Pack and Coven (3 page)

He just wasn't sure how to avoid it this time without getting himself tossed in jail.

For the first time since he'd met Sandie, Harry regretted setting up shop in Millington.

It had seemed the perfect choice for a shifter looking for a little room to run. The town sprawled in a valley between two West Virginia mountain peaks. Townies had used every available square foot of space before the mountains on either side grew too steep. Some buildings perched on the slopes like goats.

Miss Sandie's Tea Room was uptown, with the old brick buildings along Main Street. New developments like the Wal-Mart and hospital were downtown on River Street, which tended to flood in the spring. Only three automotive bridges crossed the Beacon River for miles in either direction, and they were all in or near Millington.

Bianca's sentries would have all routes out of the county watched. Packs the size of Millington's had experience with runners and claim jumpers, so trapping a single indie would be child's play, even if they didn't notify other territories.

Certain packs were notorious for impressment, but who would have thought, in this day and age, a pack would force an indie to bond as alpha? A regular packer, maybe, but alpha? Ludicrous. Once absorbed by the pack, he'd have little choice but to cooperate. The bond's hive mind would see to it. If he severed the bond without transferring to another pack, his shifting ability would be forfeit…among other things.

Was it worth it to give up his abilities? He'd never be in this position again if he survived the severance, but that choice had killed his mother. A choice she'd made to save him. He couldn't tarnish her sacrifice.

After he'd finished eating what he hoped wasn't his last meal as a free man, Annette bustled Harry through the fascinating odors of the kitchen before he could so much as peek into any ovens. Sandie, to his disappointment, was nowhere in sight. He thought about borrowing her car, but it was on its last legs. Tires. Rims. Whatever. Blowing out the motor in a high-speed chase with Millington's wolf pack wasn't the way to gently suggest it was time for Sandie to give up the Caddy.

He didn't know anyone else to ask, and he wouldn't steal a car unless he had to. Bad karma, to steal from friends. He hated the thought of leaving forever. This place suited him. Everything about it satisfied his shifter need for a foundation while leaving him free. The geography suited him. The level of industry suited him. The people suited him.

Except for the pack. Maybe he should have stayed in New York.

Harry shifted, clothes and all, when he reached a private area a couple hundred yards up the mountain. He was good for a few more shifts before he got form stuck, a pain in ass at the best of times and a really bad idea today. While it was tempting to run like the wind in the opposite direction, the pack would be on him before he got out of Millington. He might be fast, but they could sense alphas like him from miles away. Yet another annoying skill shifters picked up with a pack bond.

His best chance was that Porsche. Now he had to get to the car in one piece.

Adrenaline pumping, he loped through the woods to his shop, three miles up the state highway that led in and out of the valley. He veered off his normal route but didn't scent any recent wolf spore, which surprised him. He figured he'd have to dodge lookouts all the way to his garage. Wary, he returned to the game trail he'd worn between his place and Sandie's so he could pick up speed.

Soon he arrived on the outskirts of his property. According to his nose, Bianca had been here. He could scent his cats, small game, the metallic taint of his garage and something, someone else.

Intruder. The thick hair along his spine ruffled as he growled deep in his chest.

A two-leg. Traces of the person existed in the forested area of his property, where his private trail to town began.

Might be human.

Might be a shifter in human form.

With some difficulty, he resisted the urge to mark his perimeter. He could handle this situation better in human form. It could be innocent. A tourist with car trouble searching for a mechanic.

Except the scent was near the edge of the woods on private property marked by no-trespassing signs.

He had to find out who was here and get to the Porsche. If—no—
when
he made it out of pack territory, he'd call his part-time assistant, Chip, and discuss business contingency plans. Within reason, because Chip didn't know about his furry side.

Harry slunk into a stand of pine and changed. Though it sapped his energy, it was otherwise quick and painless. The media definitely had that wrong. He'd learned to transmute his clothes and possessions fifteen years ago after studying with a shaman in Manitoba. Cost an arm, a leg and free car repairs to anyone bearing the shaman's token, but it had paid off time and again.

