Brice set the glass in the sink and turned around.
“And I’m not doing your laundry as a concession for you wearing clothes,” she snapped.
God, he really liked her fiery spirit. If only they’d met a lifetime ago.
“Do I get bargaining privileges?” he teased.
“No. Since neither of us wants to sleep in your grandmother’s room, pick either the couch or the bed. And stay there.”
“Not a debatable issue,” he said sternly. “Where I sleep, you sleep.” Her scent kept the nausea at bay, and he’d do everything in his power to circumvent the crippling sickness, including tying her to the bed. Though he really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She’d demonstrated her trustworthiness by not reporting his trespass to his father. He’d hate to repay her loyalty by turning her into a prisoner.
A ferocious frown sharpened her jaw.
“It’s only for a few days, Cas. Something about your scent keeps me from becoming violently sick. I barely made it through the day without you beside me.” A slight stretch of the truth, but he wasn’t about to explain how he had improvised.
Her expression softened. Mostly her eyes, which warmed the icy stare sharpened on him.
“Fine.” She anchored her hands to her hips. “But stay on your side of the bed and stop looking at me like I’m a ham at Easter.”
“Great.” Brice loosely clasped his hands the same way he did when he’d successfully mediated an important issue during a negotiation. “What are the other rules?”
“Hmm?” Cassie’s attention returned to the pantry.
“We agreed on the first rule. Are there more?”
“Yes, but I’ll have to let you know when I think of them.” Cassie’s posture stooped a little. She grabbed a bowl for her ramen noodles, and he wondered how long it had been since she’d eaten a substantial meal.
“I’ll make dinner tonight,” he said. The chicken he’d found in the fridge during his lunch raid needed to be cooked before it went bad.
“You can cook?”
“Of course. Do you think I have a personal chef?”
From her sheepish expression, it appeared she did.
“Mamie taught me.” The best cook the resort ever had. God rest her soul. “I’m not as good as she was, but I’m in no danger of starving. You, on the other hand, could use a few good meals.”
The playful tease Brice intended flopped. Cassie stared at him as if he’d popped her with the back of his hand.
“I do the best I can with what I have. Not all people have a co-op to take care of them.” She smacked the ramen noodles package against his chest and stormed out of the kitchen.
“Whoa.” Brice netted her in his arms.
“Let me go.” Cassie’s struggle lacked the hellcat fierceness of last night’s battle.
Brice held her tight and stroked her hair. “Bad day?”
“I’ve been a freaking mess.”
“Why? What happened?”
“You happened.” Her long, heavy sigh scraped his bare chest. “I kept imagining everyone with fangs and fur and eyeballing me because I know their wolfy secret.”
He rolled a silky curl around his finger. “No one wants to hurt you, Sunshine. Wahyas are ordinary people who live ordinary lives.”
“Ordinary people don’t maul each other.” Her finger trailed down a scar on his arm.
“Have you seen the news? Violent crimes occur in every society. Ours included. There are good Wahyas and bad, same as humans. We aren’t that different.”
“Except for the teeth, the tails, the paws and all that hair.” The electric charge in her tentative smile pulsed along every single nerve in Brice’s body.
His heart thundered. His skin itched for her touch, and his insides jittered. “Anytime you’re feeling a little wolf envy,” he murmured, “you can pet mine. He’ll even do tricks if you whisper in his ear and stroke his belly.” Or something a little bit lower.
“No way, Benji.” Cassie’s tinkling laugh encouraged him.
“Too bad.” Brice buried his face in her hair. Inhaling slowly and deeply, he allowed her scent to swirl along his senses.
Suddenly he clasped her cheeks between his hands. “I can smell the resort.”
“From here?” Her cute button nose wrinkled.
“On you.” He picked her up and swung her in a circle. “Your hair smells like cinnamon and cloves.”
“That’s great.” Cassie’s face radiated. She looked as happy for him as he felt, which was pretty damn happy. A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you that your nose would be fine?”
“Yes, you did. Those bops you gave me jump-started my scent receptors.” Actually, he suspected his mysterious recovery had more to do with Cassie’s scent than anything else, but he had no idea why. “Maybe it’ll be good as new by the time I return to Atlanta.”
Cassie’s smile drifted with her gaze. “When will that be?”
“Depends on Granny.” Brice couldn’t give a more definitive answer. She had refused to discuss her condition, and since he detected only Cassie’s scent at the hospital, he couldn’t determine if the stench of imminent death had tainted his grandmother’s skin.
“You should call your mother.” Cassie’s words came out in a rush. “I saw her crying today.”
Brice tensed as his good mood deflated. “When the time’s right, I’ll speak to her.”
Cassie’s anxious eyes didn’t look satisfied.
“Is that what has you stressed out? Furry coworkers and my mother?” He lightly tapped Cassie’s nose.
“Isn’t that enough?” She backed out of the kitchen. “I have to study for a test tomorrow. You’re making supper, right?”
“Sure.” He placed her ramen noodle package with the others and stared at a sleeve of crackers and a small jar of peanut butter neatly arranged in a plastic bin labeled Cassie.
God, she had so little. He had so much.
