“No, thank you. The room’s fine," I responded, shaking free of his hold.
“Come on Sky,” he urged, rising to his feet. I didn’t cringe at him calling me that as I usually did. It was probably because he said it with a slight Southern lilt. A Southern accent always seems to soften the harshest things. Add a pair of dimples, and I just couldn’t correct him. Taking my hand, he led me down the hallway. We went down two flights of stairs and a corridor before entering the largest room in the house, the entertainment room. Equipped with a pool table, air hockey, several game consoles, foosball, darts and a television so large it was as if we were in a movie theater.
“That’s practical,” I stated derisively, nodding my head toward the television.
“It’s an indulgence. Makes sports more interesting and video games unbelievable,” he stated enthusiastically.
He slowly turned, waving his hand toward the various things in the room like a game show host. “So what holds your interest,” he asked with a grin.
Nothing. Can I go now?
He pointed to the video games; I shook my head. Then he pointed to the pool table; I shook it more vigorously. When he point to the air hockey, I sighed and agreed. He wasn’t going to give up until I decided on something. The dimpled coyote wasn’t being hospitable; he was here to keep me from stalking Josh again. Fine, I will go along and play their stupid games.
We played five games, of which he won three. Once we finished, I stared at him bored, wondering when he was going to stop holding me hostage and let me go back to the room. His face lit up as he went to a cabinet and pulled out a chess game. I smiled, which prompted him to set up the board.
“So was this your first kill,” he asked as he studied the board, waiting for me to make a move.
I nodded once.
“The first one is always the hardest. It gets easier,” he assured me casually.
I looked up from the board. My eyes widened in horror as they met his, “I killed someone. I don’t want it to get easier. I want to feel bad about taking a life.”
“Would you have preferred it be you or Ethan?” he asked in a level tone.
“No," I breathed out.
“Skylar, things will probably get a lot worse before they get better. I don’t want you to let things like that get in the way of you doing what is necessary to keep yourself safe.”
“Things like murder?” I asked astonished. I hadn’t gotten to the point of trivializing life.
“Yes, things like murder,” he repeated his tone losing its usual pleasant accord. His face held a coldness that I wasn’t sure he was capable of. For a brief moment, I got a glimpse into what others saw in him before they took their last breath, pure callousness over whether they lived or died. Then he smiled, with that one sweeping act, he quickly shattered the image of the callous killer. Once again, sitting in front of me, was the adorable coyote with the boyish charm.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt, Skylar,” he acknowledged.
“I don’t want to get hurt either. I just need to stay safe without taking another life,” I admitted, wishing my voice didn’t pick this time to crack.
He pressed his lips together, holding back whatever he wanted to say. He nodded his head slowly and directed his attention back to the chessboard.
We played several more games of chess, and I agreed to play a couple more games of air hockey, which I won. When I heard the front door close, I looked at Steven with a small knowing smile.
“He’s gone. I guess you can stop running interference now.”
He laughed. “I was just keeping you busy. You were roaming the house like you needed something to do.”
“Why is this Josh guy being so well-protected?”
He was still smiling but it held a different quality to it—more reserved and astute. “It’s the information that is being protected, not Josh. We’ve shared quite a bit of our pack’s dynamics with you, and I urge you to practice some level of discretion,” he admitted. “What you are allowed to know is censored.”
“Even if the information is about me?”
He nodded. “You’re an outsider. I am sorry, but that’s the way it is. Believe me; limited information is a good thing. You’ll be safer that way,” he stated as he lingered over the words as if they held special meaning.
He forced a smile. “Goodnight, Skylar.”
“Night.”
CHAPTER 5
The next morning, I was reluctant to answer the door, looking at it begrudgingly when it rattled. The sun shone brightly into the window and I looked over at the clock—it was three minutes after seven. Surprisingly, I had slept. I went to bed frustrated and woke up irritated, but at least I slept. Exhaustion made it difficult not to. The knocking persisted. I rolled my eyes toward the door. “Come in,” I mumbled into the covers.
Joan poked her head in and smiled. I sat up and returned the smile.
“Good Morning.”
“Morning,” I responded with half-open eyes. I stretched, then excused myself to shower and brush my teeth. When I returned, she had two plates loaded with pancakes, bacon, fruit and hash browns. She had already started eating.
“Sorry I started without you but I was starving. I went out for a quick run last night but I wasn’t able to hunt. I am famished,” she admitted between bites.
“You’re not a wolf; are you?” I asked cutting into my pancakes.
She chuckled at the thought as she shook her head. “Heaven’s no, I am a jaguar. That’s why I didn’t run with you all the other night. Felidae and canidae rarely run together. We usually go for speed opposed to distance. Running with canidae usually just annoys us,” she admitted.
“How long have you been part of the pack?”
“Not very long—fifteen years.”
If she had only been a member for fifteen years, what was she doing the other twenty or thirty odd years? “Is there an age requirement for joining?” I asked between bites.
“No, but you need to be mature enough to understand and obey our laws. Although I believe they are quite reasonable, some were-animals find them difficult to follow. Violation of them has very serious consequences, so it is important that the person is mature enough to fully understand and appreciate them.”
