by Tina Gower
“They have no idea where the children from the experiment ended up?”
“I guess the records were destroyed. The lab was facing charges by the National Medical and Psychological Association, and several werewolf interest groups. The main scientists fled the country and went into hiding. After a while the public didn’t care about it and now it’s just a flash history footnote. Except among werewolves who’d like to flush out the experiments.”
Becker’s fists tighten around the wheel. I reach over and place my hand over his until he relaxes.
I keep my hand over his. “That’s what this pack wanted? They wanted to know if you were one of the experiments? Did they want you to prove in some way you’re not?”
Becker shrugs. “It’s tricky. Some groups want to find them and flag them as potential problems in the community. Some wolves want them IDed so when the experiments cause a major disaster or crime they can easily scoot the responsibility off. Wolves deal a lot with stereotypes and these experiments would play right into those stereotypes that are damaging the public image. A few identified as part of the experiments are tucked away in the system, incarcerated at a young age for various violent crimes. Some groups want to get the experiments help and see if the issues can be reversed through rehabilitation. And then there are some who want to continue the experiment.”
“And the Turmoil pack fell into what group?”
“They wanted me to submit a blood sample.”
“Maybe it was just to verify you’re really a wolf before entering the pack?”
He shakes his head. “Werewolves don’t need blood samples to verify that. We can smell it on each other. If we can’t, we’re not enough wolf to justify the need for a pack.”
I slide my hand from his down his arm, keeping contact. I’d read in the book that when wolves were stressed they needed constant pack contact. I’d thought that it didn’t matter that I was human, but now that I know how much wolf Becker is, I wonder if my efforts are working as well as a full pack’s could.
“Becker, if you can’t join Turmoil, what are your other options? Maybe it’s worth talking with them more to find out why they need this information. It might be totally harmless. Maybe they’ll drop the request.”
“Come on. They know what they were asking for. I’m adopted, behavioral issues, anxiety, sensory regulation problem. I fit all the diagnosis check boxes.”
“Then why ask for the blood sample? Why did they even ask to meet with you? They could have gotten all this information ahead of time. They probably did.”
“Oh, they did. They told me they did. And when I raised a lot of questions about the request they sort of slipped the reason they wanted it.”
“What? Why?”
“Because they have a female who’s from a long line of nearly pure wolves.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They wanted me to breed with her. They want to be the first pack to create a shifting werewolf for the first time in seventy years.”
My hand falls from his arm. My stomach twists like a rag wringing out the water. I rub my chest. “Wow. That’s. Wow.” Something else laces in the emotional soup in my brain. Jealousy.
I shut that down. I have no claim on Becker. I don’t want one. I can’t have one. If we were caught doing what we’re doing now I could suffer some serious repercussions at work. But the attraction I have for him fogs those cautionary warnings.
His mouth straightens into a grim line. “So Turmoil isn’t an option.”
“Okay.” I nod, turning back to the scenery that has melted into a few farmhouses and a small gas station. It’s not like I know much about werewolves to really argue his point and if he didn’t want to become a father or even a sperm donor then that was his right. My stomach growls again. I cover my midsection to make it stop.
But the question of where that left us hangs in the air. I don’t rush to answer it. Neither does Becker. We need to stop this, but also we can’t. Or we won’t.
We didn’t eat a full breakfast, just grabbed some of Ali’s famous muffins and coffee, that since this morning had gotten cold and undrinkable. Although we could choose from six different muffin flavors, they all pretty much equate to about an hour or two of energy.
I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the frame of the car, letting the gentle turns and vibration of the road lull me to sleep. The crunch of gravel a few minutes later, pulls me from an accidental nap.
“You’re hungry,” Becker says and glances at me. “I’m hungry. We should get something to eat.”
I shuffle out of the car and into another gas station, where my choices are rubbery hotdogs, dried out pizza pockets, and a fae pie that appears more rock-like than the flakey buttery crust filled with vegetables and herbs that Ali makes. I grab a huge bag of peanuts and a cheese, vegetable, hummus dip plate that is wrapped in ten sheets of plastic wrap. Becker chooses two dried out pizza pockets, almonds, and two waters. He slides the second water over to me with his brow quirked in question.
“Yeah, I’ll take one.”
I hand over my card to pay for my stuff, but Becker inserts himself from behind me at the counter.
He waves his flat hand over the items and passes his card to the cashier. “Actually ring all these up together and put it on this.”
I don’t know if its the hunger speaking, or the impossible position we’re in with this never-ending pack agreement, or maybe it’s that I want to establish boundaries and control where I have none.
“No.” I section my things away from his. “These are separate.” Becker opens his mouth for one last protest. “They are separate.” My voice drops a few octaves, to serious mode.
Becker frowns, steps to the side, scratches the back of his neck, and paces. He doesn’t like it, it fights against his werewolf instincts to protect and take care of his pack. I have no idea about pack hierarchy, that’s a chapter in The Lone Wolf I haven't gotten to yet, but I’m betting this little nonverbal tête-à-tête isn’t sitting well with his attempts to establish dominance.
He wipes both palms down his face and makes a do-it-quick gesture.
