Otherworld Nights (19 page)

With bonfires comes food. Oh, hell, pretty much every tradition in a werewolf family comes with food. For fires, it’s hot dogs and sausages, marshmallows and s’mores. We settle in with our roasting sticks and talk. If it’s the whole Pack, the kids stay quiet, as if hoping to convince everyone they’re asleep, so they’ll hear something they otherwise wouldn’t. This time, they were the ones who did the talking.

The topic was school. They’d started prekindergarten this past fall, after months of debate. Kindergarten wasn’t mandatory in New York State, so Clay had been content to let the kids stay home. I thought they could use the social interaction. Logan wanted to go. Kate did not. The solution would seem to be to send Logan by himself, but even broaching the possibility brought howls from both sides.

Jeremy sided with me on the social interaction issue. We already had the kids in swimming lessons and gymnastics. They went to craft classes, too, which Kate loved. But, really, they needed more.

I’d tried mommy–tot playdates, but … I struggled with the mommy part. Hearing the other women’s stories of their children
always made me feel I was screwing up, disciplining too much or not enough, scarring my kids for life because we didn’t have pets or stick to a regular bedtime. So I stopped the playdates and settled for playground visits. With no other kids in the Pack, that meant the twins spent most of their time in the company of adults. More peer interaction was a must. Even Clay reluctantly agreed it would be wise.

Eventually, Jeremy was the one who’d persuaded Kate to go, by stressing kindergarten’s emphasis on crafts and music. After the first few days, she’d declared this school stuff wasn’t so bad. I think, too, that she enjoyed the academic part. At home, Logan was leaps and bounds ahead of her. Although we praised her, it wasn’t until she got to school and compared herself with the other kids that she finally felt smart.

The problem, as it turned out, was Logan, and his experience was resurrecting bad memories for Clay. After Jeremy had rescued Clay, he’d been put in kindergarten—at seven years old. He still remembers the horror of being expected to hold hands and sing songs when he thought he’d be studying science and history and math. That was what it was like for Logan. Hearing him at the bonfire—struggling to add to his sister’s enthusiastic retellings of classroom adventures—broke my heart.

I leaned against him as he pulled a marshmallow from his stick. “Did I tell you Jeremy and I are going to check out that new school? It’s the same one your dad went to. It’s a private school, so they can give you special lessons. Harder ones.”

“Isn’t that the one Dad got kicked out of?”

Clay choked on a s’more.

“Where did you hear that?” I asked.

“Uncle Nick. He was talking to Reese. He said Daddy got kicked out of kindergarten.”

“For cutting up the guinea pig!” Kate said, giggling from Clay’s lap.

“Dissecting.” Logan gave her a stern look. “That’s different. It was already dead.”

“Exactly my point,” Clay said. “But your mom and Jeremy say the school has changed from when I went, which was a while ago.”

I grinned. “A long, long, long—”

A handful of snow hit my cheek.

“A while ago,” Clay said. “But I’ve seen the curriculum, and it’s much better. They’ll put you in the right classes. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And me?” Kate said.

“Extra music lessons,” I said. “They have voice coaches, too.”

She squealed and jumped on her brother and they went down, rolling like puppies in the snow, until they got a little too close to the fire and we both leapt up to pull them back.

In the commotion, we didn’t notice someone approaching. It wasn’t until a whiff of scent wafted past that I stiffened and shushed the kids. Clay caught the smell, too, and got to his feet.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Logan said.

“Someone’s coming.” Kate tilted her head and frowned. “It’s one of us.”

The hair on my neck bristled. It
was
“one of us.” Not a Pack member. Nor anyone we knew. But a werewolf. His scent told me that. What did Kate mean, though?

The mutt was coming through the woods. We could hear the crunch of snow under his boots, his shape still hidden by the leaping flames. Clay stood between us and the forest. I resisted the urge to stand at his side and stayed sitting with Kate on my lap and Logan by my shoulder. I put my arm around Logan but tried to keep it casual. If I look like I’m cowering behind Clay, it sends the message that I’d be easy prey without him—a message most mutts are already looking for.

