by H. D. Gordon
It wasn’t a question, but I saw the answer in his eyes.
I let the silence stretch for a bit, then sucked my teeth. “Or maybe it’s not yourself that you’re afraid for. Maybe it’s Ellie, Candice, and Troy…. That who you’re trying to protect?”
“How dare you.”
Gio’s fist reared back. I held up a hand. His lips twisted into a sneer as he stared down at the priest, but he lowered his fist and stepped back. Gio was also one of Carson Cartier’s former Pack members, but he’d proved himself a good soldier.
“You stay away from them,” the priest snarled. “You stay the hell away from them.”
I drew a breath and let it out, watching the male with cold eyes. “Okay,” I said. “Then I need you to answer some questions for me, Father Bosi. You do that, and I’ll leave the wife and children.”
Hatred filled Bosi’s eyes, which was fine, because fear lay beneath it.
“I already told them,” Bosi said, jerking his chin toward Cecelia and Gio. “I don’t know who took the shipment. Maybe it was an inside job, one of yours.”
I stared at the priest. “Maybe you’re right, which is more reason I need you to think very hard about that night, about what you saw.”
His shoulders slumped, the bravado leaving him. “If I talk to you, they’ll kill me.”
I nodded, leaning forward in my seat, making him meet my eyes. “And if you don’t, I’ll kill you.”
Father Bosi’s eyes welled with tears, his mouth quivering as he spoke. “I only saw one person. A Wolf. His face was so scarred it looked like it had been melted off or something. It was only a glimpse, but it was a face from nightmares.”
A chill raced up my spine, but I refused to shiver against it. I sat back in my seat. “That all?”
“That’s all I know, I swear it.”
He began to sob. I sighed and checked my timepiece.
“Relax, father,” I said. “I believe you.”
Hope filled his eyes. “Can I…Can I go?”
I glanced at Cecelia, tilted my head. She retreated to the barn’s exit, and returned a moment later with little Thomas in tow. The orphan boy’s eyes went wide when they settled on Father Bosi, and if not for Cecelia, the child would likely have bolted from the barn.
I waved Thomas over, placing a hand at the small of his back. He shivered as he looked at the “male of God” tied to the chair before him.
“Thomas,” I said. “Is this him? Is this the male who hurt you?”
Thomas nodded. I could hear his little heartbeat hammering in his chest.
I tipped my chin to Cecelia, who took Thomas by the hand and led him out. Then I stood from my chair and unbuttoned the front of my jacket.
“Wait a minute,” the priest pleaded. “Please, let me explain.”
I drew an iron, placed it to his forehead, and pulled the trigger. Replacing the gun in the holster, I stared down at the mess for a moment before buttoning my jacket back up.
“Clean this up for me, Gio,” I said.
Gio nodded. “You got it, boss.”
A face so scarred it looked as though it had been melted off.
While it could have been any Wolf the priest had seen, there was only one Wolf I knew of that had facial scarring as bad as that.
Lucian Borden.
The brother of the late Lucas Borden, the heir to the fallen crime family on the continent we’d left behind, the reason we’d left in the first place. Last I’d heard, he was still in the coma I’d help put him in, and the once powerful Borden family was in shambles.
I couldn’t be sure, of course, but if Lucian was here on Calla Camari, then the trouble my father had started with the Wards was the least of my worries. Lucian Borden was not called the Mad Wolf for nothing.
I pushed these thoughts aside for the time being, grabbing a horse from the stables I’d had built a few months prior and heading off. The day was cold and bleak, the sky gray and the clouds low. I urged the steed onward, listening to the sounds of its hooves moving over the dirt road. I reached my destination a half hour later.
Turning off the main road and onto another dirt path that snaked into a forest, I tried not to let the gnarled branches of the trees creep into my psyche. I’d chosen the place because of its obscurity, but also because it had a certain feel to it that seemed to keep people away. Kyra, my best friend and the resident Sorceress of my Pack, liked to say that the land here was cursed. I didn’t put much stock into such musings.
