by KH LeMoyne
After a few seconds, the bear rolled to his side, shook his head, and staggered to his feet. Deacon didn’t wait for more confirmation but turned tail and raced for home. Whatever boundary was holding him still allowed him access to home. He needed distance from the others. The power was eating at him. He had no control. Hell, he’d almost wounded his strongest team member. With Lena gone from the sacred grounds and her life at risk, he couldn’t control his reactions. Even so, he refused to injure anyone else.
All that stood between him and the explosive violence he’d been dreading were his training and eroding control.
The phone buzzed in its pouch on the lanyard around his neck. The wolf couldn’t care less. Finally gaining control over his beast, Deacon stopped and shifted, the power easing. Shanae’s name lit up. He leaned his hand on one knee, sweat drenching his body as his lungs burned for air. “Talk to me.”
“Trim has a plan.” Shanae paused. “Deacon, we need you in your office. We can help.”
18
One hour, twenty minutes and—she had no idea how many seconds. All Lena knew was that the farther away from Black Haven they traveled, the more the knots in her stomach twisted. Tendrils of dread wove inside her as the nauseating oily thickness linking her to the ferals grew stronger. Her only relief was that they were following her.
The tugs remained consistent, even as each mile marker signaled the gap between Ford and disaster widening.
It didn’t help that her heart ached as well. The farther she traveled from Deacon, the more the ache throbbed in her chest like a living bruise. He was everything she wanted, if she could push him past his reluctance to trust her instincts about their relationship.
Downright funny, given she hadn’t trusted her own instincts much since Grant’s death. But, trust or not, the ferals were coming after the most vulnerable in Deacon’s clan—his fledgling shifters. The leader who spoke in dulcet tones to Ford would never put herself in jeopardy by confronting Deacon directly.
No, she used the others to fight her battles. Puppets tied to her strings. With her confidence and ego, she perceived Lena as a weak subordinate. Someone easily manipulated with a fragile human constitution and lacking shifter skills.
Lena scanned the terrain, not able to see much from one forested landscape to the next. The road wound silently farther and farther away from safety, and despite the reluctance she felt from Dr. Handleman, he let her stew in silence. He seemed kind, and no doubt, he’d feel responsible if something happened to her tonight.
That outcome was inevitable. She had the ability to draw the ferals from Ford and one chance of surprise to send a message of warning to the feral leaders. She didn’t want Doc’s conscience to suffer because of her choices.
“How many years have you been married, Doc? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“One hundred and ten years next week.” He flashed her a smile. “My wife dogged me for five years before I finally had the courage to let her claim me.”
“Is she a—” How to ask?
“She’s a bobcat, but didn’t care what I was. Well, maybe that’s not quite right. She rather likes having a wolf for a husband.” A predatory gleam entered his eyes with a wicked smile that took years off his haggard appearance.
“Why did it take you five years?”
His fingers gripped tighter on the wheel. “She’s a strong woman, wonderful wife, great mother. She deserved my acceptance the day I met her. But the alpha—Deacon’s dad,” he added quickly. “He didn’t tolerate crossbreed marriages. He barely tolerated humans, but they suited his purposes.”
Ah, yes. Deacon’s mother. Hard to deny the rest of your clan a human mate if you’d stolen one for yourself.
Bitterness lingered in the air, and Doc started tapping the wheel in an impatient rhythm that put Lena’s teeth on edge. His upset was understandable.
“I’ve heard others speak of those times as well,” she said.
“Wolves prospered. The alpha defended his other loyal shifters—for the most part. However, rules were rules. A pledge to the alpha meant he ruled your life and your death. Don’t get me wrong, our clan was tame compared to some. I was lucky. The alpha saw the benefit in my academic abilities. He allowed me to attend medical school.” He shook his head. “But marrying my Martha would have signed her death warrant. Shifters also didn’t live very long without clan protection. Deacon’s rise to alpha changed many lives.”
