I'd finally caught up with Jose Carter at his "information auction" in Dallas in the united states. I'd tried to discredit him and I'd tried to steal the evidence too but when nothing worked, I'd kill him because that was the only route left to solve the menace that was about to befall us.
I did it on my own, without orders from Jeremy and without even contacting Jeremy. Afterward, I'd gone back to my hotel, cleaned up, and enjoyed a good sleep.
When I awoke, the full impact of what I'd done hit me. No, not so much what I'd done, but how I'd done it, how easily I'd done it. I'd killed a man with as much moral compunction as I would have swatted a fly.
On the way back to New York, I'd prepared my argument for Jeremy, to explain why I'd acted without consulting him. Carter had been a clear threat. I'd done everything I could to stop him.
Time had been running out. Had I called Jeremy, he would have wanted me to do the same thing, so I'd saved a step and taken care of matters myself.
Before I'd reached Stonehaven, I'd realized the truth. It wasn't Jeremy I was trying to convince. It was me.
I'd crossed the line. I'd acted with the single-minded purpose of protecting my Pack, devoid of even a drop of compassion or mercy.
I'd acted like Clay. That scared me, scared me so bad I'd run and swore I'd never go back to that life again.
Had it gone away? Did I once again feel in complete control of my instincts and impulses? I didn't know. For over a year, I hadn't done anything so blatantly wrong, nor had I been in a position where the opportunity arose. One more reason why I hadn't wanted to come back to Stonehaven. I didn't know if it was gone and I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.
A commotion at the front door snapped me out of my memories. As I glanced up, a tall, dark-haired figure burst into the sunroom. Nick caught sight of me, covered the room in three running steps, and swung me up off my seat. My heel caught the edge of my chair and toppled it over.
He gave a mock growl as he squeezed me.
"You were gone too long, little sister. Much too long." Lifting me, Nick kissed me.
Whatever his method of greeting meant for him, all I know was the kiss was not fraternal, but a deep kiss that left me gasping.
Anyone else would have gotten smacked for it, but anyone else wouldn't have kissed with half of Nick's expertise, so I overlooked the indiscretion.
"Well, just make yourself at home," Clay drawled from the doorway. Nick turned to Clay and grinned. Still holding me captive in one arm, he strode across the floor and thumped Clay on the back. Clay's arm flew up and grabbed Nick in a headlock. He pulled me free and shoved Nick away. Nick regained his balance and his grin and bounced back to us.
"When did you get in?" he asked me, then poked Clay in the ribs. "And why didn't you tell me she was coming?"
From behind, someone grabbed me in a bear hug and lifted me off the ground.
"The prodigal has returned."
I twisted to see a face as familiar as Nick's.
"You're as bad as your son," I said, wriggling out of his grasp. "Can't you guys just shake hands?" Edouard laughed and let me down.
"I should squeeze harder, perhaps that would teach you to stay home for a while."
Edouard Sorrentino shared his son's wavy dark hair and heart-stopping brown eyes. They usually passed themselves off as brothers.
Edouard was fifty-three and looked half that, which owed as much to his passion for healthy living as to being a werewolf. He was shorter and sturdier than his son, with broad shoulders and bulging biceps that made Clay look like a featherweight.
"Has Connor arrived yet?" Edouard said, pulling out the chair beside Jeremy, who was sipping his second cup of coffee, undisturbed by the uproar.
Jeremy shook his head.
"So everyone's coming?" I asked.
"Finish your breakfast," Jeremy said, giving me the critical once-over. "You've lost weight. You can't do that. If you don't get enough energy, your control will start to slip. I've warned you before."
Finally pushing his easel aside, Jeremy turned to talk to Edouard. Clay reached over my shoulder, snatched a hunk of ham, and downed it in one gulp. When I glared at him, he gave me a disarming "just trying to help" shrug.
"Keep your fingers off her plate," Jeremy said without turning around. Yours is in the kitchen and there's enough for everyone."
Edouard was first out the door. When Nick went to follow, Clay grabbed his arm. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. Nick nodded and bounded off to fill two plates while Clay took the seat beside me.
"Bully," I muttered.
Clay lifted his eyebrows, blue eyes flashing innocently. His fingers darted out to snag another piece of ham off my plate. Grabbing my fork, I stabbed the back of his hand hard enough to make him yelp. Jeremy sipped his coffee and ignored us.
Edouard came back into the sunroom, a plate piled so high I expected the pancakes to slide to the floor at any second, especially since he was holding the plate with only one hand. His other hand was busy forking a pancake toward his mouth.
Nick followed his father and dropped Clay's plate in front of him, then pulled up the fifth chair, turned it backward, and straddled it.
For a few minutes, there was blessed silence. Werewolves weren't much for mealtime conversation. The task of filling their stomachs demanded full concentration.
The quiet might have lasted even longer if the doorbell hadn't shattered the silence. Nick went to answer it and came back with Connor Myers. Connor was short and wiry with an easy grin and wild red hair that always looked as if he'd forgotten to comb it.
Once again, we went through the rituals of bear hugging, back-thumping, and mock punching. Greetings amongst the Pack were as exuberant as they were physical, often leaving as many bruises as a few rounds of roughhousing.
"When's Harrison coming?" I asked as everyone settled back to the business of eating.
"He's not," Jeremy said. "He had to fly to Los Angeles for a court case. Last-minute legal substitution. I contacted him last night and let him know what's going on."
"Which reminds me," Clay said, turning to me. "Last time I talked to Harrison, he let something slip about speaking to you. 'Course, that's not possible, since you cut off all contact with the Pack, right?"
I looked at Clay but didn't answer. I didn't need to, because he could see my reply in my eyes. His face flushed with anger and he stabbed a slice of ham hard enough to rock the table. I'd spoken to Harrison at least once a week since I'd left, telling myself that so long as I didn't go see him, I wasn't exactly breaking my vow.
Besides, Harrison was more than my Pack brother; he was my friend, maybe the only true friend I'd ever had.
Although we were the same age, we shared more in common than being able to name both members of WHAM...
Harrison understood the allure of the outside world. He enjoyed the protection and companionship the Pack offered, but he was equally at home in the human world, where he had an apartment in Albany, a long-term girlfriend, and a flourishing legal career.
As soon as I realized that Jeremy had called a Meet, my first thought had been, Great, Harrison's coming. Now I wouldn't even have that compensation for this unwanted
visit.