by Cooper, JK
Kale had to admit, that side of the world interested him more and more as he looked to the future. He would eventually need to provide for the pack, in all ways, when his father abdicated. That realization weighed on Kale as he saw what it took to protect and provide for a pack. The overall wellbeing of the wolves was more than just a clandestine presence or protection from outside wolves. It included emotional and financial support as well.
He’d be expected to join the dinner party when he got home. His parents frequently had guests over, whether some important client or, like in this case, someone new in town. Kale could not eat another crumb. He patted his belly. His metabolism was fast as a teenage boy but even more so as a werewolf. Still, he needed a little help to burn through Bubba’s momma’s chicken.
Hey, there it is, he thought. Bubba’s Chicken. Perfect name for a little chicken joint from the south.
Kale let the growl inside him, ever present but controlled, rise enough to increase his metabolism and heart rate, but not enough to change him. Learning to control that balance had taken almost two years from the time he first manifested at twelve years old. His eyes stung slightly, like jumping into a pool that had just been chlorinated, as the growl rose a few degrees. It didn’t faze him much anymore. After a few minutes, the ball in his stomach lessened significantly, and he didn’t feel like he was going to explode anymore.
Bubba’s Chicken. He really liked the name and idea. Bubba would never go for it, though. He’d want to keep his mom’s cooking a secret, or at least the recipe. Could a patent be obtained for a recipe? If so, wouldn’t that make all the ingredients and process public knowledge? Kale had the thought of pitching it on Shark Tank only to have the bald guy in the middle, Mr. Wonderful, talk to him about how it would be a crime to murder money by investing in this idea, before laughing him out of the room on national TV.
We’ll see, Kale thought, determined to follow through on his budding idea a bit later.
His cell phone chirped in the cup holder of the center console, and the screen lit up.
“I’m on my way!” he told the phone as he took it from the cup holder, assuming it was his mother.
It was Chelsea. Crap. He sent his frustration out with a loud sigh through pursed lips.
Hey Kale! it said, followed by a heart and kiss emoji. Sooo 2mrw night? We staying with my idea or doing something else? Can’t wait 2b ur queen!
The ball in his stomach returned. Why in the world did he put up with her? His natural chivalrous manner was starting to crack, and the other part of him wanted to lash out. Sometimes he wondered which side of him was actually his true self.
He pulled over. What should he say? Maybe just ignore it? That was sure to unleash her banshee mode, and his phone would start blowing up nonstop within ten minutes if he didn’t answer. Did the warranty cover fried sim cards due to pervasive abusive texting? He wasn’t the only one with two sides. . . . Before he could figure out how to respond, his phone chirped again. It was Trish.
Hey hunk! That pic of u and Chelsea has 2,694 likes! People r reposting it all over Instagram! Emojis of two crowns, a king’s and queen’s, followed.
Double crap.
Hey Chelsea, he typed, I’ll call you later. Have a thing with my parents.
He pressed “send,” and the phone made a “whoop” noise as the message was delivered.
He should just tell her no, a part of him said, just cut it off cold turkey. But there was nothing to cut off . . . at least in his mind. A couple dates shouldn’t automatically latch a ball and chain around his ankle. Geez, they hadn’t even held hands. Well, not until this afternoon when she kind of tricked him into it. And there was that awkward semi-kiss she had set up that had somehow made its way onto YouTube. He hadn’t even known what was happening at first. Yeah, he’d have to cut it off—their “thing” not his hand—but wanted to at least tell her voice-to-voice, if not in person. A text was not good enough, even for her. He cursed his chivalry, knowing his father would tell him that all girls deserved more than just a text, and got back on the road.
It was 7:06 p.m. when he pulled through the private, side gate entrance and parked in the garage that housed a sizable motorcade. Bruce Wayne would be impressed. Kale opened the door and entered a mud room that led to a butler’s pantry, which in turn led to the main kitchen. He pushed open one of the wall-doors and strode into the dining hall.
