by Michelle Fox
“You can sit with me,” said a warm voice to her right.
Jane glanced over to see an elderly woman with snow white hair and bright brown eyes peering at her through thick glasses. She gave Jane a friendly smile. “We’re not all assholes.”
Several people gasped and a few tittered.
“What language,” scolded an elderly man.
“I fed my kids soap and Tabasco if they talked like that,” sniffed a prim woman with a ramrod straight spine and a neat, silver bun.
The woman who had offered her a seat rolled her eyes. “Don’t let them fool you,” she said with a soft guffaw. “Their tails aren't any cleaner than mine. I’ve heard many say worse and for less important reasons.” She stared down the people around her until they looked away.
Jane slid into a seat, wishing she could sink into the floor. All the attention made her anxious. She wasn't prepared to handle such a tough crowd. “Thanks for the seat,” she murmured.
The woman held out her hand. “I’m Tillie.”
“Jane,” she said, shaking Tillie’s hand.
“I’ve been in here for almost a decade.” She nodded to the people around her. “I might be old, but I was never small-minded, and being in here with all these mental midgets tires a body out.”
“To be fair, they're right. I don’t really belong here,” Jane said. “I’m not old enough for a nursing home.”
“But you needed a safe place to stay, and without a pack to claim you, Crescent Pines is it.” Tillie took a sip of her water. “The sheriff did you a favor, believe it or not. The only other place would be the jail in Huntsville, and the food there is even worse.”
"How do you know what the food in jail tastes like?" Jane gave Tillie a curious look, startled to realize that, no matter how grandmotherly the woman appeared, she didn't really know her at all.
Tillie laughed. "I'm whiter than an angel's wings, but there's always someone who just has to get in trouble. You live long enough, and you'll see a spot or two of trouble no matter how good you are."
Frowning, Jane pushed her food around her plate. She’d been so hungry just minutes before, but now her stomach was making dire threats about how it would respond if she ate even one bite. It seemed to her a 'spot of trouble' had found her, she just didn't know what kind. The uncertainty left her queasy.
With a sigh, she decided to see exactly how much Tillie knew. If she couldn't eat, she could at least work on her memory. “Did you see the sheriff when he brought me in?” she asked. “Did he say anything?”
“We all saw him, dear. The entrance to this place is right over there.” Tillie pointed to the cafeteria's entrance and when Jane looked, she saw the doors leading to the rest of the world. They stood opposite from the cafeteria, but she'd missed them on her way in, which she blamed on hunger. The scent of food had filled her nose to the point where she couldn't even think and her stomach had yowled like an angry cat.
She stared at the doors and the bright sunlight just beyond them, a different kind of hunger filling her.
I could leave.
But where would I go?
“Wednesday is wine night and we were all in here getting a little tipsy when the sheriff came in dragging you after him.” Tillie met Jane’s eyes, her gaze steady. “You were making all sorts of noise and fighting him like you thought he was going to kill you.”
Heat crept up Jane’s cheeks and she slouched down lower in her seat.
Tillie patted her arm. “Don’t feel bad. From what I've heard, you’d been through a lot that night. I would've done the same in your situation.”
“How do you know what happened to me?”
“I work at the nurse’s station and help them with their files. We don’t do electronic records like humans because we don’t want to be hacked. I saw a bit of your paperwork.”
Jane leaned in close to Tillie, catching a nose full of the older woman's perfume, which she recognized as a gardenia based scent. It made her want to sneeze. “What did it say?”
“You don’t know?”
Jane shook her head. “I don’t know anything. I-I can’t remember who I am.” Tears sprang to her eyes and she sniffed them back.
“Oh, you poor dear.” Tillie patted Jane’s hand again, her palm warm and soft. “You had a pretty bad head injury and a wound on your thigh. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“That’s what the healer told me today. Was there anything else? Any other details?” Jane couldn’t keep a pleading note out of her voice.
