Chapter 4

I dreamed about Wolfie. He was chasing me through the woods, and I should have been terrified of the huge alpha wolf on my trail. Instead, my dream self was playful and laughing as she eluded the canine, pausing once to rub up against his side and lick his face. Perhaps because of the confusing dream, I woke to an even worse ache in my stomach and to one word on my mind. Packless.

I couldn't miss work since I'd already taken the previous morning off, but a little luck was waiting for me at the nature center. At our morning staff meeting, I learned that one of the back-country cabins an eight hour hike into the wilderness area needed repairs, and I quickly volunteered to do the honors. Carrying fifty pounds of camping gear and tools down the trail wasn't necessarily my idea of fun, but the task meant I could spend three days away from civilization: three days when I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder fearing that Wolfie had tracked me down, three days when I wouldn't have to make inane conversation with my co-workers and pretend to be human, three days to think.

And, at first, the choice seemed to have been a good one. The straps of my pack creaked like the lines on a sailboat as the bulky parcel swayed with my steps, lulling me into a meditative state. Meanwhile, the sun was out and the scent of fallen leaves underfoot reminded me of simpler years. By the time I'd turned twelve, life in our werewolf pack was difficult, but childhood as a wolfling was bliss. I wasn't able to shift forms at that age, but my mind was more than half wolf as I stalked prey in the woods above our settlement. My sister Brooke and I played for hours, only coming home when our mother yelled up the hillside toward us that dinner was ready.

But then Mom had died giving birth to our little brother, a bloodling who had emerged in wolf form and had torn our mother apart from the inside out. My father drowned the tiny wolf in the duck pond, and before long, I had a stepmother, a little brother, and a father who treated me to birthday-morning orders that sucked every ounce of freedom out of my life.

I shook the unwanted memories away and tried to pay attention to my surroundings. I'd already crested the ridge that marked the halfway point between the nature center and the cabin, and now I was following a boulder-lined stream that filled the air with the sound of running water. As I looked down the trail, appreciating the fall colors, I paused at the sight of a man's form resting on a log by the side of the path. Although the human seemed to be napping with his broad-brimmed hat pulled down over his face, the unmistakable scent of wolf drifted into my nose from all sides, and I could feel my adrenaline kick back in. I was as distant from my wolf brain as was possible at that moment, so such strong odors meant there were several wolves around and that they were close by. Trouble.

"Don't you want to say hello to your old man?" the figure called without looking up. I should have been relieved that this was a family reunion, not the ambush by Wolfie's pack that I'd been expecting ever since my trip to the city the day before. But, if anything, the sight of my father was even less welcome than an invasion by Wolfie's pack would have been. I unclasped the waist buckle of my backpack and let the mass fall to the trail so I'd be ready to run, but the Chief had anticipated my retreat. A dozen wolves stepped out of the trees behind me and advanced, herding me toward the father I'd escaped ten years before.

Father had straightened to a sit by the time I reached him, and he patted the log in invitation, but merely shrugged when I chose to remain standing. He looked exactly the same as he had ten years ago, and his commanding presence wasn't dimmed in the slightest by the fact that his face was a foot lower than mine as I stood over him. I trembled as the breath of a wolf blew hot against the back of my legs, then almost laughed when I realized that I was terrified, for once, of someone else's wolf rather than of my own. Another stray thought reminded me that Wolfie, despite his strangeness, had been a perfect gentleman the day before. In contrast, the alpha who was my father preferred fear tactics over subtlety.

"Father," I acknowledged once I had gathered myself enough to speak. Even though I had safely yelled at the pack leader as a teenager, I had a feeling that any lack of respect now would be met with harsh repercussions, so I bowed my head even though I felt anything but submissive. I could tell my father liked the gesture even more because of my resentment, and his eyes took on the mischievous sparkle that I understood most women in our pack found irresistible. I detested it.

"Little Terra, all grown up," the Chief said pleasantly, once my single word had been allowed to sit in the autumn air long enough to be swallowed up by the rushing water of the creek. "I've missed you," he continued flatly.

I couldn't prevent myself from sending my father a shocked look in response to that profession of affection. Was I misremembering the Chief's farewell warning a decade ago? I'd thoroughly believed then that the alpha was willing to kill his own daughter if she made his life difficult, and I saw no reason to change my mind now. So why would my father want to pretend to have missed me?

Even though the memory only took seconds to rush through my mind, my father was apparently bored with my reverie, so he continued without waiting for a reply. "You've had enough running around time," he intoned, making me wonder if perhaps today was my birthday and I'd somehow missed the date. This forced meeting and command felt like those other birthday ambushes, and the similarity was only accentuated when the Chief continued to speak. "It's time to come home," he proclaimed, and I could instantly feel my limbs moving to obey his thinly veiled command. The alpha smirked at the agonized expression on my face, then he added, "Unless...."

