The Road to Redemption (3 page)

Samantha
didn’t look his way after parking her Harley, merely heading
towards the house. He knew she was expecting him to follow, but a
perverse need to command her attention had him staying where he
was. Besides, he was a rogue; since when did he do anything the
easy way?

Her foot was
on the top step before she paused and cocked her head to the side.
Good. She’d noticed he wasn’t trotting after her like some pup. He
waited smugly for her reaction.

“You coming,
Dante? Or have you seized up already from our fight? If you have,
you’re obviously the wrong rogue for the job and you might as well
head on your way now.” She spoke without turning, her tone hard.
Even her hand remained resting lightly on the railing, no sign of
it clenching in tension. Damien silently acknowledged her
self-confidence. Turning would have meant she needed eye contact to
enforce her authority. And her question was phrased to goad an
answer from him. Smart girl.

He could
remain silent, turn this into a battle of wills, but that wasn’t
his purpose. Some defiance was expected from a rogue, but he needed
to stay within the pack’s good graces if he was to carry out the
mission Kane had sent him on. Going against his natural instincts,
he answered her.

“Coming. Just
admiring the view.”

“View?”

Mentioning her
ass in her snug pants would have been too cliché and, from the
slight stiffening of her shoulders, he could tell that was what she
was expecting. Instead, he kept things neutral. “The moon. It’s
full.”

She glanced
upward, but that was all the acknowledgement she gave the
statement. “Hurry up. I still have things I need to do
tonight.”

Her dismissive
tone irked and he compressed his lips to hold back a snarl. Why the
hell had he agreed to do this job? Weeks of acting subservient to a
slip of a girl and her ineffectual Alpha wasn’t going to be easy.
Did he really need the aggravation? Then he thought of Kane and
Elise and sighed. He’d given his word and he’d stand by it…even if
it drove him insane.

Damien shoved
his keys in his pocket and grabbed his pack. No point in prolonging
things any longer. “I’m ready. Lead the way.”

He eyed the
house as he climbed the steps, noting loose bricks and missing
mortar. It was an old building, rundown and in need of some serious
repairs. Once inside it was easy to see the same applied to the
interior as well. It was clean but begging for a facelift.

“The pack
office is over there.” Samantha gestured towards the front of the
house. “Common rooms, kitchen and dining room are all on the main
floor. Bedrooms are on the second and third levels.”

“Has your pack
been here long?” He asked the question idly as he peered into the
rooms they passed. Most of the furniture he saw had been elegant in
its day, some were even antiques but much of it was long past its
prime.

“We’ve
occupied this particular house for over a century. Why?” Samantha
shot a look at him over her shoulder, a mixture of defensiveness
and suspicion lacing her voice.

“No reason.
Just wondering.” Damien shrugged and said no more. She seemed
prickly and he could imagine it would be all too easy to get into a
meaningless fight.

She led him to
the second floor and then the third, the stairs creaking with age
beneath their weight. Damien listened carefully, trying to detect
how many other wolves might be in the house, but he only heard the
quiet drone of a TV in some far off room. Nor was the air laced
with a multitude of scents; a dozen wolves lived here at best.
Strange. For a pack house of this size, he’d have expected
more.

“You’ll be
staying here.” Samantha opened a door near the end of the hallway
and gestured for him to go ahead.

Damien brushed
past and her scent teased his nostrils; leather and a touch of
exotic spice. It stirred his interest, and his inner wolf perked
its ears wanting to linger and test her scent again. Too bad, boy;
it’s not happening. He continued on into the room.

Trying to
occupy his mind with practicalities, he glanced at his
surroundings. The bedroom was a decent size with a double bed,
dresser, table and chair. An old armoire filled most of one wall
and windows flanked either side of the bed.

“You have your
own bathroom.” Samantha jerked her chin towards a partially open
door. “Towels and sheets are on the end of the bed. If you’re
hungry feel free to raid the kitchen. Just follow your nose and
you’ll find it.” Her tone was abrupt, her expression impassive save
for a few lines of tension around the corners of her mouth.

