Lone Wolf(9)

Spike stood two feet away from Ellison, his son on his shoulders, the little boy holding on to his dad’s head. Ellison hadn’t heard or sensed either of them. Spike was a tracker, one of the best—good at stealth. But Ellison should have scented and sensed the cub, a four-year-old called Jordan.

“Hey, Jordan,” Ellison said, trying to force himself to relax. “Taking your dad out for a walk?”

Jordan laughed. “Yeah. It’s fun.” Spike hadn’t known about the kid until last fall, and now the two shared a bond that was like cement.

“Watch Broderick,” Spike said. “He’s going to try to make the mate-claim and your Challenge stick.”

“Damn, word travels fast.”

“Broderick went back to the bar and started pissing and moaning to Liam. Ronan got worried about Maria and called me, asking me to check on her. So here I am, checking on her. But I guess you got it covered.”

He started to turn away, Spike finished.

“If the Challenge goes down, want to be my second?” Ellison asked him.

Spike called his answer over his shoulder. “Do you have to ask?” Jordan laughed and waved, and the pair of them faded into the darkness.

Ellison walked up to his front porch. From the quiet inside, everyone had gone to bed—he could hear his nephews snoring in the bedroom they shared, and the quieter breathing of Deni.

Broderick was going to be a problem. Ellison had no worries about kicking his ass, but Maria’s fear had been sharp. Getting past that would be more difficult.

Ellison didn’t trust Broderick not to try to climb up on Sean’s porch and steal Maria out of her bedroom. Broderick would never consider doing that with a Shifter woman—not these days—but humans were regarded as weak, and Maria had already been the victim of a Shifter abduction. Broderick would figure that meant he could do what he wanted with her, and unfortunately, so might other Shifters.

Ellison sat down on one of the chairs on the porch, the chair’s wood creaking. He put his feet up on the rail and leaned back, hands behind his head, to watch the square of light that was Maria’s window.

The window went dark, Maria seeking her bed. She’d be all cuddled up under the sheets, alone, not wearing much of anything. She’d smell of sweet sleep, damp skin, desire.

Ellison let out a sharp breath. If he kept his thoughts in that line, he’d be climbing up on the roof himself to steal her away. He was as bad as Broderick, and he knew it.

Ellison settled back in the chair, gaze fixed firmly on the dark window. Good thing wolves liked to stay up all night.

***

Maria opened her eyes in the dark. She smelled them around her, the women, both human and Shifter, who’d been sequestered by the ferals. With them the scents of the kids—scared, defiant, exhausted. Maria didn’t need to be Shifter to understand what fear and defeat smelled like.

How own child lay in her arms. She could feel him, the weight of the little body, the warmth, the beauty of him.

But he’d been born too weak. Maria had begged Luis then Miguel to take her and him to a hospital, to a doctor at least, and Miguel wouldn’t. Hours later, her son was dead.

The child in her arms disappeared leaving Maria bereft, empty, grieving. She lay on the cold floor, her sobs coming, dry and broken. A hand touched her hair, the soft brush of a woman called Peigi, trying to comfort her.

There was no comfort. Maria had lost everything—family, her child, herself. She lay in the cold darkness, alone, empty. She’d never see daylight again, never feel warmth, never feel whole. She’d been broken, part of herself taken away.

In the middle of the grief came a hated voice. Peigi’s gentle touch vanished, to be replaced by a fierce grip in her hair, pulling her up.

“You’re trying again,” the voice said in rough Spanish. Maria had never known where Miguel had been born and raised, but he spoke several languages, fluently if not elegantly. “We need cubs that live.”

Maria screamed. The scream rang through the huge basement, coming back to her in waves. The kids started to cry, the women to keen.

Miguel pulled her up, and up, and up . . . and Maria was sitting in her bed in Shiftertown, her heart thudding, her breath coming in dry hiccups. She put her hand to her face and found it wet with tears.

Air, she needed air. The little room was stuffy, the nights warming now.

Maria scrambled out of bed, her legs shaking, and stumbled to the window. She cranked up the blind and opened the casement as quietly as possible.

Something moved on the porch across the street. Maria froze, ducking into the shadows of her bedroom before she worked up the courage to peer out again.

She saw a pair of cowboy boots propped up on the porch railing, and long legs going back into shadow. Maria’s body relaxed, her racing heart slowing.