“It’s not that,” he began, setting aside his food. “There’s just . . . nothing. No one’s heard from him since that first text, and everyone acts like it’s no big deal. Even Riley whose middle name is practically worried seems unconcerned that he’s basically vanished.”
“He’s done it before, right?” she questioned, frown deepening.
“Supposedly.” Landon lifted his shoulders in a shrug since he only had the family’s word for it being normal behavior. “What do you think?”
“I think you need to trust your family,” she said without removing her hand from his arm. “If they say this is temporary, trust them. I can’t say if it is normal because Matthew has so little to do with anything pack-related that isn’t also Miller-centered, but he doesn’t seem the type to just vanish.”
“Not like me.”
She sighed. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Landon, but there’s a lot I need to say to you about what happened twelve years ago.”
She bit her lip in silence for a minute then bent to retrieve a book from the jumble of items under the table and opened it. She removed a sheet of paper and held it out toward him as she slid the book back into its place, and wrapped her arms around herself..
“I wrote this today, and I need you to read it so you know what your leaving did to me. Again, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or blame you, Landon, but my feelings matter, especially after twelve years.”
Landon frowned, slightly at how similar the words were to how he’d started the conversation with his own mother. He’d never seen them as particularly similar, but the idea of reading that letter and seeing what his leaving had done to his best friend turned first love twisted a knot in his chest and made his palms clammy. He suddenly struggled to breathe and the food remaining in his mouth turned to sawdust. Was that the real reason she’d invited him over tonight?
Despite the lack of taste, he finished off the hamburger in three bites and accepted the letter. He felt fresh guilt for how she continued to bite her lip and kept her arms around herself as almost protection compared to the normally confident Imogene. Her nervousness only heightened his, but he didn’t say a word as she settled back into the opposite end of the couch, tucking herself close to the arm, though her eyes never left his.
“Okay,” he managed to croak out as his gaze dropped to the handwritten page.
The knot in his chest twisted at the opening words, but he forced himself to focus on the paper rather than reaching out to her. He stayed acutely aware of her closeness as he read the letter, and every part of him wanted to close the physical distance between them yet he held himself back. His damp palm wiped on his jeans and that knot twisted tighter as he read what he’d unintentionally taken from her by leaving, how his careless actions had hurt her, and how she’d nearly lost out on other important relationships because of his selfish choices.
His wolf prowled just beneath his skin, agitated and angry, unlike the human part being swamped with guilt for what he’d done to his best friend.
By the time he neared the final paragraph, the hint of moisture in his eyes required several blinks to focus on the words and her perfectly valid questions. He couldn’t blame her lack of trust in him on anything except himself, though that did nothing to stop the guilt tearing through him like a set of claws. He bent his head and closed his eyes on a shuddering breath after he read the last few lines, struggling past the emotions clouding his head and heart.
Imogene’s letter floated away from his fingertips onto the coffee table as he replayed the questions in silence for a few minutes. He didn’t know whether the offer of a second chance or the plea to not let her down again got to him, but he gradually became aware of her shift. Her arms slid over his shoulders and locked while she tucked herself against him, cheek resting against his upper back as if providing comfort despite the fact he’d left her hurting alone for so many years.
“You weren’t easy to forget, Immy,” he whispered, knowing her enhanced senses and close proximity would pick it up. His wolf perked up at the closeness of her. “But I was scared of what that life would do to you. It was okay if I fucked up my life, but I wouldn’t be able to look at myself if I’d been the reason something happened to you. I’m so sorry, Immy, and you did deserve more from me. You deserve more now.”
“I still care about you.” Her words were slightly muffled against his back as she added, “And I want to believe you won’t leave again.”
He dropped his hands and tried to turn his head, though it provided no better glimpse of her. “I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you I won’t leave again,” he said, reaching back to encircle her waist with one of his arms. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it. Anything, Immy.”
It felt like an eternity of silence before she sat up a bit, and he could turn his head to see her face and the tears streaked beneath her crooked glasses. His thumb lifted to brush them aside as she stated, “For tonight, I just want you to be here, Landon, with me.”
“As what?” he asked, aware of how close her face remained to his. He could smell her shampoo and feel her soft skin beneath his fingertips as he righted her glasses on her nose. Part of him ached to slide his hand back into her curls, tug her forward, and bring her mouth to his except it didn’t feel the right moment no matter how his wolf whimpered in his head.
“As a friend,” she answered and leaned back a bit, though her arms had yet to fully unwind from his shoulders. “I want my friend back, and I want to actually talk about what those twelve years meant, for me, for you, and for the worlds we lived in. Can you give me that, Landon?”
“Yes.”
Seeming to accept his words, she withdrew her arms and sat back, but she didn’t put the majority of the couch between them this time. “Wherever you want to start,” she said, wiping aside her lingering tears then cleaning her foggy, tear-streaked glasses on her shirt. “I’m listening.”
