Awakened by the Wolf (9 page)

Chapter 13

E
ngaging the four-wheel drive, Brice turned off Shelley Highway onto a washed-out road that corkscrewed up Bluebird Mountain. Glimpses of the MacGregor antebellum flickered through a grove of large oaks dripping with Spanish moss.

From a distance, the homestead bespoke an old Southern charm. Up close, twining vines strangled the Roman columns anchoring the portico. Woody runners choked the wrought iron railings, and mutant veins streaked across the entire antiquated structure.

Two jostling miles farther, the dirt road dead-ended. Brice stopped and climbed out of the truck. The warm breeze caressing his face carried no distinguishable scent, yet his stomach, already churning, somersaulted.

Out of his hip pocket, he pulled a plastic zip bag containing a pair of Cassie's unmentionables. Ordinarily he didn't snoop through a woman's lingerie or steal it. Desperation over the debilitating nausea had forced him to become a petty panty thief.

He opened the bag and breathed in her scent. The unconventional remedy quieted his stomach. He hoped the effect would last until he saw Cassie later. Her scent was damn near irresistible. He planned to inhale her sweetness in giant lungfuls all night long.

She could fuss all she wanted about sharing his bed because regardless of her propriety, Little Miss Albright was a world-class snuggler. She enjoyed sleeping next to him, whether or not she admitted it.

Brice placed his folded clothes on the seat. The panty bag, keys and cell phone he tossed into the glove compartment.

Dropping to all fours, he craned his neck, then stretched his back. The mild shock from the shift energy rushed down his spine, stinging his nerves. Black fur sprouted from his skin as the morph of muscle, bone and tendons reshaped man into wolf. He lifted his muzzle and threw back a low, mournful howl.

Head and eyes lowered, he trotted to a small cove. Time had erased all traces of violence. Thin, towering trees shielded the lush foliage, although a few diligent sunbeams managed to trickle through the dense canopy in an attempt to warm the damp, musky thicket. He pawed the greedy ground that had lapped his brother's blood. The thick mud stuck to Brice's pads like a decrepit paste.

Five years ago, he and Mason weren't hunting to kill. They were simply exercising and enjoying one another's company. Absorbed in tracking an unfamiliar scent, Brice didn't notice the trap until the clamp of sharp metal teeth ripped through his flesh and snapped his bones. His first reaction had been a howl of pain.

Mason shifted into his human form to free Brice's leg. The old, rusty snare refused to budge. Neither of them knew rogues stalked the area until they appeared on the ridge.

Brice begged Mason to run. Instead, Mason went wolf, howling an alarm for any sentinels within range. Then he engaged the rogue pack alone.

Brice shifted into his human form to free himself, knowing the morph would cause more damage to his leg, but the rogues outnumbered Mason. Four to one, five to one. Brice couldn't remember.

So much blood poured from the wounds, his fingers kept slipping over the spring, wasting too many precious seconds. When the latch finally released, Brice shifted back into his wolf. Blocking the excruciating pain of his dangling leg, he charged three-footed toward the fight.

He bouldered two wolves off Mason. The first rolled to his paws, rounded on Brice and sank his teeth into Brice's side, slamming him to the ground. The other wolf launched for the kill.

Twisting his hips, Brice dislodged the first in time to catch the second by the throat. Dirt and fur coated his tongue, and the metallic taste of blood made him gag. Still, he clamped his jaw and yanked.

The sickening sound of ripping flesh and the gurgle of blood followed. The rogue wolf thudded to the ground, a lifeless man.

Snarling, his partner slashed Brice's shoulder to the bone. Brice's retaliatory bite laid open the wolf's hindquarter. Yelping, the wounded wolf scampered away. Two others charged.

Mason intercepted one, evening the odds.

Brice's head swarmed from the blood pouring from his wounds. The enemy wolf stayed just out of reach, wearing Brice down until he had little strength.

Brice glanced at his brother. One wolf had engaged Mason, distracting him from the mangy gray moving in.

“Mason!
Left!”
Brice's warning came too late. His brother collapsed, blood spurting from his throat.

The horror lasted less than a second before Brice became engulfed in a black rage. He sensed rather than saw the remaining wolves turn on him. Everything blurred in a fury of fur and fangs.

