Page 11 of War Games

“I’m going home. You can go home and tell my Pa whatever you want. He can fight with me about it later.” He started walking away, struggling stubbornly on his battered feet. He didn’t care about the shoes or socks he left behind.

“Landon.” I pushed myself up now. “Landon! Talk to me.”

“No,” he said, not even bothering to look over his shoulder at me. “If we’re good about what I said, there’s really nothing else to talk about.”

“What is wrong with you? You’ve never been this protective or frankly this irrational, Landon. You know he’s capable?—”

“The only reason you care about it is so you can stop thinking about the dead kid in Alaska,” he snapped.

That left me stunned, mouth open, yet no words formed to retort or even deny.

“See you tomorrow, Jacky,” he growled, limping away.

I let him go, bewildered as he left me alone on the trail.

That bewilderment evolved into anger as I looked down at the bag I brought to help him.

He left his fucking shoes. Thanks, asshole. Now I have to carry back your stinky damn shoes and socks.

I shoved them in the bag and started heading home.

4

CHAPTER FOUR

Igot back, shoving the door open so hard, its collision with the wall could be heard through the entire house. My anger at Landon didn’t abate on the long walk back but rather grew into full fury. I waited for the door to close, and with a snarl, I realized I’d sent the doorknob into the wall. I yanked it out as multiple sets of footsteps moved toward me. I knew one was Dirk, another Heath. One I couldn’t feel with magic, but only one human would approach me in a mood, and that meant it was Carey. I got the front door closed, ignoring that it was Heath coming up the steps to catch me and figure out what was wrong. Dirk was right behind him. Carey was coming from her bedroom, having gotten home from her classes.

“Not right now. I’m angry with your brother,” I told her as I dropped the medical bag. She froze on the spot, nodded, and turned around, heading back to her room. I reached out to yank Landon’s smelly shoes out of the bag, then his socks, tossing the shoes to the door as Heath was opening it, then the socks onto the kitchen floor for someone to put them in the laundry.

“Jacky…”

“Landon may be limping tomorrow. He ran until he fucked up his feet,” I growled. “Then he left me with his damn shoes and socks. He’s walking home with his feet bleeding but bandaged.”

“I see,” Heath said softly. “Dirk, get those socks. You can shove them in a gym bag from the closet and wash them at home with your laundry. Take the shoes, too, though Landon may want to toss them. He’s really ruined them.”

“Yes, sir,” Dirk said, jumping into action at his Alpha’s direction. When Dirk got to the shoes, he made a face, and I knew he was smelling the things I had put out of my mind. I had seen Landon’s feet, so I knew the cause. The blood and other nasty smells in those shoes told a story of their own, and I hadn’t considered how others would react.

“He messed himself up, huh?” Dirk said, swallowing as he put them in the bag.

“Yup,” I said curtly, turning to go into the living room. Heath meekly followed me, a thing I never thought I would think about the man I intended to marry. He was many things, but meek wasn’t one of them. When I turned on him, he was making a clear effort to seem smaller, gentle, and quiet.

Non-threatening.

“Stop that,” I growled, waving a hand at him. “We both know it doesn’t suit you, and it’s not real.”

He didn’t change much. His shoulders straightened, his chin went higher, and it was fixed. He was a confident man, Heath Everson. He ruled over other werewolves. He was willing to challenge those far above him, fight for what he believed in, and wasn’t afraid of much anything, certainly not me.

“What happened between you and Landon?” he asked, his tone deceptively neutral. He would fool anyone who didn’t know him. Anyone close to him, me included, knew that neutrality was him restraining so he could listen to others without them being swayed by his own emotions.

“He’s just being an asshole,” I said with a huff. “He went and ran himself into the ground over what he said about me and you, but he’s still adamant about Dirk not training.”

Heath’s eyes narrowed fractionally, but I noticed.

“How bad is he?” Heath asked in a whisper, and I wondered what I was missing that he understood.

“He’s saying that Dirk isn’t allowed to fight. He doesn’t even want you or me to accidentally put him in the position of fighting. He can’t risk Dirk getting hurt or, worse, dying. It’s borderline irrational because… he’s a werewolf. Dirk’s going to get into fights, eventually. Right?” I questioned, knowing I was on the outside looking in. It didn’t matter how long I lived with the werewolves, there were still times I remembered I didn’t know everything. I was really beginning to wonder if this was one of those moments.

“I see,” Heath said softly, nodding as he turned away, looking out the window.

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