by Sierra Dean
My stomach rumbled loud enough to make her laugh.
“You’ve been home for three days, Genie-Belle. You can’t just keep hiding in your room and coming down here to sneak food from me. At some point you need to bite the bullet and go talk to him.”
She was right. I’d been wandering around the house like a ghost, entering rooms only after I knew Callum wasn’t in them. Magnolia, ignoring the possible wrath of her king, had driven me to Baton Rouge three days earlier so I could sit by Wilder’s bedside after he went through surgery to remove the bullet from his stomach. He was lucky to have his werewolf healing, as the paramedics had told me. If not for the speedy recovery time, the doctors said he would have died.
The next day he was moved to a werewolf-only medical compound at the request of Callum’s lawyers, and I was no longer allowed to go see him. I’m not sure if that was the rule or if Callum was punishing me.
Ever since, I’d been lurking like a memory, moving around in shadow and only surfacing to eat. Now I was being denied bacon, and it looked like I was going to need to put on my big-girl panties and talk to my uncle.
But first: pants.
Fully dressed, wearing my Tulane hoodie like a suit of armor, I tapped lightly on Callum’s door. Maybe he was out, or he wouldn’t hear me. There was still a chance I might be able to—
“Come in, Eugenia.”
So much for running away.
I slunk into his office, head bowed, and immediately curled myself into one of the armchairs facing his desk. I kept my gaze locked on the carpet, my shoulders stooped. If I had a tail right now, it would be between my legs.
This was how we apologized. I was trying to show him I respected his authority and was willing to yield to him.
A bit late, now.
When he didn’t speak right away, I lifted my eyes and stared at him instead of the carpet.
Callum’s neck and ears were flushed red, his salt-and-pepper hair looking more unkempt than usual, a small growth of stubble on his chin. Where he was holding the desk, his hands were shaking slightly.
I swallowed hard.
This wasn’t going to go well.
“We have a dead church leader. A pack member in the hospital. A dead human woman, and the site of a massacre. Does that about sum things up?” he asked.
I nodded.
Don’t say anything. Just agree with whatever he says.
“To top it off, I almost lost my niece because she decided to put her life in danger with some cockamamie scheme to expose a murderer. When I explicitly told her to stay out of danger.”
The carpet became interesting to me again.
“What am I supposed to do with you, Genie?” The roar took me by surprise. He smashed his fists into the desk, the wood groaning loudly. My first instinct was to run for the door. “I try to protect you and you defy my protection. I try to give you freedom, and you use it to push yourself away from us.”
“I wasn’t trying to push myself away,” I argued. “I was trying to help.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Trying to help? Trying to help? How does it help me if you’re dead? How do I tell my pack I can protect them if I can’t even protect my own heir? Do you have any idea how difficult this has made our lives? I can’t turn on the TV without seeing news about werewolves. Seeing your face on magazine covers. What am I supposed to do with you?” he demanded again.
If he was expecting me to suggest my own punishment, he was shit out of luck.
“Look at me.” He pounded the desk again.
I lifted my chin hesitantly. Now his whole face was red, and his body trembled with barely contained rage. But there was something else there, something I hadn’t expected to see on my uncle’s face.
Fear.
I blinked in surprise, sure I had to be imagining it.
“What would I have done if something had happened to you, Genie?” His voice softened somewhat, and he was holding the edge of the desk again. “What you did was stupid. It was stupid, foolhardy, dangerous and reckless beyond measure.”
I nodded, my heart racing.
“You risked your life to save a pack member. One who has been nothing but vile to you, and who once aided in a coup that almost killed your sister.”
“I didn’t try to save Hank because I like him.”
“So why? Because of Wilder?”
I shook my head. I liked Wilder. A lot. But my attraction to him and the connection we shared had nothing to do with my actions in Franklinton. “Pack is deeper than caring. Deeper than family or blood. You told us Hank was pack, and I had to protect the pack.”
What I’d done, facing off against Deerling, went so much far beyond merely protecting the pack. But I think Callum knew that.
“You would have died to save one wolf you don’t even like.”
“I would have died to save a thousand wolves I’ve never even met,” I replied.
We stared at each other for a long time, and for once I didn’t feel cowed by him. I didn’t want to look away.
“I am so proud of you it makes my heart hurt,” he said at last.
This wasn’t the response I’d expected. I was stunned into silence by my surprise.
Callum continued, “This week you proved to me, more than any wolf ever has, where your loyalties lie, Eugenia.”
“But I defied you.” Perhaps I shouldn’t be correcting him when he seemed so burdened with goodwill, but sometimes I couldn’t help myself, the wrong thing had to be said.
He smiled slightly. “You demonstrated leadership. You’ve shown me you have what it takes to be my heir, in more than just name.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting him to say, but that sure wasn’t it. I’d come in anticipating I’d be grounded or locked under house arrest. I thought he’d make me withdraw from school and send me to live with a pack in Alaska until I learned to behave. This conversation wasn’t at all what I’d been anticipating.
As if he’d read my mind, he added, “You need more responsibility, not less. I think this has demonstrated that your skills are rough. They need to be honed.”