When his vision cleared, four rogues lay dead, their human bodies nothing more than bloody heaps. Barely able to walk, Brice struggled to reach his brother's side.

Brice shifted and hauled Mason's human form against his chest. He pressed his hand over Mason's gushing neck wound.

The thick, coppery scent of blood and the putrid stench of death cloyed Brice's nose. He gagged, yet the sound that escaped the tear in his throat sounded like gurgling wheeze.

Willing his life into his brother, he clung to Mason until, weak from his own blood loss, Brice slipped into darkness without ever saying goodbye.

Saying it now seemed too little, too late.

He circled the spot where he'd lost his brother, his mentor, his hero. Grief turned to anger. Brice's throat ached from the strain of unshed tears.

You should've left me, Mace. I should've died. Not you. Now Granny's gone, too.

Brice plopped on the ground, his head resting between his paws. His heavy sigh lifted a leaf from its spot in front of his nose.

A light breeze ruffled Brice's fur, though the woods were eerily still.

Kill them. Kill them all.
Mason's last words resounded in Brice's mind as clear as the day his brother had imparted them to him employing the telepathic ability Wahyas manifested in their wolfan forms.

And Brice had done exactly what Mason had asked of him. He'd killed every last one of those damn fucking rogues. Hadn't he?

* * *

Waiting for her tea to heat in the microwave, Cassie scarfed down a container of yogurt. Loss and loneliness muted the elation of breezing through her exam. She missed sharing good news with Margaret.

Now that she was gone, the Walkers had no reason to continue Cassie's housing arrangement.

A quick rundown of her finances amounted to zilch. It had been only a few months ago that she'd paid off the credit card debt her mother had racked up under Cassie's Social Security number. And Cassie didn't want to spend her tiny savings to cover deposits on an apartment that she needed for only a few months.

The microwave dinged. Cassie collected her mug with all her dignity and a whopping load of anxiety, and left to clock in.

Dirty apartments, cheap motel rooms, a run-down RV, a tent, a dilapidated trailer—those were the homes Cassie and Imogene had shared. All were better than living on the streets, which is where Cassie would end up if she couldn't figure out an alternative. No matter how hard she worked, Cassie had no better luck than her mother.

“Cassie, come to my office.” Abigail Walker continued past the registration counter.

Cassie's clenched stomach twisted into a pretzel knot. She sat in one of the mahogany chairs with button-tufted black leather. “I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Walker.”

“Thank you, Cassie. If you hadn't been there to help Margaret on Friday night, she might have slipped away before Brice had a chance to see her again.” Abigail stroked the flat desk calendar, meticulously smoothing the curled edges into the blotter. “Gavin told me that Brice spent the last two nights at the cabin.” Her gaze locked on Cassie. “With you.”

Cassie kept her chin up, her shoulders straight, although her toes gripped the inside of her shoes. The words “Your services are no longer required” dangled over her head, a guillotine blade ready to finish the hack job delivered by bad karma.

“You should've had the decency to tell me.” Abigail's censure slapped Cassie's heart.

“I didn't want to betray his trust.” Knowing she'd done the right thing didn't ease Cassie's guilt.

“I am his mother. I had a right to know.”

“Brice asked for my silence and I gave it. He's an adult. I am not his keeper.”

“I see.” The faint folds around Abigail's mouth elongated her frown. She gathered the papers on her desk.

Cassie inched down in her chair, envisioning her future capsizing in slow motion. If she lost her job, she would have to quit college. And Cassie couldn't let that happen. She'd worked long and hard and sacrificed everything to get this far. If she fell flat now, she might not gain the momentum to get up again.

Although her nerves jumped, Cassie's grip remained steady, accepting the printout Abigail handed to her.

Cassie skimmed the upcoming bookings. “Is something wrong with the reservations?”

“We're closing the resort for Margaret's memorial service. We expect a large number of friends and associates to come. I want you to call everyone on that list to reschedule their reservations. All the current guests need to vacate the premises no later than Wednesday afternoon. Express our regrets and make alternative arrangements as necessary.”

Cassie thumbed through the pages. More names than not were guests she had assisted. Her rapport might make them more amenable to the disruption in their plans. In light of her own upheavals, she could fully empathize.

