by J. L. Wilder
“What should we do?”
It was strange. She had told him exactly what she wanted, and yet he could see that she wasn’t going to come out and ask for it. She bowed to his authority. She submitted. He could tell her right now that it was just too damn bad, that he would drink if he wanted to and she would have to deal with it, and she’d probably never say another word on the subject.
It was scary, having someone surrender control to him like that.
But it made him want to do right by her. She was placing an overwhelming amount of trust in him, and the very least he could do would be to show her that her trust hadn’t been misplaced. In that moment he realized that he would always try to give Charity what she needed and protect her from harm. She might be the one submitting to him, but in doing so, she had won herself the fiercest ally anyone could ever have.
“I’ll give up drinking,” he said. The words came so easily that he might as well have been offering to switch off the lights or lock the door. It was what Charity needed, so of course he would do it. What other path was there to take?
She looked surprised. “You will? Really?”
“I’d do anything for you,” he said. “I already ran away from home. I left my bike. I left my life as a wolf. And I don’t regret a bit of it. This is nothing, Charity. Of course, I’ll give up drinking. I want to be a good mate to you. I want to be a good father.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “You will be,” she said. “You could never be anything less.”
Chapter Fourteen
CHARITY
When breakfast was over, they headed back to the home they’d acquired, walking hand in hand down the quiet, rural sidewalk.
For a few golden minutes, Charity felt almost impossibly lucky.
This was the exact life she would have chosen for herself if the choice had been placed in her hands. She was away from Hawk and away from the terrible things the Hell’s Wolves would have planned for her—and yet she was no longer alone, a shifter hiding her true identity in a world of humans. She would have a pack of her own. She would have children to raise and nurture and a mate—a partner—to love.
And best of all, that partner was Weston.
She had thought she’d lost him so long ago. She had been sure that their life together was at an end. And yet, here he was, back in her world, the division between them healed so neatly that it was as if there had never been a break.
Life could hardly help but be beautiful from now on.
And then, just as this thought was occurring to her, a motorcycle came ripping by.
Charity felt a sense of wrongness, without being sure exactly what had caused it. The motorcycle—its speed, the bulky build and leather attire of the rider—they didn’t fit in this quaint little town. They didn’t belong here, and she couldn’t have said why, but she was sure of it. It was as if something alien had landed in front of them.
The bike skidded around, pivoting to face them and coming to a screeching halt.
Weston stopped walking. “Get behind me,” he said.
“What?”
“Get behind me!” He was already stepping in front of her.
Then there was a sound like nothing Charity had ever heard before, deafening and explosive, and suddenly Weston had her hand in his and was cutting off the sidewalk, between houses, running as fast as he could and dragging Charity behind him. She couldn’t keep pace with him, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was pulling so fiercely on her arm, she would have fallen over in his wake.
Where are we going? She didn’t question it; she just ran as hard as she could. Behind them, more explosive sounds echoed, and it occurred to Charity that these were probably gunshots. It was an idea that seemed deeply melodramatic, and yet what else could they be?
But who would be shooting at us?
Could it be the wolves? She couldn’t imagine that. Surely not even Hawk would do such a thing. They had grown up together, after all. They had been family once. Hawk was cruel and violent, she knew, but he couldn’t possibly want her or Weston dead.
But who else was there? Who else on Earth would even take an interest in the two of them?
In the backyard of a random home, they came upon a toolshed whose door hung open. “Get in,” Weston said, propelling her toward it, and Charity complied. He followed right behind her, pulled the door closed, and latched it.
They stood there panting, staring at each other in the dark.
“He can shoot us through the door,” Charity whispered as her breathing recovered. “Can’t he? It’s only wood.”
Weston didn’t answer. He peered out the window that was built into the shed’s front door. After a moment, he waved his hand in her direction, indicating that she should come forward.
She did so and joined him at the window. “What’s going on?”
“Do you see him anywhere?”
“No. Do you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything...” Weston sighed and ran his palm over his short hair. “Who was that?”
“It definitely wasn’t one of the Wolves, right?”
“No, did you see his colors?”
“Not really.”
“He didn’t have the claw.” Weston lifted the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the tattoo of a human hand ending in wolf claws on his bicep. “I didn’t recognize the patches, but I would have recognized this. He was something else.”
“A different club?”
“A different pack,” Weston said, nodding.
“But why would another pack attack us?”
“Maybe he knew you were an omega,” Weston said. “Maybe he thought if I was out of the way—”
“How could he know I’m an omega?”
“He might have smelled you,” Weston said. “It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he had.”
“Then...then I’m putting you in danger,” she realized, her veins flooding with ice. “Then people will try to attack you—kill you—to get to me.”
“Stop it,” he said firmly. “Don’t even go there. You and I are not splitting up. If you try to leave, I’ll follow you. So just put the idea out of your head.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Weston,” she said, “I can’t let you put yourself in danger for me. I’m not worth that.”
