“I’m not your wife.”
“My mate. Same thing.”
“You said it wasn’t the same. That humans marry and wolves mate.”
“Mating is deeper, more.” A growl rippled the air. My air, and he wasn’t even in my air. “Until death, which is a very long time in our world.”
I’d allowed this, embraced this to save my girl, but now I needed to save not only Gideon, but also the pack that had come to feel like family far too fast.
“I’m sorry, but we need to do whatever we have to do to undo this.” I waved a finger back and forth between us.
“There is no undoing it.”
“I don’t believe you.” And with that, I disconnected the call, powered down, yanked out the SIM card, and dropped both it and the phone into the tropical fish tank Patrick had given to Frankie one Christmas.
“Sarah! What the hell?” Frankie stood in the entryway from the hall.
“I’ll buy you another one.”
He waved a hand as if to chase a fly. “Heir? Mates? Pack?”
“You were eavesdropping?” I had waited for the sound of a door closing, but what I hadn’t done was check to make sure that Frankie was behind it. Silly me.
“You sound like a lunatic.”
“Feel like one too.”
Frankie shoved his fingers through his hair, mussing it more than I’d ever seen it mussed. “He’s Jenna’s dad?”
I nodded.
“Did Patrick know?”
Since Patrick and I had never had sex—surprised he hadn’t shared that . . . “Of course.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. I wasn’t supposed to share this, but there was a lot I wasn’t supposed to do that I’d already done. “There’s another world that lives beneath the moon. One that howls. One that kills.”
“You really believe that.” It wasn’t a question. “What else?”
I told him. All of it. Why not? I could always make him forget.
When I got to the part about Ash, Frankie held up a hand. “The FBI sent a werewolf hunter.”
“Apparently, certain cases are routed to them.”
“To the . . . what was it? Jager-Suchers?”
“Hunter-searchers. When you called your contact and said Jenna was missing, that contact called Ash, who’d been trying to find other missing girls.”
His niece, Haley, being one of them.
“I don’t know an Ash.” Frankie rubbed his temple. “Do I?”
“I made you forget. I didn’t want you searching for him or calling anyone who might.” And I should have stuck with that plan, but the ship had sailed.
“And where is he now?”
Chained in a dungeon somewhere awaiting execution. I’d tried to find out where but—
“Don’t have a clue.”
Frankie glanced at the door. “We should probably go.”
“Where?”
“Psych hospital.”
I laughed so hard I had to bend over to catch my breath.
“You finished?” he asked when I had. “Were you experimenting with psychedelics? Weird mushrooms? Bad food? Did someone slip you a mickey?”
“I don’t think that’s what they call it anymore.” Though what they called it I had no idea. “You believe I’m crazy.”
“As a shithouse rat. No offense.”
I snorted; I’d heard worse on the campaign trail. “And Gideon?”
“Who’s Gideon?”
“Guy on your phone.”
“Ah. The alpha.” He twisted the title into an insult, and annoyance trilled along my spine. “Shared delusion?”
“What about these?” I pointed at my formerly gingham-blue eyes, now a lovely royal cerulean.
He frowned; he hadn’t noticed them. Maybe because I had turned off all the lights.
“Tinted contacts.”
Except I wasn’t wearing any, but why bother? He was going to see what he wanted to see, it was the way of humans when what they saw was impossible.
I strode for the door.
Frankie hurried to keep up. “I’ll call ahead, talk to someone I know at the—” He peered into the fish tank, where all the pretty fishies flitted around his phone like it was a brand-new fish toy. “Crap.”
“Guess it’s show-and-tell time,” I said. “Or maybe tell, then show.”
Why I didn’t just zap his memory—again—I wasn’t sure. Perhaps a nagging concern that doing so too many times might give him a brain bleed. Or maybe I just needed someone to know. Someone who wasn’t part of this frightening new world I’d been thrust into. Still, telling Frankie had been a dumb idea. All about what I needed, what I wanted. Selfish.
“Hold on. Let me . . .” He glanced around, lost as a millennial without a cell phone. Or a landline.
I set my hand on the doorknob. “Don’t worry. I won’t tear out your throat.” I yanked open the door.
The wolf on the porch lifted his lip, and a snarl curled free.
“But he might.”
Thanks for the feature!
ReplyDeleteSounds like an incredible read.
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