12 comments/ 4740 views/ 12 favorites Season of the Wolf Pt. 01 By: msnomer68 Season of the Wolf Part one: Running With the Pack Chapter 1 "Grace, you can't be serious." My roommate glares at the cardboard box I've been packing for the last hour as if its public enemy number one. Impatient with my non-response she huffs and taps a manicured nail against her perfectly tanned forearm. "I mean, have you really thought this through?" The tone of her voice hinges on begging, but even her dramatic, over the top pleas aren't enough to convince me to change my mind. I don't want to talk about it anymore and answer her with a casual, nonchalant, shrug off my shoulders. Am I certain this is what I want? No, I'm not. In fact, if I were certain of anything. It would be that moving across the country is the very last thing I do want. But, it's the only decision that makes sense. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that. And if I'm anything, I'm that, desperate. Everything I've ever known is here, in this city, stuffed into the box at the foot of the bed and standing in the doorway frowning at me with her perfectly sculpted brows furrowed in concern. I never thought I'd say this but, I'll miss the harried pace of the city, being an anonymous face in a crowd, and frantic drama that is simply a part of being best friends with Christine. I like Rod, or at least, I want to. What I think of him doesn't really matter though. Christine is in love and she's the one who is going to be stuck with him until divorce does them part. And I have no doubt, knowing Christine and her flair for the overstated and dramatic. A long, drawn out, painful divorce will be in her future. Based on her past string of broken relationships, I don't need to be a psychic to predict it. I've drawn the conclusion that when it comes to men Christine is more in love with the idea of being in love than actually falling head over heels for a particular man. I hope I'm wrong or at the very least she figures it out for herself before the wedding. I gave up trying to talk to her about anything remotely having to do with the male species a long time ago and am not about to intervene. I double-check the dresser drawers and the far corners of the closet and take the time to crouch down on my hands and knees and peek under the bed to make sure I haven't left anything behind. There's pitifully little in the boxes. Resolved that yes, this is everything I own and it fits into a few cardboard boxes. I tape the flaps closed and toe the box into the hallway to join its friends. It's depressing really. After twenty-four years of living on this planet, everything I own fits quite comfortably in the trunk of my beat up Honda. I'd like to say I travel light, but the truth of it is that other than my clothes, a few family photos, and a couple of treasured knickknacks, I own nothing. I'm not sure if the two hundred twenty-seven dollars and fifty-eight cents I got from selling everything I deemed I could live without will get me to my destination. As usual though, just as I've always done, I'll make it work. I sit on my ass in the middle of my bedroom floor and stare up at Christine. I can't believe I'm moving. More than that, I can't believe I'm moving, not just out of our shared apartment, but practically across the continental United States. It's not Christine's fault. It's not my fault either, but I can't stay. It's not that I'm not wanted. Christine has made her take on that particular topic abundantly clear. But, with Rod moving in, the two of them need their privacy. Boy, do they ever. There are some images burned into my mind I'd rather not have taking up precious mental real estate. I just can't see Rod and Christine together for the long haul. Christine is just so...Christine. The woman lives in a constant state of OMG. It's truly exhausting. I hope Rod knows what he is in for. Rod is a great guy. He really is. Rod is mellow and down to earth. Nothing much gets to him and that's probably a good thing. Rod is Christine's polar opposite in terms of temperament. They have nothing of substance in common. But, Rod has the type of outward appearance Christine goes for and she thinks she's in love. I don't know what Rod's take on the whole love thing is. With Christine doing all the talking he can barely get a word in edgewise. There must be something to it though or he wouldn't be moving in and me, moving out. To me, Rod looks a little too much like a living, breathing Ken doll. He belongs here on the sunny beaches and so does Christine. Together the two of them are a matched set of tanned skin, sun bleached blonde hair, and blue eyes. And me, with my dark eyes and even darker hair, I am the odd man out. Christine is the total picture. She is tall, blonde, and absolutely beautiful as in beauty queen beautiful. She also thinks that the entire universe revolves around her. I guess that's why we ended up best friends. She loves to be the center of attention and I loathe it. I'm not an ogre, but I'm sure as hell not beauty queen beautiful either. At best, I'd consider myself average, maybe pretty or cute, but certainly a far cry from her level of gorgeousness. From me, she gets no competition. She talks. I listen. Gorgeous men ogle her and I barely warrant a second glance. She's the socialite and I'm the recluse. In fact, other than her and the few acquaintances I've managed to make along the way. I'm not sure anyone even knows I exist at all. I try to smile and look hopeful about my future. Christine flashes her perfect pearly whites back at me. As if she believes the lie I'm trying so desperately to sell. Well, it is Christine so, it's possible that maybe she does. Chapter 2 Other than Christine, I'm leaving absolutely nothing behind. L.A. is a beautiful city filled with beautiful people. People that shine like gold, people like Christine and Rod, and not a place for someone like me. I prefer quiet to noise, seclusion to crowds, and open spaces to skyscrapers. I've never really belonged in Los Angeles and we both know it. The place I'm headed should be absolutely perfect for me and maybe, I'll actually find someplace where I belong. Accidents happen everyday. I don't know the statistics of how many people die in traffic collisions each year and the actual numbers never really mattered to me until that one fateful day they did. My parents were people like Christine and Rod. I loved the city for their sakes. After their death in my junior year of college, I stayed rooted in the spot out of simple unwillingness to let them go. It has been three years since the accident and sometimes, I still feel like an orphan. I tried to live up to the legacy they left behind. But, whatever I think that legacy is only exists in my mind. The house I grew up in is gone. My parents were cremated and their ashes scattered over the open sea. There's nothing left of what was except for the contents of a few cardboard boxes and the memories in my head. I'm not miserable living in L.A. I'm just not entirely happy either. I truly have no reason to stay in the city and other than an anticipated tearful goodbye to Christine, no reservations about leaving it either. It's not like I'm quitting some dream job to move over halfway across the country. The closest I ever got to actually being an honest to God librarian was a dead end job as a checker at the used bookstore down the street. As of last week, the bookstore went belly up and as for me, I found my schedule suddenly wide open. I was barely making it paycheck to paycheck. An apartment in the shimmering golden land of opportunity doesn't exactly come cheap. That's the second reason and probably the most accurate one as to why I can't stay. My pride won't let me. I won't ask Christine and Rod to let me skate on the rent until I find another job and save up some money to move out. They need their space and privacy, and our teeny tiny two-bedroom apartment really isn't big enough for the three of us. No, I've got other options than to live on the good graces of Christine and Rod. In a way I suppose I should look at it a very fortunate and unexpected windfall. The letters and the calls from an attorney with the most annoying Midwestern nasally twang to his voice that I've ever heard in my life. It seems I own one hundred and seventy-seven acres of woods and rolling farmland complete with the cows, chickens, horses, and a quaint farmhouse smack dab in the middle of nowhere. You may ask what is someone like me, someone who can't manage to keep a houseplant alive, has never ever owned as much as a goldfish in terms of pets, considers the city park as the great outdoors, and has never seen more than an inch of snow in her entire life supposed to do with a place like that? And the truth of it is. I really don't have a clue. Chapter 3 I'm adopted. I've always known. The truth was simply too evident to overlook. My parents are tall and golden, much like Christine, as for myself, not so much. I barely top five feet-four inches tall standing on my tiptoes. I'm tiny, what my mother creatively called petite. Soaking wet, I weigh a whole one hundred and five pounds. My skin is russet in its tone, my cheekbones high and wide-set, and my eyes are a mix of brown and gold with flecks of mahogany in the irises. People who don't know better think I'm Hispanic. I'm not. I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure I'm Native American. And if it weren't for the telltale physical characteristics of my outward appearance I wouldn't have the slightest clue of where I came from. Growing up in a wealthy suburban L.A. neighborhood isn't a place for a kid who isn't a carbon copy of everybody else. I envied the little girls destined to grow up to look exactly like the Barbie dolls clutched in their fists. I wanted my mother's pale platinum blonde hair and my dad's, clear as a cloudless sky, blue eyes. Being an only child and adopted, looking as out of place as a raisin in a bowl of rice, the only thing I wanted was to fit in. I tried, oh how I tried. But, even as children, the other kids knew what I didn't. That no matter how badly I wanted it or how hard I tried. I would never ever belong in their little corner of the universe. I don't know why I didn't ever try to find my birth parents. Maybe, it was out of a sense of loyalty to the only parents I've ever had. Adopted or not, I was their kid and they loved me for simply being me. I have no memories of any life I might have had before I was adopted. I was just a baby when it happened. I suppose there's a mountain of paperwork somewhere, if I cared to delve into my past. I think I'm better off not knowing the truth of where it was I came from. My mom says she took one look at me and it was love at first sight and that was all I've ever needed to know. I don't spend much time dwelling on the person I might have become if things had gone down differently. I've never hazarded a guess at the name my real parents gave me. Being Grace Klein the adopted daughter of Thomas and Suzanne suits me just fine. I can't imagine being someone else. The truth of it is. I don't want to be anyone else. I'm perfectly fine being myself. With that being said, I guess I'll never get the chance to get to know my real parents. They're dead, or at least so the lawyer says. I didn't ask for any details surrounding their deaths. I didn't need to. The attorney, an annoying man by the name of Hanson Galloway, was more than willing to fill in the blanks without my prompting him to do so. My birth mother died shortly after I was born. It was a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He says it took my grandfather years to piece together the sketchy details surrounding the death of an unknown woman accidentally caught in the crossfire of a nasty gang war and to finally draw the conclusion that the unknown woman had a name and a home and a baby girl, me, lost to the system. Who knew attorneys had a romantic side? Mr. Galloway says my father died of a broken heart shortly after my mother left him. Not that it matters, but I don't believe the annoying Mr. Galloway about the details surrounding my father's death. I didn't believe his story at all until I did a little digging through the back issues of dozens of newspaper articles and read it for myself. I can't help but think there's something fishy about the whole thing. Why did my mother leave my father? Where was she going? What or whom was she running from or to? What would drive a woman with a newborn baby daughter to such lengths? Why didn't she have one scrap of identity on her? Everyone has a social security number and a driver's license, a credit card, or some link to some place. The ever helpful and annoying Mr. Galloway assures me that my grandfather left no stone unturned in his search for his missing daughter and granddaughter. It wasn't until recently, six weeks ago to be exact, that Mr. Galloway was able to pick up the trail where my grandfather left off and finally fill in the blanks that lead him to me. I've looked through my adoptive mother's records. The details surrounding my adoption are sketchy. There was no next of kin to notify, no one to contest the adoption, and no one to claim me. No missing persons reports were filed in regards to the unknown woman. There was nobody that stepped forward to identify her. There was nothing to link me to anybody and the overburdened child welfare division of the State of California was more than happy to find someone to take me off their hands. Mom calls me her cabbage patch kid. She says it was just meant to be. I have to admit that I am curious to have the whys answered and put all the pieces of the puzzle into place. It won't change a thing. Not really. I know who I am regardless of what the adoption papers, the newspaper articles, and the informative Mr. Galloway have to say about it. My grandfather left me everything: the house, the woods, the barnyard critters, and no small amount of change in a trust fund. He died about a year ago and it has taken this long for Mr. Galloway to track me down. For all Mr. Galloway's helpful informative nature, he was rather closed lipped surrounding the details of my grandfather's death. I assume, since I'm twenty-four, it's possible my grandfather died of old age. But, a part of me really doesn't believe it. So many parts of me are conflicted. I'm moving forward and being drawn backwards into a past that could have become my present, if things had gone down differently. Christine's answer was the most obvious one, the path of least resistance. Sell the property, the animals, and the house. After all what did I really owe a grandparent I had never met? Nothing, I suppose. I don't owe Nathaniel Blake Galloway, otherwise known as High Backed Wolf or Neeheeoeewootis, a damned thing. Mr. Galloway Attorney at law assures me that there is no mistake about my grandfather's final wishes. He also, with no small measure of pride in the Midwestern twang of his voice, would like to remind me that I'm part of a proud heritage and that the inheritance is my birthright as the last remaining branch of my grandfather's family tree. History has never been my thing. But, it is Mr. Galloway's and he was more than eager to tell me about the history of the property I had inherited. Apparently, my branch of the family tree sprouted up from the land on which the house is built. The land has been in the family since 1810 when the first log cabin was notched together. Construction was finished on the current version of the house, the house I'm to inherit, in 1839. Mr. Galloway assures me she's a lovely grand old Victorian manor and quite full of family history. He is certain I'll come to love the house and the land on which it sits. I only wish I were as convinced as he seems to be that the rolling farmlands of central Indiana is where I belong. I'm not certain of much of anything except for the fact that things simply aren't adding up. Apparently, Mr. Galloway's passion for history doesn't stop at Victorian manors. He wasted no small amount of words catching me up to date on my ancestors' illustrious past and the history of the land on which my inheritance was built. I come from a good bloodline, Shawnee and Scottish, and according to Mr. Galloway, the legends about my ancestors and the land in which their bones rest run deep. Out of morbid damnable curiosity, I had to ask. Looking back, I wish I hadn't. My alleged deceased grandfather's last name was Galloway and it's no coincidence that Mr. Galloway Attorney at Law worked so hard to pick up my trail. It seems that he's a distant cousin, our great, great, great, great, great, great grandfathers were half brothers, and he is pleased to be the first in the family to welcome me home. I asked him more about my grandfather and my biological parents and for an open mouthed man, he suddenly became rather closed lipped. He said under no uncertain terms that I could decide for myself what kind of people they were. In time, he assured me, I'd discover a great many truths. Some, I'd wish I hadn't. I don't know what he meant by that. Maybe, he's right and I'll end up wishing I had never unearthed the history of the family I could have had instead of the one I got. When I asked him about my birth name. He became damn cryptic. Instead of giving me an answer, he told me I could come to my own conclusions about that as well. I guess it really doesn't matter what name my biological parents gave me. Maybe, it's something hideous like Bertha and he's too much a professional to embarrass me. Maybe, he's afraid if I learned my true name it would scare me off and he'd spend another year hunting me down again. The only thing I do know is that my real last name is Galloway and that I have a home and a history waiting for me to discover in some Godforsaken corner of rural Indiana. There is one bright spot, a tiny spark of light, to this sudden inheritance other than the obvious, of course. I love wolves. Ever since I was a little girl. While all the other little girls were playing with Barbie dolls and sneaking into their mothers' jewelry boxes and makeup to pretend. I was daydreaming about wolves. I was probably the only kid in preschool actually rooting for the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood and the Three Little Pigs. I dream about wolves almost every night. In my dreams, I'm not a casual observer. I'm a wolf and I'm running with the pack. I know everything there is to know about wolves. I respect their stoic majesty and quiet strength and let's face it. I know what it's like to be a lone wolf. I lucked out on one thing. Out of all the research I've done on the great state of Indiana. I could care less about the Indy 500 or the miles and miles of cornfields. The wolf sanctuary is the only point of interest to me in the whole damn state. And the sanctuary shares my property lines. I'm supposed to meet up with Mr. Hanson Galloway, distant cousin and Attorney at Law the day after tomorrow. I've got the directions plugged into the GPS app on my phone. I tried Google maps on my laptop. The place I was looking for doesn't exist. Well, it did exist, but it isn't there anymore. There hasn't been an actual town in the spot since 1878. At least the place will definitely fulfill my need for privacy and seclusion. I'd like to say I'm eager to get started on my new adventure, but I'm not. I still can't shake the feeling that something is off about my unexpected inheritance, the sudden appearance of distant relation, and how neatly everything has been handed to me wrapped up in a big, pretty bow exactly when I needed it the most. I'm rich or will be once the paperwork goes through. The only thing required by me is stop by his office, sign a few papers, and pick up the keys. I'm suspicious, especially about Mr. Galloway. I looked him up on the Internet. He really is a licensed attorney in the state of Indiana. He's not bullshitting about that. It's the rest of his story or his particular version of history that I doubt. Season of the Wolf Pt. 01 I don't know how inheritances or wills work. But, I would have assumed that Mr. Galloway would need some sort of proof that I am who he and my grandfather think I am. What makes them so certain when I'm not sure of it myself? Would I slobber on a cotton swab to prove it for the value of the estate I've inherited? Um, I don't really need to ponder that particular question. We're talking a lot of money and well, to be blunt about it. Spit is free. Of course, I wasn't about to take Mr. Galloway's word on anything. He sent me a copy of my grandfather's will and I had an attorney friend of Christine's check it out. It's legit. The land, the house, and hell, even the damned chickens collectively are worth a hefty sum and as for the money in the trust. I've never seen that long of a string of numbers remotely connected to my name. I'm one rich bitch, to put it mildly. And for some reason, I can't seem to wrap my head around that either. Maybe, Christine is right and I should take the money and run. Logically, I know I don't owe anybody anything. But, it doesn't feel right to me to sell out when I've never seen the place. At the very minimum, I should go there and check things out for myself before making a decision. I don't really know what my life's ambition is at this point. I have a degree in library sciences. But, I'm pretty sure there isn't much need for librarians in that remote dark spot of the universe. Hell, there doesn't seem to be a need for librarians anywhere. If the land is as picturesque and the house as quaint as Mr. Galloway says it is. Maybe, I could open a bed and breakfast or rent the place out to tourists desperate for a getaway from it all. Maybe, I'll just soak up all that quiet and solitude and buckle down and write the great American novel. Who knows? Luckily though, thanks to my benevolent grandfather. I've got the money and time to figure it out. Chapter 4 Christine spears me with a particularly disparaging glower. She's right. It is time to go. She dragged herself out of bed before sunrise to see me off and it's nearly nine o'clock in the morning and I haven't even made it to the front door yet. It's not my style, but I'm procrastinating. My life isn't great, but I'm hesitant to leave it behind. I feel as if I'll never see Christine or the city again. As if this chapter is over and there is nothing ahead of me but blank sheets of paper waiting to be filled. I dismiss the foreboding thoughts. I'm moving to Indiana not sailing for China. Christine is just a phone call away. I'm not going to disappear into some dark pit. I can be on a plane and back to the sunny beaches of California in less than six hours. The inheritance and the move are positive things. I'm getting a chance to discover my roots and a rare opportunity to reinvent myself in the process. I'm just not sure that I want to discover where it is that I came from or that I need any mental remodeling. Change is good. I repeat the mantra over and over again in my head. But, if that's truly the case, the why do I feel the way I do about the whole thing? Well, it's too late to change my mind now. Everything I could possibly sell has been sold. Christina has plans to turn my old bedroom into a home gym. Mr. Galloway is expecting me bright and early the day after tomorrow. My future isn't here, in California as I've always expected. It lays to the east, in a remote, flat landscape, and if Mr. Galloway is to be believed, it flows from the earth and the sky through my very veins. Rod is a gentleman and offers to carry the final box of stuff to my car. Normally, in the essence of women's lib and equal rights, I wouldn't allow such a thing. But, I can tell Christine put Rod up to offering to play pack mule by the way he stomps out the front door. She wants a few moments alone with me. I steel myself for what is most likely going to be a tearful and dramatic goodbye and give Rod the go ahead. I'm packed. I'm ready and I'm leaving. Christine stifles a sniffle and with a high-pitched squeak choked with emotion drags me off the floor, crushing me to her. I do my best to placate her and offer reassurances that we'll stay in touch. I promise to call her when I get there and to spare no details in the telling of my tale. She knows how much I love wolves and as a parting gift she gives me a travel mug with a cartoon picture of a wolf on the side. The caption reads Happy Tails to You. The mug is corny, but I love it and as a bonus it comes with free coffee refills at any participating Shell station nation wide. I smile at the thoughtfulness of her gesture and she bursts into tears. I don't know how she manages it, but she does. She has turned my parting, which should be about me, into an event all about her. I shake off my irritation at her and clutch the mug in my fist. I hear the slam of the car hood as Rod gives the engine one final go over. It's a guy thing. I guess. I doubt if Rod has a mechanical bone in his body. But, it's also his way of saying goodbye. I give