Call of the Lycan (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 3)

by Deidre Huesmann

  Call of the Lycan

  (book 3 of the Secrets of the Sequoia series)

  written by Deidre Huesmann

  Copyright © 2015

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America by Amazon

  First Printing, December 1st 2015

  ISBN-13: 978-1519220271

  www.amazon.com

  CALL OF THE LYCAN

  Secrets of the Sequoia (Book 3)

  by Deidre Huesmann

  To my love and father of my child, Christopher.

  This wouldn’t be possible if you hadn’t been so unfailingly patient with my endeavors.

  I love you.

  Pain makes you stronger.

  Fear makes you braver.

  Heartbreak makes you wiser

  — unknown

  Chapter One

  She was gradually getting used to the smell of motor oil and sweat mingling together.

  After his alleged kidnapping, her brother had been given a choice: pursue a hobby or a career. Given his penchant for games, he’d chosen a hobby. Unfortunately, the choice had not been so simple. “A waste of time,” he was told with an off-handed wave. “Find a useful skill and we shall renegotiate.”

  Away from the comforts of family and without the solace of games, he’d hastily chosen his father’s passion: cars. Only instead of admiring and talking about them he had dove head-first into the mechanics.

  Her brother’s current project was an old, beat-up 1967 Mustang. The paint was almost nonexistent due to rust, and the guts had practically fallen out the first time he’d lifted it. But it was clear to see he’d taken a serious liking toward this new hobby of his.

  She wanted her heart to warm at the sight, but it was so difficult to feel anything but anxious these days.

  Her brother finally pulled out from under the hood and sighed heavily. Instead of talking shop, he glanced outside the open garage door. Apparently finding nobody, he leaned in close and murmured, “You talk to him, yet?”

  The throb of anxiety in her chest pained her. “No,” she confessed.

  “You don’t have to, you know,” he pointed out. “Really. I know Dad’s all we have left, and I won’t blame you if you stay with him.”

  Ah, yes, their father. Just thinking about him lit the inferno of guilt. She looked outside to the lightly swaying trees, recalling how the night before their father had drunk himself into a stupor. She’d lain awake through the entire night, listening to his occasional cough over the blaring television.

  The once gruff and vocal man had become an empty shell. The idea of taking care of him for the rest of his natural life terrified her as much as leaving him. It was also the entire reason she hesitated. How could she just abandon him, after all he’d suffered and lost? First his wife, then supposedly his son, and finally his only other child?

  “I’m scared he’ll die without us,” she whispered.

  Her brother lowered his eyes. “I know,” he said softly. “But I’m just as scared he’ll never try if we stay here too long.”

  “You can’t. I get that. But if I leave, what then?”

  “Then,” he said with wavering uncertainty, “he hopefully goes on with his life.”

  She studied him. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  A soft breath escaped him. “I believe he’s lost either way. He drinks. He won’t go to therapy. You said he didn’t even say anything after—”

  “I know,” she interrupted. It still hurt to hear of her best friend’s death. “I know.”

  Finally, he met her despairing gaze. “If you ask he’ll listen,” he said, no longer referring to their father. “But you gotta be careful. He’s capable of being fair, but if he gets upset he might shut you out and never forgive you. If he even thinks I tried to make you....”

  “You’re not making me,” she assured him. “Believe me, I want out. More than anything.” Even though it played right into the hands of utmost danger, she couldn’t stay in her home town. Not anymore and not for much longer.

  “Well,” her brother said quietly. “If he won’t infect you, I will.” Jackson set his jaw. His upper lip curled as though the decrepit engine within had wronged them all. “I’ll do it. I’ll turn you into a lycan.”

  Even though it was what she wanted, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t terrified. But sooner or later it had to be done.

  She had to get Aaron Moreno somewhere alone. And then she had to convince him to infect her.

  Chapter Two

  When Aaron finally accepted her request to have dinner, Rachael hadn’t expected such grandeur.

  Across the table, Aaron lounged comfortably in his booth. He sipped at an iced red drink that smelled faintly of alcohol. He wore the same pressed slacks and button-up shirt, only this time he’d added a fitted jacket and deep blue tie. Certainly he looked far more comfortable than she felt.

  He didn’t even seem to mind the red velvet curtain that hid them from the other diners. Rachael appreciated the privacy, but the soft glow of a faux candle only helped to make their area look as though it were coated in a haze of blood. It made her almost as uneasy as the implication of their meeting.

  Rachael squirmed in her seat, causing him to sigh. “Relax,” said Aaron.

  “I said I wanted dinner alone,” she protested softly. “Not a... date-date.”

  “It is not a date,” he said in his careful dialect. “And we are alone.”

  She sat back in her overstuffed seat, anxiously crossing one leg over the other. Aaron did pause to look her over, but he quickly diverted his gaze back to his food. Rachael felt herself blush a little. He’d told her that he accepted her request upon one condition: that she wear her best clothes, and that if she didn’t have heels, she needed to find a pair.

