by Unknown
"I'm starting to feel that way." I took the book and gripped the cane he gave me, using that for balance instead of the crutches. "Thank you, Smith." I paused, eying him as he led the way to the stairs. "Is that your name? Your real name?"
The shadows hid most of his smile, but not all of it. "One of them."
"How many do you have?"
"One true name, and many others that have been used over the years." He took one stair at a time, slowly so he could help as I maneuvered the bulky cast up the narrow staircase. "Guard your true name well, Meadow. It holds immense power over you, and should only be shared with those you truly trust."
"My true name?" I laughed, shaking my head and gripping the railing so I didn't tumble right back down to the foyer. "There's nothing powerful about Meadow Crawford."
"In the world of magic, knowing something's true name gives you the power to control it," he said in a low voice, as if speaking it aloud somehow made it more dangerous for us both. Almost like the superstition of summoning the devil by saying his name. "We might have to work on your true name."
"Still," I said, frowning as he led the way down a hall to the left of the stairs and I hobbled after him. "Why Smith? Was it a nickname?"
"An occupation, at one time." He turned on the light in a beautiful guest room and went in to turn down the sheets, fussing with the en suite bathroom light for a moment before gesturing at the dresser near the foot of the bed. "There are a variety of clothes in here, please take what you like. There should be all the necessary toiletries in the bathroom. I unfortunately have an early meeting to get to, so —"
"Don't worry," I said, leaning the cane carefully against the wall near the door. "And thank you for letting me stay here. Do you really think I'm in danger, or can I go to work tomorrow?"
"I will check with a few of my friends, and I will call you to let you know." Smith caught my shoulders and bent his knees until we were eye-to-eye. "I am immensely proud of you, Meadow. Immensely. You are stronger than almost anyone else I know."
"Thank you." I hugged him, closing my eyes and inhaling the strong, woodsy scent of his clothes. He might always be a cipher to me, but he was also my uncle Smith, and that was enough.
He disappeared and I puttered around, grateful as the pain medication kicked in and I could finally forget about my ankle again. I tried to read at least the introduction of the book he gave me, but barely got a paragraph in before my eyes drooped. I dreamed of Rafe.
Chapter 11
Rafe walked under his own power into the Council meeting, but every step hurt. The wounds across his chest and legs healed slowly, and the soreness of muscles he pulled trying to save Meadow plagued him as he and Ruby sat behind their table in the Council room. He'd received a message from Smith that Meadow was fine, as well as the address of the bookstore where she worked. The older man otherwise remained cryptic, as if unwilling to reveal too much. Rafe didn't exactly blame him, but he could have used some help restoring the optimism of what he'd shared with Meadow before the BadCreek wolves attacked.
It wasn't long before the full Council assembled, with Logan and Edgar Chase representing the wolves, Kaiser and Axel representing the bears, Evershaw and his brother for SilverLine, and Lacey Szdoka for the hyenas. The jackals had called to beg off the meeting, citing some internal politics that would have distracted from the subject at hand. Rafe tried to mitigate his expectations. Despite the motivation for everyone in that room to wipe BadCreek from the earth, there were a lot of considerations to struggle with.
Edgar Chase started, and almost immediately raised one of the major, and most unnerving, considerations. "BadCreek's compound is located here," and he pointed at a large map of the county west of the city. "They've got acres of farmland and some wooded areas, and a fucking fortress to hide in. There are multiple fences, guard towers, weapons bunkers, and sufficient standoff that any approach will be detected before we're in range to really hurt them."
Rafe clenched his jaw and pushed down irritation as Kaiser's eyebrows rose. None of them expected BadCreek to be so well-positioned. And no one understood how the other pack sprung up under their noses with no one the wiser. He gripped the table until it creaked, and Ruby shot him a dark look.
