When a Pack Dies

"Higher, Fina!" Ryan yelled out as he pumped his legs forward and forced the swing to move faster.

"Here it comes," Fina warned him with a laugh and pushed the swing harder. She laughed again when Ryan shrieked with joy. There were some moments like this--when Ryan's exuberance surfaced and Fina's rose to meet his. There were some moments when they emerged from their pain, anger, loneliness and vapidness...some but not many.

They'd been on the road over two weeks now, moving in random patterns and sometimes circling back for a day or two...but always, gradually, moving further and further west. Something about that direction still pulled at Fina and she'd stopped wondering why.

"Let's find a motel early today, Fina," Ryan begged after he'd tired of the swing. It was just before noon and they'd pulled into a rustic, roadside cafe to eat. It had a big parking lot--even though it was on a road made almost redundant by a nearby interstate--shaded picnic tables and a large, children's play area. Ryan wove his hands into Fina's, held on tight and let her lift him and flip him in a complete circle until he landed back on his feet with his arms stretched taut behind him. He leaned forward and squealed happily, trusting his weight to Fina's slender arms before hopping, letting go and standing up.

He ran toward the cafe entrance and the promise of lunch. Fina raced after him, grabbed him, swung him into the air and when his striped t-shirt lifted up, blew a raspberry kiss into his exposed belly. Ryan giggled wildly and pushed her head away. By now they were both sweating a little and they ran into the restaurant's air-conditioned foyer.

"Let's find one with a pool again and can we stay two nights can we please, please, Fina?" Ryan pleaded.

Grinning, Fina opened her mouth to say yes then stood up very straight. The air in the cafe was full of the delicious smells of fried chicken and baking but beneath that was the unmistakable smell of wolf. Her hand shot out, reaching for Ryan and she started backing up toward the door. They'd traveled through a few communities with werewolf populations. It would have been almost impossible not to. They hadn't stopped in any of them and she always made sure the gas tank never got below half full so they wouldn't be forced to stop anywhere she wasn't comfortable. During the past two weeks, Fina's ability to think rationally had improved from the near catatonia she'd experienced immediately following the death of her pack. She'd rationalized that, as a female about to enter her prime breeding years, she wasn't likely to be chased off by another pack. Maybe she'd even be invited to join. She couldn't be absolutely certain of Ryan's welcome. Even though he was a child, he was male. Packs usually didn't accept outside males.

The door behind her swung open and a man walked in. He was big--huge--stood at least six-two and had a chest wide enough to qualify for two zip codes with shoulders to match. The flat stomach and lean hips that sat above and below his thick gun belt told Fina that every impressive inch of him was solid muscle, not flab. He looked to be in his late twenties, wore a dark police uniform and scented like a werewolf with a streak of badass that went bone deep.

Fina caught a whiff of urine and one look told her that Ryan was staring up at the man in terror, pushing flat against the wall like he was trying to back right through it to get outside. A dark stain spread across the front of his shorts and a thin stream of urine was sliding down his leg and puddling around his sneaker.

"Oh poor poppet."

Fina's head spun around to a fifty-something woman walking into the foyer from the cafe. She was dressed in an unflattering and rather silly looking alpine-style dress with an apron tied around her generous waist. She clucked her tongue gently, looked down at Ryan with gentle eyes and held out a slightly wrinkled, pudgy hand to him.

"Don't worry about a thing, little honey," the woman cooed gently. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Fina's wolf jumped to the fore when the woman stepped between her and Ryan. The wolf in her shoved the woman back and made a grab for Ryan, ready to bowl right through the big cop if she had to get the child outside and safe.

*

Sheriff Cutler Powell stared at the slender, auburn-headed mad woman standing in the foyer of the best--and only--cafe on his pack's land. She was small, maybe five-four, and had satiny skin turned a pale gold from the sun. The spray of freckles across her pert little nose made his cock twitch...she was just that pretty. The scent coming off her made him harden instantly. It was like breathing in pure lust and there was nothing pure about his reaction to it. The wolf inside him raised its head and in a low, satisfied rumble, spoke one word.

Mine.

Only little miss pure lust was currently assaulting a senior, respected, female member of his pack. With a smooth, controlled movement, he stepped forward, put his hands on the most enthralling woman he'd ever come across and lifted her. The kid came up with her, hauled upward by her hold on his arm. She let go and the kid dropped back down onto his feet and started shaking all over. Holding her beneath her arms, Sheriff Powell pinned her back against the wall with her nose level with his. He had to bite down on his tongue before he did something stupid like shove it into her mouth then ask if she had any plans for the rest of her life.

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Cutler was pretty sure the flailing banshee in his hands wasn't the kid's mother. She probably wasn't even related to him. But their scents told him they were from the same pack and he could see from the way she'd reacted to Dorothea stepping between her and the child that she cared for him as if he were her own pup.

"No one in my pack would ever harm a child." Cutler spoke quietly and clearly. The woman stopped slamming her fists into his chest. She hung between his hands, the fire and rage draining out of her blue eyes. She looked at him warily. She was young, although her eyes looked older than her face, and she couldn't be more than twenty. He breathed in her scent again, wanting a full picture of her health, strength and status. The information he picked up was all contradictory. She was strong yet she wasn't. She smelled of youth yet there was a smell to her that was either age, pain or fear. She was unmated yet there was no innocence left in her. But by then, Cutler was sporting a raging hard-on and decided the prudent thing to do would be to put her down before the wolf inside him took over and dragged her out back for a quick fuck--then another--and probably one more after that.

*

Despite Ryan's instinctive terror and her own blind, maternal rage, Fina believed the big policeman. Maybe it was the uniform? When he stepped back and set her on her feet, Ryan rushed forward, wrapped his slight body around her leg and trembled.

Cutler noticed Dorothea Pike adjusting her waitress uniform. She cleared her throat quietly. "The washrooms are back here," Dorothea said, "I'll give you a hand with some washcloths if you'd like." She made the offer politely despite her obviously jangled nerves. Cutler saw Dorothea's hand flex and knew she was resisting the urge to rub the middle of her chest where the much younger, much stronger woman had straight-armed her after she'd made the mistake of stepping between a mother and her frightened pup. If their positions were reversed and Dorothea had found herself in the middle of a strange pack, she'd probably have done the same thing. "Do you have a change of clothes for him?" Dorothea asked quietly.

Fina looked at the pudgy gray-haired waitress with the gentle, blue eyes. She'd never felt so guilty in her life but she also knew she didn't dare apologize. In werewolf packs, the strong ruled so she held back the ingrained and heartfelt apology sitting on her tongue. It was far better to appear arrogant than weak...especially when she and Ryan were alone and defenseless.

"Yes," Fina replied evenly. She fished her keys out of her pocket with one hand and reached for Ryan's hand with the other. "I'll go get them."

The huge cop had tugged the keys out of her hand even before she realized he was pulling on them. "Allow me, Miss...?"

Sheriff Powell gave the spitfire his best friendly-guy smile. She and the boy were werewolves. Natural born too from the smell of them, probably from somewhere back east. His instincts told him the minute he let her walk out the door, she'd simply drive off and never come back. He just couldn't let something that smelled like forever get away. Even if her scent did confuse the hell out of him.