Dots of civilization appeared again along the roadside, but they were rare. A gas station. A small grocery store. Eventually a one-story motel and diner came into view, with a backdrop of open fields and a view of the mountains rising behind. As good a place as any to make a stand.
“Would you mind pulling over and letting me out here?”
Alarmed, Doc twisted and looked at her. “Was it something I said?”
She almost laughed. “Yes and no. You’ve been wonderful to take me this far. As well as submitting to all my questions, but—”
“I can’t leave you here.”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything.”
Doc nodded, his somber expression breaking for a bit of a smile. He turned into the vacant parking lot anyway.
Only neon lights from the diner’s windows illuminated a small patch of concrete beside the motel manager’s office. “Deacon’s a good man. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t think he could make you happy.”
She held out a hand to Doc. “Thank you. For—everything.”
Doc folded her into his arms, a gesture that took her as much by surprise as the tears in her eyes. “I have a daughter your age. She’s smart and headstrong too. She needs a female alpha, aside from her mother. Someone to look up to.”
“I think you’re rushing this scenario.”
“I doubt it. You’d be surprised how much my wolf senses in you. I understand isolation—and sacrifice—better than you think. Good luck, Lena.”
“This is my choice, Doc.” She pulled her backpack into her lap, but paused with her hand on the door. “For what it’s worth, I’m not running from Deacon. This is just something I have to do.”
She waited until his taillights disappeared and then turned toward the manager’s office. A cardboard sign in the window directed people seeking rooms to inquire in the diner. Heaving her pack higher, she headed there. The pull to the ferals was still weak enough that they should be twenty to thirty miles away. She’d become good at gauging the sickly tug.
The middle of the small dining room accommodated six tables, flanked by six booths along the windowed wall, a counter with barstools, and a view to a tiny kitchen. Three older men were scattered in seats around the counter; a young couple with a fussy baby sat at a nearby table. A middle-aged woman with a salt-and-pepper bun and a peppermint-green uniform waved to her from behind the counter, indicating she could take a seat at any table.
Well, she had some time to kill. This beat sitting by herself in her room. She slid into the last booth, facing the doorway as the waitress arrived with a coffeepot. She dug a mug out of her deep apron pocket and poured.
“My name’s Betty. The kitchen is a little limited on items, but if you like things fried, we can make it.”
Lena wrapped her hands around the mug, the coffee’s warmth not cutting through the stiffness in her bones. Second thoughts were a killer. “I need a room, but a grilled cheese sandwich and fries would work too.”
With a nod, the waitress started to leave as a man with a chiseled face, stern expression, and a military haircut short enough he might as well be bald approached the table.
“Ranger Juarez. Could I have a moment of your time?”
Betty didn’t move but offered Lena a glance as if offering help if she wanted to get rid of this problem.
“My name is Hansen Sanders,” the man continued. “You worked with my brother.”
Shit. Lena waved her hand toward the opposite seat. “I don’t have long, but I can offer you coffee and a quick meal.”
&n
bsp; “Just coffee, ma’am,” he said.
Betty dug a second mug out of her other apron pocket and poured another coffee. At Lena’s nod, she started away. “I’ll give your order to Frank, but I’ll be right over there if you need anything else, miss.”
With a grateful nod, Lena turned back to Hansen.
“You’re very like your brother.” She cocked her head, resigned to see the images that had haunted her come to life before her. “Not your human facial appearance, but your fox. The coloring appears identical. At least to me.”
His mouth dropped open. “You can see the beast inside.”
She nodded.
Leaning over his cup, Hansen stared at her for a second. Then his eyes widened as his nostrils flared. Fists clenched on the table, he hung his head. “You’re the alpha’s. Hell, I’ve fucked this all up.”
Again! Lena shook her head. “Not mated. We are—maybe you could just explain why you’re here.”
Still shaking his head, he continued. “I should have figured the alpha would find you since the others did.”
