by JK Cooper
“I know you’re not allowed to say it,” Sadie whispered. “He’s your dad. It’s okay, I’ll say it for you.”
Chelsea made that disgusted gasp noise then looked to Amanda with feigned disbelief. “Is . . . the redhead mocking me? Like, how is she even speaking? To me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sadie said, “did you think we were going to kiss your posterior?”
“My what?”
“Big word for a—” Trish whispered, but Chelsea waved her hand to cut her off.
“I knowwww!”
Trish backed away, sucking in her lips.
“Well,” Chelsea huffed, “it is rather perfect, isn’t it?” She rubbed her rear.
Sadie made a show of looking at Chelsea’s butt, then pursed her lips. “Not as nice as Amanda’s, but I think Shelby has us all beat. She did snag Kale for homecoming within five minutes of meeting him. Kind of freakin’ amazing, huh?”
Amanda shook her head, as if the parent of a child who would never learn.
Chelsea’s own facial expression turned condescending and pitying. “Listen, girls, I know it’s fun to play make-believe and dress-up—”
“—you’re in a leo, too, your eminence—”
“—but make no mistake. This is real. You’re declaring war. And this”—Chelsea’s index finger trembled as she squealed—“is not a war you can win.” Chelsea drew nearer, her face so close to Shelby’s that her perfume made Shelby’s eyes water. “Kale is mine. I promise you that.”
“Hey, Chels,” Sadie asked, “has Shelby ever told you about her first kiss with Kale? It’s really a great story, but it will take about an hour to get through. Lots of steamy details. Wanna have a seat and hear all about it?”
“Erghhhh!” Chelsea shrieked, her hands turning to claws as she looked up at the ceiling. She swooped out with her disciples in tow back to the gym.
“So, you like my butt?” Shelby asked.
“Grow up,” Sadie said. “Ready for push-ups?”
Shelby smirked. “Thought you’d never ask. Oh, and Sadie?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you make a pinewood derby car with me for tonight’s pack meeting?”
“I’m nervous, Dad,” Shelby said.
“So am I,” Grant answered.
They pulled through the gate to Copeland Manor, the security guards there giving Grant a friendly nod.
“You like working here?” Shelby asked. “It’s not weird?”
“It’ll keep me around you as you get older. That’s all I care about.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“You . . . ever thought about dating?” Shelby felt heat rise to her cheeks. Her dad looked stunned by the question.
“Thought about it, I guess.” They pulled to a stop in the circular driveway. Shelby counted eight, no, nine cars. She recognized Sadie’s—an older model BMW Z3. It kind of even looked like a small wolf copping an attitude.
“Ever done more than think about it?” Shelby asked.
“What?”
“Dating? Hello?”
“I was hoping we were done with that line of questioning.”
“My hands are sweaty,” Shelby said.
“Relax, kiddo,” Grant teased, “it’s not that crazy of a topic.”
“No, I’m feeling things.”
“You just told me you were nervous about meeting the pack.”
Shelby sat in the old Blazer, not moving. Then, as she opened her car door, more feelings started to invade her. Anxiety. Concern. Nervousness. Excitement.
“They aren’t my feelings.”
Grant turned his head toward her, cocking it so that his cheek nearly rested on his shoulder.
“Don’t make your sarcastic pouty face at me, Grant,” Shelby said.
“Whose feelings are they? Kale’s?”
“You’re so immature.”
Grant chuckled. “Ok, for real, tell me.”
“No.”
“Shel.”
“I think . . . I think I’m feeling the emotions of the pack.” She took note of the cars again. “There’s gotta be like thirty people in there.”
“Not just people. Lycans. I’m the one who probably needs to be nervous.”
Shelby paused. “You are. I sense it.”
“C’mon, Shel, even if you are an Omega, or even this Summer Omega that Gennesaret believes you might be, I’m not a Lycan. You can’t sense my feelings.”
“But you are my father.” She paused again, then smiled shyly. “And you are nervous.”
“I’m not going to like having an Omega for a daughter, am I?”
Shelby punched his arm.
Grant feigned a wince. “Who taught you to throw a punch?”
“The same guy who taught me how to shoot.” Shelby’s mind flashed unbidden to the only time she’d had to shoot someone to protect herself. “What happened . . . the night we escaped Nicholas’s pack? I know there’s more than what you’ve told me.”