“Hey, I’m home,” he called out, then froze.
Provide. Shelter. Protect. The urges from earlier today slammed into him even more powerfully, and he knew, innately knew, that his life had changed forever. The parts of his soul that had come to life after football practice only a few hours earlier, now ached, a torrent unable to be held back by any emotional dam. A throbbing desire pulsed and flooded through him, and before he knew he had moved, he stood beside the table.
People sat around the table: his father, his mother. A man—a human—he did not know.
And her. The girl that kept disappearing into the mist in his mind whenever this feeling came upon him. She looked at him from across the ornate table with deep blue eyes, her narrow face framed beautifully by wavy brunette hair that went to her shoulders and was streaked with blonde. Her face—light almond and as smooth looking as satin—had a dash of mocha colored freckles across her cheeks, so tender, the picture of a desert oasis.
But her scent . . . it was her scent that made him irrevocably hers, whoever she was. It filled him to intoxicating levels, and his knees weakened slightly. Daylight. It was like feeling daylight for the first time, breaking forth in the midst of the bleakest night, thawing the frozen wasteland of his being.
Only a second had passed since he’d entered the room. That ache needed to be satisfied, the thirst of his parched soul quenched. Slowly, he reached forward across the table to touch her. Infinitesimally, she leaned forward in her chair, drawing nearer to him, lips slightly parted.
The human man at the end of the table stood abruptly, a steak knife in one hand. A threat. In the back of his mind, Kale saw the smoke again among the trees, smelled the ashes. Felt the fear of people running from something. Kale inhaled the anger emanating from the man but also smelled concern. Kale’s eyes burned.
Her father, he realized, but the threat was real. He had to protect her, had to—
Elias shot to his feet. “Kale. Stand down.”
The words tugged at him but not as powerfully as usual. He turned toward the man, away from his father, and squared himself. It was like watching from outside his body, not able to control his actions. Instinct. Pure instinct. The knife rose slightly, and the man’s free hand went to his hip. Kale felt the rumble of a growl rise in his chest and knew the man had heard it.
“Kale!”
Elias Copeland’s voice was thunder, both to Kale’s ears and to his mind. The china dishes, elegantly placed in the satin maple hutch behind the table, rattled slightly. He immediately shrank, the power of the Alpha’s call impossible to ignore.
Clear your mind! the voice in his head commanded. Be still!
His father had used the Call, a power Alphas had over their packs that demanded obedience, a voice that could be sent either audibly or internally, or both. To ignore it would be almost physically impossible, the strength required too great, save for only a few, especially against an Alpha as powerful as Elias.
But the urge! It still surged inside him, swirled like a vortex, pounding its—
“Son,” Elias said, now at Kale’s side. He felt his father’s strong hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right.” His voice had kinder tones now, fatherly ones, and Kale felt reassured that everything was all right, though his confusion remained as he came to himself.
Elias squeezed Kale’s shoulder. “Please, sit. I’ll explain.”
Shelby saw him enter the room, and his presence immediately captivated her. She felt a part of her that was already his, fully, completely, completed; another part of her was intrigued but remained free, though she wasn�
�t sure she wanted it to.
It was foolish, this feeling, so rash and unbidden; but it was real, so very real. She could not deny it. Nor, she realized, did she want to. She had always scoffed at all the fairy tales and happily-ever-afters, much preferring the satire of Shrek to Sleeping Beauty. How many times had she begged her dad to change the DVD from Snow White or Princess Diaries to The Lord of the Rings growing up?
But now, as she stared into his hazel eyes, drowning, she could see them smoldering for . . . her? It wasn’t lust, though it was most assuredly desire. It should have scared her, but it didn’t. The desire held a purity that shone like a thousand stars in his eyes, a galaxy full of need. And that need, she saw, was for her.
Amber flecks of gold, like pinpricks of light, accented his irises, and they seemed to grow in their radiance, heartbeat by heartbeat. A memory, unwelcomed, came into her mind of Nicholas, how his eyes had flashed with amber before he and others of his pack had attacked and nearly killed her and her father outside Odessa.
