Frostbitten (Otherworld 10)

"What do you want?"

I took the coffee tray, walked to a marble-topped raised flower bed and set it down, then sat beside it. Joey stayed standing.

"I'm Elena."

"I know who you are."

"And you know who Clay is, despite that stunt you pulled this morning."

His mouth tightened. There'd been a time I'd never have talked to a stranger like that. I could blame all those years with Clay, his attitude rubbing off on me, but the truth, as I've come to realize it, is that being with Clay just gives me an excuse. Years ago, I might not have talked to Joey this way, but I'd have wanted to.

I continued. "Maybe he caught you off guard, and we're sorry for that. But you could have come out after your coworkers were gone."

From

Joey's expression, he wouldn't have done that even if Clay had suggested it.

"You need to speak to Clay," I said. "If only for a few minutes. He has something to tell you. Something important."

"Then you can tell me."

"Clay really should."

He picked up his coffee tray.

I caught his elbow. "Please. It is important."

"Then say it and go. I'm not interested in a reunion."

I moved in front of him. "Whatever Clay did or said twenty-five years ago--"

He looked up sharply, his frown cutting me short. It took a moment before he seemed to understand what I meant.

"That's over," he said.

"I know you didn't part on the best terms."

"The terms were fine. He was annoyed, but we worked it out, and we parted. The key word there is parted." He glanced at me. "Didn't Clay get all those birthday cards I sent?"

"No, he never--"

"Because I didn't send any." He adjusted the tray, holding it in both hands now, between us like a shield. "Clay thought I was running away from trouble with the Pack. I wasn't. I was running away from the Pack, from all that werewolf crap he's obsessed with--they're all obsessed with. I only stayed as long as I did for my father's sake. I was happy for the chance to leave and now I have no interest in resurrecting past ties. Whatever Clay came all this way to tell me, you can get it over with and go."

"Is that an order?"

He seemed to flinch at my tone, then squared his shoulders. "I know I can't hold territory, but as a favor to an old Pack brother, I'd like Clay to respect my wishes and leave Alaska."

"How about you tell him that?"

A definite flinch that time. He turned to go.

"And what about the other werewolves in Anchorage?" I called after him. "Are they supposed to respect your wishes, too? I don't think they're going to leave that easily."

A slow pivot. "What other werewolves?"

"Three mutts. We found their tracks near the latest wolf kill. They also attacked a young werewolf yesterday, about two blocks from here. So in the past twenty-four hours, you've had six werewolves trespass on your territory, and you never even noticed?"

"I must have missed them on my daily border patrols." He shifted the coffee tray to one hand. "You don't get it, do you? No, I didn't notice them, because I don't care. I don't want to live my life like that--constantly on alert, constantly watching, working out so I can meet the next challenger, knowing there's always going to be one right around the corner. That's exactly what I came to Alaska to escape."