And she wouldn’t take a damn thing from him. Not his money to pay for an oil change. And not his help to ease her trouble.
The buzz in the back of his mind became a howling chant.
Mine! Mine! Mine!
Hell no, she wasn’t.
What Brice was experiencing was nothing more than a mating urge gone wrong. No way would he allow his nose to fuck up his life, again.
Chapter 11
“Still sneaking around to avoid your father?” Granny’s raspy words carried a strong reprimand.
Hating the disappointment in her voice, Brice shut the window and sat in the chair next to her bed. The grayish color in Granny’s skin twisted his stomach into tiny knots. “How are you feeling?”
“Tonight isn’t about me, my boy.”
“Of course it is. You’re the reason I came.”
“And when I’m gone?” Her soft words lashed his heart. Emotion swelled his throat. Granny had helped him so much through his teenage years, especially when it became evident that the animosity between him and his father would escalate to violence.
“Don’t say that.” The gnawing in his gut chewed into his chest and chomped at his heart. When he was growing up, Brice had gravitated to Granny for comfort. He should have turned to her after the attack, not Adam.
“You must let go of those no longer destined for this world.” Her hoarse voice faded.
“I can’t.” Brice curled his large hand over her cold, bony one.
“You can.” The squeeze of her fingers held no strength. “And you will. Everything will be as it should be. You’ll see.”
Brice wanted to be the little wolf who believed that when Granny said things would turn out all right, they did. The problem was that life had a way of black-and-bluing the innocence of childhood. Reality really did
bite, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than a wolfan’s teeth.
He’d spent the past five years angry and confused. When he’d leaped onto her porch last night, he’d craved her counsel, and her blessing. He wanted Granny to understand the rare opportunity offered to him by the Woelfesenat, and he wanted her to support his decision.
Now that he had the chance to tell her, Brice’s courage failed.
“Don’t look so sad, my boy.” The love in Granny’s eyes wrapped around Brice’s heart and squeezed the breath from his chest. He didn’t deserve her love, but he sure was grateful for it.
“Your mate will help you when I am gone.” Granny stroked his cheek the way she used to dry his tears. “She will calm the storm that’s raged in you for far too long.”
“I don’t have a mate,” Brice said gently.
“You have Cassie.”
Not really. Although meeting her had sparked something inside him, she couldn’t alter his fate. The howl in his head, the attraction he felt, his reaction to her scent—all that meant nothing.
“She’s been good to me. She’ll be good to you, too.” Granny’s mouth twitched.
“I don’t need someone to take care of me.”
“Of course you do.” Her shallow breathing remained slow, steady. “Except for your coloring, you remind me of your grandfather.”
“I don’t remember him,” Brice confessed.
“You were only two when he died. I told him to see the doctor about that croup. Damn old wolf.” Granny’s finger covered her dry lips. “Don’t tell anyone I cussed.”
“I won’t.” Brice matched her conspiratorial grin, even though his heart was splintering into sharp little pieces.
“Gavin is like him, too. Stubborn as a plow mule, tenderhearted as a lamb.” Granny’s eyelids fluttered.
“My father doesn’t have a soft spot in his body. If he did, he’d claw it out and eat it raw.” The angry words slipped out before Brice had a chance to filter them.
Granny flattened the palm of her IV-tethered hand against the bed. She waggled her one-fingered chastisement. “Gavin had to be stronger than most new Alphas because I’m human.”
“Why? Wahyas have mated with humans since the beginning.”
“Some prejudices run deep and dark. And deadly. Gavin made many sacrifices to protect us. To protect you.” Her cough turned into a gasping wheeze.
Not knowing what else to do, Brice poured her a cup of water. She drank a few sips and waved him off. “I’m all right.”
“You need to rest.” Brice held her hand against his chest, trying to share his strength and knowing it would do no good.
He wasn’t ready. He wanted more time.
“Do something for me.” Granny’s words were nearly lost in the drone of the machines.
“Anything.” Brice leaned closer.
“Make peace with your father.” Her chest began to heave as she struggled to take the next breath. “And look after Cassie.”
A snow cone had a better chance at surviving hellfire than Brice and his father had at reconciling. As for Cassie, she was too damn independent to appreciate him sticking his nose into her well-planned life.
He said as much.
Granny pinned him with one uncompromising eye, waiting. Pleading.
The finality of her wish struck a bull’s-eye in Brice’s heart. Sorrow bubbled in his stomach. The caustic fumes rose in his throat, infiltrated his nose and stung his eyes. When he took a breath to clear the burning sensation, his lungs seemed to clog with ash.
It wasn’t fair for her to ask him to do something that required someone else’s cooperation. He couldn’t control his father’s attitude or Cassie’s willingness to accept help. He’d be a fool to commit to Granny’s outrageous request.
All the pieces of his heart throbbed in perfect time. The dirge scored his chest. How could he not give her the last thing she’d asked of him?
“I promise,” he said with the conviction his grandmother expected, because a Walker never reneged on a promise.
* * *
Cassie awoke in Brice’s bed, confused. The last thing she remembered was studying on the couch while Brice got ready to go to the hospital.
