Chapter 18
DAWN SPEARED crimson fingers into the sky, an angry red hand grabbing at the clouds as if to rip them away to show a direct path to heaven. The solemn group stood on the banks of the bayou in the same place they’d stood last evening. The bodies of Sally and Danny had been wrapped together and placed into the pirogue. The Wolves lowered the boat reverently to the ground before Mac waded out, tugging the bow of the little craft into the water. Flicking an old-fashioned Zippo lighter, he touched flame to a small wick. With the help of a shove from Sean on shore and a push from Mac, the pirogue glided toward the center of the bayou, flames licking at the gasoline-soaked cloth covering the two mates.
DJ watched the others. They were a family in mourning. And once again, she stood on the outside. So much death. She was choking on it now. She’d discovered the Wolves were surrounded by it, had been for years.
Grace buried her head in Jacey’s shoulder, whimpering. Nate joined her, one arm slipping around Jacey’s shoulders while the other hugged the girl they’d decided to call Joy close to his side. The children finally slept that night, but the adults had yet to close their eyes. Too much sadness, too much anger still swirled around them.
One by one, the Wolves joined their mates and DJ noted subtle changes. A family had been destroyed, but as she watched Jacey and Nate with the two orphan girls, she realized a new family was forming, the bonds still as ethereal as dew drops clinging to a spider web. Liz Lightfoot handed their son to Michael and the little boy buried his head under his father’s chin. Sean Donaldson, his arm around Annie, rested his hand on the shoulder of Cody, the son he considered his own. Annie’s gently swelling belly spoke volumes of their devotion.
DJ’s gaze settled on Mac and Hannah McIntire and their son, Liam. The boy was a teenager—all gangly arms and legs, but he’d be built like his father once he passed through his teens. She’d watched the boy with the younger children. He had a protective streak as wide as the Gulf of Mexico. Hannah and Mac stood together, partners, leaning on each other and stronger for their union. For all the death and destruction these people had faced—and would continue to face—they’d discovered the most fragile of things—love and loyalty.
No one spoke now, though they’d talked long into the night, making decisions for the future. They would have to move again and likely again after that. The Wolves were at war now. Tired of being on the defensive, they were ready to take the fight to those who hunted them. But first, they would pay respects and send to eternal rest two of their own.
DJ and Antoine stood apart. The others hadn’t exactly ostracized her in the early morning hours, but she held herself apart. How could they not blame her for the way events unfolded? Had she not come to Louisiana, things wouldn’t have happened the way they did. Antoine had always been on the outside, even with family and his newly formed loyalty to the pack. DJ carried too much guilt to make any attempt at being accepted by this group.
When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she turned into Antoine’s chest. He gathered her close, hugging her to him as she pressed her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. He rested his chin on the top of her head and just held her. She’d never had this kind of comfort before, was terrified she’d do something else stupid to mess it up.
“This is my fault,” she murmured.
Antoine squeezed her hand. “ Shhh , chère .”
Ah, doux bébé. You are mine. Always .
Sucking in a ragged breath, she held on tighter. Tears prickled the backs of her eyelids, but she wasn’t about to let them spill over. She’d screwed up, hadn’t verified her target. She hadn’t seen the man she shot kill the other blond—the one who had tortured Antoine, who had assaulted her. She’d taken out an ally, a fact no one mentioned, but everyone made sure she knew by the looks they gave her. DJ felt lucky they hadn’t disarmed her, though the threat to do so remained. She’d let fear and anger override her training and she couldn’t blame them.
The scent of seared meat mixed with gasoline filled her nose. How did the Wolves stand it, with their hypersensitive sense of smell? Yet none of them moved. The children picked up on their parents’ emotions and remained motionless. Time might have stood still for all she noted its passage. Antoine eventually dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “Come, chère . Time to go.”
He tucked her under his arm where she seemed to fit just right—like Goldilocks finding the right bed. They followed the others back to the campground. Sean kissed Annie before ducking into their RV while she helped Jacey and Liz round up all the kids. DJ didn’t know what to do, or even if her help would be welcome so she stayed beside Antoine, watching.
The kids were herded into the RV Jacey and Nate lived in. Nate remained on guard outside the door while the three women stayed inside. Hannah, Mac, Lightfoot, Harjo, and Rudy gathered around the picnic table that seemed to serve as the group’s conference table. Izzy walked over to join her and Antoine.
DJ couldn’t help herself. She had to ask, “What’s going on?”
“They’re waiting on paperwork from Sean and then we’re all splitting up.”
She had to think about that, but finally said, “Isn’t there safety in numbers?”
Antoine kissed her temple. “No, bébé . Not this time. You stay here. I will speak to them.”
Fighting the urge to stamp her foot in frustration, DJ turned her back on the group at the table. She jumped when a gentle hand landed on her shoulder.
“They don’t blame you, DJ.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I blame myself.”
Izzy led the way to a pair of lounge chairs near the playground. They settled in before she spoke. “Life is too short for blame, DJ. I’ve seen so much death in the past few year, all caused by the machinations of Black Root. The Wolves? They were living under this shadow long before I knew of their existence.” She tilted her head, studying DJ. “Ask yourself this, would you rewind time if it meant you’d never meet Antoine?”
The question stumped her. If she could turn the clock back, she’d be a Deputy US Marshal instead of AWOL. She’d be back on duty in Las Vegas working case files to round up the bad guys. The men who had attacked her would still be doing bad things, but Danny and Sally Keegan would still be alive, their daughter would have loving parents instead of being orphaned. And there was the man she’d shot. Plus all those killed in the raid to rescue her and Antoine.
But she would never have met Antoine. She would never have known about the Wolves. And her life would have been the poorer, and lonelier for it. Her gaze fixed on the man who had claimed her heart. Would he have been taken captive without her? Would the deaths still have occurred? How many other people—innocent people—would have suffered at the hands of the men who died?
“Well…hell.”
Izzy laughed, a light-hearted sound amid the pall of sadness hanging over the camp. “Yes, it is, cher. I’ll tell you sometime how Rudy and I met. We’ll be staying nearby for a bit, as are you and Antoine, I think.”
“And everyone else?”
The other woman lifted a shoulder in a very Gallic shrug that spoke so eloquently. “That is for them to decide.” She reached over and squeezed DJ’s arm. “I am glad my uncle found you. Antoine has been alone for so many years. Be good to him. Love him. Please?”
“With all my heart.”
She felt the weight of someone’s gaze and looked up to find Antoine staring at her. I heard that, chère.
DJ blew him a kiss then laughed, the sound startling her. She couldn’t believe she could do so given the circumstances. Izzy patted her arm.
“It is okay to be happy, DJ. Life is full. There is good and evil. Happiness and sorrow. Love. Hate. Each comes in its own time.”
Antoine joined them. “And each stays for a fleeting moment, chère . All but love. Love is eternal.”
Looking up at him, the truth of his words washed over her.
His eyes looked feral in this light, gold glints reminding her that he was more than a man. He was a Wolf. And Wolves protected what was theirs. She could live with that. She was a Deputy US Marshal. Her protective streak was well-defined too. He tilted his head, a very wolfish gesture, and he offered a brief smile. It was enough. She wasn’t an outsider. She was his.