Secret Worlds (147 page)

As Quetzalli and I walked through the middle of the green and took in the depressing sights around us, I was startled to hear my wolf chime in her two cents’ worth:
Look to the alpha.
It had been so long since I’d heard so much as a whisper from my wolf that I stopped in my tracks to take in her words. I reached inward, but the lupine consciousness slipped away through my fingers and I almost believed I’d merely imagined her voice in my head. Almost, but not quite.

“What’s wrong?” Quetzalli asked, and for the first time since our pack had left, there was a hint of concerned warmth in her voice. The thought flickered through my mind that Quetzalli was really a better companion to have in Haven than either Galena or Oscar since Quetzalli was tough but kind, and her words made me realize that she might actually forgive me one of these days. Echoing my thoughts, the ache in my stomach seemed to dull by a minuscule amount, reducing the pain from a mind-wrenching presence to something I could think past if I focused hard enough. The easing pain even made me smile at my unchosen companion.

“I thought I heard my wolf,” I answered her question, then continued. “But you’re right, Haven shouldn’t be like this. It feels like a ghost town, but with the people still in it.” In fact, Haven felt much the way I had when I sought my wolf out in her lair and found her missing, but there was no way the entire community’s wolves could be absent.

“Your father,” Quetzalli said simply, her words confirming the insight from my wolf. There was more here than met the eye, and I needed to strike to the heart of the matter if I wanted to figure out what was going on.

***

That was easier said than done, though, since Chief Wilder was far too busy to even take meals with his wife and daughter that day and the next. In fact, instead of hunting down the cause of Haven’s collective depression, I ended up suffering through an afternoon surrounded by giggling cousins as they fitted me for my wedding dress (groom to be announced). The trauma was lessened only slightly when I realized that Quetzalli was even more shell-shocked by the episode than I was.

Since Cricket was darning socks in the corner as a sort of mood stabilizer, I did my best to smile and nod, otherwise ignoring what was going on around me. But even my hard-boiled mood couldn’t overlook the excitement of my youngest cousin, Iris. “You’re
so
lucky,” the teenager trilled as she hemmed the edges of a petticoat several hours after the bridal shower had begun. I couldn’t quite tell if the young werewolf was referring to the quality of the dress we were constructing or to my mate choices. Either way, I felt far from lucky.

In fact, I couldn’t help counting how many hours it had been since I had last gazed upon Wolfie’s face, which made for a more pleasant daydream than the one Iris would have chosen for me. Surely Wolfie must have calmed down enough by now to make an appearance here at Haven, I pondered. Unfortunately, it was beginning to seem more and more likely that Wolfie had ordered Quetzalli to join me, then had changed his mind about hoping to see me again. But if that was the case, why hadn’t the young alpha sent someone to fetch Galena’s spouse home?

“Mmmm,” Fernanda hummed, bringing me back to the present and responding to Iris’s enthusiasm. “Hunter
is
a nice specimen, and Reed isn’t so bad either, if you like them young.” She winked at me saucily, and I remembered that Fernanda had gotten married even before I left Haven. I guess she’d had a thing for young men even then.

I’d been trying not to think about the four potential mates, hand-picked by my father, who I was to meet at dinner the next night, but my cousins’ banter finally made the future impossible to ignore. Just remembering what tomorrow held in store for me made my stomach decidedly queasy, but I couldn’t expect a reprieve on that account. When it came to a bargain, my father would expect the other party to live up to their word even if they had to do so between bouts of vomiting, and as much as I hated the fact, the Chief and I had made a deal. I shivered, even though the room was hot from the coal furnace in the basement of my family home, and wished with all of my heart that I was back in Dale’s basement with Keith pounding on the floor above me, playing Dance, Dance, Revolution at two in the morning.

My thoughts were once again interrupted, this time by Cricket, who was kind enough to put me out of my misery. She’d clearly joined us for a different purpose than to merely keep me in line, and I reminded myself that I needed to give my stepmother credit for making my confinement less painful than it could have been. “I think we should be able to finish up the rest later,” Cricket said, rising to usher the young werewolves out the door, and I sent her a thankful smile.