“Why did it take you so long to join?” I asked as I studied her. Joan didn’t seem like the type that needed to live vicariously before settling for a life of rules and structure. There had to be something more that kept her from joining the pack earlier.
She smiled modestly. “I am feline-felidae; we are solitary creatures by nature. Pack life is often more difficult for us, unlike the canidae. They have very little difficulty accepting pack life—it’s the nature of their animal. Of course there are always exceptions to all rules,” she stated as she smiled at me warmly, giving me an understanding look.
“If it’s so difficult, then why join?”
She had a look of introspection. “It’s like being part of a family. There is a certain level of comfort that comes with being surrounded by your kind—like a family. And like most families, you have members you love and some you downright despise, but in the end, there is an inordinate bond. We are bonded by our animal and it can be ... ” she searched for the right word, “comforting.”
“Is it difficult being part of a pack that seems to be so heavily populated with canidae?” I asked diplomatically. What I wanted to ask is how hard was it to be part of a pack that was heavily populated with wolves that needed to control everybody and everything.
“I am not part of this pack. I’m with the Southern Pack.”
“Are you going to become part of this pack?” I asked, wondering why she chose to be around the Midwest Pack if it weren’t necessary.
She shook her head a little too enthusiastically. “No. Not at all. My pack would not allow me to petition for membership in this pack nor would Sebastian accept, even if I were interested.”
She continued, responding to the curious look I gave her.
“I’m the Beta of the Southern Pack. There’s only room for one Beta member in each pack. Along with the primary and secondary ranked members, we take on the responsibility of dealing with the pack’s safety. It unburdens the Alpha enough to deal with pack incidentals and politics. I assure you that it is a full-time job in itself. But ultimately, everything falls on the Alpha.”
“Who’s like … um, the Alphas’ Alpha? It just seems like there should be someone who oversees everything, including the other Alphas.”
She laughed. I liked to hear her laugh; it was such a musical sound, soothing. “We call him “The Elite,” and it is Sebastian.”
Of course, it had to be. That explained his personality and behavior. He held an air of entitlement that hundreds of were-species confirmed and supported. He never had his request or orders challenged. People just followed his demands, no question asked, and apparently, that is what he expected of all who came in contact with him.
“If you aren’t petitioning, why are you here?”
“For you. I was sent for you. The Midwest Pack, although the strongest of the packs, sometimes has difficulty dealing with rather delicate situations,” she blushed as though she misspoke. “Winter often handles most sensitive situations. Contrary to what you have seen, she does have an amicable side. She has always had difficulty dealing with vampires and lone were-animals. Sebastian, being the leader that he is, requested that I be here when you were retrieved,” she stated delicately.
As I studied Joan, I couldn’t help but admire her subtlety and the sheer grasp she had on tact and diplomacy. I became oddly aware and unexpectedly leery as I considered how dangerous she had to be in order to be the Beta in her pack. Her appearance was quite deceptive. She was average in height with a slender figure and delicate curves you obtain with age. Dangerous were-animal didn’t come to mind when you looked into her soft welcoming eyes and became charmed by her wide gentle smile. With that in mind, I realized that she, like Steven, might be one of the most dangerous people I had come in contact with since I had been in the house.
“It’s a good thing that you are here. I don’t think that Ethan or Sebastian likes me and I am pretty sure Winter hates me.”
Joan put down her silverware; her eyes lingered over my face for a brief moment. It was as though she were trying to decide whether she could be blunt or if she needed to handle me with care. Pursing her lips together, she picked up her silverware again. “I can assure you that they don’t dislike you. Those in a pack often have a natural disdain for lone were-animals. Ethan and Sebastian are just abrasive; it’s just their way, dear. They’ve been that way for years. Winter loves the pack and often has difficulty dealing with the responsibilities and dangers the pack assumes. She is still young in her position but old to the pack. It’s very important to her,” she stated. Her eyes showed understanding and sympathy as she spoke.
“I’m leaving tonight,” she informed me after moments of silence. My heart dropped to my stomach. “I’ve been away from my pack far too long. I really need to go back. It’s quite difficult to know what’s going on with my pack seven hundred miles away,” she stated apologetically to the grim look on my face.
Joan didn’t seem to censor herself when she spoke with me. Though I doubt the information really needed to be. I learned that the Midwest Pack had the most canidae, consisting mostly of wolves, coyotes and jackals. They also had the largest big cat population: lions, jaguars and tigers, along with the precious and rare were-snakes. Putting "precious" and "Winter" in the same sentence seemed—wrong. It’s not that she was the only were-snake in the world but she just was the only one who chose pack life. Most were-snakes and their ilk maintained human form and never gave into their animal, easily conforming to human life. I envied them.
Wolves, along with their relatives, were called by the moon. They were forced, like me, into their animal form during a full moon. Every one hundred and sixteen days or so, when Mercury rises, the felidae are called to answer in the same manner the canidae are to the moon. Other were-animals like the ursidae and equidae are drawn to transits of Saturn. Cold-blooded were-animals were rare and knowledge of their existence only occurred in the last fifty years or so. They responded to the lunar eclipse. And as rare as they were, so was their reaction to the eclipse. They were forced into their animal form and unable to return until completion of the eclipse
“Why aren’t you separated? Dogs in one pack and cats in another.”
