by Hattie Hunt
Ripley’s padfoot stirred inside her and something like trust or a tentative hope of understanding lashed out, but quickly retreated.
Well, she guessed she needed to consider that.
Chapter Nine
Joe glared into the amber foam at the top of his cup. He was livid.
And upset.
No. Livid.
At his mother, his brother, his soon-to-be sister, his own sister.
At Ripley.
No. Not mad at her.
He was terrified.
And that pissed him off.
He gripped the red plastic cup a little too tightly, and homemade ale sloshed over the edge onto his fingers. Shit. He switched hands and flicked his wet hand, dark liquid spraying into the grass. It made no difference. The cup was wet too. Now he had beer on both hands. He tossed the cup’s contents into the bush and crushed the cup in his hand.
Joe sucked in a long breath, tuning out the celebration going on all around him. He’d just finished telling Ripley how stupid she was for not telling him.
Now, he’d proven she had been right to hide her padfoot status from him.
Was he just as bad as his mother? He loved the woman. The holy spirits knew just how much he loved her. But, sometimes when she went off on her bigoted, racist—not racist, but disgustingly close—rants, he…he didn’t know what to do. Part of him couldn’t believe she really meant what came out of her mouth. The other part knew, deep down, that she did. He had always thought that if he could just show her, he could change her mind.
Momma just had some very ugly opinions. It didn’t make him love her any less.
It just meant he didn’t like her all the time.
Which also meant he sometimes wanted to strangle her, because punching his momma in the face would be rude.
He lifted the broken cup to take a drink, forgetting he had tossed it. He stared at the cup indignantly for a second, and then looked ruefully around, glad that no one was inside his head.
Brett and Juliet had secluded themselves in the growing shade of the house. They were arguing.
Joe closed his eyes, truth blindsiding him in the face. Brett might die.
No. He wasn’t going to die. The cure would work.
But if he did? What then?
Brett was probably angry that someone he trusted would consider suppressing his bear.
Joe had learned early on that most people didn’t understand the full meaning of the word trust. For a twin—or at least twins as close as Brett and Joe—trust was everything. Trust was the air they breathed. The food that sustained them.
And neither of them understood how anyone could live in this world without knowing there was someone who could help with anything. Brett wasn’t just an outsider whom Joe had decided to trust with his life and soul. Brett was a part of his life and soul.
And when Brett had chosen Juliet, he’d found someone to be part of his life and soul.
At least, he’d thought so. Until today.
Joe didn’t know how he would have reacted to hearing…well, he didn’t have a girlfriend, so maybe it was different. But if Brett had come to him and said that he might need to suppress Joe’s bear, Joe would feel betrayed on a level that cut to his core.
He could understand why it had to be a consideration. If the cure didn’t work—
Brett was a part of him. He didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. It was like thinking about the possibility that he might die or go crazy.
Joe needed to separate himself. It wasn’t him. It was Brett.
If Brett lost control, they might not have another choice.
Joe didn’t like it.
Uncle Ira stepped up next to him, a brown glass bottle in his hand. “You’re looking awfully dour for such a happy occasion.”
Joe didn’t want to talk about it. Ira was a good man, but he was still Momma’s brother, and thus came from the same bigoted line. At least Ira didn’t share his views at the same volume or as often.
Ira raised his chin and saluted Joe with his beer.
Joe gave the man a tight smile that he hoped read, leave me the fuck alone, Uncle Ira, and turned away.
Apparently, it didn’t work.
Ira stepped up beside Joe and took a long, hard pull on his beer. “You realize Cheryl only wants what’s best for you.”
That would sound a lot better if anyone actually gave a damn about what Joe wanted, or if any of them knew or cared to understand what the hell was going on. “Yeah. I know.”
“Doesn’t look like you know,” Ira said, his tone low.
Joe didn’t want to correct him. He didn’t want to change his mind, either.
“When we were growing up,” Ira said, settling in beside Joe for the long haul, “the Sisterhood was just starting up in this area.”
Joe had heard the stories. The Sisterhood had been around for a long time but had only started gaining power after the witches splintered. By the time Joe’s mom had been born, the Sisterhood had a good foothold, but it wasn’t anything like it was now.
“There was a time when the only thing that protected us was our good strong lines.”
Joe had heard this so many times, all he wanted to do was to roll his eyes. Apparently, immaturity went hand in hand in hand with livid. He settled for leveling his eyes on his uncle. “It’s not that way now. The bears don’t need to stick together anymore. We can branch out, marry who we want.”
“You think so? Do you have any idea how much the world has changed just in the last generation?”
“Yeah.” Joe knew. “You mean like how people of the same sex can marry now? Or all the other things we’ve progressed with? You mean that?”
“You think it’s that easy, cub?” Ira shook his head, the congenial expression on his face gone. “Look at those gay people who got married. Okay? Let’s use them for an example since you brought it up like a fucking banner to wave.”
Joe did roll his eyes.
“They were safe as long as the last president stayed in office. What’s happening to them now?”
Joe didn’t have an answer. He’d been watching that and several other issues roll backward.
