by Lori Drake
“Best not keep your mother waiting, kitten,” Reginald said, glancing at her over the top of his newspaper.
Joey returned her father’s glance and nodded, then rose and topped off her coffee. She took the mug with her as she left the room, with a pause along the way to kiss his cheek. “See you later.”
There was no sign of Chris or Emma in the hallway. She wondered where they’d gotten off to as she struck off in the direction of her mother’s study. The nagging disquiet over him being out of her sight never quite left her, but she refused to succumb to it entirely. He had to be in the house somewhere, and he was moving a lot better this morning. She had to let him do his own thing, had to resist the irrational urge to shadow him everywhere. She wasn’t that needy.
Joey rapped sharply on the study door. Sam opened it and motioned her inside.
“What’s up?” she asked, sauntering over to a chair. She dropped into it as casually as she could without sloshing coffee out of her mug. Sam joined her, but remained standing beside the chair.
Adelaide sat behind her massive desk, barely glancing up as she extracted a business card from the pocket of an open folder. She held the card out across the desk, and Sam stepped forward to take it.
“Shall I…?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you, Samuel.”
Sam headed for the door, and Joey caught a glimpse of the logo embossed on the front of the folder as Adelaide flipped it closed. It was the funeral home that had handled Chris’s burial.
“What’s going on?” Joey asked, brows drawing together.
“Christopher’s return, while joyful, presents certain… complications,” Adelaide said, while Sam let himself out. “The police, for one, are going to want an explanation for why he’s not dead. And they’re certainly going to want to know who is in his coffin, if he is not.”
“What does the funeral home have to do with this?” Joey asked, nodding at the folder on her mother’s desk.
Adelaide’s eyes dropped briefly to the folder. “Perceptive,” she murmured, then got back to the topic at hand. “Samuel will locate a body to take Chris’s place in the cemetery. That way, when the police exhume the body—as they will—there will be someone in it.”
“It can’t be just anyone. It has to be someone that looks like Chris.” Joey sat up straighter in her chair, frowning.
“Indeed.”
“That’s a really specific needle in a big fucking haystack.”
“Language, Josephine,” Adelaide admonished her absently, as she stowed the folder in a desk drawer.
Joey snorted and eyed her mother. “You really think this’ll work?”
“It’s worked before.”
“Before?” The word shot down Joey’s spine like an icy drip of water. “What do you mean before?”
Adelaide sat back in her chair, elbows on the armrests and fingers steepled. “I’m nearly two centuries old, Josephine. I’ve had to fake a few deaths in my time to avoid suspicion.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. But these days they’ve got databases and DNA evidence… it’s more complicated than it used to be.”
“Psh. Computers aren’t infallible. They’re all controlled by very human hands. All we have to do is grease the right palms and it will all go away.”
“If you say so…” Joey’s reservations lingered, but her mother seemed quite sure of herself. She decided to let it go.
An awkward silence settled between them. Joey was about to take her leave when Adelaide spoke again.
“You handled yourself well last night.”
Joey blinked. A compliment was the last thing she’d expected. “Uh—”
“Your brothers told me what you did, how you took the lead while I was unconscious. It was an untenable situation and you handled it well.”
Adelaide was not a woman to be lavish with praise. It was all Joey could do to keep her mouth from hanging open, much less formulate an appropriate response. She nodded in what she hoped was a gracious manner.
Her mother went on, “I think it’s time you took on more responsibility around here.”
“What kind of responsibility?” Joey asked, pleased she didn’t sound as dubious as she felt.
“Change is coming. I want you to help me chart our course for the future. It’ll involve things like helping your brother with matters like this, but also helping me make difficult decisions that affect everyone.”
Joey shifted in her seat, lips turning down once more. “Since when have you needed help making up your mind about anything, much less telling us what to do?”
Adelaide chuckled, smirking faintly. “See, that’s exactly what I need. Your honesty. Your willingness to ask questions, to challenge the status quo.”
“No offense, Mom, but usually that just seems to piss you off.”
“None taken,” Adelaide replied, quirking a small smile. “That’s more my fault than yours. You know that we’re an unusual family, yes?”
She couldn’t mean the fact that they were wolves. That’d be too obvious. Joey thought about it a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. We’re all alphas. Well, except for Sara.”
“Correct. To have so many alphas in one pack, well, conflict is inevitable. And you’re a strong alpha, Josephine. Stronger than your brothers, stronger than your father. Maybe even stronger than me.” Adelaide paused, eyeing her daughter. “One day. At any rate, it’s time for you to take your place at my side.”
“What about Sam?” Joey shifted in her seat and glanced at the door.
“Samuel is a good soldier, but he’s not you. You were born for this.”
Joey looked down at her lap, thoughts racing. She wasn’t sure how she felt about all of this, but one thing was clear: her mother was offering her an olive branch and carte blanche to speak her mind. But at what cost? How much of her independence would she have to give up to be her mother’s right hand?
“I won’t be at your beck and call every day,” Joey said, seeking her mother’s eyes once more. Adelaide arched a brow, and Joey doubled down. “I’m not your lapdog. That’s Sam’s job.”
