Chapter 2

Ch. 2: Dane

I pull the phone from Julian's grasp as he goes stiff and bring it to my ear.

"Who is this?" I demand.

A whisper answers me. "You're the detective. You tell me."

So, it's our thief and, apparently, he has our number. No wonder Julian's heart is racing.

"Alright, then. What do you want?"

"I want many things. Only one concerns you. Leave this 'case,' as you call it, alone. Do not pursue me again."

I shift the phone from one ear to the other, listening for background noise—some clue to the caller's location—but I hear nothing.

"And if we don't listen?"

The whisperer seems to choose his words with care, and when he speaks again, it is with a slow and chilling thoughtfulness.

"You may consider this warning a courtesy—from one bearer of secrets to another. Pursue me at your own risk; if you do, you pursue death."

The line goes dead. I stare at the 'call ended' message and release a breath I hadn't known I was holding.

"Shit."

"What did he say?" Julian asks.

I shake my head. "He knows who we are. Told us to drop the case 'or else.'"

He frowns. "He saw me go Unseen, but he didn't seem surprised. Maybe he's not human, either."

"Fuck. I wondered, with how we lost him last night. You're faster than me, in human form, and it's not easy to shake a Wolf off your tail."

He grimaces. "I know."

I rub his shoulders in silent apology, and he leans into my touch.

"So, what do we do?" he asks.

I turn my phone over in my hands and consider. "We wait," I say. "We wait to get a call, or for him to make his next move."

"Really?" he asks, brows raised hopefully. "You won't drop it?"

I can't help smiling at his dauntless spirit and clip him playfully under the chin. "Nah. I don't scare that easy, and—for better or worse—neither do you."

***

I'm slightly relieved, nonetheless, when my phone stays silent. I check the police blotter, but there's no record they've responded to any calls, either. Maybe we stopped the thief before he struck, or maybe whoever's shop he broke into hasn't noticed yet. The thief leaves so few traces, it wouldn't surprise me.

Meanwhile, we keep ourselves busy preparing for Ingrid's arrival. Julian had been quick to offer her a place to stay, but I know he's a little self-conscious about the size of our house, sometimes.

"There's only one bathroom," he reminds me. "What if Ingrid takes a shower right after one of us takes a shit?"

"We'll open the window," I say, demonstrating. "Problem solved. Stop fretting."

"I'm not fretting."

"You're fretting," I repeat, rubbing my thumb over the worry line between his brows. "She'll love it here just as much as I do. Besides, she grew up the youngest of eight. She's used to sharing things."

The following morning, we head for the airport to pick her up. It's over an hour's drive, and we spend it discussing our caseload. The 'thief' isn't the only thing on our plates.

Most of the cases we take are simple and easily solved: missing pets, lost or stolen goods, and various 'mysteries' that seem to defy conventional explanations: hauntings, cryptid sightings, strange phenomena—that sort of thing. Julian enjoys those more than I do. I like helping people with things that mean something, but that the usual authorities typically can't be bothered to help with.

At the airport, Ingrid texts me to meet her at Baggage Claim. The airport is small, but busy, being the only large airport in this part of the state. There's a crowd around the black conveyor belts spewing rows of luggage from a portal in the wall, and I scan it for my sister but don't see her anywhere.

"Is there more than one baggage claim area?" Julian asks, consulting a confusingly unmarked map on the wall.

"No, this is it," I say. "I think—"

My only warning is my sister's shrill battle cry of "Big brother Daaane!" before she attacks from behind, leaping onto my back and wrapping me in a tangle of arms and legs.

Lucky for her, the muscle I pulled is fully healed, and I have good reflexes. I reach behind me, grab her, swing her around, and set her on her feet in front of me before giving her a hug that makes her squeak.

"Hey, little sister," I say, laughing. "Still up to no good, huh? How was the flight?"

She grins up at me, cute nose wrinkled and gap-toothed grin spread wide. Dressed in blue overalls and a white crop top, she's got a halo of springy curls, golden brown skin, and liquid amber eyes: pretty—in an 'adorable little sister' kind of way.

"Not bad," she says. "I got a window seat."

She wriggles from my grasp and turns to Julian, who hangs back a bit, still a little unsure of himself when meeting my family.

"Julieeee!" she shrieks, bouncing towards him and snatching him in a spine-crushing embrace. "How's my favorite Faerie?"

He's only met Ingrid in person once, but Wolves make friends fast.

"You know how that sounds, right?" He laughs.

She giggles. "Am I wrong, though?"

He rolls his eyes, but smiles, and squeaks as she squeezes him again.

"This is gonna be so much fun!" she squeals. "I can't wait to see Spring Lakes—you guys have to show me everything—and Dane says it's a great place to Run. I haven't been outside as a Wolf in months—I have to shift in my room in the city, and oh my God! There was this one time I forgot to lock the door and my roommate came home, and—"

"Ingrid." I put a hint of Alpha in my voice—just enough to stop my sister's run-on sentences—and shake my head. This might seem like the sticks compared to her music school in New York, but we still don't talk about Wolf matters in public—especially in the middle of a crowd.

Her grin fades momentarily as she catches on to her faux pas, then returns to full brightness as she spots something behind me.

"Oh! Here comes Charlie!" she exclaims, clapping her hands. "You guys are gonna love him. I hope there's room in your car!"

As she darts off along the line of luggage, Julian and I share a look, and I can tell we're thinking the same thing: who the fuck is Charlie?

Steeling myself for a host of possibilities, I trail after my sister along the luggage-laden conveyor belt. Ingrid is congenially friendly, like the typical hyperactive puppy, and 'Charlie' could be anyone from airport security to a boyfriend she forgot to mention she was bringing along.

