Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
E mery
When I open my eyes a few hours later, the sun is up. A glance around at our surroundings tells me we’re still in Florida somewhere. On a long stretch of road.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” I mumble.
I turn to the man in the driver’s seat next to me. He’s completely focused on the road ahead. I drink in his profile. Beautiful copper skin, long, gorgeous dark hair. The top of his head nearly touches the roof of the truck. One long arm gripping the steering wheel. I stare at his hand which is so firmly wrapped around the wheel that veins bulge. I follow the trail of veins up his hand and along his forearms.
Something hot flashes through my body. I sit up, suddenly unable to stay still.
“Where are we going?” I ask, needing to break the silence. He hasn’t looked at me once since I’ve awakened.
He doesn’t answer.
“You do know this is kidnapping, right?” Yes, I did willingly get into his truck, but I have the right to revoke my consent whenever I choose.
Again, silence.
“Excuse me?” This time I tug on his arm.
His head turns in my direction, his sharp gaze lands on me.
“Where are we going?” This time my question comes out shaky.
“Cynthia’s,” he says in a grunt as if I’m supposed to know who Cynthia is.
“And she is?”
He’s turned his attention back to the road, again not answering.
“Hello?” I grab his arm again, drawing his attention. “Who is Cynthia? Why are we going to see her? I need to get back to town to go to the police station.”
He blinks, his lips tightening but he doesn’t answer. It seems my mention of the police causes some sort of distress. Then I remember, this is a stranger who broke into my motel room.
Yes, he saved me from someone else who tried to break in and do only God knows what. But he was there first. Sitting in my motel room while I slept. He could be just as big a threat as whoever he supposedly rescued me from.
Or worse, what if he just used that as an excuse? What if this is all an elaborate setup?
I shake my head to get free of my racing thoughts. I’m usually the rational, level-headed one. Ashley is the one who enjoys making up stories. I have to be the more practical one out of the two of us.
That’s how I’ve been able to take care of her over the years.
“Excuse me?” I say because I realize that I still don’t even know this man’s name.
I tap him on the arm when he, rudely, doesn’t answer me.
“What’s your name?” I ask when he looks over at me.
He hesitates before answering, “Chance.”
“Chance…” I draw out, expecting him to give me a last name.
He doesn’t.
I file that piece of information away in case I need to report this guy to the police.
I clear my throat and sit all of the way up. “Well, Chance, um, thank you for rescuing me from whatever that was last night. But I need to get back to town.”
I sit forward and wave a hand at his side when it looks like I’ve lost his attention.
Only once he turns toward me do I say, “I have to go to the police.”
It’s impossible to miss the way his hand tightens on the steering wheel.
“We’re going to Cynthia’s,” he says as if his word is the final say.
“Who is this Cynthia? Is she a police officer?” I ask hopefully.
The frown on his lips speaks to how ridiculous he thinks my question was.
“No.” It comes out rugged.
“Then why are we going to this person?” I insist. “I need to get back to town. I don’t know where you’re taking me but I’d like to go back now.”
His eyes dart between me and the road but he doesn’t respond, not verbally. Silence falls between us again.
“Hello?” I try again when it feels like he’s tuned me out. When I don’t get an answer, I try again.
“Listen, I don’t know what type of game you’re playing, but I’m not a willing participant. If you don’t stop this truck right now, I will jump out,” I threaten.
He doesn’t react or respond. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead, not bothering to even slow down.
I start to reach for the car door. As soon as my hand makes contact with the handle, he’s on me.
My breath hitches as his much larger, stronger hand covers mine.
“Don’t do that.” His breath grazes across the skin of my neck as he’s leaned over my body with one arm, trapping my hand that was once touching the door handle. His other hand manages to continue controlling the steering wheel.
“We’ll be there soon,” is all he says. His gaze burrows into mine. The look doesn’t last long, but it’s as if with that one look he’s asking me to trust him. It’s a ridiculous thought. I don’t know this man beyond his first name. If that’s even his real name.
Then why did you get into a car with him?
“How much longer?” I finally ask.
