Brothersong Read online

  It was enough.

  By the time I opened my eyes, the sun was rising over the horizon and another day had begun.

  Kelly was gone.

  WHEN THE PACK BROKE APART after the death of our father, I followed my brothers into the great unknown, Gordo trailing after us. Our blood boiled, and we had rage in our heads and hearts. It burned far longer than I thought it would, the years passing by until it felt like we were ghosts haunting the secret highways known only to those who drifted. These were roads forgotten, roads that led to nothing towns that had died long ago. We told ourselves we were still filled with righteous fury even as we were silent, days passing with only a couple of words spoken aloud.

  But we’d been together, the four of us, feeding off each other’s pain, our heads shaved and our hearts hardened.

  It was different now that I was alone.

  I thought it would be easier.

  It wasn’t.

  The secret highways were lonelier. Some days I never spoke at all. I was lost more often than I wasn’t, especially toward the beginning. I didn’t know where I was going, at first chasing the rising sun, hoping for something, anything that would point me in the right direction.

  It wasn’t until a dead-eyed motel clerk in Utah wished me a merry Christmas that the weight of what I’d done crushed me.

  That’d been a bad night.

  I thought it’d get easier.

  It didn’t, but I got better at ignoring it.

  I stayed away from the major cities, knowing Livingstone would most likely do the same. I had conversations in my head with my father, with my mother, with Joe and Ox, with Kelly, justifying why I’d left, telling them that I owed it to him, that Gavin would do the same for me, trying to make myself believe that was true.

  We’re looking for him, Ox told me.

  No. You’re looking for Livingstone.

  We want to help you find him, Joe told me.

  Like you wanted to find Robbie?

  You can’t do this alone, my father told me.

  You’re dead.

  You should have trusted us, my mother told me.

  I don’t even know if I trust myself.

  But it was Kelly I talked to most. Kelly who was sometimes so angry I could almost see the spittle on his lips as he shouted at me. Kelly who would be there waiting for me as I closed my eyes. Kelly who would sing along with me when an old rock song came on the radio.

  He wasn’t there.

  But I could pretend he was.

  I said, “I’m sorry.”

  I said, “I know you don’t understand.”

  I said, “You might never forgive me.”

  I said, “I wish I could see you.”

  I know, he’d say. And, Turn up the radio. I like this song.

  I did, because I would do anything he asked me.

  It was getting easier to imagine Kelly was there.

  Sometimes I could actually see him sitting next to me.

  It should have scared me more than it did.

  THE FIRST NOTE I FOUND was after I’d seen a ghost. I’d left Green Creek behind five months prior, and it was one of the bad days.

  It was my birthday.

  I turned thirty-one years old.

  I was talking to Kelly, telling him that if I was home, there would be food and presents and everyone would be smiling. Kelly and Joe would make breakfast. I’d wake up, and they’d bring it into my room. We’d sit on the bed, just the three of us, and Joe would eat my bacon, and Kelly would slap him on the back of his hand, telling him to leave some for me. Joe would flash his Alpha eyes, and we’d make fun of him for it. We’d stop talking after a while, listening to Mom in the kitchen, singing about Johnny and his guitar.

  And then we’d run with the pack. All of us together.

  “It’d be good,” I said, staring straight ahead but lost in the dream. “We’d run as fast as we could.”

  I’m faster than you.

  I snorted. “You keep telling yourself that. We all know that’s never been true.”

  Is Gavin there?

  That felt dangerous. “I… don’t know.”

  It’s okay not to know. Do you want him to be?

  “I don’t even know him.”

  And yet here you are, chasing after him like he’s the most important thing in the world.

  “I….”

  What would happen then? After we ran.

  “When we were done, we’d all come back to the house. There’d be no Omegas. There’d be no Alpha of all. We would just… be. All of us, together. The furniture would be pushed back, and there’d be blankets and pillows and everything would be soft. Everything would be warm. I’d get to be in the middle.”

  Not-Kelly was quiet. Then, It sounds nice.

  And then I said, “Do you think about it? What it would be like?”

  What?

  “If we weren’t us. If we weren’t… Bennetts.”

  Who would we be?

  “Unimportant.”

  And since he wasn’t real, I expected him to agree with me. He was part of me, this figment. He was my creation, and he should have said yes, yes, I wish that all the time, I wish we weren’t anyone at all.

  Instead he said, “Here. Here. Here.”

  It was so real.

  Like he was right there.

  I jerked the steering wheel as I snapped my head over. For a moment I almost convinced myself he was sitting next to me. There was a flash of blond hair and blue eyes and white teeth behind a small smile, but then it was gone.

  The truck began to bounce as it left the road, dust kicking up behind me.

  I lifted my foot off the gas, forcing myself to stop from slamming on the brakes in case the truck fishtailed. The truck slowed as I pulled it back onto the road. I glanced in the rearview mirror. There was no one behind me. There was no one in front of me.

  My hands were sweating as I brought the truck to a stop. I put it in Park before letting out the breath I’d been holding. “Fuck.”