“Okay?” I wasn’t sure what he was leading to. I kept waiting for this to be a giant buildup, and then for the punch line he would tell me his plans to banish me forever.
“As you know, the New Orleans territory is small. Not a proper pack, more of a prefecture.”
I knew this all too well because the city was under his thumb. I didn’t have to report to any other Alphas there, which was part of the reason Callum allowed me to live near the school.
“Yes.”
“It’s yours now.”
“Wh-what?”
“The city pack. A dozen wolves, including yourself. You are the Alpha now.”
“But…Ben…” What was I doing? Hadn’t I wanted to prove to him I was ready for a responsibility exactly like this? Now he was handing it to me on a silver platter and I was what…saying no? “Thank you.”
“You’ll need to start small. I think this is a good way for you to learn the politics of being a leader.”
So my brother learned at the side of the master, but I was being tossed into the deep end to teach myself on the fly. The idea exhilarated me. His trust made me feel buoyant and giddy. The responsibility was terrifying, but a giant grin was plastered to my face, and I couldn’t will it away.
“Thank you,” I repeated.
“Now get out of here. I’m very busy and important.”
I was already halfway to the kitchen before I realized he had just quoted Love, Actually.
Once I’d started laughing, I only stopped for bacon.
Chapter Thirty-Four
My house smelled like stale too-hot air when I unlocked the front door and pushed aside the small mountain of mail. It had the stagnant feel of an abandoned place, like no one had lived here in ages.
I’d been gone two weeks, but it was long enough for my plants
to all be dead. I locked the door behind me, checking and rechecking the deadbolt. When I felt certain no one could follow me in, I moved from room to room, opening all the blinds to let the light of day in.
Dust motes caught in the light, and everywhere I looked the sun illuminated some new thing I would need to clean. It wasn’t that the place was dirty—it was as tidy as it had been since I left—but a thin layer of dust and neglect coated everything.
I unpacked my bag, doing my best not to acknowledge all the extra space in my closet and drawers. There were no suits or dress shirts here anymore, no men’s runners at the back door. Only one toothbrush rested in the cup near the sink.
Cash had managed to artfully remove his presence from the house, like he’d never been here. I was the only person who would notice the gaps and lapses, the places where his things had been and now nothing remained.
I wasn’t sad exactly, more melancholy.
Having him here was like having a trophy I could show people. Look, look at my beautiful, intelligent, human boyfriend. Don’t you see how normal my life is?
Except no one would believe that anymore. Normal wasn’t even a shadow of a memory these days.
There’d been a brief period, while I was still out with my uncle, where Cash and I pretended things could go back to normal. But the truth of the matter was, I’d changed, and I think he knew it. It wasn’t about Wilder, it was that I wasn’t the same girl he’d started dating a year ago.
And that was a good thing.
What started as maybe we should take a break ended with him getting all his things. And with him gone, I was hard-pressed to remember how I’d fit him here in the first place.
I’d been able to hide from most of the drama in St. Francisville, but now that I was back in New Orleans, the fallout was everywhere.
Two weeks had passed since the dramatic events at the Church of Morning left two people dead and the whole world stunned by the horrors committed by Timothy Deerling. His name was synonymous with other murderous cult leaders, with doomsday preppers and serial killers. He was the fodder for late-night monologue jokes, and had spawned the hashtag #deerlinghunter on Twitter where people went on at great lengths about either how crazy he was or how right he’d been.
I’d had to delete my Twitter account. And Facebook. Part of it was for my own sanity and to maintain some anonymity now that I was a true Alpha.
Press had called me day and night, and I’d missed most of it out in the boonies, thankfully. I didn’t even listen to the messages before changing my number. I went through my mail, scanning the contents. Half the letters were requests for interviews. Some were fan mail, though I had no idea how anyone knew where I lived. A couple were written in insane scrawl, telling me they would come for me to finish Timothy’s vision.
Super.
I’d thought being the poster child for my pack had been taxing. It was nothing compared to the scrutiny I was under now for exposing the whole world to what had happened in Franklinton. Some people loved me for it, praised me as a hero. Others thought it would have been better if I’d died.
We’d have to agree to disagree on that point.
A video had leaked onto YouTube showing Timothy killing Carmel. It caught everything, from them dragging a wild, rage-filled Hank in after they’d tased him and locking him in a cage, then Timothy killed Carmel. He shredded her with the array of werewolf and regular wolf paraphernalia available to him in the basement, while Hank was made to watch.
The charges against Hank were all dropped, but it was going to be a long time before he bounced back from this. Apparently they’d used one of the church girls as bait and got him at a bar, slipping him a horse tranquilizer to knock him out.
We knew humans could get to us now.
Once I was unpacked and had thrown out the offending mail, I drifted from room to room, trying to remember how I used to live here. I spent twenty minutes dusting and cleaning the already clean fridge. I stopped short of cleaning the oven.
I didn’t know how to be this version of myself anymore. This was the Genie who’d considered pledging a sorority. This was the girl who’d wanted to play at a human life by running away from her werewolf family.
