Secrets and Shadows (16 page)

“No.” Pietr had been the most honest part of my life. Until I corrupted him.

Wanda stood on our front steps, pistol case in hand. I rol ed down my window, looking her way. Our signal.

Dad shook his head. “He’s the reason you sneak around. And this last time…” Dad jumped, Wanda at his door, knocking.

Though I’d never thought I’d thank
anyone
for Wanda, I silently thanked God. Yes, she was too rough, too quick to jump, and knew way too much, but that was al probably part of CIA job requirements. And she was my ride. I couldn’t risk losing
that
.

“Hey, handsome,” she said.

Dad unrol ed his window to greet her.

I looked away as they kissed. It hadn’t even been six months since Mom died. I wanted Dad happy. I did. But happy was different from dating. And kissing. And dating and kissing—when I could wrap my mind around my Dad doing that—
shouldn’t
include Wanda.

“I was just tel in’ Jessie why she and that Rusakova boy shouldn’t be seein’ each other right now.”

Wanda’s expression went grave. “Stil grounded?”

“Until tomorrow,” my father reported.

I wondered if Wanda playing chauffeur didn’t wear on her, too. The excuses she came up with to get me out of the house were very un-Wanda-like things to do. But Dad never batted an eye when Wanda suggested doing girl stuff with me.

He surely hoped it eased the pain of losing Mom. But shopping couldn’t do that. Maybe time would.

Eventual y.

Wanda pushed the pistol case into my arms as soon as I climbed out of the truck. “Be a dear and carry that.”

I grunted, fol owing them down the hil . I set up the safety flag to show the outdoor range was live.

Stapling up two targets, I wondered if we shouldn’t stand under cover in case the heavens suddenly dumped; the sky stretched above our farm was heavy with clouds painted gunmetal blue.

The breeze kicked up, blinding me with my hair.

Wanda jerked a rubber band out of her pocket. “Tie it back,” she said, laughing at me.

“Safety glasses,” Dad reminded me, and I tucked their arms behind my ears, coloring my world glare-free amber. I plonked a pair of earmuffs on to drown out the eventual gunfire.

Opening the gun case I paused. The gloss of oil-slicked steel contrasted with the wood and bone of the two revolvers’ grips. Wanda leaned down and offered Dad the one in bone. “Model nineteen, four-inch barrel Smith & Wesson; .357 Magnum.”

He held it more like it was a baby bird fal en from the nest than a deadly mechanism born of fire and metal.

“I’l take this.” Wanda picked up its mate.

Orders were abbreviated on the family range. I looked around before announcing, “Ready on the right?

Ready on the left? Al ’s clear. Commence firing.”

They emptied their six-shooters quickly, Wanda finishing first. She stuck her hand out expectantly, and I shook six more rounds into her palm. She spun the cylinder, dropping bul ets in with a speed that spoke of hard practice.

She snapped it shut. And handed it to me.

Dad watched, unwil ing to hide his curiosity. He took the brick of ammo out of my other hand. “Wanda and I were talkin’ about you and your potential. We agree you should take up shootin’ again.”

I examined the pretty tool of death in my hand. “I don’t—”

“You never know when the skil could come in handy,” Wanda added. “Could save your life.”

“I don’t want to fal back into competition shooting. That was”—I glanced at Dad—“your dream, not mine.”

Dad’s face remained expressionless, but I knew wheels in his head were turning. He hated that I’d waste a gift—that I had an ability I didn’t take advantage of. Silent, he waited for me to break.

“Ugh. Maybe I’l compete—a little. But only rapid-fire.” Rapid-fire would let me defend myself. My eyes locked on Wanda’s, forcing her to read them. She nodded, a silent agreement that medals meant little if you didn’t live to display them.

She winked over my head at Dad.

“Okay, Jessie,” he conceded. For now.

I faced the targets and chose the one that looked cleanest. Dad’s. Raising the revolver, I relaxed my shoulders and hands, and eased out my breath.… Found the sight picture and fired. The muzzle rocked up and when it drifted back down, I fired again.

The sky darkened, the target dissolved, replaced by Grigori as he advanced on us that night. I squeezed off another round. Again. Again. And again. The gun loose in my grip, I stared straight ahead, struggling with the fact there was no threat.

struggling with the fact there was no threat.

Just me, punching paper.

