Page 8 of Paw Prints in the Sand (The Northern Shifters #2)

Chapter Eight

Silver Rapids, AK

I t’s dark outside when our flight lands in Anchorage. It’s the quietest airport I’ve ever been to. Stepping outside is like entering into a snow globe. The ground is blanketed in cold white powder, and Noah’s dark hair is already glittering with snowflakes.

We find our way to the small coach belonging to the excursion organisers and grab seats on the back row. Noah stuffs his bag against the far window and lies down. I’m wide awake, having slept through most of our flight. Noah’s never been able to sleep on planes; he’s a nervous flyer, which seems ironic for someone who regularly portals themselves from place to place.

Twenty or so more people gradually board the coach, but it’s nowhere near full when we set off.

Noah manages to sleep through most of the drive while I find myself staring out of the window into the darkness and finally giving myself a chance to process this last week.

I wonder if I’ll ever see Ethan again? A part of me feels like I must have made him up. Because Sam Kelly having a holiday fling with a hot surfer doesn’t feel like it’s within the realm of possibilities. But when I close my eyes, I can still smell his orange-blossom scent and feel his soft skin under my fingertips. I’m not sure how I ever really expected my first time to go, but I suspect that being treated well and blowing your brains out of your dick is about as good as it gets.

I think I’ll miss Ethan a little. But mostly, I think I’ll miss the part of me that he woke up.

We’ve been on the road for nearly two hours when we eventually pull up to a large A-frame cabin. I pinch the back of Noah’s calf to wake him.

“Fuck. You little bitch,” he spits, glaring at me like an angry kitten.

“Come on, we’re here.”

Noah rubs his eyes with his knuckles like a sleepy toddler before following me off the coach.

The cabin is… rustic. And pretty baltic. The guy behind the hodge-podge check-in desk is a bear of a man. As big as me but even wider, with a bushy beard. He’s like the stereotype of a lumberjack with a red flannel and grubby-looking jeans.

“Names, please,” he asks rather gruffly without making eye contact.

“Samuel Kelly and Noah McNamara,” I reply.

“Here’s the key to room two; it’s a king. Is that gonna be alright?” he asks, eyes pinging between me and Noah. I suspect his main concern is whether we’re a couple rather than whether we're potentially related.

“No twins available?” I ask, hopefully.

“‘Fraid not.”

Taking the key, we go in search of our bed for the night. The room is sparsely decorated, with the exception of a large, very angry-looking moose head that hangs on the wall above the bed. Nothing says ‘sleep well’ like a decapitated piece of taxidermy watching over you as you slumber.

I’m grateful to whoever put a small heater on ahead of our arrival because it’s much warmer than it was in the lobby.

Noah collapses onto the nearside of the bed before complaining that the mattress is lumpy.

We’re both exhausted from travelling most of the day, and we have a full day of activities tomorrow, so we quickly wash up and get ready for bed. It’s hard to believe that this time yesterday, I was in Ethan’s bed. And Ethan was, well, in me . I really need not think about that, though, since I’m currently sharing a bed with my cousin.

It isn't long before I’m sweating like I’m in a sauna rather than in a little wooden cabin without insulation.

“Knock it off,” I grumble at Noah.

“I’m cold,” he whines.

“There is no way you are cold right now. You’ve turned the room into a toaster oven.”

Thankfully, Noah falls asleep quickly and the temperature of the room drops back down again. I’m shattered, but my brain won’t switch off. Soon, I’ll be back in rainy Manchester. Back to all my responsibilities. Back to real life.

I’m envious that by the end of Mum’s trip, she felt determined and ready to claim her future. I, on the other hand, am as woefully unprepared as ever. My heartbeat begins to race at the thought of being Alpha one day. Having a whole pack depending on me. Alone at the top because, honestly, I think my mum must have been mad to be an Alpha’s spouse. Not that I suppose the mating bond gave her much choice in the matter.

I kick Noah twice in the shin before he stirs.

“What do you want, heathen?” he mumbles.

“Will you really not take over as pack witch after Orla?” I whisper. Orla’s our great-grandmother and has been the pack witch for over sixty years. She’s in her late eighties now, though, so the chances of her still being around when I become Alpha are pretty slim.

“No.”

“Why not? I know you’ve said before you won’t be a pack witch for anyone, but why?”

