CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

As Led Zeppelin sang about the stairway to heaven on the radio, Frankie flexed her hand and winced. It was starting to go numb and stiff from all the metal grinding. She didn’t want to stop working on her sculpture, though. She wasn’t ready yet.

Grabbing her water bottle from the shelf, she unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. She heard someone knock on the front door, thanks to her enhanced shifter hearing, but she ignored it. She figured it was Brad, who’d tried calling her several times that morning. He’d left a voice mail saying he just wanted to talk about the Lydia matter before Frankie made any rash decisions.

In other words, he hoped to talk her out of meeting with Lydia.

That would be a pointless conversation, considering she’d already done so. He wouldn’t be mad—he respected that she had her own mind and would make her own decisions—but he’d be disappointed in her. His lectures were long and boring, and she had no time or patience for one.

Besides, she hadn’t yet decided whether to go see Iris, and she didn’t want anyone else’s opinions to influence her decision. Making said decision was proving hard while she was feeling emotionally off balance and as if she were being tugged in different directions.

Iris’s deathbed request was fair. The old woman had lost her son and, if what Lydia claimed was true, had then also been denied access to her grandchild. Iris didn’t deserve to be punished for another person’s actions, even if that person was her son.

But stepping on pack territory could open a can of worms. Iris would no doubt be pissed at the people who had kept her grandchild from her, and Frankie didn’t want to listen to someone bad-mouth her grandparents—people who’d be upset that she’d paid Iris a visit.

Would Frankie then be forced to choose between the two sides of her family? Would the pack expect answers from her about what had happened that night long ago? Did she have extended family within the Bjorn Pack that would want contact with her too?

Frankie could also admit to being hurt that no one from either the Bjorn Pack or the Phoenix Pack had tried hard to see her. Brad had made a good point when he’d said that shifters were protective of their young. If what Lydia said was true, they had tried when she was a kid. But Frankie hadn’t been a child for a very long time, and she didn’t feel that Lydia’s “I was worried you’d hate us and it was more comfortable not to know” claim was really a valid excuse.

In fact, it seemed more likely to Frankie that Iris and Lydia saw her as a reminder of what Christopher had done and—on a level that could be subconscious—didn’t want that reminder around. Maybe Iris and Lydia, just like Marcia and Geoffrey, had wanted to push the truth aside so that they could more easily move on.

Frankie couldn’t even blame them for that, but it still hurt. And that hurt part of her resented the pack for walking back into her life when they’d avoided her for so long. What right did they have to request anything of her when they’d let her go and then stayed away? She owed them nothing.

Still, she couldn’t help wanting to know about her father, her family, the people who would have been her pack mates. Was it bad that, despite everything, she was curious? Would her mother judge her for that and see it as a betrayal of her memory? Frankie didn’t think so, but the guilt crept up on her all the same.

Yeah, well, that guilt could just add to the pile she was already carrying. Her mother had been murdered. She’d seen it happen. Yet she didn’t remember a thing.

It was unsettling enough to know she’d witnessed her father kill her mother and then himself. But to have no recollection of it? How could a person forget something like that? Okay, yeah, she understood it was rare for people to recall early memories. Still, she’d witnessed a murder and a suicide. Yet nothing.

She wondered if those nightmares she’d had as a child were actually replays of the event—an event that her mind had seemed intent on burying for her own sake. She didn’t remember the nightmares either. Only snippets of—

The music suddenly lowered, and Frankie spun. And there was Trick, who’d seemingly rounded the house and entered through the open side door of the studio. She shoved up her protective goggles, annoyed that—odd as it was—she was glad to see him. Her wolf sat up, instantly alert and pleased that he’d come.

Trick raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I knocked. You didn’t hear me.” His eyes cut to the sculpture. “Wow.”

“I heard the knocking. I just ignored it, since I’m busy and all.” She hoped that was a clear hint for him to leave, but he wasn’t listening to her. His attention was on the sculpture. Standing on a workbench, it was taller than he. He circled it, studied it, and absorbed it, looking genuinely awed.