Damien
wondered what her problem was, not that he really cared. All he
wanted was to be away from her and the uncomfortable awareness she
stirred in him.

“I’ll be
fine.” His words were clipped and to the point.

“Good, I’ll
talk to you in the morning.” With one final assessing glance, she
turned and left.

After pushing
the door shut, Damien tossed his bag in the corner and checked the
windows; old habits were hard to forget. The panes slid open with
little effort and revealed that a branch from a massive chestnut
tree was within reach, as was the downspout from the eaves trough.
If need be, either could provide a means of escape. Satisfied, he
shut the window, stripped and flopped down on the bed willing
himself to rest.

The cross
country drive from Kane’s home in Oregon had been long and he’d
pushed himself to complete it in as few days as possible. Hours on
his motorcycle followed by a good fight had the old injury on his
leg throbbing dully. Come to think of it, his other muscles weren’t
that happy with him either. When he’d left Smythston, he’d jokingly
told Kane he was on the road to redemption. He hadn’t expected
quite these types of road bumps, though!

Being thirty
wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, he thought as he rolled onto
his side and punched his pillow. Better than being dead, he
supposed, though there were days when he questioned that. Another
muscle twinged in his leg and he wondered if Samantha was feeling
any aches and pains from their encounter. An evil side of him hoped
she was. And with that he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Sam stood at the far end of the hallway, listening
to Dante move about his room. He’d opened and shut the windows and
then faint rustling sounds followed. She assumed he was getting
undressed and refused to acknowledge the visual that came to mind.
He was a rogue she’d hired, nothing to get excited about. A thud
indicated he’d flopped on the bed and was followed by slight
protests from the mattress as he adjusted his position. Then
silence. Cocking her head, she waited for five minutes until she
was confident that he was settled for the night, before moving
away.

Dante was on
the third floor; it was hardly used anymore and therefore kept him
away from most of the pack. Her inner wolf murmured its approval of
her decision. It was suspicious of the man. More importantly,
Dante’s location kept him away from her grandfather and his
querulous moods. Her mouth tightened as she thought of her
patriarch, and giving a sigh, she headed down the stairs to the
next level.

Her
grandfather’s room was at the far end of the second floor
hallway—exactly in the opposite direction of Dante’s. As she
approached, telltale boards creaked preventing her from catching
the old man by surprise. She snorted as, after the first squeak,
the TV was suddenly turned off and the shaft of light disappeared
from under his doorway.

She paused
outside the room and shook her head at his attempt to deceive her
before giving a light rap.

“Enter.” His
voice was gravelly with age and fatigue. It was well past his
bedtime.

Sam pushed the
door open and then leaned against the jamb, arms folded as she
stared at the man in the reclining chair. “Grandfather, why are you
still awake?”

“I wasn’t
awake,” he began to protest, but when she raised her brow he paused
and rephrased his statement. “I was dozing. Fell asleep with the TV
on.”

“Right.” She
rolled her eyes making no attempt to hide her disbelief. “You were
waiting up for me.”

He shrugged.
“And if I was?”

Sam pushed off
from the door frame moving to sit on a chair near him. “There’s no
need. I’m perfectly capable of carrying out a simple mission on my
own.”

He appeared
about to protest but then changed his mind and gave a nod. “I
trained you well.”

“That you
did.” She lifted her chin slightly and straightened her spine.

They studied
each other for a moment, the light from the hallway allowing her to
see his thin silvery hair, the lines on his face, his faded blue
eyes. There were no soft words or hugs between the two of them.
That had never been Samuel Harper’s way and, following his example,
it wasn’t hers either. He’d raised his namesake to be tough,
resilient, to do her duty and show no weakness. She’d spent her
entire childhood trying to live up to his expectations and, for the
most part, she’d succeeded.

Finally, he
grunted his approval of her and moved on to the real reason he’d
stayed up. “Did the rogue show? Did he give you any trouble?”

“He showed. I
tested him and he’ll do.”

