by PJ Schnyder
Funny. She hadn’t protested.
“Have you always been the alpha?” A soft question, one with a pile more behind it he’d bet.
“I wasn’t born a werewolf.” Why tell her from the beginning? Maybe there’d be fewer questions if he gave her the whole of it. No one around but her to hear anyway. “Werewolves born to a pack are stronger, faster. The alpha is always the strongest, smartest, of the wolves. Stands to reason the alpha is usually born a werewolf as well.”
“But you weren’t.” So calm. How did her calm settle him? She was like a warm blanket—soft, comforting.
“I’m old. It took me a long time to find a pack I could belong to.” He paused. Remembering. “A long time to find an alpha I could put my faith in, one worth following.”
“I don’t suppose the former alpha retired to an estate out in Hampshire, did he?”
Ah, the old wolf would’ve enjoyed that. Plenty of hunting, lots of rich snobs to drive crazy.
“Werewolves don’t often take themselves off to a grizzled retirement.” No, they generally went insane, especially if left unbalanced by lack of a companion to ground them. Friend, mate, someone. “The anger, it grows inside us. Drives us mad, eventually.”
He shouldn’t tell her. They’d been careful to give their best hero appearance to the public. They’d worked hard to hide the worst of themselves.
A small hand spread flat against his chest, over his heart. “You’re not angry now.”
The warmth of her palm seeped into his skin and deeper.
“No.” He breathed deep, enjoyed the clean scent of her hair. Then he tossed her up in the air again and caught her close to his chest.
“Oy!” She pounded her fist into his chest. “I’m not a ball to be tossing around here.”
He could’ve kept walking. Maybe after they’d both eaten, he’d take her for another walk.
The pub he’d chosen was one friendly to his pack. Convenient, really. He planned to include this portion of the pack’s territory in his personal patrols in the future.
At the moment, though, he had a bundle of disgruntled moxie to feed. She’d fussed to be let down at the front door and he had acquiesced, letting her limp her way to a booth. Her grip on his offered arm had to be as much temper as it was necessity.
She snarled almost as well as a Were.
“Haven’t seen you in these parts in a while, Seth.” The barmaid stopped by as soon as they sat down. “You know we normally require shirt and shoes for service.
He cocked his head to one side and gave her a nod of apology. “Sorry, Mel, hit a mess of trouble while I was out on a run. You’re not too crowded tonight.”
“No, and we’re not too crowded any night lately. You can eat as you are.” Mel gave an indifferent sniff. “At least you appreciate the quality of our food.”
Not many had the quid to eat here, even the honest pub food. Of those who could, many were rich tourists here to hunt zombies. They came in armed with too much pride and not much in good taste.
Those with money had bought their way out of London before the quarantine had gone into effect and the military had established the checkpoints around the M25 beyond the city.
“I’ll have my usual.” He looked at Maisie, who was studying the one page menu she must have nicked from the holder at the end of the table. “My...friend might need a minute to decide.”
Before Mel could step away, Maisie piped up. “Oh no, I’m ready. I’ll have the haddock, please, and a side of mushy peas.”
Seth raised his eyebrow. Maisie’s sweet smile, which she hadn’t yet given him, won an answering smile from Mel. The choice in supper probably won points too. His girl had a palate.
Of course she was his.
Content in the way Maisie seemed to have accepted his offer to buy her dinner, he slid a fresh glass of water across the table to her.
“Hydrate.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
He considered what he’d like to do with her sass, but got sidetracked by imagining what she might do with her tongue instead. He hardened at the thought and things didn’t get any more comfortable when she wrapped both hands around her glass and brought it to her lips to drink.
Too distracted to make conversation, he was glad she wasn’t one of those people who needed to fill silence with idle chatter. Instead, she seemed content to sip her water and look around the pub with those wide grey eyes.
And there were still things to see, even if few patrons populated the pub. One or two brave souls sat at the bar and another quiet pair sat in a different corner booth. Conversation was hushed, as if everyone was too exhausted to be loud. This area had been hit harder by the infestation, as close as it was to Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park. Stray zombies shambled out of the parks and into the alleys at night. Some were even lured out by bait set out by crazy hunters. Until the virus could be brought under control, this area would continue to struggle.
Jobs were gone. People eked out what existence they could supporting the new hunter tourism or trading each other for simple skills, like plumbing or handiwork.
Still, the pub had seen hard times before and it would weather the winter nights as well. Seth and his pack mates would see to it.
Once the zombies were gone and the quarantine lifted, London would bustle again.
“Here you are.” Mel returned with two large platters. “On the pack account, Seth?”
“My personal tab, Mel. And buy yourself a drink for when you get off, will you?”
Mel smiled and gave him a nod, then left them to their meal.
As hungry as he was, Seth studied Maisie’s plate first, to be sure it had been put together proper.
A salad of light greens had been arranged in a nice pile on her plate and a crisp breaded fillet of haddock laid on top. A perfectly poached egg sat perched on the haddock with a light drizzle of some sort of Béarnaise sauce over it all. In another small dish was her side of mushy peas.
Mel’s cook did wonders with the shipments allowed in past the barricades and the little roof garden up on the top of the building.
