And Jericho Burned: Toke Lobo & The Pack

by MJ Compton

  Stoker swallowed a snarl and the urge to shift. “I’m concerned about my sister-in-law.”

  “So am I.” Butler’s tone was calm, unlike Stoker’s own. “My sister-in-law made yet another bad relationship decision. Fortunately, it has no bearing in New Sinai.”

  The temptation to rip out Butler’s throat was strong. The man begged for a painful death. Only the guns kept Stoker from fulfilling the plea.

  “Michelle,” he called.

  The woman turned toward him, her eyes blank, void of expression as if she’d hidden her soul deep within. Or Butler had drugged or brainwashed her.

  Tears streamed down her face.

  Behind him, Hank gasped.

  “I’m looking forward to being an uncle, ma’am.” Stoker didn’t know what else to say to the woman who looked like his wife, but was a stranger. “Tell Lucy I’ll be back for her.”

  “You’re pretty arrogant for a piano player,” Butler said.

  “Ask your men just how arrogant I can be,” Stoker replied. The little puke must have forgotten that he’d beaten four of his minions to a pulp in addition to going two rounds with Danby.

  Butler said nothing, but the glint in his eyes spoke volumes. He was a dangerous man.

  Stoker had to get Lucy out as quickly as possible, even if he had to sacrifice Restin’s mission to do so.

  “Evict the interlopers,” Butler ordered as he strode away.

  “Don’t bother coming back,” a guard said.

  Stoker bared his teeth. “You’d better pray you’re not on duty when I do.”

  The guard hefted his gun, eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’ll volunteer for the shift. I owe you for the other night.”

  Hank grabbed Stoker’s arm and pulled him toward town. He waited until they were half a mile down the road before saying a word. When he did speak, he shocked Stoker.

  “Michelle,” Hank hoarsely whispered. “She’s mine.”

  Three hours later, Lucy stood outside the cook house, summoned yet again by his royal pain-in-the-ass Randy a.k.a. General Butler. Not that she minded escaping the sauna. She couldn’t imagine the hell hole in the heat of high summer.

  Perspiration glued wisps of her baby-fine hair to her forehead and temples. An early evening breeze tried to peel the strands from her skin, but like a solar battery, her body had not only absorbed, but also had stored the heat. If she didn’t get out of the faux-wedding gown soon, she would evaporate.

  Where was Stoker? She was starting to get nervous. Hadn’t Hank said she was one of their own? If that were true, someone would have rescued her by now. Unless Stoker was so seriously injured that they blamed her.

  She clenched her hands at her sides, mostly to keep from raising the ring to her mouth and lambasting whoever was on the other end. If anyone bothered to continue monitoring the receiving end of the transmitter.

  She’d never felt so alone in her life. That’s what she got for trusting a guy. She should have known better. Men were liars, had hidden agendas, and wouldn’t hesitate to use the first to advance the second.

  “Lucy!” Randy’s big voice boomed, but the effect was spoiled when he sneezed.

  She was tired, hungry, and irritated past reason. She so totally was not in the mood for more of his Biblical mockeries. If he started one more rant about Jacob marrying sisters, God delivering the law on Sinai, or anything else even vaguely Old Testament in nature, she would evaporate into a pillar of salt.

  “I’ve decided we’ll be married tomorrow at dawn,” Randy declared. “A new day, a new life for you.”

  Then again, evaporation was preferable to what he had in mind.

  She barely contained the shudder that rippled through her. “I already have a new husband and a new life waiting for me outside the gates.” She clung to that mantra, despite no rescue attempt. Surely not even Restin would abandon the wife of one of their own. Just about all she’d heard from Stoker was the sanctity of the mating bond.

  “I forbid you to mention this alleged husband again,” Randy said. “There wasn’t enough time for you to change your status with your government and its legal systems. Michelle is still your beneficiary, which means everything you claim as yours is really already mine.” His gaze slid to the ring on her left hand.

  A new fear clumped in Lucy’s throat. “My marriage license was issued in Idaho,” she stammered, “and Idaho is a community property state. If anything happens to me, Stoker inherits everything, not Michelle.” She had no idea if what she said was true, but it certainly sounded good. “My lawyer is drawing up a new will merely as a formality.”

  Randy glowered at her. His nostrils flared, as if he smelled something bad.

  She lifted her chin. “And don’t forget—I could be pregnant.” She doubted it, but neither she nor Stoker had stopped to think about the consequences of unprotected consummation of their marriage.

  Besides, Stoker wanted to start a family right away. Which meant he’d rescue her. Soon. She hoped.

  “I don’t care.” Bill stepped in from the shadows. “I’ll claim your child as my own and raise it as such.”