“I don’t know what you mean about the others, but I’m truly sorry about your brother’s death. He was one of the best scout and retrieval experts on my team.” His death was the reason her heart still felt pieced together by rubber cement. Only Deacon’s presence minimized that sadness.
“You worked with my twin sisters as well, Rina and Rosie Morgan. They…um, well, they have the original family name. Before my dad tried to erase the Morgan name and make us all Sanders.”
Lena dropped her hands into her lap as the blood rushed from her brain.
“I didn’t realize they were all related.” The words stuck in her throat, raw and painful like shards of glass. She blinked and sat back, assessing the man in front of her again. What had she missed? His posture didn’t radiate anger or cold vengeance. However, the fact that he’d sought her out could only lead there. How could one family lose so many and not be angry?
He reached across the table and then, as if understanding her thoughts, withdrew. “I should have started with an apology.”
“What do you have to apologize for?”
With a wince, he scrubbed at his face as he glanced out the now-darkened window. “I—didn’t understand how so many of my family could have died. I came back from my tour in Iraq and found my father had passed. In his old letters were ones from Grant linking him to working with you. He claimed he’d follow you off a cliff if you asked. It made me suspicious. Then I realized the twins worked with you as well. Then I found you had walked away from the ranger service after the accident. I couldn’t find anyone else to explain what had happened.” He looked back, his gaze frank. “The only connection was you. So I escalated a charge about you through my lieutenant.” He ducked his head and glanced around, then lowered his voice. “To my alpha.”
Frozen, she waited for more. There had to be more. Hansen Sanders had obviously considered her responsible for murdering his shifter siblings. While she bore the responsibilities for the deaths of each of the people he’d mentioned, she’d have given her life to have even one of them back.
But one key point stood out—Deacon was aware of these charges. Her lungs seized as she struggled for air.
“You didn’t know about that either, did you? Like I said, fucking this up.” He blew out a breath. “I found my answers and realized you probably didn’t know they chose you.”
“They didn’t choose me,” she murmured, swallowing hard against the rush of memories. “We all worked for the park service in one form or another.”
He shook his head. “No. They followed you there. Each one learned specialties to be near you.”
Damn, if he didn’t have pity for her in his eyes. She wasn’t sure she could hold up. A quick glance to the left confirmed the bathrooms were too far away for comfort.
“It would be easier if you read this in Grant’s words. I’ve been given orders to share them with you.”
Orders?
“By my alpha.” He slid a softbound leather book across the table and gestured with his head toward the counter. Wharton glanced over his shoulder at her from a seat at the end. After a slow nod, he turned away.
They’d followed her. The assignment to investigate her had gone to Wharton, and Deacon had never once mentioned she was accused of murdering his people. She raised the coffee to her lips, more for something to do since her mind whirled with scenarios.
“Please, Ms. Juarez. Your pain and sadness are beating at me across the table. If you read the journal, I think it will help.” She stared at him, unable to blink because one quick shut of her eyelids would break her control. The small bit of stability she’d built over the last few years, brick and mortar of denial and isolation, lay in pieces around her. Words couldn’t fix that. Nothing would help.
He tapped his forefinger on the leather and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “It helped me.” Hansen opened the book to a section earmarked toward the end. “Please, Alpha.”
Denial on the tip of her tongue, she looked instead at the pages to stem the painful tidal wave of emotion pushing a bitter taste into her mouth. Just her luck, Betty chose then to slide a plate before her with enough butter to make the grilled cheese shift to the edge of the plate. The waitress set a room key card on the table beside Lena’s palm and left without another word.
With a deep inhale, Lena pushed her plate toward Hansen and started reading.
Rina and Rosie were right. Lena Juarez is special, and I don’t believe her interaction with me, with us, is random. She knows us, can see somewhere deep inside what constitutes our beings. I’ve betrayed no trust by accepting that she knows of my abilities or those of the rest of the team. The way she incorporates our skills into her strategies suggests she trusts us.
