Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
“There are no happy endings...There are no endings, happy or otherwise. We all have our own stories which are just part of the one Story that binds both this world and Faerie. Sometimes we step into each others stories—perhaps just for a few minutes, perhaps for years—and then we step out of them again. But all the while, the Story just goes on.”
— CHARLES DE LINT, DREAMS UNDERFOOT
I ’d spent way too many hours dreaming about what it might be like to run into Sonnet on set. I’d woken up with the sexy scenarios playing in my brain.
The reality of being on set did not match those pictures. Not in the slightest.
“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” I asked. “The solution here seems obvious. Plus, I see no snakes.”
The drunk seagull on the craft services table squinted its yellow eyes at me.
It was hungover on last night’s beer and very unhappy about having its picnic interrupted. I didn’t blame it one bit.
That poor bird had just come up to Tennessee for the winter, like a retiree headed to Florida to sit out the snow and ice. Mostly, the gulls hung out in garbage dumps and by parking lots when they were wintering, but this flock had showed up on set and now they were being asked to move on.
“Birdseed.” Ranger held out his hand, not looking at me.
I passed him the birdseed, and he inserted it into the bird trap. He’d brought a multi-bird trap that had shade, a water pan, and now a breakfast buffet. I shifted my weight while he tweaked the tarp screen.
The gull on the table hopped closer, looking interested. Ranger would coax the birds in, and then we’d release them on the other side of the valley, near the municipal refuse center.
Or we could have poultry for dinner , my wolf suggested.
My wolf did not approve of Ranger’s faux chicken and waffles.
They do not taste like chicken.
Neither did the seagulls, but I had no intention of demonstrating that for my wolf.
“Organic chips,” Ranger barked, passing me an empty packet of low-salt nuts. Too much sodium was bad for birds, so we were using healthy bird bait only.
I gave him the chips. We’d also brought uncooked spaghetti noodles and sunflower seeds, seeing as how the gulls didn’t speak English and couldn’t tell Ranger what their preferred foods were. I could have been in my lab working on my article for Science magazine or feeding my animals. But Ranger took offense easily, and he got up to trouble when he was left alone.
Leaving him to the birds, I skirted the pile of humane bird traps in varying sizes that we’d brought with us. From the looks of things, Ranger had planned for an Alfred Hitchcock–worthy plague of ostrich-sized avians.
“Hey, Maverick. Are you helping Ranger with our angry birds?”
I glanced up from my stocktaking at the question. One of Sonnet’s bodyguards, the one I’d disarmed, approached from the direction of today’s set. From the number of people milling about, I deduced that they were about ready to begin.
“Hey, Eric? Right?” I held out my hand for him to shake, although I couldn’t keep my eyes on him. Despite my best intentions, I was looking for her.
Eric gave my hand a firm, brisk shake, and I gave him a quick once-over. His shoulder was not in a sling, which was a good sign, and his nose was only semi-swollen.
He’ll live.
Which was a good thing because killing people was a felony and wrong.
We’re so reformed , my wolf said glumly. Boooring. Fighting with other wolves is way more exciting than kicking the butts of puny humans.
“No carbs!” Ranger barked, smacking Eric’s hand as the bodyguard attempted to toss a piece of his bagel toward a gull.
Eric’s eyes widened. “Right.”
“Bread is nutritionally inferior,” Ranger snapped. “Don’t malnourish my gulls.”
Eric eyed the seagull, weighing the odds of a successful bread retrieval. The seagull glared back at him.
“I didn’t mean to—” he muttered.
“It’s our job to protect these birds.”
He nodded quickly. “Absolutely. Of course.”
“So,” I continued, “we’re gonna remove them from your table and take them somewhere else.”
“Nicely,” Ranger added. “I’m not making any bird uncomfortable.”
“That’s great. No birds should be harmed in the making of this film.” Eric nodded some more. “I get it.”
My attention snagged on the activity going on behind him. Specifically, the short, curvy brunette walking toward the set.
My breath caught as she tossed her chestnut hair over her shoulder, giving her assistant a happy, sunny smile. The other woman laughed at something she said. Then Sonnet laughed. The golden sound carried easily to where I stood, staring at her like a lovestruck fool.