Christine's hand one final squeeze and toss my purse over my left shoulder. It's all over but the crying and that's Rod's problem to deal with not mine. Thank God. There's nothing ahead of me now but the open road and a destination not listed on any map made in the last century. Chapter 5 Unfortunately, my exodus has taken longer than expected. I've got a gas tank the size of a Dixie cup and a bladder with a two-hour time limit. Pump gas, pee, grab another free refill at the friendly neighborhood Shell station, and merge back onto the interstate for another couple of hours of driving before my bladder strikes again. That's kind of how things have gone to this point. It's sometime around nightfall and I've finally made it to Colorado. I'm not exactly sure of where in Colorado. Only that I'm on the longest stretch of interstate I've ever seen in my life and I'm not even halfway there. To be certain, I'm in the middle of nowhere and that is kind of funny, considering nowhere is exactly where I'm headed. My back is aching, my temples throbbing, and the headlights from the oncoming traffic are just one big white blur. I should pull over, find some cheap hotel, and sleep. Start out fresh in the morning. Watching the sun dip lower and lower in my rearview mirror and the moon climb higher and higher into a perfect velvety indigo sky has served to increase my anxiety about my destination. It's not too late to turn around and beg Christine to let me have my old room back. I could forget this whole thing. I'm certain I could find a job. I could tell Mr. Galloway and his history lessons to stick it. Tell him that I don't want or need the inheritance, birthright or not. But, it's simply not the truth. Not only do I need the money. He has piqued my curiosity about the place and the family I've never met. I've listened to the same CD for the past five hundred miles and frankly, it's getting a little old. My tastes are eclectic in music. Christine made the CD and certainly does not share my appreciation for variety. Hip-hop and bubble gum snapping teenage pop music are fine. But between the monotony of the lyrics, the repetitive beat, and the endless miles of interstate stretching out ahead of me, I'm about to lose my mind. I stare longingly at the exit ramp and watch it zip past my window. The more distance I put between me and the state of California, my old life, the less likely I am to turn around and go crawling back. I'm not delusional enough to think I can drive two thousand plus miles straight through. But, as exhausted and bleary eyed as I am, I'm reluctant to call it a night. I crack my neck to relieve some of the tension and buckle down to the task of driving. Fortunately, the interstate is pretty much a straight line from point A to point B. I'm a little wound up thanks to all the free coffee I've slugged down and I know I'll have a hard time sleeping once I do decide to finally hang it up. The old car has held up pretty well. I'm thankful to Rod and whatever miracle he performed under the hood. Kansas City is just a mere two hundred and fifty miles away. At my current speed, I should be there within a few hours. My cell phone has buzzed at least a dozen times announcing I have text messages. Christine should know better. I'm not crazy enough to text and drive. She'll just have to wait. I love paper almost as much as I love wolves. Despite the GPS app on my phone, I've got an old road atlas spread out on the seat beside me. I don't think I'll need the map. I-70 is pretty much a straight shot though Kansas, Missouri, and Illinois, but after that I'll have to use my GPS if I want to get to where I'm going. I'm still having trouble with the whole moving to a town that doesn't exist and the fact that I own a good chunk of it. I've inherited a ghost town. I don't know whether to be freaked out about it or not. I don't believe in ghosts or haunted houses. After spending my whole life in L.A., I've seen plenty of freaky shit, all of it perpetuated by living, breathing humans. Besides, I'm quite certain the dead probably have much better things to do than to haunt some nonexistent town in the middle of nowhere. Although it's dark, I have no trouble noticing the changes in the landscape zipping past my window. Gone are the flat rocky scrublands in shades of brown. I'm starting to see copses of trees dispersed between the rolling acres of farmland. I've never seen a real deer in my life outside the confines of the zoo. But, one goes bounding across the interstate a little too close to my car for comfort. I don't know where it comes from, but the instinct to pull over to the side of the road and give chase is almost overwhelming. I dismiss it and chalk the strange stirring up to too many hours on the road and too much coffee. The din of a city lights up the distance in an ethereal glow. Now is my chance to stop, eat something besides chips, and bed down for the night. But, I still have half a tank of gas and my bladder hasn't sounded the alert yet. Soon enough it will and I'll be forced to pull over. I ignore the exit sign and press on. St. Louis isn't that far away and there are plenty of places to stop in between. It might be better to bunk up in some little town than to risk it in an unfamiliar city. After all, everything I own is in my car and though none of it is worth anything. It has value to me. I buzzed through St. Louis about midnight. The city is a confusing maze of cloverleaves and exits going every which way. As insane as the traffic is in L.A. at least the interchanges make sense. Out here, even in the middle of the night, it's a free for all. Cars and semi-trailers whiz around me as if I'm not even on the road. I thought Midwesterners were supposed to be friendly and polite. I guess that's not the case on the interstate. Hell, maybe my fellow travelers are all from L.A., but probably not. For all the craziness out here, I haven't been flipped off once. My gas tank is hovering close to empty. Which makes sense considering my bladder is near bursting. I'll stop somewhere once I cross the Mississippi River. Illinois should be a safer bet than St. Louis. Big mistake, big freaking mistake, I pumped gas while looking over my shoulder the entire time. The gas station was deserted and the entire place locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I shoved the money to pre-pay for my gas to the checker through a little slit in a window made of thick bulletproof glass and covered by a row of steel bars as wide as my index finger. I didn't bother asking for the bathroom key or my free coffee refill. I hauled ass and got the hell out of dodge. I've never really thought about what it means to be female and out on the interstate alone in the middle of the night until now. The traffic thinned as I drove further into Illinois and for long stretches I was the only person on the road. I try to put thoughts of my desperate need to pee out of my head. My gas tank is full and stopping anywhere seems like a really bad idea. I have a can of pepper spray on my key chain. What sane person living in L.A. doesn't? But, I didn't think pepper spray and the self-defense class I took my senior year of high school would be enough. I had no idea what time it really was or even what time zone I was in. Watching for woodland critters crossing the road, worrying about some random serial killer deciding to make me his next victim, and the weariness of driving for hours and hours on end was getting to me. I was restless, achy, hungry, and not fit to be around other people by the time dawn started to break the horizon just shy of the Indiana border. Small towns are known for their hospitality. Right? I pulled into a little burg just inside the Indiana border and sighed a weary sigh of relief. I thought about renting a hotel room and immediately dismissed the idea. Hell, I was almost to my destination. What was the point of giving in to my exhaustion now? Stiff legged from sitting so long, I hobbled into a diner and waited patiently to be seated. Ten minutes later I was still waiting and not so patiently either. A waitress walked right past me and didn't even acknowledge my presence. Out of spite I took my time in the bathroom and indulged myself in the luxury of splashing my face with cold water in hopes of jolting my weary brain awake. I could use something hot in my belly besides coffee, but it was obvious I wasn't going to get it here. I double checked the GPS on my phone and consulted the atlas. This was the fork in the road. Driving through the little town that in my opinion boasted nothing but the rudest waitresses and the worst stench in the entire United States, I headed north. I'd be there in about three hours. Wide awake, thanks to the fresh coffee in my travel mug, I squinted through my dry sleep deprived eyes. Out of the little town and on a pretty much deserted two lane highway, I could see it. What drew people to this part of the country and kept them here. The landscape was picturesque, just as Mr. Galloway promised it would be. Flat farmland and gently sloping hills, thick patches of dense woods and trees, so many trees, and all of it was absolutely postcard perfect. Everything was green and lush, rugged and wild, barely tamed by the hand of man. There were fields of corn for as far as the eye could see. Golden acres of wheat stretched out past the distant horizon. Horses and cows grazed in emerald green pastures. The sky above was vibrant blue and cloudless and the air sweet with the smell of growing things and nature. Something about the scenery, the hills and outcropping tumbles of rock, the trees, the lazy winding streams, and the wildness of it all called to a place deep inside of me. It wasn't my impatience to get from point A to point B that had me pressing my right foot down on the accelerator. It wasn't the fact that I had driven over twenty hours that had me pushing the speed limit. It was my eagerness to see what was around each twist and turn of the road. Except on TV, I haven't seen an actual farmhouse ever. But, I counted a dozen of them dispersed like random dots on a page along this desolate stretch of road. Stoic homesteads plain faced and made of brick and mortar and houses with sprawling front porches certainly not built in this century were predominant and somehow seemed to fit into this place time forgot. In the distance I saw red barns faded to a shade of rusty brown, sometimes dull gray, by the sun and farmland and woods stretching as far as the eye could see. I hadn't anticipated the raw beauty of this place. I thought everything would be flat and a bunch of nothing. It wasn't. Flowers grew wild in brilliant splashes of color along the roadside. Leafy green branches of tall trees formed towering arches and made cool patches of dense shadows over the narrow highway. Birds soared high in the sky and colorful butterflies fluttered in the meadows like leaves stirred by a gentle morning breeze. There was plenty that was new and strange to me. People dressed in dull colors and simple clothing. Bearded men wearing wide brimmed straw hats and women with their faces shadowed by bonnets. The steady clip clop of horses' hooves pulling polished black buggies piled high with children shyly peeking out at me as I drove past. I didn't know a thing about the Amish. I certainly had never seen anyone quite like them. To me the drive was like traveling backwards in time. There were signs of civilization. Power lines and cell phone towers stretching up into the sky, but even they were not immune to the encroachment of nature. Vines scaled up the structures and decorated them in garlands of green and flowering buds. Signs and mile markers rusted along the roadside. Once in a while, I'd pass the bloated or sometimes, decayed carcass of an animal not quite fast enough to dodge what little traffic there was. The little towns, no more than wide spots in the road, I drove through were just as picturesque as the landscape. People mulled about enjoying the morning and nobody seemed to be in a particular hurry to go anywhere. There was no shortage of antique shops with the windows piled high with wares. Greasy spoons, hole in the wall taverns, churches, and motels a little too reminiscent of the Bates Motel for my taste were a common theme in these burgs time forgot. I coast into the last little burg before my destination and pull into a gravel parking lot. Stretching, I exhale a relieved sigh. I'm here, wherever here is. I made it in one piece. Rod's patchwork on my car's engine held together. Determined to text Christine and double-check my GPS app, I grab my phone. I have no signal out here in the land that progress forgot. Wandering around the parking lot doesn't change a thing. Not even one damn bar lights up on my phone. I've got the directions pretty much memorized, but I'd like to be able to confirm them with my GPS. This isn't a place I'd want to get lost and Christine is going to be frantic if she doesn't hear from me soon. The diner boasts the best breakfast for fifty miles. That might not be an understatement considering the place is probably the only place to eat within fifty miles. There's not even a damned McDonald's in this forgotten town. My joy and sense of peace at the scenery has worn thin. I'm agitated and pacing, kicking bits of white rock with the toe of my shoe as I contemplate what to do next. Drawn to the entrance by the enticing aroma of bacon, I wrinkle my nose at the red and white checkered gingham curtains covering the windows. The diner resembles something straight off of the set of the Andy Griffith Show. There's a glass and stainless steel display case sitting on a worn Formica countertop. And damn, do the pies inside, towering with meringue and bursting with bits of fruit and cream, and crumbling flaky crusts, look good. My stomach growls in agreement. The smells coming from the kitchen have me salivating like Pavlov's dog. The diner is crowded with locals. Men dressed in faded flannel and worn blue jeans. Kids with droopy eyelids lounge on the tabletops with their cheeks nestled onto the palms of their hands while they pick at oversized breakfasts they couldn't begin to finish. Harried moms sip coffee and gossip over half eaten plates of food with one another. The diner is homey and comfortable, but something about it puts me ill at ease. Perhaps, it's the fact that everyone is watching me as I shyly weave my way over to an empty seat at the counter. The din of dozens of different conversations going on at the same time is deafening. I'm so tired that I really have to concentrate on something as simple as reading the menu. Actually, I'm hiding behind the laminated pages and as hungry as I am. I'm hoping not to be noticed. A waitress with a wide smile and a mound of frizzy bleached blonde hair piled high atop her head flips my coffee cup over and fills it to the brim. "What can I get 'cha, honey?" Season of the Wolf Pt. 01 Honey? I glance over the top of my menu and shoot a very meaningful glare at her. She's completely clueless to my scowl. It's obvious that I'm an outsider and the waitress immediately lists her recommendations of what I should eat for breakfast. Her Midwestern twang and the way she can turn a sentence into one very long word without pausing for breath sets my teeth on edge. I guess that's something I'll get used to, if I stick around for a while. Just to shut her up, I order something safe from the menu. After all, how can you possibly screw up pancakes with a side of bacon? The food is set in front of me before I can bat an eye and I immediately dig in. Either I'm hungrier than I thought or the pancakes are unbelievably good. The syrup is warm and if I'm not mistaken is real maple syrup. The butter isn't cheap margarine, but actual butter and it's melting into a soft heap in the middle of a stack of pancakes as big as my head and so tall they're in danger of toppling over. I'm automatically in a better mood after the first few bites. I consider asking the waitress, Diane, her nametag reads, some questions. Despite the patrons demanding refills on their coffee. She certainly seems chatty enough. I wonder what she can tell me about Mr. Galloway, distant cousin and attorney at law. What she knows about the Victorian manor and the land I've inherited. Does she know any of my family? Did she know my parents? She stops to top off my coffee mug and pins me with a stare. I didn't have to ask her a thing. Squinting at me over the rim of her bifocal glasses she says, "You're kin to the Galloway's aren't 'cha." It wasn't a question, but a matter of fact from the certainty etched on her expression. "I heard Han finally tracked down a relation." Am I a Galloway? Well, I suppose I am. I nod and she smiles, big and wide. "Well, you sure as shootin' look like the lot of 'em. I can see your granddaddy and your daddy in ya' and your mama too," she says with an emphatic nod. "God rest their souls," she adds in a whisper and a glance up at the ceiling. Before I can ask any of my questions Diane busies herself refilling my coffee and swiping my empty plate from in front of me. With a wink, she parks a second helping of pancakes beneath my nose. "Welcome home, then, Winona." My fork pauses mid spear. Winona. Diane called me Winona. By the certainty of the gleam in her eye I can tell she knows exactly who I am or who I should have been. Is that my real name? Winona Galloway? I don't think it suits me. Winnie? Would that fit me better? No. I am Grace Klein. I can't afford to ever forget that. The diner is a busy place. A table hardly has time to be wiped down. As soon as a seat opens up it is filled. Diane is definitely too busy to answer my questions in any depth. I'm tired and my full belly has lulled me into the beginnings of a very deep carbohydrate coma. Mr. Galloway, Han, she called him, isn't expecting me until tomorrow morning. I need to find a place to stay for the night. I suppose I could call him, if I had cell phone reception, and arrange to meet him a day early. But, am I that eager to learn the details of my past? I pick at the pancakes and decide to stay put until the diner empties out and I can grill Diane for more information. She definitely knows Han and she knew my parents. I look like them. I try to envision my parents and what they might have looked like, what my grandfather looked like, and the kind of people they were. I can't imagine any other past than the one I know. What kind of a person would I have grown up to be if I had been raised here? The questions are dizzying. Other than the ever helpful Diane, I have no one to answer them. Chapter 6 The air ripples with the nearness of her presence. I can feel her. She is close. The things I said to lure her here aren't untrue. But, they aren't exactly as transparent as they seem either. She is the only granddaughter of Nathaniel Galloway. This house and the land it sits on are hers. But, there are plenty of other details I've glossed over that are part of the legacy she has inherited. Her mother was smart to hide her. But, she didn't hide her only daughter well enough. Nathaniel found her, but he found her too late. I made him a promise and it's one I intend to keep. I brought her home. I will be her guide and I will die to keep her safe, if that's what it takes. Grace is expecting an attorney. The tie chafes my neck. I'm not exactly a business suit and tie kind of guy. But, if I'm going to pull this off and convince her to stay, I'll need to dress for the occasion. The truth is that I really am an attorney. Over the decades, I've been a great many things. I've done more than I care to admit to protect the secrets and people entrusted to my care. It's bred deep into the core of who I am. Being exactly who Grace needs me to be should be easy compared to some of the things I've been called upon to do. The house has a feel to it today, an air of anticipation. I've taken painstakingly good care of the place. Everything is in order. Grace is expecting a quaint Victorian manor and that's what she'll get right down to the antique furniture in the parlor. The animals are quiet in a wary state of restlessness today. The energy in the woods, flowing between the land and the sky, is rippling with awareness. It's morning and the birds should be chattering, but they're still and silent in their nests. There isn't a whisper of wind rustling leaves in the trees. It's as if everything is holding a collective breath for the final pieces to fall into place and it's up to me to make sure that they do. I study Grace's picture. Just the very sight of her calms some part of me buried too deeply to unearth. I won't mistake her for anyone else. She is unique and in her features I see glimpses of the family she's never known. With my sandy brown hair ran though with traces of gingery red and deep auburn and my hazel eyes, I don't resemble her branch of the family tree. My skin is tanned golden brown. Not the kind of tan inherited but the kind hard earned from hours of working the land. I've got no stomach for details and paperwork, but sometimes necessity determines the course a man will take. I'm most at peace outside working with my hands. I like the sweat and the heat of the sun on my back. The ache in my muscles is my reward for a job well done. Today, I'll be an attorney for her and I'll begin what will be a rocky introduction into the truth of her world. I shake off my own restless anxiety and lose the tie. The thing is too much like a noose around my neck. Grace will have to take me as I am. Sure, I'm groomed and well dressed, but beneath the glossy veneer prowls a restless beast. I practice my smile in the bathroom mirror. I'm passable. I need to be more than just a pretty face to accomplish my goals. I'll need to pour on the charm if I'm going to capture her attention and keep it within my grasp. I need her. We need her. I told her over the phone that she could decide her true name. But, the truth of it is. Destiny decided it for her long before she was born. The nearness of her rouses my need to protect and destroy anything that would ever harm her. Grace won't understand. But, what her mind fails to grasp her spirit will. What she is flows within her veins and there is no escaping it. She is comfortable with the outside world and knows nothing about the more clandestine parts of it that exist unseen beside a world too busy and careless to notice. Her mother didn't want this for her. In so many ways her father and grandfather didn't want this legacy passed down from generation to generation for her either. But, they realized what her mother did not. Fate is a wheel that can't be stopped from spinning and there is no other choice for any of us. Grace's importance is more critical than she can begin to comprehend. There are so few of us left. What was once a thriving community of several hundred has been whittled down by time and circumstance to far too few. Technology threatens us. Humanity creeps closer and closer to our borders like a noxious vine that simply can't be stopped. We could branch out and become the vine. But, what kind of a world would that be? Everything created by nature has its place. Every good thing comes at a cost. The price our fathers paid was high. The sons and daughters have been paying it and enduring the burden of such costly gifts for centuries. For some the payment is simply too high and they flee to the sanctuary of the outside world. For others, there is no other choice but to stay rooted to the spot. I am faithful to the sacrifices my ancestors made to get us to this point. For all it is and is not, this life is the only one I've ever known. I'm laid back by nature. I enjoy keeping the peace and want things on an even keel. The life I've ended up with isn't exactly the one I wanted. Destiny plotted a different course for me, just as it has for Grace. What I prefer doesn't really matter. There is what is and nothing else. Nathaniel was my best friend, my mentor, and in so many ways, a father to me. It is duty that holds me to this place and to her. I love her because I loved him. I failed him. I saw the threat too late, but not Nathaniel. He knew what was coming. He tried to prepare me. But, I simply couldn't or wouldn't listen. I fought the future and my destiny and in the end I cost him his life. The old give way to the young, the father to the son. That's just how it goes in this world of mine. No one expected Nathaniel to fall so easily. The challenger came out of nowhere, like a storm that suddenly hits land. I should have seen what was to come, but I didn't. I failed to protect Nathaniel. But, I did protect Grace. With body, blood, tooth, and bone I preserved that which was rightfully hers and now it's time for her to finally claim it. Nathaniel dedicated the last two decades of his life to finding her, the Winona, first daughter. This place, these people, and the land are hers. I have bled to protect it. I envision a woman as noble and proud as her birthright. But, she has been out there among