  Lucy started. Stoker had been right about Bill–he never seemed to learn from his mistakes. Interrupting one of Randy’s private conversations was not a particularly bright thing to do.

  Randy frowned, his scowl a pale imitation of Stoker’s fierceness. “What are you doing here?”

  Bill squared his shoulders. “You ordered me to marry Lucy.”

  Randy shook his head. “I rescinded that order.” He reached for one of the bodyguard’s weapons. “Permanently.”

  The blast deafened Lucy, and she screamed as Bill Danby’s face evaporated in a red mist.

  Chapter 8

  “I don’t believe the two of you had the balls to return to New Sinai and ask Butler to hand Lucy over,” Restin raged. He was a sight to behold in his fury, with his wild curls flying about his shoulders as he paced the length of his room. His ranting only added to Stoker’s headache.

  Tokarz sat in the corner, his white Stetson covering his face. Stoker and every other werewolf in the room knew he wasn’t asleep by the beat of his heart and the rhythm of his breath. Still, he allowed Restin to rave.

  Stoker resisted the urge to mirror Tokarz’s pose. Two days ago, he would have accepted Restin’s abuse. Today, it had no meaning. He yawned, which sent Restin off on another tangent.

  “Shut up, Restin,” he finally said.

  The room went completely silent.

  Restin leapt, but Stoker easily side-stepped the attack.

  Maybe delta didn’t address beta in that manner, but Stoker was fed up to his teeth with Restin’s posturing.

  “I’ve listened to all I’m going to,” Stoker said. “My wife is Randy Butler’s prisoner. I’m going back.”

  “And I’m going with him,” Hank added.

  “You will both stay away from New Sinai,” Restin ordered.

  Stoker shook his head. “In case you didn’t hear me, I said wife. That means she’s my mate.”

  “Lucy’s sister is my mate,” Hank added.

  About time he told the others, Stoker thought, slouching in his seat like a reflection of Tokarz.

  He’d listened to Hank’s wild theories all the way back to town. Michelle had looked at him with Charlotte’s eyes. Michelle had to be Charlotte’s human counterpart.

  Stoker had known his cousin missed his mate, but he’d never heard of werewolves having human counterparts or being reincarnated in pregnant women. On the other hand, who was he to argue? Three days ago, if someone had told him he’d end up with a human mate, like Tokarz, he would have challenged them to first blood.

  “I ordered you to stay away from New Sinai,” Restin snapped.

  Stoker ignored him. He wasn’t going to was
te any more time listening to ego instead of an action plan.

  Tokarz sat up and tipped his hat onto his head. “I’m going back to Loup Garou tomorrow,” he announced. “The timing’s off, but I miss my wife.”

  Tokarz meant after tomorrow night’s new moon, when the wolf began to rule their physiology. When thinking like a human required a strength Stoker wasn’t sure he had.

  “Restin,” Tokarz said, “you’re in charge.”

  Stoker stood. “Are you coming with me?” he asked Hank, who rose without hesitation.

  Restin started to bluster again, but Tokarz silenced him. “You’re in charge, but you can’t interfere with mates.”

  Stoker didn’t wait around to hear Restin’s response.

  Flecks of Bill’s brain spattered the lacy bodice of Lucy’s white gown, and the kerosene in the lantern smelled so bad, Lucy doubted she’d be able to eat. Not that the watery soup she’d helped prepare was all that appetizing, but Michelle wolfed hers down as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  At least she was reunited with her sister.

  “We ate better than this before,” Lucy said, chasing a shred of carrot through the thin broth. She craved a blueberry muffin. “Where’s all the food I brought for my wedding reception?”

  “Randy was trying to impress you with visitor rations before,” Michelle replied, tucking a hank of her dirty hair behind her ear. “Your provisions were requistioned for the army. You shouldn’t have run away.”

  “I didn’t run away. I left. Randy shouldn’t have sent an armed escort with me.”

  “You were supposed to celebrate your engagement to Bill.” Michelle picked up her bowl and slurped the dregs of her meal.

  “I was never engaged to Bill.”

  “Randy said you were.”

  Lucy clung to her temper. “Randy leads a rich fantasy life. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  Michelle’s gaze, devoid of expression, met hers over the rim of the bowl. “He only wants you to be happy.”

  Lucy knew that Michelle was a statistic. Children of abusers tended to end up in abusive relationships or become abusers themselves. Knowing didn’t mean she had to accept it.

  “I am happy,” Lucy lied. She fell back on Restin’s cover story. “Stoker and I have been seeing each other for quite awhile. We just needed to work things out.”

  “When a man and woman love each other, things work themselves out,” Michelle said in her new, flat voice. Randy’s philosophy, no doubt.

  “Well, I’m a little more cautious about my inheritance than you were,” Lucy pointed out. “After Charles, I had to be.”