Eric followed my line of sight, coming to stand next to me. “Have you seen Sonnet act in person yet? On set? She’s amazing. The camera can’t capture her completely.”
I forced myself to look away, ignoring the sour twisting in my stomach. Eric was proud of what she’d accomplished. I was glad. She deserved to be surrounded by people who cared for and supported her.
I turned to go back to the craft services table, figuring Ranger would have himself a hissy fit if I didn’t return in time to admire his bird-catching skills, but Eric held up a hand. “Hang on a moment. Watch this. They’re about to call action.”
Without meaning to, I stopped in my tracks, entranced.
The breeze had her hair dancing, random curls making a break for it, and she laughed again. She was just enjoying being outside and the fresh air. A couple of makeup artists ran up to her, patting and tucking, and she waited patiently while they did their thing.
The set got real quiet after some hollering for everyone to shut up and turn off their cell phones, then someone called, “Standby,” followed by, “Turn over.” Things got busy by the cameras as the operators did some last-minute checks and started recording.
“Roll sound,” someone called.
“Roll camera,” came the response.
Alrighty then. Even the gulls had shut up.
If I hadn’t believed in magic already, I would have then.
The director signaled and the scene began.
Sonnet had the first line. This far away, I couldn’t catch what she said, which was frustrating. Listening to her voice was a pleasure. I was used to our local musical groups, where everyone was miked and the sound level about blew off the roof. These folks were speaking softly. Crew members moved around giant microphones and other pieces of equipment.
Despite my distance, I had a great view, and it was something else. She’d transformed, radiating that almost invisible aura, beaming, and drawing all eyes toward her. She was downright magical.
I had no idea what the shot was about, but it looked like she was leading a yoga class in the garden of the haunted cottage. Sonnet’s character slipped from one ridiculous pose to the next; she looked like a dancing cockroach. A bulldog in a pink onesie and a matching tutu followed right along next to her. Her movements were all exaggerated, making everything seem silly. One minute she was a dying bug, and the next she was a tree whipping back and forth in gale-force winds. It was hysterical. She was hysterical.
Two production assistants were convulsed, hands over their mouths, shoulders quaking. They weren’t the only ones biting back laughter.
When the director yelled, “Cut,” laughter broke out, but Sonnet didn’t stop.
“Alien invasion pose!” she bellowed. “Everyone try to levitate! And then we’re off into imaginary pet stretch! Give your imaginary yoga-friendly animal a scratch behind the ears! Finally, we’re cucumbers, folks, cucumbers! We’re the coolest veggie in the yoga garden!”
She flopped dramatically onto the ground and then lay there like a log.
That cucumber’s our mate, you fool. She’s the best veggie in the salad.
She was.
I couldn’t look away.
“I told you she was unreal,” Eric said, smiling.
I could feel his eyes on me, but I wasn’t done looking at Sonnet. Her humor and the show she was putting on had me riveted. I might have regrets about how we’d not-dated, but I truly did wish her the best of everything. She deserved it.
“It’s amazing that she’s that good at something she doesn’t like doing.”
I frowned at Eric. “She doesn’t like acting?”
Why was I asking questions? Sonnet and I were over.
She can be a stay-at-home mate!
My wolf was a stupid optimist.
“Yeah. Well, it’s not the acting. I think that’s fine. But I’m pretty sure she hates the lifestyle.”
I thought on that. “Then why doesn’t she just quit?”
Eric shrugged. “She sort of fell into it. The TV studio optioned her book and offered her the female lead. And then it all sort of took off, so she kept doing more seasons of the show. Her success surprised a lot of people who didn’t see it coming. But she’s mesmerizing, you know?”
It was magic.
But WE like her for herself , my wolf said piously. He was such a toady.
I agreed with both of them. “I do know.”
Sonnet had stopped doing yoga and was now talking to the director. She looked extremely interested, although I noted that she was biting her bottom lip.
“Did you know she has to burn all her trash?”
“Why’s that?” Sonnet was still biting her lower lip. She was nervous about something. If she were mine, I’d kiss her. Explore that lower lip with my tongue. Coax her into kissing me back. It’d be a gentle kiss at first, not a I-need-to-be-inside-you-now-please kiss. Not a magical-tingle kiss. Not a horny-werewolf kiss.
