by Reine, SM
How could Gwyn have known? How had Rylie given herself away?
Her speechlessness was answer enough. Gwyneth sat on the couch with a weighty sigh. “Well,” she said. “Well, well.”
“Oh God.” Rylie sank onto the opposite chair and dropped her face into her hands. She didn’t want to see the anger on her aunt’s face.
“Eighteen is mighty young to start a family.”
“You think I did this to myself on purpose?”
Gwyn chuckled. “You make it sound like you’re trying to perform a self-amputation or something else terrible.”
“Pregnant,” Rylie whispered. It was so hard to say the word out loud. Gwyn smoothed the hair off of Rylie’s forehead, and her entire face glowed with warmth and joy.
“Your daddy would have been a wonderful grandpa, and I know he’d be disappointed if I didn’t spoil your baby rotten.”
Rylie blinked. “Does that mean you’re not mad at me?”
“Mad?” Gwyn laughed. “How could I be mad? Babies are always a blessing. Maybe it’s not the right time, but it’s never the right time. You’re smart, Rylie, and Seth is a fine young man. I can’t think of anyone better equipped to handle it.”
Rylie hadn’t even realized that she had been worried about Gwyn’s reaction until that moment. She suddenly felt so much lighter.
And then her aunt spoke again.
“Have you thought about what this is going to do to you and Abel?”
Rylie smiled sheepishly. “You’re way too perceptive.”
Her aunt tapped a finger on her temple. “Forgot to tell you. I’m psychic.”
“No, you’re just old. You’ve seen everything.”
“Not so old that I can’t still kick your ass, girl,” Gwyn said. “Abel’s going to be hurt. I know things had changed between you two. Just make sure to be honest about your feelings, and it’ll be fine.”
“That’s the problem, Gwyn,” Rylie whispered. “I don’t know what I feel.”
She didn’t have to say any more than that. Her aunt obviously understood.
“Everything changes when you bring kids into the picture. I think your choice has been made for you, babe.” She squeezed Rylie’s hand. “What does Seth think?”
“I might not have told him yet.”
“Tell him. And tell him soon. Trust him—he’ll be fine.” Gwyn gave her a tight hug, and then gave a bright, sparkling laugh. It had been years since Rylie heard her aunt laugh like that. “Now, we better get moving. Sounds like we have a shotgun wedding to plan.”
FOUR
Transport
Abel had hung out with Cain when he was still pretending to be a member of the pack, and he had seemed pretty cool. Abel had assumed that it was all pretense—there was no way that someone who sent Rylie silver bullets and wrote threatening messages in blood could be a fairly nice guy.
Nice or not, Cain was polite. He made sure that Abel was comfortable as his men trussed him up and put him in the back of a semi. There were even blankets waiting so that he wouldn’t get cold in the shipping container. And after a few hours of driving, they untied him long enough so he could walk around and take a piss—though they never took their guns off of him, even for a moment.
There was no mistaking Cain as nice, though. His men were afraid of him. It showed in every glance and gesture. A nice guy didn’t give people a reason to fear him like that.
After their pit stop, the engine groaned to life. The semi began to move.
Cain sat down cross-legged in front of Abel once the back door of the semi was closed again. The shipping container was empty aside from the two men. “You’re being awfully compliant,” Cain said.
“That’s because I’m thinking about how much enjoyment I’m gonna get from killing you,” Abel said. And because he had spent the last two hours wearing down his ropes so that he could break free, but he wasn’t quite there yet. “Where’s Eleanor?”
“She’s resting at home,” Cain said, sweeping his coarse golden curls out of his face with a gesture that eerily resembled Seth. “She’s not doing well.”
“Good,” Abel said.
Rage darkened Cain’s features, and Abel prepared for what he knew had to be coming—the same kinds of torture Seth had endured at the hands of Cain’s followers. But the other man didn’t make a move to touch him.
Unfortunately, not all torture was physical.
“Eleanor never loved you,” Cain said.
