Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
“He looks every bit the handsome faerie prince, beloved by everyone and everything. Rabbits probably eat from his hands. Blue jays try to feed him worms meant for their own children.”
— HOLLY BLACK, THE STOLEN HEIR
W e need to write a movie.
Invite her for a sleepover.
We could bite her. Just a little.
My wolf whined quietly, anxious to touch Suzette and mark her.
Wolves kept their mating bite for their one and only.
Once you marked a woman as your mate, there was no going back. Not only might she become a shifter if she wasn’t one already, but there would be a bond, an emotional tether, between the two mates.
If you were too far apart, you’d get stuck in your wolf form, too.
There was no biting someone just a little .
Still, a silly grin stretched my face. I did want to see more of Suzette.
A whole lot more.
Not being a kidnapper or a psychopath, however, I had not stopped her from getting out of my truck.
I’d opened the door for her and wished her good luck with her day.
I’d even ignored the territorial glances a large, muscled human male had shot my way.
She’d paused, staring up at me, the dimple in her cheek on full display. The smile she’d given me had been both bashful and alluring. Then she’d said, “ Muchísimas gracias, ” and disappeared into the organized chaos of the set.
Flirting was like riding a bike. My skills had been rusty, but I’d not forgotten how to charm a lady. Five years of alone time had not dried up my imagination, not one bit. Of course, it helped that she was not the only one who wrote scenes in their head.
I’d spent the whole week imagining what I would say to her when we met next.
Although I’d known where she was staying, I had not gone out to Wyatt’s place. It would not have been appropriate without an invitation. Good, sweet baby Jesus, I was grateful for her poor navigational skills and mountain shenanigans. Now I got to have cake with her tonight after her shoot wrapped, and I’d see her again in the morning as her newly appointed chauffeur. With all those opportunities, I ought to be able to invite her out to dinner.
My smile did not fade as I pulled back onto the road and drove to campus.
Grabbing my samples, I noticed Suzette had left a to-go coffee cup and a small handheld mirror on the floorboard of the truck. Those were weird companions, but perhaps the mirror was a set prop? I tucked it inside my satchel, so I could clean it before I picked her up tonight, then banged my way inside the laboratory.
Rue was frowning at a scale that held a tangle of baby snakes. He grunted something that I took for a greeting but he did not look up.
That was fine with me. Baby snakes were escape artists, and you never knew exactly how many of them you’d started with.
Shelves of glass jars and specimen samples lined the walls. We had the usual assortment of metal tables, scales, and what I liked to call our resort facilities: a series of tanks where we temporarily housed the snakes I was nursing back to health.
It was downright shocking how many people thought they’d buy themselves a reptile for a pet and then were surprised by the upkeep involved. Plus, snakes were not fluffy, and their cuddling skills were frequently misunderstood.
You should have studied bovines , my wolf opined. Steaks are delicious. Snakes have no meat.
“What are you humming?”
I grabbed my lab jacket from its hook while I tried to come up with an answer. I was not musically inclined, being mostly tone deaf. Ranger had pointed out several times that as enthusiasm and volume did not compensate for skill, I should refrain from music making. “Nothing.”
“Opera aria.” Ranger popped up out of nowhere, scaring the bejeezus out of me. He gave me a disapproving frown. “You are far too bearded and bass for a Russian aria.”
Rebel, my youngest brother, had his feet up on my desk in the corner. Why was I hosting a family reunion at my lab? I was not focused—my head was back in Specter Springs.
“And the song is ‘I Love You, Olga.’” Rebel pronounced the girl’s name like he actually knew how to speak Russian.
“Since when are you a Russian expert?” Ranger narrowed his eyes at our youngest brother and sipped what smelled like grass clippings and compost from my coffee mug that read: Don’t judge a lizard by its scales .
We could take him.
“What the hell is that, Ranger?” The pungent odor wafted across the lab, stronger than the snake musk and the diluted Gatorade stink of Rue’s culture cells.
“It’s mushroom coffee with kale. I brought enough to share. It improves my concentration and reduces bloating.” Ranger held the cup out to me.
“Ranger, you’re twenty-seven. Bloating is not a problem you have.” I crossed to the sinks at the back of the lab and retrieved Suzette’s cup from my satchel to rinse it off. Someone had scrawled a tentacled figure on the polypropylene. It seemed to be embracing a smaller octopus.
Curiouser and curiouser.
“My midsection is just fine today, thank you for your concern. But bloating happens to everyone. And when it does, I will have taken the proper steps. Additionally, drinking this gives me something to add to conversations about being swimsuit ready for summer.”