She sensed rather than saw him perched on the edge of the mattress. “Brice?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you. I just needed—” His jagged breath drowned out the rest.
The heavy shroud of his grief blanketed her. Oh, no! Unexpected pain imploded in her chest, and the crushing weight squeezed the air from her lungs.
Cassie shook her head and forced a breath through her constricted airways. She needed to hold it together for Brice. He was the rightful one to grieve. Margaret was his grandmother, not hers.
“I’m so sorry.” The need to offer Brice physical comfort warred with her need for self-preservation. Without permission, Margaret Walker had wheedled a place into Cassie’s heart. She couldn’t afford another breach. Still, she knew what it felt like to suffer alone and didn’t want to abandon him in his time of need.
She touched his shoulder.
He flinched.
Thinking it might be prudent to leave him alone to deal with his loss, Cassie started to draw back. Brice’s fingers grazed the back of her hand, stilling her retreat. He lightly squeezed her fingers, then curved her palm against his cheek.
In the woods, and every time he became nauseated, he’d done the same. Her scent calmed and soothed him, so he said. Since she had nothing else to offer for comfort, Cassie scooted closer and wrapped herself around him.
Brice’s shoulders rose along with an audible, exaggerated breath. He exhaled just as slowly and slumped into Cassie’s embrace. She refrained from filling the silence with the words of comfort others had given her. Hearing her mother had moved on to a better place without her hadn’t given Cassie solace, and she doubted the empty words would dull Brice’s pain, either.
She gently rocked him in her arms for untold minutes before the antiseptic hospital smell lacing the fabric of his shirt became too much for her to stomach. She helped him take off the shirt and tossed it in the laundry basket near the closet.
“I should’ve come home sooner. Spent more time with her.” With sluggish movements, Brice finished undressing, then lay next to Cassie on the bed.
“Your grandmother loved you very much, and you loved her. That’s all that matters.”
“Granny loved you, too, Cas.” Brice’s whisper cut through Cassie. “She really did.”
After the stun from the revelation passed, a silent wail broke loose from a place deep inside Cassie’s being. Ever since Imogene’s death, Cassie had assumed she was alone in the world. It never occurred to her that someone else could truly care for her. Now that someone was gone. The sudden knowledge made the loss sharper, the loneliness starker.
Praying for strength because of her weakness, Cassie inched close enough to Brice to feel his heat. He gathered her in his arms and kissed the crown of her head. She buried her face in the broad expanse of his chest. The strong, steady beat of his heart, a lighthouse to her weary soul, beckoned her to a safe harbor.
Until Brice came along, Cassie had weathered many storms quite well on her own. She couldn’t allow this tempest to change her.
Tomorrow she’d repair the cracks in her resolve. For tonight—and tonight only—she needed the anchor Brice’s presence provided.
Chapter 12
Behind his desk, Gavin Walker sat Lincoln-style, his shoulders straight, hands slightly curled on the thick leather arms of the executive chair. The chiseled planes of his weathered face were a masterpiece of stoicism. The only indication that he was indeed alive rather than a marble statue was the watchfulness of his calculating blue eyes.
“Nice of you to finally show up.” His father’s sarcastic
tone rubbed Brice like a briar between his paw pads.
Nothing courteous he’d rehearsed in his mind stuck. Angry declarations, ugly accusations bounced in his head until he pressed his lips together to keep from firing the words lined up on his tongue like poisonous darts.
Communication between them had never been easy. In the aftermath of Mason’s death, it became impossible. Evidently time hadn’t worked any miracles.
Palms up, Brice spread his arms wide. “Granny asked me to come.” He sat in one of the two captain’s chairs in front of the desk, rested his booted foot on the opposite knee and threaded his fingers together over his stomach.
Seconds ticked an eternity. Brice refused to be the first to give in. He rubbed his hand over his morning whiskers and down his throat to scratch the sensitive scars itchy from the stress.
As his father’s gaze took in each vicious mark, a sickening grimace contorted his mouth.
“Still can’t stand the sight of me.” Brice thought he’d grown immune to his father’s disdain. Somehow it needled into a tiny, foolish, unguarded piece of his heart and stuck.
More silence volleyed between them. The longer the quietness stretched, the more the anger, the hurt, the frustration simmering inside Brice bubbled. Everything he wanted to say, needed to say, tangled on his tongue.
As a lawyer in his uncle’s firm, Brice routinely mediated hostile business negotiations. The Woelfesenat had even recruited him to arbitrate aggressions between warring packs. His success depended upon finding common ground.
Considering Brice and his father never saw eye to eye on anything, it might prove impossible to find a neutral starting point. Nevertheless, he had to try.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Nothing in his father’s demeanor had expressed remorse over Granny’s death. Still, Brice needed to acknowledge it. “I was with her at the end. She went peacefully.”
A tiny fracture appeared in Gavin’s stony manner. His shoulders rounded. His wrinkled brow slanted over troubled eyes. “She wanted you with her, though I imagine it must have been hard on you.”
A sudden swell of grief brought Brice the acute awareness that his grandmother would never rock his children to sleep, soothe their tears or give them ice cream on a hot summer day. How strange that he would mourn something missed by children he never expected to father.
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