Slipping his pocket knife into his hand, Harry broke cover and approached the back of his house. His cabin and garage were nestled away from the main road far enough that passersby couldn't see them, just the signpost.

He didn't like this. While he hadn't believed Bianca would give him until three, it would be hard to access the Porsche if she'd planted guards. Since he wasn't pack, he could only locate other shifters in normal ways.

He peered around the property, listening, scenting. Nothing out of the ordinary. In human form, he'd lost the hint of the trespasser. He rounded the side of his house and noticed a tiny, stubbed-off car in the gravel parking lot of his garage.

His prowler drove a Smart car. Or was it a tourist? It wasn't a vehicle he'd pick for cross-country travel. Not enough horsepower and nowhere to put your luggage or your beer cooler.

He sighted a flash of pink near the car, a glint of sunlight on pale hair.

As quietly as possible, Harry unlocked the side entrance of the garage. The smell of gasoline crinkled his nose, but he ignored it and peeked through the front windows of the office.

The flash of pink turned out to be the dress of someone he knew well. Somebody whose scent he should have recognized instantly. Somebody who had an important place to be this time of day, and it wasn't his garage.

Harry rolled up the bay door closest to the supermini, and his guest started at the sudden noise. She held her hands over her heart. In them was a large, shiny purse.

“Sandie?” he called out, pocketing his knife. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm not Sandie.” Quick as a cat, she removed a compact from her purse and dabbed powder on her nose. “Are you Harry?”

“Of course I'm Harry.” He approached her cautiously, a little concerned about her mental state. In the years he'd known her, Sandie had shown zero signs of dementia. Why in the world was she pretending she wasn't herself and driving that ridiculous car? “Are you all right? Do you need me to call somebody for you?”

“I'm not Sandie.” She waved a hand up and down her body, inviting him to take a closer look.

Harry blinked, and the woman blurred. When his vision cleared, she still looked like Sandie, with one major difference.

She was a good fifty years younger.

This Sandie was all pink and white and girly. Her eyes were the same blue, but her curly hair was blond. Her nose was the same snip, but her skin was plush and dewy as a peach. She was a little taller, a little rounder. As pretty a lady as any he'd ever laid eyes on.

“Do you need glasses? Sandie is my grandmother.”

“I don't need glasses.” How could he have thought this sweet young thing was an elderly woman? Harry edged closer, squinting. Had Sandie been wearing that dress in the tea room today? He was no expert on women's clothing.

She slipped her compact back into her purse. “A girl could feel very insulted at being mistaken for her nana.”

“I didn't know Sandie had kids, much less grandkids.”

“Surprise.” She held out her arms, her giant purse swinging. “Now that the introductions are through, there's something we need to discuss.”

“Is there?” Even though he was intrigued by this woman, his metaphorical hackles had yet to settle. Genetics didn't explain why he'd seen her as Sandie, why she smelled like Sandie and, most of all, why he didn't know Sandie had grandkids. Harry stalked up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” She shoved her pocketbook between them like a shield.

“You really look like Sandie. You could be twins, give or take a few decades. Is this a prank?”

With a funny smile—or a smile that would have looked funny on Sandie—she allowed his overfamiliarity. Harry soaked in her details, using as much of his shifter self as he could summon without wolfing out. Her skin was unlined, her lips plump and rosy, and her ears small. Her pale eyebrows feathered up as if surprised, but it was how the hairs grew.

She was a ringer for Sandie from afar, but not from anear. There were differences. Her nose had a scrunch to it that…

No, wait, she
was
scrunching her nose.

“Good gravy,” she said, sounding exactly like her grandmother. “Nana didn't warn me you were slow. This is going to be harder than I thought.”

Leaning forward, Harry whuffed in her scent, and his mouth started to water. She was more than pretty. She was edible. Cake, fruit tea and a little bit of… What was that? He could barely tell over the smell of gas.

