When a Pack Dies (3 page)

“I’m downstairs. I need to see you,” she blurted out.

“Come up,” was the lawyer’s curt and immediate response. Fina deliberately hadn’t watched the motel’s TV and every time the news came on the car radio, she’d changed stations. She didn’t want Ryan to hear news about his family’s death sandwiched between traffic reports and an ad for potato chips. Last night, she’d been too tired and too frightened to turn on the portable radio after Ryan had gone to sleep in the bed beside hers. From Dust’s response, she had to assume there’d been something about her pack on the news.

Fina glanced over at Ryan once more, scented the air yet again then got onto the escalator that would take her up to the professional offices rimming the second story of the mall.

On being shown in, she sat down nervously in a leather chair across from the lawyer’s desk. She set her purse down by her feet. Kevin Dust was pushing forty, pudgy and bald with only a rim of dark hair around the back of his head. His eyes were a dull, dishwater gray but once you looked past the uninspired color you could see the man’s intelligence looking back at you.

Fina lifted her chin up. “My name is Fina Whitesage.” She didn’t know if he’d remember her. He held out his hand and it shook only slightly in hers. For reasons Fina hadn’t been made privy to, her father had found it necessary some years back to tell his lawyer that he, his family and employees were werewolves. Whatever the reasons, Reg Whitesage had bought Kevin Dust’s silence with money and a healthy dose of fear. That fear had diminished over the years as Kevin Dust and his family had been invited to pack get-togethers like communal picnics and softball games. “My family is dead,” she said flatly and this time it was
her
hand that shook as she pulled out the copy of her father’s will from her handbag.

Kevin Dust just nodded. “I know. You keep that. I have a copy. And I’m...I’m sorry for your loss.”

Fina looked out the window, over the parking lot and the roadways in the distance, trying hard not to cry. She turned back to him. “I don’t know if you know what happened, Mr. Dust, but my pack was killed by rogue werewolves. They’re dangerous and operate outside of normal pack laws but the fact of it is they now have control of my pack’s land.” Fina inhaled sharply. “There’s nothing that can be done about that...but that doesn’t entitle them to my pack’s assets.” She pulled out the investment statements and bank account information she’d taken from her father’s safe. “They won’t get their hands on them if I have anything to say about it. The terms of my father’s will put every cent of my pack’s money in my hands...now that I’m the only surviving member.” It was true that Ryan Upton was still alive but he was a minor and Fina’s instincts told her to keep the child hidden and safe at all costs. “I need to have my father’s will probated as soon as possible so I can start hiding the money where they can’t touch it.”

Kevin Dust exhaled slowly and laced his short, chunky fingers together. “It’s usual to wait until after the funeral, Miss Whitesage.”

“I don’t think there’ll be much to bury...if anything,” Fina whispered and shuddered before forcing her head back on track. “How much time do you need?” she asked bluntly, cutting to the chase.

“Two days,” he answered after a moment’s thought.

Fina stood. “I’ll be back then.”

Chapter Two

“Higher, Fina!” Ryan yelled out as he pumped his legs forward and forced the swing to move faster.

“Here it comes,” Fina warned him with a laugh and pushed the swing harder. She laughed again when Ryan shrieked with joy. There were some moments like this—when Ryan’s exuberance surfaced and Fina’s rose to meet his. There were some moments when they emerged from their pain, anger, loneliness and vapidness...some but not many.

They’d been on the road over two weeks now, moving in random patterns and sometimes circling back for a day or two...but always, gradually, moving further and further west. Something about that direction still pulled at Fina and she’d stopped wondering why.

“Let’s find a motel early today, Fina,” Ryan begged after he’d tired of the swing. It was just before noon and they’d pulled into a rustic, roadside café to eat. It had a big parking lot—even though it was on a road made almost redundant by a nearby interstate—shaded picnic tables and a large, children’s play area. Ryan wove his hands into Fina’s, held on tight and let her lift him and flip him in a complete circle until he landed back on his feet with his arms stretched taut behind him. He leaned forward and squealed happily, trusting his weight to Fina’s slender arms before hopping, letting go and standing up.