Frankie blushed, self-conscious all of a sudden. She wasn’t used to people other than Abigail and those within her field taking such a close look at her work. It made her feel exposed.

“I’ve seen some of your pieces on the interactive gallery on your website, but it’s a whole other thing to see one in person.” Trick backed up a little. “I wouldn’t have thought I could ever find anything scary about a horse. How can something look beautiful, powerful, yet scary as fuck at the same time?”

She put the cap back on the bottle and returned it to the shelf. “It’s a hellhorse.”

“It’s fucking amazing, Frankie,” said Trick honestly—he wasn’t simply trying to please or flatter her. The sculpture was genuinely super impressive, and he found himself in awe of her.

It represented the front half of a horse’s body, yet it didn’t look incomplete. More like it was in the middle of leaping from another dimension or something like that. It was entirely black metal—some parts were thick and smooth and curled slightly, almost like ribbons. Other pieces were so thin they looked more like mesh or metal string.

The creature was in midlunge, legs extended, mouth open, eyes like angry slits, broken chains hanging from its ankles. The wings were huge yet ragged, as if the creature had been left alone to rot and wither. It had broken free of its restraints, but it wasn’t lunging for freedom. It was lunging for its captor. Lunging for vengeance. Or at least that was how it seemed to him.

He turned to Frankie, enjoying the simple luxury of looking at his mate. She was wearing blue coveralls that did nothing for her slim figure. Yet there was still something sexy about the picture she made right then.

When Trick had walked in, his wolf had reacted instantly and fiercely to the sight of her; he’d leaped so hard and fast to the surface that Trick would have shifted if he hadn’t had such iron control. Well, maybe not iron control, given that his cock was so painfully hard and heavy that it hurt to walk.

He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted Frankie Newman. Just looking at her made his gut twist with a fierce sexual need. The sight of her also brought him a supreme joy that nothing else could equal.

He’d woken more than once during the night, his cock full and aching, the image of her face in his mind. He’d showered several times since first meeting her, but her scent still haunted him every moment of the day. It seemed to live inside him now, like it had sunk into his pores. He’d know it anywhere.

Trick’s eyes involuntarily dropped to her lush mouth. He wanted it under his. Wanted to lick and taste and bite. “What made you decide to make a hellhorse?”

“I didn’t. Sometimes I don’t really know what I’m going to create until I actually start the piece.”

That surprised him. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not for me. If I spend a lot of time pondering what I’m going to do, I overthink it. The fun is in the creative process itself, watching it come together little by little. I guess it’s like when you tell a story—there are stages to it. I’m not a writer, but I don’t think I’d like to know the end of a story before I wrote it. Part of the buzz would come from watching what happens in my head and writing each part down as it comes.”

He nodded. “So you shove your consciousness out of the way so you don’t think too much and can just go with it and see what happens.”

“Yeah. That’s exactly it.” Frankie wasn’t used to people understanding her. She wasn’t used to people wanting to understand. It took her off guard, but her wolf liked that he showed such interest in her.

“You’re not going to make the rear of its body, are you? Because it looks amazing as it is.”

“No, I’m not.” She skimmed her finger over the creature’s neck. “There isn’t much left for me to do now. Shouldn’t take me more than a few weeks to finish.” Realizing he was staring at her, she asked, “What?”

“It just amazes me that a person can make something like that. Really. I mean, it’s one thing to see a picture of a sculpture. It’s another thing to stand next to one, see it from every angle, and realize that someone actually made it by hand. Are all your sculptures so dark?”

“Most.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Look, if you’re here for Lydia or Iris—”

“I’m here to see you.”

Her pulse skittered. “Why?”

He’d just needed to be around her, check on her, and breathe her in. Also . . . “I was curious about you.” About where she lived and what kind of space she’d need for a studio, because Trick would have to make sure she had one on pack territory. He intended to make sure she had everything she needed to be happy there.

“Well, I’m pretty busy.”

“You can take a break, right? All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

She sighed at the dumb phrase. “Who is this Jack? And why should I care if he’s dull?”

