No one in my family likes to fly.
Noah gets sick every time, and Freya hates sitting still and standing in lines. I take up two seats (and even then it's not comfortable) and somehow Dane always gets flagged by airport security (when he was a cop he could just flash his badge and say 'fuck off,' in so many words, but now he has to go through the same shit as everyone else).
In this case, though, Dane and I would gladly opt for the two-hour flight over the twenty-hour drive from California to Montana, but we each have liabilities.
For him, it's Julian and the kids — they draw stares — and the sight of two men traveling together with two unnaturally beautiful children is sure to attract unwanted attention.
It's not as if Luna and Luca have proper birth certificates to prove their fathers' parenthood.
For me, it's Kit. He's got no ID; as far as official records are concerned, he doesn't exist, and people like that aren't allowed on planes.
And so we drive.
We take my car — the Navigator's big enough to seat us all — and Dane and I take turns at the wheel while Kit helps Julian keep the twins entertained.
As we pass over the majestic, tree-lined mountains of California and into the relative barrenness of Nevada, then up and into the wilds of Idaho, and finally into the rugged lands of Montana, we grow increasingly quiet and tense. Even the twins sense something is wrong, and only fuss when they're sleepy, or when they want Kit to play with them.
It helps when Julian sings to them in Fae. He says he didn't learn the tongue on purpose, but picked it up naturally during his stay there — as if it was something he'd always known, and had merely forgotten over time.
As we near our destination, our unease and anxiety increase.
Dane has the driver's seat, which gives my mind the freedom to wander.
Our parents' land — about ten square miles that's been in my mom's family for generations — is in the northern part of the state. It's 'ranch' land, but our parents keep it wild — a home for wolves. There are high hills and low vales, forests and fields, and flat plains crisscrossed by creeks and streams. It seemed like an endless wilderness when I was a kid, 'adventuring' out here — in the green of spring and the heat of summer, the decadence of fall and the chill of winter — and always there was the house, waiting to welcome me when I got tired and hungry, and wanted to go home.
The house, with its low, ranch-style roof and wrap-around porch; the big drafty kitchen with its high ceiling beams and cool stone floors, where my dad taught me how to cook; my room, with the custom-made desk where I'd sat as an over-grown teenager, struggling through my homework while rain streaked the window with a view of the woods.
The house, which is gone now, along with my parents. I haven't spoken to either of them recently, and can't remember the last thing I said to them.
And if it was the last thing I ever said to them...
Dane taps my knee. I look down, and I see he's holding a paper napkin from our last fast-food stop. Then I realize my face is wet. I take the napkin and dry my eyes.
Dane glances in the rearview mirror. The twins are sleeping in their booster seats, and Julian and Kit sit in the back row, each looking out the window on their side.
"Try to keep it together," Dane mutters, glancing at me. "They're gonna need your strength — Sasha and Martin, too."
I nod, slip my sunglasses from my front shirt pocket and put them on. It's a trick I learned as a bodyguard: if people can't see your eyes, they can't read your expression.
Another thing I've learned is that when you're big and physically strong, people assume you're emotionally strong, too — or at least they think you should be.
You're supposed to be the rock, the foundation, the pillar that lets everyone else be vulnerable and soft.
The big guy who cries isn't tragic; he's the comic relief; or else he's just pathetic.
So, as Dane advises, I try not to let anyone see.
We pass the signpost that marks the border of our parents' land, and a few miles further, we turn off on the private road that winds through it in a loop. Our parents' house is — or was — down on the southeast side, but Dane follows the road counterclockwise, and turns west.
There are two other houses on this land. One belongs to our brother, Martin, and the other to our sister, Sasha. It's not uncommon for Wolves to stick close together, even when kids grow up and start families of their own, and there's plenty of room for us all here, if we want it.
Martin and his mate, Elena, already have four kids, and no room to spare, so we're headed for Sasha's place. She's got a big house — simple and unassuming, but roomy. It looks like a big log cabin with two stories and a gabled roof.
As we pull up, I see a row of cars outside. Martin's Prius is here, and I spot Freya's motorcycle parked beneath a tree. The others I don't recognize — Sasha's and her mate's, probably. They all come out to greet us as we disembark, having heard the low rumble of the old Nav's engine.
Sasha and her mate lead the charge, with Freya and Martin hanging behind.
Martin looks a bit like Noah, but taller and more sturdily built, while Sasha got the most of our mother's light tones. She has dense, chestnut-colored curls, honey-brown skin with a dusting of cinnamon freckles, and amber eyes that catch the sun with the blaze of autumn leaves. With a full figure, bright smile, and a laugh that lights the room, she's easy to fall in love with.
It's a wonder she didn't find her mate sooner, but she only met him about eight months ago.
As for him, I haven't even met him in person — until now, that is.
"Dane, Monty!" Sasha exclaims, wrapping us each in a quick, soft hug. Her usual smile is nowhere in sight, though, and the marks of recent tears stain her cheeks. "Oh! And sweet Juju and the Faebies!"
