“Why the fuck can’t we work things out?” he panted. This wasn’t the time for a relationship talk, but being back at the cabin had exposed his emotions.
His childhood was a mystery and he was alone in the world. Alone except for his mate underneath him. Why couldn’t he be with his mate the way they were meant to be?
She hitched her knees up and gripped his ass, her fingernails digging into his skin. He fucking loved it.
“Because we’re both too stubborn,” she gasped. “I’m close. I can’t believe how fast you can get me off.”
He could say the same.
Instead he slowed and dropped himself to his elbows. Lowering his head by her ear, he said, “Why can’t we work on it? We’ve got time, right?”
She stopped rocking her hips and met his gaze. “Are you…are you serious?”
Stroking her hair, he brushed a kiss across her pink lips. “I’ve missed you. And these last few weeks have been…”
“A relief?”
He smiled. “Because you finally get cooked meals?”
She grinned, biting her lower lip. “That’s nice, too.” Her expression turned serious. “We still have the same problems. I can’t run out and mate you until we resolve them.”
“I’ll keep my fangs to myself?”
He wanted to coax a smile from her, but she feathered her hand along his hair. “I want to know you won’t leave me when we hit the next rough patch.”
Her words had a physical punch. He sucked in air. Had he been in the wrong to walk away? “I won’t leave you. But the succession thing… I’m not going to be strung along.”
“I’ll work on the home front if you stay by my side and talk me down from the insanity ledge.”
He dropped his head to kiss her before asking, “We’re a thing again?”
Cupping his face, she gazed solemnly into his eyes. “We’re a thing again.” She rocked her hips into him. “I think that calls for make-up sex.”
“We have five years to make up for, princess.” The next kiss was longer, and he poured his feelings into it. Maybe it was finding a hidden part of Uncle Wolf that had opened him up to hoping for a future with Shilo again. Knowing that the old man had hidden his past while Waylon had none, no one wondering who Uncle Wolf was, how he’d ended up—Waylon didn’t want that to be him.
But his future was with her. Shilo leaned on him, but it wasn’t her current state of dependency that tied him to her. He didn’t need an ego stroking. It was the feeling of home, of belonging that she provided.
It was why it hurt so much when she’d acquiesced to her parents’ wishes.
Shoving the past and the concerns of the future out of his mind, he concentrated on the present. On the female writhing underneath him. On being able to finally acknowledge that his life was a shell without her.
This time was going to be different.
Spreading out the traditional dress, Shilo smoothed all the wrinkles and double-checked the bead attachments. These dresses weren’t for show. They’d get danced in with all the twirling, bouncing, and shimmying that went with a powwow.
Once a month, members of the colony gathered for the casual trade of skills and goods. Orders were made as the attendees drank coffee and socialized. It was mostly a party for those who didn’t party.
Waylon stood off to the side. For the last few days, in public, they were back to merely being in the same orbit. He guarded her, she carried on like he wasn’t there.
In private, she clung to him and pretended he wouldn’t have to leave her bed by morning.
A woman bounded up, her long black hair pulled back in a clip. Dyani, one of the human mates of the colony, was the proud owner of the dress. “Oh, this was just like I wore when I was a girl.” She walked a circle around the table, inspecting every inch of it. “I could never have even imagined this level of beadwork.”
That was her gift. Before Shilo had discovered the level of design she was capable of, the colony had done their own period pieces. Any elders passed their wisdom on and the members struggled with the literal definition of traditional. But one thing stayed the same: time moved forward. Memories grew foggier, details more clouded, and human mates lost touch with the world they’d once known—the brittle curse of a human mate outliving their loved ones and moving on with shifterkind. As isolated as Ironhorse Falls was, it could be harder to cling to the past, and losing one’s history wasn’t always a good thing.
