by Lori Drake
A blonde woman Joey didn’t recognize was clearly supervising the bonfire, while Abby Walker was engaged with another unfamiliar woman in conversation outside the big tent. A woman Joey recognized but couldn’t quite name appeared to be fiddling with a tablet, while yet another unfamiliar woman sat on a log with a longneck bottle dangling from her fingers.
“There’s something missing from this picture,” Justin remarked quietly.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “Where are the men?”
Joey smiled to herself, casting them a brief glance. Sometimes it was nice to be the one not in the dark for a change, though she hadn’t done it intentionally. “The Gray River pack is all female.”
“Damn, I was hoping for some leather-clad eye candy,” Ben muttered, but further conversation was curtailed by their imminent arrival.
The young woman supervising the bonfire smiled and waved. “Evening, folks! You must be the Grants.”
Joey smiled back, drawing to a halt. “I’m Joey. These are my brothers, Sam, Jon, and Ben, Jon’s wife Sara, and our packmate Justin.”
“I’m Wendy. Nice to meet ya.” The blonde stepped forward to offer enthusiastic handshakes, eyes dancing with good cheer in the firelight.
The commotion drew the attention of the others, but only Abby and her companion wandered toward them. Abby Walker was an older woman, her steely-gray hair cropped close to her skull in a pixie cut that should have seemed strange on a woman her age, but it worked somehow. In contrast, the woman walking beside Abby had iron-straight dark hair that fell in an inky curtain down her back. Her similarly dark eyes flicked between Joey’s people as she pressed her lips together into a thin line. Joey got the impression the younger wolf wasn’t necessarily glad to see them. But why?
A smile split Abby’s stern countenance as she drew near. “Well, if it isn’t the Grant brood…” Her smile faltered and her forehead wrinkled. “Where’s your dad?”
Joey exchanged a glance with Sam, then cleared her throat softly. “He sends his apologies, Ms. Walker. He’s been feeling a bit under the weather this last week.” It was the most diplomatic way she could think of to put it. Reginald had taken his mate’s passing hard. He was a mere shadow of himself, sleepwalking through his days with a listlessness that troubled his children. Joey’d always thought dying of a broken heart was purely a poetic notion, but at times she worried that was just where her father was headed.
“How bad is it?” Abby asked.
Joey’s throat constricted, but she managed to keep her voice even. “We haven’t lost hope yet. He’s strong.”
Abby put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “He sure is. It’s nice to finally meet you, Josephine. I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”
Joey winced. Her mother was the only one that called her Josephine. “Joey is fine, thanks.”
“Then I’m Abby to you, and none of that Ms. Walker crap.” Abby turned to Sam without waiting for a response, a smile again lighting up her features. “Christ on a cracker, is that little Sammie?”
“Not so little anymore, ma’am,” Sam said in a low rumble.
Abby closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around Sam for a hug. He patted her back awkwardly, and Joey grinned at him. Maybe it was the pesky little sister in her, but she liked the older Alpha more by the moment.
“I can see that. I’m old, not blind,” Abby said, pounding Sam’s back a few times before releasing him.
While Abby turned to Jon and Sara, her dark-haired companion offered Joey a hand. “I’m Gina, Abby’s second.”
Joey managed not to wince in response to Gina’s crushing grip as she shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Gina. Thanks for having us out tonight.”
Gina blew her bangs out of her eyes and hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her torn blue jeans. “It was Abby’s idea.”
“Right,” Joey said, her eyes lingering on Gina as she tried to figure out what the woman’s problem was.
In the meantime, Abby had made her way down the line to Justin. She cocked her head and studied him for a moment. “You’re not one of Adelaide’s brood.”
“No, ma’am,” Justin replied. “I, uh, never had the opportunity to properly meet her.”
Joey stepped in before things got even more awkward. “Justin is a new addition to the pack.”
Abby glanced between Joey and Justin, a knowing look on her face. “Oh. I see.”