She embraces Julian next, interrupting him as he unbuckles Luna and Luca from their car seats. He smiles and murmurs a greeting in return, but scowls at Dane over her shoulder. Freya had bestowed that nickname on him, and it had stuck — at least among our family — but Julian's not fond of it.
"And who's this?" Sasha asks, releasing him and spotting Kit where he stands at my back.
"Uh..." I glance at Dane, but he just narrows his eyes and nods at me, trusting me to handle it. "This is Kit. He's, um... He's my... Well, he's staying with—"
Sasha's eyes go wide and she catches me by the shoulders.
"Oh my Lord of the Hunt! Monty..."
I raise my hands, seeing the misunderstanding in progress, but it's like a car crash, or some other horrible accident, where everything seems like it's in slow motion and yet you're helpless to stop it.
"No, he's not—"
"Your Mate!?" Sasha squeals, and pulls me into another, much tighter embrace. "Oh, Monty! Congratulations!" She takes a shuddering breath and lets me go, wiping at her eyes. "Oh, gods... I wish it were under better circumstances. I wish... Well—" She pats my arm. "When the time's right, we'll celebrate properly, 'kay? You and me and..."
She looks at Kit, who looks back at her with wide, black eyes.
"Kit," I supply, weakly.
At least I don't have to explain what he is or where he came from.
"Kit! Oh, goodness, what a perfect name!" She reaches for him, intending to include him in a hug as well (wolves being physical creatures) and he simultaneously shies away, ducking behind my back.
Thinking fast (or as fast as I can) I catch Sasha by the shoulders and pull her back into a hug before releasing her quickly.
"Thank you, sister," I say. "But... I haven't met your own Mate, yet. Won't you introduce me?"
She laughs and wipes at her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Monty." She takes a breath and shuts her eyes. "Everything's just... so messed up right now. Yes — let me introduce you. This is my... Well, this is Jake Nash."
She steps aside and gestures to the man who's been standing at her back all the while.
He's tall (not as tall as me, but 'normal' tall) and blond, and his blue eyes glint in the sun. He looks like a stunt double for any number of actors who fit the mold — trim and muscular, handsome in a generic, boxed-brand kind of way. He's also, quite obviously, a Wolf.
"Uh... Hi." I say. "Nice to meet you."
He nods and takes my hand, maintaining a grim countenance.
"Likewise. You live in California, now, is that right?"
"Uh... yes. Since last December."
"And... I take it you're the second eldest — Montreal?"
I blink. "Um... Yeah. That's my... That's my name."
My full name, which no one ever uses.
Sasha blushes and elbows 'Jake' in the ribs. "You gotta excuse him. He's a cop."
"That so?" Dane says, stepping forward and extending his hand.
"No," Jake says, laughing easily. "I'm just a park ranger — law enforcement on the wild side."
Dane's expression doesn't change. Like me, this is his first time meeting Sasha's mate.
"Guess you know who I am, too," he says.
Jake nods. "Alpha Dane Hunter, current private eye, formerly of the Spring Lakes PD, homicide division. Am I right?"
Dane's expression doesn't change. "Yep."
All of that is public knowledge, anyway.
Except the 'Alpha,' part.
Jake nods, his expression equally grim. "I hope we can work together here," he says. "I've been over the... well, the 'scene' several times now. But I'd be grateful for another pair of eyes. Or two," he adds, glancing at me.
Dane takes a step forward and extends his hand. "Your Pack's based in Texas, that so?"
Jake nods. "Born and raised."
"And before you became a park ranger, you did a stint in the army, then joined the Austin PD, then took courses in criminal justice through University of Texas Online, before becoming a Park Ranger, here in Montana."
"You've done your homework." Jake's still smiling, but I can hear the 'asshole,' in his tone.
I suppress an unfortunate a giggle.
Dane was a good cop, and is a good detective, but there are times when I want to add 'asshole,' to the ends of my sentences, too.
"Seems like everything I've heard of you is true," Jake says, his eyes locked on Dane's. Then his expression sobers to humorless sincerity, and he steps back, giving my brother a respectful nod. "All things considered, I'm glad you're here. I know it's your parents, and your childhood home we're talkin' 'bout, and I understand how difficult that is, but... Well, there are some things that don't add up. I've done my best, but..."
He swishes a hand through his silky blond hair and sighs.
"I'd be grateful if you, and..." he glanced at me and Julian, "...anyone else, for that matter, wants to examine the scene. Different wolves have different gifts, as you know."
Dane lifts a brow at him.
"That I do," he says, as he takes one of the twins from Julian, bouncing the baby on his hip.
Effortlessly, he's two things at once: all business — cop on the scene, detective ready to take the case — and a father who loves his children above all else.
"So, what have you found?" he asks.
Jake Nash casts him a sidelong look.
"C'mon inside, and I'll catch y'all up."