humanity her entire life. She doesn't know what she has truly inherited. If Nathaniel hadn't found her, she would have never known. In so many ways, I regret that most of all. That I'm tasked with the duty of stripping her of her humanity and everything she's ever known and bringing her home to the reality of what she considers fiction. It's bred into my very nature to protect her. Not because I consider females weak. But, because they're as rare and valued as the children they bear. No woman who willingly gives her body for the next generation is weak or timid. There are so few of us because so few women conceive. Out of the brave females that do, few survive the task. That is the highest price we pay for the gift we have been given. We're helpless against it. We watch our little girls blossom into women and chose a mate. We hold our breath as the child begins to stir in her womb. And more often than not, we mourn and bury our dead. Grief is more common to us than happiness. I'm a bastard for dragging Grace into this world and the part she'll need to play in it. I've spent hours staring at Grace's picture. Coyote, the best tracker of us all, did his job well. The snapshot I hold in my hand is a candid shot of Grace sipping coffee on her balcony. California must be a beautiful place. I can see her love of the sand and the heat and the ocean written in her expression. I also see the faces of the dead in her features. Her grandfather died to protect her. Her mother died to hide her. Her father died to secure her future. I can only hope Grace's heart is a pure and strong as her blood. She'll need both to make her way in this world. The gift is in me, a part of my very soul. My blood may not be as pure, but my heart pumps just as strongly. Like most of us, I straddle both worlds with a foot in each. Just like my father before me and his father before him, for generations back to the very first one of us. We were born to guard the secret, bound to it with our blood, bodies, and souls and far too many of us have died to protect it. I think I look pretty good for a man as old as fuck. That's one of the perks of living this life of mine. I know the history of this house so well because I helped to build it. Nathaniel and I crafted the first beams and hung the family name over the lentil. My mother died in the childbed and my father went the way of the wolf after her death. Nathaniel could have chosen to go the way of the wolf after his wife died bringing their son into the world. Just as his son did after Grace and her mother were lost. But, Nathaniel chose life for me and for Grace and for the destiny the two of us were born to share. My entire life I've imagined her curves, her scent, the sound of her voice, and the way her soft skin would feel beneath my fingertips. Even though I've never seen Grace in person and until six weeks ago the reality of her face only existed in my imagination. She has been the object of my every masculine desire. I knew long before her father was born that she would come and that she was meant for me. If she had been raised in our world, she would know it too. Another unfortunate truth of my world is the brass ring Grace represents to me. We only get one chance at finding the other half of our soul. She is my one chance. My heart and soul and the reason I've had such stamina for this long life. She is the only woman I will ever know. All that I am rests in the palm of her hand. She can't deny me when I've denied myself for her so very long. I'll find a way to make sure of it. The suit coat is made of wool. It's stifling and confining. I can't stand the feel of it weighing me down. I strip the thing off and abandon it at the foot of the bed. In the light broadcloth button down and my sleeves rolled up I can breathe again. I look more like myself and less like an attorney now. The black dress slacks are tailor cut to fit my long legs. I hate the itchy starchiness of the material. I'd rather be dressed in my familiar worn out blue jeans. But, I have to resemble someone more official. Someone educated and that looks more like an attorney than a farm hand. Otherwise, she'll never believe it despite my credentials. I've got every I dotted and T crossed. The papers are legal as it gets. This place is hers lock, stock, and barrel. She knows nothing about the house or the land or what it takes to care for the fields and livestock. I've lived on this land and worked the farm since before I could toddle. I know every rock, every tree, and everything there is to know about it. I'll have my work cut out for me to prove that I'm as vital to her as she is to me. I'll teach her anything she wishes to learn and plenty that she does not. Neither one of us have any choice in the matter. I wouldn't choose another path even if I could. Destiny has plotted this course out for me and I'll see it through to the very end. Her nearness stirs the wolf inside of me and he paces in my mind. He'll have to wait as I have, just a little while longer. The prey knows when it's being hunted. But, she's not prey. We are and she's the most dangerous predator out there. She just doesn't know it yet. The part of her that has been dormant is on the verge of awakening. I regret that and wonder if I should have simply left her alone. Let her live a normal, ordinary, human life. But, it's too late for that now. I've already opened the door and she has taken her first step inside. I pick up the keys and debate whether to take the truck or my Harley. The truck would be more believable, more like a vehicle an attorney would drive. But, my beast needs soothing and nothing eases it like the wind in my face and the scenery flying past. It's as close to running in my wolf skin as I can get and still maintain my human form. Every wolf instinctively has the cunning it takes to hunt. She will be my most difficult pursuit yet. It'll take more than instinct to win her. I'll need to be patient and persistent. Stealthily track my prey and not get captured in the process. But, it's too late to avoid captivity. She already owns me. I grab up the file and tuck it under my arm. I let just my wolf off the chain, just a little, to calm his raw savagery. For her, I need to be human. She can't accept me any other way. In time, she will know all the beauty and terror her new world has to offer. But, I'll be there for her to ease her fears and show her how to embrace the magic of her true self. Together, we will fulfill the roles we must play and usher in the season of the wolf. Chapter 7 I've been picking at my second helping of pancakes for the last thirty minutes. Diane keeps my coffee cup full to the top, but she rushes away before I can think of the first question to ask. There are just so many answers that I need to know. My best approach would be to stay parked on my ass at the counter and wait till the breakfast rush is finally over and I stand a better chance of getting her all to myself. That really isn't a hard task, staying put, since I've got no clue of where I'm going. The pancakes weigh me down. If not for Diane's endless supply of caffeine, I'd probably fall asleep where I am. I play with my phone as if by doing so I can somehow magically conjure up reception. Christine is most likely frantic by now. It has been over twenty-four hours since she has heard from me. I have to admit I feel a bit like I've fallen off the ends of the earth and landed in the twilight zone myself. I should get off my ass and find a payphone. Surely, even remote as this place is there's a payphone somewhere. I could beg Mr. Galloway to see me a day early. Otherwise, I'm going to have to figure out someplace to crash for the night. I don't know where that would be but I can bet I'd have to drive a good distance to find it. After driving all day and all night to get here the thought of climbing behind the wheel again leaves me positively exhausted. My god, I still can't believe I own a home and that maybe, if I can find a payphone and contact Mr. Galloway and ply to his sympathies. I could be spending the night in my house. My house. He has gone to no small lengths to ensure me that everything is in order. The idea of sleeping in a bed that someone else has slept in kind of gives me the creeps. I suppose it's no worse than staying in a hotel and sleeping in a bed hundreds or possibly thousands of other people have slept in. I'm not concerned about cooties or anything like that. Well, maybe I am a little. I mean my grandfather slept in the bed, sat on the couch or lounged in an easy chair. His thumbprint is on everything I've inherited. I've got to approach this with an open mind. It's just a house, furniture, and whatever else he left behind. Objectively, I know it's no different than moving into a new apartment. Most of my stuff was bought second hand and that didn't bother me. There's no reason why this should either. Everybody leaves some lingering imprint behind. I'm certain even though I searched every nook and cranny of my room before I taped the last box shut. I've forgotten something in the move. This is different though. He is dead and I'm not. Hopefully, seeing the place and signing the papers will help to allay the lingering disbelief that I have that a Victorian manor and acres of land are really mine. Sure, it'll be awkward at first. Not knowing anybody. Though from the stares I've gotten in the diner, plenty of people know me. I'm used to having a ten by ten room, sharing a bathroom, and fighting over rights to the remote. I'll have four bedrooms, a full kitchen, an attic, a basement, two bathrooms, a formal dining room, a real honest to god study, and a living room all to myself. Season of the Wolf Pt. 01 I've never really known the luxury of space. Housing isn't cheap in L.A. and even though my parent's house had plenty of room for the three of us. Sometimes, it still got a bit crowded. I don't know how I'll fill the emptiness of a house so large by my lonesome. I'm not even sure if I'll stay or sell out and go back to L.A. at this point. But, some part of me feels as if I need to give the place an honest try before reaching a decision. I'm not used to drawing attention. The stares are a bit unnerving. No one has approached me yet, but I have no doubt eventually someone will. Strangers usually stop long enough to pump their gas and maybe grab a bite to eat before they're on their way. They don't move in next door. I wonder how long it'll take, if I decide to stay, before I'm considered one of them. I noticed the county sheriff idled in the parking lot long enough to run my license plate before turning around and heading out. I don't know what that was about. I'm hardly a criminal. Hell, I've never had as much as a speeding ticket. But, I'm guessing the sheriff knows that about me now. Another splash of hot coffee into the cool draughts at the bottom of the mug jolts me to awareness. I almost did fall asleep face first onto the stained formica countertop. I really need to get down to business. Ask Diane where I might find a payphone. Call Mr. Galloway and beg him to finalize the paperwork today. If he refuses, maybe he could direct me to a hotel or put me up for the night on his sofa. I try to get Diane's attention, but she's busy flirting with a mountain of a man seated at the end of the counter. It's strange that for as crowded as the diner is, so crowded that people are just milling around sipping coffee until a place to sit opens up, that I've got the wall on my right and there's a vacant stool on my left. Nobody wants to sit next to the new kid on the block. I'm not offended. It's been over twenty-four hours since I've had a shower and I'm not exactly the freshest. Nobody has bothered to strike up a conversation either. I'm ok with that too. I'm in no mood for idle chitchat either. Diane cleared my plate away and deposited the check in front of me. She's made no indication that I should vacate my seat for somebody else. Which is good because I don't intend to until I figure out what to do next. If my phone actually had reception, I'd drive out to the house and check it out for myself. Stupid me, I didn't think to write the directions down on paper. Screw that, if I had cell reception I'd call Mr. Galloway and then go out to the house with my keys in hand and start settling in. Not that setting up shop will take me long. I mainly just want my comfortable pajamas and a place to sleep. I can figure out the rest later. The cowbell tied to the door jangles announcing another customer. That's not a shocker. The bell has been ringing fairly consistently ever since I came in and took a seat. The diner is neat as a pin despite it's worn, dated, shabbiness. In the polished stainless steel wall in front of me I can see the blurry reflection of a man moving to take the empty seat at the counter. The energy has changed in the atmosphere and people, though they are still talking, are doing so in a decidedly hushed tone. I sneak a glance out of the corner of my eye at my counter mate. With the casualness of a man completely at ease with the world, he slides into the seat beside mine and sets a thick file on the counter. I'm trying not to stare, but I can't help it. I'm blushing from my attempt not to be so obvious as I check him out. He is tall and lean. His skin tanned and maybe a bit weathered from the sun. Biceps ripple beneath the strained fabric of his button down shirt. His slacks cling tightly to his thighs. He is wearing a pair of battered black biker boots completely at odds with the persona he's trying to create. He obviously is not a business suit kind of guy. But, somehow, he makes it work. He is the kind of man capable of wearing a polka dotted speedo to the opera and still manage to take sexy to a whole new level. His windblown hair curls around the collar of his shirt in a kaleidoscope of shades ranging from soft, chocolate brown, to coppery red, and finally sun bleached blond. There's a hint of ginger stubble on his angular jaw. I flush as he smiles at Diane and thanks her for a menu. His lips are full and I find myself wondering if they're as soft as they look. His forearms are as muscular as the rest of him and bulge as he picks up the mug and holds it with his long fingers. I'm trying not to look at him. I'm trying and failing. I duck my head and toy with the napkin rather than overtly stare. My heart skips a beat at the cleft in his chin. I'd love to run my tongue over that shallow dip as I make my way to his kissable lips. The thought of it makes my toes curl. Living in L.A. one sees hundreds perhaps thousands of surgically enhanced perfect men. There are people who make their living off their looks. L.A. has no shortage of them. I can tell he hasn't had a nip or a tuck. He is simply too handsome to need such a thing. His muscles are honed to perfection, but I bet he has never seen the inside of a gym in his life. This is a man who works with his hands and his whole body. The overall effect is staggering. Diane shoots me a wink and refills my mug before trotting off to the opposite end of the counter to take an order. Awkwardly I sit in my seat and stir some cream into my coffee. I wonder if I should say something and decide against it. He's just a guy who needed a place to sit, nothing more. The nearness of him is distracting. We're sitting close enough our knees almost brush and we're elbow to elbow at the counter. He hasn't ordered any food yet. He drinks his coffee black and seems content to sit here beside me. I can't help but notice he has no shortage of admirers. Women bat their eyelashes at him and covertly glance at him. Men nod as he catches their eyes and engages in a brief stare. He is obviously a local. Everybody knows him and he knows everybody. The aura he throws off effects everyone in the diner. He knows it, but doesn't seem need it to solidify his concept of self. This man knows exactly who he is without any kind of acknowledgment from anybody. Whoever he is. He's a natural born leader and it shows. People can't help but fall into place behind them. He's the kind of man you automatically trust and like though you can't exactly say why. He has charisma and charm and I'm not completely unaffected by it either. He smells good. Though I can smell the vague hint of soap and the shave gel he used this morning. He smells of wild, and musk, of pine and cool crisp evenings by the fire. And that's not a scent found in any cologne bottle. It's just him. I blush violently red at the idea of bare skin pressed to bare skin and covering my body in his scent. It's not like me to have such brazen thoughts about a man I've never met and I'm blindsided by them. I dismiss my rampant mental tirade to too much coffee, too little sleep, and the fact that I haven't been out on a date in a very long while. Christine is always trying to set me up. Though I'm over two thousand miles away. She'll probably still keep trying. She has no shortage of men scrabbling for her attention. I'm quite sure her engagement to Rod hasn't done a thing to change that. Hell, the single guys in L.A. will probably declare a citywide day of mourning when...if...she actually says, "I do". I don't want and have never wanted her rejects. I've had more than my share of quiet Saturday nights at home, but I'd rather find my own guy. I don't like the sort of man Christine picks out for me. I like men like... him. If he's part of the scenery, I might not mind living here so terribly much. I realize that it's just my sex drive talking. Unlike Christine, I've never let my libido rule my head. That's probably why I don't have a boyfriend and Christine has a fiancée. I'm punchy and exhausted. I'm probably subconsciously feeling a little lonely being so far away from home. Maybe, I feel a little too vulnerable out on my own and I want to connect with someone. I get the sense he'd be very good at connecting. The idea of how good he might be at connecting and the type of connection we could make has my breath catching in my throat. I wonder what color his eyes are. Pale blue eyes would be a little too startling. I think. Dark brown eyes would be too intense. Green? Exactly the shade of growing things and nature, a lush vibrant green, I'd bet. Maybe, his eyes are gray like colorless panes of glass and I could stare into them and see into the depths of his soul. No, that'd be too easy and simplistic for a man like him. I get the sense he's a man of secrets and there's nothing transparent about him at all. Hazel eyes would suit a man like him. Hazel isn't a color unto itself, but a blend of different shades of green, brown, gold, blue, and gray, complex, exactly like him. I wish he'd turn his eyes to me so that I could end my debate. Preoccupied as he's been silently taking command of the room with nothing more than his very presence and sipping his coffee. He has paid no attention to me. He isn't covertly curious about the new stranger in town like everyone else seems to be. It's almost as if he has accepted that I belong here and am a part of this place. Though I'm not convinced of it myself. I get the sense that he's studying me without making any outward sign of it. Gauging me and who I am by means I cannot begin to fathom. Maybe, he is one of those rare people who can read others by body language and facial expression alone and draw a fairly accurate conclusion about who they really are. Considering I'm sitting as close to the wall as I can get and therefore, as far away from everyone as the limited space will allow. He might think I'm closed off and don't want to talk to anybody. And well, that's sort of true. I'm sure the expression on my face is not open and friendly. I've simply got too much on my mind to spare the energy to invite idle conversation. Maybe, I want to scare people off so that I can convince myself the best thing to do is to sell out and run back to California. I've been hunched over a mug of cold coffee for a while now and nobody has bothered to approach me. So whatever body language or vibe I've been putting off. It has communicated the proper message. I really don't want to be bothered. I make myself as small as possible as he swivels in his seat. His eyes are on me and I am not disappointed. They're hazel as I suspected and I am smothering in the heat of their stare. His brows are expressive, thick, and darker than I guessed and they add a dimension to his face. His lashes are long and veil his hazel eyes, giving them a sultry look any woman would die for. The bridge of his patrician nose has a ridge and is slightly crooked. This adds to his overall good looks instead of taking away from them. He has had his nose broken before and I wonder how it happened or if it's been broken more than once and he's more of a fighter than a lover. He isn't a soft man. I knew that already. Either way the crookedness of his nose adds to the ruggedness of his features. His voice is as intense as the rest of him. A deep resonant bass that is somehow as overwhelming as the aura radiating off of him. Heat flares through me. I can imagine that voice whispering things in my ear only intended for me to hear. He asks if I'm Grace Klein though I get the sense that he already knows I am. Stupidly, I nod. The powers of speech have abandoned me. He reaches out to shake my hand. His grip is firm, but not crushing. His long fingers are calloused and very warm. I can't imagine this man is Hanson Galloway, Han, for short. I'm tempted to ask him for ID. He simply doesn't look like an attorney. But, he assures me he is an attorney and Hanson Galloway. He offers to show me his driver's license, if I need to see it. I don't. I'm too embarrassed by my mistrust to demand confirmation of his identity. He has the file containing all the paperwork I'll need to sign to take possession of my inheritance with him. But, he recommends, unless we want everyone in town to know my business, we go over things in his office. He operates out of his home. Somehow, in this little burg, that doesn't surprise me. There is plenty he hasn't told me yet. I don't know how I know this, but I do. Before I can make a move to pay for my food. He snatches the check off the counter and hands Diane a twenty to cover my breakfast and his coffee. He doesn't bother with waiting for change and tells her to keep it. That's a generous tip, considering my pancakes were 4.99 and refills on coffee are free. Maybe, paying for breakfast is his way of making me feel welcome. I doubt if he paid to impress me. This is a man who doesn't need to pull out his wallet or prove a thing to impress anybody. "Give me your keys, Grace," he says in a voice that leaves no room for argument. He goes on to explain that he can see I've driven straight through from L.A. and I'm not safe to drive another mile. He is right about that. He tosses his keys to Diane and tells me not to worry about it. She'll find someone to drive his motorcycle to him. He'll drive me in my car unless I want to ride with him on his Harley. The idea of wrapping my arms around his waist and hanging on tight makes me blush. I'm attracted to this man. Very attracted. He's not only an attorney. He's my distant cousin and until I know how distant. It isn't going to happen. Deep inside of me though, I'm hoping we're so distantly related that we aren't technically related at all. I'm ashamed of my car. The floorboard is a litter of fast food wrappers and potato chip crumbs. The backseat is crammed full of a hodgepodge of boxes and trash bags containing my stuff. I've had the car since my senior year of high school and it was old when I bought it. The paint is faded to a dull gray and there's a coating of rust eating away the wheel wells. Hell, it might not even start, but that is too humiliating to consider. I haven't handed over my keys yet and he pins me with a look. Gritting my teeth and begrudging how right he is about my current physical state, I drop my wad of keys into his palm. I'm a key collector or at least it seems that way. I've still got the key to my parent's house and to the apartment on the ring. I'm hesitant, with good reason, to climb into a car with someone I don't really know. He could be a psycho or a serial killer. Maybe, a rapist, but you can't exactly rape the willing. And a part of me would decidedly be willing. He must be able to sense my reluctance because he draws a pained breath at my unwillingness to simply trust him. "Grace," he says in a voice hot enough to melt the polar ice caps. "You're not in L.A. anymore." He holds the passenger side door open for me and motions me into the seat with a wave of his hand. I climb in and buckle up while discreetly kicking the collage of wrappers, cans, and crumbs out of the way to make room for my feet. If he noticed, he makes no sign of it. Grunting, he slides behind the wheel and shoots me an apologetic smile as he slides the seat back to accommodate his long legs. He steers the car, not toward what little bit of a town there is, but out onto the highway. Ok, so now I am a little nervous. The pepper spray is on my