“What about our babies? Are they worth that?”
She couldn’t answer. Of course, they were. But the idea of someone shooting at her Weston was unbearable. How could this be a choice she had to make? It was unfair. It was impossible.
Weston seemed to understand. He wrapped an arm around her. “It’s not your decision,” he told her quietly. “It’s mine. It’s my choice.”
“But how can I let it be?”
“You have to,” he said. “I’m telling you to. Let me decide. Don’t push me away. Don’t run away from me. I’m a part of this family, so let me be a part of it.”
Charity opened her mouth to argue again but found that a sort of peace had settled over her. Even though she still feared for his safety, she found that her heart had fully accepted her own lack of control. He was right. It was his choice. There was nothing she could do about it anyway, so she might as well accept it.
It was liberating. It was freeing. She looked up at him in wonder. “How did you do that?”
“What did I do?”
“You made me...you made me stop being afraid. You made me stop wanting to get as far away from you as I could so that you wouldn’t be in danger.”
He caressed her cheek softly. “That’s good,” he said.
“It is good. It’s much better. But I don’t understand how it happened.”
“It must be another omega thing.”
“Did you read about it in your book?”
“No, not specifically. But we both know that omegas naturally submit to their mates—”
“To alphas, I thought it was.”
“Well, their mates are usually alphas. But in this case, you’ve submitted to me. So, this must
be part of that. You’re submitting to my orders too. Haven’t you noticed how willingly you’ve been following every suggestion I’ve made since we left the pack? That’s not just because you’re a follower generally. We both know you’re not, or else you wouldn’t have run away the first time.”
“That makes sense,” she agreed. The anxious horror that had spun to life inside her at the thought that she would have to leave Weston for his own safety slowly faded away. He wanted her beside him. He had chosen to face whatever came with her.
“I don’t think that biker’s coming back,” Weston said quietly. “I think we lost him.”
“Do you think it’s safe to go back to the house?” she asked. “If he’s following my scent...”
“We’ll try it,” Weston said. “But we’ll have to move carefully.”
He opened the door of the shed and crept out into the yard. The sun had started to go down now. Weston led Charity through the yard they were in, across the property line, into the adjoining yard. He pointed across the street. There was their house.
There was no sign of a malevolent biker anywhere.
It didn’t look as though they’d been tracked. So maybe the biker they’d seen hadn’t been after Charity at all. Maybe he hadn’t known they were shifters. Maybe he hadn’t even been a shifter himself, but just a regular human biker. Maybe his attack on them had been an attempt to rob them or a random act of violence.
Maybe they were safe now.
Charity could tell Weston was thinking the same thing. And she could tell he was afraid to allow himself to believe it. He marched around the house locking doors and windows and shutting curtains. Charity went into the living room and sat on the couch, afraid to turn on any lights.
After a few minutes, Weston joined her. He fell into a posture of relaxation beside her, but Charity could tell by the tension in the arm he wrapped around her shoulders that he was still worried.
Night was coming upon them quickly, but Charity and Weston had been sleeping during the day lately and weren’t tired. And even if they had been on a normal sleep schedule, the fear and adrenaline would likely have driven sleep away from them.
After a while, Weston turned on the TV and they tried to watch, but Charity couldn’t manage to focus on anything. The program was some sort of game show, but she couldn’t even seem to follow the rules. Every time a car drove by outside, she jumped, thinking the engine must belong to a motorcycle. What if he was still out there? What if he lived in this town? How could they ever feel safe again?
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but it was impossible. Her nerves were jumping.
“Do you want to go to bed?” Weston asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” The bedroom might feel safer. The living room faced the road, but their bedroom was at the back of the house. “I guess so. Yes.”
“Come on, then.” He pulled her to her feet and down the hall to the bedroom. Once there, he eased her gently down to sit on the edge of the bed.
He knelt before her and carefully removed her shoes and socks, taking a few minutes to massage the soles of her feet. Charity closed her eyes. It felt amazing. It was as if his hands were channeling energy through her feet to all the pockets of anxiety and upset in her body.
He pulled her upright just long enough to unfasten and remove her pants before sliding them down, leaving her underwear in place. Then he knelt again and rotated her ankles before moving his hands up the back of her shins, massaging the muscles there. He rubbed her knees gently, warming them, and then worked the tops of her thighs.
She ran her fingers through his hair gently as he worked. He was so amazing. She was in awe of his capacity to get her out of her own head, to help her forget the things that had been upsetting her. She hadn’t heard a car go by since they’d come in here. She hadn’t even thought about it.
Now Weston lifted her shirt over her head. “Roll over,” he said, taking her arms and guiding her to lie on her stomach. She turned her head to the side, feeling the dip of the bed as he came to kneel over her. His weight settled on her lower legs and he continued his massage up the backs of her thighs and to her ass.
To Charity’s surprise, she giggled.
“Did I tickle you?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I’m just enjoying it. I’m just happy.”
