Page 36

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Sascha

Neither Petra nor Sascha speak while Petra fills a backpack with supplies.

A change of clothes, first aid kit, two water bottles, and a handful of energy bars.

She zips it closed, her expression grim, then hands the backpack to Sascha.

He’s already dressed and wearing shoes, so he slings the backpack over his shoulders and pulls Petra in for a hug.

Although she allows his physical affection, she isn’t especially keen on reciprocating, but this time her strong arms wrap around Sascha’s back and squeeze.

“What’s your plan?” she asks when they separate.

Sascha shrugs. “I don’t know. I have to find him first.”

“I’d lend you my car, but it had an accident.”

A slight smile tugs Sascha’s mouth. “I’m really sorry about that, but it means a lot that you’d offer to let me use it again if I hadn’t, you know, totaled it.”

Petra gives a dismissive wave. “Be safe.”

“I’m just walking to the pack house.”

“You know what I meant.”

They hug once more, then Sascha takes his leave.

Walking is his only option for getting to the pack house without alerting someone to his leaving the clinic.

Petra forbade him from shifting, which isn’t unfair, so he’s left plodding down the road and hoping his body doesn’t give out before he can steal his car back, along with—hopefully—his phone.

Petra plans to call it approximately when he should be arriving at the pack house, in case Samuel left the ringer on.

He’s only a quarter of the way into the walk, if that, when a car pulls off the road and stops next to him. Sascha swears under his breath, grimacing when he sees Aunt Marty, always way too perceptive, get out of the car.

“What’re you doing?” Marty asks, planting her hands on her hips.

“Um,” Sascha says.

Marty purses her lips. “Where are you going?”

That’s an easier answer. “The pack house.”

“And you’re walking, why…?”

“Um,” he says again. “Petra’s car is out of commission and I had to get something from my room. She cleared me to get some exercise.”

“Right,” Marty says slowly. Then she opens the passenger door. “I have to go to the pack house to take care of some business in the kitchen. I’ll give you a ride.”

Sascha almost wants to say ‘no’ but doesn’t have a good reason to do so. He glances at the dashboard clock. “Why this late?”

“Samuel didn’t say. Something about unexpected guests, though.”

Presumably, Celeste is still making a nuisance of herself.

Sascha frowns but doesn’t have anything to say, and Marty doesn’t push him.

The ride to the pack house is less than ten minutes, but it’s tense, and by the time they pull into the several-cars-deep drive, Sascha feels about ready to rip his skin off.

“Thanks, Marty. ”

“Stop by the kitchen so I can give you something to eat,” is all she says before walking off.

The problem with getting a ride to the house is that Petra won’t be calling his phone for some time. Sascha rushes to catch up to Marty. “Hey, I kinda lost my phone in my room. When you get to the kitchen, could you, uh, call it? I haven’t had it since I’ve been in the clinic.”

Marty gives him a long look, then nods. “I’ll call twice, just in case.” Then with a wave of her hand, she turns down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving Sascha to break off toward the residential wing where he lives with his closest immediate relatives.

Sascha is already sweating when he gets to the hallway leading to the master bedroom.

Samuel doesn’t lock his door, presumably because Sascha hasn’t snuck in there since he was a kid, and no one else would dare.

Finding the key to Sascha’s car isn’t difficult because Samuel leaves his own car keys and wallet in a dish on his dresser.

Sascha pockets the fob, then waits for Marty’s call, praying that his phone, wherever it is, is charged and has the ringer on.

Sure enough, Lady Gaga’s muffled voice sings Rah, rah, rah-ah-ah from the top drawer of Samuel’s bedside stand. Sascha’s lucky as hell that his father is so organized. He quickly answers the call, muttering, “Found it. Thanks Marty,” before hanging up and making a getaway as quickly as possible.

Samuel will smell that Sascha has been in his room, so Sascha has to get gone before his dad returns to their residential wing.

He makes it out safely, and with a breath of relief, Sascha slips into one of the side passages so he has less chance of running into someone on the way to the kitchen.

He’d normally beg off, but doesn’t want to irritate Marty after she helped him.

After the first part of his plan went so smoothly, it figures that the final leg would produce unforeseen complications. Just around the corner, by the kitchen entrance, Sascha can hear Celeste’s brash voice arguing with Samuel, who is finally starting to lose his composure.

