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Despite my relatively benign conversation with Ransom, I was no more confident that werewolves would leave me alone when I emerged from the restaurant than I had been going into it. Sure enough, the air when I stepped out onto the sidewalk was redolent with fur, and I found my feet moving faster than I’d intended as I scurried back toward my car.
Inside, I flicked the locks, turned the key in the ignition...then noticed that the engine-temperature gauge wasn’t as cold as I’d expected after a prolonged resting period. Biting my lip, I considered popping the hood and checking coolant levels. But I couldn’t afford for Ransom to see inside the trunk if I went rooting around for the requisite tools....
Meanwhile, during those few seconds I pondered car repair, a mob of werewolves had already materialized, traveling rapidly toward me from opposite ends of the street. Sandwiched in the middle were dozens of human tourists, bound to spook at a shifter altercation that could attract the attention of non-shifter police.
So I’ll deal with potential overheating on the ferry, I decided. After all, that shifter-free zone was only a few minutes’ drive away.
Backing out of my parking spot, a werewolf snarled from inches behind my taillights. Slamming down my foot to pull forward away from him, I almost ran over the one familiar shifter standing two-legged in front of my car.
Elle. She was brown-eyed just like Gunner and Ransom, and now that I knew her heritage I could easily see the resemblance to both brothers in her face.
In human parlance, Elle was my sister-in-law. She was also my mentor and one of the most friendly werewolves I’d ever met. During stolen afternoons spread across the previous summer, we’d talked about everything from kitsune magic to girly gossip. And, in the process, we must have started building a pack bond because I now felt my body lean toward her as something immaterial tugged at my gut.
“Meet me at the ferry dock. I’ll buy you a coffee,” the other female mouthed, the words easy to pick out despite the smeared glass of my windshield. In that moment, it was hard to remember that we hadn’t written or spoken since Elle and her mate left with Ransom rather than staying in Atwood clan central with the rest of us.
Our incipient friendship had been frozen by the stubbornness of two pack leaders, Gunner mandating that no exile could return even for a visit and Ransom retaliating with the order that no communication was allowed between the two clans at all. So Elle and I had lost the chance to talk, not only about shared interests but also about the fact that I was the one responsible for her twin brother’s death.
I’d never been able to make that loss up to her, but Elle must have found it in her heart to forgive me anyway. Because her eyes now crinkled up into a smile, and I felt my own face opening happily in response.
This moment was our chance to thaw our relationship. To place it in the sun, water it, and watch it grow.
And yet...I couldn’t do that. Not when Elle and I had made our respective decisions about pack affiliation months earlier. Not when I risked so much by parking Old Red on Kelleys Island a minute longer than I absolutely had to.
So shaking my head then averting my eyes from Elle’s crestfallen expression, I drove away from her down the street.
***
I MADE IT APPROXIMATELY a quarter of the way back to clan central before a white cloud started gushing out from beneath the hood of my vehicle. Oops. I’d let the disappointment on Elle’s face sidetrack me, and now Old Red was paying the price.
“Shh, quiet, you can do this,” I crooned at my ancient sedan as I pulled her over to the side of the highway. Was that steam or smoke emerging through cracks in the metal? It suddenly looked more like the latter, with gray twisting up to spiral through the white.
“No! You can’t do this!” I demanded, forcing myself not to pound on the steering wheel. “You know why you can’t do this....” Even alone in the vehicle in outpack territory, I couldn’t quite make myself mention the precious cargo still stashed in the trunk.
I could do something about the upcoming disaster however. Ignoring the wind of a passing tractor-trailer shaking the vehicle around me, I frantically pulled levers at my feet before thrusting open the door. A car honked in protest, swerving away but still coming far too close for comfort. Meanwhile, my attention flew straight to the gas tank and I swore loudly—I’d opened the wrong metal lid by mistake.
Hopping back into the driver’s seat, I looked down this time as I hunted for plastic handles beside my feet. There. I wasn’t quite breathing as I located the appropriate lever then emerged a second time.
Emerged into smoke that choked me even as I raced away from the front end of the vehicle. Had noxious gases gathered in the rear compartment that wasn’t intended to carry passengers? Had...?
“Breathe.” Gunner emerged from the trunk, his arms settled around me even as he drew me away from Old Red at a trot. Together, we fled as fleetly as two-legged shifters are able to. And despite the fact that he had spent hours hiding in the trunk to provide backup without spooking his brother, I was the one shaking as we raced backwards away from my car.
Gunner is fine, I reminded myself. Get it together. And, finally, the alpha’s solid presence beside me was enough to provide breathing room in which to glance back over my shoulder at the smoking car we’d so recently left behind.
“It’s not going to explode,” my mate promised. Then, rightly understanding my body’s twitch, he corrected himself. “She. She’s not going to explode. But Old Red might not be quite the same after this.”
And that was okay as long as Gunner was safely beside me rather than asphyxiating in the trunk of the still smoking vehicle. I squeezed his hand hard enough to be certain I wasn’t dreaming...then I buried my face in his shoulder so I wouldn’t have to watch the devastation of what had been my pride and joy the day before.
Old Red wasn’t much, but she was my first stab at self-owned transportation. It was hard watching her erupt into a cloud of smoke.
“You probably want to know about Ransom,” I murmured into the fabric of Gunner’s sweatshirt, attempting to distract myself.
“I do. But first let me call a tow truck.”
Which—capable werewolf—he managed to do without dislodging my limpet-like attachment to his body. The moment of letting him fix everything served as a balm to my soul.
Still, I wasn’t used to being dependent on anyone else to solve my problems. So by the time Gunner hung up the phone, I was ready to take a peek at my car—no longer smoking quite so badly—then to answer the questions that had to be rolling through Gunner’s head.
“He didn’t know anything about Oyo, but he said he’d ask around for us.” Then, taking a step backwards without separating our intertwined fingers, I relayed the part I would have been worried about in his place. “Your brother looked tired but healthy,” I informed him. Ransom had also appeared predatory and wolfish. But the tiredness, I figured, was what Gunner most wanted to know about.
“Leading a pack is hard work,” the alpha beside me rumbled, pulling me back up against his skin.
And now that I thought about it, Gunner boasted the same predatory stance his brother did, along with the same world-weary cant to his neck. So maybe Old Red imploding would lead to something good after all. Because Gunner sorely needed a break from his pack, craved a little time to forget how badly divided formerly close friends had become.
“What if we got a room and dealt with transportation in the morning?” I suggested before Gunner could place the call he’d queued up to his second-in-command. Sure, someone could come get us...but would it kill the pack for us to steal one evening for ourselves before that occurred?
I held my breath, expecting Gunner’s responsibilities to take precedence over his own wishes. Only, this time I turned out to be mistaken.
“That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard in hours,” my mate rumbled. Then, preventing me from answering in the easiest way possible, he bent down to complete our far-too-often-interrupted kiss.