“I have never heard anyone discuss their swimsuit readiness.” Cup clean, I turned my attention to the mirror. The dirt washed right off, but the surface underneath was foggy. I squinted at it. She needed a new one because I could almost imagine I saw someone squinting back at me.
“That’s because you don’t belong to my crochet club. If you crocheted, you’d talk about your upcoming vacation and your swimsuit readiness and know all about bikini line preparation and what is going on in Moonlight Valley bedrooms.”
“I have no desire to hear about Moonlight Valley’s bedroom activities.”
“What I have not heard is that you like mirror sex. This is a new side of you.” Ranger sounded impressed and surprised. “And why haven’t you shared what you’ve learned with me? You know that I like to try new things in the bedroom.”
Boy has a point. Let’s do that! Didn’t Marie Antoinette have mirrors in her bedroom? We could have French sex!
I was very happy not knowing how French aristocrats preferred their sex.
“I am not having mirror sex.” I yanked the mirror out of the water and dried it off with a paper towel. I mean, I was certain that I’d prefer to look right at Suzette, but I guess if she wanted to try it, I would.
I was open to mirror sex with her.
Nevertheless, I did not want to explain to whom the mirror belonged because then Ranger would be thinking about Suzette and sex, and I would have to kill him. “Why are the two of you here anyway?”
Rue straightened, taking up most of the available space in our lab. “Rebel is working with me for the next three months.”
Rue had mentioned his plans to introduce an intern into our laboratory. It made sense, given how Rebel had been accepted into a zoology program, for him to shadow Rue. As the department chair for the Department of Wildlife Management, Rue worked a lot with animals. In addition to the nest of snakes he was sorting out, he had a collection of orphaned chipmunks and two baby crows. We were both certified wildlife rehabilitators.
“And Ranger is here to help you.” Rue pointed at my brother. “He volunteered himself.”
I smelled a rat.
“Why do I need a volunteer? I do not need another research assistant.”
“There’s a snake thing. Or maybe it’s more of a general wildlife thing.” Rue frowned at me, then got busy with the scale. One of the baby worm snakes had escaped onto the table, and he gently lifted it back onto the scale. “We’ve had a request. But you’ll need Ranger too.”
Now we’re screwed and not in the fun way.
I rubbed the mirror one last time, tucked it back into my bag, and wiped my hands on my lab coat. Hydie, our resident mama gecko, had nested in the cabinet under the sink where we kept the paper towels, and until her baby offspring were grown, there was no going in there and startling them. “What kind of snake thing is it?”
Rue frowned at the knot of tiny snakes wriggling around on the scale. He was a straight talker, so his silence concerned me.
Ranger slurped his lawn clippings. Loudly. I would need to run my coffee cup through the autoclave because the stench was downright offensive. Any bloat in his gut would vacate the premises in self-defense. His bright-eyed gaze bounced between Rue and me like a tennis ball at Wimbledon.
What with our grant and his teaching load, Rue was busy. He did not need more stress, so I’d handle whatever this new problem was. “Alright, don’t tell me. I’ll still do it. Sign me up.”
“It’s that TV crew,” Rue growled, his face radiating mild disgust.
“They need a wildlife rehabilitation expert, and you’ve been nominated.” Ranger toasted me with the coffee cup, slurping up the remnants. He looked happier than any man who’d just consumed grass for breakfast should.
“An expert? I thought they already had people for that, as part of their permitting process.”
Rue had explained that Smoky Spirits had gone through a lengthy permitting and approval process to get permission to film on location on national park land. Most of the shooting would happen at Specter Springs and the gray bats, slender chub, and other protected species were not to be upset by the influx of TV people under any circumstances.
“They have a bat issue.” Rue’s tone was grumpy.
“Why would they send a guy who did not know how to handle bats?” Rebel asked the obvious question, waving his coffee cup around. He had not noticed the reptilian trespasser clinging to the lid, so he was in for a surprise. “That’s downright ignorant.”
“I got a call an hour ago about bats flying into the miller’s cottage where they’re shooting. They are living in the attic and flying through the scenes. That means someone needs to go and rescue the bats. And it can’t be just All-Purpose Animal Services because the TV crew’s contract states they must employ a wildlife expert if they relocate any critters. If I go, I’ll be relocating the two-legged critters as the bats were there first.”
Rue’s grumpiness was legendary; he was not what was known as a “people person.” He’d been compared to a grizzly bear, and the bear had come out ahead in the personality sweepstakes.
