Seeing dead people wasn’t that bad by comparison. And until tonight, the dead hadn’t contacted me long range. I’d only seen them close to their bodies. Well, mostly, I thought, shivering as I remembered the lingering, insubstantial wisps in Starr’s bloody arena.
Not that I was entirely sure I was hearing the dead now, but it just seemed odd I couldn’t see or smell anyone else. My senses were wolf-sharp. If someone had been close, I would have known.
I padded along the white sand until I reached the peninsula rocks. The wind here was sharper, the sea rougher, slapping across those rocks and sending white foam flicking skyward. The tide was up, so I’d be getting wet if the voice wanted me to clamber around to the next cove.
I stopped and scanned the horizon. This section of the main island was closest to Lighthouse Island, the larger of the two small islands that sat within swimming distance of Monitor. It housed the Monitor Island Research Center, a joint government and private concern that was investigating the sea life and the reefs. I’d done the tour last week, and had been bored to tears. Sure, reefs were pretty. So were the myriad of fish that lived amongst them. And we surely had to know why they were all disappearing. But hey, I just couldn’t get all worked up about the science. Wolves are hunters by nature, not conservationists. We usually haven’t the patience for occupations that involve long hours of inactivity.
Awareness tingled across my skin, as sharp as needle stings. Whoever the voice belonged to, he was close.
“Riley, turn around.”
For the first time, memories stirred. I’d known that voice in the past. I turned and studied the trees.
A man stood amongst them. Though at first glance he appeared solid, a more careful study revealed an almost gossamer look to his hands and feet. As if, by the time he got to his extremities, he didn’t have the strength to maintain the illusion of substance.
He was a tall man, rangy in build, with strong arms and blunt features. Not attractive, not ugly, but somewhere in between. But even if he’d been the ugliest spud on the planet, it wouldn’t have mattered, because the sense of authority and power that shone from his gray eyes was all that would ever matter to a wolf.
And this wolf wanted to hunker down before it.
But I wasn’t just wolf, and the other half of my soul bared its teeth and got ready for a fight. I locked my knees and skimmed my gaze up to his hair. Thick and red. Definitely red pack. Definitely my red pack. But who?
As I dropped my gaze to his, recognition stirred again. I knew those eyes, knew the cold superiority behind them. But I’d be damned if I could dredge up a name.
“Why are you calling me?”
Though the question was soft, my voice seemed to echo across the silent night. A tremor ran down my spine, and I wasn’t sure whether it was due to the chill wind hitting my bare arms and legs or the sudden sense of trepidation creeping through my soul.
Amusement sparked briefly in the translucent gray depths. “You do not remember me?”
“Should I have any reason to remember you?”
This time, the amusement reached his thin lips. “I would think you’d remember the wolf who threw you off a mountainside.”
Shock rolled through me. Oh my God…
Blake.My grandfather’s second-in-command, and the wolf who would have killed both Rhoan and me if he could. The wolf who almost had when he’d thrown me off that cliff. Ostensibly to teach Rhoan a lesson about never back-talking the pack second.
Hate followed the shock, swirling thick and sharp. I clenched my fists, and found myself fighting the sudden urge to punch the cold amusement from his lips. But he wasn’t here, he wasn’t real, and I’d only look like a fool. So I simply said, voice low and venomous, “What right have you got to call me?”
“My right is pack-given.”
“The Jenson pack ceded its rights over me and Rhoan when they kicked us out.”
“Pack rights are never surrendered, no matter what the situation. Once a pack member, always a pack member.”
“You threatened to kill us if you ever saw us again.”
“A statement that still stands.”
“So why the hell are you contacting me? Fuck off and leave me alone. Trust me, I want as little to do with you as you with me.”
I turned on my heel and began to walk back down the beach. Part of me might have been curious as to why he was contacting me, but curiosity didn’t have a hope against old anger and hurt. None of which I wanted to relive in any way.
“You will listen to what I have to say, Riley.”
“Fuck off,” I said, without looking at him. Even as my wolf cowered deep within at my audacity.
“You will stop and listen, young wolf.”
His voice was sharp and powerful, seeming to echo through the trees. I stopped. I couldn’t help it. My very DNA was patterned with the need to obey my alpha. It would take a great deal of strength to disobey and, right now, it seemed I had none.
