by Sierra Dean
“My momma always said if you want an obvious answer, ask an obvious question.”
“I’m betting she had to field a lot of obvious questions in her time.”
Wilder snorted. “You wouldn’t be wrong. Put that on.”
I did as I was asked, though I didn’t like obeying the commands of this wolf I’d never met before. I was his superior. He should be nicer to me. And he definitely shouldn’t be bossing me around like I was his kid sister.
He led me to the back of the garage, where his plan became all too clear, and I knew I’d been a fool not to connect the dots earlier. A beautiful red Indian motorcycle was parked next to the open rear doors. It was old but in perfect condition. My pulse jumped.
“We’re not taking the truck?”
Wilder stepped up to me until he was so close I could smell the woodsy aroma of male werewolf on him. I had to raise my chin to see his eyes, and much to my irritation, he was smirking at me again. He slid his fingers under the strap of my bag, his rough skin rasping against my bare shoulder, and he lifted the bag effortlessly over my head so the strap crossed my body.
“There,” he said.
Once his own helmet was on I could breathe properly. And with my head on right I scolded myself for being once again distracted by a pretty face. I had a pretty face at home already, one I cared about a great deal. I conjured up an image of Cash as I settled onto the bike behind Wilder.
When I snaked my arms around Wilder’s waist and rested my face against his back, I found it difficult to think anything. The natural peat-and-pine scent of him was complemented by fresh soap and the faint aroma of car oil. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever known a man to smell so manly before. The firmness of his abs under the thin material of his shirt was tough to ignore as well.
I tried to lift my head away and put some distance between us, but when he started the motorcycle and the engine rumbled beneath us, I reflexively tightened my grip. I might have been in scarier situations in the past, but that didn’t mean riding with him couldn’t make me nervous.
His belly shook with a chuckle. I wanted to hit him.
Instead I hugged him, worried one misguided slap would send me falling from the bike. He rolled us into the parking lot then hit a small switch in his pocket to close the garage door. “Hang on tight, Princess.”
I gritted my teeth. His helmet bumped against mine, and the clack made my heart jump. It was ridiculous for me to be this on edge now, when I’d been calm following an actual attempt on my life. I could tell spending any further time with Wilder wouldn’t be in my best interest. Anyone hot enough to make me overlook the huge list of their character flaws was the kind of guy I’d do well to avoid.
He revved the engine and tore out of the lot. My first instinct was to keep my eyes shut the whole way home, but after a few minutes I opened them and watched as the highway blurred past in streaks of gray and green. Wilder handled the bike like a pro, keeping us smooth and straight, never erring from his path. Soon I felt safe enough to lift my head and loosen my grip slightly, shifting my hands from his stomach to his hips. The gesture felt oddly intimate.
The sharp scent of plant life and decaying debris was muted by the helmet, but I still caught it in passing. I’d liked driving this road with the window down, and as much as it pained me to admit it, I could relate to the joy felt by dogs when they stuck their faces out the window of a moving vehicle. The musky way the land smelled had always fascinated me, and having spent so many years in the bayou, I liked to be reminded of the fine line that existed between life and death.
Memere had taught me a lot about what it meant to bridge that line and harness the powers of both worlds, but I’d never been comfortable using death magic. I could, in theory, reach into the great abyss beyond the world of the living and steal magic from those who were gone. But that was dark power, bordering on voodoo, and I had no interest in messing around with voodoo.
The urge to say something bubbled up in my chest, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like there was a tense, awkward silence that needed to be broken. The sound of wind rushing past would steal my words away, regardless of what I said. Instead I watched and smelled and let the comfort of home sink into my pores. It didn’t take long until Wilder was turning the bike off the highway and onto a long gravel road. He slowed his pace to keep the stones from rooster-tailing behind us, and we crawled up the driveway at a snail’s pace.
Here the sun was almost wholly blotted out by the overhanging trees whose branches had long since grown to form a canopy over the road. Moss crept up the bark of the trees, making the whole driveway look like something out of a fairy story. I’d seen a lot of plantations in my time, but none of them quite equaled the magic of Callum’s estate.
At the end of the driveway was a roundabout parking area with a fountain in the middle depicting a pack of howling wolves. Not so subtle, but I guess he didn’t need to be anymore. Not to mention it wasn’t common for strangers to stumble onto the property, what with all the Trespasser Will Be Shot signs.
As soon as the motorcycle engine went silent, I hopped off the bike and removed my helmet, the breeze immediately catching my hair and sending it across my face in a black curtain.
Wilder was suddenly in front of me, brushing strands off my face and pushing them behind my ears, his rough thumbs tracing my cheekbones as he did. He smiled, his full lower lip pushing up the corners of his mouth slightly.
Trouble with a capital T.
“Thanks,” I muttered, not sure if I was thanking him for the ride or the hair fix.
“Eugenia?”
