Fox Blood Page 6

  Only, it turned out I didn’t need a turbocharge to solve the mystery. Because an old woman with a fox-like cant to her neck walked spryly out to meet me. “Granddaughter.” She was tiny but not wizened. Clearly Japanese in a way my sister and I were not. The stranger-who-wasn’t-a-stranger inclined her head ever so slightly, then frowned when I fumbled through a mirroring nod by way of reply.

  And that show of disapproval was enough to knock loose my rose-tinted glasses. Family connection or no, it was time to remember that I was in charge of my own destiny. Step one: Figure out how and why kitsunes—because this was clearly another kitsune—kept showing up on our doorstep. Step two: Get rid of this particular kitsune before the pack blew its collective lid.

  So, ignoring the fact that I was sorely in need of an older family member who had a clue how to raise a teenager, I forced my voice to turn hard as I demanded: “How did you find us?”

  But the old woman was having none of it. “I’ll answer all of your questions, granddaughter,” she told me, “but not standing out here in the cold. Remember—patience is bitter...”

  “...But its fruit is sweet.” Despite myself, I mouthed the end of the proverb right alongside her, remembering the way Mama had admonished me with those exact same words when I childishly complained about inevitable daily delays.

  And maybe that’s why I didn’t protest when this elderly stranger led me back down the street away from my cottage and toward an RV parked at the edge of the Green where breakfast had been served yesterday evening. Maybe that’s why I didn’t pull out my sword and threaten five of the most handsome males I’d ever seen—the old woman’s entourage?—as they brushed past me to begin cranking out the vehicle’s walls.

  Even without benefit of the additions, the RV was the largest one I’d ever seen. “Wow.” I didn’t mean to, but the word emerged from my mouth as easily as if I was Kira and always spoke before I thought.

  “One of many benefits of our heritage, granddaughter,” the old woman told me, face mischievous as if she was letting me in on the first secret of many she’d been saving just for me. But rather than elaborating, she raised both eyebrows, slipped up the stairs someone had set out for her, then disappeared inside.

  I itched to follow, but I didn’t immediately. Instead, I turned and peered back toward the spot we’d recently left behind.

  I’d only been gone for a moment, but already the female werewolves had dispersed, taking Tank along with them. Instead, Gunner had reappeared, broad shoulders sagging ever so slightly from the weight of his load. Meanwhile, the air between us smelled just a little bit foul with the same scent that hung around clan central every time something was gearing up to go wrong.

  I was adding to that load—and perhaps to that scent?—by spending time with this supposed grandmother. And yet...I couldn’t quite talk myself into telling this strange kitsune to leave without discovering whether she really was related to me first.

  So, without meeting Gunner’s eyes or requesting his permission, I clambered up the stairs and entered the unknown.

  “YOU MAY CALL ME SOBO,” the old woman informed me as I stepped into a space perfectly designed to fit everything one woman and five men might need in their living room. There were two couches, a recliner, heat blowing out of wall registers, a picture window opening onto forest, and even a large TV covering the opposite wall.

  Despite the various seating areas, however, two of her companions—definitely human if my nose served me—knelt on either side of Sobo’s easy chair. Both gazed up at her adoringly, and in response she patted their heads as if they were dogs.

  That was...odd. But I was here for answers, not to pass judgment. So I walked deeper into the old woman’s domain, feeling the door click shut behind me, presumably closed by yet another member of Sobo’s silent entourage.

  And that’s enough of thinking about random humans, I reminded myself. Ignoring the males’ strange behavior, I instead rolled the unfamiliar name around in my mouth like a new food I wasn’t quite sure I liked the flavor of. “Sobo,” I repeated aloud.

  “My name is Sakurako,” the old woman clarified. “But it is appropriate that my granddaughter call me Sobo instead. It means grandmother. Or, maybe...grandma?”