“Er, no. You don’t. We’re not…” Joey gestured between herself and Justin, shaking her head emphatically. Then, realizing her vehement denial might be offensive to the man she’d known for all of a week and change, she quickly added, “I mean, not that you’re not nice and all—” She snapped her mouth shut, then turned to Abby and stated for the record, “He’s just a new packmate.”
Abby squinted and looked between them, then shrugged. “My mistake. Forgive an old lady?”
Gina snorted. “Want me to get your cane, Grandma?”
Abby shot her a withering look, then turned her attention back to her guests. “You’re all welcome at our fire. Who wants a beer?”
Joey met the rest of the pack in short order. She learned that Wendy was the youngest and had only been riding with them for a few months. Ash and Raven spent more time with their heads together in quiet conversation than they did engaging with the guests, but they’d seemed nice enough. There was also Laura, a dark-skinned wolf whose peculiar golden eyes looked more wolf than human. Or, at least, that had been Joey’s impression in the instant they’d made eye contact. Laura had lowered her eyes quick enough to give Sara a run for her money in the least-dominant-wolf-in-attendance race.
Everyone loosened up as the booze started to flow. Even Gina seemed to relax a little. An hour or so into their visit, Joey found herself sitting outside the big tent with Abby, watching as their packs mingled by the fire. Wendy had brought out a portable speaker and was arguing good-naturedly with Ben about who was most qualified to play DJ.
“Seems like a good group you’ve got here,” Joey commented to Abby, twirling a blade of grass between her fingers.
“They’re good eggs. What made you decide to bring Justin on board? Your pack has been blood-only for a long time, hasn’t it?”
“He seemed like a good egg,” Joey said, glancing at Abby with a small smile. “He saved my life. It seemed like the least I could do.”
“Right place, right time?”
“Something like that.” Joey tossed the blade of grass back down. She didn’t want to talk about the way Justin’s previous Alpha had betrayed her, resulting in her taking a silver blade to the gut. Hell, she didn’t want to think about it. The wound in her stomach still wasn’t fully healed, and a few nights ago she’d had to sit out of the pack’s full-moon run. Not being able to shift sucked donkey sac. The only good thing that’d come out of that whole mess was that they’d never have to face Marcus Madrigal and his coterie of sycophants again.
“Your mom, she was a good judge of character. I bet some of that rubbed off on you.” Abby’s voice brought Joey back from her wandering thoughts.
“Here’s hoping. We didn’t—” She shut the thought down before it could finish escaping. She didn’t like thinking about her mother in the past tense, wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to do it without the razor-sharp edge of loss scraping at her insides.
“Didn’t what?” Abby asked, studying her thoughtfully. “Have much in common? I find that hard to believe.”
That too.
Joey sighed and shook her head. “We didn’t always see eye to eye. But I think she would’ve liked Justin. He’s very… respectable.”
Abby threw back her head and laughed while Joey eyed her askance, uncertain what was so funny.
It took a few moments for Abby’s laughter to die down to a chuckle. “Sorry. There was a time I thought ‘respectable’ and ‘Adelaide Grant’ would never belong in the same sentence. But I suppose everyone has to grow up sometime.” She rubbed her knuckles along h
er jaw. “Well, almost everyone.”
Joey raised her brows. In her experience, respectable pretty much defined Adelaide Grant. August, even. “How long ago was that?”
Abby sighed. “A long time, girl. A long damn time.”
The sound of laughter drifted toward them from the direction of the fire as Joey studied Abby’s profile in silence, waiting to see if the older woman would elaborate or if she’d need a nudge to satisfy Joey’s curiosity. Joey knew so little about the first century of her mother’s life. It wasn’t something Adelaide talked about, and Joey had never been able to coax much out of her. Maybe this woman could give her a piece of the puzzle.
