by Tara West
When Amarok gave her a fanged smile, she knew she’d been set up. He’d wanted her to defend Magnus, damn him.
Until he can forgive himself, believe in himself, Amarok said, he will not have the courage to face his father.
How does he forgive himself? she asked. His mother had died over a decade ago. If he hadn’t forgiven himself by now, would he ever?
Amarok gave her a pointed look. He needs the support of a strong woman.
Fenrir nuzzled her once more. And you are the strongest woman in all the Amaroki.
Anger and resentment welled in her chest. She couldn’t help feeling like she was being punished for her bravery. So that’s why you paired me with them? You want me to teach an alpha how to be a leader?
No. Fenrir’s voice softened. Teach him he’s worthy of love.
How do I do that?
Let your heart tell you what to do, Amarok said.
Her heart? What kind of bullshit was that? How was she supposed to let her heart guide her when she felt only resentment toward the wolves who were destined to be her mates?
A warning howl from above interrupted her thoughts.
Amarok’s nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air. We must be on our way.
She scented the air, too, thinking she smelled the blood of humans mixed with something else, something she couldn’t place. Her fathers flanked her while they ran back to the Coyotechasers’ home, never letting her get too far ahead or behind.
By the time they reached the lawn, she was mentally and physically exhausted. She turned to them as the morning sun peeked over the horizon. Will you visit me again? She hated the note of desperation she projected, but she so longed to spend more time with her fathers.
Of course, Amarok answered wistfully.
Her heart sank when their solid forms became shadows, then faded into nothing. She crawled back through the window, slipped into her pajamas, and sank into bed. Too tired to grieve their absence too long, she fell into a deep slumber, wondering if she’d dream about her fathers or her mates and praying she’d find the strength to help Magnus.
ANNIE WOKE TO THE SOUND of Roy’s low murmurs, followed by Cesar’s heated whispers. The sun had risen. She got out of bed and cracked open the door.
“None of our shifters look like this,” Cesar said.
“What about the Wolfstalkers?” Roy asked.
“This isn’t even a wolf,” Van Thunderfoot said.
“Then what the hell is it?” Roy demanded.
She tiptoed to the kitchen. They were standing at the island counter, passing around a piece of paper. She glided between Roy and Tor, and caught a glimpse of a scraggly beast that looked part werewolf, eating what appeared to be a bowl of spaghetti.
Tor placed the picture on the counter, clucking his tongue. “Did it ever occur to you that the witness was lying?”
“Annie,” Roy said. “You’ve fought a werewolf. What do you make of it?”
She picked up the picture, her jaw dropping when she realized the bowl of spaghetti was a human’s innards. The look of pain etched into the victim’s features made her stomach roil. She didn’t think she’d ever purge that image from her brain. She shifted focus to the beast. It definitely had werewolf features, like the long, pointy snout and sharp fangs, but it was smaller than those she’d fought and walked on all fours, whereas werewolves walked upright.
“We found bloody paw prints around those attacked.” Roy handed a picture to Cesar. “What do you make of them?”
Cesar rubbed his beard and passed it on. “They could belong to a wolf.”
Roy’s features hardened. “This is the third attack in two months.”
Cesar’s shoulders fell. “I will call a tribal meeting.”
Roy arched a brow. “Will the Wolfstalkers come?”
“I doubt it. Do you think this is them?”
“The elders maybe.” His gaze flitted from Annie to Cesar. “Nobody hates humans as much as they do.”
Annie’s gut twisted. It was bad enough her mates’ fathers were drunk assholes. Could they be murderers, too? “But they risk bringing the American government down on their heads.”
Cesar shook his head. “That’s the problem. I don’t think they care.”
Chapter Five
ROY HADN’T EVEN FINISHED writing up his report when he received an urgent call from his father’s nurse. Some days he regretted moving him to Texas, but the assisted living homes were much more affordable here than in Oregon, taking only half of Roy’s paychecks after Dad’s social security paid part of it. It was either that or Roy stuck his father back in a state-run home. His father had nearly died in the last one he’d been in when they’d left him in bed too long and his bed sores had become infected. Never again would he let that happen, which meant Roy would have to to eat ramen noodles and live in a run-down apartment for the rest of his dad’s life, but at least he’d be safe.
