Or, he thought he had.
Now, as he held the hand of their reluctant Queen, he realized that role was changing. Whether they liked it or not. And now was the time to help someone else. In this case, Julia. She needed him. She didn't need his uncertainty and anger.
Julia deserved more.
Her needs pulsed in a direct pathway to his soul. She didn't have to speak, he felt what she wanted, what she'd never had.
Scott determined he would give it.
Or die trying.
Hope. That's what Julia wanted.
Scott could do that.
He grinned at her and after a moment, she gave a tremulous smile in return.
CHAPTER 4
Lawrence looked at his second and waited. Finally, he said, “That is most excellent.”
Emmanuel smiled in return. He was not the keenest fighter but his nose was unparallelled amongst their den. He'd found the girl in less than a day. When their sister pack from Homer had communicated her departure the entire national Allegiance of Were was put on point. She was but one female, unless she traveled through Canada, Seattle was the logical stopping point. It was common for the good of the pack that a background check was done on all persons of interest. She was no exception and simply knew too much. However, in having uncovered her dire financial situation and ascertaining that she did not have the means to have traveled further than where she currently resided, they had discovered an interesting fact.
There was a sizable nest of Blood Singers in the Homer region.
Of which she was unknowingly a part.
Cynthia Adams had Singer blood. It was almost too convenient. Their Alaskan counterparts had done some digging and there was a more than random concentration of the rare human sub-species. The why of it all was not certain, but it did give the supernaturals pause. It was no wonder that a Rare One would crop up with so many in that region. Then, of course, it was most logical that they would gravitate toward one another.
“What have you discovered?” Lawrence asked Emmanuel.
Emmanuel told him.
It took a half hour and when he finished there was a full silence, almost pregnant. It filled the great library of the history of his species. Finally, Lawrence asked, “Do the Homer Were understand what is all around them? The treasure?”
Emmanuel's brows drew together in a frown. “What are you asking?”
“Not asking, Manny, planning.”
The light bulb burst on inside his head with a shouting leap of brightness that blinded the interior of his skull, chasing all other thoughts from his brain.
“You propose what? To force their change?”
Lawrence nodded, he loved dealing with Manny. Most pleasant. Unlike his Alpha, who was all about brute force and making things mold into his personal agenda, Manny thought things through carefully. That was why he was sent on this sensitive mission after the Adams girl.
“I do. After seeing what the Feral is... I think we could capture the region if we had command of ones as powerful as turned Singers.”
“Yes,” Manny began, thinking it through furiously, “however, you remember what Jason Caldwell was for months. He was untrainable, brought down to his basest instincts. Like a house stripped to the studs.”
“Ah... but the foundation was there for him from the beginning. The trigger was the Rare One.”
Emmanuel palmed his chin thoughtfully. True... but, “What if they do not desire the change?” he asked logically.
“Since when do the Were consider free will? We take. That is what we do. We are a species ruled by instinct. Let the vampire intellectualize their existence to death,” Lawrence gave a low chuckle at his own pun. “See where that gets them. While they are embracing their ambivalence, we shall be molding our future to benefit the Were.” He closed his open hand in a fist in front of Emmanuel's face.
“Cynthia Adams will be the first amongst many. You will pick our finest warriors, journey to the north, scoop up as many Singers as you can scent. When they return, we will make them ours. Absorb them into the pack. Just think,” Lawrence's eyes took on the sheen of zealotry, “what if there were more like Caldwell?” He rubbed his hands together, thinking of the spoils a Singer turned Were would grant them.
Emmanuel did not bring up the point that it was expressly against the precepts for the Book of Luna that a Singer be deliberately turned. After all, they were a part of the chain of beings on this earth, to alter that natural occurrence by force seemed sacrilegious to Manny.
Dangerous.
“We do need the Rare One, but why not accelerate the benefits that she would give us by the inclusion of more of her race? It is too precious by far to not grab while we can.”
Manny was not sure. It could be that once a large enough percentage of their pack possessed turned Singers, there would be other complications to deal with.
“And the females,” Lawrence breathed.
That was the best point of all to Manny. The other points of power and taking needed to be weighed carefully; he himself favored caution. For a Were, that mindset was rare. Possibly he was second to Lawrence because of his temperament. It was the polar opposite of Tony. He was all brash and in the moment.
“Yes,” Emmanuel conceded with a sigh. “It would be a huge benefit to have female Were.”
Lawrence nodded, his face setting into grim lines. “Our ratio, as you know, is four to one. Alphas are killing themselves in the annual Mating Rite. There would be much less death....”
“Yes,” Manny agreed. “We might abolish the rite entirely if there were sufficient females.”
Lawrence inclined his head. “I remember the days when mating was arranged between families...”
“When Were were not forced to mate with human females of mixed Were heritage,” Manny finished for him.
They looked at each other. Finally Manny said, “When?”
Lawrence thought about it, opening his wolf to the moon, still distant, halfway to full. “Two weeks. Let us give the Singers the best opportunity for change that we can offer.”
