Chapter 23

Ten hours into my workday, I was ready to call Melody and beg her to come home. Without backup, I had no time to take a break. I rang up purchases, watched for shoplifters, answered questions, cleaned, processed returns, and answered the phone. I also had to deal with fun moments like my cash register jamming and the little boy who threw up blue ice cream all over the floor.

"Are you sure you don't have this in a size medium?" a woman asked. She sounded like an aristocratic Georgian straight out of Gone with the Wind. Her blond hair sagged from the weight of her hairspray, and her gold hoop earrings were so large that they elongated her earlobes. "Maybe over yonder in the back?" she suggested, holding up a black skirt with a bold green pattern at the hem—one of Melody's bestsellers.

"I'm sorry, but all we have is what's on the floor. That skirt in black is hard to keep in stock. Have you looked at the white ones by the front window? I'm pretty sure we have a medium in that color."

She snorted and glanced at the tag. "It don't make no nevermind. Large isn't so bad. A few chocolate pies and I'll fit just as snug as a bug in a rug."

I suppressed a laugh. "If you stop in on the fifteenth, I bet we'll have a fresh supply by then. If not, I'll put you down on our waiting list and give you a call when they're in."

"You're a doll. An absolute living doll. And I'm not just saying that. I'm a Sensor, so I can feel the difference between sincerity and hogwash. Sometimes you go into stores, and the management is snooty. I can't deal with attitude. Puts me in a bad mood."

"Have you browsed through our jewelry? I have a matching bracelet and necklace that'll go with that skirt."

She adjusted her purse strap. "Now you're speaking my language. Lead the way."

Sensors were an interesting group of Breed. They had the ability to feel emotions as well as pass them into others, which is why a lot of them made money by way of sensory exchange. It was recreational for some and an addiction for others. I'd heard stories about mothers who had lost children and wanted Sensors to remove that grief forever. And they could. But everything came at a price.

I led the woman to the glass counter in the back and circled behind the register to point out the jewelry. "It's this one."

She leaned over and drew in an audible breath. "What is that lush stone?"

"Variscite. Some are uniform in color, but I prefer the ones with different shades of milky greens. The imperfections that look like cracks are what make each piece unique, so you won't see anyone else wearing the exact same piece. This is one of my favorites because it looks like a lightning streak. Everything here is custom designed and handcrafted."

She looked up. "By you?"

"The ones here in the case, yes. Nothing you see was made or sold by humans. Everything we offer is high quality and genuine. They each come with a certificate of authenticity."

"Let me try on the bracelet."

I slid the glass door in the back open. Using a cloth, I pulled out the simple bracelet with rounded stones. "The necklace design is pure silver. I also have a silver bracelet with one large stone, but I personally think this one is more elegant and versatile for any occasion."

Instead of putting on the bracelet, she rolled it between her fingers with her eyes closed. A smile touched her lips. "You put a lot of love into these," she said. "I like the way it feels. It has good energy."

I frowned, certain I hadn't touched it with my bare hands when getting it out of the display. "Can you feel my emotions? I made it two weeks ago. I'm so sorry if any emotions were left behind. Maybe I should start wearing gloves when I'm making them."

She laughed. "No, darlin'. Your emotions don't hang around that long. But stones have a way of absorbing energy and keeping it for a while. I suppose they're kinda like me."

I noticed her gold rings. "Maybe you'd like something more refined. I have some pure silver jewelry over by the wall."

"Nonsense. I like to get gussied up now and then, but I'm open to new things. These are just divine. I can't tell you how many of my clients have complimented my blouse. Oh, not this one," she said, noticing my puzzled expression. "I bought another one in here a few weeks ago. Nobody gives my gold watch a second glance, but this"—she tapped the bracelet with one finger—"will catch everyone's eye. You're a talented young lady."

"I can give you a discount."

"Wouldn't dream of it. My compliments are always free of charge. Full price or I walk."

"It's two hundred even for the set. Tax included."

"Sold."

Using the black cloth, I collected the necklace from the display and carefully arranged the pieces in gift boxes. Some Sensors wore gloves in public, but I still tried to be sensitive to their needs. While she browsed the revolving display of rings, I carefully folded the tissue paper to protect the jewelry in the bag. When my cell phone rang, I almost dropped everything.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's me," Asia said. "Sorry I didn't call last night, but something came up."

"Not a problem. I'm glad to hear from you. I was worried that maybe you didn't receive the contracts, so I was going to send them over again this afternoon."

"I got them."

Asia's terse response left me uncertain. "Is something wrong?" I placed the boxes inside the gift bag, folding more tissue paper on top.

"Okay," she said firmly. "I'm going to tell you the truth."

My stomach did a flip-flop.

