“Ye’re not making any sense. Why did he leave ya alone for so long? I’m tryin’ to understand, Caitlin. Help me.”
“He’s mental. But...not all the time. When he’s sane, he’s sweet and respectful and…the man I loved once. Or thought I did. It’s why I let him take my element in the first place. He had such a way about him.” Her eyes softened, a calm smoothing out the furrow in her brow. “There was good in him once. Maybe there still is, somewhere. All I can think is that he spent the last years with his sanity intact. Or perhaps he thought I was dead and didn’t look for me. I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. Can’t ya see that? Ya need to forget about me. These past two weeks—they’ve been the best of my life. I thought I was free for three years…free to love ya, but now…today…I can feel him searching for me. I can’t keep pretending that I’m free to do what I want. Fergus always finds me.
“The last time I ran, I got myself all the way to London before—” She choked back a sob. “Ya can’t protect me. Not against him.” She shoved her chair back, slamming her hip against the table in her haste to escape.
Liam grabbed her wrist. Desperation roughened his voice until the words escaped in a growl. “I can. I won’t lose ya.”
A tear raced down her cheek, plopping on the stained wooden table. “Ya made me happy, Liam O’Sullivan. I haven’t been happy in a long time. I’ll cherish the memories we made for the rest of my life.” Caitlin leaned down, stealing a quick, desperate kiss, and roused the wolf to a fevered pitch. His hands ached with the need to shift, to tear this Fergus limb from limb. A caress of air surrounded him with her scent and ruffled his thick mane before the sweet aroma faded, leaving him alone with only the memory of her touch lingering against his skin. Peace held him still and soothed his beast. The slam of the shop door shattered the moment, and when he turned towards the sound, the sight of Caitlin’s tear-stained face shimmered through the glass. With one last glance, she turned and ran.
***
Liam spent the next two weeks scouring the western towns: Ennis, Galway, Lahinch, and Limerick. He must have asked a thousand people if they knew Caitlin Brannigan, and each refusal twisted the knife deeper into his heart. Brannigan was a common name. One woman shook her head at his query, crossing herself and recounting the tragic death of a Kionah Brannigan in a landslide years ago. “She had a daughter, and the wee lass disappeared not long after. She might have been your Caitlin, but I can’t be sure. Go to Doolin.”
The town, a mere speck on the map, shuttered for the winter, and though a wizened old man at a pub gave him a hard stare and mumbled something about love, loss, and pain, the empty words brought no comfort. A few in Doolin remembered Caitlin as a sad woman. “Worked in the woolen shop, she did. Slung pints for a time. Always with a smile that never reached her eyes. She disappeared years ago, now. Off to Dublin, she was, yeah?”
With every conversation, hope faded, and Liam sunk into a dark despair, barely eating, sleeping, or shifting. He avoided his parents’ frantic phone calls and suffered through a rather difficult conversation with his alpha, Mike.
“Get back here, Liam. You’re needed. Nathan is moving to Albany to join his mate’s pack. I need a beta, and I want you. I won’t live forever. You’ll be this pack’s alpha one day. You need to start stepping up.”
The vote of confidence would have meant the world to him any other time, but with Caitlin missing and potentially in danger, he couldn’t even think about leading a pack. Not yet. “I can’t give up on her, Mike. Give me another week, yeah? If I can’t find her by then, I’ll come home.”
“Fine. But after a week, that’s it. No more excuses. Consider that an order.”
He couldn’t disobey Mike’s order. The man gave so few. No fighting. No hurting innocent humans. No exposing their secrets to others. Liam found his home with the Bellingham pack—an independence he’d never attain under his father’s leadership of a small pack outside of Dublin. His job at Built It, one step away from owner, and now a beta role, couldn’t be tossed away—not even for the possibility of love. If he found her, if she asked him to stay, he’d do it. But without knowing where she was, he would soon have no choice. But if he couldn’t find her, he’d have to return home.