“Shel . . . ”
“I need to know. Please.”
Grant nodded his head slowly, as if making a heavy decision. “You killed the two that charged with Nicholas at the end.”
“How?”
She saw her dad’s Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed. “It was brutal, Shelby. You don’t need to know the details.”
“Yes, I do. Please. Did I shift?”
Grant shook his head. “No. But you did do something that I can’t explain. You screamed. I fired my gun and hit one of them, but they kept coming. You screamed again, longer this time. It . . . frightened me. It was . . . savage.”
Shelby covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.
“The wolves halted. Your eyes glowed a deep yellow. Your whole body shook. The air around you vibrated. Shimmered . . . like heat waves in a desert. I saw the power of whatever it was radiate from you. And your skin . . . it looked like it was cracking with a red glow beneath. It made me think of lava tearing open the earth.”
Shelby closed her eyes and tried so hard not to let her lower jaw quiver. She failed.
“They howled. Nicholas and the other two,” Grant said. “Clawed at the air, at the ground and their heads. They jerked like they were being stabbed. Their cries were . . . I pitied them. The two that flanked Nicholas died. Blood streamed from them. Nicholas twitched on the ground, whimpering. He shifted back to his human form, probably subconsciously. And then, you collapsed.”
“I’m a monster,” Shelby said. She was. What other explanation was there? She could kill . . . with her mind. She didn’t even have to be awake, apparently. Though that bothered her, did she really regret killing those wolves?
“No,” Grant said. “No, you are nothing of the kind.”
Shelby was shaking. “How can you say that?”
“Because I know you. And I knew your mother. You are both the most beautiful people I have ever known. You hear me, Shelby Madison Brooks? Ever.”
“Why can’t I remember?” she asked, her voice quavering. It wasn’t fair to demand that of her father. She knew it.
“Shel, I don’t know. I hate saying that. I hate not knowing what happened that night. But please believe me that I didn’t tell you in order to spare you from it.”
“I don’t regret it,” she said, slowly shaking her head. “I don’t regret killing them. I should, though, right?” She wiped a single tear from her eye. Only a monster could kill without regret.
“This pack, the Copelands, are the best shot we have at unraveling what you’re going through. They’re different than most packs. And I don’t just mean that because there’s that boy you’re interested in.”
Shelby felt the smile tug at her lips. Grant muttered something.
“How do you know they’re different?” Shelby asked.
“I have come across many in my time.”
“Because of mom?”
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s go. They’re all waiting.”
&nb
sp; “How do I . . . join the pack?”
Grant opened his door. “It’s simple. You take a bite out of each pack member—their leg or arm—then howl in unison—”
“Shut up!” She punched her dad again in the arm. Grant didn’t flinch. Wait . . . was he serious?
“That’s really a decent punch. You make me proud.”
In the grand hall of Copeland Manor—how many square feet was this house again?—Shelby stared at the group in front of her. They were all werewolves, of course. She could smell it. Odd how that scent had become so familiar—comforting—lately.
The room seemed to glow with ambient light despite being evening. The chandeliers hung so high from the elevated ceilings that you could not see them unless you looked up. Thick candles atop exquisitely gaudy sconces softened the room’s glow. In the far corner, Shelby could see glimpses of a grand hearth with a roaring fire between the pack members.
Sadie waved at her. What was she wearing around her neck? Sadie turned around. Yeah, she was wearing the Cub Scout Wolf Cub neckerchief. Unbelievable.
And then there was Kale, standing there between his mom and dad, broad shouldered with that amazing, stupid, heart-melting, life-giving, worth-dying-for smile on his godlike-gorgeous face. Shelby felt weak in her knees, and her heart fluttered. Literally, she felt it flutter. LMaybe she really did have romance-novelties.
Kale came up and hugged Shelby. “Welcome to the pack.”
She hugged him back. “Is that it?”
He smiled sheepishly. Damn him. But don’t stop.
“No, not quite,” he whispered in her ear. He could keep doing that as well for all she cared.
“Shelby,” Elias said, and she felt his words in her chest as well as heard them. He wore more casual dress tonight: a pair of jeans with a Polo quarter-zip pullover. His sleeves were pulled up halfway on his forearms. “I am proud to introduce my pack to you.”
