by Celia Kyle
Trista stared at the closed door. The white, carved panel taunted her. It scared her and intrigued her in equal measure. Would he come in while she slept? And if he did, what would happen?
“Why?” She refocused on Mia. “Why can I trust him?”
Mia frowned and turned her attention to the ground as if gathering her thoughts. She finally sighed and waddled toward a chair near the large bay window. “Keen is…” She leaned back, hands resting atop her protruding stomach. “Sit down for a minute.”
Trista did as asked, climbing onto the bed and settling on the soft mattress. As soon as she was situated, Mia spoke again.
“I know he seems like a ladies’ man and all that. He pretends to be so lighthearted and uncaring, but that’s not…” Mia paused, seeming to gather her thoughts. “Keen is the brother they don’t think about.” Trista furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to comment, but the Itana kept going. “He’s much younger than Ty, Van, and Isaac. And he doesn’t have an official purpose in the clan. Well, he did, but he stepped down this morning.”
Mia shook her head. “Anyway. Ty was raised as the Itan, Van as the Enforcer, and Isaac as the Healer.” She shrugged and continued. “Unfortunately, that left Keen to his own devices. It allowed him to grow and develop without limitations. I don’t want you to think his parents didn’t care enough to raise him, but with securing the clan’s future…” She shook her head and fell silent. “He’s strong—stronger than even Ty realizes, I think—and could lead his own clan if he wanted.”
“That’s… but…”
“Yeah.” Mia gave her a rueful smile. “I know. He just… he’s so much more than this clan, than being disrespected as the Keeper and constantly thought of as simply a bothersome younger brother.” The Itana looked at Trista. “I’m hoping you can help with that.”
“I’m nothing, Itana.”
“Mia. And you are something.”
Trista gulped. “No, I’m nothing. I’m the bastard daughter of—” She swallowed the words. Admitting her parentage at this point would only cause problems. Problems she didn’t need. She already had enough. “I don’t see where I could help anything.”
“Are you aware of what happened between the bears and hyenas?”
She shook her head. No, she’d just known that her kind pissed off the Itan. A lot.
“It boils down to the hyenas helping my uncle in his attempt to take control of my hometown. The Alpha held my adopted son—my baby cousin Parker—captive while my cousin Griss attacked the clan house.” The Itana seemed lost in memories. “Keen had the den outfitted with caches of guns. Without a word, he’d prepped the den with ways to defend us. And when I wandered after him into the living room, he took bullets for me. Several hit his chest, and his only thought was for my safety. He’s more than he seems and better than most bears in the clan.” Mia lowered her voice to a whisper. “Sometimes even better than Ty.”
Trista swallowed past the lump in her throat and pushed down the desire to hunt Keen, to assure herself and that hint of beast inside her that he was safe and whole. She didn’t want to ponder the desires, didn’t want to examine them too closely, but she couldn’t banish them entirely.
“Before then, he worked to capture Griss and his accomplice. Then he negotiated and collaborated with the Southeast Itan.” Mia focused on her. “All without fanfare or acknowledgment from his brothers. Hell, even after everything was said and done, no one said a word. He’s the one no one considers or thinks about, Trista. Only… only I don’t think that’s the case with you.”
She swallowed her agreement, refusing to admit that from the first instant she’d seen Keen, she’d done nothing but think about him. True, it’d only been a few hours since their paths collided, but he’d filled every inch of her brain. And when her mind told her to run far and fast—she was screwing with her safety by staying with him—her heart said “fuck off.”
“He even became Keeper by default. No one gave him the title or completed the ceremony to welcome him to the inner-circle. He just… was.”
Keeper. That’s how he knew the laws, how he knew she was able to stay in Grayslake and spend time in Boyne Falls and Redby. “How long has he been the Keeper?”
“Almost seven months.”
Trista closed her eyes. “He knows the laws as well as I do.”
And I’ve been living by them since I could talk.
“I imagine so, but for different reasons.”
Trista opened her eyes and looked to the Itana. The knowing look on the woman’s face had her jumping from the bed and moving away from Mia. She walked around the room, looking everywhere but at the woman seated near the window.
“I should”—she licked her lips—“I should get to sleep. It’s late and I have to be out of here in,” Trista looked at her watch, at the countdown that displayed on the face, “five hours.”
The rustle of cloth followed by a low grunt announced Mia’s rise and the soft shuffle of her feet across the carpet allowed Trista to track her progress. The woman paused beside her. “I suppose the time is significant.”
“Yes.” She wouldn’t say more, wouldn’t admit to the loopholes that let her flit from place to place.
“And Keen knows its importance.”
“Yes.” There was no doubt he knew. A Keeper would understand, would see the laws from all angles and advise the Itan. Maybe he was more than a guy who jumped from bed to bed.
But he wasn’t a Keeper. That thought made her wonder if he’d explain things to Ty or just let it go. She prayed he’d let it go, that she’d get out of Grayslake before it became an issue.
