SLEEPLESS
I WAITED WHILE Clay Changed. Once he was done, and dressing, I walked over to where the mutt lay near the path. I growled and jerked my head, trying to tell him to Change back, that I needed to speak to him. He only looked at me, uncomprehending.
When I stepped closer, a wolf shot from the shadows. It was the small gray one I'd seen with the mutt the night before. I backed out of her way. She eyed me with a baleful glower, then snuffled him anxiously. He snorted and bumped her away, as if to say, Enough of that.
Then his muzzle jerked up. He looked over my shoulder and I turned to see Clay coming. The mutt grunted and started walking away, as if his job was done and he was eager to be off.
I started after him. The gray wolf lunged at me, snapping. I fell back. She kept snarling, fur bristling until he circled back and prodded her flank. She started to leave with him, but couldn't resist tossing one last glower and growl my way.
"I think she's warning you off." Clay walked up beside me. To the wolf, he said, "Don't worry, she's already taken."
The wolf chuffed, but still glared at me before turning away.
I raced into the thicket he'd vacated, trying for a quick Change so I could go after the mutt and get him to talk. There was no rushing the process, though, and by the time I finished, he was long gone.
"I tried to call him back," Clay said. "But I don't think he understood, and I wasn't going after him, leaving you alone. Anyway, I'm sure we'll see him again. Hopefully he'll be by himself. I don't think his mate likes you much."
"You really think that's his mate?"
He shrugged. "If that's the form a werewolf chooses, it's no different from another taking a human mate."
"Uh, yes it is. If you'd been a zoo employee instead of a professor, would you have chosen a wolf mate instead of me?"
"Depends on how cute she was."
When I looked at him, he laughed. "I'm kidding, darling. The answer is no because, as much as I like being a wolf, it's not the form I choose. It's too limiting. You can't speak. Can't read. Can't write. The communication of intellectually stimulating ideas is nearly impossible." He grinned at me. "As for stimulation of other kinds? Serious limitations there, too. No hands." He slid his under my shirt. "No fingers." His tickled my sides and brushed my breasts. "No lips." He lowered his to my neck.
"Limiting."
"Very."
His mouth moved to mine, kissing me hard.
"Maybe this time we should complete our escape first?" I murmured.
A low growl, not exactly disagreement, just annoyance that I'd brought it up. I glanced over his shoulder at the truck.
"A big metal box with a folding backseat should be safe enough, don't you think?"
He peered at the truck, as if measuring the distance. Then he scooped me up and carried me to it.
BACK AT THE hotel, the first thing I did was call Joey's office. He wouldn't be in, of course, but that was the point--I could leave a complete message without him hanging up on me.
Couching it in suitably cryptic terms--in case his voice mail was monitored--I let him know that we'd figured out what was going on. The mutts had taken Noah and now they were holding him hostage, demanding something from Joey for his release. Joey was dealing with that and proceeding with extreme caution... meaning he didn't want two Pack enforcers in town, throwing their weight around and endangering his half brother's life.
Now that we understood the situation, I assured him we'd proceed with equally extreme caution and that we could help resolve the situation. I didn't expect him to take us up on the offer. What I was really saying, as politely as possible, was, "We know why you want us to leave town, and we aren't going."
Next we tended to our injuries. Neither of us had any broken bones, and that was all that mattered. Being a werewolf meant a lifetime of fighting, and like those who spend their life in the boxing ring, we've learned to ignore the bumps and bruises and cuts. Check for broken bones, clean the cuts, get some rest and we'd be good to go tomorrow. We had to be--unlike professional boxers, we couldn't call off a match because we weren't up to it. Werewolf healing helped with that. Twenty-four hours later, the only remaining signs of my encounter with the beast were a tender spot on the back of my head and one on my ribs.
We went to bed after that. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I didn't stay that way, though. Although Clay remained perfectly still beside me, I could sense he was awake and after a quick, dreamless nap, I looked over to see him staring at the ceiling.
