Chapter 1

Chapter One

It felt like centuries had passed since Death Day, when most of the world had died, and at least a decade since I'd left New York and come to Groza's pack with Duncan. It hadn't even been a month since I mated with Kicks and came here to the Arkansas pack's temporary compound. And yet here I was moving–– again .

Kicks' pack bustled around the quaint street in front of the boutique hotel we'd been staying in. A dusting of snow covered the ground as the pack prepared to leave for Arkansas. A chilly wind blew, giving an excuse for the shiver that ran through me.

Kicks' pack didn't hold any of my fears and were near bristling with excitement about going home as they loaded up the ATVs and motorcycles as best they could. Any larger vehicle would be too difficult to navigate or gas-guzzling to manage. The highways and roads were a parade of crashes, a lasting calling card of Death Day that would remain until nature slowly covered the wreckages as the years passed. The bodies would slowly turn to dust, with too few of us left living to remember. Even fewer left after what had happened at Groza's pack.

My eyes were drawn north as I remembered what had happened there. If I squinted, I could see the top of the tallest building of the historic little village in the not-so-far-off distance. I'd thought I'd be living the rest of my life out there. I'd imagined raising Charlie there, with that pack. It hadn't been ideal, but nothing was since Death Day.

But the pack there had begun to accept us both—except for its alpha, Groza. If it hadn't been for her, I'd still be there in my little cabin. If she hadn't sent her thugs after me time and time again, maybe I wouldn't have so many deaths on my hands.

But she had, and I did.

Then I'd thought we'd be at this hotel for at least a few months. That Charlie would be able to see his friends for a while. Not now, not after what had happened. Not after the day when the pack had seen what I could truly do, killing with a touch. That reality had torn through any fa?ade of cooperation between Kicks' pack and Groza's. According to the letter from Duncan, I'd be dead if I even set a foot back there.

So here we were, moving again. I was dragging my little brother Charlie to a new pack, a new home, a new set of unknowns. I'd be walking in blind, not knowing who was friend and who was foe. Once upon a time, I'd thought of moving like a fresh start. Now it felt like opening up another Pandora's box, waiting to see what would pop out next.

All the nasty surprises made me ache for the mundane. I wanted off this hamster wheel in hell. I didn't feel as if I were running on solid legs but bumping along the bottom, trying to find something to hold on to and everything breaking off in my grasp.

We still didn't know what had caused this utter upheaval in the world and caused so many to die in a single moment. Would we ever? How could we when no one had time to stop and take a breath, let alone investigate something of that scope? Life was a nonstop race to survive, and it might be like that until the day I died. One scramble after another, barely getting by before another disaster was lobbed at us.

My body suddenly seized. I could barely move in the middle of the hustling activity around me as I tried to breathe in air that felt too thin.

"Stop overthinking things," Widow Herbert said, cutting through the panic.

She was a ghost from my past that haunted my present, another life lost to the chaos. I'd never forget the day she died after crossing the river. I'd never stop regretting bringing her and feeling the weight of her death on my conscience.

"Are you paying attention to me?" she said, not one to be ignored. "You don't have time for an emotional crisis right now. These people around you, they are the ones who will be vouching for you at the new pack. You need to show strength. Fall apart when you're alone." Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her eyes saw too much.

For someone who used to be a psychologist, her advice sucked at the moment. Wasn't she supposed to help me talk through my feelings? What kind of crap was this? Swallow it down until no one could see and then collapse into a wreck all alone? Some therapy that was.

She must have read my thoughts, because she was rolling her eyes. "These aren't civilized times," she said, sounding more like a drill sergeant than someone concerned about my mental well-being. "A decade ago I would've let you come in and cry away on my couch, but that was before everything went to hell. Consider me more of a wartime consigliere, if you will. I'm more concerned with keeping you alive. We'll patch up your psyche after your survival has been secured."

What was she doing with herself when she wasn't here with me? I'd thought she was in heaven, hanging out with her late husband, Walter. Were they having mob movie marathons up there? If she started talking about people sleeping with the fishes, I'd have to rethink her final destination.

She was right, though. I forced air into my lungs and then focused on moving toward the hotel, trying to appear busy. It might have the added benefit of losing Widow Herbert. Typically I found comfort in her appearances, but not the version that had shown up today.

She dogged my steps. "You can't look weak. Even after we know them, soft is a bad look with this bunch of shifters. This is a new world. You have to adapt or die. When times get hard, people want to ally with the strong, not hold hands with the weak."

Well, she was achieving one thing for sure—I was no longer on the verge of a panic attack; now I was trying to not yell at her and point out that I hadn't melted down into a mess in the middle of the street. I'd paused for a second to gather myself. Hardly a meltdown. Had I wanted to? Yes. Since the world had fallen apart, I'd wanted to crumble right with it every day of the week. I hadn't, or at least not anywhere with witnesses.

I might be young, just shy of twenty-one, but I felt like I'd just lived through World Wars I, II, and III. I'd aged decades in the course of months. I was a lot tougher than she was giving me credit for.

I glared at her, hoping she read at least some of that in my expression. It was the best I could do with all these shifters around who could hear the softest whisper. I'd already gotten the boot from one pack for killing in a very uncomfortable and unnatural manner. Talking to ghosts wasn't going to give me a leg up with this one.

"I know, and I do give you credit," she said. "You're a tough one for sure. But you can't let yourself go soft, not even for a second."

I shrugged, her acknowledgment taking a bit of the sting out of her words. She was right. I couldn't afford to. It wasn't just my life on the line but Charlie's as well. I scanned the street, looking for him.