“I have my reasons. Now go to sleep.”

“But I can’t do it by myself. I can’t be Alpha one day if I have to do it by myself.” My voice is quiet but undeniably laced with panic.

“You’ll be a good Alpha when the time comes, Sammy. You’re… dependable. Like a big, sturdy, orange rock.”

I huff. “Please?”

“No. But I’ll still be around to piss you off.”

“Great… I can’t wait,” I reply dryly.

The following day, we get bundled up and prepare for a full day in the snow. It’s thick when we step outside the cabin; each step goes up to our ankles. We trudge through the snow towards a group of ten or so people standing around a row of snowmobiles.

Mr Bushy-beard from last night has a clipboard he appears to be ticking people's names off on. He gives us a brief nod of acknowledgement before continuing.

After a safety demonstration and triple-checking that we all have everything we need, a short but incredibly loud woman who introduces herself as Bea starts organising us into pairs. Noah and I are at the front behind Mr Bushy-beard, with the loud lady remaining at the back of the group.

We hurtle through the snow, powder whipping up into the air surrounding us like little white tornadoes. A few people behind us begin whooping as we pick up more speed.

It’s a beautiful day for it. The sky is a bright blue, and the snow and ice would be blinding without sunnies on.

When we break through the wooded area, my mouth drops open. A huge, never-ending expanse of white before us. The snowmobiles glide through the ice and snow, the engine rumbling beneath me.

We eventually pull up to another set of cabins. Bea gives us each a set of keys and tells us to meet back at the larger cabin for dinner at six pm.

Dinner is a raucous affair, with twelve of us helping ourselves to a giant pot of hearty stew. It makes me feel oddly homesick. One thing I am looking forward to when I get home is cooking a big dinner for my family and pack, everyone talking over each other so loudly you can’t think. It’s funny how you end up missing things that sometimes drive you mad.

The food is a little salty but enjoyable all the same. Noah wolfs down enough to feed a small family and gets a few funny looks from the others. After we’ve finished, Noah and I offer to help with the cleanup while some of the others pull out a deck of cards as we wait for the evening excursion.

A short while later, Bea returns and stomps the snow off her boots in the entryway. “Everything’s ready if you want to get wrapped up and meet us out front in fifteen?” she asks.

We all leap to our feet, evidently excited for the trip, hustling and bustling to get our thick coats, hats and gloves on. It’s so dark outside that the stars are vivid in the sky. I’ve never seen so many. The longer my eyes adjust to the lack of light, the more I begin to see huge clusters of stars that form the Milky Way.

It’s… breathtaking. Like getting a peek at the sky's secrets.

The snowmobile rumbles to life underneath me, and I follow Noah as we head further into the Talkeetna Mountains.

With nothing but the lights from our snowmobiles and head torches, the journey gets darker and darker until it’s… not anymore.

It begins as a soft glow, light reflecting off the snow and ice below.

When I tilt my head to see above me, I'm almost overwhelmed. The stars in the sky are lit up by green glimmers of light that dance like a flame. Dance like they’re elated to be here.

I’ve seen photographs of the Northern Lights, but none of them do this right here any justice whatsoever. I’m sad that my mum didn’t get to see them on her trip; the time of year and weather didn’t pan out for her.

We all disembark, and the group is silent. Everyone has their faces tipped up to the sky, relishing the beautiful phenomenon. I hope that wherever she is, if she’s in the sky, that she can see what I’m seeing right now.

I’m suddenly struck by a memory that had faded into the back of my mind. I was maybe six years old because Con and Niamh were only just toddling around like tiny, unstable drunks. Mum had woken me up and wrapped me in a coat before carrying me out to the car. She told me we were going on a little adventure, just the two of us. We drove for a while, Mum playing a Fleetwood Mac CD as I stared out of the window, still a bit dazed from sleep. The further we drove, the darker it got. But I wasn’t scared; I was never scared with Mum.

When she parked up and we got out of the car, Mum grabbed a flask and some blankets before taking my hand and leading me into what appeared to be a random, totally dark field.

It was summer, but we were still in England, so it wasn’t warm. Mum laid one blanket down and put one over our knees. She poured what I could now smell to be hot chocolate into the lid of the flask as a makeshift mug and passed it to me. I took a big sip, enjoying the sweet, warm drink that I was rarely allowed to indulge in.

