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  “I have to answer this,” I muttered, pushing past Rune’s kneeling form so I could attain the safety of my own two feet.

  Chapter 9

  “Tara.”

  My name on my friend’s tongue eased me the same way settling into my comfy chair had....for exactly one second. Then I realized my friend would inevitably ask about her children. Kale I’d seen this morning—he was healthy, if not happy. The baby...well, I’d managed to forget about that grubby, pudgy face.

  “Natalie.” I forced a smile so my friend would hear the curve of my lips even as I yanked open the door and snapped my fingers at Rune. No matter what he’d promised, I couldn’t leave him alone in the heart of pack territory.

  To my surprise, his usually expressionless mouth twitched into a far more honest smile than the one I was speaking through. His long strides caught up with mine in three quick steps.

  “How’s your mom?” I asked Natalie, buying time as I pushed through a cluster of three pack mates in the hall outside my office. Well, that wasn’t quite true. I started pushing through, one saw who was coming, then the trio scattered like sparrows before a hawk.

  “Make way for the Alpha!” someone called over my head as I jogged down the stairs, heading for the nursery where both pack young and human children played during working hours. Shifters spun sideways to clear a path for me. Humans—who thought their boss being called “Alpha” was some sort of joke about my domineering personality—covered grins with glittery fingers. The air behind me sweetened as Rune pressed closer against my back.

  “Is this an emergency?” he murmured.

  Despite myself, I nodded. Mouthed, “The baby.” Because Natalie had already told me that her mother was no worse, a little better. In three, two, one, she’d ask:

  “How are the kids?”

  “Fine. Great.” The nursery was on the far side of the glitter-storage room, a vast, gaping expanse that we’d been filling with shipping crates while hunting buyers. The layout had seemed clever when I’d first designed the space. No need to deal with infants wailing every time I visited the more active portions of the factory. No loose-cannon toddlers close to the assembly line’s moving parts.

  Now, though, the vast glitter-dusted distance between me and Natalie’s younger offspring felt like the miles between the earth and the moon.

  Only...Rune didn’t have to keep his voice even so as not to scare Natalie. He could race past me, yank open the door to the nursery, and slip inside.

  Inside, where all of our young were cloistered. Tender pups who had no understanding of the dangers posed by outsiders. Young humans who didn’t even know werewolves existed.

  “Is Kale at school?” Natalie prodded. “He told you today’s a half-day, right?”

  “Yes,” I lie, making a mental note to send a pack member to pick Kale up earlier than expected. Most of my attention, however, was focused on forcing my feet to move at an ordinary pace.

  Rune had promised he wouldn’t harm any members of my pack. Surely, on clan land, the human children also came under that purview?

  “And the baby?”

  A joke seemed like a good stalling tactic. “I only dropped her on her head twice. The concussion is minor.”

  Natalie snorted. “Obviously untrue since you’d have to pick her up before you could drop her.” Then her scientific mind caught on to what I was leaving out. “You haven’t seen Hazel at all today, have you? I should come home. My mom only had a mini-stroke. The doctors say she’ll be fine. A baby is too much for you to handle....”

  I clenched the phone so hard the plastic creaked. “Natalie, you should stay there as long as you need to. Listen....”

  But before I found a way to set her mind at ease, persimmons surrounded me. Persimmons and baby. Hazel’s sticky face smashed up against my cellphone. “Mommy, mommy, mommy!”

  “Sweetie!” Every shred of worry in Natalie’s voice dissipated. “Silly Tara was only teasing, wasn’t she? She had you with her all along.”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed, raising my voice so I wouldn’t have to press the smeared phone up to my head. My eyes, however, flew to Rune.

  He was so close that if I shifted my weight from one foot to the other our hips would come in contact. Meanwhile, he held the baby with the comfort of familiarity, his muscles firm enough to make sure she didn’t plummet to the ground but loose enough so she could whack my cell phone as she babbled.

  His gaze, though, wasn’t on the baby. Instead, intense eyes locked onto mine.

