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

by Deidre Huesmann

  Aaron’s eyes sparked to life for the first time since he’d left the Moreno house and Nathan behind. “You mean to say if you had properly informed me of everything, as was your job, this would not have occurred.”

  Heat flared in Holden’s face. “That’s—”

  “Something else you conveniently did not inform Ms. Adair,” Aaron cut in coldly. “I would suggest keeping your mouth shut, pup.”

  His scars were lines of acid on his belly, but Holden’s rage overpowered his internal warnings. “Give me a break! You waited until Roxi nearly killed her. You forbade me from being your spy. I could have found out way sooner if you didn’t baby them.”

  “And if you had, what would you have done? Killed Roxi yourself?”

  Something wrenched in Holden’s chest. “Of course.”

  Aaron’s eyes were black and fathomless as he searched Holden’s expression. “No,” he said softly. “She was one of your pack. You might abandon us, but you could not possibly kill one of your pack.”

  “Roxi was—”

  “Family,” Aaron growled. “Were you capable of murdering your own family, you would have rid yourself of us long ago. You have certainly had ample opportunity.”

  Holden had nothing to say to that. Truth saturated his leader’s words, to a point he was uncomfortable even giving him a hard time about snapping Roxi’s neck. A glance off to the side proved the girl was still lying there, her body temperature increasingly cooling, neck wrenched into an unnatural angle.

  As though reading Holden’s mind, Aaron said, “I had hoped to wait until she became a wolf, but. . . .”

  He didn’t have to explain past that. Holden exhaled heavily.

  Then Rachael stirred.

  Immediately Aaron barked, “Get her away from here.”

  It was one of the few times Holden had no desire to argue. He started to stand, trying to support Rachael as she squirmed.

  “What’s going on?” she slurred.

  Holden encouraged her to stand on her feet. She stumbled but he allowed her to use his body as support. “I’m taking you home.”

  It was difficult navigating her away from the scene quick enough. Rachael twisted to look and almost immediately let loose a keening wail. “Jackie. . . .”

  “We’re taking care of him,” Holden assured her.

  The trek back to the house wasn’t terribly long, but Rachael seemed intent on making it difficult. She attempted to break free of his hold and run back to her brother. Holden had no trouble restraining her physically, especially since her wobbly leg insisted on hindering her, but her screaming made him wince. “Don’t take him, please, don’t take my brother, too! Jackie! Jackie!”

  Heartbreaking as it was to tear her away, Holden did as he had been told. He kept a stern grip on her forearm as she limped, always a step behind him. When the Moreno house came into view Rachael fell quiet, though her shoulders were stiff under his hands.

  As much as he wanted to give her some space, Holden didn’t trust her to stay put if he let her out of his sight.

  Nathan was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Holden didn’t want to be the one to tell the boy that he would have to bury the girl he’d loved.

  The twinge in his chest reoccurred. Holden wondered if Aaron was right, that he was attached to Roxi in spite of loathing her as a person. If so, it was hardly an amusing prospect.

  The keys were right where Aaron had promised. Holden snatched them up and dragged Rachael back outside. Her limping gradually became a little more willing with each step, though her small hisses of pain did not escape him.

  Needs her father more than a hospital, huh? Holden thought angrily. Still, as much as he wanted to defy Aaron, he helped buckle Rachael into the passenger seat with every intention of taking her home. Rachael refused to look at him, her gray eyes deadened as she gazed at the spotless dashboard.

  Halfway into the drive to her home Holden spoke again. “I have to be quick dropping you off. You gonna be okay?”

  “No,” Rachael said flatly.

  Of course. Holden tightened his grip on the wheel. “I could stay for—”

  “No.” She finally looked up at him. Her tone exhibited anger, but in stark contrast her expression was just . . . exhausted. “Just fix Jackie.”