Just heartfelt affection.
Some caring.
“People go through her trash,” Eric said, startling me out of my fantasy.
“What? Why?”
“To find out what she’s doing, what she’s like. They make up stories about it, publish pictures. She doesn’t get to have any private life. She’s always on display. It makes her feel vulnerable.”
That’s wrong.
It was. And also? What the fuck was wrong with people that they thought they had some sort of goddamned right, a hall pass, to go rummaging around in her life and share all the stuff that she’d thought was private?
“She was trying to get some privacy here in Tennessee,” Eric continued. “She gets tired of all the people—and my team is people and I recognize that’s a problem—but her sister convinced her to have us stay at the rental cabin with her. It’s a sorry way to live, and that’s the truth.”
“You feel sorry for her?” I looked at him. I wasn’t an idiot. He had an agenda. A goal of his own. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be oversharing about his employer while he talked about how everyone else pried into her private life.
He was part of the problem, as was I, I realized. Because I also wanted a piece of her. I hated feeling like there were parts of her I didn’t know.
“I sure do. She’s a nice lady, but that doesn’t stop people from trying to use her. She can’t trust anyone.”
“What about her sister?” This wasn’t any of my business but it came out before I could stop myself.
She can trust us . We’re real trustworthy.
Eric shrugged. “Elena wants what’s best for Sonnet’s career. She pushes her, guides her and stuff. But success has a price tag, right? Sonnet’s the one paying the price, in her time, her life, her happiness.”
“Maybe she likes working,” I countered. “Maybe having a career is her choice. It’s a good thing to like your work.”
“Sure.” Eric snorted. “But shooting a TV show isn’t what Sonnet likes or wants. She doesn’t need a business mentor or a life coach because achieving the next milestone on someone else’s list isn’t healthy for her. It’s just healthy for her career.”
Are you sure we can’t make her our business?
My wolf was still Team Make Sonnet Our Mate, but I wasn’t so sure.
At the very least, there were Sonnet’s personal preferences—not to mention logistics and practicalities—that made our partnering up and pairing off together even more unlikely than polar bears in the South.
Wyatt had taken great pains to point out that Sonnet was married to her work and not looking to change that situation. She really, really liked what she did (unless Etic was right?) and she’d light out of Moonlight Valley once her show wrapped (which I knew but had held hopes out for a different kind of ending, one that had me wrapping her up in my arms for starters).
Her love life came a distant second, or so Wyatt claimed.
There won’t be any coming at all. She’s missing out or doing all the work herself.
I’d spent a whole lot of time going over what she’d said to me and then filling in the blanks where she hadn’t spoken words at all. It did not look good for me and my wolf.
Sonnet was a TV star and Moonlight Valley was not a hotbed for that kind of work. (We’d shot our bolt with the Smoky Spirits gig and lightning did not strike twice.)
Sonnet had never, not once, indicated that she might be interested in putting down roots here. You had to set that bird free, not clip its wings.
My wolf growled plaintively. There ain’t no use hollering at a cat that don’t care for conversation, but you sure could chase it. This Eric makes a good point.
I was still trying to make sense of Eric’s observation, that Sonnet wasn’t all that happy, no matter how glamorous her life seemed from the outside. Maybe she wasn’t madly, truly in love with making TV shows.
But if that was true, then I was dead wrong.
And I’d backed off my mate for no reason at all.
Atticus and Wyatt often had Mondays off. Atticus did not take clients on that day, while Wyatt maintained he needed that time free “to refill his creative well.” Mostly, that meant the two of them hiked into the national park and drank beer on a blanket in the sunshine. Once a month, I joined them.
People said I was an outdoorsy scientist, but truth was, I couldn’t stand being locked up inside somewhere. My wolf hated it, too.
No cages.
My dislike of forced confinement had certainly motivated my exit from the Iron Wolves.
Seeing as how Sonnet was on my mind, this particular Monday I happened to be rethinking my position on public activities.
Sure, I thought about her a lot. And sure, some of those thoughts took place in the shower.
Not the only place , my wolf complained.
He was right. I thought about her pretty much everywhere, but right now my particular focus was on her feet.