Not that any of us dare voice the truth, even though alpha strength flows in her veins. Sadness for Rina’s and Rosie’s deaths flows there too. She mourns the lost ones among us, not realizing that she’s offered us the greatest gift—a purpose and a sanction that will regain the honor of my family’s name.
Sadly, I hoped my condition would remain dormant. But the shaman I sought for help warned me I didn’t have long. Rina and Rosie understood our disease better. If I hadn’t denied my risks, I would have prepared for the end. But I can feel the bloodlust stirring. It eats at me. At some point soon, I won’t have any control over my actions.
So time has chosen me.
I don’t regret my extra work with the team, or my leader. Without her acceptance, my blood kin would have been forced to disobey our alpha pledge, taking our own lives to save the world from the ravenous urge that demands blood and death. We all respected our alpha too much to lay the burden of our execution at his feet.
There may be no cure, but there is honor in choice.
Malena hired us. She kept our secrets, respected us, and tasked us with perilous jobs well within our skills. Unknowingly, she offered us a way out.
My greatest thanks…my brother doesn’t share my mother’s blood. The taint that carries this genetic aberration.
My greatest regret, shared by my sisters, is that we don’t have the freedom to explain our reasons to the woman who redeemed our family’s honor. She will mourn for us. For that, I will eternally damn this foul disease and carry apology in my soul.
I have the strength and freedom to accept my fate. I owe much to this life. My choice is to celebrate joy in spite of an approaching end. I credit my chosen profession, my teammates, and the brave human who ties us to her.
Lena slowly closed the journal, stilling the trembling of her palms as she slid it across the tabletop to Hansen. Blinking, she glanced up. Fierce glistening eyes, as near to tears as her own, stared back at her. “Can you tell me of this disease?”
“It is, fortunately, rare. We’re immune to most human diseases. Unfortunately, this one is hereditary. It turns the victim into a creature of nightmares. A remorseless killer. Evidently, my dad’s first wife secretly kille
d dozens of children, humans, and shifters, before she was stopped. I never knew until…” His fingers tapped on the journal.
“Did your alpha know?” The journal had explained what she’d considered unexplainable—how seemingly competent, talented people had died when their expertise should have saved them. When she should have prevented their deaths. That didn’t explain the silence from the people she was starting to accept again as her own and whether Deacon considered her capable of such hate.
“He was already alpha when Grant’s mother died, though he kept her situation quiet. He probably pieced my puzzle together immediately.” Hansen gave a sad laugh. “Given his relationship with you, I imagine my accusation caused him no end of trouble. But he’s good at what he does. I didn’t even realize I was being managed.” He waved a hand to stop her questions. “He could have pronounced whatever judgment he wanted, refusing my request. Instead, he helped me find answers. I respect that.”
With a press of her lips, she nodded. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“You look confused.”
“I don’t really understand why your family sought me out.”
“You’re an alpha.” He shook his head as she started to object. “I can sense that in you, knowing what I do now, but they would have looked for someone with all the qualities you possess.”
God help her, this made no sense.
“We take an oath to our alpha. From the moment of our promise, our lives belong to him.”
“Like slaves.” She leaned back, shocked.
He winced. “No. We carry beasts within us. Our pledge is symbiotic and tangible. We promise our lives in service to the clan. In theory, our alpha fulfills a promise to make sure we thrive. It doesn’t work this way in all clans. But our lives should be enriched by the promise we make and our connection to our alpha.”
“This explains Grant’s and the twin’s decisions how?”
“Suicide is against our oath. Our lives belong to the clan.” He reached across the table for her hand. The squeeze was brief, but warmth seeped back into her bones for a moment. “They found you. In the most tenuous way, you were the alpha who gave them their missions and allowed them to save others and end their lives without being hunted or endangering lives.”