“Five minutes,” he responds before turning his attention back to the road.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll give you five more minutes.” I concede while also trying to figure out what my next move will be if he’s lying.
Chance
Mate!
My bastard of a wolf screams in my head yet again. I clench my jaw tightly to keep from blurting out for it to shut the fuck up. It’s bad enough being trapped in my truck, her scent licking up all of the air in here.
Now my incessant wolf won’t drop it despite my declaration that I don’t have a fated mate. Even if I did, it wouldn’t be her.
She’s not even a wolf.
Maybe.
Her scent is different. Human, sure, but not wholly homo sapien. It’s odd and yet, it still calls to my wolf. He’s convinced she belongs to us and that she’s one of us.
You’re defective. No wolf of worth would want to mate with you.
I shake off my father’s words to focus on the task at hand. I don’t even know why I showed up at this woman’s motel room. She shouldn’t be any of my concern. But after she left the bar last night and I finished up with my business there, something told me to hang back for a while.
I did and was able to read the lips of one of the security guys at the bar.
They had plans to visit her motel room. Apparently, whatever reason that brought her to the bar that night granted her some negative attention. It had them on edge and they were planning to kidnap her over it.
All I knew is that she was in danger and I had to stop it.
Why? I still can’t answer that.
I make a right into the long driveway that leads to Cynthia’s house. I bring the truck to a stop behind an old, rusty Oldsmobile in the driveway.
The one-story house is little more than a fancy shack. With its taped windows and shingles hanging off of the roof. No one would suspect the owner prefers her home this way.
A tap on my arm draws my attention. My wolf whines, which he’s done every time she touches me or vice versa.
“Is this it?” she asks.
I watch her lips. Partially out of obvious necessity but also because I can’t help it. My stomach aches with the desire to hear her voice. Is it as melodious as the movement of her lips make it seem?
It’s been years since I had such a strong desire to hear something. Over the years, the memories of the sound of my mother’s voice and the other members of my pack faded away.
I long ago gave up any hope or desire to hear anything other than the sound of my alpha’s voice or that of my and my wolf’s thoughts in my mind.
It’s not my responsibility to want anything for myself.
“Yes,” I finally reply.
She glances down to undo the seat belt, but her lips keep moving. She looks back up at me expectedly.
I guess she asked another question, but I didn’t catch it. I hate that I didn’t.
“What?” I ask and make sure to focus as she restates her question.
“Who is Cynthia?”
“A friend,” I answer before getting out of the truck. I round the front and move to her side.
She startles when I pull the door open for her. When I hold my hand out for her to take, she hesitates. The questions are evident in the expression on her face. A face I have a hard time keeping my eyes off of.
And it has nothing to do with needing to read her lips.
The entire time she slept in my truck, I had to squeeze the steering wheel with both hands to keep from reaching over and pushing one of the loose strands of hair that fell free of her bun, out of her face. I wanted to trail the tips of my fingers over the skin of her jaw just to see how she would respond.
Now, as she places her hand in mine to help her down from the truck, I force myself not to hold on for too long or too tightly. The urge to trace the inside of her wrist with my thumb overcomes me.
I tamp down the strange sensation.
Emery Clarke—that’s her name. I discovered it while bribing the kid who worked the motel’s front desk overnight. The son of a bitch gave me her first and last name, motel room number, date and time of check-in and checkout for less than fifty dollars.
I was tempted to put his head through the wooden desk for being so careless with her information.
So what if his carelessness was my gain since it allowed me to get into her room with ease.
Emery startles and I look over to see that Cynthia has burst through her door. She’s standing there, arms wide with a huge grin on her face. It’s been a few years since I’ve been out here. I’m not surprised by her reaction.
From her movements and the light in her eyes, you’d never know that she was over a hundred and fifty years old. The lifespan of a typical wolf was around two hundred to two hundred and fifty years.
“Chance!” she yells excitedly. “You’ve finally come to see me again.”
Emery looks between me and Ms. Cynthia. I move my hand to the small of her back, urging her to move. She follows my lead, though her steps are unsure.
Ms. Cynthia’s face changes as we get closer. Her dark-brown eyes move from mine to Emery. Her eyebrows pop in evident surprise.
