As we stood before the one that I knew in my heart was the true Alpha of this pack, the one whose gaze never left mine, even as he clapped Toshi on the shoulder and softly said, “Thank you.”
That was the moment I broke down.
I let go of Toshi’s hand and wrapped my arms around my father’s waist. I burst into tears and buried my face in chest. His chin lowered to rest on top of my head.
We stood and cried like that for what felt like hours. In the midst of it all, I could feel a lot of arms intertwining with ours and pulling us all together as one.
The pack was whole again.
“How?” I managed to ask once I calmed a little.
Laurent was the one who answered. “Before Toshio’s father died, he confessed that Alejandro was being held captive, so I set some wheels in motion to get him out.”
So that was a secret business he had to attend to.
My happy reunion was starting to cloud over. I whirled on Toshi. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because we didn’t know what shape he’d be in, and because only one of the original Awakened could get him out because the locks were DNA coded. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case we failed.”
I probably did a fairly good impression of a gaping fish for a few seconds. Toshio’s father said only the Awakened’s DNA could get to him?
I looked at Laurent, still pissed and with a million questions but, “How?” was all I could say.
He smiled. “I always find a way, Marti.”
I was torn between wanting to hit him and wanting to hug him.
My dad leaned into me. “It’s all right, Marti. I’m here now.”
“So now what?” I had to ask. It’s not like I wanted to ruin our good mood, but there were still some big threats hanging over our heads. We had to act and quickly. There was no other way if we wanted to survive.
“Let’s all go back to Chicago,” my father said, looking at our rag-tag band of shifters and witches, his voice a little stronger than it was before. “Get some well-deserved R-n-R and then prepare to fight another day.”
Everyone shouted their agreement, though I noticed Nia looked concerned. A long glance passed between her and my dad and I looked up at him, but he just smiled at me. I helped him over to a chair but as got closer, he shook me off a little, just holding my hand.
I was a bit hurt until I realized how closely the wolves were watching him.
Only the strongest deserve to be Alpha, Cassandra’s words echoed in my brain.
I nodded at him then stood back to let him walk the rest of the way on his own.
As everyone gathered around him, I moved back and watched.
Toshio silently came over and took my hand. We looked at the assembled group, then back at each other. He smiled, eyes bright and triumphant, and I didn’t have to read his mind to know what he was thinking.
We were finally all together and as such, we would become a force to be reckoned with.
Because there was nothing in this world more powerful than a family fighting together for their lives and happiness.
Yes, happy birthday, Christmas, and New Year’s to me.
Excerpt from The Awakening Series
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The following is an excerpt of RELUCTANT GODS, the next novel in The Awakening series.
Preface
AMMON
The oracle promised Izzara would return. Promised she would come back to me with the same face so I would know her again. Promised she’d come with a protector to see her through the dangerous passages.
Too many millennia I have waited for her return. Too many thousands of years have I been disappointed. Now that the Sleepers are ready to awaken, I am afraid it is too late. Izzara’s soul will never return.
They will not allow it.
One
PHOEBE
The loud of thump of books hitting the counter pulled my attention away from the bottom shelf I’d been dusting. After rising from my crouched position, I saw the beard first. At least six inches long, light brown, and braided. It was nestled between two large, fluffy tassels, which were attached to crocheted cords that led up to large brown earflaps. Above this, two teddy-bear ears stuck out on either side of the home-made woolen cap.
My lips twitched when I noticed him staring at me like I was the funny-looking one. He was at least six feet tall and wearing a hat that a three-year-old would covet.
Hiding both my frustration and amusement, I took his library card and processed his books. When I pushed them over the counter to him with one hand, he kept looking at my other arm. The one without a hand. I tried to smile, nonetheless.
“Due back in six weeks,” I said, momentarily drawing his gaze back up to my face, where it skittered away quickly.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. Then, as if remembering himself, he forced a smile before turning to leave.
I waited until he was out the door before going to lock up behind him. I leaned against the sturdy wood for a moment, breathing in the cool air that had seeped in as he left. The tingling scent of oncoming snow filled the air and I took a deep breath to revive myself before returning to work.
I left off dusting behind the counter and went into the main book section. I let out a contented little sigh. The library is comforting after dark. A haven. Once all the other students return to wherever they go, I can spend a few minutes alone with the books, running my fingers over their spines, and drinking in their scents without people staring at me. I love the feel, the smell of books; I hate being stared at, whispered about, even though I’ve been stared at my whole life.
It’s funny how looking different freaks other people out. I may not be beautiful like my cousin Sara, but I’m still human; I still have feelings. Even so, it’s clear that all people see when they look at me is something that makes them extremely uncomfortable, whether they try to hide it or not.
I’m not sure which is worse—those who are openly repelled, or those who visibly try to overcome their discomfort with furtive eye contact and weak smiles.
Like the Bearded Wonder in the teddy-bear hat.
Oh, well. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. I was born with just one hand, but that hand was enough to pull a pot of hot oil off the stove and onto my head when I was three years old. The entire left side of my head, face, neck, and shoulder is basically a rough map of scars. My left eye and ear were also lost to the oil.