I push my things to the cashier once again. “All this on this.” I practically throw my card at him and glance back at Becker who’s squeezing his crossed arms together, the vein above one eye twitching. “And hurry.”
The man scans, not attempting eye contact at either of us. Up here in the mountains, he must come in contact with a lot of werewolves and knows the drill.
When I have my items I stand by the door, but Becker waves me over from the glass. Instead I step between two aisles close by. He’s probably right; I should avoid being out in the open considering we have a shade (who I can’t see) that may or may not be after us.
Becker doesn’t wait for the cashier to bag his items; he shoves them all into the crook of his arm after paying.
He stands in front of me, waiting. For what I don’t know. He clears his throat. “I said I’d try. I didn’t say it was easy.”
I nod, holding out my bag. “Do you at least want to put our stuff in the same bag?” I figure it’s better for his hands to be free. More ready to kung-fu a shade if he magically appears. Although, he won’t magically appear for Becker, just for me, the lowly human.
Becker inspects the sack as though it might be some sort of trap, but eases it from my fingers, gingerly. He places his things inside, lowers the sack at his side. He gives me a look, one that says not to challenge him.
I can give him this one concession. Even if it doesn’t make much sense to carry our bag when he’s the one that needs to be on alert.
We make it back to the car with zero dominance displays by either of us. Within a few more minutes Becker eats his pizza pocket, and I’m quietly dipping my vegetables in bland hummus. Ali has spoiled me to all foods forever.
“So what did you find out about your case?” Becker asks me a few miles later.
“Everyone in the private love business is a suspect, ev
eryone who is part of the lawsuit too, but I’m a lot closer.”
We discuss the case all the way back to Angel’s Peak. We don’t discuss what it means that Becker didn’t join a pack.
My life has become infinitely more complicated since werewolves were introduced into it.
Chapter 10
Becker tosses his hat onto my kitchen counter. “It’s gotta be the lawyers. They cooked up some scheme to make Ever After look bad just in time to drop a class action lawsuit.”
He shrugs out of his jacket. His long-sleeve shirt hugs his well-cut torso. I bite my lip, heating up even though it’s a crisp fall night. Unaware of the effect it has on me, Becker stretches his arms over his head.
He glances at me. The cupboards become suddenly interesting. Very interesting.
“I should go do one more check outside. Just to be sure.”
I nod. “Yeah, sure.”
He waits for more from me, but I don’t have more to add. We can play this like the reason he’s staying over again is because of the shade. Although Lipski called on our ride into Angel’s Peak saying it appeared that our stalker had removed himself from the city. He hadn’t reported for work, his credit cards pinged in the next state, possibly headed out of the country. Lipski issued an APB on him and in the meantime Becker hadn’t managed to catch the scent again. All signs pointed to being in the clear. Ali could also easily babysit me.
But Becker remained unconvinced, or at least to the degree that until the shade was in custody, he’d remain glued to me. To him I was another opportunity to lose his pack.
He inches to the door, fingering his earlobe. “Okay, sure, I’ll just be right out here.” He motions to the parking lot and slips out the door. “Lock it behind me. I’ll knock.” He holds up three fingers, meaning he’ll knock three times.
I let him know I understand his signal and then he goes. I lock the door.
It’s a few hours yet until dinner, but I might as well get started. I pull out a few items: ground beef, tomatoes, fresh basil (thank you Ali), oregano, mozzarella cheese. I don’t have ricotta, there’s a spoonful left in the container after Ali raided it for lemon ricotta cannoli—so I guess that makes us even with the basil. I substitute cottage cheese instead. Becker better like lasagna.
I get to work chopping garlic and seasoning the beef and setting the sauce to simmer. I check my progress, it steams my glasses and I toss them onto the counter, more of a nuisance at this point. I browse The Lone Wolf: Surviving the World Without Pack book. A fascinating section on the vestibular and proprioception systems of the body. Applying pressure against the skin could calm nerves and anxiety. This is why pack sleep with each other. The tightness of bodies helps regulate the system in wolves. Maybe I could get Becker a thunder coat, like the kind I saw on small yappy dogs.
He knocks three times, so I hide the book in my shelf and open the door. He rubs his arms.
“Getting colder out.” I lean against the entry. “Even during the day.”
“Yeah.”
I lock the door, really wishing I could bang my head against it. I hate small talk.
“Smells good in here.” He sniffs the air, which leads him into the kitchen. He lifts the pot lid, pointing at the sauce like it’s a foreign, unexpected thing. “What’s this?” His face goes slack. “Is Ali here?” He drops the lid and looks around like she might pop out of any corner.
I laugh. “No. She’s working ‘til late. We’re on our own for dinner, so I started some lasagna.”
He re-opens the lid, inspecting it closer. “You did this?”
I snap a towel his direction. “Don’t act so surprised. I can cook. It’s just Ali usually beats me to it and she likes it so I let her.”
“It looks delicious.”
“Again, you say that like you didn’t expect it.”
He’s about to say something, but then turns away instead. He must have decided wisely against agreeing with my assessment. Having an emotionally intelligent werewolf as a friend will be handy.
There’s a beat of silence.