“Gotcha.” I mentally rescheduled my research and classes for the week. This would put me behind on the article I was finishing up for Science magazine, but there was an upside. I would almost certainly be seeing Suzette before our date tonight. In fact, there would likely be Suzette spottings all week long.
And outdoor time , my wolf chimed in. No doors, no walls, just you, me, and the wild!
“Why do you look so happy about this?” Ranger sounded suspicious, but that was not new. Momma had claimed that he’d been born asking questions.
I ignored him. “So, I’ll go on down there as the wildlife expert, and All-Purpose Animal Services is the muscle?”
Rue responded with the scantest of head tips; he had already refocused on his snakes.
“When?” I prodded.
“Now would be good. Take the new bat houses, and put them in a better neighborhood. Then convince the bats that they’d like to upgrade their lodgings.”
Bat colonies could not be relocated for five months of the year when the bat pups were too young to fly on their own. Since we were into October, however, the bats would be preparing to settle down and hibernate. All I had to do was offer them a better alternative than a run-down if historical cabin.
Rue gave me a semi-sympathetic smile, then promptly marched out of the lab, Rebel hot on his heels.
“I think he means a neighborhood with no TV people.” I chuckled because Rue was a hermit. The only person he willingly made room for in his life recently was my sister, Mackenzie. Still, he’d turned my life around even if he was not one for social back-and-forth.
He is a WISE MAN.
“Or we can all move.” Ranger set my now-empty mug down in the sink beneath the faucet and added exactly enough soap and water to fill it to the brim. His beard had acquired a greenish tinge above his upper lip. “If these TV people are as annoying as Rue thinks they are, we should move somewhere else until they’re gone. Moonlight Valley could be a Boone-free zone. Cancun is nice this time of year, seeing as it’s almost past hurricane season. We could go on a yoga retreat.”
Ranger was a big help. Not that I told my brother that.
No way. Keeping Ranger and his ego in check was a full-time job I did not want. He was scary smart, and boy did he know it.
Still, I would have had a hard time installing the bat houses on my own. I was master of bat houses, and usually put up several new ones each season as our Moonlight Valley bats liked to move in where they weren’t wanted. Today’s houses were Victorian-inspired and made from cedarwood. The outsides were painted pink and yellow, and I’d used a hot glue gun to attach white gingerbread trim. The bat houses were not heavy, but they were installed on fifteen-foot posts, and that work went easier with two people on the job. Plus, Ranger was good to have around, as long as he was not in a plotting mood. The problem was, Ranger was almost always conniving. He did not enjoy downtime, so he usually had some plan or other brewing.
Fortunately for me, today seemed to be a rest day for him, and we were able to share a truck cab and a workday without my needing to figure out what he was up to. He’d been complaining for the last three miles that Sanye had so far refused to be his sous chef at an upcoming barbecue competition. Knox had also declined to participate.
“You’ve tried blackmail?”
Ranger nodded. “Blackmail did not work on Knox, although it most certainly should have. That man is one hundred percent on Santa’s naughty list.”
“Did you try Rue?”
This earned me a Look. “I believe you are aware that blackmailing Rue Ansel would be an utter waste of my time. That man loves rules. He’s as upright and law-abiding as Comet C/2022 E3 ZTF is old.”
Getting to this point with Ranger—where we had a genuine conversation rather than taking shots at each other—had taken five years and no small amount of effort on my part. The damage I’d done during my years with the Iron Wolves had been considerable, so I appreciated moments like these.
The set was busy when we arrived, with the crew shooting a scene at the mill over by the water.
I snuck a few peeks, but did not spot Suzette in the crowd. I couldn’t get a real good look, however, seeing as how I had to set up the bat houses a decent distance away from what a harried-looking production assistant told me was “Betty Rae Jenkin’s haunted cottage.”
The “cottage” was the miller’s derelict nineteenth-century house. It had a shingled roof and gables; a weathered picket fence enclosed a yard filled with daylilies and ferns. It was about as far from today’s scene as I could be without actually climbing back into my truck.
After the production assistant confirmed that where I planned to move the bats would not interfere with their shots (I spent an extra long time confirming exactly where those shots were happening and checking them out long range), Ranger and I set to work.
It took no time at all before we had the new houses up, during which time I continued to fail in my attempts to catch a glimpse of my girl. Fortunately, I’d have to come back at dusk, add some netting after the bats had flown out of the gables, turning their bat hole into a one-way exit. That would be another chance to see her and just the thought buoyed me up like a pontoon boat in a swamp.