“How long are they going to remain married? How long are they going to retain their rights?”
Joe shifted from one foot to the next. He didn’t know, and he didn’t like that he had to ask that question. It shouldn’t be a question.
“It’s the same thing here. You’re safe to marry whoever you want.”
Joe frowned, waiting for the other shoe to fall.
“As long as the Sisterhood remains.”
His uncle had a good point. Kind of, and like the other matter, he didn’t want to even think about it because it shouldn’t be an issue.
“Some see the Whiskeys being here as good thing.”
Joe hadn’t cared one way or the other. They were the first witch family to return to Troutdale after the war that had broken the covens and sheltered the paranormal society within the protection of the Sisterhood. When the Whiskey witches returned, they’d somehow managed to bring down the Eastwood coven.
As long as they stayed in their own witch business, Joe didn’t care.
But the Whiskey coven leader was the captain of the paranormal division at the police department. The Red Star Division did concern Joe. Not that he had a thing for breaking the law, but what happened if he got on the wrong side of those witches one day? And the witch kids were going to the same school as the other paranormal kids. What happened if a kid shifted and bit one of them? Would there be another war?
Ira nodded, content that he’d made his point. “She’s trying to keep our line strong for a reason, Joe. Just let her do what she needs to. There’s a reason we look up to her as the Momma Bear. She’s seen us through a lot already.”
Joe frowned. What had she seen them through already?
Ira clamped Joe’s shoulder with one hand, then left him.
The talk with Ira di
dn’t make Joe feel any better. His brother was in trouble, the kind that he didn’t know how to fix, and he didn’t even know what to worry about—apparently, all of it. He needed to fix something. He needed to make something right.
He set his tattered cup on a table and took off in the same direction Ripley had gone.
Joe knew the way to Chief Tuck’s so well he could almost walk it blind folded. He had never actually tried it. When her mom and dad died and she moved in with Tuck, Joe had gone to visit her every night for over a year.
And she had never once known that he was there. Not in the creeper, Twilight way, but in the she-just-wasn’t-paying-attention-and-Tuck-hadn’t-forced-the-issue kind of way.
Walking up to that door now brought back all those memories in a way that made some sense, but still hurt. She’d turned him away. She’d set him aside.
Cue another one of those moments that most people didn’t get. Joe was a twin. When he cared for someone as much or more than he cared for the one person who was with him on everything, being set aside felt like a betrayal. He couldn’t get over that word. It was just too true. She could have explained. He would have listened.
But Ripley wasn’t the kind of person who talked, and she’d never been close to anyone. He knew that, but it still didn’t make sense. How could a person live like that?
He knocked and listened.
Two voices; one male, one female. The female’s voice rose in question. Heavy feet walked across the wood floor.
The door opened, and Chief Tuck stood in the doorway, out of uniform in firm jeans and a clean flannel shirt. He narrowed his blue eyes, but then took a step back and waved Joe inside.
He had expected the woman’s voice to be Ripley’s. Instead, he found a woman who looked like Ripley in twenty years or so. Streaks of grey highlighted her dark hair, and it reminded Joe of lighting on a dark night.
“Joe Elliot, this is Ripley’s Aunt Myrtie.”
Joe silently cursed himself. With everything going on with the wedding, he should have expected to see some of Jib’s family at Tuck’s. It made sense, now. Tuck wasn’t a Kent. Yeah. He’d taken Ripley in, but Joe had just figured that any of the Kents that might come in for Jib’s funeral would gather over at Sean’s.
Myrtie stood up, stretching out her long legs as she walked over casually, her expression appreciative as she looked him over. “I keep forgetting how the bears in this neck of the woods don’t like to wear clothes.”
Joe had forgotten to grab a shirt on the way over. He licked his lips as embarrassment crept up his neck. His fur prickled over the skin along his chest and shoulders, giving him a shirt. Kind of.
Myrtie chuckled and offered her hand. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”
Which was funny because Joe hadn’t heard anything about her. He took her hand, though, and gave it a firm shake. “Is Rip here?”
Tuck nodded and turned. “I’ll go see if she’s up. She was pretty tired.”
Joe took his hand back and shoved it in his pocket, uncomfortable. “So, uh, where do you live?”
“Montana.” Myrtie folded her arms over her chest.
“Really? Then, you might know my brother’s fiancé.”
She raised a dark eyebrow. “Montana’s a big state.”
But the paranormal community tended to be close-knit. Still, he didn’t know what else to ask or say besides, “Oh.”
“You serious about my Rip?”
Her Rip? That was funny since this was the first he’d even heard of Aunt Myrtie. If they were so close, where the hell had she been when Ripley’s parents died? This woman didn’t deserve to call Ripley hers. “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a low voice, unable to quite keep the traces of challenge from seeping through.
Myrtie leaned in, her dark eyes eagle sharp. “You hurt her.”
Wrong words. Joe leaned in his bear stirring. “Are you threatening me?”
She studied his eyes for a long moment, then chuckled and pulled back. “Gods, no. Just consider it a warning. Ripley is a quite capable woman who will tear out your throat. There ain’t nothin’ I’ll have to do to hurt ya.” She raised her eyebrow again, this time in a challenging salute, smiling through the whole thing. “You hear me?”