Mother’s goal with all the packs was to preserve as many customs and ceremonies as they could. Matings were 100 percent shifter. No marriages, no weddings. They observed Christmas, and the few Jewish mates they had in the colony had taught them about Hanukah. Valentine’s Day was fun and the Fourth of July could get wild. But the annual powwow was a tradition that had been around for almost a century. The event took place in September and had morphed into the final goodbye to summer as the colony turned toward planning for the brutal winters.
It was during one meeting when Shilo had been thirteen that a pack leader had detailed moccasins his mate had been wearing when he’d met her. He’d recited the details of the dye colors and porcupine-bristle decorations. Shilo had hunted a porcupine that evening, risking quills in her muzzle, and crafted a pair that had made a proud shifter weep openly.
The outfit she’d produced had shocked the members of the colony. The next year, a friend had asked for one. Soon, she was constructing vibrant outfits with little guidance on the variations between native peoples. She just knew. The same happened when she’d quilted a wall hanging for a relatively new mate who’d just lost his German mother.
As for her shifter side, she could sew any fur that came her way into the finest stole or coat, which they may have to revert to. As rural as they were, residents managed to buy Columbia or North Face winter outerwear, but if Passage Lake succeeded at cutting them off entirely, the colony might need to unearth those old skills because she wouldn’t be able to keep up with demand.
An elderly female shuffled her way.
“Hey, Olga. How’s it going?”
Olga was graying and getting slower. She was a human mate, but she’d been a member of the Ironhorse pack for longer than many of their members had been alive. Her floral dresses with laces at the hems were cute as a button and the thick white orthopedic shoes she wore didn’t slow her down. It was a fool who underestimated Olga.
“Another masterpiece, Ms. Ironhorse.” Olga never called her Shilo, and her words still had traces of a Norwegian accent. A little heavier stress on a consonant here, a drawn-out vowel there.
“Thank you.” It was high praise. The older woman never gave out false compliments.
Olga dug into a little pouch she always had secured around her waist. She produced a fist full of neatly folded bills. “With Bergen’s help, I saved up some money.”
“Oh?” Shilo’s interest skyrocketed. The family was notoriously frugal but some of the best producers in the colony. Working the soil with their hands and not machinery meant they didn’t spend what they earned lightly.
“I’ve been having dreams of home. It’s been so long…” Her bright-blue eyes turned melancholy. “I’d like my own traditional dress. When my time comes, I want to go wearing the garb of my homeland.”
Having been born a shifter, in a shifter colony, Shilo was in awe of those who sacrificed everything they knew for the love of their mate. It’d been an impossible task for her. “I will make any dress you want.”
Olga pulled out a nearby chair. Her gaze was unfocused and a haunting smile graced her lips. “I want a festival dress, a bunad.”
Shilo asked a few questions on coloring and style. The more Olga described the type of dress she wanted, the easier Shilo formed a mental image. An A-line tucked in at the waist, flowing to the ankle. Beading starting at the collar, traveling down the bodice into an explosion on the skirt. Though this was her first Norwegian design, the image in her head was fully realized down to the colors and types of beads she’d use.
“Do you want me to sketch it out for you before I start?” she asked. “And when would you like it by?”
Olga shook her head and stood, taking an extra second to steady herself. “You always take good care of us. I trust your creation. And…as soon as possible, please.”
Shilo smiled but fiddled with the craft box she packed in case there were any wardrobe issues caused en route. Take good care of us. By crafting. How much did that help? She was supposed to the future leader.
A brush across her nape made her look over her shoulder. Waylon’s chiding gaze was on her. He’d probably heard Olga’s comment and guessed what she was thinking. They shared their insecurity about their inferior mental abilities.
Shilo closed her craft tackle box and flattened her hands on the material. After smoothing invisible creases out of the garment, she neatly folded it for Dyani to take home.
She hefted her gear. “I want to get started on this order for Olga.” The frequent trips to Freemont had set her behind. Olga never asked for much, so if she wanted the dress ASAP, she’d get it ASAP.
Waylon was her shadow out of the building. He still received curious stares, but the hostility had faded. He was clearly intent on his duty to watch her, and for now, that was good enough for them.
