“Me, too,” Cooper said, his tone a little bleak as we walked back to the house to grab some clothes.
“Samson, can I get you a blanket or something?” Cooper asked, sending a pointed look in my direction as he pulled on a pair of jeans.
“Why cover up perfection?” Samson asked, winking at me. Now that Cooper had agreed to go home, he seemed to be sliding back into his natural persona—which apparently was “flirtatious goof-ball.”
I countered, “Well, I don’t allow bare ass cheeks on my upholstery, so if you plan on sitting down, I’m afraid I’m going to have to deprive myself of your glory.”
“I really like her,” Samson told Cooper as he shrugged into sweats and a sweater that were at least two sizes too small.
“Me, too,” Cooper said, sighing as if affection for me was some sort of affliction.
The two-hour drive to the Crescent Valley was strained at best. The three of us barely fit into the cab of the truck. Samson was fidgety, insisting that they’d be there already if they’d run. Cooper tried to ask questions about his grandfather but came off sounding like a general asking for a briefing before heading into battle. Samson’s answers weren’t terribly helpful, since he seemed to have run for Cooper’s place on instinct without first concerning himself with details.
“How’s Mom doing?” Cooper finally asked.
“Worried. She’s been at the clinic with Pops for hours,” Samson said. “She’ll be glad to see you. She worries about you, you know. She said you were too skinny the last time she visited. I’m surprised she didn’t try to strap a ham on my back when I left.”
“What about Maggie?” Cooper asked.
Samson rolled his eyes. “You know her. She’ll never change. But she’s pretty shaken up. I don’t think she’ll be together enough to go for your kneecaps again.”
I gasped. “You said it was your fingertips and an ear.”
“And kneecaps,” Cooper muttered.
“And the eyelids, both ass cheeks, and that time she got hold of your throat,” Samson reminded him cheerfully. “That was the time he tried to tell her that she had to leave the valley and go to college. I believe the edited-for-TV version of her response was something like ‘Fudge you, you’re not my gosh-darn alpha anymore. You don’t tell me to leave the fudging pack. Now, get the fudge away from me before I rip your—’ What? It was funny at the time.”
“And y’all just stand around watching while she tries to dismember him?” I scowled at Samson.
Samson shrugged. “Coop won’t let us help him.”
“I thought that the alpha was supposed to be all-powerful. Why can’t Cooper command her to stop biting off his body parts?”
“Because he won’t,” Samson said, glaring at him. Cooper stared at the road. “He just stands there and takes it, which is like giving her permission. If anyone else tried it, instinct would stop them from striking at the alpha, active or not. But Maggie basically has an open invitation.”
Cooper glared out the window. Samson seemed to get even more ADD when it was quiet, so I asked him about growing up with Cooper. Every time he started a story, Cooper glared at him, and Samson stopped talking. So he turned the tables and asked where I was from, why I’d moved so far from home. I gave them a brief, none-too-sanitized version of my childhood with Ash and Saffron.
I’m pretty sure Cooper thought I was making it up to make him feel better. Unfortunately, you can’t make up your dad getting popped for disorderly conduct at a Raffi concert. Ash believed “Baby Beluga” anesthetized children to the horrors of whaling. And hopped onstage during the encore to say so.
“Suddenly, so much about your personality makes sense,” Cooper said, wiping at his eyes as we drove past a sign marking the village limits. Samson was doubled over, gasping for breath.
“You know, I didn’t laugh at your painful backstory,” I reminded him.
“It’s hilarious, and you know it,” he said. “That’s why you told me, to make me feel better and take my mind off my grandfather. That’s part of the reason I love you.”
“You love me because I’m willing to humiliate myself to amuse you?” I asked.
“That’s sort of twisted.” Samson snorted. “I like it.”
We pulled up to a little cinder-block building marked “Clinic,” and I threw the truck into park. Samson climbed out, but Cooper stayed in his seat.
He cupped my face in his hands, tilting my chin so that I was looking right into his eyes as he spoke. “I. Love. You.”
“How bad do you think this is going to be?” I blanched dramatically in an effort to cover the Mothra-sized butterflies taking flight in my belly. He loved me. Cooper Graham, one of the most beautiful, amazing, frustrating people on the planet, loved me. And it didn’t scare me. I smiled. “What’s next? The St. Crispin’s Day speech?”
He grunted, exasperated. “Mo!”
“All right, all right. I love you, too, Cooper.”
“Pardon me, I think I’m going to yark,” Samson grunted through the open passenger door. “Come on, Cooper.”
Grimacing, Cooper followed me as I slid out through the driver’s-side door. Gripping my hand, he walked across the icy parking lot and through the clinic door. I was right behind him, with Samson bringing up the rear.
A dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly focused in my direction, and conversation died as Cooper’s entire family stared in undisguised shock at us standing in the doorway.
Awkward.
14
Medusa Versus the Wolfman
I’D EXPECTED EVERYONE IN the pack to be tall and sturdy like Cooper and Samson, but there was a wide spectrum of shapes and sizes in the lupine family tree. Some were as dark-skinned and petite as Evie; others were almost fair-skinned, with light brown hair and blue eyes. This must have been what Cooper meant about diluting the bloodlines. There were so many genetic strains here it was a wonder the wolf magic had been passed along at all. But it had produced some beautiful individuals.