Landon took a deep breath then pushed aside all the reasons to not tell her, knowing all barriers were useless when it came to Imogene. He took a follow-up breath then admitted, “I had a fight with Mom the day I left, and it felt like the same fight we’d had a dozen times about my lack of dedication to the pack so why keep having it? That’s when I decided to actually leave.”
He paused to let the memories solidify. “I drove out to the same bar where we always met to make it official with Mac Walsh, and I intended to say I wanted to bring you with me . . .”
“But,” she prompted after a few minutes of silence.
“I got a glimpse of how they treated the few women with long-standing proximity. It wasn’t good, Immy,” he admitted, staring down at his hands. “They might as well have been shared property. Hell, a lot of the guys treated their bikes better. I would have been the lowest position in the club so how would I have been able to keep you safe?”
Imogene nodded, though her furrowed brows and frown said she didn’t like the idea that he’d made himself her protector. It hadn’t been due to doubt of her abilities, but she was too kind for the life he’d stupidly walked into, and he hadn’t wanted to see her hurt or changed by it.
“I thought about changing my mind, about deciding not to go, but I’d already taken the oath, and I knew how seriously they took brotherhood,” he continued. “I worried they might go after the Mom, one of my siblings, you, or even the pack if I didn’t follow through with the oath.”
“You couldn’t call or text?” she questioned, quietly, but it felt like a shout between them.
He hesitated then admitted, “I figured you wouldn’t want to hear from me after the way I left which only made things worse. It was easier to lose myself in a bottle or a rage than dwell on what I left behind, and we never had a shortage of either one.”
Despite having promised to tell her everything, he kept the details to a minimum on the violence he’d inflicted on behalf of the Chaos’ Sons in the early years. An occasional glance would go to her, though she didn’t seem
as horrified as he might have expected, especially when he talked about the massacre that had tied Nathan to them. The pain when he mentioned the only survivors had been Nathan’s pregnant wife and unborn daughter came far sharper than any other when faced with her scrutiny. He told her about meeting Nathan’s wife, Molly years later, in Anberlin, the glimpses of their young daughter, Natalie, and how it had torn Nathan up to see his family without being able to approach.
Only when he paused for a drink of water did she question, “What made Nathan’s joining so special? You don’t talk about him the same as the others.”
“Because Nathan never wanted to be one of us.” Landon’s words were quiet as he shifted to face her, reaching out without thinking about it. Her hand met his halfway and laced their fingers together to rest on the cushion between them. “He only joined so Molly had a chance, and he hated every minute of it. I think he hoped the bite would kill him, but that would have been too easy.”
He told her about the first kill and how Nathan had frozen, how he’d had to fake it then talked Walsh into using him as a scout. He revealed the bare minimum on the curse that brought them to Anberlin since Walsh had kept those details closer; however, she did interrupt once to question if the curse was broken now. He’d given her his best guess that the lack of an organized pack nullified it, though she still seemed concerned given how her fingers tightened on his.
Much as it pained him, he told her about the deaths in Anberlin and his role, how he’d eventually argued against another massacre and how Walsh had turned on him and Nathan. He showed her the new scars on his side while talking about teaming up with the group Molly worked for to fight not only the other Chaos’ Sons but the witch who controlled them.
After a review of how Nathan had sacrificed himself to ensure a better future for his wife and daughter then his own decision to return home, Landon fell silent and waited for her to speak yet the silence seemed to stretch forever.
He almost wished she hadn’t spoken as she asked, “How many people did you kill during those twelve years?”
His eyes closed in shame, though her fingers didn’t pull away as he finally said, “Twenty-seven.”
Chapter Thirty-One
As she listened to Landon recall his time with the Chaos’ Sons, Imogene kept herself from reaching out despite the pain that radiated from him like a physical heat. His eyes were downcast in a way that she knew hid the pain, something he’d done when they were younger, yet he pushed on to tell her about Nathan whose death had prompted him to come back. Only when his voice hitched the smallest bit and his hand moved unconsciously toward hers did she reach out, allowing her fingers to slide between his and give a squeeze.
The witch part was unfamiliar given, to her knowledge, none of those existed in Worsham, but she didn’t interrupt him. His telling of the events in Anberlin included more details than their first conversation at the creek, though the fact his brothers had nearly killed him and Nathan for growing consciences had her squeezing his fingers, tightly. The bigger reveal that some of those brothers had died by his and Nathan’s hand tempted her to close the gap between them yet she held herself back.
He finally fell silent, but she didn’t speak immediately as she stared down at their clasped hands, the difference in his calloused fingers against her smoother ones.
“How many people did you kill during those twelve years?” she asked, not because of morbid curiosity, but to test a theory.
His eyes closed and his head bowed before he said, “Twenty-seven.”
Part of her experienced horror at the idea of him having taken twenty-seven lives. The larger part of her was relieved to hear the remorse, to see his bowed head, and to know the number wasn’t a point of pride despite how she could imagine the other Sons had treated their kill counts.
“Did you enjoy killing them?” she questioned, quietly.
“No,” he answered, sharply and his eyes lifted, presenting her with the regret and shame she’d suspected in the familiar moss-colored depths. “Never.”
