Page 89 of Villainous Fate

Deacon spent ten minutes bouncing between Grace and me with information and questions. I told him about the traps and got some insight I will bring to Frank when I return to the packhouse.

By the end of the call, Grace was back in good spirits, and we set up a time for another call two weeks later before I excused myself to the front porch while they said their goodbyes.

Sitting down on the front steps, I take in the March weather. It had started to warm up in the afternoons, and most of the snow had melted, save for some of the deeper woods where the sun hadn’t been able to warm the ground. Flowers were teasing a bloom, and rainfall was expected in the future.

In a short amount of time, Reno has started to feel like home. I’ve made friends with several pack members who live near me, opting to spend more of my time down in the main living area with them than I had in my first weeks here. Grace has been a breath of fresh air, baking me treats I haven’t had since childhood and always finding a way to help me find new books to read.

I’ve gotten to talk to my parents and my Alpha with updates on how things are going, and I’ve stayed up to date on Deacon through the meetings here and his correspondence with Grace.

Despite what he tells her, Deacon hasn’t been having an easy time in Florida. {Ralph} Amato runs the Miami pack like the Mafia. They make money off illegal deals around the city and dabble in antiquated practices like forced matings and breeding programs for new wolves. Nothing is off the table for them. Human trafficking, arms trafficking, drugs, murder, kidnapping, you name it, for the right price, they can deliver.

So far, Deacon has only been an errand boy on most of these accounts, but knowing the type of business they conduct, they will want his hands dirty before long, if only to have blackmail on him to use later.

I wish I was there with him.

It wouldn't be a good placement for me; illegal activity isn’t something I would want to be involved with, but at least he would know someone was looking out for him and making sure he didn’t give them too much ammunition that they could hold over him, or more likely Luca when he takes over in the future.

The front door closing behind me pulls me from my thoughts just as Grace’s coffee and cinnamon scent wafts my way. She’s standing there, not approaching me, and the fact that I know she is wrestling with what to say makes me angry again.

Why does she think she can’t talk to me?

“Look, Marcus…” she begins, her voice small. When I turn to look at her over my shoulder, I see her playing with her hands nervously, and it hurts me to know she’s uncomfortable around me.

“Let's go for a run,” I offer, changing the subject and not allowing her to finish her thought. I stand and pull at the back of my shirt to remove it. My feet start heading for the treeline before I even wait for a response. She needs a change of scenery and time to let the shame she has no reason to feel work itself out of her system.

Once deep enough, I remove the rest of my clothes and stash them behind a tree before shifting. The rush of senses has always been my favorite part of my wolf. The ability to hear, see, smell, and taste to a level humans couldn’t imagine is thrilling. My wolf sniffs around the area while I listen to Grace preparing to shift.

A sharp nip at my hind leg tells me she’s ready, just as her reddish wolf darts between two trees. She’s lightning fast, and my wolf enjoys the punishing pace she sets. Ducking under a fallen trunk and dodging a boulder, we fall into a rhythm as we run. When we reach the small stream behind her property, she stops, takes a moment to drink, and lays down to catch her breath.

Both of our wolves are panting, and the strain on my muscles feels exhilarating. Grace and I have run our wolves together a handful of times over the weeks I’ve been here. She’s shown me areas I haven’t seen on my patrols and kept me from crossing into parts of the woods that certain pack members have claimed for their own.

Once we’ve caught our breath, I growl at her, instigating a challenge before I turn and leap over the stream, heading away from her as quickly as I can. I know she will be able to keep up not only because of her smaller stature but also because of her knowledge of this area.

Cutting to my right, I jump a ground bush before splitting two tree trunks and circling a large rock outcropping. After several more turns and changes, I stop beneath a large oak tree, sinking to listen for her. Her paws sound not too far away, and I hear her stop to sniff around before taking off again. As her footfalls get louder, I tuck myself farther beneath the coverage of the low branches.

She’s found my trail, and a moment later, I see her fur pop across the area in front of my hiding place. She continues past me and scents the air before jogging away.

As quietly as I can, I crawl out of the hiding place just to have her land directly on my back, knocking me to my side. Before she can gain the advantage and clamp her teeth on my throat, my paws push her over, tumbling us both out of the area we were in and through a bush on the ground. When our rolling stops, I have her pinned beneath me. I hover over her throat, waiting for her submission.

Marcus: Do you yield?

I ask before realizing she's stopped fighting me, and her attention is locked on something off to my right. Releasing her, I spin, expecting a threat. A low growl rumbles out as my eyes scan every approaching path.

It’s then that I see what she's looking at, and my guard drops as I take in the giant treehouse with a rope ladder and bridge. It appears to be made well, and none of the rope or wood planks have broken down.

It is freaking incredible.

I shift, standing to my full height and turning to talk to Grace.

“This place is awesome! Did you know this was here?” I ask as I move toward the rope ladder, hoping to climb.

“Don’t!” she shouts, and the uncharacteristic tone of her voice has me freezing in place. Before I can even ask, the wind shifts, and I catch a scent I know.

Deacon.

“We shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly, closer behind me.

“This is Deacon’s place? Where he stays instead of the packhouse?” I ask, already knowing the answer because I have inquired a few times about where his room was, and no one would answer me.

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