Beautiful but distinctly not human. Cooper had always stood out to me, compared with our Grundy neighbors, although I assumed it was because he was so spectacularly handsome . . . or that he pissed me off so much more than other Grundy residents. Now that I saw a pack en masse, the difference was obvious, and I was nervous. Even the products of “dead lines” seemed sinuous in their movements, purposeful. Their eyes took in everything around them, processing and cataloguing information that might be used later. And they were plowing through a box of doughnuts as if carbs were about to be declared illegal.
“Pops!” Samson thundered across the crowd, dragging Cooper and me in his wake. “Look who’s here to talk some sense into you.”
Samson pulled us into a little exam room off the crowded, cheerfully decorated waiting room. Cooper’s family tried too hard to seem as if they’d returned to normal conversation. It was as if a director had yelled, “And . . . background noise!” to a bunch of really untalented movie extras.
I was stunned when I saw Cooper’s grandfather for the first time. Noah Graham might have been laid up in a hospital bed napping, but strength radiated off him like body heat. His face was tanned and leathery, topped by a full tuft of iron-gray hair. A thin green knit blanket covered a body that still seemed solid, capable.
“He’s eighty-two? He looks younger than my dad,” I muttered to Cooper as we approached the bed.
“Men in my family tend to age well,” Cooper said quietly. I felt the tension ebb from his body as he saw that his grandfather was alive, if not completely well. “It’s all part of the wolf thing. Our bodies are resilient because of the constant phasing, lots of collagen. Pops is still considered quite the catch around here.”
“I’m old, not deaf, my Cooper,” Noah said, his voice a deep baritone that rumbled from his chest.
When he lifted his lids, I could see that Noah shared his grandson’s blue-green eyes, which twinkled as he sat up to embrace Cooper. A small, compact blonde in blue scrubs and hiking boots laid a gentle hand on his shoulder to keep him reclined.
“How’s he doing?” Cooper asked.
Dr. Moder opened her mouth to answer, but Noah waved her away as politely as possible. “I’m fine,” Noah insisted, his hands firm on Cooper’s shoulders. “There’s been a lot of fuss for nothing. But I’d go through it again, if that’s what brought you back to your home. It’s been too long, Cooper. The pack, your family, have missed you.” Noah cast a glance in my direction and lifted his ruler-straight gray brows. “And who have you brought with you?”
“This is Maureen Duvall-Wenstein, Pops. We call her Mo,” Cooper said, a note of pride in his voice as Noah pulled my hands into his.
“Very nice to meet you, young lady,” he said.
“It’s very nice to meet you, too,” I said. “Cooper has told me so much about you.”
“Well, he hasn’t done the same for me,” Noah said, giving Cooper a reproachful look without any heat in it. “You and I will have to sit and talk, Maureen.”
“What’s this I hear about you not wanting to go to the hospital?” Cooper asked, apparently sensing that introduction time was over.
Noah lowered his voice and offered his grandson a level gaze. “We must protect the secret. That is far more important than prolonging the life of any one of us.”
“Pack members have gone to the hospital before with no problems,” Cooper said in a voice that was both loving and stern. I looked over my shoulder to see that several of Cooper’s relatives had gathered at the door, listening to him. I didn’t understand why Cooper had been so resistant to coming home. While I certainly didn’t want to test their fondness for strange humans who knew their family secret, I didn’t sense any hostility from the crowd huddling at the door. They were smiling, practically smug in seeing Cooper work on his stubborn grandfather.
I carefully scanned each face in the family. Could any of these people be capable of attacking unarmed humans? They certainly didn’t look it at the moment, but they were sort of on their best behavior, being indoors, clothed, and in the presence of an outsider. I tried to picture the plump little auntie in the purple Red Hat Society sweatshirt wolfing out and devouring teenage hikers.
It was a stretch.
“Dr. Moder says she’ll be able to cover up any discrepancies that might come up while they’re treating you,” Cooper said. “And when you’re done, she can remove all of your records from the system. There’s no reason to stay here when you could be at the hospital having all those important tests and flirting with the nurses.”
“I do not like hospitals.”
Cooper countered, “You’ve never been to a hospital.”
“And it’s worked well for me so far.”
Sensing that the conversation would continue to circle if I didn’t give them some space, I stepped away. The crowd parted for me as I approached the door. I crossed the waiting room to an ancient-looking Mr. Coffee and poured myself a cup. Even with healthy doses of cream and sugar, I gagged a little as it hit my throat. This was not coffee. This was the stuff you’d scrape from under Satan’s toenails.
“Someone should have warned you,” said the tall, whippet-lean stranger who was suddenly standing at my side. “Aunt Glenda made the coffee. She seems to think that if you can stir it, it’s not strong enough. I’m Eli,” he said, reaching out to take my hand.
“Mo,” I choked out. “I’m a friend of Cooper’s.”
“Must be more than a friend if you’re here,” Eli observed, his cool lakewater-green eyes scanning me from head to toe. “I don’t think it would be too far off to thank you for bringing Cooper here tonight. None of us could convince Pops to budge, but Cooper will. They’ve always been close. It doesn’t hurt that Cooper’s still technically the alpha, though he would never force his will on someone like that—much less Pops.”