Rogue Heart

by Samantha Wolfe

  I huff out a breath. "What do you want, Cooper?" I ask. "I just got home, and I'm exhausted."

  "I can see that," he replies, eying my disheveled hair and clothes. "I wanted to invite you out for breakfast before I went to work." His eyes are glittering angrily with the amber of his wolf. "But apparently you need to get some rest after your long night out fucking some rogue wolf," he adds, his words harsh and accusatory. I can almost hear the other words he's not saying aloud, but still implying, "And not me." His tone and presumption piss me off.

  "Who I decide to fuck is none of your business," I say, and he has the gall to look even more pissed by my words. I shake my head in disbelief. "Just go home, Cooper." I turn to stalk toward the cabin. I'm so not in the mood for this shit.

  "Really?" he asks as he follows after me and grabs my arm to pull me to a stop. "That's all the explanation I get?" I turn to see the bitter anger in every rigid line of his powerful body. "This is how you end things between us?"

  I meet him glare for glare, letting my eyes flash silver with my she-wolf, who's suddenly raring for a fight. I let out a low animalistic growl as she roils under my skin and prickles across every hair on my body.

  "There was never anything between us," I tell him, my voice low and rough with my threatening shift. "And there won't ever be either." My jaw aches with lengthening fangs and my nail beds burn with erupting claws. "Now get your fucking hand off me," I say as I stare him down. I'm the daughter of the Alpha, a fierce and deadly hunter with a position higher in the pack than Cooper. He can't out dominate me. He won't.

  Several seconds tick by with our wolves locked in a battle of wills before the amber in Cooper's eyes finally dims,. He breaks eye contact first as his hand slips from my arm. He turns his head to bare his neck to me and stares at the ground, his body deflating in submission and his expression one of heartache and defeat. I know I'll feel bad about how I treated him later, but right now I revel in my victory as the beast in me rides roughshod over my more human emotions.

  "Go home, Cooper," I say, my voice a low inhuman growl, then turn and walk away from him without a backwards glance.

  I don't go inside to wallow in my bed like I originally planned when I got home. No. Instead, I turn and move toward the trees behind the cabin, shedding my clothes as I go, and embrace the she-wolf as I enter the welcoming embrace of the forest. Bones crack and reknit. Skin moves and stretches as muscle and sinew shift underneath the fur that's swiftly erupting across my entire body. Four paws find soft forgiving earth. And though I know it's only temporary; I give myself over to the she-wolf inside me and try to forget the pain and despair of my splintered heart.

  21

  RONAN

  It's dark again by the time I return to the cabin on four paws, moving slowly across the grass toward the front door with my head and tail hanging down dejectedly. The woods around the place aren't massive, but large enough I could run and hunt, despite my wolfsbane-stunted senses. It was an unsuccessful attempt to distract myself from the guilt and pain eating me up inside since Lyric left this morning. I miss her. The wolf misses her too, and nothing I do can distract either part of me from mourning the loss of her in my life, of losing half my heart, even if it's what's best for her.

  Thanks to my father never educating me before he was killed, I knew basically nothing about mating bonds between our kind. I heard my parents mention being mates many times, but I just assumed it was a trueborn term for a husband and wife, not a literal bond between two people. I'd ignorantly become mated to someone I could never have, and while I deserved the pain and heartache that came with renouncing it, Lyric didn't. The guilt of rejecting her and hurting her like that sat heavy on my soul. However, it was far better than having her die because of who I am, a hitman with a price on his head who'd already had two attempts on his life in the last few days.

  When I reach the porch steps, I slowly and painfully shift back to two legs, finding it almost as difficult as when I shifted into my wolf this morning, thanks to the lingering wolfsbane in my system. The aerosolized version metabolizes quickly, but when it's directly shot into your blood stream, if the dose isn't high enough to outright kill you, the effects can persist for hours and days. It dampens the wolf inside a trueborn, making them more human than animal, a realization that leads me to my next decision. If embracing my wolf can't seem to numb the pain, then maybe something else can right now.