Heaving a resigned sigh, he punched in the code to get through the side gate, which he preferred to the hospital setting at the front entrance. The courtyard was pretty—a collection of wooden benches surrounding a massive live oak, the branches of which shaded the courtyard and half the building. Two residents sat in wheelchairs under the tree, heads hanging, their downcast eyes dull.
What a sad place. He hated that his quadriplegic father was forced to live with dementia patients, but what choice did he have? Taking care of him was a full-time job, and Roy had to work.
After walking through the gate, Roy had to punch in another code to get through the front door, and yet another one to get through the next. The residents were trapped, and none of them knew it except for Dad, who’d been trapped by his body, not his mind.
Gloria, the head nurse, a pretty Hispanic woman with large mocha eyes and endless thick lashes, was helping an elderly woman into a rocking chair.
“Thanks for coming, Roy,” she said and waved him toward the dining room, where elderly patients mindlessly gazed at plates of mushy food. “I’m hoping you can talk some sense into him.”
His father was sulking in a corner, wearing his usual scowl. Roy checked the time. It was half past five. Dinner had been served half an hour ago, but his father’s plate hadn’t been touched. Dad didn’t realize how good he had it here. The cook always made him a special plate of real food, not the mush the other residents ate. The nurses showed his favorite movies in the common room, and his generation’s music played in the halls. He was the only resident who had a say in how the facility was run, yet it still wasn’t enough. He was miserable, and Roy was at a loss about what to do.
“Hey, Dad.” Roy forced a note of enthusiasm into his voice as he cautiously approached him. “Your nurses tell me you refuse to eat.”
“What’s the point?”
Roy sighed. How many times would they have this argument? “Dad, they’re going to get food into you one way or another.”
“Again, what’s the point?”
He knelt beside Dad and grasped his frail hand. How odd it was to be in the position of having to treat his father like a child. He remembered when Dad had been strong enough to hoist Roy over his shoulders and carry him around the yard as if he weighed nothing at all.
“The point is that I don’t want you to die.”
Roy knew he was being selfish. Dad wanted to end his misery, but Roy couldn’t let go.
Dad’s face fell. “I’m a burden to you, Roy. I’m a burden to everyone.”
Roy squeezed his father’s hand, wondering if he felt his son’s touch. “You’re not a burden to me.”
His throat constricted with emotion. Why had he thought moving Dad to Texas would make him happier? He was still miserable and still intent on making everyone else around him unhappy, too. Resentment toward his depressing father rose and then that resentment was quickly replaced by guilt. These feelings of resentment and guilt had been a vicious cycle for Roy ever since Dad’s car accident. How he wished he could be free of this emotional burden. That familiar feel
ing of anger toward Annie made an appearance. Even though she had recently discovered her true father was an ancient Amaroki god, as far as Roy was concerned, his father was Annie’s father. He’d raised both of them, after all—at least until the accident. He’d doted on Annie and treated her like a princess, and she didn’t have the decency to ask Roy how their old man was doing.
Roy sat in a chair beside him, ignoring his scrutinizing gaze.
“It’s Friday night,” he said accusingly. “You should be out with a young lady on your arm, not at a nursing home with your invalid father.”
“Oh, you thought I came to visit you?” Roy teased. “How do you know I’m not here for the pretty nurses?” He quickly glanced at Gloria, who was spoon-feeding a resident. He’d thought about asking her out many times but had always chickened out. How would he take a girl out on a date when he couldn’t afford to fix the A/C in his truck?
His father’s chuckle was short but sweet. Roy hadn’t heard his laughter in too long.
“Have you heard from your sister?” Father asked.
Roy tensed. He asked about Annie every time he visited, and every time Roy had to make up some excuse why she never came with him. “She’s doing well.”
