by MJ Compton
“You didn’t know she was fertile? You couldn’t smell it on her?”
“My mind was on other things.” Luke lifted his chin.
“You know, I’ve put up with your hobby even though I didn’t understand it. I’m grateful for your computer skills, but you take your obsession too far. When it was the girls in the bars we played in, I looked the other way. No more.”
Scat. This was getting out of hand. Why couldn’t Abigail have contacted him with her news? Why involve her sketchy stepfather and Tokarz?
Extortion. Tokarz was a country music star. Abigail and Gary planned to get money out of him to keep Luke’s indiscretion quiet.
Luke turned to glare at Abigail, but winced instead. The livid bruising on her face told a different story. One that was going to end with Gary’s prolonged and painful death. Now.
Except Restin must have developed mind reading capabilities in the past ten minutes. He stood in front of the door before Luke could complete his turn toward it. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”
He should have expected retribution, but when someone—several someones from the feel of it—tackled him, it hurt. Bad. Not only his pride, but physically. Not only his status in front of his . . . Abigail. All he was trying to do was defend her honor, defend her, and his pack mates were cutting him down at every move. More proof that Abigail wasn’t his mate. The pack would recognize his need to protect her if she was his mate. So clearly he hadn’t mated her. Hadn’t marked her. Even omega had the right to defend and protect a mate.
“You do not speak to your alpha or your beta in that tone of voice,” his father growled against his ear. “You can’t help your woman if you’re a dead wolf.”
Luke stopped struggling. “Look at her. Look at what he did to her.” Blood spattered out of his mouth. He’d cut the inside of his cheek. Ancient Ones, he hated the taste of his own blood.
“I see. We all see. And we’ll take care of it. But have you forgotten your place in the pack? Are you looking for the rest of your generations to be omega?”
There was no answer to that question. The grandson of the man who’d made them all the least of the least spoke wisely.
“She carries my grandchild,” Marcus continued. “Do you think I’m going to let anyone get away with hurting your mate? But we have procedures for a reason.”
“She’s not my mate,” Luke muttered.
“News flash. Now, are you going to behave or do we keep you pinned to the floor like a whelp not yet housebroken?”
Luke jerked his head once. One by one, the werewolf football team wannabes removed their bodies from his. His father extended his hand and helped Luke to his feet.
Tokarz stood nearby, towering over nearly everyone. Abigail looked terrified.
“I think,” Tokarz said, “we’ve established that you mated with this woman. You will not dishonor her by refusing to accept her.”
Luke opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp jab in the ribs from his father’s elbow corked his comment.
Tokarz turned to Abigail. “Do you have a preacher? A religious leader?”
Abigail shook her head. Her eyes were wide, the blue completely surrounded by white. Her lower lip—Luke remembered the taste of that lip—trembled.
“Restin, reach out to Mitchell Jasper and find out what the girl needs so Luke can marry her.”
In normal circumstances, Tokarz would have asked Luke to research that on the Internet and not bother the packs’ State Department contact. Luke had a sick feeling normal was gone forever.
“The girl has a name,” he said. He really wanted to howl at the injustice of being forced to marry a human woman not his mate, but his father’s warning hooked him. Now, if he ever found his mate, he might not be able to claim her. All because of a little blue pill. Because he wanted to have sex. “Abigail. Abigail Grant.”
“I’m surprised you remember,” she muttered, showing a little of the spine Luke had glimpsed in her before.
“They say you never forget your first,” he retorted. His face grew hot. He hadn’t meant to tell anyone that.
“Then I guess we’re stuck for the time being.” Disgust dripped from every one of her words.
Nothing was etched in stone yet. Luke decided arguing his case in such a public venue wasn’t doing him any good.
“Granny, can Abigail stay with you until we get this straightened out?”
“Of course. What a great birthday present—hearing I’m about to become a great-grandmother.”
Trouble was, Granny meant it. Some party favor.
But Granny’s house was the safest place for Abigail in Loup Garou. Granny was human; Abigail was human. It would work.
“I’d like to request a private audience with my alpha,” Luke continued.
“After the party,” Tokarz said. “Come to my house.”
Except Luke didn’t feel much like partying any more. From the looks of things, neither did anyone else. Gary Porter sure knew how to kill a good time.
Granny was in her element. She put her arm around Abigail and walked toward the door.
The party didn’t last another hour. Tokarz left with his wife. Luke knew he had to wait a certain amount of time before he could follow.
“You planning on seeing Tokarz alone?” his father asked.
Luke nodded.
“I think Dad and I are coming with you.”
Luke nodded again. If Gramps decided that’s what he was going to do, there would be no swaying him.
“I think you need to clean up before your audience.”
Luke looked down. His favorite blue and yellow plaid shirt was torn and dirty. The knees of his jeans were scuffed up. Although the cut on the inside of his mouth was nearly healed, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had blood on his face. Maybe even a bruise or two, which might fade if he delayed the audience long enough.
