“I know,” Knight lied again. He hated how good he’d gotten at this. “Come on, I didn’t let you drag my ass over here to be all serious. Let’s play some pool.”
Devlin grinned. “Okay.”
“You ever play, Rachel?” Knight asked, turning to address the dark-haired woman.
“No, but Devlin promised to teach me,” Rachel replied.
“If you want to learn how to win, you’ll let me teach you.”
“Hey.” Devlin took a swipe at him, and Knight ducked, tamping down a flash of fear at the harmless gesture. He laughed and swatted at the back of Devlin’s head.
Rachel looked at them like they were both crazy.
***
The book’s words began to blur. Jillian snapped it shut. She’d been staring at the same page for twenty minutes, rereading the same paragraph without understanding a single word. Normally she enjoyed Gregory Maguire, and she had been surprised to find several of his books tucked away in the large McQueen home library. Tonight her thoughts were elsewhere.
Her thoughts were stuck in Springwell, in an empty house she no longer thought of as home. Not in the two years since her husband and unborn daughter died in a horrible car accident that she only vaguely recalled. All she really remembered from those first few days was lying in bed, collarbone shattered, right arm broken, unable to believe her father or doctor when they said Derek and little Elizabeth were dead. She’d barely had the sense or strength to shift and speed up the healing process. She had clung to her grief so strongly for so long.
Seeing that child’s hand in today’s massacre had stirred up so many things. Half-breed or not, that child had been someone’s son or daughter. That child had lost a chance at a future. At happiness. No child deserved to die, much less be torn apart by monsters.
She flung the paperback across the room. It hit the wall with an unsatisfying thud, then clattered to the floor in a flutter of paper. She felt no better. No calmer. No closer to sleep.
The floor outside the library door creaked. She perked up, a tiny corner of her mind hoping it was Bishop. As furious as she still was at him for the remark against her late husband, she couldn’t deny her beast’s attraction to him. Or the attraction she felt as a woman toward a handsome, muscular male whose eyes always seemed to look right inside of her.
The door opened, and Mason Anderson stepped in. Hope dashed, Jillian offered him a polite smile. She cared for Mason, but their friendship had been strained when she chose to marry Derek. He was a strong, loyal man, devoted to the run, and he’d do anything for her father. And even now that she was expected to find another husband—for the good of the run—she could not foresee a future with Mason as Springwell’s Alpha.
His sharp gaze spotted the book. He picked it up and smoothed out the pages. “Didn’t like this one?”
“Something like that.”
“Uh-huh.” He sat in the middle of the leather couch she already occupied, close to invading her personal space. “What did you see out there?”
“You read the same report as everyone else.”
“Yeah, I did. Body parts, blood, and gore. But I see it in your eyes, Jill. Something’s got you thinking about them.”
Her throat closed, tight with emotion. Damn him for knowing her so well. “I am thinking about them. A lot these last few weeks.” She exhaled hard through her nose, sickened by the memory of that awful smell. “They killed a small child.”
His warm hand closed over her knee and Jillian didn’t push it away. She appreciated the contact. Needed someone’s touch when she was so turned around she didn’t know which way was up.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
The emotion shattered, and Jillian coughed out a soft sob. She covered her mouth with both hands, ashamed at losing it in front of Mason. He pulled her into a hug, and she let him. She melted against his broad, solid chest, taking the comfort he gave freely. Needing the familiarity of an old friend. He stroked her hair and her back, soothing and calming. Jillian worked through the grief, stemming her tears, balling it all up into a painful little heap that she shoved deep down where it had to stay. She was here representing Alpha Joseph Reynolds and the Springwell people. She could not cry in front of anyone else.
Mason would take this weakness to the grave.
“You don’t have to be strong for me,” he whispered. “Not about this.”
She pulled back far enough to see his face. “I have to be strong for everyone. I’m the Alpha’s daughter. It’s expected.”
“You have emotions, Jill. You lost two very precious, irreplaceable things. I understand that. Your father understands that. Grief takes time.”
