“The wolf threatened me today,” she hissed, bringing her jittery hands to her mouth.
“What?” Grayson took a step nearer, his thick blonde brows pulling together in concern. “What happened?”
“He waited for me to shut the shop, lay quiet in the dark.” Her voice shook. “Then he pinned me against the wall and did this.” She pulled the collar of her shirt dress aside, revealing the pale flesh of her throat.
Grayson stepped closer, breathing hard and fast as he registered the claw marks, five indentations pressed into the soft, vulnerable flesh. “Mother…how does he know?”
Her eyes flew wide; she sneered, revealing her short yellow teeth. “Oh, he knows. He’s been watching me.” She paused, giving him a long smile. “I know what we need. We need to protect this house.”
Grayson stiffened; he paused to do up the buttons of his shirt, having been in a hurry to dress when she arrived. “What are you talking about?”
She looked raw, unhinged. “We have to set traps in case he comes here. And he will. He wants to kill you.”
Grayson’s complexion drained. “Me?”
“He knows you’ve been watching them.” Jennifer eased past him, letting her hand linger on his broad shoulder. “John Hickory has always known about what we are. What we’ve stood for all these years, and now he wants to put it all to rest, and we can't let that happen. He killed Henry.”
Confused, Grayson wandered after his mother out into the yard, following her as she crossed over to the lockup. Win had said the wolf was weakening, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. A wounded, dying animal could be far more lethal than a healthy one. But would he actively seek them out and try to hurt them? Not from what little Grayson had come to understand of the man, from what Win had told him. And Win loved him; he couldn’t be a mindless animal.
Grayson had been raised by hunters, by killers. By a tyrannical grandfather who was convinced their purpose in life was to keep the woods safe from them. He stopped in the middle of the yard, rolling up his sleeves. “Mother, I can’t do this anymore.”
She whirled about, her thin brows narrowing. “Can’t do what exactly? You haven’t been doing much of anything except getting spotted. John Hickory killed your brother, and he knows you’ve been watching. We aren’t safe. He’ll come here and finish it!”
Grayson remembered the wolf by the brook. The one who’d rested on his paws breathed on his hair and let him sketch him. Grayson shook his head. “I don’t believe that, Mother. I don’t believe he’d hurt anyone.”
She stalked toward him. Her eyes narrowed in the way that made his spine tense; she could be equally as dangerous as a wolf. She pointed at the marks on her neck. “You don’t?”
Grayson exhaled, the prints on his mother’s slim neck making him quiver. “Mother…why can’t we leave them alone?”
The woman looked as if he’d slapped her, her expression shocked, outraged. “You know why. As long as Therian exist, we exist. The way it's always been.”
“Maybe that was true at one time, but not now. Not this generation. They’re peaceful!”
“They’re demons!”
“They want to be left alone, Mother. The past is the past. Why can’t you let it go?”
Jennifer was livid, her eyes wild. Grayson half expected her to start foaming at the mouth. But he knew what her comeback would be. “You mean…let Henry go? After what that monster did to him?”
Grayson took a wide stride toward her, palms open, pleading. “Mother…Henry attacked him; he was only defending—”
“And he was right to attack him! Henry knew what had to be done, what he was brought up to do, unlike his soft-whiney brother. And he was only ever in that spot because of you!”
Grayson faltered, his breath caught, the way it always did when she threw guilt and blame his way. She may as well have thrown a knife at him, a sure-fire way to wound him, to snap him back to the past, that awful, cursed day. It was true. Henry was dead because of him.
Rubbing his eyes, he groaned. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was smiling. “Fine,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “If you really think we are in danger, I’ll set traps around the perimeter. What else do you want me to do?”
“Get the guns from the lock-up.” She lifted her chin, pleased to have won the battle. “Come on.”
