Howl of the Sequoia (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 1)

by Deidre Huesmann

  “Still smart,” remarked Holden.

  Rachael climbed down from the wall. “Yeah, well,” she mumbled, absently twirling the crushed zinnia between her fingers. She dredged up her small modicum of wit to cloud her embarrassment. “You don’t have to be too much smarter than inanimate objects to use them.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Holden. “I think fifty percent smarter is a good indication of intelligence.”

  “So I’m like a camera and a half smart?”

  Holden stood but didn’t make a move toward her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  An unbidden flush crept up her neck. Rachael uttered a dismissal and turned away. The tightness in her chest and heat in her ears were uncomfortable, and for no discernible reason she wanted to get away from him.

  Fortune smiled upon her in the form of her mother. Sheila opened the sliding glass door, her smile bright against the sickly pallor of her face. “Little lamb, would your friend like some juice?”

  It was against the rules her father had laid out, but her mom was not a person one simply said no to. Rachael cast Holden a sideways glance and nodded.

  “I’d love some,” Holden accepted. “What do you have?”

  Her mom beckoned them into the house, slipping the door closed behind them. “I wish I could say little lamb’s apple trees were ready to bear fresh fruit, but all I can offer is store-bought mango or orange juice.”

  “Little lamb, hmm?”

  Fear froze Rachael on the foyer to the kitchen. What is he doing in our house?

  From the table, Aaron turned his charming smile from her to the little boy beside him. “Nathan, do not spill.”

  In her periphery, Holden appeared equally displeased at the presence of the brothers. “I thought you took him to the car,” he stated.

  Aaron gave him a measured, calculated look that made Rachael feel as though she’d just swallowed a dozen live daddy long-leg spiders. “I did,” he replied coolly.

  “I invited them in,” said Rachael’s mother as she poured Holden a glass of mango juice. She handed her daughter one as well before turning an adoring gaze to the demure blonde boy. “He was just too cute to ignore.”

  Nathan beamed at that. “I’m cute,” he bragged to his brother.

  “Mrs. Adair is a little out of your league,” Aaron told him affectionately. “You are not ready to pursue older women as of yet.”

  “That’s real appropriate,” Holden said flatly.

  Something in the air shifted between that moment and the instant Aaron’s eyes narrowed. It was gone before Rachael could place her finger on it, but she suddenly lost her thirst. Even Nathan had diverted his dark eyes to the table with more interest than a boy his age would normally expose.

  The next thing she knew, Holden was taking a seat quietly and Aaron had moved on to compliment Rachael’s mom on her lovely home. Though her mother seemed to have noticed the brief tension, she played the good hostess and thanked him.

  “Really, this is all thanks to Henry. He works so much to keep our family afloat, and he put in so many overtime hours when we found out we were having Rachael. This is pretty much the only home she’s known.”

  Rachael sipped at her juice. The way Aaron’s eyes sparkled caught her interest, but she was still too uncertain of him to call attention to it. Everything about Aaron was nice and neat on paper, but he was still off, somehow.

  “You are fortunate to have such an attentive husband,” said Aaron.

  A soft smile played on Sheila’s lips. “I try to tell him so.”

  Conscientious tugging on her shirt turned Rachael’s attention to Nathan. Solemnly, the boy said, “Someday I’ll be a good husband, too.”

  Wry amusement seeped into Holden’s voice. “You’re a ways off from there, kiddo.”

  Defiantly, Nathan replied, “Not that long. Delilah promised me.”

  Unable to hide her gasp, Rachael choked out an excuse before she scampered from the room. She drew stares, but nobody came after her, much to her relief. Now was not the time to discuss her strange dream—if it had been a dream.

  Delilah.

  Really, she had barely thought of the incident in days. Rachael had been so busy with working on the field trip, spending time with her mother, and trying to avoid her classmates in the light of recent drama that the mystery girl had all but slipped her mind. Subconsciously, Rachael touched her throat.

  “Stay away from Holden. And mind your own damn business.”

  Though she knew it was rude, Rachael decided to stay in her room until the uncomfortable tingling subsided. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind a tumultuous storm of conspiracies and paranoia and unsuccessful reasoning.

