Chapter 3 - Jonah

He took the long way home. The White Winter territory met the Rosewood territory, which bled into the Silversand territory, and Jonah was in no rush to be there. Beth and Devon, Edwin dozing on his shoulder, had seen him off in the grey morning light while the rest of the pack slumbered. He hadn't wanted their questions, their teasing goodbyes. Emma would be stung by it, but he'd be far out of reach of her ire.

They'd wrapped him in a fierce hug, and then, with a kiss atop Edwin's curly-haired head, he was off. It was cold, a stark reminder that the lazy days of summer were behind him, and his fingertips began to ache as he wound his way down the trail. He tucked his hands into his pockets and picked up the pace until his own exertion warmed him.

The sun took its time weaving through the alders and the firs around him, dappling the leaves underfoot in gold. Without the backpack, he'd shift and make the journey in wolf form. As a wolf, his emotions were dulled, and his senses heightened, and he'd shake off the melancholy that had settled into his bones at the news of his father's passing. Without it, the silence of the forest gave him far too much time to dwell on the past and the future and everything but the present.

At midday, he stopped and had lunch by a stream, soaking his feet in the water. He was at the edge of Rosewood territory now. Not long ago, he'd been part of the group that had kidnapped one of their wolves, forcing her to become the White Winter Luna. Beth had forgiven him, falling in love with Devon and the pack, but had the Rosewoods forgiven him? A tentative peace had formed between the packs, thanks to Beth and Adria's friendship, but it was far from the solid bond that linked the Rosewoods and the Silversands. The White Winter pack had a long way to go in shaking off their reputation.

Once he finished the cold, roasted chicken, he set off for the dirt road that led into the Rosewood town. It was blindingly bright after the dim forest, the ground hard-packed from the recent dry weather. He kicked up dust as he walked, coating his shoes and the bottoms of his pants. The road sloped down, overlooking the idyllic town with its sprawling green, and crowded main street.

Houses dotted the landscape like gumdrops, yellow, red, and blue, all well-loved. He couldn't help but compare them to the house he'd grown up in. It had been something once, a grand Victorian on the corner of Main Street, fenced in with dramatic iron. But his father's neglect had made it more of a haunted house than a manor. The halls had been packed with useless stuff, and dust clung to every surface, so it felt like he needed a bath after walking through it. By any luck, it would be condemned now.

At last, the dirt road met a paved one. The hill leveled out, and he followed the road into the center of town, where it split to either side around the town green. He gazed up at the tree at the town's center for a moment. A family picnicked beneath its shade, basket open on the checkered blanket.

Rather than continue on, Jonah found a spot in the sun, at the edge of the tree's sprawling branches. With his backpack for a pillow, he lay back and drifted off, imagining for a moment that his life was simple, that he was just a regular man.

He woke when the cold found him, the sun sinking low toward the horizon. The green was empty now, though lights glowed in the shop windows, and a restaurant had its door open, chatter and music spilling out onto the street. Jonah gathered his backpack and ran his hand through his hair, dislodging a leaf and a bit of grass from his dark curls.

The restaurant was too crowded, jarring after his peaceful journey, so he continued on. He followed a narrow alley to a promising-looking bar with tinted windows. Inside, a polished oak bar encircled most of the room. A fireplace burned in the back corner, and a handful of mismatched chairs sat on a plush rug in front of it.

Jonah made his way back, sinking into one of the armchairs that looked like it had been pulled directly from a grandmother's house, complete with a garish floral pattern. After depositing his backpack there, claiming his spot by the fire, he ordered himself a beer and waited at the bar for it. The pub felt like a locals only spot, the bartender greeting everyone who entered by name, and Jonah saw more than a few curious looks pointed his way.

He took his glass back to the armchair and pulled out a book, tuning out the rest of the world. Sometime later, when he'd nearly finished his beer, a man filled the seat beside him.

"A White Winter in our bar," he said, lifting his pint glass in greeting. "I had to see it to believe it."

It took Jonah a moment to place the man's face, familiar but not instantly recognizable. "Spencer, right?"

The man nodded, scratching his beard. "And you're Jonah. Adria told me all about you and how different you are. It'd better be true, or I'll have you thrown out of here faster than you can blink."

Jonah didn't mind the threat, knowing it came from a desire to protect his pack more than anything else. Another White Winter would've decked him for it.

"I'll make no trouble," Jonah promised, "I'm just passing through."

The Rosewood Alpha looked Jonah over from head to toe. "You look like you need another drink or two." He signaled the bartender, who brought over a second round. "Stay a while. I knew your father, and I'd like to get to know the man taking his position."

Jonah sank back into his chair, wishing it would swallow him whole. He'd rather drown in brocade peonies than step into the role of Silversand Alpha.

"God, I hope not," Jonah blurted out before he could stop himself. "I mean, there has to be someone in the pack that'd be better at it than I would. Honestly, it wouldn't take much."

