Otherworld Nights (21 page)

“Is—?”

“The door is locked.”

I smiled, and sank back down onto the bed and let him get back to work.

W
e showered. Together. Which is always more fun, particularly when you don’t need to set an alarm. Then I dressed and went downstairs while Clay shaved. That’s a chore I’m sure he’d hoped to skip for a few days, but if we were investigating, he couldn’t look as if he’d just stumbled out of the bush. To be honest, Clay could probably stumble out of the bush after a week without even showering and still get his questions answered by most of the female population, but shaving never hurts.

Our kitchen had been commandeered by a young man dressed in baggy sweatpants and a tight Columbia University tee, his feet bare, dark blond hair tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed himself. Or slept six hours in a car while Nick drove.

“Kids put you to work already?” I asked as Reese came around the center island for a hug.

“They did. Barely got my shoes off before they handed me the pancake recipe.”

Reese is one of two young werewolves the Sorrentinos adopted after our Alaskan adventure. I suppose, given that Reese is twenty-one, “adopted” isn’t quite the right word. I’d tracked the young Australian to Alaska, trying to warn him that a couple of mutts were after him. Before I could get to him, he’d bumped into two other mutts. I’d sent Reese to Nick and Antonio to recover from his injuries. They’d persuaded him to stay, working for Antonio and going back to university.

For years, Jeremy and I had tried to bolster the Pack’s depleted
ranks by recruiting seasoned mutts. An exercise in futility. They were true lone wolves, uninterested in the social advantages of a Pack. If they did want to join, it was because they were in trouble and needed protection. With Reese, I realized we’d overlooked the best recruiting option—young wolves, those still feeling a pack animal’s need for brotherhood.

Reese was an all-around good kid. He’d grown up on a sheep farm in the outback, raised by a werewolf father and a mother who’d known what her husband and son were, which is extremely rare. Great parents, judging by their son. Both dead now, and Reese blamed himself for that. So he came with some serious baggage, but he was coping. He is a smart and loyal team player, which makes him ideal Pack material. And he knows how to cook.

When I offered to help, he refused.

“You guys take a break this morning,” he said. “If I need help, I’ll enlist him.”

He pointed a wooden spoon and I turned to see another young man in the doorway. This one was seventeen, but looks a couple of years younger. Two inches shorter than my five-ten. Slight build, light brown hair hanging into dark eyes that didn’t meet mine, as if unsure of his welcome.

“Noah!” I said as I walked over to hug him.

As always, he hesitated before returning the embrace. At first I’d thought he wasn’t comfortable with typically exuberant Pack greetings. But when it finally came, his return hug was never tentative, and I’d come to realize that no matter how many times he got an enthusiastic greeting, he was surprised by it. Like not meeting my eyes at first. He always seemed braced for us to decide he wasn’t worth the trouble and kick him out.

“I’m done school for the Christmas break, so Nick asked if I wanted to come. I thought he should call first, but he said you’d be asleep.”

“He knows he didn’t need to ask. We just didn’t think you’d want to waste your holidays playing babysitter.”

“It’s okay.” He looked out the window at the backwoods. “Seems like a nice place.”

“It is. And the kids will keep you busy. You wouldn’t happen to know how to snowshoe, would you?”

A half smile. “Sure. Dennis and I did it all the time.” Dennis was a former Pack member and Noah’s grandfather, who’d been murdered before we arrived in Alaska. “I can teach them if you want.”

“I want. Speaking of the kiddies …” I looked around. “They’re with Nick, I presume?”

Noah nodded. “In the living room.”

I peeked in, spotted Nick and the twins, and got my phone. I snapped a couple of photos and sent them off. Then Kate saw me and shrieked. Logan zoomed past, his sister at his heels, both giggling as they raced from the room. I stepped into it and took some more pictures.

Nick Sorrentino. Forty-seven—a year older than Clay. Being a werewolf, he looks more like thirty-five. Despite a night of driving, he was sleek and impeccably dressed, his casual pants and sweater probably worth more than my best cocktail gown. Even the dark stubble on his face seemed a deliberate part of the look—the
GQ
magazine version of a guy roughing it in the wilderness. All he needed was his usual killer smile, which was absent this morning, possibly because he was tied to a chair.

“That’s got to bring back memories,” I said.