“You look so familiar,” Ms. Cynthia says to Emery.
“Me?” Emery presses her hand to her chest and looks at me. “I, uh…” She turns back to Ms. Cynthia, who, in turn, looks at me.
I shake my head.
Her smile falls a little.
“Come inside.” She ushers us both inside.
We follow her into the small house. There are stacks of books along one wall, a recliner chair and love seat couch along another and an old 90s-style television set at the front of the living room area.
“I’ll put on a pot of coffee,” Ms. Cynthia says before even asking if we want anything. I go to tell her that’s not necessary, but she’s out of the room before I open my mouth.
Another tug at my arm. I peer down at Emery.
“What are we doing here?” I assume she’s whispered the question because her lips are slightly pinched as she forms the words.
“Ms. Cynthia knows a lot about happenings in this area.” I don’t tell her that, that applies to anything going on with wolf shifters. I had already planned to come over for a visit after my meeting at Mike’s. Now, it feels even more pressing.
“Oh.” Emery’s mouth forms into a circle as she says the word. Once again, I can’t fucking stop staring at her lips.
I drag my gaze away.
Ms. Cynthia returns. “There we are,” she says as she places a plate with a kettle of hot water, teacups, and tea bags on the wooden table in front of Emery and me.
She looks directly at me. “I’ve been expecting you.” She smiles.
I raise an eyebrow.
“How’s my sister doing?” she questions.
On a nod, I tell her, “Ms. Elsie’s well.” Ms. Cynthia was raised as part of the Nightwolf pack but moved out here when she mated with a member of a local, small pack. Many of the pack, including her husband, died years ago, but she’s remained in this area ever since.
She laughs. “I’ll take that to mean my sister is being her busy body self as usual.”
A small smile curves my lips, but I don’t reply. It’s well-known that Ms. Elsie is the pack’s busybody. Always sticking her nose into affairs. But she does it out of love and we all know it, which is why she gets away with it.
Movement from the corner of my eye captures my attention. Emery waves her hand, saying something.
She turns to me with a smile on her face, but it’s forced. It’s one of those polite smiles you give to people when you don’t want to come across as rude.
“Not to intrude on your conversation,” she says, glancing between the two of us. She gives Ms. Cynthia an even wider smile. Then she looks at me again, “But what is it we’re doing here?”
I don’t respond right away since I obviously can’t disclose that I’m here on official pack business.
Cynthia answers for me when she says, “I met your sister.”
Emery sits up straight. As I’m focused on Cynthia, who’s just surprised me as well. Unfortunately, I can’t read Emery’s lips when she speaks to Ms. Cynthia.
I can easily guess, though, when Ms. Cynthia answers, “She came to see me about a week and a half ago.”
Emery sits forward, perching herself on the edge of the couch. I surmise she’s asking for details. She catches my attention when she starts rummaging around for something. She digs into the pockets of her jeans, but she comes up empty-handed.
“My phone?” she inquires as she grabs my arm, getting my attention. “I left it in your truck. Please, I need it.”
The worry lines etched in her forehead has my wolf purring. He’s damn near crawling out of my skin to give her whatever she wants. I’m up on my feet and headed to my truck before I realize what I’m doing.
I never move without intention or prior consideration.
What the hell is going on?
This isn’t the purpose of my visit to Ms. Cynthia’s. In reality, I shouldn’t even be here with Emery. She’s not related to my purpose for being in Florida—as far as I know.
But when I saw those motherfuckers in the bar planning to do something to her, instinct took over. The truth is, she could be related to the reason I’m here. Why else would a human, who should have no knowledge of Mike’s Bar, which is deep inside Florida’s shifter country, show up out of the blue?
Make that two humans, including her sister.
For that matter, why were the owners of the bar so intent on getting rid of her?
Something in my gut tells me whatever Emery’s sister found herself in isn’t good news for her or us shifters. And that concerns the safety of my pack. It could be related to the Alliance as well.
Chael wanted me to come to Florida to get answers for him and that’s what the fuck I’m doing.
“Thank you,” Emery says as I hand her the phone.