  He was about to point out there was no “fixing” her brother. Instead Holden wisely kept his mouth shut and gave a single curt nod. She was probably overwhelmed enough. And in any case, she was also right. His position now was back with his pack. Jackson had a horrible few weeks to face should he survive. And if the fever had settled in as it typically did within a few hours, he was very likely beginning to recognize what sort of hell his life had plunged in to.

  Holden had a long week ahead of him as well. Jackson would have to be hidden, their traveling arrangements would have to be made very quickly with utmost caution, an alibi would have to be concocted for Jackson’s disappearance and probable death, Roxi’s body had to be hidden well, and more important than anything else was that wherever they put Jackson for the time being had to be such that nobody would hear his screams.

  Rachael’s voice broke his whirlwind thoughts. “Drop me off here.”

  Blinking, Holden slowed the car down. “I can take you home. It’s not that far.”

  Sighing, she explained, “Someone saw me running away. Daddy probably called the cops.”

  He hated to do it, yet there seemed to be little choice. Holden reluctantly pulled over. Rachael climbed out with some minor difficulty, paused before shutting the door, and looked in at him.

  “Sorry.”

  Bewildered, Holden could only watch her leave and wonder how her apology could make him feel so guilty.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The numbness between her mother’s death and the day of the wake seemed like a distant, sweet dream. Rachael had been crying herself sick since Holden had dropped her off four days ago.

  Dealing with her father made it worse. The only explanation she had been able to offer is that someone called the house posing as a friend, threatening Jackson if she didn’t pay a ransom and keep silent. Her injuries following the commotion at the wake served to infuriate Henry further. Only after he had shouted at her for being reckless and stupid had he called the police to report Jackson as missing. She did not make it to a hospital until after the report had been filed.

  When her father wasn’t home keeping a scrutinizing eye on her every move, he was with the task force and several volunteers combing through the county for any sign of Jackson. And what could she do? Tell them a pack of werewolves had forced Jackson to change into one of them and now they were hiding him in a secret shelter somewhere? No one would believe her even if she tried to explain.

  Holden hadn’t contacted her since the ordeal. Not to assure her Jackson was okay, not to inform her of where they had taken him; nothing. Wondering if he was going to live was killing her inside. Rachael would have gone to their house and broken in to search for any trace of her brother, but her father had explicitly forbidden her to leave without a trusted escort. He’d gone so far as to ban her from the phone unless he screened the caller first.

  Rachael understood he was doing it out of a paranoid idea of protection, but even for him the methods were extreme.

  Then again, he’d lost his wife and son in the same month. Any other parent probably would have had the same reaction.

  That was how Rachael found herself curled up in bed on a school day. She would likely miss all her classes at this rate and have to either force herself through rigorous summer school or simply be held back a year behind the rest of her peers. The latter oddly didn’t faze her. She’d miss her friends, but with Jackson missing and Holden gone, Rachael couldn’t muster up the longing to finish high school before she turned eighteen. Or ever, really. What did it matter, when half of her immediate family was either dead or a werewolf?

  Rachael pulled the comforter over her head. The air was thick and stagnant, matching her heart-wr
enching mood.

  Time was of little consequence to her these days. When the doorbell shrilled through her moping, Rachael had no idea how long she’d been in bed. She remained under the covers, willing the visitor to go away.

  They didn’t.

  On the seventh long ring, Rachael threw back the covers. Her face heated as she limped down the stairs, the flesh around her thirty-two stitches swollen and burning. The anger boiling through her arteries seemed frighteningly alien. She had no idea what she was going to say to her harasser, but she would ensure they deeply regretted luring her away from the safety of her misery. She also had every intention of finding something solid and heavy to bash against the doorbell.

  Her mouth was parted when she threw the door open. All her garbled anger screeched to a halt when she came face to face with Holden Cavanaugh.

  Holden’s eyes were somber and dark like the ocean during heavy rain, his expression and stance demure. With the button-up shirt and navy blue blazer, he appeared more prepared to attend an interview than visit a grieving friend.

  “Hi,” he said quietly.

  Fumbling for words, Rachael finally stammered, “You can’t be here. If my father comes back . . . where’s Jackson?”