Joe’s bear growled low in his throat.
Ripley stepped out of the back, her hair tussled and a mess. She yawned, blinking tiredly as if trying to make sense of where she was and what was going on.
A door closed in the back and toilet seat clinked.
The joys of a small place. Everyone could hear everything.
“There you are, dear,” Myrtie said, turning with a cheerful smile, uncrossing her arms. “Your asshole boyfriend showed up.”
“I’m not an asshole,” he said.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Ripley said at the same time.
Myrtie chuckled and regained her seat in front of the fireplace, the flicker of the firelight dancing on her face as her expression saddened. She picked up her whiskey glass and gestured toward the porch. “Don’t kill him, sweetie.”
Ripley glared but padded barefoot through the living room toward Joe.
Joe opened the door for her, then followed her outside.
Ripley wedged her hands into her pockets and looked up at the dying light in the sky. Conflicted thoughts and feelings tangled in her mind. Part of her was glad he had come. The rest of her wasn’t ready for what he might have come here to say. He’d already rejected her once today.
“I reacted badly.” The words came out too fast, and Joe reached up and ran a hand through his hair.
Still, she could tell he was serious, and he’d react a lot worse after she did what she had to.
He took in a deep breath and tried again. “I should have reacted better.”
“Your brother’s dying, Joe. I think you get a pass this time.” She should mean that. She knew Joe’s world was falling apart around him. But…he’d still reacted exactly how she’d thought he would. Then, he had let his mother berate her. Just like she had known he would.
“We’ll beat this.” He took a step towards her, hand out. Ripley backed away, shaking her head.
That was why she was pissed. The reality of his situation wasn’t sinking in. He sat there thinking they could overcome whatever…this was. The thing between them? Was the virus sucking away his brother’s life? His family? Brave words for someone who had reacted so badly to her padfoot. Who had rejected her to her face.
Ripley opted for easiest answer. “My padfoot says he won’t make it.”
“He will.”
“The sickness is growing, Joe.” She raked her hands through her hair. She didn’t know how to make him see just how serious this was. Honestly, she was tired of wasting her breath. She was telling Chuck, the regional high alpha, what had happened first thing in the morning.
Joe had pulled his hand back, but it looked like he was barely resisting the urge to reach out again. “Will you promise me something?”
Nope. She already knew what he was going to ask. The answer had to be no.
“Will you just wait until after we try the cure? If it doesn’t work, you can tell Chuck.”
“And all those deaths?” Ripley finally met Joe’s eyes, glad her hands were shoved in her pockets. Emotionally, she was a bit of a wreck, but in this light, the way he stood there on Tuck’s porch wearing nothing more than jeans and a little bit of fur—all she wanted to do was to throw him on her bed and pound her feelings out on his chest.
And...well. She wanted to take him as only a woman can take a man.
She made herself look away.
“They won’t happen. The cure will work. Your padfoot’s wrong.”
He didn’t know how the padfoot worked. Well, fuck. Neither did she.
She studied the tree line, willing him away. “When the cure fails, he’s going to start killing people. The ones who survive will be infected, and then they will kill.” Ripley leaned back against the
railing, half to steady herself and half to put herself as far from him as she could. “And all those deaths will be on me.”
“It won’t be like that.”
“And how do you know? Because death doesn’t lie Joe. Don't you think I should at least warn Chuck? You don’t think I should give him a chance to save as many of his people as he can?”
Joe found her gaze, anger blazing.
Ripley rolled her eyes. She wasn’t getting through to him. Not even a little bit. Damned bear-thick skull. She sidestepped him and opened the door. “Go home, Joe. I’m doing what I have to.”
He opened his mouth to say something.
She closed the door on his face and leaned against it, a dark, sucking pit growing in her chest. She knew what she had to do, but why did it make her feel like such an ass?
Chapter Ten
Joe punched a log butted up to the door. What the hell had he been thinking? That he’d change her mind? That apologizing to her for reacting…like anyone would have was going change her mind? Going to Chuck would put a kill order on Brett’s life. Chuck wouldn’t give the cure a chance. He remained the regional high alpha because he made decisions quickly. He’d proven that he would do whatever he thought was best for the pack. For all of them.
This wouldn’t be the first time he’d issued a kill order on one of his own.
No. Joe had been so naïve to think he could change her mind. She was doing exactly what she always did.
Running.
Ripley hadn’t always been a runner. At least, he never thought so. She’d been so fierce. A fighter. And then, all of a sudden, she retreated inside herself and at the first chance she had, she disappeared.
At least now he knew why, but…
She didn’t understand what it meant to stay and fight. She didn’t know how to work for something or someone. She didn’t know how to invest the time, how to believe.
She only knew the quickest route to the nearest bus station or airport.
He pulled himself back a smidge.
Then, he ground his teeth together and charged into the woods between Tuck’s land and the Elliot’s. He wasn’t being hard on her. She was a runner, and she deserved all the judgmental hate he could lob at her. Ripley Kent had sentenced Brett to death.
