Page 4 of Hunter Moon

Aspen

The Mustang purred under me as I shifted gear, slowing down when the state highway turned into a county highway, and I hit Grove County limits. I’d left her parked off a little back road for the last week while I wandered the valley, but it was time to not just skulk around the edges of my hometown, but actually drive down Main Street.

Announce my presence, so to speak.

Having lunch at the Grille with Alexis had been an attempt to dip my toe in the water, but I was no good at that. It was time to do what I did best: cannonball into the pool, freezing water and shrinkage be damned. If I’d been afraid to get my willy wet, I wouldn’t have joined the navy to begin with.

There was a solid wooden “Welcome to Grovetown” sign just before the county road turned into a residential street that had been there as long as I remembered. Hell, probably longer than I’d been alive. It was well made, resealed and painted every year, the letters and hand-carved apples along the bottom crimson and shiny as ever.

It was good to see that they’d continued the tradition of giving kids splinters and paint stains. I’d gotten more than my share of both as a teenager, when I had been the one doing the sealing and painting. I’d also made a few hundred dollars off the town every spring for doing the job, and saving that money was how I’d bought the Mustang. She’d been the next best thing to a lost cause when I bought her, but with a lot of time, work, and Brook’s help, we’d fixed her up and made her better than new.

I used to joke that she was our baby, and he’d always gotten that far-off look that said he was thinking about actual babies. He’d always wanted a house full of them.

I’d spent the entire week—and the entire time talking to my CO and filling out forms, and the entire ten damn years I’d been gone—telling myself that Brook had moved on. No doubt by now he had that mate and house full of kids he’d always dreamed of. Any alpha in their right mind would love him.

The poor asshole must have gone out of their mind with worry when Maxim Reid kidnapped him. Like I would have, if I’d fucking bothered to be there.

Dammit.

Well whatever happened, I’d been given the full sixty days of my accumulated leave to figure it out. After that, well... I’d already put in my resignation, so the rest depended on my CO, and whether the navy decided to accommodate what was clearly a pack emergency. There were special rules for separation that mentioned werewolf pack hardships, but it wasn’t a common issue. Most wolves who joined the navy didn’t have packs at all, let alone ones as close-knit as the Grove pack.

Unfortunately, they’d be within their rights to turn me down, make me wait and properly resign my commission. A whole goddamn year.

And despite my limited timeframe, I’d spent close to a week dicking around, hiking in the woods around the valley, staring longingly into the valley from the old Grovetown view that Dad and I had discovered when I was twelve.

Yeah, that was me, big strong alpha male who was also an alpha werewolf, scared to face the consequences of his own actions.

But seriously, what if Lin was so pissed that he turned me away completely? I’d already put in my resignation, so whether they let me speed through the process because of the pack emergency, or whether they made me wait a year, come next summer, I wouldn’t be in the navy anymore. What would I do if my pack didn’t want me?

The steering wheel squeaked under my hands, and I glanced down to find that without my intention or permission, my claws had made an appearance. I glared at them, breathing deep, calming breaths until they disappeared once again.

Control had become a problem, since the letter.

It hadn’t ever been something I concerned myself with, the alpha rage that so many wolves and humans were terrified of. Yes, omegas had an uncanny ability to soothe the beast, but I hadn’t been within spitting distance of an omega in five or six years, and I’d never struggled with control. Not even when fucking Mason almost got us killed by forgetting to check his equipment and diving with a faulty tank.

Not until Birch told me my father was dead and my mate—my old friend had been kidnapped, both at the hands of a fucking feral asshole. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I wanted to skin Maxim Reid alive for what he’d done to my kin. Whether for better or worse, according to town gossip, Linden had done that for me, before I’d even learned anything had happened.

But if I didn’t blame Reid, then I would blame myself. For running away, for not being there to do my damn job.

I was as full of self-doubt as the next guy, but I knew damn well someone else’s crimes weren’t my fault. The blame for what happened fell squarely on the shoulders of the person who did it.

But it was hard not to think that maybe if I’d stayed, none of it would have happened at all.

Or maybe I’d have run half-cocked into Reid territory when they took Brook, and I’d be dead too.

I slid into a parking space in front of The Cider House, trying to ignore the fact that everyone was staring at me. It had been bad enough when I’d walked down to have lunch with Alexis. This time everyone noticed me. It was the car. Brook and I had known it would be an eye-magnet when we’d decided to paint it cherry-red, but we’d been sixteen. Nothing about that had seemed bad at the time.

In our defense, who could possibly have foreseen slinking back into town after a decade of absence?

As it happened, my timing was perfect. Or perfectly terrible, depending on your point of view. No sooner had I stepped out of the car than Lin drove up in some kind of Dad-SUV with a gorgeous blond guy in the passenger seat. The guy chattered about deserving a drink as they got out, oblivious to the way everyone else in the street had tensed, watching us.

One of the onlookers—oh, Alexis—came forward, dragging a confused and hesitant alpha along behind him.

Maybe he and his alpha had gotten it together and decided life was too damn short to be on the outs. I hoped so. He was a good kid.

But I needed to focus on Linden. My much put-upon younger brother, who’d been abandoned by me, ignored by Dad, and underestimated by everyone else for his whole life. The backbone of the Grove Pack, my little brother. From the glint in his gray eyes, he finally knew that was what he was, and that Grove spine was made of steel.

“Hey, little bro,” I said, taking a deep breath and bracing myself. He was surprisingly intimidating as he stalked toward me, even in what looked to be a handknit sweater.

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