Chapter 12
VESSA
Shay and I part ways at the ticket counter.
Looking over my shoulder, I make sure that no one from Bleeding Sun has followed us to the train station.
Quickly, I pay for my train and bus tickets to Pinesdale and set out in search of the nearest pay phone.
Maurleen answers on the first ring, Sylvie fussing in the background.
She doesn’t ask why I’m calling so late, just what time she needs to pick me up tomorrow. Fourteen hours from now.
I don’t know which ache is worse: my shoulders or the twinge in my tailbone that’s been howling at me since I plopped down hard on the snow.
It doesn’t hit me until I am boarded and seated in the dark booth.
What I did was selfish—leaving abruptly with only a scribbled note on a napkin to convey an apology.
The message for Axe was brief, but firm.
I'm sorry, but I must go. You and I both know that this is a world I don't belong in.
My body nearly collapses from sleep deprivation when I hop off my fourth bus of the day with my luggage.
The brisk evening ripples with unyielding winds.
As I make my way across the platform, I spot a head of curly marmalade locks in the parking lot.
Maurleen. The second I reach the car, I wrap my arms around her, inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon.
When I pull away, her expression is rich with sorrow.
“I don’t wanna hear it right now.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Maurleen, we have a huge problem.”
Her lips form a thin line as she tucks a loose strand behind my ear. “We’ll talk once you’ve gotten some rest. Let’s get you home.”
A piece of my heart snags on the word home. Do I even have one at this point?
Little Sylvie is precocious as ever, crawling, wailing, constantly finding new trinkets to test in her mouth.
Round green eyes widen each time I take away yet another one of Maurleen’s cosmetics pilfered from her purse.
If she grows up to be anywhere near as good at pickpocketing as her mother, gods help us all.
The toddler’s frown inverts the moment her father walks through the front door of their cabin, stomping the snow off his boots.
“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t take one more step on my carpet,” Maurleen squawks.
Wyatt tugs off his shoes with a raspy chuckle. Reaching for Sylvie, his smile fades upon seeing me. "Vessa! Is . . . is someone here with you?"
"Nope. Just me," I say.
Wyatt strolls over to the fridge. "So, how is he? Your new Alpha?"
I look to Maurleen, whose messy topknot bobbles, urging me to carry on. I mention that Axe is awfully busy with all the fires he's constantly putting out. And with a phone he can't put down, he doesn't have time for any women in his life, let alone a mate.
Wyatt tears a huge bite out of a sandwich. His gaze drops to my neck, noting the absence of a lycan’s claim. "He's probably keeping a safe distance until he can no longer resist the Beckoning."
Maurleen bites her lip. "About that . . . Vessa left a goodbye note."
"Oh, that's brilliant thinking. Might as well have just kicked a hornet’s nest."
“I doubt it will bruise his ego too much.”
Wyatt sets the sandwich down. "Who is he, anyway?"
Maurleen and I exchange a cringe. I take in a deep breath, finding the courage to say his name. “Axe Skornokovy.”
"No," Wyatt coughs. “No, you’re mistaken.”
Maurleen swallows tightly, nodding.
A vein pops in his forehead. “Forget how this is even possible. I am never going to hear the end of this. We'll be lucky if Paul lets us stay here after he takes you back to Bleeding Sun. I could be put back on assignment."
I scowl right back. "I’m not going anywhere with him. It's not like I’m actually wanted back there. Half of those people look at me like they want to slit my throat. I’m not entirely convinced that Axe won’t once he figures out what I’m hiding.”
"Do you remember anything we taught you? He is the Alpha Commander. You defy him, you defy law."
"That doesn't make him entitled to me," I sneer.
Anxiety builds in his voice. “In the few days that you’ve known him, how many bodies have you seen him drop?”
I scoff, but then seriously consider the question. Seeing and hearing are two different answers, right?
“Only one.”
“Interesting. Guess he’s having an off week.”
I roll my eyes. “Please, he’s not a psychopath. He’s . . . protective.”
“No shit. That doesn’t change the fact that he could fill an encyclopedia with ways to butcher people. His augment gives him the ability to revisit kills, which he’s known to do if he blacks out in the middle of the act. There’s this one method where he—”
“Wyatt!” Maurleen squeaks.
Sighing, I press on. “See, that right there is exactly why I have no intention of going back.” Wait. I backslide, running over what he just said. “You know his augment? How?”
