The Werewolf Meets His Match (Nocturne Falls Book 2) (3 page)

Griff hesitated, an uncharacteristic move for the man who had been alpha of the Georgia Pack for the last thirty-two years. Hank braced himself for the thing his gut had been warning him about. “Clemens is insisting on a marriage to seal the deal. His daughter. My son.”

From the concern in his mother’s eyes and the reluctant tone of his father’s voice, Hank got the picture. A pack leader’s sons often had to marry for the sake of power or place. Being firstborn meant Hank would be the likely choice but Griff had said “My son” not “You” so Hank assumed Titus was the sacrificial lamb. “You know I’d do anything for you and the pack, but there’s no way I can talk Titus into this. He’s in love with Zoe. He wants to marry that girl. It doesn’t matter who talks to him, he’s not going to give her up.”

Griff cleared his throat. “This isn’t about Titus.”

Hank set his beer down and crossed his arms. There it was. “Clemens wants
me
to marry his daughter.”

Griff’s slow nod answered Hank.

Belinda clucked her tongue and looked skyward. “A Kincaid married to the next-in-line alpha. It’s a power play.”

“Clearly.” Hank shook his head but kept his eyes on his father. “We’re the bigger, more powerful pack. It’s ours to refuse. You could still lift the ban on Kincaid bourbon.”

“Clemens has promised a war if we refuse and he’d have some grounds, since we’d essentially be refusing to repay a debt we owe.”

It hadn’t been that long since Kincaids and Merrows had been ripping each other’s throats out. Returning to that kind of bloodshed would destroy all of them. “It won’t come to that. I won’t let it.”

Griff took a breath, unhappiness adding lines to his aging face. “I wouldn’t wish this on you, son.”

Hank put his hands on the counter behind him and leaned back. “I’ve known all my life that an arranged marriage was a possibility.”

“Yes, but to a Kincaid?” His mother shuddered like the idea was about to give her the vapors.

“Granted, that wasn’t an alliance that ever crossed my mind.” Hank stared at the hardwood floor. If the Kincaid women were anything like the Kincaid men, marriage to one would be a hard, miserable road. Especially for an officer of the law.

“Hank, you’re a good son. You’ve gone above and beyond to turn yourself into the kind of man any pack would be proud to call alpha. If you want to refuse this, I will understand. And so will the pack. No one will hold it against you.”

Hank looked up. “And be the reason war comes to our pack? No. I’ve seen enough of that. I won’t be responsible for bringing that nightmare to the pack I love.”

Belinda blinked hard. “Are you saying you’ll marry her?”

“I’m saying I’ll meet her and make a decision.”

“You don’t have much time. As of tomorrow, we’re three days from the next full moon.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “I know marriages usually take place on the day of the full moon, but why this coming one? Why not next month?”

“Another one of Clemens’ stipulations.”

“Something wrong with his daughter?”

Griff shook his head. “He says not. I think he’s afraid if you spend too much time with her, you’ll back out.”

Hank swore softly and stared out the kitchen window for a moment. Married. “Three days from tomorrow.”

“And if you do decide to back out…”

“I won’t.” He took another sip of his beer as memories filtered through his mind. “I’ve done a tour in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. Being married to a Kincaid can’t be that bad.”

“Don’t say that until you meet her,” Belinda said.

Griff got up, walked over to Belinda and put his arm around her. “You know your mother and I had an arranged marriage. Maybe this girl won’t be so bad. Maybe you’ll grow to like each other.”

Hank nodded. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if this Kincaid woman expects a love match, she’s going to be sorely disappointed.”

“I’m sure she knows the same as you do that it’s strictly to seal the treaty.”

“Good.” Hank finished his beer. “I’m going to turn in. Lot to think about and I have to be at work tomorrow.”

His father exhaled a long breath. Like he was relieved, but still unhappy. “I’ll call Clemens in the morning, give him the word. He said he’d send me some info on the daughter as soon as he knew you were in.”

“All right. You need anything before I head up?”

Griff hugged Belinda a little closer. “We’re good. We know where everything is.”

She smiled sadly. “Night, honey.”

“Night, Mom.” Hank stuck the empty bottle in the recycling and went upstairs. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to see himself as a husband.

To a Kincaid.

It wasn’t an image he could reconcile. Soldier, yes. Sheriff, yes. Spouse, no.

That night he dreamed about being arrested and sent to prison as the judge announced that was what happened to men who married criminals.

After a night like that, he was ready to get up. He went for a run as dawn was breaking. The morning air usually helped clear his head. Not today. He turned back for home and a long hot shower, the unsettled feeling in his belly impossible to shake.

He saw his parents off before going into the station, but their visit made him late because his mother insisted on making him breakfast and then he had to stop by Howler’s to check in on his sister, Bridget, like he did every morning. Howler’s didn’t open until eleven for lunch, but Bridget was there early every morning, doing the paperwork and making sure things were exactly the way she wanted. He kept the visit quick and the news about the marriage to himself. She’d find out soon enough.

When he walked into the station, Birdie Caruthers, his aunt and, unfortunately, receptionist, was already there.

Her carefully drawn-on brows arched. “Look at you strolling in at noon.”

“It’s nine thirty.” He picked up his messages. “Anything happen yesterday?”

“Two in the holding cells. Reports are on your desk.” She got up to refill her coffee. As usual, she didn’t ask if he wanted any.

He went into his office and picked up the reports from his desk. One Jane Doe and one Jimmy Philips. Patted down, but not searched. Arrests pending. He looked around the door to see Birdie. “A Jane Doe? That’s odd.” Who didn’t have ID in this age? “They’re still in holding?”

She nodded. “I got them breakfast from Mummy’s.”

