Chapter Four

Luke

 

Reagan Grace.

I inhaled the pretty refugee’s scent again, that thread of soap, exhaustion, and some spice unique to her. With a kick that I could taste on my tongue.

This is the one Lazu warned me about.

I didn't appreciate being summoned by the wolf, nor his incessant need to impart wisdom to me or call me a pup. But I couldn't deny the Farthing pack had helped us Northbaners out more than once. Plus, Xander wanted me to be nice to them.

But Lazu had also brought this Reagan and her pack here. Last night, he’d been fiercely protective and warning of danger trailing behind. What Lazu didn’t understand was that he hadn’t needed to warn me. Christ, I’d scented her secrets miles away, days ago. While Lazu, Ayani, and the rest of the Farthing Wolves might think she was something special, I wasn’t sold on that theory yet.

“Stasis,” she said.

Liar, I thought. But why?

I knew I could go in there, have one word with Tello, and have Reagan Grace tossed out on her ass. But of course, she’d come here with kids, family, and Fallon. I blew out a sigh.

Damn Fallon, Rett’s bossy as hell older sister, still trying to save the world.

Not that there was much of it left to save these days, not after the Rift.

Okay, so I maybe nursed an old grudge when it came to Fallon. She was the fastest runner I’d ever known. From stupid races as kids to marathons to now—you’d think a grown man would learn not to be baited. But when Fallon challenged me to a race, and I saw that pigtailed brat who was all legs and pranks, I couldn’t resist. Nor was I a gracious loser, exactly.

Yet if there was one thing getting me through this hell, it was my Winfyre family. I'd never admitted it out loud, but I was glad none of them had changed in the ways that mattered. Rett still made me laugh, Kal was still a man of few words, Tristan a man of too many, and Fallon was still the fastest human alive. I mean, sure, we could shift into beasts and had abilities straight out of a movie, but fundamentally, my friends were the same.

Well, Xander…

I cut that thought off. Nope, wasn’t going to go there.

Behind me, Jeques rattled dice in his palm and tossed it across the table. There were groans from the guys, and several of them got up and left. Glancing back, I caught his huge grin.

“Wanna roll, boss?”

“Sure,” I said and looked back at the barracks. “But not with you, J.” I nudged Hagan, a wiry lion shifter. “Do me a favor—go in there, get Reagan Grace, her papers, and Tello. Keep the rest of the family inside. I need to talk to her alone.”

“The new refugee?” Hagan asked, unfolding himself and stretching. “Why?”

“Might make a claim,” I said, and there were a few surprised murmurs from the guys. “Ah, shut up. Go on, Hags.”

Jeques rested his heavy elbows on the table as Hagan loped off. “What are you up to?”

“I’m here; she’s here,” I said.

“You want a mate?” Borgez asked, rumpling up his wild hair, and there was laughter around the table. “No offense or anything, just wondering.”

“Not how it works, Borgs,” I said and leaned back as Tello and Reagan came out. “Guys, give me and Jeques the table?” There was some grumbling, but they got up. “Thanks.”

My breath caught hard in my chest, and my blood stirred. Her scent filled me, warm and alluring—summer rain, storms, and that spice. Damn, who was this woman?

Dark circles punched out her soft gray-green eyes. Wavy black hair fell to her shoulders in two messy pigtails, and dark freckles stood out on her tanned face. She was tall and lithe, muscled and thin in the way only hard weeks in the wilderness could wreak on your body. Changes that came from climbing impossible heights, lugging your gear on your back, sleeping on hard ground, and not eating enough. Yet her face already held a challenge, and I found myself grinning.

“Sir?” Tello asked. “What’s this about? You can’t…” I raised a brow at him. “I mean, you can.”

Reagan’s eyes flashed to him, then back to me. Now she was wary.

I could appreciate that.

“Hey, Tel,” I said and held out my hand for the dice. Jeques dropped them in, and I rolled them between my palms. “How’re the new refugees holding up?”

“We’re fine,” Reagan said, and Jeques let a chuckle slip.

This close, I could see the tense way she held herself. The tension radiating through every muscle almost caused a vibration in the air. She might have fire, but she was close to burning out.

I didn’t like the thought of that one bit.

“Where you from, Ms. Grace?” I asked.

“How do you know my name?” Reagan asked and folded her arms around herself.

“Good hearing,” I said with a shrug.

She wasn’t surprised by this, and I found myself leaning forward, inspecting her. She wasn’t a shifter, that was for damn sure. But she wasn’t untouched, either. The Rift had screwed with her blood, gotten down in her DNA, and done whatever it did.

What are you, Reagan Grace? Why’d you lie about being a stasis? Do you not know yet?

"Seattle," Reagan answered after a moment of prolonged silence. The word sounded odd on her lips. Almost like its name had Fallen, and she was struggling to remember it.

“Phoowee.” Jeques shook his head. “Damn, that was a haul, lady. Good for you.”

“No trouble?” I asked, and my eyes flicked to the barracks.

Reagan laughed and shrugged. “Sure.”

