Howling For You

Page 8

I dashed forward, snow crunching beneath my paws, and moved into the woods. There was no path but the one they’d cut through the snowy underbrush, limbs snapped and bent from the force of their bodies. I pushed for speed, ears straining for the sound of them . . . and heard nothing until a feline roar
Jeff, I thought with panic, paws pounding faster and faster across snow, my heart tripping like snare drum. A few feet more and I found them on the ground in a tangle, white and black fur against the newly fallen snow. Blood spattered the ground beneath them as they rolled. Jeff was considerably larger, but Tom was smaller, more agile.
They rolled, Tom biting at Jeff’s back haunch until Jeff shook him off. Tom bounced and rolled, while Jeff bared his teeth and screamed his frustration into the night.
My turn, I thought. Head down, I paced forward, teeth bared. Tom rose, shook off the fall, and showed his teeth again, daring me to attack. His muzzle was bloodied, which only infuriated me more.
I jumped, landing on his back, clawing and biting to make him submit. He rolled, pressing me back into snow until he yipped again and jumped away, a hank of Tom’s fur and skin hanging from Jeff’s muzzle. You played with the big cats, you were bound to get hurt.
I rolled and rose as Jeff leapt for Tom again, sinking claws into the back of Tom’s neck and tossing him forward like a stuffed animal. But Tom still didn’t stop. He climbed stiffly to his feet again, eyes narrowed and lips curled back in a chilling imitation of a smile. Facing me, he padded forward, one slow step at a time, violent intent in his eyes.
He bounded forward, and I braced myself for the impact. But the weight came from a different direction. Jeff had rushed forward, pushing me out of the way, so their bodies, so large and powerful, met with a thunderclap of sound, front legs in the air, scraping at fur and flesh.
They scuffled, several hundred pounds of battling animals, and hit the ground with the impact of an earthquake, pitching across the ground with the force of a tank. I tried to scramble out of their way, but wasn’t fast enough. Tom bucked and I caught the force of his back feet, which spun me backward.
I hit a tree, head slamming into the bark, and the entire world flipped upside down. My vision tripled, and sound became a raging tide.
Minutes passed while I lay in the snow, only dimly aware of shuffling, running, roaring. And then, finally, soft nudges against my haunch.
I lifted my head. Jeff rubbed his massive head against me like a house cat. He looked up at me with the face of a tiger, but the concern in his eyes was very Jeff Christopher.
He made a grumbly sound, nudged my hip again. I rolled and tried to climb to my feet. It took two attempts before I managed to stand, all four paws on the ground.
The woods were quiet and still, snow still falling in large, heavy flakes. Tom was gone. Jeff had let him go in order to ensure sure I was alright.
He nudged me again, more gently, a hacker in the body of a big cat who’d come to my rescue, who stood no insult where I was concerned, who wanted me despite everything else.
When the sound in my head quieted to a dull roar, we padded back through the forest.
We merged again on the main road, the air white with snow. The black SUV Tom had driven was gone, any tracks covered by snowfall.
We returned to the house and changed back into human forms and clothing.
Patrick sat on the plaid couch, hands clasped in front of him. He stared at the floor, shock still clear on his face.
“I talked to Gabriel,” he said, looking up when we walked back into the room. “He said he’d talked to my father. He’s going to send Damien to check on him.” He looked up at me, fear in his eyes. “I don’t want my father hurt.”
Damien Garza had a reputation for ruthlessness. “He won’t be, if there’s no reason for it. But if this is treason . . .” I didn’t need to finish the statement. All shifters knew the cost of treason. Some families, like mine, better than others.
I sat down on the couch across from him, and Jeff followed. “Tom said he wanted the crown for your father. Do you think your father would have sent him here? Condoned what he’d done? Helped plan it?”
“No,” Patrick said. “There’s no way. He doesn’t care about politics, and even if he did, he respects Gabriel. If he’d had something to say, he wouldn’t say it like this.”
“His illness?” Jeff asked.
Patrick glanced at him. “His health is deteriorating. But not his mind. And not his sense of loyalty.”
And I appreciated Patrick’s loyalty to his family, but we’d need more than words and assurances.
Holding the crown meant holding the power to control the Pack. The risk was too high to trust a hunch. “We’ll see what Damien has to say.” I glanced around the house. “You checked here?”
“High and low,” Patrick said, “while you were out there.”
“It must have been in the vehicle,” Jeff said.
