Kept (2 page)

All around me, my parents’ home was alive with activity. The dinner had started already, so everyone sat at the tables set up in the dining room and out into the living room. To any stranger, the whole scene would’ve seemed noisy and crowded. But to us it was normal. I reveled in this chaos—I had missed it.

I could feel Yelena’s heated gaze following us as Aggie and I headed to the kitchen.

While I tried to shake off my aunt’s oh-so-warm welcome, Aggie appeared to be relishing the loud conversations. Smatterings of English blended with bursts of Russian. Even though Aggie couldn’t understand the Russian parts, she felt at home among the Stravinskys. Under most circumstances, I would’ve enjoyed dinner here, too. As the weather got colder, my mother gave in to her urge to roast anything that could be herded, caught, and quartered. According to my nose, the meal would be extra tasty tonight. No one could resist the siren call of the savory scent of grain-fed Angus beef. To top it off, I knew the meat would be succulent and dressed with thick homemade gravy.

We reached the oversized kitchen to find my mother waiting for us. Thankfully, Overlord Yelena Torchinovich had not followed us this far, instead taking her seat at the dinner table.

Even as her guests ate, my fair-haired mother continued to mind her pots and keep the food coming. She quietly offered us some Russian salami with cheese and then assessed Aggie’s cakes.

Aggie said, “Everything smells divine, Mrs. Stravinsky.”

I expected my mom to glow with pride, but she only offered a small smile and gestured for us to go back to the dining room and eat. “Don’t let the food get too cold,” was all she said.

For Aggie and her never-ending appetite, Mom had effectively rung the dinner bell. With glee, she made a beeline for the table. Naturally, only two spaces were left. Both of them were right across from Auntie Yelena. How convenient.

Before sitting down, though, I approached my grandma and greeted her. After I kissed both of her cheeks, she whispered, “I’m glad you came.” Grandma Lasovskaya’s face might be wrinkled from centuries of living as a werewolf, but her brown eyes remained young, always shining with the warmth of her love for her family.

My dad sat at the head of the table eating a steaming bowl of soup. When one of my uncles slapped his shoulder after telling a god-awful joke, I expected him to laugh—or at least snort—but he didn’t. I guess I wasn’t the only one who didn’t feel like taking people’s crap today.

Not long after I sat, my aunts and uncles nearby passed me bowls of food. A generous spoonful of homemade and creamy
olivie
snuck on my plate first. I emitted a happy sigh. Nobody made potato salad like my mom. She used fresh vegetables and then added bits of chicken. Next up was her famous pot roast. The meat was so tender, the pieces fell apart as they landed on my plate.

Everyone, except Auntie Yelena, chatted and made jokes with me. Even Dad tried to crack a smile once in a while. Just a few years ago my interactions with family had been very different. They’d avoided me back then as if I didn’t exist, due to my obsessive-compulsive disorder. Even now, of course, all it would take was just one
person to stomp on the precarious relationship I’ve built with them.

“How long do you plan to continue this charade?” Auntie Yelena asked.

A slice of beef almost got caught in my throat.

The question was directed to me, and I wanted to ignore it. But my grandma had taught me to mind my manners, even with people who apparently had forgotten theirs.

Yelena took a sip from her glass of merlot. “You do realize the trials are coming, don’t you?” Her snippy questions wrapped around my throat like a boa constrictor. “I bet you think you can just slide back into the pack like you did with this family.”

My auntie Yelena was referring to the trials the South Toms River Pack holds every year. It was a chance for me to not only rejoin my pack but to prove to everyone that I was no longer a weak and vulnerable member of the Stravinsky family.

I guess that even after I had survived the Long Island pack invasion not so long ago, I still hadn’t proved myself. I gave everything I had that night. Too bad Yelena still didn’t see that I had tried my best.

I sighed and tried not to squirm. The whole time thinking,
The strong within the pack shall prevail, and the weak shall fall
. Wasn’t that what the Code—the code of ethics for all werewolves—had taught Auntie Yelena? Being a part of a family that followed the Code for centuries should have given me a measure of pride. I had a history, a heritage. But for me the Code was nothing but a persistent reminder of my shortcomings.