I smiled at her. “Forgive me, just been a while since we got new blood. Wondered if you had a secret or somethin’. Maybe we could tell Fallon, and she could pass it along to other families."

Reagan’s arms loosened. “You know Fallon?”

“Who doesn’t?” asked Jeques with an affectionate laugh. “Shoot, I’d marry that girl if I could catch her.” He put a hand over his heart. “We’d be dead men without the Vixens.”

“The Vixens?” Reagan asked, and now she was smiling.

“It’s the nickname for Fallon’s unit,” Jeques replied. “She coulda been a Command, but she chose otherwise. Wanted to make sure she could leave Winfyre to get folks here.”

By some grace of God, the leopard shifter was here today, warm and smiling, getting under Reagan’s guard without my having to lift a finger. He often worked the gates, our very own Greeter.

“Good to know,” Reagan said, and fidgeted. “So, what’s a Command?”

I grinned lazily. “Me.”

A puzzled look passed over her face, and Jeques spoke up eagerly. “Command means in charge of the pack. You know, the big cheese. It’s him, the Deacon boys, Llary, and of course, the HC.”

“We try to keep the Northbane shifters in line, though it’s never too hard with good guys like Jeques here,” I said, leaning back and clapping the black man on the shoulder. “Commands oversee Northbane territory. Keep our folks safe.” I smiled at her. “Like you.”

Reagan’s smile thinned as she kept it pinned on her face. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Tel, you explain how it works?” I asked, and Tello nodded. “You understand you don’t get to stay here for free, right, Ms. Grace?” Reagan drew herself up straighter. “Everyone works. And being that we’re shifters, sometimes we’re drawn to certain people.” I pushed past the sudden thickness in my throat. Goddamn, I wished there was a better way to explain this. “And so, we claim them.”

Claim was as close as it got to explaining the explosive protectiveness that rose up in some shifters around specific people. A kind of recognition. In the last year, we’d determined as much since it was hard to put into words.

It was an instinct to keep one’s own safe, no matter the cost or consequences. It meant their life was entwined with yours, their blood was more important than your own.

Some shifters experienced it a lot, like Fallon, and had to be limited in their claims.

Others hadn’t even experienced it yet, like me.

Until today and Reagan Grace. Trouble or not, this girl was the first person I’d claim.

Rett and Fallon had both said it was impossible to ignore. I’d wondered at that, but now that it was howling through me, as strong as the pull of the moon on the tides, I knew.

“Don’t worry,” I said dryly as Reagan stared at me in horror. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Claim…I don’t…” She gripped her elbows now, clearly not hearing anything beyond that word. “I won’t prostitute myself to some damn shifter,” she burst out. My body locked up, and, next to me, Jeques let out a soft, surprised sound, while Tello started. “If that’s how Winfyre—”

“Stop,” I interrupted, heart slamming into my throat, and Jeques grabbed my shoulder.

“Luke, she’s exhausted,” Jeques said in a low voice, though the humor was gone from his voice. He regarded Reagan with a cool and appraising look. “You should take care to know all the details before you start leveraging accusations. We of the Northbane are shifters of honor and strength. We protect and cherish all life. We’d never—” He shook his head. “A claim is a matter of connection, not of ill will.”

“Connection?”

Jeques glanced at me, and I nodded. “Honor is Law among the Northbane, Ms. Grace.”

“I’m going to go,” Jeques said and rose to his feet, nodding at her. “I hope everything works out here, but I have matters to attend to.”

Something in his voice caused Reagan to recoil, and she looked slightly mortified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s all right. Luke, Tello,” Jeques said, and left.

“Honor is a serious matter among us Northbane,” Tello said.

I said nothing, scratching my jaw and trying to stifle my irritation at her immediate, worst-case scenario assumption. But there was also a tightness in my chest, an uneasiness that perhaps this was a kneejerk reaction to protect herself.

Did someone hurt her?

At the mere question, every wild instinct in me roared and clawed to get free.

“Kind of an ironic reaction, then,” Reagan muttered and glanced at me.

I grimaced, but managed, somehow, to say in a breezy voice, “Well, you couldn’t know, but there is no tolerance for any kind of assault or harassment in Winfyre. From anyone.” Her eyebrows rose in disbelief. “You’ll see. And to suggest otherwise—well, it’s a complete insult.”

“Okay, then what exactly is claiming?” Reagan said. “I’m not a piece of property, Mr. Honor.”

“You’re a part of the Northbane now, darlin’, and some manners wouldn’t hurt,” I drawled, and she flushed. “I get that you’ve been in the woods, and I sympathize with all the hell you’ve gone through, but you better learn to keep those comments quiet.”

“Sorry,” Reagan muttered, and her shoulders slumped. “It’s just a lot.”

“I know. Tello, go back in and finish with her family.” He went to walk away, and I snapped my fingers. “Hey, leave those.”

I took the papers and thumbed through them, ignoring Reagan. Twenty-seven years old, birthday in August, no known Rift-affected powers, came with parents, sister, cousin’s family, another small family, three children, and one toddler.