I didn’t want to go into hiding. But could I be both a pack leader and a student? I’d missed my Tulane exams, but for obvious reasons they had allowed me to reschedule. I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to take them anymore. Where did my school life fit in the plan I was now a part of? Did I need a degree to be queen, or was it another unwelcome distraction in my life?
Anxious about how quiet the house was, I made my way to the living room and turned on my TV. CNN greeted me with the headline EXCLUSIVE, First Interview with Deerling’s Secret Family.
Good Lord.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and adjusted the volume. I liked to keep sound low these days. I tended to hear phantom noises, thinking I was being watched or followed. Call me paranoid, but I was starting to believe I might want to take my safety seriously.
Plus, killing Deerling hadn’t stopped me from being haunted. I’d seen the burning woman twice in the woods outside Callum’s house while I was there. I didn’t chase her again, but whenever she appeared, I thought about my dream mother’s words.
You’re a killer, just like your father.
I shook off that awful thought and focused on the TV. The beautiful redheaded woman I’d seen at Deerling’s compound was seated in the center of a large U-shaped sofa, her six children divided around her. The little girl I had met briefly was snuggled up to her mother’s side holding a new, pristine teddy bear. She sucked her thumb and gave the interviewer a dead-eyed stare.
That kid still freaked me out.
I’d missed the beginning of the interview because they were already past introductions, and a variety of quotes were scrolling along the bottom of the screen. Behind the family were photos of what I assumed to be the interior of the house I’d seen them in. Dirty mattresses lined the floor, wedged together in small rooms with the windows blacked out.
“According to his pre-death confession, Timothy Deerling suggested you were responsible for turning him into a werewolf,” the reporter said. “Is that true?”
The woman, her name splashed across the screen as Bonnie-Jean Talbot, nodded solemnly. “You need to understand, it wasn’t malicious or intentional. It was an accident.”
They talked around the topic, likely because of the children, but I could see the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks. She’d bitten him during sex. I don’t know if she expected to draw blood. Maybe it was too close to the full moon. It didn’t matter; one bite was all it took.
An expert on supernaturally transmitted diseases (“The new STDs!”) came on to explain the lycanthropy gene, and though I was grateful they got the science right, it still made me mad they were placating their audience. Don’t worry, it’s very rare.
Timothy’s wife, Shannon, hadn’t given any interviews, but people were speculating wildly online about her child becoming a werewolf. It was possible, but unlikely. Shannon would need to have the same gene. It wouldn’t be long before a test was developed so people could figure out if they carried the gene. God help us.
Bonnie-Jean talked about Timothy before his change, as the sweet man she’d dated in college. But after her bite passed along the infection, he went crazy when he realized what she was and what she’d made him. “He wasn’t always like that. He didn’t know about werewolves until me, but once he started to show signs, I figured out what had happened. I wanted to help him. It’s not easy for those who turn as adults. In our culture you make the decision to become a wolf at an early age. Those turned by accident don’t get to adjust the same.” She sighed, stroking the orange hair of a boy on her left. He’d probably be old enough for the Awakening soon. I wondered what he’d decide. “He reacted like I’d signed his death warrant. He locked me up and wouldn’t let me leave. But he just kept coming back, saying I was in co
ntrol of him, saying everything was my fault. He’d force me to…”
She looked at her children and her expression was so haunted it broke my heart. “He…punished me. Constantly. He said if we ever left him, he would kill us, and to prove it he would bring women back. Other wolves like me. He’d let me meet them before he killed them.” She started to cry, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “We tried to get out once and he stopped us. He made us move with him. He said if we ever tried to get help, he’d kill the kids first. He told me he would prove how devoted he was to God by using his own children as sacrifices. That God would wash him clean of the impurity if he spilled enough blood.” She was crying so hard the interviewer looked like she might call for a commercial cut. Bonnie-Jean was ignoring the tissue being held out for her.
“What do you have to say to the woman who exposed him, if she’s out there?”
I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if CNN somehow knew I was tuning in.
Bonnie-Jean took the tissue and wiped her eyes and nose. “I want to thank her. She’ll never know it, but she saved our lives. All of us.”
The little girl, her face devoid of emotion, seemed to stare right at me. I hadn’t saved them. I’d just gotten them out alive. But I would do my damnedest to make sure what happened to them didn’t happen to any other wolves.
A knock at the door jerked me out of my dark thoughts. Before unlocking it, I armed the gun on my hall table and peeked through the eyepiece. My heart thumped, and I fumbled to unlock all the bolts.
“Wilder.”
He was holding a vase of black roses, beaming at me like he’d won them at the Miss America pageant. “I busted out,” he announced. “Got sick of those open-backed hospital gowns. For a bunch of wolf-doctors, they were way too cautious, kept saying I wasn’t ready. So I left.”
Two weeks was an awfully long time to keep a werewolf cooped up anywhere. I’d wanted to see him so many times, but once they’d moved him to the specialty hospital, rules were rules. Only doctors allowed, making me persona non grata in spite of my royal status. Lupo non grata? I mused over the proper Latin for a second before remembering something far more important was standing in front of me.