Edgar, expression impassive, shuffled a few papers and started putting markers on the map and the rough sketch of the compound. "He's got at least fifty wolves working guard duty and throughout the compound. We don't have a good number for the noncombatants, but there's a significant force waiting for us, with substantial firepower. They don't have any tanks, that we've been able to see, but that's about all they don't have."
"So are we supposed to sit here and wait as they snipe at us?" Kaiser leaned back in his chair, hands laced behind his head, although his relaxed posture was a damn lie based on the fury in his pale brown eyes. "They attacked me, via the coyotes, and tried to steal my mate and her family. They won't stop coming after us until we destroy them."
"Agreed," Edgar said. "We've all had run-ins with them. The latest attack against BloodMoon is the most blatant and egregious of half a dozen attacks. From what Owen told me, the autopsies on the dead wolves from O'Shea's indicate BadCreek is giving their personnel performance enhancing drugs. Steroids, amphetamines, all kinds of weird shit to make them aggressive and fearless."
"Suicidal, more like," Logan said, eyes narrowed. His wife's increasingly difficult pregnancy only hardened him, made him less and less tolerant. Rafe knew he could get Logan on his side for a full on assault of the BadCreek compound, though he would have to sway the more moderate Edgar in order to get the entire Chase pride behind them.
"So what are we supposed to do?" Lacey Szdoka, queen of the hyenas, said as she drummed her fingers on the table. She sat there alone, no other hyenas with her. Not even a second-in-command. The hyenas didn't work like that. There was one queen. Power coalesced at the top. Her youthful features had somehow grown more angular in the few months since her mother's death, and instead of the bright-eyed optimist Rafe had known, a hard-eyed autocratic queen stared back. "They've made overtures to us in an effort to split the Council. We already know they've swayed the coyotes. Some of my younger members were almost interested in hearing them out."
At the raised eyebrows around the room, Lacey lifted her fingers in an airy, dismissive gesture. "It was dealt with."
And left it at that. Rafe had no doubts about how Lacey dealt with it. Her mother had been a terrifying figure to confront, even for a pack of wolves, and clearly the apple didn't fall far from the tree.
Edgar eyed her warily for a long moment, then canted his head at the map and sketch. "If we attack them head-on, it would be suicide. We'd be cut to pieces by their weaponry before we even reached the first fence. We're not magic. Even approaching in animal form is impossible; the surrounding area is a fucking minefield of snares and traps."
He was right. They weren't magic. Rafe's chest tightened and he said to no one in particular, "We're not magic, but Smith is. Ask him. He might be able to buy us enough time to get to the fences. He can turn out the lights or mask us or do whatever it is his kind can do."
"Smith doesn't like to get involved in this type of confrontation," Edgar said, shaking his head.
"He's already involved," slipped out before Rafe could bite it back, and as the focus of all the others alphas landed on him, he regretted it immensely. Despite the questioning looks, he couldn't go on.
Ruby finished for him, her tone flat. "Rafe's mate was with us at the bar last night, and she was also attacked. She's associated with Smith. And now we have reason to believe BadCreek might target her, in order to get to Rafe. So Smith is involved if it means protecting her."
Neither Edgar nor Logan looked surprised, and Rafe made a mental note to smack Carter on the back of the head for sharing pack business outside of the pack. Just because Carter shacked up with Ruby didn't mean he could tell everything to his brothers. Rafe folded his arms over his chest and scowled as Kaiser offered congrat
ulations for finding his mate. "She hasn't agreed to stay yet. And being attacked by a rabid pack of wolves sure as fuck didn't help."
"No, I don't suppose it would," Miles Evershaw said, just enough smirk on his face that Rafe started growling.
"Before this turns into a dick-measuring contest," Lacey said, interrupting as Evershaw and Rafe lurched to their feet and the lions did the same, likely to keep them apart. "Can we make a decision about BadCreek?"
Logan frowned at Evershaw but nodded to the hyena queen. "We need to. Edgar will work with Smith to figure out if the fae will get involved. That might expand our options for an assault on the compound. If he won't participate, we're left with fewer courses of action."
