Between Two Wolves and a Hard Place: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 4)

by Cassie Wright

  But I can't. Because I didn't come back for them. I came back for myself. And Drake can see it in my eyes. Before I can speak, before I can plead my case, he digs out a ring of keys from his pocket. "This way," he says, voice cold, and strides past me to where the hall ends in a plain white door.

  I sigh and trail after him. He slides a key into the lock, and turns it with some effort. Pulls the door open, and gestures for me to go in.

  I step past him into a huge space. It's easily a third of the whole mill, but without a second floor, so that the ceiling is far, far above me. Large windows look out over the rushing Conway River just where it turns into the Honeycomb waterfall. The floor is concrete, and the space is immense, empty, open.

  But. My eyes lock on the furnace. It's a massive, black iron monster hunched against the far wall, taller than I am and massively industrial in appearance. Huge tubes extend from it, truncated and severed decades ago, no doubt meant to carry the heat to the rest of the building.

  "It's functional," says Drake, stepping past me, his footsteps echoing in the vast, empty room. "I had a guy come over from Northampton to turn it into a kiln."

  I join him, and can't hold the question back. "Why?"

  "Why?" He laughs bitterly, and glances sidelong at me. "Why do you think?" But before I can answer, he shakes his head and turns away. "Everything you need should be there in the corner. Propane. Oxygen. I bought a torch secondhand. Carlisle something or other."

  My eyes go wide, and I run over to where crates and boxes are stacked against one wall. I open a case, and pull out the torch. It's gorgeous, large, and of incredibly high quality. "A Carlisle CC," I say. Back home I only have a small Red Max, good for small, detailed work, but this would let me work on bigger pieces. "And pipes. And - how many cases of borosilicate glass is this?"

  "Ten or so." Drake is smiling when I turn to him, but it's a sad smile.

  "Drake. This is amazing. I - thank you."

  His smile fades away. "Yeah. No problem. You're welcome to it. In a way, I'm glad you're finally here. When you leave, I'll finally be able to do something with the space. I've been keeping it empty for you all these years. Now I'll finally be able to let it go."

  Tears come to my eyes. I feel so helpless. There's nothing I can say. I want to touch him, hold him close. Yet I can't. An irrevocable gulf stands between us. A gulf of my own making. We hold each other's gaze for what feels like an eternity, then Drake coughs and turns away. "I'll leave the keys in the lock. Good luck getting your company back."

  "Drake!"

  He looks over his shoulder. There's so much I want to say. I'm sorry. I miss you. Don't leave. Hold me. Talk to me. Be my friend. But I can't say any of that. So instead, weakly, I ask, "How much is the rent?"

  He snorts. His pale blue eyes take on a pained, mocking look. "You really think I'm going to charge you? Rent is free." He turns and steps back to the door. Opens it. "Think of it as a gift. A gift in memory of dead friendship." Then he steps out, and the door swings closed behind him with a hollow boom.

  I press both hands to my chest. How have I been so stupid? Honeycomb Falls has occupied a blind spot in my mind all these years because of Drake and Dean. I've avoided thinking about home because of them. But why?

  Why this mental aversion?

  My mind skitters away from specific memories. I don't want to recall, but I know why. Now that I'm back, now that I'm thinking of them both again, I can remember clearly what I've run from all these years.

  I move to one of the windows and rest my hands on the sill. I look down at the rushing, cold waters of the Conway, then left to where the falls roar down a dozen yards to the rocks. It was the end of summer. The three of us were down there, on those rocks. We'd been swimming. I was wearing a form-hugging swimsuit, bright blue banded with black. I was so happy. The three of us had spent a magical day together, and as the sun began to set behind the mountains, we sat together on the rocks, wrapped in our towels, shivering and not speaking, simply shoulder to shoulder.

  I rested my head on Dean's shoulder. Drake took my hand. It felt natural. It felt good. Laughing, Drake brought my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. I felt a shiver of delight, and then he turned my hand over and kissed the inside of my wrist. My laugh died on my lips as my delight turned to something more adult, more mature, dangerous and new, and finally the moment I had subconsciously expected was upon us. I felt the growing chemistry. Knew that our friendship had been changing into something more.

