Page 21 of The Tracker's Revenge
“And you can certainly be very naïve.”
“I’m not naïve.”
“How long have you known this man? Five days? Ten?”
I did a mental count. “Over two weeks,” I said triumphantly.
“Rest my case.”
“I know I can trust him, all right? I feel it in my gut.”
Jake only huffed, then we sat in silence for a long moment, my ears attentive to the sounds of tires eating up miles, and my nose trying to pick up other scents besides Jake’s intoxicating musk.
“Where do you think this secret lair is?” I asked, sick of the overwhelming silence.
“No idea. They call it Wolfskeep, by the way.”
“Wolfskeep, cool,” I echoed. “So where is it? You didn’t ask your grandfather?”
“He also said it was a secret. I wish he’d mentioned this part, though.” He waved a hand around the van, and I realized my sharp eyes had adapted to the darkness.
After about a twenty-minute drive, gravel crunched under the tires, and the van lurched from side to side.
“We’re off-road,” Jake pointed out.
Ten more minutes went by before we came to a stop. The engine shut off, and Eric came around and opened the back door, letting in the glow of warm light. I squinted, my eyes adjusting. The sight that materialized behind Eric was nothing like what I’d imagined.
Rocky walls loomed to our right, illuminated by honest-to-god torches perched in rustic metal holders. From the looks of it, we were in a cave, a large one that could accommodate a van. Eric offered me a hand and helped me step down, and I discovered that the cave could house more than just the van. Three more cars occupied the area, and there was plenty of room for twenty more. My gaze followed the curve of the wall to a jagged ceiling that got lost in deep shadows.
“What the hell is this place?” Jake asked.
“Welcome to St. Louis entrance to Wolfskeep,” Eric said, a bit of deference in his tone, which made me frown. Eric didn’t respect many things and showed appreciation for even less. That he held this place in some regard made me wonder.
Jake stepped away from the van, glancing all around. I followed behind me, also scanning my surroundings. The cave was massive, a dome that stretched over our heads, making me wonder if we were inside a mountain or underground. I didn’t know any caves in St. Louis. Maybe we’d been magically transported elsewhere. I thought of asking, but I doubted anyone would tell. I was nothing but a packless lone wolf that would never join the exclusive circle.
To our right, a dark tunnel extended toward what I assumed was the exit. To the left, it was a dead end. I carefully examined every corner, slowly meandering around the parked cars, my nose twitching at the trapped smell of exhaust.
Where were we going to hold our meeting? Standing out here? There didn’t seem to be anywhere else to go. We might as well be moles trapped in their dens.
Next, my attention moved to the members of the Pack Rule. Ulfen Erickson and Walter Knight were already there. Ulfen was leaning against his car, examining his fingernails, while Jake’s grandfather stood by Craig Blackridge. I’d never met him before, but I’d seen him on the news. He was Allison’s father and Aaron’s uncle, and also Jake’s future father-in-law. Hurray!
He had longish blond hair and a goatee going to gray. He wore a suit, but no tie. He was about six-foot tall and seemed kind of soft around the middle.
Jake was glowering in his direction, a sharp scent wafting off of him: anger. I brushed the back of his hand with mine and gave him a nod of support. He relaxed a bit and graced me with a half-smile.
Feeling my own anger stir inside my chest, I searched for the remaining member of the Pack Rule, but he wasn’t here. Maybe he wouldn’t come. The knot in my chest eased a little. That was until the sound of an engine rumbled down the dark tunnel, and a couple of headlights cast their sharp beams on us.
I squinted, blocking the light with my hand until the car stopped and the engine was shut off. The car was a silver BMW, sporty and convertible. The driver-side door opened, and a tall man stretched out of the tiny vehicle and towered over it.
My stomach clenched at the sight of the man I’d only seen in pictures. In person, he was as imposing, if not more, than I’d imagined. He was well over six-foot tall with wide, squarish shoulders, and there was nothing soft about him. His dark hair shone under the torchlight, and so did his dark brown eyes. He glanced around, his strong chin held high. As he spotted Ulfen, he walked confidently in his direction, one hand casually stuffed in his pocket. He wore a black suit with a black shirt and tie, fulfilling the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.
I hated him right away.
“Hey,” Jake nudged me with his shoulder, “it’s all right. Don’t worry about him. He doesn’t know.”
Easy for him to say. Travis Hillworth wasn’thisfather. But Jake was right. My mom had never told him about me. Instead, she had lied to my father and everyone else, making us believe I was Peter Sunder’s daughter and not the illegitimate child of a werewolf.
With a deep breath, I turned away from the man and gathered my wits. I was here for entirely different reasons. I had no interest in this man, not someone who would cheat on his wife with another man’s wife. His children, a son and a daughter, had been small when he stepped out. In my book, anyone capable of that level of deception wasn’t worth my time.
