Her Viking Wolves: 50 Loving States, Michigan (31 page)

Then I turn to my real father, willing to kill his own brother to keep me safe…and I forgive him in an instant.

We have so much in common. Not just the superficial stuff, like our introversion and our eyes. But also the deeper stuff, like our inability to deal with real life. Which led both of us to allow Wilton Greenwolf to have way too much power over us for way too long.

“It’s okay, Dad,” I say to the shifter holding the gun. “I understand and I forgive you.”

“No, it’s not okay. I don’t deserve your forgiveness!” My real dad shakes his head, and there are tears in his eyes as he continues to point his gun at his brother. “He don’t deserve you as a daughter. Trying to keep you under his thumb. For what? To protect his damn pride? Because he can’t wrap his head around having a gay son? Bigger damn fool than me.”

“Put the gun down! Right now, motherfucker.”

I curse myself then. Because Yancey, who was sitting on the other side of Ford, has somehow managed to pull out his gun, too. The chances of this family meeting not ending in bloodshed are dramatically decreasing by the second.

“No, Yancey, don’t shoot!” I say.

“Put the fucking gun down!” Yancey says to Ford again. Then he racks his sawed off, letting him know he means business.

“Dad…Dad,” Clyde says, looking down the table at the man who, as Olafr would say, ‘smelled like him.’ “You’ve got to tell him you won’t go after Tee. You’ve got to tell him or he will kill you.”

But Dad keeps his hand on the butt of his sawed-off. “Nah, nah…it can’t end like this.” His eyes meet Clyde’s. “I made a deal so you could keep your pride, so nobody would ever have to know.”

“Dad, is that what this is all about…?” Clyde shakes his head, his whole face filling with pity. “Because I’ve got my pride. I’m good. I know who I am and I can live my truth now, thanks to Tee. Trust me, that’s all I need. All I ever wanted. Now please, tell Yancey to back down.”

Dad, stubborn as a damn mule, just stands there. Arms crossed, refusing to give anyone any damn thing.

Clyde turns to Yancey. “Please, man—you’re family to me and I don’t want anybody in this family to get hurt more than they already been.”

Yancey looks from the wolf he thought would eventually take over Detroit to his former alpha, begging my father with his eyes to let him stand down.

But Dad doesn’t move and he remains murderously silent.

Just when I’m starting to think I’m going to have to throw myself across the table between Ford and him, Yancey surprises the hell out me by lowering his gun anyway.

“Do you want to tell them, Ev, or should I?” he asks my aunt.

“We don’t have to tell them any of that,” my dad—uncle, rushes out. The hard look has dropped off his face and he suddenly seems less like an MC prez and more like a guy scared to death of whatever Yancey and Evelyn are about to say.

“Tell us what?” I ask, more than a little curious about what other information might be coming to light during this meeting.

Wilton turns a hostile glare toward me. “Fine, you can be the alpha king—or queen bitch—I don’t care what you call it. I’m backing down.” Then he says to Yancey. “We don’t have to tell them
nothing
.”

“I think we do,” Yancey replies, his voice grim. “Looks like this is the part in the discussion where all the shit comes out the kitchen sink.”

“You got that right,” Evelyn says with a wry chuckle.

“Tell us what?” I ask again. My eyes bounce between Yancey and Evelyn, unable to believe there could possibly be another secret in this family’s closet

“The reason he can’t hear his brother’s thoughts any more,” Yancey answers. “The Brother Bond, or whatever you call it—that ain’t necessarily always between brothers. Say two best friends fall for the same she-wolf. Maybe they start hearing each other’s thoughts. Think they’re going crazy and then they realize…”

“It’s because they both want her,” Evelyn finishes. “Even if she can’t share their mind… or have children.”

“You know I never cared about that, baby,” Yancey says to Evelyn. To my everlasting shock, Yancey Lobo, the toughest wolf I’ve ever known, throws Evelyn the most soulful look I’ve ever seen. Then he half-grins and says, “Plus, Wilt’s already got two.”

