Massaging his mate’s nape, Cam asked, “Do you think she’ll bring someone along?”
Ryan leaned back in his seat. “In her position, I would. To her we’re strangers. Shifters too. The fact that we were once all part of the same pack probably won’t make her any less wary.”
Lydia nodded. “If she doesn’t remember me, she probably won’t remember any of you.”
“I don’t know about that,” joked Trick, rolling his shoulders. “I’m pretty memorable.”
Lydia snorted. “I can’t even deny that.” After a moment the amusement faded from her eyes. “She’s not coming, is she? Damn, I should have just left well enough alone.”
“She’ll come,” said Trick.
Cam tilted his head. “You sound real sure of that, but I’ll be surprised if she does. Maybe it’s best if she doesn’t, considering it’s pretty likely that she’ll be a snob. Her grandparents are serious snobs.”
“Caroline wasn’t,” Lydia pointed out. “She was a total sweetheart. Fragile, though. And very pliant and eager to please. Caroline’s parents have very strong personalities and insisted on compliance.”
Ryan straightened in his seat, eyes on the view outside. “What are those little bastards doing?”
Following his gaze, Trick noticed a group of teenagers checking out their SUV. Admiring the new model, or gearing themselves up to plant a GPS tracker? Whoever had planted the trackers originally might want to replace the ones that had been removed.
“I’ll deal with it.” Trick chugged the last of his coffee and strode out of the coffeehouse. He didn’t speak to the boys. Just stood near the hood of the SUV, arms crossed.
One of them spotted him and froze. That got the attention of the others, and they all looked at Trick.
He gave them a toothy smile. “There a reason why you’re hanging around my vehicle?”
The tallest lifted his chin, belligerent. “We didn’t do anything. We were just looking.”
“Now you’re finished looking. Move on.”
Muttering harsh, derisive words under their breath, they swaggered away. Trick kept his eyes on them . . . right until a silver Audi whipped into the space beside the SUV. A female slid out, and Trick stilled. He knew instantly that it was Francesca—she just looked so much like her mother. Cute with her big eyes, round face, flawless skin, spiral curls, and the sprinkle of freckles across her nose.
He raked his gaze over her. Designer clothes. Healthy skin. Good posture. Aura of confidence. It wasn’t hard to tell that she’d grown up in a family that had a housekeeper, skied once a year, ate at Michelin-starred restaurants, and sent its kids to private schools.
He’d bet she’d also strained against whatever confines that lifestyle put on her, because the signs of a rebel were all there—rose-gold hair dye, smoky-eye look, dream catcher tattoo on her upper arm, and multiple ear piercings. He liked the piercings; the tiny diamond studs dotted the outer edges of her ear. He wondered if she had them anywhere else.
As a kid she’d always looked so delicate. Not now, though. Cute and sweet, yeah, but not fragile. She was slender, but she had soft curves and an incredible rack that made his palms itch. There was a fierceness about her that would have caught his wolf’s interest if the animal’s focus hadn’t already been locked on her like a laser beam.
Her Persian-blue gaze met Trick’s, and his surroundings just seemed to fade away until there was only her. Something inside him roared to life, and a strange possessiveness began to viciously claw at his gut and tighten his chest. It was as primal and basic as the need that twisted his stomach. His cock twitched, thickened, hardened—until he was full and aching like a bitch. The word “mine” pounded around his skull over and over. And that could only mean one thing.
There you are, Trick thought with an inner smile.
His wolf froze the way a predator would as he eyed his prey, watching it closely, looking for weaknesses, raring to pounce. Raring to claim what was rightfully his.
Her gaze held Trick’s with a boldness that surprised him, considering she was truly the most harmless-looking thing he’d ever seen in his life. Trick was highly dominant, but she didn’t cower from his scrutiny. No, she returned his stare. Pride flared inside him and his wolf. Their mate was strong. A match for them.
Trick saw a raw need in her eyes, knew she’d felt the same powerful snap of elemental attraction, but he didn’t think she knew what it meant. Not yet. Especially since he wasn’t feeling the tug of the mating bond. No, something on her end was jamming the frequency.
