by Helena Ray
“Is that your only qualification for high-quality waitstaff?” Phil asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.
“Yup.” With that terse response, Clay disappeared back through the heavy door again.
“After you.” Phil held open the door for Marta, and with a heavy sigh, she reentered. Damn, their break had gone so quickly. But before she had too much time to grieve their aborted rendezvous, he had gathered her into a gentle caress.
“Only a few hours, beautiful.” His breath tickled the hairs next to her ear. “Only a few hours, and we can be together for a very long time. Forever, if you’d like.”
* * * *
Sam drummed his fingers on the desk as he listened to the tinny saxophone of the hold music. He cradled the phone against his shoulder and glanced at glowing red display of the digital clock on his desk. If this call lasted too long, it would make him late for his meeting with Oliver and Roarke, but that didn’t matter now, not when more important things hung in the balance.
“Mr. Pope?”
“Yup. Still here, still waiting.”
“Please hold for Mr. Norman.”
About damn time. Sam had been standing beside the desk listening to the elevator music for over half an hour. When Phil let Sam know Clay Abbott had heard Norman himself bragging about fucking owning the diner this time, Sam knew he had a call to make. He couldn’t let Ulysses Norman go on one more second thinking he had a snowball’s chance in hell of buying Savage Hunger.
God, what had he been thinking? Selling out to NormCorp would not only have put the pride at risk, it would have forced Marta into a fate she didn’t choose. The little spitfire he knew would never want that. Marta. The memory of her cunt wrapped around him like a wet, scorching glove instantly had his cock tenting his cotton trousers, reminding him he’d be half-hard every second until he dove into that heavenly abyss again.
A static click interrupted the hold music—a highly unwelcome disruption to his memory—and signaled that the moral nemesis of the entire town of Savage Valley had deigned to take his call.
“Samuel, how lovely to hear from you. I’ve been awaiting your call.”
“Of course you’ve been awaiting my call. I damn near fell for your bullshit.”
Sam could envision the look of false shock on Norman’s face as he gasped.
“I mean you no offense, but I don’t what bullshit you’re talking about. I’m merely extending an offer to you that I believe will be beneficial.”
“Bull. Shit. And you know it.”
“Oh, no, I’d never—”
“Listen,” Sam said, not intending to allow himself to listen to another syllable of the crap Norman peddled, “I’ve thought it through, and there is no way that I can justify selling Savage Hunger. I can’t justify it to my brothers, I can’t justify it to the community, and damn it, I can’t justify it to myself. I am truly sorry if I misled you, Norman, but I only own half of Savage Hunger, and it’s not mine to give away.”
“But you said that you could buy your brother out of—”
“I’ve said a lot of things, but the fact stands that I have no interest in selling out to you. You’ll have to find another jackass in Savage Valley to swindle. But let me tell you, we’re on to you now.”
Norman was silent for a moment then spoke carefully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t feed me that crap. I know you’ve been talking to Clay Abbott about buying out the Ninth Time, and I know that would give you the leverage NormCorp needs to buy out the entire town. Neither you nor your expensive gifts—”
“I take it Phil liked the oven.”
Sam’s stomach turned as he remembered the expensive, stainless bribe. It was the top of the line, but he knew he would never be comfortable with a physical remnant of his near abandonment of his family and his pride. And so he had arranged that morning to turn it over to some more worthy owners.
“He loved it, Norman, and I hear they love it over at the Savage Valley Wildlife Center, too.”
Sam grinned as he heard Ulysses choke on the other end.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, I had the Ashleys come get it this morning, and they said it’s just perfect for preparing the special diet for the baby squirrels that have been separated from their mothers.”
For a moment, all Sam could hear was heavy breathing. When Ulysses spoke, his voice was hushed and laced with the hatred he kept concealed during most of Sam’s dealings with the man.
“That wasn’t intended for anyone else, and frankly, I find it despicable that you would retain my gift after leading me on like that.”
