Chapter 3

THREE

Asha

Sunlight streams through the leaves overhead and dapples my thighs. I peer down at my tired legs, inhaling the crisp scent of a summer morning. It’s strange how I can almost pretend I’m enjoying it. The sunlight. The leaves and the woods. All of it.

But I can’t. Not after everything I’ve been through. Things I can’t even process.

I let my head fall back against the tree behind me and close my eyes. I picture my brother when he was around eight, and I was around six. We were running through the woods, the sunlight streaming beneath the leaves overhead.

“You’ll never be as strong as me,” he teased.

I laughed. “You’ll never be as fast as me.”

His mouth had curled into that familiar pout, and his auburn hair fell into his eyes the way it always did. “I’m older. I’m faster.”

“Want to bet?” I taunted.

He grinned, and then we started moving faster, as fast as two young shifters could move. So fast that the leaves and trees around us were a blur.

We didn’t even notice the forest getting darker, the leaves and branches overhead drawing closer, blacking out the sun. Nor that we had nearly reached The End, the place our people were taught to go to in a dire emergency. Then I smelled the blood.

“Simon!” I shouted. He was behind me, because I was faster than him, even then.

He smacked into my back. “What? I was catching up!”

I took a step forward, and the bleeding man came into view. He was old for a human, but I scented shifter on him, which meant he was even older. Not just shifter, but something else, meaning he was a mixed breed like us.

He looked up at us, tears in his eyes, slicing across his face. “I’m looking for the Blood Pack. Did I reach you?”

“Let’s go,” Simon said, tugging on my shirt.

But I couldn’t go. Some instinct said I couldn’t just leave the man. “Why are you looking for them?”

It was as if my words were an admission. He began to sob openly, in a way I’d never seen a grown-up do before. “I’ve been searching for so long for a place… a place I could be safe. Somewhere I wouldn’t constantly be attacked. Where my life wouldn’t be at risk, just because of what I am.” He sobbed harder. “I just want to garden and bake, and work with my hands. Is that too much to ask?”

Simon tugged my shirt harder. “We need to go. You know this isn’t safe.”

It broke all the rules talking to him. Rules that had been instilled in us from the time we could walk. The pack lands must stay secret. No talking to outsiders.

So why couldn’t I go?

Suddenly, my mom emerged from the woods, out of breath. The expression on her face was calm, like she was expecting this crazy scene, which told me she’d Seen this moment already. Two other large shifters emerged from the woods behind her.

“It’s okay,” she told us. “You can go. We’ll handle this.”

Simon turned and started to walk away, but I hesitated. “Is he joining us, then?”

My mom’s careful mask slid into place. “Go back home. I’ll talk to you later.”

Her words felt wrong, twisting in my gut, and I shifted to stand in front of the man, blocking my mom and the two big shifters. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

To my surprise, my mom kneeled down. “Honey, he’s safe. We just need to help him now.”

“You promise?” My eyes held hers.

She smiled. “Promise.”

And I believed her. Turning to the injured man, I said, “You’ll be able to garden, bake, and work with your hands here.”

He smiled. “Thank you.” As I turned to go, he called after me. “I’m Franklin.”

I looked back and smiled, too. “Asha.”

My eyes flash open, and I touch my lips, realizing that I’m smiling. Simon was such a cute kid, and that was just one of a thousand memories. Most of which involved him being the responsible older brother and me being the troublesome younger sister. Because, even with Isabella being the youngest, I was always the troublemaker.

And now Isabella is dead, and Simon is gone.

The pungent stink of wet dog wriggles through the otherwise delightful potpourri of the woods, preceding the arrival of Trouble. He plods over towards me where I sit with my back against the trunk of a large oak tree. Christ, not now, dog .

Despite how exhausted he is, that little nub of a tail dances frantically back and forth. He lays down beside me and places his head in my lap, rolling his puppy-dog eyes up to meet mine. “Mangy mutt.” But I pat his golden head all the same and find I don’t mind it so much. It’s something to keep me awake after searching through the day and night for my brother.

Simon slipped through the Enforcers’ perimeter. It’s the first time a Blood Pack member escaped since I partnered with Max. The mood is palpably dour. I tried, really tried, to find Simon, but he left no tracks, no scent trail to trace, nothing.

Guilt held off until dawn, when sunlight trickled into the sky and I began to berate myself for losing him. Again . Whether I see him as a dangerous person or my brother who desperately needs my help, he’s someone I shouldn’t have let slip through my fingers. If I’d just made another choice, if I’d just done things differently, I’d have him now.