Which reminded me of the very worst part of my voluntary incarceration. I was beginning to understand how I could learn to be content here, to turn into a plumper version of Cricket and to settle into Haven life, forgetting what I was missing in the outside world. I’d spent the morning helping my stepmother prepare the day’s bread, and had ended up enjoying the yeasty odor and the feel of resilient dough between my fingers. Later, we hung sheets out on the line to dry, mopped the front hallway, and even washed windows, each task provided immediate gratification that had been lacking in my previous life. Now, a traitorous part of my mind told me that perhaps my father had my best interests at heart all along—maybe this simple women’s work was what I had been born for.

“Well, that didn’t end a moment too soon,” groused Quetzalli, and I smiled in relief. At least I had Quetzalli present to take the edge off my internal craziness.

***

Quetzalli had gone on a walk to blow off steam and Cricket was down in the cellar gathering vegetables for dinner when Iris showed back up. The young werewolf knocked so timidly on the back door that I almost missed the sound, and when I let her in, she immediately began apologizing. She was sorry to bother me, sorry to interrupt, sorry to intrude. Despite myself, my heart warmed at the youngster’s elaborate apologies, and I took pity on her at once.

“What’s wrong, Iris?” I asked, channeling my stepmother as I put on a pot of water for tea. I even pulled out a tin of cookies to sweeten the poor child’s mood, not that she herself could get much sweeter. If nothing else, the food would give me something to do while the young werewolf apologized.

Despite the cookies and tea, Iris was evasive, and it took me a full ten minutes to put my finger on her problem. My young cousin was unhappy with life in Haven, but was afraid to strike out on her own since female werewolves had such a hard time controlling their shifts. She’d heard that I was able to keep my wolf under control despite monthly hormonal surges. Was it true?

When I asked myself the same question, I realized that I probably
could
teach this young werewolf to squash her wolf just like I’d chained mine. But I didn’t want to. Learning to partner with my wolf over the last few weeks had been one of the most profound experiences of my life, and my current shiflessness was responsible for a solid half of the ache in my stomach. The truth was, I missed my wolf, and would do almost anything to get her back.

I opened my mouth to tell Iris that the solution wasn’t worth the price, that losing your wolf was too painful to even imagine, but before I could speak, my body surged with my almost-forgotten wolf sense. Smells were stronger, the light brighter, and I could even make out Iris’s wolf hovering just beneath the surface of my cousin’s human form. The other wolf was young and scared, the most submissive canine I’d ever met, and with my own wolf rampant, I could almost see Iris’s tail drooping between her legs even though she was currently two-footed.

“You’re worried about what your wolf will do,” I exclaimed, “but she’s so tame and calm!” It was strange to be able to see someone else’s wolf when they were in human form, but I was certain of my diagnosis. “You don’t need to be concerned about your wolf hurting anyone,” I soothed Iris. And then, before my own wolf could retreat back to whatever secret den she’d come out of, I finished silently,
Thank you for coming back
. My lupine half didn’t answer me in words, but I could tell she was amused at my slowness to realize that I needed her canine presence, and I accepted her humorous rebuke gracefully.

I was still cheering up my cousin when Quetzalli walked in the door, which gave me an idea for solving Iris’s problem. “Do you think your parents will give you permission to leave Haven?” I asked my cousin carefully, and she responded with an eager nod.

“Mom doesn’t want me to stay in Haven,” the young werewolf confirmed, “and she can talk Dad around. I was just afraid to leave … .”

“Well,” I interrupted, “in that case, I know just the place for you, and just the person to take you there. The pack I used to live with would be just right for you, and Quetzalli should be getting home soon anyway.”

“Just what I need,” Quetzalli groused. “Someone even younger to babysit.” But I could tell from the glow of her lupine half that she was eager to get home to her partner. Even though I would be left alone in Haven, I was happy too. My wolf had returned.