  Michelle shrugged. “It’s just money.”

  Anger flared. “If it’s just money, why is Randy so hot to get his hands on my share as well as yours?” Lucy asked.

  “Well, a nation needs an economy.”

  “Don’t you find it a bit hypocritical that he’s seceded from the United States, but wants its currency to fund his little enterprise?”

  “It’s not a little enterprise. Every nation needs to start somewhere. Colonial America got its start on the British sterling.”

  Lucy tamped the urge to howl. To shriek and fling soup in her sister’s face. Instead, she shoved the bowl across the table. “Here. I’m not hungry, and you’re eating for two.”

  Michelle didn’t argue. Nor did she bother with her spoon. She simply lifted the bowl to her mouth and swallowed.

  The old Michelle–the pre-Randy Butler Michelle–would have been appalled by the new one’s lack of manners. “Dad would have knocked you upside the head for doing that.”

  “Dad is dead,” Michelle replied. “Thank God.”

  At least they agreed on something. Too bad he’d taken their mother with him.

  “At least you don’t have to worry about Bill anymore,” Michelle continued, between gulps of Lucy’s meal.

  Chills raced through Lucy. Could Michelle really be so jaded that a man’s death was considered simply a convenience?

  “You condone murder?”

  Michelle’s expression turned quizzical. “Randy didn’t murder Bill. He killed him.”

  Exasperated, Lucy said: “Explain the difference.”

  Michelle shrugged. “I don’t remember. Ask Randy.”

  “I’m asking you!” Lucy shouted.

  Michelle set her bowl on the table and looked at Lucy with a wounded expression. “You don’t need to yell.”

  Why did she bother? Randy had Michelle so firmly under his thumb that even if Lucy managed to get her away, she might never be normal again.

  “Is Randy excited about the baby?”

  Michelle shrugged yet again. “Not excited. Pleased. He wants his son.”

  “And you know it’s a boy?”

  “Of course. Randy said so.”

  Lucy clenched her fists to keep from shaking her sister. “What if it’s a girl?”

  Michelle’s eyes widened as if she hadn’t considered the possibility, which, knowing Michelle, she probably hadn’t. “Randy would only beget sons.”

  “That’s not the way biology works. Unless Randy has seceded from the human race along with the country.”

  Michelle frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s all man.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “That’s debatable,” she muttered. “What if you have a girl?” she asked again. “And what if he blames you? I mean, he killed Bill with less provocation.”

  “You’re just being mean because I got married first,” Michelle whined.

  Lucy winced. Once Michelle landed in her whiny rut, she wallowed there. She might as well give her something real to snivel about. “What if Randy takes another wife?”

  That did the trick. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s not like Charles. He’s a one-woman man.”

  Lucy bit her lip to keep from blurting Randy’s latest plan to finance New Sinai.

  “You have no idea what I put up with,” Michelle blithely continued. “I think every female between the ages of twelve and ninety has tried to get his attention.”

  Okay, Michelle had to know the truth, and hints weren’t blatant enough.

  “He has a Jacob fixation,” Lucy said.

  “So? Jacob founded a great nation,” Michelle replied.

  “And he married sisters. Rachel and Leah. Remember?” Lucy barely remembered the story herself. Religious education hadn’t been high on their parents’ list of priorities.

  “You’re paranoid and jealous. You never liked Randy.”

  Lucy sighed. “You’re right. Mostly I hate to see what he’s done to you. When was the last time you had a hot shower or a decent meal? Have you even seen a doctor?”

  “I wash, gluttony is a sin, especially since the outside government lets too many children go to bed hungry, and women have been giving birth without doctors since Adam and Eve.” Her response was rote, as if she’d learned a new catechism.

  “Not in twenty-first century America.”

  Michelle smiled. “I don’t live in twenty-first century America.”

  “You think this is some kind of Utopia?” Lucy waved her arm, as if she could make her sister acknowledge the squalor in which she lived. “Utopia is a place where things are better. This isn’t better, Michelle. This is revolting.”

  “Nobody said you had to come.”

  “You invited me. I thought you needed me, especially when you mentioned Eleanor. I didn’t know you recalled . . . my cat.”

  Michelle rolled her eyes, giving Lucy a glimpse of the sister she remembered. “I see you take suggestions real well. I didn’t invite you. Randy did. I just wrote the letter. I tried to warn you. Don’t blame me because you ignored my warning.”

  It took all of Lucy’s self-control to keep from seizi
ng Michelle by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her. “Fine. I’ll leave. Stoker wants to go back to Colorado, anyway.”

  Panic flared in Michelle’s eyes, but was gone almost before Lucy saw it. “Do you regret marrying a piano player?”

  “Not at all.”