  Dean turned my face toward his and kissed me on the lips. Nervously, but with that unyielding ardor that was all his. I moaned as desire swept through me. Drake's kisses traveled up my arm, and when I turned to him, he kissed me, his lips wider, softer than Dean's, but just as hungry.

  Without speaking we rose to our feet and retreated into the woods, kissing and laughing and tripping till we reached a secluded spot. I was scared, but I trusted them both with my life. They were my best friends - and maybe something more.

  I can still remember how the pine needles stuck up through the towel as we knelt down together, Dean in front of me, Drake behind. How they explored my body with kisses, how I submitted, not believing what was happening, my body afire. Our hands touched. Explored. I gasped. Moaned. They were on both sides of me. My one-piece bathing suit slipped off one shoulder, and then the other, and then one of them rolled it down to expose my breasts.

  Standing in the mill, gazing at the darkly flowing river, I feel a shiver rush over my body. That old desire. Nothing I've experienced since then has ever felt as intense as those kisses. I reached for Dean's cock, straining through the wet fabric of his shorts, and grasped it, not knowing quite what to do but moving on instinct. He went tense, eyes wide, and growled as he bit my neck. Drake's hands were all over me.

  Oh. I close my eyes and press my forehead against the cold glass of the window. I feel as if a fever is rising inside of me. I haven't thought of that perfect moment in years.

  Then Dean began to lose control. As I worked his cock, his growls became deeper. More primal. Dangerous.

  Startled, I released him and fell back into Drake's arms. Dean staggered to his feet, snarling as fur erupted over his body. His face elongated into that of a wolf. A tail burst out from the base of his spine. In a matter of moments he stood seven feet tall, part wolf, part man, eyes golden with fury and lust.

  I remember screaming. I'd never seen him shift before. Drake threw me behind him and stepped forward to confront Dean, and I ran. I ran like I had never run before, terrified. Leaving the two of them behind.

  They tried to contact me that night. The next day. I locked myself away in my room and told my dad to keep them out of the house. He did so. He asked me if I had been hurt. What had happened. I refused to talk about it. On impulse I accepted the offer to go study at the workshop in Venice, an amazing opportunity I had been debating. I left the next week, having steadfastly refused to talk to either of my friends.

  I fled.

  I abandoned them in my fear.

  And refused to come home, to think of them, to deal with the reality of their being young werewolves ever since.

  I think of Drake's eyes. The pain in them, the haunted hope. I ran away and abandoned them just as they were figuring out their love for me. Their passion. Their desire. They were kids. But then again, so was I. I was a terrified girl, and I fled to Europe, and put all thought of Dean and Drake and the fear and desire and lust and horror I'd experienced that afternoon in the woods out of my mind.

  Until now.

  Chapter 8

  I drive away, my thoughts a tempest I can't still. It has to mean something, Kiera showing up like this, out of the blue, just weeks before we're slated to be mated with Leena. My mind is tormented by images of Kiera from six years ago. Ever since that summer, I've thought she was the pinnacle of beauty, what with her curly hair that was a delight to plunge my hands into, her large, full breasts, and her gorgeous, luscious curves. I thought I'd peaked early,
met my ideal woman, and now, seeing Kiera again, I know I only got a taste of perfection that summer.

  Because, man, she's only grown more gorgeous. She's intoxicating. Only my strongest efforts kept me from taking her in my arms, dignity and pride be damned. Only my wounded sense of justice kept me from pressing her full body to my own, burying my face in her neck, breathing in that scent that goes right to my head and makes me feel weak.

  We've all changed. Older, for sure, but Kiera, she's become a woman. No longer that laughing girl, she's a woman now, with all the mystery and allure that comes with it. A woman I want to get to know. To explore. What makes her laugh these days? Does she still love Rocky Road ice cream and bad movies from the 80s? Does she still scratch at the arch of her foot with the toes of her other foot when she's feeling lazy and happy? I want to strip her clothes off and bare her body, her soul.