The moon waned, and the mating call receded to a dull hum in his bones. He left word with every pub, local authority, and elder in County Clare, and sought out the leader of a band of young wolves outside Shannon, confessing all to the man over a pint. They switched to whiskey when the alpha wolf recognized the name Fergus and warned Liam that the man was as mental as a three-headed bear. “Ye’ll never best him, lad. That is, if ya ever found him. He disappeared years ago, after killin’ a lass with fire in her blood. The elemental community’s fled these parts, and Fergus left with ‘em. Give up on your Caitlin. Your life—your pack—comes before a pretty thing ya never made yours.”
In the end, Liam’s loyalty to the man who’d given him a home, and the desperate pleas of his parents, won out over the dying hope Caitlin would return. She’d made her choice despite him, and he returned to the States, leaving his heart in pieces scattered over the Irish countryside.
Chapter Two
Four pieces of smooth, smoky quartz clicked together in the palm of her hand as cool, calming waves buffeted her raw nerves. Down the quiet street, curtains drawn tight against the darkness, her destination loomed. The quaint gray and green single-story home with tulips lining the front walk drew a scowl. She shouldn’t be here.
Fear skittered down her spine, and she shrank into the shadows of the early hours of the morning. Cleansing the quartz had taken a week, and so much of her air element that she’d lost five pounds, barely able to eat or sleep.
She tugged her hood lower. Staying in the same city as the werewolves terrified her, but whatever thread connected her and the water elemental pulled taut every time she’d thought about going back to Phoenix, stopping her. The city called to her, held her here, too, despite all the reasons she should flee. The cold, drizzly rain soothed her jittery mind, and she’d had a little too much fun at the outlet mall a few months ago, buying thick sweaters, a rain coat, gloves, and scarves—all things she’d never needed in Phoenix.
She’d opted for her natural, darker hair color, hid her blue eyes behind colored contacts, and pierced her nose. A new-found love of running trimmed her curvy frame, though the habit had brought her too close to the water elemental more than once—apparently they shared that particular passion. Passing the alpha’s mate running around Green Lake had sent her diving behind bushes the first time, but Mara hadn’t paid her any notice.
There was something wrong—an odd resonating tone that called to her air element--and she’d taken to timing her runs when she knew Mara would be out as well. She ached to soothe the elemental she’d had a hand in harming, and every run, every close call, helped her figure out what to do.
Rain drummed an endless staccato beat against the hood of her jacket, and she crept closer. The first quartz pushed easily into the sodden earth at the south corner of Mara’s yard. A dog barked in the distance, and she couldn’t stifle her gasp.
“Shit.” She fingered the crystal around her neck. “Protect me,” she whispered, and the gentle caress of her element brought a hint of fiery smoke to her nose. The ache of loss cinched tighter as images of Katerina’s charred body falling from the high, metal towers by the lake assaulted her memories. Murdered by her own sister. Why? Why had Katerina been so hell-bent on revenge? Why hadn’t Bella stopped her? How did Mara wield fire so easily?
Something nudged her mind, an inky blackness that searched her out at night and left her screaming in her dreams. With a shake of her head, she shoved the dark thoughts away. She longed for one more day with the woman who’d been part sister, part mother to her for years. She’d beg her to end this life-long quest for revenge. If only Katerina hadn’t found the werewolf last year. The son of the wolf who’d killed Katerina’s mother, Cade Bowman—and planning his death—became
Katerina’s whole life. His agony cemented the final stone in the wall of Katerina’s revenge. But her plan went horribly wrong. The memory of Katerina’s final scream shattered the stillness of the night, and a gale sent a garbage can next door clattering down an alley.
Calm down. Three to go. She crept to the east. The second piece of quartz scraped against the root of a bushy sage plant, and the calming scent mixed with the fresh rain. A smile tugged. Sage kept evil at bay. A wise choice after the hell the alpha and his mate survived. Though her part in it had been small, she often woke with the bitter taste of regret on her tongue, born of dark dreams of death, and someone looming over her…a man she couldn’t see but knew she feared.
