Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Agnar

Agnar wouldn't have known one Wyoming city from another, but Casper had the look of a city torn about what it wanted to be. Half of it looked industrial while the other half was old, quaint, and sweet. All of it was framed by a chain of mountains, blue skies, and a river cutting through the heart of it. Even the river seemed torn in two. It was half iced over and half awake, steaming in the early morning.

They'd left Nightfall Pack lands just after five that morning. He felt more comfortable driving the truck they'd borrowed from Kieran—an older pickup that was just about more rust than metal—in the cover of dark, early enough that hardly anyone else was out on the road.

The boys were quiet, but the way they fidgeted most of the drive made it clear just how excited they were to make the trip. Though they were heading straight to the auto repair shop that Prairie Rose's brother co-owned, the promise of the unknown past that was enough to thrill any young boy, especially Blake and Levi who had been raised primarily in the desert. They'd hardly left their small compound. The only way he had to keep them safe was within their borders.

"Take a left at the light." Prairie Rose had her phone open, but she hadn't turned on any navigation app. She was reading off the directions.

Agnar obeyed, turning into another maze of streets with an even more industrial vibe. Most of the buildings in the area looked like warehouses, garages, sorting facilities, shipping places, and sales yards for things like windows and overhead garage doors. They passed a large hardware store and another with hot tubs propped up all over the parking lot and a giant neon flamingo on the roof. The boys both peered out of the small windows in the backseat to get a better look.

"And a right… here."

He signaled and turned off. His hands weren't capable of much, but he could do this. Drive. Hold a wheel.

He might not be able to pick up his axe any longer, but he could wield a gun.

That wasn't the warrior's path or the one he'd chosen for himself, but in the past two weeks, the pain of loss hardened into a stone in his gut and the burn in his chest was replaced with a cold, clinical desire for vengeance.

Alexander was no longer a Phaethon. There was no bright sun shining for him. He'd betrayed his own kind, and in doing so, he'd turned himself into a packless man without a family. Alexander was now king of nothing, no matter if he was presiding over their lands, pretending to be alpha. He was Alexander the luckless, soon to be Alexander the dead.

"One more left on the next street, not this one, but the next turn… right here. That's it!"

Prairie Rose pretended the whole drive that she wasn't excited, but she was beaming. No one should be so beautiful in just a plain black coat and a pair of jeans, but she was, and while he was driving, he found himself trying not to be captivated by her. Trying, and failing.

Every night he'd spent in her bed, he found it harder to concentrate on what he should be focusing on, namely his revenge plan. He found himself softening. Weakening. His heart had been a dead thing, a barren land, since he was ten years old. Every night when he slipped between those cool cotton sheets in that little log cabin, he felt the cracks forming. They never touched, but he could feel her heat so close to him. Her quiet, even breaths were all the white noise he needed to be lulled into sleep that shouldn't have been so dreamless and peaceful. She chipped away at the ice surrounding him and banished his demons just by existing.

He'd planned to leave and get his vengeance and die trying. But there were his sons. There was Prairie Rose. There was her stubborn pack, including her stubborn family and the stubborn alpha, all insistent on trying to help him find a new path.

The way Prairie Rose lit up at seeing the steel building with the bland white and red letters with the auto repair shop's name, you'd think that she'd just touched down somewhere exotic, like Paris or Milan.

It was getting harder and harder to leave her bed in the morning, when he wanted to linger just a few minutes longer with her soft feminine scent in his nose and the warmth of her small body next to his. It was growing impossible to think of leaving his sons. They'd changed so much. They hugged him now, even if he was stiff and awkward. They helped Prairie Rose, eager to learn things like cooking and they were helpful with cleaning. They liked the books they brought home from school, often trying to coax him into letting them read out loud to him. They still ran and tousled and play fought hard, but in Wyoming, they were truly children for the first time ever.

"We're here!" Prairie Rose exclaimed, even though it was obvious.

The parking lot was filled with junk cars and trucks, stripped down vehicles that had been turned into hulks and shells. There was a fenced compound that had the shapes of cars under tarps and covered motorcycles. The building had an office area with a token square glass window below the big sign and four bays with white windowless overhead doors. It wasn't a small bit of real estate, and it wouldn't have been cheap to purchase, as new as it looked.

The boys stayed quiet, enthralled at the new scenery. Prairie Rose turned to him as he killed the engine, her eyes so huge and luminous that he couldn't look away. A shiver rippled through him. He told himself it was nerves. Yes, he was nervous about being there. Nervous that this might be his one shot at regaining his wolf. He knew it wasn't true.

Proving that she was far too in tune with how he felt for his comfort, Prairie Rose took his hand, nudging her palm over his even though his right rested on his knee. He almost made a sound, almost forgot to be carefully blank, almost let her see how comforting it was to have that small palm brush over his fingers and knuckles.

