by Moira Rogers
“One more problem.” Sam lowered her voice. “Joe, you know what Keith was doing on his trip. If anyone outside of our confidence finds out that we’ve got a witch in town…”
“It’ll get ugly,” Joe finished. “Look, Brynn can make it through the full moon. After the summit, we can handle all this…stuff.”
“After the summit,” Gavin agreed with a glance at Sam. “We’d better get to the bar. People are going to have questions about the preparations and arrivals.”
She looked like she was going to disagree, but all three of them heard the soft sound of a door opening inside the cabin, followed by Brynn’s footsteps. Sam’s jaw tightened. “Take care of her. Call me if you need help.”
“We’ll be fine.” Joe watched them leave and turned back to the cabin.
Brynn stood in the center of his living room, and she looked like hell as she brushed tangled hair back from her face. “Hey.”
“Hey. Sleep okay?”
She shrugged one shoulder and didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m hungry. I don’t think I actually got around to eating this morning.”
“What do you want?” He headed for the kitchen. “Soup and sandwiches? Want me to grill something?”
“A sandwich is fine.” She glanced toward the door with a slight frown. “Was that Keith? Is Abby okay?”
“It was Gavin and Sam. But I talked to Keith earlier. Abby’s doing all right.”
Her gaze snapped back to his, and the weary fear in her eyes made him want to shield her with his body and his energy. “I don’t think she’d make it if something happened to me.”
“So you want to become a wolf.” He pulled open the refrigerator door. “To stay safe for Abby.”
“Maybe.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “But you’re right. Now’s not the time to think about it. Not when I’m this upset. But…the other thing. Learning how to shoot. How to defend myself.”
He took out sliced cold cuts and cheese. “When do you want to start?”
“Now?” She followed him into the kitchen and reached for the bread on the counter. “I can’t sit here and cry anymore. If I get much more scared, I think I’m going to go crazy.”
“You need a clear head if you’re going to learn.” Joe dropped the food packages on the counter and reached for two plates. “We can go over some stuff this afternoon, but you’re not laying hands on an actual weapon until tomorrow. Consider this the lecture component.”
She leaned against the counter and smiled, the expression wry. “I do have some technical knowledge. Theoretical, anyway. I had to do a lot of research into firearms for a job I had last summer.”
“What kind of research?”
“For anti-gun legislation.”
Joe laughed. “How much of this research actually involved touching guns?”
“I’m thorough.” She untwisted the tie on the bread, pulled out a few slices and dropped them on one plate. “The other intern’s brother was a marine. He took us out to the firing range once. I didn’t mind handling the guns, but firing them was a bit much.”
“Not much of a reason to handle a gun if you’re not willing to fire it.”
“Yeah, well. A lot has changed since last summer.”
He had to give her that. “But your focus was mostly on safety in the theoretical sense. Controlling access?”
“Mostly.” Making the sandwiches seemed to calm her, as if the act gave her something to focus on. Her heart rate slowed, and her nervous tension eased slightly. “I spent most of the summer on it. Going out to the firing range wasn’t really part of it, but it was a good excuse to stop staring at pages of statistics.”
Joe retrieved two bottles of beer and opened them. “Our routine is going to be a little more hands-on. After the first day, I want you ready to carry a firearm and willing to use it, if you need to.”
Brynn’s smile was flat and tired. “Trust me. If someone shows up to take me back to Alan Matthews, I’ll shoot first and worry about the moral implications… Well, maybe not at all.”
“Good.” He slid her bottle across the counter and took a deep swallow from his. “Are you going to talk to Abby?”
Brynn finished the sandwiches in silence before reaching for the beer and draining half of it. “Yeah, eventually. I just need some time to think without her trying to make decisions for me. She forgets sometimes that I’m not a kid she needs to take care of anymore.”
“The alpha thing isn’t going to help that,” he pointed out.
This time her smile was real. “You only say that because you never met her before she became a werewolf. There was less snarling, but she’s always been bossy with me.”