Forcing the memories away, she reached over the five-foot cedar fence and unhooked the latch. Once she slipped into the backyard, she gaped. A pool spanned Mara’s yard and the yard of the house next door. Shit. The rest of Bowman’s pack probably lived there. Stupid. They’d rip her apart if they saw her. Finish the task and get the fuck out.
Racing to the north corner, she sank to a knee and shoved the third piece of quartz against the back fence. One more. Rose bushes lined the west side of the property, and thorns scraped against the back of her hand, blood welling dark and fast, dripping onto the dirt. Her fingers shook, and the fourth quartz tumbled free. She pushed the crystal a finger’s depth into the earth.
A lock snicked. Terror shot through her, and she scrambled along the rose bushes, calling on her element to hide the desperate noise of her escape. A large, shadowy figure emerged from the house next door and stared up at the sky. She stopped, watching, cowering with thorns pressing into her back, her breath caught in her chest.
His thick mane of hair tumbled over broad shoulders. Under the house’s porch light, his muscular chest tapered into a narrow waist, with a deep v of muscle that angled down into loose-fitting pants.
Familiarity toyed with her frantic mind. The way he held himself, the hand that scraped over his chin, even his scent. Low tones of her element played a melody only she could hear as she called the air to her. Who was he? One of Bowman’s pack? He had to be.
Move. The order sprang to her mind, and the red crystal around her neck warmed. Katerina always protected her, even now, dead and gone. Once again insulating her frantic movements with her element, she reached the fence, climbed up and over, and ran for home.
***
Liam O’Sullivan threw a credit card down on the bar. “Jameson. Make it a double.”
The bartender, a tattooed, pierced hipster wearing a fucking fedora of all things, nodded. “Coming right up.”
Across the bar, someone was midway through a strangled karaoke rendition of “Sea of No Cares,” one of his favorite songs, when his thoughts turned dark. “Shite. Keep ‘em coming.” In two swallows, the whiskey disappeared, and the slow burn in his gut made the warbler’s abuse easier to stomach. If only booze would quiet the constant memories and sadness that held his heart in a vise. Eleven years. Eleven years of loneliness, pain, and regret. That he’d received her letter three days after her death hadn’t mattered. He’d forever associate this date with her.
He thanked God when the song ended, and he sipped the second drink. He’d learned well. If he pounded too many doubles too quickly, most bartenders would cut him off faster than he could say “another.” Liam could toss back at least six drinks before he felt anything, courtesy of his werewolf blood, but he’d taken the day off today and had been working on a near constant buzz since just after breakfast. When Livie and Shawn had returned to the pack house with his niece, Serena, Liam had left. While they didn’t share blood, the members of the pack were as close as family—closer. He never wanted little Serena to see him like he was today: full of piss and not giving a fuck what happened to him.
The second drink gone, he turned his attention to the television over the bar. Two outs in the bottom of the seventh and the Mariners were up three to one. Nodding to the bartender, he tilted his glass. “Think Felix still has it this year?”
“Damn well better. We’ve finally got a chance. You want another?” With a quick glance, the bartender filled Liam’s glass again before shifting his gaze to the television. “Best pitching in the world won’t do shit without run support.” Before Liam could reply, the man shuffled off to tend to a group of tipsy co-eds at the other end of the bar.
The mechanics of the game kept his miserable thoughts at bay for a time until a breeze ruffled his hair. The scent that haunted his dreams mixed with that of beer, whiskey, and fries from a nearby table, and Liam slammed back his drink, desperate to quell the memory.
“I’d like a Makers. Double—neat.” A quiet voice beside him held a musical lilt, and he turned a bleary-eyed gaze to the woman sliding a hip onto the next stool.
“Put it on my tab, mate.” Something about her called to him. The strained tenor of her tone, the way her pale fingers twisted the bright pendant at her throat, the raw need that twitched a muscle in her jaw. Golden chestnut curls draped over narrow shoulders, and he blinked away the vision of another woman, another time.
“Thank you.” She withdrew her wallet and passed her credit card to the bartender. “But I can buy my own drinks.”
“Suit yourself. What’s your name?”