“One now,” Wilt grumbles.

“She’s still yours. You know that,” Evelyn answers with a laugh. Then for like the first time ever, she actually throws me a fond smile. “And this girl we raised up is all the way grown now.”

Yancey agrees with a laughing nod. “Did you see how she read Wilt the law? I mean actually pulled out her device and read that shit to him?”

Now both him and Evelyn are laughing while the man I thought was my father, but is really my uncle and I guess Evelyn’s other husband—WTF?—shakes his head. “That bitch literally read me. Don’t ya’ll dare laugh. Don’t ya’ll dare…”

But then he has to stop chastising them, because he’s laughing, too.

“Dad’s gonna be so pissed. At all of us. But he’s the one who made me agree to the deal with them yella Viking brothers. I wish I could see his face when I tell him about this.”

“He might have a heart attack and die!” Evelyn wheezes out. She’s laughing so hard there are tears in her eyes.

“Finally,” Dad and Yancey say in unison.

Which only makes the three of them laugh harder.

While Ford, Clyde, and me are left standing there, like aliens have just crash landed right in the middle of the dining room.

After a few open-closes of my mouth, I say to Ford, “Seriously, put the gun down.”

“But—” Ford starts.

“If you ever want me to call you dad again, put the gun down right now. We’re family,” I say, still staring at the three wolves cracking up at the other end of the table. “A really strange, crazy shifter soap opera of a family, but family nonetheless. Put the gun down.”

Ford puts the gun down.

And I throw myself into his arms, hugging him with everything I have.

An awkward hesitation and then I feel him hugging me back just as tight. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

I nod against his shoulders, forgiveness flowing out of me like a river. Then I say to the rest of my family. “C’mon, get over here. We’re going to try to do one of those big family hugs like Aunt Wilma’s family.”

That brings the laughing to a complete halt and I’m met with a lot of groans. I get the feeling nobody here, including Ford, particularly approves of how far Aunt Wilma has drifted from her roots since moving to touchy-feely Alaska. But eventually, the wolves start giving in one by one.

Clyde comes first, wrapping his bulky arms around me and Ford. Then I feel Evelyn’s much thinner arms circle around all three of us, and then Yancey, and finally the wolf I’d thought was my father.

We all stand like that for a while, in a weird hug that smells of wolf, leather, and gun oil.

Then comes my former father’s voice. Quieter than I’ve ever heard it.

“I was only trying to keep us protected,” he says. “You think I didn’t love her, Ford, but she’s my daughter, too. I would have died if anything happened to her or Clyde. And I knew the pack wouldn’t accept him if they knew he was gay. I thought I was doing what was best for everybody. I told you back then I’d raise her like she was my own, and I’m telling you now: everything I did was to keep these two protected.”

“I know, man, I know,” Ford says.

And I can feel forgiveness flowing out of him as well.

Which I guess means I have two dads now, along with a stepmother-aunt…and whatever the hell Yancey is. Uncle-in-law? Okay, I’ll figure it out later. Right now, I focus on the hug. Because for the first time in like—well, forever—it’s feels like I’m actually part of a real loving family.

Thank you, FJ and Olafr
, I think. Because none of this would be happening if not for them.

I’ve totally forgiven the brothers for leaving. But I’ll never get over them. They are the only wolves I’ll ever love, and I’ll never settle for anyone else like Ford did. Which means I’m going to need this family going forward.

Yours always
. I think of my two mates as I hug the family they’ve unexpectedly given me to sustain me through their loss.
Yours always.

“
Y
ou the worst
mama I done ever laid eyes on!” my grandfather tells me as the summer sun sets behind the mountain, just outside the bay window where I’m comfortably seated.

“Ah, thanks, Granddad,” I say, not even bothering to look up from my text chat with Iggle about our upcoming
Centurion Shifters
game.

