Haven

  “Well, you’re shit out of luck,” she said tugging her hand away and standing. “Because I’m not a genie granting wishes.”

  He stood, too. “No, you’re a wolf girl answering my questions because the chief of police threatened to kill me if I didn’t become a wolf boy or die trying. I’d rather not die for either reason. Knowledge is power. I’m into power. Talk.”

  “You don’t know anything about power.” She stomped to the door. “Or danger. Or the kind of evil you’re bringing down on your head.” She gestured in the direction of Ruby’s bedroom. “And your aunt’s head.”

  “The chief threatened to kill her, too.”

  She slumped against the doorframe. “Oh shit…”

  “Yeah. I’m deep in this. Way, way deep.”

  Twenty-Five

  Seated next to Rain on the foot of his bed, Freddie fiddled with the ends of her hair, twining strands between her fingers. He recalled how he’d been immediately drawn to her the moment he’d first seen her. How she’d seemed extraordinary and he’d recognized her feral nature from the start, even if he’d not known the extent of it. Somewhere, deep down, he believed her classmates recognized the difference too, based on the way they parted the hallway when she and her cousins walked through.

  “How come regular people don’t call out this magic and monster shit going on?”

  She shrugged and released her hair. “People only see what they want to see. A girl who’s aggressive and in charge isn’t an alpha wolf; she’s a rebellious troublemaker. A Weaver with the power of influence simply comes across as a good-looking, friendly, popular track star, because that’s what people are looking for.”

  The power of influence. That explained the warm fuzzies when Rain shook Grant’s hand.

  “A police chief is supposed to be authoritarian and into everyone’s business,” Freddie continued. “Nobody would ever suspect she’s the head of a Weaver coven and has the power of compulsion. Same with the mayor, city council members, school superintendent… Hell, even the head cafeteria lady at school. Humans see only what they expect.”

  Rain had known that all his life. People expected a big, rough-looking guy from the streets to be aggressive and violent, so that’s what they saw. His mom saw only disappointment when she looked at him. And after a while, he’d lived up to everyone’s expectations—or lived down to them. Hell, he’d started to believe it himself until he moved here.

  Freddie shifted to face him. “After what happened in Germany in the 1600s, the Weavers made sure the magic was safe. Rather than keep to themselves, like in the old days, they infiltrated and took over most local government positions where they lived, so that if the witch-hunt hysteria ever caught on again, they’d be in a position to put an end to it before it started.”

  He ran his finger under the chain on her neck and pulled it out of the collar of her shirt, rolling the small, glass bubble between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m still not clear on how you’re tied to Grant and his family.”

  As if following a protective impulse, she pulled the charm from his fingers and tucked it back inside her shirt. “It’s complicated. Weavers maintain the magic and are only really vulnerable as a coven four times a year, on the equinoxes and solstices, when they have to recast the spells that keep their territory safe from revenants and local humans who see past the facade.”

  He must have looked confused because she patted his knee.

  “Revenants are sort of like vampires, but not sexy in any way.” She shuddered. “They’re nasty, more like the zombie myth than Dracula legend.”

  Great. There were vampires, too.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “our pack circles the coven to keep them safe when they zone out during the spell-casting and are defenseless. We’re also on call if an emergency comes up and they need to get out, like they did back during the Wurzburg and Bamberg witch trials in the 1600s.” She turned to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “And that, class, is the end of today’s history lesson.” She swung her leg over him to straddle his lap and nipped his earlobe.

  With a groan, he wrapped his arms around her and she scraped her nails down his back, making him lose track of reality. Witches and magic and werewolves took a back seat to the desire that burned him up like flames whenever she touched him, and he wondered if she’d have that effect on everyone or if it was something unique to him. His stomach lurched. Had Gerald felt it too? Gently, he pulled back and met her eyes. “I need to know about Gerald.”

  “Gerald is a sad, sad story,” she said, shaking her head. “He moved here after he dropped out of college his sophomore year.”

  He was relieved she answered so easily. He tucked her hair behind her ear. “So he’s been here a long time.”

  She rolled her eyes as she untangled herself from his legs and moved to sit beside him. “No. He’s been here a little more than a year. He’s only twenty.”

  Holy shit. He looked at least forty, maybe older.

  “He moved into the apartments on First Street and took a job with Ericksen Hardware. As always, the Ericksens stuck their noses into my business and arranged a meeting.”

  His heart rate kicked up a notch. “Why would they pair you up like that?”

  “It’s not important.” She made to stand, but he placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her near.

  “It is to me,” he whispered, fighting back a wave of dread.

  For a moment, she studied him as if debating, brow furrowed. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I have to be secured to a mate by the time I’m twenty-one or power goes to the next in line.”

  “That’s seriously screwed up.”

  She barked a half-choked laugh. “Hey, I’m lucky. Until the 1800s, the Alpha had to be paired with a mate by the age of fourteen.” She shook her head. “Low life expectancy.”