It was, indeed, a familiar look for Nick. Or so I’ve heard. As a child werewolf, Clay had loved to practice stalking and his favorite target had been his best friend. To make it a proper challenge, though, Clay had to give Nick an incentive to run and hide. Which meant that when Nick lost, he’d find himself tied to a tree and left in the forest, sometimes forgotten.

“I’m humoring them,” Nick said. “They heard us arrive, and apparently your husband suggested they ambush me.”

“I didn’t tell them to tie you up, though,” Clay drawled as he walked in. “You get a picture for Antonio and Jeremy, darling?”

“Snapped and sent.”

“They’ll be very amused,” Nick said. “Now I’ll get out of this before I lose feeling in my wrists. You need to talk to Kate about how tight she ties her ropes.”

He lifted his hands behind the chair and his biceps flexed to snap the rope. It didn’t break.

“Spending more time in the spa than the weight room again?” I said.

“Ha-ha. The rope is just a little stronger—” He tried again, neck muscles bulging.

The rope stayed intact.

“Not gonna work,” Clay said. “My kids aren’t stupid. They tied your hands back-to-back. You can’t get the leverage to break it.” He crouched behind Nick and fussed with the knots.

Nick sighed and looked at me. “So, how’s your vacation going?”

“Okay,” I said. “But no one’s tied me up yet.”

“Trip’s still young, darling,” Clay said as he stood. “Looks like I’ll need to work on knots with the kids. They used a reef, which isn’t a bad choice, but a constrictor would have been better.” He lifted his head and sniffed. “Is that ham?”

“Ham and blueberry pancakes. Reese is cooking.”

“Huh. Better get some before the kids eat it all.”

Clay headed for the kitchen. Nick shook his hands, as if expecting the rope to fall off.

“Do you really think he untied you?” I said. “He was just checking his kids’ handiwork.”

“Figures. Can you please—? Elena? Elena?”

By the time Nick got himself free, the food was gone. He helped himself to mine. I could have pointed out that I wasn’t the only
one who’d abandoned him, but he knew better than to steal from Clay’s plate.

The chalet had a lovely dining room with a table for ten and huge windows overlooking a patch of birdfeeders. Had we been in there, I’m sure we’d have enjoyed the sight of bright red cardinals or blue jays. But we never made it out of the kitchen. We ate leaning against the counters, kids perched on the island, everyone talking, the chatter and laughter loud enough to scare any birds from those distant feeders.

“Thank you, Reese,” I said as I helped the kids load their plates into the dishwasher. “That was great.”

“I see you got a menu all worked out, so I’ll cook while I’m here.”

“How come you don’t offer to do that at home?” Nick said.

“Because you guys can afford to hire someone.” Reese took the menu from the fridge. “Oooh, Christmas cookies.” He turned to the kids. “Are we going to bake cookies this afternoon, guys?”

“Yes!” Kate said.

Clay caught my eye and started opening his mouth to tell Reese no. The four of us baking cookies was one of my favorite traditions. I cut Clay off with a shake of my head.

“Except we can’t do the gingerbread,” Logan said.

Kate nodded. “Gingerbread is Mommy and Daddy’s favorite. They have to make those with us.”

It took Reese a moment to figure out what Kate had said. As with many four-year-olds, while her parents could understand her easily, others had to decipher her speech.

“Ah,” he said. “So, gingerbread is Mom and Dad’s domain?”

She nodded. “We can do sugar cookies. They’re in special shapes, too. We have reindeer and Santa Claus and snowmen.”

“But no wombats or Tasmanian devils or kangaroos,” I said.

“Kangaroos?” Reese snorted. “Who wants a cookie in the shape of a giant rat?”

“It’s a marsupial, not a rodent,” Logan said. “I looked it up the last time you said that.”

“Well, books aren’t always right, mate. They’re giant rats. Smart ones that learned to hop on their back legs to convince us they’re cute and harmless. Now, Tasmanian devils we could do. Just cut out cookies to look like Kate—”

Kate squawked and her brother laughed.

“Okay, guys, we’re off,” I said. “We’ll call.”

Clay and I tried to slip out. We made it as far as the door before Kate took a flying leap from the counter and zoomed into our path.

“Where’re you going?”

“Mom got a call,” Logan said as he walked over. “She needs to check out a story here. That’s why Uncle Nick came, remember?”

“Right,” I said. “So, we’ll see you—”

“When?” Now it was Logan.