This is a familiar scene. Me texting in the bay window seat while the girls play
Viking Shifters
on the floor…and my grandfather fussing at all of us from his perch on the couch.

“This a damn shame! Why you got to make my grandbabies play that damn video game of yours every damn night?”

Now I look up, but only to raise an eyebrow at my grandfather. My stubborn grandfather, who for reasons still unknown to me, has insisted on staying at the Upper Peninsula kingdom house. Despite having to share it with “the worst damn alpha this state ever done had, white or black.” His words, not mine.

“If the ‘babies’ you’re referring to are my three-year-old daughters, you know why, Granddad.”

For all we knew, Ola and Fensa would need this training once they inherited their thrones. To just about everyone’s surprise, the North American Council hasn’t vetoed the use of video games as alpha death matches. I think they might be secretly running a five-year study of some sort to see how our communities fare with a female-run kingdom.

The answer: Not too bad. Not too damn bad at all. In fact, Detroit managed to climb right on out of mange state status within two years of me taking over.

Not only are our she-wolves thriving inside a pack that does not demand their degradation at every turn, but Tu and I just graduated our first class of OB/GYNs from medical school. Five she-wolves who will soon take up residencies in Alaska, Oklahoma, Detroit, Colorado, and Wyoming, in order to pay back the full rides they got, courtesy of our two houses.

What’s more, other states joined the program and are now on the waitlist to receive OB/GYNs of their own. Including North Dakota—though I had a feeling that might have been a move made by Kyle, the first ever gay alpha, to stay in his she-wolf constituents’ good graces.

It worked. He and Clyde continue to enjoy a pretty high approval rating with very few protesting the fact that their state king is not only gay, but also married to his beta.

Yes, there was some grousing at first when Kyle first came out to his pack with Clyde by his side. But that was before my brother pulled out his sawed-off and put a hole in the chest of the wolf yelling the loudest about it. Then he asked if anybody else had concerns about Kyle’s ability to lead. Nobody did.

Apparently the only thing the newly appointed North Dakota king needed to earn a way more progressive pack was a Detroit beta with a shotgun standing by his side. And now there’s even talk of one of my girls taking over the kingdom when Kyle ages out of his kingship in a couple of decades.

Which is why I make the girls play an hour minimum of
Viking Shifters
every night before bath time.

“I tired this game!” Ola says. “Want bath now.”

“Me too!” Fensa says, in typical twin collusion. At the tender age of three, my girls are completely ride or die—unless there’s a My Little Pony doll involved, then it’s a twin fight that makes the old “Speak Now” ritual look tame.

“Keep on playing for a few more minutes,” I say to them. “Mama needs to finish talking to Auntie Iggle.”

“What you need to be doing is teaching them how to catch a strong man,” Granddad grumbles. “So everybody don’t think we a bunch of rich-ass punks sitting around eating caviar or whatever those soft Alaska relatives you love so much be doing.”

“Yeah, Granddad,” I say, reading over the last of Iggle’s thoughts on my thoughts about how to implement the suggestions Alisha, now She-Wolf Industries official history consultant, sent in yesterday. “Being rich and soft is just the worst. I can’t believe I’m actually raising my girls in this terrible environment filled with love, peace, and a doting grandfather.”

Looks good. Anything else?
I type to Iggle.

Yeah, your boy just sent me that stupid security clearance form of his again. He says I can’t come up next Christmas if I don’t fill it out—like I’m some associate. Can you just tell him to go fuck himself?

Him being Grif, my beta of four years now, who takes his job way too seriously for Iggle’s liking.

“Don’t think I don’t know you being sarcastic,” Granddad grouses behind me. “I know when you being sarcastic.”

“I know you do,” I answer. “Just like I know there’s plenty of empty cabins for you to move into. You and Grif could be neighbors.”

I type to Iggle, We’ve been over this, Ig. I can’t fire him for doing his job
.