Abel clamped his mouth shut and didn’t take the bait. His wrists, tethered behind his back, were almost free.
“I grew up alone, Abel,” Cain went on. “I never knew the warmth of a mother’s love.”
Abel barked a laugh. “And you think you’ll get it from Eleanor?”
“I already do. She’s the family I’ve always longed for. And you—you tried to kill her.”
“Tried? I thought we did a pretty good job,” Abel said. The tension on his wrists slackened. He was free. He didn’t move or show any other sign of it.
Anger flashed across Cain’s face. “Seth doesn’t love you, either.”
“Bullshit.”
“He took the woman you love.”
“Seth got there first.” Abel tried to make it sound like that didn’t bother him, but a smile spread on Cain’s lips. He knew that he had struck a nerve.
“Seth has everything. He has an education. The ability to better himself. A future. And now Rylie. How long do you think it’s going to be until they get married?” Abel’s hands clenched into fists behind his back. “You were the one that was there for Rylie while Seth went to college. But what do you have? Nothing. You are nothing.”
He bristled. “I’m a hell of a lot more than that.”
“Yeah? What have you got going for you? I’m dying to hear.”
The problem was that Abel couldn’t think of any examples. Everything Cain said were the exact things that had been gnawing at him ever since he resigned himself to becoming a werewolf.
He used to live for the goal of wiping out the species. That was so easy to focus on. So simple. All he had to do was hunt and kill.
Then he was bitten, and everything changed.
Now what did he have? A future running around on four legs every other week? It wasn’t like he could get a job. The only thing he knew how to do was kill.
Cain’s eyes glimmered. “You tried to murder our mother. You deserve this ruined life.”
“Deserve? I don’t know about that. I don’t do well with philosophical thinking,” Abel said. “Guess I’m not educated enough.”
Cain chuckled. That was when Abel lunged.
He unleashed the full power of the werewolf’s speed and strength and bowled Cain over.
No mercy. Abel went straight for the sensitive zones—driving his knee into Cain’s gonads, slamming his hand into the bridge of his nose, pounding the solar plexus. He heard ribs crack. Cain didn’t even have time to cry out.
But all werewolves could sponge up damage and keep going. Cain was no exception.
He flipped Abel over onto his back and squeezed his throat. Blood streamed down his lips.
Abel knocked his arms off and threw Cain across the shipping container. The impact of his body dented the metal. The shipping container rocked with the strength of their struggle, and Abel thought he felt the semi swerve.
“Come on,” Cain said with his back against the wall. He snorted up a wad of blood and phlegm and spit it out again. “You’re supposed to be tough.”
“Tough?” Abel asked, and he laughed. It made his ribs creak.
Then he plunged a thumb into Cain’s eye.
Cain roared with pain, clapping his hands over his face as he fell to his knees.
Abel scrambled to the back door and delivered a swift kick to the place he knew the latch had to be. Metal snapped. The door’s springs engaged, and it rolled open.
Highway stretched behind him. They were already out of California again and across another state. It looked like t
he route toward the Gresham Ranch.
Cain staggered to his feet. “Don’t you—” he began.
Abel jumped.
He angled for the side of the road, but his shoulder still struck pavement.
And then he was flying.
Abel had an instant to stare up at the cold blue sky and realize that he had been struck by one of the cars behind the semi.
His body bounced on a windshield. Glass fractured. He tried to grab something—anything—but the momentum pushed him off the back of the car and onto the road again.
Brakes squealed. Abel tasted rubber. Immense pressure crushed him against the pavement.
His body burned with the healing fever as soon as the injuries were inflicted, making him seize and shake. Two cars—he had been hit by two cars, and he was still in the middle of the road. But he couldn’t get up. Couldn’t make his shattered legs work.
He threw his weight to the side and rolled onto the shoulder just in time to feel another car blow past him. His arm slid over shattered glass, and then he was surrounded by prickly bushes and the smell of sage.