She patted my leg gently. “Don’t call us cats and dogs,” she warned with a smile. “It’s an insult. We aren’t animals in that same sense of those found in nature. We aren’t bonded by our species but by the fact that we are were-animals. It doesn’t matter who’s the strongest wolf, jaguar, coyote, tiger, bear or whatever animal form you take. It is all about who’s the strongest—period. That is what makes us a resilient and commanding force,” she admitted.
I was able to control the urge to ask Joan to stay as she escorted me into a small room on the other side of the library. It was one of the locked rooms that I had passed that night during my self-guided tour of the house. I stood, anxiously awaiting Josh’s arrival, surrounded by antique white walls in a room inundated by the scent of lavender. I inhaled again; blood hadn’t been spilled in this room. Two overstuffed, soft, gray sofas were placed at each side of the room. Framed artwork of tranquil nature scenes: the sun setting, birds flying through a clear sky, a deer drinking from a river surrounded by mountains decorated the walls. The light gray and silver panel curtains were open slightly, allowing rays from the sun to trickle in. The room seemed to have a calming effect and I figured that was the point. It made me wonder why they wanted me to feel comfortable meeting this Josh.
Ethan entered the room, his face as usual displaying a hardened mask, making whatever was on his mind hard to read. Close behind him was a slightly younger man. His caramel-colored hair was a chaotic mess. He looked like he literally rolled out of bed, but with today’s styles, it probably took him hours to perfect. A strong jaw line and rugged good looks were accentuated by a five-o’clock shadow. He gazed back at me with scenic ocean-blue eyes. Someone could easily drown in them; with the level of confidence that graced his face, he knew it. I am sure he’s probably used it far too often to his advantage.
He wore a black graphic t-shirt, tattered jeans and a small hoop earring in each ear. I counted at least six visible tattoos, which were poorly hidden by his t-shirt. A slight smirk covered his face as he strolled into the room, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans.
When he stopped directly in front of me, I gave him a passing look before looking at Ethan. I looked back at Josh, did another assessment and then directed my attention back to Ethan. Really!
This couldn’t be the guy they were getting their information from. He wasn’t what I expected at all. I expected someone older and more reserved with the ability to give off Yoda-like wisdom. Yoda he was not. In fact, he seemed like the type of person who would be the best source of information about the local bars, while maintaining his status as the beer-pong champ at the neighborhood’s dive. Yet, here stood Sebastian’s source. The very person who, on his word alone, Sebastian risked the life and safety of his pack to help me. My trust in the pack wavered.
He stepped closer to me, interrupting my thoughts. His lips changed from a wayward smile to a wide grin as though someone said something amusing.
Oh crap, could he read my mind? I quickly switched my thoughts to the weather.
“The woman of my dreams,” he stated smoothly stepping even closer to me.
Woman of his dreams? Who was he kidding with that comment? Attractive I may be, and some men have found me appealing. I always considered my looks exotic, but “not quite beautiful.” My adopted mother deduced that my mother was Portuguese or Brazilian but she wasn’t sure of my ethnicity. I was a mishmash of very distinctive features that led to people always commenting on my exotic appearance. It was funny how exotic could mean really anything bu
t not necessarily pretty.
When I was younger, I sat in the mirror for hours staring into my olive-toned oval face, trying to pinpoint where my features went astray: dark green eyes, slight indistinctive nose, deep-set cheekbones and supple full lips that made me wonder why women paid money to have such lips. My hair was a mahogany sea of waves that I forced into submission with relaxers and an arsenal of straightening aids. Between my wolf genes, sparse workouts and daily five-mile jogs, my five-eight frame had found a comfortable place between shapely and athleticism. Attractive, I will give anyone that. But dream worthy? I will just have to call it for what it is—bull.
Josh stood so uncomfortably close that I had to take a couple steps back. When I moved, he stepped even closer. “May I?” he asked as he touched my face before I could respond. His finger brushed along my temples before his right thumb gently brushed along the edge of my jaw.
“So you’re the little lady who’s been causing the big uproar,” he remarked amused.
“Are you getting anything?” Ethan finally asked impatiently as Josh continued to fidget with my face for an unusually long time.
Josh rolled his eyes, sighed and shook his head slowly. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t get visions from touch? They come to me in my dreams. I was just taking this opportunity to play with the beauty from my dreams,” he stated, returning his attention back to me. He winked at me, and I took several big steps away from him.
Ethan huffed out something that I missed before heading out of the room.
Hey, don’t leave me with this touchy freak.
Before Ethan could make it to the door, “Stay,” Josh demanded as he moved his lips slowly, his eyes moved slightly down and to the right. The door slammed close in front of Ethan. Ethan looked more annoyed than impressed. “Oh look, cute magic tricks. I didn’t realize the circus was in town,” he responded aloofly.
Moon Tortured (Sky Brooks Series Book 1) Page 9