Spencer wiped a line of condensation from his glass, a thoughtful look on his face. "We're all unsure before we take on the mantle of alpha, Jonah. I know I was. Anyone who finds it resting easily on their shoulders is not taking the position seriously. It's your blood right to claim, and your duty."

Unfortunately, Spencer's words were an echo of the ones Jonah had been running from. He sucked down half his beer in one swallow, wishing the sweet oblivion of alcohol would take hold of him. "My father did a rotten job of it, and it only got worse after I left. The least I could do is take my bloodline out of the running and let that place recover."

A group burst into the bar, laughing and clutching each other, cheeks rosy. One of them caught his eye, tugging at a memory. She was gorgeous, with voluptuous curves and raven hair spilling to her waist. Her blue eyes sparkled above a full, wide smile. Everyone else in the room seemed to fade away, duller in comparison to her.

"I'd say it's your duty to put things right in his wake," Spencer said, pulling him back into the conversation, though Jonah's mind still hunted for the connection between himself and that woman. "Even if there's a better candidate, you'd be obligated to stay and assist them. You never should have run from this in the first place. Maybe if you'd stayed, you could have kept your father on track."

He watched the woman move through the bar, drawing appreciative eyes from everyone in the place. His own were glued to her, to the dimple in her cheek and the way she swept her hair off her shoulder.

"Maybe," he said, sighing. "Or maybe I would've made everything worse."

Spencer shrugged. "Can't live your life worrying about the maybe's. Take some chances, or you'll go to your grave, having barely lived at all."

That didn't sound so bad to Jonah right then. He'd take a quiet life, letting others lead the way rather than the hornet's nest that waited for him back home. But he could see Spencer weighing him, judging him, and his skin prickled under the other man's judgment.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Jonah said, putting his empty glass down on the table beside his chair.

The warmth in his veins gave the room a soft buzz, and he wanted to return to his book, to escape into it again. He didn't want to be lectured on his failures, when he already knew them so well. Sometimes, he felt like they could fill a book.

"That's a start," Spencer said. He was weighing Jonah, studying him, and Jonah knew he was coming up wanting.

He found the woman again, sitting with her friends at the bar, a glass of dark red wine in her hand. It suited her, he thought, the color dramatic against her pale skin. Another woman peeled herself away from the same group, coming straight toward them. Adria, he realized, the Rosewood Luna and Beth's closest friend.

"Hey you," she said to Spencer, wrapping her arms around him from behind and planting a kiss on his cheek.

Spencer pulled her around to sit on his lap, holding her waist. The rigid sternness melted from his face with Adria around, replaced with soft adoration. "Fancy meeting you here," he said to her. "I thought you all were eating dinner at Barnaby's?"

Adria wrinkled her nose. "It was completely packed. We'll just get some pub food and try again another day. Hey, Jonah."

"Hi," Jonah said, raising his hand in a half-wave. He felt the eyes of Adria's friends on them now that she'd come over, and he was trying not to look, afraid he'd make eye contact with the woman he'd been staring at. "Don't worry, I'm just passing through."

Adria twisted to give her mate a stern look. "Have you been interrogating him? He looks terrified."

Spencer winced. "Maybe. But he's the next Silversand Alpha, and we're going to have to get along."

Adria turned back to Jonah and gave him her own appraising look, though her eyes were kinder than Spencer's. "Is that right?"

"I haven't decided anything yet," Jonah protested, twisting his fingers around his backpack's zipper. He was getting the urge to grab it and run. "I'm just heading back for the funeral."

"So he says," Spencer added.

Adria elbowed him in the ribs. "Well, you're welcome here for as long as you need."

The group of friends was still watching him, darting curious glances his way.

"I think others might disagree," he said.

Adria waved a dismissive hand their way. "They'll get over it. Well, some of them."

Jonah knew what she meant. Some wolves would never accept a White Winter in their presence, and could never forgive the pack their history. He couldn't blame them. Was that raven-haired woman one of them? Though he'd searched his memory, he still couldn't place her.

He jerked his head toward the women, voice pitched low. "Who is the pretty woman with the black hair? She seems familiar, but I can't remember why I've seen her before."

Other than in his dreams, he thought, but kept that rather embarrassing idea to himself. Still, Adria's smile was smug when she replied, and she was far too knowing. Jonah had never been good at subtle.

"That's Moira. Actually, I think you two went to school together. She was a Silversand before she joined the Rosewoods," Adria said.

Moira. The name was deeply buried in his past, in his awful high school years. He'd been a skinny, nerdy boy with an attitude problem, finding snark the only way to fend off the bullies that would have otherwise targeted him.

"Moira," he breathed. "I remember her."

And he did. They hadn't been friends. He could remember the first day he'd seen her, her dark hair falling over her face as she leaned over her desk to write something in her notebook. Jonah had taken the empty seat beside her and opened with a joke about her being the only goth girl in a school full of preppy kids. She'd tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at him, blue eyes ice cold, cheeks turning pink from his comment, and he'd felt something shoot through him, hot and uncomfortable.