  I walk inside and get dressed, then head straight for the kitchen to start scouring the cupboards one after the other in my search. Finally, I find what I'm looking for in the small pantry next to the fridge. I reach up and pull the dusty bottle of whiskey down from the top shelf and frown when I see there's barely more than a few swallows left inside the damn thing. My plan to get drunk unravels.

  "Fuck."

  Even with my wolf's metabolism stunted right now, I know it's not anywhere near enough alcohol to do squat to me. However, it doesn't stop me from twisting the cap off and chugging it down anyway. The cheap booze burns harshly down my throat like fire to sit warm in my belly, but I know it won't do any more than that. I'll need a hell of a lot more for any kind of attempt to get shit-faced.

  I stare balefully around the tiny cabin, pissed off over Rowdy's pathetic alcohol stash considering he owned a bar, and still in sudden realization. If I can't get drunk here, then a bar is the next-best thing. I hurry over to a small desk tucked against the wall nearby and whip open the drawer full of paperwork I snooped through the first night I stayed here. I find the address for Rowdy's Tavern and grin with dark and feral satisfaction. I've studied the area enough to know exactly where it is. Fuck, yes.

  Within moments, I have my jacket on, and I'm pulling on the spelled pendant once again as I stalk out to the Mach 1. I try to ignore the memory of Lyric throwing the necklace at me after implying that she loved me. It was the closest I've been to anyone saying they loved me since the moments before my mother died in front of me, and it terrified me. The people who love me always die. I won't let that happen to her. I fucking won't. I love her too much to allow it. Yes, love, because in this moment, I know that's what I feel for Lyric, even if I've only known her for days.

  I start the car as an agonizing empty feeling settles deep into my chest for the umpteenth time since I let her leave this morning. Then I drive away from the cabin I'm starting to loath right along with myself, and speed down the road in search of an oblivion that I'm not even sure will work, and will only be temporary if it does.

  A cold drizzle is falling from the dark leaden sky by the time I spot the bar's lit up sign and pull into its gravel parking lot. The old rustic-looking building is covered in faded gray wooden siding, now darkening to almost black by the rain. Bright neon signs are lit up in the front windows, including one that announces the bar to be open. Thank God. I park in the nearly empty lot and get out to hurry through the rain toward the bar's long covered porch with my jacket wrapped tightly around me to keep the damp chill at bay. It's a good sign since ordinarily the cold wouldn't bother me. Maybe I can get drunk tonight.

  I step through the door into a blessed warmth that quickly chases the chill away as the stink of cigarette smoke, booze, and greasy bar food hit my nose. My wolf doesn't particularly like it, but we've been in worse, and he can deal with it. I pause to glance around the room.

  The place definitely has a rural feel to it, with its pine walls and rough hewn plank flooring. Worn wooden tables with vinyl chairs are scattered around the center of the room with only a few of them occupied by customers. Twangy country music is currently playing in the background from a jukebox in the back corner near a small stage and dance floor that sit empty on the right.

  A long bar stretches along the wall to my left with only a few stools taken, and I make a beeline in that direction. I figure it's the quickest way to get to the hard liquor. I head to the corner of the bar closest to me and perch myself on a stool with a decent view of the room before looking expectantly down toward the barte
nder at the other end. Pale eyes glance over to meet mine along with a hard scowl as the guy clomps over to me.

  "What do you want?" he asks me in a raspy voice that's clearly irritated.

  He looks to be about my age and just shy of six-feet tall with bulging tattooed arms crossed over his chest, and sharp angular features made more stark by his antagonistic expression. His hair is dark and cropped short, and he's sporting a scruffy beard that could use a good trim. There's a hint of yellowish brown around one eye and a few other parts of his face that I'm pretty sure are healing bruises. He must have taken one hell of a beating recently, and it might explain his piss-poor attitude. I ignore it though, since I don't need his courtesy to get drunk, and return his scowl as I curtly order a double whiskey, neat. He nods once and turns to get my drink without a word. A moment later, he slaps my drink down in front of me and walks away again.

