After shooing the last of the pack out the door, Luke walked into the kitchen. Isabelle tracked his every move. He’d like to think it was because she felt the connection between them, but the way she pressed her back to the wall and kept everyone in her sight told a different story.
What had happened to her to put that wary look in her eye?
Slowly, as if approaching a skittish horse, he stepped in front of her. Isabelle tensed even more, like she expected a blow. Ignoring his beast’s whine of distress, Luke said to her, “Come on, sugar. Let’s sit down.”
She flicked her eyes toward the enormous island in the center of the kitchen, where Freddie was filling a plate with food. With a stiff nod, she slid away from the wall. When Luke placed a hand on her lower back, she tried to edge away, and failed. Putting space between them was out of the question.
Not now. Maybe not ever again.
Isabelle stopped dead and scowled at him. He looked down into her golden-brown eyes and felt a shiver run through her. He couldn’t repress a feral grin. And when she blushed, he could no more stop his hand from caressing her cheek as the moon from rising in the night sky.
The obnoxious clearing of a throat made her flinch and look away, the pretty pink flush turning crimson. Luke glared at Freddie. The little shit had the audacity to scowl right back.
“Boys,” Sarah said. “Play nice.”
“Good luck with that, baby,” Dean said, as he set a full plate in front of his mate.
Luke led Isabelle to a stool at the end of the island, next to Sarah. The healer leaned closer and surreptitiously sniffed.
Not even the knowledge that Sarah was subtly examining his mate for the source of the unhealthy bitterness in her scent could assuage his wolf. It paced in agitation, demanding to be let out. It didn’t care that there was no foe here to fight, or that it had no healing abilities.
Patience, Luke told it. The wolf snorted and continued pacing.
Waiting passively for Sarah’s verdict was beyond Luke’s ability, so he grabbed a plate and began filling it with the best of everything the aborted party had to offer: a thick slice of his mother’s beef and sausage lasagna, cut into a precise, cheesy square; a large spoonful of Sarah’s broccoli and orzo casserole, from the corner where it was browned and crispy; three slices of the rarest, most perfect roast beef, which he covered in steaming gravy; and one of Liz Crandall’s double-stuffed baked potatoes. He considered the bowl of buttered green beans, but the plate was already in danger of overflowing. Next, he filled a glass with cold milk from the refrigerator.
He set the plate and milk in front of Isabelle with a set of utensils wrapped in a paper napkin. He unrolled the napkin and set it next to the plate, placing the fork and knife in the proper places. Well, at least not all of his mother’s lessons had gone in one ear and out the other.
Freddie huffed and rolled his eyes. “She won’t eat that.” He pulled back the plate Luke had prepared and shoved a tray of veggies and dip in front of Isabelle. Pointing at her, he said, “Eat.” Then he plopped the cheese platter next to the vegetables. “That, too.”
Luke couldn’t control the growl that rumbled out of his lips. His mate needed to eat. He would be the one to—
A palm slapped the granite countertop with a sharp crack! Isabelle glared at him, a fork clenched in her fist like a dagger. “Stop. Growling. At. My. Brother.”
No one said anything. No one moved. Until Luke grinned. Damn, but her dominant and protective streaks were hot—even if they were in defense of Freddie, the jackass.
“What was your rank in the army?” Luke asked her.
“Captain.”
“Used to giving orders, huh?”
Her chin came up.
“Nice,” he said, meaning it. “Okay, sugar. I’ll try, but he’s so damn annoying.”
Isabelle’s lips twitched.
“Moron,” Freddie mumbled under his breath.
Luke ignored him; easy to do with his feisty mate in front of him. “If you’re not going to stab me, how about you put that fork to good use and have some dinner?” He pushed the veggies and cheese out of the way and replaced them with the plate he’d made for her.
She swallowed as if pained and grimaced at it. “Thank you, but I’m a vegetarian.”
The uppercut she’d served to his jaw must have rattled his brain, because he could have sworn she said—
“Vegetarian!” Dean’s laugh sounded like his wolf’s bark. “That’s a good one. An herbivorous werewolf.” He wiped his eyes. “Oh, goddess.”
