The Road to Redemption (44 page)

When the other
woman left, Sam stared at the door wondering how Flo had ever
forgiven her grandfather for choosing another. Yet she must have or
she wouldn’t have stayed all these years. Maybe love was more about
granting forgiveness than waiting for apologies. It was a hard
concept for Sam to wrap her head around. Personally, if she loved
someone, she’d fight for him, make him see that she was what he
needed and wring an apology out of him.

Then why
aren’t we going after Damien?
Her wolf twitched its ears.

Sam frowned.
“It’s completely different.”

Really?

“Yes. He lied
to us.”

He was trying
to help a friend. He agreed to the job before he met us.

“He also
agreed to fight a challenge. He knew us by then. If he’d cared, he
would have refused.”

Do you think
he was really trying during the fight? Might he have been holding
back? Especially near the end. His leg giving out seemed almost too
convenient, don’t you think?

Had it been?
She’d had enough bumps and bruises for it to feel like a ‘real’
fight. Was she really that good or had Damien had a change of heart
and eased off his assault, tried to make it appear that he was
faltering? There was no way of knowing.

Sam sighed.
Maybe her wolf was right. Maybe he’d decided to throw the fight.
Did it really matter? He was gone now.

He might still
care but assumes you’d never forgive him.

All right. For
the sake of argument, she’d concede that point, too. The question
now was how much did he care? And did she stand a chance against
his dead mate?

We’ll never
know if we don’t try. You said you couldn’t be like Florence, that
you’d fight for your mate.

True. But she
had absolutely no idea where he was.

The phone
rang. Time for her conference call with Sinclair and OPATA.

Sinclair might
know where Damien is.

That wasn’t
the purpose of the call. She was trying to negotiate for the future
well-being of her pack. If Damien casually cropped up in the
conversation maybe, just maybe, she’d try to slip in a question
about his current location, but she wouldn’t be the one to bring it
up.

So Damien was
headed to Canada. Sam mulled over that fact as she climbed the
stairs an hour later. Her conversation with Sinclair had been
productive and OPATA was impressed with the proposal she’d put
for—

“Samantha
Harper!”

The sound of
her grandfather calling out her proper name had her stopping in her
tracks. Being called ‘Samantha’ had always meant she was in deep
trouble as a child and she automatically cringed in expectation of
a browbeating.

The door to
his room was open and she could see him glaring at her from his
recliner. She pursed her lips. He never left his door open and she
suspected Flo had done it on purpose in the hopes of forcing her to
stop in to visit. For a moment, she considered continuing on her
way but then sighed and gave in to his implicit command.

“Yes?” She
stood just inside his room striving to keep her voice and
expression neutral.

“I need to
talk to you. Sit.” His tone was as imperious as ever.

Reluctantly
she complied, entering the room and taking a seat. She stretched
her legs out in front of her and slouched in the chair. It was
posture that she knew would annoy him. Childish on her part, but
she didn’t care.

“You’re still
angry with me.”

She raised a
brow and made no effort to deny the statement.

“That’s fine.
It’s your choice. I’ve explained myself once. I won’t do it again.”
He fixed his eyes on her. “What I want to know is what you’re doing
about the rogue?”

“You mean
Damien?”

“Was there
another rogue around here that I wasn’t aware of?”

She made a
face at his sarcasm. “No.”

“Good. So what
are you doing about him?”

“Doing?
There’s nothing to do. He’s gone.”

“And you’re
leaving it like that?”

She shrugged.
“He deceived us but there’s nothing to be gained by hunting him
down.”

“But you’d had
your sights set on him as a mate.”

She could feel
her face warming. How had her grandfather picked up on that? Just
when she thought his faculties weren’t as sharp as they used to be,
he came up with an astute observation like this! Well, like the
rich and famous she wouldn’t confirm or deny the report. “It
doesn’t matter. He’s gone now.”

“And you’re
willing to leave it at that?”

She clenched
her hands in her lap. “I have the pack to take care of.”