“I’ll miss you,” I emoted, pulling Quetzalli in for a lingering hug as she finished zipping up her duffel bag. The idea of sending Iris and Quetzalli away had seemed like a good one a few hours earlier, but now I was realizing how alone I’d be in Haven without Quetzalli’s solid presence by my side. In a way, it felt like I was cutting off my last tie to Wolfie, admitting that I’d chosen to salvage whatever was left of Haven in exchange for losing the possibility of happiness with the man I loved.

Sappy
, my wolf interjected, which prompted me to smile instead of cry. Nothing like a canine to bring me back down to planet earth, and to remind me that I wouldn’t be entirely friendless here.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home with us?” Quetzalli asked, once I released her from the farewell embrace. It was a bad idea, but for a second, I allowed myself to imagine climbing out the attic window that night and slipping through the dark to meet up with Quetzalli on the road. Unfortunately, my mind continued on to the inevitable conclusion of that scenario—the Chief showing up on Wolfie’s doorstep the next morning to take me back by force, the younger alpha challenging my father, and the cousins slaughtering every one of my friends. I might
want
to go home with Quetzalli, but I wouldn’t do it.

“No, I have to stay here and figure out what’s wrong with Haven,” I told her. “Tell Wolfie … .” My voice trailed off as I realized I couldn’t think of anything to say to the young alpha. Tell him I loved him? Bad idea—that would just make the bloodling bring the fight to Haven. Tell him I was sorry? Same result, most likely, since it might make Wolfie forgive me for my harsh words. “Just tell him goodbye for me,” I said finally, and I was glad Quetzalli didn’t linger over her own farewell since I knew I wouldn’t be able to speak again through the sobs trying to force themselves up out of my chest.

***

When I woke, my throat was still sore from the crying jag I’d succumbed to as soon as Quetzalli walked out the door. It was dark outside, but the waning moon was pushing through the curtainless window, filling my attic domicile with a soft glow and proving that I’d slept through the evening and half the night.

I stretched, suddenly wide awake despite the late hour, then glanced across the room at Quetzalli’s empty bed. But the bed was no longer empty. Instead, a large wolf was sprawled across the mattress, and my heart leaped, imagining that Quetzalli had dropped off Iris and then crept back into the attic to rejoin me. Perhaps I wasn’t so alone after all.

But as I tilted my head to the side to get a better look, the wolf tilted her head as well, and I realized the canine was simply my own reflection in the darkened window.
My reflection
, I tried out the words, and suddenly felt like I was flying. Shiftless no longer, my wolf had come to comfort me with fur.

If I’d been in my human form, I would have laughed at the notion that a fit of self pity was all that was required to break through my inability to change forms. But with the wolf brain and my human side merged into one mind and body, we were instead enveloped by a calm that I hadn’t felt in years. We were able to think clearly for the first time in weeks, without any confusing human emotions to weigh us down.

To celebrate, my wolf and I decided to run together, releasing the last of the angstful emotions that had been churning through our belly. But as we rose into a crouch, we felt paper rather than sheets crinkling beneath our paws, and my human brain jolted back to the forefront.

Looking down, my nose knew what had happened before my eyes could focus on the torn envelope. My dead sister’s scent wafted up from the disinterred sheet of paper, and the wolf and I breathed deeply, knowing that this decade-old aroma would dissipate before long. Despite ourselves, we whined, missing Brooke’s soft lap and gentle hands. She’d sat right here beside us so many times, brushing the tangles out of our wayward hair and braiding it back into a simple plait, or comforting us when we’d clashed with our father over some rule we considered stupid and he considered gospel. Her scent on the paper seemed to bring long-forgotten pieces of my sister back to life in my mind.

“I’m sorry he’s so hard on you,” Brooke had told my human form once, not long before she left home. It had always seemed unfair that my sister could float through her days beneath my father’s radar while I was the harridan who seemed in constant need of reprimands, but I didn’t resent my older sister so much as I hated my father for the unwanted attention. “You know it’s only because the two of you are so much alike, right?” Brooke continued gently, rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles.

“I’m nothing like him!” I retorted, stiffening in horror at the notion that the Chief and I shared anything other than 50% of our DNA. Even before our mother died, I hadn’t wanted to grow up to be like my father, who never had a kind word for any of his children and who believed in an eye for an eye justice.