Beneath a Blood Moon (80 page)

Wendy’s eyes widened. “Charles, next time they try to make one of us stay there, we should do that. It’s brilliant.”

“I’ve had enough confinement this week to last a decade,” Desmond growled.

“I’m sorry, Charles. If I had known you had gotten into so much trouble, we would have called you. We were just staying out of your fur until you dealt with your end of things.” Wendy crawled to her mate, ducked under his chin, and nibbled on his neck. “We were being very good girls.”

“You stole Sanders’s truck,” Desmond murmured, and judging from the way his mouth twitched, he was struggling not to smile. “You ran away. You encouraged our eldest daughter to crash a plane. You worried at least ten years off my life. Amber, Nicolina, and Lisa I can understand, but
you
, Wendy?”

Wendy giggled. “It was fun. It worked, too. We would’ve pulled it off without a single hitch if her father hadn’t taken Richard and Sanders hostage. You’re the one who has been bad, allowing those pathetic lowlife scum to capture our precious sons.”

Laughing, Desmond embraced his mate. “You’re so bloodthirsty when you’re pregnant. I like it.”

“Wait, sons? What are you talking about?” Sanders demanded.

With a wide grin, Desmond pointed at my mate. “You’re mine now. Wendy said I was allowed. I heard her very clearly. She wants Sara as a daughter, which means I get you for a son. I’m going to have you calling me Dad in a week, just you wait and see.”

Twisting out from beneath me, my mate dumped me on the floor and launched over the back of the couch. I sprawled over Desmond and Wendy, yowling my dismay. Sitting up, I snarled a curse at my mate.

Sanders shook his head. “Oh, hell no. No way. You are not dragging me into your psychotic family. It is not happening. You can’t do that.”

Desmond’s eyes blazed, and gracefully rising to his feet, he stalked after Sanders, who retreated towards the kitchen. “I have Richard. I have Alex. You’ll be suitable and satisfying prey.”

“Wendy, stop him,” my mate begged.

“Why would I do that? Absurd. If he catches you, I get another daughter. Catch him, Charles. Just remember you are housebroken, and that does not mean break the house. If you’re too noisy, the puppies upstairs will hear, and then it’ll be one on—” Wendy blinked, glancing towards the staircase. Drawing in a deep breath, she hollered, “Richard!”

A rumpled, yawning Richard wearing only a pair of boxers trotted down from the third floor to lean over the railing of the second. “What? Is something wrong?”

“Help your father catch Sanders so I can legitimately call Sara my daughter. Invite your brother to come play, too,” she ordered.

Richard’s mouth dropped open, and for a long moment, all he did was stare. He sighed gustily, turned around, and bellowed, “Alex!”

Nicolina and Lisa followed after Richard’s brother, and the twins glared at their father. Puzzled, I listened for others, but there was no sign of Amber or Frank.

“Where are the others?” I asked, turning to Wendy.

“Amber and Frank decided to stay at a hotel; they thought it’d be nice to give us some private family time,” she replied.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Alex grumbled, “What’s going on?”

Richard leaned over the railing again in search of Desmond and my mate, frowning at the sounds of footfalls deeper in the house. “Some nonsense about Desmond catching Sanders. Wendy thinks we should help. She wants to call Sara her daughter, apparently. I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, though.”

“Think about it, Richard. If Charles claims Sanders as a son, he won’t have to tease you quite as often,” Wendy cajoled with a smile.

The brown of Richard’s eyes brightened to yellow. “Oh, Sanders…”

“I said no!” my mate howled.

No one listened to him.

Crash.

I sighed, wondering who had broken what and whether or not I wanted to get off the couch to find out. The click of claws on hardwood approaching at high speed promised more destruction. My mate howled, and I twisted around in time to watch him lunge for the couch.

Sucking in a startled breath, I dove to the side, covering my head with my arms as he sailed over me.

The coffee table didn’t stand a chance; it splintered with a crack as Sanders’s full weight crashed onto the top of it. He hit the carpet hard and rolled, yowling his frustration.

“They’re going to wreck everything you own, Wendy,” I complained, tensing while waiting for the pursuing wolves to barrel after my mate. “How can you be in there just cooking like there’s nothing happening?”

“Sara, dear, come into the kitchen. It’s safer,” Wendy replied. “You should have seen our first winter with Richard. He destroyed Charles’s brand new computer, demolished his entire office, and broke the secure line. I wanted new furniture anyway.”

Desmond attempted to leap over the couch, cracked his forepaws into the back, and tumbled over it, landing on my legs with a yip. Sighing, I questioned what I had gotten into and whether or not I wanted to help my mate escape.

Four wolves trotted in from the kitchen and dining area, their ears perked forward and their tongues lolling in canine amusement. One was pure white. Two resembled large police dogs, although they were both shedding; fur drifting in their wake. Richard, the largest of the Fenerec by far and the color of sterling silver, stared down his elegant, glistening nose at Sanders, one ear cocked back in what my wolf identified as disgust.

My mate staggered upright, panting. The standoff didn’t last long before Desmond rolled off me and lunged for Sanders with a snap of his teeth.

I waited for the six to stampede their way up the stairs before retreating to the kitchen.

One of the chairs in the dining room was in pieces and several stools were on the floor. I prodded the mangled leg with my toe, which had slid all the way to the edge of the living room carpet. Bending down, I picked the leg up and left it on the kitchen island. “One chair, a coffee table, I’m pretty sure you’re going to need a new couch, and a television. Is nothing sacred in this house?”

