Whatever was tickling Alex’s nose, pulled him from his sleep, prompting him to rub his face against the soft fabric his head was resting on. Peeking out of half opened eyes, he found himself looking at tiger mate’s belt buckle. As the rest of his body awoke, he realized they were no longer on the plane but in a moving car. Turning his head slightly, he chuckled inwardly at the sight of his tiger mate’s head lolling against the seat back, soft snores escaping from his open mouth.
Since his body was stretched out along the seat, Alex assumed Sawyer was sitting up front with the driver.The driver!Taking a discreet sniff, he realized that’s what had awakened him. The scent was familiar but he couldn’t place it.But why do I know it?Before he could come up with an answer to his question, a melody floated through the air, giving him a warm and snuggly feeling reminiscent of his childhood.
Knitting his brows together, Alex concentrated on the scent and the tune, knowing the answer to his question lay somewhere in his memories. Instinctively delving into those of his omega father, he began to slowly sift through them, looking for the right one. When his mind refused to cooperate, he began to grow frustrated.Damn!It seemed his only option was to…what? Talk to the driver?
Just the thought of doing that filled his stomach with butterfliesat what he mightfind out that could be disturbing. After inhaling deeply, Alex held his breath a moment before releasing it, exhaling his doubts with the air. It was a technique he perfected on the road whenever he had to approach a stranger. His lonely childhood had made him shy, and Alex had spent a hours trying to overcome his reserved nature with strangers. In the end, it paid off.Traveling by himself came with its own problems but none as terrifying as the night some drunken men cornered him in the campground’s laundry room.
It was the first time he’d encountered violent homophobia—and hopefully the last—now that he’d been gifted by the Fates with a wolf and a tiger for mates. What saved him was the arrival of a group of men he’d made an effort to chat with earlier in the day, who heard his calls for help. From then on, whenever Alex pulled into a new campground, he always was sure toput himself out there, introducing himself and getting to know his fellow campers.
Extracting himself from Glenn’s arms, Alex sat up, looking out the side window. Then glancing at his sleeping wolf mate, he grinned, knowing their night of sexual escapades had taken its toll on him, too. Turning his attention to the driver, he studied the man’s profile, finding it familiar. Shaking his head slightly in another effort to retrieve the memory which would tell him why, Alex let out a small groan when he drew a blank.
After hearing Alex groan, Henri glanced at the rearview mirror, finding himself looking into eyes he’d seen many times before.Impossible!Blinking several times in an effort to clear the mirage from his view, he muttered several curses when it failed to vanish.
“Watch out!” exclaimed Alex.
Henri’s eyes snapped back to the road, just in time to see a truck’s tail lights signal a sudden stop in front of him. Slamming on the brakes, he held his breath as the SUV narrowly missed rear-ending it. Adrenalin pumping through his body, Henri closed his eyes, working on getting his rapid heartbeat under control.
“Hey, are you all right?” asked Alex. “I can drive if you need to rest.”
The soft voice caused a new feeling to tug at Henri’s heart; it had been years since he heard it. Unable to resist, he turned around, opening his eyes slowly, dumbfounded at what he saw—the spitting image of the son he’d spent years searching for—but something was wrong. The man was way too young to be his son even if he took into account that shifters aged slowly. But then…could it be?“Jean-Luc? It’s me, papa.”
Papa?Alex stared at the man who’d used the same word his omega father had called himself. Shaking his head slowly, he was about to tell the man who he was when the lost memory snapped into place.Oh my gods! It can’t be…can it?It all came back to him, the not-quite-right yet familiar scent, the song his father crooned to him at bedtime, and his father’s picture propped up on his nightstand.
Alex’s eyes locked with Henri’s. “Jean-Luc Fouché was my father,” he said, softly.
