Wild Hunger

by Suzanne Wright

  Marcia’s perceptive eyes narrowed at Frankie. “Did Lydia try to contact you again?”

  “Can we not talk about the shifters?” Brad asked.

  Marcia’s face went hard. “I’ll take that as a yes. You should give me her contact details, Francesca. I’ll hand them to our attorney—he can deal with the matter.”

  Geoffrey nodded in agreement, taking the armchair. “He’ll ensure she understands that continuing to contact you will be classed as harassment.”

  Brad spoke before Frankie could get a word in. “Mom, Dad, let’s just talk about something else.”

  “Fine.” Marcia’s gaze cut to Frankie. “Selma’s son was disappointed that you didn’t stay for dinner the other day. His parents are throwing a charity ball in two weeks. He’d love to escort you there.”

  Frankie raised a brow. “He’d love it so much that he’s asking through you?”

  Brad chuckled, though the sound was strained. “She has a point, Mom. He’s not much of a man if he can’t, or won’t, take the time to ask her himself.”

  Mouth twitching, Geoffrey inclined his head. “I share Brad’s disappointment in this,” he told his wife. “Our granddaughter is worth the effort.”

  But Marcia huffed. “He’s a busy man. Oh, Francesca, Selma informed me that there’s a vacancy within her department for a—”

  “I have a job.”

  “Well, yes, but I’m sure it doesn’t take up much of your time and attention.”

  “Building six-foot-tall sculptures really couldn’t be simpler,” Frankie said drily.

  Marcia looked at her as though she were being dramatic. “Francesca, you know I dislike sarcasm.”

  Brad cupped Frankie’s elbow and said quietly, “She means well.”

  Did she? Right then, Frankie couldn’t have cared less. She was tired and frustrated and didn’t have the patience to yet again defend her chosen profession. As such, she didn’t stay long.

  Just as she was saying her goodbyes to Geoffrey, Marcia spoke words that made Frankie grind her teeth.

  “Before you leave, I’d like Lydia’s details.”

  Mentally readying herself for battle, Frankie said, “No.”

  “Francesca—”

  “It’s too late anyway.”

  Marcia went stiff as a board. “You met with her?” Anger blazed in her eyes. “You defied me?”

  Frankie sighed wearily. “It’s really such a big drama that I wanted to meet these relatives that I don’t remember? You don’t think it’s natural that I had questions? Honestly?”

  “Those wolves—”

  “Aren’t asking for the world. What if it had been the other way around? What if it were you on the deathbed and you wanted to see me just once, would that have been such a crime?”

  “You went to see that woman too, didn’t you? Iris. You went to see her. How could you do this to me?”

  “I didn’t do it to you. Nor did I do it to spite you or to hurt you. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.” But Marcia sure liked to make it about her.

  “Doesn’t it matter to you that your mother is dead because of her son? If she hadn’t mated with him—”

  “I wouldn’t have been born. Does that not matter to you?”

  Geoffrey intervened then. “Francesca, you know we love you. You may not wish to hurt us, but this situation does cause us pain.”

  Frankie looked at him. “I’m sorry if that’s the case.”

  “I don’t think you really are,” clipped Marcia. “Don’t you see that they’re beasts? They’re barbaric. Pitiless. Vile.”

  “They’re people,” said Frankie. “They drink coffee, play video games, make cookies, and watch TV.” They just also happened to shift into animals—no biggie.

  “You will not see them again, Francesca, I won’t have it.”

  Again with this shit? Frankie sighed. “I’m going home. You all enjoy the rest of your day.” She strode out of the room and down the hallway.

  Brad jogged after her and caught her by the arm. “Frankie, wait. You have to see why they’re hurting.”

  “It doesn’t have to hurt them. I’m not shoving it in their faces. I’m not living on pack territory or denouncing the family. And I won’t be made to feel guilty for this. Not by them, and not by you.”

  “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I just can’t approve of it. They’ll never approve of it.”