“There are more important things than business, Ulysses,” Sam said, letting some tenderness seep into his tone. The man may be pure evil, but Sam recognized the pain that caused him to lash out—the same sort of internal wound that caused Sam to alienate his brother for so long. Thank god he had a chance to make things right once again. “You have a daughter,” he continued. “Wouldn’t you do anything, sacrifice anything for your family?”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about family, bigamist.” Ulysses spit out the words with enough force that Sam nearly felt the droplets of spittle through the receiver. “I suppose you and your brothers intend to carry on your parents’ tradition of fucking the same woman and daring to call it a family.”
Sam expected his anger to rise, for the tingling underneath his fingernails that preceded an involuntary shift, but it never came. Instead, his temper stayed reined in, and he shocked himself with the kindness in his voice.
“You’re right. Phil, Mel, and I have met a wonderful, beautiful woman who we hope will spend the rest of her life with us and complete our family.”
“You disgust—” Ulysses halted, and Sam could hear his deep breaths. “I’m sorry we disagree on this matter, Mr. Pope. NormCorp will be sorry to lose the opportunity to do business with you.”
“I know you don’t mean that, but thanks for saying it anyway.”
“Well, we could—”
Sam hung up the phone, cutting off Norman and his mistake once and for all, and collapsed into his desk chair. Yes, his meeting with Oliver and Roarke loomed, but he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. Today, he knew, would transform the rest of his life. The voluptuous, fiery woman that had sauntered into his life would be forever his. She would mother his children, and she would complete his family.
Tonight would finally mend the rift between the Pope brothers once and for all. Sam shook his head as he remembered the years of rivalry between himself and Mel. He had been too proud over the years to make the overture to his youngest brother that would finally unite him. If Marta hadn’t come along, the tremors from that fateful afternoon would have continued shaking the foundation of their family for years to come.
He leaned back in his chair, letting his mind play the pockmarked film of the memory one more time, of going to Mel and asking for him to kill in his place for the pride hunt. When Mel turned him down, Sam couldn’t cope, but apparently the Shoshone gods were looking out for him.
He had found Marta, and with her beautiful face, her vivacious spirit, and her alarmingly open mind, and she would both reunite and complete the fraternal trio once and for all.
* * * *
Bo was already standing on his porch as Sam’s car bumped over the dirt road and came to a stop in front of the small, wooden house. Phil could hear the older man’s cursing before he even opened his door.
“You motherfuckers! Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on.” His friendly tone belied the anger in his words, and he gave a quick embrace to each of the Pope brothers as they climbed onto his porch. “Boys, you know this is a small town. Think I wouldn’t know about the three of you being spotted with that new waitress?”
“We know that’s not how you found out.” Phil couldn’t help but laugh at the shaman’s mock indignation. “Bryce told you, didn’t he?”
Bo shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand thr
ough his long, black hair with only a few scattered strands of silver. “What can I say? That little Sullivan boy remembers everything from when he’s in his lion form, including what everyone else feels. What kind of shaman would I be if I didn’t make him report to me after the hunt?”
“The kind of shaman that has cold beer for his accursed shifters?” Mel asked as he stepped around Phil.
For a moment, Bo didn’t say anything but shook his head and stared at Mel, long lines creasing his tanned forehead. “Melbourne Pope with Sam and Phil. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”
“Yeah, neither did we,” Sam said, a hint of bitterness still in his voice. “How about those beers then, Bo? We got a lot to talk about.”
With a start, Bo snapped out of his reverie and opened the door. “Come on in, boys, and I’ll get you boys those beers along with some real special…beverages.”
Once the three brothers were settled on the low couch facing Bo’s fifty-seven-inch TV, he handed each a Dos Equis. As Phil drank, he looked around at the living room. Funny, he had only ever been in here with the entire pride, despite Bo’s closeness with Sam. It looked positively cavernous without twelve nervous adolescents eager to start their shifter training.