He stalked closely behind the woman, across the yard, passing rusting old farm machinery and abandoned trucks. The lock-up, where he did most of his butchery, was in a cabin, the roof made of corrugated tin. He rustled in his pocket for the keys. The door opened, and the humid, putrid air hit them both, still acrid from his fresh kill. He fiddled with the next set of keys; his hands weighed heavy. “Hurry up!” she snapped, her sour breath in his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her reach for a knife, unused and left gleaming on the butchery table. It was long, scalloped, a perfect knife for skinning. His blood raced. “Mother, what…”
“Open the door, Grayson.”
He put the key in the padlock, letting it clunk to the left. The guns were stashed in a locked cabinet near the back of the room, away from the glass cabinets.
“Open the door!” She was impatient, her voice like a knife in his ear. He let the door swing open with a whine. The overhead light hummed and slowly flickered on. He blinked rapidly, his eyes desperately searching the room. It was empty, save the glass cabinets, the dead animals locked in their cages.
He howled. Pain like fire scorched across his upper back, the knife slicing open his shirt like butter. Nausea knocked him to his knees, his vision swimming as he felt the sharp kick of a foot in his lower back. Staggering, he fell forward, smacking his chin against the concrete floor. He saw stars. Hauling himself up by his palms, he turned too late, seeing his mother’s eyes flash as she swung the heavy door closed. “No…Mother, what are you doing?”
The padlock crunched, the key grinding in the lock, and Grayson drained. “Let me out!”
“You need to stay out of the way.” Her horrible cackle floated under the door. He watched her shadow move back and forth in the gap. “I know all about you and the little Hickory whore!”
She switched off the lights, throwing him into complete blackness. Panicking in the dark, his back stinging, he crawled to the door, hanging off the handle, yanking it, so the door shook.
“What the hell have you been playing at? We are Rileys, and we don’t fraternize with them. We are there to keep them in line… as we’ve always done!”
“Let me out of here! Now!” he roared. For a moment, he thought she might relent. But she let out raspy laughter. There was nothing helpless about this woman.
“You’ve disappointed me for the last time,” her breathy whisper, floated through the cracks in the door. “I’ve waited so long for you to bring her in. You promised me he’d suffer. For Henry.”
“None of this is her fault! She doesn’t deserve to suffer.”
“No, but he does!” she spat. “He took my boy. He took your face, don’t you remember?”
Grayson staggered to his feet. He came close to the door, placing his palms on the cool metal. “Mother, listen to me. Let me out, and we can talk this through.”
“So you can lie to me? Convince me you have everything under control? You don’t think I’ve noticed the way you’ve been… you’ve been thinking about her.”
You mean you noticed I was happy. Grayson huffed and leaned heavily against the door. How careless of me. “Mother, please,” he begged, voice cracking. “Don’t leave me in here.”
“I’ll have to do what you couldn’t. You’ve forced me to do this, Grayson, remember that.”
The door handle twisted, knowing she was shutting the outside door to the lockup. His heart leapt. “No, no, Mother, please!” he yelled, banging his clenched fist against the door. Sweat poured down his back, the closed, locked room quickly increasing in humidity.
“Mother, don’t do this!” he yelled,
the door crashing under the beat of his fist. “Don’t, please. I’ll do anything you want. Don’t hurt her!”
Seventeen
WIN FLINCHED AS Rowan pressed an ice pack to her eyebrow, her skin swollen under the surface. She lifted it away, peering at the mark, the bruising already fading. “You’re healing fast,” she said, placing the pack back in place. Win lifted her hand and held it there. Her back ached, and her head throbbed. She threw a look over at Luke, who was sitting on the bottom porch step.
“Lucky you,” he muttered, yelping as Evan pressed an ice pack of peas at the nape of his neck. Evan huffed, ruffling a hand through his hair, checking for more lumps.
“You both have a similar temper,” she marveled. “Maybe it’s a family trait.”
“He is not part of this family,” Win muttered under her breath, regretting it the moment it spilled out of her mouth. Rowan scowled haughtily, shaking her head. Luke darted his eyes away, staring at anything except her. He looked crushed. Win swallowed. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“What the hell were you fighting about?” Rowan knelt on the grass, eyeing the pair.