"Pretty sure she remembers you too," Adria said, frowning at him. "I'd avoid her if I were you. I don't think she wants to see you. Well, in fact, I know she doesn't want to see you."

Jonah couldn't help it. He stole another look at Moira and found her watching him, eyes as cold as they'd been in his memory. She looked away at once, but not before he saw her cheeks flush rose.

"She hates the White Winters," Jonah said, flatly. It figures that the one woman who caught his eye was the one who hated his guts before he even opened his mouth. "Did something happen, did we hurt someone she's close to?"

Adria snorted, her forehead crinkled in a look of disbelief. "Seriously? No, it goes back a lot farther than that. Think high school. Apparently, you were the world's biggest bully."

Spencer laughed, then caught himself, biting down on his knuckle. "Sorry, sorry. It's just," he said, waving a hand around at Jonah, "this guy? A bully? He's like a golden retriever on two legs. Honestly, I don't know how you survived the White Winter pack. No offense."

Once, it would've stung. Jonah knew he was different from his pack, from his best friend, and he'd done his best to fit in and find his place among them. But he was more focused on Moira and what Adria had said.

"People can change." Adria glared at her mate until he stopped laughing. "And I believe Moira, when she says what she went through was awful, no matter what sort of wolf Jonah has turned into."

He'd teased her in high school. He'd liked the way it'd made her blush, the way she'd fire back at him, the way she'd squirm in her chair. It had given him a rush like nothing else he'd felt.

"A bully?" Jonah repeated, trying to imagine it from Moira's perspective.

Had he been that awful? He had thought it was just teasing, but to her, was it something more?

"You bullied her so badly she left the Silversands, Jonah," Adria went on, like she was speaking to an idiot now. She threw up her hands. "You can't be serious. She was a shell of a person when she came to the Rosewoods. Timid, quiet, could barely look anyone in the eye."

Jonah thought of the laughing woman he'd seen walk into the pub, the way she seemed to glow, to bring life to the room. It was impossible to imagine her cowed and afraid, and even more impossible to imagine that he'd had something to do with it. Guilt churned in his gut.

"I was only teasing," he said, lamely, fingers tightening around the zipper pull until the metal cut into his palm.

It was proof that he'd always been a screwup, even as a kid. It was just who he was. Deep in his blood, inescapable.

"If you were the only one laughing, it wasn't a joke," Adria said, leaning forward. She was formidable in the way Beth was, protective of her own.

"You're right," Jonah agreed, knowing that whatever his memory was of the situation, it didn't matter. "I should apologize to her. I should go over right now and—"

"No!" Adria said, too loud, even over the noisy pub chatter. People turned to look at them, "No, she doesn't want to talk to you. She doesn't want to see you. She just wants you to leave her alone. Can you do that? You've done enough to her, so really, it's the least you can do. The kindest thing you can do."

It didn't seem right to Jonah, like leaving a thorn in a paw. It'd only burrow in deeper, and hurt worse. If he apologized, maybe they could work it out, and perhaps she'd even forgive him one day. He blew out a long breath and looked up at the ceiling, at the exposed beams dark with age and polish.

"If that's what she wants," he said, finally.

He'd just add it to his long list of mistakes. This one stung deeper than most, though. The moment he saw her, he'd been drawn to her, and now he was supposed to stay away and never even speak to her? A fitting punishment, really.

"Thank you," Adria said, relaxing. She got to her feet and gave Spencer another kiss. "Now I should go back to my friends. Don't forget, Spence, the babysitter, leaves at ten."

"I'll be there," Spencer replied, watching her go with a look of love all over his face.

Jonah wanted the kind of love that the two of them had, the love that Devon and Beth had. A companion who could look past all the mistakes and failures and see who he wanted to be, deep down.

"I should go too," Jonah said, feeling out of place in the Rosewood pub. It was a feeling he was becoming acquainted with.

Spencer didn't try to stop him. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and climbed to his feet, feeling the eyes of the room on his skin. It took everything in him not to look at Moira when he passed by, but he knew she was watching him.

He heard the door open behind him.

"How dare you come back here." It wasn't a question. It was a demand.

Spinning around, he came face to face with Moira. She had her hands on her hips and a look in her eye that made him want to slink away, tail between his legs.

"I'm not here for long," he promised. Her words stung, even if he'd expected them.

She hated his guts. It was obvious in the way she glared at him, like something she'd found on the bottom of her shoe. Maybe he shouldn't have come at all.

He waited to see if she'd say more but she only crossed her arms around herself like armor. Like she needed protection against him. Judging by what Adria had said, that's exactly how she felt. So he didn't push it. All he wanted was forgiveness and she didn't owe him, didn't owe making him feel better at the expense of making herself feel worse.

So Jonah slunk out into the night, alone. He looked up at the full moon hanging like a pendant in the sky, its light casting the town in silver. It illuminated his path, out of the Rosewood's idyllic town, away from its comfort and cheer, away to the place he'd come from and couldn't escape.