“Good night, then.” Mia rested a hand on Trista’s shoulder, rubbing her back slightly, and she fought the urge to flinch. “Remember that you’re safe. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night,” she whispered and held her breath as she waited for Mia to leave. When the door clicked shut, she released the air in her lungs. Without hesitation, she rushed to the bedroom door and flicked the lock, securing her against… no one.
If a bear wanted in, it’d get in. With luck, the time it’d take to bust down the door would give her a chance to escape through the window.
Trista judged the distance between the bed and the door. A lot of luck.
Maybe sleeping in the chair would be a good idea. She could prop her feet on the window sill and—
A low rumble reached her, a sound not familiar to her, and she spun to face whatever approached. Instead of finding some sort of threat, she spied Keen standing in the bathroom doorway.
She jumped and gasped. “You scared me.”
Way to go, Captain Obvious. He was a full werebear and could rely on his animal’s senses. He could smell that he frightened her.
Keen grimaced. “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need.”
She nodded, pointedly ignoring the bed that lay between them.
“Good, good,” he nodded. “I, uh…” It was his turn to ignore her. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
He pretended that he hadn’t heard Mia’s words. But there was no way he didn’t know what they’d discussed—she didn’t imagine the doors were all that thick—but she let him cling to the pretense.
Keen stepped back, sliding the door shut behind him, leaving her alone in the strange room.
She didn’t sense movement in the bathroom and she was half tempted to take a shower, but stopped herself. Stripping and stepping beneath the water would leave her vulnerable to him, to the others in the den.
Instead, she settled for digging through the drawers and snaring a pair of large shorts and a T-shirt. She undressed and then tugged on the borrowed clothing, much more comfortable now.
Leaving her clothes in a folded pile, she moved to the bed and grabbed the top comforter and a few pillows. In no time she’d set up a comfy bed in the large chair and propped her feet on the window sill. Not the best bed, but better than some she’d endured through her life.
/> With a sigh, she settled in to sleep. It was one night. One night in the lion, er, bear’s den and then she could hunt for a place to stay tomorrow.
And she would not think about the delicious Keen Abrams who slept in the room next door. She wouldn’t entertain any thoughts of him in his bed—shirtless or nude?—and what it’d be like to touch him.
Trista demanded her mind leave daydreams of his hands on her alone.
Instead, she was faced with other things. Her thoughts were awash with Mia’s words and her own memories.
Thinking about Keen’s childhood, his life until now, had her wondering which was worse: indifference or hatred.
With that question tumbling through her, she relaxed into her makeshift bed, ready for sleep to pull her from her worries and allow her to push them aside for the night.
Even as she drifted to sleep, one question continued to swirl inside her.
Is it worse to have your family not care enough to know you or for your family to care so much they want you dead?
Chapter Five
Dreams had always troubled Trista. Good or bad, the annoyance with them always filled her because she knew they weren’t real. She couldn’t revel in a wonderful fantasy that captured her mind as she slept because it was only a matter of time before she opened her eyes and the real world intruded. Of course, she thanked God for the knowledge that nightmares would end the moment she woke.
Unless it was a memory. Unless it was parts of her past that came calling when her eyes drifted shut. Unless it was a tiny piece of her personal hell that eased forward.
Then she was in there, deep in the middle of the bloody action.
Tonight she was thirteen and she learned, not for the first time, that pretty words weren’t always pretty, but claws were always sharp.
Trista tugged on her favorite shirt and let it wrap around her like a comforting blanket. Next were her baggy jeans and looking at her outfit, she was kinda glad she stuck to wearing black a lot. It meant her mom didn’t have to buy her new clothes for the funeral.
“Tris, you coming?” Her mom didn’t have to yell. Heck, half the time she whispered so Mrs. Montfort in 1A didn’t bang on her ceiling for them to be quiet.
“Yeah.” She raised her voice a little louder than her mother’s and then…
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Good old Mrs. Montfort.
Ignoring the banging, she slipped into her ratty sneakers and left the bedroom she shared with her mom. The apartment wasn’t much, none of theirs ever were, but it was home. For now.
Trudging through the small space, she spied the pictures of her growing up. They lined the small hallway and were scattered throughout the tiny living room. Her mom said poor didn’t mean unhappy, it just meant occasionally hungry.
Though, with Mr. Scott giving them cash, they weren’t hungry too often. They still didn’t have money for much, not with all the laws they had to duck, but they at least had food to eat.
She wondered if that’d continue now that he was dead.
Trista didn’t think so.
The second she met her mom at the door, she was enveloped in a hug, her mother’s scent wrapping around her like a snug blanket. Her mom always smelled good. Sweet and happy.
Yeah, happy had a scent. She learned that when she was younger, when she first realized she was different than other kids. It was also when she figured out that hate stunk.
For now, she’d stick with smelling the happy. She’d be surrounded by the hate soon enough.
“Ready?” Her mother’s voice vibrated through her and that weird part of her that her mom called hyena, rumbled in pleasure.
“Yeah.” Trista rubbed her cheek on her mother’s shoulder.
“Okay, then.” Her mom became all business, stepping away and snagging her purse before opening the door and moving into the hallway.