  “That’s the thing, Brad. I’m not asking for their blessing. I understand that this is hard for them, so I’d never dream of expecting them to be okay with it—that truly wouldn’t be fair. I just want them to let me be. But they won’t—not about this, not about any decision I make that they don’t like. After all, they know best. I live in a fantasyland where I’m a sculptor.”

  “Frankie—”

  “I have to go, I’ll see you later.” She pulled her arm free and left.

  Anger kept her muscles tight throughout the drive home. But by the time she got there, the anger had fizzled out. She was no longer pissed. She was tired. Weary. Sad. It seemed that no matter what move she made, there was someone she disappointed.

  Any other time, she’d have shut herself in her studio and disappeared into her own world as she worked on her sculpture. While her hand was still sore, that wasn’t going to happen.

  So instead she poured herself a glass of red wine and headed through the patio door, out onto the deck. The breeze was slightly chilly, so she flung some logs into the fire pit and then settled on one of the rocking chairs. She sighed at the feel of the sun-warmed wood at her back and the scents of woodsmoke, herbs, and fragrant flowers.

  Yes, this was what she needed.

  It was a pretty garden. Stepping-stone path, patches of colorful flowers, and plants growing in cute little planters. But she couldn’t take credit for it. The only real contributions she’d made were the sculptures and the mermaid fountain. It was Marcia who’d done the rest. Marcia who’d bought the magnolia tree, the wisteria on the trellis, and the flower boxes of mock orange, roses, and lily of the valley.

  “Every woman needs a little sanctuary where she can relax,” Marcia had said.

  Frankie had refrained from saying that her studio was her sanctuary, because she’d known that Marcia was trying to be nice. Known that Marcia wanted good things for her, wanted her to be happy, and wanted to find ways to connect with her.

  She’d heard enough stories about her mother to know that Caroline and Marcia had shared some hobbies, like gardening, playing the piano, and listening to classical music. Marcia had no doubt hoped that her granddaughter would be much the same. Instead she’d ended up with someone who barely remembered to water plants (hence the sprinklers), who would rather play with metal and clay than a piano, and who enjoyed blasting rock music as she worked.

  Really, Frankie felt bad that they didn’t share any interests. Just as she felt bad that she was at odds with Brad and her grandparents. They might not particularly understand her, but they did care for her. They did want her to be happy. They just wanted to be in control of what made her happy. And that made her wolf crazy.

  Currently her wolf was in a shitty mood, which meant it probably wasn’t the best time for Frankie to be having negative thoughts. She needed to relax.

  She cast a glance at the hot tub at the end of the deck. A dip in that might help . . . Maybe later.

  Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes and soaked in her surroundings. All she could hear was the chirping of the birds, the gurgle of the fountain, the wood snapping in the pit, and the rhythmic creak of the chair as she rocked. Little by little, the tension in her body slipped away, and—

  Frankie snapped awake at the knock on the front door. She blinked, surprised to realize she’d dozed off. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but the sky had darkened a little.

  Knuckles again rapped on the door. Sighing, she pushed to her feet. It was probably Geoffrey, she thought. When Marcia was unsuccessful in getting Frankie�
��s cooperation, he would often later come and try to “reason” with her. In other words, he’d try persuading her to back down.

  But as Frankie swung open the front door, she found that it wasn’t Geoffrey. No. It was Trick, leaning one hip against the rail of her porch. Her wolf instantly perked up. As for Frankie . . . it was like her system took a long, relieved breath. “Why are you here?” she asked, though not unkindly.

  He gave her a pitiful look. “I’m hungry. Feed me.”

  “You’re not even kidding, are you?”

  He pushed away from the rail and stalked forward. “I never joke about food.”

  “I’m positive that if you went home, Grace would make you something.”

  “But then I wouldn’t have your stimulating company or access to this amazing mouth.” Trick planted a long, lingering kiss on her lips. Tasting. Teasing. Possessing. He’d missed her. Barely knew her, really, but he’d missed her sultry voice, her secret smile, her quick humor, and her little mean streak.