Finally, I found my voice. “Forgetting about getting kicked out of the pack is rather difficult. Especially since I haven’t been included in anything for the past five years.” Like her daughter’s last-minute wedding this past summer to an overweight stripper. I bet she thought
we didn’t know about her son-in-law’s cheesy website and his free
in-home
demonstrations.

From a few seats down, my brother, Alex, spoke up. “Hey Nat, unlike some other folks at the table, my wife is looking forward to seeing you at her baby shower.”

I glanced at Yelena, who stared back at me. “I wouldn’t exactly call that pack business,” she said. “But I guess someone has to take pity on you.”

She had some nerve. I should just hand her my butter knife so she could get it over with and stab my damn heart out.

Aggie threw her fork down. “I’m a guest here, but I’m also Nat’s good friend. Could you just knock it off?”

Other than my grandma and my father, Auntie Yelena was considered an elder and should be a respected—or should I say
tolerated
—member of the family. No one told her to knock off anything.

Yelena shot to her feet. “Who do you think you are—”

My mom had picked the perfect time to bring in one of Aggie’s cakes. “Oh, shut up, all of you,” she snapped in Russian.

She slammed the cake on the edge of the table. The poor chocolate masterpiece never had a chance—it plopped on the floor like a gob of mud.

I took in everyone’s faces. Aggie’s expression was horrified. She screeched, “Man down!” Meanwhile, a few seats from me, my grandma broke out in a fit of giggles. The laughter spread like wildfire, until everyone was laughing.

Except my mom and dad. Mom turned away and began to cry.

Dad sat there silently, then reached out to comfort his sobbing wife. He turned to us. “She had a hard time at work today. I’ll take care of her.”

“Mom?” I asked.

My dad, ever the hero when needed, tilted his chin
toward the living room, “C’mon, Anna, let’s take a walk.”

Uncle Boris immediately stepped toward her. “What’s the matter, Anna?”

Mom shook her head as Dad led her out of the room. The urge to follow them was strong, but I knew it was best to let Dad take care of her.

Everything settled down once my parents left. While Auntie Yelena continued to give me the evil eye, Alex sat down next to me.

“You’ve been preparing for the trials, haven’t you?” he asked.

The question was a simple one and unfortunately so was the answer. I hadn’t done a damn thing. A few months ago, I was completely focused on staying alive while the Long Island pack hunted me down. But even now that the invaders were long gone, I still had yet to find the time, or the energy, to do a push-up.

“I’ve been planning a thing or two to get ready.”
Or none
.

“Good. Then adding a workout routine with me to your schedule won’t be so hard.” He gave me a wink from his seemingly innocent blue eyes. But I knew they were about as innocent as a carton of milk left in the fridge for too long. You never know what you’re gonna get when you finally venture to take a sip.

While Alex and I spoke, Aunt Vera had honed in on Aggie. Out of all my aunts, Aunt Vera’s matchmaking tendencies were the most relentless. If she wasn’t eating or trying to throw on a dress that was too tight for her pear-shaped body, she was arranging perfect pairings for her relatives’ all-important walk down the aisle—or trying to.

“You’ve been here so long, Agatha. Haven’t you found a good man yet?”

This was where I should’ve rescued my friend. But
from the amused expression on Aggie’s face, I thought it seemed best to sit and observe.

“Not yet.” She shrugged with a slight grin. “But who knows if Prince Charming isn’t waiting for me in a drunken stupor on some street corner?”

My aunt harrumphed. “You don’t need just
any
man.” She had that mothers-know-best expression down pat. “You’re Scottish, right? Well, that means you need a good, strong man. A
Russian
man.”

Here we go
. For the next ten minutes—or should I say longer, since I got up to do something trivial in the kitchen, my aunt began her spiel. When I came back she was still going—giving Aggie every reason she could think of for marrying a Russian man. That she was willing to say all this while the men in
my
family were sitting at the table struck me as rather bold. Uncle Boris was an overpowering-cologne-ridden lady-killer, my brother used to be a man-whore, and … well, the best thing I could say of my three other uncles was at least they had jobs and would be loyal spouse material. That was it.
Unfortunately
.

