Werewolf Sings the Blues (25 page)

“Vivian?” Jason asks behind me.

His hand touches my bare shoulder, and I jolt. I can't fucking breathe.
I need to get the fuck out of this room.
I race out into the
basement hallway with Jason a few paces behind. Even in here
with more space, I can't breathe very well. I scan the wood-
paneled
hallway to get my bearings and find the stairs. They're between the freezer and laundry room, which is …

Jason's hands gently wrap around my forearms. “Come here,” he
whispers before guiding me to the bench a few feet away. He sits me down before lowering himself beside me. I should be thrilled when he uncurls my fingers and entwines his with mine, but I'm still too damn tense. “Just breathe.”

“I am breathing,” I snap. Just not well. “I'm fine.”

“You should have told me you were claustrophobic. I wouldn't have—”

“I needed to know. It's fine.” I squeeze his hand harder and stare down at the hardwood floor. “It just … I was suddenly back in that basement getting the shit kicked out of me again. The darkness, the smells, being trapped …” I shake my head to clear the ghosts. “I'm fine. It's over. I'll be fine.” God, I'm embarrassed. Almost falling apart over nothing in front of the big bad wolf killer. Real impressive, Viv. No wonder—

“It happens to me too,” he says, drawing me out of my ocean of self-pity. I look up. He's got that damn mask of his on. “The flashbacks. It could be something someone says, a smell, a scene on TV, and I'm right back in the worst moments of my life as if I'd traveled back in time. Talking about it helps. Time too. Dad—”

“No,” I say with a grimace. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I pull my hand away. “I'm fine. See? The irrationality has passed.”

He doesn't speak for a few seconds, then, “You don't have to do that around me.”

“Do what?”

“Act strong when it's left you for the moment,” he says matter-of-factly. “Even the strong fall from time to time. We all have our weak moments. If and how we pick ourselves up and handle the aftermath is all that matters. And in that, time and again, you've shown great strength. True strength.”

“That's what you don't understand. I'm
not
strong,” I blurt out. “I'm a lucky fuck-up. I'm scared all the time, even before all this. I'm not like you, I can't turn lemons into lemonade, and you had a ton more lemons than I ever did. You have no idea how much I respect you for that.”

“I had help, though. People who loved me, who kept me going
when a weak moment hit, who helped me up. Who knew my strength
even when I didn't. They gave me a reason to continue on. I couldn't have done it alone.”

“You did that for me, you know? In Pennsylvania. You kept me going. You kept me fighting. I think … I was more afraid of you dying than me. I had to get to you. Save you.
You
gave me strength.”

“You are not giving yourself enough credit. You never do.”

“I give credit where it's due.” I pause. “You're my hero, Jason Dahl.”

“Please stop,” he says quietly, once again gazing down at his lap.

I fall back against the wall and narrow my eyes. “Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

“Just completely shut down and pull away from me whenever I try to say or do something nice? Do you think I'm lying? Trying to trick you? Find a weakness and exploit it?”

“No,” he says, eyes still deflected.

“Then why? Stop shutting me out. You don't get to say wonderful things about me one second, then run off and reject me the next. I'm getting fucking whiplash.”

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to.”

“Then stop it.”

“You don't …” He stares at me, his mouth open like he wants to continue, but gazes down again in defeat.

“I don't understand?” I finish for him. “You're right. I haven't understood since you freaked out seconds after we made love. Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? That you were disgusted by me?”

“I wasn't,” he assures me. “I was disgusted by
me
.”

“Why? Because Frank ordered you not to be with me like Adam and Mona? Because according to paperwork, we're siblings? That's white noise, Jason. This is about you and me. Nothing else matters.”

His intense eyes finally leap up to my face. “But it does,” he almost hisses. “We don't exist in a vacuum, Vivian. I am pack. I am
loup-garou
. That will never change. And you … you do not
belong
. There is a reason your father kept you away from this world. We're monsters. Danger surrounds us at all times, and not just from outside these walls.”

“Cat's kind of out of the bag on that one, Blondie. I am officially Frank Dahl, super-werewolf's, daughter. And, with maybe one exception, there are no monsters in this group, yourself included.” Jason gazes back down at this hands. He wants to leave. I feel the desire to flee wafting off him in waves. “That's not the real reason, is it?” The muscles in his face tighten. “So, what is?”

I don't get an answer. He opts for option B, standing to flee again.
“I don't want to talk about this anymore. I have things to do. Excuse me.” Sure enough, he turns and starts toward the laundry room. I really,
really
hate when he does that.

Not this time. I spring up as I call, “Don't you walk away from me, Jason Dahl.”

I run right in front of him just as he reaches the stairs, blocking him. “Vivian, please move.”

“Not happening. Even if you move me, I will just keep chasing you.”

This time he stares me dead in the eyes. “Why?” he asks, voice as blank as those eyes.

“Why what?”

“Why would you continue chasing me when I don't wish you to?”

“What?”

“And why did you volunteer to watch the children?”

“To help out. Why else—”

“And why did you offer to help me the other day on the beach? The real reason?”

“I told you. What is—”

“It had nothing to do with us having to spend time together?”

“That was … a bonus. So what? The children have fun, people realize you're secretly a teddy bear, I am not seeing the problem.”

He stares at me with such disappointment I want to run back into that tunnel—even that is preferable to his gaze. “The pack comes first. You give before you get. If someone is starving, you give them as much as you can spare, and you do it because it's the right thing. Not because you get something out of it. The needs of the many come before the needs of you. That is love. That is
pack
.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in but it finally dawns on
me. He thinks I'm selfish. That I'm incapable of thinking of others unless it serves me. The thing is, he's not wrong. It's one of the few things I've prided myself on, the ability to take care of myself because no one else would. I always did my damnedest not to screw people over if I could help it, but I tried harder to make sure they didn't screw me over.