  And...my chest seized up. I could barely speak when Natalie addressed me again rather than her daughter.

  “Thank you so much,” she gushed. “It means a lot knowing the kids are safe and happy. I owe you one.”

  “You owe me nothing.” Even though I was standing still, my voice caught as if I was out of breath.

  And Natalie noticed. When she wasn’t terrified about a sick family member, she was an astute friend. “Is everything okay with you? Do you have another date tonight?”

  Rune, to my total shock, growled. The baby contorted around so she could peer up into his face.

  “Sorry,” I told Natalie. “Glitter emergency. I have to go. But call me if you need anything.”

  “I’m not done....”

  I braved the baby smear and ended the call.

  “DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM?” I demanded of the tall shifter who had no right to growl at my choices.

  “The same one I came with an hour ago,” Rune answered evenly. As he spoke, he shifted the baby so her belly pressed up against his shoulder, the gesture so fluid I decided I’d misread his earlier reaction. “Can we discuss...?”

  “No,” I cut him off, raising one finger and turning away so I could focus on the ping coming down the pack bond. As Alpha, I was the center of a vast web of mostly invisible connections, which could be tugged from either end. The result was faster than a text, but also more intrusive. Everyone knew to only use the communication method for timely, important matters.

  This time, the ping came from one of the pack teenagers. “Alpha. Where are you?”

  For a moment, I saw through her eyes—a gaggle of wolves and two-legged shifters clustered around the single cell phone granted to their age group. Teenagers old enough to shift needed to learn pack responsibility, so theirs was the phone number we listed publicly in places like land records. If Rune had dug a little deeper, he could have found that contact point rather than applying for a role he had no interest in.

  Blinking back my annoyance at the fake Consort interview, I answered my pack mate. “Glitter storage room. Is there a problem?”

  “Adamant realtor.” As the youngster clued me in, she broke into a run. At that pace, the whole gaggle of teenagers would be through the door in thirty seconds.

  I turned to face Rune. This was a private issue, not relevant to his fae hunt. “Return the baby to her nurse then we’ll discuss the other matter.”

  Only after I spoke did I realize I’d veered from suspicion to trust in a few short moments. Why should Rune do my bidding when his wolf was twice as strong as mine? Any dominant worth his salt would at least demand information about the silent conversation I’d just dangled in front of his nose.

  Instead, he half-bowed, the baby giggling as they dipped together. “Of course,” he murmured, padding back toward the nursery just as the teenagers burst through the back door in a cloud of shoving laughter.

  “...talk to your parents.” The male voice rising from the cell phone was exasperated. He wasn’t on speaker phone, but we could all hear him easily with wolf senses. One teenager bent down so her response would carry to human ears.

  “Our parents aren’t going to give you a different answer. We like trees. We have no interest in cutting them.”

  “Timber harvest was only one of several options buyers might consider. You could sell the land with a conservation easement appended. Vacation rentals would maintain ecological integrity while....”

  Another teenag
er leaned in to speak while the others stifled laughter. “We’re not treehuggers. More like hunters. Thing is, we’re just not interested in anything you have to offer.”

  “I believe your name isn’t the one on the deed.” The realtor was starting to grow exasperated. “With so many mouths to feed, your parents will understand the value of cold, hard cash.”

  How human to assume all of these teenagers were siblings just because they shared a single cell phone. That with such a bounty of youth, we’d be in debt.

  Which, to be fair, we were. But not because of hungry, youthful mouths.

  In fact, our current batch of teenagers had been a shining light during my seasons of grieving. I was still their Alpha, so I couldn’t afford to buddy up to them. But when I needed a boost, I sometimes strolled through the floor of the mansion where they cohabited in joyful anarchy. Being near our youth always made me smile.

  “You’re doing an excellent job,” I told the cluster of youngsters now. “I’m not sure what you need me for.”