Her head slanted, making her long, glossy curls slide over her shoulder. One brow imperiously arched. “Do I have something stuck between my teeth?” she asked drily.
Not quite as sweet as she looked, apparently. But that wasn’t why he blinked in surprise. He just would never have suspected a voice like that could belong to someone who looked so innocent. It was . . . He didn’t really know how to describe it. Smoky. Raspy. Gritty. Like she’d spent a night doing nothing but smoking cigars, chugging whiskey, and screaming in ecstasy. His cock jerked. Yeah, that voice packed a hell of a punch.
Trick gave her a lazy smile, like she hadn’t just turned his world upside down and changed everything for him. “Actually, there does seem to be a little something wedged between your two front teeth.”
“I’m saving it for later.”
His smile widened at the wry response. “Been a long time, Francesca.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”
“You did, once upon a time.” Trick inhaled, taking her scent inside him. He inwardly groaned. She smelled like mango, lime, and lemon fucking sherbet. When they were kids, he’d found it comforting. Now there was a “zest” to her scent that hadn’t been there before—the zest of a fully mature female. A low rumble of arousal trickled out of his pacing wolf, who wanted to surface and claim what belonged to him.
Trick was in no better state. All he himself could think of doing was pinning her to the nearest wall and driving deep inside her. He didn’t just want to fuck her, he wanted to completely possess her. Wanted to keep and protect her.
Oh yeah, she was his all right. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind.
She pointed a finger at him. “Wait . . . you’re the guy on that video who saved a human girl from being mugged, right?”
His mouth flattened. “I’m Trick Hardy, one of Lydia’s pack mates.” And your true mate, but we’ll get to that later. “You and I used to play together as kids.”
“Huh.” No, Frankie didn’t remember him. His scent did prick at her memories, though. Black pepper, charred pinewood, and smoky leather. It was . . . reassuring, somehow. It was also making her nipples tingle—well, that was new. Her wolf stirred, intrigued by the rich scent and the darkly dominant air about him. The animal recognized his scent, thought of him as “pack.”
Frankie took a good long look at him. He was, in a word, ripped. Not in a “someone obviously loves steroids” way where he’d have to turn sideways just to fit through a door—Frankie didn’t go for that look. No, Trick Hardy was perfectly toned and spilled a raw animal energy. All that roped muscle, sleek skin, and the dips and lines of the six-pack beneath his shirt . . . Yeah, God was a seriously creative being.
Trick’s dark-ringed mocha-brown eyes were as sharp as they were warm. His short hair was the color of deep-brown leather, but it wasn’t so short that a girl couldn’t get a firm grip on it. The angles of his face were hard and rough, and they gave him a dangerous look that was accentuated by the claw marks that scarred one side of his face. The black, tribal, warriorlike tattoo sleeve on his left arm only added to his badass image.
Basically he was a broad-shouldered tower of supreme masculinity that a girl could very happily feast on.
He was also a little unnerving. Not much ruffled Frankie, but something about the way he looked at her . . . it flustered her. Put her on edge. There was a determination there she didn’t understand. A need that was fierce and wild and
called to something inside her. Something that made her blood heat, her breasts ache, and her clit tingle.
What the fuck was that all about?
Frankie didn’t ever have such elemental reactions to guys. Hell, it usually took a little foreplay to wrench those kinds of responses from her body. But just the sight and scent of this male had her system almost . . . readying itself for him. It had to be a shifter thing—like calling to like or something. Hopefully he wasn’t much of a talker, because his lazy drawl played across her nerve endings, and that would not help cool her blood at all.
Frankie flicked a glance at the coffeehouse. “I take it Lydia’s inside?”
“She is.” He opened the door and gestured for her to enter first.
With a nod of thanks, Frankie did so. It was a busy place; most of the bistro tables were taken, and there was a hell of a queue. A hand landed on her back, and she almost jumped. Then Trick’s mouth was at her ear.