Patrick nodded. “I didn’t even hear him leave. The snow, I guess. Where do you think he’ll go next?”
I glanced at Jeff, who nodded back at me. We were both thinking the same thing.
“He wants your family in charge of the Pack, not mine. And we’re about to welcome the Apex-in-waiting into the Pack. If I was him,” I said, “I’d hit the initiation.”
Time ticked down. We returned to the house and found the family in the front parlor already dressed for the ceremony, which was less than two hours away.
“Damien’s got an eye on the house in Wausau,” Gabe said, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably in a black suit jacket that barely contained his muscular bulk. “Richard’s there, and the rest of the family. They were shocked and appalled by what Tom’s done.”
“Did they suspect anything?” I asked.
“Not according to Richard. Tom’s always been loyal, but never crazy. Damien believed them.”
And we had no other idea where Tom might be. “Damn it,” I muttered.
Gabriel looked at me with swirling amber eyes. “Is there something you’d like to say, Fallon?”
I caught Jeff’s gaze and found sympathy there. Somehow it made me feel worse.
“He’s still got the crown, and that’s my fault.”
“How is his treason your fault?”
“I wasn’t able to bring him in.”
“Did you steal the crown? Hand it to him? Step aside in the battle because you were afraid?”
“No, of course not.”
Gabriel nodded. “Okay, then. You fought a battle, and you lost it. It happens. We’re shifters; not superheroes. The point is stepping up after the loss, preparing for the next one. Berating yourself because you didn’t win is a waste of time and energy. He’s gone underground. But he’ll show tonight.”
I intended to ensure that was true. “We can walk the perimeter,” I suggested. “Scout the church for weak spots.”
“And we’ll need extra guards in the sanctuary,” Eli said.
“Actually, I think that’s a bad idea.”
We all looked at Jeff.
“You think guards are a bad idea?” Gabe asked. “Why?”
“Because they might scare him off. Look, he’s got the crown. He’ll be planning to make a stand—otherwise, what’s the point of going to all that trouble? And, yeah, the ceremony makes obvious sense.”
He leaned forward. “We know when and where he’ll try to use the crown to claim control of the Pack. That gives us home field advantage. Let him come. We’ll be ready.”
Gabriel looked at him, eyes glowing like sunlit amber. “We’ll be ready,” he agreed.
5
St. Bridget’s was gorgeous, a church of fairy tale proportions and fantastical architecture. The building, also located in Ukrainian Village, was constructed of pink-peach stone with turquoise turrets, and the interior was just as colorful, with lots of wood, marble, and inset stone.
Right now, it was the site of vampire-worthy scheming. We’d guessed Tom would take a stand. Instead of trying to keep him out, we’d let him come in, crown in hand. And then we’d take him out.
At Jeff’s suggestion, a small corps of trustworthy shifters took positions outside in the dark, hidden from view but keeping an eye on the church and its access points. If—or when—Tom tried anything, we’d have eyes on him.
The interior of the church would have the same setup. A few friends of the family, all shifters, sat in the pews as if preparing to witness Connor’s initiation. But they were armed and prewarned—and they were as excited as shifters could be about the possibility of a good, solid brawl.
Jeff and I, both dressed in respectful black, stood on the church’s front steps, peering into the darkness. The snow still fell, powdering the neighborhood in white.
“You’re nervous,” Jeff said.
“It’s not every day I use my family as bait.”
“They can handle themselves,” he said. “It’s a good plan.”
“I know. And it was your good plan.”
He nodded, and we stood in silence, so much unspoken between us.
“We should go inside,” Jeff said. I turned to walk into the church, but he took my hand and pulled me against his body. Before I could object, his lips were on mine, mouth insistent.
He kissed me there on the steps of the church, with snow falling like tears around us. When he pulled away a moment later, my breath was short.
“Jeff,” I said, but he shook his head, leaned his forehead against mine.
“Every time I breathe, I breathe for you. Every time I speak, I speak for you. And every time I howl, I howl for you.” He pressed his lips to mine, so softly. “This isn’t over,” he said, and walked inside.
My hands and knees shaking, I followed him.
Gabriel stood in the back of the church with Eli. The rest of my brothers had taken their seats, dressed in suits as if we’d planned to proceed as normal. But Tanya and Connor were secure in an anteroom with Berna and a few of her minions. She didn’t look like much of a threat—squat figure, bleached hair—but she was, as Gabriel liked to say, a wolverine when it came to her family.