Above This Grave (The Cloven Pack Series: Book Three) Page 5

  I find my gym shorts and shoes and pull them on, skipping the option of a shirt. I have a good hour before the sun comes up. The gym would be empty for a while until Ben or Evo came in.

  I walk into the muggy night air and instinctively scan the trees for danger as I head toward the gym. Dyson’s wolf catches my eyes and I hold the contact until he turns away and continues his patrol. His tail flicks as he disappears back into the trees.

  I know I’ll have to talk to him soon, but I’m not ready yet. I can only deal with one problem at a time. Dyson is lower on my list than my mental well-being. Not to mention actually mating my flighty mate.

  Opening the gym door, I flip on the lights and head toward the Bluetooth audio. I plug in my phone and crank the music loud enough to drown out my own thoughts, but not loud enough to wake the rest of the Pack.

  Satisfied with the song, I walk over to the treadmill and stretch my muscles while staring at my empty eyes in the mirrors that line the walls. My eyes look ghostly, haunted, empty.

  I look away from the man I no longer recognize, step on the belt of the treadmill, and adjust the speed.

  If my dream would have gone any further into the memory, I wouldn’t have been able to calm my wolf. I fear that he’ll take me under again, and this time, I won’t have my mate to pull me out. I’d be in the dark, a black void . . . ceasing to exist.

  Irene’s face flashes in my memory, my heart skips a beat. She’s supposed to come back tonight to check on Kenna. We’ll have to see if she follows through.

  I’m beating on the punching bag when a hand touches my shoulder. I turn the swing of my balled-up hand and connect before I think it through. I retract my fist from Ben’s jaw—his head barely shifted to the side. The man is a brick wall. I watch as his eyes glow wolf for a moment before he shakes his head in a quick motion.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” I mumble before unwrapping the tape from my right hand.

  Ben searches my face and considers my words before he speaks. “I called your name a few times.”

  I shrug and move to throw the tape into a nearby trash can. “Didn’t hear it.”

  I see Ben fold his arms over his chest from the reflection in the mirrors. “What’s going on with you, Flint? Bre’s worried and so am I.”

  I turn to face him and lean against the mirrors, the cold surface refreshing against my hot skin. “Nothing,” I say casually.

  His jaw ticks from my flippant attitude. “Don’t try that bullshit with me,” he pauses, his voice lowering. “Your wolf is out of control, isn’t he?”

  I shrug with indifference. “That’s not your problem.”

  He strides over to me and grips my shoulder. “It is, Flint. He’s a danger to you and a danger to the Pack.” He grits his teeth and speaks through them, “Get him under control.”

  I shake his hands from my shoulders. “Easier said than done.”

  “Yeah,” he says, visibly relaxing and rubbing the tension from the back of his neck. “Look, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that. I’d like to teach you Krav Maga.” I laugh without humor. How the hell was that going to help? “My wolf and I—we have a lot of anger problems—” I cut him off again with a snort. I’ve seen first-hand what kind of damage his ‘anger problems’ cause.

  “It helps, Flint,” he mumbles.

  I give him a considering expression from the corner of my eye.

  “Couldn’t hurt, could it?” Ben asks when my silence stretches on.

  At this point, what could it hurt? I shrug, my wet shoulders sliding easily against the mirror. “Why not.”

  Pushing off the wall and grabbing a small towel from the rack, I wipe the sweat from my face before moving to my neck.

  “Good,” he says, removing his shirt. “We’ll start now.”

  I whip my head back around. “Right now?”

  I had planned to go to the pond to sit and wait for Kenna. We had been meeting there, unscheduled, the last few mornings. She would reflect on her own life while I did the same.

  Kenna may act like she’s over the torture she endured by her brother, but I know better, and she with me. Her dreams still haunt her and her eyes still hold that same blank look that mine do. Whether she voices that aloud, it doesn’t matter. I’m observant—I know she isn’t sleeping well. I see her when her mind wanders, and I know where it takes her. I see her mate watch her closely, not because of the pregnancy—though it looks that way from the outside—but because her thoughts can take her to dark places. I get that.