  There was a sign up ahead for a town called Creemore.

  Creemore what? I didn’t know what state I was in.

  That scared me more than I expected it to. I tried to remember the past few days, but they were shattered into bits and pieces.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  I didn’t know where to go.

  I laid my forehead on the steering wheel, sucking in air.

  “I’m tired,” I whispered.

  Kelly didn’t reply.

  Eventually I drove on.

  THERE WERE NO WOLVES IN CREEMORE. It was small, more of a village than anything else.

  It reminded me of Green Creek, with its one main road.

  It wasn’t until I saw the license plates on the cars parked near the sidewalk that I realized I was in Canada. I couldn’t remember crossing the border.

  I found an empty parking lot and pulled in, turned off the truck.

  I sat back in the seat, leaning my head against the back window. “All right,” I said. “I’ll just….”

  Do something.

  I got out of the truck. My back hurt.

  People walked by the parking lot. They glanced at me and waved.

  I nodded, and they continued on.

  I turned toward the main road, looking at the renovated buildings, the shops with lights on inside.

  There was a garage, the doors open, loud music playing.

  I gave it a wide berth, my throat constricting.

  I didn’t know where I was going.

  People stared at me curiously, and I reached up to scratch at the beard on my face. It was unkempt, and I hadn’t showered in a couple of days. I probably looked awful. I kept my head down.

  I was walking past an open doorway that smelled cloyingly of burning candles when a hand shot out and grabbed me by the wrist, squeezing tightly.

  I barely kept my eyes from flashing as I jerked my arm back.

  A young woman stood in a doorway, her skin pale, her ey
es a strange shade of green. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was styled in a thick black Mohawk that bisected her skull, and she had feathers hanging from chains in her ears.

  Black feathers.

  “From a raven,” she said, answering a question I hadn’t asked.

  I turned to walk away.

  “You’re looking for something.”

  I stopped and glanced back at her.

  Her head was cocked. She looked me up and down before nodding. “Yes, definitely looking for something. Why?”

  “Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “American,” she said. “West Coast? Yes. But not California. You don’t look like a Californian.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I see things,” she said. “Part of my job.” She pointed toward a neon sign in the window. A large hand with an eye in the middle. Above it were the words MADAM PENELOPE PSYCHIC.

  I snorted.

  She rolled her eyes. “So dismissive. You would think one such as you would know better.”

  That caught me off guard. “One such as me.”

  She squinted at me. “Yes. You do know who you are, don’t you?”

  “Do you?” I snapped, tired of her game already. I had no use for whatever scam she was running.

  “I think so,” she said, leaning against the door. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I doubt that.” I turned again.

  “I can help you find him.”

  I froze before slowly looking back at her. “Who?”

  She waved her hand at me. “Whoever it is you’re looking for.”

  “And how do you know it’s a he?”

  She tapped the side of her head. “Psychic. Like it says on the sign. You can read, can’t you?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “So rude.” She sniffed. “Though I suppose that’s to be expected. You’re lost. You have been for a long time. There’s… blue.” She frowned. “Why are you blue?” Her nose wrinkled. “And there’s violet at the edges. It’s pulling at you. Tearing.” Her eyes widened. “Ah. I see. Come. Come. Hurry. I have something for you.”

  And then she turned and walked back through the doorway, leaving me gaping after her. Against my better judgment, I followed.

  The shop was small, and the smell inside made my eyes water. Candles burned on a shelf against one wall, and the room was stuffy and hot. She stood near the window, reaching over to turn off the neon sign. She flipped a sign on the window from OPEN to CLOSED. “Close the door behind you. We can’t be interrupted.”

  “I’m not paying you for—”

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said again. “You’re not a king, but you’re close. Not many of those left. Isn’t that strange? Once upon a time, you couldn’t go outside without tripping over one, and now?” She shook her head as she pushed by me. “It’s a rarity. I wonder if we’re worse off because of it.”

  “I’m not a king.”

  “I know that,” she snapped as she rounded the counter. “I just said that. You need to listen.”

  “Lady, I don’t know what the hell you—”

  “Ohm,” she hummed. “Ohm. Ohmmmmm.” She coughed. “Yikes. That’s not the way to go about this.” She disappeared behind the counter as she bent over. I heard her opening and closing cabinet doors as she muttered to herself about blue, blue, blue. She laughed at one point as she set a crystal ball on the counter. “That’s just for show. Stop sneering.”

  “I’m not.” I was.

  “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. Have you ever been shot?”

  “What?”

  “Not yet. It’ll hurt when it happens. Believe me, I know. You’d do well to remember that.” She peeked her head above the counter, staring at me with those strange eyes. “You won’t die. Which is good.” Then she disappeared again.

  “Are you going to shoot me?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly. Even if I was, I have a feeling none of my bullets would do the trick. Fresh out of silver, wouldn’t you know.”

  “Witch,” I snarled.

  “Well, yes,” she said. “But also a psychic. It’s on the sign. Aha.” She stood upright.