“Well, I'm sorry I don't live up to your impossible standards of nobility, Sir Lancelot. But unlike you, I didn't have a safety net. No one before you lifted a finger to help me. No one
ever
put me first. I had to be selfish out of necessity. To survive. And after twenty-nine years, it is a damn hard habit to break. But goddamn it,
I'm trying
. Doesn't that count for something? And despite one little slip, nothing I've done has hurt anyone.”

“That's where you're wrong, and the fact you can't even see that proves my point. What you do, what you say, impacts others. Some
times you can even be a damn wrecking ball, Vivian. You leave gaping holes in a person's life. It may not be intentional, you may even believe you're doing the right thing, but the damage still remains when you leave. You, of all people, should know that because you are proof of that aftermath. And there will be an aftermath. You
will
leave. I'm just trying to minimize the damage. So, I'll ask again: please leave me alone,” he pleads. “Please.”

This time I don't chase him. Wouldn't know what to say or do if I caught him.

_____

Even with the headache gone, I'm in a shit mood. Doesn't help I have to give up my room to the Kahn and Foster families in exchange for a sleeping bag on the floor along with the hyper-twins and my sister-in-law, who I barely know. Sleepover from hell in my future. My present isn't much better. As I walk down the hall, every ten feet a nervous wife or husband needs assurances we'll be safe with almost two dozen werewolves running wild outside tonight. I'd be dammed nervous myself if I had the time. I seem to be somehow responsible for tonight's fortification and all the people inside. Where people sleep, guard duty rotation, a billion different “what-ifs” from various women, they all come to me. Like I have a clue what we'll do if there's a blackout and the security system fails. Die most likely.

Jason doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. A truly selfish person would grab some booze, chips, and a shotgun, lock herself in the master bedroom, and if breached use the escape
tunnel and never look back. Okay, I have considered it. Even found
some bourbon in Frank's dresser. But instead I'm cleaning and loading guns, helping people move their stuff inside, and directing people to their temporary accommodations. And Jason's not around to see me do it, so I get no brownie points from him for all my hard work. I do it anyway, Blondie.

I mean, I'm a little selfish. So what? There's honor—then there's
just plain stupidity. If you give all of yourself to others, then
what's left for you? And people have to
earn
that kind of devotion. It just kills me that the first person who ever earned it with me thinks I'm some manipulative, rotten bitch incapable of genuine change and empathy. And how could I take a wrecking ball to his life? I don't even have the power to keep him in a room, let alone destroy him or make him a crumbling mess. Our conversation is nowhere near over.

But that's for tomorrow. Tonight, werewolf shenanigans. As I'm loading another shotgun at the dining table between Omar and Sam, Tate strolls in. “How goes it?”

“Almost done,” says Omar.

Tate's not really listening, he's too busy staring at me with a crooked smile. “Know how to work that thing, princess?”

I load the last cartridge and pump it. “I'm a fast learner. Sunshine,” I say with a shit-eating grin.

“Forgot. You've already got a murder on your ledger.”

“Plenty of room for more,” I say, my smile unwavering. See? If I were selfish I'd do what I want and shoot this asshole in the leg. Twice. It'd sure make
me
feel better. Instead, I rise from the table. “Excuse me, gents, millions of things to do. Just make sure no kids come in here.”

“My, aren't we thoughtful?” Tate says as I pass him. I glare and his smile stretches farther. “Didn't know you had it in you.”

I keep walking down the hall. My face burns red from the morti
fication. Jesus Christ, Jason told him. By tomorrow tales of my narcissism will be legendary. This place is worse than high school when it comes to gossip. I know Scott can't get it up, Tate's banged three of the married women here, Katie abuses Percocet, and that was just the scuttlebutt from the first day. No one's outright asked what happened between Jason and I, but I have noticed once or twice women ceasing their conversation as I passed. I thank my lucky stars I spend the majority of my time with the kids. Give me a discussion about
Invader Zim
over gossip of my love life any damn day.

“Vivi, got a minute?” Frank calls from his office as I pass.

Oh, hell. Just what I need, a minute alone with dear old deadbeat Dad. Since the Adam then Seth debacles, we've been cordial the few times we've had to be in the same room. Smile, nod, update on the day, and off we went to our neutral corners. Right now I stop, take a deep breath, and plaster another smile on before walking in. Frank sits at his desk clicking away with the mouse on his computer. “Your mother e-mailed me. They're all fine. Enjoying themselves in Jamaica. I copied it to the desktop for you to read.”

“Thank you.”

He glances up with a quick smile. “Welcome. Can you close the
doors?”

Great. Privacy. This can't be good. I roll them shut but don't move in case I need a quick getaway. “Yes?”

“I want to go over details about tonight.” He casually leans back in his chair. “How is everyone?”

“Nervous but generally fine.”

“Everyone moved in?”

“Mostly.”

“What about security measures?”

“They all know not to go downstairs for any reason unless on guard duty. We'll have two shifts of two, one person stationed in here and the other in the parlor to cover both front and back, each armed with a tranq gun and shotgun with silver shot. Right now Shante and Sarah are going through the rooms to make sure the curtains are drawn, and everyone knows to keep the lights off and noise down as much as possible so we don't draw attention to the house.”

“And if we get in?” Frank asks.

“The two guards will do their best to keep the wolf at bay as the others retreat into the tunnel.”

“Jason already showed it to you? Gave you the code?”

Damn it. Just the mention of his name makes me flush. “Yes. I'll tell everyone else after you all leave.”

“Who have you selected for guard duty?”

“Donald, June, Deandra, and me.”

“Why them?” Frank asks, I think as a test.