Joe arranged the plates on his arm and carried them to the table. “Practically raised you, huh?”
“Pretty much.” She followed him, her beer clutched in both hands. “Alan Matthews grabbed me because I was right there in town, but he was lucky. I’m the one person Abby has always felt responsible for. She’d walk into anything if she thought I was in trouble, and that’s a lot of pressure.”
It was a lot of pressure on both of them. “Keith can help her now. What about you?”
“What about what?”
Joe arched an eyebrow at her as he slid into his chair. “You going to stop blaming yourself for the way Abby feels?”
Brynn stared at the bottle between her hands as she tilted it back and forth, swirling the amber liquid around. “I blame myself for blaming her. It feels ungrateful and unfair, but the last three weeks have been pretty miserable, and I’m not just talking about the people trying to hurt us.”
Trying to approach what had happened—and what still might—from a rational standpoint would drive her batshit. “Who said your feelings have to be fair? They’re your feelings. Be miserable if you want.”
“Yeah?” Her jaw tightened. She drank the rest of her beer and pushed the empty bottle aside. “Well, I’m scared shitless, all the time. The only thing that’s going to help is learning to take care of myself, so why don’t you start lecturing, or whatever?”
He pointed to her plate. “Eat.”
She stiffened. “Don’t you start. I’ve got enough would-be parents.”
It would have been amusing if he hadn’t already spent the better part of the last three weeks trying to fight his protective instincts, which were about as far from parental as you could get. “If I decided to get in on that game, the first thing I’d do would be spank your ass.” He’d mostly meant it as a joke, but the words came out with a bitter, grumbling bite. “You spend half your time bitching about being treated like a little kid, and the other half acting like one. Make up your mind.”
Brynn opened her mouth and snapped it shut again as angry color flooded her cheeks. “I would love to hear what you think I should be doing, then. What amazingly mature and adult actions should I take?”
He bristled. “For one thing, you could listen to me when I warn you that becoming a werewolf isn’t going to magically fix all your problems.”
“And I told you the only problem I think being a werewolf will fix is how easy I am to kill. Besides, I’d rather do it because I want to than because the next person who came after us decided to rip me up and infect me.” She leaned forward, the hot anger in her eyes turning her words into weapons. “That’s what they were going to do, you know. Matthews already had the guy picked out. He’d come into that room and paw at me and talk about how he wanted to turn me. How much he was going to like it.”
He managed to let go of his beer before he shattered the bottle. Her words weren’t surprising; he’d be shocked as hell if that was the worst thing they’d done to her. But hearing her say it, seeing the pain on her face… He shook his head. “There are a lot of things about this world that aren’t pretty, Brynn. But would you really be doing it because you wanted to?”
It took forever for her to answer. “Maybe not. But I don’t have a lot of options, and this morning made it pretty clear that running away to hid
e isn’t going to keep me safe.”
“No, it isn’t.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Who are you going to blame if you do it and hate it, Brynn? Abby? Matthews? Or me, because I should have stopped you and didn’t?”
He expected her to say she wouldn’t blame anybody, but she didn’t. Her jaw tightened stubbornly as she met his eyes. “Damn right I’ll blame Matthews. I blame him for kidnapping me, for hurting my sister, and for sending people after us. I blame him for every damn thing he’s done, and if I make this stupid choice backed into a corner and it goes bad, I’ll blame him for that, too. But at least I’ll be alive to blame him, and right now that’s all I want.”
Joe rose, leaving his food untouched. “Then hold on to that, and we’ll start with the weapons training tomorrow. I promise.”
The fight went out of her with shocking speed. She managed a shaky smile that didn’t reach her eyes before she turned her focus to her sandwich. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”
He’d gotten angry with himself and lost his temper, but it wasn’t fair to let her think it was her fault. “Look, Brynn. You could have talked to a dozen other people about this and nobody would have blinked. I have some issues when it comes to people deciding they want the transformation. But they’re mine, not yours. So don’t listen to me, okay?”