“Excuse me. I think that's enough.” She shoved her purse into his chest and hopped backward. Harry advanced, she retreated, until she bumped into her car. Because it was so ridiculously small, the impact shook the vehicle.

“You're excused. Now hold still.” He whuffed again now that she couldn't escape and finally put his finger on it. Amber. Sandie didn't smell like amber, but this woman did. That's why he hadn't recognized her mark on his property.

“You are a very pushy person,” she said, breathing a little faster. “You shouldn't go around grabbing people you just met.”

“Probably not.” Good thing she didn't know he'd like to do more than grab her. He'd heard of lust at first sight. This was more like lust at first sniff.

It was also damned inconvenient.

She pushed him again. “You're not being very nice.”

Harry scratched behind his ear and stepped back. “Why didn't Sandie tell me about you?” Despite the fact none of this was relevant to his current crisis, he felt more than a little hurt.

“I don't know. She told me about you.” She opened her handbag, pulled out a rubber glove and snapped it on. Then she extended her hand for a shake. “I'm June. Nice to finally meet you.”

Harry eyeballed the glove a moment before accepting her greeting. As Sandie's granddaughter, he'd cut her some slack. Humans didn't have shifter constitutions, and some got freaky about germs. Sandie carried antibacterial wipes everywhere.

June had a grip as firm as her grandmother's.

“Nice to meet you too,” Harry said, his curiosity aroused. What else did he not know about Sandie? He hid stuff from her, but that was different. He wasn't human. “Does Sandie have a big family?”

“No.” June rubbed her palm against her cotton dress. “My mother was Nana's only child, and I was my mother's only child.”

“I'm an only child too,” he told her. And an orphan, but she didn't need to hear that part.

Her eyes widened. “I didn't know that about you.”

“Why would you? We just met.” If June could cook like her grandmother, his lust at first sniff could easily turn into more. Damn, she was pretty. “Is there a Mr. June?”

She blinked up at him, her cheeks pinkening. “What difference does that make?”

“Just checking.” Harry rocked back on his heels. There was no Mr. June, he'd bet his toolbox. He'd also bet she knew exactly why he'd asked. “So tell me, why were you poking your nose all over my property?”

“I didn't think you'd mind,” June said, “since I was looking for stuff to help you.”

“Help me?” Harry glanced at her car and back at her. “I figure Sandie sent you here so I could help you.”

“Why would I need your help?”

“Obviously to pick out a decent car.” Not that he could advise her right now. In fact, he shouldn't even be flirting with her. He needed to head for the west coast ASAP. He'd grab a few things and put extra food out for the cats. Sandie could check on them later, and Chip could handle the business. Every indie worth his pelt had steps in place in the event he had to disappear.

Hopefully, June would be here when he got back, and there'd still be no Mr. June.

“My car,” she told him, “is the least of your worries.”

“I don't know about that.” He sniffed. “I think you've got a gas leak.”

“I don't, but that's not why I'm here.” June opened her pocketbook again—really more of a suitcase than a purse—and withdrew two prongs of evergreen. They looked as if they'd been clipped from the white cedar near the back of his property.

“Then, Miss June, what are you doing here? Stealing my plants?”

It was possible Sandie intended to set them up. Interesting. She'd never done that before. In fact, she'd always tsked his choice of girlfriends. If Sandie thought they'd suit, he was definitely willing to…

He was definitely being stupid. The pack could show up at any moment, howling for him. This wasn't a safe place for a pretty female human who smelled like cake.

The pretty human watched him with eyes much older and wiser than her years.

“What am I doing here?” she mused. “It's hard to explain.”

“It will have to wait.” Harry tore his gaze from her and checked his watch.
Damn.
Two-fifteen. “Sorry to cut you off. I'm late for an appointment out of town.”

“I know about your appointment.” With her ungloved hand June started waving the cedar up and down as if dousing for water. “It's not out of town.”

Had Sandie told her about Bianca? Great. Now June probably thought he was a player. Which he could be. But there was no reason for June to know that.