“She’s not joking,” Freddie said. “I lived with them for almost a decade. I never saw either one of them eat a bite of meat. Not even an egg.”
“What?” Luke asked. “That’s not possible.” Could Isabelle have survived this long on fruit and vegetables? “Is this why you look half-starved?” he blurted.
At the same time, Rissa said, “Are you nuts?”
Isabelle gave them both a withering look. “What I eat and how I look are none of your damn business.”
The hell it wasn’t. Everything about her was his business now. Like he fucking cared about her looks. He also didn’t care about whatever yuppie, city-girl reason she had for denying herself basic nutrition. A diet without meat could never satisfy the needs of a predatory shifter. Ravenous hunger was not a good idea for a werewolf.
Hungry wolves make dangerous wolves.
“Who’s ‘them’?” Dean asked.
“What?” Luke said, his voice dangerously close to a snarl. His mate was trying to kill herself and—
“Freddie said ‘either one of them,’” Dean repeated. “And earlier, Izzy said ‘we.’ Who else are you talking about, Fred?”
The hot metal stench of pain and anguish rushed through the room, and Luke’s wolf whined at their mate’s distress. Not that you could tell from her face. Her expression was flat and cold, brittle as stone.
Freddie sighed and looked at Isabelle with palpable sadness.
“Bess,” Rissa said softly. “They’re talking about Izzy’s identical twin, Bess.”
Oh, goddess. Luke didn’t want to ask the next question. “What happened?”
He took Isabelle’s frigid hand and tightened his grip when she would have pulled away. He stroked her knuckles. Dread slithered down his spine while he waited for the answer.
“She committed suicide,” Freddie said, his voice a harsh croak. Rissa leaned into her mate’s side, wrapping her arms around him. “Almost three years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Luke said. Unfortunately, he knew from experience just how useless a sentiment it was.
Isabelle nodded once, her posture as hard as the frozen ground during a Cabinet winter. He cursed, wanting to take her in his arms and hold her until that ice-cold veneer melted away.
But for once, his wolf pulled him back, echoing Luke’s own earlier advice: Patience.
Looking into her golden-brown eyes, Luke gently—so very gently—brushed a lock of hair away from her face. He’d give her time. But he wasn’t going anywhere.
* * *
Izzy stared at Luke, his hands warm and gentle on hers.
The pain from Bess’s death always smoldered just beneath the surface, like an ember waiting to burst into flame with the slightest breeze. And it had when they’d asked about her wild and reckless sister. For a few awful seconds, she’d wondered if today would be the day it’d burn her to ash. Then the iron control she’d learned at the back of her grandmother’s bony hand rose up and slammed the door shut on her grief, hiding it away.
But the lock on that door was flimsy.
Luke’s eyes, intense with emotion, held her captive. She must have been losing it, because it felt like a promise, like if she could just let herself fall into those deep green depths she’d be safe.
Right.
The part of her that had kept her alive all these years sneered at the thought. Nothing and nowhere was safe. Most definitely not here with a bunch of werewolves. No matter how charming or handsome.
She jerked her hands. For a second, he tightened his grip before allowing her fingers to slide through his. An inappropriate shiver danced up her spine.
As if Luke wasn’t tempting enough, the aromas in the kitchen teased her, making her salivate. Her eyes slid to the mounded plate Luke had placed on the island in front of her. The beef, glistening with gravy, seemed to grow in size until it was all she could see. Her stomach cramped, growling ferociously.
Without thinking, her hand darted out toward the plate. She stopped herself just before she dug into the bounty and shoved it into her face like an animal.
“Filthy animals.”
The clenching emptiness instantly turned to nausea, and she gagged. How could she? How could she even think about eating that? Did she want to end up like Bess?
The ringing in her ears lessened as the damned plate disappeared. Izzy looked up to see Sarah, tight-lipped, studying her. Luke stood beside the healer, rigid, his hands clenched into fists, quiet growls rumbling from his throat.
“Here, honey, how about some of this?” Sarah said, holding up the veggie tray.