“I don’t share your grudge,” he’s saying. “I’ve offered you all I can. Once our cooks finish the food for your pack, I expect you to leave our land.”

So that’s why Marty returned to the kitchen. Celeste must have convinced Samuel he owed her, and he agreed to keep the peace.

Either Celeste doesn’t know what she’s about to uncover in Samuel, or she doesn’t care, which is more likely. “I thought you wanted to get rid of any unwelcome alphas near your territory.”

Sascha can’t stop himself from popping around the corner. “Why don’t you just leave Avery the fuck alone?” He regrets it immediately when Samuel’s head snaps around, and he pins Sascha under the full force of an unexpected glare.

“Alexander, what are you doing here?”

“I… Marty gave me a ride to pick up some food for Petra. Since her, you know, her car’s… out of commission.”

It’s not a bad explanation, but his father’s expression doesn’t soften. “Someone else could have done that. You’re supposed to be recovering at the clinic.”

“Petra said I could get some exercise,” he says, falling back on his earlier lie with more confidence this time. “I was going to do some stretches with the equipment in the exercise grounds.”

Samuel doesn’t waver. “You could have done stretches where you were.”

Everything in him wants to wither under his father’s disapproval, but Sascha fights it. “I’ll let Petra know when I get back. Sorry.”

“You’re getting soft, Samuel,” Celeste says. “Can’t even keep your own cub in line?”

Like a wire snapping, Samuel turns on her, growling and showing his fangs.

Sascha can’t remember the last time he saw his father drop fangs, but it terrifies him.

Desperate to mitigate the unfolding rage, because Celeste’s pack is far from weak, even on another pack’s territory, Sascha says, “Can’t you just get out of here? He said no.”

“I don’t need your help, Alexander.”

“Why not? Because I’m not good enough to be an alpha, so I can’t even support my own father?”

Even Celeste looks surprised by that. “Maybe you should get the cub to lead us to his were-bitch,” she says mildly.

Sascha snarls, his own fangs dropping. “I’d rather eat glass.”

“Even if your own alpha ordered you to?” Celeste asks, raising her eyebrows in mock surprise.

When Sascha doesn’t respond, Samuel turns to him, blinking away his rising anger.

“Alexander?” prompts his father.

Sascha’s heart pounds. This might be the most precarious exchange he’s faced this entire ordeal, and he has no idea what to say.

It’s not until he sees Marty hovering in the kitchen doorway, watching him with a knowing expression.

He can’t verbalize why or how it triggers the confession that bursts free.

Maybe it’s just because Avery deserves someone who isn’t ashamed of him.

Avery has been failed by everyone who was supposed to care about his wellbeing; Sascha won’t add himself to the list.

“I would never do anything to hurt Avery. I love him.”

At the admission, something twists in Samuel’s face.

Sascha doesn’t have the chance to question it before Samuel turns to Celeste, the coolness returned to his voice when he says, “After some consideration, I think you’re right, Celeste.

The werecreature is too dangerous to be left alive.

You have the support of my enforcers in your mission to hunt him down. ”

The words are like hot coals dropping into Sascha’s stomach.

He’s running before he’s aware of his legs moving, breathing without feeling the air enter or leave his lungs.

His hands shake around the key fob to his car, just barely managing to unlock it and throw himself inside without dropping the fob like a horror film victim.

This is Sascha’s personal nightmare come to life, and he refuses to let it reach Avery.

A squeal of car wheels announces Sascha’s departure from the drive, but he can’t risk slowing down enough to be quiet. He guns it, speeding off the pack lands like a man possessed.

When Sascha realizes Avery is headed toward Mackinac City, a vice tightens around his heart.

He feels restless and eager and anxious, preparing himself for the relief of holding Avery again at last , while still looking over his shoulder every other minute, expecting to see someone in pursuit.

He knows better than to feel safe, even in the absence of strange cars following him.

Sascha’s car belongs to his dad, legally.

If Samuel reports the hatchback stolen, police will be on the lookout.

If they’re pulled over, that’ll be it, so Sascha plans on ditching the car in the Dairy Queen parking lot as soon as they get there.

From there, it’s not even a ten-minute walk to the Shepler’s Ferry, and that will take them across the Straits of Mackinac to the island.

But first, he has to find Avery—which turns out easier than expected.

Avery isn’t hiding. Rather, he’s standing by the side of the road as if he knew to expect Sascha coming this way.