  Just as I'm lifting the glass to my lips, I feel something gently nudging my left leg as the scent of dog reaches me. I glance down to see a small silver and white Siberian husky next to my stool giving my pant leg a once over with her little black nose. The dog looks up at me with friendly ice-blue eyes and a widening doggy grin, and waggles her fluffy tail at me in greeting. At least someone in here is happy to see me. I manage to give her a small wan smile as I reach down to stroke her soft head. It's damp, like she just came in from outside.

  I hear a female voice call out from nearby. "I'm here!"

  I look up toward an open doorway to the left of the bar that likely leads to an office area just as a young woman walks through it while tying an apron around her waist. The girl instantly arrests my attention, and while it's not attraction since she's not my Lyric, there's something almost familiar about her that I can't look away from. She's curvier and a few inches shorter than Lyric and about the same age. She's quite pretty too, with gleaming black hair cut into a sleek chin-length bob, ivory skin, and big startlingly blue eyes highlighted by dark liner. She's dressed in a blue flannel shirt and dark jeans with black Chuck Taylors on her feet. Her full lips are pulled into a smile that lights up her face as she watches the husky hurry over to her and dance happily around her feet. The dog must be hers since she commands the animal to go lay down on a dog bed I didn't noticed next to the door she just came through.

  "Yuck!" she announces, still grinning as she turns to go behind the bar without sparing me a single glance and approaches the surly bartender. "It is nasty out there."

  The bartender merely grunts in reply as the girl passes my spot at the bar, and I breathe in the wild edged scent of wolf on her. Shit, she's a trueborn. Maybe that's why she caught my attention. I continue watching her covertly as she smiles brightly at the bartender.

  "And apparently in here too," she says as she pats his shoulder. "What pooped on your parade today, Brett?" Her smile twists wryly. "You know, besides you just being you."

  Shockingly, the bartender actually breaks out a small yet genuine smile at her sarcastic comment, even as he gruffly says, "Get to work."

  "Will do, boss," she replies with a wink then walks away. This time she catches my eye as she passes and gives me a polite nod before moving out from behind the bar. I turn my head and watch as she approaches one of the occupied tables. Her demeanor is friendly and open as she greets her customers and asks if they need anything.

  After a moment, I feel eyes on me and turn back to find Brett the bartender glaring hostilely at me from across the bar top. "You here to drink or stare?" he asks, a protective glitter in his dark eyes.

  Not wanting to look like a lecherous creep, I nod to my whiskey and pick it up to take a swallow since it's the reason I'm here after all. Brett arches a brow with a satisfied nod and moves away to help another patron. Well, at least the girl has someone looking out for her, even though as a trueborn she could probably handle herself just fine.

  I finish the drink and order another and another as the bar slowly fills with more people. By then, the bartender is busy enough not to notice me surreptitiously watching the girl again. I can't seem to help myself or explain my fascination, but the liquor I'm starting to feel makes it easy not to wonder too much about it, especially since it's distracting me from thoughts of Lyric.

  So I sit and drink and watch her work until she stops in the middle of serving a table of older men to smile radiantly toward the front door. I follow her gaze to find a man entering the bar wearing a black rain coat with the hood up, so I can't see his face well. He turns away to approach a line of coat hooks on the wall near the door, and I see the word, "police", emblazoned in reflective letters across the back of the coat before he slips it off and hangs it up. Then he turns to survey the room with an air of quiet strength and cool confidence.

  He's only a few inches shorter than me and probably in his forties, leanly muscular with salt and pepper hair and shrewd dark eyes. He's dressed in a gray and black Wolcott P.D. uniform with the sleeves rolled up to expose the colorful tattoos winding down both forearms all the way to his wrists. He looks oddly familiar to me, and I watch him with furrowed brows, trying to figure out where I've seen before as he spots the girl and gives her a warm smile.

  "Hey, baby girl!" he calls out, his gruff voice filled with obvious affection as he walks toward her with smooth unhurried steps.