“At least they aren’t shooting each other. If you think broken furniture is bad, try removing paintball stains or bullets. Look on the bright side; they aren’t fighting.” Wendy set aside her knife and washed her hands. “It’s good for them. They all need to unwind, and Sanders is good prey. He may not be a match for Richard in size, but he’s pretty much pound for pound with Charles. Where Sanders excels is in his endurance. If my daughters decide to really help their father, your mate will be in trouble. That said, unless Richard and Charles actively team up against him, your mate stands a good chance of winning.”

“But there are five of them and only one of him.”

“They aren’t working together. If anything, the girls are getting in their father’s way, as is Alex. Sanders is using that against them. You missed when Charles was hot on his heels and Sanders jumped right over Nicolina. To avoid running our daughter over, Charles smacked right into the wall,” Wendy replied, pointing towards the other room.

There was a rather large hole in the drywall.

“Wouldn’t it be better if they did this
outside
?” I asked.

“We’d get cold watching them since we can’t enjoy our fur coats right now.”

“That’s what jackets are for.”

“Richard weighs at least three hundred and fifty pounds. We’re strong, but that’s a lot of wolf to have to move, Sara. If we let them play outside, we’ll be the ones carrying them back inside when they finally run out of energy and decide to take a nap. Sanders and Charles aren’t much lighter. With Lisa and Alex shedding, we’ll be eating fur if we have to move them. I really hope those two finish soon—they’ve been shedding for ages. I want to see their new coats.”

“So what do we do now?” I asked, listening to the thumps of the wolves romping upstairs.

“What do you mean?”

Whispering in the hope my mate wouldn’t hear me, I said, “Fifteen of Sanders’s pack died.”

“Ah.” Wendy sighed, picked up the knife, and with a growl, flung it at the wall. It embedded to the hilt with a thunk. “Knowing Sanders, he’ll arrange a funeral for them. He’ll blubber to their mates—those who had them, that is—and blame himself for everything. He’ll act like he’s all right when he isn’t. He’ll put on a show for everyone’s benefit, especially yours, and we’ll pretend nothing is wrong. Charles, of course, will do what he thinks best. For now, that’s making certain your mate feels wanted.”

“Of course he’s wanted,” I snarled.

“Oh, Sara. Of course he’s wanted, but that doesn’t mean he believes it right now. He failed his pack. In his eyes, it’s his fault they died. They were his responsibility. Maybe it was our plan and our actions that killed them, but it’s an Alpha’s job to safeguard his pack. Just because he’s Charles’s Second right now doesn’t change that for him. Losing so many at once is painful. Charles had it easier; he didn’t have a chance to really bond with the traitors. Add in the fact your father managed to grab Matthew, and his pride’s pretty damaged.”

I grimaced and said nothing. After what I had done, after falling prey to my own despair, I understood.

Unlike me, my mate kept moving forward, living with the consequences of what he had done—or believed he had done—without faltering. Even the thought of him attempting suicide left me queasy and shaking. Would he?

I had, in my weakness.

A thumping on the stairs warned me of wolves barreling back to the first floor. Sanders skidded to a halt where the kitchen and dining room met, staring at me with his amber eyes. Despite the approach of Desmond and the other wolves stalking him, he remained still and quiet.

In my fear, I had rejected the pack he loved, hiding from it so it couldn’t hurt me again. Yet, true to Wendy’s claim, I could feel an echo of my mate’s grief, carefully contained beneath his skin in his effort to protect me from his pain at the loss of his wolves, his pack, and his chosen family.

Drawing a deep breath, I sighed. Part of me wanted to cling to my resentment, but my wolf’s weariness at my stubbornness wore away at me. There was nothing else left for me to do; I sighed again, hoped I wasn’t making a huge mistake, and swore I’d try to do right by him, even if it meant accepting a role—any role—in his pack.

Desmond slowed to a creeping prowl, both of his ears cocked back.

“You better run, Matthew,” I murmured, forcing a smile for my mate’s benefit. 

Sanders’s ears perked forward at my use of his first name, and my smile became genuine at the way I affected him. Shaking my finger at him, I continued, “If he catches you, you’re going to have to hug him and call him your daddy. You’ll be tormented like Richard, prey to Desmond’s wickedness. You don’t want to be prey, do you? You better run like you mean it.”

My mate’s ears flattened against his skull. Lifting his head, he warbled a complaint and tore off through the dining room. Desmond chased after him, answering my mate’s cries with a taunting howl.

My temper frayed the longer the wolves played; my mate showed no signs of tiring, and the longer Desmond stalked him, the more excitable they all became. When Desmond faltered, panting and glaring at Sanders with baleful eyes, my mate dipped into a playful bow, lifted his head, and warbled an invitation.

Nicolina staggered. With a long, deep groan, she collapsed at her father’s paws. Bumping his daughter’s side with his nose, Desmond sighed before resting his paw on her shoulder. Of all the hunting wolves, only Richard still held himself tall and proud, though he sat beside his mate, watching Sanders with both of his ears flattened against his skull.

My mate warbled again.

“I thought you wanted him as your son.” Clucking my tongue, I shook my head. “I think you’re all talk, Mr. Desmond.”

A snarl answered me, and twisting in my direction, Desmond snapped his teeth at me.

“I even gave him an order, Mr. Desmond. If you catch him, he
has
to call you nice things and give you a hug.” If Desmond was gasoline, I was fire, and my words burned him. Desperate for them to put an end to it, I planned my words to stoke the flames, even if it meant my mate’s downfall—not that getting caught would hurt him. I suspected it’d do him far more good in the long run. “Just look at you all. Tired. Worn out. You’re predators who can’t handle capturing one lone, beautiful wolf. Look at him. Such lovely fur, such a proud countenance. He’s a real prize, isn’t he? I suppose any sane father would want my mate for a son, but he has to be earned. I suppose I’ll just have to find another suitable family to take him in if you can’t catch him.”