key chain and out of reach. I keep my nails short out of practicality and clawing his eyes out is not much of an option in terms of self-defense. I could knock him on the head with my purse. Make a try for it and leap out of a moving vehicle. I guess. Screaming for help won't do any good. Nobody would hear me. "Where are we going?" I demand to know. He rolls his eyes at me as if it should be perfectly obvious where he's taking me. I don't trust him. I wonder how he could hold that against me considering we just met. But, somehow I've managed to offend him. He's just trying to be nice and I'm automatically ashamed that I thought anything other about him. I don't say another word. The awkwardness between us, two strangers, is bad enough without any inane conversation. I slide down in my seat and watch the scenery zip past the window trying to remember the route so I can find my way back into town. "Grace, I'm taking you home," he answers. My head is filled with images of what the house will look like. What it'll be like to live someplace so different from anyplace I've ever lived. I'm also wondering exactly where home really is. Is it here or California or someplace else I haven't even thought of yet? I don't know. But, I know, or have the sense that once I cross over that threshold my life will never be the same again. Chapter 8 The diner is hopping. I wedged my Harley between two rusted out pickup trucks and pocketed the keys. My skin ripples with awareness. My wolf wrinkles his nose at the lingering scent of her in the air and prowls agitatedly in my head. He has already staked his claim to her and it is all I can do to hold him back. He definitely lacks my finesse and between the two of us it's best that I handle this. Grace doesn't know a thing about my world and for now it needs to stay that way. She is on my turf. These are my people. This is my place. But it's our time, our season. Carving a place for us out of this wilderness wasn't an easy thing. We had grand plans back in the day. Some of us still hold that vision. Progress pushed forward and shoved us back until we were confined to this small place, our place, in the corner of the world. I can't put into words what hopes I have for Grace. So much hinges on her. The truth is that we are a dying breed and I'm clinging to the glimmer of hope that she can breathe life into us once again. I have fought and bled for these people and this place. My position is never a secure one. There's always a challenger waiting to fight me for rights to it. Grace's father went the way of the wolf. But, he returned a changed man. The hunger and darkness within him ate him alive. I thought him dead after so many years. Nathaniel knew differently. He answered the challenge and lost. I don't know whether the things I did to secure our future were done out of rage or from my pain of losing the only father I had ever known. I can't regret them or the death I delivered. I saved my pack. I only wonder when the time comes for questions how I'll answer hers. Grace isn't ready for the truth about anything. I don't have much time to prepare her. Being here, with her true family and the magic that flows between us, will call the reality that is her true self forth. There is a chance if she had stumbled into a life in a different place, been close enough to a pack, the magic would have claimed her sooner. L.A. is hardly a place for a wolf. Perhaps, that was part of her mother's plan. The hiding of her daughter in such a crowded, civilized place. But, I don't believe that dying was part of her mother's plan. She was going to hide the both of them and raise her daughter among the humans and as far from the magic as she could get. Nathaniel worked so hard to uncover the truth. It took every bit of influence he possessed among the more clandestine of the world to locate his daughter and bring her home to be laid to rest. There were truths he could not unearth though. Who fired the bullet that ended her life is just one of many unanswered questions. Nathaniel didn't believe her death was just a series of circumstances, a simple matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He suspected a great many things, but had no facts to base them on. I do too. She was hunted and what creature on earth hunts as stealthily and lethally as a wolf? The outer brick walls of the building that houses the diner are beginning to crumble in places. Tall weeds scrabble for a foothold along the chipped foundation. This place is old, almost as old as I am. Part of the diner's charm is the building. Sure, the food is good, but the atmosphere draws just as much of the crowd. I can smell the musky earthy essence of wolf mingling with the enticing aroma of frying bacon and fresh baked cinnamon rolls cooling on the rack. Season of the Wolf Pt. 01 Grace doesn't know it, but she is very well protected. Everyone left in this, what was once a town, is related by blood and we take care of our own. I can't answer the one question that has been in my mind since Nathaniel finally located Grace. I don't call the man I once considered a brother by his name. I can't. He died to me the day he challenged Nathaniel for leadership of the pack. Perhaps, that was what in the end gave me the fierceness and raw brutality my wolf needed to unleash itself and tear out his throat. The bastard has a grave in the family plot, but it's more of a reminder or a warning than a memorial. Did Grace's father know her location? Did he deliberately hide her from Nathaniel and why? Was he trying to protect her from the legacy she was born to fulfill or was it some selfish act? We're born knowing exactly what we are. When the time comes it comes as no great shock but as a celebration of the new generation. Grace will know nothing but terror and fear, pain and confusion. Unless I can find a way to ease her into this world, she'll see it as a curse and not a gift. It takes a village to raise a child. It'll take each and every one of us to bring Grace into the fold. The corner of the folder tucked under my arm digs into my fingertips reminding me of exactly how important she is to me and I am to her. The diner falls into a hush as I enter. The people know who I am. They respect me and show me the deference due any leader. The way I'm dressed probably comes as a surprise. I haven't worn anything other than faded blue jeans, worn t-shirts, and weathered work boots in the last thirty years. The wool slacks are more reminiscent of another time and the itchiness is more familiar to me than I'd like to admit. My eyes scan the familiar patrons of the diner. I spot Grace sitting at the far end of the counter as far away from anyone as she can get. She's alone with the exception of Diane's casual attention. I give Diane a nod and before I can ask, there's a fresh mug of coffee waiting for me. The conversations have picked up again. I can barely hear myself think over the din of the noise. I focus on Grace watching from behind her before I make a move to take the empty seat at the counter. She is everything I thought she would be. Live and in person I realize how very short the photos and my dreams fell. She's a tiny thing, slouching over a mug of cold coffee and staring down at the worn patterns in the countertop. Her lips are pursed in thought. An air of standoffishness and fierce self-sufficiency clings to her, but it doesn't put me off. She's needed this persona to survive in the human world. But, Grace can't know and doesn't realize how very wolfish her aura is. Her dark hair shines with a halo of highlights from the sunshine streaming through the wide plate glass windows. She is dressed for the summertime heat and the long journey she has traveled in a pair of loose kaki shorts and a baggy t-shirt worn soft and thin from washing. Her feet dangle from the stool in a pair of battered tennis shoes. She's a mess, weary and exhausted, her hair pulled up into a loose ponytail with tendrils left to curl lazily around her long neck. Her lashes are thick and dark adding mystery and expressiveness to her brown eyes. Covertly, she turns those eyes to me. I can feel them raking over every inch of me. Idly she works the corners of a crumpled napkin with her dainty fingertips. In my dreams she is fierce and commanding. In person, she is soft and vulnerable, fleeting and unpredictable as a breeze. But, I know somewhere deep inside of her is a storm yet to be unleashed. I squash the instinct to defend her. My inner wolf is growling and bristling, flashing his teeth at the other males, warning them off. The atmosphere crackles with the raw power of my wolf. Diane glares at me. She's right. I need to tone it down, a lot. My wolf has no place here. And I'm starting to scare off her customers. This isn't the best place for me to discuss things with Grace. There are too many people crowded into too small a place and too many ears to hear. Everyone is wondering how I'm going to handle it. I'd rather not have anyone overhear the floundering of their leader. Especially, since I'm not exactly sure of what I'm going to say myself. My wolf is a crafty bastard and I'm glad for it. I start with a brief introduction and thrust out my hand. She's hesitant and gingerly returns my handshake. Her fingers are soft and warm, but her grasp firm and determined. Good. She doesn't scare as easily as I'd feared. She has an inner strength perhaps she doesn't even realize. With her hand gripping mine it shows. She is beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful. Her wolf is there, beneath the surface, finally beginning to wake. I can see her there in the glimmer of Grace's eyes. The fierce predator that is my wolf is subdued and wagging his tail like a damned puppy over the morsel of attention she's paid to us. It's good to know that she isn't as unaffected by my presence as she appears. In that, we are even. The attraction sizzles in the air between us. I can sense it. The signs are evident in her body language and in her scent. I'm making her nervous and a bit uncomfortable. She shifts in her seat and nibbles at her bottom lip. She's not used to having anyone tilt her world on its axis, but I am and she doesn't know what to make of it. She smells of feminine musk and salty ocean spray, of sand and sun warmed skin. I long to reach up and tuck a strand of hair clinging to her neck behind her ear. Reminding myself of who I'm supposed to be to her, I restrain the impulse. She is familiar to me, but to her, I'm a complete stranger. I explain that I was on my way to my office and decided to stop for a bite. That I have her file here and am more than happy to close the transfer of her inheritance today instead of tomorrow. I tack onto the tale I've woven as a means to lure her home. I work out of my home. That's true, but she doesn't realize my home is her home and she's not only inherited the property and the house it sits on but me as well. I've already cleaned up after her grandfather and myself. I have a bedroom in the main house, but the old carriage house suits me just fine. I've stowed my things there and set up a cozy studio apartment. I don't need much. I can't even tell you why I occupied space in the house after Nathaniel's death except for my need to cling to tradition and something familiar. The house is no more mine than the land it sits on. But still, some part of me feels I've earned the right to call it home. I've preserved the past and secured the future for her. I've bled for it. What other reason do I need to consider it my home as much as it is hers? She'll get used to having me around. She'll figure out she needs me and there's no time like the present to assert that simple truth. It's obvious Grace is exhausted and can't drive another mile. There's no way I'm letting her drive on the twisting gravel roads and steep narrow lanes leading to the house. In her current state she'd be likely to steer that death trap on wheels she calls a car straight into a ditch. Diane's coffee could put hair on a man's chest, but even that amount of caffeine has its limits. Grace has been properly fed. Diane has made sure of that. I snatch up the check, pay, and usher Grace to the door before she can muster the energy to protest. I take the house key off my ring and toss the keys to Diane before demanding Grace's. Reluctantly, she sees the logic in my argument and hands them over without too much fuss. Standing beside me, the top of Grace's head barely reaches my chest. We walk to her car and I hold open the passenger side door for her grinning at her embarrassment at the collage of wrappers and empty bottles and crumbs littering the seat and floorboard. The backseat is so full with boxes that I can barely see out the rearview mirror. I adjust the seat to accommodate my long legs. Compact Hondas weren't really made for a man of my height and even with the seat all the way back it's a trick to drive without punching the break and the accelerator through the floorboard. Grace is watching me out of the corner of her eye. She is distrustful of me. I can see her calculating the many ways she can escape if the situation calls for it. She glances toward the can of pepper spray on her key chain and automatically dismissing it as an option for self-defense. Her brown eyes flicker to the door handle. Yeah, she could risk it and leap out of the car. I wish she'd sit back and relax, let the scenery and the fresh county air do their part in romancing her. I keep quiet and don't waste time with idle conversation. Being this close to me, the two of us crowded shoulder to shoulder in this tiny car is killing me. The interior is flooded with her scent. The very essence of her stirs my wolf and a part of me I've managed to ignore for a very long time. Grace is subdued by her weariness. Her eyes grow heavy and outweigh her mistrust as they fall closed and suddenly pop open as she forces herself to stay awake. She is trying to memorize the route. It'll take more than one trip to do that. But, I'm guessing her wolf will always be able to find her way home. I slow and turn off the main highway down a gravel road that stretches off in the distance. The suspension system of the car groans in protest to the bumps and dips in the road. Tall cornfields and thick patches of dense woods on either side of the road flank us. The sky above is a brilliant flawless blue. The dust cloud of our tracks is the only thing I can see in the rearview mirror. Jarred fully awake, Grace frowns at the condition of the road and her brows furrow into deeper lines as I take another turn and inch the car along a lane in far worse shape that leads up high into the rolling hills. My wolf yawns and stretches, digging his claws into the soft gray matter in my head to let me know he is still with me. As if I could ever forget. He is at home in this wild place and I am too. To Grace this place is distant and untamed. She didn't see it before civilization left its scar on the landscape. There was a time that the people who called this place home were as wild as the landscape. When people were free, really free, to be who and what they truly are. Those days were gone long before I was born. We adapted and will continue to adapt to ensure our survival. Adaptation is the true way of the wolf. Our way. Grace wipes her palms on the hem of her shorts. I know her so well. It's easy to forget that to her, I'm a stranger. I do the only thing I know to do to put her at ease and start to point out things she can't see with her narrowed vision. She nods and feigns polite interest. It isn't that she isn't curious. She simply hasn't opened her senses up to the world around her yet. And she doesn't understand how very little of the bigger picture she can actually see. She doesn't see the hawk circling overhead or the doe and her spotted fawn watching us from a dense copse of pines. Grace can't hear the whisper of the wind in the trees or the distant yip of a coyote. She doesn't know an oak from a maple. She has never tasted sassafras root brewed into tea on a cold winter's day. The sweetness of ripe wild berries in season is unknown to her. She has never seen the tracks of a raccoon and doesn't know to give the skunk a wide berth. We emerge from the shaded lane and onto the bumpy path leading to the house. The meadow stretches out in a vibrant green expanse of gently rolling land. The horses lift their heads from grazing and flick their ears in curiosity before returning to pick at the tender shoots of grass. The barn comes into view as I ease around a curve. In the distance is a field of golden wheat almost ready to harvest. Every time I coast over the bridge and the meandering creek beneath and the house comes into view I fall in love all over again. I want Grace to fall in love too. Not just with me, but with the house and the fields, the woods, the creek and the pond it leads to, and the land, with everything. She would never compare herself to a tree or a creek or a field of wheat or corn, to an otter or a doe, or the wide-open sky. She can't see the beauty of such things yet. She can't see herself in the wild perfection of nature's randomness, but I can. The house is decked out in her late summertime finest to greet her guest. The lace curtains flutter over the open windows. The gardens are in full bloom. The colorful flowers are bursting with life and the scent of them sweetens the air. The porch swing sways gently in the breeze on the wide front porch. The calico cat nobody ever bothered to name lounges on a porch step and lazily licks her paw. Birds chatter down at us from the trees shading the front yard as I pull around the circle drive and slide the gear into park. I sit there and admire my handiwork. The house hasn't looked this good since the day she was built. She is polished and shining like the jewel she is and more than that. She looks like home. I try to gauge Grace's reaction, but I can't. Her face is turned away from me, taking it all in. I can tell she's curious and also filled with trepidation. I can picture Grace standing on the porch watching the sunrise as she sips her coffee. I can imagine her tending the gardens with tender loving hands. I envision her here, safe and happy, at home, in this place and with me. "Welcome home, Grace," I say as I hand her the keys. Chapter 9 I can hear the pride in his voice as he drops the keys into my palm. I don't bother with my stuff. It's all I can manage to drag my weary ass up the few stairs to the front porch. The house is everything I imagined. Her brick face is weathered from the sun. Moss grows thick up the sides of the trees. Blooming gardens and twisting footpaths cover every square inch of the front yard not doused in the shade of the trees. An inviting porch swing sways gently in the breeze. A cat Han hasn't bothered to introduce me to meows up at me in curiosity as I rest against the porch rail and wait for him to open the front door. The place is picturesque. I'll grant you that. The house is three stories high counting the attic and towers over the flat landscape not covered by thick woods. This place has no shortage of surprises. Out back at the end of a winding gravel lane sits a smaller building, a garage maybe, and behind that, an immense barn freshly painted red bakes in the summer sun. Even if my GPS were working, I doubt if I could have found my way here on my own. Flat expanses of farmland and rolling hills of pasture stretch out beyond where my eyes can see. Han made an excellent tour guide rather than asking me a million personal questions on the drive here. He pointed out things I would have never spotted on my own. I didn't see the deer and her baby or the hawk circling in the sky above us. To me, raspberry is a flavor of pop tart, not a berry growing on a thick bramble along the side of the road. I cast him a doubtful look as he holds the front door wide and beckons me over the threshold. The truth is. I'm a little intimidated by the size of him. I'm not one to back down to anybody, but he towers over me. I reassure myself that he isn't a rapist and take a step inside. The décor is an antique collector's wet dream. I'm still studying a clock on an ornately carved fireplace mantle when he summons me into what he calls a sitting room. The room is a bit formal for my tastes. Flanked by two wing back chairs a small sofa upholstered in deep crimson sits along one wall. An oval rug in a bright floral pattern covers the polished wood floors. Floor to twelve foot ceiling bookshelves stuffed to capacity with leather bound volumes fill the space. A window trimmed with lace curtains looks out onto the gardens and casts rays of light onto the rug. A desk made out of glossy wood dominates what is left of the room. This is a room for business and receiving company you want to impress and possibly intimidate. I have to admit the space has had that affect on me. I ignore the chair positioned on the guest side of the desk and choose to sit on the sofa. Like all the other furniture in the house that I've seen so far, the sofa is old-fashioned. I don't know shit about antiques, but I'd bet I'm sitting on one. That in itself makes me nervous. Gingerly, I put my hands in my lap before I get something on the upholstery. Unlike me, Han seems quite at home here and has no difficulty walking on the rug with his boots or having a seat in the wingback chair to my left. He opens the file and flips through some paperwork before presenting a pen from his shirt pocket. He clicks the pen as he reads. I find it irritating and shuffle in my seat thinking he'll get the hint. He doesn't. Perhaps, he senses what I'm thinking. How intimidated I am by the remoteness and sheer size of this place. He glances up from his papers and says, "Please, try to relax. The paperwork is just a formality. All of this is yours and nobody can take it away from you now." There's a certainty to his voice that fails to put me at ease. I've never mowed grass or shoveled snow in my life. I don't know a thing about owning a home or what it takes to run a place of this size. I've watched one too many slasher films in my lifetime to be comfortable alone out here at night. I'm ready to tell Han to do whatever he wants with the place and run like hell for California. Maybe my addled brain can't handle one more thing and my exhaustion is getting the better of me. I'm exhausted and sitting here, being in this house, seeing someone else's belongings and knowing that they're now mine is overwhelming. I get the sense this place is full of ghosts of the past. I remind myself that I don't believe in ghosts. A sofa is just a sofa and a house is just a house, nothing more. But, I can feel the echo of people and events long passed down to the marrow of my bones. Maybe, the house is haunted and maybe it isn't. Those aren't the kind of ghosts I'm talking about anyway. There are shadows left behind in this place like fingerprints streaked across panes of glass. My grandfather. My parents. Others. And I'm not quite sure if I'm up to the task of meeting the people they were from the remnants they've left behind. Han clears his throat and thrusts the pen in my hand. He gives me a brief gist of the contents of the papers and motions where I should sign. I don't want to trust him, but I do. I should read the fine print, but my vision is so blurred by exhaustion that I sign where he points. He tells me not to worry about the farm. There's a tenant in the carriage house who takes care of the place. He smiles at my confusion and explains that the carriage house is the building behind the main house and was once used as a stable for the horses and a place to keep the livery out of the weather and that he's just a shout away. He's my tenant? What? I blink and regret signing the papers so quickly. I don't want to be out here alone and I don't know a thing about horses or harvesting. But, have him so close? He works around the farm in exchange for paying monthly rent. That's good? That's bad? I don't know. I don't like having my privacy invaded, but with the size of this place how often am I really going to see him? For now, I decide to let it go. I don't even know if I'm going to stay here or not. Having a tenant to take care of the place, if I decide to sell, might be a good thing. He gives me a brief tour of the place. I'm resisting its charm, and his. It's evident my grandfather trusted him. Han knows every nook and cranny of the entire house. The lace curtains filter out the worst of the sunlight and give the rooms a warm hominess. The wood floors creak softly beneath my feet and the sound is somehow soothing. The claw footed bathtub in the main bathroom looks like heaven. The four-poster bed in the master bedroom is welcoming and I find myself sighing as Han ushers me down the hall for the rest of my tour. There is something new around every corner and as weary as I am, I can't wait to see what's in each and every room. Season of the Wolf Pt. 02 Novella 2: On the Hunt Chapter 1 The sky is gunmetal gray and the ocean turbid and violent. The