Her mother snorted softly and waved a hand. “Don’t be vulgar. All I ask is that you keep your phone with you and actually answer when I call. You’ll also begin training with your brothers, immediately. It was foolish of me to put it off for so long.”
“What kind of training?”
“Combat training. Self-defense to start, but you need to be able to mount an offensive as well, on two legs as well as four.”
“Are we going to war?” Joey asked, blinking.
“Maybe,” Adelaide said, green eyes shifting toward a window. “Time will tell.”
Joey studied her mother’s profile for a moment, then rose from her seat. “I guess if I’m going to help Sam, I should catch up before he gets too far.”
Adelaide’s focus returned to her daughter. “Actually, there’s something else I want to discuss with you, but for now I must ask that it not leave this room.”
Joey grimaced, hovering just on the verge of standing for a moment before dropping back into the chair. “Haven’t secrets gotten this family in enough trouble?”
“Every family has secrets. But as secrets go, this is far from dire.”
“All right, lay it on me.”
“I’ve been giving some thought to the next chapter of our family’s life. We’ve been in the San Diego area nearly thirty years, which is… about as long as we can linger anywhere without attracting suspicion.”
Joey took this in quietly, though a frown tugged at her lips. She’d always known that one day they would have to leave, but never expected it to be quite so soon.
“You want to move?”
Adelaide’s shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “It’s what we do, Josephine. We linger while we can, then move on. It used to be a lot easier, before the internet came along. Anyhow, when Christopher died—or when we thought he was dead—it seemed like it might be a good opportunity to make a fresh start. Now that he�
�s returned, it seems even more prudent. It’s going to be difficult for him to find normalcy in a city where all of his friends attended his funeral, where the police may still be sniffing around…”
Joey frowned and shrugged. “It’s worth considering, I guess. I mean, I always knew we’d have to leave eventually, but you know Chris is still pretty wrecked from all this shit. Maybe familiar surroundings are what he needs.”
“There is also the matter of the Eastgate coven.”
Joey’s brows went up. “Emma’s old coven? What about them? We sent a pretty strong message back along with that bitch’s body.”
“If their leader is as dangerous as Gretchen and Catherine fear—or, rather, if he is dangerous enough that they fear him—there is reason for us to be cautious.”
Gretchen, the High Priestess of the San Diego coven, had been afraid enough of the megalomaniacal cult leader that she’d refused to aid Chris and Emma in their hour of need. The only reason Cathy had been able to assist them was by cutting all ties with her coven. She was anathema to them now, exiled from not just the city of San Diego but the whole county.
“Speaking of Emma, what happens to her if we skip town?” Joey asked, concern wrinkling her forehead. “We can’t just leave her here to fend for herself.”
“As far as I’m concerned, she’s welcome to come with us, but we’ll need to consult with Jon to determine what the terms of her bail allow.”
“Where would we go?”
“The Seattle Art Museum has been courting me for some time. Their curator has been flirting with retirement for several years now. I believe I could easily secure a position there.”
“You seem to have an answer for everything,” Joey said as she studied her mother carefully.
Adelaide smiled thinly. “I did say I’d been giving it some thought.”
Joey nodded and tipped her head back, turning her eyes toward the ceiling. “You should talk to Chris about it. He should be part of the decision, since it’s probably going to affect him more than anyone.” She paused a moment as something tickled at the edge of her memory, then blinked and fixed her eyes on Adelaide again. “Chris was born in Seattle.”
Adelaide dipped her head, but there was a hint of pleasure in her gaze. As if she were pleased Joey had puzzled it out so quickly. “Indeed. A coincidence, but one that may work in our favor.”
“You should still talk to him about it,” Joey said, then drained the last of the coffee from her mug and stood. “If you don’t, I will.”
3
Two days passed. Two grueling days of nearly nonstop activity. Despite the fact that dozens of people died in the average American city every day, it’d taken some effort to find a dead guy that could pass for Chris. They’d finally found a stiff in Oakland that fit the bill, which had involved a last-minute flight and a seven-hour road trip home in a rented hearse.
The fact that anyone could rent a hearse with little to no fuss was one of those things Joey had never needed or wanted to know.
By the time Joey and Sam finished burying the body, it was nearly three in the morning. If she hadn’t been so dirty and smelly, Joey would’ve fallen right into bed. Her arms, back, and hands ached from shoveling. A quick shower rinsed away the sweat and dirt, and the hot water soothed her aching muscles somewhat. A soak in the bathtub would have been better, but she was too tired. Nonetheless, by the time she did fall into bed, she was warm and relaxed. Her eyes drifted closed, but before sleep could claim her, an all-too-familiar sound tickled her sensitive ears. Chris was having another nightmare.
Joey lay there a few moments to see if he’d simmer down on his own, but when the distressed sounds shifted into outright screams, she tossed back the covers and bolted from the bed. Maybe it was more than a nightmare this time.
Heart pounding, she rushed across the hall and flung open Chris’s door. The room was dark, but no darker than her own. A quick scan of the room revealed no shadowy assailants or magic in the air. Chris writhed on the bed, sheets twisted around him as another harsh cry tore from his throat. Joey hurried over and climbed halfway onto the bed, planting one knee on the edge to give her the boost she needed to reach for him.