  We sit at the pond for our quiet time—to get away from the stares of sympathy and the watchful eyes. She knows what I’m going through, and I find it refreshing that I don’t have to explain myself around her. She pries at times, but for the most part, she respects my silence and avoidance.

  Ben flings his shirt to the side and it slides across the mats to the wall. “Yes, right now. I know you and I have had a few rough encounters, but let’s set that aside. I’m here to help you, Flint.” He takes my disbelief for self-preservation. Lately, I don’t care so much about self-preservation, but I’ll let him take it however he wants.

  I throw my towel into the laundry basket and walk over to stand in front of the once-intimidating male. Since I went through what I went through, not much intimidates me anymore.

  He quirks an eyebrow and his eyes roam over my stance. He frowns and angles his foot forward. His nudges my feet apart, one placed back farther than the other. Nodding in satisfaction, he taps his shoulders. “Place your hands here.”

  I roll my eyes and let out a sigh, but do as he wishes. Leaving his fists open, he quickly jabs away both my arms and his elbow connects to my chin before I can blink. I take a step back, my eyes widening in surprise.

  He allows a small smile of satisfaction. “Everything you do, every move you make, will come from one simple fighting position.” He bends to my legs and places them in the same position he did a moment ago. He stands up and mimics the same stance, but shifts his body slightly to the right. “Always keep your elbows close to your body and your hands slightly open.” He places his open hands close to his face and gestures for me to do the same. “This stance—your feet, your hands—will make it easier for you to adjust to any oncoming assault.”

  I nod and tuck my elbows in. “Every punch to the face should be here.” In slow motion, he uses his fist to fake-punch my eye, nose, jaw, and throat. “The purpose is to neutralize the threat, but keep it simple. Knowing the points of weakness can take down the threat faster than blindly throwing punches.”

  I listen carefully to his teachings, my wolf paying close attention. At some point during the lesson, the Pack trickles in, silently watching Ben and I as they lift. I can hear Evo chuckle each time I land on my back, but I don’t give him much consideration. I’m content on absorbing Ben’s movements and storing it in my brain, and blocking out the distractions become easier as the time goes by. At the end of the lesson, Ben asks me to show him what I’ve learned, using him as a demonstration.

  We get into our fighting stance and he comes at me, intent on landing a blow to my cheekbone. I swallow the flash of memory before it blossoms into something more. I block his fist with an outstretched hand, twist his wrist, and kick out my foot, sending him staggering back a few feet.

  The wind gushes out of his lungs and he coughs for a moment before turning his eyes to mine.

  Jeremy whistles in the background as a smile spreads across Ben’s face. He stands upright. “Excellent.”

  “Me next,” Bre demands.

  I frown, not realizing Ben had been teaching her during my absence. I may just get my ass handed to me.

  She stands in front of me, her stance as perfect as Ben’s.

  I clear my throat, a little worried when nothingness replaces her cheerful smile. “Go easy on me.”

  She laughs without humor. “Not a chance. I’ve got months of you picking on me to make up for.”

  Chapter Six

  Flin
t Rockland

  I throw the box into the moving van and turn to Ben. “This is it? Only one mated couple and two other wolves? What happened to the rest of their Pack?” I wipe the sweat from my brow. It’s a humid day—uncharacteristic for this time of year.

  Bre places her hands on her hips and scans the outside of the cabins, searching for an answer. “It looks so different without all the snow. Pretty, actually, if it wasn’t marred with bad memories.”

  She’s right—it is a nice view, but this territory holds memories none of us wish to revisit. The sooner we get off this land, the better.

  She turns back to Ben. “I thought there were more wolves coming to our territory. What happened to them?” she whispers.

  Ben breathes out a sigh and scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

  A Gray Pack wolf shifter—I suppose he would be Cloven Pack now—walks up to the van and throws his suitcase in. He turns to me first and holds out his hand for me to shake. “Romaine,” he introduces himself.