Maisie laid a napkin in her lap and took up her fork, piercing the poached egg to let the rich golden yolk flow. Then she took a bite of the flaky haddock and a bit of salad. Her eyes rolled up and she gave an almost inaudible moan of pleasure.
Damn, but he might bust a zipper in his britches. The girl did enjoy her food. He desperately wanted to lick away the bit of sauce on her lip, but she wiped it away neatly with her napkin before digging in for another bite.
“Taste good?”
“Wonderful.” She didn’t even look up.
He didn’t blame her. It smelled wonderful. So did his meal. He applied himself with a hearty appetite to the double portion of bangers and mash with his own side.
After a few moments, he noticed her watching him eat. “You have a question?”
She blinked, then tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “I’d have thought, you being what you are, you’d be eating a lot more...protein.”
“Bangers are protein.”
She nodded. “True, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d like bubble and squeak.”
He looked down at his fried vegetables, mostly potato and cabbage with some peas and a bit of ham. Not many Weres liked it, she had the right of it there. “Well, I used to have it all the time before I was changed. I guess I never lost the taste for it. You don’t like it?”
She held up her hands. “I prefer mushy peas with dinner, myself. But a nice bubble and squeak is always pretty satisfying with breakfast.”
How did she manage to get him to grin over and over again?
* * *
It wasn’t until later, once he’d returned her back to the animal clinic, that he pushed her again. “I’ve answered your questions. You still haven’t answered mine from before supper.”
She blew out an exasperated huff, the puff of air lifting a wavy lock of caramel hair out of her face. She was probably grumpy a
gain because he’d insisted on carrying her after they left the pub.
“Because I don’t want to tell you and don’t want to lie to you.”
“But you’d lie to your friend.” This female baffled him. She wasn’t cowed by him and wouldn’t lie to him, yet wouldn’t trust him with the location of her den.
A part of him hurt.
It shouldn’t. He barely knew her.
Somehow, it didn’t matter that he’d only just met her. She was already his.
“Well, and we’ve covered that particular talent of yours to smell a falsehood...” She began to squirm in his arms. “You don’t have to hold me up like this.”
He tossed her up in the air, getting a satisfying squeak, catching her easily then cradling her in his arms again. That was beginning to be his favorite game. “More comfortable?”
“You really have got to stop doing that.” But there was laughter in her voice beneath the admonishment.
He liked the feel of her—maybe held her a touch too close. But she didn’t seem to notice.
Especially since she still wiggled against him. “I didn’t mean for you to toss me about like a stuffed doll. I meant for you to put me down.”
The examination room was most familiar, so he headed for it as she continued to grumble. At least one of her crutches was in there. “Not likely to happen, I’m afraid.” The cinnamon-and-honey scent of her hair teased his nose. Made him want to taste her skin and see if it held the same spicy sweetness.
She beat at his chest with a small fist. He gave her his laziest smile.
She hit hard for a female.
“Fine then. It’s not far.” Exasperated, maybe a bit desperate. He had her at bay now, with nowhere to dodge to.
“Then you be still while I carry you there.”
Her response was both pithy and anatomically impossible. He laughed, and wondered whether she had the experience to know it wasn’t possible.
“I’ll need to bring my crutches so I can get back down here in the morning.”
He raised an eyebrow. It’d be an exercise in the ridiculous for him to carry the one crutch and juggle her, all while he dug up the other one. That is, if she even told him where she kept it.
Point to her.
“I’ll set you down here if you promise to stay while I get them. Otherwise, I’m taking you home and then I’ll come back to get them.”
She narrowed her eyes, visibly assessing where she stood in their verbal sparring match. Well fed, the color had returned in her complexion. She’d already proved to be exceptionally nimble in thought. “Fine. I promise.”
He placed her on the stretcher where he’d sat only an hour or two prior and caught up her crutch in one hand. “Where’s the other one?”
Her lips twisted in a rueful grin as she acknowledged his foiling of her plan. “Behind the front reception desk.”
Little chit had planned to try to scamper off on the one. As if she would have gotten very far. He could run down any human, much less catch up to her, well fed or no.
Still, he was having fun playing.
Danny wouldn’t hesitate to yank his tail over this if he’d seen it.
Violent, temper-driven Seth, pack alpha, playing games with a bitty human girl and enjoying every minute of it.
How long had it been since he’d been free of anger for any significant period of time? Yet with Maisie, he’d smiled more in the space of a few hours then he had in a year or more.
Since he’d lost Sarah.
He retrieved the crutch in short order, returning to find her perched right where he’d left her with wide, grey eyes and a supremely innocent look on her face.
“What are you up to? And why haven’t you got a coat?”
“It really isn’t all that far.”
“It’s cold outside.” He growled at her.
She shrugged. “When I went out earlier in the day to cool my head, I didn’t notice the cold.”
“Harder to draw your gun?” He took a guess.
She shook her head. “I’ve been meaning to get one. When I do, I plan to put holes in the pockets for easier access and have an extra reinforced pocket in the front that acts as a spare holster.”
Nice.
