Between Two Wolves and a Hard Place (11 page)

My phone rings, and suddenly I go cold. On the screen is a name that five minutes ago would have brought me nothing but joy. Now it sends an earthquake of doubt and confusion through my soul.

Dean.

Chapter 13

I don't answer the phone. I feel like I've been punched in the gut followed by a hook to the jaw. My soul wants to split into two. I can feel the different pressures tugging on me like iron hooks sunk into my spirit. Dean and Drake. Harrowgate. Art versus love. I lift my hands to my temples and press tight. Why? Why does it have to be this way?

My phone rings again. Dean. I don't answer. Biting the corner of my lip, I move to one of the windows and stare down at the water. Rushing and cold. I almost want to dive into it and have it wash away all my concerns. Is there no winning in this world?

A wild idea strikes me. Would Dean and Drake be willing to move to Charleston? I laugh. Of course not. Their pack is here. Their territory. Their home. To ask them to transplant everything to South Carolina would be beyond madness. And worse: it would tell them that they still aren't the most important thing in my life.

Are they? I put the question to myself. What's most important, my artistic career, or my love for Dean and Drake?

I want to scream. Frustration rises up within me like wings flapping in my throat. I turn to regard Phoenix I. Just the sight of it gives me pleasure. An almost vicious satisfaction.
Mine.
My art. My creation. I didn't think of either of the werewolves while I was making my art. Does that mean I love my art more?

No. Because while Dean was licking my pussy and driving me wild, I didn't think about glass blowing, either.

I pace the studio. Can I turn down Harrowgate? Of course I can. But then word would surely get out, and people would assume I was problematic, or too arrogant, or simply not interested in that level of attention. Jumpstarting my career would be that much harder for having turned down the best position out there.

My mind is a whirlwind of conflicting desires. An urge to talk to my dad wells up, followed equally fast by a sense of negation: no, this one I have to figure out for myself. I'm no longer a little girl. I have to act like an adult, and take responsibility for my life.

Without thinking, I grab my car keys and head out to the parking lot, jump behind the wheel of my car, gun the engine, and reverse out of the parking lot and back up onto Bridge Street. I drive over the trestle bridge and turn right, heading toward the beautiful Mohawk Trail which undulates through the hills of northern Massachusetts all the way to New York State. It's a stunning drive, the original way west before the Massachusetts Turnpike was built, and one of my favorite drives.

I put on good music, turn off my phone, and sink down into my seat. Take the curves, admire the greenery, and think. The road rises and falls, until it climbs the Whitcomb Summit. I pull over and park. It's taken me nearly an hour to drive out here. A large statue of a regal moose stands somewhat incongruously to one side, along with an abandoned motel and a large, bustling building. I don't pay any attention to the people who have driven up here to admire the view, and instead step away, find a quiet spot, and stare out over the land.

The view is stunning. I can see into southern Vermont and New Hampshire. The woods seem to roll out forever below me. A cold wind is blowing, and I hug myself. The sun is sinking rapidly toward the horizon. My drive has given me a sense of peace. But what do I want?

I don't know. I'm perfectly balanced between the two options. Dean and Drake on one side, fulfilling a part of me that I've denied for years. A yearning for love, for acceptance, for a sense of completion. With them I know my life will be rich, amazing, and filled with passion. On the other hand I have my art, and the pure, unadulterated joy I derive from creation. Harrowgate will open doors behind my imagining. Will allow me to travel the world and share my art with thousands.

The wind blows colder, and I hug myself tight. Taking a deep breath, I realize I need to talk this over with Drake and Dean. I can't make this decision alone. The last time I did, I spent six years running in the wrong direction. I need to trust them and their love for me, and be honest about what I'm going through.

That feels right. That feels good. So I get back in my car, do a 180-degree turn, and head back toward Honeycomb Falls. I turn on my phone and dial Dean's number.

"Hey!" He sounds almost startled. "Where are you?"

"Whitcomb Summit," I say. "Or I was. I'm driving away from it as we speak."

"Whitcomb Summit?" I can hear him chew that over. "I thought you were working on your art today."

"I was. I did."