After picking up a few things here and there in the kitchen, I peered out the back window to see Mom and Dad sitting on the patio in the backyard. Dad’s thick arm was stretched across Mom’s shoulders, drawing her small frame close to his large one. Even with the contrast in their appearance, they looked like the perfect pair.

Their words were ever-so-faint, but I heard them nonetheless. As a werewolf, my hearing is quite acute, as is that of my family members. To keep a conversation to themselves, my parents often went outside.

“—but it has been too quiet in the house,” my dad said.

“It has. I’ve missed my Natalya.”

“I know you have. I never expected things to … turn
out how they have lately. But you do believe me when I say that I don’t want you to worry,” Dad whispered.

Worry about what?
I leaned as close to the window as I dared.

“I’ve waited so long for us to become grandparents,” Mom said. “I’ve looked forward to it.”

“And soon you will be one,” he replied softly. “You’re a good
jena
. The best wife for a man like me. Sasha’s baby’ll come soon, and Natalya will marry a good man. We’re a family again, and there’s nothing but smooth sailing ahead of us.”

Mom’s reply didn’t sound as confident. “I hope what you say is true, Fyodor. I really do.”

I heard one of them shift to look around, and I immediately backed away from the window. The rest of their conversation belonged to them, but what I’d heard weighed heavily on my mind as I walked back to the dining room. After all the things I’d had to face, what could be coming now?

Chapter 2

I
hadn’t
expected a man—other than my brother—to call me the next day at five a.m. to wake me to begin my training. I recognized the number right away, and it wasn’t Alex’s. Caller ID really made it hard to be surprised these days.

I let the phone ring three times before I picked it up, then blurted, “Thorn Grantham, unless you’re calling to give me a free pass to avoid the trials, there’s no reason for you to call me at this hour.”

“Meet me at the high school track in thirty minutes.” There was a
click
and the phone line went dead.

I hadn’t heard his voice in a while, so I wouldn’t have minded a “Hey, you” or perhaps a “Sorry to wake you at five in the morning.” But all I got was an order to meet him at the track, presumably to start my training.

If my foggy memory served me correctly, wasn’t it
Alex
who was supposed to have called me for a training session? And if so, why had my sneaky brother asked this particular person to help me out—the one man I wanted to avoid at all costs? Alex knew my ex-boyfriend was engaged to another woman. His blatant attempt to hook us up was useless.

I heard Aggie snoring in her room as I plodded into the bathroom to get ready. I was tempted to bang on her
door and wake her up so she could offer
moral support
at the track.

Ten minutes later, after a cold shower and half a pot of rich Columbian coffee, I hurried out of my house and drove to the track.

While driving, I mentally went over the three individual elements of the trials. Werewolves, like humans, had special initiation ceremonies. In order to be accepted as a productive member of the pack, candidates had to prove they could defend themselves and protect their clan mates—in essence, show themselves to be of sound mind, body, and spirit.

The first challenge I’d have to face was a ten-mile run. If I survived the second part, a grueling obstacle course, I’d then have to show I could dominate my enemies. The ten-mile run and the obstacle course were intended to wear me down before the final hardship—a fight with one of my fellow candidates. I saw this stage as a pissing match in which the combat-ready candidates could shine and achieve a higher rank within the pack. In terms of self-confidence, I didn’t have much. I wasn’t a fighter and I didn’t see myself becoming one. But what I did have was an undying drive to join the pack—no matter how insurmountable the odds.

When I pulled into the lot, the track was empty; it was early morning after all. Just a few lights illuminated the stands, but with my keen night vision, I could see no one was there. It was not until I left my car and entered the stadium that I found a blond-haired man in jeans and a T-shirt waiting for me on the bleachers, gazing at the woods surrounding the high school grounds.

Despite his brusque phone call to order me to come here, I knew that avoiding Thorn was my best course of action. For the sake of my heart anyway. Letting go of the past was a lot easier when it kept out of your way. Yet I’d still come here to meet him.

Thorn was a few feet away when I caught his scent. A chilled breeze brought it to me: a mix of denim, leather, and mild soap. To my nose it was a perfect combination. “How did Alex convince you to do this?”