“And I think you need to confer with your family elders before you do anything else to shame us.” The steel in his father’s voice made Luke feel about five years old again.
He nodded a third time. He valued his head on his shoulders and from the rage he sensed simmering in his father, there was a distinct possibility he could lose it. At least then he wouldn’t be forced to marry Abigail.
His father and grandfather followed him to his snug cabin up near the lake. Luke grabbed a quick shower. By the time he pulled on his second favorite blue and green plaid shirt, the bruises on his face had faded, the cut in his mouth was gone, and the floor burn on his knees from being tackled had healed.
His father and grandfather waited for him in his living room.
Gramps looked pained, as if he was suffering from indigestion or something. His dad’s solemn expression hid a still-seething temper.
“How did this happen?” Gramps asked.
Luke swallowed the sarcastic response that immediately formed on his tongue. This was serious. He needed his family elders on his side.
“We met at the Moonsinger company picnic. She was in the talent show. She wanted me to show some of her songs to Tokarz.”
“She didn’t get pregnant writing songs.” Gramps was still sharp for an old man.
“No, she didn’t.”
“How?” Gramps wanted to know. “If she’s not your mate, as you claim, then how is she pregnant with your child?”
“Good question,” Marcus added. “I’m more human than you are, and until I met your mother—no mating.”
Luke’s face heated. “There are these pills—humans take them for what they call erectile dysfunction. I was able to get hold of a couple.”
Judging by his expression, Gramps’ indigestion turned severe. “Why? You know mating is sacred.”
“Not for humans,” Luke retorted. “I see things on the Internet, and I
wonder. Dad, didn’t you ever wonder?”
“No.”
So much for having someone on his side. Of course, the Internet hadn’t been around when his father was a single half-breed looking for love. His father had been content to stay in Loup Garou and work in the accounting department of the brewery.
But Luke—he was on the road. Constantly. Playing drums for Toke Lobo and the Pack was the best thing that had ever happened to him, because it had introduced him to women. Human women, who didn’t think sex was sacred. Who didn’t think a guy belonged with one female for life. He’d learned a lot about sex from those honky-tonk angels.
And the Internet. The Internet could teach you anything. Except how to feel. And Luke wanted to feel. Feel good. The other members of the band, the other members of the pack did their damnedest to make him feel unworthy. Useless. Less than they were. But the women he seduced while on the road? They made him feel like a man.
How did he explain that to the men whose DNA spiraled in his blood? He should try, though.
“Sorry, Gramps. Dad, you must have been picked on a lot when you were younger.”
His father shrugged. “There wasn’t anything I could do about it. I never knew anything else.”
Luke nodded. “That’s what I mean. With the Internet, I learned being abused because of my . . . race is wrong. And when the band is on the road, the other members—even the roadies and the drivers—treat me like scat they’d scrape off the soles of their boots. The only time someone wasn’t making my life miserable was when I was with a woman. Women are always trying to hook up with the band members. So I let them pick me up. I bought their drinks, and I wasn’t the lowest of the low. I was Luke Omega, drummer for Toke Lobo and the Pack. I was a big deal. I was someone they wanted to be with, not someone to mock and ridicule.”
His father and grandfather didn’t react.
“So I told the women I was diabetic—that’s a human condition that prevents sufferers from drinking alcohol and can cause . . . erectile dysfunction.”
“I suppose you learned that on the computer, too,” Gramps muttered. As if he’d never seen a TV commercial. The old man lived in front of his flat screen. “Your penis isn’t dysfunctional. You’re more werewolf than human. You should have known better.”
“I found out about the meds and wondered if they would work for me. It took a while for me to be able to buy a couple of tablets. You need a prescription to buy it at the drugstore, but there are ways . . . and I received the package the morning of the brewery picnic. I swear. That’s all. It wasn’t mating, it was meds. And she was as eager to get naked with me as I was to get naked with her.”
“You didn’t smell her fertility? And don’t give me the same kind of bogus answer you gave Tokarz.”
“All I smelled was turned on woman. A little blood after the first time. And to be honest, when she asked me about a condom, I told her I’d had the mumps when I was fifteen and was sterile. That,” he said to his grandfather, “means I can’t father children.”
“You never had mumps,” his father said. “What are they?”
“A childhood disease that if contracted in an adult usually destroys the male’s ability to produce sperm. Do you want to know what sperm is?”
“I can still blister your ass,” his father replied.
And Luke would let him. He was an obedient son.
“Why did you tell her that? If you were going to cavort like a human, why didn’t you use a condom?”
Points to Gramps for knowing what a condom was. Maybe that was Granny’s doing.
“She wasn’t my mate. How could I get someone pregnant if she’s not my mate?” Some of Luke’s bewilderment seeped into the tone of his voice.
Both older men nodded. So his logic wasn’t faulty.
“Okay,” Gramps said. “That doesn’t change the fact that she’s pregnant, and you admit the child could be yours. You have to do the right thing. You have to be honorable. You have to be responsible, Luke.”
