Lenore’s dark eyes were shadowed. “If not me, then who? I got this, Emmie.”
“Do you remember what I told you about Noah’s father?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “His name isn’t Andrew Phillips at all. He’s Drew Woolven. He asked me to bring Noah and move into Aphelion with him. You could—”
“You should do it. He’ll protect you.”
“He’ll dominate me, control me—like Peter.” Emmie shuddered.
“He’ll be nothing like Peter. Not with everything you told me about Santorini. Plus, they have a witch. Noah could go to school. Have friends. Be among his own.”
“I’ll have to…” she bit her lip. If Noah were to fit in to the supe world, Emmie would have to accept the bite. She’d have to become one of those slavering things. She shuddered and looked down the hall to where Noah came out of her room with the old blanket. He’d be one of those things. Under his skin—just like Drew. Her sweet child, her innocent boy…
“Maybe. But it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to you. You’ll have a longer lifespan, immunity to most illness, and hello? Did you forget that Drew is a billionaire?”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You should. It’s Noah’s birthright. Don’t choose to take that away from him because of your pride.”
“This is the last thing I expected from a hunter.” Emmie would admit that she’d wanted Lenore to tell her it was crazy. That she was right to be wary, be here she was pushing her toward the edge of the cliff and telling her to leap.
“I’m not only a hunter. I don’t kill people just because they’re different. I kill them when they’re evil.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I know, I’m sorry. I just feel cornered and I don’t know what to do.”
Noah shoved the blanket toward his mother and grabbed Lenore’s hand to lead her out into the expansive yard. Lenore followed, laughing.
Emmie watched them play, thankful for the time to herself. It gave her time to process what Lenore had told her. It seemed that she had no choice but to accept Drew’s offer, but part of her wondered if even the great Woolvens would be able to protect her and her son from Peter Breslin.
Being married to him had been a tour in hell. If not for Lenore, she never would’ve escaped.
She supposed she hadn’t really escaped. She was still running, still living in the long shadow of fear.
Emmie couldn’t do this the rest of her life.
She dipped her head in the bowl of her hands. The long-term plan hadn’t been to live with it. When Noah turned eighteen and was off to college, she was going to find Peter and kill him. If she went to jail or he killed her, so be it. Her son would be safe.
Of course, she hadn’t factored in his unique condition.
But now, Peter was a werewolf. An invincible werewolf.
She remembered when he first told her, how he’d run out on their honeymoon. When he’d come back, he’d been covered in blood. She’d thought he was such a hero then, that he would protect her from all the dark things that had suddenly become real.
Her stomach clenched. He’d been a dark thing, darker than the folk who lived in Den Hollow just trying go on about the business of living or raising their families.
Just like Emmie and Noah.
She exhaled heavily and turned her attention back to Lenore and Noah. She chased him now, and he howled with delight—zig zagging to keep out of her reach. When she grabbed him, they tumbled to the ground and Lenore tickled him, both of them giggling.
It brought a smile to Emmie’s face.
Noah wriggled free and growled, the excitement and adrenaline bringing about his Change. Lenore didn’t correct him, didn’t even pause in their play. Not even when he growled deeper, trying to sound menacing.
Instead, she encouraged him. She ran from him, staying just far enough ahead that he’d think he could catch her. When he got too close, she turned and growled back at him.
He howled with delight.
It was so nice to see Noah playing so freely with someone who wouldn’t get hurt—and neither would Noah. Emmie could see that Lenore wasn’t just playing with him, she was teaching him how to channel his strength, how to be comfortable with the power that would one day be his.
This was what happiness was made of. It wasn’t a destination, or even a state of being. It was these moments, made up of the smallest things.
But they could shatter so easily.
She heard him before she saw him—a low, menacing growl that stirred a dark awareness inside of her. A sure knowledge that sound was equivalent to death.
He was like something out of a horror movie—obviously male, bipedal, and every inch a carnivorous predator. He erupted from the woods, his massive form arching through the air as if he could fly, propelled by his powerful legs.
And the slashing of claws on his descent.
Emmie didn’t scream or make any noise whatsoever. She held her arms out to her son and nodded for him to come to her. If the beast was focused on Lenore, then perhaps Noah could slip away, unnoticed. She didn’t worry about Lenore—she was a hunter who’d eaten the hearts of her enemies. She’d be fine.
Noah’d morphed back into his human form, his tiny jeans hanging in rags off his baby-chubby legs. He was frozen with terror. He’d never seen another like himself, what he would become. She crept toward him slowly, ever so slowly, and she fought to control her fear. She knew they could smell it.
But she saw the determination on her son’s face. She saw him swallow his fear and the tiny roar that echoed from him ripped her heart out.
Emmie sprung from her position and snatched her son close to her body. He struggled, clawed and bit at her, only his claws tearing at her arms as he fought to get to his opponent.
Lenore called out, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
She couldn’t see how it could possibly be okay. Lenore was lying flat, neck exposed to the most horrible beast she’d ever seen. It was the farthest fucking thing from okay.
“It’s fine, Noah. Aunt Lennie is okay.”
How could Lenore even speak in the position that she was in?