Elias motioned to each person one by one, introducing them. And as he did, only mentioning their names briefly before moving to the next, Shelby felt them become a piece of her heart. Not replacing anything therein, but her heart expanded to accept them. She felt pieces of who they were as she locked eyes with each, seeing flashes of their lives and souls.
The Southebys. James and Belinda. Their son, Tyler. James, fifty, the son of military parents. His father died in a helicopter training accident. Not a natural born Lycan. Survived an attack from one of the Feral at seventeen. Fierce but reckless. Belinda, forty-five, daughter of a long line of Lycans. Shy, a bit entitled, but kind. Not one to cross. Tyler, thirteen, manifested just last year. His grades in school have suffered since then. He largely withdrew from social life after manifesting but does not feel alone.
The Chandlers. Paul and Sophie. Their daughter, Sadie. Paul, forty-four, from England. Son of potato farmers. Also the victim of an attack while saving his fiancé, Sophie, an American exchange student in London. Both were bitten. Both survived. They killed the Lycan who attacked them, someone from another pack. No one except Elias knows, not even Sadie. They hate the movie, American Werewolf in London. Sophie, forty-two, and loves muscle cars. Rebuilt a ’68 GTO once. Wrecked it trying to outrun a train. Sadie, feisty but sensitive. Hides her uncertainty behind insults. Believes she will struggle to find happiness because she is not sure happiness is real, but if it is, she is sure Airheads candy is the path. Shelby started. She loves romance novels! Really? That kind of explains . . . a lot. She hides them, as if embarrassed by them, but hopes they are somehow a metaphor for life having a happy ending. Avoids Nicholas Sparks books. And she’s a venatrix, which does, indeed, mean she can mask her scent. And change the color of her coat? Whoa! Shelby would have to see that. Natural born.
Jerod Ackerman. Goes simply by “Ackerman.” Twenty-seven but already balding. Head of security for the Copelands. Elias trusts him implicitly, and Ackerman values that trust. Never married. Considers it a distraction from his duty to the pack. Hard man. Sees the world in black and white. Natural born but abandoned. Manifested in an orphanage in Arizona and escaped. That had not turned out well. Found by Elias, who had read about the incident in the news. Luckily, the news reports varied wildly and were written off as an animal attack. Ackerman was presumed dead.
The Kenzies. Ryland and Miranda. Their children, Tommy and Karina. Ryland, thirty-nine, owns a general contracting business. Small projects mostly but has a custom home up for an award. Natural born. Miranda, forty, an interior designer and works with Ryland. She is also up for an award for her work in the same custom home. She doesn’t care if they win or not. Natural born. Tommy, plays on the football team with Kale. Sophomore. Holds back because he is afraid he will hurt someone. Yes! is his favorite band. Shelby noted that with interest. Natural born. Karina, freshman. Manifested at eleven. Cried for days. Hates being a werewolf and believes she’s damned to hell. Despite this, she is fascinated with the Lycan history and legends. Spends a lot of time with Gennesaret.
Jonas Abbot. Twenty-one years old. Largest of the pack. Loves UFC and is constantly hungry. Loud, boisterous, loves to know things others do not, but he doesn’t gloat. It’s a quiet pride. Bullied as a kid but thinks he’s overcome it. He hasn’t. Loyal when it serves him or when he feels compelled. Natural born.
The Riverwinds. Dakota and Chenoa. Dakota, four hundred and sixty-three years old. Shelby started. Yes, her insight was correct, but Dakota did not look more than thirty. Pack elder. But not the Alpha? Shelby wondered. Son of a famous Cahuilla chief. Survived an attack when he was twenty-three. Quiet, unassuming. Accepts his existence as a blessing from Menily, the moon goddess. And he’s blind, but sees so much, Shelby thought with amazement. He might be blind, but his wolf was not, and he uses his wolf eyes to see the world unless he’s in public so he doesn’t draw attention. No wonder his eyes are amber now. His stare felt warm to her. Fascinating. Chenoa, three hundred and eleven years old. Descendent of Dakota. Natural born. Fought in the French and Indian war against the British. Speaks French fluently. Has killed more than anyone else in the pack. Has recently written a screenplay about her people’s struggles in California. Feels uneasy around . . . her. Shelby. Why?
