by Lauren Esker
Damon was saying something else, but now it had hit her like a ton of bricks that she'd been staring at him like an idiot while he probably just wanted to get her out of his way so he could go back to doing whatever he was doing before she ran into him. "Sorry, sorry," she babbled, hastily extricating herself. "I'm sorry, I'll just—see you later, I guess?" And with that, she beat the hastiest of hasty retreats.
It was a small town, after all. They'd probably run into each other again, whether either of them wanted to or not.
2. Damon
"—Rain check, though?"
But she'd already pulled away from him and was in rapid retreat. Damon stared after Julie as she disappeared back into the trickle of rainy-Saturday shoppers.
"Is that a yes or a no?" he called plaintively after her.
Wow. Little Julie Capshaw had certainly grown up. Damon remembered her as the cute kid next door, with a nest of blond curls and freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose. She still had freckles, but just the faintest dusting of them now, enough to add a girlish touch to her sturdy bone structure and enhance her wide blue eyes. And that gorgeous busty figure was definitely brand new.
Well, he thought, new in the last decade, anyway. He hadn't seen her up close since that night in the woods. In a small town, it was impossible to avoid each other completely, and he'd glimpsed the familiar curly blond head from afar on frequent occasions while he was shopping at local businesses or helping with the family's market stall. But this was the first time in years that he'd run into her—literally.
All these years, he'd wondered how much she had blamed him for that night. He still couldn't tell if she was mad at him. She'd seemed friendly at first, but then turned suddenly cold.
Well, of course she did, you idiot. She invited you out on a date and you just turned her down!
But he had a lot of things on his mind. Not the least being this deep, strange tingling feeling, rising up from inside him, stirring his instincts—was it possible—
"Damon!"
He turned, startled. His sister was waving him urgently behind the counter of their stall. Damon tried to shake off the lingering sense of ... of ... whatever it was, and went to join her.
He expected to be instantly grilled about talking to Julie Capshaw, but instead Vanessa was too distracted to even tease him about it. "Well?" she demanded in an undertone as soon as he was close enough. "Spill!"
Damon nodded, instead, to a middle-aged woman browsing their produce. Vanessa rolled her eyes but didn't ask more questions until the woman had paid for a bag of spring lettuce and walked away.
Then she whispered, "So? Did you just get back into town? You talked to the Matheson pack alpha, right? What did he say?"
Damon shook his head. "We had a nice polite cup of coffee, one wolf shifter to another—but that's it. He didn't even want to touch the topic of Dad and the pack."
Vanessa growled softly, and then smoothed a polite smile on her face and helped another customer. As soon as they were relatively alone again, she turned her back on the jostling market crowd. "It's the good ol' boy mentality that's going to do us in. None of the wolf shifters of Dad's generation are willing to help us against him, even when they're willing to admit he's not the best alpha the pack's ever had. What will it take, burying a body in the woods?"
"In the old days, that's exactly how the packs used to solve their problems."
"I know! But we aren't living in 1896 anymore."
"Not that you'd know it by talking to some of the older wolves," Damon sighed. "I thought maybe Jared Matheson would help us because he's not that much older than me. But he wants to stay on the good side of the local packs, most of which are run by older alphas. Rebellion in the ranks, except through a proper challenge, is something they aren't willing to condone. They're too afraid it'll threaten their position in their own packs."
Vanessa moaned and ran her fingers through her hair. "You know, in a way I can even see it from their point of view. Conspiracies and politics ... I hate it too. But, Damon, if we don't find a way to put a better alpha in charge, your father is probably going to wind up killing you in a dominance struggle one of these days. And you still can't defeat him."
Damon winced. "Please don't remind me."
"I'm your little sister. Knowing your weaknesses and exploiting them is my job." She winked at him to take the sting out of the teasing, but then her playful smile vanished. "And another part of my job as your sister is reminding you that you aren't invincible, so you don't get into a fight you can't win."