I'm both confounded and relieved when, instead of a person, she fixates on a large black case on the belt, grabs it, lays it on the ground, and unzips it to reveal a cello carefully packed in a casing of foam.

"Hey, buddy," she croons, stroking the polished dark wood. "They treat you okay? Not too rough, this time?"

"That's Charlie?" Julian asks, laughing with obvious relief.

She twists and grins up at him. "It's a musician thing."

"I remember that now," I say, as she finishes her inspection and zips the case shut, slinging it over her shoulder as she stands. "What happened to, uh... 'Wanda,' wasn't it?"

She shrugs as she pulls two extra-large rolling suitcases off the belt. Each looks like it weighs at least fifty pounds but, being a Wolf, Ingrid is stronger than she appears. "Wanda was a great study instrument, but I outgrew her. Charlie's on loan from the Conservatory. He's got an amazing voice," she giggles, "and damn, can I make that boy sing."

Julian shoots me a wink, probably sensing how intensely glad I am that Charlie is, indeed, not a person.

I take one of the wheeled cases, Julian takes the other, and Ingrid carries the cello on her back as we make our way through the crowd and towards the exits.

"I can't wait to hear it," Julian says warmly. "From what Dane tells me, the New York Philharmonic would be lucky to have you."

She blushes and gives me a pretend glare. "That's just big brother talk. I think Spring Lakes is more my speed."

"Really?" I ask. "I thought you loved the bright lights and big city."

"I do! But I think I'm ready for a change," she says. "When I saw the orchestra here had an opening, I jumped at the chance to spend time with my big brother."

"Oh, so that's how it is," I say, nodding. "And here I thought you just wanted the free room and board."

She grins. "Well, there's that, too. But seriously, Dane, I feel like I've seen you twice in the last two years! It's hard being away from Pack."

"Don't I know it," I agree, "and I'm glad to have you here, too."

On her other side, I see a strange, almost pained expression briefly cross Julian's face, and realize how my words might sound. I've told him plenty of times that, as my Mate, he's my Pack—and all the Pack I need.

I've also expressed how important it is for Wolves to have other Wolves around, and as we're both well aware, he's not a Wolf. Not to mention there are plenty of 'Wolf things' I haven't discussed with him yet—like my desire to claim a territory here.

When I'd first arrived, I'd been surprised to discover there were no Wolves in Spring Lakes. It's ideal—remote, but not so remote it made the human side of life difficult, and there was already a network of Shifters in place.

Wolf and Shifter territories often overlap, as they mean different things to each kind. For Shifters, like the Foleys, 'territory' is simply wherever a family has settled and established roots. They shield and protect each other. You'll find Shifters in every field—teachers, doctors, lawyers, law enforcement—a vital network for those with more unusual habits and needs, such as Wolves.

For Wolves, Pack territory is something more. When an alpha claims territory for a Pack, the land forms a bond with the alpha's life. The alpha gains greater power and greater abilities, and in return bears the responsibility of protecting the land and those who live upon it—including Shifters and other non-Wolves. It's a lifelong commitment, and almost a bigger deal than the Mate-bond, in some ways.

My biggest fear, besides losing him, is that Julian won't understand this depth of meaning, or might not want to make this place his permanent home. As an alpha's mate, he'd be bound here, too, and I'm not sure he wants that kind of responsibility. I'll have to talk to him about it sooner or later, but for now, we've got enough on our plate.

We reach my car and load Ingrid's things in the back, and Julian offers her the front seat.

"Nah," I say, opening the rear passenger door for her. "Kids ride in the back." And my mate's place is at my side, is the unspoken message.

She gets it and rolls her eyes at me. "Who you calling a kid, old man?" she grumbles as she climbs in.

"You can call me an old man when you can beat me in a race," I say, and shut the door.

"Challenge accepted!" she shouts, as I circle around to the driver's side.

"Don't yell in the car, Ingrid," I admonish, seeing Julian wince.

"Yes, Dad," Ingrid mocks playfully, and laughs. "Oh, my God, I'm regretting this already. Does he treat you like a little kid, too?" she asks, whacking the side of Julian's arm.

His hesitation is so slight, it barely counts, but I notice it anyway.

"Only when I need him to," he says, smiling, and reaches over to squeeze my hand.

***

At home, we get Ingrid settled in the guest room, and it's immediately clear that time will pass swiftly while she's here. She bubbles with energy, talks non-stop, and wants to see and do absolutely everything there is to do and see.

She falls in love with our little cottage, and when we take her over to the main house to meet Chloe and Grace, she falls in love with them, too. Grace invites us all to stay for dinner, and since I know she planned ahead for it, we accept.

Over a meal of roast chicken and vegetables, a huge green salad with goat cheese and pickled beets, and freshly baked biscuits with butter, Ingrid regales us with tales of the city and her exploits at school.

It sounds exciting, but stressful—structured and competitive, requiring dedication and courage. A good place for a Wolf, I thought, and feel a surge of pride as I watch my little sister win two more friends as she keeps Chloe and Grace enthralled.

That night, I fall asleep with Julian in my arms, listening to the wind whisper through the meadowgrass outside, and wonder if it would be such a bad thing to drop the case. The thief's got a weird MO, and clearly has his own agenda, but as a Wolf, I understand what it's like to have business that doesn't concern the wider world. Besides, I'm not a cop anymore; it's not my responsibility to catch every criminal and bring them to justice. Maybe, if we get no more calls, it's okay to let this one slide.

My resolution is short-lived.

Bright and early the next morning, we get a frantic call from one of the shop owners who'd hired us, and learn that the thief has struck again.