“Lydia’s waiting in the corner, near the window.” Keeping his hand on her back, Trick led her to the table. The scents of coffee, spices, and baked goods didn’t override Francesca’s tantalizing scent—it was like it had embedded itself in his lungs. His wolf wanted to roll around in it like a pup and wear it on his fur.
As they approached, Lydia rose and rubbed her palms on her thighs. Her smile was small but genuine. “Francesca, hi. I’m Lydia. This is my mate, Cam. And these are two of our pack mates, Ryan and Trick.”
Frankie gave a short nod of greeting, feeling awkward and a little dubious. Not because she was intimidated, though Trick and Ryan sure had that dauntless air going on. Lydia and the baby-faced Cam weren’t in the least bit threatening, but the way they looked at her with such familiarity . . . Yeah, it was just awkward.
“Please sit down,” invited Lydia.
Trick pulled out a chair for Francesca, and, flicking him a quick glance, she took it. He sank into the chair beside hers. When he’d first arrived, his concern had been for Lydia. He’d been prepared to step in if Francesca decided to dish out any attitude. Now Francesca’s feelings were his primary concern. His protective streak was a live wire around her, and his pack mates now took a back seat. Funny how one little person could shift his priorities so quickly.
The situation shouldn’t have felt strange for him, but it did. He’d been so ready and eager to find his true mate that he’d always figured he’d take it in his stride—that he’d just accept she was his and act on it. But Trick found himself . . . off balance. A little staggered. Like he’d been hit by a two-by-four. His mate was right there in front of him, close enough to touch. The moment seemed surreal.
“You want coffee or anything?” Trick asked her, but she gave a quick shake of her head without even looking his way. Trick’s wolf growled, wanting her attention.
Lydia smiled. “You look really good, Francesca.”
“Frankie,” she offered.
“Your dad used to call you Frankie.” Lydia winced, as if thinking it wasn’t such a great idea to mention him.
Uncomfortable with the affection lighting Lydia’s eyes, Frankie decided to be straight with her. “I don’t remember you.”
Lydia’s smile shrank a little. “I didn’t think you would.”
Frankie skimmed her eyes over each of them as she said, “I don’t remember any of you. Your scents are a little familiar, but that’s all.”
Just like that, Lydia’s smile was back. “That’s more than I’d hoped for.” She licked her lower lip. “I got the impression from your e-mail that you didn’t know about me.”
“I didn’t know about any of you. I was told that my father was a lone shifter and that I’d never met anyone from his pack, that they didn’t wish to know him or me.”
Trick ground his teeth against the urge to curse. The idea that she’d grown up believing none of them wanted her pissed him the fuck off. His wolf pushed closer to Trick’s skin, wanting to be near her, urging Trick to reach out and touch her. Trick didn’t move, but he kept his gaze on her. He couldn’t not look at her.
“I can see why your grandparents would rather you believed something like that,” said Lydia, though it was clear that she wasn’t at all happy about it. “Well, Christopher was no lone shifter. We all once belonged to the Bjorn Pack. It later split, and a bunch of us left to form the Phoenix Pack.”
Well, that answered the question of which pack Lydia belonged to, Frankie thought. She decided not to mention that she’d done some research. She also decided to ignore that Trick was staring at her, his gaze focused and unblinking like that of a predator.
“He met your mother at a karaoke bar,” Lydia continued. “She was with some friends. He said he fell hard at just the sound of her voice. They didn’t realize they were true mates straightaway. I have lots of pictures of them together, but I didn’t bring them with me—I didn’t want to overwhelm you. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to come. I was just hoping like crazy that you would.”
“Why the sudden interest in me?” Frankie asked. “I can understand why your mother would want to say her goodbyes before she passes, but I don’t get why you yourself seem so interested. You’ve been out of my life for a very long time.”
“Not by choice,” Lydia firmly stated. “We tried to have contact with you. Tried long and hard. Your grandparents wanted us out of your life, and they made it happen.”