Izzy grabbed a handful of sliced peppers and stuffed them into her mouth. She couldn’t chew fast enough while the savory scent of roasted meat taunted her.
Next, Sarah presented the platter of cheese and crackers. “You’re not vegan, are you?”
Izzy shook her head and took several slices. Around a mouthful of cheddar, she said, “Tried that once. Couldn’t keep any weight on.”
More growling from Luke.
Freddie snorted. “You’re not keeping any on now.”
She gave him a snide look, too busy stuffing three wheat crackers into her mouth—whole—to comment. So she flipped him off instead. Luke, too.
Dean’s big, booming laugh echoed off the stainless steel appliances and tile backsplash.
To hell with them. For once her heart didn’t try to pound out of her chest in response to Luke’s growling. Either she was getting used to the constant aggressive vocalizations or she was too hungry to care.
God, she was so hungry.
“I don’t get it,” Freddie said, ignoring her bad manners. “How are you a werewolf? You guys never even wanted to go to Orland Park to visit Aunt Doreen. You said it was too country for you. You hated leaving the city.”
She shrugged and kept eating. Of course they hadn’t wanted to go. All that open space and trees. It called to the monsters within, beckoned them to come out and play. Too much temptation.
Another plate appeared in front of her. “Here, try this. There’s no meat in it. I promise,” Sarah said.
“Sarah,” Luke said. His voice sounded like he’d gargled with gravel from the driveway.
“Not now, Luke.”
Izzy looked at the creamy casserole dotted with broccoli and dug in. She couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out.
“They’re from Chicago,” Rissa said. Something in her voice made Izzy tear her attention away from the food.
Sarah sucked in a breath and the kitchen grew strangely quiet.
“I’d forgotten that,” Luke said. “Lot of tension there in the pack.”
A tremor raced up Izzy’s spine. Her fork fell from her fingers and clattered against the island. Pack? “There’s no pack in Chicago.” Even as she spoke, images, vague and blurry, rushed through her mind’s eye: wolves darting through the moonless dark; fangs and claws; glowing eyes.
“Isabelle!” Luke’s strong hands gripped her shoulders as her vision wavered and she grew light-headed.
“Don’t touch me!” She pushed him away and scrambled off the stool. Her legs wobbled. A damned elephant sat on her chest. “There’s a pack northwest of Milwaukee, more than two hours from Chicago. Almost three.”
The four werewolves—four!—in the room looked at her with varying expressions of confusion.
“The Milwaukee River pack’s primary hunting lands are out that way, yes,” Luke said. “But they have a pack house in Chicago. It’s near South Shore.”
Hunting lands?
The room spun.
Nausea churned in her gut and strong arms lifted her off her feet. Air rushed past her face. Then she was sitting on a soft, low surface, her head pushed between her knees.
“Easy, sugar. Slow breaths.” Luke’s deep voice rumbled in her ear, raising goose bumps on her arms. She tried to sit up, but his warm hand on her nape kept her bent over. “Nice and easy,” he said, letting her rise slowly.
He pressed a bottle of water into her hands. When her hands shook too much to drink it, he steadied it. After a few sips, she found she was slumped on the sofa separating the kitchen from the family room. Luke sat in front of her on the coffee table with Freddie and Rissa hovering over his broad shoulders.
“What was that?” Dean asked.
Sarah sat next to Izzy on the sofa. “Panic attack, I’d say.” She placed two fingers on Izzy’s wrist to take her pulse.
Izzy yanked her arm back. “No touching.”
Hands raised in a placating gesture, Sarah asked, “Does this happen often?”
Often enough since Bess died that she’d had to leave the Army. Izzy met Freddie’s gaze. His mouth pressed into a hard line. Neither of them answered.
“She had one in the car on the way here,” Rissa said.
“Ris,” Freddie said in a hiss.
“Sarah can’t help if she doesn’t have the facts.”
“I don’t want her help,” Izzy said. Freddie was one thing, but she wasn’t about to discuss her problems with a bunch of freaking weres.
Luke huffed, his jaw working. Finally, he slid back on the table, giving Izzy a few much-needed inches of space. When he looked at Sarah, she moved away, too, and the tight band around Izzy’s lungs loosened.