Abel was a mess of pain. One big bruise. It felt like every single bone was broken.
“Heal,” he groaned to himself. “Goddammit, heal.”
He had to get up before Cain came around for him again. Had to make a run for it, and find Rylie before she got hurt.
But he hadn’t been able to eat much lately, and it made his bones knit back together too slowly. Abel gritted his teeth and tried to pop his shoulder into place. Pain scythed through his chest. He roared.
Footsteps crunched toward him.
Abel looked up, and he saw his ugly excuse of a half-brother standing over him, arms crossed and right eye a mess of blood. He was flanked by three men in black shirts. “Now, don’t you feel stupid?” Cain asked. He jerked his thumb at his men. “Put him back in the truck.”
FIVE
Collusion
When Gwyn and Rylie returned to the kitchen, they were both smiling. “Sunday,” Rylie said. “We’re going to get married on Sunday.”
Seth was finished doing the dishes. He rinsed the soapy water off of his uninjured hand and dried it on a towel. “We are? This Sunday?”
“Yeah. Gwyn says we can have it together by then. She’s going to take care of everything.” Rylie’s cheeks were pink.
“You’re welcome,” Gwyneth said as she stuffed her feet into cowboy boots, threw on a denim jacket, and grabbed her keys off the hook. “Walk us out to the truck, wonder boy.”
He headed outside with his arm around Rylie’s shoulders. The snow had stopped, but it was chilly, and she looked so beautiful with her cheeks rosy and hair tucked into the collar of her jacket.
“Do you want to come?” Rylie asked Seth as she climbed into the front seat of the truck.
Gwyn responded for him. “We’re heading down to the dress shop and the florist. This isn’t groom business. Don’t worry, there’s going to be plenty for him to soon.”
“I missed a call from the California sanctuary, too,” Seth said. “I think I have real work to do.”
Rylie leaned down to kiss him through the window. “And weddings aren’t real work?”
He backed away with his hands in the air, making it clear that he knew better than to comment on that. “I’ll see you soon.”
She rolled up the window, and Gwyn pulled out of the driveway.
His smile faded as he checked his cell phone. The call that Seth had missed wasn’t from the California sanctuary. It was from Scott Whyte’s cell phone.
He called him back.
“Where are you?” Scott asked without preamble.
Seth pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear, got behind the wheel, and started his car. “We’re with Gwyn again. I haven’t been able to reach the sanctuary for days. What happened?”
“Cain attacked us. The Union didn’t even see it coming—half of their men turned around and started shooting the others. It was a mess.”
Seth pounded his fist into the wheel, making pain radiate through his broken hand. “Dammit. How many casualties?”
“Too many. Stephanie, Bekah, and Levi are safe—we made a break for it as soon as we realized what was happening. Most of the pack is heading your way now.”
“Did you see Abel?”
“Abel? No.”
Seth jiggled his knee as he considered the situation. He had no way to find out where his brother was—either brother. But he somehow doubted that Cain would able to resist the urge to attack Rylie’s wedding.
His first impulse was to call his fiancée and tell her that they needed to delay it.
But an idea dawned on him. A terrible idea.
“Where are you now, Scott?” Seth asked.
“Not far from you.”
“Head to the Gresham Ranch. We need to get everyone together there.”
“Why? That sanctuary’s not any safer than the one we left behind in California.”
“I know,” Seth said, heading for the diner where he had left Trevin and Crystal behind. “That’s why we’re going to lay a trap for Cain and Eleanor.”
Seth told Trevin and Crystal what he had planned as they drove out of town again.
“You’re nuts,” Trevin said flatly.
Seth rolled his eyes. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“I don’t know about nuts,” Crystal said carefully, tapping her fingers on her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe suicidal.”
“Nuts and suicidal,” Trevin added.
Crystal poked him hard in the ribs. “Shut up. I’m just saying, there’s got to be a better way to do this. Using your own wedding as a trap to lure in Cain?”