According to both the weather app on my phone and Mr. Allerbee’s bones (which had a better track record than any meteorologist), the weather was shaping up to be unusually wet later this week, and I knew—because Eric had casually mentioned it when he and Ranger were lugging the trapped seagulls off set—that Sonnet didn’t have the right kind of socks with her, just her fun, fluffy light ones and nothing meant to handle mountain weather.
For a man who was in the business of protecting people, Eric sure did talk a lot.
I’d run into him all over town, and each time he’d shared a new nugget of information about Sonnet. She liked to read paperbacks and always kept one in her car and in that crocheted tote bag she lugged everywhere, but she’d lost the middle two volumes of The Spiderwick Chronicles , and all the copies were checked out of the local library. I’d got in my truck and gone over to Knoxville, where I’d picked up a complete boxed set, plus some leaf-shaped bookmarks.
I gave them to Eric to pass on, letting him know that he shouldn’t tell her they were from me.
Last Friday, after he’d told me she’d been craving mochi donuts, I’d bribed Ranger to break out his piping bag and fry up some bubble rings. They hadn’t turned out any too bad, either, even if Ranger being Ranger had spent hours making each dough bubble precisely the same size. I’d put the donuts in a bakery box to disguise their homemade origins and delivered them to Eric.
I also arranged for Jennie Dean’s pink unicorn Frappuccinos to be delivered to Sonnet each morning on set. Wyatt had cheaped out on the blender at his place, and it wasn’t up to the job of crushing ice, or so Eric had informed me.
Yesterday Eric had mentioned that Sonnet’s feet kept getting wet because they were filming riverbank shots, and she’d run out of dry socks to change into. He also told me that the wardrobe assistants had brought her some thick brown hiking socks, but they were some kind of scratchy wool and too big. Eric had asked if I had a local sock source I could recommend.
Was he subtle?
Hell, no. Of course I could see the setup.
Still, my mind was turned to the Sonnet channel. I needed to get back home, go through our sock drawers, and find her some cute, mismatched pairs. Or something fuzzy. With pom-poms. Possibly, I’d carve out time to learn how to knit.
“Penny for your thoughts, Mav.”
I looked at Wyatt from where I slouched in the backseat, then stared back out the window. “You do know what inflation is, don’t you?”
Wyatt muttered something about the price of mass-market paperbacks, and “had I seen how much his publisher liked to charge for an e-book?” I took that as an affirmative.
He did not offer me a penny, however.
Instead, he cleared his throat. “Have you seen Sonnet recently?”
I met his gaze in the rearview mirror with studied nonchalance. “Nope.”
Nice. Simple. Accurate , my wolf approved. Also explains our blue balls and mopey attitude.
Atticus and Wyatt exchanged significant glances in the front seat. I ignored them.
None of their business anyhow , my wolf grumbled.
“I’ve texted her a few times, but she seems real busy,” Wyatt said.
Then he paused, as if he were maybe waiting for me to explain the cause of all that busyness. Even though we’d left the national park, I guessed he was still hunting.
“Could be.” I shrugged.
Could be NONE OF HIS BUSINESS .
It bore repeating.
She wasn’t sleeping? That was Eric’s business. It was possibly the business of her director, the film crew, her agent, and her sister.
It was not my business.
Not even a little bit.
Still, I worried about her not getting enough sleep. I added a Mason jar of Ranger’s special sleepy-time tea to the list of items I should bring to the set.
As he pulled into our driveway, Wyatt made some growling noises, like he was irritated not to get his point across. As soon as he’d slowed to less than two miles an hour, I got the door open and bolted out on a sock mission.
I figured I’d round up the unworn socks in the house and make some selections. Ranger bought everyone ridiculous socks for every holiday, and every holiday they were shoved in drawers unworn. Dogs with ski hats and nesting puffins, penguins and corgis, turkeys and dachshunds. I tore the tags off and mismatched the pairs because Sonnet didn’t like wearing two of the same. I filled up one of momma’s wicker baskets and made for the stairs.
Over my load of socks, I spotted Ranger standing by the front door, turning an envelope over in his hands and scrutinizing the return address.
He startled and shoved the envelope behind his back, frowning at me.