I lifted up onto my side. Too deep in thought to notice me, he kept staring. I glanced over him to see his right hand clenching rhythmically at his side, arm muscles pulsing under the pitted scar tissue.
"Is it bothering you?" I asked.
"Hmm?" He followed my gaze to his arm, and made a final fist, then stopped flexing. "Nah, I don't feel it anymore."
"I mean is it bothering you?"
He was silent a minute, then he brushed my hair back over my shoulder.
"I ran away tonight," he said after a moment. "When I first smelled that thing, I ran."
Protests and reassurances sprang to my lips, but I knew he wasn't looking for that.
He continued. "I remembered what it did to you the night before and all I could think about was getting you out of there."
"Which under the circumstances was the smart thing to do."
"Yeah. But the reason I ran instead of fighting?" He lifted his arm and flexed. "It doesn't affect my fighting in wolf form. It's just a slight weakness in one of my legs, easily compensated. My first instinct, though, was to second-guess myself and flee. That's not good."
"But--"
"Under the circumstances, it was the right choice, and that would be fine... if I could say I made an informed decision."
"Which is tough to do when a three-hundred-pound beast is bearing down on you." I caught his look. "Yes, I know you don't want excuses. The point is that you don't have the confidence you did four years ago. Personally, I don't think that's such a bad thing. If you're still jumping on the back of raging beasts, you have more than enough confidence for my tastes."
He went silent, his gaze returning to the ceiling.
"It's not running from that beast that's disturbing you. It's the possibility that you might do it with a mutt. If enough of them confront us, your first instinct will be to hustle me out of there. If I'm just your mate, that's not a problem--you're getting me out of harm's way. But if I'm Alpha, I shouldn't need to be shuffled off, and if it looks like you're doing that, then the implication is that there's a problem."
"Yeah."
He went quiet again. I waited, knowing I'd prodded enough.
"With my arm... it's ongoing," he said. "I'm still working it through. With you in line for Alpha, though, it highlights another issue, one I've been avoiding."
When he didn't go on, I did prompt him, but he only slid his arm under me and pulled me close.
"It's nothing. I'm tired and I'm rambling."
"If something's bugging you..."
"I'll deal with it."
I paused. "And I can't help?"
When he said nothing, the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. I shivered. He rubbed my back, but it didn't help.
Since when didn't Clay share his problems with me? Sure, we were notorious for keeping minor issues from one another, trying to solve them on our own. But now clearly something was bothering Clay and he didn't want to share it, and that only fanned the embers of my real worry--that this was what being Alpha would be like.
There was a lot Clay didn't share with Jeremy. There were aspects to protecting the Alpha and the Pack that bothered Jeremy. Like me, he wished they weren't necessary. So Clay did them without sharing the details and Jeremy never asked.
My Alphahood would not be a radical change from Jeremy's. I believed in every reform he'd instituted and I'd continue his work. Most of his leadership style I admired and would emulate. But I wanted to be more
involved. I wanted to be on the front lines, as I was now, not giving orders from the rear. I wanted to know everything that went on, even the parts that bothered me.
"If it has to do with the Pack, then I need to know what the issue is and how you think it should be resolved."
He glanced over. "And if I disagree?"
"As my bodyguard? Or as my mate?"
"Both."
I waited ten seconds, resisting the urge to flip over or move away. I could say I was respecting Clay's space and didn't want to guilt-trip him into sharing. But the truth is that pride kept me from showing I was hurt. So I settled in as if I'd already forgotten it, which I'm sure would have completely fooled him if he hadn't spent almost twenty years learning to read my moods.
"Remember that mutt who stalked you on our honeymoon?" he asked after a minute.
"The Cain kid? Tough to forget, as hard as I might try."
"Do you know why he didn't run away when I first warned him off?"
"Uh, because he's a Cain? Big family sharing one allotment of brain cells?"
"Because he didn't believe my reputation. He'd seen the photos. He insisted they were Photoshopped."