  He has Greek-like features—his jaw is square, broad shoulders, small hips, and his wavy hair is jet black. He turns to Ben and Bre and shakes their hand as well.

  Romaine wipes the sweat off his forehead and releases a reluctant breath. “We have a problem,” he begins.

  “The problem being half your wolves disappeared?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He nods and shifts his weight to the other foot. I note the nervous habit. “They disappeared a few weeks ago.”

  Ben’s forehead scrunches in frustration. “And you’re just now telling us this? Why didn’t you call when you noticed they left?”

  He shrugs and shifts his weight again. “We were afraid you wouldn’t take us in.”

  A red-headed female breaks our eye contact as she walks through the middle of us. “If there was only a few of us left, we worried you’d send us away instead of adding us to your Pack,” she says before throwing a small box on top of the others in the van. “Victoria.” She waves to our group as a way of introducing herself. She pulls out a piece of gum from her pocket and pops it into her mouth. She chews with a smack and I visibly cringe.

  Ben smiles, like he has his own private joke. “Nice to finally meet you, Victoria.”

  She frowns at him and shields her eyes from the sun to get a better look. “Do I know you?” she asks.

  Ben laughs. Hearing him laugh is still so new to me. The Ben I remember was an asshole. Hard, rigid, workaholic.

  “Not exactly,” he replies before turning to Romaine. “Where are the other Gray Pack members?”

  Romaine shrugs and stuffs his hands in the pocket of his jeans. Another nervous gesture. “We don’t know. One night, they were here, and the next morning, they were gone.”

  I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the back of the moving van. “No warning? None at all?”

  Victoria shakes her head, her short red hair waving, before her eyes light up. “Someone was also in the Alpha house. I didn’t think anything of it until now.” She switches her eyes between Ben and me and pops her gum. I cringe again, biting my tongue and holding back unfriendly words about her annoying habit. “Can they be related?”

  Romaine looks down at her, confusion taking over his nervousness. “You didn’t tell us that.”

  Dismissing his attitude, she shrugs. “Like I said, I didn’t think much of it. I went in there to check the message machine and most of the lights were on.”

  I sigh and turn my elevated eyebrows to Ben. Ben slowly shakes his head in a disapproving motion, turns on his heel, and strides to the house. He’s just as miffed as I am that this Pack had kept so much from us without meaning to. These wolves had no training, whatsoever. It tells what kind of a leader George Kenner really was.

  The rest of the group follow, including the mated pair, Jessup and Evalyn. They briefly introduce themselves to Ben, stopping him on his mission, as they are walking to the house.

  I wait for a few seconds, listening to their brief conversation and debate whether to follow or not. Curiosity gets the better of me. Using my shoulders to push off the van, I trail behind the group.

  When I was brought here before, I never saw the house. The drugs had prevented that. But now that I’m up close and personal to the house my torturer once resided in, I note a few details.

  The white house is well-kept. The windows shine in the heat of the sun without a streak on them. The siding is pristine white, not a speck of dirt from last fall. No dead leaves, sticks, or new weeds grow in the rock garden. Neatly trimmed and pruned vegetation grows around the house, and the beginning of new vines are already creeping up the siding.

  Someone had taken care of this place well. My guess is that landscaping the Alpha’s house was an appointed duty, and not one George Kenner did himself. He didn’t strike me as the type to get dirt under his perfectly manicured fingernails.

  Even though Kelsey maintains our landscaping, it wasn’t an appointed duty. She has never been satisfied with anyone else touching it, which is fine by me. If asked, I’d mow over every flower and bush and call it a successful day. Pruning and trimming are for the birds.

  The group heads into the house as I step onto the concrete porch. In gold plates, the numbers 3113 adorn the siding next to the front door.

  I take a moment to breathe deeply before I follow them in.

  The interior is old-fashioned. Old rugs decorate the original hardwood floors. I swipe my hand along the entrance side table, noting the degree of dust resting there. Since George Kenner was killed, no one had been in this house to clean. This will make it easier for me.

