Wolf Pact (The Complete Saga)

Lawson stroked her cheek. “How could I not?”

“Well, I love you too,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Of course you do.” Feigning arrogance, but what he really felt was relief. And happiness.

Tala laughed. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Shut up and kiss me again,” he said, running his hands under her jacket and layers of thin T-shirts, wanting to feel her skin on his, wanting to get even closer than they were.

She kissed him back for what seemed too short a time, then pulled away again. “Come on, we need to get back. We have to make sure the house is protected.”

So they trudged back to the house and the dogwood spell. Lawson hoped Tala was paying close attention to the task at hand, because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but this new feeling, this complete joy he’d never felt before. He hoped it never went away.

One cold morning in December, Lawson woke to find the clock blinking 12:00 in faded red neon. He wandered out of his room to find Tala and his brothers sitting in the living room, staring at a dead television. “What happened?” he asked.

Edon shrugged. “Power’s out. They must have figured out that no one really lives here. We should bail.”

That was Edon’s mantra, a never-ending drone: they needed to move on; if they stayed anywhere too long, the hounds would find them. But this time Lawson had resisted. The older boys had found real jobs at the town butcher shop; Mac was enrolled in a local public school. Best of all, he and Tala were often able to sneak away in the night and spend time together, even if they both knew it wasn’t a good idea for things to go too far, for the boys to find out. Somehow, in the past month, he had ended up doing what he had sworn he would not. He was settling down; he was starting to feel comfortable. He had to admit—he was tired of running, tired of looking over his shoulder. Besides, there was still a chance—impossibly slim, of course, but still there—that other wolves would somehow be able to escape through the portal he’d kept open, still a chance that Marrok would join them. He didn’t want to leave just yet. Besides, with some work and ingenuity they’d made the abandoned house their own, with curtains and bookshelves and a kitchen that smelled like cinnamon and honey. Tomorrow they would run, always tomorrow.

“We’re fine,” Lawson said. “The dogwood spell will protect us.”

“So you think. Do not forget that we are wolves, creatures bred for battle, not spells and potions,” Edon argued.

“I think we should stay,” Tala said, glancing meaningfully at Lawson.

“Me too,” Rafe said. “I like it here.”

“Well, if we’re staying it would be nice to find some way to get the TV turned back on,” Malcolm said.

“We’ll check it out,” Lawson said, and motioned for Tala to follow him.

Once outside, they walked quickly out of the cul-de-sac toward a more populated area, where it soon became clear that the power was out in the whole town, not just in their house. Mystery solved, they had some time to be alone.

They found an empty bench and sat down. Lawson nuzzled Tala’s neck. “Don’t you think it’s time to tell the boys about us?” he asked.

Tala shook her head. “I think we still need to wait. Rafe and Malcolm might not be ready, and Edon’s still sad about Ahri.”

It was true; the week before had been Ahramin’s eighteenth moon day, and Edon had slipped into a funk that took days for him to shake out of. Lawson had been pretty depressed about it himself. They all knew what it meant. If Ahramin was still alive—and there was no guarantee the hounds had let her live after they escaped—she was surely a hound now, which meant they could never get her back. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “We’ll just have to keep sneaking around.”

“At least you saved Edon in time,” Tala said. The oldest had made it to eighteen without being turned, and a wolf who managed to gain full form without being turned into a Hellhound was said to be free forever. They were planning a surprise party for him that night, when he was no longer expecting it. Lawson had saved up some of his money to buy a small pig from the local butcher, and Rafe and Malcolm had set up a makeshift grill from a barrel and a window grate.

“We should get home and start dinner,” Lawson said.

He spent the afternoon getting their food ready, thankful that the grill didn’t require power. Edon seemed to appreciate the gesture and blew out the candles of his homemade cake with a smile. After taking a bite of his slice, Malcolm suddenly announced that he had a stomachache. “You don’t like the icing?” Tala joked.

Malcolm shook his head. He was thin and anemic-looking, his bony ribs poking through his thin T-shirt, and when he bent over, his shoulder blades protruded from his back like two small wings. Lawson had hoped that he’d start growing stronger, and had been slipping him extra food at meals, but nothing seemed to help.

“It must have been the pig—maybe I took it off the fire too early, it must have been too rare,” Lawson said, blaming himself for Malcolm’s stomach pains.

Tala helped Malcolm lie on the couch and placed a bowl under his head just as Malcolm vomited up his dinner. “We need a bucket! Now!” she yelled, and everyone scrambled to help.

Lawson was bringing a plastic bucket into the living room when he heard the knock at the door. Strange—no one had come to the house in the months they’d lived there.

Another knock. Sharper this time, more urgent.

“Who is it?” Edon asked, coming up beside him. He had a pinched, anxious look on his face, and Lawson knew it was because they didn’t have any neighbors and no one knew they lived there. No one was supposed to know about this house. And now someone had come. But who?

He felt a growing trepidation in his chest, a tightening, a darkness.