  And even though I hated myself for being so simple, the idea that I was being offered a pet name melted the cold ache that had settled in my stomach ever since Kira started treating me like an enemy rather than a friend. It reminded me of the days when I hadn’t been the matriarch of my own tiny family, when Mama had called me Mai-chan and hugged me close up against her waist before spinning me around the kitchen in our own made-up dance.

  Blinking away that seductive memory, I forced myself to remember Oyo’s fear and the problems facing Atwood clan central. Even if Sobo was my relative, that wasn’t the most important point to consider now.

  So I remained standing rather than taking a seat on the couch Sobo motioned to. And I repeated my own words from earlier, this time demanding a reply. “How did you find us?” I asked a second time, piercing the old woman with a gaze that refused to be sidetracked by proverbs, a luxurious residence, or even familial love.

  “Direct, just like your mother.” For the first time since I’d met her, Sobo seemed uncomfortable, shifting on the plush leather beneath her. And just like Mama when she was unhappy, Sobo’s face remained smooth save her cheek, which twitched ever so slightly up by her left eye.

  I opened my mouth, struck by the similarity. Before I could relent, however, Sobo answered my question.

  “I felt the moment your sister merged with her star ball,” Sobo told me. “I thought that was your coming of age, actually. What a...surprise...to discover my daughter chose undue fertility over long life.”

  I knew this wasn’t the whole story. It wasn’t lost upon me that—if her story was to be believed—our grandmother had felt Kira’s presence four months earlier and in an entirely different spot from the one where she’d finally tracked us down.

  Still, the tremor in the old woman’s hands told the truth of her pain at the loss of a daughter. The sad bend of Sobo’s neck was so much like Mama’s during her darkest hours that I sank down onto the couch despite myself and cupped her papery fingers in both of my hands.

  Whether or not this old woman was here under false pretenses, I believed she was my grandmother. And that meant she deserved my compassion and respect.

  “Sobo, I’m sorry,” I murmured. And I could feel the bonds of family clicking closed between us with my touch.

  Chapter 15

  “That must have come as a shock,” I continued, trying to send warm healing energy into the older woman through both my words and my fingers. The two humans flanking us leaned in closer, like dogs offering comfort through their presence alone.

  “It was a disappointment,” the older woman countered. But rather than pulling away from my touch, she squeezed my fingers one second longer while offering me the fairy tale I’d spent a decade pretending I didn’t crave with the yearning of an orphaned fox pup.

  “You, however, were not a disappointment,” my grandmother informed me. “I have long searched for a granddaughter. A firm, strong woman to train and to nurture. A brave kitsune to carry on the family name after I leave this plane.”

  As she spoke, she gazed at me with eyes so dark they might as well have been Mama’s. There was a warmth to her smile now, a pride that seemed to stroke my cheeks while making my spine straighten.

  And like a fish in a pond, I rose toward the bobber, opened my mouth to accept the offered nourishment. Of course, bait inevitably comes with a fish hook. But at that moment, I didn’t even care that this was bound to end in pain....

  Before I could speak, however, Sakurako continued, “I just need one small favor from you, granddaughter. Nothing major. No skin off your teeth.”

  “Yes, Sobo?” I nudged her when she turned silent.

  Rather than answering, the old woman peered at me for one long moment, her pursed lips
reminding me so much of Mama’s that my breath caught in my throat. Then, finally, she told me the price of becoming part of her family.

  “All I need from you,” she finished, “is that black fox you and your sister are hiding. Oyo is difficult, dangerous. Too much for you to handle on your own without further training. Turn her over to me to take care of, then we can build up our family as it should be with the next generation at its heart.”

  “OF COURSE, SOBO.”

  I could feel the words lingering there on the tip of my tongue, ready to escape if I unclenched my teeth and let my mouth fall open. Which was absurd given that what Sakurako was asking was both dishonorable and patently unwise...while also going against my oath to the black-furred kitsune both Gunner and I had promised to protect.

  Worse was the knowledge that the woman before me wasn’t manipulating me via magic the way Liam had done four months earlier. No, this decision—chosen family versus blood family—would be mine to make and mine alone.