Bo took a seat in his La-Z-Boy and studied each of them. “Okay. Out with it, you three.”
Phil nodded at Sam, and his older brother began the narrative of their meeting Marta.
“So you wanna change in front of her so you can ask her to mate you?” All three exchanged nervous looks, and Phil didn’t dare speak a word. The Shoshone shaman was not a man anyone dared to cross. “Boys,” he started slowly, his stare suddenly suspicious, “is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Yes,” Mel said, drawing everyone’s attention. “There is. We’ve already revealed our secrets, and I’m relatively certain she’s damn ready to mate.”
“Without asking me?” Bo’s voice lowered, a sign he was genuinely concerned.
“Yes. Without asking you, and without the potion you made the Cashes down.” Mel’s glower looked like a challenge to Bo’s authority and to the ancient ways of the Shoshone curse. “We didn’t need to shift for her to believe us.”
“That’s not true,” Phil interrupted. “Mel, show him what you can do. He deserves to know what sort of trouble you could get into.”
Mel extended his hand, and without any apparent effort, his hand transformed into a mountain lion’s paw. Bo stared at the outstretched hand, and his jaw popped open.
“And you can do that around anyone?”
“Yes,” Mel said with more than a hint of pride in his voice.
“Not just around people like me. ’Cause you know I could will you boys to shift if I wanted to.”
“Yes, indeed.”
Bo shook his head again, in visible shock.
“So,” Phil began, “this means that we don’t have to drink that concoction you were talking about earlier, right?” Roarke told him about the muddy elixir he and Oliver’d had to drink to transform in front of Chelsea, and Phil had no desire to repeat Roarke’s experience. “We don’t need to shift before we’ve mated her.”
Bo smiled a slightly sadistic smile. “Oh, no, all you lions need one to mate. You boys get a better one.”
With agility Phil wouldn’t have expected from a man Bo’s age, he sprung from his chair and was in the kitchen behind them in a few steps. After the sounds of metal and glass clanking and Bo’s muffled cursing, he returned to the living room carrying a tray with three glasses containing watery gray mixture. As he took the glass from the tray, Phil smelled a variety of things his culinary training told him weren’t suitable for human ingestion.
“Uh, Bo, I don’t mean to challenge your authority or anything”—Phil took another deliberate sniff, just to be sure—“but isn’t tea tree oil toxic to humans when ingested?”
“Not for you boys,” he sang, far too amused by their having to drink the substance. “As you know, the shifting thing ain’t genetic, it’s the curse actively being applied to each little kitten, but it does change it so you boys have stomachs of iron. Now drink up!”
“To our mate,” Mel toasted and downed the entire glass in one impressive gulp. Phil followed suit and tried not to taste the acidic substance as it burned down his throat. Unfortunately, the fiery sensation did not let up during its trek down his esophagus. He looked to his right and saw Sam’s pinched face as he set down his glass.
“A bit heavy on the eucalyptus, but I really appreciate the fresh bouquet of cedarwood.” Mel sat his glass down on the table in front of him with a smug expression his face.
“How on earth could you even stomach—” Sam started, but the answer must have occurred to him at the same moment it did to Phil. Right, he was living with the Yeats twins. In addition to his illicit career as a cov, their brother subsisted on a diet of mostly moonshine.
Mel only smiled at them with a shit-eating grin on his face before turning back to Bo. “I quite enjoyed it, actually.”
“Well,” Bo said as he rose and collected their empty glasses, “I guess that’s all you’ll be needing from me. You don’t need me to explain anything else? Please tell me your fathers filled you in on all the details of the process.”
Images immediately danced across Phil’s brain of exactly how the process would go. Marta, his gorgeous Marta, would come to their cabin, and the three of them would—
“We’re good on the details.” Sam hauled himself to his feet and shook Bo’s hand. “Thank you so much, man. You have no idea how happy this is going to make us.”
