Prologue
Kit ripped off the headphones and looked around. Behind her, across the yard, the tree line was silent. Except…she squinted, peering closer at the shadows growing darker in the trees with the falling dusk. An owl hooted and she released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
Living outside of Detroit was a blessing. It gave her a peace she hadn’t known in a long time, and it quieted her mind; but it was also not completely safe. Being born into a pack meant solitary life was unnatural, and there were things, creatures, drawn to the uneasy and vulnerable power. She could feel them at night stalking just outside the wards in place at each corner of the property. A slight breeze slipped across the porch and Kit sniffed, frowning again. Silently, she gripped the knife handle by her feet and pulled it from the board she’d stuck it in earlier. She stood and stretched her toes, ready to spring into action.
Before she could move though, a voice broke the darkness. “It’s just me, Kit.”
Spinning, her arm came around to slash, but a strong hand caught it and another hand clamped around her throat and shoved her against the back door. She saw stars, but swiftly brought her free hand up and punched her assailant in the face, following it with a strong kick to the groin. She was immediately released, and she dropped into a defensive stance, knife held out.
The other person groaned and coughed. “Damn it, it’s me!” They raised their face, gingerly touching their nose, and in the day’s dying light she saw her punch was well landed.
“I know, Gideon.”
He scowled. “What the hell was that then?” he winced, wiping the blood against his palm. “Why do you always have to draw first blood?”
“What are you doing here?”
Gideon straightened, grimacing. “My mother passed.”
The color drained from Kit’s face. “Julia? When?”
“Two days ago.”
The air left her lungs and she sagged against the door. She should say something but the lump burning in her throat prevented her. She only shook her head and hoped he couldn’t see the shine in her eyes. If he did, he ignored it. “She left some things for you.”
“I don’t want them.”
Gideon shook his head. “I told Brennan it was useless.”
The mention of her brother made her bristle. “Still at his heel, are you?”
Surprisingly, Gideon remained mostly at ease, leaning against the porch rail with his arms crossed. “For the good of the pack.”
Kit ignored the old mantra. Instead, she opened the door and flipped on the light. Gideon followed without invitation after giving the yard a quick scan. He shut the door and bolted it, stepping over the salt line. The inside of her little cabin was cozy, but sparse. An open area with a fireplace and an area rug and couch, with a small kitchenette in the corner. A small bedroom and bath were on the other side of a door next to the stove. Gideon barely gave it all a once over. “We need you at home.”
“I am home.”
“Kit…”
“I am home.”
“Hiram was seen in Traverse City,” Gideon blurted.
Kit froze. “When?” she whispered.
“Three days ago. He was in Green Bay the day before that. That hag was with him as well.”
“Cara.”
“Do you really think it’s a coincidence that those two were seen and then a day later my mother died?”
For the first time, Kit turned and held a steady gaze on him. “No,” she said simply.
“Neither does your brother.” Gideon stepped forward. “Please, Kit. I know you loved Julia.”
Kit stepped back reflexively. His smell was the same – pine and that soap Julia made. It clouded her and brought back long tamped down memories. “You’re the only one that knows where the chest is,” Gideon continued. “You know Hiram better than anyone.”
“I don’t know where the chest is,” she said without tone. It was habit. Deny, Julia told her. Deny with your last breath. Kit’s eyes stung again, wondering how she didn’t know. She should’ve felt the other woman’s loss.
“Cut the shit.” Gideon’s hazel eyes glittered darkly like gold coins. He turned away, stalking to the fire. “How did you pay for all this?”
“You aren’t the only one with a dead mother.”
Gideon snorted. “Your inheritance from your mother wasn’t money.”
Kit didn’t answer, curling her left hand into a fist and tugging the sleeve of her sweater down over it. “I still can’t give you what you want.”
Gideon sighed and knelt at the hearth, picking up the poker. “It’s been two years; you couldn’t know what I want.” He pushed around the logs, stoking the embers. “Brennan wants to know where the Marquette chest is. He’s given you two years. It’s time to come home.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we do this the hard way.”
Kit bared her teeth.
He grinned, unaffected. “You can come back to this if you choose. This will be here waiting for you.” He waved a hand around the small space. “Your brother is simply asking you to come home and do right by your people. You have a responsibility.”
Kit knew he was right. She’d known this day was coming the closer it got. She couldn’t live like this forever and her brother had allowed her two years. Now, she owed him. “When this is over, I can come back,” she stated his very words back to him, needing the assurance.
Gideon smiled. “That’s what I said.”
It didn’t take long to pack. Kit had come here with very little and hadn’t acquired much since. Still, it was hard to leave. She stuffed some items in a duffel and pulled the old quilt up over the bed she hadn’t made that morning. Ridiculous maybe, but she ran her fingertips over the blue faded calico as a promise. I’ll be back.
She emerged from the bedroom and found Gideon crouched and poking at the fire again, breaking up the ashes and flame. “Ready?” he asked, dousing everything with that morning’s coffee she had left on the mantle.
She nodded mutely, pulling her sleeves through her denim jacket.
Gideon took the duffel. “Let’s hit the road.”
“Wait.” Kit went to the fridge and pulled out an open package of bacon. Gideon raised an eyebrow but said nothing and, on their way out, she crouched at a food dish on the porch and dumped the meat into it. There was a fox she knew was watching them from the tree line waiting for them to disappear to score an easy dinner. He’d started coming around the summer before, never coming close enough for her to touch, but laying in the yard in companionable silence while she was on the porch or following her around the yard perimeter at a safe distance as she checked the wards or worked in the garden beds. Every evening, he waited for her to fill the dish with scraps before creeping up warily while she grinned from the window. The stray cats stayed away for obvious reasons, but she and the fox had struck a truce. “I don’t want it to go to waste,” she explained simply, not wanting to reveal the fox’s existence. Somehow, she had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate it.
Gideon barely looked back. “My car is parked down the road. We should go before it gets too dark.”
