Chapter Thirty
Afterthreefailedattemptsto nap on the worn yet surprisingly comfy couch, Slade paced. His cellphone showed zero signal, which didn’t bode well for laptop Wi-Fi.
At last, someone knocked on the door at 5:58. He opened the door on a teenage boy with red hair, freckles, the slimness of a runner, and a hesitant smile. “Hi. Healer Sam says I’m supposed to take you to dinner.”
Slade nodded. Although too many knots filled his stomach to even think of food, no passing on a chance for answers or to find out what happened to Noah.
He hung back, watching other singles, couples, and a few families making their way to a modern, prefab metal building behind the pack house as he followed his guide. Roasting meat and fresh-baked bread changed Slade’s mind about eating. When they entered the building, the boy said, “You can sit anywhere,” and dashed off to join a group of people with the same fiery red hair.
“Ah, Mr. Slater,” came the healer’s pleasant voice from behind him. Slade turned to find the same serene expression Sam seemed to wear about 90% of the time. “Did you rest well?”
No use lying. “Not at all.”
“Understandable. If you’ll come with me, please.”
Slade followed the man who’d been a valuable source of information so far, settling into an empty spot by his new friend.
Sam nodded to an elegantly lovely woman with gray hair and a steely gaze. “Mr. Slater, I’d like you to meet my darling Linda.”
Slade barely stopped himself from blurting, “Are you a witch too?” which might be considered rude. “Please, call me Slade.”
“Good evening, Mr. Slade.” The woman beamed. “We don’t often have human guests on the compound. Other than Buddy and a few others. And they’ve been around so long I forget they’re human at times.”
Which narrowed down the possibilities. Sam said wolves and witches didn’t mate, and humans were a novelty.Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a witch.Three empty chairs sat across from them. If Noah didn’t appear soon, Slade would tear this place down looking for him.
Resting a hand on Slade’s arm, Sam leaned in. “Wolves can sense your emotions. You’re here as a guest—a human guest, among those with reasons to fear humans. Try to control yourself. You don’t want to cause an incident.”
Slade glanced to the right, where a man moved his chair over as far as possible. Right. Some witches, many wolves, few humans. If ever Slade minded his manners, now might be a good time.
“Slade!” The relief on Noah’s face when Slade looked up drained some of his tension. He shot to his feet. If not for the table between them, he’d have taken Noah into his arms, no matter who watched.
He controlled the impulse. Barely. “Are you all right?”
Noah gave an odd little smile. “A bit overwhelmed, maybe. I want you to meet someone. Debra, Ed, this is my friend Slade. Slade, this is Aunt Debra and Uncle Ed. It turns out I have family here.”
Aunt and uncle?
All around them, people lifted their plates from in front of them, forming two lines down a buffet table. Noah, his kin, and the witches stayed put. Slade followed their lead. Besides, he couldn’t eat right now anyway. Noah sat across from Slade, the aunt and uncle in front of the witches. Based on the quiet conversation, the elders at the table knew each other well.
“So,” Slade began. “You didn’t find a pack; you found family.” Why the sudden twist in the vicinity of his heart?
“Yeah.” Noah reached into the collar of his T-shirt and pulled out the moon charm. “Can you believe this shows my pack? Aunt Debra says all packs have them, but I never saw Paul with one.” He nodded toward his aunt and uncle. “They have them too. They don’t wear them since they’re now members here, the White River Pack. I came from the Green River Pack.”
“Do they know what happened to your parents?”
Noah cast his eyes downward. “My family was killed in a hunter raid. The survivors thought I was dead too, which is why no one ever came looking for me. You know we revert to wolf form when we die, right? There were so many dead pups everyone assumed I was one of them. That’s all they’d tell me. I guess the whole thing is still painful for them.”
In Slade’s experience, history offered freely usually left out important details. “You believe them?”
Noah slid something across the table. Slade lifted the photo to his nose. Soon, Chuck wouldn’t be the only Slater wearing glasses. Well, damn. Noah’s aunt told the truth. No mistaking the hair, eyes, or smile, though young Noah’s hair formed tight ringlets instead of waves. “This is you?”
Noah nodded. “Yeah. They said my parents named me Andrew.”
“Andrew.” Somehow, calling Noah “Andrew” seemed wrong.
Noah scrunched his face. “I’ve thought of myself as Noah most of my life, regardless of the name on my ID. Mac says I’ve got enough new to deal with right now without worrying about a name.”
Slade agreed. When their guides rose, so did Noah and Slade, waiting their turn in the buffet line.