Luke looked banged up, a purple bruise blossoming over his right eye. There was a cut on his nose where his glasses had dug into his skin. His eyes were watery and pained.
Win was recovering nicely. She ached, flexing the muscles of her back, stretching out the tendons. She rolled her neck on her shoulders, catching his gaze.
“Well?” Rowan bit, and both of them snapped their head in her direction.
“Ella,” they both said miserably, at the same time. Rowan’s eyes lifted with her wry smile.
“Fighting over a girl, huh?” Evan teased.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Luke said testily, and Win nodded. This wasn’t something they needed to hear.
“We can work this out,” Win agreed. “It’s over now. I think Luke knows how I feel.”
Luke smirked. “You think?” The wind whipped up in the yard, the humidity reaching its peak.
Win wiped her brow. She turned to him, her face stony. “I’m sorry okay?” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Especially, as you are so much weaker than me.”
Luke gaped, his shoulders hunching. “Really? Wanna go again?”
“Win seriously,” Rowan groaned. “Kiss and make up will you?”
Win relented, trying to suppress a giggle forming in her throat. She was still mad at him, but he looked beaten sick. His hair was sticking up in tufts, his bottom lip swollen, his nose bloodied. He was so pathetic it was adorable.
He looked at her squarely. “I’d rather kiss my dead grandpa.”
He sniffed and laughed, his face lightening in a way that made him hard to stay mad with. Win bumped his shoulder with hers, her face breaking into a laugh. “I really mauled you. Have you looked in a mirror?”
“Have you? Your hair looks like you stuck your finger in a live socket.”
Win collapsed in fits of laughter. Rowan rolled her eyes and motioned for Evan to follow her indoors. It didn’t help they were both still dripping wet, puddles forming at their feet. They looked atrocious. Eventually, when they were alone, Win sobered and turned to him, she opened her mouth to speak, but he got there first.
“Please, don’t berate me again. There is nothing you can say to make me feel worse than I do already.”
“Good,” Win agreed with him. “You should feel bad.”
“I didn’t mean it, okay? You pushed me.”
Win leaned closer. “You mean you do have feelings for her?” Hope lifted inside her. She had to believe in him, that he was the good person she thought he was.
“Of course I do. How could I not?” he said sadly. “I didn’t know what was going to happen. I’m not a monster, Win. I like her, I really, really do. But if you want me to confess my undying love for her right now, that isn’t going to happen.”
“I know, I get it.” She planted his hand in her lap. “And I don’t want to be your conscience, but you need to make a choice.”
His knuckles were torn, ripped, and grazed, she ran the fleshy pad of her thumb over the split skin. She lifted her eyes only to find he was staring at her, her breathing quickened, and for a moment, a spark of electricity buzzed between their skin. Luke yelped and flexed his hand as though he’d been shocked. Win sat back, dazed, her fingertips tingling. She hurriedly changed the subject.
“And make it soon. I don’t think I could stand to see Ella heartbroken.”
Luke’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Point taken. I don’t want that either. And just for the record, so you don’t think I’m a complete asshole…Rose and I haven’t—”
“You don’t need to tell me!” Win held up her hands. “I was way out of line even asking.”
“Because I wouldn’t do that!” he insisted, eager to protest his innocence.
Win smiled. “I believe you.”
She was about to speak when John Hickory wandered around the back of the house, eyeing them both with suspicion.
“How are you two getting along? No more scraps, I hope.”
“No, sir.” Luke smiled gratefully. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
John waved his hand in the air. “Ah, it’s no worse than the fighting I used to do with my sister. And I know Win would have got the better of you eventually.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “I came off worse.”
John took a few steps toward them, dragging an easy chair from the porch and settling it in front of them. There he sat, his forearms on his knees, narrowing his gaze at the pair of them.
