Chapter 12

12

My truck carried me off Highway 2 in Monroe, through the town, and to the north, where I headed down roads that I hadn’t driven in ages. The magical case wasn’t in my glove compartment. On the way out of the complex, I’d run into Bolin, who’d been leaving for the day, promising the prospective tenants had liked what they’d seen and would be back after they scrounged up money for the deposit. On a whim, hopefully not an unwise whim, I’d given him the case and asked him to either research it or ask his father what it was.

Bolin’s eyes hadn’t lit up with covetous interest when he’d regarded it. Instead, he’d called it a nice wolf box, then informed me that the word box came from the Greek pyxis , which meant a container made from boxwood, or maybe the Latin buxus, which had the same meaning as pyxis.

Maybe it was strange that I trusted my new intern more than Duncan, but I’d gotten a feel for the kind of person Bolin was on Day 1. My read on Duncan was sketchy. He was sketchy.

A lot of houses had been built along the back roads since the last time I’d been through Monroe, but once I drove out into unincorporated territory and the pavement turned to gravel and pot-hole-filled dirt, the homes grew infrequent. Around town, there was a lot of farmland, but out here, forests and wetlands dominated, with trees growing close to the roads, evergreen branches blocking most of the night sky. Now and then, a dog barked at a fence, and houselights filtered through the woods, but I trusted my mother still didn’t have many neighbors.

She didn’t live in the home I’d grown up in. That had burned in a fire, possibly an arson, back when a rival pack, the Cascade Crushers, had competed for this territory. Since first arriving from the Old World generations before, our packs had feuded with each other, like the Hatfields and McCoys. Our territorial kind could start battles that lasted generations—until one pack was destroyed or driven out. Peace treaties were rare, though Raoul and I had once spoken of bringing our packs together. That hadn’t been meant to be.

By the time I’d left, the Crushers had departed for Canada, saying they longed for land where fewer humans intruded upon the forests and game was more plentiful. That might have been true, but they might also have been devastated by the loss of Raoul. They’d never come to me to speak of it, and I’d been too ashamed and scared to go to them.

A breeze pushed the clouds across the sky, and the nearly full moon peeked out, casting shadows between the trees and bathing the side of my face in its silvery light. It made my skin waken, as if the moon could convey the warmth of sunlight. For a werewolf, it almost did, though it was magic that one felt, not the sun’s radiation.

My blood tingled in my veins, and an aliveness that I hadn’t felt in a long time crept into me. As I had long ago, I had the urge to change forms and run through the forest, to feel the autumn breeze caressing my face as I sought prey to hunt.

I swallowed, gripped the steering wheel tightly, and attempted to sublimate that urge. I was coming out to get my questions answered, not to hunt, and definitely not to change into a wolf. If I needed meat, I could delve into the salmon-and-sausage gift box I’d picked up on the way out of town. At the last minute, I’d decided I should bring an offering that a carnivore would appreciate.

Ahead, my high beams played over a wooden address sign nailed to a tree. Above the house numbers, a wolf howled at the moon. It reminded me of the case, though the wolf on that was showing its pointed teeth rather than howling.

I turned up the winding dirt driveway, trees hemming it in on either side. As my headlights swung with the truck’s movement, they briefly highlighted two eyes in the distance. They disappeared from view almost as soon as I saw them, but nerves made my heart thump in my chest. The eyes hadn’t been glowing , like those of the minions that had attacked me, but they might have belonged to a werewolf.

“Not that unusual,” I told myself.

Most of the younger generation of werewolves from our pack lived in the suburbs and were at least somewhat incorporated into human life, but they came out to visit and hunt. I suspected most of the family would be here for the full moon. Maybe some already were. My senses, feeling more alive out here, told me that more than one wolf lurked in the woods.

Mom’s two-room log cabin came into view, surrounded by evergreens that towered high, not allowing enough sunlight to filter down for a lawn. Mossy rocks framed the cleared gravel driveway near the front door, and fir and pine needles scattered the packed earth around the home’s stone foundation. A river rock chimney rose from the ground on one end of the cabin, and smoke wafted out of it. A dented Jeep Wrangler was parked in the driveway, a vehicle I didn’t recognize, but it looked like something Mom would own .

It was hard not to feel like a complete stranger as I drove closer. No, not a stranger. An intruder . Normally, I would have called someone before visiting, but Mom didn’t have a phone, and there wasn’t cell reception out here anyway.

Before I reached the parking area, two huge gray wolves loped out of the trees. Big males, they each looked powerful enough to take down a buck by themselves—or rip the fender off my truck.

Since I was driving slowly, I didn’t have to slam on the brakes, but their appearance startled me. Were these more cousins? They seemed vaguely familiar, but after so many years, my memories had grown fuzzy. One was young, maybe young enough that I hadn’t met him before.

They stood in the driveway, facing me with their hackles up. They blocked the way.

Sweat dampened my palms where I gripped the wheel. I might have veered off, weaved through trees, and reached the cabin, but I trusted they would continue to impede me if I tried that.

“Guess I’m parking here.” I rolled down the window. “Either of you boys need a ride?” I pointed to an Uber sticker on my windshield.

Before all this craziness had started, I’d driven for the ride-sharing outfit a couple of evenings a week, earning extra on the side in an attempt to reach my financial goals. My truck was on the verge of falling out of their minimum requirements, but it could have carried numerous werewolves in the bed without trouble.

Neither pack member moved out of the road, tempted by my offer. The older wolf, a touch of white at his muzzle, curled his lips to show me his fangs. The younger gazed intently through the windshield. With curiosity? It was hard to tell. His nostrils twitched as he tested the air, maybe trying to figure out who I was. Or… what I was? This close to needing another dose of the potion, I probably didn’t smell that different from a normal werewolf, but I didn’t know that for certain .