A lot of grumbling met his announcement, and a few alphas lingered to discuss or study Edgar's map. Ruby took one look at Rafe's face and pointed at the door. "You should go, brother. Take a walk or something. Go check on Meadow."
Meadow. The ache in Rafe's chest lessened when he thought of her. He took a deep breath and headed for the door, grateful for the blast of freezing air that slapped some sense into him. He's almost put aside his rage by the time he parked near the bookstore where she worked in the nicer part of town. He had to take a moment to knock the smile off his face: it was a new-age bookstore, complete with an all-seeing eye and ankh on the sign. Rafe composed himself, certain that laughing at the bookstore would be a sure fire way to piss Meadow off, and shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked in.
She sat near the back, past aisles of books and candles and essential oils, at a small table covered in velvet. Meadow read a book, not looking up as he approached, and Rafe debated whether to interrupt her. She looked so peaceful, paging dreamily through a book with her cast propped up on a cushioned stool, that he almost turned around and walked out. But the incense and patchouli in the air worked against him and tickled his nose. Rafe sneezed.
Meadow said, "Bless you," as she looked up, and she froze in mid page turn.
"Hey," Rafe said, but he didn't sit. It was her space, her territory. He was the intruder. He should have waited until she invited him to the bookstore, or at least disclosed its address, but he couldn't wait to see her again.
"H-hi," Meadow said, and started to stand.
"Don't get up." Rafe gestured for her to sit and eased closer as she glanced around to see who else might observe them. Her cheeks flushed and Rafe's heart started to thump. She was so beautiful he almost forgot what he was going to say. "I'm sorry to interrupt your work, but I wanted to check on you. See how you're doing."
"Work?" She held up the book with a smile. "Not so much. It's a slow day. And I should be asking how you are. Is everything — okay?"
"Very much." Rafe sat in one of the small chairs at her table, feeling like he would crush the chair to kindling if he stretched or sneezed or moved at all. "Smith mentioned you worked here, so I thought I could check in. And ask you to dinner."
"Dinner?" Meadow blinked and set the book aside.
Rafe hid his smile and composed his face into a serious expression. "We didn't get to finish dinner last night, so I thought we could try again."
"I'm not sure I'm up for a night out," she said, and patted her injured leg. Some regret cast shadows across her face, and he wondered if she didn't want to go out at all, or just with him.
He nodded, though, and checked his watch. "How about a night in? I can cook. An early dinner so you get plenty of rest."
She hesitated and he resisted the urge to celebrate. So it wasn't entirely him. Meadow sighed. "I'm done in about half an hour, but —"
"Time for one more reading?" Rafe pointed at the sign that said 'palms read,' and she flushed again. He didn't bother to hide his grin, and held out his hand. "I've always wondered how this stuff works. Tell me my future, Meadow."
She studied him closely and bit her lower lip, and he wanted to leap across the table to kiss her. God help him. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for his hand, but she still managed to give him a stern look. "Fine, but no making fun."
"Never." The wolf retreated, more relaxed as she held his hand, and some of the tension faded from Rafe's shoulders.
Meadow gnawed on her lip as she frowned at his palm, leaning over it until her nose almost bumped his wrist and her breath warmed his skin. He watched her tousled curls fall over her shoulders and knew exactly what his future held: her. However he could convince her to stay in his life, that would be enough. He wanted her as his mate, in his home, to build a life together. But where and when and how and what that life looked like... he would wait an eternity, cross any bridge and obstacle, do whatever it took to make her happy. The wolf was perfectly content to walk away from everything they had just to be with her.
Chapter 12
I'd been so engrossed in the book Smith lent me that I didn't notice when Rafe walked into the store. The stories collected in the book fascinated me so much I wanted to take notes and scribble down memories so I could ponder them later. Probably in the shower, where I did my best thinking.