  I couldn’t say no and I wouldn’t say yes, so I merely disentangled my hand from Sakurako’s and stepped backwards. Meanwhile, the old woman’s words flew after me like a thrusting sword.

  “Next time I see you, granddaughter, I will expect your answer.”

  And I couldn’t even shake my head as I stumbled out the door and shut it between us. My answer. I had no answer. Wouldn’t bring even more conflict to this ailing pack, and at the same time couldn’t talk myself into giving either Sakurako or Oyo away.

  I have a grandmother. A manipulative grandmother who appeared to possess a heart of ice, but a grandmother nonetheless.

  Striding blindly down the street, I imagined for one awestruck moment becoming part of a large, loving family. Possessing older, wiser family members able and willing to steer me away from bad decisions before the results slapped me in the face.

  Why did even dreaming of such a rosy picture feel like a mistake?

  I was so lost in the confusion of my roiling feelings that I nearly walked past the two werewolves half-hidden by the trunk of the oak tree that spread huge and magnificent across the pack’s gathering space. But I couldn’t miss the sulfurous stench that rose around me, cuing me to extend my senses just as Gunner murmured, “I understand that Edward.”

  “You understand? I don’t think you do, alpha,” Edward countered. And, through the brush, I could just barely see him shake off Gunner’s physical show of support so violently that any other pack leader would have taken mortal offense at the slight. As it was, I could barely smell the faintest hint of electricity invading the sulfur as Gunner tamped his frustration down enough to reply.

  “I understand you thought this pack was worth saving or you wouldn’t have stayed when so many others left with my brother,” Gunner answered, not a single growl in his tone even though his voice grew firmer as his statement progressed. “I ask that you remember our purpose here before...”

  “Before you act like a spiteful child and tear up everything your father built? Before your kitsune concubine makes so many mistakes there’s no pack to even attempt saving? You let her do this even though she’s not really your mate?”

  Edward was so red-faced, I was a little afraid he might succumb to a heart attack. A little afraid...and also very faintly hoping that the greatest rabble-rouser in Atwood territory would take himself out of the picture without either me or Gunner having to do the deed ourselves. Concubine, my ass.

  “Edward.” Now Gunner did finally growl out a chastisement.

  “Don’t bark at me, Gunner.” Edward stood taller as he spoke, a sure sign of a werewolf in search of a fur-form turf battle. “I remember when you were a toddler gnawing on your father’s fingers. I never thought I’d see the day you forgot your duty over some fox in a skirt.”

  The last time I’d worn a skirt was during an ill-fated job interview. But I think we all got Edward’s point, because this time Gunner’s order was both more specific and more adamant. “You will respect my mate.”

  “I’ll respect those who deserve respect,” Edward countered. “And if you don’t wake up and do your duty to this pack before kitsunes invite in our neighbors, then I’ll correct my own mistake and join your brother in exile. You know half the pack will follow me.” He paused, then threw down the gauntlet. “And is it truly exile when no one but the weak are left behind?”

  I only realized my fists were clenched and my sword visible when the tip of the latter caught in the hem of my trousers and nearly tripped me. Okay, that’s not helping matters, I chided, imagining literally stumbling into Gunner and Edward’s conversation before falling flat on my face.

  Edward would be enraged. Gunner would be mortified. No, that definitely wouldn’t help defuse the older male’s anger...but what would?

  My fingers slid across the face of my cell phone, Ransom’s unanswered text rising up in my mind’s eye. “I grant you free passage to and from Kelleys Island if you’d like to come and talk about it.”

  The message suddenly seemed less like a trap and more like much-needed breathing space given the drama I’d be leaving behind.

  Chapter 16

  Relieved of her load of boxes, Old Red rumbled down the highway with fewer complaints than she’d regaled me with previously. Unfortunately, that didn’t make me feel any better about driving away from Atwood pack central at the exact moment when my sister and Oyo needed me most.

  Beep!