“What’s up?” I asked. “Is it another seed catalog of dubious provenance for Atticus? Do you have a secret love pen pal? Give me a hand with this stuff, and tell me what you’re hiding.”
“Nothing is being hidden,” he grumped. His hand, however, did not come out from behind his back.
He was totally hiding something.
And I was just the Boone to pry it out of him.
“Give it up.” I set down my stuff. I could tickle it out of him for sure. Ranger was painfully ticklish. Usually, I respected his quirks but now I was curious.
Ranger gritted his teeth, hard enough that his dentist would be having words with him. He was considering. Planning his response. This was concerning, seeing as how I was standing in the line of fire of whatever plan he cooked up.
Abruptly, he shoved the envelope at me. “Take it. It’s yours. Give me those socks. I’ll take them out to the car. You’ve got enough there for a consortium of octopi.”
Now was not the time to point out that octopuses were more solitary than a Tennessee hermit.
I traded the socks for the letter, and Ranger stomped out of the house, talking to himself. Meanwhile, I inspected my letter. It sure seemed innocuous, until I flipped it over.
It was posted five days ago, sent from the remote region of Alaska where our father had been exiled by the Wolf Council.
Marking it RETURN TO SENDER would be smart, and honestly, what could our daddy do? He was stuck up there. I hadn’t even realized he could shift back to his human form at all. It wasn’t supposed to be possible, not according to everything I’d ever heard about mates and mating bites. He’d bitten Momma and that meant he was bonded to her for life, with no shifting back to his human form.
Of course, our daddy had never been big on fair. It should not have come as a surprise that he’d somehow figured out how to evade his just desserts, while Momma was still stuck in her wolf form. Even leaving that side, he had nothing to say to me that I needed to hear. Much like walking in on one of my brothers watching a horror movie, however, I found I couldn’t look away. I had to open it.
Inside was a picture of Sonnet and me, from the night of our Biscuits & Blessings date. We stood near the hostess stand. The shot was slightly out of focus, with someone’s shoulder blocking most of Sonnet, but it was clear enough that it was the two of us.
I flipped the picture over, knowing that my old man wouldn’t have been able to resist adding his personal touch.
Sure enough, he’d added a message: “ You’re even better than your old man at the dating game. She’s got money and great tits. She can give your old man a fresh start. Think of the stories I can tell—you think those press people might be interested?”
He’s threatening us.
Maybe I could storm up there to Alaska, demand a sit-down. When he showed up I could share my feelings with him.
Challenge him. Beat him to a pulp.
I liked that option a whole lot. It would let my old man know who was in charge of our family now, who was looking after the people who mattered. I’d make my point, which was that maybe I could come to terms with his shifting back into his human form ( not really ), but I was downright rageful knowing that he was messing with my mate’s life.
I was not in a relationship with Sonnet, but he didn’t know that.
My wolf prowled, pushing at my skin, demanding to come out.
This is not the time for talking. DEFENSE.
My forearms itched, my wolf pelt rippling over my skin, tugging at my control. I was real close to losing control.
And defending our family.
I ran through what I knew about Darrell’s exile. After he’d forcibly changed our momma into a werewolf, he’d been sent up to a remote section of Alaska by the Wolf Council. With four thousand miles between him and Momma, he should not have been able to shift out of his wolf form. Once a bonded wolf gets too far away from his mate physically, he is unable to transform. As always, however, the rules did not seem to apply to Darrell Boone. He’d always been good at circumnavigating them, mostly for his own self-aggrandizement.
The letter was a threat.
He might be coming back.
But I was damn sure that he wasn’t getting his filthy paws on Sonnet.
Ranger and I met up with Rue and Rebel at the lab. We’d planned to shift and run later that evening, after they finished a series of observations they were making. I brought fresh churros, coffee, and the bad news about Darrell.
“That man has more lives than a cat,” Rue growled.
Fucking cats , my wolf seethed. Alice excepted, of course. Darrell should be done for. We need to complain to the management about their handling of our daddy’s situation.
Rebel paced back and forth between the lab table and the snake aquariums. “What can he possibly do from Alaska? He’s stuck there. He’s not allowed back here.”
I was both glad and worried that he didn’t understand how our daddy operated.