I took a deep breath to calm my stuttering heart, then drew my father out the way he clearly intended for me to do. "What do you need from me?" I asked.

"Well, since you're offering," my father began, "An old man like me needs an heir."

***

So we're back on the grandchildren train, I couldn't help thinking, before blurting out, "What about Ethan?" By the time I'd left home, my spoiled-rotten half-brother had been good for only one thing, in my opinion—to keep Father's attention safely away from me and Brooke. Ethan had been four years old at the time, and the little despot already seemed to be growing into his future role as alpha. Now he'd be...I added up the years in my mind...fourteen. Just old enough to shift into wolf form and make everyone else's lives miserable with those teen-wolf temper tantrums. Unless.... "Cricket isn't a halfie!" I exclaimed.

If I hadn't been so focused on surviving, I would have been proud of the way my words broke through my father's cold exterior. His reaction was just an angry twitch in one cheek, but it was there. "Your stepmother, unfortunately, does not appear to have come from the quality bloodlines we'd once thought," the Chief confirmed. "Ethan is no use to me as meat."

The words were like a slap. Yes, the kid was annoying, but using the slur "meat" for the son of a werewolf, even if he would never shift, was extreme. Somewhere beneath his alpha exterior, I'd always assumed my father harbored an ounce of compassion for his favorite child, if not for the rest of us. It seemed I'd been wrong about a lot of things.

I would have to worry about Ethan later, though. If my stepmother was a half-breed descendant of a werewolf and a human, that meant any other sons she'd borne would have a 50% chance of being "meat," while 50% of her daughters would be halfies like herself with the same tendency to produce human sons. I had no clue if I had other little half-siblings running around, but from my father's expression, it was clear none of them would make the cut as his precious heir.

My mother, on the other hand, could have traced her werewolf bloodlines back to the Mayflower. Any hypothetical sons I had would be just what my father was looking for, and I cringed at the thought. This had been my worst nightmare ever since I wrapped my mind around werewolf succession and my father's plans for the pack. I was pretty sure I didn't want children at all, if only because 10% of werewolves were born as bloodlings, which produced tough odds for werewolf mothers. But if I ever did reproduce, I definitely didn't want my sons to be raised in their grandfather's image. Who wants to be the mother of Genghis Khan?

While I worked my way through that train of thought, my father had risen, a smirk on his face. I wasn't a small woman, but he towered over me, his human form more daunting than the wolves at my back. Despite my fear, though, I could tell the alpha was playing cat and mouse, which gave me a perverse sense of hope. If my father just wanted to drag me back to Haven and marry me off to someone with good bloodlines, there would have been no reason for this manipulative chat. So he still needed something. But what?

"You know, your sister had a son," Father continued conversationally. I did know, because Brooke had sent my father a few letters after she left Haven and before I followed suit. She'd fled at an even younger age than I had, then ended up marrying a guy in medical school who was thrilled when he found out his girlfriend was pregnant. But Brooke didn't invite me to the wedding, never offered to have me come meet Dale or their son Keith. I hadn't heard from her after I left home.

Wait, had my father just referred to Brooke in the past tense?

"The silly girl died a few years ago," my father confirmed, and shock made me miss his next few sentences. I'd felt abandoned by Brooke, but had never imagined she'd be permanently gone before I could forgive her. I sank down onto the log my father had risen from, my throat closing up as tears tried to force their way out of my eyes, but pretty soon my sense of self-preservation kicked back in. I could mourn Brooke later. Right now, I had to figure out what my father wanted, and how to get it for him so I could escape from this mess.

Then the pieces clicked together. "You want Keith to be your heir," I mused out loud, not bothering to look into my father's eyes since I was suddenly sure I'd figured out the alpha's plan.

"You always were a clever girl," my father confirmed. "A grandson is as good as a son, as long as he's a wolf and in Haven. That's your choice—teach the boy to shift and bring him to me willingly, or we'll have to go back to plan B."

I took a deep breath. This was my way out, as unsavory as it seemed. I didn't even know the kid, but chances are that if he had my father's blood running through his veins, he was an arrogant alpha and would be thrilled to follow in his grandfather's footsteps. "Just so we're clear," I said, raising my voice to make sure the wolves behind me heard the deal being struck, "what you're saying is that if I can talk Keith into being your heir, I'm off the hook. You'll leave me alone. No more surprise visits."

"I'll be glad to see the back of you," my father agreed, the words echoing his dismissal a decade before. Then he pushed his hat back down over his hair, whistled to his wolves as if they were hunting dogs, and brushed past me up the trail.

"One month," he called back without turning. Within seconds, my father was out of sight, but the scent of wolves lingered in my memory for the rest of the day.