“We don’t have a lot of choices left at this point,” Seth said. “He’s ruthless, and we’ve been a few steps behind him this whole time. We have to get ahead. We have to be prepared.”
“What does Abel think about this?” Crystal asked.
Seth fell silent as he drove along the highway, unbroken hand clenched tight on the steering wheel.
To be honest, he wasn’t sure that Abel was ever planning on coming back. Not after the last conversations they’d shared. They had been through a lot together as brothers, but the division over Rylie seemed to be the last straw—and marrying her wasn’t going to make that any better.
All he said was, “Abel’s got bigger worries.”
Seth wasn’t surprised when they reached the Gresham Ranch to find that Yasir was already waiting for him. The Union commander was alone for once—he wasn’t even driving one of those black SUVs with the long antennae. He leaning against an early nineties Ford Taurus that looked like it was held together with duct tape and hopes.
“I’m surprised you came back,” Yasir said by way of greeting when Seth climbed out of his car.
“Why did you come if you didn’t think I’d be here?”
Yasir shrugged stiffly. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I can’t trust any of the men on my team anymore. Half of them are tattooed with those damn apples.”
Crystal and Trevin got out. Their gold eyes burned with suspicion, but Seth held out a hand to calm them. “Yasir is okay,” Seth said. “Get inside and start collecting ammo. Okay?”
Yasir watched the wolves obey with his eyebrows raised. “You’re leading the pack now?” he asked once they were gone.
“Not really. That’s still Rylie’s job. But those are the only two that I’m certain are on our side right now, and they’re going to help me kill Cain.”
“You’ve got my attention. What’s the plan?”
“The plan?” Seth laughed. “The plan is that Rylie and I are getting married.”
The commander folded his arms. “That’s going to be a major security event.”
“I know. That’s why I’m asking you to be my best man. And I want you to bring guests—a lot of them.”
“Have you asked your bride what she thinks about having the Union at her wedding?” Yasir asked. Seth answered w
ith a guilty grin. “So this will be covert.”
“It’s better than waiting for Cain to come and kill us. Worst case scenario? We can have a dozen armed men in the audience ready to take him down. Best case scenario, your men get to enjoy an open bar.”
“There’s only one problem with that,” Yasir said.
“The traitors.”
He nodded. “Even if I only bring men that I trust to the ceremony… I trusted Stripes. You understand what I’m getting at? I don’t know if there’s anyone in the Union that’s safe to bring.”
“That’s why your people won’t be the only ones prepared to fight,” Seth said.
Yasir’s expression changed from one of caution to something more appreciative. “This could be a bloodbath.”
“If that’s what I have to do to secure safety for Rylie, then let it be a bloodbath.” Seth held out his uninjured hand. “Will you stand with me?”
Yasir shook. “I would be honored to be your best man.”
SIX
Traitors, Liars, and Floral Arrangements
It turned out that telling Gwyn about her wedding and pregnancy wasn’t going to be the hardest part of Rylie’s day. It was trying to get a dress fitted without having to run to the bathroom to throw up.
“You okay, babe?” Gwyn asked from outside the stall.
Rylie groaned as she flushed the toilet. “No. I’m dying.”
Her aunt chuckled. “I stayed with your daddy for a few weeks to help around the house while Jessica was pregnant with you, and she did the exact same thing all nine months.”
All nine months? Just the mention of it made Rylie want to throw up again.
She sat in front of the toilet for another minute, and nothing happened, so she gave up waiting. “I thought it was supposed to be morning sickness,” she said, getting up and wiping her mouth with a square of clean toilet paper.
“Sure. Morning, afternoon, and evening sickness. It’s a good sign, though. Means that the baby is healthy.” Rylie pushed open the stall door, and Gwyn gave her a gentle hug.
“I don’t feel healthy,” Rylie said.
“Yeah, I bet you don’t. Come on. We’ll just tell the tailor to use the measurements from your prom gown.”
