Chapter 59

“Okay, time for you all to find something else to do. My daughter and I have things to discuss.”

Celia clapped her hands together authoritatively, and everyone up to and including the FBI agent and rogue bloodlings immediately obeyed her command. Only Hunter hung back, my trepidation gluing him to my side in a gallant gesture I couldn’t quite muster the energy to dismiss.

My mother looked back and forth between us, her gaze eventually settling on the clasped hands that I hadn’t even realized had jerked together as if magnetized as soon as my mate drifted within my reach. Her eyes narrowed and I got the distinct impression she was preparing to give the uber-alpha the third degree, as if he was the first boyfriend her teenage daughter had ever brought home.

Well, I wasn’t a teenager, but I guess Hunter was the first boyfriend I’d ever brought home. I couldn’t help chuckling inwardly at the thought.

Still, I would have been literally trembling in my boots if Ginger had allowed me time to pull on said footwear before bursting into my bedroom in the first place. In contrast, Hunter was taking his role as protector seriously, looming over my mother and applying that piercing glare that generally turned both shifters and humans alike into puddles of jelly.

I’m not sure which response did the trick. But whatever the impetus, Celia shrugged rather than lectured then walked around us to pull the door shut. “I guess Hunter can stay,” she said as she passed us by.

“I didn’t ask for permission,” my mate ground out.

“Well, you get it anyway,” my mother countered. Then, patting the bed as she sank down on one end, she commanded: “Sit.”

I complied, mostly because I wasn’t so sure how much longer my legs would hold me up in the face of my mother’s steely determination. Then, before Hunter could snarl a retort or Celia could embark upon whatever topic she had in mind, I dove into my much-delayed apology.

“I’m sorry about everything,” I told her, finding a speck of dirt on the carpet to focus on since I seemed to be physically incapable of meeting my mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry about dragging dozens of half-feral shifters onto your doorstep. I’m sorry about making you lie to your neighbors and invent a dog-rescue operation to cover for us. And I’m sorry about making you lose the home you worked so hard to create.”

The room remained ominously silent. Hunter hadn’t seated himself on command, instead remaining by my side as I perched beside Celia on the edge of the mattress. Now, his warm palm settled on my shoulder, imbuing me with the strength I needed in order to continue.

“But I want to make it up to you,” I went on. “Hunter and I are going to buy some land here in Arborville, make a place for us and our pack.”

Although, now that I said the words aloud, I suddenly saw the gaping flaw in our plan. Not just the fact that Celia might not want us settling in her backyard, but also the general issue of finances.

Money had been remarkably easy to come by for the last month because Hunter’s Tribunal credit card paid for all and sundry. On the other hand, now that my mate’s job was up in the air and his relationship with Stormwinder hovered halfway between bad and worse, I wasn’t so sure how we’d feed ourselves in the near future. Building a clan home from scratch would be quite a feat under those circumstances.

Never mind. We’ll make it work somehow.

And I realized now how important it was to me for the plan to work with Celia rather than without her. So I forced my chin to cant upwards and my eyes to meet the same-colored orbs eighteen inches distant as I turned apology into plea. “I was hoping you might want to live there too,” I finished, my voice more squeak than whisper.

Celia’s brow was furrowed, her lips pursed, and I couldn’t quite resist the sinking sensation that developed in the pit of my stomach at the sight. The digestive organ in question was definitely getting a workout this morning—too bad I’d never managed to put any food in my mouth before all the drama erupted. Because from the expression on my mother’s face, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be able to force sustenance past the tightness in my throat in the near future either.

“Fen...” she began.

I hunched my shoulders, bracing for the verbal blow that I knew was bound to come. Beside me, Hunter bristled and I abruptly wished I’d sent him out of the room with the rest of the pack. Because I didn’t think I could handle the pity that would soon enter my mate’s eyes...and I also didn’t want to have to physically restrain the uber-alpha to prevent him from assaulting my mother if she said something truly unkind.

Which, I had to admit, Celia had every right to say. After all, I’d come into her life uninvited and had proceeded to bring her perfect world down in a shambles about her ears.

We were invited, my wolf countered.

Okay, so maybe we’d technically been summoned to the cemetery...but no one could twist the truth enough to say that this eventuality was what my mother had in mind when she’d sent a funeral announcement to my old address last month. I turned my head away so I wouldn’t have to watch her face go hard, a lone tear welling up in each of my own eyes. I shouldn’t have opened my heart in the first place if I wasn’t ready to accept the possibility of having it broken.

“Fen,” my mother continued before I could act upon any of the thoughts stampeding through my brain. “I don’t know what you think you have to apologize for. You saved my life. But more than that, you’ve given me something to live for. When I sent out that card, I wished you’d come. I dreamed I’d finally get to explain why I’d been such a deadbeat mom. But I never dared hope that you’d accept me as your parent.”

