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Her eyes flashed, hot with fury. “I’m not in denial, and you’d best remember where you’re standing and who you’re talking to, whelp. I’ve been a member of this Pack—and this clan—a little longer than you.”
“I know,” Connor said, not unkindly. “Maybe you can talk to Traeger, find out if he knows anything else. And maybe you can talk to Cash and Everett, tell them about Loren, Paisley, their fight. Maybe they’ll pay attention. Because—and I’m going to be honest here—I’m getting really fucking sick of this clan.”
He strode to the door, slammed through it.
I walked to the door, but paused. “Not even Connor can save the clan alone,” I said. “Think about that.”
THIRTEEN
Come here,” he said when we walked outside. “I need a minute.”
He took my hand, and we walked together along the path that led to the water. Waves lapped gently at the smooth stones that made up the shoreline.
Someone had built a cairn in a flat spot, a tower of round rocks stacked one on top of another, successively smaller as they neared the top. The builder had left a white flower perched on the smallest stone, which made the pale petals seem even more fragile.
Cairns were often used for burials in places where rock was easier to come by than soil. They left behind a visible and tangible mark of the person who’d come before. This one was small—less than a foot high, only a few inches wide. And I wondered if it had been placed here intentionally. For Loren or for Paisley. Or maybe for the clan, because of the hits it had taken.
We didn’t stop walking until we’d reached the very edge of the land, an outcropping of stone that jutted stubbornly into the water. Connor wrapped his arms around me, stars spinning overhead, the only sound the softthush thushof the waves and the beating of our hearts.
Silence fell, and I closed my eyes, matched my breathing to the waves until my mind was calm again.
“It talks to me,” he said, chin atop my head.
“What does?”
“The lake. The woods. The stones. Not in words—it’s not a Disney movie out there—but it has a kind of heartbeat, too.”
A shifter’s relationship with the earth was unique among Supernaturals, but it wasn’t often they talked about it. Maybe they wanted to keep that relationship to themselves; maybe they didn’t want to weaken their leather-and-chrome and ass-kicking reputations.
“What do they say?” I asked. “The lake, the woods, the stones?”
“That they’re glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad the stones are here, too. Because otherwise we’d be standing in Lake Superior, and the water looks very, very cold.”
Connor leaned down, dipped fingers into the water. “Definitely chilly.”
He stood up again, and before I could move out of the way, pressed his wet and freezing fingers to my face.
I couldn’t help the squeal forced out by the icy bit of lake now dripping into my shirt. “Oh, you will pay for that.”
“Come at me, vamp.”
“Not now,” I said, shaking out the water. “That’s too obvious. I’ll take my revenge when you don’t expect it. And it will be devastating.”
He just snorted.
“Is the memorial arranged?” I asked quietly, loath to bring up the clan again, but knowing we had plenty to talk about.
“Tomorrow night,” Connor said. “No one is happy, which I guess is a sign of a good compromise. I won’t be able to take you,” he added, uncomfortable or unhappy about the admission.
“I assumed. It’s fine. It’s for the clan. Did you learn anything else?”
“This isn’t the first time the sheriff has deferred to the clan to handle criminal matters. However much they’re paying him, it’s effective.”
“Effective if they want to be left alone, and get no real criticism of what goes on internally.”
He smiled. “Once again, I don’t have to bother explaining things to you.”