  But I can't. I hunch my shoulders. Life can be cruel. With Kiera burning in my thoughts, I can barely stand to think of Leena. Sure, at first I was taken by her, by her sophistication, her dark beauty, her throaty laugh. At first I thrilled in her presence. But these days I can barely stand to stay close. If it weren't for Dean's morbid fascination, I'd have ended this mating weeks ago. But he's enthralled. Mesmerized. It's like she's some kind of deadly cobra, and he can't tear his eyes away.

  I can't abandon him. I can't break and run. He's my best friend. If I leave him alone with her, she'll destroy him. Warp him. Bring out the worst, and turn him into a monster.

  I pound my fist into the steering wheel, frustrated beyond all measure. Why? Why has Kiera shown up now? It has to mean something. But what? She didn't come back for us. But does that matter? She's back. Showing up at Fool's Gold. Showing up in the studio I prepared for her, so many years ago, in the crazy hope that I'd be able to make her smile when she finally came home.

  And now she's here. And Dean and I are careening toward disaster. I need to do something. I need to change the course we're on. But how?

  I dig out my phone and dial Dean. Despite the hour he'll still be in bed, recovering from last night. The phone rings, and rings, and then goes to voicemail. No message, just an electronic beep. I hang up, dial again. I know Dean will be opening one eye and staring malevolently at his ringing phone. I keep calling, and finally he picks up.

  "What?" His voice is a rasp.

  "Dean. Get the hell up. I'll be home in five. We're going out."

  "Like hell." He hangs up.

  I laugh. Dial back.

  "I'm not going out."

  "You are. No choice here, amigo. I'll be there in five. Don't make me pick out your underwear."

  I hear him growl. "Just you try it."

  "You know I will. Five minutes." I hang up.

  When I pull up in front of our ranch house, inherited from my parents and now the center of our pack life, I see George and Susan sitting out on the porch, George with his battered guitar on his lap, Susan leaning back, cowboy boots crossed on the porch railing.

  "Morning, sunshine," says Susan as I walk up.

  Susan and George complete our pack. There's just the four of us, a small number, but neither Dean nor I have had much heart or enthusiasm for recruiting other wolves. It's almost as if we've been paralyzed these past few years. Trapped in a bubble of inertia. Unable to really kick-start our lives. Waiting. Waiting. But for what?

  "Morning, gorgeous." And Susan really is. Long, strawberry blonde hair, freckles over the bridge of her nose, and eyes as green as moss. "Dean up?"

  George gives me a rueful smile. "I heard some noises from his end of the house. So maybe?"

  I pat George on the shoulder and move on in. The house is dark. I bang on Dean's door. "You up?"

  "No."

  I open the door and see Leena lying beside Dean, his face held between her hands. She's trying to pull him into a kiss, a long expanse of pale leg showing where the covers have fallen back. I've mated with Leena twice. The first time was incredible. The second time left me feeling empty. I haven't touched her since, and she hasn't complained.

  "Sorry to interrupt," I say, making myself smile. "We've got to go."

  Dean shakes his head free and glowers at me. "Why? Where to?"

  "It can wait," says Leena, not looking at me. Her eyes are trained on Dean.

  "No. It can't wait. And won't wait. Dean. Get the hell up. Now." I put iron in my voice. It catches his attention, and he stares at me, eyes narrowed. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he throws the covers aside.

  "Fine." He pulls on a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt, and then laces up his boots. "Let's go."

  Leena levels a flat stare at me, and I raise an eyebrow. Slowly lines are being drawn in the sand, and she's making it more clear each day which side each of us is on. She holds my gaze without a problem, and when Dean marches past me and out of the room, she leans back in his bed and slides a hand under the covers. "Guess I'll just have to pleasure myself, since the only man around here just left."

  I give her a cutting smile. "Knock yourself out." I turn, closing the door behind me, blood boiling. March out into the sunshine, where Dean is standing and stretching beside our packmates. "Come on," I say, and head back to my truck. He ambles over and gets in.

  I reverse, and point the truck in the direction of the mountains. I drive fast, taking the mountain roads with the skill that comes from growing up around here. I know each curve and switchback like the back of my hand.

  "Where're we headed?" asks Dean.

  "You stink, man. Alcohol and sweat."