“I’m sorry, but if there was more, I didn’t see it.” Tillie looked at her with pity in her eyes.
Jane dipped her head down, staring at the weave of the table cloth and rubbing her forehead with one hand. She didn’t want pity, she wanted her memory back.
“You know, there was a man in my pack once who got clobbered by a tree. They were logging out in the forest, wanting to build a log cabin and boom, the tree clocked him right here.” Tillie made a fist and tapped it against her head. “He clean forgot everything. His wolf left him for months, but he did return and so did his memories. We shifters are a tough lot. We can heal from almost anything. Just give it some time.”
Jane nodded, somewhat reassured by Tillie’s words. If one person had recovered, there had to be hope for her, too. “Thanks.”
“Until then, enjoy all that Crescent Pines has to offer.” Tillie gestured to Jane’s plate. “With as much blood as you’ve lost, you can speed up your healing by eating and drinking, so eat up, child. You need that food, even if it is industrial mass produced crap.”
Jane took a tentative bite of oatmeal. Her stomach stopped roiling the second the food hit and a primal hunger took over. Before she knew it, she was shoveling food in her mouth by the spoonful, barely pausing long enough to swallow.
“That’s better,” Tillie said, her voice bright. “It's not so bad here. We have a pool. There are dances every Saturday. We play cards almost every night. Art therapy is on Monday. Exercise classes are on Tuesday and Thursday. You’re probably too young for them, but you should come try it out. It’s good to keep busy when you’re waiting for something as important as your memory to come back.”
“You think so?” Jane managed to wait long enough between bites to speak.
Tillie gave a decisive nod. “If you spend all your time pining after what you’ve lost, it’ll take its own sweet time coming back, if it returns at all. This goes for men as well as memory.”
Jane laughed and then smiled. The laugh had felt good. “I think you’re good for me, Tillie.”
“I’m usually good for everyone.” Tillie smiled. “My husband used to call me vitamin T.”
Jane looked at their table, empty save for the two of them. “Where is your husband?”
Tillie pointed to the ceiling. “Wherever good wolves go when their time comes. Alan passed years ago and I’ve been here ever since.”
“What about your family? Any kids?”
“Oh, they visit and keep an eye on me, but they're too young to be responsible for me. Besides, my alpha likes me out of the way. I can’t cause trouble for him then.” Tillie’s voice turned bitter.
“Trouble?” Jane frowned at the elderly woman, trying to picture what trouble she could cause. Tillie was hardly a formidable figure with her short stature, fluffy curves and walker. What would an alpha have to fear from her?
She blinked as she realized she understood what an alpha was. It was a small piece, but enough of her memory to give her true hope of recovery. I won’t always be lost.
“Alan was the alpha two generations ago and I was his mate,” Tillie said. “He stepped down once he hit a hundred. We both wanted a break. Carrying the burdens of a pack wears a soul out and it’s not very good for the body either. The alpha after Alan was a good man, but he died without a successor, so the pack fought it out and the alpha left standing was,” she paused, seeming to struggle with what to say. Finally, she settled on a mild, “Not my cup of tea.”
&nb
sp; “So you didn’t like him and he made you live here? That seems harsh,” Jane said.
Tillie sniffed. “Well, I may have been somewhat vocal of my opposition to some of his policies.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And because I was once the Alpha’s mate, people still listened to me, so I was exiled here,” she waved her spoon at the room, “in this fine establishment where I'll die alone, outside my pack lands.”
“That’s awful,” Jane said. At the same time, she was pleased that she understood the pack dynamics Tillie had described. “What did the new alpha do that was so bad?”
“He's taking too much money for himself, for one. And ruling with brute force instead of good judgment.” Tillie ate some of her ice cream and sighed. “If the alpha doesn’t work for the good of the pack, then the pack is no good. That’s what my mother told me when I was a little girl and she learned it from her mother and so on. The truth doesn’t die.”
“What does the rest of the pack think?”