  Ending the kiss with a nip to her lip, Trick framed her face with his hands, drinking her in. That was when he noticed the lines of strain there. His hackles rose. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just been one of those days.”

  Trick gently backed her into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Don’t say ‘Nothing.’ Tell me. Get it out.”

  She sighed. “I had lunch with my uncle and grandparents. It didn’t go so well.”

  Pissed that the fuckers had upset her again, Trick felt his jaw harden. He didn’t voice his anger—she didn’t need to deal with his shit on top of theirs. He rubbed his nose against hers and skimmed one hand down her hair. “Want my wolf to go piss on their tires?” As he’d hoped, she laughed. It was a quiet, tired sound, but still.

  “Nah, but I appreciate the offer.” Frankie released a sigh of pleasure as his fingers feathered over her nape. “I really don’t think I’ll make good company, but if you want to take your chances you can grab a beer and join me on the deck.” His face went all warm and lazy, and she figured it had pleased him that he hadn’t had to coax his way farther inside. Well, she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t want him there. That would just be stupid.

  “I’ll take my chances.” Trick grabbed a beer from her stainless steel double-door fridge. Outside he settled on the rocking chair beside hers. “Sweet setup you’ve got here.” Especially with the hot tub and the monster grill.

  He was guessing she’d made the sculptures. One was a black, twisted, rickety, evil-looking tree that contradictorily had beautiful white blooms dangling from the branches. The second was a large black chess piece that was peppered with moths and had six crows perched on top. Neither sculpture should have looked right in such a beautiful garden, but they gave it an edge and made it look better. Balanced out the natural perfection of the flowers.

  “How’s your day been so far?” she asked.

  “Dull, really.” Trick tossed her a smile. “Much better now.” He drank some of his beer. “What was the first sculpture you ever made?”

  Thinking back, Frankie smiled. “It wasn’t very good. Or very big. It was a volcano. Someone with severe burns was crawling out of the top. You can imagine how horrified my grandparents were. They even sent me to a therapist.”

  “A therapist?”

  “Yeah. I remember feeling really frustrated that he asked why I’d chosen to make it. I tried explaining that I didn’t realize I was making it until it started to come together. He seemed to understand. Anyway, he told Marcia that using art as a form of expression was healthy, and that she should encourage the hobby. In that sense he did me a favor. You said you like to sketch. Is it something you’ve always done?”

  Trick used the heel of one foot to gently rock his chair. “It was my mom who encouraged me to try it. I was a restless kid. Liked having something to do with my hands. She thought sketching might help relax me, and it did. Still does. But I can’t say I have a drive to create art. I can’t even call it a hobby. It’s just something I do sometimes.” He paused to sip at his beer. “The first time I saw one of your sculptures online was a few years back. I wondered if you made them to purposely disturb people. But I can see now that it’s more than that.”

  Frankie frowned. “You saw one of mine years ago?”

  “I looked you up, curious about what you were doing with your life.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m a curious guy. I was surprised by how well you’ve integrated yourself in the human world. I wondered why you hadn’t ever contacted the pack. In your position I’d have wanted to talk to the other half of my family and hear their side of things. I didn’t think for one second that you’d been fed lies. What exactly did the Newmans say happened to your parents?”

  “That they both died in a car crash. They said my father’s name was Dustin Turner. Said he was loving and loyal and devoted to my mother. I know why my family lied, I just can’t help being pissed that they lied for so long.” She rubbed at her temple. “They’re not happy about me having contact with the pack. The way they see it, shifters stole Caroline from them.”

  “That so? Well, they stole you from me, your paternal family, and the rest of your pack mates. I don’t think this will ever be a situation that works for everyone. You just have to do what you feel is best for you. So what do you want?”

  Frankie took a long breath. “Pizza. I want pizza.”

  His mouth curved. “Then we get pizza.”