“What are we doin’ here, Mummy?” I asked her. She let out a breathy chuckle.

“Look up, baby,” she said quietly.

I did as she asked. The sky was filled with stars—more than I had ever seen before. Then, after a moment, one appeared to shoot across the sky.

“Wow,” I said. “Why are some of the stars dancin'?”

“They’re called shooting stars. These ones are part of the Perseid Meteor Shower. For a few days each August, if you go somewhere dark enough and it isn’t cloudy, you can see the stars dance across the sky, my love.”

I shake my head and wipe under my eyes at the memory. It’s memories like that which make the ache in my chest as painful as the day we lost her.

When I look back up at the glowing green sky, I focus on a star that seems to be shining brighter than the rest. And I can’t help but think that must be her. Because nobody shined brighter than my mum. That’s why life has been so much dimmer since she’s been gone.

A day later, safely returned to civilisation, Noah and I collect a hire car from Anchorage and head off for the final leg of our trip. Silver Rapids.

It takes us around two hours to reach the small town, and Noah insists on stopping off at a shop called The Silver Dollar to buy enough snacks to feed an army.

“It’s not like she’s not going to feed us when we get there,” I say, following him around the small store as he loads up his basket.

“I’m ignoring you,” he informs me.

The girl behind the checkout chews and pops her gum like she’s incredibly bored and eyes the endless heap of sugary snacks.

“Having a party?” she asks.

“No,” Noah replies bluntly. I try to smile to soften it, but she has a scowl on her face and doesn’t say anymore after that.

I drive the remainder of the way so that Noah can scarf through his wares. Butterflies flutter in my stomach with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Double-checking that we’re at the correct address, we get out of the car, and I stretch to crack my back. It’s aching from being cramped in a car for the last few hours.

“Ready?” Noah asks. Clearly more aware than I gave him credit for that this visit will be a little difficult for me.

“Yep. She’d have wanted me to visit,” I reply.

With Noah a few steps behind me, I walk up the drive and to the front door of a small cottage. I hesitate for a moment but then knock on the yellow front door.

A small woman answers, her eyes welling up as soon as she sees us. She has the same dark hair and features as my mum.

“Hi, Aunt Siobhan, it’s good to see you.”

Noah sits comfortably on the sofa while Siobhan clatters around in the kitchen, making tea. There’s a bunch of framed photographs above her fireplace: one, presumably from her wedding day judging by her white poofy dress; another is of her and Mum with cowboy hats and boots on, and the last is of a guy with dark hair and a serious expression wearing military garb.

“That’s my best friend’s son, Silas. He’s like a nephew to me,” Siobhan says with a tray of mugs in her hands.

“Is he deployed?” I ask, not sure what else is appropriate.

“Yes, he left a few months ago. He’s a good lad; we’re all just praying for his safe return.” Her Northern Irish accent is softer now, a strange, slightly hybrid Americanised version instead.

I join Noah on the sofa, and once Siobhan has poured the tea, she goes to retrieve a photo album from a nearby bookshelf. When she returns, she sits down next to me and opens it up.

On the first page is a picture of her and Mum at Times Square, huge grins on their faces. It’s odd to think that Mum is my age there. She looks impossibly young to be the woman who became a mother only a few years later.

“What was she like back then?” I ask Siobhan.

“She was a ball of energy. People gravitated towards her just to feel the warmth of her glow. It was addictive to be noticed by her but hard living in her shadow,” Siobhan answers with more honesty than I was expecting. “She was fierce. Good luck to anyone who crossed the people she cared about. I think your da was good for her, kept her grounded.” She smiles fondly before turning over the page. Noah pokes his head over my shoulder to take a look. The two of them are standing at the base of one of the giant sequoia trees.

“She was happier the second half of the trip, away from the big cities. It was like she always fed off her environment, so she was calmer in nature.”

“Her and Da used to take the three of us camping every summer; she loved it,” I say.

“Have you any pictures of the twins? I don’t think I’ve seen a recent photo.” I dig around in my pocket for my phone and scroll up through my photos. I find one of the four of us from my birthday in August; we had a BBQ, and Da got one of Will’s dads to snap a family photo of us. It’s one of the few family photos without Mum in it.

