by Lisa Ladew
“Sgt. Bisske.” He nodded and went back behind his desk. “You met her?” he muttered, not looking guilty at all.
Eventine rolled her eyes. No one could push her buttons like her father. “You know damn well I met her, daddy. That’s why I’m here. Because we had agreed that I would head the JPTC unofficially until I’m old enough to be a patrol officer. Because I’m the most qualified.”
Burton nodded sagely, started to speak, then stopped. He pulled something out of his drawer. Evie expected a fairy drop, already dipped. Once a drop was done, it was done. But he kept them because he couldn’t stand to throw anything away, and because he would work them when he talked to the mere mortals. Scrape the paint in swirly patterns. Whittle it down. Carve it. He’d once said his mind only worked when his hands did, like that explained everything.
But instead of a fairy drop, out came two hanks of rope, clean white rope like you might use to tie a small boat to a dock. He’d cut both hanks of rope cleanly at about three feet long. His hands worked and knots appeared in the rope. Working. Reworking. Only then did he speak. “That doesn’t sound like something I would say.”
Evie gaped at him. What was he doing? Then she shut her mouth forcibly. She was not about to sit here and squabble with him. She stopped. Just stopped. Stared at him.
He sighed. He tied another knot. He pulled at a knot. Looked at her. Snarled. She snarled back. He threw the scraps of rope down on the desk. “I didn’t have a choice, Evie.”
Eventine nodded, and when she spoke, her tone was dry. “Right dad. You expect me to believe that Rhen herself came here into your office and left you a note that said, ‘Eventine needs to be replaced.’ Because I am not about to believe that you made a drop for something so trivial.” Her voice started to raise, her tone to crack. “I swear to her, Daddy, that if you—” She pulled herself together. Stopped speaking.
Burton didn’t say a word for several minutes. He gave the knots another try. Knot. Knot. When he spoke, he was calm. “Autumn, Evie. It’s the season to fatten. This is your Autumn, and our Autumn.”
Evie kept her lips clamped shut. He was not going to draw her out with some ridiculous wolf parable that only barely applied.
She leaned back. Listened to the wolf inside. Inevitable. Relax and let it happen. She relaxed and let it happen.
Her eyes slipped closed. She could nap. Rest, while she waited for her father to get his shit straight. He tried one more time to pull her into a pointless and distracting fight. “You’ll never be in charge, you know. You’re too much of a rogue. You’re good with strategy, but you don’t make anyone follow through. When you know you are right, that’s when it’s time to turn the screws, Evie, it’s not when you let up.”
Evie pressed her lips together and nodded her head slightly. First she’d heard of it. Something else was going on, and she couldn’t figure out how to get Burton to tell her. Whatever you say, daddy. You know best. Now what else do I need to know?
Her father looked at her, eyes sad, shoulders slumped. You can’t handle it! his expression screamed. I can’t handle it! his eyes said. Evie pulled in on herself a bit, reconsidered. His theatrics said whatever was going on was important. She’d thought maybe he was going through some sort of human sympathizing thing, where the daddies didn’t want their little girls to grow up and get married. Wolven generally did not feel that way, but Burton had occasionally shown signs of it here and there, especially recently. Maybe he had just noticed she wasn’t a little girl anymore. Could that possibly be it?
Evie let Burton work his knots in silence, as she kicked off her flats and pulled her feet up underneath herself, staring off at a purple and blue fairy drop in the corner, the size of a soccer ball. Her eyes traveled over it and her mind worried at the problem she was facing. She’d come in here not having any idea why Burton could have possibly had the sudden about-face. Or was she being overly dramatic? Was there nothing there to know? Nothing to discover?
Only one way to know. She pressed him. “This isn’t about me, daddy. Or is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
He spoke in a rush, like he wasn’t letting himself think about it. “You know the story of when I found you in the forest.”
She nodded. She did. It had colored her entire life. She’d been dead. For hours. Didn’t know who her mother was. Her father. Who she was. How she’d ended up there.