The stench of the space hit her like a truck and she sneezed, trying to clear her nose of the aroma. Blech. Someone puked on the stairs again.
Instead of commenting on it, they stepped around the puddle and kept on going. No sense in complaining when there wasn’t anything they could do about it. Mr. Scott’s money went for food and Mom’s went toward paying the rent. Since her mother got pregnant with Trista in her senior year of high school and barely managed to get her diploma, she wasn’t exactly qualified for much beyond working at the diner in Grayslake and manning the counter at the fast food joint in Boyne Falls.
And then she couldn’t even work at those all that often because of the stupid bitch in Boyne Falls. Mr. Scott’s wife didn’t like her mom, but the woman couldn’t get around the laws of visitation which meant they were safe. For now.
Who knew what’d happen after today.
“Come on, Tris. We’re gonna be late,” her mom called to her as she slid behind the wheel of their clunker. The car looked like it was on its last legs, and it was more rust than metal, but it got them around.
But why did she have to hurry? They were gonna be late no matter what.
Flopping into the passenger seat, she tugged on her seatbelt and then looked at her watch. Out of everything they owned, their watches were the most expensive.
“Atomic” watches. Ones that always kept perfect time. It was super important which was why they splurged on them. Her mom never wanted to give the local shifter “people” a reason to hurt them for hanging around too long. Twelve hours and one minute was one minute too long for them.
Well, for Trista really. Being part hyena meant she couldn’t hang around. That didn’t apply to her mom since she was human.
What. Ever.
Stupid furball rules. Those rules, those “people,” were another reason they were still hanging around.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the border between Grayslake and Boyne Falls, but her mom didn’t cross the line. Her mom had to juggle several shifts and really work out the timeline in order for them to go to Mr. Scott’s funeral, but she’d said it was important.
Trista didn’t see how.
Because he was your father.
Blech. It wasn’t like she’d seen him for more than five minutes in her entire life. Even his checks came in the mail and were sprayed down with some disgusting cologne. He couldn’t be connected to Trista and her mom. His “mate” wouldn’t like that he still had contact with them.
Throwing the car in park, her mom slumped in her seat, her attention focused on the road before them.
Two hyenas paced the street while a human-shaped, gun-toting man leaned against a nearby SUV.
“A welcoming party. Again,” Trista sneered.
“Well, Mrs. Scott doesn’t like us. You know that.”
“Yeah.” Trista wiggled and settled into a comfortable position. “I don’t know why she can’t just let us go already.” Not that they had the money to leave, but whatever. She sighed and glanced at her watch again. Only a minute had passed. Crap. “How long do we have to sit here?”
“Another eleven minutes.”
She sighed again and watched the animals down the street watching them. They drooled on the asphalt. Gross. Then she remembered why they were drooling—they were looking forward to making them dinner. Even grosser. And scary as hell.
Finally the wait was over and her mom popped the car into gear. She pulled onto the street and they approached the city’s border. The hyenas quit their pacing, but kept on with their drooling. Ick.
As they passed the three “people,” the human guy pointed his gun at them and the two hyenas jumped and scratched the side of their car.
She wondered if she was gonna die now, if Mr. Scott’s order had died along with him. Instead of cowering and showing fear like she had when she was little, she stared the man in the eye, kept her attention right on him. They moved forward and she remained focused on him, not breaking his gaze as they passed.
He flinched first and dropped his eyes.
Score one for her.
“You shouldn’t antagonize them
like that.” Her mom’s voice was half censuring and half prideful.
Trista focused on the pride and shrugged. “Not my fault he’s weak.”
Her mom hummed, but didn’t say anything else. Not while they finished their drive, nor when she pulled into a parking spot at the cemetery.
Trista stepped from the car, only her mom… did not. She bent down and caught her mother’s attention. “Ma, you coming?”
She shook her head. “No, this is something for you alone.”
“Mom,” she whined.
“They’re your people, Trista. You need to go and pay your respects. I’m not allowed there.”
“But what if…” What if Mr. Scott’s order really did die with him?
Her mom shook her head. “No, Mrs. Scott may not like you—”
Trista snorted, but her mom continued.
“—but she will follow the law.”
“What about Heath?” She spat the guy’s name.
She’d call him a man, but he was hardly eighteen and still pimply-faced. God, did the guy ever shower? Shifters were supposed to be all heal-y and stuff and yet the kid ended up with more pimples than stars in the sky. She really felt bad for the pack. Mr. Scott was a jerk, but Heath was an asshole. Too bad the hyenas didn’t make the heirs wait until they hit twenty-five to take over the reins. Not like the bears.
“Heath knows the law. Otherwise the men at the border would have stopped us.” In mom-speak, “stopped” meant “killed.” As if Trista didn’t know.
Trista turned her attention to the gathering of “people” on the other side of the graveyard. The hyena shifter graveyard. She had no doubt the individuals milling about were other hyenas, and any minute now they’d catch her scent.
In three, two, one…
It was like they were one person. All heads turned toward her, everyone’s eyes suddenly glowing copper.