Charlie was on his way over to me, running right through Widow Herbert's form. I hated when stuff like that happened. It made my friendly ghost who stopped by to chat occasionally feel a little creepy.

"Can I ride on a motorcycle? I don't want to go in an ATV." Charlie was staring up at me with hazel eyes that matched my own. They were bigger than ever as he prepared to plead his case, as if this were the most pressing matter in the world. "It's almost my birthday. I'm big enough."

His idea of "big enough" severely contrasted with mine. He'd be six next week, and I wanted him to see his birthday.

"You're going in an ATV with Buddie," I said in a very no-nonsense tone. I was starting to sound like a parent, and I wasn't sure when that had happened.

"But you're going on a bike," he said, as if that proved how cruel I was being.

"Because they need the room in the ATVs for our stuff. Plus, I'm big. If I fall off, I have a better chance of surviving."

"Buddie said shifters have tougher bones than humans."

Figured he'd have heard about that. Considering he was turning into a shifter, his chances might have been better than mine. I didn't care. I'd begun to come to terms with this parenting thing, and I was okay with being a dictator if it kept him out of harm's way.

"I don't care. You're going in the ATV and wearing a seatbelt, and I'm not arguing about it."

Buddie walked over. He was usually one of my favorite people, especially since he'd put his ass on the line and defected from Groza and Duncan's pack when Groza was going to burn me alive. But right now, suspecting he was behind the motorcycle issue, I narrowed my eyes at him.

He shrugged, smirking a little, not one to take offense easily.

"Don't worry, it'll be fun," Buddie said, ruffling Charlie's hair. "I'll let you drive a little."

"Really, Buddie? He's five. You cannot let him drive." I felt like I was sending off a five-year-old with a seven-year-old chaperone.

"I'm almost six and you're no fun," Charlie said, stomping away from me and heading in the direction of Magnum.

First time I'd met Magnum, he'd abducted me and shoved me in a closet, but there were few people I trusted more to watch over Charlie.

"I think he's having a rough time today," Buddie said, watching Charlie's back as he made his way to their ATV. Magnum looked as if he were trying to cheer him up.

"I know."

I'd watched Charlie drag his bag out of the bedroom this morning, looking like he was losing everything in the world. I didn't care if he yelled at me for the next year. I'd be happy just keeping him alive for the next couple weeks and making sure he didn't turn into a serial killer.

Buddie wasn't so lucky. "Did you have to make me the bad guy, though? You know I don't want him on a bike," I said.

He had the gall to softly laugh. "It's not my fault you're no fun." Buddie turned as Kicks headed over. "Hey, bossman. All packed up and ready to go."

Kicks was staring at him as if he couldn't quite wrap his head around how he'd gotten stuck with Buddie in his pack. "It's Kicks. Not bossman."

Kicks wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me toward the side of the building where we were blocked from view. I let him tug me along, my legs moving on autopilot. We turned the corner, and his hands shifted to my hips, pressing me gently against the wall until all I could see, all I could smell, was him. His scent was warm, rugged, and fresh, overwhelming my senses. It was hard enough to act normal around him when he was in the general vicinity. Being this close to him made me feel like my hard drive had been doused by a fire hose.

"Are you okay?" His eyes scanned my face, lingering on my lips so long that my heart got a jolt. With all that was going on today, maybe Kicks wouldn't realize it was him making my heart sound like it was running the Kentucky Derby around my chest.

"I'm fine," I replied, though my voice betrayed me. I should move away, create some distance, but I stayed right where I was.

He dipped his head closer, his jaw grazing my cheek. "You don't sound fine," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. His hands on my hips felt like they were burning through my clothes, stealing my focus.

His breath tingled my ear as his hands, still at my hips, felt like they were burning through my clothes and stealing whatever attention I was trying to muster up to listen to his words.

"Just the nerves of moving," I said, my breathing erratic as my horse was about to drop from overexertion.

He was so close I could hear his breathing, feel his exhale on my flesh.

"I'm so glad you stopped wearing that perfume," he said.

"Well, it was hard to use when I couldn't find it anymore." I didn't doubt he'd gone and raided every stash in this little town and dumped them out.

He laughed, sending a shiver down my spine before he squeezed my waist and moved back a little. My lungs felt like they could fully expand again as he took a step back toward the chaos of the move. He glanced around the building corner, but hesitated to go any farther.

"I know you thought you'd have a little more time before moving Charlie," he said.

"It's for the best." With tensions this high, and Groza showing how far she'd go to get rid of me, staying here was like living in your enemy's pocket. Any chance of cooperation had ended. There was no reason to stay, and we both knew it.

He took another half step away. "It's going to be a long day. We're going to try not to stop unless we have to."

It had been an eleven-hour drive from West Virginia to Arkansas before the world had fallen apart. Even on bikes and ATVs, it was going to be messy.

"I'll be fine." I'd sleep hanging on to the back of the bike if that was what it took. No way would I be the weak human who slowed everyone down. They'd all been nice to me, but Widow Herbert was right—there was no room for weakness right now, and maybe never.

"If you're ready, let's go." He held out his hand, waiting for me.

I hadn't felt ready for anything in years. I hadn't been ready for my mother to die. I hadn't been ready to move back to New York, for the world to collapse, or to move here. But life didn't care if you were ready. It threw out what it wanted, and you rode the waves the best you could. Some mastered the waves and some drowned, and it was up to me which one of those groups I'd fall into.

"Yep. Let's head out."