I glanced over to the huge wraparound veranda to see my brother, Ben, jogging down the steps towards us. Ben had bypassed the option of attending school, deciding he’d rather learn his leadership skills directly from the king. Callum and Amelia had been grooming him for the throne since he’d been Awakened at thirteen, and he was already looking the part of royalty. My green Tulane hoodie and battered jeans cast me as the sloppy twin next to his sharply tailored navy pants and gray polo shirt. His brown hair was parted on the side and slicked back, giving him the appearance of a Wall Street day trader on vacation.
His sharp eyes narrowed, and he glanced from me to Wilder. Based on their expressions, this wasn’t the first time they’d met.
“Shaw.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, rather a short, embittered announcement of Wilder’s name. It wasn’t like Ben to wear his emotions on his sleeve so openly. I wondered if he had the same presuppositions about Wilder as I did based on Hank’s history, or if there was something personal in the vindictive tone of his voice.
Worried the bristling tension between them might come to blows as could often be the case when high-strung werewolves disliked one another, I cleared my throat to bring their attention back to me. Both men stopped glowering at each other long enough to see what I wanted.
“I need to see Uncle Callum right away.” I hoped my urgency would keep them distracted.
“Wait. Where’s your car?” Ben asked, only now realizing I hadn’t arrived by magical teleportation.
“Wilder towed it. Right after I was almost driven off the road by some insane guy who had it in for me.”
That did the trick. Instantly, Ben couldn’t have cared less about Wilder’s presence. “You really think it was someone associated with the Church?”
I shrugged. I’d told him earlier I thought it was them because it was the most logical conclusion. But how had they known who I was and where I’d be? It’s not like I had a bumper sticker on the back of the Dart saying Werewolf Pride or anything. If it was the Church of Morning, they must have been following me already, otherwise there was no way they’d have found me so easily. I sort of hoped it was some random act of highway violence because that freaked me out less than the idea of being stalked.
Actually, neither thought gave me the warm fuzzies.
Ben grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me away from Wilder,
angling me towards the front steps of the mansion. I glanced back at the guy who’d brought me here and was struck by the need to leave things on good terms with him. He had, after all, picked me up and delivered me safely home. Not to mention he was the one who’d be responsible for fixing my car. I didn’t want him thinking badly of me because of Ben’s behavior, which was ironic considering I’d been willing to pile Hank’s actions on Wilder.
I wrestled free of Ben’s iron grip. He must really want me away from Wilder to be dragging me around like a captive. It wasn’t normal for Ben to make such a big display of his strength or Alpha status in front of another wolf.
Problem was, Wilder had the smell of an Alpha on him too.
No wonder they set each other on edge.
Alphas didn’t tend to spend a lot of time together unless they worked directly under a king. An Alpha wolf might end up playing second fiddle to a king, but otherwise they gravitated towards their own territory. Once a wolf showed Alpha tendencies, they usually went to mentor under an aging Alpha in another territory who had no next of kin or whose children leaned Beta. The fact Wilder had been gone awhile made me think he must have been living with another pack. His return to Callum’s territory wasn’t random, but I didn’t know what had brought him here. Moves between packs weren’t all that common.
All I knew was it had a bee in my brother’s bonnet, and I’d do well to keep some distance between the two.
No big deal. Once my car was fixed, I wouldn’t need to spend any more time with Wilder.
Right?
I jogged away from Ben to where Wilder was standing next to his bike. The look Wilder gave me, both incredulous and impressed, was almost worth defying my brother for. Except I was sure to catch hell once Ben and I were alone. He still treated me like I was thirteen, an unfortunate byproduct of us spending our formative teen years living apart. He mistakenly thought I was fragile, and I knew better.
I reached into my bag, ripped a piece of paper from one of my notebooks and scribbled down my cell phone number. Signal here could be questionable at the best of times, but I could sometimes get texts if I wandered out near the edge of the property line. I added the house number as well, but I wasn’t sure if I’d actually get my messages delivered if he tried to reach me that way.
“For the car,” I explained, handing him the slip. “To…you know…um, let me know when it’s ready?”
“Smooth,” he replied, pocketing the paper.
My cheeks felt flushed, and I stepped back, now having empirical evidence that close proximity to Wilder Shaw turned me into a babbling idiot.
“Eugenia,” Ben scolded, his voice like that of an annoyed teacher. Setting aside us being twins and the fact he had no power over me in the pack, he liked to think he could control me. There might have been a time once when I had let him, but I was getting sick of him pushing me around. He was convinced of his own superiority even though he didn’t really have any yet, and it needed to stop.
“I’m coming.” I hated his insistence on using my full name too. He wasn’t my father.
Before I reached the steps, Amelia had come outside. Her face was pale, and she looked exhausted. She glanced at Ben and me, offering me a small smile with what little warmth Amelia could convey. When she spotted Wilder, she crooked a finger at him.
“Callum wants to see you.” Before Ben could protest, she added, “All of you.”
Chapter Six
If getting berated by Ben was akin to a lecture from a teacher, being in Callum’s office was like being sent to see the principal. I sat in the armchair across from his desk, while Wilder loitered near the window. Ben had started out sitting beside me, but he didn’t like Wilder standing above him, so he got up and stood next to Callum’s desk.
And people wondered why I dated a nice, normal, human guy.