“I don’t have time. This town doesn’t have time. I can’t let my grief get in the way of helping to find the monsters stalking us.”
“Then share your grief with me. Let me help you.”
Mason pressed his forehead to hers until their noses touched. She tensed, surprised by the intimate gesture, grateful for the simple touch. She breathed him in, the familiar scent of apple blossom that marked her people, and beneath it, a headier male scent. Her beast remained quiet, unimpressed with the man holding her—not like the way she jumped to attention around Bishop. Or the way she had with Derek.
“I can’t,” she said.
“We’ve always been a good match, Jill.”
“Mason—”
He shocked her with a kiss that was as gentle as it was urgent. The lonely woman who missed touch, who missed her husband, allowed the kiss. Did not protest the press of lips or the hand sifting through her hair. The loup garou beast whose instincts drove Jillian’s most important decisions rose up against the intrusion, urging her to stop this. Insisting this man wasn’t the one to make her happy or to lead her people, despite what the man himself might think.
Her phone saved her the need to end the kiss. Mason pulled back slowly, no apology in his expression. No satisfaction, either, or she probably would have slugged him. Only a question that she had no desire to answer. Her father’s name was on the front screen of her phone.
“Yes, sir,” she said. The formal greeting made her cringe, as though she’d been caught doing something naughty.
“Good evening, sweetheart,” Father said, his voice calm and conversational. No emergency, then.
“Good evening, Dad.”
Mason took the hint. He eased off the couch and left the library, giving her privacy.
“I take it you’ve spoken to Alpha McQueen about our discovery today?” she asked.
“Yes, we discussed it. I’ve looked at the photos. Such a gruesome thing.”
“They’re taunting us.”
“That’s the consensus of the other Alphas as well. There has been a discussion about some of the west coast runs sending reinforcements to Cornerstone, as the triplets seem intent on making you their next target.”
“I’m sure Alpha McQueen will be grateful for the assistance. His enforcers are strong, but this is a large town. More noses on the ground might be a good idea.”
“Thomas is a proud man, Jillian. He’s accepted my help because we’re old friends and because he was facing a crisis.”
“We’re still facing a crisis. The only thing that’s changed is the time line.”
“I agree, and so does Thomas. However, accepting more enforcers from other runs is a difficult decision. Tempers are already running high in Cornerstone, and adding more Blacks to the mix could be as detrimental as it is helpful.”
Especially with Cornerstone’s White Wolf off his game.
“How is your assessment coming?” Dad asked.
She cringed at the word. Assessment. He knew of her inability to choose another mate from her own run. One of the reasons he had agreed to allow her to stay and assist with the triplet hunt was her exposure to the unmarried Black Wolves in Cornerstone. He hoped she would find a match here. He had even offhandedly suggested she get to know Knight better. Agnes Mayhew, her own run’s White, was aging, and no Whites had been born in Springwell since her.
But even if Knight had shown any interest in her, or her beast in him, Jillian would not have pursued him. Knight was the lynchpin in a family dynamic that she could never hope to understand—nor would she ever be the one to rip Knight away from them.
The problem with her “assessment” was that she had found someone her beast responded to—the one person she could never have. “There are only a handful of unmarried Black males here,” she said. “None of them are Alpha material.”
“Shame.”
“Quite.” The entire idea made her feel foolish, as though she was in town shopping for a husband when her main purpose was hunting the triplets and defending Cornerstone. “How’s the market?”
“Busy. Local crops are coming in by the truckload, and everyone is starting into canning season.”
They discussed the market for a few minutes longer, and then Jillian said good night. She plodded upstairs to her guest room on the third floor. Mason’s door was shut. She ought to knock and settle what happened downstairs in the library. Make certain he knew that it could never happen again.
A deep yawn nearly cracked her jaw. She went into her own room and undressed, too physically and emotionally exhausted to deal tonight. It would keep until morning.
Bishop didn’t sleep well that night, his thoughts and dreams a disturbing mix of body parts and Jillian. He finally gave up at dawn when a particularly unsettling dream starring Jillian naked in his bed woke him with his hand on his own dick, coming in his boxer shorts. The brief bursts of pleasure faded quickly and left him irritated, rather than satisfied. He kicked off the bedcovers, wiped his hand on his soiled boxers, then stripped them off.
