Luke hated “his” office in the pack house. Everywhere he looked in the large, sunny room, he could still see his father. Sitting behind the big white oak desk, poring over financial statements or answering calls. Pacing in front of the French doors that led to the deck overlooking the lake. In the leather chair next to the fireplace, elbows resting on his knees, listening to and advising a packmate.
Goddess, Luke missed him.
His father had been a giant of a male, literally and metaphorically. He always knew the right thing to say or do, how to put people at ease. Humans and lycanthropes alike came to him for counsel. He’d been everyone’s friend, father, and favorite uncle. No one dared challenge him in a fight. No one wanted to. Who could compete?
And here Luke was, trying to fill his shoes. It was ridiculous.
Usually he chose to meet with people in his own cabin or to go to them. But today the situation demanded the Alpha meet a threat in his territory. It didn’t matter if Luke felt like a fraud every time he set foot in the room. This house and this office were the seats of power in the Cabinet Mountains, and he would damn well buck up.
Seated at the head of the conference table, Luke fantasized about flipping it over. The physical effort and resulting crash would tamp down his fraying temper, but it wouldn’t end this meeting with his Council of Elders any faster.
“What about Charlie Picket?” he asked. “Any luck finding out how Branson Development convinced him to sell all his land to them? I’m having a hard time believing a steady family man would just up and leave town without a word to his children or friends.”
Terry Macomber grimaced and stroked his graying goatee. “Since Branson won’t say and no one can find old Charlie either, no. But like I told you before, all the paperwork is in order and legitimate. I checked it myself.”
“So are all of Branson’s filings for the site with the Forest Service and the state Department of Environmental Quality. Rissa and I have gone over the impact statements a hundred times. There’s nothing there we can use as leverage to stop him.”
“That land is ours. They never should have been able to get this far,” Terry said, glaring at Luke. The unspoken If our Alpha was up to the job came through loud and clear.
Luke’s hackles rose, but he suppressed the snarl building in his throat. Protecting the pack and its territory was his primary responsibility. Letting a mining operation be built in what should be untouchable, federally protected lands—their lands—would be a major failure. One his father never would have allowed.
“Should-haves never solved a thing,” Mom said. “Right now, we need to deal with what is.”
“His kids still haven’t heard from him?” Luke asked.
“No. They’re very worried about him, too,” Marianne said. “One of his daughters came into the shop over the weekend. The family is considering hiring a private investigator.”
Luke nodded. It always surprised him how much information Rissa’s mother could gather in her corner boutique. Apparently women liked to gossip over clothing purchases.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Stefan Lundgren asked. “That land was just the most convenient place for the mine’s entrance, not the only one. If Branson hadn’t bought Charlie’s place, they simply would have acquired something else.”
Terry harrumphed. Luke scowled at him. “What would you have me do? Kill Branson?”
Terry flashed his teeth in a taunting smile, but Stefan laid a restraining hand on the other male. “Of course not,” Stefan said. He eyed Terry with blue eyes turned steel. “That would be foolish.”
Another harrumph.
Inside, Luke’s wolf stalked, his ears cocked, ready and waiting for a challenge.
Stefan cleared his throat. “As frustrating as the situation with Branson Development is, it’s not the reason that Sheriff Ellis is here today, which I think we can agree is more pressing.”
Luke gave him a nod of thanks.
“Explain to me again,” Marianne said, “why we are being briefed on this.”
“Mom, a man was murdered,” Rissa said.
“Yes, yes. A tragedy. But that’s a matter for the sheriff, not the pack. Eric Conroy was human.”
“Correct,” Ellis said, his face as readable as stone. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t killed by one of us. The facts suggest that it was either lycanthropes or humans who are familiar with us.”
“How so?” Stefan asked.
Ellis opened a file folder and passed around photographs of the crime scene. “The entire area, including the trail in and out of the woods and the body itself, was covered in citronella oil. It was impossible to smell anything else.”
Liz Crandall leaned forward in her chair. “What? You couldn’t detect anything useful?” The no-nonsense, fifty-something grandmother was Luke’s best tracker and head of the pack’s search-and-rescue team. She followed scent trails in her sleep. Being unable to do what came so naturally to her must be unfathomable.
“Correct,” Ellis said again.
From behind Luke, where he leaned against the credenza, Dean said, “Never experienced anything like it. I can still smell it. It saturated everything. Made my wolf insane.”
Luke’s, too. He’d had a headache since last night. Of course, today’s events weren’t helping matters. He kneaded the knot at the back of his neck. “Conroy’s neck was broken clean through. A strong human with certain skills could have done that. Possibly. But the odds are a shifter did.”
Marianne flipped a photo of Conroy’s body to Terry as if she were passing nothing more consequential than a menu. She said, “I heard someone ripped out the man’s tongue.”
Ellis cocked his head. “Who told you that?”
Last night, they’d all agreed to keep that detail under wraps. Luke slid a look to Dean, who shook his head. He wasn’t surprised someone had leaked the news to Marianne. There were too many pack members involved in the body recovery and investigation, and they all would feel compelled to answer the elders’ questions. He should have ordered their silence.
Like a rodeo bull, Terry snorted and huffed. “Basically, Sheriff, you’re telling us you have nothing. A man is dead. Murdered in our territory. And you’re worried about gossip? I thought you were supposed to be some fantastic tracker—even better than Liz. Can’t you follow a physical trail? Where are the people who’ve gone missing in the last six months?”
“Please,” Marianne said, her voice dripping with disdain. “They haven’t even found the bastards who killed my Tara.”
“Marianne—” Mom said.
Marianne slapped her hand on the table, rattling the coffee mugs. “No, Lena. Your mate—our Alpha—is dead. As is his uncle”—she pointed at Ellis, and then Dean—“and his little sister. It’s been fifteen months. My baby is dead. Where are the heads of her murderers? I don’t care about some human.”