Damn. The family might prove to be a problem if Reagan was.

Into the welcome silence, I explained, “Claiming, beyond the shifter aspect, really boils down to this—you’ll work for me,” I half-fibbed as I looked up. “Mighty coveted spot, the right hand of one of the Northbane Command. And before you ask, decline, or say something sassy”—Reagan had opened her mouth—“we’re short on people who can help us run the place.”

Her breath drew in. “I thought it was safe.”

“Oh hell, it’s safe,” I said and gestured at the tables around us. “You see these people? All trained shifters, most of ’em by me, Rett, Kal, and Tristan. Plus, we got the Vixens—they're like our secret weapon. I didn't mean Winfyre was in trouble. I meant I needed someone capable to deal with the logistics, and here you are, walkin’ right in at my hour of need.”

Reagan rolled her eyes. “How do you know that?”

“You got your family here from Seattle. That’s what, almost 1000 miles?”

“No, like only nine hundred,” Reagan said and bit her lip. “And it wasn’t just me—my family worked together. Everyone helped, just as they’ll help in Winfyre.”

“Mm-hm, yeah, and so that’s why you’re the one that’s ready to keel over.”

Something flickered in Reagan’s eyes, and her lashes dropped. For a second, I saw her body curl in. She looked deeply weary, about to drop then and there. My fists clenched as I sat up straighter, and the protective urge, the need to claim, deepened.

Something else, something sweeter and as alluring as her scent, hummed somewhere in the depths of my senses, but I shoved it down. No distractions. More than the itch to claim, I needed her to agree or at least to stick close by so I could figure out what the hell she was.

“You were the glue, the leader, and the heart of your little pack,” I said, and Reagan stared at me. “Oh, I know. Even without the nose, I’d know.”

“What if I refuse?” Reagan asked.

“You don’t even know what it entails yet,” I said. “It’s not like I’m gonna be askin’ you to go down into the mines, sweetheart. You’ll be helpin’ me. Tedious paperwork mixed in with fun.”

Reagan frowned, and I held up my hands.

“Okay, okay,” I said and then tossed the dice into the air. “How about a wager?”

“A wager?” Reagan asked dubiously.

“Are you always this suspicious?” I drawled. “Damn, you’re makin’ me itchy.”

“Could be fleas,” Reagan muttered.

I let out a small laugh. “You better watch that smart mouth, Grace, or you’re gonna be pissin’ off a lotta shifters. None of us asked for these damn abilities, these curses—and blessings." I took a deep breath. "How about this? You win the roll, I get your family the biggest and nicest house to be found. Instead of five days to get acclimated, I’ll get ’em a week. And if you hate working for me, after a month, you’ll be free to leave. I’ll help you find a new job wherever you’d like.”

Reagan’s eyes went to the dice. “And if you win?”

“If I win, you find out after the dice roll,” I said, and she scowled. “It’s nothing bad.” I paused and ruminated. “Okay, how about this? I’ll still get your folks the nicest house I can and that week off.” No need to tell her there’s plenty to choose from. “However, as you can imagine, the terms of our contract will be on my terms. Including the length of that contract, plus a surprise.”

“Win or lose, I’d like for my father to be excused from any duties for a month,” Reagan declared. “If you can do that, Mr. Command, I’ll enter into your wager.”

I hesitated and rubbed the back of my neck. “Might not be a good idea. Folks don’t take kindly to people not pulling their own weight.”

“He fell badly ill on the way here and is still recovering,” Reagan said in a soft and pained voice. “He’d be the first to tell you he’s fine, but he needs some rest.”

“Oh, that’s a horse of a different color,” I said. “Happy to help.”

“So, if I win…” Reagan trailed off and mulled it over. “Okay.”

I shook my hands with the dice rattling against my fingers. “What shall we play?”

“Why are you doing this?” Reagan asked. I smiled at her. “I just mean, it doesn’t seem like you have a particular urgency about finding help. If anything, I’d say you were bored.”

“You’re not getting out of this,” I said and shook harder. Better for her to think that I was bored, though, than that I was angling to keep her close in order to keep Winfyre safe. And in case Lazu’s warnings came to pass, much as I wasn’t crazy about agreeing with that wolf on anything.

“Is this the predator’s price?” Reagan asked. “Do you set it?”

I smiled slowly. “Sure.”

There was a beat of taut silence.

“Craps it is,” I said, and Reagan shrugged. “Make your bet. Pick your numbers, three of ’em, doll, since I’m feeling generous.”

“Four, nine, and eleven,” Reagan said. “Wait, shouldn’t I roll?”

“Nah, I roll for you, and you roll for me,” I said and let the dice clatter onto the table. Two fours had popped up. “So close.”

“Damn,” Reagan muttered as I handed her the dice.

“Five,” I said, and Reagan gave me an expectant look. “Only lucky number I need.”

She shook her hands harder and let the dice go flying. I laughed as they rolled to a stop.

Meeting her scowl with a smirk, I drawled, “Looks like I won you, after all, Reagan Grace.”