Burton looked up at her, his eyes watery and red. “Did you ever wonder how I was out there in the first place?”
Evie nodded. She had.
Burton sighed and doubled down on his knots so he didn’t have to look at her. “Of course you did. And still you never asked.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. Kneaded the temple on one side. Dropped his hand back to the work of tying and untying complicated knots. He stared at his desk for a long time before speaking.
Eventine scented his continued deception so she didn’t even listen to the words. What was the point?
She stood, intending to kiss him goodbye and go run the tunnels, but then she saw something on his desk, pushed in the corner, under a folder. What he'd been working in when she came in. The letterhead visible to her said, “—Girl’s Academy. The area’s premier, private all-girls—.”
Eventine ripped the piece of paper out from under the folder, expecting the word before Girl Academy to be Good. “The Good Girl Academy?” Burton had never wanted her to be a good girl before, had actually raised her to be a bold and decisive leader of wolven. But now he was ripping all of that away from her. For a reason he wouldn’t tell her.
The first word was not, “Good.” The actual letterhead read, “Rockford Girl’s Academy. The area’s premier, private all-girl’s school of the arts. Admittance papers. Her father had put her in a private high school and hadn't even told her.
Buttons. Buttons. What was he doing? “You’re kidding me,” she said flatly. “School?”
“Evie, you've missed out on a crucial piece of your schooling and development here at the station. You care too much about the department. About the battle and the war and the killing blow. You never tried painting or writing or origami. You know, the arts. How do you know you wouldn't be a fabulous origamist if you never try?”
Evie blinked. Ori-what? For the first time, ever, she wondered if perhaps her father: strong strategist and ageless leader, Chief Burton Risson, was losing his mind. Alzheimer's maybe? He was in his 60s, or so she thought. He never discussed his age, and rumors abounded…
Too young for Alzheimer's, but he had never mated. An unmated wolfen succumbed to the illnesses that masquerades as old age before a mated wolfen did. The bond meant everything.
“Daddy, are you doing this becau—is it… is it something to do with my parents?” Evie asked softly. Land mines everywhere with this subject. Even ordinary shit turned into a landmine when it came to who Evie was. The papers on the desk and the fairy drops in the corners could be a reason for a fight to keep Burton from having to spill this secret.
Evie never pushed as hard as she could. She understood secrets and the value of them. How some people needed them.
He spoke softly. Almost apologetically. Like he’d never heard a word she said. “Evie, the juvenile division got a new trainer today, too.”
He’d taken away both her most important jobs. Her own father. “Daddy, no.”
He only worked his knots and didn’t look at her.
Evie dropped the paper back on the desk. She had to get out. Go run the tunnels. Figure this out. Find her own way to the secret Burton was hiding. Make a decision. If there was one thing she knew, it was that she would not be going to the girl’s school, and she would not be sitting around here in Serenity with no job to do. She was Eventine Risson. She’d been dead. She’d grown up with the legendary Citlali and Chief, Burton Risson. She had a phoenix renqua, which was unique among all wolven. Bearen and felen were born with renqua representing other animals occasionally, wolven almost never were. And no wolfen had ever been rumored or known t
o have a phoenix renqua, ever. She could easily get a job at any police department in the country. Even at her age. Whatever the hell that was.
Eventine stalked out of her father’s office, not saying a word of good-bye, her mind on the tunnels. On her wolf. On the clarity that came when she ran. But before she got out of the hallway, she scented foxen and detoured to the duty desk instead, following her nose. Foxen rarely came to the police station. Something about it rubbed them the wrong way. Evie had never seen one in the duty room. Glad for the distraction, she strode forward silently in the hallway, her flats making no noise on the industrially-tiled floor.