“One more thing,” Abigail said crisply, and Cassie snapped her attention back to her employer. “Margaret's property now belongs to Brice. You will need to speak to him about your housing situation. Whatever he decides, Gavin and I won't interfere.”

“I understand.” Cassie kept her poise professional despite the sinking feeling rising in the pit of her stomach. She'd been homeless before, and Cassie had hoped and prayed that the latest time really had been the last time. But she knew all too well that her prayers were seldom answered.

Chapter 14

T
he cell phone cradled to the dashboard rang. One of the resort's outgoing numbers flashed across the screen. Brice pressed the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel.

“Where are you?” his father demanded over the speakers.

Disappointment preceded Brice's annoyance. He'd expected Cassie. “Driving into Maico to see Doc as commanded. Why?”

The ensuing silence made Brice think the call had dropped. “Dad?”

“I hadn't expected your compliance so quickly.” There was a pause. “Thank you.”

His father's appreciation caught Brice off guard and made him incredibly suspicious. The man was up to something and Brice was sure he wouldn't like it one bit.

“We have an appointment at the funeral home at seven. Your mother and I expect you to join us. Don't be late.” Whenever his father issued a command, his tone always implied an “or else.”

“As you wish,” Brice said, wanting to keep the promise to his grandmother at least in spirit. He doubted father and son could ever truly reconcile. There were too many disappointments and angry words to overcome. “Thanks for not turning me out, again. It means a lot to me to be here for Granny's memorial.”

“I'm glad you're home, son.” Was there a note of sincerity in his father's voice? “If you need anything, let me know.”

Brice couldn't believe his ears. Maybe grief had softened his father's heart.

But, he wouldn't hold his breath.

His father cleared his throat. “We'll see you tonight.”

“Wait.” He might regret involving his father, but Brice's second promise to his grandmother concerned Cassie and right now his worry over her outweighed his hesitation. “Has Cassie clocked in?” By now, she should've returned from the state college over in Brasstown Valley. If not, Brice wanted to know sooner rather than later. “She hasn't returned my calls.”

“Hold on,” his father said. Muzak filtered through the speakers.

Brice turned off Shelley Highway onto Chaney Boulevard, heading toward the small town of Maico.

“Thank you for calling Walker's Run Resort. This is Cassie. How may I help you?” Although her tone was all business, Brice found her voice as relaxing as the soft, bubbling warmth of a Jacuzzi.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

“Who's calling, please?”

A stab of jealousy scattered the unusual, fuzzy sensation spreading through his body. “Who else calls you Sunshine?”

“Brice? Oh, I, um, didn't know you were on the line. Mr. Walker only said someone needed my assistance.” She lowered her voice. “Are you coming to smell me?”

Brice's cheeks hurt from the grin splitting his face. “No, I found a way to manage for now.”

“Oh, that's good.”

If she knew what it was, she might not think so.

“How did you do on your test?” Brice expected that she did well. He'd found her to be quick-minded and doggedly determined.

“Passed, I think.”

“You think?” Raising his voice in a tease, he wondered if a blush reddened her skin.

“Okay, I aced it.”

Her bashful boast beckoned back the warm fuzzies. Their rushing invasion caused his hands, his skin, his groin to twitch. He couldn't wait to see her tonight.

“That's great, Cas,” he said. “Hey, what time do you get off?”

“Nine thirty.”

Brice whistled. “That's a long day.” Although his wouldn't be much shorter. “I'm meeting my parents at the funeral home tonight. Want me to pick up supper on the way home?”

“No, I've got food...” Cassie's voice trailed.

Brice hit the volume button. “Are you sure? It's no trouble for me to grab some burgers or pick up a pizza. Whatever you want, name it.”

“Some other time.”

“All right, then.” Brice kept his tone light, flipping the air vent away from him to dispel the sudden chill in his bones.

“Uh, Brice?”

“Yeah, Sunshine?” He brightened, thinking she'd changed her mind.

“About the housing arrangement I had.”

“That's not going to work for me.” He didn't need Cassie to be his live-in maid. He wanted something more personal.

Friends? Absolutely.

Between-the-sheets friends? Hell, yeah.

