“Do you have any idea what they’re saying behind your back?” she asks me.
“I know what they say to my face,” I reply, keeping it cheerful. “I’m betting it’s along the same lines.”
My mother makes an exasperated noise. “What explanation do you imagine anyone will find acceptable for why it is you’re living apart from our alpha?”
“For one thing, that’s nobody’s business but ours,” I say, and practice staying steady while I say it. “I’m pretty sure that’s what he would say, if anyone bothered to ask him. But we both know they won’t.” Her mouth tightens. I keep going. “Anyway, I’ve been sleeping in the den all week. Exactly where I belong. All nice and proper.”
Johanna looks away from me for a moment, down the line of old brick buildings as if she’s looking directly into the past. As if she can see ghosts there before us.
“I know you think that I’m needlessly harsh.” Her voice is so low that it’s as if she’s one of the ghosts herself. “But I’ve lived a hell of a lot longer than you, Maddox. And I’m all too aware of the dangers you seem to think won’t apply to you.”
“Mom. Come on.” I smile winningly, though she doesn’t look won. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”
“The only reason you think that is because you’ve been given a false sense of security,” Johanna replies, very matter-of-factly. So matter-of-factly that it makes me pause. “Wolves believe in fate, but only to a point. Do you think that you’re really the first fated mate who did not wish to take her place?”
“One thing that you refuse to accept is that Iwilltake my place. I’ll just do it when—”
“Foolish girl,” Johanna whispers harshly. “You don’t have the time you think you do. The king always has a backup plan he can utilize at will, because there is a way out of fate. For him.” She glares at me. “Your death.”
Suddenly, I don’t feel much like smiling.
“If the king kills his mate himself, fate will provide,” she says in the same harsh voice. “You would be amazed how many fated queens meet their end abruptly, usually right around the time they become too inconvenient. Too loud, for example. Too headstrong.”
“Ty would never do that.” My own voice is a whisper now.
“He would neverwantto do it,” my mother corrects me. “That time that you think you have? Maddox. I’m telling you.You don’t.”
I’m shaken, but by more than what she’s telling me. First, it’s obvious to me that she cares that I live. I can’t quite convince myself that it’sentirelyabout her status in the pack.
I don’t focus on that part. It might tempt me to get a little maudlin, and that would kill her.
“Ty is not going to kill me,” I tell her instead. “You’re right. You know a lot more than I do, and you’ve seen a lot more pack political nonsense than I ever have, but I know him.”
“I know him too,” my mother says. “And not as a lover. I know him as a leader who will always do the right thing for his pack. The moment that’s not you, Maddox? What happens then? If you force that man to choose between his pack and you—which way do you think he’ll go? I know the answer, even if you choose to lie to yourself. And if I were you, I’d hurry up and give fate a hand.”
And unlike the mother I thought I knew, who usually sticks around and fights to the bitter end and after, she only looks at me for a long moment. There’s something stark in her gaze. It settles in me like a real, rough winter.
Then she walks away.
I stay shaken all day long. I go to work, because I can’t think of what else to do, and I’m blessedly free of family interference while I’m there. Bigger shipments left the warehouse on their usual trucks earlier than usual this month in anticipation of the gathering that would draw the pack’s attention. That means I only have a few creatures to talk to when they come by to drop off the notes I make them keep about their experiences out on their delivery routes.
Maybe because it’s quieter than usual, I start to notice that there have been more disruptions along our typical routes lately. Not huge disruptions. Nothing catastrophic. But even though we’ve consistently varied the times and dates of our runs, we always seem to get caught up on Sexton Summit, above Grants Pass. Admittedly a tricky pass, especially this time of year, but the vampires in Grants Pass rousted out the trolls up that way long ago. There shouldn’t be anyone there now to cause problems.
I let that sit.
But something about it keeps poking at me.
Later that night, I drive home, intending to leave my car outside of my cottage and then make my way over to the den for another night of bonfires and storytelling and partying that looks perfectly friendly, and maybe even is.
It’s the undercurrents that I’ll be paying attention to now. Especially now that I know some people will be in Ty’s ear, not just talking shit about me but encouraging him to get rid of me and move on.
I even know when they’ll do it, if that’s what they’re trying to do. Every year, when the Wolf Moon rises, all the wolves in every pack pledge their fealty to their king. It’s tradition. It’s how we start wolf week proper.
If I wanted to symbolically and dramatically remove a person like me, that’s when I’d do it.
That means I have only until Sunday, the rise of the Wolf Moon and the official start to wolf week, before they make their move.
Ifthey make their move.