The Binghams. Ben and Anna. Their children, Rachel and John. Ben, forty-one, valedictorian at Penn State. Owns a business consulting firm and often works with Elias’s investment firm, Copeland Capital Management. Voluntarily became a Lycan at twenty-four after Anna, his new wife, revealed herself to him against her Alpha’s wishes. He loves fried green tomatoes with loads of black pepper. Anna, natural born and also forty-one, secretly married Ben behind her Alpha’s back. Because of love, she granted Ben’s wish to convert him. She never wanted anything more than a small home off a windy country road with flower pots on the window sills. She has seen more strife than she cares to admit and struggles to find meaning. Reads the Bible often, but tends to pick out verses that focus on hell and damnation rather than hope and peace. Knows Gennesaret tries to keep her from spending time with Karina Kenzie. Loves the show Hell On Wheels.
John, nineteen, just graduated from Lansborough High, a year late because of his . . . hormones. Also loves Hell On Wheels. Good looking and apparently knows it. Teases but secretly admires his sister. Natural born. Rachel, sixteen, number one in her class at Lansborough High. Got moved to a prep academy for her eighth-grade year but ran away in protest. Manifested while still on the run. Lived on trains for two months on her own. Hunters found her but didn’t kill her. They intended to experiment on her but then her father and Dakota found her. The hunters did not survive. She made up her eighth-grade year in six weeks. Natural born.
The McKinneys. Joe and Abigail. Their son, Anson. Joe, sixty-four, and Abigail, fifty-nine, both natural born, lead a small congregation as ordained ministers in a non-denominational Christian church. That proved almost as shocking to Shelby as Dakota and Chenoa’s age. Really? Werewolf preachers? But this was Texas, so why not? Shelby discerned, though, that they truly believed. Wait, did the Bible tal
k about Lycans in some mysterious code? Joe, despite being in his sixties, secretly loved early punk rock bands like the Ramones, Less Than Jake, and Bad Religion—when he thought punk rock was still “respectable.” Shelby would have to look into those. Anson, thirty-nine, guitarist. Long black hair to the shoulders. Still living in the days of yesterday with his music, stubbornly refusing to give up on his dream of complete rock-stardom. Howls at a full moon if for nothing else than to keep Hollywood’s stereotypes of werewolves alive, and to create rumors of wolves in the deserts among the locals. Natural Born.
The Kaplans. Emily, Austin, and Will. Triplets. Twenty-five. Natural born. Parents dead. Hunters. Shelby cringed. Austin and Will were identical in appearance, except for that cleft chin that Austin has beneath his short-cropped beard. Growing up, Austin and Will switched girlfriends occasionally. The girls never knew. Shelby blushed. Emily. Selfish because she feels she must be to get anything in life. Nothing has come easy for her, and despite having two brothers, she often feels alone. Shoots archery professionally. Wait, really? Has won several national competitions but thinks the Olympics are a joke and so refuses to try out. And loves to bow hunt, but not because she’s skilled at it . . . because she fears letting her wolf out. Hard to tame.
The Copelands. Elias and Gennesaret. Elias, one hundred and twelve. Shelby’s heart leaped in surprise, though she shouldn’t be as surprised by now. Emigrated from Scotland in 1933 when he was thirty during the Great Depression to try and find work under Roosevelt’s New Deal plan. But no Scottish accent, Shelby noted. Too bad. She always loved Irish and Scottish accents. Returned to Great Britain seven years later to join in the war against Hitler. While tracking a German squad in France with a small British platoon of twenty soldiers, the German squad shifted and attacked. Eight wolves. Elias’s platoon was killed. He survived, though he harbors a modicum of shame for that. He thinks he should have died with his fellow soldiers. Somehow, Shelby understood that feeling. She glanced sidelong at her dad. Maybe Army Ranger genes were genetic.
Gennesaret. Eighty-six, but looked like a young forty. Guess werewolf women can have children . . . forever? She would have been sixty-nine when she had Kale. Natural born. Gennesaret, beyond her appearance of a refined and cultured wife, was vicious. And she had two PhDs, one in Experimental Psychology and the other in International Relations, on top of her medical degree. Okay, so she is cultured, not just a front. Her concern for the pack is genuine, and she sees love as the reason for life. She tries to radiate that to all she meets, except those who threaten her pack. Again, vicious. Feels guilty for the death of the Kaplans’ parents, for missing the warning signs of hunters tracking them. And loves exploring libraries throughout the world and visiting ancient tribes and towns to collect legends and stories of Lycan lore.