  The whole thing was like something out of a fairy tale. One of those messed-up, scary ones. He couldn’t help but glance down at her full lips, wishing things were different—that they had nothing to fear but normal, everyday things, like bad grades and not making curfew. “So, was Gerald down with becoming a Watcher?”

  “I don’t think Gerald knew anything about what was going on when they gave him the wine the first time,” she said. “He was just a small-town hick with no immediate family. Perfect for this purpose.”

  Chills danced down his spine. “Perfect in what way?’

  “Being converted to a Watcher usually doesn’t end well for humans. Someone with no immediate family is perfect, because nobody asks questions when the person disappears or mysteriously dies in an ‘accident.’ The Weavers call them disposables.”

  Another reason he’d been selected. Only Ruby would know if he went missing, and obviously the chief considered her disposable as well.

  “He almost died when he drank the wine,” she said.

  “So did I.”

  “Nah. You fared much better.” She ran her finger from his sternum to his waistband.

  Her intimate touch caused irritation to flare, rather than lust.

  Her grin widened. “Now you want to know if I slept with him.”

  He didn’t answer. It couldn’t go in his favor no matter which way he responded.

  “Does it matter if I slept with him, Rain?”

  “Yes.” He regretted his answer immediately, but anything else would have been a lie. He wanted honesty from her. She deserved it from him.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Why?”

  This was a land mine. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had one shot to get this right. The truth was the best path, so he stuck with it. “Because I want to know if what happened between us was a choice you made or just a part of some sick plan. I don’t give a shit who you’ve been with. I’m only interested in what’s going on between you and me.”

  “Would you be jealous if I told you I did?”

  “I’d be disappointed. You’ve never expressed an attachment to the guy, and it would reduce wh
at happened between us in your cabin to a meaningless part of changing me into one of you.” He wasn’t being entirely honest. He wouldn’t be disappointed. He’d be devastated.

  Her brow furrowed as she studied his face. “I didn’t sleep with Gerald. I didn’t even kiss the guy.”

  The tightness in Rain’s chest relaxed and was replaced by a warm bloom of hope.

  “They converted him without my approval or knowledge. By the time I found out, Gerald had already spun off.” She folded her legs under her. “What happened between you and me wasn’t meaningless, Rain.” She turned his face to hers. “That’s why I don’t want you to do this. It’s too risky. I mean, look at Gerald. He’s twenty years old but will die in a year if he doesn’t stop shifting.”

  “I thought the charm you wear stops that.”

  “It does. He refuses to wear one.” She rose and crossed to his desk, picking up an arrowhead his aunt had given him last week. Ruby had told Rain it had belonged to his father… The cheating bastard. Focus.

  “We try to only shift when it’s free. Gerald is so addicted to the high of turning, he can’t stop.”

  “Free?” Rain had learned at a very early age that everything had a price. It made sense that magic did, too.

  “Yeah. The price we pay is lost time. If we shift within two days of the full moon—two before, the night of the full, and two after—we don’t age in our wolf skin. We call it The Five. If we are outside that window of The Five, we age in…” She rolled her eyes and put the arrowhead back down on his desk. “It sounds stupid, but we age in wolf years—which is worse than dog years. The average wolf in the wild lives only six to eight years. Thirteen if she’s really lucky. Shifting outside The Five is a huge price to pay. Every hour takes ten hours off your life span. Every day ages you ten days—sometimes more. The time loss is even more dramatic in converted humans. Sometimes three or four times faster. Gerald has aged thirty years in a little over one.”

  “He seems unhinged.”

  She trailed her fingers over his dresser. “That’s part of it. Staying in our wolf form too long can make us nuts. We’re humans made wolf, not the other way around.” She joined him again on the bed. “Gerald won’t wear the charm, and he won’t accept help. In fact, he’s disappeared again on one of his runabouts. If he doesn’t turn up for work on Monday, the pack is supposed to go and track him and bring him back to the Weavers. It’s too risky to have him out there where humans could discover him. He knows it but can’t help himself. Gerald is addicted to the feeling of being in his wolf skin.”

  “It feels good to be a wolf?” he asked.

  With an arch of an eyebrow, she smiled. “Yeah. It feels good. Really good.”

  “As good as our time together in your cabin?”

  “Not quite.” She grinned and flopped to her back, the mattress bouncing as she landed. He lay back next to her and neither of them spoke for a while. They just stared at the fan moving in slow circles on the ceiling, and Rain wondered what she was thinking about.

  “Poor Gerald,” he said. It was hard to believe a guy in his twenties looked so old.

  She sighed. “Yeah. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because the pack needs new blood and bringing in a loaner mate from Europe is super expensive, the Weavers will snatch up the first available disposable who comes along, hoping he’ll live through the process.” She stiffened, probably because she’d realized she’d made a clear reference to him being disposable. “I was never interested in Gerald. He wasn’t my type.”

  Rain would’ve killed to know what kind of guy was her type.

  “Since I’m the next Alpha, they have to bring in a strong match for me. Thomas has always thought he was my designated mate, but they want to find someone who’s not blood-related. He’s a third cousin. Kurt and Merrick are my first cousins, so they’re totally out. Everyone else in the pack is related, married, ancient, or a combination of the three.”