At least Cash never felt threatened if I stood taller than him in heels.
“Well done, Benjamin.” I crossed my arms tightly across my chest and gave my brother an impertinent glare.
“Me? How do you figure on this being my fault?”
“It’s nobody’s fault.” Callum was in the room so suddenly I had to wonder if he hadn’t been studying the movement of vampires. I hadn’t heard the door open, and his office wasn’t particularly big. “Ben, sit.”
“But—”
“Sit.” My uncle’s voice made it quite apparent he wasn’t in the mood to listen to arguments. “As long as I’m still king here, I don’t care if someone stands taller than you, is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Ben looked abashed and sat beside me. Amelia came through the door carrying one of the wood dining room chairs and sat it between us, giving a wave to Wilder that indicated he should take a seat.
So Callum didn’t mind lesser wolves standing above Ben, but it was another story entirely if they stood above him. I knew how the pack dynamics worked, and I understood why Callum needed Wilder to sit, but I still found it funny he would call Ben out on the power play and then do the same thing himself.
I didn’t want to think of Callum as a hypocrite, so I stopped dwelling on it.
“Mr. Shaw, I want to thank you for returning Eugenia to us safely. We appreciate it. Please forward the bill for her car onto Amelia, and she will be sure you’re paid promptly.”
“I can pay—”
Callum waved off my offer, and for good reason. All the money in my bank account was his anyway, by way of a well-stocked trust fund. Even if I did pay the bill for my car, it would be coming out of his pocket. Still, I didn’t like him taking the illusion of my independence away from me. It made me feel weak and incapable, and I hated for Ben and Wilder to see me as a spoiled princess.
I bit my lip to keep from saying anything snarky and silently wished my sister was here to stand up for me.
But Secret wouldn’t always be around. And I wasn’t the same naïve girl I’d been when she brought me out of the swamp four years earlier. She’d taught me to choose my battles wisely, and starting with this one wasn’t smart. I should leave Callum well enough alone.
“I appreciate that, sir.” Wilder nodded politely.
“But I didn’t ask you here to thank you.”
“Okay.” The younger wolf didn’t seem all too surprised by this, and I wondered if he’d been expecting to hear from Callum. I got the feeling I’d been kept out of the loop since I’d left for Tulane.
“I’m sure you’ve heard reports about the Church of Morning’s new initiative.” The name sounded like a curse word coming from Callum’s lips, as though it tasted bad on his tongue and he wanted to be rid of it.
“Yessir.”
“And I know you came to me last month out of concern for Hank.”
Wilder adjusted in his chair, and suddenly his arm was against mine, the heat from his skin a shock of warmth that made my hair stand on end. His whole body had gone tense, and with him so close I was able to feel the vibration of his worry. What had previously felt like an innocent comment now brought the weight of the world down on me.
I resisted the urge to take Wilder’s hand and squeeze it. Why the hell would I do something like that? I barely knew the guy, and certainly not well enough to hold his hand in front of my family. Yet the urge was there. I glanced at him and tried to convey a sense of comfort, though I still wasn’t sure what compelled me to.
I needed to know he was okay, and I got the feeling what we were about to hear would make him anything but.
“I received an email earlier today concerning the pack. When I didn’t respond, they sent me a follow-up. This just came through a few minutes ago.” Callum opened his laptop and pivoted the screen to face us, clicking the space bar to start a video. Ben and I were forced to lean over Wilder in order to get a clear view of the screen, and I used it as my excuse to brace against him, squeezing his wrist. I caught him glancing at me quickly before he turned his attention back to the screen.
A thirty-somethin
g blond man with a ruffled haircut, who should have been beside the definition of towheaded in the dictionary, smiled benevolently at the camera. He radiated the easy charm of a young pastor or a Sunday-school teacher, and everything about his appearance invited trust.
Naturally he made me uneasy.
He wore a white polo shirt embroidered in gold thread with the name “Church of Morning” and their emblem—which I recognized from my brief exposure to their past propaganda—the half circle of a sun coming over a horizon, like a child’s drawing.
“Good afternoon, Callum. My name is Timothy Deerling. I am the leader of the Church of Morning.”
The leader? From what little I’d learned about the Church in the past, I didn’t know they had a leader. They’d been around since we’d come out, but had long been more of a joke than anything to be worried about. Except now they were only getting national attention. They also covered their tracks well. No searches had turned up an address or suspected location of their church, and they broadcast their “sermons” through public access channels and a website video feed. YouTube was full of their videos, but those all featured actors in staged situations, interacting with werewolves and vampires straight out of a Bela Lugosi movie. So who was this Deerling guy? I hadn’t watched any of the sermons, which might explain why I didn’t know his name or face. It also didn’t escape my attention he’d said leader and not any traditional religious title.
“I have no doubt you’ve heard what my group has had to say, and I know we have not been the first. You and your army of abominations cannot be allowed to live amongst us unchecked any longer. I fear my threats may fall on deaf ears because of my less motivated predecessors. I know you may have ignored my earlier message, but let me assure you I mean to do precisely what I’ve promised.”