Right?

As I replay everything that happened with him, I’m still left unsure. But what else could I have done?

You know what you could have done…

I shiver. The grim answer is one I refuse to accept. I would never kill Simon. Even though I fear more carnage may happen because of him, I could never kill my brother. That fact separates me from the monster the Blood Mages tried to turn me into. I’m confident in that logic.

Once it becomes easy to kill, you’re no better than the monsters that made you. I sense the pull around me suddenly. The almost-whisper of the dark magic beckons me. I pet Trouble just a little harder, my heart hammering, then force myself to push the call away, to ignore it until it almost disappears.

Almost .

The Blood Mages may have tried to make me like them, but I refuse to do it. Either by answering the call of the dark magic, or by killing with ease. Both things seem to have led to the destruction of my other pack members. I need to learn from their mistakes.

I’m less confident that Braxton sees what I did that way. Recognition flickered in his eyes just after Simon ran off, like he knew I’d let my brother go, or maybe like he saw me give up. I’m not sure which. I look over towards the mobile command center, basically a collection of laptops and personnel gathered around portable tables housed within an open tent. Braxton stands over his brother, preoccupied with Max’s injury for the moment.

Not that I’m happy Max got hurt, but I’m grateful Braxton has something else to worry about.

Despite getting stabbed with a noxious spear, Max pressed on through the night. Enforcer medics had quickly dressed the wound, pushing through an IV infusion to accelerate his shifter healing. They also had some blood donated by Braxton to make up for the blood loss, before joining the search. He looks a little weak now, but less pallid, his eyes wide and alert despite the bags hanging beneath them.

“That man is a machine,” I think aloud. “A sexy, fine-ass machine.” He and his brother were cut from the same cloth in those respects. Flashes of our threesome dance through my mind, which I struggle to push to the fringe. There are serious matters at hand, Asha .

I wonder if they’re thinking about it, too, but it’s hard to believe anything sexy is happening behind those solemn expressions. Max sits at one of the tables with Thomas, the Enforcer running point on this operation, reviewing data on a computer screen. Braxton hovers over them, arms crossed, biceps bulging, squinty eyes boring through the screen. I try to imagine what could possibly merit such scrutiny, but it bores me to even hazard a guess.

That’s what my plight is to the Enforcers. A tactical map. A mission brief, flattened and displayed on a fourteen-inch screen. They don’t know, couldn’t even comprehend the pain and suffering the Blood Mages put us through. They don’t know the people beneath the dark magic. To them, my kind are simply dangerous.

Not people.

Not victims of a terrible crime.

Maybe it’s for the best they don’t know. If they could understand what it felt like to have their homes burned, their loved ones killed in front of them, and suffering months of torture… they wouldn’t be able to do their job. Like me, they’d be a broken thing with too many jagged edges to touch. Maybe just strong enough to be of some small use.

Not that I am today.

Trouble lifts and resettles his head on my lap. My eyes trace the many scars hidden beneath his golden coat as I continue petting him. “You’ve been through hell, too, huh? Nobody cares, do they?”

He draws in a deep breath, then sighs. I guess his way of commiserating.

Did I call this guy a mutt? “You’re not so bad.”

He rubs his head against me, and I pet him behind the ears, my heart lifting, if only by a little.

The sound of rolling wheels pulls my attention to the road, where an SUV with blacked-out windows approaches the camp. Trouble lifts his head and perks his ears, but we seem to be the only ones interested. The rest of their personnel are busy with the mission. The doors pop open and two men hop out of the vehicle, the driver and one passenger.

While the driver, dressed in the familiar Enforcer uniform like someone from Men in Black, marches towards the tent, the passenger hangs back, idly kicking rocks beside the car. With long, sandy blond hair, a golden tan, and a slim yet muscular build, my first thought is surfer dude . Actually, my first thought is that this guy is fucking hot, but I suppose those arrive in tandem.

But on the heels of my attraction comes my suspicion. Who is this guy? He’s not dressed like the others. He’s wearing a pale blue button-up shirt, left untucked, and dark jeans. His dark boots are scuffed and look worn, and there’s something about his clothes that feels old and used.

Not at all an Enforcer thing. As tough as these guys act, I haven’t seen men this well-maintained and pretty outside of a runway show on TV. Pretty boys who love their clothes, the lot of them.

The man doesn’t carry himself like an Enforcer either. There’s a fluidity in the way he stands, like he’s part rubber. No tension in the shoulders, features loose with a gentle smile curling the corners of his mouth. Almost like he’s happy. And as pretty and well-dressed as these Enforcers are, none of them seem genuinely happy.