Luke swallowed. Hard. “I’ll support the mother and child.” Thank the Ancient Ones the band was making money on top of the money everyone in the pack got from the brewery. “But don’t take the possibility of mating away from me.”
He closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was saying the words coming from his mouth. He couldn’t believe mating, of all the archaic werewolf habits, actually meant anything to him. But the possibility of it vanishing on him was stunning.
“Are you ready for your audience with your alpha?” his father asked.
Panic swelled in Luke’s chest. But he’d requested this. Now he wished he’d asked for more time to think. To figure out a better solution.
“You were right to send the woman home with your grandmother,” Gramps said. “Did you happen to mention to her you’re mostly werewolf?”
Abby was shocked her legs still held her up. That she could put one foot in front of the other. That she wasn’t shrieking, blubbering, or incoherent.
Maybe she wasn’t. Coherent, that is. Maybe this was all a bad dream, because Gary had knocked her unconscious when he figured out she was pregnant.
A shudder rippled through her. No, better that she have these . . . hallucinations than be unconscious and at Gary’s mercy.
The big hall was chilly, despite the pack of people. Gary had interrupted some sort of celebration when he dragged her through the doors and started shouting about Luke Omega and her pregnancy.
If she never saw Luke Omega again, it would be too soon. But oh look. There he was. And Toke Lobo. And the crazy-eyed fiddle player from the band. And a press of strangers. Hearing her shame. No doubt judging her humiliation.
Nearly all of the words snarled were mortifying. She managed to unload a few resentments of her own, but mostly the men in the room postured and made way too much noise with words that made no sense. Gary must have knocked a language screw loose or something when he hit her. Mates and alphas and omegas . . . it was all a swirl of pain, terror, and frantically grasping an edge of her sanity.
Luke looked as furious as Gary. Toke Lobo didn’t appear much happier.
Then an old woman put her arm around Abby, who winced at the contact. Gary might have broken a rib.
“Let’s get you out of here,” the woman said. “Let the males do their posturing. You’ll be staying with me tonight while they pee on each other. You can call me Granny, like everyone else does.”
“I’ll drive you,” another woman said. “Looks like the party is over anyway.”
Abby let them lead her out of the building. She felt more like a balloon than a woman, bobbing along in the wake of whatever force was more determined than she was. At least she didn’t have to depend on her legs to hold her upright.
“I am so ashamed of my son,” a third woman said as she slid into the seat next to the driver. She twisted to peer at Abby who was huddled in a corner of the backseat. “He won’t get away with disrespecting you like this.”
Oh God. Luke’s mother. The woman must hate her.
Abby didn’t respond. She couldn’t. What was there to say? She was pregnant from that night at the lake with Luke Omega. Gary figured it out and started whaling on her. If Libby’s screams hadn’t alerted Mama as to what was going on, Gary might have beaten Abby to death. That much she knew. Her hand strayed to her abdomen. Please let the baby be all right.
When Gary dragged her out of the house and tossed her into his car, she was positive he was taking her someplace where he could kill her and easily dispose of the body. She never expected to crash a party and confront Luke. Never expected Toke Lobo himself to stand up for her. Never expected Luke to . . .
“Are you okay?” The older woman—Granny—was perched next to Abby. “I’ll examine you as soon as we get to my house.”
“Mom’s a m
idwife,” the driver said. “We’ll make sure you and the baby are okay.”
“My mama had a lot of miscarriages,” Abby mumbled. No point mentioning her stillborn sisters. “I think Gary thought—”
“Gary thought wrong.” Granny’s tone was firm. “Your baby has good, strong Omega genes. Unless you don’t want—”
“No.” With as many babies as her mother lost, how could she even think about doing something to get rid of the one in her own belly?
“Good.” Luke’s mother sounded satisfied. “My first grandchild.”
Granny patted Abby’s knee. “I guess you didn’t pick up on everything back there. It was kind of chaotic. I’m Granny Omega. Macy, my daughter, is driving, and Colette, my daughter-in-law and Luke’s mother, sitting up front with her.”
She was surrounded by Luke’s female relatives. Abby closed her eyes. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Neither would her feet, legs, lungs, heart. Palsied. Thank goodness it was dark; she couldn’t read the condemnation in their eyes. Not that their judgment could be worse than the flash of disappointment on her own mother’s face, before Gary’s reaction overshadowed every other breath and heartbeat in the house. Good girls didn’t get pregnant before they got married.
The trip was short. Abby found herself herded inside, down a hall, and into a bedroom. Granny thrust a bundle of flowered fabric at her and instructed her to change.
The flannel nightgown was a bit snug, but the soft material against Abby’s skin comforted her. And there were flannel sheets on the bed, too.
“I need to examine you,” Granny said as she and her entourage returned to the bedroom several moments later.
Abby shook her head. “I’m not bleeding. I checked.” Her face warmed. She didn’t want the old woman seeing . . . anything.