Emmie exhaled a shuddering breath.
The horrible beast wasn’t so horrible anymore. The arcs and planes of his body became golden and familiar as the beast receded.
“Aunt fucking Lennie?” Drew’s voice was still low, menacing. But it was Drew.
“Get off me, Woolven. Before I kick your ass.”
“I’m about to tear your face off. What are you doing with my son?”
“He’s my nephew. If not by blood, then by love.” Lenore shoved at his shoulders. “Get a grip on yourself.” Lenore struggled to her feet and looked up at the sky. “And some fucking pants. Jesus.”
“Fucking pants!” Noah yelled with glee, his earlier fury quickly forgotten.
Aware of Noah’s sensitivity to her moods, especially her fear, she put him down with shaking hands.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she growled at Drew.
His eyes flashed, but he licked his lips and exhaled heavily. “I was protecting you. Protecting Noah. Do you know who she is?”
Emmie gritted her teeth and forced herself to move forward and stand close to him. “I know exactly who she is. She saved my life. She saved your son’s life more than once.”
“She’s a hunter.”
“And before I got divorced, my last name was Breslin.”
Drew looked like she’d slapped him.
With a brick.
She didn’t know what she expected. Maybe his wrath. Another change and tearing, slashing claws, ripping teeth. But when his arms came around her, it was still a punch to her gut.
“Don’t say that name in Den Hollow. It isn’t safe.”
Lenore brushed off her pants. “I wouldn’t come here unless it was important. I just wanted to see them before I go after my brother.”
“You don’t have to take the contract. I knew the Council offered it to you, but…” he shook his head
.
“I know what’s happened, what he is. I’m probably the only one who can get close enough.”
Drew exhaled heavily. “If there’s any resource Woolven can offer, it’s yours.”
How quickly his temper changed. Just like Peter.
Not, not just like Peter. Peter was mean, Peter wanted to hurt things. Drew thought he was protecting his son from someone who could hurt him and, seeing he wasn’t in danger, let go of that rage.
Noah wandered over to Lenore and held his arms up indicating he wanted her to pick him up. Lennie didn’t hesitate. She swept him up in her arms. “I’m going to play with my nephew some more, if you don’t mind.”
“My witch is coming to cut his hair.”
Noah shot him a dirty look. “I don’t like the scissors.”
“They’re not silver,” Drew assured him.
Noah arched his brow and, for a moment, looked so much like Drew. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
Emmie backed away from his embrace and held out her hands as if that could guarantee some distance between them—a line he couldn’t cross.
“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“You don’t get to come here and terrify me and then act like nothing’s wrong.”
“Emmie, I thought Noah was in danger.”
Chapter Six
He couldn’t believe his sweet, innocent Emmie had ever been married to Peter Breslin. Breslin was universally hated among supes. He was a hunter who killed because he hated what was different than he was. He believed in extermination, genocide. He led a faction of dangerous hunters who believed the same way.
And during the Great Council in Rome, when he’d tried to kill Marchessa Rommulus, she’d bitten him. Changed him. Now, he was one of them, and he’d inherited her affliction—an immunity to silver that made him more dangerous.
It made sense why Emmie was afraid. Breslin was a monster who killed women and children for pleasure before he’d been Turned.
Damn it, he’d just… He realized he was almost naked. His slacks hung off of him precariously, the fine linen shredded. His shirt—well, he had none to speak of.
She shook her head slowly. “I can’t move to Aphelion, but you’re going to make that my only choice, aren’t you?”
“I just want to protect you.”
“Peter used to say that.”
If he’d been a lesser wolf, that might’ve made him flinch. He was relieved when Westwood appeared, looking like her normal grandmotherly self, a bag of goodies and hopefully scissors in hand.
She didn’t bother with Drew, but focused on Emmie. “So you’re the goddess from Santorini.”
Emmie blushed. “I…I met Drew in Santorini.”
“All Andrew did when he returned was talk about you. Goddess from the sea, I think it was?” Westwood gave her a warm smile.
“More like chicken of the sea, but thank you.”
Westwood eyed her for a long moment. “I’m Mrs. Westwood, but you may call me Eleanor.”
“Thank you, Eleanor. Please, call me Emmie.”
“Would that be short for Emmaline?”
She cringed. “Esmerelda, actually. But only my ex-husband calls me that.”
“I understand.” Westwood smiled. “I had one of those once when I was a young witch. Once.”
Drew shuddered and wondered where the warlock lay moldering. His bones were probably toothpicks for some interdimensional shit demon.
She turned her attention to Noah. “This young man needs a haircut?” Westwood waited for Emmie’s approval.
“He’s terribly afraid of scissors.” Emmie bit her lip.
Westwood waved her hand with a dismissive motion. “Bah. That’s only because most of them look like silver. It’s a natural response for him. May I try?”
“If he bites you, I’d really rather you not turn him into a toad or something.”
Westwood arched a brow, but laughed. “No, child. I wouldn’t do that.” Her kindly grandmotherly smile bloomed. “But only because I never mastered the spell to turn them back.” She shook her head. “Toads are harder than you’d think.”