“Look, I don’t need to know the details,” he drawled. “But I do have big ears, as my granddaughter likes to tell me. And I think you’ve gotten yourself into a difficult situation, son.”
Win let Luke’s hand drop out of her lap. He was trying to sit straight, though he must be in pain. John rubbed his beard, scratching the wiry grey hair. “You want to be independent, and that, I admire. You’ve chosen a really tough path. But you don’t have to do this all by yourself.”
Luke blinked, his eye watering, the bruising making his lower lashes puff out. “I don’t understand.”
John looked unsure; he scraped his hand through his mane of hair. “What I mean is, you don’t owe Mr. Trent anything. He offered to help you.”
Luke deflated, letting his chin dip down, bringing his knees up to his chest. “I didn’t have anyone to ask for advice. Mr. Trent and I got on well when Rose and I dated. He was the only guy I knew.”
“I get that, son. But you have choices now.”
Win edged closer to Luke, throwing her arm around his shoulders. He looked at the older man, unsure of what to say. Win was smiling, and he didn’t know why.
“I can cover some of your costs. Ben can go to Boston with you next week for moral support—you can’t face your family alone. We can take care of it.”
Luke’s eyes were wet. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it's time I started making things right. I failed my sister, but I won’t fail you. You’re her blood…and now you’re mine.”
Luke staggered back against the step, not able to form words, until eventually, he spoke. “I can pay you back. I have shifts every day at the bar.”
John shrugged his offer away. “Whatever, if it makes you feel better. But I don’t need it. Understand?”
Luke spluttered, his cheeks growing pink and hot. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you!”
John held up a finger. “Don’t say thank you. You don’t have to. Now…it’s up to you, but if you want, you can run home and get some of your belongings and come back here tonight. You don’t ever have to set foot in that mausoleum of a house again. If you don’t want to.”
Luke grinned, and Win hugged him sideways, planting a huge kiss on his cheek. “Oh yes—we can be roomies!”
“Uh no,” John chuckled darkly. “We can make some space. I’m sure your dad w
on’t mind sharing.”
“You’d let me stay here? Live here? At Hickory House?”
“Only if you want to. Or we can help you rent a place in town.”
Luke shook his head in disbelief. Win knew what this meant to him. He didn’t have to go home to the isolated place in the woods. He wasn’t alone. She squeezed his hand, and he yelped.
“Easy Win.” She threw her arms around his neck, and to her surprise, he wound his arms about her tightly, lifting her onto her tiptoe.
“Sorry!” she giggled. “This is great. I can borrow your clothes. They cost more than mine!”
“If I catch you stealing my stuff…”
“I’m kidding!” she said, beaming. “Apart from the denim jacket you wear—go, get your stuff!”
Luke let her sink back to the ground; he gave her a swollen smile before heading off to the front of the house. Win took her grandfather’s arm as they walked back into the house. He gave her a fond rub on the back.
“That was a great thing you did, Grandpa. I know how you feel about Luke’s family.”
He stopped briefly by the foot of the stairs, which wound up into the dark landing. For a moment, Win noticed how tired he looked, his eyes dimmer than usual. “Do you know Joseph Hickory built this place in 1789? He, his wife, and four daughters lived here, plus two servants. I think we can spare some room for an errant Fraser. God knows it’s time we bury the hatchet. And by the way, he reacted…I don’t think anyone ever gave him anything of worth in his life.”
When he noticed Win’s puzzled expression, he leaned against the banister. “I mean…he has grown up rich. And sure, he’s handsome and athletic…don’t think I haven’t noticed. But he’s been pushed down all his life, like a dog. And the sad thing is he thinks he deserves it.”
Win leaned her chin on the banister, staring up at him. “You do have big ears.”
John chuckled. “Sorry, can’t help that. It keeps me in the loop, though!” He was about to turn to walk upstairs. Win noticed him gripping the rail harder than he needed to. “I don’t blame the boy one minute for wanting to be free of the Fraser family, that father of his….”
Wild Spirit: Huntress Page 18