So feeling me up is part of his job?

I snicker. Iggle still hasn’t forgiven him for patting her down the last time she came to visit.

I’ll talk to him again, but I don’t think he’s going to say everybody but Iggle has to get patted down before they get through to me. That’s been the protocol for years now.

Ever since the first gunman tried to shoot his way around having to play me at
Viking Shifters
to get to the throne. One more year until the first five years of FJ’s reign is up, and I can just be the queen of our pack without having to accept challenge fights.

And one more year until I no longer smell like them. It takes five years for a mating scent to fade, which is why when mated wolves remain separate for more than five years without getting married, they call it a “wolf annulment.”

But FJ, Olafr, and I said our vows under a full moon, so this is more like a wolf divorce. At least I’d rather call it that than the alternative: widowed. Either way, I’m not sure what I’m going to do when the smell of our mating bond completely disappears.

Cry probably. Just like I do every January on the full moon anniversary of what I still consider to be our real wedding. Cry, then pull myself together. And keep going. For my daughters, for my family, for my pack—

“You know I ain’t ever moving out of here,” my grandfather promises in a way that feels exactly like a threat.

And I guess I’m surviving with this shattered heart for my grandfather, too. He keeps me from getting too sad. Mostly by driving me completely batshit crazy with his loud opinions and his refusal to get a place of his own.

“You the one who moved in here!” he reminds me. “This was
my
house before you got here.”

“Technically—”

“Plus, I’m the only thing standing between these girls and the soft life,” he says before I can remind him for the umpteenth time that the house belongs to the kingdom, and therefore to me, the alpha queen. “Somebody got to teach them!”

“Yeah and that’s why I keep on having to have conversations with you about sneaking them candy,” I answer dryly. “Because Skittles will totally make them hard.”

Granddad falters as he always does when the subject of him being way too overindulgent with Ola and Fensa comes up. And I do mean
way
too overindulgent. I ask you, why do three year olds need a 12V mini-Range Rover—each—with a full sound system and a push start? It’s like my granddad has been waiting all his ridiculously violent life for two little girls to spoil.

“A little candy never hurt nobody!” he grouses now.

“Whatever, you know you’re wrong for that. And if Ola falls out of that Range Rover ghost-riding the whip one more time, I’m taking both those cars to Goodwill.”

“No!” both twins scream. “Big Grandpa don’t let her!”

At the same time Granddad asks me with a look that would put Mother Teresa to shame, “Why you got to be so mean to my little grandbabies?”

Zoh. My. God. I am seriously going to have to start making Grif stay for dinner just so I’m not so thoroughly outnumbered—

A flash suddenly appears beyond the window, right above the mountain trail that leads to the portal. A white light bursting across the night sky and then seeming to reverse back into the black. Completely here and then completely gone. Just like…

I drop the phone.

“Mama?” Ola and Fensa say together behind me.

While at the same time Granddad asks, “Did I just see something I never thought I’d see in my lifetime? For the second time?”

I’m moving before I even realize I’m up out of the chair. Then I’m outside, running up the mountain in my house slippers.

It can’t be them! It can’t be them! They’re dead,
I think. It’s probably someone else from somewhere else, someone who’s come to find a fated mate. Whoever it is—they can’t belong to me.

This is me being crazy, I know it is. Me still hoping, even after everything I’ve done to move on with my life. I’ve let Fensa and Ola know about their wonderful “heaven fathers” as best I could. They were happy. And I was…if not happy…adjusted.

But now my little girls are probably watching me from the window as I run like a crazy woman through the woods, unable to even wait for Grif to come with me for back up.

I can’t stop. Can’t stop running up that hill, like the weirdest Kate Bush song ever. Even after my feet start protesting inside their flimsy slippers. Even after my lungs give out, making me wheeze as I rush toward the portal. Even then. I can’t stop.