But it didn’t explain why Waylon wasn’t welcome in Ironhorse Falls. Even before he’d left her, residents hadn’t gone out of their way to be friendly. Uncle Wolf had been treated better, despite being the colony recluse who hated to talk to anyone.
In the Jeep, he paused before he threw the vehicle in gear. “When are we talking to your parents?”
She was surprised he’d waited this long to ask. “Charlie and Cass’s funeral is this weekend. Can we wait until after that?” She’d be emotionally wrecked and need time to recover before she unearthed old arguments that had never seemed to go anywhere.
Waylon’s stare was lingering and lacked hostility. Disappointment? “After the funeral then.”
“Good. And now, I need a run in the woods before I call that damn contractor tomorrow.” She’d put the discussion with her parents off for at least another week. It was her big accomplishment of the day.
Chapter 13
The send-off for his old friends was peaceful, unlike their deaths. He wished he could’ve done his own inspection of the crime scene, but he didn’t have any special skills or possess the same training as the Guardians. He had to trust what they found. Or in this case, what they hadn’t found.
The Guardian who’d escorted the bodies to Ironhorse Falls had discussed the results of their investigation with Weatherly and Shilene. Shilo and Waylon had been in the room and that was it. The information would get disseminated down to the individual pack leaders—after the Ironhorses decided on what details to keep to themselves.
But it was unnecessary. The Guardians had found nothing. The couple had sat still while they were bled out and beheaded. No clues. No camera footage. No scents, nothing out of place, no evidence of any kind.
How convenient.
Shilene tied up her speech, her strong, firm voice carrying on the wind to the hundreds of people that had showed. Funny how two of the most well-liked shifters in Ironhorse Falls had befriended him.
Waylon clasped his hands in front of him. The ceremony wasn’t fancy, but he felt like he stood out in the only clothes he’d packed: T-shirt and jeans. At least he had a black pair of each. He glanced up at Shilo, wanting to do nothing more than hug her shaking body close to him as she silently cried for her lost friends. But he stood behind the rest of the crowd, routinely scanning familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. Only grief hung in the air, no hostility, not even toward him.
As everyone wandered down the path to the parking lot, he kept Shilo in his peripheral. She meandered down the trail with her parents. Breaking off to go to the Jeep, she waved to her parents and said, “See you at the house.”
He held the door open for her, then crawled in on his side. The line of cars wasn’t as long it would’ve seemed from the crowd. Several had walked from town, many others carpooling. Not many shifted and ran. So many human mates had made them a more chaste colony than others. Even his own time among humans had given him a case of modesty.
The drive down the hill and winding around town was quiet. He’d sat with Shilo on his lap last night as they’d shared stories of the old times with Charlie and Cass. Grill outs. Runs to the nearby falls Ironhorse Falls was named for. Movie nights.
Car salesmen. They’d been in Freemont how long, and he hadn’t known they were there? If he’d known, would he have contacted them or been too afraid to cross paths with Shilo?
Water under the bridge. He was with Shilo now. That was what mattered.
She would talk to her parents, and no matter how it turned out, he was here to stay.
Her parents were in a Range Rover in front of them. They slowed and Shilo sat forward. “What the fuck are they doing here?”
Waylon was intent on the vehicle in front of him; he hadn’t glanced up at the house. In front was a black Escalade, and waiting at the landing, with his sharply creased trousers and his foot resting on the lower step, was Langdon Covet. His expression was placid but his gaze intense as it switched from the Range Rover to the Jeep. A calculating gleam entered his eye as he caught sight of Shilo. It was wiped out by a hard edge when he looked at Waylon.
Paulie stood by the Escalade, still in his overalls, like a mechanic-slash-bouncer, whatever the occasion called for. Another male and a female got out as they approached. The same from the meeting in Freemont, Oscar and Brynley. Weatherly stopped behind the Escalade, but Waylon continued past to the back of the house.