"If I could defeat Dad, none of this would be necessary—"
Vanessa's hand darted out quickly, touching Damon's lips. An instant later, a small group of wolf shifters strolled out of the crowd and up to the Howling Wolfe Farms stall. They were all three swaggering along like they owned the place. The Saturday shoppers moved aside to let them pass, unconsciously, probably not even noticing they'd done so. Something in the human hindbrain responded to the subtle sense of predatory menace radiating off them.
"Hey, look, little Damon's back in town." Brad Wolfe leaned on the counter of the market stall.
"Cousin Brad," Damon returned evenly. "Nice to get a welcome committee. Makes a guy feel appreciated."
Brad's twin brother, Barry, moved in on the other side. The third member of their group, a stranger who seemed somehow familiar, slid along beside him in an oily kind of way.
Brad and Barry were Damon's uncle's kids. They were a few years older than Damon and his sister, and they made up the enforcer squad of the Wolfe pack. Anything Damon was careless enough to say in front of them would be reported straight back to his father.
So instead, Damon jerked his thumb at the vaguely familiar stranger. "Who's your friend?"
Barry grinned, showing teeth that had a predatory slant despite their human bluntness. "Vanessa knows. Don't you, cousin?"
The strange wolf smiled toothily, and the hairs stood up on the back of Damon's neck. This stranger was a pack alpha—not of their pack, but Damon recognized the instinctive urge to either bend down in submission or challenge the powerful sense of dominance that swept over him. He refused to do either; instead he let it roll over him, keeping his back straight and meeting the stranger's glittering yellow-brown eyes.
The other wolf shifter was a big guy, broad-shouldered, in his late 30s or 40s. A scar ran across his forehead, under his hairline. After giving Damon a cursory once-over, he looked away as if Damon was beneath his notice. Vanessa, however, got a long, appraising stare.
"Good to see you, little Vanessa. My, you've grown up nicely." Forehead Scar leaned across the counter and put his hand on Vanessa's. She pulled hers hastily away.
Damon bared his teeth. "Hey, don't touch my sister. I don't think she wants you putting your hands on her."
"Oh, really?" The stranger raised his eyebrows, crinkling the scar tissue. "Mouthy brat, aren't you?"
"Brat?" Damon repeated in disbelief. Sure, the outsider wolf was a decade or two older, but Damon was a grown man, not a kid.
"Come on, man," Barry said, jerking his head at the stranger. "There's nothing going on around here anyway. Let's go down to the bar and see if they're serving yet."
Forehead Scar gave Vanessa a leering smile, which she didn't return, and strolled off with the Wolfe cousins.
"Jerks," Damon muttered after them. Under his father's mismanagement, it seemed like things in the pack got tenser every day. "What was that all about? And who the hell was that, anyway?"
"That," Vanessa said between her teeth, "was my new fiancé, Cain Renner."
Damon stared at her. "What?"
Vanessa dropped her eyes, unwilling to meet his gaze. "Dad arranged it while you were gone."
"Nobody uses the old arranged-marriage customs anymore!"
"I know," Vanessa growled. "But try telling that to Dad. And you know what the Renners are like. They're exactly the kind of traditional wolf-shifter pack that Dad gets along with, the kind whe
re you can't even go for a walk without the alpha's say-so. I'll probably end up stuck in the back-end of nowhere, popping out litters for that Neanderthal."
Damon's temper flared at the idea of his smart, stylish sister trapped in an arranged marriage in the middle of nowhere. "I'm going to give Dad a piece of my mind. Right now. Where is he? At the house?"
"Damon, don't." She caught his arm. "You can't fight it. None of us can. You'll just get yourself hurt."
Damon jerked his arm away. "The reason why Dad gets away with this is because no one ever tells him he can't."
"No, the reason is because he's the biggest, meanest wolf in the valley, and we all know it! Just give it a couple more years, Damon. You'll be stronger—"
"And you'll be married to that jerk, and—" Julie, he almost said, Julie will probably have married some sheep shifter in the meantime. Why was he thinking about Julie Capshaw at a time like this?