And I don’t stop. Even though I know it’s crazy. I’m crazy. Because it can’t be them. It can’t be…

Except it is.

Two figures appear at the crest of the portal’s ledged off hill. Back lit by the new moon and casting longer shadows than the surrounding trees.

All three of us come to a dead halt. Staring at each other. Them up above. Me down below. Still too afraid to believe.

But then they start toward me and the closer they get, the more I believe. Even though they don’t look like the memories I’ve been carrying around with me. They’re dressed in dingy furs with the heads of the bears they took them from still attached. And they’re both shockingly pronounced, their bodies covered in tight muscle like they haven’t so much as seen a carb in years. Even the red hair beneath their bear hoods isn’t the same. Hanging in long, unchecked tangles along with their unkempt beards.

So much hair. For a moment, I’m scared these are two other Vikings. Or two hot cavemen, looking for some
Clan of the Cave Bear
action up here on the mountain.

But then they come to a stop in front of me, smelling of snow and fire. And both of them say, “
Varra
” out loud.

And I hear it, “Varra,” inside my mind, kissing my heart with the word I’d never thought to hear again.

FJ draws me into his arms. “I did say we would return. Did you believe us not?”

I shake my head into his shoulder, unable to form words—out loud or inside our mind link.

But Olafr stands beside his brother and tips up my chin so I have to look at him as FJ holds me. My heart stops. His eyes are no longer glowing.

In fact, except for the Hagrid-level hair, he looks and sounds just like a normal (if heavily accented) wolf when he says, “Please let us hear your voice. For too long this has been all we did want to hear.”

“All that did keep us going,” FJ adds, his face harsh with memory.

“Yours always,” I whisper. Then I push the words into their minds.
“Yours always.”

And the smiles that light up their faces make it easy to see them now, even under all that hair.

Then suddenly there’s no longer any confusion about what’s real and what’s not. I’m on a mountain, being kissed by two wolves in bear furs. First one and then the other, and then the first again, back and forth, with no thought of the cold. We keep each other warm. With our thoughts and our love and our knowing what comes next. The daughters who will consider it a miracle to have their fathers back. The kingdom we will happily run together.

The life we’ll make, now they’re finally home. But first…

“Ah, I think you’re going to want to ditch those coats before you meet your daughters,” I tell them. “It’ll take too long to explain, but their favorite movie right now is
Brother Bear.”

S
o that happened
.

There’s a lot to talk about over the next few hours. The girls listen raptly on the couch as their miraculously recovered heaven father, FJ, tells us the tale. How they left Norway after the Dragon Battle after another wolf village’s sorceress told them the only way to get around a “breaking spell,” as the separation spell was called in their time, was to find another fated mate spell in a language they did not know.

So they’d headed east across Scandinavia in search of another wolf village with another sorceress who would give them the words they’d need to get back to me. Four years. It took them four years before they were able to find someone with a fated mate spell in a language they didn’t know. Four years during which Olafr learned not only their mother’s language, but also how to live as a true shifter, led by his human rather than his wolf. Four years during which they walked and walked. Always searching. Always hoping. Never giving up.

By the time they are done talking, the girls have both fallen asleep. It’s a long story, but short to them. Their daddies were gone and now they’re back. The twins sleep with the serenity of children who have no problem believing dreams really can come true.

But to me it still feels like a dream. Even after my granddad lets us all retire to my bedroom without a word of protest beyond, “Well, I guess everybody already know how crazy this family be now. Ya’ll go’on ahead.”

I have a feeling both my dads will be complaining real loud at the next Thanksgiving dinner. About how easily Granddad accepted me and my Viking wolves after doing everything in his power to squelch the original threesome that brought Clyde and me into the world.

When I close the door behind us, I think the night will be filled with more of the same. Me telling them about all the stuff that’s gone down over the last four years: my taking over as alpha of the pack, about Clyde and Kyle, their daughters, and everything that happened on
Vikings
after they left.