It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up with wood thanks to Jillian. He needed to get the woman out of his head and fast. She wouldn’t be happy knowing she was starring in his erotic dreams. If they weren’t on town lockdown for the foreseeable future, he might have given in to his pent-up needs and risked heading into the city for some relief.
As a Gray Wolf, Bishop didn’t carry the burden of mating for life, as Black Wolves did. Casual sex with other Grays was not out of the question for him. However, as the son of the Alpha, he had the burden of responsibility to his run. He had never wanted to hurt a woman’s feelings by sleeping with her, only to not pursue an actual relationship. As the future Alpha, that could be trouble.
He was also a thirty-two-year-old man, not a saint. He’d gone to college like Rook had, and he’d done his best to fit in. He’d dated casually, forgoing the casual hookups his acquaintances reveled in, and concentrated on his studies. Condoms were effective most of the time, but not all the time, and he didn’t want to run the risk of accidentally impregnating a human. So he made use of internet porn and his right hand—until the night he went out to a dance club his junior year and he smelled a half-breed female.
The nature of any half-breed was random, no one ever sure if the human side would overpower the loup side, or vice versa. Most half-humans never sensed their beasts, and they very rarely shifted. Unless half-breeds knew one parent was loup garou, they might live their entire life in the dark, not knowing why they were sterile or felt a bit different than other people.
That night, Bishop had gotten close to the half-breed out of curiosity. She was pretty, out with friends, and she never once indicated she sensed he was loup. So he danced with her, bought her drinks, then went back to her apartment and had sex for the first time. Twice. They hooked up a few more times after that, keeping things casual by mutual decision. In the twelve years since he graduated and came home to Cornerstone, Bishop had sought out and slept with a half-breed once a year, to keep the edge off until he finally found his mate. His last trip to any big city had been almost eight months ago.
He was due another release once the triplets were dealt with, or else he might attack someone out of sheer frustration.
A door slammed down the hall.
Bishop sat up, listening to the footsteps coming his way. He scrambled to his dresser for another pair of boxers. Nudity meant little to loup, given their need to be naked for shifting, but his instincts were telling him something had happened. The footsteps stopped once, and Father’s muffled voice spoke to someone, probably Rook. Bishop had his jeans on and a shirt in his hand when Father opened his door.
“We have a situation at the auction house,” he said, then disappeared.
Hell. No details meant this was happening quickly. He nearly ran into Rook in the hallway, also shirtless, his jeans not even buttoned. They both righted themselves on the mad dash downstairs. Father tossed their shoes at them, and they followed him out the front door.
Father walked with purpose, instead of running, so Bishop took a few seconds to tie his boots, then caught up.
“Six unknowns have been detained at the auction house by A.J. and Devlin,” Father said. “They’re injured and asking for asylum here in town.”
“Loup?” Bishop asked.
“Two of them are, according to A.J.. One is a pregnant human, three are half-breed children.”
The asylum request made sense, if two were loup garou. They’d know from scent alone that this was a sanctuary town.
“Are the children hurt?” Rook asked.
“I’m not certain. I told A.J. to call Dr. Mike. He’ll probably have beaten us there.” Father’s expression was grim. “One of the loup said they were attacked by a slim, black-haired woman who moved inhumanly fast.”
“Damn it.” Bishop resisted the urge to punch the side of the Smythe building as they walked past.
Dr. Mike had indeed beaten them. A.J. and Devlin were standing guard over a group of people who’d clustered together just inside the auction house entrance. Two men in their thirties were on their feet, a woman of similar age huddling with three kids of varying ages, one girl nearly a teenager, all bloody and terrified. Dr. Mike was bandaging the pregnant woman’s left arm.
The two men went straight to their knees when Father walked inside. Bishop scented them over the sharp odors of blood and fear permeating the room. They were the loup. The woman was a human. The loup scents were odd, a muddled fruit he couldn’t quite place.
