Or make him say it again?
She gunned the car and sped away.
She arrived at the lakeside parking lot as her pack was gathering. Just a couple dozen families and some unmated singletons, all sturdy and satisfied from the mountain air and the fulfilling life her great-grandmother had started for those who were just a bit unusual, even for werelings. Merrilee’s throat tightened, though not with a rallying cry. She had been tasked with continuing this way of life for them all, and instead a magical menace had found them.
Maybe there was only so much running away even a wolf could do.
Keisha and Peter leaned shoulder to shoulder, looking tired but resolute, their arms wound around each other. The cougar-kind sculptor had loaded his trailer with all the quickly manufactured iron weapons, and now helped disperse the spears, clubs, flails and darts to the small crowd.
Merrilee brought them up to speed, with the finding of the rogue fae stronghold, the extra iron pipes in her trunk, the last-minute field trip for the children. She selected a handful of the young mothers and two older werelings to make the trek down valley, all of whom bristled at the exile for their own safety. “This is our place,” someone protested, but they all inclined their heads when Merrilee swept them with a glare.
“The fae will return this evening, and I want only our strongest to face them.” She refused to think how she’d raced away from her fiercest ally. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to a battle, but if it does, let’s be ready.”
Keisha dispensed a color-coded flow chart of how their forces—such as they were—would be positioned, and the pack went to stockpile their new weapons, looking unaccountable perky.
They were all apex predators within, she reminded herself. Perhaps they had been living the simple life too long. Maybe Beck was right when he’d said she should have given them more opportunity to display their own power.
She just wished the chance hadn’t come under such dire circumstances.
As she’d expected, the day quickly warmed, and as she oversaw the conversion of Claudia’s pipes to sharp iron daggers, she stopped by her cottage to change into something lighter. She tossed Beck’s hand-me-downs across her bed in the A-frame’s loft. For an instant, she imagined him naked in her shower, having left these clothes behind. As a trail for her to follow. As a marking of his territory.
She quivered at the thought, wanting his touch even now.
Resolutely, she pulled on a gorgeous strapless maxi dress she’d found on her last visit to New York. It would not fail to impress the glamorous fae and yet offered no impediment to shifting. She ran her hands over the ombre silk that was dyed from icy white around her breasts to an elegant gold to a fiery red speckled with white stars at her ankles. She’d thought it captured the spirit of the verita luna.
Now she would make it her armor as she pretended to be a queen.
The day seemed to go by too slowly, despite all she had to do. Keisha had taken a call earlier from Orson who had made contact with Josh Reimer, but had nothing to report about their meeting with Vaile. Though the bright sunlight ensured the fae would be reluctant to show themselves, Merrilee found she had one ear cocked for anything unusual.
Then she realized she was listening for the distinctive thunder of a Harley.
Which made her curse and stomp on her hem as she whirled away, almost yanking the dress off her breasts.
Which of course made her think of Beck even more.
She almost hoped the Lord of the Huntdidwant war, because she certainly felt like attacking something.
So she ate, made sure all her people did the same, insisted they take turns getting some rest—apex predators they might be, but wolves had a special affinity for napping in the sun—tried herself to relax and instead tossed restlessly on her bed next to the cedar-scented jacket, thinking of the night before. She touched the metal rivets down the front, imagining Beck’s flat, hard nipples.
“It’s called snuggling,” she grumbled softly.
An answering growl from far away made her jump out of bed. She went to the loft window that overlooked the lake, the parking lot, and the road that wound down the valley.
A caravan was on its way, the rumbling Harley at the fore. She went to make coffee.
There would be no rest for the wicked.
Chapter 10
Beck took the neatly typed battle plan from Keisha, studied the layout and dispersed his people to the thin spots and a few other strategic locations. For a pack that seemed to specialize mostly in pretty pictures, they’d organized themselves well. Not that he’d say that aloud to the pack’s leader, who undoubtedly would find a way to take it as an insult.
The Alpha whom he hadn’t seen yet even though the sun was heading toward the backside of the mountains.
He stalked up the hill toward her cottage and grabbed Peter as he hustled by. “Where’s Merrilee?”
Peter lifted his head, seeking that inherent feel all pack members had for their Alpha. “Down at the lake.” His wife called his name and he abandoned Beck without a backward glance.
Damn it, “the lake” covered a lot of water.