Abby didn’t disappoint. “Christ, but your mom was a spitfire back in the day. Ten pounds of sass in a five-pound package. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen when Roberta took her in. I know I wasn’t much more than that. But back then, sixteen was basically a woman grown. It wasn’t like it is now… or maybe it isn’t all that different. Kids these days…” She snorted and shook her head, then continued. “Roberta nicknamed her Hellcat. Flame-haired and foul-mouthed, but she had an innocent look about her. I swear she leaned into it just for the joy of shocking anyone that didn’t know her well enough.”
Joey didn’t intend to interrupt, but the picture Abby painted sounded so out of character that she couldn’t help herself. “Are you sure you’re not thinking of another Adelaide Grant?”
Abby chuckled and shook her head. “Oh, I’m quite sure. I’m old but I ain’t senile yet. Most of us were castoffs back then, but Hellcat was a purebred bitch. The girls hazed her pretty hard at first, but she gave as good as she got. No one understood why she’d run off on her genteel family to run with the likes of us, but there was a wildness in her that burned even brighter than her hair. She was fearless. Reckless, even. She could drink us all under the table, and ride like the wind.” Her eyes took on a distant cast, the ghost of a smile curving her lips. It faded slowly, supplanted by sorrow. “Can I ask a difficult question?”
“Sure,” Joey answered absently, struggling to reconcile Abby’s recollections of a much younger Adelaide with the one Joey had known all her life.
“How’d she die?”
The question was like a bucket of cold water, a shock to Joey’s system. She looked off toward the bonfire, where Sara tugged on Jon’s hand, dragging Joey’s reluctant brother to his feet. Sara was radiant in the firelight, and he’d never been able to deny her anything, not even before she was carrying his child. Joey watched them sway together to the music while she tried to figure out how to answer the question.
“Heart attack is the official story.” Joey looked back at Abby, who met her gaze evenly.
“But not the truth.”
“No.” Joey snapped off another blade of grass to toy with, rolling it between her fingers and thumb. “She took a bullet for me.”
Abby arched a brow. “A silver bullet?”
The mention of silver made Joey’s stomach twinge. She shook her head. “A magic bullet.”
“And the witch that did it?”
Joey looked away again, uncomfortable under the intensity of the older wolf’s gaze. “Taken care of.”
“Permanently?” Tension deepened the lines in Abby’s forehead, not smoothing until Joey nodded a confirmation. Abby didn’t ask for details. Instead, she put a hand on Joey’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“I’m not.” The words sprang from Joey’s lips a little too quickly, and she winced.
“You want to know why you’ve never met one of your momma’s oldest friends?” Abby’s hand lingered on Joey’s shoulder, and she could feel the weight of the older wolf’s gaze even without looking.
“She was probably worried I’d run off with you.”
Abby laughed and let her hand fall away. “Smart girl. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?”
Joey shrugged and studied the blade of grass between her fingers. “Closer than I’d like to admit. Or maybe not close enough. I dunno, Abby. I spent so much time trying not to be like her, but now—now I wish I’d tried harder to figure out who she really was.” Her eyes prickled in an all-too-familiar fashion, but she fought back the tears.
“Honey, the Adelaide Grant you knew wasn’t the same Hellcat I knew back in the day. Centuries of life will do that.”
“I know, it’s just… I did my share of rebelling, and we were like oil and water for the better part of a decade. It wasn’t until very recently that we found a sort of equilibrium and I started to understand her better. Peek beneath the mask, you know? Now she’s gone, and I’m supposed to take her place, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” Joey hadn’t meant to unload quite so thoroughly. She hadn’t even confessed that last bit to Chris, who’d taken to his own position as Alpha like he’d been born for it. Maybe he had been. Maybe she should turn both packs over into his care and settle for being his second. The mere thought made her wolf bristle.
Silence descended in the wake of her words, and she sneaked a covert glance in Abby’s direction, finding the woman regarding her.
“Why not let one of your brothers shoulder the burden?”