wind is relentless and tears at my hair. Cold drops of rain splatter against my cheeks. I walk across swirling sands tossed by the storm and contemplate my next move. People who don't know better think southern California is sunny and warm three hundred and sixty five days a year. It isn't. Sometimes, it's cold, damn cold, and today is one of those days. That's ok. I don't mind the weather. The surroundings, bleak, gray, and stormy suit my mood just fine. The beach used to be a place of comfort to me. I feel closer to my parents here than anywhere else. It's been almost four years since I snuck out to the shore one morning just as dawn tinged the sky gold and sent their ashes adrift in the wind. What I did, setting them free, is probably illegal, but it's what I had to do to find the strength to move on. It's easier for me to imagine them as part of the sand, sea, salt air, and open sky than to think on the reality of them truly being gone. I try to imagine what my parents would say about my current predicament. I'm sure my mother would come up with something positive and constructive that would somehow be absolutely perfect for the situation. My dad's advice would be more practical than soothing. He was never one to sugar coat or spare my feelings. He'd simply put it out there and let me sort things out for myself. Sometimes, his honesty would cut me to the bone, but I never minded. I'd rather hear the truth than a lie, no matter how sweet. Being here, on this beach and staring out at the ocean, it's easy to conjure up the whisper of their voices on the howling winds, shifting sands, and the crash of waves striking the shore. But, I find no comfort in what I imagine they're saying to me. It is true. You can't choose your parents or the family you were born into. But, what if you could? By being here instead of there, haven't I, in a round about way, done that? I have two sets of parents. The biological parents I never met and the parents I thought I knew so well. I have a family of strangers that bear a resemblance to me. I was born into a legacy that is more curse than gift. And it's from that, the truth of what I am, I've run. Han explained that once I left the boundaries of pack magic the choice would be made for me. That hasn't happened yet. My wolf is still here, a part of me and I can feel her restlessly pacing in the body we both share. It's difficult to keep her contained in the wrapper of my human skin. I prefer this form, but sometimes, it's hard to hold onto it. I fight for what's mine just as she fights for what's hers and that's this body we share. I never asked for this. But, she doesn't seem to care. I was born this way and until a few weeks ago didn't have the slightest clue. I could hate Han for his big reveal. The truth of what I really am. But, it's hard to hate and love someone at the same time. It's even more difficult than it is to hold on to my human skin. I could say I didn't run back to L.A. like a scared little girl. But, it's a lie. I ran, end of story. The truth is simply too much to process. I have a home, land, more money than I know what to do with, and one hell of a secret. I'm in love with a man and I don't know if that love is part of the legacy, just nature winning over nurture, or if it's because he is who he is instead of what he is. Someone else might look at my life and question why I left it behind. The money. The home. The land. The man. The virtual fountain of youth I've mysteriously tapped into. But, that's because they don't have to live it. If I could muster the energy to hate anybody it should be Coyote. But, I don't hate him either. How could I when he's been truthful? Han picked the truths he chose to share saving back some until he was certain I could handle them. His timing sucked. I wasn't ready for the biggest truth of all. I'm not who I thought I was. Nothing is as I thought it was. I've always known there was something different about me. But, I never guessed exactly how unique I am. I'm a werewolf. Han insists that shape shifter is a better word to describe the magic of changing from one form into another. But, I'm a realist to my core. There is no way to sugar coat the bitter pill of the truth to make it easier to swallow. I'm over two thousand miles from the pack and I can still feel the pull of their particular brand of magic. I have one foot in both worlds and it's a slippery slope to walk. I have choices. I can live out here or in there, but I can't have both. It's too dangerous. The human world can't find out about us. One mistake, one time of letting my wolf slip off the chain and it's game over for all of us. Han believes there are no others like us out there. I don't. Coyote doesn't either. My race is in danger of dying out because of the choices they made. To live in the isolated cocoon of the woods and the rural countryside of a nonexistent Indiana town instead of venturing out into the reality of the world that exists around them. I think their fears hold them bound to that place and nothing else. The risk of losing the tie to pack magic keeps them rooted to the spot. I feel the magic and the stirring of my wolf. She hasn't abandoned me. But, I know the answer as to why or at least I think I do. Once again, I owe Coyote for his honesty. Pressing my hand to my softening belly, I try to imagine the life growing inside of me. I took a tiny spark of that magic along with me. What I'm doing I do for both selfish and altruistic reasons. I do it for myself, for Han, for the pack, and primarily for the son or daughter who deserves every choice imaginable. Maybe, just maybe, someone who left the pack behind did it for the very same reasons I have. Perhaps, they're out here somewhere fueling the magic and keeping that preternatural flame ignited. I don't believe we're on our own. The baby is enough of a reason to make me suspect or at least, have hope. My biological mother was running from or to something. My father sent her away and was planning to join her. That never happened. She was a victim of circumstance, simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. As for my father, I'd like to think that when he arrived here and couldn't find her or me it was what caused him to topple over the edge. My parents knew our pack was doomed by their own design and they were trying to escape that fate for my sake. I feel it in the marrow of my bones. There are others and it was to them she was running. L.A. seems like a strange place to go on a wolf hunt. But, what better place to hide than in plain sight? Coyote suggested that I start my search here. Where it began, or at least, began for me. Coyote says there's no such thing as an accident. At this point, I've learned better than to doubt his word. He asked me how well I knew my adoptive parents and I came up short. I don't know everything. I knew them as well as any kid could know a parent, but nobody can know everything about a person, even the people closest to them. I don't know exactly where to start looking. After all, it sounds a little crazy to be on the hunt for mythical creatures that shouldn't exist but do. So far, I have no trail to follow. But, I still believe I'll find it. I have to. Chapter 2 I'm desperate to find Grace. Desperate enough that I've risked my bond to the pack and have driven over two thousand miles to search for her. I'm going on a leap of faith. Coyote was able to travel the distance, track her down, snap a few pictures without her knowledge, and make the journey back without any danger to his wolf. But, he was only gone a few days. Finding Grace and convincing her to come home where she belongs could take more time than we have. We were only together one time, Grace and I. But, once was enough to have me foolishly believing she would stay put by my side. Like a love struck fool I let my guard down. She left. I overestimated myself in my abilities to be everything she needed me to be. And I underestimated Grace. The hold her fears have on her and the appeal of the outside world as a means to escape them. Grace is more human than what I could have anticipated. And in so many ways just as desperate as I am. I told her she had the right to choose. At the time, I thought I meant those words. I was wrong in that assumption as well. My motivation for finding her is for my own selfish reasons. I know I should let her go. That would be the right thing to do. But, I can't. She is the other half of my soul and without her I'm incomplete. I need her. There's something more than my need of her that has me so desperate. Grace carries my child. I should have thought ahead and planned for such a possibility. But, at the time I was so overwhelmed by everything that is Grace. I was just so damned happy to finally find the one woman capable of completing me that I didn't give much of anything a thought beyond that moment. I was a fool in all ways. I pushed Grace too hard too fast. I revealed too many truths before she was capable of understanding them. She got scared. And now I'm the one who is truly terrified. I could blame Coyote for his part in this mess. Grace stopped at the bar to tell him goodbye before she left. He could have tried harder to convince her to stay. Coyote is a master of mischief and trickery. He is capable of stringing words together and manipulating people with them to the point where their own thoughts are an illusion. There was more he could have done. He could have used physical force if he'd had to. Of course, Coyote's sense of self-preservation prevented that. My wolf would have torn him to pieces if he'd laid one finger on Grace. Oh, I get it. What Coyote's end game truly is. He's just as desperate as Grace and I. He wants to find his other half and this is how he's going to do it. By sending me in search of Grace. He hopes to prove that others like us exist. He has always been about the ends justifying the means. If I find proof of others, that would mean we're no longer alone in the world. It would also mean that it's possible for us to live beyond the small bubble of the only world we've ever known. Coyote foresees a rosy outcome. I don't. I know what wolves are and are not. And that's the real reason why the pack has passed down the traditions from one generation to the next. We've never left our territory in search of others because it won't have a good result. Our tiny foothold in the bigger human world was earned with blood and pain, and ultimately, it's about survival. Much like natural wolves, our territory has been pushed back to a small sliver of what it once was. I don't hate humans. I simply resent their encroachment into what little exists of my world. We've only managed to survive by hiding in the places humans haven't found worthy of their time. If there is a pack here, most likely they've done the same. Only instead of hiding in deserted places, they've hidden in plain sight to protect their own. If I'm, or Grace, is discovered here, it would be any different than if a wolf wandered into my territory uninvited. It will end badly. Coyote's impatience has pushed me out into the larger world. The pack is vulnerable because I'm here. If he found traces of others, he should have told me instead of scheming to achieve his own ends. He has endangered, not only Grace and I but all of us. I already know what I'm going to do with Coyote when I return. He wants to be out in the real world so badly. He can have it. I'll set him up with an identity and he can be part of this human world he dreams of so desperately. He can die a human death as one of them instead of living many lifetimes as one of us. Maybe, then he'll understand the true meaning of the sacrifices we've all made to ensure the next generation comes into being. Coyote isn't a coward. But, he won't last long in the human world. It'll kill me to shun him from the pack. But, after what he's done to Grace, shunning is what he deserves. If I can't locate Grace before it's too late. His punishment will be far more severe. He'll die for nothing more than a pipe dream. I've suffered more than one painful loss in my long lifetime. I might have been able to survive losing Grace. Maybe I could have let her go and kept true to my word about the choices she was free to make. But, that option doesn't exist for either one of us anymore. She loves me. Deep in the marrow of my bones I know it. I've loved her since before she was born. Together we've created something bigger than the both of us. We've made the future. It is the spark of hope in our unborn child, in the future we've forged through the union of flesh, and that I have in Grace's love for me and our child, that has me risking my wolf to find her. Chapter 3 In a city so packed with humanity, I've got no way to track Grace's scent. Out here in the human world I've got to rely on intellect more than my wolf. He doesn't like the unfamiliar sights, smells, or sounds of many people living in such a small place. At least, I have the comfort of knowing he hasn't abandoned me yet. I'd rather deal with my wolf's agitation bristling in my brain than not feel him there at all. I can see what had Coyote believing there might be pack here in this place. It'd be easier to hide in a city than I thought. L.A. is filled with dark nooks and crannies and the constant throng of life would make excellent cover for a wolf on the prowl. At this point, I'm beginning to question the folklore about my people. Maybe we can live away from the pack and the legends were nothing more than stories meant to keep us firmly rooted in the spot. I don't like to think of my ancestors as liars and the traditions we've always followed as falsehoods, but maybe they are. I've rented a room with a great view of the sand and sea Grace so dearly loves. Watching the waves crash into the shore is peaceful and helps to hold me rooted in my human skin. Humanity may have a hold on the earth, but there's truly nothing they can do to contain the wildness of nature. Nature always wins in the end. And it's that knowledge that has me searching for Grace so vehemently. My pack is dying out because we've clung to traditions that might or might not be true. Nature is having her way with us, but thanks to Grace and I and the baby she carries. We've won this round. I've spent the last twenty-four hours wandering the streets and the beaches looking for Grace. I have nothing more to go on than a hunch and Coyote's word. Grace came here in search of others like us. She says she's doing it for all of us. It'd be a greater comfort to me if she were home where she belongs and under the protection of the pack. Out here, there's little I can do to keep her safe. In my world though, she'd be protected. I'd see to it. I can't stop Grace from dying from some unforeseen event. I can't keep her from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can't prevent a bullet from hitting its mark. Josiah didn't send his wife here to die. He sent her here for some reason and it ended badly. I know Grace's parents and I know it deep down in my soul. Whatever they did. Much like I've always done and always will do. They did for her. Today, the beach is deserted. The angry sea and cold relentless winds have chased everyone inside. The sky is pregnant with gray storm clouds ready to burst. It's not a good day to be on the hunt. But, I'm going out anyway. My wolf won't let me rest until we find Grace. And I don't know which one of us is more restless, him or me. I've searched every place except for the most obvious. I'm going to pay her best friend a visit. Grace didn't say much about her life in L.A. She tries to keep moving forward and isn't one to dwell on the past. It's one of the things I like about her the most. I don't know what kind of people Christine and Rod are, but I'm hoping their love for Grace overrides any distrust they might have for a stranger. If Grace has been there, my wolf will scent her out. It won't matter if her friends divulge any information about her whereabouts or not. All I'll have to do is bide my time and wait for her to show up. My wolf is patient and cunning. And sometimes the best hunting strategy a wolf has is to do nothing more than wait for the prey to come to him. Chapter 4 I feel a little guilty about spending my inheritance. My grandfather left me a huge sum in a trust fund. He trusted me with the pack's fortune and their future and here I am spending it to finance my escape. I'm not running away. I vehemently remind myself of that fact. I'm here on a mission. Prove Coyote right? Prove him wrong? I don't know which result I'm hoping for more. I'm careful about what I spend. Only the necessities and that's it. But, it's L.A. and even the barest of essentials don't come cheap. I've rented a room in a fleabag hotel. It's a bed and a toilet and not much else, but at least I'm close to the ocean. I'm working under the assumption that being close to nature is paramount to someone like me. It does help to smell the fresh salty air and feel a bit of ocean spray on my cheeks. I've ruled out the city parks as places to hunt for wolves. A park is too civilized to soothe the wild beast. It's got to be here, on the beach, where I'll find my wolves. I've looked for paw prints stamped into the sand. I've seen a few, but I'm not skilled enough to know a wolf print from that of a large dog. I don't worry about Han tracking me through the use of electronic records. If he wants to hunt me, he won't need a trail of bank transactions to do it. He has called my cell phone at least a million times, but I haven't listened to his voice mails or returned his calls. I already know everything he has to say and can do without that little trip down guilty bitch lane. He loves me. The absence of him feels like a hole has been punched straight through my heart. I can't let that stop me though from doing what I need to do. I panicked. One night together, one amazing night, and I run out on him. I admit my fault in that. But, I knew and I still know. He'll never let me go. I only hope I can accomplish my goal before he catches up with me. If he comes after me at all, which I suspect he will. I'm supposed to be out here on my own with nothing but the choice to leave as my only companion. But, if Coyote is right, it won't matter. One way or another, I would have proven my point and achieved my purpose. We're not alone. Then Han will see that I left for him, not because of him. I'm doing this for him. He's lived his whole life for me and for the greater good of the pack. It's time he got to make a few choices in his own life and live it for himself. That's all I want. To make sure he gets the opportunity to make the choices he deserves. My suspicions were right about one thing. The minute I got a few miles away from that nonexistent Indiana town. I had cell phone reception again. I still haven't called Christine. I know I'm being selfish and unreasonable. I should return her calls. I'm in L.A. and if Christine knew I was here and hadn't stopped by to see her. She'd be furious. I can deal with her drama. It isn't that. It's just that she'll want more information than I'm willing to provide. I can't tell her the truth and I'm not a very good liar. I know Christine won't understand why I can't say all the things I'm bound not to say. I haven't called Han for much more personal reasons. I know myself too well. I'd go back, if he asked. My guilt over all the things I've done and the things I haven't done is eating me alive. I'm not focused on my goal. Finding others like us is paramount to the future. I owe it to so many to give this my all. I just don't know where I'm supposed to look. Coyote said to go back to where it all began. I'm here and I haven't found anything. I'm as far into my past as I can get. Season of the Wolf Pt. 02 I've dismissed Christine and Rod as possibilities. Christine doesn't know shit about the supernatural. She can't keep a secret to save her soul. If she had any inkling there were paranormals out there I'd know. I've already searched through anything having to do with my parents. That was the first thing I looked for. My parent's identities are solid. They were who they said they were. I don't really have anyone to ask to confirm that assumption though. I've never met any of my relatives. Perhaps, it's just coincidental that there's nothing linking my parents, their births, or the people they were before I came along, to anything but a mound of paperwork. I know my parents are dead. That's a fact. I saw them, cold and lifeless, broken and bloodied. I was there at the crematorium to say my final goodbye before their bodies were burned to ash. I scattered their ashes. I've never doubted it was the ashes of my parents that I surrendered to the wind. That my parents aren't really dead is nothing more than wishful thinking and I can't risk that kind of hope. I feel so alone, avoiding Christine and Han, missing my parents, and turning away from the family I'd just met. Calling Christine is a waste of my time unless I just want an ass chewing for being the worst BFF ever. Though a good scolding would take my mind off Han and it isn't like I don't deserve it. Christine and Rod are the only tie I have left to L.A. and while they can't help me accomplish my goal. I won't say a little diversion and some company wouldn't be helpful. I've been spotting werewolves lurking inside of every stranger I come across. But, I know it's just my imagination. If I do actually find one, I'll know it and it won't be my mind playing tricks on me. Chapter 5 I found Grace's old apartment building easily enough. The place is little more than a crumbling tenement and way too small to house the number of people living inside. But, it's near the beach and there's nowhere else I'd expect Grace to live. Her apartment is on the third floor and down a long meandering hallway reeking of the mingled smells of humanity. To me, the apartment complex is stifling, but I imagine Grace was able to overlook everything I find so unappealing just to have her view of the ocean. I feel it before I lift my fist to knock on the door. The prickle of preternatural energy has the hairs on my arm standing on end. I don't recognize the brand of this particular energy and at first dismiss it. But, there's no denying the musky aroma of wolf scent coming from Grace's old apartment. The scent isn't hers. In fact, the traces of her scent are so weak. I can barely smell them at all. My wolf bristles at the threat and I dig my nails deep into my palm to keep myself planted firmly in my human skin. I feel twinges of pity for Grace. Everything and everyone she thought she knew. It's all been a lie. Right now, my only thoughts are of her and I don't hazard to think beyond to all the things it means to smell a wolf, someone like me, behind that closed door. I lift my fist to knock and find I didn't need to expend the energy. The door opens and a blonde stands in the entryway staring me down and leaking preternatural energy all over the place. The woman is dazzling, tall and statuesque, long legged and scantily dressed in a pair of short shorts and a tank top. Her blue eyes flare in recognition of what her sense of smell tells her about me. Her full pink lips curl over white teeth as she takes in my scent and embeds it into her memory. She knows the truth about me just as I know the truth about her. She moves to slam the door in my face, but I'm faster and block it with my body. The two of us are beyond the rules of moral man and the law doesn't exactly apply. I force my way into the living room and she bristles at the invasion of another wolf into her territory. I'm light on the balls of my feet and spin to face the male moving between she and I to guard her. "I don't want any trouble. I just want to find Grace." I say before this situation can get any worse. I keep the door behind me and resist the instinctive urge to posture and flaunt the innate aggression of my alpha male. The female huffs and tugs tightly on the metaphysical leash restraining her wolf and brings her to heel. The male doesn't back down quite so easily and has difficulty getting his wolf under control. With light strokes of her fingertips and soft words whispered into his ear, the female soothes him and he manages to maintain his human form. My wolf doesn't want to let this go and I'm gritting my molars and biting the inside of my cheek to keep him contained. The three of us stand there awkwardly in the tiny living room and exchange stares. It's obvious they're just as shocked as I am to see me and none of us really know what to say. I see it. The moment the female pulls her humanity together and shakes off her wolf. "I'm Christine and this is Rod and you are?" She's good, really good. I can almost believe I didn't see and smell what I saw a few minutes ago. If not for the prickle of preternatural energy tainting the atmosphere I'd almost believe Christine is completely and unquestioningly human. "Hanson Galloway," I answer. "Han." I thrust out my hand and am not surprised when she refuses