“You’re humming again,” Ranger remarked as we climbed back into my truck and I gave one last, unsatisfied look around. Maybe writers stayed in the trailers? Could I come up with an excuse to check in there? “That grandiloquent Russian song about unrequited love and missed opportunities, the one Rebel can’t pronounce because that man did not avail himself of foreign language opportunities when we were at school.”
“I don’t know how I picked it up.” I started the truck, double-checking the rearview and side mirrors. And then once more, because I might be a werewolf, but I was not immortal and I liked my insurance rates as they were.
“Momma sang it when we were growing up. She had a record of the whole thing, and then we’d pretend that we were going to the opera.”
“She did.” The memory came back at his prompting, and I could see Momma now, too young to have so many of us storming through her big old house and making so much noise.
She and my grandmother had insisted on teaching us to be Southern gentlemen, polite and well-behaved. Obviously, only so much of those lessons had stuck. But I remembered pretending to file into a fancy-ass theater to listen to Russian opera with bath towels tied around our shoulders for opera capes and empty Quaker Oats containers on our heads for hats.
“It’s a love song. IA LIUBLIU TEBIA, IA LIUBLIU TEBIA, LIUBLIU TEBIA ,” Ranger belted out with operatic fervor. “ I LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU, LOOOOOOOOVE YOU !!!!”
He sounds like a wolf howling .
Ranger’s Russian sure sounded authentic to me, but to be fair, he could have been singing in Klingon for all I knew. He finished with an improvised cadenza as I pulled out onto the dirt road that would connect us back to the main highway.
There had been zero Suzette spottings, and I was unhappy.
Also disappointed. Blue-balled. Reaaaalllly frustrated.
“Why did you pick that song?”
“No idea.” But that wasn’t true. While I hoped I was less melodramatic than some Russian aristocrat bellowing about his feelings, I was thinking about Suzette and her brown eyes and pretty mouth. I’d felt happy and expectant when Momma played that song, and that was also how I felt thinking about seeing Suzette again.
“You do know.” Ranger sounded irritated. He was doing that knuckle-cracking thing he did when he got anxious or upset, popping the joints in his hand one after the other like bubbles in a piece of bubble wrap. “But you have no intention of sharing with the class.”
We don’t need another wolf butting in.
That was true—but it was also true that Ranger was my brother. Sharing with him was more dangerous than getting arrested, seeing as how he absolutely would use anything I said against me.
Rue, however, had insisted that I needed to demonstrate to my brothers that I trusted them. He’d argued that it just good social mathematics: I invested in them, and then they’d invest back in me, in a tit-for-tat kind of situation.
If he hits us, we hit him back!
Ignoring this less than helpful advice from my wolf, I cleared my throat and confessed, “I met someone.”
The cab was silent for a few seconds while Ranger processed that. “You met someone? Like a girl?”
I nodded and pretended to check my sideview mirror. Seeing as how our current speed was all of ten miles per hour on a dirt road, it was an unnecessary precaution. We were not going to hit traffic.
“And she has you whistling Russian love songs?” Ranger started in on the knuckles of his right hand. He was going to give himself arthritis by the time he was thirty.
“Maybe,” I said. No. That was evasive, and the new and improved Maverick was open and trusting. Mostly I thought that was bullshit, but—“Yes. Yes, she does. She makes me want to whistle Russian love songs.”
I figured this would give Ranger plenty of material to work with, but he surprised me by flashing a rare smile in my direction.
Danger .
“That’s good.” He nodded. “Real good. I’m pleased for you.”
This was a passionate endorsement, coming from Ranger. My brother was sparing with his adverbs and adjectives. Hence, when he fired off his usual onslaught of questions, I gave him answers.
“What’s her name?”
“Suzette.”
He can call her OURS. Or Ms. Maverick.
That was too fast even for me. Probably.
When a wolf knows, he knows.
“And how did you meet?”
“She got lost hiking on the mountain and couldn’t find her way back to Wyatt’s place. I took her over there.”
Ranger frowned. “She’s staying with him?”
HELL no.
“No. She’s staying in that cabin by the waterfall that he rents out to tourists.”
“Is she here visiting?”
“She’s a writer. She wrote the script for this TV series. I think it might be based on a book she wrote. Whatever.” I shrugged. “She writes awesome things and gets paid to do so.”