“I’m not interested in talking.” Desire danced in her eyes for a breath, and she cocked her head, but then turned her gaze to the baseball game, now in the bottom of the ninth.
“Fine by me.” The bartender slid both drinks along the bar, and Liam lifted his, tipping the amber liquid towards her. “To not talking.”
She stifled a chuckle. “To silence.”
“Ya won’t find silence here.” Liam gestured to the karaoke machine and the group of college-aged girls huddled around the monstrosity. “If ya want that, we should get out of here.” The challenge rasped from his throat.
“We? You’re full of yourself, aren’t you?” The woman ran a hand through her curls, stirring his memories once again. Shite. This dreaded day had addled his mind—that or the alcohol.
“Look, luv, I just wanted to buy ya a drink. Because ya look like ya need to forget as much as I do tonight. I didn’t mean to offend ya. Truce?”
“Fine.”
“I’m—”
The woman held up her hand. “No. No names. We’re going to drink. That’s all. I’m not looking for anything more.”
***
Two hours later, after another four drinks for him and two for her, they stumbled out of the bar arm-in-arm, laughing.
“Your place or mine?” The woman, who still hadn’t offered her name, fell against him with a giggle and spread her fingers against his chest. “You’re warm.”
“I run hot,” he said, dropping his head so he could take a deep whiff of her hair. He never understood what women did to make themselves smell so damn good. His keen senses, sharper than any human’s even when muddled by alcohol, took all of her in—the freckles sprinkled over pale cheeks, the steady heartbeat that raced when he leaned closer, the scent of her soap—something blended with fig blossoms. Fuck. The day and the drink were clearly getting to him if he thought a dead woman had somehow found him here, in Seattle of all places, and on this day of all days. A chuckle escaped him, rough and strained, and the woman’s kohl-lined eyes danced with sparkles of light in response.
For one night, he could pretend. Sex had been her idea, after all, and though his imagination had clearly sent rational thought fleeing for the hills, she’d soothe his beast for a time. “Yours.”
She pulled back. “You’re not married, are you?”
His eyes burned until he squeezed them shut. “No.”
“Then let’s go. I’m just around the corner.” She tugged on his arm, sliding her fingers down to link with his.
He glanced down at the surprisingly intimate gesture. A whiff of coffee breezed over him, and granules of sugar danced over her knuckles. No. A blink and they disappeared, leaving only her small hand clutched in his and a
dull ache in his chest.
“Luv, I’m going to kiss ya now.” He stopped and cupped the back of her neck. His hands tangling in her hair, he claimed her lips. She molded herself against his length, and her tight nipples pressed against his chest. He started with a quick taste, a nip along the corner of her mouth, and then risked pressing her back to the brick wall of the building. A gentle current of air stirred his locks, and the scent of fig blossoms returned, stronger than ever.
“More.” She hooked a leg around his ass, drawing him closer to her. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Not here.” He needed her alone and naked, quickly, before the memories overwhelmed him again.
“No.” She shoved him back, far enough so she could meet his gaze. Something changed in her expression, and her amethyst eyes reflected sadness, need, and perhaps a bit of tenderness. Her gaze dropped to the bulge in his jeans. “Can you manage like that?”
“Bloody hell, yeah. Lead the way.”
They rushed down an alley, turned left, and then ducked into an old, run-down apartment complex. The foyer smelled like Chinese food and stale fish, and empty beer cans overflowed from bins in the corner, but at least the floor was well-swept, the mailboxes neatly marked. She led him up the stairs to the third floor, struggled to get her key in the lock, and cursed viciously. “Fucking bourbon.”
The cool of the evening had helped sober him, and he turned her key. “Inside. Now.”
“Bedroom’s to the right. Get naked.” He chuckled and stripped off his leather jacket on the way, followed by his sweater. Shoes, jeans, and briefs joined them on the floor, and he flopped down on her bed, giving his cock a stroke while watching her stalk towards him.
“Top drawer,” she said, and her throaty voice sent a chill down his spine.
A Shift in the Air Page 2