  “Call me Delilah.”

  Had it been a dream? Had it been real? Marks had never shown up, nothing that proved she was ever strangled or even approached by the creepy petite girl, but the memory remained fresh even days later. Nothing about the girl seemed familiar; Rachael couldn’t imagine that she had accidentally offended her. Unless, of course, it was another one of Coleen’s games. But what sort of person would recruit such random and needlessly violent cruelty? And what were the odds Nathan would know a girl with that name? Delilah was a pretty name, but Rachael could not honestly say she had ever met one before that moment in the school nurse’s office.

  The more she thought about it, the more Rachael felt equally paranoid and vindicated with each crazy theory.

  Rachael was not sure how long she lay there before her mother entered, concern and exhaustion etching lines all over her brow. “Are you feeling all right, little lamb?”

  Guilt stabbed Rachael. If her father found out she’d caused her mother this much stress, he’d be furious. “Yes, Mama. I just felt . . . dizzy.”

  Her mom sat beside her on the bed, smoothing stray hair from her face. “Are you hungry?”

  “Maybe a little,” she lied. In truth, Rachael had no appetite, but it would not do for her mom to worry further.

  “I’ll make dinner soon,” her mother promised. She moved to stand, and then paused. “Nathan thinks he upset you. Maybe you should tell your friend it wasn’t him.”

  Rachael mustered up a weak smile. “I’ll tell him at school on Monday.”

  But she wouldn’t, she knew as her mother closed the door behind her. Because it sounded like she was crazy. And if she was losing it, well, she wanted to hide it until Holden moved out of the country again at the very least.

  Not because of earlier, she assured herself fervently. Even so, a blush crept up her neck again, and Rachael had to hide her face in the pillow. She wasn’t developing feelings for Holden, not like that. She wasn’t.

  But she was making a friend. Between Holden and Vera, Rachael realized how much she missed that—and how she needed them now more than ever.

  Chapter Eight

  “Who is Delilah?” asked Aaron calmly.

  He kept his hands on the Jaguar’s steering wheel in specifically the 10- and 2 o’clock positions, eyes roaming the road, side mirrors, and rearview mirror in equal spaces. It had taken quite some time to adjust to a motor engine as opposed to a horse-drawn buggy, but once the shockwaves had passed through him over a couple decades, Aaron was pleased to find he quite enjoyed cars. And, as with anything else he enjoyed, he adhered strictly to the rules and regulations with precision and enthusiasm.

  One of his occasional glances in the rearview mirror told him all he needed to know. Nathan was taken aback by the question, as though he’d forgotten he’d even mentioned Delilah. In all fairness, no one had called him on it, even though it was the obvious trigger to whatever made Rachael leave the kitchen.

  Innocuously, and trying far too hard, Nathan said, “Who?”

  Aaron shot Holden a sideways look, and then jerked the steering wheel to the left. The Jaguar took a sharp turn. Aaron did not enforce a seatbelt rule for the exact reason the results gave him. While Holden had just enough warning to grip the side handle of his doo
r, Nathan had zero indication, and slammed all the way across the backseat and into the door behind Holden. Nathan yelped on impact.

  As they continued down the road, Nathan whining and Holden grimacing, Aaron kept his cool and said, “Let us try that again. Who is Delilah?”

  Sullenly, Nathan said, “A girl.”

  Obviously, Aaron thought. He allowed a couple minutes of silence. If Nathan wanted to reconsider his lies, he had this respite to do so.

  And Aaron had very little patience for lies within his pack. Roxi-Dezzy-Oni tried his patience enough on that front; he didn’t intend to accept the same from his flesh-and-blood brother.

  “Where did you meet Delilah?” he tried again.

  His brother pretended to be more interested in the burger joint they whizzed past. Not that Nathan wasn’t hungry, he was sure, but usually the boy was prone to eye the dogs their neighbors walked over a silly fast food restaurant.

  “At school,” Nathan finally answered.