“He’d better.
Wasting money on a rogue.” He snorted and shook his head before
trying to push himself into a more comfortable position. “Once I’m
back on my feet, none of this…” He began to cough, the results of a
persistent cold he was still struggling to overcome. Sam
instinctively reached out to help him.

“Let me…”

“No fussing!
I’m not an invalid, you know!” His sharp tone had her freezing in
place while her inner wolf shrunk towards the ground in the face of
the Alpha’s ire.

“Of course.”
She subsided, biting back the retort that had sprung to her lips.
Age and an old back injury had left him mostly confined to his room
these past years, but he refused to acknowledge he was no longer
physically capable of running the pack. Instead, she served as
‘acting Alpha’ while he retained the official title. It irked that
few knew she was really the one doing all the work and calling the
shots, but short of publicly revealing his weakness there wasn’t
much she could do about the situation. Her time would come; it was
just hard to be patient.

He sank back
in his chair, fatigue and frustration showing in his face and his
voice. “Keep the rogue in line. Don’t put up with any nonsense from
him. Knock him down the minute he starts to give you any trouble.
Got that?”

“Yes. I know
how—”

“And watch out
for that bastard, Sinclair. He’s sharp. He’ll use every trick in
the book to try to take our land, but don’t let him.”

“I have it
covered, don’t—”

“And remember
to watch what you spend. Finances are tight right now and we can’t
afford—”

“I
know
, Grandfather. I’m well aware of the situation.” Fed up,
Sam cut him off and got to her feet. She didn’t need him to tell
her what to do. She’d been running the pack for years now. Taking a
deep breath, she reined in her temper. He was old and ill and
sometimes forgot she was an adult, not some young pup in training.
Gentling her voice, she continued. “Don’t worry, everything is
under control.”

He scowled.
“It’d better be. I might get up tomorrow to check things out, so
make sure you’re ready.”

“I will be.”
It was a threat he used often, but he never followed through. “See
you in the morning.”

He closed his
eyes, effectively dismissing her. No ‘goodbye’ or ‘sleep well’
passed his lips. It wasn’t his way.

Sam stared at
him for a moment, once again struck by the conflicting emotions he
evoked in her. He’d raised her and she respected him, loved him
even, but there was always a distance between them, as if he was
keeping his feelings firmly in check. What would it have been like
to have had a grandfather that doted on you? To have gone on trips
to the amusement park or to have been pushed on a swing? From her
earliest memory he’d ‘trained’ her to take over the pack.
Kickboxing and bookkeeping; no dance lessons or parties with frilly
dresses for her. Not that she’d have wanted to be decked out in
pink lace but sometimes…sometimes it would be nice to get a word of
praise for a job well done, to have some acknowledgement of all
she’d accomplished. Unfortunately, it wasn’t about to happen.
Samuel Harper, Sr. wasn’t about to let go of the reins nor was he
going to change his ways.

Giving a sigh,
she left his room, shutting the door quietly behind her. There was
no point in bemoaning what she couldn’t have.

The house was
quiet, only the sound of her own footsteps and the ticking of the
hall clock met her ears as she walked downstairs towards her
office. It wasn’t often that she had the house to herself; well as
‘to herself’ as possible with a rogue sleeping overhead and her
grandfather in his quarters. Still, it was nice not to be
constantly on call.

She’d sent
most of the pack out for a run to celebrate the full moon, figuring
it would keep them busy and out of the way while she sized up the
rogue. A quick glance at the clock showed it would be several hours
before they returned from the nature preserve they typically used.
That gave her lots of undisturbed time to get some work done. She
had bills to pay, correspondence to deal with and—she couldn’t hold
back the large yawn that overtook her—she desperately needed to get
some sleep. Dealing with Dante in the morning would require her to
be alert and on her toes. Pushing open the window, she let the warm
night air spill in before settling down at her desk.

How long he
rested, Damien had no idea, but at some point he realized he was
hot. Too hot. He tried to push the covers off, to escape the
warmth, but he couldn’t. Heat surrounded him. The air was thick,
acrid. It stung his nostrils and dried his throat. Smoke began to
drift by, blurring his vision and stinging his eyes. What was going
on? A fire?