And then he stood there, relaxed and gorgeous in battered jeans and work boots and a thick black sweater, and I couldn't think about anything else. Especially when he asked me to read his palm and held out his hand, his dark eyes laughing at me. I couldn't concentrate as I touched his wrist, the heavy weight of his hand in mine and the rough texture of his skin sending shivers all the way through me. He radiated heat, like a furnace with five o'clock shadow, and smelled delicious. Faintly like wood smoke and the forest and snow, crisp and outdoorsy. Like adventure, maybe.
I cleared my throat and tried to focus on his battered palm, stroking my fingertips across the mess of lines and scars. "Are you — are you right or left handed?"
"Left," he said, one eyebrow raised. "Sinister, right?"
"Something like that," I said, flushing, and bent once more over his hand so I wouldn't giggle and squirm. The weight of his attention made my cheeks heat up and my stomach clench, and I chewed the inside of my cheek as I tried to remember what to say. Instead I started babbling, stammering my way through random details just to cover the fact that I wanted to kiss his palm instead of reading it. "Well, most of us learn that the dominant hand reveals the direction your life has taken, and the non-dominant hand shows character traits, personality, things like that. Destiny, even."
I dared a glance up and found him watching me, a hint of a smile curving his lips. His very full, very kissable lips.
"Well," he said, his voice a husky rumble that made my skin prickle and my breath catch. He tugged his left hand out of my grip and offered his right, pushing up both sleeves of his sweater, and the smile grew. One eye closed in a lazy wink as he leaned forward and touched my cheek. "Tell me my destiny, Meadow."
I laughed, a high-pitched girlish giggle I'd never heard before in my life, and almost fell off my stool. For some reasons my own palms were sweaty as I tried to decipher the lines and creases across his broad palm. His fingers, strong and thick, curled briefly around mine, and I looked up long enough to give him a jaundiced look. "Cut it out."
He only smiled more. I shook my head and splayed his fingers, tracing the shape where the life line met the head line. "Well, right here shows that you are very strong-willed, that you'll overcome many obstacles in your life." I tried to ignore the easy feeling of his fingertips resting against the inside of my wrist and the squirm of desire that ignited a slow burn in my stomach. "Hmm. And your relationship lines... You have a couple. Very strong lines, here," and I tapped the skin right below his pinky.
"So I'm going to get married a couple of times?" He only sounded half-joking. "Because I've only ever met one girl I wanted to marry."
My heart jumped but I refused to look up, terrified of what I might see in his expression. I'd known him for exactly two days. He couldn't mean me. And if he didn't, it would break my heart. "Relationship lines don't mean marriages, they just mean strong relationships, people who are significant in your life. And here — the lin
es that cross them. Those are for children. You'll have four, maybe five."
He laughed, a deep chuckle like liquid chocolate. "Good. The more the better."
My cheeks should have scorched his skin as I leaned over his hand again, and I absently stroked a defined wrinkle under his index finger. "And this is the Ring of Jupiter. You're a strong leader, a capable and intelligent leader, a thoughtful and empathetic friend. You'll be that the rest of your life."
"Makes sense," he said, easy and relaxed, while I felt as tense as a coiled spring. "I've been in charge of the family for years."
"It is a heavy burden," I said. And he showed the scars from it, in small white nicks and divots across the back of his hand and up his forearm. The veins stood out in his arm and I had to focus on his palm before I melted into a puddle at his feet. I placed his hand on the table and pointed to one last area. "And here you have a trident, which is a very lucky sign. It means you'll be healthy, wealthy, and happy."
"So I've got good hands, is what you're saying?" He studied his own palms, peering at them as if he could divine his own fortune, and I flushed more. He had amazing hands. Strong and capable. I could imagine them touching me, squeezing my...
I cleared my throat and shoved back from the table, fumbling with my book as I tried to compose myself. "Well, yes. You've got good lines."