"Over thirty years ago? Kinda proves my point about the brain cells, don't you think?"
"But he's not the only one. Things have been changing. When you and I started working together, mutts ran from us the minute they figured out who I was. Then they started sticking around a little longer, maybe throwing a punch or two, testing my reputation. These days, over half the mutts in the country are younger than those photos. I'm their dad's bogeyman, not theirs. Kids like Cain don't see any reason to run until I give them one. And that was fine... until this." He lifted his arm.
"So? Even with your arm, you can take on guys like that--half your age, twice your size--and the outcome's never in question."
"But ten years ago, I wouldn't have had to take them on. I wouldn't have had to worry about Cain stalking you. The second he realized I was with you he'd have been on the next bus out of town. Now, with you becoming Alpha, the kids getting older... I don't want to keep proving I still deserve my reputation. That was the point of..."
He trailed off. The point of what? I was about to ask, when I understood. That was the point of what Clay had done at seventeen, dissecting a mutt while he was still alive, then taking pictures. I knew it wasn't as horrible as it sounded--the mutt had been anesthetized and out cold the whole time, dying before he knew what had happened. The point hadn't been torturing this particular mutt, but convincing other mutts that Clay had tortured him and that if they trespassed on Jeremy's property, he'd do the same to them.
And when I understood what Clay meant, I really understood what he meant.
"You're thinking... you're thinking of doing it again."
I should have kept my mouth shut until I could properly modulate my tone. I'd just finished sulking because Clay had implied this wasn't something I could handle, and now I said those words in whispered horror, confirming it. I wanted to try again, stronger, matter-of-fact, proving him wrong. Only he wasn't wrong.
Rationally, I knew that in killing one mutt horribly, Clay had protected Jeremy for over thirty years and saved the lives of every mutt who otherwise would have come to Stonehaven to challenge him.
Emotionally, though, I reacted like a little kid, screwing up her face and sticking her fingers in her ears. I didn't want to see it, didn't want to hear about it, didn't want to think about it. And I sure as hell didn't want to think about Clay doing it again.
"It's not important," he said after a minute. "Not now. I shouldn't have brought it up."
"But it's bothering you."
"Bugging me, not driving me crazy. We've got lots to do tomorrow. We need to get some sleep."
He lay back down. When I didn't, he tugged me down beside him, then settled in, one hand resting on my waist, the other tucked up between us, thumb rubbing my collarbone.
"When you... did it," I said. "Jeremy didn't know in advance, did he?"
"Nah. No reason to tell him, and better if I didn't."
Better? Or just easier? We lay in silence for a moment, eyes still open.
"I--"
I was about to say, "I want to know," but did I? Really, did I? What would I be saying? That I wanted all the details in advance? That I wanted to help him plan it? Help him carry it out? My stomach twisted.
Clay wouldn't want that either.
Did it make me a coward if I agreed I was better off not knowing? Worse, did it make me a hypocrite? I could acknowledge that Clay was capable of doing horrible things to protect the Pack, and I didn't disagree with the final result... but I didn't want to think about it too much?
"Go to sleep," he murmured. "I haven't decided anything. I don't plan to for a while."
"But... when you do. Don't--" I lifted my head, his hand falling from my chest. "Don't do anything behind my back, okay?"
His lips tightened.
"That came out wrong. I just meant... I want to know. I don't want to find out after the fact. I'm not Jeremy."
He nodded, kissed my shoulder, then pulled me down again. After another wide-eyed minute of lying there, neither of us bothering to fake sleep, he said, "Are you okay? With earlier today?"
He meant Tesler, the attempted rape.
"I'm... okay for now."
He knew that meant that I wasn't really okay, just temporarily so, having slapped a bandage on the wound to staunch the bleeding while I tended to other things.