  “We’re in the middle of a game,” one of the teenagers answered, his voice nearly as exasperated as the human’s. There was glitter on all of them, I noted. His came in the form of a streak down the middle of his head as if he was emulating an ultra-sparkly skunk. “We can’t play and talk.”

  Of course not. Most of these kids had only started shifting in the last year or so. They spent every hour they could four-legged. And, apparently, messing with our glitter samples.

  Listening to a realtor—who was currently rambling on about trusts and the value of an ivy-league education—wasn’t their favorite task.

  “Alright then.” I waggled my fingers. Accepted the cell phone and the semicircle of teenagers that came with it. “Tara Whelan here.”

  “Thank you for taking my call, ma’am.” The realtor’s voice turned smarmy the instant I introduced myself. As if I was a bored housewife to be won over with sex appeal. “I’m Lenny Harrison of Harrison Realty and I’m calling to see...”

  “No.” I slapped him with the word then ended the call. Tossed the phone back into the gaggle of teenagers, half of whom were already shifting, never mind the clothes puddling on the floor to be left behind.

  At some point, I’d have to pin them down to a lecture on transforming so close to humans. But I couldn’t muster any ire when the girl who’d originally pinged me held back her shift. She snatched the phone out of the air and pocketed it. “Thanks, Alpha.” Then, peering behind me, “Who’s that?”

  Rune must have arrived while I was speaking to the realtor. Because I could smell him now, sweetness and woodsiness curling together and making me itch to amble closer to the epicenter of the heady cocktail.

  Instead, I outsourced the task I wanted to keep and focused on the task only I was capable of. “He’s your next duty,” I answered, deciding on the fly that our teenagers could handle Rune’s version of trouble. When I got back, I’d have proof of the pack’s invulnerability and could send him packing. In the meantime....

  “Butch, you have one hour to investigate,” I said aloud. “Don’t evade your honor guard.” Then, silently to the teenagers, “Keep him away from anything critical.”

  “Yes, Alpha,” came their affirmative chorus even as Rune’s gaze slid across the writhing mass of wolves and children. For a split second, I caught a hint of something akin to longing hovering behind the emotionless exterior.

  But I must have imagined it, because he only nodded and half-bowed to me. “As you wish.”

  Chapter 10

  It was hard but not impossible to shake my duties as I padded toward the forest. I ignored two pack pings. Waved and turned away from the chief cook as she barreled toward me. Then, when the coast was clear for one split second, I slid down over the bank into the woods.

  It felt strange to hide from my own clan, but this was the role of the Alpha. “Above and apart, always,” Father had warned me so many times I could still hear his voice in my head.

  “I get it,” I whispered to the empty air, clutching the unstoppered glitter bottle as I toed off my shoes then pushed my way through dense brush and into the forest. Pack pings still tapped against my cranium, but I ignored them as I made my way through new growth and into old growth. Ground gave beneath my feet, soft and springy. Wildflowers dotted the forest floor.

  Blue, brilliant blooms were the most common. What had Kale called them? I couldn’t remember, but I could walk on stones to make less of a dent in their profusion. After all, the Guardian liked its bling.

  The other things the Guardian liked and disliked I’d learned the hard way. Children were to be cherished, but we quickly outgrew our charm as we approached adulthood. Asking for the Guardian’s name was a capital offense—I’d done it only once and still bore the scar.

  I suspect Father had intended to teach me more tricks for dealing with our fae ally as the end of his reign came closer. But he’d died in his prime of a heart attack. So I didn’t know if Father had ridden a unicorn into another world when he needed a closer connection to the Guardian. Couldn’t imagine his broad bulk on the back of the miraculous being who waited for me here where the creek descended beneath a root and disappeared into the soil, the spot where Father had explained the Guardian could hear us the best.

  All I knew was that this stunning beast had showed up the day after Father died and had been present whenever I needed him ever since. “You look stunning today,” I told the unicorn honestly. His blue-black hide was so intense it shimmered, like a midnight mirage turned to reality.