Which is weird. Not the Enforcers being miserable – this job is miserable – but this strange man who seems happy in a place where no one is happy.

He’s a curiosity that I can’t help inspecting, at odds with the company he keeps. He rubs at his wrists, and I see red marks encircling them. Before I have a chance to wonder at them, he notices me. Like a child holding a crush from afar, fear grips me when our eyes meet, but only for a moment. I swallow it back while he approaches.

“Cute dog,” he says. His voice is a warm baritone and feels like a hot shower.

Unable to fight my shifter side, I inhale deeply, taking in his scent, which instantly marks him as a shifter, too. But more than that, he smells of Sandalwood and something else warm and comforting. Caramel or honey maybe? Whatever it is, it’s nice. Really nice.

“How long have you had him?” he asks, smiling down at Trouble.

I squint against the rising sun to peer into his eyes and notice a peculiar feature. They’re different colors: one honey, the other winter blue. It reminds me of huskies, and I liken this man to a dog. Cute dog, indeed .

But what I say back is, “He’s not mine,” which even my tired mind knows is better than calling him a cute dog to his face.

His brow lifts. “Looks pretty attached. You sure?”

I glance down at Trouble. I’m not exactly good with animals, but maybe he does seem pretty comfortable with me, head on my leg, body stretched out alongside my own.

For some reason, I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I keep those thoughts to myself. “Positive.”

He crouches down and gives Trouble a rub. The dog rolls over, inviting the man to pet his belly. “Good boy. What’s your name?”

“Trouble,” I answer for him.

The man laughs, broadening his smile. It’s a nice smile, genuine, jovial. Nonthreatening. Everything about him seems nonthreatening, and now I’m really starting to wonder what he’s doing here, because threatening is probably the most important prerequisite to becoming an Enforcer. “Trouble’s a perfect name for a dog.” He looks back at me with his two-tone eyes. “I’m Orson.”

Anyone else I might have lied or not answered, but my response comes without fear. “Asha.”

“Pleased to meet you, Asha.” He pivots and plants his keister next to me, but giving enough space between us that I don’t feel like he’s going to try anything weird.

I steal furtive glances to watch his eyes chasing after the birds. He looks relaxed and happy, like there isn’t an investigation just a short distance away. Like we’re two people randomly meeting in a park.

Is it weird that I already wish I could see the world through his eyes?

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, and his words jolt me from my thoughts.

I stare around us, looking for the source of his interest. “What?”

“The forest. If only we could follow its model.” He sounds strangely thoughtful.

My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a tightly interwoven tapestry of life, comprised of trees, plants, birds, mammals, insects, as different from one another as any two things that draw breath can be. Yet they exist in harmony, a trait sorely lacking from the world of men, don’t you think?”

He may look like a surfer dude, but he speaks like a poet-philosopher. My burgeoning attraction begins to blossom, which is a surprise. I can’t remember if I was a sexual being before the torture and the pain. I think, maybe, I was someone who enjoyed sex, but I’ve never felt anything like my attraction to Braxton and Max. My connection to them makes me nervous, as does the unexpected attraction I feel to this man.

But I can’t help hewing to my usual brusque responses as I reply, “I’m no man.”

He chuckles, and a slow shiver descends along my spine, like the honey in his voice just spilled down my back. “No, Asha, you’re certainly not.”

“Neither are you.”

His eyes narrow, until the meaning of my words strikes him. “You smell the hound in me. Which means you must have one yourself.” He rubs Trouble’s head. “The wet pooch masked your scent in my approach.”

I decide it’s enough. As tempting as it would be to keep talking to this man, like taking a vacation from my life, I can’t keep doing that. Because, well, I can’t take vacations from my life.

“Plenty of other wolf shifters are about, Enforcers, but you’re not like any of them. So why are you here?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said all of that, but I’m tired. I’m finding it hard to care.

His eyes hold mine, as though peering straight through me. “I’m joining the Enforcers. What about you? Are you one?”

Okay then, he’s a new one. That explains a lot, but disappoints me for reasons I don’t understand.

With a sigh, I reply, “Technically.”

Before he has a chance to interrogate my answer, I notice Max and Braxton glaring over at us. The man Orson arrived with seems to be speaking with them, but only Thomas is listening. The brothers have taken an interest in Orson, and for some reason, they look pissed.

Max starts towards us, and internally I groan. Oh, what now?