Joey’s wolf snapped to attention, and she barely managed not to growl at the suggestion. Her human half might be feeling overwhelmed and unprepared, but there was no question how her wolf felt about the prospect of submitting to one of her brothers. Joey swallowed. “No, I—I can’t.”
“Then you’ll have to figure it out as you go. Have you named a second?”
“Not officially, but Sam’s the obvious choice. He was Mom’s.”
Abby gave her a curious look. “Not Reg? Interesting. Well, then you have an experienced alpha to help guide you. Lean on him.”
Samuel is a good soldier, but he’s not you. You were born for this.
Her mother’s words surfaced from the depths of memory, unbidden. Adelaide had groomed Sam as surely as she’d tried to groom Joey, but perhaps not to the same purpose. Joey didn’t like the idea of leaning on anyone, but Sam would be as loyal to her as he had been to their mother.
“I’ll think about it, thanks.” Joey forced a smile. “But I want to hear more about Mom’s youthful indiscretions.”
The crow’s-feet beside Abby’s eyes deepened as she smiled. “That could take a while, but I’m happy to oblige.”
“Actually, wait.” Joey hopped to her feet and offered Abby a hand up. “My brothers will want to hear this too.”
Chris halted in the doorway of his father’s studio with a plate of snacks and glass of water in his hands, surveying the senseless scene before him with confusion and rising alarm. “Dad?”
There was no answer. He drifted a few steps into the room, taking in the damage in dismay. He’d left Reginald alone for five minutes, and his distraught father had pulled dozens of priceless paintings out of the recessed wall storage—most of which Chris was reasonably certain he’d never even seen before—and slashed the painted canvases. But why? And where had he gotten his hands on something sharp? They’d put every knife and razor in the house under lock and key, fearful he’d turn them on himself in the depths of his grief-induced depression.
“Dad?” Chris called again, louder this time. He conducted a full sweep of the studio, but Reginald was nowhere to be found. Leaving the studio behind, Chris began a methodical search of the rest of the house and eventually found his father in the master suite, curled up on one side of the bed. One of his arms lay outstretched, a box cutter gripped loosely in his fingers.
“Hey, Dad.” Chris approached the bed carefully and leaned over to set the glass of water and plate of snacks on the nightstand.
Reginald didn’t stir, just laid there staring at nothing. He relinquished the box cutter without so much as a blink, letting Chris pluck it from his mostly limp fingers. Chris slid the blade back into the housing and tucked the tool in his pocket, reassured somewhat by the steady rise and fall of Reginald’s chest and the lack of evidence of
any self-inflicted wounds.
He sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on his father’s arm. “I brought you a snack. You didn’t eat much at dinner.”
Reginald’s only response was a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the world sat on his chest. Chris could only imagine what he was going through. Actually, he didn’t want to imagine what his father was going through. The notion that he might one day—if he and Joey could find the right path—find himself in Reginald’s loafers didn’t escape him. The mating bond was a powerful one, and the backlash from it breaking could be severe, especially for couples who’d been together a long time. His parents had been married for nearly a century.
“Come on, Dad. Humor me and eat something.” Chris retrieved the plate from the nightstand and selected a plump red grape to offer to Reginald.
His father grimaced and turned his face away, but at least that was something. Any reaction was preferable to listless staring.
Chris gave up on the grape and put it back on the plate. “Want to watch TV or something? Joey and the others will be gone for a while yet. Or we could go for a run. It’s not raining, and I don’t know about you, but some fresh air sounds good to me. What do you say? Feel like chasing rabbits?”
No response. Chris’s heart ached. It ached for a lot of reasons, but especially for his grieving father. He was torn between hoping Joey died first so she wouldn’t have to endure losing him—again—and hoping he died first so he wouldn’t end up like his father: lost, alone, and overflowing with despair. Because he had no doubt that was where he’d be.
Chris sat with him for a few more minutes before approaching the built-in bookcase that occupied most of one wall, perusing it in search of something to read. He’d stay with his father as long as he needed to, but just sitting there was both boring and depressing as hell.