  Okay, part of that shimmering was because he’d stepped directly into a sunbeam. The unicorn, I’d come to realize in the six months I’d known him, was unbelievably vain.

  And, here in the forest away from my pack, I could tease rather than cling to my dignity. “I don’t think your hair has ever looked so shiny. And...did you polish your horn?”

  The unicorn couldn’t answer in words, but he knew how to get his point across. His nostrils flared as he snorted out a burst of amusement. Then his chin dipped.

  Glancing down to see what he was referring to, I noted a galaxy of glitter spilled across my chest. Striking a pose with one hand on my hip and the other above my head, I twirled in a circle. “What, you don’t think this will be the new look?”

  The unicorn snorted again, then stamped one hoof. I didn’t know what he got up to when I didn’t need him, but I got the distinct impression that today he didn’t have time for extended banter. So I nodded and moved on to the nitty gritty. “Can you take me to the Guardian?”

  Taking his motionlessness for assent, I vaulted onto his back. And, yes, the unstoppered glitter container made the process trickier. Now there was a matching streak of silver dotting the unicorn’s mane.

  Luckily, he couldn’t see it or we would have had an extended, one-sided discussion about proper application of cosmetics. Instead, he broke into a run. No, make that a gallop. Warm unicorn back undulated beneath me. Wind whipped against my face until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. With one hand I clung to my glitter sample. With the other, I clutched his mane.

  The air turned frigid, then it warmed. Not just to April in Appalachia levels. To the humid heat of the tropics. I opened my eyes to take in a world I’d never seen until my father died.

  It was impossible to imagine the solidity of Father in this ethereal world that seemed to be neither entirely of earth nor of Faery. Gnarled trees grew so massive they made our old-growth forest look puny, dense thickets of undergrowth ringing the clearing in which the unicorn stood. Flowers glinted in vast clusters like an endless, braided bouquet, the ones here even more gloriously blue than the individuals Kale had remarked upon.

  Closer at hand, the unicorn’s mane was as pristine and glitter-free as when he’d first snorted at me. Glancing down, I saw that my breast and hands had also been washed clean of every speck of silver dust.

  The container, however, remained half full. I could still do what I’d come for.

 
“Thank you,” I told the unicorn as I slipped off his back. My toes touched the soil...and a thousand pinpricks broke through my skin.

  WHEN FATHER FIRST INTRODUCED me to the Guardian over a decade ago, I’d howled at fungal threads biting down like piranha teeth. We’d been at the spot where the creek faded into the soil rather than in this Between place, so the pain had been less intense than now. Still, thirteen-year-old me had been surprised and unamused. I’d picked up my feet in a crazy sort of dance.

  Rather than soothing me, Father had slapped me so hard I fell on my face on the rotting leaves. “Heir,” he growled. “You disappoint me.”

  “I—” Before I could finish, something minty slithered into my open mouth and the pain eased so fast I might as well have been anesthetized. Then, as if the Guardian was unsure whether it wanted to be quite that kind, a millipede had crawled in after. I could still feel the red on my cheeks and my father’s cold disapproval as I tried to spit the critter out.

  Today, I was ready for the pinpricks and didn’t flinch when the Guardian tapped into my body. Instead, I dropped to my knees willingly, hiking up my pants so more fungi and roots could slip into my shins. “Guardian, may I beg a favor?”

  A sharp rock wriggled upward out of the soil. An answer—yes, but I’d be expected to pay for the gift.

  That was expected. Using the rock’s edge, I sliced the tip of my index finger, squeezing three drops of blood onto the soil. The sullied rock, when I set it down beside me, disappeared back into the earth.

  “Thank you, Guardian.” This time, I tilted the sample bottle and let a drift of glitter spill into the moss I knelt beside. “I need to know if this glitter has been impacted by fae. Can you tell me?”

  Off to one side, the unicorn browsed on twig tips, its hindquarters turned toward us. I got the impression it wasn’t entirely comfortable around the Guardian. The flick of its tail suggested I hurry up.