She quickly turns it on and then brings up the photo gallery. She flips the screen to Ms. Cynthia. The same move she did the night before in showing the owner of Mike’s a picture of her sister.
“Is this her? Who came to visit you?”
I realize she wanted her phone to be certain Ms. Cynthia and she were talking about the right person. Ms. Cynthia nods.
I move around to retake my seat on the couch so that I can better read their lips.
“She was a cute thing,” Ms. Cynthia says with a warm smile. “Had on this multicolor shirt with black and white polka-dotted pants. Didn’t match at all but on her it worked.” She grins fondly.
“That’s her.” Emery looks at me with something shining in her eyes. “My sister’s style has always been…eclectic.” She turns back to Ms. Cynthia.
“She came to visit me here at my home.” Ms. Cynthia looks over at me. “Someone must’ve told her about me.”
This makes me sit up. If someone spoke directly to Emery’s sister about Ms. Cynthia, they had to believe she was one of us. And if Emery’s sister is one of us, that would make Emery…
I look over at her as she continues to talk with Ms. Cynthia. Her scent isn’t that of a wolf. Not any wolf I’ve ever encountered, anyway.
She doesn’t subtly sniff the air when entering a new space. She doesn’t react to sudden sounds like most shifters. But she’s not fully human either. The problem is, I don’t know if she even realizes it. And she looks to be in her twenties. If she were a wolf, she would’ve long had her first shift by now.
“No, she was alone,” Ms. Cynthia continues, obviously responding to another one of Emery’s questions.
Throughout the conversation, I come to find out that Emery’s sister visited Ms. Cynthia about a week and a half ago asking questions about their past. To be more specific, their biological parents.
“She showed me an old picture of them but I’ve seen so many people come and go over the years, I couldn’t place them,” Ms. Cynthia says.
Emery turns to me. “Our parents were killed in a car accident when we were young,” Emery explains. “I was ten but Ash was only four.” Her lips pull downward in a frown, her gaze dropping. “She’s always had somewhat of a fascination over what happened.”
She turns back to Ms. Cynthia.
Ms. Cynthia waves her off. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. She was so pleasant and sweet.”
Did Emery apologize on her sister’s behalf?
Ms. Cynthia finally says. “From the picture she showed me, your parents looked like lovely people. They looked like they could’ve been one of u—” She pauses when she looks my way.
I subtly shake my head. I know where she’s going and I want to stop her before she goes there. Emery, as far as I can tell, knows nothing about our world.
Even if her sister did or at least had suspicions. I want to know why Emery doesn’t know, and what exactly it is that makes her different.
“Can I speak with you?” Ms. Cynthia asks me as she rises from her chair. She stops though when Emery reaches for her arm.
“Please. If you know where my sister is, can you help me?” The strain on Emery’s face tells me she’s pleading.
The need to comfort her takes over.
I take her free arm. “We’ll only be a minute,” I assure.
“But my sister,” she pleads with me this time.
“What Ms. Cynthia and I need to talk about isn’t about your sister.” Her face drops and I curse myself for disappointing her. “We’ll only be a minute and then I’ll do everything I can to help you track down your sister.”
The words come out automatically. As if I made the decision before fully realizing it simply because of the expression on Emery’s face.
Her hand tightens on my arm imploring me to keep to my word. Chael’s face flashes across my mind. If my brother were missing or hurt, I imagine the same desperation I see on Emery’s face would be on mine.
Oddly, my mind conjures up the picture of another. One of our own who I thought of as a brother. Who I protected and loved like a brother.
But he betrayed not only me, but our entire pack.
Christophe.
My younger brother.
As soon as I realize what I’m doing I push his image aside and tighten my muscles, erasing him from my mind. There’s no room for softness regarding the bastard who betrayed our pack.
Even if he is my adopted brother.
He’s in prison, where he belongs, and will never see this side of freedom again. He’s lucky that’s all the punishment he received.
Calming my breath, I return to the present. To Emery’s imploring gaze. She’s not asking for help to find a sister who betrayed her. She’s asking for a sister she loves and cares for.
I cover her hand with mine.
“I promise,” I say.
She pushes out a breath.