I used to say I was the only living female werewolf. I might be. But I’ve seen enough in the last ten years to be wary of making such a definitive statement. I’ll only say I’m the only one we know about.
As I said, the gene passes through the male line, meaning a female werewolf must be bitten. If a mutt bites a human, even by accident, he usually makes sure it’s fatal. Otherwise, it’s an exposure risk. Even if the human escapes, his or her chances of surviving the transformation are slim. A woman who survives finds herself a target of every male who’s dreamed of a mate. Refuse, and she’ll be killed. Accept, and his rivals won’t let them be happy for long.

Such is the life of a female werewolf. Unless she’s lucky enough to be taken in by an Alpha who’ll help her through the Change, then be adopted by the Pack and mated to the most feared werewolf on the continent. All that made my life easier, but I’m still hyperaware of my body language around outside werewolves. While I’d much rather face this mutt on my feet, ready to fight, that would confuse the twins even more.

The man stepped into the firelight. He looked mid-thirties, which meant—with our slow aging—he’d be a decade older. Dark hair, husky build, his thick beard crystallized with snow. He was dressed in a parka, the hood pulled up, his blue eyes the only spark of color.

“You think this is a good idea?” Clay said, his voice a growl.

The man was a few inches taller than Clay, and with that puffy jacket he seemed twice as wide, but he flinched at the growl, gaze dropping, instinctively submissive.

“I, uh, went to the front door. Then I smelled the fire and heard voices.”

“And you figured you’d just invite yourself to a bonfire with my
family
.”

The emphasis on the last word had the man’s gaze skittering to us, but he glanced away quickly.

“I, uh, saw your wife or, uh, I guess she’s your ma—”

“Wife.”

“Right. I saw her in town with the little ones. I wanted to introduce myself, so you didn’t cross my scent—”

A cough from me drowned out the last word. Kate twisted to glare at me for interrupting the drama.

“I wanted you to know I was here,” he said. “That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve never actually, uh, met another—”

“Clay?” I cut in. “I’m going to take the kids inside.”

He nodded, his gaze never leaving the man. Logan protested as I took his arm. Oddly, Kate stayed silent, and gave her brother a look that quieted him better than my shushing, as we went in.

W
hen we got inside, Logan said, “Why did we have to come in? He was just saying hello.”

“Mommy and Daddy don’t like him,” Kate said. “They don’t want him here.” She looked up at me as I unwound her scarf. “Is he a bad man?”

“I don’t know, baby. He’s a stranger. Everyone has to be careful of strangers.”

“Even if they’re like us?”

Especially if they’re like us
. I couldn’t say that, of course. I couldn’t even acknowledge her question because I wasn’t sure what she meant or how to deal with it. I had to talk to Clay first. So I finished getting them undressed as I listened to the voices through the door.

“I’m real sorry about that,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to spook the little ones.”

“You didn’t. I’d just like you to be very careful what you say around them.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“So, let me see if I understand this. You saw Elena with the kids at the store and smelled what she is.”

“Yeah. I was in shock at first, thinking I was mistaken. I mean, I didn’t think there were any women. Like I said, I don’t know a lot about us. Just what my father told me and my brother.”

“So you saw her, all alone with her kids, and you thought you’d pay a visit after dark. See if she needed any company.”

“No, I—”

A thump and a gasp. I pushed back the sidelight drape and glanced out. Clay had the mutt by the collar. The guy lifted his hands in surrender, making no move to fight. I squelched an instinctive twinge of disgust. The wolf in me might see cowardice, but my human side knew the mutt was being smart, not giving Clay any reason to pummel him into the nearest tree. Odd behavior for a werewolf, though. Faced with a challenger, bravado usually overrules brains, at least until the pummeling begins.

“You know who I am, right?” Clay said, pulling the mutt’s face down to his.

“N-no, I—”

“Bullshit.”

“No. Honestly, I don’t. Like I said, it’s just me and my brother. I don’t know who you are. I’m sorry if I should.”

“He’s lying,” Kate said.

I looked down to see them both peering out the bottom of the window. I yanked them back fast.

“He’s lying, Mommy. He knows who Daddy is.”

Damn it, I wasn’t the only one who could hear through that window.