I did not want to be the one who disillusioned him. When I’d tried to redeem myself after the hurt and trouble I’d caused in my Iron Wolves days, he’d been the first to believe that I could have changed after Evan’s death. He hadn’t held my actions against me. I’d been forgiven. Welcomed home. I loved Rebel and, with him, I’d been protective in a way I regretted I hadn’t been for my other brothers when we’d been growing up as Darrell Boone’s boys.
Ranger frowned at Rebel, looking as if he was fixing to connect the dots for him about our daddy’s refusal to follow the rules, but finally he said, “Rebel, can you take Maverick’s truck and go get us all some more coffee from Jennie Dean’s?”
“Maverick brought coffee and churros,” Rebel protested. “This is a blatant attempt to get rid of me. You can’t do that.”
Rookie move.
“We sure can.” I clapped my hand on his shoulder. I’d have drug him out of here by the scruff of his neck if it wouldn’t have caused a fight that might damage the snake tanks. Plus, I needed to respect his independence. Up to a certain point. “You don’t have the experience with this like Rue does, nor are you as conniving and Machiavellian as Ranger here.”
“Plus, you know I plot best on coffee.” Ranger tipped his mug at Rebel. “And Jennie Dean makes the best coffee.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Rebel sat down ostentatiously on the edge of the lab table nearest our group, making the glassware rattle. “I’m not the baby of the family. You don’t need to protect me.”
Ranger and I exchanged glances, silently communicating our mutual unwillingness to expose Rebel to our daddy’s horse pucky.
Except, even knowing what he did about our family history, Rue was of a different mind. “Let him stay. He needs to know what Darrell’s capable of so he can look out for himself. Sooner or later, that man will try to pull something on Rebel.”
Gotta drop the truth on the pup sometime.
I didn’t like it, but the man had a point.
Plus, in my checkered past, Rue had been something of a father figure to me, even if he was all of a year younger than me. When he spoke up, I listened.
Still, to expose Rebel to Darrell? My heart said no way, we didn’t need to disillusion him, but history said yes. What kind of brother would I be if I left him vulnerable to our daddy’s scams?
“Alrighty then.” Ranger gave in, smacking his palm on the table. “But don’t test my patience unless you pour me some more of that coffee. I’m plumb out of both.”
Rue bit back a smile, because sometimes you did just have to smile at Ranger’s antics, but then he turned to me. “You think he’s running a confidence game, one of his tricks?”
I shrugged. “It beats me. He’s supposed to be stuck up there in Alaska, in his wolf form, but apparently he shifted long enough to get himself on the internet and find a post office. Might be he’s just messing with me, but mostly he can’t be bothered to do anything that doesn’t better his own bottom line. Darrell Boone doesn’t do nothing if it doesn’t benefit himself. If he truly believes that Sonnet and I are together, he’ll want to gain from our relationship.”
Ranger smacked the table again. “I am not accepting your excuses, Maverick. You should be stepping out with that fine lady, not using our daddy as a reason to push her away. I already told you in the truck that I have him under control, lock, stock, and barrel.”
“Are you planning to tell us how?” Rue asked evenly. “Or is this top-secret, need-to-know-basis only information?”
This was Ranger we were talking about. I wasn’t sure he knew that the law—and the definition of “felony”—applied to him.
Rebel frowned, like he wasn’t real happy with Ranger holding out on us. “You want blind trust?”
“Rebel Aldous Boone, I’m not just plumb out of patience now, I’m in negative numbers. You have made me tap my backup reserve.” Ranger’s tone was flat. “You owe me two cups of fancy coffee from the coffee shop for that patience-testing, ignorant observation of yours.”
“That wasn’t an observation. It was an accusation.”
“Three cups.”
“I trust Ranger,” Rue said, meeting my gaze. “If he says he’s got this, he’s got this.”
I had plenty of trust in Ranger too. He was smart and manipulative.
He’d run rings around our daddy.
Still, no one knew Darrell quite like I did. For far too long, I’d been the chip off the old block, the Boone brother who’d gone bad. Darrell did whatever was best for Darrell. He took what he wanted. I wasn’t like that anymore, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else with Sonnet’s safety.
My wolf growled in agreement. A mate comes first . Damn straight.