The boy must have seen the micro-instant of fear on her face because the stars in his eyes changed, flashing with protective concern. She realized she could almost discern his thoughts through his eyes, like she had known him for centuries.
And then, the strangest thought occurred to her that maybe she had.
Whatever veil had existed that had shielded her from him was being torn from her, ripped away. The world she had once known crumbled, no more than a shadow of memory. For, this boy with the strong presence of a man in front of her had suddenly become her world.
He reached for her and she shuddered at the thought of his touch. Would it be like the feelings that coursed through her, just amplified? Her longing satisfied? Would it be like finally coming home after being a prisoner for a lifetime?
To her left, she saw her father rise from his chair. It was like a passing thought, a dream barely remembered, and she dared not take her eyes from the boy for fear that this vision would disappear, like some cruel joke fate had decided to play on her. Elias was saying something to the boy, but his words were drowned out.
His son, Shelby realized.
They’d mentioned him, but they hadn’t mentioned that he would make her fall helplessly, hopelessly in love with him. She knew now why they called it falling in love, for the feeling inside her was indeed one of falling, sinking into an unknown abyss. But she was not afraid because she knew he would be there to catch her, to hold her safely from every threat, in his arms.
She yearned to touch him, to take his hand that reached out to her.
“Kale!”
The voice exploded in her mind even louder than in her ears. Elias’s voice. She immediately looked away and almost got out of her chair, feeling the need to get closer to the ground. The overtone of a growl, not her own, echoed in her mind, and she felt the growl's supernatural ability to command obedience.
Something broke within her at the tension, and she sent forth . . . something. A pulse radiated from her, and she saw the tension lessen, like visible waves dissipating in midair. That was new. She felt Elias look at her with . . . was it gratitude?
“Son, it’s all right,” he said, placing a hand on Kale’s shoulder.
His name is Kale? Shelby remembered what Sadie had said about a Kale: “ . . . if you like that tight chest, broad shoulder, huge biceps-that-you-just-want-to-bite kind of look . . .”
That Kale?
Yes, definitely that Kale.
But . . . isn’t he sorta with Chelsea? What a stupid thought. Her father had his hand on his gun, and her mind wandered to jealous thoughts? Seriously?
“Please, sit,” Elias said. “I’ll explain.”
As Kale slowly sat down at the table, directly across from her, Shelby once again began to drown in the depths of his hazel eyes. This was the kind of drowning from which she did not want to be rescued. What else did he look like? His eyes had been so captivating that she hadn’t yet taken the rest of him in, but in some ways it didn’t matter. The attraction she felt transcended superficial appearances. As she allowed her focus to widen beyond just his eyes, she saw that physical appearances could be more than skin deep after all.
His brown hair tapered from a thick top, maybe an inch and half long, to a tight cut at the base of his neck, Captain America-like but darker. It was more 1950s than military and definitely worked with his narrow forehead and thick eyebrows. Kale had a short-sleeve t-shirt on, and Shelby had to look at his biceps to see if Sadie was right about them. Oh, she definitely was. And those lashes! Why did men always get natural lashes that women would kill for? Especially when men didn’t even care! The unjust irony was an insult to X chromosomes the world over.
Grant still stood, rigid.
“Please, Grant,” Elias said.
Grant sat, though Shelby saw a cautious, almost hostile, stare locked on Kale.
“This is Grant Brooks,” Elias said to his son, “and his daughter, Shelby. I’ll spare you the sanitized introduction of how they’ve just moved here, us being gracious to have them to dine. That’s not true. They sought us out.”
“Something potentially lethal . . .” Gennesaret said “. . . and stupid, but noble under the circumstances.”
“Hi,” Shelby said, reminding herself to blink occasionally.
“Hello,” Kale said.