She touched him for comfort and reassurance, as a friend would do, but that was more than anyone else had ever done. The fact that he was used to that now should have spoken to just how far he'd lost himself, but the old berating voice banging around in his skull had finally shut the fuck up and wasn't taunting him about it any longer.

"This is where your brother works?" Levi asked, awe edging his tone.

"He makes cars and trucks new?" Blake echoed.

"I think so." Prairie Rose withdrew her hand and flicked off her seatbelt. She opened her door and then pulled open the door for the boys. The backseat was one of those tiny little benches, barely big enough for them, but they'd spent the whole four-hour drive absolutely content. "I mean, yes, it's his place. I think they might fix bikes here. Maybe do some custom work? I don't really know. We'll talk to him. You can ask him, and he'll tell you all about it, I'm sure."

She took the boys' hands and walked them to the office. He locked the truck and trailed behind, looking over his shoulder, his senses tuned to danger as if a rogue wolf pack was going to jump out at them. The hair on the nape of his neck prickled. It was being in the city that did it. Being around humans always made the wolf in him anxious.

The guy in the office was a gruff-looking man. A big dude with a shaved head, wearing a black leather vest with bare arms even though it was winter, and stained, faded jeans. Chains stuck out of the pocket and jingled when he stood up.

"Can I help you folks?" Connor. He had a nametag embroidered in white on the black leather vest. His nostrils flared and his dark eyes flashed with intelligence. He might look like a meaty gearhead, but he was quick and sharp—and he was a wolf.

"I'm looking for Rome Nightfall," Prairie Rose said, her voice a little strained. She was nervous, not scared, but Agnar's instincts were to force Connor back, pick him up by the throat, and shake him for distressing his mate.

Toning that shit down was probably a good thing considering Connor was an alright guy, already nodding and letting out a broad smile. Agnar wasn't sure where that protective instinct had come from, it wasn't as if Prairie Rose was his true mate.

"You're Rome's sister. He mentioned you were coming. Sorry…" His voice dropped. "I knew you were wolves the second you walked in, but you look nothing like your brother. I expected you to be dark."

"No. He's the odd one out, actually. The rest of us look like me. I don't know where Rome got his black hair from."

"You hold tight here. I'll go get him. He's in the back, working on a bitch of a—oops, sorry." He cleared his throat, dropping his eyes to the boys. "On a custom old classic car that's giving him some problems. They've been at it all morning and it was supposed to be a fast job. That's how it goes, though. What's supposed to be easy never is. I might be a minute, so feel free to get a drink, we've got coffee, water, or juice." He pointed to the waiting area past his desk, which was modern and new with tiled floor, black mats, sleek white leather couches, and a long counter that had coffee supplies and a series of bar fridges underneath stocked with bottles of water, juice boxes, and cans of soda.

Connor left through a door that had a code on it and probably locked after him because it exited straight into the shop, but none of them sat.

"Do you want some juice? They have orange, and I know that's your favorite."

How did he not know that about his own sons? Probably because juice was just juice for them before, like all food was just nourishment. They ate what they were given and didn't have favorites or preferences.

None that they'd ever mentioned to him.

He went to the fridge himself and took out two oranges. Grabbed a third for himself because as long as he barely recognized the old Agnar, he might as well have a fucking juice box because, okay, he actually liked the taste of oranges too. He grabbed a bottle of water for Prairie Rose. He knew she didn't drink juice because she said it burned in her stomach.

He also knew she liked rose-scented soap best, though he wasn't sure if it was because of her name or not. She didn't wear perfume and her shampoo smelled more like herbs, but all the bars of soap in the house, which were made by a few of the women in the pack who he hadn't even met, were pink with little speckles of red rose petals. He knew she liked reading based on the books on the bookshelf in the living room, which seemed to be a mix of romance and fantasy. She loved baking but didn't like cooking all that much. She was never too busy to help the boys with anything they were doing, and she was genuinely interested in them as people. She lit up whenever she held her baby niece. She was often out helping with pack stuff or family things and she never got tired of trying to include him, no matter how many times he shut her down, and her favorite place was undoubtedly outside in the woods. She was creative, kind, motherly, wise, and she had a heart so big it seemed it would never reach the end of its limits.

He knew all while trying quite actively not to notice.

Prairie Rose silently cracked the straws open on the juice boxes and passed them to the boys. She threw the garbage in the trashcan. He tried not to be mesmerized by the way she tipped the water bottle to her lips, how her throat worked when she swallowed, the little droplets of water that clung to her bottom lip after.

He was anyway.

Eventually, Connor came back with two men. One with short dark hair in a tousled mess, streaks of dirt and oil on his jaw and the black t-shirt and jeans. His filled-out frame gave him that warrior air that Agnar sized up immediately, out of force of habit. He assessed the man's skills, judging whether he'd be fast and haphazard on attack, or measured and precise.

