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“For god’s sake, Tristan. You’re both adults now. You need to let go of that grudge.”
A searing-white flash momentarily blanked Tristan’s vision. What he harbored was a hell of a lot more than a little grudge.
“Everyone makes mistakes, especially young people.” Gavin walked around the desk and laid a hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Be the better man. Help Jaxen because it’s the right thing to do.”
“For whom?”
“For you and your family.”
Family?
Disgust slithered into the pit of Tristan’s stomach.
His family was the epitome of dysfunction. His parents could barely stand to be in the same room with each other and they had little or no regard for him—the product of an accidental mate-claiming. Ruby only barely tolerated him and Jaxen, whom Tristan had once hero-worshipped, had left him to die.
“I’m not asking you to police him.” Gavin leaned against his desk, his hands folded against the silver buckle on the belt fastened around the waist of his jeans. “Be his friend again. Let him know he can count on you.”
Good ole dependable Tristan.
How that character trait had come to him was beyond his understanding. No one else in his family had been plagued with it.
The alarm on his watch beeped. “Gotta go.”
Wearing an expression indicative of an Alpha who expects his orders to be carried out, Gavin tipped his head.
Tristan walked out of the office, quietly closing the door with a greater appreciation for the Alpha’s son’s door-slamming habit. Instead of externalizing his anger or frustration like Brice, Tristan always internalized. Mostly he tried to ignore those feelings. His family was too loose with their tempers. He hated their arguments and outright fights. As soon as he was old enough to live on his own, he’d moved out.
Over the years, he’d learned the only way to deal with his family was individually and briefly. Jaxen’s homecoming would definitely upset the rhythm Tristan had established.
Walking down the long corridor from Gavin’s office toward the lobby, Tristan’s steps grew heavier. His current schedule barely allowed time for sleep. How would he manage squeezing in “befriending” his long-lost cousin, whom Tristan would rather have stayed lost?
A wolfan could only handle so much and Tristan had been stretched beyond his maximum limits for far too long.
God, I need some fresh air.
His fingers closed around the cold brass handle to yank open the large, heavy wooden door to exit the resort. A newly familiar feminine scent rushed his senses.
“Hey, Tristan!”
He turned to his left.
“I’m officially a resort staff member now.” Penelope’s lightly tinted lips parted with a soft smile. “And Cassie arranged for me to stay in a cabin up the road. I’ll have plenty of room to paint.”
“That’s great, Nel.” He stepped into her, his hand resting against her hip as he moved them away from the entry doors opening toward them.
A genuine smile broadened his mouth. Genuine because he could feel it all the way to his gut, tingling with a warm, fuzzy, effervescent sensation that dispelled the heavy shroud that had cloaked him a few minutes ago.
“Umm.” Her voice was a mere puff of soft breath. Her curious gaze caressed every angle of his face, her pupils growing larger with every beat of his heart.
The wolf in him sighed. There was no other way to describe the rush of contentment that raced up his spine and down his chest, then settled in his groin.
Tristan had the sudden, uncharacteristic urge to spend the day with her, learning her laugh, her mannerisms, her likes and dislikes.
Damn! He’d been working too many long hours and sleeping too few for those unbalanced thoughts to surface.
“It was nice meeting you, Nel.”
He dashed outside, sucking in lungfuls of fresh air before her scent imprinted on and permanently rewired his brain.
Chapter 3 (#ud8cb8f82-79d7-5d54-ba84-94ab5f85257c)
“You’re not on duty today.” Carl Locke sucked his teeth, his hard gaze fastened on Tristan.
“There’s something I want to discuss with you.” Tense, Tristan sat in one of the two wooden chairs positioned in front of the sheriff’s paper-laden desk and waited.
Elected sheriff less than two years ago, Locke was a hard man to work for. Mostly because he held a grudge against the Co-op’s influence on the town. An outsider and new to the area, Locke viewed everything the Co-op did with suspicion. He felt the previous sheriff, who had known the truth about the Co-op, had been too lax in his duties. Gavin’s stubbornness and refusal to clue in the new sheriff to the Co-op’s purpose only compounded the problem.
Since Tristan was a member, Locke scrutinized his every action, his every decision, and the constant conflict had turned a job Tristan loved into a nauseating chore.
Last year, after a fiasco involving his friend Rafe Wyatt and Sheriff Locke, Tristan had quit the department. Gavin had been furious. Tristan’s position as a deputy afforded him some flexibility in running interference between the pack and human law enforcement. Gavin didn’t want to lose that advantage.
Locke, surprisingly, neither accepted nor rejected the resignation. Instead, he placed Tristan on leave for two weeks. A vacation, of sorts, to give him time to decompress and carefully consider his decision.