  Glancing sideways at the empty passenger seat, I couldn’t help smiling at Kira’s text. “Stop worrying. I’m fine,” she chided. Clearly, Oyo’s pep talk—and the chocolate, potato chips, and hot-water bottle I’d left the teenager with—had rebooted her ailing mood.

  I would have replied, too, but Old Red was far from a driverless vehicle. In fact, she was prone to drifting sideways, a problem that I knew would be remedied once I got the tires balanced and aligned.

  But I’d stopped accepting Gunner’s financial support the moment Kira was adopted, and my part-time summer gig teaching fencing at the Y hadn’t paid very well. A wolf wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at accepting pack largesse, but I was very much a fox shifter. So while my bank account slowly grew into an appreciable buffer, I kept my hands very firmly grasping the wheel.

  A difficult matter when the chime of another incoming text drew my eyes to the phone a second time in a matter of moments. “Nobody’s eaten me or Oyo. Not even when we played fox tag on Allen and Tank’s heads. That was really fun.”

  Flicking on the turn signal in the direction of the ferry dock, Oyo’s black fur dueled with the sienna tinge of Gunner’s irises in my mind’s eye. The pack seemed to be doing quite well without me present. So why did I feel so guilty about taking a fox-like stab at the heart of the problem on my own?

  Guilty or guiltless, I was almost there and the decision was long since made. Old Red’s brakes squealed as I pulled to a halt behind two other cars lined up at the ticket booth. And I took advantage of the lack of forward momentum to text Kira back. “Remember you’re a guest in Atwood clan central,” I told her. “Take care of Oyo but be smart about it.”

  Then I turned away from the phone and tuned up my senses. Because I wasn’t safely secluded in Atwood territory with Oyo and my sister. Instead, I’d spent the last few hours passing through outpack land where lawless werewolves did as they pleased...which likely included slaughtering vagrant kitsunes on sight.

  As if my thoughts had called danger into existence, hairs rose along the back of my neck half a second before a knock shook the nearest window. Inhaling sharply, I turned to take in the visage of a werewolf...and not one I was familiar with either.

  This male was just as tall and broad as Gunner. But his face was craggier, as if he’d been punched a dozen times then healed without courtesy of a doctor visit. Not a pack wolf then.

  The question became—was my window rapper a curious stranger, or the outguard watching over Ransom’s exiled lair?

  “GET OUT.”

  His voice was soft,
barely a whisper. But it carried through the window and stroked tendrils of ice up and down my spine. And while my impulse was to make a U-turn and head back up the highway, I instead rolled down the window a fraction of an inch, raised my chin, and sniffed.

  Because I should have been able to tell if this male was Ransom’s lackey by the presence or absence of that tongue-tingling ozone. And I also could have, perhaps, detected his loyalty by the presence or absence of a rotten-egg smell.

  Unfortunately, all I could make out from inside my metal cocoon was the overwhelming stench of diesel, tar, and half-rotten fish emanating from the nearby lake.

  “Why should I?” I asked, playing for time while I calculated other options. One car had already rolled past the ticket booth while the driver in the second vehicle was busy buying a pass for the ferry loading at the end of the road. If I waited until the coast was clear, perhaps I could gun it and apologize to the humans for not paying even as I left this werewolf behind on the mainland....

  “Not gonna happen,” the male said, clearly picking up on my plans via scent and body language. “Get out,” he repeated. “Ransom wants me to take you across in our boat.”

  Get on a boat with an unknown werewolf? Even if this stranger knew I was here to meet Ransom, the answer was still nopety, nope, nope, nope.

  The wind changed at that moment, pushing the werewolf’s scent through the crack and into my nostrils. He smelled of wet gravel and newly mown lawn without a hint of ozone...which, unfortunately, could have meant anything at all. I didn’t know enough about werewolves to understand whether their scents shifted when they evicted themselves from a pack as a unit. So I didn’t really know if a loyal ally of Gunner’s brother would still boast the distinctive Atwood scent.