The guy beside him was much younger, probably still a teenager, though he did have those baby face features, and he was blond, so he could have been older. Either way, he was the kind of man who wouldn't see even half a beard until his thirties or forties. He was gangly at best, so tall that he didn't know how to carry any of it. His clothes hung on him, a white t-shirt with the garage name on it that was three sizes too big just to give the right length, and a pair of baggy black cargo jeans. He wore high top runners and not work boots, as if he was willing to take his chances with something crushing his toes in there.

They were all wolves, but very different kinds.

The boys were completely captivated by the big, rough man, the tall young giant, and the dark-haired shadow. He was the kind of man who gave all the dark and dangerously handsome vibes, but the energy the guy threw was monstrous. The air practically snapped with malevolence. He might be pleasing to look at on the surface, but below that, he was the kind of man to be wary of.

Agnar tore his eyes away when Prairie Rose dropped the water bottle to the floor. She was frozen like a statue. She looked unsteady, like she'd just survived a bomb blast and she was the only one standing while all around her the building was in ruins.

He just about stepped in front of her or moved to take her in his arms to shield her because her expression sent chills through him, but the dark-haired monster moved first.

"Little sister." He swept across the room, moving fast as spilled ink, and gathered Prairie Rose into a hug that lifted her right off her feet.

Fuck. Agnar should have known this would be Rome.

He knew what Connor meant now. He was nothing like the rest of his siblings.

Rome looked over his sister's shoulder at the boys. "I'm glad you all made it safe. While your mom and dad are talking with Tadpole, I could give you both a tour of the place. Show you the bikes and the cars we're working on."

Levi nearly blew juice through his nose. "Seriously?"

"I don't know… if it's okay with Dad…" Blake looked to him for confirmation.

Agnar didn't want to let the boys out of his sight, but cutting down his mate's brother in his own business when he'd done them this solid didn't feel right. It would make for a decidedly unpleasant atmosphere later, given that they were spending the night at his house.

Prairie Rose spun around to face him and her bright, trusting smile assuaged his fears somewhat.

"Alright," he told the boys. "But make sure you're out of the way. Listen to Rome, please. Remember, it's an auto repair shop with tools, dangerous and heavy equipment, and people working who might not even see you to know you're there."

"We'll be careful," Blake promised. He took Levi's hand and his little brother nodded with his straw still in his mouth, the juice box bobbing up and down.

"Tadpole?" Levi asked, slurping up the juice that dribbled down his chin. "Isn't that a baby frog?"

"It is." The lanky blond man grinned like he didn't mind being asked rude questions by complete strangers. He seemed to get that kids didn't have much of a filter, especially not young boys. "It's because the guys say that I can't sit still. I'm always jumping from one thing to another, job to job, in here, out there, running errands, driving around."

"I can show you some of Tadpole's work," Rome offered, and the boys nodded. They were fascinated and under the spell of the garage before they were even through the door that led them to where the real magic happened.

Connor took his chair back up at the desk, leaning back so far it seemed the thing would break under his weight.

Tadpole made a motion that said they should follow him down the hall. Prairie Rose went first, and it was instinctive for him to trail behind, watching her back when she couldn't. He wasn't going to let down his guard no matter where he was. They walked past a series of offices with the doors open and the lights off.

Tadpole stopped at one halfway down and flicked the switch. He had a huge desk in there and it was full of drawings, papers spread all over. Decals and drafts of his work hung all over the walls. Sketchbooks, pencils, pens, markers, and three different laptops as well as two tablets littered the remaining space on the curved white desk. There were a few chairs in there, all pushed up against the wall. It was probably supposed to look like a professional office, but it looked more like a storm had blown through the place.

"Sorry, it's a mess," Tadpole apologized, sweeping papers and debris to one side. He grabbed one of his laptops and cracked the lid. "I know it probably looks like I'm the last person who could help you, but I promise, I'm good with my hands. I can make anything. Fabrication, decals, artwork of any sort, I'm your guy. I was drawing for as long as I can remember, painting, welding, carving wood, even sewing." He lifted his hands. "If it can be done with these, then I'm down for it. I'm good with technology too, so all those fab machines and 3D printing, I got interested in that early on and I've been at it for years now. The guys call me a prodigy, but I'm a little old for that. I always wanted to be a graphic designer but…" He shrugged and a shadow passed over his face before he chased it away with a genuine smile. "Things happened and I ended up here instead. I like it a lot more than sitting behind some desk working for some big company. I can do so much more where I am now, and I didn't have to spend a dime on college tuition. Everyone says if you're a good artist, skip the college education. They're only going to teach you how to hate what you thought you loved."

"Oh?" Prairie Rose grabbed one of the hard black plastic chairs. She sat down, but backwards, straddling the seat and clutching the back.

