Death's Servant

I drive for hours that stretch into days. No clear destination in mind besides crossing the Canadian border into the States. The idea of heading to my hometown in Williamsburg, Virginia occurs to me, but I dismiss it realizing the unanswerable questions I'd be faced with.



My folks think I died over a year ago in the hospital due to complications during the night I was attacked. Romeo and Elsa advised that my family was unsafe with me near them, and helped to feign my death.



Slowing to a stop for the red light ahead, a burn bubbles from my stomach at the thought of Romeo. Damn stubborn man. We're in the twenty first century, for Christ's sake. Who the hell wouldn't think organizing fellow supernaturals might be a smart idea? Oh, that's right, every damn alpha stuck in the nineteenth century.



My fingers tighten around the steering wheel, frustration and Were strength threatening to break the plastic. I loosen my grip when a horn honks behind me. The traffic light is green and I'm not sure how long I've been sitting here ignoring it. Maybe it's time for a break. A glance at the dashboard clock reveals it's way past noon and I haven't eaten since the last refill for gas around dawn.



Awareness of my surroundings leaks back into perspective, diminishing the dull anger and some of the resentment I left in Canada. The clear May day shines on the green-shrouded highway, lush trees crowding the two-lane stretch. A road sign comes into view proclaiming I'm ten miles from Lucketsville.



Holy shit, I'm in northern Virginia. Huh. Guess I did unconsciously drive to where I'm most comfortable.



Lucketsville is several hours from my folks, so I'm unlikely to run into anyone here who knows me. Sounds like a good place to stop for a meal.



After a few minutes I angle my dust-covered jeep into a parking spot outside an old-fashioned diner. I cut the engine and ease open the truck door. Humidity hits me like a wet glove and the air seems heavier in my lungs. The sweet smell of new growth and distant tilled earth greet my sensitive nose. The warmth of the sun heats my skin while I stretch the miles from my aching muscles.



The parking lot contains eight cars, not bad for after two o'clock. Maybe the food here will be decent. Anything's better than the gas station food I've had for two days straight. Last night I stayed in a cheap motel after a cop told me I couldn't sleep in the cab of my jeep, even if he did agree it was silly law. The shower did me good and the change of clothes was well needed after days of hard driving.



A quaint bell jangles above the glass door at my entrance. Vacant stools line the counter, but I make my way to a booth. Hours of concentrated focus on the road have left me jittery and wired, yet physically weary and exhausted. I'm not used to feeling anything other than extreme mellowness within the pack.



Maybe coming back to Virginia was not a good idea. Being here feels familiar and yet awkward all at once.



A plastic coated menu slides across the table into view, pulling me out of the deja vu moment. A throat clears nearby and draws my gaze up the pink dress of the waitress who brought the menu.



A slim woman, with a becoming smile, a blush to her cheeks, and a cap of shiny dark hair waits patiently with an order pad at the ready. "What can I get for you, hon?" She smiles again, revealing a dimple near one corner of her upturned mouth.



I smile in response, the reaction automatic. "Coffee first, please. Black." She dips her chin in acknowledgment. I gesture toward the menu. "Do you have any recommendations?"



"For today's lunch special we've got marinated chicken-grilled and served over fresh greens." She smiles again. "But anything you get will be good. The cook does a great job."



I nod, careful to squash the frown I instinctively feel forming at the thought of ordering only a salad, and open the menu to see what else they offer.



"I'll get your coffee and come back for your order." She bustles away, trailing a faint whiff of werewolf pheromones in her wake. I sit up straighter and turn in the booth, following her retreat behind the counter.



Holy crap. She's like me. What are the chances my first real meal since Canada is served by a werewolf? Was I pulled here subconsciously? Like pheromones in the air or something?



Or fate. Maybe this is where you were meant to be.



I tense, worried I'll be discovered by my scent and that I might be infringing on another pack's territory. I've got to get her alone to question her.



Yeah, like that's going to be easy. What young waitress wouldn't welcome a private talk with a stranger?



A casual examination of the restaurant reveals it isn't as full as the parking lot would indicate. The closest diner to me sits three booths down.



Maybe I could ask about the local pack situation out here in the open? Or should I push my own scent into the air and see if she responds?



She's returning with my coffee and I make a split decision. I reach inside and mentally call up an image of my old pack. Cool dark woods zip by as I race in my wolf form, surrounded by the well-known bodies that my inner beast naturally trusts.



She sets the coffee on the table, and stares. Her nostrils flare and pupils dilate. "Well, what do we have here?" Interest leaps into her eyes. "You don't look familiar. New in town?"



I nod, reaching for my cup of coffee. The warmth from the ceramic seeps into my grasp, spreading up my hands. "Just stopping for a meal." I keep my tone neutral, hoping to not alarm her. "Not poaching land."



Sadness sweeps across her face, quickly replaced by good humor. "You don't need to worry about that. There's no claim here."



My eyebrows jump up my forehead. "Really?" She nods and a stillness steals over me. How could she be a lone wolf on her own? Or are there others but no alpha?



Innate instinct creeps up, startling me with the depth of desire coiling in my gut. The need to rule and dominate other wolves washes through me, surprising me with its ferocity. She will bow to my wolf.



Where the hell did that come from? I'm not eager to lead a pack, nor do I know enough to keep one safe.



After a slight hesitation, a warm invitation crosses her face. "Sure you don't want to stay in town a while? Get to know the area? There's lots of open ground to run."



A feeling of home, so long suppressed under Romeo's lead, warms my heart. "Maybe I will." Impulsively, I extend a hand in greeting. "Hi, I'm Jon."



That adorable blush I noticed earlier comes back, spreading up her neck as she reaches for my hand. Hers eyes dart toward the floor before briefly returning to me and flitting away. "Raine."



Oh, she's familiar with a pack, all right. That was definitely a submissive wolf reaction. "Pretty name for an even prettier lady."



She smiles, a flirtatious look lighting her eyes. "Thanks. Now, what can I get you to eat?"



My stomach grumbles right on cue. I laugh, the stress from Manitoba rolling off my shoulders like it never existed. "I'll start with two steaks. Medium rare, please."



She winks and nods, sashaying her hips as she walks away to place my order.



About fifteen minutes later, Raine returns with my meal. I clear my throat as the full platter slides across the table. "You wouldn't know of any place hiring, would you?"



"Are you okay with manual labor?" Her dark blue eyes linger on my torso as I nod. "There's a huge construction boom in the county. Good money. If you don't own tools you could hire on to an existing crew or find landscaping work pretty easy."



I studied botany at James Madison University, the campus farther south, where the werewolf attack changed my life forever. My dream at school was to someday own a nursery and landscaping company. Hope for a new life blossoms in me for the first time since leaving Canada. Maybe it was fate that brought me back to Virginia. "Does the diner keep a recent newspaper behind the counter?"