Ranger stopped his salvo of questions. When I glanced at him again, he was staring out the windshield. He looked confused.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your writer girl’s name is Suzette?”
“Yep.”
“You are totally, one-hundred-percent certain? You are not experiencing premature hearing lost? Suzette? ”
Can I bite him?
“Yes.”
Thank FUCK , my wolf growled, rising to the surface.
I gently pushed him back down. I was not biting anyone today—or ever. My biting days were behind me.
“Did she give you a last name?”
“It did not come up.” She hadn’t given me her phone number, either.
Or a kiss , my wolf grumbled. We should make a list.
“Describe her?”
I frowned. “This had better not be some kinky game of yours.”
Ranger widened his eyes innocently. “You know how much I love my TV series. I’m trying to figure out if I know her or have watched any of her shows.”
“Fine. She’s on the short side. Curvy. Dark hair, dark eyes, dimples for days. She got her start in a contest when she was in college.”
Ranger tapped his chin with his forefinger. “A playwriting contest.”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
His eyes did not meet mine. “Playwriting is a good basis for screenwriting. There are similarities, so it makes sense. And you said she told you that she wrote the book this TV series is based on?”
“So you know who she is?” Ranger was the bane of my existence. His questions were driving me up the wall. My Suzette was prettier than anyone I’d ever met, with those laughing eyes of hers and the smiles...I loved her smiles. I loved that she was so happy and approached life with such glee. She threw herself into it like you would jump into a swimming hole on a Tennessee summer day. I wanted to discover all the things that made her smile. I wanted to learn all about her . She’d opened up and shared some stuff, but I wanted everything with her.
He jiggled his foot. “I do think I’ve heard of her. A couple of years ago, she wrote a book about a bunch of supernatural creatures that included orcs and Fae; it was real popular and made all kinds of money when it was turned into a TV series. Jump-started the lead actress’s career. Ruiz is her name. She won an Emmy this year. She’s a big-deal celebrity, has all sorts of social media endorsements. People love her.”
“Huh,” I said, in the face of all this new information. “Suzette didn’t mention any TV show fame or career launching. She was downright modest about her book stuff.” This just made me like her even more.
And she’s got great ? —
I forced myself to concentrate on my driving.
Ranger jiggled his foot and stared out the windshield some more. Maybe he had finally run out of words—or questions. I took advantage of the silence to think up some questions of my own. I could look Suzette up when I got home, check IMDb or some such website. I’d find out facts that way, but I wasn’t sure that facts were what I wanted.
Facts were only a small portion of who Suzette was. She had stories, likes and dislikes, and all sorts of characteristics. I liked hearing her talk, but more importantly, I wanted her to share with me. Looking her up on the internet did not feel like the right thing to do.
“You can meet her tonight,” I said, mostly to fill the silence. It was downright unnatural, Ranger staying silent like this. “I’m picking her up at the end of the day. Be nice to her.”
If not, THEN we’ll bite him?
It was a definite possibility.
Ranger smoothed his fingers over a worn spot in his jeans. “If you’re singing Russian love songs, you must really like her, huh?”
“I do.” I put it right out there into the universe.
WE do.
“You’re good with the ladies,” Ranger said, mostly to himself. “And she’s expressed an interest in you?”
I grinned. “She has.”
His eyes flickered to mine before dancing away. “You haven’t seen anyone in ages, Maverick. Not that I’ve been logging your dating hours, but I’ve noticed. You have not stepped out in over five years.”
“You know why I haven’t.”
“I sure think I do.” Ranger’s voice was low and rough, a gentle burr that said my brother was trying. “It’s just that you do try real hard. I know you think you’ve gotta make amends and that you owe us all something. What you do is appreciated.”
This was not a conversation that should be conducted in the cab of a moving vehicle. It felt genuine but tenuous, as if it would vanish if I said the wrong word. I did not want to make light of Ranger’s feelings, not ever.
“Thank you,” I said carefully. “That means a lot to me. I have changed, and I’m not the wolf or the man I was five years ago. I’m better. I won’t backslide. There’s nothing much between me and this girl, not yet, but I wouldn’t chase her if my intentions were dishonorable. I’m no longer in the business of hurting people.”
Ranger looked frustrated. “I know that, you dingbat.”
We were not big on talking about our feelings. Especially not as adults, for crying out loud. Mostly we shifted into our wolves and tussled some. I clenched my jaw, trying not to say anything embarrassing or sappy. “So what’s wrong then?”
Ranger didn’t answer. He sat there looking thoughtful and cracking his knuckles.