“No, I get it. You want to make sure I don’t have stupid romantic ideas.” She didn’t look at him, and her voice sounded numb. “You said there are a lot of things about this world that aren’t pretty. That’s not news, Joe. Kidnapping, abuse, murder, torture, rape… You want to know why I’m bitching about stupid shit? It’s easier than admitting that last night I tried to decide what would be worse, this life or death…and it took me a few minutes.”
He didn’t know how to tell her it was the most reassuring thing he’d heard her say yet. “Maybe tomorrow I can help you talk to Abby.”
She finally picked up the sandwich and took a bite. She chewed in silence and swallowed without looking at him. “Okay.”
Chapter Three
Brynn held up the battered box and read the faded writing. “Strawberry toaster pastries, huh? Not only are they store brand, but they might be from the eighties. I think you must be trying to poison me.”
“There are better ways. Faster too.” Dylan’s tone was gentle, and so was the look in his brown eyes. “It’s all I could find on short notice.”
She fought the tears she was too stubborn to shed and distracted herself by tilting the box on its side and making a big show of squinting at the bottom. “I can’t even find an expiration date. I’d ask you to eat one first, but I don’t know if werewolves get food poisoning.”
“Doubtful. I’m fairly sure I’d have killed myself with my own cooking by now.”
Banter with Dylan was the first normal thing she’d had to cling to in weeks. “Yeah, how are you going to live out here without fast food delivery? I hope Cindy can feed you.”
Most people wouldn’t have noticed his hesitation or the tense set of his shoulders, but Brynn had known Dylan far too long to buy his attempt to be casual as he leaned against the counter. “Cindy’s pretty good in the kitchen.”
Ignoring her supposed reservations, Brynn popped open the box and pulled a crinkly silver package out. Things obviously weren’t going well between Dylan and his new girlfriend. “Trouble in paradise? I thought you were the hero of the hour.”
“Hero?” Dylan’s mouth twisted in a self-deprecating approximation of a smile. “That’s overstating things. I’m just a guy. One who isn’t very good at relationships, I think.”
“Neither of us ever were.” The pastry was broken inside the wrapper, but it didn’t stop her from popping a piece into her mouth. In spite of the beat-up wrapper, it tasted as good as any cold generic boxed snack could be expected to. “I should be crying about Richard instead of eating junk food. I am a crappy, crappy sister. What the hell’s wrong with me, Dylan?”
“You barely knew Richard, that’s what. Besides, you can cry and eat junk food.”
Tears burned her eyes again, and she stared at the table. “I barely knew him because he was working and sending us money. He was taking care of me. He and Abby always took care of me.”
“Hey.” Dylan grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Brynn, what happened to your brother wasn’t your fault. Blame at a time like this will drive you crazy. I know, because I dealt with it when Matthews turned Abby and then took you.”
Brynn shivered and closed her eyes, unable to take the calm understanding in his expression. “I still should have known, Dylan. I was up close and way too personal with Alan. He’s insane and he’s fixated on Abby in a way that doesn’t even make sense.”
“Because he can’t have her.” Dylan said it matter-of-factly. “You don’t understand, Brynn. No one says no to Alan Matthews. No one.”
“You did.”
He tensed again. “Yeah, I did.”
“All those years, Dylan…” Brynn found his gaze and this time she didn’t bother to hide the tears. “Abby doesn’t really know, does she? You got her out before she saw what they’re like. What your life must have been…what hers would have been.”
“She never will, and neither will you.” He spoke quietly but vehemently, and she could almost feel the intensity of his determination. “I’m not going to pretend the last ten years of my life haven’t sucked up one side and down the other. But if I manage to do this one thing, Brynn, it’ll be worth it.”