I look at Ms. Cynthia who nods and pivots, leaving me to follow her down the hall to one of the bedrooms and close the door behind us.
She turns to face me, head on, so I can read her mouth for this conversation.
“I went to Mike’s Bar,” I say. “Chael wants to know if there’s something going on with the Alliance. A reason they’ve selected him to represent the wolf shifters since the death of Rufus Dalton. Have you heard anything?”
Dalton is the former Alliance member who used Christophe in an attempt to eradicate the Nightwolf pack.
Cynthia purses her lips and wrinkles her forehead. “There are some grumblings around here over the selection of Chael. Mike and a couple of the other lone wolves who think they’re more powerful than they actually are, believe they’ve earned the position.
“They want there to be a lone wolf member of the Alliance to represent the hundreds of lone wolves in this country.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “That wouldn’t make any sense.”
By nature, wolves are communal animals. We’re not just part of a pack because it’s how we’re born. It’s how we survive, how we celebrate life, how we endure life’s challenges.
The pack provides protection as well. It’s our way of life. It keeps us guarded from loneliness and despair. Lone wolves are rarely born. More likely than not, a lone wolf is one who couldn’t abide by the rules of their pack and either refused to or couldn’t find another pack to blend in with.
Other lone wolves have been kicked out for crimes against their leaders or other members. Some of those disposed of wolves end up forming their own small packs. At times they cause trouble, but for the most part they’re looked at as nothing more than nuisances.
In general, we don’t trust a wolf without a pack. It’s a sign they’ve betrayed the pack they were born into. Which means that none of the lone wolves here or anywhere else would be called on to represent us wolf shifters in the National Shifter Alliance.
Especially not after the recent deception by Rufus Dalton. All wolf shifters are feeling especially distrustful these days.
“Of course it wouldn’t make sense,” Ms. Cynthia says. “You know how those lonies think,” she says, using the slur often used to describe lone wolves. “You can’t trust ’em as far as you can throw ’em.” She shrugs.
“It might be just rumors. A few lonies with nothing better to do but complain. But…”
She pauses, her eyes going to the door before coming back to me. “That girl.” She points, obviously talking about Emery. “There’s something about her.”
She leans in and cups her mouth as if she’s lowering her voice. I raise an eyebrow. She gives me an impish look and waves her hand.
“Force of habit.”
“What is it?” I ask about Emery.
“She’s in danger.”
Everything inside of me goes rigid. Except for my wolf. He immediately goes on high alert as soon as Ms. Cynthia’s words register.
“What kind of danger?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. But her sister did come here looking for answers. Her parents, in the picture she showed me, did look familiar but I couldn’t place them,” she explains. “Like I’ve seen them somewhere before. But I got an eerie feeling once I saw the photo…” She trails off, a confused expression taking over her face.
She shakes her head and waves a hand in the air. “Don’t get old, pup,” she points at me in the similar way Ms. Elsie does when she’s giving advice that I didn’t ask for. “It’s like once you hit a hundred, your ability to remember a photo from fifty years ago starts to fade.”
She shakes her head and looks as if she’s clicking her tongue.
Yes, us wolves live a lot longer than humans, but all of us age with time.
Ms. Cynthia looks at me, her eyes ballooning. “Oh, she also smelled…” Her gaze moves toward the door.
“Odd?” I ask.
Ashley must’ve had that strange scent as well. The one that’s human but not quite human, but unlike a wolf or any other shifter.
She nods.
Ms. Cynthia has a keen sense of smell, even for a wolf. It’s one of her gifts. Mine was forged in my training. I would stay out and hunt for hours with my father’s betas, learning from them. They taught me how to rely on my remaining four senses to make up for my lack of hearing.
I can catch scents that most wolves can’t. So can Ms. Cynthia. I would imagine that to the average wolf, Emery, smells like a human. To us, her scent is different.
Ashley must’ve had that odd smell about her too. The one I’ve been trying to figure out ever since I first came across her in that office in the back of Mike’s Bar.
“Did she ask you anything else about her parents?”
“I couldn’t tell her much,” Ms. Cynthia replies. “I didn’t recognize them from the photo, but I swear I’ve seen them before. I’ll be darned if I can’t remember.” She snaps her fingers.