“Gosh, Connor is the spit of her, isn’t he? You too, mind,” she says to Noah. “Although I guess it’s your Da you look like.” Noah only grunts in response; he’s never been especially fond of being told he closely resembles Rowan. Their relationship has been understandably strained for pretty much his whole life.

Over dinner, Siobhan tells us about how it came to be that my mum returned home without her, about how she met the love of her life, John, in a little bookshop in this town. She explains that John really wanted to meet us but got called to some urgent pack business, apparently there’s a lot of unrest with a nearby pack.

It’s later than planned when we get up to leave. We have the drive back to Anchorage to do tonight, so we can catch an early flight.

“I’ve got something for you,” Siobhan says, retrieving a folded piece of paper from a wooden sideboard. “I got a copy made when I knew you were visiting,” she explains. I open the piece of paper to see the familiar scrawl of my mum’s handwriting.

“It’s a copy of the letter she gave me before she left for home.” Her eyes are misty when she comes in for a hug. I’m not sure what to say, but the paper burns a hole in my hand. It’s the last new thing I’ll ever read from her, and that thought makes my eyes sting.

“Thank you,” I whisper before letting her go.

“Have a safe trip home, you two.”

On the walk back to the car, Noah grabs the keys from my hand.

“I’ll drive,” he says, nodding to the letter.

I can’t bring myself to read it right away. I’m feeling oddly vulnerable, trapped inside the car with Noah right next to me.

“Can you pull up over there?” I ask when I spot a sign for a viewpoint on the side of the road. Noah pulls in but remains in the car when I get out.

It’s dark, so I can’t actually see much of the view; it appears to be some sort of river below. There’s a small bench, though, so I perch on the edge of it and use the torch on my phone to shine a light on the piece of paper.

Dear Siobhan

I won’t lie to you. I’m pretty cross with you right now.

I hardly have a single memory that doesn’t feature you in it. I thought we were cradle to the grave. But maybe that was a little naive of me.

Over the next few years, I’ll be married and probably have babies. It never crossed my mind that you wouldn’t be a part of that, so I’m feeling immeasurably sad right now. For me, anyway.

When I manage to pull my head from my arse, I’ll be happy for you, though.

With you as my cousin, I’ve never gone a day of my life without a best friend, and even with oceans between us, I know that won’t change.

Nobody deserves a happy ever after more than you do. I hope John knows that his mate is a precious gem that he must treasure until the end of his days. (OR ELSE!)

I hope you know that I love you more than words can say and that I’ll miss you like a missing limb.

I’ll email you every single week and you better reply. Because we both know I’ll come and find you to be having words if not.

Don’t forget about me?

Love,

Your favourite cousin, Cara x

I can see my breath in the cold air when I exhale. There was nothing earth-shattering in her letter to Siobhan, and yet I can feel myself hoarding every word like a Doomsday Prepper. There will never be enough.

I’m also sad for my mum because she was wrong. Those oceans between her and Siobhan did change things. Regular emails became irregular calls and promised visits never happened. Siobhan became a distant relative who eventually added us on Facebook and ‘liked’ all the photos Mum posted of us on there. It’s sad to read the letter that marked the beginning of the end of a relationship my mum clearly treasured a great deal. I fold the letter up carefully and return it to the safety of my pocket, probably to be read over and over again until the ink is faded and the paper falls apart.

Noah is munching on a giant bag of Hershey’s Kisses when I climb back in the passenger seat.

“Alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

We’re a few miles further down the road when the quiet in the car begins to feel heavy.

"Any plans for when you get home?" I ask.

Silence.

“You’re not comin’ home with me, are you?” I ask him, even though somehow I already know the answer.

He doesn’t reply right away but starts tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in a rare display of nervousness.

“No, Sammy, not right now.”

I nod even though he can’t see me.

“But if you ever call, I’ll be there in a heartbeat, okay?” he says, tone serious.

“Okay, Noah.” We ride the rest of the way back to Anchorage in near-silence, with some soft country music playing on the radio.

It doesn’t feel completely rational, but fear has dug its claws in, and my stomach sits heavy with the sense of dread that history is repeating itself. That I’ll lose Noah exactly like Mum lost Siobhan.

As though he can hear the thoughts percolating in my head, Noah says, “I’m not Siobhan. I’m not cutting ties, okay? There’s just some things I need to do.”