For those who are brave enough to ask what happened, I just tell them that the accident was pretty bad, but I’m all right now. I can usually make friends with those who get the joke. Although, technically, I am not all right—I do still have my left hand. But I wear a wig to cover the bald side of my head and missing ear, with bangs covering where an eye used to be but is now just fused scar tissue. I don’t think even the kind ones could look at me for any length of time if I didn’t—another reason why it’s nice to have the library to myself.
I made my way toward the back storage area, pushing the squeaky book cart. I had to stop a couple of times to shelve a few out-of-place books that I encountered on the way. It was irritating to discover some of the books had been packed so tightly it was almost impossible for me to squeeze the others in. I had to tug out a few to make room and they tumbled to the floor. I mumbled a few choice words about the lazy so-and-so’s who can’t be bothered to put stuff back where it belongs. I had to do my one-handed best to get everything in order before continuing my trek to put away the cart.
My shoulders were knotted after that struggle. I shrugged to loosen them and rolled my neck a couple of times. Lately, I’ve been staying after work just to keep from going home and facing the fact that I’m more alone than I’ve ever been. All but one of my relatives are dead, and the one who lives—my beautiful cousin Sara—left for the University of Arizona last year. I miss her with an ache that leaves my stomach in knots. She’s been my best and closest
friend my entire life. I’ve not had many friends outside of her, and most of the ones I do have, I’ve met through her. Now that she’s gone, it gets pretty lonely. Being introverted by nature on top of everything else makes it a little difficult to connect with others.
The weekends are especially hard, so I linger over the books a little longer on Fridays. Once I lock up here and get home, I can just go straight to bed and then sleep late on Saturday. That way, I’ve only got a day and a half to get through.
I perked up a little, remembering that this weekend should go by fairly quickly, though, with new books to read tomorrow, then Sunday’s Cakes and Ale ceremony. A couple of our Wiccan friends who were still in town are going to be meeting at Gran’s—no, make that meeting at my place this weekend. I bought the house with my portion of the insurance money from her passing. Prior to that, we were only renting. Even before most of them passed, our family as a whole tended to be a bit nomadic, moving almost every year.
I wanted a little stability for a change. It’s hard enough being the new kid in school every year. Try being the one-handed, one-eyed, one-eared, scar-faced new kid in school.
But now I had a permanent place, where I could do what I wanted, including practice a bit of spell casting in peace.
Can’t help but think my poor grandmother must be turning over in her grave right now. She hated anything to do with magic. Wouldn’t even let us read the Harry Potter books when we were kids, as if they might somehow give us ideas. Of course, we snuck and read them anyway.
I shook off the thoughts and tried to focus on the tasks at hand. I put away the book cart and did a quick visual sweep of the area. Since I didn’t see anyone in the immediate vicinity, I figured it would be a good time to do my homework. I got my backpack and chose an area close to the check-out desks in case there were any lingering students I hadn’t seen.
Since I had a bit of work to do, I took out an energy drink I’d packed away earlier. Setting it on the table, I pulled at the ring top until it popped open with a satisfying little snick. I drew a long pull from the slim can, the cool liquid refreshing against my tongue, and looked out at the darkness beyond the window. I grimaced as the light from inside the library caused my reflection to stare back at me in the darkened glass.
Guess I’d better get back to improving the inside of my head, because there’s nothing to be done about the outside.
I let out a small sigh. I was branded. Branded by nature and my own childish curiosity which had caused the accident, but as nature abhors a vacuum, I’d also been just as gifted by nature with considerable intellect and intuition.
Sara was almost the opposite—branded by great beauty and mediocre intellect.
Whoah!
That thought pulled me back. Since when do I hate on Sara?
Never, I reminded myself. It’s true that she’s more of a “B” or “C” student, but she’s not stupid. And she’s as kind as she is pretty.
Sara was easily most beautiful girl our town had ever seen; really, one of the prettiest anywhere. I never saw anybody who could touch her in looks, nor any beautiful girl so absolutely unconscious of just how attractive she was. She was truly modest. And kind.
And as for her mind, she’s funny and quick witted, but it’s true that she’s not exactly a scholar. Gran had followed our parent’s unusual instructions regarding our education—that is, supplementing our public education with private tutoring in the classics and Egyptian history. They’d also required us to have a solid understanding of Latin, and to speak, read, and write Greek, Arabic, and Spanish. To top off those fun topics, we also were supposed to learn some of the ancient cuneiform and uncial script. Those lessons came fairly easily to me, so I helped my cousin when she needed it.
Feeling guilty about my disloyal thoughts, I turned my attention back to my book. A shuffling noise from behind caused me to jump, my heart picking up speed since I’d thought I was alone. I turned swiftly at the sound of footsteps then relaxed. It was just Nathan—a student in one of my classes, and a sort-of friend. I smiled as he neared. He was always so serious. Perhaps because he bore scars around his jaw and neck nearly as bad as mine, although his appeared to be from some type of animal attack. I’d never asked, and he’d never asked about mine. We just shared a silent kinship. Ours was a funny, quiet little friendship. The first I’d made on my own.