He dabs at his damp brow. “Any Aux that’s ever been assigned by him knows. He has trace memory. He can isolate and retrace the last moments of a scent that is left behind on any surface. Play it back in his mind. It’s why he is so skilled at locating rogues. And vampires.”
Maurleen puts her hand down on the table. "That's enough. No one is forcing Vessa out of this house and over my dead body will anyone reassign you to Auxiliary again. Is that clear?”
He stands down at his mate's order. Furious as a boiling kettle, Maurleen snatches her daughter, readying her for a nap. I hold my breath as she walks away, wondering how much time I have before I hear Axe pounding on the door—or better yet, bursting through it.
At sunset, the four of us eat dinner in silence, save for Sylvie’s unintelligible babbling. Maurleen’s shepherd’s pie is to die for, but be that as it may, no one’s appetite is substantial enough to finish a single serving.
Several times, my eye catches the scar on her upper shoulder.
On lycan females, only four subtle puncture marks remain once the wound heals.
The oracle’s mark is different—the scar tissue is thick where Wyatt’s canines entered her flesh.
At least here, among the pack, she doesn’t have to hide it any longer. Here, it’s worn as a badge of honor.
A firm knock on the front door causes us to drop our silverware in unison. Wyatt rises instantly, urging us to stay put. The door opens, revealing Axe’s towering frame. His chest heaves, nostrils flaring. A dark blue ocean rumbles in his eyes as our gazes collide, guilt hitting me head on.
The knot in Wyatt’s throat bobs as he sizes Axe up. “Welcome to our home, Commander. Please, come in.”
“Thank you,” he drawls, stepping through the threshold.
Grinning ear to ear, Maurleen’s freckled cheeks redden. “Good heavens,” she mutters under her breath. “Those visions sure didn’t do him justice.”
The Alpha grips Wyatt’s hand. “Pleased to meet you both.”
“There’s plenty of food left if you’d like some dinner. Vessa, honey, why don’t you make up a plate?” Maurleen offers.
“I would really appreciate that,” he says. “But allow me to serve myself. I insist.”
Maurleen gives me googly eyes as he rounds into the kitchen and cuts himself a piece of her pie. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing right now, honey? He’s hotter than one of them saucy firemen calendars. You must’ve really bumped that head of yours,” she whispers.
“Quit jabbering like he doesn’t have wolf hearing,” I snap under my breath.
Leaning back in her chair, she fans herself. “Too bad he didn’t kick the door down. Shit, I’d flick the match and start the fire myself.”
“Maurleen!”
We talk amongst ourselves for a few minutes until Axe clears his plate. I reach for it without hesitation and scurry away to the kitchen sink before I accidentally lock eyes with him again.
“That was excellent,” he declares, bringing a large hand over his abdomen.
Maurleen beams at him. “There’s plenty more if you haven’t had your fill.”
After a polite refusal, his eyes drift to Wyatt. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to speak with Vessa. Alone.”
Wyatt nods, pulling out the chair for his mate. Maurleen scoops up her daughter, waving that tiny little hand at us in farewell. I curse her internally when she gives me a wink, leaving me to face yesterday’s consequences.
Once they vanish down the hall, the Alpha begins his prowl to the kitchen.
Now there really is nowhere for me to go.
No time for my lungs to inflate. From his pocket, he retrieves my note, flattening it against the counter.
Judging by how fast he got here, he must’ve left Tukkon the second he found it on my pillow.
"You lied to me. You are afraid of me," he says, that low timbre full of gravel.
I refuse to look at him. “No, it’s not that. You don’t understand. I’m a burden, Axe.”
"The pack just needs more time to assess you, to see for themselves that you can be trusted.”
"My presence will only bring more violence and outrage to Bleeding Sun’s doorstep. Was that not made clear when Colton tried to kill you?"
"Lycans are constantly scheming to come for my throat. Seven years in, and dissent is still an everyday occurrence. But at the end of the day, the pack is a family, and we will always find a way to adapt. To survive.”
For a moment, he pauses to control the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest. “If you become Luna, you will not be our people's burden. You will be a beacon. A symbol of what our relationship with humans once was and could one day be."
I place a hand over his own. For a second, I marvel at the way my small fingers measure nearly half the size of his.
His skin is warm and calloused, a testament to laboring and brawling his entire life.
I flinch at the sight of my own hands—dry and cracked between my knuckles, one of the minor brutalities Agathoran winters inflict on humans.