Trick’s mouth quirked. “It’s just a turn of phrase.”

“Yeah, but I don’t understand the point in using proverbs when you have the option of saying something that makes perfect sense.”

He supposed she had a point, though he didn’t see why they annoyed her so much. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. Working too much isn’t good for you—you need to make time for fun.” Glimpsing a door ajar behind her, he asked, “What’s through there?”

“It’s my display room. I keep all my finished pieces in there.”

“Can I see?”

Since he was already heading right for it, Frankie grumbled, “I guess so.”

Trick pushed the door open and stalked inside. What could only be described as nightmarish sculptures filled the space. Among them was a gargoyle, a large face scrunched up in agony, a nun wearing an evil smile, and a creepy-looking kid on a chair. “Wow.”

While he studied her sculptures, Frankie studied him. Trick Hardy was something of a mystery to her. Why? Because she could sense that he did his best to downplay his dominance around her. It was a futile effort. He had a powerful presence. The air in the studio seemed charged with the compelling intensity that practically bounced off his skin like tiny little sparks. He could play the easygoing charmer all he wanted, but she wasn’t buying it. Not even with his slow, lazy smiles and the sexy swaggering gait.

Trick turned to her, surprised to find her watching him. “Jesus, Frankie, how did you make this stuff? Every piece is both eerie and captivating at the same time.” Her cheeks reddened at the compliment. Trick skimmed a knuckle over one of them, felt the heat of her blush. “Not used to people admiring your work, are you?” It made him wonder . . . “Do your grandparents approve of what you do?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Neither of them are arty people, from what I remember. I just wondered if they’d find it hard to understand that you have a passion.” As her mouth clamped shut, Trick nodded and trailed the tip of his finger over the row of piercings on her ear. “Okay, I get it, you don’t want to bad-mouth them to someone you barely know. Loyalty is good.” He wanted some of that loyalty for himself.

Frankie stepped back, a little uncomfortable with how casually he touched her. No, a little uncomfortable that it didn’t bother her wolf the way it should. The animal generally didn’t like having her personal space invaded, but she didn’t seem to mind sharing it with Trick. “You’re pretty tactile, even for a shifter.”

“You’ll get used to it. Your wolf will let you know if I’m taking it too far. Has she ever surfaced?”

“Sure.”

“How old were you when it first happened?”

“Thirteen.” And she’d been scared out of her mind, because she hadn’t known what to do.

Trick’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me you didn’t do it alone.” Her eyes slid away, and he growled. “No one should be alone during their first shift. I’m sorry you were.” And he felt like shit about it. He was her mate; he should have been there. If she hadn’t gone to live with the Newmans, he would have been there. Those humans had a lot to fucking answer for. “So you’re not used to being around shifters?”

“Nope.”

“How does your wolf feel around me? Threatened? Edgy?”

“She likes you.”

He smiled, since he’d half expected her to claim that her wolf didn’t want him around. “I like that you’re honest, Frankie. Far too many people aren’t.” Closing the distance between them in one fluid stride, Trick traced her cheekbones with his thumbs, all the while drinking in every curve, every line, every dent, every freckle on her face. “I’d like to sketch you.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Trick laughed. His wolf was delighted with her. She was unexpected in the best ways. “I’m serious. I like sketching. It relaxes me. The same way I’m thinking that sculpting relaxes you.”

Her nose wrinkled. “It’s not relaxing in a way that makes me feel peaceful.”

“Then how?”

Since he sounded genuinely interested, she replied, “I can disappear in it. It’s energizing and tiring and rewarding.”

Noticing she was flexing and wiggling her fingers, he frowned. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

“It just gets stiff.” She dismissed it with a flick of her wrist, but he took her hand and began massaging it. Damn if it didn’t feel good. Still . . . “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

His mouth slowly curled on one side. “That’s all right. I’m not going to sleep with you either.”

“So why are you here, flirting with me and stuff, if you don’t want me?”

“I didn’t say that I don’t want you. I said I’m not going to sleep with you. That’s just too light a term for what I’m going to do to you.”