"Do you mind if I have a look at what I'm working with?" Tadpole eyed Agnar's hands.

He had the childish urge to thrust them behind his back, but he'd only hurt Prairie Rose by acting ashamed. He could pretend for five minutes that he wasn't.

He held them out in front of him, ignoring the way they wanted to tremble. He forced them open as far as they would give, fingers up as high as he could raise them, even the ones that wanted to curl inwards. He raised them in the air like an absolute imbecile. He wanted to snort and wave Tadpole off, grab Prairie Rose, and tell everyone this was a mistake, and it wasn't going to work. Instead, he forced his mind to what the boys were doing and seeing. They'd think it was some kind of magic being worked in there. It probably was. Mechanics was something he'd never had a talent for. He was good at working with his hands, like Tadpole, but it was a different kind of working. His pen was an axe and his artform was blood.

Was. Had been. Not. Anymore.

Before he could curl his hands into pathetic fists, Tadpole shot across the room, just about literally bouncing. Prairie Rose bit down on her lower lip, stifling a laugh. Her eyes were still shining. It was good to see her happy.

"May I?" Tadpole tried to take his hands, but stopped, looking up at Agnar for permission. He was suddenly very grave, and it made Agnar feel strangely comforted. Tadpole was going to take this seriously and he very clearly wanted to help.

Agnar nodded.

He managed not to pull away, even as Tadpole bent his blond head over him, clearly frowning. He studied the palms for a long time before he finally moved his fingers over them and spread out, analyzing and learning by touch.

Prairie Rose shot out of the chair suddenly. Tadpole froze, and so did Agnar, at the fiercely protective expression she couldn't control. She froze too and tried to laugh it off, realizing that she'd just reacted like a mate protecting another who was in danger of being hurt.

She grabbed a sketchbook off the corner of the desk. "Can I look through this?"

"Sure. I make art because I can't not make art, but it's nice when it gets appreciated. Not that you have to appreciate it."

She flipped the cover and immediately sighed. "Wow." The pages flicked past carefully. Sometimes she'd pause and look at one of the sketches for a long while. Some of them were colored and others pencil or black pen. "I like that you don't really have a style. Or maybe that is your style. It's incredible that you can do all of these, and they all look like they're done by different people."

Agnar watched as Tadpole's face got pink. He tried to hide it by ducking further over his hands. "You know they make casts out of stuff like this now, instead of fiberglass?"

"I didn't. This is already healed, though."

The other man's fingers pressed over every angle of his hands, turning them over to explore the knuckles. Oddly, it didn't feel invasive. "There's no making corrections without further surgery, but I could make the braces for you. I'd need you to come to my house later. It's private. More private than here, even, so I can measure the wolf and do some tracings. I have the printer there, so I could send you with them if you're willing to wait a little."

Prairie Rose looked up, her eyes shooting directly to him. Whatever she felt, he felt it too. It wasn't an emotion. It was… something else. They way that two things pair together to create something astonishingly new.

"I'll be there."

He'd leave Prairie Rose and the boys with her brother, even if it killed him to have to put his trust in someone like that. Someone full of shadows and dark menace. Then again, wasn't Prairie Rose putting her trust in him? He was far worse than Rome and he'd been far more dangerous. Prairie Rose looked at him with grace. She'd put her hand in his when they'd done their mating ceremony, trusting him to take her to a brand-new life. He could put his faith in her and her family. Her brother was now raising a little girl and Prairie Rose was his sister. He'd no doubt keep her and the children safe, whatever the cost. He'd only be gone for a few hours.

It hit hard, as Tadpole let go of his hands, where his thoughts had just cycled to.

Gone for a few hours only. Keep them safe when I'm not there briefly.

Could one still think about revenge, harbor it in the gut like an urge under so much pressure it had hardened like diamond, and yearn for that day despite the fact that he'd somehow started to insert himself into a future where he stayed? And learned. Gentled. Where he was part of a family. Where he maybe even loved.

Prairie Rose set the sketchbook back on the desk and came to him. "Thank you," she whispered to Tadpole, tears misting her eyes. "Thank you for trying to give us this. Both of us, and our wolves."

Tadpole scratched at the back of his neck, his face growing at least three shades redder. "Don't thank me yet. Maybe I only make pretty drawings and nice paint jobs."

Her hand slid from his back and curled around his waist. She hesitated, as if he would brush her away or step out of reach. He didn't. He stayed. She leaned into him. "I very much doubt that, but at the very least, thank you for seeing us and for trying."

Agnar had faced the worst of enemies, stared down death more times than he could count. He'd lost and he'd been taken, he'd taken, and he'd killed in turn. There was a time when he'd told himself he was afraid of nothing and that nothing could ever hurt him. A time before he'd understood the terror of having children to love and care for and protect.

The terror of hope, and fuck if this wasn't all a brand-new multifaceted aspect of that very thing.