  Pulling out her cell phone, she asked, “What do you like on yours?”

  “Anything except anchovies.” He waited until she’d finished the call to the pizza place before he spoke again. “I know a thing or two about feeling like you’ve disappointed the people who raised you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “My parents were loud supporters of Trey’s banishment. They hadn’t suspected I’d leave with him. Oh, they knew I was close to Trey and that I didn’t respect Rick, but they never anticipated that I’d go against their wishes. That was the way they saw it—that I was choosing Trey over them. I wasn’t. I was choosing what was right for me. They were so angry with me, but they were positive I’d run back there with my tail tucked between my legs.”

  Noticing her flexing her fingers, Trick took her hand and massaged it as he continued. “But I didn’t. I made a place for myself in a new pack. It was a small group, but we built something good and strong. I contacted my parents a few times, invited them to Phoenix Pack territory. I wanted them to see what we’d built, wanted them to see what a pack could be like. They just kept insisting that I go back. I wouldn’t say it didn’t matter to them that I was happy. I think it did—and does still—matter. They just wanted me to find happiness their way.”

  That sounded familiar, thought Frankie as she drank the last of her wine.

  “They’ve missed so much of my life. They don’t think that’s their fault. Dad blames me. Mom blames Trey. And that ate at our relationship. The point? Some people expect others to fall in line with what they want. They reject anyone who doesn’t, including those they love, for reasons only they can justify. And they won’t see that it’s wrong.”

  “Marcia and Geoffrey aren’t bad people, Trick. Really, they’re not. They want everything on their terms, but I think that partly comes from having jobs with such high positions. They’re used to making the decisions and taking the lead. Brad mostly goes along with what they want.”

  “It’s not bad that you don’t. I know what it’s like to have people who expect things from you. You have to do what’s best for you, because when it comes to people like that, there’ll always be something that they expect. You can never really please them.”

  Frankie exhaled heavily. “I know. I frequently disappoint my grandparents. I used to feel guilty that I couldn’t be a lawyer or a doctor like they wanted. Sculpting isn’t a skill to them. It’s a wasteful hobby. I can’t give it up, though. Not even for them.”

  �
��They shouldn’t want you to give it up. It should be enough that it makes you happy. But they’re waiting for you to ‘come to your senses.’ It would have suited them if you’d failed at what you do, but you didn’t. Yet they won’t admit that they were wrong. Probably never will.” He kissed the palm of her hand. “You don’t have to be alone anymore, Frankie.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I haven’t been alone.”

  “Yes, you have. You might have had the Newmans, but you’ve always felt like you didn’t quite measure up and fit in with them, haven’t you?”

  Yeah, she had.

  “You didn’t have your pack; you lived with the feeling that something was missing. And as much as I’m grateful that your grandparents took care of you, I’m pissed at them for what you missed. Pissed that you didn’t have all your family, that you were alone for your first shift, and that they made you believe we didn’t want you.” And that he’d missed so many years with her. If she hadn’t been kept from him, they could have been happily mated by now.

  “They were protecting me.”

  “Were they? Or is that their excuse for keeping you away from us?” He nipped the heel of her hand. “Maybe they did want to protect you, but that wasn’t the only reason they cut us out of your life. You know that.”

  Yeah, she did know that. They’d wanted some measure of revenge against the people they blamed for their daughter’s death, and they’d used her to hurt Iris and the rest of the pack because . . . well, because they could.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Pizza’s here.” She plonked her glass on the table as she rose. “I’ll get it.”

  They settled at the island in the middle of her kitchen and demolished the pizza. No dishes or cutlery. Just the box and their hands. Trick entertained her with random tales of things that had happened on pack territory, and she knew he was hoping to lure her into going back for another visit. She also knew she’d probably go back at some point.

  By the time they’d eaten the last of the pizza, her gray cloud had lifted and she felt lighter. She had no idea how just having him around could ease her mind and calm her system, but she was glad for it.