Will it? She couldn’t ask the words, not with that brittle, pained look in his eyes. She recognized it all too well, had seen it a dozen times before when Dylan had shown up on her apartment’s stoop with a bag full of convenience-store junk food and a quiet, tense unhappiness that he tried to hide. She’d clung to him as the big brother she’d never gotten to have, the replacement for Richard, whose monthly checks and bimonthly phone calls might as well have come from a stranger.
But Richard hadn’t been a stranger to Abby. To her, he was a peer, the brother who’d helped her make the safe, comfortable life Brynn had enjoyed after the deaths of their parents.
Guilt burned through her, and she folded her arms on the table and dropped her head with a groan. “I am a horrible person. I should go over there and try to help Abby.”
“Abby’s with Keith,” Dylan reminded her.
Unspoken was what they both understood: even if she was alone, Abby wouldn’t accept support from her baby sister. Abby would fake strength and stability from the second Brynn set foot across the threshold, as if her pain was incidental. And she’d keep dying inside while she took care of everyone but herself.
Abby had Keith now. Someone she could let go with, if only for a short time. Brynn sighed and rubbed her face against the sleeve of the oversized sweatshirt Joe had lent her, trying to scrub away tears. “This sucks, Dylan. This all just…sucks.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” He pulled a chair close to hers and sat, his arm touching hers. “I’m here to help, if I can.”
“Joe’s going to get sick of me.” The words escaped unbidden and were far too revealing for her comfort. Still, if there was one person she could talk to about it… She lifted her head and met Dylan’s eyes. “I think I pissed him off. Because I told him I wanted to know about becoming a werewolf.”
Dylan’s eyes widened, but he covered admirably. “Okay. What did he say about it?”
“That it was stupid and wouldn’t solve anything, pretty much. There might have been a few things about turning my life upside-down and acting like a child, but he apologized for those.”
“Sounds like you hit a nerve.” He retrieved the discarded pastry wrapper and crinkled it absently. “Why do you want to do it? To be safe?”
Trust Dylan to get to the heart of the matter. “Mostly. And maybe if it’s going to happen…God, there are bad ways, Dylan. Alan made sure I knew how many bad ways. If I plan for it, at least I’ll have control.”
“There are bad ways.” His han
ds shook, and he looked haunted. “You can have control, but are you thinking past that? What will you do when you don’t belong with humans anymore? When you can’t go back to your life?”
“Come on, Dylan. Do you really think I belong with humans now, after all this?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean you’ve really got your head around it, either. Now, I know you’re not one to bitch and moan, even if you’ve made a mistake, but does Joe know that?”
“How could he?” She tried to smile, but it felt weak. She felt weak. “I’m not exactly playing my top game here.”
“There are bad ways,” he said again, “but there’s no going back. I guess that’s what he’s upset about.”
Nervous energy drove her to her feet. She crossed the small kitchen and braced her hands on the counter in front of the window. The view through the back window was one she might have admired under better circumstances. Even now it was hard not to stare.
Joe stood in the backyard, an axe in one hand, propping a section of log on a tree stump. He stepped back, gripped the axe, and the muscles in his back and shoulders flexed as he swung, splitting the log cleanly down the middle. Then, as if he felt her eyes on him, he glanced toward the window and lifted one hand in a wave.
She wished she could blame her heart for the way breathing suddenly seemed difficult, but the inappropriate feelings plaguing her now had little to do with her heart. Lust was her persistent, inconvenient companion, a companion that provided plenty of embarrassment when everyone around her could recognize the slightest change in breathing or heart rate.
That includes Dylan, dumbass. She returned Joe’s wave and turned to level a flat stare on her friend. “Say it. I dare you.”
His answering stare was a shade too placid. “Say what? That I can hear your heart going pitter-pat from all the way over here?”
“He’s out there chopping wood in a disturbingly manly fashion. No one who likes men wouldn’t be a little hot and bothered right now.”
“Right.” Dylan rubbed his face. “Does Joe think his disturbing manliness is influencing you about the werewolf thing?”