  His fingers began to twitch on the steering wheel. Aaron forced himself to still the motions. It had caught Holden’s attention, but the brief look he gave his charge said nothing more than, Stand by. Holden relaxed his grip on the door handle, but shifted so he was leaning slightly against the door itself.

  “And what made you decide to marry her?” Aaron continued his interrogation.

  The reaction he received was not on his list of expectations. Nathan turned his opaque eyes to him in the mirror, eyes they shared from their long-deceased predecessors, and widened them in genuine surprise. Then he frowned, but it seemed he was more perplexed than scrambling for another lie.

  Almost as though he had expected Aaron to know the answer already.

  Slowly, Nathan said, “She asked me. Said we was gonna—”

  “Were going to,” Aaron corrected.

  Annoyed, Nathan finished, “—were going to be married someday.” He punctuated his statement with a cavalier shrug. “I like her okay.”

  No tell-tale signs of lies were showing, but omission was just as bad, as far as Aaron was concerned. He let out a slow, careful breath. Then, as he turned the car down the empty dirt road leading to their temporary home, he gave a subtle flick of his wrist.

  Holden leapt. Over the side console, into the back seat, utterly silent as he cuffed Nathan on the side of the head. Snarls erupted behind Aaron, and he heard a snap that sounded suspiciously like a bone breaking. Satisfied they were far enough from human sight to draw attention, Aaron took a split second to watch the scuffle over his shoulder. Nathan’s oft-sweet eyes were narrow and glittering; Holden’s shoulders tensed. After a brief ineffectual scrabbling of sinewy hands, Holden finally caught Nathan by surprise by slugging him in the diaphragm.

  Nathan was small, but he was nowhere close to human. Even in the car he had started to shift. The punch changed that and he doubled over, winded, his nose beginning to protrude into a snout, white-gold fur sprouting in patches across his eyebrows and jaw line, hands that were halfway paws closing around his stomach as he tried to catch his breath.

  Shoving Holden back into his seat with more authority than anger, Aaron stated, “You know I do not appreciate lying, Nathan.” A puppyish whimper responded. “Change back. Now.”

  Having already recovered, Nathan curled into a brooding ball. Gradually, as turning human took far more effort than going wolf for most of them, his cherub-sweet features returned.

  To Aaron’s right, Holden was trying to set his broken and bloody finger. An audible crack! reverberated. Nobody flinched; broken bones were part of being a lycan, especially in the early stages of transformation. Even Holden, much as he hated what he was, had adapted to setting bones and waiting for his superior immune system to heal the break.

  Regardless, Aaron said, “Splint that. If anyone asks, it is a sprain.”

  “Sure,” Holden said dully.

  Finally, the mahogany Gablefront home loomed into view. Aaron pulled up to the spare four-car detached garage and parked between his slate-gray Lexus and cerulean Mercedes.

  Before Nathan could run for the house—or more likely, the woods—Aaron told him sharply, “Go straight to the study and wait for me. So help me, if I find a pen out of place, I will give you a scar to match Holden here.”

  “But I didn’t do anything!” Nathan whined.

  Aaron said nothing. He matched his brother stare for stare, his features a smooth mask as Nathan scrunched his nose and puffed his cheeks. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Six passed before Nathan blew out an angry gust of air and stomped to the house.

  In the meantime, Holden had unlocked the trunk and was rummaging through the first aid kit he’d found. The supplies provided would only make a splint last a few days, but that was all it would take for the bone to heal completely.

  Wordlessly, Aaron watched him. Holden’s ring finger had terrible gnash marks consistent with Nathan’s smaller fangs. Between his big and middle knuckle, the finger had been broken almost completely in half and was swelling in the aftermath of Holden’s attempting to set it. Before his charge could wrap the splint, Aaron took hold of his finger and twisted. Another crack hit his eardrums, much softer than the last.

  Hissing, Holden withdrew his hand. In strained politeness, he said, “Thanks.”

  Aaron folded his arms over his chest, nodding once as his personal spy finished applying the bandages to his finger. Once Holden seemed settled, he went straight to the point. “Do you know who Delilah is?”