Frankie wished she could deny that they’d do such a thing, but of course they would have done it. She’d seen how much they hated Christopher, and they weren’t the type of people who compromised. “You could have come to me when I was old enough to decide for myself if I wanted to see you.”
“I was worried that you’d hate us the way your grandparents do. It was more comfortable to not know. But my father, Alfie, died of a heart attack recently—it was very sudden. My mother, Iris, has been deteriorating ever since. Mates usually don’t survive long without the other. She wants to see you just once. Of course, she’d love more, love to know you, but she doesn’t expect anything of you.”
“Why did he kill my mother?”
Lydia swallowed. “I don’t know. Christopher adored Caroline. He really did. What happened shocked everyone.”
“Was he on drugs?”
“Drugs? No. But a human reporter started that rumor. Another claimed he had to have been mentally ill. Both were wrong. Christopher wasn’t suicidal either.” Lydia sighed. “I really wish I could tell you why he did it, but I just don’t know. The only person who was there that night was you, but you weren’t what anyone could really consider a witness.”
“But you wanted me to say something that would vindicate him.” Frankie’s tone dared her to deny it, and Lydia looked . . . hurt.
“No one ever tried to brainwash you into believing or disbelieving anything. Our main concern was you—you were traumatized, you needed help and family.”
“And yet none of you were there.”
“We would have been if it were possible.”
Knowing it was unreasonable to snap at Lydia for something that was beyond her control, Frankie sighed. “I’m not mad at you for not being around.” Just disappointed and a little hurt. “And I don’t blame you for what your brother did. Maybe that’s because I haven’t quite digested it yet. But I just found out yesterday that much of what I grew up believing was a lie. I wouldn’t have thought my grandparents and uncle would lie to me like that, but they did. So I’m real wary on what and who I can believe right now.”
Lydia slowly nodded. “Understandable. We’ll probably never know what happened that night. But if you want to learn about your father, about the other half of your family and your pack mates, you have that chance now. I’m not going to put you on the spot and ask you to make that decision here and now. That wouldn’t be fair.”
Lydia pulled a pen out of her purse and scribbled on a napkin. She then slid it across the table. “Here’s my number. If you can find it in you to come, just call and we can arrange something.” With
what looked like extreme reluctance, Lydia rose. “Bye, Frankie. I really hope you call.”
On guard, Ryan took the lead as he, Lydia, and Cam crossed to the door. Trick lingered and twisted slightly in his seat to face Frankie as he asked, “You all right?”
Frankie sighed, resting her elbows on the table. “Fine.”
Bullshit. Trick guessed she was probably feeling let down by both sides of her family—one side for deceiving her, and the other side for not being around. Helpless against the need to comfort her, Trick rested a hand on her nape and gave it a little squeeze. “You have every right to be mad at the pack—don’t say you’re not, of course you are. We should have been there for you every step of the way. We weren’t. But we’re here now. We want to know you. You’re ours.”
She frowned at the possessive statement, though a part of her liked the sense of belonging that it brought her. A part of her also liked the proprietary edge to his touch. Nonetheless, Frankie shifted in her seat, making his hand fall away. “I was born into the Bjorn Pack, not the Phoenix Pack.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s not like you supported Trey’s banishment—you weren’t even there. I get that you love your maternal family and you don’t want to hurt them by getting to know us. But they’ve had you to themselves for the last twenty-four years. Can’t we at least have a day of your life? Would that be so bad? None of us want you to turn your back on the Newmans. This is about you, not them.”
Trick grabbed the napkin on which Lydia had written her number and pushed it into Frankie’s hand. “Call her when you’re ready.”
The very last thing Trick wanted to do was leave Frankie. No, he wanted to do exactly as he’d always envisioned he’d do on finding his true mate—declare she was his, take her home, and claim her as his own. But with Frankie he needed to tread carefully.
Right then she was far from open to him. Announcing that she was his true mate would overwhelm and scare her off. In fact, it was unlikely that she’d believe him anyway; she’d probably think that he was simply playing her in the hope that it would lure her to the pack.