“We found them on the road into town,” A.J. said. “They claim they were attacked in their shared home by a woman matching our hostiles’ description. Four were killed before he”—A.J. pointed to the man closest to him—“could shift and fight back. She left soon after. They came here for medical attention and protection.”
Bishop flanked Father on his right, Rook on his left. “What’s your name?” Father asked the man A.J. pointed at.
“Dell Jones, sir,” he replied without looking up.
“Where are you from?”
“My family and I, sir, we live in a small cabin near the Susquehanna River, west bank. No towns nearby, because we wanted it that way.”
A cabin in the woods near a river. Brynn’s vision. Bishop bit back a curse.
“You aren’t from Cornerstone,” Father said. “What run did you leave?”
“We weren’t born to a run. My brother Porter and I”—his head tilted toward the man on his left—“were born in that cabin. Our parents left Springwell when they were young.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know, sir. They never told, and we never asked.”
“But they told you about sanctuary towns?”
“Yes, sir, about your town and about Springwell. They said there were others, but not where. You were closest to us.” Dell looked too spooked to be lying about any of it.
“My name is Thomas McQueen. I’m the Alpha and this is my town. These are my sons, Bishop and Rook. Their word is my word, is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then tell me who the rest of you are.”
“Porter, my brother,” Dell said. He lifted his head, but did not raise it high enough to look any of them in the eye. “His wife, Melissa. Your doctor is looking after my daughter Summer. My other daughter Angel.” He pointed to the boy, the youngest of the kids. “Porter’s son, Cory.”
Summer and Angel were both crying. Cory clung to his mother, wide eyes taking in everything. Melissa looked like she was in shock. All four were covered in blood, but they didn’t appear terribly injured. It wasn’t their blood alone.
“Who was killed?” Bishop asked.
Dell flinched. “Our parents. My wife, Sophie. Porter’s daughter, Cathy.”
Bishop’s heart twisted at the broken way Dell spoke. The blood on their clothes was sticky looking, starting to dry, so the attack was only hours old. They hadn’t been given a chance to let the deaths sink in and to grieve. They’d had to find a safe place first.
“I’m sorry for your losses,” Father said. “A.J., Devlin, please bring water from the kitchen. Any clean towels you find, too.”
They nodded, then went. The auction house had a small kitchen that served food on auction day, in order to make people stay longer and spend more money. The whole operation had been gathering dust for weeks.
Dr. Mike finished with Summer’s arm, then turned to check out Angel. Angel cringed away from him. “I know it hurts, honey, but I need to take a look,” he said.
“It’s okay, baby,” Dell said. “Please let him see your leg.”
Angel hiccupped through her tears, then pulled up the leg of her pajama pants. Four long gashes scored her calf from knee to ankle. Bishop flinched at the sight of it, such ghastly wounds on someone so young. Then the pajama pants made him take a second look at everyone. They’d been asleep when the triplet struck.
A.J. and Devlin returned with the water bottles and towels.
“Please, clean yourselves up,” Father said. “Dell, I’d like you to tell me about the attack.”
“We were all asleep.” Dell confirmed Bishop’s suspicion. “I woke up because the kids started screaming. Then Porter was hollering. He told me to shift so I did. Porter, he saw more of it.”
“Cathy was the one who screamed first,” Porter said. “All the girls shared a bedroom, so I got over there fast. I saw the black-haired girl on top of her, on her bed, but Cathy wasn’t screaming anymore. I ran at her. She was so damned fast. Melissa was screaming for the other girls to run. Sophie came into the room. We all tried to fight the intruder. She snapped Sophie’s neck before Dell got there.”
Dell made a deep, mournful sound that gave Bishop chills. “My beast must have spooked the intruder. She lashed at me, tried to fight me, but then she just left. Busted right out the window and was gone. We found my parents dead in their bed. We were all so scared. I didn’t know what to do except get everyone in the car and come here.”
“You left the bodies in your cabin?” Father asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Father glanced at Bishop, the words unspoken. They’d have to send someone to take care of the scene. Loup garou bodies couldn’t be left for any stray hunter or hiker to stumble over. The parents had been loup. They deserved better than being left to rot.
