GET TO WORK

How many times had we imagined this when we were younger? Dreamt of growing older together, working by my father’s side until he eventually handed over the reins to me. Not like this though, never like this. And it would never be like we planned, not after the crash, not after my mother no, I can’t let those emotions overwhelm me, not now. I throw up walls around my feelings, trapping them in an impenetrable fortress.

“I begged him, you know?” Ryan breathes, his voice barely audible. I turn to him, and his eyes bore into mine, showing me the broken, vulnerable man lying beneath the surface. “I begged him to bring you back or to at least let me see you.”

He doesn’t need to finish. We both know what my father had said, what his decision had always been.

“It was too hard for him to see my faceher face. Not when I’m the reason she ”

“No,” Ryan interrupts, stepping forward in one long lunge to clasp my shoulders. “Don’t ever think that for a second, Scarlet , your father loved you and wanted to keep you safe. That’s the only reason he sent you away.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I smile tightly, knowing it doesn’t meet my eyes, but it’s the best I can do right now. Perhaps Ryan actually believed that, but I couldn’t. Not when I saw the pain, anger, and hatred in his eyes every time he came to visit. Sure, there was love there too, but it was always tinged with loss, and I couldn’t even blame him.

Taking a step back, I let his hands fall off my shoulders and turn, needing to do something, anything, to keep those walls standing tall. I shrug off the jacket and place it on the back of the leather office chair, knowing it will do Monte no good now, given how damp the delicate silk lining has gotten. I’ll surely have to get it dry cleaned for him.

I smooth my hands over the no doubt expensive fabric, using the movement to take my mind off of the suffocating thoughts barreling down on me, fighting to keep the stones in place. The desk hasn’t been touched, probably since he passed. Pens and papers are strewn across it. A half-smoked  cigar stubbed out in the glass ashtray.

“It didn’t feel right to move anything,” Ryan says softly, stepping up on the other side of the desk and gingerly pulling out the chair. I swallow thickly, knowing I need to take this step, fill his role, and lead our pack.

I go to sit, but Ryan"s sharp inhale pulls me to a stop. Following his gaze, I look down at the smudges of mud seeping into the wet fabric clinging to my skin. His eyes move upwards slowly, pausing on my breasts, where of course, the white fabric has become see-through.

My nipples tighten at his attention, wetness pooling at my core at the hunger clearly taking over his face. My body begs to take him here, to lose myself in him, to forget today and take my mind off the crippling loss threatening to overwhelm me. Let our bodies meld together as one, taking pleasure in relearning each inch of skin, every curve, and dip. Falling into how we used to be and using him as my crutch.

Instead, I clear my throat, refusing to give in to the lust burning clearly in his eyes. He shakes himself out of his daze, flicking his gaze up to meet mine sheepishly.

“I’m sorry about the dress.”

My lips part to brush it off but pause when his gaze moves down again, not to my breasts this time, but to the darkening brown splotches. “I’m sure we can get it cleaned.”

My brows furrow at his words, unsure why I would care so deeply for a dress that isn’t mine. A dress that clashes so wholly with the woman I’ve become—that’s when it hits me, the blow like a semi plowing into my chest.

He winces. “You didn’t have any clothes here, but your father kept all of your mother’s things...” he trails off, face softening with concern.

I smooth over the soaked fabric, my fingers sinking into it, itching to rip it from my body. Just when I get my thoughts under control, this discovery threatens to send them boiling right over that wall. Clenching them into fists, I force my arms rigidly to my sides, willing the oily, wrong feeling that creeps over my skin to subside. I hadn’t even known it was her dress, despite my mind picturing it at her grave. My thoughts were so jumbled I didn’t realize it was her dress I’d slipped over my head, her dress I marred with dirt. My darkness is already seeping into her memory.

I force my gaze up, but my skin crawls, and the fabric I once described as airy now feels tight and restrictive.

“It’s fine, Ryan. My things should arrive any moment now.” I take a seat, using those words to strengthen myself. I have to get through this meeting, then I can change.

Ryan must realize my need to think about something, anything else, because he clamps his mouth shut and forces a placating smile on his lips.

“Let’s get started,” I say tersely, pulling a legal notebook out of my father’s middle drawer and plucking one of his pens from the desk. I don’t let my mind linger on the first step, at moving his items and accepting this role. I won’t let this loss eat away at me, not like my father had, making this house his tomb. Eventually, I’ll need to go through everything, both of my parents’ belongings but not yet.

Ryan takes a deep breath, nodding almost to himself before launching into the details. “The slit slash has been growing over the past few years—they’re encroaching on our territory, attacking our wolves, and stealing our business contacts.”

“The slith slash ... lions, right?” I ask, brushing the pen against my bottom lip as I run the information over in my head.

“Yes.” His voice is soft with desire, and only then do I notice his attention drawn to my mouth. He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, but the fog of lust clears from his eyes as he continues. “They’ve grown. Unprecedented numbers of bears are being recruited across the country to unite against us and another wolf pack in the area.”

“What was my father doing about it?” I ask, waiting for the rest. There’s no way he would have sat back and let the Lions attack our wolves without repercussions.

“He was working on an agreement with the Weavers pack.” Ryan grimaces as though speaking the name leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

I search through my memory, trying to pull up the name. They were a small pack, barely anything to blink an eye at, especially with our size. There was no comparison between the two.

“The Weavers pack was tiny though, and weren’t they without an Alpha?” I question, my brows furrowing as I dredge up foggy memories. There’s no way this was the same pack. My father laughed them off years ago and mentioned nothing about them growing. They were an annoying gnat in his words just shy of being squashed.

“It seems like your father kept you even further out of the loop than I expected,” Ryan muses, tapping his pursed lips absentmindedly. “The Weavers pack was without an alpha for a time and their numbers diminished to where they were almost non-existent, that is until the former alpha’s son took over. Even members long forgotten came back after hearing of the new alpha, and they’ve grown their numbers over the past ten years.”

“Twelve years?”