As I pulled up to the old abandoned mill, I found Kyra outside, smoking a joint and leaning against the building. Her curly black hair stood out in a cloud around her head, her pretty face turning up in a smile as she spotted me.
I dismounted the horse and handed the beast off to Archie, a Wolf with special needs and a pleasant demeanor.
“Hey, there, boss,” Kyra said, coming over and eyeing me from head-to-toe. “Bad day?”
I snorted. “I must look like shit, because everyone keeps saying that.”
Kyra grinned. “Nah, you just got a little blood on your collar.”
I looked down to see that she was right, and reminded myself that this was why I only ever wore black clothing. I’d made an exception this morning because of my appearance in court. I shifted the collar of my jacket to better conceal my crime.
“Just a little misunderstanding,” I said, and nodded toward the building in front of me. “How’s it going?”
Kyra took one last drag of the joint and dropped it, putting it out with the toe of her boot. “It’s going well, of course, because I’m overseeing it. Production is up and costs are down. The workers are good at what they do and only getting better. Smart move on your part, hiring only females. The former working ladies are particularly good workers, just happy not to be selling their bodies for survival, I suspect.”
“And they’re content? We’re paying them enough for them to live well?”
Kyra snorted, keeping her voice low as we made our way into the office overlooking the factory, closing the door behind us. “We’re paying them more than I would, personally,” she said. “But you’re the boss, and I know you like to be generous to those in your employ. You sure you want to keep increasing the pay. They’re already making more than they ever did at any other job.”
Slipping my hands into my jacket pockets, I stood at the windows looking out over the factory floor. Below, dozens of females of different supernatural races worked producing the moonshine that now supplied all of Cerys and many of the surrounding areas.
“Well paid and happy workers are loyal workers,” I said to Kyra, who’d taken a seat behind the desk. “As long as our profit keeps increasing, so will their pay. They’re the ones making it happen.”
“Yeah, you may be right about that,” Kyra said. “Even if my stingy ass would keep more for myself.”
I looked over my shoulder at her, eyebrows raised. I glanced at the diamonds in her ears, the expensive timepiece on her wrist. “You have some needs that aren’t being met, love?”
Kyra grinned. “No. I’m just a greedy motherfucker.”
I chuckled, turning back to the window.
Silence held for a tick. “You want to talk about that blood on your shirt?” she asked.
I sighed. While I was not the type to share my feelings, there were no secrets between the Sorceress and me. “It’s Father Bosi’s,” I answered.
Kyra whistled lowly. “You sure that was a good move, D? Powerful male, he was. Big following.”
I nodded, still observing the females below. “Also a pedophile. Several of the orphans I’ve taken in were abused by him. Additionally, he’s on the Ward’s payroll—or he was, anyway. He couldn’t be trusted.”
“Speaking of the Wards,” Kyra said, “I heard you got into it with Ansel this morning, heard there might be trouble.”
I sniffed, turning from the window to face my old friend. “Nothing I can’t handle, of course.”
Kyra nodded slowly. “Yes, of course.�
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“But I do need you to do something for me. You have any sight-orbs with you?”
Kyra reached into a drawer in the desk and set a translucent orb atop the surface. “Who are we trying to spy on?”
“The Mad Wolf,” I said, and watched her stiffen at the name. “I need to know if he’s awakened from his coma.”
Chapter 3
Kyra drew the blinds of the office and reclaimed her seat behind the desk while I took a chair on the opposite side.
“Of course I’m happy to do it,” she said, “but what makes you think that crazy bastard has woken up?”
“Remember that shipment that was stolen the other day? The forty barrels of premium shine taken from St. Mary’s basement?”
Kyra nodded. “Of course I remember. I had to push the girls extra hard to make up for that shit…. You think Lucian Borden had something to do with it?”