He went back to reading the reports. The two had been involved in a drunken brawl at Howler’s, of all places. Bridget, who was also the bar’s owner, hadn’t said a word about it when he’d seen her. Like her silence was going to make a difference. Did she think he wouldn’t find out? “This is exactly why I never take days off.”

Birdie frowned at him and came to stand in his open door. “Going on a field trip with the Marshals isn’t really a day off.”

“It wasn’t a field—” The phone rang, saving him from debating that point with her. He gave Birdie a sharp look. “Answer that.”

She wrinkled her nose and headed back to her desk. He was about to close the door when she crooked the phone between her head and shoulder and punched the hold button. “It’s for you.”

Birdie might be his aunt, but she was a horrible receptionist. If not for the glue of nepotism holding her in her job, he would have fired her a long time ago. “Who is it?”

She shrugged. “You want me to ask?”

“Yes. When you answer. That’s what a receptionist does.”

“Don’t sass me, sassmouth.”

“I’m not—never mind.” It was easier just to take the call. He closed the door, sat down at his desk and picked up the phone. “Sheriff Merrow.”

“Hank, it’s Dad.” Hank relaxed at the deep timbre of his father’s voice. “Thanks for putting us up last night. Listen, I’m serious when I say if you want to back out of this, you can. If Kincaid brings a war, we’ll deal with it.”

Hank would never let that happen. “I’m sure it will all work out.” Sacrifice was nothing new to a soldier. “How did Birdie not recognize your voice?”

His father snorted. “I’ve been practicing a British accent.”

Hank shook his head. “Whatever works.”

Griffin’s laughter was followed by a sobering sigh. “I love you, son. You’re going to make a great alpha someday.”

“That’ll be a long time from now.” Hank didn’t want to think about the day he’d replace his father as alpha of the Georgia pack, even though it was a role Hank had been preparing for all his life. First by going into the military, then by accepting the Ellinghams’ backing to run for sheriff when he got out—an election he’d won handily—but being prepared for the job didn’t mean he was anticipating it. Some alphas stepped down. A rare few were overthrown. Most kept the role until their death.

“Let’s hope. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I spoke to Clemens this morning and he’ll be emailing you his daughter’s details soon. What that entails, I have no idea.”

“Once I get her name, I can do my own background check.”

“Which is probably why he didn’t send them to us sooner. I’m surprised you couldn’t find her info yourself.”

“I just got into the office, haven’t had a chance to check. And it’s not like it’s going to make a difference.”

“True. Anyway, Clemens said to expect her soon, so keep an eye out.”

Hank sighed. “I have a feeling she won’t be hard to find.”

“Let me know how things go.”

“Will do. Talk to you later.” Hank hung up, then checked his email. Nothing yet. Back to work. Actual work. Searching for his bride-to-be wasn’t how he wanted to spend his time. He’d deal with that soon enough. Right now, he had two full holding cells that needed his attention.

He reached for the intercom to talk to Birdie, then realized the pointlessness of that action. He got up and went out to her desk. “Anything come back on Jane Doe’s prints yet?”

“Nothing. You going to let her go?”

“Not if Mr. Philips wants to press charges. Did you run the prints wide?”

Birdie shook her head. “Just through the state database.”

“Run them through IAFIS. Has to be a reason she wouldn’t give us her name or ID. Philips awake yet?”

Birdie started typing. “He was snoring last time I was in there. Probably hung over. Didn’t even touch his breakfast.” She shook her head. “Terrible waste of Mummy’s pancakes if you ask me.”

“Blueberry?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Terrible waste is right.” He headed back to the cells. Number one held Mr. Philips. He was sitting on the cot with his head between his hands, moaning.

“Good morning, Mr. Philips.”

The man groaned and didn’t raise his head. “What’s good about it?”

“You’re still alive. And you’re not in county.”

The man heaved, but managed to hold it down.

“Since we’d both like you out of here as soon as possible, I need to know if you plan on pressing charges against the woman who hit you.”

“Hell, yes, I’m pressing charges.” He raised his head. His face was black and blue, and his right eye was almost swollen shut.

Hank hadn’t expected the damage to be that extensive. The report said Jane Doe had hit him with her fist. Mr. Philips looked like he’d spent time in a batting cage with no helmet and an inability to duck. “You puke in my cell, you’re cleaning it up.”

He walked down to cell number three.

The woman inside lay on the narrow cot, one long, shapely leather-clad leg crossed over the other, arms folded behind her head like she hadn’t a care in the world. She looked up at him as he stopped in front of the bars, batted her dark lashes and smiled. “Morning, Sheriff. I take it you’re not here to send me on my way seeing as how Short Bus has decided to press charges against me.”

He stared at her, unable to help himself. He’d always had a thing for bad girls. What red-blooded man didn’t? And everything about her, from the silky mane of her black hair to the pout of her too-full lips to the generous curves of her body, said she was trouble. He cleared his throat and reminded himself that his love for bad girls did not include those currently housed in his holding cells. “You want to tell me your name?”

“Prints didn’t come back yet, huh?” She studied her zebra-striped nails. Hank wondered what they’d feel like raking down his back.

The thought caught him so off guard, he shook his head.

“Not yet then.” She nodded.

So she knew a little bit about the system. Repeat offender most likely. Really not anyone he needed to know outside of these walls. He’d keep the fact that they were checking her prints against the national database to himself for the moment. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“I’m sure you read the report. I hit him.”

“Why?”

She flicked her gaze to him. Her big brown eyes held no remorse. “You really care?”

“Humor me.”

She swung her long legs down, planted her feet on the floor and leaned back, her hands on the edge of the cot. “He got handsy with his girlfriend. Knocked her down. I told him not to do it again. He didn’t listen.” She shrugged. “I decided to teach him a lesson since no one else in his life had.”