it. Christine doesn't bat an eye or miss a beat. She offers me a seat on her battered couch and moves to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I sit and Rod does likewise, never taking his eyes off of me. I'm trying to process the situation. I've never seen another wolf not of my pack before and don't quite know how to handle it. Of course, I expected the aggression and the posturing since I basically invaded their den. To them, I'm a threat and they likewise, are to me and quite possibly to Grace. I wonder if they knew about her or if wolves regardless of their origin instinctively seek one another out. Christine notices Rod glaring at me from her view through the pass through between the kitchen and the living room. "Rod, be nice to our guest," Christine chastises. She smiles shyly and shrugs as she doles out chipped and mismatched coffee mugs. Daintily, as if she's the queen of England, she takes a seat and crosses her long legs at the ankles. "You'll have to forgive him. He's still new at this." I nod as if her explanation makes perfect sense and sip my coffee. The stuff is bitter and strong, absolutely awful, but it's hot and the act of drinking out of a mug helps to center me in my human skin. Questions buzz in my brain, but I sit back and let Christine play hostess. I don't want to give too much away in the questions I ask. I want to know what she knows without divulging secrets of my own. I need Christine and Rod on my side, not fighting against me. It's obvious Grace hasn't been here recently. What isn't so clear to me is if these two know where she is. I need intel and the best way to get it to play nice. Most women love to talk about their mates and I decide this might be a good way to start a conversation and get my questions answered. "How did you two meet?" Christine smiles and bats her lashes at me. She knows the game I'm trying to play, but takes a breath to answer my question. "I'd rather talk about Grace, if it's all the same to you." My hopes fall as she fails to rise to take the bait. Grace described her best friend as dramatic and possibly a little ditzy. Christine is neither of these things. She's been around, perhaps longer than I have and she's nobody's fool. Rod keeps quiet and lets her do the talking. He sips his coffee and scrabbles to hang onto his human form. I know how difficult of a task it can sometimes be and keep my moves as non-threatening as possible. If these two have the support of a larger pack behind them, the last thing I want to do is pose a problem. I nod and mull over Christine's request. "Sure. Grace left Indiana a few days ago and nobody has seen or heard from her since. I have reason to believe she has returned to L.A., but I'm not certain. Have you had any contact with her?" "Not a word. Sorry to say. But, trust me, if she's here, I'll find her." Christine sounds so certain. Perhaps, her friendship is enough to lure Grace out of hiding. I have no such misgivings about my relationship with Grace. I was the one who drove her away with my selfishness. I doubt my love would be an incentive for her to come out of hiding. I want to be there for Grace, when she learns the truth about her best friend. As I've already learned and I sure as hell hope Christine knows. Grace doesn't tolerate lairs and she doesn't forgive a lie easily. My coffee has grown cold, but I force down a swallow to moisten the dryness in my mouth. I've decided to follow Christine's example and cut straight to the chase. "You understand...about Grace?" Christine flashes me a million dollar smile. "Of course. I've always known, but much like you, I was saving the truth for a more convenient time. I'd hoped she'd shift and I'd be the one there for her. It seems that you've beaten me to the punch and now, you've made my job even harder." I'm bristling with fury over the level of Christine's deception. Her nostrils flare as they detect the acrid burnt gunpowder smell of my rage. I'm returning her smile and keep cool on the exterior, but she isn't fooled and neither is Rod. The boy can barely keep himself together. Somehow though, Christine manages to contain him with a hard glare and a purse of her lips. The magic that makes us what we are spikes and floods the room. She's better than I anticipated. Christine is a master of disguise and she's hidden her alpha power well behind an unassuming mask of blonde curls and wide blue eyes. I wonder exactly how much of Grace's life has been a lie. That I'm outraged over Christine's deception makes me a self-righteous hypocrite. I lied to Grace in the beginning about many things and have no right to judge. But, I didn't know Grace then like I do now and the lies I told were to protect her. I guess, much to my shame, I'm more like Coyote than I thought. The ends do justify the means. I had her in my arms. I got her to love me and that's the only end I ever wanted. But, I lied to Grace and in part, that's the reason I'm sitting here in a shabby living room facing off against the only wolves not of my pack that I've ever seen. I'm curious about them, but I'm more desperate to find Grace than I am to continue this little meet and greet. Christine waves off my anger with a flick of her manicured nails. "Oh, don't look so stunned," she huffs impatiently. "We're family after all. Do you really think your particular branch of the family tree is the only one with a secret? The Goddess wasn't so discerning when it came to doling out curses and gifts. The Prophet received his equal measure, Cousin. You'd know that if your founding fathers hadn't driven him out over two hundred years ago." "Grace's father...Josiah...he knew?" Christine arches her blonde brows in acknowledgment. Josiah knew and he didn't say anything. He was sending Grace and her mother here to live with them. My whole world and everything I thought I knew has been turned upside down. I know my family's version of history. I know our Great Father, the founder of our pack, had a brother. I know his brother was driven away and fled in shame after the Battle of Tippecanoe was lost. I know what history tells me became of the brother and his children. But, like so many times, history only tells one side of the story. "All these secrets. Shameful isn't it? Tell me, Cousin. How does it feel to finally know for certain you're not alone in the world? That your whole life has been a lie and all the people in it, liars? Josiah wasn't the only one who knew about us." "Why?" I can't think of any better question to ask than why. Nathaniel knew. He'd always known and he never breathed a word. Nathaniel was there. He knew what really happened during the battle and the outcome afterwards. I'm failing to understand how he could have kept a secret so big from the pack. We're floundering, barely maintaining a foothold in the world and this whole time he could have saved us from ourselves. "Funny thing about wolves. They're so territorial, aren't they? Father and son didn't agree on how to handle the truth. Nathaniel saw nothing but bloodshed and bitter wars over the rights to our ancestral lands. Josiah saw nothing but hope in the mutual goal of our continued survival. Nathaniel believed the pack had no place in the outside world. Josiah believed there was no better place to hide than in plain sight. The both of them were right and wrong. "Grace's mother got scared. She was in on the plan, at first. But, she never showed Josiah's level of commitment. We got her away from the pack, but she was going to go running back and she was going to take Grace with her. We couldn't allow that." "You took care of the problem." " Regretfully, yes. We couldn't allow her to return and ruin everything we'd worked for. My pack is weak. Too many have turned away from the old ways. Your pack is in danger of extension because you cling to the old ways. We need each other to survive. Josiah saw that. My pack master saw that. Now, you must see it too. "Josiah died for what he believed in. He was willing to kill his own father to take control of the pack and lead them into a new era. You killed to protect your old way of life. You killed him and what a senseless waste that was. Don't be surprised. We've been watching your pack since the very beginning. We know everything about you. "Sacrifices have been made in this battle against our true natures. You want your old ways and we want our more modern lives. But, there's only one way we're both going to get what we want and that's to work together to ensure our mutual survival. You need us and we need you. "Both sets of Grace's parents died to protect her. Grace's adoptive parents were not chosen by chance. We hid her from Nathaniel. Nathaniel found Grace and kept her hidden in the human world to protect her from her father. Josiah stayed out of Grace's life. We needed her human until the time was right. Josiah was waiting to reveal himself to her. Only, thanks to you, that never happened. You owe us, Han. Grace is more important to us both than you realize. I truly am her friend and I can be yours as well. I can flush her out, but only you can convince her to believe. Grace is the only wolf ever raised as a human since this whole blessed curse began. She is the key, but only you can unlock the door." I drain whatever is left at the bottom of my coffee mug and let the bitterness distract me from my thoughts. This whole elaborate scheme reeks of Coyote's trickery. So much plotting, so much planning, and I, a pack master by default, have been completely kept in the dark. I want to hate Nathaniel for not telling me. I want to hate Josiah for what he's done to his only daughter. But, despising the dead is a waste of energy and of my time. But, I can take my frustrations out on Coyote, if he's had any part in this. My need to find Grace overrides my own feelings about what Christine has revealed to me. Grace was born to bridge the gap between the two packs. She is the phoenix rising out of the ashes of our shared pasts. I agree with Christine's theories. We do need to play nice to ensure our mutual survival. But, I can't rationalize her motives. The ends do not justify the means when someone, someone like Grace, has to pay the price. Chapter 6 I ate lunch at some kitschy restaurant near the beach. I paid way too much for a simple and tasteless sandwich. But, the food serves its purpose. It keeps me from dying and prevents my wolf from taking it upon herself to feed the both of us. I hate to think about what sort of meal she'd scrabble up out of the trash bins. The rain shows no sign of stopping anytime soon and I sit in the booth staring out at the stormy sea. I've mulled various scenarios over and over in my mind. I thought I was a loner and could handle things just fine on my own. I'm not as much as a lone wolf as I once believed. Just a few short weeks surrounded by pack, by my family, changed all that. I feel as vacant and empty as the rain soaked beach visible through the restaurant's plate glass windows. I need some companionship, a diversion from my task. The waiter, a cute guy with reddish wavy hair and a tight butt, gives me the hint that he's interested in far more than a tip. I don't want that kind of company and give him the brush off by whipping a twenty out of my purse and dropping it on the table. Completely put off by the vibe he's sending, I gather up my things and retreat to a dry spot outside under an awning. I don't want to call anybody from Indiana. Spanning the distance between us through the magic of modern technology will only serve to drive the point home of how truly alone I am out here. I have a few acquaintances in L.A. that I've managed to collect over the years. But, I need someone I've got a real connection with. It's time to finally give in and call Christine. She picks up on the first ring. I truly expected no less. After a screech of ear bursting enthusiasm, Christine gets down to the business of chewing me out for not calling. I haven't even gotten the chance to get a word in edgewise. Christine's tearful snuffles are dramatic and over the top, even for her. Then after the tears, the game of twenty questions begins. She batters me with questions not bothering to give me time to answer one before she hits me with another. "Christine, I'm in L.A.!" I blurt out when she finally paused between questions long enough to take a breath. "L.A.! WHAT the HELL, Grace!" I jerk the phone away from my ear as she shouts. My heightened senses have played hell with my hearing and I wonder if the string of curse words she shouted has damaged my eardrums. "OMG! You better get your ass over here right now! I mean it, Gracie Mae. NOW! I haven't seen you or heard from you in FOREVER and now you're calling to tell me you're in L.A. and you've been here for days!" I try to sputter an explanation, but Christine will have none of it. In a way, I suppose her tirade makes me feel better. She missed me. She is way over the top, bawling and accusing me of being the worst friend in the history of friends because I didn't call her the minute I hit town. She's hurt and she's right. I should have called. I overhear her shouting orders at Rod like a drill sergeant. Ordering him to find the blow up mattress and to make room for me in the spare bedroom. I try to interrupt her, but she won't shut up. No matter what she says I won't spend a night in my old bedroom. She thinks I can pick up where I left off. I can't. And it's going to take everything I've got to convince Christine of that. I end the call feeling guiltier than ever, promising that I'm on my way over and that when I get there I'll explain everything. I won't explain everything, of course. How could I possibly explain the truth of what I am and why I'm in L.A.? I decide against going back to the hotel to pick up the car and drive to Christine's place. Even in the pouring rain it'll be simpler to walk than to risk the traffic. Han was right about exercise. It does help to burn off my excess energy and keep my wolf calm. I'm only a few miles from the apartment and it's an easy walk. I'll use the time to compose myself and think up a good, believable story. Christine may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but she's got a nose for bullshit. I have to tell her just enough without giving away too much. I just need to decide what to hold back and what to say. My socks are soaked by the time I get there. I'm standing underneath an overhang contemplating my words. Boundaries are something Christine and I have never had. That ends today. I love her as my BFF, but I can't and won't let her stomp all over me. The things that have happened while I was in Indiana made me stronger and braver than I used to be. I'm not the same person I was. I have to concede to the fact that Christine and I, BFF's or not, we might not even like each other anymore. Sometimes, people change too much and there is no going back. Season of the Wolf Pt. 02 I pull out my key chain and take the apartment key off the ring. I haven't got any rights to it. I think I kept it because at the time I needed to believe...the security of knowing I had someplace to go back to. Deep down inside though I think I knew I wasn't ever coming back. I hope returning the key helps to drive my point home with Christine. I tuck the key into my jeans pocket. I'll give it back to Christine after the drama of our reunion is over. I'm braced for her tears and I've practiced the version of the truth I'm willing to share. By the time I'm done, she'll understand enough to realize my presence in L.A. is only temporary and that the reason I'm here is my business and not hers. If she wants to continue this friendship, she has no other choice but to accept everything I have to say and hopefully, she'll know better than to push it. My resolve wavers as Christine throws open the door, bursts into tears, and drags me into a hug while hauling me into the apartment. On the verge of bawling myself, I hug her back. My nose wrinkles at the familiar smell of pack and the musky scent I've always associated with Christine. I wrench my body out of her hold and stare her down. I know a wolf when I smell one and Christine sure as hell smells like one to me. Underneath the reek of the rose scented air freshener Christine and Rod used to hide their scents, I smell the aroma of pine, freshly mowed hay, and the earthiness of newly turned ground and smoky fallen leaves. "Where is he?" "Who?" Christine asks, batting her eyes innocently. She has played stupid for the last time. My wolf slips her chain and comes out fighting. Oh, I manage to maintain my human form, just barely, but the aggression is all hers. Christine didn't suddenly become a wolf. She has been one the entire damn time I've known her. I'm tired of the lies and misrepresentation so meaningfully engineered to protect me. She is pinned against the door faster than she can bat her baby blues a second time. I'm holding her with my forearm pressed so tightly against her throat she can barely draw breath. I don't know if she's working with Han or not. But, I know he has been here and I want to know why and where he is now. "Han," I growl. "Grace," Christine gasps. "If you'll give me a chance to explain." I shake Christine like a maraca on Cinco de Mayo. Rod is on his feet, bristling with rage at my rough treatment of Christine. His skin ripples as his humanity slips away and his wolf vies for control of their shared body. I don't know if I could take him or not, but my wolf is more than willing to try. My voice is harsh and gravelly, more belonging to a beast than a woman as I grit out the question again. "Where is he?" Pack magic flows over my skin like cool water on a hot summer's day. My wolf sighs in contentment at the presence of her mate. Han has unleashed a bit of his alpha magic and my wolf responds like a goddamned puppy wagging her tail and rolling over for a belly scratch. The anger I used to pin Christine is quickly receding in the wake of calm and rightness I feel because of Han's nearness. "I'm here, Grace." I release Christine and back away. My eyes dart between the three of them. Christine has recovered from my assault and I see nothing but hurt and desperation for me to forgive her on her expression. Rod is apologetic for his small part in this, but wary. And Han, all I can see in Han's eyes is his regret for his part in my deception and his love for me. I want the strength I found in my rage, but can't quite manage it. I can't forgive them either. Whatever they've done, the lies they've told and how wrongly they've misjudged my capacity to understand and forgive. I know it's all been for something bigger than themselves. I want to believe Christine acted out of friendship. I want to believe that Han put himself at risk for me. And a small part of me does believe those things. But, it isn't a big enough piece of my innermost self. All I feel is exhaustion and confusion, betrayal and the pain of being part of something I never asked to be part of. I slide down a wall and land on my ass. I can't look at them. I can't see past the things they've done no matter how good a reason they have. I stare at the floor and pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my jeans. I don't know what any of this means and I doubt everything I've ever thought was the truth. My parents. My friends. My family. My own innermost thoughts and feelings. "Why?" Chapter 7 "I don't want to hear any more!" I'm shouting and definitely have command of the room. Stupidly, I've agreed to sit down and discuss everything with Christine and Han. So far, it hasn't gone very well. I've listened to their stories and I don't know what to believe. Every word that has come out of their mouths could be just another lie. Or perhaps, a truth divulged for no other purpose than to manipulate me. I don't know who the bigger liar is, Christine or Han. Han at least could use his love as justification for lying to me. Christine...the woman has been manipulating me for years. We've known each other since our days of working fast food for extra cash in high school. I thought she was my friend. I thought she was honest. I know better now. The whole frantic, dramatic, ditzy persona she's been feeding me for years is nothing more than an act. Han once accused me of seeing but not really opening my eyes. Well, they're wide open now. Christine should be in the running for an academy award for all the bullshit she's fed me. She isn't a dingy blonde. She isn't over the top with the drama. She's a cool, calculating woman who was only pretending to be my best friend. Her betrayal isn't the one that hurts the most. It's the truth about my parents that cuts the deepest. Just like everybody else in my life, they weren't the people I thought they were. At this point, I doubt if they ever really loved me. They raised me out of duty to the cause. If they did care for me it was because of what I am and not who. At least I understand the reasons behind my biological mother's death. She tried to leave and paid the price with her life. I can't hate Han or Christine for that. They had no part in it. The only person to hate is my father, but he's dead. I think Han was right. My father did die of a broken heart though he still lived. His guilt killed him just as effectively as the bullet he used to kill my mother. I can't handle the burden of my mother's death on my shoulders. She was leaving with me. She wanted to go back home and maybe if it'd been just her, she could have. Possibly, she was the only person who truly loved me. And look at what happened to her. There's only one factor to consider in this whole train wreck neatly labeled as the truth and it's me. Everything anyone has ever done has been for me. I'm not that important, not worth dying for or wasting years faking a friendship. I'm not worth the decades that Han spent waiting for me. I'd like to say I'm just a person, but I'm not. The wolf sharing my body makes that lie impossible to believe. Rod isn't much in the kitchen. He has decided to retreat rather than get involved in this great reveal. I don't blame him. I'd keep out of it too, if I could. I pick at the burned edges of a grilled cheese sandwich and sip on weak coffee. Food might help soothe my wolf, if I could manage to eat. God knows the caffeine isn't helping the cause. It's just that I can barely think as I try to sift through the layers of lies in hopes of discovering the truth. "Grace, please try to understand," Christine pleas. "You are my best friend. That is the truth. I...I was trying to protect you." "From what?" I counter. "Yourself. You weren't ready. But, your wolf was so close to the surface. For years I thought it was going to happen any day. I kept waiting and waiting. My pack, we don't live like Han. We decided a long time ago that it was safer to live individual lives than to group together as a pack. Better to risk the one for the sake of the many. Easier to blend in and hide in plain sight than to preserve tradition." I grip my coffee mug and glare at Han and Christine. She sounds so convincing and I can see Han mulling over what she said. "How was I supposed to explain what I am? Think about it, Grace. To an outsider, it sounds pretty crazy. If my guess is right, you didn't believe Han until it happened to you. There you were living in the middle of all the proof you'd ever need and you still didn't really believe. I know how your mind works, Grace. "I think you didn't shift because some part of you was closed off to the magic. My pack, we're close knit, but we only gather together when the moon rides us hard and the urge to shift is impossible to resist. Ninety percent of the time I'm in this form, but I must give my wolf her due. As we all must. As you must, Grace. Try to deny her for too long and she'll rip you apart. "You needed Han to call your wolf out. You needed a tie to the land and to your pack and Han provided it. He did what I was too afraid for you to do. But, he did what he had to. Grace, I am your friend. Han is your friend. Blame us if you must. Remember though, at the end of the day it's only about one thing." "And what's that?" I huff. "Survival." Han hasn't said much. He has let Christine do most of the talking. I can see him though hanging on every word and weighing his options. In so many ways he is processing his own betrayal. Everything he has ever done has been based on the truths he accepted as absolutes. He has lived his life by a set of rules that has never really applied. The lies I've been told sting. But, the lies he believed are devastating. Nathaniel, the only father Han ever knew and his best friend lied. Josiah my father, the man that was so much like a son to him lied. Han's trust and faith, everything he ever believed is nothing but lies. I can see the hurt he tries so hard to hide. He's wondering, maybe hoping, that the people that abandoned the pack in preference to the real world are out there somewhere living their lives as humans and as wolves, perhaps in packs of their own. I know Han and he'll choose hope over the