“We’ll be home by dinner.”

“Dinner!” Kate said. “You’re working all day?”

“No,” Clay said. “It’s almost lunchtime now. We’ll be back before dinner and we’ll be here all evening.”

Nick walked into the hall and scooped up a child under each arm. “I think I heard someone mention a bonfire and moonlight skiing. We need to pick up skis in town so we’ll be all set.”

“Snowshoes, too,” Noah said as he walked in. “I’m going to teach everyone snowshoeing tonight.”

“Then you kids need to rest up, don’t you?” Nick said. “Lots of naps.”

Normally, they’d have screeched at that, but they kept glowering at us.

“We’ll be as quick as we can,” I said.

Nick jerked his chin toward the door, telling us to just leave. He turned, a child still under each arm, and headed toward the kitchen.

“I bet you haven’t asked Reese how he lost his fingers yet,” Nick said. “I think he’s going to tell you the real story this time.”

“He never tells the real story,” Kate said.

“Then I guess you don’t want to hear the latest one?”

A pause, as if they were struggling not to give in, then Logan said, “Was it a kangaroo? With big rat teeth?”

Kate started giggling.

Reese had lost part of the last two fingers on his right hand during his run-in with the mutts in Alaska. That’d been their way of saying hello. When the twins met him, they’d barely gotten past the introductions before Kate asked what happened to his fingers. Jeremy had tried to shush her, but Reese answered with a long, elaborate story involving two grizzly bears and a fish. Ever since, each time they asked, he’d make up a new story.

Now, as Nick carried them into the kitchen, I heard Reese saying, “A golden eagle. Apparently, he thought they were worms. Bit them right off.”

“How did he think they were worms?” Logan asked.

“Well, that was probably my fault. I was out …”

I was putting on my boots at the front door when I realized Noah had followed us.

“So, when you guys check out this stuff, it’s like a murder investigation? Detective work?”

“Part detective,” I said. “Part …”

“Thug,” Clay finished.

“I was going to say enforcer.”

“My role is mostly thug work,” Clay said. “Elena questions the guy. I encourage him to answer in the only language most mutts understand. But that’s just part of the process. The rest is investigating the murder. Talking to folks in town, trying to get answers from the police, the coroner …”

“Cool. Maybe someday I can come along. Learn the ropes. That’s part of being Pack, right? Knowing how to handle this stuff?”

“It is.”

I put on my jacket. Clay nudged me. I followed his gaze to Noah, who was still standing there. Another nudge and meaningful look before I understood. Noah wanted to come along
this
time.

Clay could just invite Noah himself. That’s what we would have done before. But now I was Alpha-elect and Clay had decided I should take charge in the field, which meant I had to invite Noah on my own.

Of all the things that annoyed me when I joined the Pack, this topped the list. Sure, Jeremy was the leader, but he had a smart Pack of loyal wolves who’d never try to undermine him. So why couldn’t they make suggestions? Give advice?

Because that’s not how a wolf-brain works. Werewolves want an absolute leader. Jeremy will occasionally open a matter up for discussion, but the final word is his and no one questions it.

Now I’m ready to be that leader … in all cases but one. Clay is my husband. My mate. My partner in every aspect of my life. An imbalance of power there makes me very uncomfortable. I don’t want to rule him any more than I’d want to be ruled by him. So we’ve come to an agreement: in the field, I’m in charge but he’s free to nudge, like he was doing with Noah.

I was also free to ignore him. Part of me balked at the thought of taking a seventeen-year-old boy on an investigation. We might do things that I’d rather Noah didn’t see. But he was nearly an adult and had already seen more than any kid should. This
was
part of Pack life, and as Alpha, it’d be my job to integrate Noah and to teach him, even if it involved things I wished he’d never needed to learn.

“Do you want to come along?” I asked.

“Can I?” No smile, but his eyes lit up.

“For part of it. We might ask you to stay in the truck for a while.”

“That’s okay. I’ll go tell Nick.”

O
ur mutt’s name was Douglas Eaton. He’d offered it to Clay the night before, which was good, because Clay couldn’t ask without seeming to take a friendly interest. Pack werewolves can’t take a friendly interest in mutts. Another of those harsh wolf realities that seemed draconian to me, until I spent some time around mutts and realized civility was interpreted as weakness. A friendly werewolf is a naive werewolf. A naive werewolf is an easy mark.