After turning off the truck, I grabbed the gift box and slid out. The brisk night air chilled me through my hoodie, and a touch of frost already edged the roots of trees. With the engine off, I had no trouble hearing the soft growls coming from the older wolf. The other cocked his head and looked at the box.

“I came to see my mother.” I pointed toward the cabin, a lamp glowing yellow behind one of the windows. “I’m her daughter, Luna.”

Both wolves changed, magic blurring the air around them, obscuring the details of the transformation. Soon, two men with powerful builds crouched in the driveway, naked.

The older man, with gray shot through his beard and a bald—or shaven—head, was familiar, though he’d had hair the last time I’d seen him. Marco was another cousin, Augustus’s older brother. Had he heard about Duncan and the fight yet? Or… I squinted at him. Had he been at the fight? One of the wolves in the woods?

“We know who you are,” Marco said, his deep voice as much a snarl now as it had been as a wolf. “ Traitor .”

I opened my mouth, wanting to protest that leaving home hadn’t been a betrayal to the family. I might have betrayed Raoul’s family… but they were long gone. My memory was fuzzy after all these years, but they hadn’t seemed to blame me for that night, for his end. Strange that my own family held more of a grudge.

“ I didn’t know,” the younger wolf said. “I’ve only heard about Aunt Umbra’s daughter.”

“That’s because you’re a baby, Emilio,” Marco said.

“I’m twenty-three.”

“A baby. And a runt at that. You’re lucky Tony doesn’t floss his teeth with you.”

“I’ve seen the gristle hanging from between his teeth. Tony doesn’t floss ever.” The younger man—Emilio—sniffed the air, as interested in the gift box now as he had been before. With a broad face and big ears, he reminded me more of a Labrador than a wolf .

Marco sniffed the air—no, he was sniffing me . “You smell so human, Luna.”

“Yeah, I get that all the time.”

He squinted at me. “You’re not welcome here. Not since you altered yourself to mate with a human and have puny human offspring.”

More than being insulted on my children’s behalf, and my life choices, it bothered me that my cousins knew that much about what I’d been up to the last twenty-plus years. They hadn’t visited or called, so I’d assumed they’d mostly forgotten about me. But Augustus had mentioned my mother and aunt keeping tabs on me. Maybe it had all been innocuous, but I couldn’t help but think of the hidden cameras.

“The last I heard, this is my mother’s house, not yours,” I said. “ She can tell me if I’m not welcome.”

Which she might very well do. I looked toward the cabin. Other than the light, there wasn’t much sign of life. That might be Marco's Jeep, not Mom’s.

“I’m sure she will,” Marco said. “You disappointed her. You disappointed everyone .”

“It was more than two decades ago. What I chose to do with my life shouldn’t have affected you then, and I don’t know why you’re worrying about it now.”

“Because you are here in our forest with your altered humanness . And you didn’t have the offspring you should have had, werewolf pups. You were supposed to mate with an alpha to make strong offspring. The pack is dying, Luna. All werewolves are. We’re losing our magic. You knew that even then, and you left anyway.”

“I had to after… After.” Memories whispered through my mind, of a moonlit autumn night not so different from this one, of frost crunching in the leaves under our paws as Raoul and I ran through the forest. Before our tempers had flared, we’d been on th e hunt of an injured stag, our blood singing with all that it meant to be a wolf.

“His death didn’t change anything. More, it proved you were the alpha female, that you could have had any male—any werewolf male—you wished and produced strong offspring to carry on our lineage, our destiny. Instead, you sterilized yourself.” Scathing, Marco sneered as he looked me up and down.

Tired of the conversation, I waved a dismissive hand at him and headed toward the front door. If my mother wasn’t here, there was no reason for me to stand and endure this.

Marco moved to block me. “You shouldn’t bother her with whatever trivial crap brought you here.”

He was as big and strong as Augustus, and fear and uncertainty jolted me. But I kept walking, knowing he would be more of a bully if I showed him that fear. Feelings of anger and belligerence trickled through my veins as well, ancient instincts stirring with the desire to call the wolf out and challenge him to a fight. Once, I’d been a match for any of my cousins. Once, only an alpha male had been strong enough to defeat me.

But that wasn’t the case anymore. I had to be careful. I had to tamp down the wolf. Even if the potion’s effectiveness had waned enough for my lupine side to rise, I was older now. With startling certainty, I realized my muzzle would also be gray in wolf form.

Emilio pointed at the gift box. “That doesn’t look trivial. Aunt Umbra might want that. She should have any gifts that people bring, especially now.”

That comment made me pause, unease replacing my anger and fear. Was something wrong with Mom?

“Aunt Umbra should eat quality meat and organs.” Marco lifted a hand, as if he might knock the box to the ground. “Not salted and pulverized human garbage squeezed into log shapes.”

“Are you sure?” Emilio grabbed Marco’s arm to stop the blow, and he stepped closer to me—to the gift. “It smells good. Do my nostrils detect smoked salmon?”

Marco opened his mouth to further demonstrate his surliness, but light slashed into the night from the cabin. The front door had opened.

Mom stood on the threshold, tall and lean in a flannel shirt and hiking trousers. Her face was chiseled, her brown eyes intent, her long white hair pulled back into a braid. She looked as straight and proud as I remembered, but deep creases lined her face, and it lacked the color, the healthy vigor, of the past. Her once olive skin seemed as pale as the hair that had been lush and black when I’d left home.

“Return to your hunt, boys,” she said. “I’ll talk to my daughter.”