"Last night I was reading the paperwork when I suddenly got an email. I don't know who sent it, but they made a counteroffer."

Stunned, I pushed the bag toward the woman, who then handed me a five-hundred-dollar bill. "What do you mean, a counteroffer?"

"They want to pay me more to not make a deal with you."

I slid a clipboard to the customer and pointed to where she needed to write her name and number. "You mean they want to buy your feathers?"

Asia hesitated. "No, they didn't say that. They just wanted to pay me not to sell you anything."

My jaw dropped. "Who?"

"I don't know. They didn't put their name on the email."

I shook my head. "Then you don't know if they were serious."

"Oh, they're very serious. They sent over a deliveryman with an advance."

I slammed the register shut and handed the woman three hundred in change. "Did you accept?"

"Would you be mad? They're offering me a lot of money."

"How much?"

"I can't tell you how many zeros. They said if you matched their offer to stay in our contract, they'll triple the amount."

My hands were shaking. "I understand if you want to take their deal, and I'll be honest—I can't match their offer. But I have a list of back orders I promised these customers. All I need is one box, and we can go our separate ways."

"They don't want me to give you anything else."

"Who?" I said sharply. "I'm not mad at you, Asia. If this were another legitimate offer, it wouldn't matter. But I want to know who's trying to take my business away. What's their email address? Maybe I can speak to them and sort this all out."

"No, I can't do that."

She sounded torn, and I felt bad for the position she found herself in. Asia and I only had a business relationship, so she had no loyalty to me. Money was important to Shifters. It meant security and taking care of loved ones in the centuries to come. For her, the other offer was easy money. She could just sit back and collect. No work, no negotiations, no contracts, no pressure.

She gave a flustered sigh. "They said if I gave you any information that could lead back to them, they'd withdraw the offer. I'm not allowed to describe the delivery guy or his car, detail the amount of the advance, or anything. I had to sign an NDA to accept the money, which means I can't talk about it. And they said not to forward their email address."

"How long do you have to make up your mind?"

"Tomorrow night. They're sending a contract this afternoon for me to look at. This is so confusing! You didn't tell me I would have to make all these choices."

I touched my forehead when I felt a migraine coming on. "It's not your fault, Asia. If you need the money and it looks like a good deal, you have to do what's best for you. But if you want to do something that's not about money—something you can be proud of—then please keep me in mind. I can't offer you as much as they can, but the reward will be the impact you have on the community. Please let me know when you make your decision. I'm going to hold off on preorders. If you take their offer, I'll have to tell these people that I can't keep my promise."

"I feel so bad," she mumbled. "I could do a lot with that money. Maybe buy my own house and start a family away from these cuckoo birds. I'm only stuck here because I can't afford to leave. I'm so sorry, Hope. I think I'm going to take their offer. If anything changes, I'll call you. Maybe I can do it for a little while and then we can talk again when I have money saved up. I know you're at work, so I'll let you go. Please don't be mad at me."

I hung up, my hands trembling so much that I almost dropped the phone.

My customer lifted her bag. "Your energy just went from crystal blue to black. Do you want me to take away some of that anger? No charge."

"I'm sorry you had to hear that. I hope you enjoy your purchase and come back again," I said robotically.

She flashed a sympathetic smile. "Whatever it is—it'll pass. These things always do. Here's my card in case you change your mind. My name's Frannie. You can't forget a name that sounds like fanny, now can you?" She chuckled warmly. "Thank you kindly for the gorgeous stones. I'll be back on the fifteenth to check on that skirt!"

After she left, I looked around and saw the store was empty. Sensing my anger, my wolf paced beneath my skin, but this wasn't the time or place to let my primal side take over. I was the only one who could resolve this issue, and that meant confronting the one person who had access to that kind of money—someone with motive.

Dutch.

* * *

Tak sankthe last ball into the corner pocket and blew the chalk off the tip of his cue stick as if it were the barrel of a smoking gun.

"Nice shot," Moreland said, his baritone voice so pleasant that he might have had a singing career in another life. "What's your name again?"

"Tak."

The two of them had met a few games ago. It was nice to play with someone who didn't ask a lot of questions and just focused on the game.

"I guess I owe you a beer, Tak."

"I'm a soda man, but I appreciate the offer."

Moreland laughed and propped his cue on the rack. "You're a better man than I. Alcohol has the power to make men weak. Just look around," he said, gesturing toward a drunk lying on the floor and singing along with the music. "That one must have had the Devil's Eye." Moreland led him to a booth, and they took a seat. "What tribe are you from?"

"Iwa."

He nodded and lit up a slim cigar. "I figured you weren't from a pack."

Tak rubbed his chin. "What gave it away—my gorgeous face?"