The old woman shrugged. “Some agree with me, but most are just trying to survive. He’s made them promises they think he’ll keep, so they go along with him.”
“Well, I can see why you'd cause trouble,” Jane said
“He would’ve made me a stray except I was too old for that. So this pretty little prison is where he sticks me.” Tillie paused and gave a sly smile. “But the trick’s on him. I’m not going to leave my pack at his mercy. My husband and I worked too hard, gave up too much to make the pack strong.”
“What are you going to do?”
Tillie shook her head. “I shouldn’t say. But my grandson will be here tomorrow and he’s helping me. You two should meet.”
“We should?” Confused, Jane knit her eyebrows. “Do I know him?”
“If you don’t know, how would I? But I expect you’ve never met,” Tillie said. "He's been away for a long time."
“So why should we meet now?”
“Because tomorrow is Friday, and it’s blind date night. Do you want to go out with him?” Tillie jerked her head in the direction of the man who’d been so offended by Jane's earlier language. He was chasing gelatin across his plate, failing to get it onto his spoon, his toupee slipping forward on his head. He shoved his hair back into place with one hand, while the other carried the spoon to his mouth, trembling the whole way. Just as he was about to eat the gelatin, his spoon tipped and dumped it all down on his lap. Tillie shook her head. “Or would you rather be with someone your own age? Who, I might add, is very single and very alpha. He’s quite a catch.”
“Oh. I...uh...you know, that sounds great, but I think it’s too much too soon,” Jane stammered. "I should probably skip date night."
“Nonsense,” Tillie said, her voice firm. “It’ll give you something to do and you’re so pretty, he won’t mind.”
Jane’s hand went to her head and she smoothed her hair away from her face. I’m pretty? “That’s kind of you to say—”
Tillie didn’t give Jane a chance to turn her down. “Great. It's settled then. Come to my room at three tomorrow. I’m on the same floor as you, room one-twelve.” She patted her hip. “I would come to you, but these old gams don’t move like they used to.”
Not knowing how to handle the sudden date, Jane just shrugged. At worst, she just wouldn’t show up, although she had the feeling Tillie might hunt her down anyway. The big question, to Jane’s mind at least, was she even single?
What if I have a mate? And kids?
Chapter Three
Ryder ran through the woods, letting his nose be his guide. The fragrant scents of late summer surrounded him; leaves, bark, earth, fawns, pine and air so fresh, he kept pausing to suck in as much as his lungs could handle.
The gorgeous day had inspired him to shift and go for a run. That and it was a good way to avoid his alpha. Someone had set Mason on the warpath and the alpha made it known he wanted to talk to Ryder one-on-one. Only, when he said talk he really meant a brutal meeting with his fists. That was his M.O.—violence and blood. All Mason had to go on, though, were rumors—and if Ryder ever figured out who had started them there'd be hell to pay. Until then he would lie low and try to wait it out.
So he'd hopped onto his motorcycle, a black and red Ducati, and gone as deep as he could into the hills, seeking shelter in the thick woods there. Stashing his bike behind some bushes, he'd shifted into his wolf and stretched his legs. He'd been running at an easy lope for hours now and, in fact, had roamed so far, he was almost to the meadows— the place that would become his new den.
If everything went according to plan, he wouldn't have to answer to Mason much longer.
Of course, that assumed Mason let him live once he realized the rumors were true.
A raven crowed overhead, the shriek an unpleasant shock to Ryder's ears. He went still at the sound, knowing the raven's call was always a warning. His grandfather had taught him to always heed the raven.
"They're an extra sense. Eyes high in the sky where we can't see. If they're bothered, you should be bothered, son," the old man had said, a faint wheeze in his voice. Alpha Alan Chase didn't live long after that conversation. Looking back, Ryder could see the ill health that had plagued his grandfather. It sent a pang of sadness through him. He always regretted not spending more time with the man who'd been such a big part of his life.