  With a nod outside, Holden said, “May we talk? In private.”

  Suddenly and stupidly aware of her appearance, Rachael tried in vain to smooth her uncombed hair and crinkled pajamas. For the first time in two days, she was ashamed she had been too busy crying to consider bathing.

  Intuitively, Holden said, “Don’t worry about any of that. Or your dad. I’ll have you back inside long before the search is over.”

  He turned to leave. Unthinkingly, Rachael followed. “Wait, I . . . where are we going?”

  “Not far,” was the brief reply.

  Indeed, she realized he was leading her to an unfamiliar car parked on the curb. The vehicles she’d seen anyone in his pack driving were nothing like this. They drove Jaguars, Lexuses, Audis, and at worst Mercedes. This was a nondescript, old white sedan with the only obvious alteration being the tinted windows.

  When Holden opened the rear door to let her in, he also revealed the secret passenger.

  Rachael’s energy left her all at once, her only strength remaining in her legs and knees. Dimly she heard her voice saying, “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

  Holden caught her in a firm grip just above her elbows, pivoting her to look at him. “I know, Rachael. I know.”

  Tired tears came unbidden to her vision. “This is all his fault.”

  “I know,” Holden repeated wearily. “But what he has to say is worth hearing.” Rachael shook her head furiously.

  Aaron’s voice broke through her racing thoughts. “Just a few minutes. And you will never see or hear from me again, if you so desire. You have my word.”

  As her tremors began to fade, so did Holden’s grip. Rachael rubbed her face. She didn’t want to talk to this man. She had hoped he would merely topple off the face of the earth.

  But so long as Jackson was in his care that would never truly comfort her.

  Resigned, Rachael allowed Holden to help her into the car. The door shut with unsettling finality.

  She and Aaron sat in mute company for a time. Rachael refused to glance his way, staring ahead at the passenger seat without actually seeing it. No words came to mind. She couldn’t fathom what he could possibly have to say at this point. Nothing he did or said could exonerate him from what had happened to her already fragile family.

  Aaron finally spoke. “Jackson is coping well. Far better than expected, in any case. It is nothing short of a miracle that he survived.”

  Rachael pressed her lips into a thin line.

  Continuing in an oddly flat tone, Aaron said, “The change is always difficult. Painful. But your brother is stubborn. Sometimes the outcome is . . . dubious. Fortunately, at this point it is safe to say he will pull through.”

  Wiping her nose in attempt to stifle new tears, Rachael at last drew up the courage to look at him. She took in his appearance for the first time and her immediate thought was, He’s a wreck.

  Aaron had never before come to her in a state less than clipped and clean. Today his eyes were sunken, his skin tone gray, lines outstanding on his brow, stubble sprouting thickly along his jaw. Dark hair tousled about as though he’d never bothered to groom upon waking. His jeans were ratty and the print tee he sported had a gaping hole in the shoulder seam. It was as though he threw on the first clothes he found, regardless of whether or not it belonged to someone else.

  Rachael was surprised to find herself struggling not to feel sorry for him.

  In an attempt to harden her heart, she stated, “You did this to him.”

  He didn’t bother to correct her. Taking the blame with a nod of acknowledgement, Aaron replied, “My biggest mistake was taking Beatrice in. My second was ever speaking to you. Unfortunately there is nothing I can do to change or fix either of them.”

  Rachael stared, perplexed. “Beatrice?”

  “Roxi’s name before I took her in,” he confirmed. “She never was happy being called that. Or any other name, really. But. . . .” He hesitated.

  Curious in spite of her anger, Rachael whispered, “But?”

  Aaron fixed his gaze on a point just past her head. “When I found Beatrice, she was a mess. The only survivor in her family. Parents, siblings, cousins, grandparents . . . all were slaughtered. They were dark times, with rumors of witchcraft and heresy. The only reason she lived was because I intervened. Against the orders of my alpha at the time. But Beatrice’s eyes were vacant when I found her. She had watched everyone who loved her die gruesome deaths. She had nothing. No home, no family. I did the only thing my young self stupidly thought he could do.”