But he couldn't stop thinking about her—hadn't been able to, really, after looking into her eyes.
What does it mean?
But he knew. Every wolf shifter knew. The old folks always said some people knew their mate at first sight. He just hadn't realized it would be someone he'd known since they were children.
"I can deal with being married to Cain Renner better than I can deal with Dad killing you!" Vanessa snapped, and tried to grab his arm again.
"Let go!" he snarled. She did, with a startled, hurt look.
The realization didn't sink in until he'd stormed out to the parking lot that her sudden capitulation wasn't just Vanessa giving in. He'd been so furious—not at Vanessa, but at his father—that he'd exerted alpha dominance over her without even meaning to.
Huh.
He really did have alpha potential. Not every wolf did.
This gave him a little more hope that he might be able to make some headway against his father this time.
Damon swung a leg over the seat of his motorcycle, and unhooked the helmet from the handlebars. He'd had the bike since he turned eighteen. All the boys in the family got one; it was a sort of coming-of-age present. Brad and Barry, true to form, had gone for massive Harleys and roared around like they owned the whole town. Damon, however, had fallen in love with an older Honda Gold Wing that needed some work, and had fixed it up himself, lovingly restoring every part of the bike. She was a fine lady now, painted black with red trim. He ran an affectionate hand over her gleaming fender, brushing off mud from the ride in the rain.
As he tore out of the parking lot, he had a sudden, vivid mental image of Julie on the back of the bike, blond hair streaming out behind her in the wind. She'd be laughing, her curvy body snuggled up against him and arms wrapped around his waist, warm against his back ...
Damon shook himself, and signaled a turn at the corner with the Dairy Queen. The same Dairy Queen where he'd helped Julie against those bullies, all those years ago. Funny how it seemed like he couldn't go anywhere in this town without running into Julie, or a memory of her.
And he couldn't stop thinking about the way her bright blue eyes had arrested him, the way she'd grown up and filled out, those ample breasts straining against her sweater—
Knock it off, Wolfe. You've got other things to worry about right now.
***
Damon expected to find his father in his home office, but instead he was in front of the Wolfe farmhouse, chopping wood.
Damon pulled into the driveway on his motorcycle and killed the engine. For a few minutes he just sat there, listening to the ping and pop of the cooling engine. The rain had stopped, but the air felt heavy and wet.
Verne split wood neatly and efficiently. Each swing of the axe was placed exactly where it needed to be, peeling off a gleaming chunk of well-aged pine, with the strength of Verne's powerful arms behind it.
It was like a metaphor for their entire lives, Damon thought. Verne preferred a polite, docile, well-run pack. If anyone stepped out of line, the axe came down.
Verne looked up between axe strokes. "Well, don't stand there. Make yourself useful. Get over here and stack some of this."
Damon put the kickstand down, hung his helmet on the handlebars, and came over like a good little wolf. Inwardly he kicked himself. This is not how you start a conversation in which you tell your dad he can take his pack traditions and shove them!
But the urge to obey was too deeply ingrained. He crouched and began to pick up pieces of wood.
"Dad," he began.
"Did I give you permission to speak?"
Damon's lip curled away from his teeth. He dropped the wood and stood up.
Verne looked at him in surprise. These days, Damon was tall enough to look his father in the eye.
"I talked to Vanessa," Damon said. "I met her, uh ..." He didn't even want to grant that greasy stranger the respect of calling him Vanessa's fiancé. "I met the Renner pack alpha, too. Dad, what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking it's time for that girl to do her duty by her clan," his father shot back, with a hint of alpha dominance behind it. "She's certainly old enough."
Damon forced down his rising anger. He had to keep his cool. It wasn't hot rage that would win against his father; he'd tried that, and it didn't work. Cold, contained determination was the only kind of rebellion that seemed to come close to making a difference. "Old enough to be married to a much older stranger against her will?"