Even his voice melted her? Really? Warm chills—was there such a thing?—rushed over her neck. She had a brief moment of feeling like a complete emotional wimp, but decided if Kale wanted to melt her like soft wax and remold her as his, she wouldn’t fight it.
As she took his hand in greeting across the table, his warm, rough one enveloped hers almost completely. The touch of his skin to hers, brief as it was, electrified and quickened her like never before. There was a lot of that going around in the past year of her life, apparently. This, however, was more significant than anything, even more than manifesting as a werewolf; for she somehow knew innately that this boy, Kale, was an answer to a burning question she didn’t know she had been asking her whole life. A piece fell into place, one that everyone’s soul yearns for in order to be made complete, whole, unified.
Touching him, even in this platonic gesture of shaking hands, ended much too soon, despite lingering many times longer than the social convention normally warranted.
Suddenly, she jerked her hand back and her elbow knocked into her dish, clacking it loudly against the table. Bits of lamb and squash spilled on to the table and the floor. She blushed.
Awesome. Well done, Shelby.
“You don’t have a dog, do you?”
Elias chuckled once. “Impressive humor, Shelby.”
Oh. Right. The heat of her blush increased on her cheeks. Faux pas, anyone?
Kale looked over to Grant. Shelby saw his steak knife still in hand.
“Sir,” Kale said. “I’m sorry. I just . . .” His eyes flicked back to Shelby. “I’m not sure what happened.”
Your eyes, Shelby thought. I’ll never be able to escape.
Kale looked to his father, then mother. “But, he’s human.”
“I’m right here,” Grant said, the soldier in him surfacing. “If you have a question about me or my daughter, you will address me.”
Elias raised an eyebrow at Kale, and gestured with his head toward Grant.
“I apologize again,” Kale said, turning to Grant. “I obviously walked into a situation I don’t understand and—”
“And now you’re tripping all over your tail and drooling over my daughter,” Grant said. “That about sum it up?”
Grant flashed Shelby a look that simultaneously said, “Don’t think I don’t see you drooling as well” and “How are you not freaking out right now like you have with every boy since Lucas?”
“I just feel like . . . we’ve met before,” Kale said, turning back to Shelby. “I mean . . . have we?”
Shelby knew what he meant. The feeling was something akin to déjà vu but so much stronger.
“No
,” she said but her mind screamed yes. No, it wasn’t actually her mind. The voice was different than how a thought sounded. If not her mind, then . . . the feral side of her. Her wolf. And then she recognized that the feelings tearing through her heart and body, beautiful and terrifying, emanated from her wolf. Her human side felt the urges any female would at laying eyes on this gorgeous specimen; but her wolf, from it came the longing, the sense of home, even a degree of familiarity.
Elias stepped in perfectly, obviously a practiced diplomat. “Shelby, perhaps we could start at the beginning, yes? Tell us all how you and your father came to be with us here, perhaps from the attack where you first manifested.”
“I . . .” She paused. Did she want to do this? In front of Kale, whom she had just met? In front of Elias and Gennesaret? “I’m not sure I want to.”
“Dad,” Kale said, “don’t make her—”
Elias held up a hand, silencing Kale, his stare locked onto Shelby. She felt the command in that stare and her wolf’s desire to obey. She also sensed the trust of Elias within her, within her wolf.
“It was last year.” Shelby spoke before the silence went on too long, Grant not deviating from his stony look. She gazed right into Kale’s eyes, drawing the courage to speak about it openly for the first time in what felt like forever. “We lived in Tallahassee. There was a boy—”
“Shel—”
“It’s okay, dad,” she said, looking at Grant. He had finally softened. “Lucas was popular, good-looking, easygoing. Part of that crowd that everyone smirks at but secretly wants to be a part of. When he actually noticed me, I felt like I had somehow arrived.” She took a nervous breath. Was she really going to tell this story? “I had crushed on him pretty hard for several months prior, and everyone knew it.”
Shelby stopped and took a sip of water, her hand shaking slightly. The water seemed to do nothing for her dry throat. When she spoke again, her voice trembled.