"What should I do when they caw?" Ryder had asked. He'd been a teen then, just coming into his strength and building the muscles that would later attract the attention of the Pack League's Mixed Martial Arts team.
"Go absolutely still. Don't even breathe. Listen first, then carefully sniff the air and wait. Ravens are smart. They don't go screeching for nothing."
"Okay," Ryder had said, unsure of his grandfather's advice.
"One time, a raven warned me about a boar coming up behind me, thinking he was going to rush me. " The old man stroked his long beard. "Shifters are strong, but boars are mean enough to take us on. They can sneak up on you."
"You couldn't smell him coming?"
"The wind wasn't right, son. And he was quiet. You won't always hear them and they'll stay at your flank, just out of your line of sight. But up there," he'd pointed to the sky, "the raven sees everything."
"What did you do? Did the boar attack?"
"He sure did, but I was ready for him. I puffed up as big as I could, growled low and loud and went straight for him. I let him see me coming. Locked eyes with him."
"Didn't that just make him fight?"
His grandfather shook his head. "Naw. He turned tail and ran. It works every time. Boars are only mean when they think they can take you. Of course, they do tend to think they can take everyone, but if you can convince them they're no match for you, they'll back off."
"And if not?"
"You kill them, son. That's what you do." His grandfather laughed and slapped his knee. "I brought home a few boars for dinner in my time. Meanness ain't the same as being smart." He held up a finger. "Don't forget, though, to pay the raven his due."
"Is that why you always leave food for them?" He'd seen his grandfather put out leftovers or pieces of a fresh kill since he was a young boy.
His grandfather nodded. "Once they understand you'll feed them, they'll protect you."
"Does everyone do this?" Ryder asked, wondering how it was no one had explained it to him before.
"You ever see anyone else do it?"
Ryder shook his head.
"Some wolves only care about feeding themselves. Those are the ones who have no friends. But I learned a long time ago, that the more I feed, the more friends I have." He threaded his fingers together and showed them to Ryder. "There are many kinds of strength in the world and friends you can count on is one you can't neglect. Not if you want to be an alpha worth your howl."
Another harsh raven call brought Ryder out of the past and into the present. The entire flock had taken flight, an ominous shadow rippling in the sky. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the
m. They shrieked as they flew, the sound raking a chill up Ryder's spine. Someone or something was coming.
He almost hadn't started feeding them again, since coming home, but there they were, proving their value. It had only taken a week for a flock to 'adopt' him. They followed him on runs and, at night, roosted in the fir tree next to his home.
Memories of his grandfather filled his mind as he made for higher ground, hoping it would let him see what or who was there. His father had died long before Ryder could remember and grandpa Alan had been the one to teach Ryder to be a man. His grandfather passed while Ryder was caught up in the shifter MMA circuit. It had been too sudden for goodbyes and then his mom died, too. She'd just keeled over one day. They said her heart had given out. He'd been on a fighting tour in Tokyo when she'd passed. Losing his mom had almost broken him. There'd been an empty space in Ryder's heart that no one could fill ever since.
Not that he hadn't tried.
Oh, how he'd tried.
Women. Booze. Drugs. And fights outside the ring.
Nothing had eased the pain, but the grief eventually wore him down until he went numb. He'd become laser focused on his fighting career then; winning match after match until finally the Pack Council, which oversaw the League and all aspects of shifter life, had asked him to retire.
"Ticket sales are down. They already know you're going to win," explained one of the Pack League reps. He was tall and pale and kept fiddling with his paisley gray tie.
"Find someone to beat me then," Ryder had growled.
"What do you think we've been doing?" Another rep, this one just as tall but wider in the shoulders, shook his head and crossed his arms. He'd skipped the tie, but still wore a suit. "We've brought in the best talent we can find and you're kicking their tails."
"I thought that was a good thing." Ryder glared at the suits. They weren't fighters, would never be fighters, but somehow they called the shots in his life. He considered challenging them both and taking them on, but then let the idea go.