A blush crept up her neck. “Oh really?”

“Really.” Using his grip on her hand, he pulled her closer and spoke in a low voice. “I’m going to take you. Possess you. Fuck you so hard you’ll never want anyone else. And when we’re done, I’ll do it again.”

Damn if her pussy didn’t clench at that. Frankie narrowed her eyes. “Cocky.”

Trick put his finger to her mouth. “Don’t say it won’t happen, or when you do give in to me—and you will, Frankie—you’ll think it makes you weak. You’re not weak. I wouldn’t want you if you were.” He shrugged, adding, “Some things are simply inevitable. Me taking you is just one of those things.”

Her stomach fluttered. Not just at his declaration, but at the way those brown eyes drifted over her face, warm and possessive. It made her wolf release a low growl of contentment, which was out of the norm. Frustrated and horny, Frankie jutted out her chin. “I have work to do.”

Sensing her arousal, Trick smiled, satisfied. “All right.” He pressed a kiss to her palm and then released it. “I told you I’m not here for Lydia or Iris, and I’m not. But I want to say one thing about it. I know this situation is fucked up and you’re not sure what to think, feel, or believe. But I get the sense that if Iris died tomorrow before you had the chance to meet her, you’d regret that you didn’t. Am I right?”

“Maybe.”

“Then I’d say the decision you have to make isn’t whether you want to give your paternal family a chance; it’s whether you want to live with the regret that you didn’t.” He cupped her chin and stroked her jaw with his thumb. “Take care, Frankie, yeah?” It was a soft demand. He needed to be sure that she’d be fine.

“Always do,” she said. He lightly brushed his mouth over her temple, and then he was gone. Frankie took in a centering breath. Damn, the wolf was potent. Nothing like the guys she was used to—they were strong and self-assured, yeah, but none of them carried that air of supreme, unshakable confidence that came with knowing you could handle any situation with total ease. It was hot and admirable and her wolf absolutely loved it.

The animal wasn’t at all happy that he’d left. She lay down, sulking. It was odd. Her wolf had liked Frankie’s past partners well enough, but not like this. She hadn’t wanted their company, hadn’t particularly enjoyed having them around. Really, it was more like she’d tolerated them for Frankie’s sake.

For the first time, her wolf wanted a male. Strangely, she also wanted to hold back from him a little. Not out of wariness, but to . . . test him. To see what he was made of and if he was worthy of . . . something.

Deciding it was pointless to try to understand it, Frankie turned back to her sculpture.

The following day, Trick accompanied Trey, Dante, and Dominic as they ventured to the local park for their meeting with Nash Morelli. It was a hot day, so there were many people around—sunbathers, cyclists, dog walkers, families, kids playing ball. Trick hoped the meeting didn’t go to shit, because there would be a hell of a lot of witnesses if it did.

Morelli was already sitting at the picnic table when they arrived; five wolves stood behind him, on guard. Without a word Trey sat opposite Morelli. Dante stood solidly behind Trey while Trick and Dominic planted themselves on either side of their Beta. For a moment no one said anything. Just stayed still, sizing one another up.

Morelli was a big bastard. Thick neck, roped arms, thighs like tree trunks. He also had a wide grin that would have been charismatic if it weren’t for its sly curve.

There was a similar grin on his Beta’s face. Drake had a reputation for being . . . well, to be blunt, a fucking asshole. After being kicked out of his previous pack for slitting his sister’s throat, Drake had earned protection and money as a gun for hire until Morelli took him into his sad excuse for a pack.

Taking the cigar from his mouth, Morelli shifted in his seat, making his leather vest creak. “Well, damn, if it isn’t Trey Coleman. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time.” He ran his gaze along Dante, Dominic, and Trick. His eyes lit up. “Ah, it’s the YouTube hero. I’ve heard plenty about you. One of my wolves knows you. He says you can be brutal when the situation calls for it. That’s why he found it so damn funny that the humans see you as a hunky hero.”

The wolf was right, but Trick said nothing.