He ran toward the café entrance and the promise of lunch. Fina raced after him, grabbed him, swung him into the air and when his striped t-shirt lifted up, blew a raspberry kiss into his exposed belly. Ryan giggled wildly and pushed her head away. By now they were both sweating a little and they ran into the restaurant’s air-conditioned foyer.

“Let’s find one with a pool again and can we stay two nights can we please, please, Fina?” Ryan pleaded.

Grinning, Fina opened her mouth to say yes then stood up very straight. The air in the café was full of the delicious smells of fried chicken and baking but beneath that was the unmistakable smell of wolf. Her hand shot out, reaching for Ryan and she started backing up toward the door. They’d traveled through a few communities with werewolf populations. It would have been almost impossible not to. They hadn’t stopped in any of them and she always made sure the gas tank never got below half full so they wouldn’t be forced to stop anywhere she wasn’t comfortable. During the past two weeks, Fina’s ability to think rationally had improved from the near catatonia she’d experienced immediately following the death of her pack. She’d rationalized that, as a female about to enter her prime breeding years, she wasn’t likely to be chased off by another pack. Maybe she’d even be invited to join. She couldn’t be absolutely certain of Ryan’s welcome. Even though he was a child, he was male. Packs usually didn’t accept outside males.

The door behind her swung open and a man walked in. He was big—huge—stood at least six-two and had a chest wide enough to qualify for two zip codes with shoulders to match. The flat stomach and lean hips that sat above and below his thick gun belt told Fina that every impressive inch of him was solid muscle, not flab. He looked to be in his late twenties, wore a dark police uniform and scented like a werewolf with a streak of badass that went bone deep.

Fina caught a whiff of urine and one look told her that Ryan was staring up at the man in terror, pushing flat against the wall like he was trying to back right through it to get outside. A dark stain spread across the front of his shorts and a thin stream of urine was sliding down his leg and puddling around his sneaker.

“Oh poor poppet.”

Fina’s head spun around to a fifty-something woman walking into the foyer from the café. She was dressed in an unflattering and rather silly looking alpine-style dress with an apron tied around her generous waist. She clucked her tongue gently, looked down at Ryan with gentle eyes and held out a slightly wrinkled, pudgy hand to him.

“Don’t worry about a thing, little honey,” the woman cooed gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Fina’s wolf jumped to the fore when the woman stepped between her and Ryan. The wolf in her shoved the woman back and made a grab for Ryan, ready to bowl right through the big cop if she had to get the child outside and safe.

*

Sheriff Cutler Powell stared at the slender, auburn-headed mad woman standing in the foyer of the best—and only—café on his pack’s land. She was small, maybe five-four, and had satiny skin turned a pale gold from the sun. The spray of freckles across her pert little nose made his cock twitch...she was just that pretty. The scent coming off her made him harden instantly. It was like breathing in pure lust and there was nothing pure about his reaction to it. The wolf inside him raised its head and in a low, satisfied rumble, spoke one word.

Mine.

Only little miss pure lust was currently assaulting a senior, respected, female member of his pack. With a smooth, controlled movement, he stepped forward, put his hands on the most enthralling woman he’d ever come across and lifted her. The kid came up with her, hauled upward by her hold on his arm. She let go and the kid dropped back down onto his feet and started shaking all over. Holding her beneath her arms, Sheriff Powell pinned her back against the wall with her nose level with his. He had to bite down on his tongue before he did something stupid like shove it into her mouth then ask if she had any plans for the rest of her life.

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Cutler was pretty sure the flailing banshee in his hands wasn’t the kid’s mother. She probably wasn’t even related to him. But their scents told him they were from the same pack and he could see from the way she’d reacted to Dorothea stepping between her and the child that she cared for him as if he were her own pup.

“No one in my pack would ever harm a child.” Cutler spoke quietly and clearly. The woman stopped slamming her fists into his chest. She hung between his hands, the fire and rage draining out of her blue eyes. She looked at him warily. She was young, although her eyes looked older than her face, and she couldn’t be more than twenty. He breathed in her scent again, wanting a full picture of her health, strength and status. The information he picked up was all contradictory. She was strong yet she wasn’t. She smelled of youth yet there was a smell to her that was either age, pain or fear. She was unmated yet there was no innocence left in her. But by then, Cutler was sporting a raging hard-on and decided the prudent thing to do would be to put her down before the wolf inside him took over and dragged her out back for a quick fuck—then another—and probably one more after that.