“Still staying with Cousin Amara?”
“Yeah.” Roy averted his eyes. He still hadn’t told Annie their dad was in Texas. He feared she’d refuse to visit him.
“Your mother and I didn’t treat Amara well.”
Roy was at a loss for words. He rarely talked about Roy’s shifter cousin.
Father’s eyes misted over. “Is that why Annie won’t talk to me?”
Roy struggled for the right words to say but in the end decided to settle on the truth. “Yeah,” he breathed. He couldn’t shield him forever, and he needed to know the reason for Annie’s absence. She had a lot of reasons for avoiding him, but his treatment of Amara had been her main excuse.
Father’s eyes radiated even more despair, and he swallowed a visible knot in his throat. “How is Amara doing?”
“Really well,” Roy said. “Married with kids.” He decided to leave out the part about Amara’s four husbands, and her shifting and healing abilities. Father wouldn’t believe him, and Roy had been sworn to secrecy.
Father arched a brow. “What’s her husband like?”
“Treats her like a queen,” Roy answered, summarizing the traits of all of Amara’s mates into one fictional husband. “Good job. Great with the kids.”
“That’s good.” He gave a pained smile that didn’t mask the sadness in his eyes. “She deserves happiness.”
“She does,” Roy agreed. He thought of Amara often, especially her magical ability to heal. Too many times he’d tried to summon the nerve to ask her to heal Dad, but he had no idea what to say to her. Annie had said their father’s car crash was no accident, that he’d been run off the road by one of their Ancients as punishment for his treatment of Amara. Roy agreed Father had needed to be taught a lesson, but a lifetime in a wheelchair seemed a bit harsh.
“I wasn’t a good uncle,” his father continued. “I shouldn’t have let your mother....” He looked down at his legs. “Looks like karma got me back.”
Nurse Gloria showed up with a clean fork and napkin. “You ready to eat now, Mr. Miller?” She jabbed the fork in a pile of noodles swirled high on his plate. “The cook made spaghetti, your favorite.”
Dad made a face. “I told you I’m not hungry.”
“Please,” Roy begged. “For me.”
After releasing a litany of swear words that would have made a sailor blush, his father finally relented and opened his mouth. The nurse fed him a bite.
Roy stood, stretching his legs. “I’ll let you eat in peace. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
His father swallowed and made a grunting noise. “How’s your job going?” The pitiful look in his eyes tugged at Roy’s heartstrings. He hated leaving, but he did have a life. This evening he was supposed to take Annie out for drinks, and he had to pick her up before happy hour ended. No way could he afford full price.
He thrust his hands in his pockets. “It’s going.”
“Did you know my son’s in the FBI?” Dad asked Nurse Gloria.
“Yes,” she said and laughed. “You tell me every day.”
Embarrassed, Roy wondered what else his father had told Gloria about him.
A wide smile split his father’s face. “I’m proud of him.”
Warmth flooded his chest at the look in his father’s eyes.
Gloria patted Dad’s wrist. “You should be.”
Roy’s breath hitched. Now would be a good time to ask Gloria out, but he couldn’t summon the nerve. She could do better than a broke secret agent. He backed up a step, nearly tripping over his own two feet and inwardly cursed himself for acting like a hormonal teenager.
“Thanks, Nurse Gloria.” He gave her an awkward nod and was way too self-conscious to say anymore. “See ya, Dad.”
He quickly walked away, his mind blank as he tried to recall the secret codes to open the front door. After an orderly helped him unlock it, he rushed out of the building without a backward glance. Once again, resentment, followed by guilt washed over him. If he didn’t have to donate half his paychecks to his dad’s care, he could afford to take Gloria someplace nice. But it was no use lamenting what would never come to pass. Roy was trapped in his mundane life, with no way out and no hope for a real future.
