, but Dylan’s twitchy restlessness was audible. He inhaled the burgers he’d just bought. Then he fidgeted, and he sighed, and he shifted position over and over. His long legs kept banging into the back of Ally’s seat, but she grit her teeth and didn’t say anything, lest the tension in the car be ratcheted up still further. Although she didn’t turn around, in her mind’s eye she pictured Dec slouched in the corner, grinning at the adolescent angstfest.
She babied Dylan. Seth argued with him and Dec laughed at him. Not one of them had any idea what to do with a remarkably strong alpha werewolf poised on the brink of adulthood. He still regarded Seth as a father figure, and so, for the moment, the beta still retained a measure of control. That couldn’t last. Dec was a beta too, a cross between an uncle and a big brother. Two betas and a female, even one as strong as Ally, were not enough. Dylan needed a real pack, with a real Pack Alpha.
Hopefully, he needed Cade MacDougall.
And Ally needed to get out of Houston, but she kept telling herself that they would’ve made this trip anyway.
“Sweetie—” she began.
“Look, y’all, I—” Dylan said at the same time.
They both stopped.
“Go ahead, Dylan,” Seth said quietly. “What is it?”
“I just—I know I can be a pain in the ass, okay? But that’s not what I’m trying to do here, I swear.”
As Dylan spoke, she and Seth communicated via sidelong glances.
“I know you didn’t want to come up here, pup,” Seth replied in a tone both gruff and tender. “But we wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t think it was a good idea. Can’t you just chill and see what happens?”
“Seth’s right, baby.”
“Seth’s right, baby,” Dylan echoed in a sing-song, nyah-nyah, toddler voice.
When he grinned, she started laughing herself. “You’re such a brat.”
“I wish Dec had never told us about the databank,” the teenager groused.
A national databank specialized in connecting werewolves who’d lost track of their relatives during the social upheavals of decades past. At Dec’s suggestion, they’d sub
mitted Dylan’s DNA and learned the identity of his birth father. Carson MacDougall had died a few years ago, but Carson’s brother, Cade, wanted to meet his nephew.
She reached into the backseat to pat Dylan’s leg. He didn’t push her hand away. Lately, she’d take any affection she could get from the moody teenager. “Dylan, I love you. We all do.”
“I wouldn’t say I love you,” Dec muttered.
“Shut up, Dec,” she laughed. “Our weird little family’s been pretty happy, yeah?” Dylan started to speak; she didn’t stop to let him. “But you need a pack to help you finish growing up. And we need to figure out what to do next. Seth and I are just thirty-one.”
No one knew Dec’s age. All werewolves between thirty and seventy looked thirty-five.
“No, listen,” she said when Dylan tried to interrupt again. “Most teenagers would love to find out they’ve got a rich relative. I mean, does this sound so awful? We’re going to a ranch with horses. We’ll be in the country, with mountains and rivers. Maybe you could look at this as an adventure or a vacation, not some kind of torture we dreamed up just to make you miserable. You know?”
She paused, but he didn’t say anything. “Okay. You can talk now.”
Dylan said nothing for a minute. Then, sounding less like the sullen stranger he’d been lately and more like the pup she’d loved all his life, he said, “It sort of sounds like…well, like you just want to get rid of me.”
“Well,” she echoed, “that’s just dumb.”
Everyone laughed, even Dylan.
“We don’t have to drive a thousand miles to get rid of you, pup. We could just kick you out of the house,” said Seth.
“That’s what I voted for,” Dec said.
“But I reminded him you were there first, and he didn’t get a vote,” she interjected.
“What if I hate this guy?” asked Dylan. “What if he doesn’t like us?”
“Everybody likes me,” Dec answered promptly. “You and Seth might have a problem. But if he takes a shine to Ally, maybe we’ll all get a free ride.”
“You’d really pimp me out?” she asked, feigning insult.
“Sure, if you’re his type.” Dec’s Irish accent got stronger when he teased her. “He might just like ’em little and cute.”
“What if he’s not my type?”
“I don’t see how a rich and handsome wolf with lots of horses wouldn’t be your type. And don’t tell me you don’t need a man, darlin’. Or a wolf.”
Dylan snorted in disgust. “You don’t know what she needs, Dec.”
Dylan hated any mention of her dating. Or having sex. Or being a girl.
Dec just grinned at him. “New days, pup. No more Lost Boys, no more Wendy. Allison Kendall, how long’s it been since you spent time with a man you really fancied? The Dane doesn’t count.”
No, Jakob Lind didn’t count. “I can’t remember.”
Dec sighed. “You see there? That’s just sad, that is.”
Maybe so, but it didn’t matter. She no longer trusted her own judgment.
Dylan wouldn’t be distracted. “But what if he’s a dick? What if we all hate it there? We can just turn around and go home, right?”
You can. I probably can’t.
“If MacDougall turns out to be a jerk, we’ll deal,” she said, trying to sound breezy and unconcerned, “but Nick Wargman said he was a nice guy.”
Nick, the Houston Pack Alpha, had put them in touch with Cade MacDougall.
“That’s not what he said.” Seth brushed his dirty blond hair out of his face. He was overdue for a cut. “Nick called MacDougall a strong leader and an honorable wolf. That’s not the same thing as a nice guy.”
“Seth…” Breezy! Keep it breezy!
“Let’s be realistic.” Seth did breezy the way Dec did somber. “Pack Alphas don’t become Pack Alphas by being nice guys. They’re tough. They’re dominant.”
She rolled her eyes. “In other words, they’re alphas.”
“That’s not what I mean. Pack Alphas…” Seth waved a hand in frustration. “You know what it takes to be one? To make a bunch of wolves do what you tell them? Nick, MacDougall, guys like them—they’ve killed. And a lot of the Rocky Mountain Pack are Lones and outcasts. They’re even harder to control.”