The frustration on her face prompts me to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“How do you know Emery’s in danger?” My wolf champs at the bit as we await her answer.
Ms. Cynthia’s eyebrows snap together. “Is she your ma?—”
“No,” I shut her down quickly. “I don’t have a mate.” I hold up my hand. “I’ve already explained this to Ms. Elsie. Mating is not for me. Please tell me about the danger you sense around Emery. This could be related to the Alliance.”
Hell if I know it is, but I say it because I know that’s what’ll get Ms. Cynthia to focus on the situation and not on my mate status.
“I sensed it as soon as she walked in,” she finally replies. “Maybe you should speak with the seer of your pack. Your Alpha Queen,” she offers.
I grind my teeth together. “Chael and Reese are on their honeymoon,” I remind her.
“Well, I met her at the wedding, remember? And I know how sweet that Reese is. I doubt she would mind using her abilities if it meant helping your ma?—”
I narrow my eyes at her and she doesn’t finish that last word. Though, I still dislike the twinkle of laughter in her eyes. For the life of me, I can’t understand why certain members of my pack can’t fucking accept that I’m a beta without a mate and will forever remain so.
I forfeited my capacity to mate ever since I defied my father’s wishes and ended up losing my hearing as a consequence.
Besides, our Alpha Queen is already with child. She will birth the future alpha, and probably, lead beta, of the Nightwolf pack. There’s no need for me to mate.
“I will seek out the assistance of our Alpha Queen only if it becomes necessary,” I assure Ms. Cynthia.
I ignore the frown that casts on Ms. Cynthia’s face. I know it too well. She and her sister look too much alike.
“At any rate. I might not be a seer like your Alpha Queen, but I do know you need to get that Emery out of here. It might be a good idea to take her back to New Mexico with you. Nothing good will happen if she sticks around here too long.”
My fucking wolf groans in my head, making it known he agrees with Ms. Cynthia.
She’s right. She’s not a seer. Not in the same way Reese is, but Ms. Cynthia does have gifts from her mother’s lineage as a part witch. She can sense negative energy, has extremely great hearing and, at times, an excellent memory.
Taking Emery with me back to New Mexico wasn’t part of my plan.
You didn’t have a plan for her.
That fucking voice in my head reminds me.
No, with Emery, there was no plan. I saw a potential threat to her and simply reacted. Something I don’t normally do.
“I need more information before I leave,” I explain, probably more for myself than for Ms. Cynthia. I haven’t gotten anything solid on the Alliance, which was my purpose in coming here.
“Is Rafael’s Diner still open?” I ask.
The diner is another hotspot where lone wolves and some of the smaller packs in the state frequent. I need to go there to ask a few questions.
“Yes.” Ms. Cynthia nods. “Best place to get a stack of flapjacks in the state,” she says proudly.
The diner is about thirty minutes from here.
I nod. “Thank you.” I turn to leave but she takes my arm to get my attention.
Her dark-brown eyes turn sincere. “Take care of yourself,” she says.
“My responsibility is to protect my pack,” I remind her.
Her eyes move to the door. “What about you?”
I shift my body, removing my arm from her hold. “I don’t need protection.”
“Or a mate?” Her eyebrows lift.
“We’ll be heading out now. Thank you for your time.”
Ms. Cynthia’s shoulders shrink. “Chance?—”
I turn away from her, ultimately ending the conversation since her words are no use when I can’t read her lips. Ms. Cynthia is too much like her sister, Ms. Elsie, when they get an idea in their heads.
Both women want to push this idea that I’m destined to have a mate. Neither of them knows the truth.
That I’m not worthy of a mate.
“We’re leaving,” I tell Emery as I enter the living room again.
She startles but quickly rises to her feet. “Did you find out something about my sister?”
She glances at me and then behind me, where I sense Ms. Cynthia standing.
“Not yet. Let’s go.” I don’t wait for her to agree as I take her by the arm.
The confusion on her face eases when she looks back at Ms. Cynthia. I assume Ms. Cynthia told her something but I don’t intend to find out what.
It’s time to go.