  So she’d found a dress her mother had once bought her in hopes of seeing her wear to junior prom. It was a silky periwinkle blue affair that modestly covered her from knee to collarbone, with tulle a few shades darker peeking out from the bottom of her skirt if she twirled or shifted slightly. Had her mother been alive she would have gushed and offered to pin her hair up. Unfortunately, Rachael was not adept at hairdressing and hers fell in straight locks that couldn’t tangle if she tied them into knots. And she hadn’t found heels, stubbornly settling for a pair of white ballet flats.

  Aaron hadn’t once commented on her lack of compliance.

  Still, she felt more than a little ridiculous. And nobody had ever told her that tulle could be itchy.

  “Well, it looks like a date,” she said self-consciously. “Why’d you pick this place?”

  “Because,” said Aaron, “you requested privacy.” He gestured toward the curtain cutting them off from the restaurant. “And because the food here is good, the drinks are impeccably mixed, and it is far enough from the house that I feel comfortable our secrets shall stay hidden.” He flashed an insidious smile. “It is best this looks like a date, in the inevitable event you begin to shout at me over whatever perceived slight you have this time.”

  Rachael wanted to be angry but knew he was basing his conjecture on past experience. She settled for a mild frown and looked down at the pristine white tablecloth. The lace trim was intricate and highlighted the polished mahogany of the curved legs of the table itself.

  After a few minutes of her keeping her hands in her lap, Aaron finally put down his sil
verware and contemplated her. “Are you not hungry, Ms. Adair?”

  She shook her head. “I thought we got past that.”

  His expression was deceptively uncaring. “My apologies, Rachael,” he said mildly. “Old habits. What did you wish to speak to me about?”

  Rachael tried to sigh, but it caught in her throat. She swallowed hard and straightened her back, sitting prim and ramrod straight. “I was going to talk to you about your pack...” She drew a deep breath. “But I need to talk about Holden.”

  Aaron’s smile was like a razor. “I see.”

  Pushing her plate aside, Rachael lowered her voice and said, “He’s lost it, Aaron. He came to see me the other day. And he... he said he was going to kill Ana Sofia.” Her voice significantly softened on the word kill.

  Aaron was no longer smiling. “Did he, now?”

  “Not like, now,” she amended. “But he said in ten years she won’t be a kid anymore in her head, so he’ll do it then.”

  Ana Sofia was the newest werewolf—or lycan—to Aaron’s pack. Her debut had been tainted with numerous deaths, including that of Rachael’s best friend, Vera. The most painful part was that Ana Sofia was only five years old and she hadn’t meant to cause any trouble. Aaron’s younger brother had been the one to turn her, and without proper oversight she had gone wild.

  Thankfully, that had since changed. Ana Sofia was a sweet girl. With Aaron as her alpha she was thriving. She still suffered setbacks to be expected of a new lycan, but she had constant supervision. Even her English had improved so she was fairly intelligible. That was no small thing for a child who had grown up speaking strictly Spanish.

  With a scoff Aaron sat back. His tense shoulders gave away his concern. “She may, she may not.”

  Rachael blinked. “What do you mean? I know you age slow, but....”

  “Physically and mentally, yes,” confirmed Aaron. “But it is not always the same with each lycan. All progress slowly, but some are still faster than others. Holden was turned a century and a half ago when he was four. Nathan was two when he turned almost two centuries ago.”

  That was a stark difference, realized Rachael. Holden currently held the appearance of a 17 year-old, and Nathan didn’t look any older than nine. She bit her lip. “So how do we know about Ana Sofia?”

  With a shrug, Aaron said, “We wait fifty years.”

  “That’s too long,” she insisted. “Holden will come for her before then.”

  Aaron’s black gaze turned inward. “Yes,” he murmured. “You are correct.”

  “Then what do we do?” pressed Rachael. Though Ana Sofia had bitten her best friend, Holden had been the one to kill her. In the several months since, Rachael had come to grow somewhat fond if the little girl despite the dark circumstances.

  He looked at her, his brows drawn together. “We do not do anything,” he said. “I shall handle this.”

  Before Rachael could protest he waved for her to be silent. Aaron had his fork in hand again when the curtain opened, and their waitress smiled at them. “Hello. Just coming to check on you two.” She turned her enigmatic grin to Aaron. “May I get you a refill?”

  “No, thank you,” he said politely.

  “You know, Aaron, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in here with a date,” said the waitress. The diamonds in her ears caught the light as she tilted her head.

  A little too loudly, Rachael said, “We’re not on a date.”

  Aaron shot her an exasperated stare, but the waitress kept her smile plastered on. She gave Rachael a slight glimpse. “I see. Well, if you need anything just open your curtain and I’ll be right over!” Aaron thanked her as she closed the red velvet behind her.

  Rachael tried to pick at her meal. Her heart throbbed and her thoughts were dizzying. She knew what she wanted to say but it was critical the words she chose be precise and swaying, or Aaron was not likely to entertain her.

  He picked up on her nervousness. “What is it?”

  Heat spread up her neck. “I—I want to help.”

  A soft clink sounded as Aaron set down his silverware again. Quietly he said, “I am aware. But if Holden is threatening my pack with death, this is too much for me to allow human involvement.”

