“Get Rider and I’ll explain what happened. It’s serious Dax, so get back as quickly as possible,” Mercer ordered.
Dax drew his shirt over his head and started unbuttoning his shorts. “I’m on it.”
Mercer waited by the steps as Dax stepped out of his clothing. His skin was bronzed from hours in the sun. The constant transformation between human and werewolf repaired the sun damage, saving him from any mortal fear of sun cancer; though he wasn’t sure that would stop Dax from doing what he did. The naturalist loved the woods as much as the creatures that properly belonged in them.
Despite the humid air, Dax’s body violently quivered as he pulled his werewolf to the surface. The approaching full moon served as the catalyst. He fell to all fours, spine arching as bones snapped. He opened his mouth and screamed. The animal in all of them, warped the voice box, it’s aggression as loud as the transformation that fused and reshaped their bones. The human skin peeled back under the pressure of the fur pelt; leaving the fur moist.
Within seconds it was over. Dax stretched into his new body, then stood and shook the wetness from his fur. By morning, the molted skin would be part of the earth.
Dax stared at him with eyes as silver as the moonlight. He and his brothers had the similar coloring of the red wolf, where many of the other pack members resembled the gray wolf in coloring. Mercer’s wolf was black as a moonless night, or so he’d been told at the fight rings. Dax took off behind the house, gone in search of his brother. Their perimeter was large and there was a great deal of land to cover, but Dax knew Rider’s routine.
Mercer leaned into the banister to collect his thoughts. He had two alpha females and no time to deal with the traditions accustomed with the full moon and mating laws. His legs were heavy, making the porch steps a burden. A headache was slowly spreading from the back of his neck, up into his skull. His growling stomach announced his hunger.
The smell of warm vanilla and baking bread accosted him. The kitchen was to the left of the doorway, nearly as vast as the living room to comfortably fit half the pack. One day, he’d extend it to fit all forty-three members that drove in from various parts of Texas to run. Patience had been running the kitchen long before he came onboard as the alpha. She was the house mom, and from what he witnessed, her domestic side was much better than the other inhabitants.
To the right was the living room where the pack meetings took place. Two women chatted, no louder than the humming fan blades. They were well dressed and out of place in the humble room with the gently worn rugs thrown over the wood floors and the old couches and love seat with well loved quilts thrown over the backs. There was plenty of room for the fold out chairs kept in the hall closet for meetings when the rest of the pack came in from the hunt.
There were doilies on the side tables. The lamps were generic and offered a dim light to the room. The original wall paper was flowered, antique and faded. The edges of the wallpaper were brittle and pealing back from the wall, but it added to the quaint farm house. He’d been meaning to strip and paint the wall, but life permitted very little time.
The brunette saw him first and stood. Her bobbed hair and straight bangs made her astute. Her makeup was about as subtle as the rest of her, in deep browns that brought attention to her dark, brown eyes. She wore a gray pencil skirt, modern with a slit up the side, showing off her stocking thighs. There was an extra unclasped button to her tight, black top, drawing attention to her ample bosom. A straight man would’ve jumped on the opportunity.
She offered her hand, brushing his with her acrylic nails. “I'm Sadie Chahal, daughter to Vex Chahal of the Chahal Law Offices in New York. It’s a family practice.”
Sadie held her hand upward putting the large sapphire ring, nestled within a cluster of diamonds, on display. He took her fingertips, giving her a customary shake, hoping she’d feel the lack of interest in his floppy greeting.
She stepped inward, sealing the space between them. Her spring floral perfume was light, complimentary to her personal scent, but it didn’t cover what she wanted him to smell. She smiled at him, a vixen with an offer.
The blond refused to be ignored. She stepped between them, forcing him to take a step back, least her breasts brush his chest. “I’m Eva LeFlore, daughter of Andrew LeFlore, owner of the LeFlore Cruise Lines, also a family business.”
Her blue eyes never left his. The jasmine oil emitting off Eva was suiting to her features. She wore a sleek, sleeveless black dress that ruffled around her thighs, and spiked heels.