“What was she?” Porter asked. “She moved fast like a vampire, but her scent was strange. Not all vampire, I don’t think.”
“She’s a genetically engineered monster,” Father replied, taking care with his words. “One of three, and I’m sorry to say you’ve sought asylum at the epicenter of their attention.”
“They’ve attacked you, too?”
“Several times, yes. We’ve sustained great losses, as well.”
“Why haven’t you killed them yet?” Melissa nearly shrieked the words, her control gone. “If you know who they are, why haven’t you done anything?”
Father stiffened. The accusations had to strike him deeply, because they sure as hell hit Bishop right in the gut. Her family had been attacked because of them—he saw it in her wide, wild eyes. She’d lost a child because they hadn’t stopped the triplets.
“We’re doing everything we can.” Father’s voice was tight, controlled. “They’re very good at hiding, and as you know, they’re fast. The only comfort I can offer, Mrs. Jones, is the knowledge that they’ve struck directly at my own family, so I will not rest until they’re all dead.”
Melissa started crying again. Porter moved to hold her, one hand protectively over her swollen belly. “Calm down, sweetheart, please.”
“Once you’ve cleaned up a bit and my doctor has looked over each of you,” Father said, “we’ll show you where you can stay.”
“For the night?” Dell asked.
“Until it’s safe for you to leave.”
“Thank you.”
Father waved Bishop and Rook to the side, near the door to his office. “Rook, go down to the boarding house and tell Jonas what happened. Have him prepare a room for this family.”
“Yes, sir.” Rook hustled off to do his errand.
“More half-breeds in town isn’t going to go over well,” Bishop said quietly.
“I know, but they’re innocent children, and they were attacked because of us. The triplets are targeting anyone with loup blood. If there are other families like the Joneses out there, they won’t be safe, either.”
“Knight is going to have a fit over this.”
“I know. He takes too much of this burden onto himself.” Father’s guard went down, and Bishop saw the angry, frightened parent who so often hid behind the façade of the Alpha. “I worry he’ll reach his breaking point and do something foolish.”
The words clarified something for Bishop. “That’s why you want him with someone all the time. Not only so he can’t be taken, but so that he doesn’t simply leave.”
“Yes. Knight doesn’t see himself as more important than anyone else’s life. Now that children are dying, he may do something desperate to make it stop. I won’t lose any of my sons to those monsters.” Father cleared his throat, and then the mask was back. “Call the house. Have Mrs. Troost dig into the attic and find some clothes for these people.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bishop made the call, then went to fetch a pickup so they could drive the Joneses to the other end of Main Street, where the boarding house was. Dr. Mike finished patching everyone up, with an order for Melissa to come for a proper prenatal exam once she’d rested. They were mostly scratched and scared, no serious injuries other than Angel’s leg. They helped each other into the truck bed. Father rode up front with Bishop, while A.J. and Devlin stayed behind to clean the blood off the auction house floor.
The sun was rising. Jonas, Rook, and Mrs. Troost were all waiting on the porch when they arrived. Introductions were made. Jonas greeted the newcomers with the attentiveness of any good Alpha welcoming a friend home. Jonas had lived around half-breeds his entire life. His experience left no doubt that this was the right place for the Jones family to grieve and heal.
Father spoke privately with Jonas a moment, then didn’t speak again until they’d reached the street leading to home. “Rook, I need you to make sure the other enforcers are informed of our new guests. And send Winston to assist Jonas in watching them.”
“Yes, sir.” Rook changed direction as he took out his phone to make the calls.
“I can update Jillian and Mason,” Bishop said.
“Fine. And make it very clear that no one is to speak to the Joneses about the specifics of the hostiles’ obsession. They’re not run loup, and they may not understand why we’re risking so much to protect Knight.”
“You don’t want them to blame Knight and attempt to avenge their family.”
“Correct. And I want to keep Knight away from them. He’s volatile right now, and he might let something slip out of guilt. I told Jonas all of this, as well.”