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Only, the pack didn’t need me. Or so I gathered when I reached the far end of the Green and saw the way wolves encircled Gunner in a tight cluster. They were just standing there, over a hundred furry bodies all touching their neighbors with chins, necks, and noses. And, even though I couldn’t feel it, I could imagine the rebuilding of shattered bonds taking place before me, the magic of pack recreating what had recently been lost.
This was the sort of thing a fox shouldn’t stick her nose into. Just watching them made me feel small, cold, and sad. So I backtracked to the scene of the battle, intent upon doing at least a little good before falling into my bed and calling it a night.
Because if Sakurako was to be believed and the recent fight hadn’t been instigated by a kitsune, that meant a member of that cluster of shifters had murderously thrown a homemade javelin at his or her alpha. But who would do that to Gunner? Edward was the one who’d shared the most overt disapproval of the alpha’s governing processes...and yet Edward had also been the one who’d leapt to Gunner’s defense without regard for the safety of his own skin.
I winced, remembering the way the javelin had struck with so much force it slid all the way through the deceased male’s body. No wonder the weapon was now lying abandoned on the ground even though Edward had been carried away in preparation for some sort of werewolf farewell to the dead.
“Haven’t you done enough already?”
My hand skittered away from the bloody broomstick that made up the weapon’s handle, the ball of my hand nicking itself on the knife lashed to the end as haste flubbed my retreat. But, despite the pain, I remained crouched on the grass beside the weapon. After all, Elizabeth’s father had died less than an hour earlier. She deserved the courtesy of the upper hand.
Plus, Gunner was close enough that he could be here almost immediately if my awkward posture left me open to attack by this werewolf. So I let Elizabeth’s words hang between us for several seconds, then I answered the question she hadn’t asked.
“I’m trying to figure out who killed your father,” I told her, leaning down further until my nose nearly touched the spot where a hand would have clutched the broomstick while throwing it. Unfortunately, it was impossible to pick out identifying aromas through the coating of blood smeared across the handle, so I soon settled back on my heels in regret.
“You won’t find any scent there,” Elizabeth told me. And for half a second I thought she was admitting to having been involved in her own father’s murder. But then something long and heavy landed on the ground beside me. A throwing stick with a protrusion just big enough for the hollowed out end of the broomstick to fit over—no wonder the javelin had flown so forcefully. And when I leaned down to sniff this second item, I found no scent at all along its length.
A plastic grocery bag half wrapped around the end answered the question of why Elizabeth’s odor hadn’t rubbed off on the wooden handle while she carried it across the field. But shouldn’t even gloved fingers have left some scent, whether leather or plastic? I was pretty sure they should have, which meant the killer had used a trick like the scent-reducing compound I’d sprayed on my own flesh two nights earlier to prevent Gunner from smelling the fact that I’d been manhandled by another wolf.
“You promised my father that you would protect the Atwoods,” Elizabeth continued. And for the first time I heard something other than anger in her voice. She’d lost a parent this evening. Of course she was traumatized. I wanted to stand up and hug her, but I knew she’d resist the embrace.
“I did,” I said simply.
“Then do what you promised.” For half a second, the young woman reeked of fur and electricity. She needed to shift, needed to accept the unity Gunner was offering the rest of the pack.
Instead, she kicked the throwing stick lightly with one blood-stained sneaker. “Find out who killed my father and prevent it from happening again. Or solve the problem the easy way and get out of our pack.”
***
I WAS HALFWAY BACK to my cottage, intent upon calling it a night, when a voice in the darkness stopped me. “Mai-san.” Whirling, my hand was on my sword hilt even before I made out the shape of one of the five human swordsmen who’d recently dogged my grandmother’s footsteps.
Just a few minutes earlier, this human had appeared ominous and forbidding as he trapped my sister within a ring of swords. Now, though, his body language was entirely the opposite as he deferred to me not only in posture but also with the honorific tacked onto the end of my name.
The Atwood pack wasn’t interested in including me in their rituals this evening, but my grandmother’s lackey had clearly taken the time to search me out. And as I noted his obvious Japanese heritage, I wondered if the reason might be shared blood.
“I came to explain, to speak with you,” he said when curiosity held me in place. Then he proved himself clever by getting straight to the point. “Sakurako-sama has had a difficult life, so she builds up walls to protect herself. It takes some getting used to.”
“Yeah, like eating raw fish.” The words flowed out of me before I could stop them. But, to my surprise, the human laughed rather than taking offense.
“I’m Yuki,” he said, offering a bow but no comment about my assessment of his employer. “Would it be too forward of me to ask if you plan to accept Sakurako-sama’s invitation tomorrow? I hope you will choose to come.”
“Invitation?” I’d gotten the impression my grandmother merely wanted to speak with me. But Yuki made this sound like an event rather than a simple conversation.
“She didn’t explain.” Yuki laughed quietly, the chuckle warming me due to its similarity to my mother’s laughter when I was very young. “Sakurako-sama believes everything is on a need-to-know basis. But this, I think, you need to know.”
We were walking as we talked, back toward my cottage. And I hesitated ten feet from my door, intrigued by this possible family member...but not enough that I wanted to invite him inside.
“I’m all ears,” I offered. Then, as Yuki cocked his head in confusion, I realized that his stilted speech probably meant English was his second language. So—“I’m listening,” I offered instead.
“The mistress wants to show you your heritage,” Yuki told me, accepting my explanation gracefully. And when I didn’t interject a comment, he elaborated as best he could. “It’s not my place to tell you where she wishes to take you or what she plans to show you there. But I’ll be coming tomorrow and would be honored if you traveled by my side.”
Traveled. This wasn’t a decision I could make tonight while exhausted and lonely. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I answered noncommittally. Then, bowing a farewell to Yuki, I entered my cottage alone.