Drew found himself remembering afternoons spent with the woman while she instructed him in the finer arts of negotiation, tactics, and politics over tea and her homemade butter cookies. His chest puffed with pride, thinking his son was going to have the same.
Emmie didn’t seem to get that it was a joke. Mostly. She’d pursed her lips together. “Mrs. Westwood raised me and my brothers. Never turned any of us into toads. Parker she turned into a cat once, but only because he wouldn’t stay out of her laboratory.”
Lenore approached Westwood, Noah’s hand tucked securely in hers. “What do you say, little man? How about a haircut?”
“No.”
“Yes,” Westwood said, pulling a shiny ball out of the ether. It appeared to be full of galaxies, with stars exploding to life, and dying, little glittery bubbles popped before their time. Noah was instantly entranced, just as Drew had been at that age. Just as any child would be. Noah reached for it.
“Not just yet, dearie. You can have it after you let me cut your hair.”
Noah scowled and his nose twitched.
“That’s not nice to growl.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were going to.”
This time, he did growl. Westwood fixed him with a hard stare and he stopped. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you’re a good boy. Here, sit still.” Noah floated up and the ball stayed at his eye level. “Just watch this.” She produced a pair of black matte scissors and showed them to him. “See? No silver.”
“Okay…”
Emmie seemed to be holding her breath, and Drew was drawn to comfort her. “It’ll be fine. She knows what she’s doing.”
“What do you think?” Westwood asked him, and with her magic began to show him all the different things she could do with his hair. When she got to a faux hawk, his eyes lit up.
“That one!”
Westwood looked to Emmie. “Is this okay?”
Emmie nodded, her fingers digging into Drew’s arm. Westwood made the first snip, and Noah stayed intent on the ball. She could’ve done it with magic, but Drew knew why she did it by hand. She wanted to teach him not to be afraid.
“It’s fine, Emmie.”
Her response was to grip him tighter, but he didn’t mind. It was his honor and his pleasure to be her strength and her support.
Mrs. Westwood finished the boy’s hair, and it was infinitely better than the previous bowl cut.
“Aren’t you a handsome boy?” Emmie said smiling.
“I like it!” he proclaimed.
“How about we go have some butter cookies and tea at Aphelion?” Westwood invited.
Drew coughed. “I don’t think Blake would like having a hunter at Aphelion.”
“She’s the boy’s aunt, isn’t she? I need to speak with her in my laboratory anyway. We have business. It will be fine.” Westwood smiled. “And if she intends harm to any who live there, her insides will boil until they drip out of her ears.” Her tone was congenial.
Noah’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”
Westwood nodded.
“Cool! But my Aunt Lennie is a good hunter. Just like you’re a good witch.”
Mrs. Westwood smiled.
“I…” Emmie trailed off.
“You need to pack, my dear. Bad things are coming. The safest place is with Drew. No one will make you stay anywhere you don’t want to be. Aphelion isn’t a prison. It’s a sanctuary.”
Emmie narrowed her eyes. “I will decide that. On my own, without any interference from you or anyone else, regardless of your intentions.”
Westwood approached her carefully. “Just because it wasn’t your idea doesn’t make it invalid.”
Emmie seemed to take her words to heart. “I know that, but you don’t know anything about me or what my life was like.”
Drew put himself between Westwood and Emmie. “Thanks for coming.”
Westwood laughed. “Okay, I’m going. Can Noah come over and play?”
“What do you say, Emmie? Can we go?” Drew teased her.
She pursed her lips. “Okay, fine.”
“Are you a wicked witch?” Noah asked.
“Noah!” Emmie admonished.
But instead of being offended, Westwood said, “Yes, I am. Would you like to ride on my broom?”
“You have a broom?” Noah was terribly excited.
“Not usually, it’s kind of a joke. But we can fly on one if you’d like.” A broom appeared in her hand.
“Oh, that’s too cool! I need one of those!” Lenore exclaimed nodding at the broom.
Westwood grinned and one appeared in Lenore’s hand. They were in the sky before Emmie could object.
“That witch will treat him like her own grandson. She won’t let anything happen to him.”
“Was it true what she said?”
“About what?” Not that he ever suspected Westwood lied about anything. She didn’t have to.
“About Lenore’s insides liquefying if she meant harm to anyone inside Aphelion?”
“Very. We had a security breach not too long ago, and Blake’s mate was almost killed.”
“What happened?”
“We killed him.”
Emmie shuddered. “You speak of death and violence so easily.”
“It’s part of my world—your world.”
“I didn’t want that for him.” She sighed.
“It will come for him, whether you want it or not. Wouldn’t you rather he be able to make his choice rationally and not be controlled by an instinct that doesn’t understand the human world?”
“I’m so afraid, Drew. And I’m so tired of being afraid.”
“I can’t promise you’ll never be afraid again. I wish I could. But that’s not how it works. Emmie, look at me.” He wanted to reach out and touch her, lift her chin so she looked into his eyes, but he waited for her to do it on her own.
She looked up at him, blue eyes filled with a storm of emotions. He could see pain there, fear, but he thought he caught a glimpse of hope, too.
The Werewolf Tycoon's Secret Baby (The Woolven Secret Book 2) Page 4