  And there, in her hands, was an old wooden cup.

  She shook it.

  It rattled.

  Like bones.

  Like memory.

  I’m doing what I have to.

  Are you? Or are you doing what your anger has demanded of you? When you give in to it, when you let your wolf become mired in fury, you no longer have control.

  The old witch by the sea.

  The one Gordo had brought us to when we were after Richard Collins.

  He’d spilled bones on the table.

  “Theirs was a story of fathers and sons,” the woman said, and I felt like I was floating. “Yours, though. Yours is one of brothers. And yet you’ve paid for the sins of the fathers time and time again. When does it end?” She overturned the cup onto the counter. Bleach-white bones spilled out, scattering across the surface. “Death, though not for you. But someone who….”

  “How did you—”

  She smiled sadly. “You have lost much. Even if I didn’t know what I did, I could see that plain on your face. You carry the weight of the world upon you, and for what? What has it brought you? You’re very far from home.”

  “If you know what I am, then you know what I can do.”

  “Your threats don’t work on me, wolf. Keep that in mind before you open your mouth again.” She scooped up the bones in the cup and stared down at them. She cleared her throat and then spat into the cup, a large wad of green.

  I grimaced.

  She laughed. “Yes. It’s… unsanitary. But it does the job.” She placed her hand over the top of the cup and shook it again. She spilled the bones once more. They were wet with her saliva. “Huh. That’s unexpected.” She turned away from the counter and went to a shelf behind her. She grabbed a jar and unscrewed the lid, then poured a black powder into her palm. She turned back around, holding her hand out to me. “Snort this.”

  “The hell you say.”

  “It’ll help.”

  “I’m not snorting that.”

  She looked down at the powder, then back at me. “Why not?”

  “I’m leaving.” I turned toward the door, wanting to get the hell out of this place.

  She said, “He didn’t know. When he found you. He didn’t know what you were, what any of you were. Especially you, though. And the man with the roses and raven. But something in him, something deep and hidden, called through all that violet. It told him he was safe with you, that he no longer needed to run. He was tired of running. The silver chain around his neck was a noose. He was trapped. The false prophet had held him and tortured him. She broke him down until he was nothing but a pet. But then she made a mistake. She brought him to you, not knowing what he was to you. And those bonds were stronger than any hold she had over him.”

  My claws dug into my palms. A drop of blood fell to the floor.

  “Ah,” she said. “Now I have your attention.”

  I turned back around.

  She held out her hand. “Snort this.”

  “No.”

  She shrugged. “Okay.” She used her free hand and scooped up the bones again into the cup. She dumped the powder inside. “You really didn’t need to. I just wanted to see if you would. That probably would have been a bad idea. Might have even killed you.” She chuckled.

  “Do you know him?”

  Her smile faded. “No. But I don’t need to. I know him through you. You wear your heart on your sleeve, Carter. You think you carry armor to hide it, but those who know you can see right through it.”

  My skin thrummed. “I never told you my name.”

  She spilled the bones again. They were coated with the black powder. Against my better judgment, I took a step toward her as she stared down at them. “Huh. That’s weird.”

/>   “What?”

  “Don’t touch him,” she whispered. “Don’t touch him. Don’t. Touch. Him.” Her spine arched as her head snapped back. Her eyes were wide, the slim cords of her neck jutting out in sharp relief. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. I thought she was having a seizure, but before I could reach for her, she collapsed, her hands flat on the counter, holding her up. She breathed heavily through her nose. “Shit.”

  I felt cold, even though the room was overly warm. “Why did you say that?”

  “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, it hurts. It hurt him. He was…. He had no other choice. He didn’t know what else to do. He… broke… through? He couldn’t stand the thought of….” She wiped her eyes. “You must be someone very special to have garnered such faith. How can you not see everything you are?”

  I swallowed thickly. “I’m not—it’s not like that.”

  “It is,” she said. She gestured toward the bones. “I’ve seen it. There are paths ahead for you, wolf. Roads that diverge. Which one will you take, I wonder? You’re slipping. It’s already begun. A wolf without a pack cannot survive. It will pull at you until you’re drowning. And yet you persist. Do you even know why?”

  I looked away, unable to take her knowing gaze. “I’ve done it once before. I can do it again.”

  “But why? Why have you chosen what you have? They believe in you. They know you. Why would you take this chance? You know better than that.”

  Her words, though spoken softly, were barbed and cutting. I didn’t understand how she knew what she knew. It was impossible. My knees were weak, and I stumbled against the counter. The bones shifted, spilling black powder. My claws dug in, leaving long scratch marks on the counter. She made a startled noise and put her hands on top of mine. My gums itched, and I had to fight back a shift.

  “You’re exhausted,” she said quietly. “Come. Rest your weary head. You’ll need it. The days ahead will be long, and you’ll find little relief.” She smiled quietly. “Not a king, though you act like one. I don’t know how you manage. You must be very brave. I’ve known men like you. My loves, my boys.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You don’t know what you need,” she said, sounding irritated. “That much is obvious. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”