They both radiated high maintenance and rough sex, which meant neither were a fit for the farm or him. The farm was humbling, and the pack of misfits needed patience and attention. Both these women were use to luxury and though there was enough to be found within the means of the farm, his heart loved the simplistic nature of the rustic lifestyle.
It was too late to send them back on the road, though they could clearly handle themselves. “You may stay in the guest rooms tonight, but tomorrow pack up your things and leave.”
“That’s not how it works. I evoke the mating law,” Sadie said.
Eva’s burgundy stained lips twisted with a smirk. “I evoke the mating law too.”
Every female werewolf knew her rights, and he wouldn’t deny their right, but as the subject of their desire, he had to put up with their heat pheromones and the mating dance between wolves. If nature won this one time and his werewolf went through the bonding ritual, he’d be stuck with one of these women.
It hadn’t happened yet, and many alpha females came to the farm. But he didn’t trust that his animalistic side always consented with his human desires; that it might actually want to mate. “There are guest rooms. Patience will show you to them.”
He stopped talking when Patience walked into the room, followed by a familiar face from his childhood on the reservation. When he was seven, Hota came into his life with Tristen and dragged him to Maine, kicking and screaming. He never had a chance to tell Fallah goodbye. She was a woman now, with lithe limbs and long torso. Her raven hair fell mid-waist, her cheekbones were prominent and her eyes dark bistre. She was a full blooded Skin Walker whose bloodlines didn’t traverse his.
He carried a great deal of guilt from leaving her behind and more so, when he nearly forgot about her during the intense training Tristen put him through. By the time he started college, she was nearly a faded memory. With her now in front of him, the remorse returned. He left her behind to deal with the fearful residents on the reservation. She had no one as a friend but him.
Mercer crossed over and took her hand. “Fallah, what are you doing here? How have you been?”
Fallah pulled her hand back and pressed her hair behind her ear. Her eyes held his for a mere second before she passively looked away. “I received an invitation.”
“We all did,” Sadie said.
Mercer rubbed the edge of his temple, but it did nothing for the headache. “Do you have the invitation on you?”
Both Sadie and Eva dug into their bulky designer purses, but Eva produced the letter first. It was a layered card printed on thick black matte paper. White lettering stated: Female alpha wanted. Underneath was his address.
“All three of you got this?” He turned to Fallah, who nodded.
“You didn’t send the invite?” Sadie asked. She clutched her card between two fingers, a clear sign that she was a smoker. Nicotine didn’t linger as one of her scents.
“I’m not looking for a mate,” he said.
He took Fallah’s and Sadie’s invitations to compare. This was the first time women showed up with invites. He suspected Hota, but there was no energy for anger. He handed the cards back, suspecting that Fallah wouldn’t evoke the mating law, since she wasn’t an alpha. When they were alone, he’d have to ask if she had a pack. She smelled almost the same as when he left, which gave him a pretty good idea on her current status.
Established packs rarely accepted strays, but Fallah was a younger sister in spirit. He couldn
’t let her wander. If she wanted to stay, she had a place on the farm.
“Patience, please show our guests the rooms they’ll be staying in tonight,” he said.
Patience rubbed her hands on the faded apron around her hips. Despite how slow werewolves aged, she was starting to look her years. Her hair was gray, but her hands were still strong.
“This way,” she said.
Only Fallah followed. He took a breath and balanced the surge of impatience that bubbled to the surface. As long as Eva and Sadie believed they were fighting for the right to mate with him, they would challenge his every command to show their dominance. He didn’t have time for these games.
“If there is something you need, talk with Patience, but right now, I want you both in a room,” he said.
Sadie blew him a kiss before grabbing her duffle from the large stack of suitcases against the wall. “We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
Eva rolled her polka dotted suitcase at her heel, leaving the rest of her suitcases next to the wall across from Sadie’s. Apparently, they both assumed they’d be staying. Of all the women that came knocking on his door, these two were the worst choices for his pack. He had to send them packing.