“All right, sugar.” He nodded as if in approval. “Are you saying you’re not part of—were never part of—the Chicago pack even though you grew up there?”
A pack. How the hell could they’ve not known there was a whole pack there? Maybe these weres had it wrong. Chicago was a big city. There were a lot of tourists and maybe...
Maybe she was just a freaking idiot.
The sofa seemed to tilt underneath her, but she wouldn’t fall this time, damn it. She swallowed back the bile and firmed her spine. “Yeah,” she answered, her voice a pathetic rasp. “No pack.”
Not for her and Bess. Never.
“I don’t get it,” Rissa said. “She was in foster care. Like a human.”
This statement fell into the room like unexploded ordinance. Izzy and Freddie looked around at the ping-ponging glances.
“What the hell does that mean?” Izzy asked.
Luke clasped her hands, stilling them. Until that moment she hadn’t realized she’d been rubbing them up and down her thighs. He ignored her question. “How long were you in foster care?”
“Not long enough,” she said, spitting the words like bullets. She yanked her hands back as rage burned away the last remnants of her reserve. She hopped over the back of the couch and began pacing. A section of skin on her back, near her left shoulder, throbbed with phantom pain. Don’t think about that now.
“They were almost thirteen when they came to our house. But they’d been in the system for a few months by then,” Freddie said.
“Christ,” Dean said.
“What?” Izzy asked, practically shouting. Movement wasn’t helping her temper, and her stomach cramped.
Luke gave her a pitying look. “No pack or any other settled group of shifters would allow a juvenile to be raised by humans, Isabelle. The threat of discovery is just too high.”
“You think I’m lying.”
“No. I’m trying to understand. How were you and your sister able to hide the change? Especially the first time?” He said change like it deserved a capital C.
With a bitter laugh she said, “We weren’t stupid. We didn’t.”
Luke leapt over the couch, landing right in front of her. She skidded to a stop an inch from him. Gold completely enveloped his irises.
Without thought, her hand shot out for a palm strike to his solar plexus. He dodged her assault with ease, grabbed her outstretched wrist and pulled her against his broad chest. She struggled to get free, twisting and kicking.
“Stop,” he said in a low, firm voice, laying a gentle palm against her cheek. Just like that, all the fight went out of her, leaving her shaking with adrenaline. Luke wrapped his arms around her back.
She should push him away, stomp on his instep with the hard heel of her boot. Or go limp, disrupt his center of gravity and flip him over her back. She did none of those things. Instead, she listened to the strong, rapid beat of his heart, thumping beneath her ear, and the air flowing in and out of his lungs. When he rested his chin on her head, her mind went blank.
They stayed like that, ignoring the whispered questions and conversations flowing around them until the chirrup of a cell phone broke the spell.
Slowly, Izzy eased out of Luke’s embrace. It was like waking from a deep sleep. Several thoughts she couldn’t read passed over his face.
Suddenly, he stiffened. His jaw turned to steel as Dean’s deep voice answered someone on the phone. Izzy turned and saw a similar expression on the big cop’s face.
“What’s going on?” Freddie said. She realized as she scanned the room that all the werewolves were tense and alert, wariness pinching their eyes.
“They’ve found a body,” Luke said.
Freddie sucked in a breath. “Whose?”
“Eric Conroy’s,” Dean said. He walked toward his Alpha. “You should come.”
Luke nodded, his expression terrifying. With his eyes glowing, she thought she saw a shadow of the monster within settle over his handsome features. But then he looked at her and the vision was gone.
While she stood frozen, he leaned down, buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Softly, he kissed her forehead.
Izzy watched him walk out the door, feeling a little drunk though she hadn’t had any alcohol. Slowly, gently, as if in a dream, she pressed her fingers to the spot he’d kissed. There should be some physical mark left behind. “Why?” she whispered.
Rissa appeared next to her. “Why what?”
All the questions swirled and bumped around in her head. Why did he kiss her? Why did he give a shit what happened to her now, let alone when she was a kid? Why was he getting involved in a murder investigation?
The one that popped out was “Why is he coming back?” To her?