I almost wrinkled my lip, wished I had the wolf canines fate denied me. “You don’t know.”
“We do.”
I hated the regret in Anson’s tone.
“After Set sent her vampires, Grayson sent men to the battlefield. Carmag rangers were with the team. They found nothing.”
“Because he got away,” I hissed. “He teleported or something.”
“Noa, I know it hurts.”
“It wasn’t him.” Tears smeared my vision when I looked at Fallon. “It wasn’t…”
“We’re done here today,” she said, reaching for the cane and rising uneasily to her feet. Her attention swiveled to me. “Go back to your room and change. We’re going out.”
CHAPTER 7
Noa
Westvale hugged the banks of a curving river known as the Claw. Wide streets had trendy terracotta pavers to mark the crosswalks. Festive evergreen decorations hung in shop windows, Christmas themes, along with moons and howling wolf figurines. From the restaurants, the scent of roasting meat invited an early dinner rush. But beneath it all was the faint vegetative scent from the river, not unpleasant but distinct.
Despite the chilly weather, the town was crowded. Moms pushed strollers. Men walked while staring at cell phones. The clamor of voices followed its own rhythm as Fallon pointed out the landmarks. She said the town was built around the river, with roads like spokes in a wheel. We were in the central Court District. The Estate District backed up against the hills, sheltering the gated homes of the wealthy. The Ironstone housed the Sentinel Falls refugees—six square blocks where singles and working-class families lived in the apartment buildings that faced either the Claw or the central square. The Docks edged the river with old warehouses converted into restaurants and the various entertainment venues. We wandered past clubs and bars with names like the ridiculous Last Howl. The Green Pines appeared more upscale, with a dressed-to-impress clientele.
I listened to the rasp of Fallon’s cane as we walked. The scent of snow was in the crisp air and the overcast sky was still light. A yellowy sun hovered above distant mountains, but dusk would fall swiftly. Already, lights were blinking on in the windows. I tugged the sweater I wore tighter to my waist, watched a street artist as she packed up her paints, stacked the canvases she offered for sale. Beside her was a photographer, doing the same, packing up for the day.
I lingered for a moment, lost in old memories.
“Do you miss it?” Fallon asked. Did I miss photography? Once, I’d lived for the view through the camera lens. Loved the mentorship with a wildlife photographer, crouching for hours behind a woven hunting blind waiting for that one shot that would make me famous. The life I’d lived then seemed shallow now, so far away I might have imagined it. Imagined who I’d been, that naïve girl who pretended she was human.
“I outgrew wandering around with a camera.” Left that life behind.
The crowds were growing as people left work and searched for entertainment or food. Willing sexual partners. Probably a combination of all three. Normal, nearly human activities to distract themselves from the pressure of the day. When weeks ago, I’d been locked in a vampire dungeon, fighting a sentient mist.
Fallon brushed a hand against my back; I leaned in to the caress. Somehow, she sensed when the past haunted and the emotions turned swift and hard. When I needed support. The warmth in a touch. Perhaps it was some alpha power she had. But we stood silently, watching the crowds, listening to the voices and the rumble of a passing car. The shouted greetings, laughter as the lines grew outside a club with a red moon lit up in neon, and I asked, “You ever go inside?”
“Not the kind of place that welcomes Alphas.”
“Without a bar for hooking up, how do you manage a sex life?”
She elbowed me. “Privileged information.”
“Must mean secret Alpha bars,” I mused. “Knock three times and whisper the password.”
Fallon barked out a laugh, and I savored the moment, the joy in the late afternoon light, the hurry and bustle around us, and the pure laughter of a friend.
We continued to crowd-watch. I spotted a brilliantly lit building; the glass panes in the ceiling and walls made me think of a commercial greenhouse.
“What is that?” I asked.
“The Farmer’s Market,” Fallon said. “You can buy anything if you know who to ask.”
“Legal and illegal?”
Fallon shrugged. “They monitor the illegal activities. Step in if trouble erupts. Wolves value freedom.”
A woman with brown, braided hair walked toward the door; I saw the flash of an eyepatch when she turned to glance back. Then she disappeared, and my attention went to Laura, waving from across the paved square. Fallon asked her to meet us, and I ran into her arms, hugging tight. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been running off to save the wounded in the midst of chaos.
She hugged me back, and the warmth in her arms brought a sting to my eyes. “Cossa? Vasha? Leticia?” I whispered.