  I take careful steps down the hall. The group heads to the kitchen to see if anyone was stealing food, but I have a different area of searching in mind.

  The floor creaks as I make my way down the narrow hall. All the doors are open, except one. That tells me what’s off.

  Before reaching the closed door, I lower myself to the floor. The sun is trickling in through the other end of the hallway, giving me the perfect opportunity. Yep, I think to myself. In a path down the middle of the floor, the layers of dust have been disturbed. Someone had headed this way and entered this closed door, where the path disappears to.

  I rise off the floor and turn the knob. The smell of peppermint assaults my nose and stirs a growl from my wolf before I get a chance to look inside.

  It’s an office. Neatly stacked papers still lay on the desk along with paperweights and office supplies. No one has touched the desk. Behind it are rows of books on shelves, organized alphabetically. I walk over to them, angling my head just so, and note that the dust hasn’t been disturbed on any of these shelves.

  I continue to scope out the room for anything out of place. The chairs are neatly placed in front of the desk, the curtains are hung off to the side with perfect drooping drapes. I’m getting the idea that George Kenner was a neat freak.

  None of the knick-knacks, as Kelsey calls them, have been disturbed. Stumped, I frown and visually sweep the room one more time. Nothing seems out of place, everything has a spot, so where . . .

  My thoughts trail off as my eyes land on the only picture hanging on the wall. Framed in elegantly carved wood is a picture of George, signed by the man himself. A self-portrait done with precise clay strokes.

  I walk up to the large, crooked picture and scan the wooden frame. Dust has been wiped off in the shape of four fingers on the left and right side of the frame. I take the picture off the wall and a safe door stares back at me.

  “What did you find, Sherlock Holmes?” Bre asks from behind me. She had tried her damnedest to be stealthy, but I’d heard the floorboards creak in the hallway as she made her way down it.

  “Well Mast-a,” I say with a high-pitched female western accent, “I’ve been a busy little bee and just happened to cross this here metal box.” I dip the same tone of voice and accent down to a whisper. “Mast-a, do you thank they were-a hidin’ somethin’?”

  “Asshole
,” she teases. “That’s not how Sherlock Holmes sounds.” She stands on her tip toes and peeks over my shoulder at the small safe inside the wall.

  “I don’t know what she sounds like. I don’t watch movies,” I grumble.

  “She is a he . . . and it’s a well-known book character.”

  “He sounds like a she, and I don’t read books.”

  “Ah,” she says with a sigh. “Everything that’s wrong with you now makes perfect sense.”

  I roll my eyes and we stare at the safe.

  When the others trickle in, Victoria walks right up to the safe and enters the code. 3113, I note—the same number as the house address. I store that away with all the other useless information I keep in my brain.

  She takes a step back when the small door clicks and swings open. “It’s empty,” she voices with disbelief.

  I lean against the desk and fold my arms across my chest. “And a gold star for you,” I mock.

  Victoria shoots me a glare and Bre nudges me with her elbow. A small part of me was hoping for a little buried treasure.

  “What was in the safe?” Ben asks, flipping through the papers on George’s desk.

  Victoria blows out a breath and taps her thighs with her thumbs. “Money, I guess. I’ve seen him put a couple stacks in there.” She looks back at the empty safe. “I’m not sure what else he could have in there. It’s not that big.”

  She pops her gum again and my mind-to-mouth filter evaporates into dust. I growl and hold out my hand to her. “Spit it out,” I say between clenched teeth.

  Shock takes over her face before she drops the gum into my hand with a glob of spit. I stare at it, fighting the urge to fling it off.

  “Your wish is my command,” she says with a smile.

  I growl and search for a small trash bin before dumping it inside. I go back to my spot and dramatically wipe my hand with her shirt. She cringes.

  “What, exactly, was your job here?” I ask, twirling my hand in the air to indicate the house or Pack.

  Victoria places her hands on her hips when Bre cautions my attitude, growling my name in warning.