Instead of replying, she squeezed his fingers and gave him an opening to continue speaking.
“I did what was necessary even when everything inside me screamed to do anything else,” he said, anguished gaze locked with hers. “I used claws, fists, whatever was at hand, and I watched myself become a monster like them.”
“Except a monster wouldn’t be ashamed,” she informed him as she reached across to take his other hand in hers. He tried to hold back, but she persisted until both his hands were clasped within hers. “While you have done some terrible things, or stood by and let them happen, you are not a monster, Landon. A monster wouldn’t have risked his life for a bunch of strangers or stood at a friend’s side to protect his family.”
He scoffed, though she responded by tightening her hold on his hands as she repeated, “You’re not a monster. It might not seem like it, but you are trying to be better which is more than most can say.” A tug on their joined hands put his attention back on her. “Everyone has something they’re ashamed of, Landon, everyone.”
Landon shook his head. “You don’t.”
Instead of arguing with him, she withdrew her hands and shifted from the couch onto the floor to pull out a shoebox decorated with cacti. Its contents were dug through as she felt his eyes on her, though she didn’t acknowledge him again until she pulled out a picture and held it out to him. “Remember her?”
He took the picture and studied it for a minute before he finally guessed, “Isn’t her name Marilyn? We went to school with her, right?”
Nodding at his guess of the name, Imogene gave him a minute to study the picture of the smiling blonde then said, “When we learned about the nomads living in the woods, Micah wanted me to go with Jane and the others, but you know how I hate conflict. I lied that I’d had car trouble and said Marilyn should go instead.”
“And Marilyn died.”
“Yeah, Marilyn died,” she agreed, hating the hitch in her voice. The other wolf’s name no longer led to tears, but the familiar knot of guilt invaded her chest as she remembered that day. “If I hadn’t been too much of a coward, she’d be here.”
“You wouldn’t, though.” Landon’s tone implied his happiness she’d survived before he added, “But you do so much for the pack now and to help Micah, surely no one blames you for what happened to Marilyn, Jane, or any of the others.”
“I blame me.” Imogene shifted her position to look up at him, having to clear the lump in her throat. His brows furrowed as he looked down to her. “I can’t see her family without feeling that familiar shame at the part I played in her death, but I still try every day, Landon. I try to do better, to be better, to make up for her death.”
“But it was just one life.”
“No life is just one life,” she snapped as she felt her eyes darken to the wolf’s. Her claws and teeth tried to push forward, but she pushed them down, clenching her fingers into fists. “A loss of life is a tragedy on any day. You have to live with the tragedies of your past like all of us, but you have a choice about how to move forward. Do you wallow in what you did, or do you begin trying to make up for all the horribleness you put into the world with good? I believe there’s still good in you, Landon, just like I believed there was still good in me, but I can’t make you believe it.”
He’d fallen back a bit on the couch at the flash of her eyes, though he hadn’t looked away from her as he digested those words. His brows were furrowed again before he asked, “Is it really that easy to just do good and wait for the scales to balance?”
Imogene offered him a sad smile. “I never said it was easy,” she pointed out before holding out her hand for the photograph again. “But the catch is to keep trying. That’s all any of us can do in life, try.”
Landon placed the picture in her hand then sat in silence while she returned it to the box, closed it, and tucked it into the space beneath the coffee table. He stayed silent as she shifted back onto the couch then asked, �
��Will you help me be better, Immy? I don’t know where to start.”
A corner of her lips lifted into a smile as she recalled their first meeting and her own request that he help her learn to be a werewolf, how she had echoed his sentiment of not knowing where to start.
“I’m a great teacher,” she said, calling up his words from that meeting nearly two decades ago. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”
For the first time in a long time, she saw a glimpse of his actual smile and felt her heart flutter in typical reaction even as she knew the road ahead contained bumps. He likely had other walls he wasn’t ready to let down, but she thought they’d made progress between the letter and their confessions so she questioned, “Will you still stay?”
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”
* * *
A buzzing sound pulled Imogene out of a deep sleep and made her aware of no longer being on her couch plus a warm body was tucked against her back with an arm across her stomach. Only a small shift allowed her to identify it as Landon, though a glance down found she still wore her jeans and tee shirt, having presumably fallen asleep on the couch after an hour or more of talking. Apparently he’d decided her bed would be more comfortable then to join her, but she couldn’t come up with a single objection to being held by him.
Her hand swiped over his side to find him equally dressed, jacket aside, as the buzzing intensified from what she could now make out as her phone on the nightstand.
Scooting away from Landon’s warmth, she felt as much as heard his grunt of a complaint but forced her fingers to grasp the phone and blink at the notifications since her glasses were missing. The small multitude of missed messages and Steven’s name as calling had her sitting up with a jerk that completely broke Landon’s hold.
Her finger swiped the answer call icon before she cleared her throat and questioned, “Everything okay, Steven?”
Rule of Claw: Wolves of Worsham #1 Page 18