The chatter of the officers in the duty room grew louder, the closer she got. The foxen scent came to her again, but something about it was off. Evie scented again. Was she scenting a foxen? Yes. A woman. Old, over one hundred. Strong. Guarded. The scent shimmered and became wolfen. Evie stopped in her tracks and tried to figure out what in the hell was going on. Was this some sort of magic? A wolfen spray? Like any wolfen, she spent a good deal of time thinking about unusual scents, why and how and what they meant and where was the connection and was it dangerous or did it herald good things? Smell was life, more than sight, for her animal, and she was trying to develop that state in her woman, too. Smell was more reliable than sight. Could be recalled in more detail, and could not be covered or changed in the same way the look of something could be. Or so she’d thought. The scent shimmered again. Foxen. Evie got herself moving. She had to see who the foxen who could scent like a wolven was.
She rounded the corner and the large duty room came into view, the officers behind their desks, working, talking, laughing, thinking, but her eyes shot to the woman at the duty desk. Short. As short as Evie. Bent, just a little bit. Gray hair. Proper hat. A fox stole around her neck.
Had she been smelling the stole? She found a chair and a memo to hide behind and sat in a seat off to the side of the duty desk to figure out what in the hell was going on.
But then she scented the richest, most delicious male scent she’d ever smelled in her life. Her head shot up and she saw him and lost herself.
18 - Past - A Beautiful Man
The past
He was beautiful, and she’d never described a man that way before. Hadn’t known it was possible to describe such an obvious hardass as beautiful. What little hair he had was a common brown, leaning toward darker at the roots, but cut in a high and tight, like he’d invented the hair style. It did look good on him. Like he’d been born a soldier.
His dark dress uniform was from another department. A deep royal blue number that looked tailored, fitting the line of his body in a way that accentuated his trim waist, perfect ass, and the V of his wolfy torso.
Whoa. What in the hell? Evie wasn’t one to notice male bodies when there was work to be done, and there was always work to be done, but she’d never seen a male like this before. Everything about him said, “male,” and, “strong,” and “mate,” and, “yours,” and Evie lost herself just a little bit, her thoughts running ahead without her, as her eye traced his profile.
He lumbered through the room, arms filled with presents, following a very pregnant Sgt. Wheeling. Evie only got a scrap of what Sgt. Wheeling was saying. “—get this baby out of me before I kill—”
He was with Sgt. Wheeling and that meant he was KSRT. The Knotted Wolf. Evie heated from the inside out. Her body awakened in a way she’d never imagined possible. The hair on her head and arms tried to stand up, and the resulting tingles spread through her body. Her nipples hardened, aching slightly. Wanting a touch. A light pinch, maybe. Overwhelming. Evie pulled the memo in her hand up over her face, a flush spreading there. Then down her neck. Not even embarrassment. No, it was… heat. A light sweat broke out on her forehead and her palms dampened. Evie clamped down on her body. She didn’t believe in love at first sight, etc, etc, etc, blah blah fucking blah. So her body was being annoying as shit. The guy was good looking, sure, he looked like the ultimate soldier, which called to her on so many levels, which made her thighs tighten slightly, and her thoughts turn to things that had never interested her much before. A grope and some stolen kisses at a party she’d somehow found herself invited to. Interesting. Could be fun. Some experimenting with a human at a recruitment event. He’d been a gun manufacturer, pitching his gun to the Chief. Just two months ago. Another grope. A bit of grinding. Not too much. He’d been a man, not a boy. And still, that had been nothing like this. That had been a bit of an attraction. This was a nuclear blast.
The male and Sgt. Wheeling disappeared into a hallway that led to the tunnels. Eventine tried to get up to follow, then spilled back into her chair as her knees gave way.
Mate.
Mate.
MATE!
Her wolf, a fiery red and on the petite size, but ten times fiercer and faster for it, howled loud inside her, a bid for her attention. Her red wolf howled, and Evie got the barest sense of an answering note from a dark timber wolf with a black muzzle, a strong and vicious beast that would tear apart an enemy and not even blink against the blood splatter. Whoa. A guerrilla.
She was paying attention, now. She’d heard, finally. Mate. That KSRT male with the perfect hair and chiseled face and strong body was her mate. She had a mate. She’d seen him. Scented him. Felt his animal.