Tonight he was looking a little unkempt as always. Thick, wavy, chestnut brown hair stood in tufts where he’d likely run his hands through it, and the shabby, military green coat he wore was pulled up around his face. In spite of the scars, his face was handsome and his eyes always drew me in. They were large and golden brown, surrounded by dark lashes so long and thick it should be illegal for men to have them. He wasn’t tall—maybe only five-six or so—but the air of gravitas he always wore made him seem taller, as did his lean, muscular frame.
And still taller than my five-two.
“Hey, Nathan.” I waved. “Didn’t see you back there.”
A small, solemn nod. “On my way out. Be careful going home.”
“You, too.” I smiled and turned back to my book. Not a man of many words, that Nate.
A little after eleven, the last two stragglers had appeared (nearly scaring me to death again) then left, and it was past time for me to leave, as well. I quit delaying the inevitable and zipped into my puffy down coat, pulled on my glove using my teeth, then wriggled into my backpack. I opened the front door of the library and gasped when the wind hit my face.
The frigid night air mocked the fact that it was the end of March, stubbornly holding onto the Chicagoland area’s tradition that winter doesn’t have to end here just because spring has arrived in the rest of the country. Our weather takes extreme pride in being unpredictable.
Braving the cold, I went the rest of the way out and locked the door behind. I slipped a little on the top step as I went down, and would have fallen completely if a pair of arms hadn’t appeared out of nowhere to hold me up. My pounding heart didn’t know which was more frightening: the near fall, or the fact that I hadn’t seen anyone else on the steps.
As I caught my breath, a deep voice—almost a growl—asked, “Are you all right?”
I stifled a hysterical giggle. The old “All Right” joke. Slays me every time. I turned to see who was holding me and blinked. He was huge. I couldn’t make out his face since his hat was pulled low and the light was behind him, but there was something not quite right about how he was put together—arms too long, shoulders unusually broad and hunched.
Even though I am the last person to judge a person based on looks, I found myself backing up a little and trying to catch my breath. “I…I’m fine, thanks.”
He nodded. “There’s a lot of black ice out tonight. Be careful.” He moved then, not listening to his own advice as he disappeared rapidly down the stairs. Within seconds, he blended into the night.
I stood for a few moments trying to steady my nerves and see where he went, but my rescuer was gone as swiftly as he had appeared. I shook my head slightly then leaned on the stair rail as I descended to the dark, quiet sidewalk.
There was surprisingly little traffic for a Friday, but the weather may have had something to do with it. Nevertheless, Evanston is a college town and there should have been more people out. It made me a little nervous, though I’m not usually worried about walking home alone. The library isn’t too far from my little red brick bungalow, but after the incident on the stairs, I found myself turning to watch every shadow, and flinching at every noise. Steam rose out of the sewer vents like silvery ghosts in the night air, and I tucked my chin down and picked up my pace.
I practically ran the last two blocks home and quickly went inside, slipping a little over mail that had been pushed through the door slot to land in the foyer. I shut the door behind me, hitting all the latches, and in the process receiving what was probably the fiftieth shot of static electricity that day. I shook my hand from the jolt, cursing the dry winter air. I
took a second to lean against the door before bending to scoop up the mail. I tossed it onto a nearby table and one envelope, thicker than the rest, slipped out. It was addressed to me, which wasn’t unusual. What caused my stomach to drop was the return address of Gran’s attorney, Marcus Lang.
Mr. Lang and I had been playing phone tag for a couple of days, and I knew he wanted to speak to me, though I couldn’t imagine what for; all the details of Gran’s will were already taken care of, to the best of my knowledge. I carefully ripped the edge of the envelope with my teeth and shook out the contents. A quick reading left me as much in the dark as before; he simply requested that I make an appointment with his secretary as soon as possible.
I put the letter by the phone to remind me to call him Monday morning, and decided to distract myself with the Arizona travel books I’d brought home. It was a valiant but vain effort, because the books only served to remind me of Sara, which reminded me of Gran, and my mind kept spinning various scenarios about why Mr. Lang might want to see me. Was there something wrong with the will? Did it have anything to do with my upcoming twenty-first birthday?
And of course, there were the two questions that had nothing to do with Marcus Lang: Just who was that man on the steps tonight, and what was he doing there?
I gave up trying to relax and texted Sara. Arizona is two hours behind Illinois at this time of year so she should have been awake, but she didn’t answer. When she didn’t respond after a couple of hours, I left a message and tried to keep the increasing anxiety out of my voice. I even called our good friend, Caleb, to see if he’d heard from her—I always suspected Caleb was in love with her—but he hadn’t heard from her either.
The rug started getting a good workout with all my pacing, stopping and starting every few minutes to check my phone. I figured I was probably overreacting and told myself to calm down, but it just wasn’t like Sara not to respond. Even when she’s out with friends, she always takes my calls—especially now that I’m living on my own.
Mutts Like Me Page 15