Emmanuel nodded. He was not thrilled with kidnapping the girl, elaborating on what she was, frightening her worse than she'd already been terrorized in Homer. He glowered, thinking about the Alaskan pack. They were near-renegade. Their packmaster led with a volatile hand. Manny was not impressed. He knew what tactics they'd employed on the girl. He also knew them to be a sloppy bunch.
As if to bring that point home, Lawrence's next comment confirmed his worst supposition.
Emmanuel began to leave the room when Lawrence stopped him with his next comment, “The human police track her as well.”
Manny stopped, turning. “No,” he said, his spirit slumping. Human involvement always greatly complicated things. Usually it necessitated more casualties. Of that, there was no doubt.
“Yes. Oh yes,” Lawrence said. “Furthermore, we have reason to believe the Alaskan Pack has been neglectful in their efforts. It seems they may have left some proof of our existence.”
That was the worst of news.
Emmanuel knew what that meant for him.
“I will take care of that, Packmaster.”
“Include Anthony,” Lawrence directed.
Manny paused, schooling his expression with an effort. He tried to never work with Tony unless forced. As he was at present.
“Yes, Packmaster.”
Lawrence smiled in relief. Between his chief enforcers he would see the human police dispatched and a Singer female added to the ranks of the pack while diversifying the lineage.
Though the real feather in his cap would be the capture and future mating of the Rare One with the Feral. Jason Caldwell, he reminded himself. It was hard to shake his initial impression of the wolf. He was other, so foreign to Lawrence, he couldn't even scent him for Moon's sake.
“Excellent. Be well, Emmanuel,” the Packmaster said.
“Be well,” Manny replied, his expression changing as he turned his back, bracing hims
elf for the conversation he knew he must have with Tony.
He dreaded it.
*
Scott
Scott was careful not to touch Julia, that seemed to make everything so much worse for her.
For him.
When he touched her, it was like a great sucking energy engulfed them both and suddenly he found himself with his environment melting away.
Yeah, he'd ease them into this incrementally.
Julia moved slowly for her. She was so ravenous she could hardly think, whatever they had in that huge kitchen of theirs that wasn't nailed down she called dibs.
Scott hid a smile, so many of her basic emotions were leaking all over the top of him. He didn't have too much trouble clamping down on the urge. Mainly because she was starved and walked beside him like a fragile golden shadow. He looked her over as she was slightly ahead of him and she didn't notice his scrutiny. She was so young yet as a Singer. Her Awakening had just begun. Julia didn't sense him near to the degree he did her. Though she would soon. With training, she would Become.
So much more.
He took her elbow, careful to touch her where the clothes covered her skin. She started a little and looked up at him. “Sorry, jumpy,” Julia said, letting the curtain of her hair cover her profile, hiding her from Scott.
“Understandable,” he replied.
Scott ignored her posturing and instead strode to the fridge as she eased onto a stool at the breakfast bar. The whole kitchen had been gutted and remodeled extensively. It actually resembled a commercial kitchen now. It was the only thing that made sense with this many people living at the compound. He got out the fixings for making a sandwich and balancing the whole load in his arms, smacked his head on the top of the fridge.
“Damn!” he howled, the pickle jar slipping from his grasp.
Then just as suddenly, it hovered in midair and Scott's eyes flicked to Julia.
“Seems like there's a lot of hard heads here,” she said, a trifle smug. Scott straightened, kicking the fridge door closed with his foot. As he did, the jar floated to the surface of the counter and with the barest tap, settled on the ocean of granite.
“Yeah,” Scott said and grinned.
And just like that, it was okay. They had a moment of looking at each other that was comfortable.
They weren't fighting.
He wasn't saving her.
She was safe. With him.
Scott kept grinning, far beyond when he should have stopped, hope replacing uncertainty.
It was a good day.
*
betrayal
William watched the sister coven's soldiers surround him and knew that he had been betrayed even as his mind denied it. He could not accept that for a bit of politics and numbers he would be derailed from what he sought.
Julia, he intoned, despair engulfing the only tender spot he guarded in his heart. And guard it he did. For it was all he had to offer her once she was within reach.
However, now was not the time for reflection.
William crouched, hissing.
They came.
He readied. He was a warrior in his own right.
Singer and vampire both.
Let them come.
*
Sea-Tac Airport
Karl Truman exited the plane with as much speed as a lumbering guy his size could manage, running a hand over his bald head as he was thrust into the terminal with the throng of people.
They didn't notice him standing there, instead the herd jostled by him, clipping him with their parcels, purses and carry-ons. Karl opened his mind to that instinct that always drove him. The one that had made him top in the state for closing cases. It was almost beyond chance.
Almost.