"And? How did it go?"

"Good. Amazing. And that's part of the problem."

A pause. "Problem? What problem?" I can hear the wariness in his voice. Despite last night, he still doesn't trust me to not hurt him again. I don't blame him.

"We need to talk. The three of us. Can you meet me at my studio in an hour or so?"

"What's going on, Kiera?" His voice has grown hard.

"Nothing. I promise. I haven't made any decisions. I want to talk something over with you both. I need your help in making a decision."

Again there's a silence, and then, "All right. I'll tell Drake. We'll be there in an hour or so."

"Thank you, Dean." I want to say more. I want to tell him how intensely I feel for him, how that very emotion is making it impossible for me to think straight. But he hangs up, and a moment later I lower the phone into my lap.

I recognize Drake's truck in the Conway Studios parking lot as I pull into an empty space beside it. Dusk has fallen, and a few lights are still on in the mill. People working late. With artists, there's no such thing as office hours. I lock my car and enter, then make my way to my studio.

My studio? Drake's.

The door's unlocked, and I know they're waiting for me inside. I slip in and see them standing in front of Phoenix I. Drake's arms are crossed and Dean has his hands in his back pockets. They both start and turn toward me. Drake's big, sexy body seems to tower in the shadows, and Dean's muscled frame is just begging for me to wrap my arms around him.

"Hi," I say. I can barely breathe.

"This is... amazing," says Drake. "Did you make this today?"

I nod, suddenly shy. Other than Julia, they're the first ones to see it. Normally I don't let anybody outside my glassblowing team see my pieces until I've polished and prepared them to my high standards, but with Dean and Drake, I don't mind. It's intimate for them to see Phoenix I this way. It makes me feel vulnerable and exposed in a way that's akin to standing naked in front of them, and I realize that I don't mind.

Dean stays quiet. His face is dark, his brows lowered. He's studying me as I drift closer. I stop, and we stand there, a triangle in the gloom of the studio.

"What's going on, Kiera?" Drake's voice is soft.

Where to begin? How to tell them what's tearing me apart without driving them away? Struggling to keep my nerves under control, I decide to start from the beginning. "I finished a number of pieces today. This was the first. The others -" I move to the row of refrigerators and open one of the doors. The werewolves step up next to me, and I'm intensely aware of their bodies beside mine. But they stare past me at Phoenix II. We stand there in silence for a moment, and then Dean blows a low whistle.

"Damn," he says. "You're
good
, Kiera."

I duck my head and curl a strand of hair behind my ear, and I can feel a heat in my face that says I'm blushing crazily. "Thanks."

Drake turns to me. "So how is this a problem?" Oh, his voice. I could drown in his voice. Deep and powerful.

"Because." I don't want to say it. I don't want to ruin this. But I have to be honest with them. I have to. "Because Harrowgate - the company that's holding the competition? They really liked my work today. They - they offered me a job in Charleston if I win the competition."

"Charleston?" Dean's golden eyes flare wide. "South Carolina?"

"Yeah," I say, and I can't meet his gaze. "Artist in Residence," I whisper.

They stand there, stunned. My stomach is doing back flips. I feel nauseated.

"Are you going to take it?" Dean's voice is cold.

I risk a glance up at him. The darkness is getting so thick that I can barely make out his features. "That's why I wanted to talk to you guys. It's... it's really an unbelievable opportunity."

"I knew it," says Dean with a mocking laugh. "You're leaving us already."

Drake reaches out to grasp Dean's shoulder. "That's not what she said."

Dean shakes Drake's hand off. "Not yet, at any rate. If she wanted to stay with us, she'd have said no to Harrowgate. Right?" He turns to me. It breaks my heart to hear the pain in his voice. "You just want our blessing to go. That's why you called us here. You want our permission to ditch us again so you'll feel better about it this time."

My eyes go wide. Is he right? I don't know. I feel like screaming. How can I not know what I want? How can I be so perfectly torn? I step forward, reaching for Dean, but he steps back violently to avoid my touching him.

"No," he says. "Don't touch me. I should have known. Should have known better than to think you were really coming back. What were we, a quick fuck down memory lane? You scratch your itch, now it's back to business and bigger things?"