* * *
Luke stood on the front porch as Marianne peeled out of the driveway. The bitter, rusty stench of her anger and grief clung to him. He couldn’t blame her. She was right.
The door swung open behind him and Terry stomped out. A mean gleam came into his eyes. “There is a lot at stake, Alpha. Don’t allow yourself to become distracted. Do you think no one noticed your scent when you walked into Rissa’s house yesterday? How you reacted to that slip of a girl?”
A nasty, rumbling growl rose in Luke’s throat. “Careful,” he rasped. The urge to rip Terry’s eyes from their sockets to prevent him from ever looking at Isabelle again nearly overwhelmed him.
Stefan stepped onto the porch. “Terrence,” he said, his voice hard.
Terry’s mouth closed with a snap. He glared at Luke, and then the stupid bastard turned his back on Luke and started walking to his car. Did he think Luke wouldn’t notice the challenge and disrespect, or simply not care?
“Terry,” Luke said in a low, dangerous tone. The sharp edge of claws pulsed at his fingertips. “Feel free to challenge me at the next pack run.” His wolf would enjoy the fight.
Terry stiffened. After only a few seconds, he lowered his eyes and hurried to his car.
“That’s what I thought,” Luke murmured.
Snow and gravel shot across the yard as Terry gunned the engine and raced down the drive. “Terrance doesn’t have what it takes to be Alpha,” Stefan sniffed dismissively, his blond hair swirling in the breeze. “Never has. Never will.” The sour scent of anger filled the air around him. “He’s a junkyard dog.”
A grin tugged at Luke’s mouth. “All bark and no bite?”
Stefan laughed, and it reminded Luke of the many times he’d heard that sound ring through his house—this house—growing up. Stefan had been one of his father’s closest friends.
“Oh, Terry likes to bark and snarl,” Stefan said. “He’s never understood that the most lethal predator is the silent one. But make no mistake, he’ll take a chunk out of you if he can.”
Luke’s wolf snorted. “Let him try.”
“Good enough.” Stefan clapped him on the back and smiled at someone behind Luke. “Goodbye, Lena. Alpha.” Then he, too, strode off to his car.
“How much of that did you hear?” Luke asked his mother when she leaned against the porch rail and looked at him.
She shrugged. “All of it.”
“Great.” He rolled his shoulders, his skin itching. His beast paced inside him, wanting out. He needed a run, but he had a few more hours of work to do before Isabelle got back.
“Wolf scratching at the gates?” Mom asked. She gave him a sad smile. “Your father used to need to shift and run after a meeting with the Council, too. Remember?”
“Yeah.” When Luke was young, his dad would take him along. They’d play and hunt. Sometimes they’d stalk Mom while she gardened. She’d always pretended to be surprised when her pup would pounce and mock growl.
Luke sucked in a long breath. Then another. The air smelled of pine, cedar, snow, earth, his mother, and pack—like home.
His wolf settled in his skin, like a key turning in a lock.
“Ah, that’s better,” Mom said. She touched his arm when he opened his mouth. “Don’t apologize. We’ve been through this. What happened to your father was not your fault. Even if you had been here in town, what could you have done? They were gone before any of us could help them.”
The muscles in Luke’s jaw bunched up so tight, he thought they’d snap. They had been through it. It didn’t matter how many times. Luke should have been here in Black Robe, helping his father with pack business, like his father wanted, not in Seattle pursuing his own crap. But for once, he kept his trap shut. It upset his mother whenever they discussed this.
Mom sat down in one of the many Adirondack chairs lining the porch. “That meeting wasn’t fun, but you were upset before it even began. Want to talk about it?”
Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache roared with a vengeance. “I had just called Chicago. They shuffled me around on hold for almost an hour. None of the little mutts would give me their leadership’s direct lines or answer any of my questions.” If he could have reached through the phone and strangled the unhelpful shits, he would have.
“That’s odd. They must still be in transition there. Which, I suppose, is not unexpected.”
No, especially since the new leaders had achieved their positions through a bloody coup d’état. At least Isabelle had missed a pack-wide civil war. Still, the bits and pieces he’d gathered so far about her life formed a disturbing picture.
“How is Izzy? The goddess picked a good mate for you. I like her.” A twinkle lit Mom’s eye. “She put Marianne in her place.”
“She coldcocked me.”
Lena laughed. “I know.”
“She’s terrified of us.” And he had no idea what to do about it. Or anything else.
“Give her time. Her wolf will sort it out.”
He almost laughed at that, except Isabelle’s hatred of her beast really wasn’t funny. “I’m screwing this all up,” he said.
“Oh, Luke. You’re not—”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “Marianne was right. I haven’t found Dad’s killers. People are missing. Dying. On my watch. I’m failing them. I can’t even feel them.”
Mom stood in front of him and touched his arm again. “What do you mean?”
Disgust burned like acid in his gut. Jesus, was he really whining like a baby to his mommy? But he’d started down this trail. “The pack. I can’t sense them. Not like I should. Not like Dad did. I look inside”—he knocked his fist against his chest—“but they’re not there any more than they were before. I can’t differentiate them, tell where they are, or how they’re doing. What kind of Alpha can’t sense his pack?”
“I don’t believe that,” Mom said. “I’ve seen you at pack runs. Watched your wolf and the other wolves’ reaction to him. They follow him. Easily.”
His wolf sniffed and flicked an ear at Luke.
“That’s because he isn’t conflicted. You are.” Mom’s pewter eyes swirled with gold. “You think you stepped up because there was no one else. But that’s not true. You did it because you had to. It’s who you are. Alpha. To your core. You can’t change that, Luke.”
Even if he might want to.