Even so, I didn’t turn around. Didn’t look at him. “Why the hell should I listen?”
“Because I demand it.”
I snorted softly. “I was never one to listen to demands. You of all people should know that.”
“So very true. And it was one of the reasons you and your brother were ostracized.” Amusement laced his harsh tones. “Your grandfather feared one of you would challenge him.”
Surprise rippled through me and I swung around. He was still in the trees, still in the shadows. Maybe afraid that the wind from the beach would blow him away. “Why would my grandfather fear that? Neither Rhoan nor I was allowed the illusion we were anything more than an inconvenience to our mother and the pack. And inconveniences don’t rule.” Especially if they were female. Or gay.
“You have a long pattern of doing the unexpected, Riley.”
“Yeah, and I have the scars to prove the foolishness of that.”
He chuckled softly. “You never did learn your place.”
Oh, I learned it all right. I just didn’t always cower down like I was supposed to. I thrust my hands on my hips and said impatiently, “As much as I adore reliving old times, it’s fucking cold out. Tell me what you want, or piss off.”
He studied me for a minute, gray eyes abnormally bright in the darkness, his form waving slightly as the wind swirled through the trees.
“The pack needs your help.”
“My help?” My sudden, unbelieving laugh had a cold, ugly sound. “That has to be the joke of the century.”
“There is nothing amusing about the situation, believe me.”
“So why me? There have to be hundreds of other people you could ask.”
Which wasn’t an overstatement. The Jenson pack might be one of the smaller red packs, and it might be the poorer cousin when it came to wealth and land status, but Jenson pack members were to be found in all avenues of government and throughout much of the legal system. I had no doubt those pack members could muster up something—someone—far more influential than me.
Unless, of course, the crisis was of a more personal nature. Despite everything, anxiety pulsed, and I added quickly, “Is Mother all right?”
Blake’s smile was thin. “Yes. She sends her love.”
Like hell she did. We were her firstborn and her love for us was unquestioned, but once we’d left the pack, contact ceased. Blake might have had pack approval to contact me, but I very much doubted she would have asked for any message to be delivered. She knew how we felt about him. She wouldn’t hurt us that way.
“You can’t sucker me with that sort of shit, Blake. Just get to the point.”
Amusement flared briefly in his eyes. “We have need of your guardian skills.”
Again, surprise rippled through me. “How would you know I was a guardian? And why would you bother keeping track of two outcast and useless pups?”
“We didn’t. It came to my attention during our investigations.”
“Investigations into what?”
He shifted his weight and his form wavered briefly, becoming as insubstantial as a ghost. Which he wasn’t, so how in the hell was he projecting himself?
“One of my granddaughters disappeared four days ago.”
He had granddaughters? Good Lord, that made me feel old. Though in wolf terms, I was still very much a youngster. “Which of your sons was careless enough to lose a daughter?”
It was a cruel thing to say, but I just couldn’t help myself. Blake and his sons had been the banes of our existence growing up—and the reason behind many of the scars Rhoan and I now bore. Of course, if I’d just shut my mouth and bowed down like I was supposed to, things might have been different.
Though I very much doubt it.
His gaze narrowed to thin slits of dangerous gray. “Adrienne is Patrin’s oldest.”
The image of a red wolf with black points came to mind, and my lip curled in response. Patrin was the youngest of Blake’s get—only a few years older than Rhoan and me. To say he delighted in following the family tradition of hassling the half-breeds would be the understatement of the century.
“How old is the daughter?”
“Twenty-three.”
Twenty-three? Meaning he’d been fifteen when he’d sired his first? Randy bastard. I bet Daddy had been so proud—especially given the pack’s inherent fertility problems.
“If she’s missing, contact the police. The Directorate doesn’t do missing.”
“You do if there appears to be a pattern to the disappearances. And three others have disappeared the same way as Adrienne, Riley.”I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the pulse of interest. I didn’t want to get involved with Blake or our pack, because it could only end badly—for me, if not for them. “Still no reason for the Directorate to get involved. There are special police units for such things. I’m sure you’ve got contacts that could give you special consideration.”