"No," I say in a horrified whisper. "That's not it. Please, Dean, you have to understand -"

"Have to?" His voice is cruel. "I don't have to do anything. You want my blessing? You've got it. Go to Charleston. Go be famous and rich. Prioritize your career. But don't you dare come back here. Don't you dare come back, because this time, you'd best be leaving for good."

"Dean!" Tears are burning my eyes. "I haven't decided -"

"Whatever," he says, and brushes past me, heading toward the door.

Drake strides after him, but just then the studio door opens, and two people step inside. It's so dark that I can't make out who they are. One of them reaches out and flips a light switch, and everything lights up starkly.

My jaw drops. It's Marv and Leena. And Marv's holding a gun.

Chapter 14

"Marv?" It's so weird to see him here that all I can do is gape. Both he and Leena look like kids caught with their hands inside the cookie jar, and I can tell they clearly didn't expect to see the three of us standing in here.

"Leena?" Dean's voice is as confused as my own. "What..." But he trails off. The gun that Marv shakily raises to point at him is an answer in itself.

"Dammit," hisses Leena.

Marv's gone as pale as a ghost, and his gun is trembling in his hand. My stomach clenches. This is when he's at his most dangerous. Marv's like a cornered rat. Scare him, don't give him time to think and he'll do something ridiculously stupid.

Like shoot a werewolf.

"Put the gun down," says Drake, stepping forward, hands raised in a placating way.

"You said the place was empty!" whines Marv, shooting Leena a furious look. "What the hell?"

"A mistake," says Leena, and I have to admire her for her self-possession. In just a matter of seconds she's regained control of herself. "But now here we are. We're going to have to play the hand we were dealt."

"What?" Marv's voice reaches an even higher pitch of whininess.

"Put down the gun," says Dean, voice hard. "Drake and I are werewolves. Shoot us, and it will be the last thing you do."

Marv's eyes go wide. He looks Dean up and down, and then at the massive Drake, and I see sweat break out across his brow. "Werewolves?"

Leena sighs irritably. "I forgot to mention that. Regardless. Dean. I'm acting crazy here because I can't stand to be without you."

It's amazing. Halfway through her sentence, her whole attitude and voice change. From ice cold queen bitch she suddenly melts into a helpless girl. Her eyes go large, her lower lip trembles, and I swear, I can see the wheels spinning in her mind as she adapts to this new situation.

I step up, suddenly furious. "What the hell were you two planning to do in here?"

"Do?" Marv grins at me, but it's an awful expression, all fear and hatred. "That should be obvious, even to an idiot like you."

Everything clicks. "Did you come in here to destroy my work?"

Marv's getting his groove back. He takes a deep breath and then winks at me. "Call me competitive. I just really want to win."

"Leena," says Dean. His voice could carve furrows in a sheet of iron. "What are you doing with this guy?"

"Oh, Dean. I had to find a way to protect you from that evil woman." She points a long fingernail at me. "I knew she was going to hurt you. Break your heart. Use you and discard you like a piece of trash. So I did the only thing I could think of. I called Marv, and asked him to come expose her for the whore she is."

Drake shakes his head. "What are you talking about?"

Dean's staring at her. I can see his fury at me, at my revelation, propelling him to try to believe her.

"No," I say. "Dean, she's lying through her teeth. Marv's the guy who stole my company. Why would they come here with a gun?"

"To protect ourselves, obviously," says Leena. "A crazy bitch like you, who knows what you'd try to do when you were exposed?"

I want to strangle her. Her words just barely make enough sense that Dean's actually listening instead of laughing in her face. I've never, ever met someone so evil and manipulative.

"So, what," asks Dean, and I almost sag with relief to hear the incredulity in his voice. "You were going to protect Dean by breaking into what you thought was an empty studio with a gun?"

Leena's eyes flash with hatred, but she nods vigorously. "Exactly. We were going to get proof that - that Kiera doesn't love you. That she's just using you."

"And you needed Marv to do that?" I ask acidly.

"Of course." Leena's smile is wide. "He knows you for the lying tramp you are."