I leaned back in my chair, releasing a low breath. “The priest was there that night. He said he saw a Wolf with a scarred face just before the shine was stolen.”
Kyra’s brows furrowed as she considered this. “I would think the Wards had something to do with it. Or maybe the Mangeras. There are other people with scarred faces, you know?”
I nodded, having thought of this, of course. “The shine was stolen before my father’s altercation with the Wards, and the Mangeras have a good relationship with us, so I don’t see why they’d jeopardize that over forty barrels.”
“Some people don’t like making deals with a female Alpha.”
“I can’t argue with that.” I nodded toward the orb. “But we might as well be sure.”
Kyra agreed, sitting forward in her seat and fixing her eyes on the orb. She splayed her hands around it, and the air in the room shifted in the way it always did when magic boiled. I watched in fascination as she uttered words, her eyes swirling violet as her power flowed through her.
I scooted to the edge of my chair as an image began to form within the opaque glass. My heartbeat sped up, and I drew a slow breath to soothe it. I rubbed my hands down the thighs of my pants to absorb some of the moisture that was forming on my palms, my eyes fixed on the orb.
The full image finally took hold, revealing a male Wolf lying in a large, four-poster bed. Machines were hooked up to him, providing nutrients, hydration, and air—keeping him alive. His eyes were closed, his once handsome, if always terrifying, face was a mess of its former self. The fire in the storehouse had melted the skin so that it was now nothing short of gruesome.
Kyra licked her lips, and my strong ears could hear her heartbeat pick up in pace as well. She’d been with me that day, of course, had helped me take down the Borden brothers and escape before the authorities could reach us.
We stared at the image of Lucian Borden a few moments longer before Kyra cleared her throat and dropped her hands, sitting back in her seat. The image in the orb disappeared, the atmosphere in the small office returning to normal.
Her voice was a tad shaky when she spoke, but relief underlined it. “The Mad Wolf still sleeps,” she said.
I released a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. “So he does.” I stood, buttoning my jacket once more and nodding to my friend. “Thank you.”
Kyra tipped her head. “Anytime.”
I crossed to the door, leaving her to her work. She paused me at the threshold.
“Dita?”
I turned back, eyebrows raised.
“You okay?”
“Of course,” I said.
My old friend studied me a moment, then gave a single nod. “Of course.”
My hands were fists in my pockets as I exited the factory and claimed my horse from Archie, wondering why the confirmation that the Mad Wolf was still locked in his coma had not offered the comfort I’d been sure it would.
Later that evening, I strolled through the main house, checking to make sure everything was in working order.
As my Pack had grown considerably, there were now more people on the grounds than ever before, each one of them with needs and occupations. I hadn’t seen my father since earlier that morning in the train yard, when I’d cut him off financially for the shit he had pulled with Ansel Ward, but I knew the male well enough to know that he’d be back. He always came back.
Cora caught me as I was exiting the kitchen. The female Vampire had taken on the management of the property, and was good at delegating tasks to the others to make sure there were always clean clothes and food and other essentials.
“Hey, D,” Cora said, peeking around the doorway of the kitchen. “You got a minute?”
I paused in my exit, turning back toward her and tipping my head.
“I just need you to approve this bill for next month’s groceries,” she said. “The expense has gone up considerably with all the children we’ve taken in.”
She held out a piece of parchment, and I glanced down at the sum. It was large, but nothing that we couldn’t handle.
“This is fine,” I said, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I trust you, Cora. You’re doing a fine job.”
Cora smiled, revealing her fangs before disappearing back into the kitchen.
I slipped down the hallway, and nearly collided with Analise. “Whoa,” I said, catching my little sister before she could barrel past. “What’s the hurry?”
My question was answered when Ada came charging down the hallway after her. She was in Wolf form, and her eyes were glowing gold.
“She’s gonna bite me!” Analise said, but there was more humor behind the words than fear. She slipped behind my back, peering out at her twin sister, who did not look pleased.