Wanda eased the revolver out of my hands. “You real y cleaned out the center of that one.”

Dad grinned. “Al clear?”

I nodded and he jogged forward to check what was left of the target. He let out a whoop of joy, and I forced a smile.

“Great shootin’, Jessie,” he congratulated from downrange. “It’s like you barely took time off.”

Wanda watched me. She grinned for Dad’s sake, but her soft words were ful of warning. “You know you won’t get to take that much time in the field. It’l be pop-pop-pop. No time to release that breath and settle, no time to let gravity pul the muzzle back down. You may have to muscle it.” She made a show of patting my back. “Great shot, this kid!” she yel ed.

“I didn’t want any of this,” I hissed.

She looked at me, the dopey grin sliding away quick as lightning. “No one wants this, Jessie. But we handle what we’re dealt or we die.”

“Geez, you al looked real serious for a moment,” Dad said, jogging back to us.

“Wanda was reminding me that practice makes perfect and I stil have a lot to learn.”

Her gaze hardened a moment. “Yes, we
all
stil have a lot to learn,” she agreed. “Hey, I could arrange a match in a couple weeks. I’l loan you the perfect piece.”

“Great,” Dad agreed, giving her a peck on the cheek. “What do you say, Jessie?”

I thrust the word through clamped teeth. “Great,” I conceded. “I have stuff to do in the barns.”

“Lunch at noon,” Dad cal ed, meaning:
What’re you cooking?

“Burgers,” I announced, heading back to the barns to fuss with the feed and tack I’d already rearranged twice in my boredom. I considered my new, new, new normal: regular therapy; no Mom; non-werewolf boyfriend; horse riding; farm chores; school; newspaper; and shooting competition.

Swell.

I was flipping burgers out of the sizzling pan and onto buns when Wanda’s phone blasted “Hungry Like the Wolf.” She set down a fry and snapped her cel open. “Wanda,” she said amiably.

Something about her had changed faintly—a narrowing of her eyes, the way her jaw slowed as she continued chewing. “Wel , of course. I’l pop right over and lend a hand. Mind if I bring Jessica?” There was the briefest of pauses. “Great! Yep. We’re on our way!”

I raced to the door with my jacket and purse, trying not to be obvious as I shifted from foot to foot.

Wanda didn’t move this fast unless there was trouble. And the only trouble she welcomed me to was trouble at the Rusakova house.

“Gotta race off to the library—major research mishap. If we don’t reconcile it fast, the seniors at Junction wil have a heck of a time with their projects.”

“Go, woman,” Dad chuckled.

Wanda dashed out the door I held. She sprinted to the car and I hopped in, barely buckling up before we launched forward.

“What’s going on?”

“Our bug picked up a huge fight at their place. Cal your boyfriend. I need to know what’s up.”

Instead of protesting that Pietr wasn’t my boyfriend, I hit the number. The phone rang and rang. “No answer.” Something cold crawled along the base of my spine, climbing toward my stomach.

“Damn it.” She shot through stop signs.

“What do you think…?”

“You’ve studied wolves. What happens when the leader of the pack gets displaced?” She nailed the accelerator, and we sped through town. “Thought they were smarter.…”

I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. A fight for dominance between wolves was brutal, but between Pietr, Catherine, Max, and one too-human Alexi…? It couldn’t end wel . I tried to steel myself to the fact it could be Pietr and Max fighting. Max was older by nearly a year, broader in the shoulders and heavier with muscle. Quicker to react, he was faster to let the wolf inside his skin leap out.

Pietr was more agile. Brighter. Fear set my nerves jangling. Imagining the ful -blood brothers fighting, I shuddered.

We were in their driveway before I could consider al the possibilities. Wanda bolted out of the car with me beside her. Even outside the house the brutal noise of glass shattering and cursing shook us.

Onto the Queen Anne’s shadowed porch we flew. Wanda kicked the door open. Any other day I’d suggest she try the knob first.

suggest she try the knob first.

The foyer was strewn with signs of battle—pictures torn from the wal , glass splintered across the ornate Oriental rugs that ran the hal way’s length. There was a crash in the sitting room. Pushing past Wanda I froze, mouth gaping.

Stunned.

Max had Alexi pinned to the floor, his hands on his elder brother’s neck. “Pretenderrr…” The word stretched from three to seven syl ables under Max’s primal rage.