More than friends? He couldn't risk that one, but whatever happened, he expected them to be on equal ground.

“Oh, okay. Bye.” Her voice sounded tight, choked.

“Cas?”

The line went dead.

A pinball pinged around in his gut. He activated the voice redial and asked for Cassie.

“Hey, stranger,” Hannah Barkley, an old friend, said when she recognized his voice. “I'm glad you're finally home. Sucks about the circumstances, though. I'm sorry about Granny.”

“Thanks,” Brice mumbled.

“Things must've gone a little better with your dad this morning.” Hannah's tone sounded light and teasing, just like always. “At least the lobby chandelier didn't crash to the floor like it did the last time you slammed the door to your dad's office.”

Brice cringed. His father always pulled the worst out of him, and Brice hated that he couldn't control his emotions around the man.

“Whatever Gavin said to piss you off, your mom sure took him to task,” Hannah continued. “I thought your temper came from your dad. After today, I think your mom might've played a role, too.”

“I'm not particularly fond of the trait, no matter who passed it on to me.” Brice paused. “Maybe we can catch up later. I need time to get my bearings, and I have a lot weighing on my mind.”

“Is Victoria Phalen one of those weights?”

Brice's gut clenched, and an unpleasant taste sprouted on his tongue. “Why?”

“She called asking for a key to your suite. I told her you didn't have a reservation, so she booked the honeymoon suite in your name.”

“I'm staying at Granny's cabin.” After the stunt Victoria pulled in Atlanta, Brice wanted to stay the hell away from her.

“Um...” Hannah hedged. “Your grandmother had a boarder, Cassie Albright. We work together, Brice. And she's a friend. Don't kick her out. She has nowhere else to go.”

“I'm aware of Cassie's situation, and we have a mutually beneficial arrangement.” Or they would as soon as he spoke to her about it. “Can you put her on the line?”

“Sure!” Relief lightened Hannah's tone. “Hold on a sec.”

Approaching Maico's city limits, Brice remembered Mason's stories of a small group of Wahyas who integrated into this dying human settlement more than three hundred years ago. Farmers by day, wolves by night. Growing crops, hunting game. Hiding their dual identities while cohabiting with their human neighbors to build a better life for all.

Tired of the turmoil caused by constant challengers to Alphaships seized in trials of combat, the Maico Wahyas elected Abram Walker as Alpha and established a familial line of succession the pack continued to follow. Abram laid claim to Maico and the surrounding area, and acceptance by the Woelfesenat legitimized the fledging pack. Each subsequent generation saw the pack and their human neighbors prosper.

Passing Maico's welcome sign, Brice noticed the paint peeling from the board. The farther into town he drove, the antsier he became at the number of abandoned buildings and broken sidewalks and the amount of roadside litter.

Maico had been a pristine community that could've popped off the pages of a fairy-tale book. For some reason, the quaint village had deteriorated into a shabby soon-to-be ghost town. His disappointment grew when a glance down Sorghum Avenue revealed the R&L—Rafe's automotive repair service—looking as bad as the other places Brice had passed.

Hannah came back on the line. “Sorry, Brice. Cassie is on another call. Your mom assigned her to rebook all the reservations scheduled through Sunday.”

“Have Cassie call me when she gets a break.” Brice rattled off the cell number and disconnected the Bluetooth call.

Turning left at the fourth red light, he drove to the Maico Medical Plaza across the street from the hospital and parked in front of the second brick-and-mortar building. He held open the office door for two of his grandmother's elderly human friends. They offered profuse, sincere condolences, which he graciously accepted.

Popping her gum, the young human receptionist at the check-in window buzzed him in. He limped to Doc's office, less able to ignore the pain flaring since his jaunt through the woods.

Following the obligatory hug and bantered greetings, Doc hitched up his pant leg and perched on the edge of his desk. More silver streaked his godfather's hair than Brice remembered.

“When Gavin said you'd drop by, I didn't expect you to be so prompt.”

Brice rubbed his chin. “When did he call?”

“About fifteen minutes ago.”

“That's around the time I told him I was on my way.”

“When did he ask you to come?” Doc cleaned his glasses using the corner of his lab coat.

“This morning.” Brice scratched an itch behind his ear.