ANNIE PACED THE PORCH and watched the road. Though she appreciated her solitude, the house had been too silent today. The Coyotechasers turned out to be the best kind of hosts; they left her alone. They worked sunup to sundown on their cattle ranch, leaving her to brood about her crappy future. After getting no word from her mates or their fathers all day, she didn’t know if she should feel relief or apprehension. Roy had texted ten minutes ago that he was on his way to take her to happy hour, and she still hadn’t told Tor and Van about it. She appreciated that they cared about her safety, but their overprotectiveness was too stifling. She’d been on her own for years before they came along. She could handle herself for a few hours.
She tensed when she saw Roy’s truck coming down the dirt road. Casting a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, she wasn’t surprised to see Van Thunderfoot sitting on a rusty chair with his legs propped up on a railing, watching her like a hawk.
He arched a thick brow. “What are you and your brother planning, Annie?”
Feigning indifference, she picked grime from under her fingernails. “Just a few hours away together.”
His dark eyes flashed yellow. “When were you going to tell us?” Lowering his legs, he slowly rose to his feet. “I need to get Tor.”
“Alone together,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear as he turned to the front door.
Shoulders stiff, he said, “Nope.”
Her heart plummeted. How did she know this would be his reaction? “Come on.” She fought to keep from whining. “What exactly do you think will happen to me while I’m with a federal agent?”
“That’s the thing. We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
Geez, these wolves were way too neurotic. “I haven’t had any alone time with Roy.”
“We’ll sit at a different table.” His features hardened. He wasn’t giving up.
She rolled her eyes. “You’ll be watching us, listening to us.”
“We’ll be watching the crowd, listening to the crowd,” he said. “Amaroki men protect their women.”
She threw up her hands. “Roy will have a gun.”
Van didn’t say a word as he stared at her, his stony eyes unwavering.
She returned the look, impatiently tapping her foot. “You’re not backing down, are you?” Though she appreciated that he cared about her safety, she couldn’t help feeling annoyed. “We’re taking separate trucks.”
“You can’t ditch us.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I will find your scent.”
Of course he would. He was the second b
est tracker in all the Amaroki, right behind his son Luc. She flashed a wicked grin, innocently batting her lashes. “I wouldn’t dream of ditching you, Uncle Van.”
He growled as she brushed past him and grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter.
RAINE HAD GIVEN MAGNUS enough time to sort out his mood. He’d waited all day for Magnus to say something, anything, about Annie and their father, but his brother never said much beyond a few grunts. Raine’s patience had finally worn out. He refused to let Magnus’s cowardice interfere with his chance to have a mate and children.
He tracked Magnus to the stable, where he was saddling up his horse, Bulwark, a big, black steed with a stubborn streak and a fiery temper. Bulwark only listened to Magnus, and only with gentle coaxing. Too bad he wasn’t as patient with his brothers as he was with his horse. Raine couldn’t deny that he was jealous of the time and attention Magnus gave to the animal, isolating himself from his family for hours while riding Bulwark alone in the desert.
He frowned at Magnus when he mounted Bulwark one-handed. “Where are you going?”
“Bluebell got through the fence again. I’m going after her. Want to come?”
Raine was surprised by his brother’s request. “Sure.”
He quickly saddled up his horse and met Magnus outside. Bulwark was impatiently trotting along the fence. Raine nodded to his two younger brothers, who were busy repairing the broken fence. The entire perimeter needed new fencing. Hell, it had needed to be replaced for ages, but their father refused to spend the money.
When a piece of wire snapped and lashed Frey’s cheek, he cried out, then clamped his lips shut, quickly looking around.
He’s inside watching TV, Raine projected.
Frey’s shoulders slumped, and he rubbed the bloody welt. Thank the Ancients.
Raine shook his head, frowning. Frey shouldn’t have been afraid of his natural reaction, but Father would’ve called him a pussy and whacked him upside the head. Sadly, Vidar was Raine’s birth father, a second alpha just like him. Back before his alpha father and mother had been killed, Raine remembered Vidar had been strict, but he hadn’t been an asshole. Now he was a bitter old drunk, a cancer destroying his family’s happiness.