Unless Rider wanted a mate when he took over the pack…
No, he wasn’t a defeatist. The Mission planned to prove his involvement and he had time to prove otherwise. What he really needed to do was get past the ambiguity of the fire in correlation to Hota. They never got along. Why would the man list him as the North American replacement? Hota wasn’t without children. He should’ve chosen someone older, more suited for the position; at least find someone who didn’t resent and fight Hota’s forceful nature.
He brushed his hand through his hair, letting it fall back around his face. Eventually, he was going to have to call it a night. The exhaustion was overpowering, but his racing thoughts refused to succumb to rest.
The front door swung open and Rider strolled in barefoot with his jeans low on his hips. Daxtin was right behind him, back in his knee length shorts and nothing else. There was alpha potential in Rider, if the man ever wanted to break off and start his own pack.
Rider brought the smell of grass and sweat into the house. Sweat still glistened on his brow and curled the edges of his brown hair. He lifted his chin and sniffed the air. “Female alphas?”
Daxtin chuckled, but didn’t answer as he walked past Rider and took a seat on the couch. Rider remained standing, taking in the two sets of suitcases. His frown deepened.
“Dax said there was something important that needed to be discussed,” Rider said.
Mercer stood straighter. There was no easy way to say this.
oOo
Aire’Si rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, fighting the urge to end this meeting. The situation with Wolffey was out of control. The assassin he trained clearly had the upper hand, making a mockery of the Unseelie.
“What do you mean you don’t have him? He was born a topsider, he has no real power. He’s younger than you by centuries,” Queen Sayen-ael questioned. Her nails scrapped along the top of the armrest made of human bones and twined with human hair.
"My queen, we couldn't capture him with your specific orders not to cause permanent damage. He killed three of my hunters. The other six came back wounded. You didn’t fully disclose his talents. It appears he knows fey earth magic, something strictly forbidden to outsiders."
Aire’Si remained impassive under the accusatory glance the lead Fox-Fey threw him. They were small fey that reached his kneecaps in height and resembled in great length, their namesake species. Its attention darted between the queen and the Chief of Guard. There was no tremble in his lower limbs, but the fear was evident in his dark eyes.
Sayen-ael shifted her weight as she leaned back in the chair, as stiff as the carefully crafted bone seat. “Are you stating that my assassin, a topsider, knows how to use magic?”
The Fox-Fey jumped on this, grateful for an escape in blame. “Yes. I can list the ways he evaded our attempts at capture.”
Sayen-ael quieted the Fox-Fey with a finger. “Aire’Si, you trained Wolffey. Does the Fox-Fey speak the truth? Can your protégé manipulate magic?”
Her dark eyes and sharp chin were now pointed in his direction. He could only respond in truth as he knew it, which was more than he wanted to offer. He didn’t dare lie to the being that precariously held his fate in her hands. Wolffey wasn’t naïve; he’d learned the system in which the fey abided. As a topsider, he kept as many secrets as the fey. Yes, Wolffey knew magic, but he never trained the topsider on this.
“My protégé is resourceful and not without means,” Aire’Si answered.
Wolffey’s training allowed him the opportunity to meet a number of creatures who had knowledge that would benefit him. He knew fey customs, knew how to make beneficial trades and his assignments permitted him solitude to seek new skills. He didn’t doubt Wolffey jumped at the opportunities from his first assignment at fourteen. Magic wasn’t a quick skill. It took years of practice to master.
Clever Wolffey, keep thy friends close and thy enemies closer. But who were Wolffey’s friends? The werewolf was alone if not with Aire’Si, waiting for his next mission.
The queen turned back to the Fox-Fey. "You failed me. He's practically a child. How hard is it to outsmart a child?"
“He is not a mere child, is he? Very different from any child I’ve seen come through the fey courts,” the Fox-Fey countered. Its dark eyes narrowed.