He bent over her and kissed the middle of her back, right between her shoulder blades. “Good,” he said. “I’m happy too.”
Now he had reached her back, and she sighed and relaxed as his skilled fingers went to work loosening the knots of muscle there. The tension and terror gradually left her body. This was Weston, her Weston. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to their family. They’d be perfectly safe. She was silly to have worried about it.
At some point, without planning it or realizing it was coming, she dropped off to sleep.
SHE AWOKE TO THE SOUND of a phone ringing.
Immediately, all the panic from the afternoon broke over her like a wave. Her heart beat a frantic staccato as she sat upright. It’s just a phone call, she told herself firmly. A phone call isn’t anything to be afraid of.
It rang again. Weston bolted upright.
“Who has our number here?” Charity asked desperately. “Unless...could it be a call from the landlord? Maybe something’s wrong with the papers?”
But Weston was shaking his head, getting to his feet and digging in his duffel bag. “That’s not the house phone,” he said, and a moment later he had emerged with his cell phone in his hand.
“Who is it?” Charity asked, transfixed with fear.
Weston was staring at the phone. “It’s Robbie,” he said.
“Don’t answer it,” Charity said immediately.
“It’s Robbie,” Weston said. “Robbie’s the only one of them I trust.”
“Okay, but what if Hawk ordered him to call?” Charity said. “What if they’re going to trace the call or something?”
“They don’t know how to do something like that. Hawk isn’t smart enough.” He took a breath. “I’m going to answer it. Don’t worry.”
And once again, the sweeping sense of calm washed over Charity. He had told her not to worry, so she wouldn’t worry. This submission stuff was amazing.
Weston touched his phone’s screen to accept the call. “Hello?” he said quietly.
A long pause. Charity tried to read the reaction on Weston’s face as he listened to the voice on the other end, but it was impossible. His expression appeared to be carved out of granite. If she hadn’t known him so well, she thought, she might have been a little afraid of him in that moment.
“Thank you for calling,” Weston said quietly after he’d listened for a long while. “Yes, we’re fine. We’re somewhere safe.” He listened for another moment, eyes closed. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea either. Take care of yourself, okay? Yeah.” He hung up the phone and stood staring at it, not moving or speaking.
“What is it?” Charity asked. “What did he say?
“Hawk put a hit out on us,” Weston said quietly. “He’s been in touch with other pack leaders, other alphas. He’s offering a monetary reward to anyone who can bring us in.”
“You’re kidding,” she whispered.
“What it means is that any number of packs could be out looking for us now,” he said. “I’m sure they’ve shown pictures of us, so people will know what they’re looking for. That guy who saw us earlier must have thought he’d hit pay dirt.”
“You think he definitely was a shifter, then? Hunting us on Hawk’s orders?”
“There’s no other reason for him to go after us,” Weston said. “Who are we to him? We didn’t know him. But if he knew about Hawk’s reward—”
“Why would he try to shoot us, though?” Charity asked. “The reward is for bringing us in alive, isn’t it? Not...not for killing us?”
“That’s right, but I bet he wasn’t trying to kill us,” Weston said. “I bet he thought he’d shoot me in
the leg or something so I couldn’t run off with you, and that’d make it easy to bring us in. Charity, we can’t stay here.”
Her heart was heavy with loss—in only the few hours that this had been their home, Charity had grown attached to it. It was strange and new to have a place of her own where she truly felt she belonged. But she knew he was right. If their attacker hadn’t yet told anybody about seeing them, odds were he would do it soon. He might even contact Hawk directly and let him know he’d seen Charity and Weston.
So, she swallowed her pain and silently said goodbye to the little house, the little town, and the life she’d hoped to have here. “Where will we go?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll think of something. But we have to leave tonight.”
She steeled herself. “Okay.”
They packed up quickly and quietly. Weston placed the house key on the kitchen counter but didn’t leave a note—they couldn’t risk an explanation for their departure falling into the wrong hands. He locked the door from the inside, and then they were back out on the street.
They hadn’t had even a single night in their new home.
They moved carefully again, down the street that had once been theirs and around the corner, and there, on the side of Lombard Lane, fortune turned in their favor.
Someone had left a motorcycle parked by the sidewalk.
Weston approached it slowly, as if afraid it might buck and run away from him. He laid his hands on the handlebars, exploring.
“Get on,” he said quietly.
“Are we stealing it?”
“Yes.”
Charity had never stolen anything in her life, much less a vehicle. But Weston was her mate. Any guilt she might have felt about what they had to do was mitigated by the fact that the order had come from him. Weston would never choose to do something criminal if there was a good alternative, she knew. She trusted him to bear the moral weight of this decision.
She got on the bike.
Weston got on in front of her and pulled some wires free from behind one of the handlebars. He took a pocketknife from his jacket pocket and flicked away the plastic covering. Carefully, he brought two of the wires together.