“Let’s get you home. You can tell me how many guns you own on the way.” He was genuinely curious. Where had she gotten them from, in a city where firearms were even more expensive with the rise of zombies?
The smile fled from her face and she fastened her gaze on the floor. She kicked her right foot out the way a kid would, sitting up on a high perch, then abruptly pulled it in and tucked it behind her left. “I am home.”
He studied her. Yeah, the right foot was twisted. However, she tried to use it too often for her to have been born with the condition. Then her statement sank in.
Not a lie.
“You live here.” It was a clinic. The windows to all the above floors were boarded up. They couldn’t be livable.
She refused to meet his stare but lifted her chin in a sharp gesture. “Upstairs. The floors above the clinic are abandoned space. Landlord hasn’t been able to rent out any of them as flats, in this building or the ones on either side, since last year. No one wants to live in them as they are and he’s too cheap to renovate them to make them worth the rent. Says he’d make more in insurance at this point.”
She bit off the last couple of words. Color rose up in her cheeks as she tensed with real anger. “If they’re abandoned, there’s no heat or water going to them.” He lifted his lip and bared his teeth. He didn’t like the idea of her in the cold, curled up with no comfort.
“I wash up down here before Brian gets in for the day.” She swept her arm out to indicate the whole of the clinic. “I’d sleep down here, but we lock it up and set alarms with motion sensors in every room but the kennels. I wouldn’t be able to move around at night at all. And Brian would know if I didn’t set the alarms at night. It’s what keeps the clinic, the whole building, safe.”
“Why doesn’t your friend know you’re squatting in abandoned flats?” He could remember the man’s name, but couldn’t say it. The attempt came out in a snarl.
Her friend should have known, should have seen through the farce. She deserved to be cared for much better than she’d been.
“Brian still has a family to care for, a mother and two younger siblings. Too many mouths to feed, and what we make at the clinic isn’t enough for him to stretch to cover me too. Even though he’d try. I’m saving up. I’ll have enough to afford a place of my own in time.”
Still...
“What happened to your family, Maisie? Where are your other friends?” A steady calm settled over him as he watched her. He was hunting now, hunting for the truth. It was important for him to know. He’d consider why later.
Her hands tightened on the edge of the stretcher and her shoulders hunched.
He waited. He didn’t push her more and wouldn’t ask again if she refused. The question was out there and whether she answered at all would determine if he’d come back.
“Do you fight with your...your pack mates? Is that what you call them?” she asked after a long moment.
“Yes.”
“Do they forgive you?”
* * *
Maisie studied the man standing in the middle of the room. Still shirtless, he didn’t seem to notice or care. He stood tall and confident, every fiber of him speaking of independence and strength.
Oh, he had a temper. She’d watched his rangy frame shake with it. It hadn’t scared her. Maybe even was a bit of a turn on, if she’d admit it to herself. More than a bit.
Amazing he hadn’t smelled it off her.
But then, she’d only just sponged him down in disinfectant an hour or so ago and had it all over her hands too. It would’ve been a miracle if he could smell anything besides the stuff.
“Most of the time, my pack mates will forgive.” He rolled his shoulders and muscles rippled across his chest. “They might not forget, and the
y might find a way to get even, but most of the time we forgive each other.”
She nodded. Her chest tightened. “Like a family.”
“Yeah.” His brows drew together in a scowl. Family seemed to be a difficult topic for him too.
Because of that, she trusted him enough to take the plunge into her past.
“I’d had a fight with my brother.” She stared down at her feet, right crossed behind the left. “It was stupid. They’d just started to broadcast the warnings about the zombie virus on the telly. Couldn’t believe how much it would cost to get out of London before the quarantine kept everyone here. They’d make us all pay to go someplace safer? He wanted to stay here, wait it out, keep the family together. I thought he was bloody daft.” She closed her eyes. “I’d stormed out of our flat, gone off to cool my head.”
It was a habit.
Silence, though Seth had crossed the room to stand just in front of her, in arm’s reach.
“My family, they came after me when they thought I’d been gone too long. Worried.” She’d been too angry, too upset to think about where she’d gone, the danger she’d put them in that night. “I’d gone to the gardens. I could find the Peter Pan statue from anywhere in the park, you see. Even if it wasn’t the original way the story’s Peter should look, I still loved the statue. Every time I felt mischievous, devilish, I’d go there. It was as if I could put my hands on the cool bronze of it and let go of the devil in me, you know? Go back to the real world with a level head.”
“It was your sanctuary.” He didn’t mock her. Maybe she imagined the understanding in his voice but at least he didn’t make fun.
She nodded. “It was their voices, calling for me in the dark, that probably attracted the zombies. Two of the things came from opposite directions. If I’d answered my mum and brother sooner, maybe we would have had time to get out of the park. We weren’t armed back then.”
And she hadn’t known how to shoot.
She’d fixed that.
“We didn’t recognize them for what they were at first. Thought maybe they were beggars.”
“You let them get too close.”
Too much knowing there. He’d probably seen a lot of zombie attacks. The telly broadcasts said the werewolf pack was hunting down zombies, keeping them in check. Told the general public to stay indoors and not hinder their efforts. Based on Seth’s comments, his pack truly was helping.