  Holden slammed the trunk shut, not meeting his eyes. “Wish I did.”

  Interesting. It wasn’t often Holden was out of the know as far as the pack . . . but Aaron supposed that was to be expected, given his new assignment. “What of Rachael’s reaction?”

  This time Holden looked up. “Wish I knew,” he repeated. “She hasn’t said anything about a Delilah.”

  “I suppose being suspended makes it more difficult to become a confidante of hers,” said Aaron pleasantly.

  Irate, Holden appeared to barely manage to keep his temper in check. “I’m sorry I didn’t perfectly follow the plan,” he said through his teeth.

  Aaron waved it off. He’d heard enough apologies to last him another lifetime. He rubbed absently at a scratch on the Lexus before murmuring, “Dealing with an ill relative makes many other matters seem less important.”

  His charge raised a rusty eyebrow, but declined to comment. Instead, he said, “I can talk to Nathan.”

  “I think not.” Aaron turned to leave, Holden’s sneakered steps his only indicator that the youth followed. “You are delegated to intelligence gathering for a reason. Interrogation is not your forte.” That was being kind, he knew. Holden had a knack for unnerving people in exactly the wrong way; they’d clam up instead of caving to pressure to spew their secrets.

  Deadpan, Holden said, “I can make dinner.”

  Aaron cracked a smile. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Beef stroganoff. But since I didn’t kill the cow myself, rabbit stew.”

  “That sounds lovely.” Slipping a small remote from his pocket, Aaron looked over his shoulder to ensure the garage door closed as he pushed the button. Satisfied, he strode to the backyard.

  “Yeah, well. It’ll be mostly vegetables. I only caught one rabbit.”

  Lackadaisical, Aaron said, “One last hoorah before you are free?”

  “Kind of hard to hunt and do someone else’s yard work and babysit all in one day.”

  This time Aaron’s smile was toothy and sincere. “You are clearly not ready to lead a pack.” At Holden’s dull stare, he sighed. “Call me when it is ready.”

  Clearly relieved to be let go, Holden vanished around the side of the house. Aaron waited until the front door slammed shut before continuing his stroll into the woods.

  Even with his brother and charges in school, Aaron rarely had time to himself. When the kids were out of the house, he had to make enough money to support them (easy enough) as well as rent (fairly simple) and his
enthusiasm for luxury cars (much harder these days). For the first time in three months, he was able to walk aimlessly and allow his thoughts to meander.

  As they had so been during his brief respites, those thoughts went to Rachael. Aaron was no amateur; he knew precisely what about her piqued his interest. She was deceivingly demure. The fighting spirit may have been dampened by her complicated family situation, but their first encounter had encouraged a suspicious spark from her filmy eyes. As if it had occurred just hours ago, Aaron recalled her expression as she turned her eyes from the tension emanating from Holden to him.

  Curiosity was her first reaction. Then skepticism, fear, and a pull she hadn’t seemed to recognize for herself. But Aaron had. Reading people, human or lycan, was a gift he’d honed over the decades.

  She knew there was something off with him. Predatory. And Aaron both admired and respected her instincts.

  Learning she had seen Holden in his lycan form, whether she knew it or not, only pleased him further.

  There was not much he could do at the moment. As much as he liked her, Aaron understood his intentions came off as creepy to most humans. It was why he had to tip his hat to her father, treat her mother with undue admiration, and give truth to his façade: that of the caretaker.

  It wasn’t just about liking her. Aaron knew a prime situation when he saw one. Rachael’s family was falling apart. She was in imminent danger of losing everything, from her mother’s companionship to her father’s attention. She had no close friends, no ties to the community, no aspirations—for the moment—to seek out bigger and better things. She was so devastatingly close to the state he had discovered Roxi-Violet-Tammy literally broken and dying in the aftermath of a massacre.

  Worse, his bleeding heart murmured that he wouldn’t allow himself to leave without showing her that there could be more. More of the world to explore, more people to love—more families to hold.

  Aaron both relished and detested what he would have to do, should she accept. Rachael would be torn from the reality she knew and thrust into a foreign and frightening world where only a select few survived it.