  The girl crosses the room to meet him halfway, her smile growing wider and her eyes adoring. "Hey, Dad," she says as the man pulls her in for a hug.

  The way he holds her, so lovingly, so protectively, jolts my memory already made fresh by the vivid dream I had last night. It takes me back to the day my world was destroyed. It takes me back to the day I entrusted my newborn baby sister to a young police officer cradling her just as tenderly in his arms then as he is now, and I'm paralyzed with shock.

  No, it can't possibly be. It can't.

  They pull back from their hug, and I study the girl closer, and see what I missed before in her facial features. I see the familiar shape of my mother's eyes in the identical shade of vivid electric blue. I see my mother's cheekbones and full lips. I see the same nose and chin that we both got from our father. I see my past come to life in the present, and I undeniably know in my heart and in my soul, that it's true. She's my sister.

  22

  RONAN

  My breath quickens as I whirl toward the bar and stare unseeing at the half-empty glass of whiskey on the bar in front of me. My heart pounds like a drum in my chest as I fight down the urge to run over to the girl and hold her and smell her so I know she's real. How can this be? Of all the places in the world for me to find my sister, it's here now in this bar? Maybe I'm wrong. I shake my head in incredulity, then sneak another glance at the girl. Good God, I can't unsee it now. The family resemblance is unmistakable, and I wonder how I didn't see it right away.

  "Fuck," I say under my breath as she ushers her father over to the table closest to my stool at the bar. I turn back toward my drink, still able to watch them covertly out of the corner of my eye.

  "How's your shift tonight?" she asks him as she drops into one of the vinyl chairs.

  "Cold, wet, and boring," he replies with a weary smile as he sits across the table from her. "The exact opposite of that motel fire in Harrisville Saturday night."

  "Have they figured out what caused it?" she asks. I'm all ears now, because I know exactly what caused it since I was there when the demonborn threw a bottle bomb through my motel room window with Lyric and me in it.

  His expression turns serious. "Not definitively, but the fire investigators think it was arson," he says. "We think maybe it was a robbery gone wrong since the owner was found dead from knife wounds in the motel office. The fire was probably set to cover up any evidence left behind and nearly burned down the entire building." He shook his head and sighed with resignation. "We'll see what the investigation drums up, but they may never figure out who did it. I'm just glad no one else was hurt."

  "Me too, Dad," the girl says as she places her hand over his, where it's resting on
the tabletop. "Oh, your fingers are like ice. Do you want some coffee to warm you up?" she asks.

  "I'd love some, baby girl," he replies as he pats her hand.

  "One black coffee coming right up, Dad," she says with a grin as she pops up out of her chair and circles around my back to go behind the bar to the coffee maker. She passes so close to me that I can take in her scent again. Memories of a tiny baby and those few short hours I had her in my arms assail me. It's all I can do not to reach out to touch her arm and talk to her, but I manage to resist. Instead, I watch her fill a mug from the carafe, and return to her father, setting it in front of him before sitting down again.

  "Thanks, Raven," he says as he wraps his hands around the steaming mug.

  Raven. My sister's name is Raven. I can't help the bittersweet smile that spreads across my lips. The name suits her with her raven-black hair just like our mother's. Another strong urge to go to her comes over me, making my hands tremble. I want to tell her who I am, who she is, and where she came from. I want to hold her and never let her go again. I want my family back.

  "Now," her dad says, smiling at her with so much affection it makes my heart ache, "let's talk about something happy instead. How's your man?"

  Her face immediately turns tender and dreamy. "He's good," she says. "Good to me. Good for me. He makes me happy, makes me feel safe. We take care of each other, and I couldn't imagine being without him. He's my mate, my everything."

  She has a mate? That thought makes me happy as much at it hurts not to have ever been a part of her life. If I can't have my mate, at least my sister can have hers.

  "Good," her father says. "That's what I want to hear. All I've ever wanted is for you be safe and happy, to have a good life. You deserve it, baby girl."