Moreland puffed on his cigar and let the smoke roll around in his mouth before releasing it in a thick cloud. "Yours is not a face easily forgotten."

"That's what women have told me," Tak replied with a chuckle. "How long does it take you to do your hair that way?"

Moreland touched his braids. "I don't have to style it every day like you do."

"Must be a bitch on shifting days," he said, admiring the tight rows that crossed over the back of Moreland's head. Seemed like a lot of maintenance.

A smile hovered on Moreland's lips. "I only shift when I have to. Never seen a black Shifter with long hair?"

Tak drummed his fingers on the table. "Give me a call the next time you shift. I want to see that shit flying free."

They both laughed hard and eased back in their seats.

Tak had spent most of the morning walking around. He visited the shops, spoke with the owners, and found a bakery called Sweet Treats where all the food was fresh and made from scratch. Interracial couples passed him on the street, their hands clasped in public displays of affection. People here were more open-minded than those in his hometown, which was populated by old-fashioned Shifters who were still living in the 1800s.

He stumbled upon a theater that only cost a couple of bucks and watched a science fiction movie about aliens attacking the world. Tak kept gazing at the empty chair beside him, wishing he could hear Hope's opinion of the plot, which he found implausible.

The music on the jukebox changed to something bluesy. Tak liked the atmosphere in Howlers compared to the bars in his off-the-map town. They played classic rock instead of country, and people were friendly. It was also nice not having to separate himself from other Shifters. Tak spent so much of his time around members of his own tribe that he sometimes forgot how good it was to talk with strangers and hear their stories. Howlers had a long bar with a low partition wall sectioning off the pool tables and seating area.

It wasn't too busy, and he scanned the room, relieved that Wheeler wasn't there. Even though Wheeler was a tool, Tak appreciated his looking out for Hope. It didn't mean he wanted to have another confrontation with the man, but it was reassuring to know that a lot of men in this town respected Hope.

"Where are you from?" Moreland asked.

Tak folded his arms on the table. "Oklahoma. Tribal land."

"That's far off, and I don't mean by miles. I've been out that way before," he said, assessing Tak more closely. "What brings an alpha all the way down to Austin?"

"Personal matters I need to put to rest with an old friend." Tak leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Do you know a wolf named River?"

Moreland watched the tendril of smoke rising from the end of his stogie. "There's only one man around here that goes by that name, and he's not welcome in our pack anymore."

Tak's pulse accelerated at the realization that Moreland was Hope's former packmate. Without knowing how frequently city packs kicked out wolves for misconduct or other reasons, he kept his cool and didn't look overly interested. "Why's that?"

Moreland's gaze traveled upward. "Let's just say he stuck his nose where it didn't belong. Men who think they can keep secrets in a pack are fools."

"Did he betray the Packmaster?"

Moreland flagged down a waitress, who gave him a brisk nod before hurrying back to the bar. "Indirectly. What business do you have with River? Because if you're a friend of his, you can get up right now and find another place to sit."

Tak pressed his finger on the table. "That wolf is no friend of mine. I think he offended the woman I was with yesterday."

Moreland looked up and puffed on his stogie. "Now that I believe."

"I don't know the ways of city packs, but I'm trying to learn. What do you know of my people?"

Moreland nodded. "I knew someone from your tribe a long time ago. He came from another region out of Arkansas, but they were Iwa."

"Then you understand our word is our bond. I know I'm asking private questions about your pack, but whatever you tell me stays between us. It angers me the way he spoke disrespectfully to my friend, and I want to know what makes him so offensive toward women."

The man set his cigar down and laced his fingers together. "Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead."

"What does that mean?"

Moreland smirked. "Secrets never stay buried as long as the people who keep them are alive. But sometimes… sometimes it's better to shine light on the truth. When you let speculation run wild, you do no service to the victims involved. I'll hold you to your word, Tak of the Iwa tribe, only because I know your people and the value they put on a man's good name. River seduced an important woman in the tribe, a young wolf who was still deciding whether to become independent or join another pack. He besmirched her reputation."

Tak's breath caught. Hearing the story from another party confirmed what must have been Hope's worst fear: that others knew. Quelling his rage, he exhaled and relaxed his shoulders. "And what did the Packmaster do?"

"Lorenzo wanted to end the guy's life, and you don't want to know what that man does with the pelt of his enemies. Enzo's a good leader, but he's not a man you cross. Killing River would have struck fear in the pack and forced him to reveal the truth. But he wanted to protect the woman's reputation, so he allowed River to live under the condition that he leave the pack and never speak ill of them. If that repugnant excuse for a wolf were to ever set foot in this bar, I might lock him in a safe and bury it in the woods."