Doc laughed. “At least the delay got shorter. I remember when you'd wait at least a week before doing anything he asked.”

“He doesn't ask. He demands.”

“That is a matter of perspective, son.” Doc clapped his hands. “Let's get started, shall we?”

Brice provided the date of his last physical and rabies immunization, listed pain medications prescribed but not taken, described the same trouble sleeping, mentioned a few other things and then got to the real issue.

“The nausea began when you scented this mystery woman?” Otoscope in hand, Doc tipped Brice's head up.

“After her scent faded.” Brice gurgled a sneeze. Having something shoved up his nose was as uncomfortable as gagging on a tongue depressor.

“How long has this been going on?”

“I'd rather not say.” Brice hadn't mentioned Cassie by name. Providing a time frame would pretty much shine a spotlight on her. Something, he thought, she wouldn't appreciate.

“It's important to give me all the details.”

“You know that after the attack I smelled blood and guts 24/7.”

“A posttraumatic olfactory hallucination. I told you it would fade in time.”

“When it did, I lost my sense of smell completely.” Brice paused.

Doc's clinical expression didn't change, so the information wasn't new to him. Adam must've updated the Walker's Run pack physician when it happened, although Brice wondered why. Generally, a pack didn't concern themselves in the affairs of shunned wolfans.

“After I met this woman, I started scenting again, but the smells make me sick unless she's with me.”

“How do you feel now?” Doc clicked off the lighted scope and tossed the plastic speculum into the trash. “Any nausea?”

“Not at the moment.” Brice pulled the baggie from his hip pocket.

“That's creative. Carried it all the way from Atlanta, did you?” The crinkles around Doc's light brown eyes deepened.

Brice remained silent.

“Well, your nose looks fine.” Doc scribbled in Brice's medical chart. “My guess is that you're simply regaining your sense of smell.”

“Why would that make me sick?” Brice stuffed the plastic bag into his pocket.

“You've been scentless for five years. Now that you can smell, your stomach is reacting to the sensory overload. The nausea should stop once you adjust. In the meantime, you might experience a confusion of scents until your brain relearns how to decipher the smells.”

“Great,” Brice said not feeling the sentiment. “Any ideas as to why this woman's scent triggered all this?”

“A Wahya's nose is quite remarkable, imprinting every scent it detects even if the wolfan doesn't register it in his or her human form.” Doc tugged on the stethoscope looped around his neck. “Your mystery woman probably isn't a mystery to your wolf. She may have stood behind you at the grocery store or sat near you in a restaurant at any point in your life.”

“Then when I run into her again—” Brice snapped his fingers “—my nose starts working? Sorry, Doc. Not buying it. Trust me, I'd remember her if we'd met before.”

“Your wolf remembers even when your human self can't. The wolf always remembers.” Doc sat behind his desk. “Have you considered the possibility that you've found your true mate?”

“Considered and dismissed.”

“Keep an open mind. You might be surprised by what you discover.” Doc reached for the phone.

The howl in Brice's mind that he had twice banked reared triumphant. For a third time, he silenced the whine.

He liked Cassie. Hell, he couldn't deny his attraction to her, but that was lust, plain and simple. Besides, Cassie didn't show signs of a deeper, inexplicable connection between them or any sense of knowing that they belonged together. Instead, she had made it clear he wasn't a part of her destiny.

True mates began bonding from their first meeting, the ethereal tendrils entwining and strengthening with each subsequent encounter. If he'd met Cassie in the past and if they were indeed true mates, Brice's mating urge would've sparked in those first moments.

It happened that way for Rafe and Lexi, and they were only eight. Of course, they didn't pursue an intimate relationship until they were the proper age. They didn't have children when Brice left. Rafe always said they were working on it.

Brice hoped they had a houseful of wolflings now. And he planned to spoil each of them, if Rafe allowed him. Not once in five years had Rafe contacted him, and Brice had been too emotionally raw to reach out to his best friend.

Doc placed his hand over the phone's mouthpiece. “I want you to get a CT scan so I can compare it to your previous one. The imaging center has an opening now. Will you go?”

Brice answered that he would. Doc finished the call and Brice asked, “Do you think Rafe and Lexi would mind if I stopped by their place?”