"He'll be a good mate for her, and it's not as if she's found anyone else on her own," his father said, complacent. "Though I know how much pack tradition means to your generation. I heard what you've been up to lately."
Damon's stomach lurched into his throat. He knows. He knows I've been talking to other packs, trying to put together a coalition against him. He really is going to kill me ... "What did you hear?" he managed.
Verne's lip curled. "I heard about you talking to that Capshaw girl at the market. I thought we'd settled that issue long ago."
Not the rebellion. Thank God. He tried to keep his relief off his face. "We just ran into each other," he said.
"Well, don't let it happen again. Those worthless sheep are nothing to us."
"Not Julie," he said, forcing the words out against the gathering pressure of his father's alpha aura. "I don't need your permission to talk to her."
"Do you really think so?" Verne scoffed. "Try me again, and see how you feel about it."
"The fact that—I think—" He couldn't get the words out. I think my mate is Julie Capshaw. If he said those words to his father, would Julie be in terrible danger? He didn't dare. Yet it felt like a betrayal of Julie not to say it.
"I see," his father said, when no more words emerged from Damon's dry throat. "Well, forgetting those woolly-headed morons for the moment, the deal for Vanessa is done. Cain and I already made the decision."
"You can't do that without consulting her, sir!"
"Uniting the Wolfe and Renner packs will give us control of half the valley. Cain and Vanessa's firstborn will be alpha over both packs. It's an ideal solution."
"Yeah? What about the fact that Vanessa hates it? And have you forgotten that I'm your firstborn? I'm going to be alpha after you."
Verne laughed. "You? Come on. You don't have what it takes to rule this pack."
Damon snarled. He hadn't come here meaning to challenge his dad. But the challenge against his father's alpha dominance came flaring up from inside him. He had to push back or be crushed.
Verne whipped around with the axe in one big hand, turned so the handle was toward Damon, and swung it at Damon's face. Damon couldn't avoid it completely, but he managed to twist enough to take the blow on the side of his head rather than having his nose broken. He staggered, seeing stars, and fell to one knee. The surge of rebelliousness was washed away in hurt and shock. Verne's powerful alpha aura froze him in place. He couldn't even get up.
"That," Verne said, standing over him as Damon crouched on hands and knees in the mud, "is why you'll never be alpha. Now stack this wood."
> With that, he walked away, swinging the axe loosely from one big hand.
The aura let go. Damon stayed on his knees for a moment longer, struggling with rage and humiliation. It always ended this way. And Vanessa was right. His father could have killed him, if the axe had been pointed the other way.
One of these days, he swore, glaring bitterly at his father's back. One of these days I'll defeat you. I won't let you marry my sister to that Renner bastard. I'd rather die first.
And his father couldn't stop him from seeing Julie. No force on Earth could do that.
3. Julie
Julie found it deeply weird sleeping in her old bedroom, the one she had shared with Ava throughout their childhood and teen years. Ava had her own place now, an apartment on the other side of town that she shared with a roommate. Julie had wondered why Ava would pay rent to live a few miles away when the farmhouse was right here, instead of living at home like Terry still did, but now she understood. It gave her the same feeling as she'd had earlier that day while helping her mother at the market, like she was trying to squeeze herself back into a skin she'd outgrown.
Tonight, she couldn't sleep. She kept thinking about Damon, going over and over that chance meeting at the market. Was he angry at her? Or had he only been distracted?
She should call him. Maybe she could get his number from one of his friends. Or, would that be too forward ...?
A rattling sound drew her attention.
She thought at first she was just hearing more rain on the roof—it had been raining off and on all afternoon—but this was sharper, louder. Julie sat up and pushed the covers back. The sound came again, and this time she recognized it as pebbles rattling against the window.
Seriously?
She padded over to the window and pushed it up so she could lean out, wearing nothing but her nightgown. At some point in the last few years her parents had cut down the old maple tree she and Ava used to climb down, so she had an unobstructed view of the lawn.