“What if you
didn’t have the pack? What would you do then?

Sam stood. His
questions were beginning to irritate. “Like I said, it doesn’t
matter. I’m the Alpha. It’s my duty to stay here.”

“Duty and
strength. Have you determined the third quality yet?”

She blinked at
his change of topic. “No. I’m still—”

“I never did.”
He looked away, his gnarled hands clutching the arms of his
chair.

“I beg your
pardon?”

“I said, I
never found the third quality. At least not until it was too late.
By then I was set in my ways and the damage was done.”

Her interest
was piqued and she sat down once again. “I don’t understand.”

He sighed. “I
was ambitious. I wanted the pack to succeed, to be a name to be
reckoned with.”

“So…?”

“I chose your
grandmother as my mate. She was strong, had an excellent
background, her family was wealthy. A perfect Alpha’s mate.”

“And you
eventually came to love her.”

“No.” He
looked at her, his expression regretful. “She loved me, but I
didn’t love her. I wanted what she could bring to the pack. I
thought it wouldn’t matter as long as I tried to make her happy.”
He shook his head. “It didn’t work.”

“But…” Sam
frowned. This didn’t match the image she’d always had in her head.
“Her antiques. You bought them for her. You’re always so concerned
that I take care of them because they were hers.”

“Buying the
furniture was my way of trying to ease my guilt. I gave her
everything she wanted…except my heart.” He cleared his throat. “I
had it in my head strength and duty were enough. That anything else
was a weakness.”

Sam was
silent, mulling over what she’d just learned and wondering why he’d
felt the need to share the information now.

He seemed to
be able to read her thoughts. “I made decisions based on duty and
strength. I was a good Alpha, but I could have done better. Now
that you’re my successor, I expect you to exceed my
accomplishments.”

“Exceed?”

“Do better.
Don’t repeat my mistakes.”

It gave her a
strange feeling, to basically hear her grandfather admit he’d made
mistakes. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Luckily, he solved
the problem for her.

“You can leave
now. I need my nap. And Sam, I…” He paused, seeming to struggle
with what he wanted to say. Finally, he cleared his throat and gave
his head what appeared to be a regretful shake. “Don’t wait so long
to visit next time.” And with that, he closed his eyes and settled
into his chair for his rest.

Sam nodded,
her hand lingering on the door frame before she left the room.
Something about the look on his face had caused a funny feeling in
her heart. She twisted her lips ruefully. Yeah, he was set in his
ways. Maybe Florence was right. Maybe words weren’t always
needed.

Winter in northern Canada sucked.

Damien hunched
his shoulders against the bitter wind and shoved his hands in his
pockets. After leaving Chicago, he’d kicked his way around the
country, made his way north and eventually stopped in to see his
old friend, Ryne.

Ryne lived in
a two-by-twice town called Stump River that was smack dab in the
middle of nowhere. After spending the last hour hiking around the
area in almost blizzard-like conditions, Damien was ready to swear
an affidavit to the fact that Stump River was only the vacation
destination of choice if you happened to be a polar bear.

He made his
way down the street, bits of icy snow stinging his face, and pushed
open the door to the Broken Antler, a local bar. The establishment
wouldn’t officially open for another hour, but he’d taken a room
there so no one would complain that he was on the premises ahead of
time. While there was plenty of room in Ryne’s pack house, he’d
opted against staying there. With a baby in the house and several
Lycans in residence, it had felt too confining. Thankfully, the
Broken Antler had a small room for rent; nothing special, but it
was better than some of the caves he’d slept in during his days as
a rogue.

A swirl of
snowflakes accompanied him as he stepped inside, and he quickly
pushed the door shut to block out the cold air that swept into the
room. “Damn, it’s cold today.”

Armand, the
owner, was arranging glasses on the shelves and barely glanced up
when he walked in, a grunt his only acknowledgement. The man was a
werebear and no doubt his inner beast was out of sorts, wishing it
were hibernating. At least that was the reason Damien had
attributed to the man’s taciturn manner. Mel, Ryne’s mate, insisted
it was a broken heart that made Armand so bearish. Whatever the
case, Damien didn’t really care. It suited his own frame of mind.
Since leaving Chicago, he’d been out of sorts himself.