“All right, then,” I heard Clay say. “Let’s pretend you don’t know and I’ll tell you who I am and what I do to—”

I grabbed both kids, one under each arm, and hightailed it deeper into the chalet. Only when I couldn’t hear Clay’s voice did I put them down.

“How does he know Daddy?” Kate asked, as if our conversation hadn’t been interrupted.

“Maybe he’s run into him before. At a college or a conference.”

“Then why’s the man lying?” she asked.

“I don’t know, baby. How about we get a snack, since our bonfire was interrupted.”

She let me steer them into the kitchen but wasn’t distracted. “He’s scared.”

“Of Daddy? No. They’re just having a … disagreement.”

“He
should
be scared of Daddy.” Her tone was almost defensive. “But he was scared before he even saw him.”

“Nervous,” Logan said. “He was stuttering. ‘Nervous’ is the word you want.”

She wheeled on him. “I know what ‘nervous’ means, smartypants. People talk like that when they’re scared, too, and he was scared. I can tell.”

He nodded, a quiet apology. Kate turned to me.

“It’s because he’s one of us, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, baby,” I said.

I regretted the words as soon as I said them. She could tell I was lying and the hurt in her eyes cut like a dagger.

“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching for her.

She backed out of my grasp. “You do know what I mean.”

“Okay.” I hunkered down in front of her. “What?”

“You
know
.”

“I’m not sure I do. Tell me.”

She glowered, jaw working as if she was trying to find words. Then she stamped her foot and howled, “You know! You know!” and I realized
she
didn’t know. Somehow she understood that the man had a connection to us. Maybe she caught the werewolf notes in his scent. But because she didn’t know what we were, she couldn’t put words to it.

Watching her face redden in frustration, I felt as if I was betraying her. There are two values a Pack wolf places above all others: loyalty and trust. We tried to teach our children that they could trust us in every way.

Except one. This secret we were keeping.

It was the right thing to do. It was too much for them to process at their age. Too big a burden of secrecy for them to bear. Yet, looking at Kate’s fury and frustration, I imagined what it would be like when we finally did tell her. Would she look back on all the
times we’d evaded her questions—or outright lied—and hate us for it?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you’re angry, Kate, and I’m really, really sorry.”

A scowl. That was all I got. Then she spun and strode to the counter, where I’d set out a bowl of fruit. She grabbed an apple. Logan silently appeared beside her with a juice box. She took it with a grunt of thanks, vented her frustration with a huge chomp on the apple, then stalked to the hall. As she swung out, she collided with her father.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

She shot another scowl my way. “Nothing,” she said, then circled past him and continued down the hall.

I was still crouching where she’d left me. Logan walked over, gave me a hug, and murmured, “She’ll be all right, Momma,” then followed his sister.

When they were gone, Clay closed the door.

“She said the guy outside is ‘one of us,’ ” I whispered. “But she doesn’t know what that means. She just … smells it or senses it. I don’t know. She wanted me to explain.”

“Ah.”

He walked over and took an apple.

“They’re too young,” I said. “Everyone agrees.” A pause as he bit into the apple. “Everyone except you.”

“Yep.”

“They’re four, Clayton,” I said, struggling to keep my voice down. “
Four
. I could barely deal with it at twenty-one.”

“That was different.” He put the apple down and came over, arms going around me, as he realized I was shaking. “We’re not going to fight about this. If you want to seriously discuss it, okay. But if you just want to convince me that you’re right? This is our special Christmas, Elena. We can fight about this anytime. Let’s not do it now.”

I slumped against him. “I’m sorry. I … She was just so angry and confused, and I felt so … bad.”

“You’re doing what you think is right. Hell, I’m not sure it isn’t. Jeremy agrees with you.” He squeezed me. “We can talk about it later. At home. Where the kids won’t be left alone to fend for themselves if we kill each other.”

I laughed against his shoulder, then took a deep breath and stepped back. “Okay, so what happened outside?”

Clay picked up his apple again and circled to the door. A deep sniff to reassure himself that the kids weren’t poised on the other side. He said, his voice low, “He stuck to his story. He saw you and the kids in town. He didn’t want to spook you, so he got out of your way. Then he found out where you were staying and decided to introduce himself, so you’d know there was another werewolf here.”