“What are you doing?” Shilo muttered, moving her lips as little as possible. Yeah, he wouldn’t put it past the fuckers to read lips, either.
“They’re looking to throw us off. We’ll do the same.”
He parked in his normal spot and they got out. Shilo was charging to the door, but he jogged toward her.
“Take your time. Saunter in. You have the power here, whether Langdon thinks that’s true or not. Show him that this is your territory.”
Determination rippled through her and she slowed.
They strode in. Shilo played her part well.
She entered with a smile and took her standard chair at the table. Waylon took his normal post. Langdon pretended Waylon didn’t exist, but a muscle in the male’s jaw tensed and his expression hardened.
Paulie made no attempts to feign ignorance. He glared openly. Oscar and Brynley were dressed like Langdon understudies. Pressed slacks. Blazer. Dark colors. All they needed were shades and they could be extras in a cop drama.
Weatherly’s pride shone through his eyes, but Shilene bristled with annoyance. At her daughter or at the unannounced visitors?
Langdon sat forward, his elbows on the table, his hands clasped. His suit jacket stretched enough around his frame to show off the bulge of his muscles. A tailoring effect, no doubt. Arrogant prick. He used every advantage. “Now that we’re all here, I can get started. I have a proposal that will help your colony.”
Shilene tipped her head, her expression obviously an unspoken You’re kidding me, right?
“I’ve listened to Shilo’s troubles over the years. I think I can help. Human contractors don’t take her seriously. I hate to say…they almost look to me for guidance.”
Waylon wanted to cough “bullshit” into his hand. Did Langdon really think they were buying his sincere act?
“And to touch on a sensitive subject, I’ve heard about the unfortunate circumstances of Shilo’s mate.”
Waylon stepped forward. He’d take that fucker down a notch—by smashing his fist in the male’s nose. Shilene cut off his advance with a sharp glare. Paulie angled himself to block Langdon.
As for Langdon, the smug bastard, he remained above it all. “I will mate Shilo and unite our packs.”
Shilo snorted a laugh. Waylon didn’t know if anyone else mad
e a sound, he couldn’t hear past the pounding heartbeat in his ears. The male wanted to mate Waylon’s female?
No. Never.
Shilo would set them straight about her “unfortunate” mating circumstances.
All she said was, “I’m not mating you.”
Langdon spared her a glance. “But it’s not entirely up to you, Shilo. Your parents are in charge.”
Electricity charged through the room.
Weatherly was shaking his head, but Shilene spoke. “And if we decline?”
Langdon parted his hands in a what-can-I-do gesture. “I imagine it’ll continue to be an uphill battle for Shilo as your negotiator. It certainly doesn’t inspire confidence in her ability to lead if even humans can’t take her seriously.” He paused, the effect pure theater. “The rest of the colony will start to doubt her ability to lead. I’ve already heard rumors.”
“That you started?” The words burst out of Waylon before he could stop them.
Langdon cast him a cool look. Brynley stiffened, her gaze darting around the room. Shilene’s expression was full of daggers and death wishes.
When was Shilo going to tell them that she was off the market?
“We’ll think about it,” Weatherly said. Shilene nodded.
A delaying tactic. Had to be.
Langdon sucked in his lower lip and let it out slowly, flashing a hint of fang in the process. “I’m afraid I can’t afford to give you that long. I’m putting my own mating status on the line, and I can’t hang in limbo.”
Waylon’s vision tunneled, going cloudy around the edges. All he had to do was chew through the male’s neck and this would be over. He wanted to dive into Shilo’s head and tell her to announce that she was taken, but she didn’t need the distraction.
“One week,” Langdon said.
“One month,” Shilene countered.
Shilo’s head bobbed back and forth like she was a spectator at the world’s sickest tennis match.
“Two weeks and my offer is withdrawn. I’m sure you could use my help with the contractors. I’d hate for increased delays this close to winter.”
A Shifter's Claim (Pale Moonlight Book 4) Page 11