  Without having to be told, Rachael stated, “Infect her.”

  His eyes bleak, Aaron said, “I failed to bring her into my world properly. And when I realized it, instead of going about correcting or eradicating the problem, I used her for the good of the pack.”

  Appalled, Rachael demanded, “You think that makes it okay?”

  For the first time, his familiar hard glint returned. “No. But the well-being of my pack oftentimes trumps my moral standards. I knew my duty when I vied for leader. I understood I would and still do have to operate under reprehensible standards in order to ensure that my pack, my family, is healthy and safe.”

  He’d claimed similar ideas in the past, but the full implication didn’t hit Rachael until now. For once she didn’t view Aaron as only an arrogant, selfish man. He was also, in a sense, a jaded and frightened father. Constantly on the run, so others wouldn’t notice his family’s atypical youth. Cynical of each person and every circumstance, willing to commit atrocious acts; not because he enjoyed them, but for the safety of the only family he’d had throughout the centuries. And if he didn’t do those things, his family would have to bear the burden of his weakness.

  None of these realizations made her less afraid or willing to forgive his actions. But Rachael believed she was beginning to actually process how grave his obligations were.

  In weak spirits, Rachael asked, “Is Jackson your family now?”

  Aaron grimaced. He took his time before answering. “For now. Yes.”

  Her voice cracked. “When can I see him?”

  “I do not know.”

  Rachael wouldn’t have thought she could have many tears left, but those words sent her spiraling back into despair. She hated herself for bawling like a small child, hated even more that for the past few days that was all she’d been able to do. But everything that had happened was weighing on her with stress she was never ready to bear. Her mother’s death. The physical loss of her brother. The emotional loss of her father. And now the uncertainty of whether or not she’d ever have a family again--and the knowledge that Aaron had already deemed Jackson part of his family. His pack.

  He just took and took and took. It was more than she could handle.

  Rach
ael was crying too hard to initially notice Aaron trying to soothe her. He was the last man she wanted holding her, but she’d also had zero emotional support all week and needed to feel someone trying to assure her.

  When her sobs died to hiccups, she pinpointed something in Aaron’s voice she’d never heard before; something she never thought to associate with him.

  He was pleading with her. Begging.

  “Please, do not cry anymore. Please. I am so sorry. I would undo all of this if I could. I would get rid of Roxi. Kept my pack far away from you, your brother, this town. This state. I am sorry, Rachael. Please.”

  Misery, anger, and confusion were tugging Rachael back and around so frequently she was beginning to lose track of which emotion was which. “Is that all you can say? You’re . . . sorry.”

  “Rachael. . . .” She pulled away from him, reaching for the car door. All along she’d been right. There was nothing this man could say to make her forgive him.

  To her shock and fury, Aaron grabbed her hand and pulled, forcing her to look at him. She flinched away and he released her without a fight. He had the gall to touch her, to make her face him, after all he’d done? The selfish, cocky, sleazy son of a—

  “There is nothing I can do to make this up to you,” he said hollowly. Rachael was barely listening, readying herself to lash out so she could make her escape. “All I can do,” he continued doggedly, “is promise to take care of Jackson and . . . when he is ready, bring him home.”

  Rachael froze. She sat there, her hand stupidly raised as though waiting for a teacher to call upon her for an answer. And Aaron remained facing her, his eyes wary but his position suggesting he was not going to attempt to defend himself.

  Trying to make words come out was as difficult as swallowing peanut butter without anything to drink. “Bring . . . my brother . . . home?”

  “When he is ready.” Aaron sighed, slumping against his seat. He covered his dark eyes, suddenly seeming even older and more exhausted. “I cannot make any promises about when that will be. But I give you my word, my solemn oath, that the day—the instant—Jackson is ready, I will bring him back to you even at the cost of my own life.”