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A soft huff made me think I might have insulted him, but he shrugged and smiled. “I never had much socialization, and most of what I did have was with humans—mostly one human.”
There was a larger story hiding in there. I felt its sadness leak from him.
“How is that?” I quietly asked.
“A rancher killed my mother when she was in wolf form,” he answered, his voice suddenly remote. “Had no idea what she was as he tracked her back to the den where she had hidden me so she could hunt. Instead of the wolf he knew he shot, he found her dead and holding me. I had no idea what I was until the first time I shifted. Before that, he’d only told me he’d found my mother dead. I was too naïve and grateful—too well taken care of and too isolated—to even think of probing deeper. And no one from her pack came looking for me as far as I know.”
With his free hand, he hooked the braided leather string hiding under his shirt and fished it out to reveal a metal pendant formed by three swirling wolf heads. "She didn't travel with any identification or money. The only thing other than clothes in her backpack was this. Not much in the way of a clue."
Tucking the pendant back in his shirt, his other hand released its grip on my hip. He took two big steps to the side, positioning his body right at the edge of the cliff.
“Back in a second,” he smiled before jumping down to the first tree.
CHAPTER12
MALLORY
The beater truckthat Braeden had loaned Doone announced its presence at least three minutes before it reached my door. I figured the kid was back to get the rest of his things. Bored, I looked around for some little thing I could goad him into fixing. He had already proven himself a hard and capable worker, if not much of a conversationalist.
Not that I had sponsored him so he could fix the place up, no matter what he and everyone else might think on that point. Hadn’t sponsored him for companionship, either. Nope, I had sensed a massive amount of power in the young wolf that would benefit the shifters in Night Falls once they accepted him. Well, Doone was young by my standards. I doubt he’d hit thirty yet. From what little information I had pried out, he wasn’t certain of his actual age.
His backstory, which I believed, was that a rancher had shot his mother for killing some livestock. Only, when the man finished chasing the she-wolf back to her den, he found the nude corpse of a woman—not a wolf. He also found an inconsolable infant at her side.
The rancher was already an old man. He made it another fifteen years, never taking Doone into town. Then he had died and the county sheriff showed up to foreclose on the land. Doone, having shifted at a very young age, knew to be wary of the humans and avoid going into the system. So he hid from the sheriff and lived off the land as the rancher had taught him.
The kid probably left some bits out of his story—we all do. But my wolf trusted his right from the beginning. The little kink in the way he healed compared to most shifters had thrown me for a few minutes, and I was certain that he was holding something else back, but, deep down, he was a wolf in need of a pack and he wouldn’t do anything to harm a community with women and children.
Not finding anything in my house that the young wolf hadn’t already fixed in the short time he’d been there, I sauntered onto the porch and watched him pull in.
“Son of a…” I mumbled when I saw that he wasn’t alone and that the young woman riding shotgun next to him was a stranger to these parts.
Pulling to a stop, Doone jumped out, an explanation already twisting his lips.
I shook my head, a growl vibrating my throat as I took my first step off the porch. Things went sideways when the woman left the truck, her scent punching my gut.
My knees gave out like some kind of fancy Samurai sword had sliced clear through them.
“Is he okay?” she asked as Doone rushed over to me.
Fuck me running, even the voice was familiar.
“Justine…” I said right before my face hit the dirt.
The woman—girl, really—was the first to reach me.
“Stand back, Mosa,” Doone ordered, the usual laid back quality of his voice missing.
Was he worried she might hurt me in my vulnerable position, or that I would lash out at her?
“He said my mother’s name,” she argued, one of her hands gently brushing the hair from my face.
Damn, she was beautiful, just like the panther who had completely savaged my heart a little more than a quarter century ago, abandoning me without explanation at the end of the pack wars that had almost exposed our kind to humans.
And shooting at me as she left.
“Let’s get him in—”
“You try to pick me up, you’re gonna lose an arm, wolfling,” I growled at Doone.