*

Despite Ryan’s instinctive terror and her own blind, maternal rage, Fina believed the big policeman. Maybe it was the uniform? When he stepped back and set her on her feet, Ryan rushed forward, wrapped his slight body around her leg and trembled.

Cutler noticed Dorothea Pike adjusting her waitress uniform. She cleared her throat quietly. “The washrooms are back here,” Dorothea said, “I’ll give you a hand with some washcloths if you’d like.” She made the offer politely despite her obviously jangled nerves. Cutler saw Dorothea’s hand flex and knew she was resisting the urge to rub the middle of her chest where the much younger, much stronger woman had straight-armed her after she’d made the mistake of stepping between a mother and her frightened pup. If their positions were reversed and Dorothea had found herself in the middle of a strange pack, she’d probably have done the same thing. “Do you have a change of clothes for him?” Dorothea asked quietly.

Fina looked at the pudgy gray-haired waitress with the gentle, blue eyes. She’d never felt so guilty in her life but she also knew she didn’t dare apologize. In werewolf packs, the strong ruled so she held back the ingrained and heartfelt apology sitting on her tongue. It was far better to appear arrogant than weak...especially when she and Ryan were alone and defenseless.

“Yes,” Fina replied evenly. She fished her keys out of her pocket with one hand and reached for Ryan’s hand with the other. “I’ll go get them.”

The huge cop had tugged the keys out of her hand even before she realized he was pulling on them. “Allow me, Miss...?”

Sheriff Powell gave the spitfire his best friendly-guy smile. She and the boy were werewolves. Natural born too from the smell of them, probably from somewhere back east. His instincts told him the minute he let her walk out the door, she’d simply drive off and never come back. He just couldn’t let something that smelled like forever get away. Even if her scent did confuse the hell out of him.

“Whitesage,” Fina replied without thinking. She was in for it now. But they were in Wyoming. News of a murder-suicide in a tiny community in Eastfield, Tennessee, and the ensuing emotional distress that had sent seven local families off on extended vacations hadn’t made it farther west than the Central Plains. At least the police officer didn’t react when he heard her name. His smile just widened and he touched the brim of his big, straw hat.

“Miss Whitesage,” Cutler murmured politely and turned back to the door.

“It’s the—“

“One with the out-of-state plates? Just a hunch,” Cutler added with a grin when her brow furrowed. “If it isn’t an intrusion, I’d be honored to buy you and your young man lunch.”

It was phrased as a request but Fina knew it wasn’t. She and Ryan would be joining him for lunch whether she wanted to or not. Nodding resignedly, Fina picked up Ryan and followed the waitress into the café.

*

“So what brings a beautiful woman from Tennessee all the way out here?” Cutler asked conversationally. He speared a forkful of fried chicken into his mouth. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the woman—Fina Whitesage—was pushing her food around her plate but not actually eating much of it. The boy on the other hand seemed to have a good appetite.

“Fina’s my sister,” Ryan said and Cutler could tell right away from the cadence of the kid’s speech that the story was memorized and rehearsed. “We’re going west for our cousin’s wedding. I’m the r-ring bearer.”

“Is that so.” Cutler nodded slowly. He took a sip of his iced tea and watched the two of them. A quick search of the woman’s vehicle hadn’t told him much. There were two new suitcases inside. One was black, plain and clearly belonged to an adult. The other was a garish blue, smaller and turned out to be the kid’s. A map, a laptop case and a cooler with juice, water and some fruit were the only other things he’d found. On the surface nothing seemed amiss but he didn’t rise to the office of sheriff—or get to be his pack’s Alpha—by accepting everything at face value.

By then, Ryan had cleaned off his plate, drank his milk and pulled out an electronic gizmo from his backpack. Cutler caught the eye of one of his pack members seated nearby, one who had a child about Ryan’s age sitting with him. At his parents’ prompting, the boy left their table, walked up to theirs and stood beside Ryan’s chair.