He checked his paperwork after throwing his coat and carry-on into the nearest hard ass chair at the gate. He ran his finger down the geographical possibilities and finally settled on Bellingham or Kent. He had a sense of Cynthia Adams. Before the Caldwell Incident (as Truman thought of it) she had been quite a little fashion girl, a wanna-be socialite. She'd want to get lost in a big city. After Seattle, which Truman dismissed as too big (she was a Homer girl and that was its own breed there. Actually, that was true of Alaskans). He was left with the other cities that were still large but not the biggest. After dragging his ballpoint over Tacoma and marking it off the list, he had narrowed it down to two. Bellingham was looking less likely because it was two-plus hours north of Sea-Tac. But Kent... he let that city's name roll around in his head, pinging back and forth until it began taking shape. Was it possible? Truman felt like he was almost standing in front of the state map with a push pin in one hand and his eyes closed.
Like pin the tail on the donkey. In this case, it was more like pin the location on the map.
Mind made up, he hefted his crap in one arm and with his normal vigor and determination huffed to the car rental carousel. He'd go through that hassle first, then he'd hole up where he thought she'd go.
Kent.
Yeah, he liked the sound of it. There was that thread of something there. Enigmatic, steadfast. Some cops called it gut instinct. Whatever it was, it had always worked for Karl. His mom used to tell him when he was a little runt that he was a sensitive kid. He could always find stuff. Being a cop was a natural thing for him. Like breathing. That's why this Caldwell thing wouldn't let go. It had been swimming in his head for two years. When it came together he had been relieved.
His gut never lied.
Truman followed that now, without a plan, with his nose leading him by mental scent alone. It was one that only Truman could smell and he alone.
He got in his cheap, police-provided rental and drove to the city he'd circled in red sharpie on the map, getting stuck behind a big bus on the way.
Truman followed behind the stinky sucker for a time and while he looked at it, he saw its route listed on the back light up sign: East Hill, Valley, West Hill, Scenic Hill.
Something lit like a match to a striker and his mind circled around the almost-epiphany.
Buses.
No money.
Desperation.
That was it! Truman smacked the wheel with a meaty fist, the steering column shuddering under his enthusiasm.
She'd used the buses.
Truman grinned, his cheeks making a noise with his sudden facial switch.
He'd nail the bus drivers. How many had that circular route through that city? Probably a handful. He knew deep down that the Adams girl would have taken a bus that was just going to Kent. Not Renton, Covington or even Federal Way. That significantly narrowed his search. It was a long shot but he was going to throw a strike, not a gutter ball.
He could feel it. The rightness of his chain of thoughts coming together neatly. That's how it always was when he caught the scent he was searching for.
Suddenly the long plane ride and the shitty travel receded and all he could feel was the pulse of the chase.
Here I come, Truman thought, here I come.
*
Cyn
Alan squeezed her shoulder as he walked by and she shot him a grateful smile. Cynthia had been at the restaurant a week and felt like she was just now getting her bearings.
She'd called the guy he'd recommended, and well... the place was kinda ghetto but it was clean and she felt safe. For once.
Cynthia shoved away thoughts of Kev and her former life. The only personal item she'd brought with her was the wedding photo. Well, that and a few well-loved books. Like Twilight. She loved that book. Cynthia gulped, thinking about how the novel had been better before she'd found out that werewolves were real. She gave a small shiver like a goose had walked over her grave.
Cynthia came back to the conversation at hand, her feet hurting at the end of her eight hour shift. She'd already gotten more hours from Alan, but thirty hours a week wasn't going to get her into a real apartment. Oh well.
“Miss, I'd like that ranch on the side and the burger on a plate,” Mr. Fru
mp commanded. She kinda wanted to jam her pencil up his ass and restrained herself with an effort. Unfortunately, once she'd committed the words into her head they were like a giant TV screen in her brain and the visual of Frump running around with that unpleasant leaden wedgie wouldn't leave her. Cynthia's Mona Lisa smile turned into a grin.
Frump frowned and she laughed.
God it felt good. She hadn't given a genuine laugh... in like forever.
“You bet, sir,” Cynthia said, lightly chewing on her pencil to keep from bursting into inappropriate guffawing.
And just like that she thought of Jules again. She had a damn knack for making everyone crack up and get in trouble.
Then Cynthia realized something as she walked away from the booth, order in hand; she'd thought of Jules without crying, the happy memory being just that.
Happy.
Maybe she'd be okay after all.
A fragile seed of hope began to germinate in her heart. If not for the possibility of actually seeing Jules again, but maybe of remembering her without the crushing sadness.
Cynthia put in her customer's order and then one for herself on the spinning circle of tickets. The discounted meal was all she was allowing herself to eat. Money was tight, she'd deal with the hunger until she had more money. She began to salivate thinking about the rich Banzai burger and fries that Sherry the cook would whip up, her last order of the day was her last customer, the only table left. Cynthia sighed with relief. Tomorrow was her day off and she intended to make the most of it.
First stop: Freedom Affirmed. She was going to talk to Shirley. Maybe she could verify if Julia had stayed there. It was such a slim chance, Cynthia knew.
Cynthia latched on to that small hope that bloomed inside her, holding on for dear life.
She wasn't going to let go.
No matter what.
The Blood Bundle, Books 1-2: Blood Singers and Blood Song (New Adult Paranormal Vampire/Shifter Romance) Page 30