I looked down at the little Wolf in front of me. “Ada,” I said, “why are you trying to bite your sister?”
Ada spoke in my head in the telepathic manner Wolves shared. “She stole my diary and read it, and then she told Trey that I like him! Now I can never go back to school. She’s wrong; I’m not going to bite her. I’m going to kill her!”
Ada let out a low growl that would have been menacing if not for her cuteness.
Stifling a smile, I glanced back at Analise, who blinked up at me innocently. I stepped out of the way with a shrug, content to let the girls settle this on their own. Ana shot me a look of betrayal before sprinting off down the hall, Ada following on her heels.
I chuckled as I watched the twins burst out the back door and chase each other across the gardens. With a shake of my head, I ascended the stairs, hoping I could get a little nap in before the business I had to handle later that night.
When I made it to the top of the staircase, I paused and looked at the painting hanging on the wall of the landing. A phantom pain started on the left side of my chest and worked its way across my shoulders until it settled low in my gut. The painting was of me in my Wolf form, done mostly in red and black, the artist having captured my likeness impressively.
Demarco, my little brother, had given me the painting the same night he died, and though it had been over a year since that awful night, his loss was something I carried with me. Every time I thought that I was beginning to heal, something would remind me of him.
The painting was an obvious trigger, but it was the subtler, unexpected things that had weakened my knees for months thereafter. I’d be somewhere and I’d see someone that sort of looked like him, or I’d catch the scent of cinnamon waffles—Demarco’s favorite—and it would be like I’d lost him anew all over again. I’d hear a phrase he’d like to use, or come across one of his shirts or paintbrushes, and there was the grief.
I’d allowed myself some time to mourn, but not too much. There was too much on my shoulders, too many people depending on me for survival to allow myself to be down for too long. Sometimes I wondered if it would ever stop hurting, or if the pain was just something I’d have to learn to live with.
I released a breath as I studied the portrait for a moment longer, looking into the golden glowing eyes of the Wolf on the canvas. He’d painted me so fierce, s
o strong, and I wanted to be that. I was trying so damn hard to be that.
The pain in my chest eased as I heard the pitter-patter of little footsteps rushing toward me. A smile spread over my face, my spirit lifting. Little Demarco, Delia’s son, who had just begun walking a couple weeks ago, toddled toward me, a smile lighting up his face.
I scooped him up into my arms before he could fall over, squeezing him and accepting the slobbery kiss he offered every time I held him.
Delia, my little sister and Demarco’s mother, came out of the bedroom after him. She shook her head, a half smile pulling up her lips. “You’re his favorite, you know?” she said.
I kissed Little Demarco on the cheek, ruffling his dark hair before setting him down again. “Of course I am.”
Silence hung between us for a moment. Things between Delia and I were not bad, but they had been strained. I suspected that she still didn’t forgive me for beating up the father of her child (even if the bastard had it coming) and I also couldn’t help but think that she didn’t forgive me for our brother’s death. She’d never come outright and said that she thought it was my fault. None of them did, but I couldn’t help but think that she blamed me, and that Devon, our older brother, blamed me as well.
And I couldn’t even be mad about it, because hell, I blamed myself.
“Dad came by earlier,” Delia said, scooping up Little Demarco and propping him on her hip. “He looked pissed.”
I sighed.
“He was drunk,” she continued. “And ranting about ungrateful children.”
“Of course he was,” I muttered.
“He asked me for money…. You cut him off?”
“He needs to learn some control. His temper and impulses are dangerous.”
Delia eyed me in a way that made my jaw clench. “Yes, they are,” my little sister said.
With that, she turned on her heels and headed back into the bedroom with Little Demarco, shutting the door after her. I stood where I was a moment, wondering how we’d come to this awkward place. Delia and I had always been so close. I’d basically raised her, and was still funding her existence right now.