Becker hooks his elbows behind him on the counter, kicking his feet out. He seems at peace with the quiet, but his gaze goes distant.
There are too many topics we can’t discuss. At night we’re intimately entangled in each other, but we’ve not made a habit of getting to know each other. Neither of us planned on this thing being long-term. We are still surface-level friends that have shared a few deep moments. Nothing more. Well, there’s also my unrequited attraction, that even if it were requited beyond Becker’s physical coming-out-of-lone-wolf status urges, I wouldn’t act on it. I think Becker feels the same. A relationship between coworkers, especially when they’re required to work closely together, would be complicated. It changes the dynamics of everyone on his team and everyone on mine.
Lipski’s gentle teasing was one reminder of the potential problems. It starts out innocent. People are happy for the relationship of two people they work with. Then possible success of the pair, which is attributed to the two being able to hand each other extra time, energy. Then the inevitable failure, which is attributed to the couple letting their personal life interfere with work.
It’s all one big nope. I’m not doing it again. Never again.
But then Becker’s gaze lands on me, and his eyes roam down my neck and chest. My breasts tingle. He doesn’t stop there. His gaze keeps moving down, his eyelids lower. His thumbs hook into his front pockets, bringing my attention there. He tongue rolls out and licks his lips slowly, suggestively. A pulse of intensity leaves my throat dry, and my mouth waters. My hand flutters to my neck.
This snaps his attention to me. He sees I’ve noticed him watching me, and his cheeks brighten to a deep pink. He jerks from his lax position on the counter and disappears into my bedroom.
It gives me a moment to catch my breath. My hand slides from my neck to my chest. I press against my ribs to stop the painful beating.
Becker marches back into the main room, a hat shoved over his head and wearing a zip up hoodie. I straighten, doing my best to regain my cool. He seems to be strategic about keeping his eyes on his tablet.
He clears his throat. “I was thinking about your case and the names you wanted to look into. We can go over them in the system if you like?” From my angle behind the counter, Becker’s eyes have a faint glow.
“Sure.”
“First name.” He checks my notes. “Timothy Anders. No priors, comes up clean all the police sites.”
“What about his wife?”
Becker taps in a few codes. “She’s got some petty stuff. Stealing mostly. Court ordered anger management.”
My ears perk up. I come around the counter to look over his shoulder. “For what?”
“She was a server at a restaurant and apparently she oops accidentally, not accidentally tossed an order onto a patron. Then yelled at her. The customer decided to press charges for assault and she took this route rather than a fine and some time. Good choice.”
I go to my bag in the corner and fire up my laptop, putting her name through the search engines. “Looks like she played the socialite wife fairly well. Fancy dinners and charity events. Must be nice to have a husband who owns a love match business, even if it is on the low end.”
“Sometimes the cheaper-looking ones get more business because they offer the same services at a lower price. So they have a higher customer load and cut corners everywhere else.”
“It makes for a good secondary match ordering business. Order from ForeverMatch and then a cheaper place. Then compare the difference. Wouldn’t be surprised if Romance Ready gets twice as many clients as either of those places.” When I’d combed the message board I saw several forum members suggesting the double dip match services. I kick off my shoes and settle into the couch, my back to Becker. I can think more clearly without watching him. I notice he faces away from me, which leads me to believe he’s using the same strategy on me. “I wonder if Tim spreads the rumor that Romance R
eady isn’t doing well to keep the competition from looking too closely at them.”
Becker pulls up anther screen. “A little peek at their predicted worth says you might be right.” He grins. “So it really makes sense that ForeverMatch and Ever After would be pitted against each other. Don’t you think Mia’s story about Nita being happy was a little too convenient?”
I’m thrown off by Becker’s mention of our conversation. How can anyone follow two conversations at once? Especially since the discussion he’d had with the two werewolves was so intense.
Becker shifts, massaging his shoulder, then grabs a stool to perch on. “Nita is clean. Graduated from The Statistical Academy of Three Rivers. Fancy.” He whistles. “One of the best, right? Yin went there, too. I already checked. Possible rivals? Those places can be competitive.” My stomach warms that he knows it’s one of the top schools for my profession. I, however, attended a local state school here in Angel’s Peak. Not all of us could afford the best, even if my grades could have gotten me in. I almost mention it, but decide against it. Feels like I’m attempting to repair my damaged ego.
I scribble a few possibilities, then my memory snags on something. “What about the sister?”
“Whose sister? Yin or Nita?”
I rub the bridge of my nose. “Neither.” My brain jumps from thought to thought like a derailing train. I twist around to give Becker an apologetic look. “I was thinking of Timothy’s wife’s sister.”
He furrows his brow and checks my notes. “Oh, right. She had some sort of bad match. Is she in the lawsuit?”
“Apparently not.”
“So she doesn’t have any ill feelings toward Ever After?”
“According to rumor she’s mad for her sister’s situation.”
Becker pinches and flips to another screen. “Timothy is married to a Ginger Amore. The sister is Pepper Amore. She’s a programmer for a company called Hickman’s Software and Hardware Solutions. No priors. Looks like she’s the good sister. Straight As. Boring.”