Morelli cut his gaze to Trey. “I always admired the way you challenged your old man. I heard enough to know he was a total prick and earned that beating you gave him. People don’t always get what they deserve. It’s refreshing when someone does.”

Trey didn’t react. Just watched the other Alpha, expression blank. It didn’t seem to discourage Morelli at all. His wide grin remained in place.

“I sure do like your territory,” said Morelli. “I mean, I haven’t been able to see a lot of it, since you have that big fence and all. But it’s vast and well protected. I heard you actually live inside one of the mountains. Is that true?”

“If you’re planning on challenging me to take over my pack and seize my territory, it won’t end well for you,” Trey warned.

Morelli took a pull on his cigar and then blew out a puff of smoke, tainting the collective scents of sun-warmed grass and flowering trees. “I’ll admit, the thought did cross my mind. But like I said, I admire how you dealt with your old man. Leaving the pack to create your own—that takes guts. Let’s face it, it wouldn’t be smart of me to take on a male whose wolf turns feral during battle. Not to mention that you’re very well connected. The Mercury Pack in particular would seek revenge on anyone who brought harm to you or yours. I don’t want them on my ass any more than I want a feral wolf chewing a chunk out of my wolf’s ass.”

“Why did you ask for a meeting?”

“Not real friendly, are you, Trey? Can I call you Trey?”

“No.”

Morelli chuckled, seeming delighted. “Damn, I like you. As for why I wanted this meeting . . . It’s quite simple, really. I’d like to propose an alliance.”

“Would you,” said Trey, his tone even.

“I feel it would benefit us both.”

“Here’s the thing. I don’t like your methods of expanding your pack. I don’t like the rumors I’ve heard about how your Beta here”—Trey tipped his chin at Drake—“deals with people. Your enforcers are constantly causing disruptions at bars and clubs and pool halls. That means either you don’t have control of your pack, or you don’t care what they do. Either way, that’s not the kind of Alpha I want to ally myself with.”

Morelli heaved a sigh. “That’s disappointing, Trey. Really. I’d hoped we could be friends. It’s good to have friends.” He stubbed out his cigar on the table. “It’s true that I don’t police my pack much. But if I wanted a flock of sheep, I’d have bought a farm. We’re shifters, Trey. We have a wildness inside us that humans will never understand. Why should we tone it down and pretend to be what we’re not? Don’t you see that it makes us seem weak to the humans? It’s the same principle as when you’re dealing with a spoiled kid. If you don’t ignore their little outbursts and just carry on as normal, they’ll keep on having them. You can’t show them mercy or give in; if you do, they’ll see you as weak, and they won’t respect you.”

“You’re saying you don’t police your pack because you think letting them do what they like will earn you people’s respect?” asked Trey. “Let’s go back to the spoiled kid analogy. You got this spoiled kid—let’s call him Drake—who has some serious issues. If his parents don’t guide or temper or insist on his respect, he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants and they won’t have his respect.”

Morelli looked at his Beta. “You respect me, don’t you, Drake?”

Still grinning, Drake said, “Of course I do, Alpha.”

Morelli nodded at Trey, satisfied. “There you go.” He rubbed at his jaw. “This PR work . . . there’s no point to it. Humans will never fully accept us. Never. There will be a war between us and them sooner or later. No matter what we do or how cuddly we try to look, it will come. Maybe the extremists will lead it, maybe the government will lead it. Shit, maybe our own kind will start it—I don’t know. But it will come. And you know what, Trey? We’ll be easy pickings, and I’ll tell you why that is. It’s because we won’t unite. We won’t go out and fight as one. We’ll hang back and defend our territories and our vulnerable members—it’s instinct. That’s why we’ll lose.”

Trey lifted a brow. “You’re saying we should all band together?”

“Yes. I don’t just mean wolf packs allying with each other. I’m talking all the local packs, prides, flocks, clans, herds, and whatever else there might be. We need to be ready. In order to be ready, we need to have a plan in place.”

“And I’m guessing you have a plan.”

