AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They were surrounded by a cluster of almost a dozen cabins, each with smoke pouring from their chimneys and each with about a half-acre plot of land. Many cabins were two stories, rustic yet modern, with wrap-around porches and attached greenhouses. Some even had pens with goats and sheep. These homes were far nicer than the ones they left behind, most likely a way to entice the Romanians to leave their homelands.
Horatiu clutched that big bouquet of flowers to his chest, shifting from foot to foot as if he was about to go court a lover. Were those flowers for Eilea?
“This is the reservation?” she asked. For some reason, she expected it to have been bigger with at least a hundred houses.
“Part of it,” Tor answered. “Most of the tribe is still in holding in Roswell.”
Ah, yes, the secret government installation. She vaguely remembered Tor had told the family about it over dinner a few times, though she hadn’t been paying much attention. “For how long?” she asked at his back as he led them up a winding gravel path toward a smaller cabin in the center of the others.
“As long as it takes,” he called over his shoulder. “We don’t want too many moving here at once. People will get suspicious.”
“And they’re not already?” Daeva asked him.
“We’ve bought up most of the land here.” He waved to the dense forest surrounding them. “We’re calling the reservation an artist’s commune.”
Daeva snorted at that. “And people believe it?”
“No.” He turned to her, his eyes twinkling. “There’s already rumors circulating that we’re aliens.”
Laughing, Horatiu dragged a hand through his cropped hair. Odd how much he’d changed since leaving hell. In hell he’d had dark hair, demon horns, and silvery skin. Here, he looked like another one of the Albescus with hair so pale it almost appeared white. “Aliens?”
Tor shrugged. “That’s the locals’ preferred explanation for strange occurrences.”
Wishing she’d remembered gloves, Phoenix shoved her frozen hands in her pockets. “Well, I suppose aliens are easier to explain than wolf shifters.”
She gave her sister a strange look when they stopped in front of the small cabin. It was surrounded by little garden gnome statues and had a crocheted Christmas wreath on the door as well as three rocking chairs with crocheted covers on the front porch. The smells of cinnamon and garlic wafted from inside the house. “I thought the tribal house would be bigger.”
Daeva grimaced, then shot her mate a sympathetic look. “We have a quick stop first.”
Tor took the porch steps two at a time and rapped on the door.
Phoenix stood on the porch, awkwardly rocking on her heels when a scratchy voice yelled a bunch of Romanian curses from somewhere inside the house. Horatiu’s pale cheeks and ears had turned several shades of pink.
“What is this place?” Phoenix hissed to Daeva.
“The widows’ cabin,” she whispered back.
“Oh,” she breathed. “I didn’t realize there was a cabin just for widows.”
Tor gave Horatiu a sympathetic look as the cursing grew louder. “Prepare yourself. You’re about to get an earful.”
Phoenix realized those flowers were for Horatiu’s Amaroki mother. She felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t thought much about the Albescu family since their men had been killed.
The door swung open by a bony woman around sixty with white hair and apple-red cheeks. She gasped, her hands flying to her face. “Is it really my sweet Beniamin?”
Horatiu thrust the flowers in the old woman’s face. “Hello, Mama.”
She clutched the flowers, the stems crackling in her tight grip as tears welled in her eyes. “I thought I’d lost you forever.” Mama Albescu scowled at Daeva before throwing open the door.
Phoenix followed her sister and Tor inside, her boots squeaking on the hardwood floor. The smell of garlic was much stronger inside. Two other much older women sat in rocking chairs in front of a smoldering fireplace, furiously working their knitting needles over the colorful scarves in their laps while casting them surreptitious glances. Phoenix wanted to snatch Tor by the collar when he excused himself and went looking for a bathroom.
Mama Albescu didn’t offer them a spot by the hearth. Instead, she dropped the flowers on a nearby chair and took Horatiu aside, squeezing his cheeks. “You look different. You smell different.”
He looked uncomfortable, as if her touch pained him. “I’m an alpha now.”
“An alpha?” She looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “How can this be?”
“It’s a long story.” He released a long sigh. “My demon form is an alpha.”