“Eh, I might have some idea,” Bo said as he showed them to the door. “Now you boys don’t be strangers. I don’t want some war or treaty violation bringing you back.”
Oh, god, the treaty. Phil looked over at Sam, who hung his head in shame. Fuck, they would need to unravel the mess with Norman quickly if they didn’t want to cause some very serious trouble with the pride.
“No worries about that,” Mel said, blissfully unaware of the mess they were in. “We’ll bring Marta over soon.”
As they said their good-byes and loaded back in the car, Phil grabbed Sam’s arm and said in a sharp whisper, “You’re going to take care of Norman, right?”
“I called him this morning.” Sam leaned a little bit closer. “I told him not to go through with the sale, but you know Ulysses. This won’t be the last Savage Valley hears of this.”
“Clay said he’s already after the Ninth Time.”
“Fuck.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Mel stuck his head through the space between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. “If I’m going in on this mating with you, you two can’t form your little older-brother cabal anymore.”
“You’re right.” Phil released his hold on Sam’s arm and rested back in his seat. “We’re in this together, and you two will have to settle this sibling rivalry thing on your own.”
“Fat chance,” Sam muttered as he pulled the car back onto the dirt road that led to Treaty Lane.
Phil had hoped that Mel hadn’t heard, but the silence in the car on the drive back to Savage Hunger said otherwise.
* * * *
Marta dug her cell phone out of her bag as soon as she closed the door to her apartment behind her. Only one person could help her out at the moment.
Four rings. Maybe she wouldn’t answer. Damn it. If I’ve ever needed girl talk, it’s now.
“Hey!” Chelsea answered breathlessly.
“Hey, girl.” Marta had never been more relieved to hear the sound of her best friend’s voice. “Do you have time to talk?”
“Uh…Hold on. Just a second.” After some commotion and muffled shouts of “Oliver! Not now,” Chelsea came back on the line. “Okay. Sorry about that. What’s going on? I feel like I’ve only seen you at Savage Hunger since you moved here.”
“Yeah, it’s become a very big part of my life.”
“Uh-oh.” Chelsea must hav
e picked up on the wariness in Marta’s voice. “What’s wrong? Is Sam working you too hard? Because I can have Oliver give him a call and—”
“No, that’s not it at all. Sam is a really great boss, and Savage Hunger’s a wonderful place to work. It’s just…You’re gonna think I’m crazy, Chels.”
The line was silent for a moment, and Marta thought she heard a stifled giggle.
“Go on.”
“It’s…Well…You were right. It does have to do with Sam.” Marta took a deep breath. Not only was Chelsea the only person who wouldn’t immediately have her committed for what she was about to say, but according to Sam, Phil, and Mel, she shared in this strange fate. “It also has to do with Phil. And with Mel.”
“Oh, Marta,” Chelsea whispered, a hushed excitement in her tone. “You have feelings for them, don’t you?”
Ah, the wisdom of old friends. “I do. I have so many feelings for all three of them, and I can’t quite sort them out in my head. It’s just, last night, well—”
“They told you.”
So her men were right. Chelsea knew about the bizarre revelation.
“Am I crazy, Chels? They told me they could change into mountain lions. Am I hallucinating? They said that you knew, too, and that Roarke and Oliver are—”
Chelsea’s laughter interrupted Marta’s frantic questioning. “It’s crazy, I know, but it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“What’s happening? Am I dreaming? I mean, this is one very, very twisted dream I’ve been having.”
“No, you’re not dreaming. Trust me, I was just as freaked out as you are, maybe even more so. Remember that string of voice mails I left for you begging for you to call?”
Only about two months ago, Chelsea had left several voice mails on Marta’s phone. By the time Marta got back in a service area and could hear the messages, her friend’s crisis was over.
“I just thought that was about the fact that you were getting into a ménage. You know, you’re the last person I expected to do such a thing, but you seem so happy.”