“Jee-ZUS!” Wanda sprang between them, throwing her weight at the choke hold Max had on Alexi, desperate to break his grip. “Dammit! Let him go!”

Eyes bulging, Alexi’s face reddened as Max choked the life out of him.

Alexi fought. His fingers, slow and clumsy, battled for their own grip on Max.

Helpless, I looked on. Where were Pietr and Catherine?

Wanda knelt beside the warring brothers. “Alexi, stop fighting.”

Alexi’s eyes rol ed to Wanda.

“Stop fighting. Submit,” she said, so calm the words and tone seemed as opposed as the brothers she aimed them at. “I know. It’s counterintuitive. But
I
can’t stop him.
You
can’t stop him. The others aren’t here to save your sorry ass. And I don’t know if they would if they were.”

I stumbled forward, crouched beside her, hands struggling to peel away even one of Max’s fingers. My knuckles screamed with effort. Desperate to break his stranglehold, my attempts never rated a single glance from Max.

Alexi’s eyes rol ed back in his head.

“MAX!” I shrieked.

Wanda’s voice stayed cool and even. Tempered and rational. “You know you have to trigger that part of the beast in him, Alexi. You did a great job triggering his attack instinct,” she commended with a sneer.

“Now submit. Or die.”

Alexi gagged, veins rising across his forehead. His eyelids fluttered. Closed. His hands dropped away from Max, arms limp. His whole body seemed to col apse in.

“Ohhh, God…,” I wailed, my hands on Max’s as his fingers loosened and he dropped Alexi’s body to the floor.

Panting, Max rocked back on his heels, his eyes losing their wildness. “Shit,” he whispered.

I smacked him—a crack of my hand across his cheek—a second before Wanda knocked me to the floor.

Pietr straddled us in a sprinter’s pose, lips peeled back from teeth already lengthening.

Max’s eyes flared, his face stretching. The noise of joints slipping wetly from their sockets warned his body was beginning the shift.

I grabbed Pietr’s arm, a mad attempt at begging him to stop. But backing down wasn’t in his nature.

Wanda shoved me away from them, pushing me against the love seat. “He nearly shut down that dominant wolf response. What were you thinking? Trigger it again—aim it at you?”

“No…” My eyes blurred. So did Pietr’s and Max’s forms, their spines rippling as the wolves inside wriggled free of human clothes and human skins.

wriggled free of human clothes and human skins.

“No!” I screamed.

Jaws snapped, teeth clicking cruel y together as they dove for each other. Pietr, ful y furred, the tal , dark hair along his back rising in a thick crest, circled Max until his shoulder struck a side table.

Max pul ed up to his ful height on al fours, a reminder to Pietr of the difference in their size. The love seat’s carved legs bit into my back, and I yel ed, “Pietr! Drop! Submit!”

I covered my face as Max lunged at him. Pietr twisted out of the way, letting Max vault past. And slam into the wal .

A photo of St. Basil’s Cathedral crashed onto Max’s back and he shook it off, spraying the room with tiny shards of glass like a biting rain. Max growled, the noise rising from the darkest part of him. He spun, claws gripping the floor, shifting the carpet and gouging the hardwood as he launched himself at Pietr again.

With a
woof
he connected, rol ing Pietr into a table that col apsed on them both.

Pietr tore free of Max’s toothy grip and the tang of blood stained the air. Pietr rose, red trickling from a slice in his shoulder. Shaking out his pelt, he spattered the room with crimson.

I blinked, reaching up to touch something warm and wet on my cheek. Blood on my fingertip, a tremor rocked me.

Pietr charged, heading right and turning left at the last moment—a bold feint—cutting under and up, his back on the floor. Bel y up, his teeth locked on Max’s throat.

Wanda stood, going for the gun under her shirt.

“No!” I leaped up, wrenching her hand away.

“This can’t end wel ,” she snapped.

“Keep your hand off the gun,” I said, looking down at Pietr lying in his wolfskin, jaws clamped on his brother’s throat, prepared to crush his windpipe or open a jugular.

Max whined. Pietr readjusted his grip.

“He’l kil him,” Wanda stated.

“No.” Before I’d thought my actions through, I was beside Max, arched across his back and neck, staring into Pietr’s eyes. “Let go, Pietr.”