Eventine reeled with it. She’d never thought of mating. She was different. She knew it. Big things were coming. Massive battles in the fight with the demon. Evie saw them coming, hazy, still a long time off, but drawing closer every minute. When she saw herself leading the battle against Khain, well, she’d never seen a mate at her side before now.
Evie slumped in the seat as the chatter of the officers around her covered her distress, the old foxen forgotten.
Her entire life was changed from that moment on and she needed a minute.
19 - Past - Time To Recognize
Evie shot to her feet and ran for the stairs, the opposite way that Harlan had gone. That was his name. Harlan Mundelein. The Knotted Wolf. Her fingers twitched as she imagined what that knot might look like on his bare skin and in his fur. She could not wait to touch it. To trace it with her fingers. She’d never understood that drive to mate she’d seen in the males and females around her. It had all seemed like a big waste of time, especially the years of raising the pups after. Evie’s steps in the hallway slowed as her mind reeled. Her body responded to the thought of mating, making her gait a bit more fluid and sensual, but her thoughts jittered. Pups. Young. She had no plans for young. So why did she need a mate? Slick thoughts filled her mind. What a mate was good for.
She was sweating again. Great.
Evie got herself moving and huffed out a few breaths. Knock that shit off, sweat glands. Not fucking sexy. But what now. She was moving, but she didn’t know where she was going. She got in the elevator and hit the button toward the roof. The armory. Perfect.
Harlan had been heading toward uniform, and after that, he’d be sent up to the armer to draw weapons. Good plan.
She got there first and let herself into the armory with her keys. Jaggar’s dad, Sgt. Lockport was there, behind his desk, a pretzel stick stuck behind his ear. The guy had a reputation as a bit of an eccentric, but she thought most of it was because he’d fathered the beast who didn’t dare shift. He was probably a perfectly normal wolven. One who just happened to mate with a felen. And somehow she got pregnant. And somehow had carried that birth to term. And now Jaggar existed. Had there been love there? No one knew, but Jaggar was a perfectly normal looking male. A sweet guy, a little touchy about his animal, super nerdy, but the most badass nerdy she’d ever met. She liked it. All the wolven couldn’t be chasers or grabbers. The department needed thinkers, too.
Sgt Lockport, Jaggar’s dad, looked up, clearly surprised to see her, and a little interested. Jaggar had a well-hidden thing for her, but she and his dad might be the only ones who knew it.
She hurried into the room and motioned toward the door. “Sergeant, I nee
d you to get lost.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “How long?”
No clue. “Till I come find you.”
He nodded. “You’ll take responsibility for what happens while I’m gone?”
She glared at him. He had the good grace to drop his eyes. He stood. “Right, how far can I go?”
She eyed him curiously, sensing a secret. She loved a good secret. “How far do you want to go?”
He looked her straight in the eye. No shame. “The barracks.”
Was his cat there? No one knew which felen was Jaggar’s mom. The only hard intelligence was that Sgt. Lockport had picked Jaggar up from somewhere in the state when Jaggar was five years old, and Jaggar had lived with his dad ever since. Neither would talk about the cat. No one had ever seen Lockport with a cat. Evie shivered. She didn’t mind the cats much, not as much as most wolven, but she wouldn’t want to date one. They were too … slinky. She liked her men solid, like rocks or mountains or planets, with thoughts that stood like their rock hard bodies. Never changing. Always predictable. Always on the right side. If she ever would have been convinced in the past that she would have a mate someday, and then asked how she would describe what he might be like, in one word, she knew what she would have said. Unmoveable.
Evie nodded once. “I’ll leave word with the CQ when I’m done.”
“Good deal.” He hurried out the door.
Evie looked around the room, her heart beating uncharacteristically fast. She’d never envisioned this. Had no idea what to expect. She sat down at Jaggar’s dad’s desk, then stood, then pulled her keys out of her pocket and unlocked the gun vault for inventory. She was here, she might as well get some work done. But the doorbell at the armory window sounded and she hurried that way, her senses on high alert, hoping it was Mundelein.