When I'd smelled mutt tonight, I'd had a moment of panic, thinking it was Tesler. An Alpha could not run from a threat. An Alpha could not have weak spots a mutt could exploit. I thought I didn't. Now I realized I'd been wrong. At a serious threat of rape, there'd been a moment when my fight response shut down, flight instinct taking over. I couldn't let that happen again.
When I said I was okay for now, Clay didn't ask if I wanted to talk about it. He looked for the answer in my face, then said, "Later, then?"
I nodded, curled up against him and closed my eyes.
CONTROL
THE ALARM SOUNDED at seven. Our first call went to Jeremy, updating him on the situation, getting his opinion of my decisions, then talking to the kids. We had a few muffins to tide us over, then dealt with our anxieties in the way we knew best. We headed downstairs to the gym.
THE BEST THING about hotel gyms? They're almost always empty. I'm sure plenty of business travelers insist on booking a place with a gym, so they can spend twenty minutes in there, then congratulate themselves for sticking to their routine between cocktail parties and room-service binges.
When we arrived, there was one guy coming out of the pool change-room and heading for the weights. By the time I was dressed in my sweats, he was heading back in, not even having broken a sweat.
We started with the punching bag. I held it while Clay worked out his right arm. It didn't take long before he got bored of that and wanted a more active partner. We started slow, Clay throwing punches and me blocking them, working into it, not wanting to get too involved in case someone came in.
After about twenty minutes with no one even walking past the door, we swung into full sparring mode. I worked on Clay's reflexes now, feinting and lunging, trying to trick him into leading with his left. After four years of this, though, it's tough to catch him off guard in a structured environment. Finally, he grabbed my wrist and flipped me onto the mat, signaling rehab time was over.
When I rolled up, he danced away, grinning.
"Uh-uh," I said. "Someone comes in and we're wrestling, however innocently, it's going to draw attention to us, and we can never afford to draw--"
I wheeled, trying to kick his legs out from under him, but he spun out of my way. We faced off. I lunged, then feinted, managed to get hold of his arm and threw him over my shoulder.
He hit the mat with a whoomph, and lay there, winded, shaking his head. "And that wouldn't have called attention to us, darling?"
"You starte
d it."
He dove for my legs. I pranced back out of the way and kicked. He caught my leg and down I went.
"Still tired from yesterday?" he said. "I could go easier on you."
I sprang up and we went a few rounds, throwing punches and kicks. Only a few connected, but not for lack of trying. We didn't "go easy" on each other, just avoided blows that would do serious damage. Bruises, though, we'd have. I didn't care. It's not like I'd be walking around Anchorage in shorts and a tank top.
Finally I had him pinned with his arms over his head, my knee on one thigh, keeping him down.
"Give up?" I asked.
He grinned. "Depends on the forfeit."
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
I bent to the base of his throat and tasted it, hot and slick with sweat. He shivered. I grazed my teeth over his skin.
"You admit I beat you," I murmured between nibbles. "And we'll adjourn to the showers."
"Beat me is a little strong. You briefly got the upper hand. I'll admit to that."
"Nuh-uh. Beat you."
"Temporarily bested." He jerked his hands free.
I caught and pinned them again. "Beat." I tickled my tongue up to his ear, making him shiver again. "If you care to contest it, we could go a few more rounds." I leaned into him, rubbing against him. "Postpone the showers. Hope no one else shows up in the meantime."
He closed his eyes, hips lifting to grind into mine. When I pulled back, he growled deep in his throat and opened one eye.
"So to get sex, I need to concede defeat?" he said.
"Yep. Nasty and totally unfair, I know. But..." I slid my hand to his belly, tickling under his shirt. "Since I do seem to have the position of control..."
"Temporarily."
My hand slid under his waistband. "Ceding a fight is tough, I know." I wrapped my fingers around him and gave one firm stroke. His eyelids fluttered and he growled again, then he reared up, throwing me off. I tried to scrabble out of reach, but he grabbed my leg, yanking me facedown to the mat, then flipping me onto my back and pinning me.
"That's better," he said. "No need to choose when I can have it both ways."
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