  He propped up on an elbow. “And you guys call humans livestock.”

  “Don’t be an asshole.”

  “I’m being honest. It’s a breeding program.”

  “It’s supposed to be a voluntary, informed breeding program. The Ericksens didn’t receive that memo, evidently. They never asked me if I wanted Gerald. I didn’t. Now, he’s going to die an old man at twenty-two because they forced him into something he didn’t understand and can’t control.”

  Well, that added a few dozen questions to Rain’s list. But right now, he wanted to get answers that would would help him figure out who wanted Freddie dead. He rose from the bed and reached under the mattress, pulling out the file Gerald had slipped him at the station and the envelope of photos from the boat shed. As long as they were being honest, he needed to go all in. “Who do you think killed your dad?”

  She clearly hadn’t expected that question, because her eyes widened and her mouth pulled tight into a thin line as she sat up. After a moment, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

  Rain couldn’t imagine how much it must hurt to lose someone like that. Someone you trusted and depended on. Someone who loved you back. Her pain was written all over her body as she seemed to draw in on herself like she had in the vineyard that first time he picked her up on the motorbike.

  “I promised I’d help you find his killer. I never break a promise,” he said.

  “That’s the file you told me about. The one Gerald gave you.”

  “Yes. And also absolute proof your dad was murdered, despite what the police told you.”

  Her eyes dashed to the file and envelope. “What is it?”

  “First, I want to know why you don’t think it’s an accident.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. “Dad couldn’t have been in a harvester accident. We weren’t harvesting at the time. Also, we don’t own the machinery. We pay for the service. And I would know; I’m the one who arranges for harvester rentals. It was an out-and-out lie, and it was like they wanted me to know as a warning or something but needed a story for the humans in the area. They wanted me scared.”

  “Who do you think killed him?”

  “At first, I thought it was my uncle Ulrich because he had the most to gain from Dad’s death. Then, he pushed the Weavers to keep me on as Alpha presumptive. Now, I don’t know what to think.” Again, her eyes flitted to the file and envelope.

  “Could your uncle have done that to throw you off?”

  “Anything is possible. I want to know what Gerald gave you.”

  He handed her the file. “This is the police report. It says cause of death is an accident, but there’s nothing there, really.” He couldn’t bring himself to show her the photos, and he tightened his grip on the envelope as she scanned the file.

  “This is worthless. What’s that?”

  He sat next to her and placed the envelope in his lap. “Photographs. I don’t know who took them or how Gerald got them.”

  She inhaled a shuddering breath, never taking her eyes off the envelope. “It’s Daddy.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not an accident?”

  “Not even close.”

  She bowed her head as if praying. “I don’t want to see them. Tell me.”

  God, in a way, he wished she’d look at them for herself to spare him this. But at least this way, she could create an image her mind could handle, rather than see the unimaginable. Bile rose in Rain’s throat at the memory of the images in his lap. “In the pictures, a man is bound to grapevines by his wrists with zip ties. Arms horizontal. His head is tilted to the side. His eyes are open.” He shuddered.

  A tear trailed down her cheek but she made no sound.

  “He… His mouth is sewn shut.”

  Her entire body stilled, then stiffened. “I’ll kill them.” She shot to her feet. “I’ll kill every last one of them.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “Who?”

  “The Weavers!” she
shouted. “His mouth was sewn shut.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m going to single-handedly slaughter every one of them and liberate my pack once and for all.”

  She fought to free herself from his grip, but he refused to let her go. He’d been like this. Enraged to the point of murder. Acting on this would do her no good.

  “Stop.”

  She growled, and when she tried to knee him in the crotch, he spun her, catching her arm behind her back.

  “Lemme go!”

  “No. Listen to me.” She continued to struggle, so he pulled up on her wrist, twisting her arm even more. He’d never dealt with anyone this physically strong. “Listen. I’m trying to help you. Are you hearing me?”

  He’d been too mad to hear many times. Enraged to the point of mindlessness. He knew how it felt. How she felt.

  After another minute or so of thrashing, she stopped and slumped against him, tears soaking her face. “I want them dead.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “But this isn’t the time or the way.”

  “All of them need to die.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  He turned her to face him, then pulled her into his arms. “Even the ones who are innocent?”

  Sniffing, she nodded.

  “Even the four-year-olds?”

  She stiffened. He was fairly sure she wasn’t breathing, but he knew for a fact she was finally listening.

  “We don’t need pitchforks and torches, Freddie. We need to use our brains and get the evidence to do this the right way, not the way that feels right at the moment.” He ran his hand up and down her spine, and after a while, she melted into him.

  “I just want it to stop. The wondering what happened. The pain. The fear.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and scraped her nails along his scalp like he loved. He pulled her even closer.

  “Make it go away,” she whispered against his chest. “For just a little while, let’s be normal people, with normal lives, doing normal things.”

  And as he held her close, Rain knew that nothing about this entire situation, especially his attachment to Freddie, was normal. From the first moment he’d seen her, he’d known an attraction this intense was unnatural.