Moreland was protecting Hope's identity, so Tak treaded carefully. "Was the woman of age?"

Moreland lifted his cigar and studied it for a moment. "I know your tribe breaks off into sections, but a pack is different—especially a large one. If a man wants to court a young woman who's recently gone through her first change, he has to follow the rules. Either wait for her to leave the pack or make the Packmaster aware of his intentions. The alpha decides if the relationship will create conflict within the house. A lot of men were interested in this woman; an open relationship with River would have caused a war."

Tak steepled his fingers and averted his gaze to a table of young women who were laughing. Hope's panic attack at the market had nothing to do with traffic, noise, or even seeing River. It happened because she felt powerless after River treated her with disdain. She'd once trusted the man, and a part of her would always feel connected to him because of the intimacy they'd shared.

If only Tak could go back in time and put that wolf in his place. Had that man ever felt anything true for her, he wouldn't have been so cold.

"Did the wolf not fight for her hand?" Tak wondered aloud.

"All that man wanted was to pick the cherry from the tree. Young women don't realize the power their first lover has over them, but older men are wise to this, and the wrong ones abuse that power. They seduce them with lies and empty promises. That's why they target them before they leave the pack."

"Why should that matter?"

Moreland tapped the long ash off his cigar. "Leaving gives her free will to choose any man she wants, but these men don't want a relationship. So they put them in a position where the affair has to remain a secret. I've seen this happen before. Sometimes they seduce the Packmaster's mate, but usually it's the young ones they target. These wolves are likable guys. Everyone's best friend. The one you least suspect."

Tak took out his warrior's knife and stabbed the table with it. "If I see that rogue again, I'll show him what my tribe does to dogs like him."

Moreland tossed back his head and laughed. "We need more like you in this town."

The waitress appeared and set two beer mugs on the table. Tak pushed his glass toward Moreland, who gladly accepted the gesture.

"Are you a Packmaster?" Moreland asked.

"No."

"That doesn't create problems in your tribe?"

It sometimes did. Dominant alphas butted heads, but usually his tribe would break off into subpacks and move to a different part of the land.

Tak sighed. "My father leads all the packs, so it's not a problem for me."

"I can see that." Moreland gulped down half his drink and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "I've seen many alphas get too comfortable living the rogue life, and if you live under the power of another alpha, it might weaken you as a leader. Have you thought about starting your own pack… away from the tribe? Don't let time go to waste."

"That's not an option."

Moreland searched his eyes. "A man can do anything he sets his mind to. The only thing stopping him is fear or family. Which governs your decisions?"

"Would you trust a man like River to lead his own pack? There's your answer."

Moreland puffed on his cigar and gazed at Tak earnestly. "If you've committed a grievous offense against your tribe, then make it right. You're still in the tribe, so that tells me it was a forgivable act. But if your packmates refuse to acknowledge your birthright, then maybe it's time for you to take a stand. It won't be long before you begin alienating yourself from the others. Time marches on, and watching young men around you achieve their full potential will eat away at what dignity you have left." Moreland set his cigar in the ashtray. "All men are capable of redemption; few men seek it. I'm not your spirit guide, Tak. I just happen to see a powerful alpha in front of me who has a lot of wolves in this town buzzing with curiosity. Some think you're settling, and a few people are interested in that prospect. There are plenty of Shifters following men they don't believe in for lack of choice. Every so often, there's a peace party, and some trading goes on, but choices get stale. Everyone here knows each other, so when an alpha comes of age, he's already got his buddies picked out. Forming a pack becomes more about favoritism and less about building a strong brotherhood. That's why these numbskulls wind up with so many problems where a mediator is necessary."

Tak was intrigued. "Are you looking to switch packs?"

Moreland offered a smile and looked off toward the bar. "I'm always open to change. If you want my advice, maybe you should extend your vacation a little longer and see what's out there. How about another game? I'll even let you break."

Tak put his knife back in the sheath looped on his belt. "Something tells me I'm being hustled. Did you let me win to boost my confidence?"

Moreland stood up and grabbed the mug with beer still in it. "Call me the hospitality wagon. I like to take it easy on tourists."

Tak remained seated while Moreland moseyed over to the pool tables. A cold chill rinsed over him, the sensation intensifying with each passing second. He brushed his hand over the raised hairs on his arm. He'd never experienced a feeling like this before and wondered if it was what Hope's panic attacks felt like. But Tak didn't suffer from those; something else was wrong. His wolf thrashed beneath his skin, the need to run unbearable.

No, not run. Chase.

Chase what?

He couldn't shake the urgency. As he yielded to his animal instincts, his thoughts crystallized. For reasons he couldn't explain, Tak knew with unequivocal certainty that Hope was in danger.