Aire’Si’s chest tightened. The queen let the silence stretch. The little creature’s nose twitched making him wondered if the Fox-Fey had a keen sense of smell like Wolffey. Even with fey interference to keep Wolffey’s werewolf fraction suppressed, it was constantly at the assassin’s surface during the full moon. His protégé’s eyes darken during that time; the pupils became saucers eclipsing his gold speckled, brown eyes. The week prior to the full moon, he became irritable and short tempered.
“You’re dismissed.” Sayen-ael dispassionately waved her hand to have the Fox-Fey removed.
The Fox-Fey didn’t wait for the guards before he got on all fours and scurried towards the open doors. Sayen-ael stood. Her black dress, made from grave shrouds, twirled around her ankles as she paced.
“My queen, it would be unwise to bring the assassin back to the Hill. If word gets out about Wolffey, it will destroy the Unseelie’s reputation with the clans outside the Hill,” Aire’Si said.
“I won’t hear it. I need him Aire’Si. He can still be controlled,” Sayen-ael hissed.
She was being naïve. Sayen-ael wanted a loyal subject that could do her bidding above ground and during the daylight hours.
“Wolffey is a werewolf. He can’t be controlled. He isn’t bound to fey law. The baby-trading agreement between the fey courts and the werewolves had been in place for centuries and you broke it when you brought the werewolf here,” he said.
“He was hardly a baby and he wasn’t stolen. The treaty you speak about is primordial and out of date. The trade was legal. His alpha gave him to me in exchange for a few fey perks,” Sayen-ael said. She fell back into her chair, letting her arms hang over the edges. “What is he doing?”
That same question circled his thoughts. This was premeditated, planned to the last detail. Was it revenge for being taken from his pack? Despite what the queen said, it wasn’t Wolffey’s decision to go with them. The sickly preteen couldn’t communicate around a terrible stutter. As the runt of his pack and with a heart condition, he wasn’t assassin material. Training and tremendous help from the healer was involved in building the man he’d become.
“I can’t risk my enemies getting their hands on the objects he pilfered from the vault,” Sayen-ael hissed.
He knew very well the items in question. Long before Wolffey came to the Hill, the different fey sectors tithed to the two ruling divisions, the Seelie and the Unseelie. He’d never shown the assassin the room, yet Wolffey knew exactly what to steal
. Two of the items were already returned to their sectors. He returned them one at a time, allowing the civil unrest to draw visitors to their doors, some more hostile than others. It was a minor nuisance so far, but one that kept their hands tied so he couldn’t personally look for his protégé.
“I can find him,” Aire’Si said. Permission, to him, was the same as begging, but Sayen-ael had his name. To the fey, a name was the same as a leash.
She dismissed his offer. “As long as he possesses the Roswell amulet, I can’t permit you to leave. That faerie sector has the means to destroy my court.”
If Wolffey intended to destroy the court, the Roswell faeries would’ve been the first to receive their treaty item back. The assassin wasn’t looking to destroy the Unseelie, though he held the means in his hands.
With a heavy heart, he bowed, knowing their time was limited if they didn’t find Wolffey first. “Understood.”
oOo
Mercer fought the exhaustion with another cup of coffee. The spirit within him, the alpha wolf, was waiting for a target. It wanted blood. He wanted Hota alive and well.
Rider stood against the kitchen counter and Dax sat at the table, picking at dinner. Occasionally the brothers threw each other a glance. The bond between them was clear. He couldn’t read their nonverbal communication.
A car door slammed; resonating loudly through the surprisingly quiet predawn. Rider and Dax followed him into the living room. He stopped with his hand stretched for the door when the weight of the floorboards outside signaled one person. Tristen didn’t rest his weight like that. Mercer opened the door catching Axel off guard.
The firefighter looked worse for the wear. Coming straight from the chaos in the restaurant district, he wore his sweaty underclothes and reeked of smoke and tart sweat. His hair was plastered to his head, and soot patches darkened his face. He carried a box under one arm and a half empty water bottle in his free hand.
“I didn’t expect you back tonight,” Mercer said.
“Tristen said I needed to get home,” Axel said.
He stepped to the side, allowing Axel access into the house. “Were you able to contain the fire?”
Werewolf Forbidden Page 3