Across the
room, a young girl was sweeping the floor. She was a member of
Ryne’s pack and, if Damien recalled correctly, her name was Tessa.
She was a quiet thing who worked at the bar a few hours each week.
Mel had insisted the girl take the job to help her ‘get out of her
shell’. Damien wasn’t sure how effective the strategy was; in the
time he’d been there, the girl had barely spoken to him.

Near the
front, members of a local band were doing a sound check on their
instruments. Thankfully, the discordant sounds coming from the
makeshift stage wasn’t an indication of their talent. Apparently,
their folk rock music had gathered a good following and the Broken
Antler was supposedly busier than ever on the nights they
played.

Daniel,
another member of Ryne’s pack, was the drummer for the group, but
at the moment he was spending more time watching Tessa than
worrying about his drum kit. A bad case of puppy love afflicted
him, or so Ryne had said, though Daniel was hardly a pup. Damien
thought to tell the young man that love only led to heartache but
doubted he’d listen. It was one of those lessons you had to learn
for yourself.

The band
members nodded as he passed by; Daniel finally joined in the
practice, after a firm elbowing from one of the members, and the
noise began to transform into actual music. Armand actually showed
signs of smiling and Tessa started to sway back and forth as she
swept. In years past, Damien might have felt inclined to linger but
now he only wanted to be alone.

A steady drum
beat accompanied his steps as he made his way up the stairs to his
room. It was small and solitary and enough removed from the bar
that he wasn’t overwhelmed by the noise.

As soon as he
entered, he pulled off his shirt; the heat from the kitchen below
kept the space overly warm for a werewolf. A draft caused the
curtains to sway, giving glimpses of the frosty world outside and
he flopped down on the bed, letting the coolness bath over him.

He tried to
rest. Surely, after the vigorous run he’d been on, his body would
cooperate and let him drift into oblivion. After all, it had been
months since he’d had a decent night’s sleep. A few hours of rest
wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

Apparently it
was.

Instead of
sleeping, he found himself staring at the faded wallpaper and the
truly bad piece of artwork that hung on the wall. Armand had
painted it, or so he’d been told. Someone really should get the man
a new hobby, he thought idly, though in a place like this it was
likely one of the few pastimes available.

In his
opinion, there was really nothing to do in Stump River in the
winter. Oh sure, you could go ice fishing, if you felt like
freezing your butt off by sitting outside in minus temperatures.
And his wolf enjoyed a romp in the snow, but by yourself it wasn’t
fun for long.

Cross country
skiing, building a snowman, hockey, skating… Some of the locals had
tried to entice him into the winter activities but he’d refused
with varying degrees of politeness. Nothing interested him anymore.
So far, beyond visiting with Ryne, the only thing he’d done was
drink, play cards and watch TV at the Broken Antler.

Time to move
on, he supposed, but to where?

“What do you
think, Beth? Where should we go?” He tried to start a conversation
with her but there was no answer. Since Chicago she’d been growing
quieter, appearing to him less often. There was a distance about
her, a sadness that worried him.

“What’s wrong,
Beth?” He concentrated hard on bringing her into focus.

In his mind’s
eye he could see her shaking her head.

“
It’s time,
Damien.”

“Time for
what?”

“
You
know.”

“No. I don’t.”
He pulled away, something warning him he wasn’t going to like where
the conversation was going. His attempt at avoidance didn’t
work.

“
I stayed
because you needed me.”

“I’ll always
need you, Beth.” He imagined himself stroking her cheek, tucking a
lock of her hair behind her ear. She looked up at him with her dove
grey eyes. So young, so sweet. So serious.

“
It’s not
the same. You know the truth now.”

“I love you.
That’s the only truth.”

“
I love
you, too, but there’s more. I need to move on. You need to move
on.”