“Chris, wake up. It’s just a dream.” Her hand landed on his bare chest and his eyes popped open.
His hand clamped down on her wrist, hard enough to grind the bones together.
“Ow! Chris, it’s me. It’s Joey. You’re home, you’re safe. You were just having a bad dream.”
That viselike grip lingered for a few tense heartbeats before he pushed her hand away and sat up. His skin was damp with sweat, a fine sheen that shone in the moonlight slanting through the blinds.
“Everything okay in here?” Sam stood in the doorway, looking into the room with concern.
“Yeah,” Chris said, but there was a tremor in his voice. He rubbed his face with shaking hands.
“You sure? If she’s bothering you, I can get rid of her.”
Joey shot her oldest brother a glare. “He was having a nightmare, jackass. Go back to bed.”
Sam went, pulling the door closed behind him. Joey shifted to sit on the edge of the bed and leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp. The soft white bulb cast a warm pool of light across the bed, banishing the darkness to the periphery.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to go?”
Chris didn’t answer. Taking that as license to remain, she reached for his hand, but to her surprise, he jerked it away.
“Is something wrong?”
He glanced over at her, blue eyes accusatory. “I could ask the same of you.”
Joey’s brows pinched together in confusion. “What?”
“I thought we were okay, but you’ve been going out of your way to avoid me for two days while I’ve been cooped up in this house, basically under house arrest.”
“Chris, that’s not— I haven’t been avoiding you.” She reached for him again, this time laying her hand on his shoulder. His skin was hot under her fingers, almost feverish. “I’ve been trying to help you.”
His shoulders shook as he drew a deep, shuddering breath and blew it out slowly. “It seemed like more than that.”
“You should know better.” Joey let her hand fall away, annoyance flaring. She’d missed him too. More than she’d care to admit. Maybe it was the lingering ache in her muscles reminding her of her extraordinary labors on his behalf, but she couldn’t help but feel indignant. “I’ve been working my ass off, hunting down a body to take your place in that damn coffin. And that’s not even counting the actual physical labor of unburying the original coffin, discovering it was damaged, and having to buy another one. In the middle of the night.”
Chris looked at her again, frowning. “How was I supposed to know that?” he asked, voice tense. “You didn’t tell me. You’ve barely said a dozen words to me in the last forty-eight hours. So forgive me if I’m just a little too damaged to not take it personally.” He looked away, jaw tightening.
Joey’s heart melted and her annoyance fled. “You’re not damaged.”
“You have no idea what it’s been like,” he said. His voice was small. “That bitch is dead and she’s still got her hooks in me. I can’t shake it.”
Joey shifted onto her knees and crawled over to kneel behind him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him, leaning her head against his neck. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I was so focused on trying to solve your problems that I lost sight of what they really were.”
He laid a hand on her arm where it crossed his chest. His fingers curled around her forearm and he sighed. “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but I am grateful for what you and Sam have been doing. It’s just been so damn lonely without you here, and I could really use some studio therapy.”
The impulse to dance out one’s problems was one that Joey was all too familiar with. “Hmm. Well, it’s late, but I think I can fit you in.” She squeezed hi
m, then slipped away to stand. He followed her with his eyes, forehead wrinkling. She held out a hand. “Dance with me.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
She smiled and beckoned him with curled fingers. “So? Come on, Martin. Man up.”
He extracted himself from the twisted sheets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, eyeing her for a moment before standing. It was right about then that she realized he wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of boxers.
Maybe this isn’t the best idea.
It shouldn’t have mattered. She’d seen him in less; nudity was no big deal among packmates. But this wasn’t the full moon, and they weren’t preparing to shift. Her eyes roamed his form as he approached, and memories of the kisses they’d shared while he was inhabiting Dean’s body surfaced, unbidden. Maybe she had been avoiding him. Just a little.
She swallowed, throat suddenly dry, and lifted a hand without thinking to touch his stomach. His abs twitched under her fingertips as she traced an invisible line where the spelled blade had pierced his abdomen. There was no trace of the wound remaining, not even a scar. He inhaled sharply, and she lifted her eyes to meet his.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, but he shook his head and curled his fingers around hers, lifting her hand up and away as his other hand found her back.
“I thought you wanted to dance,” he said.
Joey smiled and laid her free hand on his shoulder. Her tired muscles burned in protest, but she ignored them as she settled into hold and let him take the lead. Moments later, they were waltzing in a tight circle around the limited space available. There was no music, but they didn’t need it. For the first time since this whole mess had started, all the pieces of her fragmented life clicked together. Joey lost herself in the dance, and in that moment, all was right with the world. God, how she’d missed him.
Her eyes only left his when he spun or twirled her, the occasional mishap making them both laugh. One such moment came when her foot slipped on the carpet, and instead of gracefully twirling back into his arms, she fell against his chest.
“Meant to do that,” she said with a laugh, but his arms around her felt so good that she lingered rather than pull away.
