Lakota seized my arm. “Don’t play these games, Hope. I’m not your Packmaster or even an alpha, but I’m your brother. I’m family. That should count for something. Family looks out for each other, and maybe I’m concerned that my little sister was incommunicado for the past six hours and then shows up in men’s clothes.”
I sighed and turned to face him. “Must I always explain everything I do and everywhere I go? Don’t you trust me?”
“Ask me how much I trust some of the jokers in this town who would like nothing more than to bang Lorenzo Church’s only daughter. You’re a trophy to half the men around here.”
Still gripping the jeans with one hand, I gently pulled my arm out of his grasp. “You have nothing to be concerned about. I’m a woman of twenty-four, Lakota. I would never pair up with an unworthy man, especially behind your back. I have too many good things in my life to throw it all away for a wolf who doesn’t respect me enough to meet my family. Will you trust me on this?”
He lowered his head and sighed. “Come home as soon as you lock up the store. We’re still planning to leave tonight.”
“Most people begin trips in the morning.”
He lifted his head and flashed a bright smile. “I’m not most people. Traffic is better at night, and Mel will sleep until morning. Then we’ll switch so we can drive straight through. Promise me you’ll be here? I can’t leave without knowing you’re home safe.”
“I promise.”
I reached for the doorknob.
“Good. And Hope? I trust you. But someday soon, you’re going to tell me why you’re wearing those clothes.”
When I closed the door to my room, I let the jeans drop to the floor. I hated lying to Lakota, but even worse, I hated his criticism. Shifting on private property owned by the Council was wrong, but what choice did I have? We didn’t own land, and if I hadn’t let my spirit wolf go for a run, there could have been consequences. I was still learning to find harmony with my animal, so I had to release her lest she decide to shift at an inopportune time, like at work later this afternoon.
I reached across the bed and closed the blinds. Because we had a corner unit, plenty of light poured into the bedrooms as well as the living room and kitchen. Both bedrooms were on the right side of the hall and the bathroom at the end. To give myself room to work, I’d purchased a twin bed for the right-hand corner. Against the left wall was a desk my mother had built. Wide drawers framed each side, and she’d built a back shelf with small drawers and hooks to hold my stones, beading, and accessories. Shikoba sent me gemstones in large shipments, and the boxes easily fit beneath the desk until I could sort through them. It was a beautiful thing to be able to wake up each morning and look at my dreams.
I removed my sandals and placed them on the shoe rack inside my closet, which was filled to the brim with some of Melody’s fabrics. We were running out of room, especially since Lakota moved in and they bought a larger bed. She had a sewing machine in there, and though she outsourced labor to a local pack, she still worked for hours at a time, creating new designs. His clothes filled all the empty spaces in their closet, so she used mine for overflow. We could have moved our work into the living room, but we agreed long ago to keep that space separate from our work life. On top of that, our things would just clutter up the apartment and make it feel less like a home.
I closed the closet door, my thoughts drifting back to a question that often kept me awake at night. Lakota would never ask me to leave, but what if he wanted me gone and was too ashamed to say anything?
I folded the jeans and then slipped out of the baggy T-shirt the stranger had given me. Before folding it, I held the garment to my nose and drew in a deep breath. It hadn’t been worn recently; I could smell the laundry detergent. But there was another distinct smell clinging to it—a pleasant one. It had a woodsy fragrance with a hint of musk. I folded up the black shirt, wondering what to do with his clothes. When the memory of his laughter as he sped away entered my mind, I considered setting them ablaze. It wasn’t my nature to cower before a man the way I had, but I’d never seen anyone quite like Tak.
I placed the garments on the bed and then appraised myself in the full-length mirror. Tak’s indifference made me wonder if he found me undesirable. The men in this town knew who I was, so their perception of me was shaped by my father. Having a stranger assess me based on looks alone was humbling. Was my long hair not pleasing? Granted, it was a plain color. Not silken black like my father’s or even mahogany brown like my mother’s, but closer to the color of potting soil. I’d always been told that I had the dark eyes of an old soul. I frowned, a tiny line appearing between my eyebrows. Since going through the change, I’d put on weight. My breasts had always been full, and though I had a narrow waist, my hips and backside were full of curves—another reason I preferred baggy pants. Shifter men liked curves, so the less attention I drew to myself the better. But what could have made that stranger run away so fast? Were my features displeasing?
And why was I spending so much time thinking about it? I’d never cared before if men found me desirable.
I inched closer to the mirror and touched the left side of my face. My fingers traced across the puncture scars on my lower jaw and temple where a rogue wolf had savagely bitten me. The white marks had grown more noticeable over the years, especially since I didn’t cover them with makeup. They could have been a whole lot worse had a Relic not treated me. Shifters considered scars on women a sign of weakness. Scars from bicycles or other mishaps were easily distinguishable from the telltale marks of a wolf’s fangs. It was common to see young men instigating fights before their first change, and those scars implied a lot of things. Maybe that person was a troublemaker, maybe they’d displeased their Packmaster, maybe they weren’t a good fit for a pack. Men were aggressors, so scars were par for the course. But for someone to attack a woman, it must have been a serious event. It was a double standard, but the truth rarely mattered. If there were two things I’d learned, it was that life isn’t fair, and assumptions always prevail.
The fates had marked me for a reason.
* * *
“Areyou sure you don’t have any in the back?” the gentleman asked, his gold ring tapping against the glass counter. It was a gaudy ring of a bear’s head, which made me curious why he would take an interest in my jewelry.
I pushed a clipboard toward him. “Write down your name and number if you want to go on the waiting list. We sold out this morning.”
“I’ve seen three women wearing them today,” he went on. “Everyone’s talking about them.” He pointed at the feather earrings dangling from my ears. “Are those them?”
“Yes, but these aren’t for sale. These were the prototype, and they’re sentimental. Is there a special lady you want to buy something for? We have a lovely collection of necklaces that might interest you.”
He released a controlled sigh as if calming his growing impatience. I quickly assessed his wealth by his designer watch and the BMW parked out front. My earrings weren’t comparable to a diamond necklace, but people were funny about desiring items that were unique.
I glanced up at the wolf clock on the wall that ticked one minute past nine in the evening. “You’ll be the first one I call when the next shipment arrives.”
He leaned against the counter, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll pay you five hundred for the ones you’re wearing.”
Yeesh.What an unforeseen turn of events. I expected curious customers to come in and check the jewelry out, but I would never have imagined that my earrings would sell out by noon. “Tell you what, I’ll put a star by your name and make sure you get first choice. I can’t guarantee I’ll have the design you’re looking for, and I don’t make custom pieces on request. I use different kinds of feathers, but each set is certified Shifter-authentic.”
He licked his lips and looked around. I couldn’t help but notice how smooth his shave was, how strong his cologne, how stylish his button-up and slacks. He emulated a male model like those in magazine ads. Every strand of his blond hair was perfectly combed back, and his eyes were a crisp blue. There was nothing boyish about his features; he looked like a sophisticated man who knew how to get what he wanted in every situation.
He scribbled his name on the form. “This is my phone number. If I don’t answer, leave a message.” He put a giant asterisk next to his name. “I’m Dutch. What’s your name?”
