Searching for Home (Wolves of West Valley Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Book 1: The Missing Queen

  Book 2: The Ripple Effect

  Book 3: The Lost Tiro

  Book 4: The Long Journey

  White Star (Wolves of West Valley Book 1) Preview

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

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  Searching For Home

  Wolves of West Valley | Book 2

  Sarah J. Stone

  Contents

  Searching for Home

  Extras

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  Searching for Home

  Chapter One

  Living alone is hard on anyone.

  It's harder when the flames of hell are nipping at your heels, screaming at you to keep going. Singeing away any chances you have to grow roots or rebuild your life.

  The hotel he'd been staying in for the last couple days hadn't been updated since it was built in the sixties. The paint was faded, chipping off like someone had taken an ice pick to it. The furniture was an off-red orange that he was sure was the cause of his growing headaches.

  The summer sun sent waves of heat off the cars in the lot, making it look like the hotel was under water. A couple teens passed his window, pool floats in hand, and he suddenly felt old at just twenty-six.

  It was only a couple hours before noon. and he was already wishing the day was over.

  Anthony didn't get to stop anywhere for long.

  Not if he wanted to survive.

  He had money; that wasn't the problem. At least another sixty thousand were tucked away for him to use if he needed it. His worries were more tangible, his hazards more dangerous than a late bill.

  He let the blinds slip closed and made his way to the sink. The coast was clear. He wasn’t found yet. He could leave without worry of someone on his tail. The old box-shaped television was gritting and fuzzing out the news from a small city more than a hundred miles away, and he listened to what words he could parse out as he made his way to the mold-ridden bathroom. His stubble was starting to come in, causing coarse scratching sounds as he itched his chin. He'd get razors next time he stopped in a store.

  His face was still dripping from having washed it as he packed the last of his things. He'd only let himself stay for a couple days to scout out any information he could. Nobody liked to talk to strangers in these small towns, but they were the safest places for him. He had to try. Throwing his faded, green duffle bag over his shoulder, Anthony started out to another round of driving.

  He hated road trips growing up. That hadn’t changed

  A map on his phone told him where to go, marked by pack and then with notes on the likelihood of them accepting him. He’d never thought he’d be planning a cross-country drive, much less one with such hazardous stops.

  He knew that if he could just get one person to listen to him, if he could plead his case, he'd have an in. Anyone he could get on his side would be able to help him further his cause. He’d be able to settle into the pack. He'd been to three different packs so far, only one of them had even started to accept him before his shadow caught up to him.

  Each started by sniffing him out, checking if he was all that he said he was. This would include a background check and a few interviews. Sometimes, he’d have to stand up at a pack meeting and do a full introduction to plead his case.

  Then they'd either decide on a vote, or the Alpha of the pack would decide personally. He wasn’t sure which was better for him, or which yielded the better chance of acceptance.

  Most packs weren't open to newcomers unless they were from the Alpha family line. Anthony didn't have that blessing. When he shifted into his wolf, he was almost entirely brown, with dark gray on his snout and paws. No bright, twinkling star to mark him or place him in everyone's favor on sight – he had to actually work for it. Not like the lucky ones who had everything handed to them.

  The Alphas seemed to be getting younger and younger.

  When he grew up, they were all old men, there to guide not only because of their breeding but also their experience. The Alpha of the last pack he'd been to had hardly looked like he was out of high school. He couldn't blame them for telling him to move on. In the end, if you can't have complete faith in your leader, then the whole pack was in jeopardy.

  Starting his car, he left the tiny hotel’s lot and headed back to his mission. If he gave up he would either have to accept a life of loneliness or a life of madness, and he didn’t know which was worse. The road ahead of him stretched on, and Anthony checked his phone again.

  His next stop was two day's drive out.

  A town named West Valley.

  Chapter Two

  “Momma, I'm leaving for work soon,” Sierra hollered from her tiny bathroom. Her strawberry-blonde hair kept trying to slip free of her fingers as she forced it into a stubby ponytail. She'd regretted cutting her hair every day since she'd done it. Shoving a couple clips into her hair, she gave up on fussing with it. “I'll be back before your late show ends, okay?” She went from room to room gathering what she needed. A smear of lipstick here, a lint roll to remove dryer lint there – she was settled into a very familiar pattern.

  Walking out to the living room, she hugged her mother tight, kissing her forehead. Her mother settled in against her, smelling like strawberry preserves and soap. Sierra pulled back and looked over her, not quite the woman she was ten years ago. The clock in the hall hit the half hour chime, shoving her back into action.

  “Miss Jean next door will check on you around nine. Be nice to her,” she said. Grabbing the sleeve of her jacket, she wiped away the smudge of red lipstick she’d accidentally gotten on her mother’s face.

  “She doesn't need to.” Her mother's eyes lit angrily. She was having a clear day. Sometimes, these were worse than those clouded by her dementia. She'd become cruel from the illness, and it
hurt Sierra to watch it happen.

  “I know, but do me a favor and say hi to her anyway so that she doesn't call me in a scare like last week,” Sierra said gently, almost conspiratorially. “I'll bring home some of that chocolate cake you like,” she added.