  Rachael raised her head and forced her voice to steady. “What if I wasn’t human?”

  Aaron blinked.

  “If... if I wasn’t human, would you let me help?”

  He turned to stare at the curtain, almost as though wishing for interruption. The longer he maintained silence, the more Rachael’s heart sank. It seemed there was always a new reason she was not allowed to be involved. Well, fine, she told herself. Good reason hadn’t kept her out before and she wasn’t about to start now.

  Unexpectedly, Aaron said, “Tell me precisely what happened with Holden.”

  Remembering made her wince. Holden Cavanaugh had been the first of the lycans Rachael had met a little over two years ago. Though he had befriended her under Aaron’s orders, she had rapidly formed a connection with him. At the time her mother had been deathly ill, so making friends with Holden—and, due to her passing crush on him, Vera—had been a bright spot in Rachael’s grim life. Upon her mother’s death Holden had been the most empathetic and understanding. When a vindictive member of his pack had infected her brother, their alpha had taken off with him and allowed Holden to remain behind.

  But when the pack returned to Keeton, kids started to go missing. Starting with Ana Sofia. The rest had eventually turned up dead. Initially the pack had believed her brother, Jackson, to be responsible, due to the effects of what they called “the fade.” But over time the truth came out. It culminated in Holden’s exile from the pack and her former enemy Coleen Thibodeaux’s exposure to the secret of lycans.

  “Holden came to my place a week ago,” murmured Rachael. “Coleen was still having trouble over Vera’s... passing. She still is. I thought it was her when I answered the door.”

  Aaron pushed his empty plate to the side and rested his clasped hands on the tablecloth.

  Rachael drew a steadying breath. “But it wasn’t. It was Holden. I didn’t want him there, but he said he was done with it—with you having more lycans. He said in ten years he was coming for Ana Sofia.”

  He scrutinized her expression. “There is more.”

  Uncanny how he could read people sometimes, she thought. In soft tones Rachael said, “He said if I tried to become one of you that he’d kill me, too.”

  Everything about Aaron was dark: his eyes, his hair, his clothes, even his sense of humor. Rachael had seen much of it before. But never had she seen the look of pure, unadulterated fury and disgust that touched his face in that moment. It was like staring into an abyss.

  Before anything could be said, the curtain swung open again. Their waitress paused at Aaron’s black expression. “Honey, you all right?”

  Quickly Aaron smoothed the lines of his face and gave a curt nod. “Fine. Thank you, Genevieve.”

  “Hmm.” Genevieve turned to face Rachael completely for the first time since taking her order. Her auburn eyes flickered down to her untouched plate. “Is the food not to your liking?”

  “Sorry,” said Rachael. “I’m not very hungry.”

  “What a waste.” The saccharine in her voice barely masked her contempt. Genevieve lifted the plate from Rachael’s spot, startling her. Rachael started to speak but instead bit her lip. What did it matter quibbling when she’d just admitted she had no appetite?

  Still, it somehow seemed rude not to eat when Aaron had offered to pay.

  Genevieve started to turn, paused, and then smiled. “Love your prom dress, by the way. Very mature.”

  Embarrassment flooded Rachael and she suddenly felt very young. And not in a good way. She’d been tormented enough by Coleen in the past to recognize a backhanded compliment. Genevieve appeared the great host, and her eyes seemed kind, but there was subtle poison in her voice when she spoke to Rachael.

  But Rachael didn’t kn
ow how to vocalize her discomfort without sounding even more immature. She struggled to think of a comeback but came up blank.

  Aaron’s response was so benign that she almost missed it. He reached for his drink. Then, in an unnaturally clumsy move, he knocked over the partially full pilsner glass. The crimson liquid flew just so that it spattered over the table’s edge and onto Genevieve’s dress. The waitress gasped and leapt back but the damage was done. Red rapidly soaked into her pink and white attire. It was not a uniform, Rachael knew, and it was expensive.

  He turned to Genevieve, a faint smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “My apologies,” he said serenely. “And it was such a lovely dress.”

  Without a word Genevieve slammed Rachael’s plate back to the table and stalked off. Aaron picked up a cloth napkin and wiped where some mashed potato and a few drops of his drink had landed. He looked Rachael over, assessed no damage, and then pulled the curtain closed again.

  After an awkward silence, Rachael said, “Thank you.”

  Aaron smirked.

  She shook her head. A slow smile crept across her face. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Did what?” he asked innocuously. “I accidentally spilled my drink.”

  “You don’t have accidents.”

  “Everybody has accidents, Rachael. I only wish it did not have to happen.” The smile he bore was downright predatory. “Trevor is a fantastic bartender and it is a shame his Amazoni was wasted in such a manner.”

  Rachael shook her head. Still, she couldn’t stop grinning. Something about his mean undertone was just as sweet as it could be terrifying.

  “Well, then,” said Aaron. “I have had enough. Are you done?”

  While she wanted to finish their conversation, Rachael also felt they had reached their limit for this not-date. She worried Aaron would be politely asked not to come back, and she didn’t want to risk causing a bigger scene.