pain of betrayal. He'll focus on the positives and the possibilities they represent rather then foster the ache of being lied to. At least, I have the consolation of knowing that I did what I came here to do. I've proven beyond any shadow of a doubt that there are others, more than anybody could have imagined, out here. And in doing that I've saved the pack. They no longer have to live in isolation and cling to an old way of life that eventually was going to lead to their extinction. They can roam and search out others like them. Start families and lives and build new traditions. But, I realize, as I'm certain Han does too. With all that freedom comes great risk. I can't let my love for Han sway my decisions. I can't let my friendship with Christine influence me in any way. This is my life and I have to live it. Right now, I'm not sure what I want. I'm not the kind of person to hold grudges, but I'm not ready to let Christine and Han off the hook just yet. I don't know how much of what I think and feel is actually mine and how much of it is my wolf pulling the strings. My wolf is utterly committed to Han and purrs like a kitten in his presence. She is curious about Rod and Christine and recognizes them for what they are. My wolf sifts through the scents in the air and inhales deeply of the musk of wolf. The scent calls to her and to me someplace deep inside that I'm not certain I'm really ready to deal with yet. My old life wasn't much, but I find myself missing the blissful ignorance in which I lived. I miss the version of my best friend, the ditzy, dramatic, self-centered, over the top, frantic woman I thought Christine was. I miss the routine of going to my dead end job in the bookstore day after day. I miss my innocence and the comfort of just being me in my own skin and not having to share it with another being. I miss living my particular version of the truth. The version where everyone was human and nobody ever lied to me. I miss, for all its aches and pains and struggles, being human. I don't know exactly what choices I have. I ran from the pack, from Han, but it seems I can't run from my wolf. Considering that everything Han told me was based on the lies he accepted as truths. I doubt if Han really knows my options or his, for that matter. I have smashed to bits the lore he thought was fact. Every choice he's ever made has been based on stories passed down from generation to generation. He's never once made a selfish decision. Everything has been for the greater good of the pack. I wonder what he will decide now that he knows that he can choose for himself. As for me, I have something bigger than myself to guide my decisions. I'll do what I think is right for the baby. I just don't know what that is right now. Is it fair to raise a child in either one world or the other when he or she will need to learn to survive in both? Lying isn't the answer and I vow to the little life growing inside of me that I never will. I will tell my child the truth as best I know it. And one of the biggest truths is sitting across the room from me watching me through human eyes. Han is my weakness. I want to crawl up into his lap and have him wrap those warm protective arms around me. I want him to kiss me until I'm senseless and all the hurt, confusion, and anger dissolve into nothing. I want back inside of the bubble where there was nothing but just the two of us. I want him. I decide retreating for the night is the only option that makes sense. I can't tell Han about the baby until I know for certain. I can't talk to Christine and Rod. There's truly nothing more left to say. Everyone in this room has an ulterior motive for being in my life. Han's is love. Christine's is friendship. Rod's is his tie to Christine. I need out of this apartment and time away from them to think. For all I know, they could still be lying to me. I need to sort out my feelings and ferret out the truths for myself. "Give me some space, please," I ask. "Christine, I'll call you when I'm ready to talk." I say pinning her with an expression that leaves no room for argument. "Han, you need to go home and tell everybody the truth. They deserve to know." Nobody makes a move to stop me as I throw my purse over my shoulder and head for the door. That's a good thing. My wolf is on edge and being cooked up in this apartment all day hasn't helped. Chapter 8 Outside it's cold and raining. It's never really dark in L.A. and the streetlights cast their light down on muddy puddles. The mist on my cheeks and the burst of fresh air ruffling my hair helps to settle my wolf. Han is behind me. I can smell him and hear the splash of his footsteps against the sidewalk. "I said, go home." His grip is hard on my elbow as he spins me around. Han is a big man, but I'm not intimidated by his size. I step back and refuse to tilt my chin to look up and meet him eye to eye. He stands about six-four and every inch of him is honed muscle. Rain drips off the ends of his dark hair and slides in rivulets down his sculpted face. His jaw is taut with restraint. "You speak of truths and lies," he accuses. "I've been completely honest with you." "No you haven't," I hiss. "You only told me what you wanted me to know when you wanted me to know it. That's not honesty." Han grits his teeth and drags me in line with his body. "You left without an explanation and you accuse me of being dishonest? I think you're the liar. You lie, not only to me but to yourself." "I've never lied to you!" I shout above the pouring rain. The heat radiating off of Han and the closeness affect me far deeper than I want them to. He tilts his head and curves his spine so that our faces are inches apart. It'd be so easy to give in to the things that I secretly want. And in that moment, with the two of us so near and facing off against one another, I realize he is right. I have committed the worst kind of lie of all. I've lied to myself. "Really?" Han releases me. "You tell me that holding back the truth until someone is ready to hear it is the same thing as lying. You can't hide it from me." His hands reach out to cup my cheek. Instinctively, I move into the warmth of his palms. He strokes my bottom lip gently with the pad of his thumb. He lifts my chin and draws my face up to meet his. "Where you go. I go. To hell with the pack, to hell with my life before I met you. I've waited a very long time for you and I won't give you up now." His kiss is everything I've been missing. His lips are warm and soft and the feel of them against mine is the rightness of coming home after a long time away. He keeps the kiss controlled and deliberate. Drawing my response out of me with his whole body devoted to the act of a simple press of lips. I dissolve into him, inhaling his exhales and breathing my life into him. It becomes difficult to determine where Han begins and I end. I open my mouth and greedily accept the invasion of his tongue. His hands find their way under my rain soaked jacket and the damp shirt beneath. The skin to skin contact has me forgetting that we're standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk kissing each other as if our lives depend on it. My wolf is howling in my head, scratching at my mind's surface in eagerness to bond with the male she knows is her mate. But, this moment doesn't belong to my wolf it belongs to me. Han's palms skate across my curves and land to rest on my abdomen. His fingertips are gentle and soothing over my skin. His lips curl into a grin against my mouth and as if it were possible, he draws me even closer to him. Han breaks the kiss and lands a soft peck of his lips to my forehead. He was right to accuse me of doing the very same thing I've accused him of doing. I am holding back the truth until I'm certain he's ready to hear it and me, to tell it. "Han, I..." "Shhh, it doesn't matter." He drops to his knees at my feet and lifts my shirt, resting his warm cheek against my stomach. My hands automatically go to his hair and I'm pushing the wet mass off his forehead. I think he might be crying. The rain masks his tears of happiness, gratitude, or maybe of relief. I can't tell. "Look what we made, Grace," he whispers in awe. "I didn't think it was possible to love anyone more than I love you, but now I know it is." I try to pull back and distance myself from Han. He still deserves the chance to sort out his feelings for me. He needs to know that we're right for each other before this goes any further. If there's someone else out there for him, though the thought of him with another woman breaks my heart. He needs to know. Han believes he has only one soul mate. That there's only one woman out there for him and that it's me. I have to be sure. I owe him that for all the sacrifices he made for me. "The baby doesn't change anything, Han." Han lifts his cheek and begs me with his eyes. "No, it doesn't. Grace, there has always been only you and there will, always and forever, be only you." "Don't you think you owe it to yourself to know for certain?" "I already do. I think it is you who needs convinced more than I do. I accept the truth. You're the one who's fighting it." "What do you mean?" "I know what I am. By accepting me, by loving me, you'll have to accept and love yourself too. You'll be forced to come to terms with your true nature and that's what you're afraid of. I pushed you too hard too fast and for that I'm sorry. But, I can't regret it. You don't want these choices. You don't want to be what you truly are. Hate me if you must. Hate Christine and your parents, if it makes you feel better. But, don't hate yourself. If you can't manage anything else, love who and what you are. I do." Season of the Wolf Pt. 02 Chapter 9 It took a lot of convincing to get Han to leave me in the lobby of my hotel. Somehow, I managed and I'm alone with my thoughts. The open sliding glass door that leads out to my balcony is wide open letting in the rain tinged sea breeze. I'm chilled to the bone and decide a shower sounds better than battling with my thoughts. My mind is all over the place tonight. If I could just concentrate on a single train of thought instead of jumping from one track to the next, I might be able to sort things into some sensible conclusion. But, it's just that everything I'm trying to process is so painful. The betrayal, the lies, how little I knew about the people I love the most, my uncertain future, and the baby...I don't know what to think about any of it. I peel off my rain soaked clothing and sink gratefully into a hot bath. The water helps to ease the tension in my muscles, but my mind is still racing. I dread the thought of climbing out of the tub. It'll be freezing in my room, but the contrast between the warmth of the bathroom and the chilly fresh air will help to center me. My God, I missed Han. I hadn't realized how much until that kiss. I could have invited him up to my room. We could have indulged in one another's bodies and loved the hurt away. He would give me anything within his power to give, even his own body. We could have used each other to escape this mess even if only for a little while. But, that wouldn't be fair to either of us to use the other like that. There's enough unfairness in this damned situation as it is though. And it isn't that I'm incapable. I'm unwilling to add to it. In that one night together Han unlocked a door and I've been struggling ever since to close it. I never knew how good it felt to be loved so thoroughly. I didn't know I was capable of such raw sensuality or the power that comes along with it. I'm a bitch for even contemplating calling Han for nothing more than another taste of paradise. He isn't a booty call. The man loves me and if it comes right down to it. If I dare to be honest with myself, I love him too. Love complicates things. If I didn't love him, maybe I could walk away. The baby has ensured that our lives are tied together. I should have thought ahead and used my common sense that night. I didn't have to take the risk of getting pregnant. At the time though everything was so new and overwhelming. I had never been held and touched before. Never felt such pleasure. I let my instincts pull me under. I don't regret it, not loving Han or making a baby with him. I regret the timing. I wish I had taken precautions for no other reason that it would have given me the time to sort everything out before I brought another life into the picture. Maybe, I should have kept Han at a distance and not let him get under my skin or into my pants until after I had a firm grasp on my new reality. I don't regret that night with Han any more than I regret the baby we made. I understand the theories behind why he lied to me about so many things. I mean, how would you tell someone you're a werewolf and expect not to get locked up in a psych ward? Both he and Christine were right about that. I wouldn't have believed them if it hadn't happened to me first hand. So much has happened in such a short time. Han. The baby. My family. So many truths and lies stacked upon one another. It's like the layers of an onion. Every time I peel one back. There's another underneath. I don't know if I'll ever get to through them all. Theories are great. Understanding why the people I trusted the most lied to me almost makes it excusable. They were protecting themselves, their families, and in some twisted way me as well. I truly have little choice except for getting over it and moving on. I know I have to forgive them if I want to continue on in this new strange world I'm suddenly a part of. I want to cherish the memories I have of my parents. I want to hang on to the good times I've shared with Christine. I don't believe my parents or Christine pretended to care about me out of deceit. There's too much history between us for that. Oh, it's not going to be easy to get past this. A part of me wants to make Christine suffer, just a little, for the part she played. I want her on the edge of her seat squirming. In so many ways seeing her like that would placate my vengeful side. But, that's not who I am and it's not the woman I want to be. If I want Han in my life, I have to find a way to look beyond the things he did. I need to see him as the man he is and not as the man who lied to me. His love is unconditional and finding a love like that is rare. People turn their backs on each other all the time. I can't walk away from him now. The baby deserves both parents. It's me, if I can handle or if I even want Han's love that I'm not so sure about. Naked and alone in the tub and not face to face with him. It's easy to be honest. He is right. I am afraid of letting go and loving him. It's not Han that I don't trust as much as it's myself. Having someone love me the way he loves me is a lot of responsibility. I could crush him with an unkind word. It's easier to make excuses. To tell myself that we both deserve the right to know for certain that what we feel for one another is nurture rather than nature. But, it isn't true. I'm terrified of loving him and losing him the way I lost my parents. Han says he's loved me decades before I was even born. That's a hell of a lot of expectations for me to live up to. I'm twenty-four years old and there isn't really anything special about me. Han was born in 1820 and I cannot begin to imagine the life he's lived in all that time. He speaks of events I've only read about in history books as if they happened only yesterday instead of decades ago and from his perspective, they did. Han is very modern in his speech and manages to keep up in conversation, but sometimes he slips and uses words, phrases, and terms that I can barely comprehend. Knowing the truth about him I can see why he prefers the country to living in a place like L.A. Tending the livestock and the fields and finding the quiet places deep in the woods reminds him of the life he once lived. There is one thing beyond our age gap that has me scrabbling for excuses to keep Han at a distance. He said it and he meant it in all honesty. He doesn't know how long our kind lives because none of us have made it to old age. Han doesn't look a day over thirty. Somehow, being what we are slows the aging process to a crawl. He calls it a gift and a curse. To age a day or maybe an hour for every decade that passes. To change so slowly in a world that changes in the blink of an eye. He says sometimes, it's more than a person can endure. I can see what drives a person to abandon one form for the other. To choose to stay a wolf or a human and turn their backs on the other half of their nature. I understand how after a century or two of living a person would have their fill of life and choose to walk away from it rather than endure another day. It'd be easy to lose your focus and your purpose when all of your days blend into one big blur. I get the appeal of the wolf over the human parts of our nature. The wolf is about drive and instinct. There are no thoughts beyond those of an animal, no love, no hate, no confusion, nothing but surviving from one day to the next and the simply joy of just being alive and running with the pack. The magic that makes us what we are ceases when we choose one form over the other. I can see the temptation of living one human lifetime and the comfort that comes with knowing one day it will end. I worry someday, that Han will make that choice or perhaps, that I will. That love won't be enough to keep us grounded in this dual life we must live. Han is master of his pack. He shoulders the burden of leadership and the awful knowledge that someday someone will challenge him for it. Fights for pack master are brutal and bloody and they are lethal. I worry for him, that when the challenge comes, he won't be strong enough to win. It seems no matter which scenario I play out in my head. None of them have a happy ending. Someday, I'll lose Han or he'll loose me. Something will separate us. Losing my parents was a crippling blow. One, I'm just now getting over. But, the idea of losing Han, just thinking about it makes me feel as if I'd be losing half of my soul. I don't know if that's something I want to risk. It'd be easier to think of him in love with someone else. To let her shoulder the burdens of all the things I'm not certain that I can. But, I know the die has already been cast. Deep down inside I know the two of us are already bound as one. I just don't want to admit it. I climb out of the tub and wrap myself up in a thick white towel. The mirror is fogged with steam. I wipe away the moisture with the palm of my hand and take a long look at my reflection. I scarcely recognize myself anymore. I look the same. It's just that the woman I've become is so different than the woman I always thought I was. And I wonder just exactly who she is. Chapter 10 I need a friend. Just someone I can talk to. I won't turn to Christine or Han. My forgiveness isn't going to come cheap. I thumb through the contacts list on my phone and try to think of someone I can trust. I only have one person that knows everything and that hasn't lied to me yet. Coyote. I feel no regrets about interrupting Coyote with a call. It's a Monday night and if Coyote is working at the bar. He's probably bored out of his skull. He picks up after the second ring and I can hear the twang of country music playing in the background. The nasally speech of a true Hoosier and the way they can slur an entire sentence into one long word took a little getting used to. I smile as Coyote answers in that causal leisurely drawl of his. "Well," he says. "Look at who finally took the time to give old Coyote a call. How's it going in the big city, Princess?" Coyote is probably the only male on the planet capable of getting away with calling me princess or any of a dozen other sexist, chauvinistic, degrading nicknames and still have his testicles intact. I chuckle despite myself and take a breath. Coyote is a product of his time so I can excuse the unintentional insults. He's old enough to be my grandfather. But, with his rugged cowboy exterior and his roguish devil may care attitude he's capable of making any woman swoon. "It's going," I answer. "Just going? Well, that's a start. Tell me, Cupcake, have you happened to bump into a mutual friend of ours?" "Perhaps," I answer vaguely. "Wouldn't happen to be a brooding werewolf on the prowl would it?" I roll my eyes. Coyote is as subtle as a Mack truck. "Yes. Han and I have talked." "Talked? That's it?" I envision Coyote smirking at me and shake it off. Reminding myself Coyote is who he is and that's why I called him, I take a deep breath. I needed a friend to talk to and Coyote is the only real friend I've got. Coyote doesn't sugar coat and that's exactly what I need right now to put my world into the proper perspective. "Did you know for certain that there were wolves in L.A.?" Coyote is drumming his fingertips on the bar in a series of rapid taps. He's thinking about how to answer my question. His delay accurately gives me what I need. He knew or at least had his suspicions. "Why didn't you tell Han about them?" "Aw Princess," Coyote says mockingly. "What do you think Han would have done if I had? He would have gone after you guns blazing and dragged you back here by your ponytail. Now that he's there. He still might." "But, you sent me back here. You knew and you sent me back. You didn't tell me a thing." I've interrupted Coyote mid sentence. I'm bristling with rage and having a hard time keeping my anger in check. It'd be so easy for me to take out my battered emotions on Coyote since he's there and I'm here and I don't have to look him in the eye. "You could have warned me. I mean, everyone and everything in my entire life has been a lie. You of all people, I thought you would have told me the truth." "What'd be the fun in that?" Coyote drawls. His tone is cynical. It grates me and I consider hanging up on him. "I hate it for you, poor baby. You've got a man who loves you. People in your life who love you enough to put their own lives on hold for your sake. You've got more money than God and the literal big house on the hill. You have a virtual immortality at your disposal. Too bad you're going to spend it brooding and questioning everyone's motives. "You whine and complain about how everyone lied to you. Nobody has lied to you. Withheld the truth, sure, I'll give you that. But lied. Nope. Believe it or not, Sugar Plum, this world...what we are and the secrets we're all bound to are bigger than just you. Our world doesn't revolve around you. The only reason, if I had to guess, why anyone omitted one truth or another from you was because you weren't able to handle it. "Think about it. What would you have done if your BFF or Han had spilled the beans too soon?" Coyote is right and I have nothing to say. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he says. "You know something. Spend a decade or two in my shoes and then tell me if you've got it so bad. If that doesn't scare the shit out of you, try being in Han's. He was a virgin until you came along. Almost two hundred years of celibacy...all because he was waiting for you. I'd say he's already paid any penance due him for not telling you everything when you think you needed to hear it." "I..." "Save it!" Coyote snaps. "You called me because you trust me...need me to put you in check. I'm more than happy to do it. So, here it is. Get over yourself, Sister. The wounded bird in a gilded cage act is a little stale. I get it. You're conflicted. Well, who the hell isn't? We only get one shot at finding our soul mate. You've found yours. Some of us are still waiting. And let me tell you. I'm getting a little tired of jerking off in the shower and sleeping alone in a cold bed." "But Christine...she's had her share of men." "Uh huh and how many of them do you know for sure that she's fucked?" I have to think about that. Christine went through men like Kleenexes before she hooked up with Rod. I just assumed she was having sex with them. I never thought she was bound by any sort of code of nature and didn't have control of her own body. "What about Han? What if I decide I don't want this life?" "Well then, he's screwed and not in a good way. When we mate, it's for life. Sometimes, if a wolf is lucky enough, he can survive the loss of a mate and gets a second chance, but it's rare. Why do you think so many have left the pack and chosen to live just one lifetime instead of dozens? If, that's even true and not just some story our ancestors made up to keep the pack together. Sometimes, wait breaks the bridge." "So, Han only thinks he's happy. He believes he loves me because his body tells him so. I don't really love him, then. It's just something nature dictated for the both of us." I hear Coyote slam his fist against the bar in outrage over what I've said. "My God! Do you have to over analyze everything? You know, you've really got some self esteem issues. Hell, I don't know about this nature versus nurture thing you've cooked up in your head. I don't give a shit about Darwinism or survival of the fittest. Now who's lying? You think whatever you want, but the truth is. You two love each other and what matters beyond that? Damn girl, get a clue. What I wouldn't give..." "I just want Han to have a choice. I want choices too." My voice borders on pleading. Coyote has cut me to the bone. And while that's why I called him and it's had the desired effect. I didn't expect him to be so brutally honest. It's obvious to me now why he wanted me to return to California. He's hoping not only will I find others like us. He's hoping I'll find the missing half of his soul. "It doesn't matter what you choose. Has your wolf abandoned you yet? Can you still feel her tugging at your very core? Do you think just because you choose to be human over being a wolf that she isn't still there? That nature will stop calling the shots? Sorry to disappoint you, Sweet Pea. There isn't any choice for any of us." "No matter what we do. We'll never be human. Will we?" "Now you're getting it," Coyote says. I hear the clank of glasses in the background as he cleans up the bar for the night. I'm sad for him and feel pity for everything he's gone through. Just like Han and the rest of us, he deserves better. "You know, you could come to California," I say. Coyote would love L.A. The busyness of the city would appeal to his wild side. He'd love the ocean and the warm sand and of course, the eye candy of all the women in bikinis at the beach. I shiver at the idea of Coyote on the prowl for his soul mate. The poor girl doesn't stand a chance against Coyote's brand of raw animal magnetism. Although I'm not attracted to Coyote in that way, the boy can do sexy cowboy. Coyote scoffs at my suggestion and says, "Someone has to keep the good wolves of Moore County liquored up. It's my civic duty." "You take it very seriously," I retort. My smile reflects in my voice and I can hear the effect it has on Coyote. Whatever tension was between us has ebbed and we can finally get down to the business of being the friends that we are. After a little neutral chitchat about the goings on in the non-existent Indiana town, we're ready to say our goodbyes. Before I hang up, I say, "Coyote, if she's here, I'll find her for you." "I know you will. I'm counting on it." Chapter 11 I promised Grace her space and so far, I've managed to comply. I gathered up my things and booked the room beside hers. She can't smell me thanks to the sickeningly sweet reek of the air freshener the hotel uses to mask the stink of filthy carpets and draperies. The open doors of the balcony are a lifesaver. Though it's still drizzling outside I'm considering sleeping in the lounge chair on the balcony rather than bedding down on questionable linens. It feels as though we've been apart for centuries instead of just a few days. I missed the comfort of her scent filling the house. Echoing through the thin walls of the hotel room, I hear the sounds of Grace's laughter. Given the friendly tone of the snippets of conversation I manage to overhear I gather she isn't talking to Christine. Grace has every right to be angry with Christine and with me too, for that matter. I pace the confines of the room and wonder about the world so carefully constructed around Grace. Someone engineered her entire life, from her adoptive parents to her best friend. Someone knew exactly what she was and went to great pains to keep her in the dark about it. The idea that there's another alpha male out there calling the shots has my wolf bristling in defense of territories that aren't rightfully his. It's just for so long I've operated under the belief that we were the only ones. And now I know for certain we're not. The possibilities are endless. The existence of another pack means more than just the fact that we're not alone in the world. It means our survival. I'm questioning everything I ever believed was the truth. I've never considered that there could be other packs out there. I've always thought we were the only paranormals there were. The legends about vampires, other types of shape shifters, psychics, fairies, hell even fucking Santa Claus, I've always dismissed them as pure figments of overactive imaginations. Maybe, I'm wrong. I suppose it is possible we're not as high on the food chain as I thought we were. I'm not exactly concerned about a fairy smacking me on the head with a magic wand or dousing me with fairy dust. Just for fun I read my horoscope and while there could be a genuine psychic or two out there. I'm not going to lose any sleep over a soothsayer reading my aura or some bullshit. It's the possibility of other predators that has my wolf practically crawling out of my skin. The wolf, the bear, and the panther share the same territory and for the most part avoid crossing paths. But, given the chance they'll also eat one another too. And I'd just as soon rather not be on another paranormal's menu. Season of the Wolf Pt. 02 My wolf is a predator by nature and he's eaten his share of bunnies, squirrels, and whatever critter doesn't move fast enough to get out of his path. I assume if there are other shape shifters, it works pretty much the same way. I swallow back the bile rising in my throat out of sheer revulsion over the possibility that vampires could exist. In nature there's always a balance. Vampires have no place in the natural order of things. And yes, I know it's a far stretch to see where shape shifters fit into Mother Nature's hierarchy. But, as for vampires, I can see no practical use for them at all. They're an abomination that shouldn't exist, if they do exist. But, I'm sure there are plenty of humans who'd think the very same thing about me, if they knew the truth. I'm avoiding thinking about Grace by concentrating on the possibilities that truly weird shit does exist. I'm hiding from my battered emotions. I'm burying my ancestors' betrayal underneath layers of plausibility. I'm trying to keep my ass planted in this tiny room instead of pounding on Grace's door. I'm trying and I'm trying too hard to be human for her sake. My wolf wants to clam what's his and that's her, but I gave her my word and I intend to keep it. As pack master it's my job to make contact with these wolves. Christine is the only link I have to her pack. They've hidden for centuries, just as my pack has and without her I doubt I'd be able to find them. Christine's pack has been out here in the real world and my pack has been isolated in a bubble constructed of folklore and lies. It's obvious we can exist in the outside world and I owe it to my pack to find out how to do it. Once I reveal this truth to the pack. There will be no going back. None of our lives will ever be the same. Some will leave and others will stay. Perhaps, new pack will come and join us and we'll live as one. Yeah, that's a nice theory. But, I have to consider the dangers too. If there's a pack here, there are other packs out there and we're all scrabbling for a foothold in a world humanity can't know exists. I'm bringing a child into this new era. The thought of it fills me with dread. I'm happy, of course, but I'd be a lot happier if Grace and my unborn baby were home where they belong instead of out here in the human world where there's so little I can do to protect them. My paranoia knows no boundaries and I'm envisioning every human I've come across as a supernatural being in disguise. Fuck my promise to Grace. I have to protect her from everything. Humans themselves can perpetuate unspeakable acts against their own and it's dangerous enough without adding the possibility of vampires and were lions, tigers, and bears lurking around every corner. I'm on the balcony and balancing on the rail. The jump to her balcony is simple and I land softly on the balls of my feet. Cold rain splatters against my face. I spot her through the sheer curtains covering the sliding glass patio doors. My heart stops at the sight of Grace wrapped in nothing but a towel. Her wet hair is wound up into a loose bun revealing a long, slender neck. My wolf growls in longing at the sight of her as she sits daintily on the side of the bed. She's talking to Coyote. Part of me is deeply injured that Grace feels she can turn to him instead of turning to me. Thanks to my enhanced sense of hearing and the open patio doors I'm able to listen in on her conversation. Coyote is working his magic. He's not belittling Grace by any means, but he's putting it out there for her in a way that only he can manage. If I took that tone with Grace, I'd be wearing my balls for earrings by the time she got done with me. But, Coyote, as only he can, gets away with it. Whatever Coyote has said puts Grace at ease and I see her body begin to relax. No doubt, he's given her plenty of things to think about. I'm angry with Coyote for not telling me his suspicions about the wolves, but I get why he didn't. He wanted Grace to decide things for herself and I wouldn't have given her that option. I would have focused on the danger and not the fact that she's lived among pack her entire life. I would have risked everything to protect her. And I wouldn't have given Christine or her pack any credit for the role they've played in keeping her safe. I would think, as I do now, standing in the rain and getting thoroughly soaked, that nobody could protect her better than me. Grace ends the call with a promise to Coyote. Coyote's part in this suddenly makes perfect sense. He wants her to find his mate. After two hundred years of forced celibacy, I get that. The wanting of her was killing me. It wasn't that I didn't find other women attractive. I did. It was just that no matter how pretty or how appealing, there was only one woman destined to be for me. I'm standing in the rain in plain view. There's nothing but the distance between the bed and the balcony separating us. I can't keep my promise to her. I can't give her space. I need her. And if I thought the wanting of her was agonizing before now it's tearing me apart. Her lips part as she spots me. I can feel the promise of her kiss burning me alive. "I'm sorry," I say and I mean it. I'm crossing the room and gathering her in my arms. "Grace, I can't stay away." She's kissing me back with fury that matches mine. Her hands are on me seeking me out. I'm tearing the towel free from her body in my desperation to feel her, really feel her bare skin against mine. Grace is breathless in my arms and her mouth pressed against mine. "I can't either," she pants. "I know I should tell you to go until I've figured this out, but I can't." Chapter 12 I knew Han wouldn't stay away. I hadn't expected to see him standing on my balcony, but I knew once he found out where I was. He wouldn't be too far away. I should be pissed that he has barged into my room and that he has his hands on me. Kissing away what little remains of my resolve and overwhelming me with his presence, I have no fight left in me. I mean it when I tell him I can't tell him to go. I don't have the strength. Han's skin is cool and damp from the rain. Beads of raindrops roll off of his soaked clothing and fall onto me. I scarcely notice the chill for the fire burning me from the inside out. Instinctively I know this man is all I've ever needed. His mouth on mine is the comfort of home and hearth. I can't fight the rightness of it, of his heat, his taste, and the feel of his body pressing against mine. His fingers work the knot holding my towel in place. Trembling and urgent, Han's calloused fingertips stroke my soft skin. I'm hardly in a position to protest. Not only am I scrabbling desperately to peel his wet clothing off. I'm reveling in the gentle sweep of his palms over my bare breasts. I hadn't realized how quickly I'd become accustomed to his touch and the surety of his presence in my life. I've missed him more than I've dared to admit to myself. I'm clawing at Han's belt buckle in my urgency to get to the very heart of him. Han like the gentleman that he is stills my hands and takes over the task. He grunts, and it's a very masculine sound, as his erection springs free and I resume the job of undressing him. Common sense dictates that I should stop this from going any farther. That what we're about to do isn't fair to either one of us. I need to tell him what I want for him. I want him to be happy and to have choices and that I want the same happiness and choices for myself. I've scarcely begun to come to a peace with the reality of who and what I am. But, kneeling in the shadow of this magnificent man, peeling his jeans and boxers down his lean hips and working so desperately to free him of the burden of his clothing, the words fail me. Han is beautiful in a rugged masculine way that men strive for but few manage to achieve. To him, such beauty is effortless. It's not just what his DNA gave him in terms of his dark hair, long lean muscular legs, broad chest, and those indescribably shaded hazel eyes. It's not in his honed muscles earned honestly from decades of working the farm. It's him...all of him...just simply who he is. I run my hands up his firm calves marveling in the contrasting softness of the brown hair covering them. His thighs flex beneath my fingertips as I work my way up higher. I want to touch and explore every inch of him. I can see how much battling for control is costing him. I don't want him in control. I want this man undone. As wild and desperate as he's made me with nothing more than a kiss and a promise of more. I pause in my exploration of skin to study his erection. Strange, I had never thought of a man's penis as a thing of beauty, but Han's is capable of inspiring song and works of poetry and art. He is so hard. I see the bluish bulging veins beneath the thin covering of his foreskin and the blush of the ripe head practically ready to burst. I haven't even hazarded to touch him yet and his cock is twitching and a bead of moisture glistening at the tip from nothing more than sheer anticipation. His desire surges through me and makes me bold. Han's rock hard abdomen sucks in tight from the breath he's holding as I lick my lips and lift my eyes to meet his. I don't know what Han sees when he looks at me, if I paint a pretty picture kneeling at his feet. Not only do I feel beautiful with the heart and soul of a man laid bare for my view. I'm empowered. I've always seen myself as plain and ordinary, but Han makes me feel extraordinary. I'm brazen and daring. Han mutters a curse, or maybe it's a prayer, as I cup his sac and balance the weight of it in my palm. Everything that has to do with this man is a study in contrasts, hard and soft, firm and pliant, demanding and yielding, man and beast, intellect and instinct, and past, present, and future. I marvel at the textures and at the balance Han has somehow managed to achieve in his life. His patience with me is costing him. I can feel it in the quiver of his muscles and I see it in the determined set of his jaw. For my sake, my human side, he wants to be gentle. His efforts remind me exactly how far from humanity the two of us actually are. I decide I don't need the gentle male tonight. This isn't time for the two of us to play human. Under the cover of darkness and shadow and in this bubble of privacy and intimacy, we can be exactly who we are. I take the tip of him into my mouth and swab my tongue over the ripe head tasting his saltiness. A growl of hunger echoes through Han's chest. His hands find their way into the tangle of my dark hair and grip brutally at the long strands. In his battle to maintain control, he tries to end my assault. But, I'm licking and sucking and he is lost to it. His hips buck and I adjust my pace to mach the rhythm. The room fills with the essence of wolf musk and sweet desire. My wolf is prancing in my head like a prize winning show dog. I can sense Han's wolf barely contained beneath the surface of his human skin. The magic of his alpha power floods over me as the shreds of Han's humanity fall away. It doesn't seem to matter that we're in a cheap hotel room doing what probably hundreds of other couples have done in the same bed. Han grips my hair mercilessly and hauls me to my feet. The raw hunger and masculine desire reflected in his eyes consumes me. I want him to feast on my kisses, slake his thirst at my fountain, and sate his hunger with my flesh. He claims my mouth ruthlessly, his tongue probing my depths and demanding my complete surrender. I know he tastes the saltiness of himself on the tip of my tongue. Tasting his essence and smelling his scent on my skin has Han growling in approval. I'm off my feet and on my back with him between my thighs and returning the favor before I could manage any protest. Words are useless and I wouldn't have the ability to speak them even if I did know what to say. The tickle of his soft hair against my thighs and the heat of his breath on my most sensitive parts is my undoing. His tongue laps and teases at my clit and his fingers slide into my depths. I can barely manage to gasp in pleasure let alone say anything except for his name. Han is very good at reading my body and interpreting the secret messages it sends. He increases his pace at exactly the right time. Applying just the right amount of pressure he pushes me hard and fast, chasing my orgasm like a wolf on the hunt. Pleasure surges through me burning paths from my clit to the tips of my toes and the top of my head. I'm close, so close, but I'm trying to hold back. I don't want it to end so soon. Han, in his pursuit of my pleasure has found a spot I didn't even know I had. He takes his time exploring and exploiting the sensitive tissue to his advantage. I'm open and exposed, my thighs forced wide by the broadness of his shoulders. Whimpering and scrabbling so hard to maintain my control, I lose the battle and shatter into a million pieces. But, I shouldn't have worried about it. Han is there to gently and sweetly put me back together again. It's no surprise that Han gives me no quarter and doesn't hesitate to take full possession of his prize. His weight pinning me against the mattress is a welcome thing. His entry, sleek and smooth, the joining of our bodies as one is the joy of receiving presents on Christmas morning and the celebration of making wishes and blowing out birthday candles on a pretty frosted cake. Han gives me time to adjust to his size before pursuing our mutual pleasure in earnest. He's big and fills me completely. I love the stretch and slight burn of feeling him inside of me. The slow glide of flesh against flesh is torture for us both. I want more and spur him on by digging my nails into his shoulders. He shoots me a crooked and mischievous grin leaving me no guess at which one of us is truly in control. He intends to drive me crazy and to take his own sweet time going about it. He wants me to offer my throat in complete surrender and I do. Lifting my chin I sigh as he nuzzles the tender flesh with his soft lips. He marks me with a series of sharp bites along me collarbone and neck. Han wants there to be no confusion about who I belong to. Though we both know it. He wants the world to see. I belong to him. The bruising punishment of his teeth has me wet and gasping. Han claims my body as easily as he claimed my lips. I buck against him, pursuing my orgasm, encouraged by his breathy growls and lust tinged whispers. He is there with me, grinding his molars and trying to squeeze everything out of this moment that he can. Our wolves dance at the borders of our minds. They already know what they want. They've already chosen each other and the shells that contain us...the human parts of us... are perhaps nothing more than victims of their shared desire. At this point Han and I are too far gone to care about nature versus nurture, choices or lack of them, lies and truths. There is the smack of bodies seeking out pleasure and nothing, not even what happens when the heat is spent and we're left to sort out the aftermath of the mess we've created and found ourselves victims of, matters beyond that. My orgasm is a brilliant thing of flashing light and surging electrical impulses. Han towers over me, pressing me for more and chasing his own release. He smiles down at me with the enthusiasm of kid on his first trip to Disneyland. My God, this man loves me and it's terrifying. But, what's worse is the terror of my own love for him. The two of us could, if that love ever fails us, tear one another to shreds. It's too late for fear. Han already holds my heart in his grip just as I hold his. I surrender my body into his safekeeping and hold the trust that he has in me close to my chest. We're pressed body to body, sweating and panting, giving and taking pleasure, and whispering kind and loving words to one another. I fall apart again and he falls with me. We land in a tumble of tangled limbs locked together in an embrace and the heady and terrifying knowledge that no matter what we do or where we go there's truly no turning back for either of us. Chapter 13 It's amazing how quickly a man can pass out into a post-coital coma. Han is fast asleep. He's curled up on his side facing me with an arm draped tightly around my waist. Our legs are tangled and his toes flex and curl as he dreams. Every inch of our bodies touch somewhere. His chin lightly rests against the top of my head and his cheek is buried in the soft length of my hair. Han's muscled chest is curved tightly into my shoulder and our hips and thighs rub together. We're even sharing the same lumpy pillow and corner of a washed thin blanket. It's almost as if he's afraid that if he doesn't keep a hold on me, that if he doesn't maintain our skin to skin contact, I won't be here beside him when he wakes up. His body is heavy and hot against mine. We're sleeping...well, he's sleeping in a king sized bed and I'm hovering precariously on the edge. I'm awake and staring at the water stains on the ceiling. I try to steal an inch of space and end up tugged even tighter against him for my trouble. The closeness is stifling and confining. I'm on the verge of panic from how tightly he's holding me. I endure it and chastise myself that I should be sighing like the well loved girl I am instead of grinding my teeth and trying to root Han off of me. Once again, damn Coyote for being right in his assessment of me. I am a poor little rich girl. Not only am I wealthy. I'm rich in all the things that really matter. I have a man who loves me in my bed, friends on my side, and a family I didn't even know I had when I thought I truly had no one. I truly have nothing to whine about. My deficiencies and insecurities stack themselves layer upon layer on top of me. I've inherited so much more than just a home and land and money. It isn't just that I've got Han or Christine or so much family in my life. It's what comes on the tails of this newly found bounty. I've inherited a legacy and I'm not sure if I can live up to all the expectations everyone has of me. I rest my hand on my stomach and remind myself that soon, very soon, I'm going to become a mother. Out of all the people I could disappoint. I can't disappoint the unborn child growing inside of me. I used to think life was unfair when I had empty pockets and I saw the glittery beautiful people of L.A decked out in their finest, driving fancy cars, and living beautiful perfect lives in mansions on top of distant hills. They were eating lobster while I ate bologna. I could be one of those people. Now, as opposed to then, I could certainly afford it. Life is still unfair. Han used to accuse me of viewing the world around me but not really seeing it. He opened my eyes to a great many things and I see the world for what it is with absolute clarity. Money makes life easier, but it doesn't necessarily make it happier. My financial worries are over, but a dozen other things to worry about have taken their place. There's Han, the baby, the pack, Christine, and the promise I made to Coyote topping the list. What am I going to do? I'm convinced that I have to act in everyone else's best interests while at the same time protecting my own. I don't want to lose myself in Han or this world I'm suddenly a part of. I realize that's my biggest fear, that the wolf inside of me will swallow me whole. That Han will consume me with his love. That this world will suck me down. And as for the baby, that I'll be responsible for another life and somehow I'll no longer be me but someone's mom. Han came into my life with the subtlety of a freight train. It isn't that I'm incapable of love or not deserving of it. I simply wasn't ready for it yet. It's too late to run. I will be here when Han wakes up and the day after that and after that. My decision has nothing to do with the baby. Han would be a father to our child whether I was in the picture or not. I know him too well to think otherwise. But, before we settle into whatever twisted version of happily ever after we end up living, whether it is together or apart. I have things to resolve for certain in my own mind. Loving him is my choice and I have to know beyond any shadow of a doubt that I am his.