Dylan and Seth had never lived in a pack. Dec had obviously not liked living in a pack. Yet here they were, possibly joining a pack. Once again, she wished they’d had more time to think this through.
“I just think we shouldn’t count on hugs and kisses. We don’t know what MacDougall’s expecting. Does he think Dylan is joining the pack? Me and Dec? How long’s he going to let you stick around?”
They hadn’t discussed any of this with the Rocky Mountain Alpha. MacDougall’s offer came just when they—she—needed it. They were making this up as they went along. For the second time in their lives, Seth, Ally and Dylan were on the run.
This time, though, it was her fault.
The Valkyrie’s words echoed in her mind: Yours to raise, yours to protect.
Dec broke the uncomfortable silence a short time later. “It’s all pretty feckin’ moot now, kiddos. We’re here.”
Cade locked himself in his office to get paperwork done before his guests arrived. Becca napped upstairs. He hadn’t seen Sindri since lunch.
His office was soundproofed, but he smelled Michael before the latter knocked on the door.
“It’s open,” he called, grateful for a break from numbers and breeding charts.
His second-in-command stuck his head inside the office. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.”
Michael sat down facing Cade’s desk. “Seth Guidry called from Raton about nine, so they ought to be here soon.”
“Good. The rooms ready?”
“Yeah, Sindri did it.”
“Okay.” He waited for Michael to say something else, but the big wolf just sat there. “It wouldn’t take telepathy to know you’re not here to give an ETA on my nephew. Out with it, wolf.”
His lieutenant and best friend of twenty-five years tipped his chair back and laced his hands behind his head. “Maybe you should tell Aaron to call his father. If Aaron just talked to him, Rufus might realize you’re not trying to lure wolves away from their birth packs.”
Cade was scheduled to meet Rufus Stapkis and two other Pack Alphas in an effort to gain formal recognition for Rocky Mountain. Most packs hadn’t acknowledged Cade’s wolves as the legitimate successors to his father’s pack. Cade thought fifteen years was long enough.
“What’s the point? I’ll see Rufus in Denver on Friday. He can wait.” The idea of placating the half-mad Seattle Alpha repulsed him.
“I think Aaron should talk to him before that. Maybe put him in a better frame of mind for the meeting.”
Cade would rather fight the old bastard than talk, and he knew Stapkis felt the same. But he couldn’t ignore national pack politics, and he couldn’t afford to alienate the St. Louis and Chicago Pack Alphas.
“Fine,” he grunted in disgust.
He swiveled his chair to stare out the open window facing the front yard. The summer breeze ruffled the sheer curtains and fluttered the papers anchored on his desk.
“You think I should tell all my wolves to call their daddies? I could have them write letters home to Mommy. This is a pack, not a fucking summer camp.”
Michael didn’t crack a smile. “But we’ve got a woodshop. And the guys live in cabins, and we ride horses. Let’s ask Sindri if we can make s’mores.”
“You know, if you were Rufus’ second, he’d rip your throat out.”
“You know, you’re a hell of a wolf.”
Cade tried to scowl. “All right. Tell Aaron to call tonight. It won’t make the crazy bastard like me, but it’ll make me look magnanimous to the other Alphas. I like to look magnanimous. ’Cause I’m a hell of a wolf.”
The two old friends laughed. Then they both winced and jumped out of their chairs as Mrs. Palmer emitted an ear-sp
litting shriek.
“What the fuck?” Cade shouted. Michael was already out the door. Cade vaulted over the desk after him.
Chapter Four
A gated road interrupted the trees lining Highway 50. Beside it, a stone plinth bore a plaque with stylized Celtic letters reading RMP Nordics.
They’d arrived.
Her stomachache returned.
“You know much about Icelandic horses?” Seth asked. She’d run a small stable in Sugar Land for the last seven years.
“Just what I’ve read on the Internet. They’re good-natured and can carry heavy loads.”
“Is that why they’re good for wolves?” Seth wasn’t into horses. If it didn’t have an engine, he didn’t pay attention.
“That, and the fact they don’t have a fight-or-flight response. Some people think wolves have been riding them since the Dark Ages.”
No one knew much about how werewolves lived in the distant past, including werewolves. They weren’t the most introspective of the non-human sentients. Recorded werewolf history started in the late forties, when they came out just before the other shifters, followed shortly by the dwarves and other Fae. Everyone knew they played a part in the Allied victory of WWII. Other than that, the werewolves didn’t say much.
If female wolves existed, Ally suspected, some of them would’ve taken the time to write stuff down.
“Norwegian and Danish kings liked ’em,” Dec said.
Surprised, she turned to look at him. “What?”
“Icelandic horses. The kings of Norway and Denmark liked them. They’re related to Faroese horses. Ever heard of them?”
“No. Where are they from?”
He laughed. “From the Faroe Islands, of course.”
“Those are in Scotland, right?”
“Not exactly. North of Scotland, halfway to Iceland. Beautiful, wild country. Bleedin’ cold, of course. You don’t swim in the North Atlantic.”
“Since when do you know about Icelandic horses?”
“I’m Irish, you know. The Irish are mad for horses.” He flashed his lopsided grin.
“Yes, I’ve heard,” she murmured.
No matter how long she knew him, she didn’t feel she knew him. He never missed his rent, and he made the best cosmos in southeast Texas, and somewhere along the way he’d become one of their closest friends. It had seemed natural to bring him along, especially considering that they’d never have found Dylan’s uncle without him.
Yours, Mine and Howls: Werewolves in Love, Book 2 Page 2