“Like I said, hanging back to defend our territories will be our downfall. But we can’t leave our vulnerable members. No, they’d die. What we need is somewhere for them to go. A sanctuary, if you will. Your territory would be the perfect place for the young and those unable to fight. They’d be inside a freaking mountain. I don’t know how spacious it is, but I have the funds and resources to make that dwelling bigger and better if it’s necessary. They could all hole up there, and you can do what you do best, Trey. Protect. Defend.”

Trey’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s what I do best?”

“You’re not an Alpha who looks for trouble or goes around challenging people. You protect your pack, defend your territory, aid your allies, and retaliate where necessary. You’re a hell of a fighter, but you don’t fight for fighting’s sake. Not many would take lone shifters into their pack, but you do. Just like you helped defend a shelter for lone shifters. Recently your pack even helped a human who was being targeted by her own kind purely for speaking up for one of ours. These are the actions of someone I can respect. The actions of someone who is a protector at his core.”

“And where will you be when me and my pack are protecting the vulnerable?”

Morelli shrugged. “Someone has to lead the fight.”

For a long moment Trey said nothing. “I underestimated you, Morelli. You’re smarter than I gave you credit for. You know just what to say. Just how to twist something to appeal to someone. But here’s the thing: you underestimated me too. You thought you could meet with me, appeal to my protective streak, and get what you want—which isn’t an alliance. Not really. You’re not collecting alliances. You’re building an army.” Trey pushed to his feet and stepped over the bench seat. “My pack won’t be a squad within your army.”

Eyes hardening, Morelli said, “The war will come. Your territory is the ideal place for the vulnerable to hide.”

“And if other shifters knew I’d provide sanctuary for their members, they’d be much more inclined to listen to you, wouldn’t they?” Trey snorted. “If you want people to join you, you need to get your shit together and act like an Alpha. No one will trust you to lead them in an army when you can’t even lead your own damn pack. The fact that you’ve elected that twisted fucker to be your Beta speaks volumes about what kind of person you are.”

Flushing, Drake tried launching himself at Trey. Before anyone had the chance to move, Trick struck, slamming his fist into Drake’s jaw and delivering a body shot to the ribs that made the dumb asshole keel over and drop to his knees, winded.

Morelli laughed, clapping his hands as if he were watching a show. “Good reflexes, hero. It’s not often people take Drake off guard.” He sighed at his Beta, like the guy was an unruly kid in a classroom. “I’m trying to have a conversation here, Drake. Simmer down, will you?” Shaking his head, he turned back to Trey. “Take some time to think about my proposal. Talk it over with your mate. You’ll see that I’m right. When you do, give me a call.”

As the Mortelle wolves walked away, Trey called out, “One last thing. If you try planting any more GPS trackers on my property, I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

Morelli’s face split into a grin. “I love how you say that with no emotion whatsoever. Me? I’m an emotional guy. Which is why I’m quite hurt that you’d suspect me of planting trackers.” Face lined with mock pain, he turned and strode away.

Heading back to the SUV with his pack mates, Trick said with utter certainty, “It was definitely Morelli who planted the trackers.”

“Yep,” agreed Dante.

“You know what worries me more than anything he said?” asked Dominic. “He wants this war. You can see it in his eyes. I think if he gets enough people behind him, he might actually start it himself.”

Trey nodded. “And he could just as easily turn that army on his own kind as he could on humans.”

“He wants our territory,” said Trick. “It’s not just about using it as a sanctuary, though I think he’d like to do that. No, he wants it.” Trick looked at Trey. “He just doesn’t want to fight you for it.”

“I agree,” said Dante. “He knows he won’t win a fight against you, Trey, and he knows that he’ll earn himself plenty of enemies even if he did miraculously win. For that reason, it’s a losing situation for him. He’s smart enough to know that.”

“He won’t drop this, though,” warned Dominic. “He has a plan. We’re part of it. I don’t think he’ll let anything mess with it. No, I think he’ll try and get us on his side.”

“How?” asked Trey.

Dominic shrugged. “I don’t know. And that bugs me.”