She paused long enough to pull me into a hug and I clutched her more slender frame to my chest in awe. I should have taken a hint from the way my wolf lay quiescent and contented within my skin. My animal half had a tendency to understand the emotional undercurrents of the room long before I did and her lack of dread should have held my own misgivings in check.

Told you so, my wolf whispered into my shell-shocked brain.

“So you don’t want me to get out of your hair and leave you alone?” I asked a trifle damply into her shoulder.

Celia pushed me back gently so she could peer into my eyes. “Are you kidding me? I came up here to ask if you’d be willing to use your father’s life-insurance payment and my fire-insurance policy to settle down. Here in Arborville. With me.”

***

My mother’s experience as a real-estate agent came in handy over the next few days as she trolled through listings in search of the perfect home for our cobbled-together pack. For a while, though, I thought she’d gotten cold feet from the way she rejected each offering out of hand. One was too expensive, another too small, a third too remote.

Our rental house was starting to feel excessively cramped by this point, bursting at the seams as it was with dozens of unruly shifters. So I was glad to flee the premises when Celia showed up after work one evening with a big smile on her face. “I found it,” she said simply.

We piled into vehicles and followed her sporty car beyond the town limits, up through a series of winding foothills, and then down into a valley along a rutted gravel road. Finally, Celia eased to a halt in front of a ramshackle farmhouse at the base of a hillside peppered with what appeared to be a dozen small and medium-sized cottages.

“Rental cabins,” she said succinctly once we’d joined her outside. “The host family lived here in the main house, but they got old and let the place fall down around their ears. Their kids don’t want it, there aren’t enough tourists to make paying a staff worthwhile, and neither son nor daughter can stomach living in the sticks. Basically, the business is defunct.”

Car doors slammed shut behind us, lupine barks of excitement filled the air, and bloodlings spread out across the overgrown lawn. Several darted off into the trees and I had a sudden jolt of worry about neighbors with livestock and guns. “How big is the property?” I asked hurriedly.

My mother turned smug, like the cat who’d lapped up all of the cream. “A thousand acres.”

“A thousand?”

“It’s weedy second-growth timber, too young to be valuable. And the hillside is so steep the topsoil would erode away if you cut down the trees again.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “The owners are pretty sure it’s worthless.”

I knew better than to think Celia would really rip off her clients, so I asked again just to be certain. “We can afford it?”

“We can afford it...with enough money left over to hire a construction crew to make the place livable.” My mother’s gaze drifted down to the hands that had once again clinched together between me and my mate. This time, she smiled at the gesture. “Go ahead. Take a look and see what you think.”

After walking through the farmhouse, I had to admit that the city-slicker owners were probably right. The place was ragged around the edges and would require plenty of elbow grease to keep us from falling through the floor or freezing our toes off in the winter. But I could easily envision the existing shell being turned into a community space where our pack could work and play together, the exuberant energy of young shifters unlikely to cause any more damage than time had already done.

The cabins were significantly better preserved. Mostly, though, I was drawn to their level of remoteness since each small structure was connected to the next via a series of tantalizing sylvan pathways. The distance in between was sufficient to keep shifter ears from picking up on neighbors’ conversations without causing pack-bound werewolf sensibilities to feel overly bereft. Perfect.

It was only when the summer evening began to descend into night, though, that I knew we’d found home. Hunter and I sat on the porch of the topmost cabin, our legs dangling over the edge since the rocking chairs I could envision filling the space were notably absent. Before us, lightning bugs rose from the tall grasses, from the canopies of the nearby trees, and from the dim recesses beneath the overarching limbs. In the distance, hoots of laughter attested to our pack mates’ enjoyment of the freedom of vast open spaces, and I even caught a hint of my mother’s voice raised in song way down in the valley.

“What do you think?” Hunter asked at last, his voice a rumble of security that beat back the darkness of the approaching night. He was still grasping my fingers, and now he raised his own palm so he could press a kiss against the backside of my hand. The gesture sent a tremor of pleasure up my arm and down my spine.

“I think it’s perfect,” I admitted. “I think Celia will be happy here. I think our clan will be happy here. And I know I’ll be happy here. How about you?”

“I think this land and our pack suit each other to a T,” he answered, pulling me yet closer so my shoulder slipped into the warm cavity beneath his arm. I fit perfectly, like a round peg in a round hole.

I’d assumed my mate was finished speaking, and I was content to just sit together in silence and watch night fall over the land. But Hunter wasn’t done quite yet.

“We’re a bit ramshackle and we might look worthless from a distance,” he murmured. “But our bones are sturdy and our foundation is strong. I’m honored to be a part of your pack.”

Then together, the band in question—Hunter and I, a couple dozen rogue bloodlings, a pair of trouble twins, two steadfast pack mates, and my long-suffering mother—all sank our roots into the deep soil of our new clan home.

Wolf Landing