With nowhere to go and no one to go with him if he did, Tristan had stayed with his mother at her condo in Atlanta. The visit didn’t suddenly forge a mother–son bond, but it had provided the chance for Tristan to reassess...everything.
Including Gavin. His decision to cage Rafe in wolfan form, to display him like a circus animal in front of the sheriff to prove that the Walker’s Run wolves were docile had almost cost Rafe his life and came damn close to exposing the pack and the existence of Wahyas, worldwide.
Gavin had never apologized, never admitted he’d made a bad choice. He stuck by the affirmation that he’d done what was necessary to protect the pack.
So what the hell was he thinking now?
Didn’t he realize that allowing Jaxen to waltz right back into the territory was a disaster waiting to happen?
“Spit it out,” Locke barked.
“Sir?”
“You look like you’re chewing your words, trying to find the right ones. Is this about the Co-op?” Irritation flickered in Locke’s squinted gaze. He shoved aside the paperwork in front of him. “Whatever you got to say, just spit it out. I ain’t got all day.”
“Jaxen Pyke,” Tristan began, as if giving an ordinary report. “He’s got a long list of minor offenses as a juvenile. He left Maico about fifteen years ago.” Actually, Gavin had banished Jaxen because of his involvement in a liquor store robbery where a human was severely injured. “Hooked up with less than desirable associates who helped him graduate to more serious violations. Including assault, for which he spent the last three years in Woelfesguarde.”
“Isn’t that the fancy private facility in the Northwest?”
Tristan nodded. Human law enforcement believed the compound to be an elite, but highly effective rehabilitation center. In truth, it was a state-of-the-art wolfan correctional facility, situated in the harshest undeveloped region of Montana. With only the barest necessities provided, Woelfesguarde was no country-club prison. One either survived it or didn’t. “Pyke’s release is being processed. He’s coming home. I expect him to be here sometime Saturday night.”
Locke leaned back and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Is he Co-op?”
Technically, no. According to Gavin, Jaxen had to earn his way back into the pack.
Whatever the hell that means.
“Jaxen is family.” Tristan tasted the bile creeping into his mouth.
“When it comes to enforcing the law, I don’t give special considerations to anyone. Not to the Co-op, not to my deputies’ families.”
“Good!” Tristan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Someone besides myself needs to understand how dangerous he is.”
“An assault conviction is enough to convince me.”
“Maybe not. When you get his records—” as Tristan knew Locke would “—you’ll find most of his convictions are nonviolent misdemeanors. The only violent charge, the assault, stems from a bar fight. He claimed self-defense, but took a plea rather than face a trial.”
The Woelfesenat, a secret, international wolf council and the ultimate ruling authority on wolfan matters, would’ve never allowed Jaxen’s case to go to court. If convicted, he would’ve been incarcerated in a human prison. Long-term confinement for a Wahya, especially during a full moon without access to a sex partner, posed an unacceptable risk of the wolfan eventually losing control of his Wahyarian, the primitive beast that lurked within every Wahya.
The Woelfesenat would’ve had Jaxen put down if Adam Foster, Alpha of the Peachtree pack and an internationally renowned lawyer, had failed to negotiate an alternative. Instead of a trial and subsequent conviction, Jaxen was sentenced to serve thirty-six months at Woelfesguarde.
“What do you know that isn’t in the official record?”
Bitterness coated Tristan’s tongue and he fought the urge to hurl. “Remember our first meeting after you were sworn in? You asked if I had any impediments that could affect my job performance, and I told you it wouldn’t affect my duties, but that I have a blind side.”
“Yeah. When you were a kid, you slipped off a rock outcropping and cracked open your head.” Locke tapped his pen on his desk. “What’s that got to do with Pyke?”
“I didn’t slip, Sheriff. I was pushed.”
* * *
Fingers cramped and achy, Penelope returned her pencils to the holder and shook out her hands.
After settling into the cabin yesterday, she’d planned out about two weeks’ worth of activities for the children’s workshops, which left her wide-open for a three-day weekend before starting her new job.
This morning, she’d taken a leisurely drive around Maico to orient herself with the town and bought a few groceries from the market. She’d also stopped by the automotive shop Tristan had recommended. Short-handed due to a virus going around, the owner had scheduled her car service for next week. If Nel had dropped Tristan’s name, she might’ve gotten the oil change and battery check today, but would’ve had to wait all day. Since the car seemed to be running fine, she opted to come back next week.
This afternoon, she’d immersed herself in art. Usually, she made quick sketches of a scene she wanted to paint.
This one had taken several hours, but she was incorporating several disconnected elements. Before picking up a paintbrush, she wanted to make sure the image in her mind would actually make sense on canvas. To check the accuracy of the two focal subjects, she picked up her phone and swiped between the snapshot of the black wolf she’d taken in Cassie’s office yesterday and the photo she’d taken today of Cassie sitting on the floor in a small nook off the main lobby, playing with her daughter.