  Dean snorts and says nothing more.

  I pull the truck over and park by a trailhead. Get out, and then shuck my shirt over my head. Kick off my shoes, ditch my pants, and then shift aggressively fast into my wolf form. It feels good to be on all fours, the world becoming sharper, my senses more keen, smells exploding into vivid tangibility around me.

  Dean stares at me through the window. "It's like that, is it?"

  I growl at him, daring him. Defying him. That gives me pause. We never growl at each other.

  "Fine," he says, and gets out. He doesn't bother pulling his clothing off, just shifts right there and then, shaking his clothes off when he's on all fours. I don't give him a chance to try to engage in dominating behavior, but rather take off, sprinting up the trail.

  It's steep. Sunlight spears down through the canopy. I smell loam, rotting leaves, the last dank traces of winter, and the bright, clear energy of spring. Up I run, up the steep trail, pushing myself, forcing my muscles harder and harder.

  I can hear Dean behind me. He's growling low, not liking being pushed this hard, resenting me, but refusing to be left behind. Up we race, faster and faster, till my breath is coming in ragged gasps, my lungs heaving, my muscles burning. Finally I burst out of the tree line and come to the top of the mountain, emerging into the sunlight at the top of a cliff.

  Dean emerges from the shadows a moment later, and stalks in front of me, his body tense, his tail stiff, ears low on his skull. All warning language. Before he can go any further, I shift back up to my human form. Dean stares at me a moment longer with his gold eyes, and then does the same.

  We stand facing each other at the top of the cliff, the sunlight bright on our skin, our hands knotted into fists.

  "What the hell, Drake?" His voice is low and surly.

  "That's my question, Dean. What the hell? Where are you? Who are you?"

  He narrows his eyes. "I'm me. What are you talking about?"

  "Oh, yeah? Since when do you sleep till the middle of the day? Since when do you drink every night?"

  "What? You my mother now?"

  I step right up into his face. "She's changing you, man, trying to drive us apart."

  He doesn't back away. Simply stares me right in the eyes. "Nobody's changing me."

  "I know you. I know you better than the back of my hand. She is. You're growing dark, Dean. Angry. She's pulling at you, twisting you. Manipulating you."

  He grows and shoves at m
e, but I expect the blow and side-step it. That only provokes him further. "Maybe she just sees the real me."

  "No," I say. "She sees what you could become. Angry, bitter, mean. She likes that, for some fucked-up reason. She knows how to push your buttons. What to say. How to provoke you. Tell me. Last night when you mated. Was it good? Pure? Did you feel joy?"

  He narrows his eyes, but doesn't answer.

  I shake my head. "I know how you felt. Used. Angry. Bitter at yourself. Has she asked you to hurt her yet?" No answer. "Have you? Hurt her?"

  "Fuck you," says Dean, and turns away.

  "Dean." Something in my voice stops him from leaving. "I love you, man. You're like my own brother. Listen to me. We don't have to walk this road. We don't have to let Leena divide us. We don't have to give in to our darker urges. There's a different option."

  He stands there, head bowed, his back to me. "There is no other option. Six years we looked for a mate, and found nobody. Leena's our last chance. If we don't take a mate, our pack will fall apart. We'll be lone wolves."

  "No," I say. "There is another option. Kiera."

  He spins then, faster than is humanly possible. "What? You're kidding me." There's such anger and spite in his voice that I take a step back.

  "She's here. She's back. She's staying at least a couple of weeks."

  "So? She left, man. She abandoned us. She dropped us cold. Now that she's back, you want to go crawling to her and ask for a second chance?" His eyes are on fire.

  "No," I say.

  "Did she come back for us?" He searches my face. "She didn't, did she? She doesn't want us, Drake. Stop acting the fool."

  This is it. The crucial moment. Make or break. I've always been better with words than Dean, but right now, I despair of finding the right ones. "Dean. Stop. Listen. She didn't come back for us. Yes, she left. But she had good reason. We scared her. Shit, we terrified ourselves. But everything's changed. We're not kids anymore. We're men."

  I step up to him. He's listening. Suspicious, still angry, but he's listening.