Precocious and quite verbal for child a few weeks shy of her first birthday, Brenna had noticed Penelope watching them and immediately determined that Penelope would be her new best friend. At the toddler’s insistence and Cassie’s invitation, Penelope had joined them in the dining hall rather than eating lunch alone.
Old habits were difficult to change, and putting herself out there to meet new people was harder than she’d imagined. Cassie tried to help, introducing her to staff members and the townsfolk who stopped by the resort restaurant.
Left to her own devices, Penelope preferred to hole up in the cabin to paint, curl up with a book or sit on the back porch drinking hot coffee and wishing for a doughnut like the one Tristan had devoured as he rushed into the resort while she was there with Cassie and Brenna. Dressed in slouchy black shorts, a black T-shirt and a dark gray skullcap despite summer temperatures, he’d flashed her a quick smile and a wink before disappearing down the corridor to Gavin Walker’s office. The high from his attention had lingered all day.
Penelope uncurled her legs and touched her bare feet to the floor, curling her toes in the plush rug before padding into the kitchen. It was after midnight, and supper was little more than a memory to her stomach.
She slipped on her sneakers, grabbed an apple from the basket on the counter and strolled out the back door. Sitting on the porch swing, she munched her snack.
The moon, not quite full, beamed in the sky, big and bright, bathing everything in a soft, silvery glow.
She stepped off the porch and her skin warmed as if sunshine had disguised itself in moonbeams. As long as the thin strip of dark clouds remained in the distance, there would be enough light to follow the walking trail without use of the flashlight.
Quiet in Atlanta where she’d lived was definitely different than the quiet here. She could actually hear her thoughts, with no interference from the static of urban living.
Even in the utter stillness, she didn’t feel frightened or alone. Cassie and her husband and daughter lived a mile up the mountain. Gavin Walker and his wife, Abby, lived in private quarters adjacent to the resort. And security officers routinely patrolled the property, although she hadn’t caught sight of them.
Her ears tuned to the chorus of crickets and the soft gurgling of the river. Tiny lights blinked among the dark trees in a hypnotic dance. Watching fireflies wasn’t on her mental list of the new experiences she wanted to explore, but it should’ve been because they were simply mesmerizing.
A loud rustling echoed in the woods. The possibility of an unintentional wildlife encounter hadn’t crossed her mind when she left the cabin.
A rustle of commotion erupted ahead. There was an ear-shattering squeal, followed by low animalistic growls.
Wolves!
Cassie had said the Co-op wolves weren’t dangerous. They had handlers and were confined to the sanctuary miles away, which meant the ones in the woods had come from somewhere else.
A flurry of movement divided in two directions, one headed straight for Penelope. She turned to run, tripped over a tree root and hit the ground with a startled cry.
Run! Her mind screamed; however, her body had other ideas. Her feet seemed stuck in quicksand and neither of her legs would move.
“Security?” she cried out, hoping one of the patrols would hear.
The bulk of the commotion moved away from where Nel had fallen, except for a loud thumping that steadily came closer until a large wolf emerged from the shadows.
Her chest locked in the last pant of air. Her shoulders rose and dropped with the effort to breathe, but nothing entered her lungs. Unable to scream, unable to run, she pulled herself into a turtle-shell posture, covering her head and neck with her arms.
Getting eaten by a wolf was definitely not on her list of things to try before she died. And she certainly was about to die, a horrible, painful death.
A caustic tear burned a trail down her cheek. She didn’t dare wipe it away, fearing the animal now hovering over her would chomp into her if she moved.
Warm puffs of breath grazed her hands, which were clasped over the back of her neck. Despite her arms helmeting her head, the animal nudged past Penelope’s defensive pose and found her ear. A cold, damp nose pressed against the shell.
Come on, sweet cheeks. Sit up and show me your pretty face.
“Tristan?” She peeked beneath her arms.
The wolf gently touched his paw to her shoulder. If the animal was going to eat her, he was taking his time sizing her up.
“Tristan,” she called again.
The woods remained silent. In her panic, she must’ve imagined his voice.
The wolf plopped his rump next to her. Head cocked to the side, his gaze mapped every inch of her body.
Back aching, knees throbbing and toes going numb, she needed to move and stretch before she lost all feeling in her limbs. Slowly, she unfurled from the defensive huddle and sat up.
The wolf didn’t move, growl or otherwise display any aggression.
He was nearly double the size she expected for a wolf, and his coat was a beautiful blend of light to dark golds and soft browns. In contrast, his pointed ears were richly dark except for the outer rims tipped in white.
“How unusual.” Without thinking, she reached to feel if his ears were as velvety as they looked.