  “All right,” her mother nodded, settling further down into the plush sofa. She pulled the remote against her stomach and chewed on nothing as she started watching the screen again.

  This isn't where Sierra thought she'd be three years away from thirty.

  She felt guilty even thinking about complaining, though.

  She had to go.

  Shoving her purse into the passenger seat, she started her cruddy leased car – and along with it, the struggle she faced every day.

  Vehicles have that magic about them.

  Every damned time Sierra sat behind the wheel, she considered leaving the small town behind and just running off and finding some huge city to get lost in where she wouldn't have to be her mother's nurse. Where she wouldn't have to work a job where her uniform involved a miniskirt and corset.

  The Casino, the only name it'd ever had, was one of the only places people in town could get work.

  Her mother had worked there for nearly thirty years before her decline, and Sierra had followed in her footsteps as if the heels were made for her. She hated it. It felt predictable and boring. The work was embarrassing at best, dangerous at worst.

  The customers were just barely better than having to watch her mother slip away.

  There were three types.

  First, the older people – retired and with nothing to do – who would come into the casino during the morning shifts and sit and play the penny and nickel machines for hours and hours. Watching them made it feel like they'd never really retired. As if they had just found a new job where the work was pulling a lever and hoping you got paid instead of paying. Favorites with this crowd were keno and slots.

  Second were the drunks. These came in all ages and sizes. The men would try to pinch her ass, call her ‘doll’ (if they were being kind), and worse names the more they drank. She had to be kind and had to keep her temper even. No starting fights with customers or you were out of a job. Losing a job out there was a promise of having to live off dried instant noodles for months until another opportunity came up. She couldn't afford that with her mother's medical bills.

  So, she didn't react, but kept a mental list of which men did it so that she could keep herself more guarded around them.

  Finally, the last of the three, and possibly the worst, were the people with a true problem. They might present as a drunk, or they may almost seem normal when they walk in, but they were only playing to replace something else. Some would become addicted, spending rent, house payments, or their kid's tuition, in the hopes of filling that gaping hole in their chest. These were heartbreaking to watch, but she wasn't allowed to discourage them.

  If they wanted to miss their rent, they were putting in money that would be paying hers.

  Those in the last category would come in strong, but by the end would be a depressed mess. One man had lost so bad that he'd driven off a cliff on the way back into town rather than tell his wife he'd spent their retirement savings. His wife didn't even get a life insurance check off him.

  “Hey, sugar, can I get another?” an older man asked, leering at her as she walked onto the floor.

  Sierra smiled, letting her dimples come out to play. “Sure, an old fashioned?” she guessed from what remained in the glass. For someone who only really liked shots or beer, she was getting incredibly good at telling which drinks were which just by the color.

  “That'd be it,” he agreed, turning back to the table ahead of him. The dealer glanced up, and Sierra slipped her a small nod. The more the players had to drink, the easier it was for the dealers to do their job. It wasn’t ethical, maybe not even legal, but it was a game in itself. Either they go broke or you do – eat or be eaten.

  The evening was slow, and she found herself paying more attention to some customers than she needed to.

  “This is yours,” the man who'd been sipping old fashions said, handing Sierra a twenty-dollar bill after he got paid out almost two hundred.

  “That's so kind, thank you so much,” she said, and her voice was genuine. She glanced over to make sure the dealer was tipped too before slipping the bill into her pocket.

  “You're my lucky charm. Why don't you come sit with me at the machines?” he asked. His hand wandered to her lower back, slipping over the top of her ass before she stepped away from him.

  “Sorry, I have to help in the back,” she apologized, trying to sound sincere even though she wanted to smack his hand when it started back toward her.

  “Aw that's a shame,” he said, the alcohol very visibly taking effect on him.

  “I'm sure your good luck will keep up,” she encouraged him. “Before you go, though, let me know and I’ll order you a cab,” she added before walking to the back.

  She'd been trying to kick the habit. She knew it was bad for her, that it grossed other people out, that it didn’t smell great, but working there was driving her to reach for a cigarette almost once a shift now. Every moment of getting to smoke was delicious to her, from the sound of her fingers against the smooth paper, to the taste of the first inhale. It was bad for her, but she needed it

  It wasn’t an exaggeration to say the job was stealing the life from her. She hadn’t looked for any other work since her first year working there. It paid almost double minimum wage, and she couldn’t risk losing that.

  Still, this wasn’t the life she wanted.

  She was going to get out of West Valley if it killed her.

  Chapter Three

  His dreams were always of home.

  Always of pack meetings.

  If he was lucky, he’d get to talk to his mother or sisters. He was the man of the family, but they were all equals. Everyone would be drinking, enjoying themselves, being alive.

  Alive.

  There was a bang on his window, and Anthony startled into wakefulness. His face was wet. It didn’t matter if it was sweat or tears. He wiped it off with his shirt and tried to make sense of where he was.

  A field in the middle of nowhere.

  In the backseat of his car.

  He remembered why he was there, and it was like they’d died again. He fought this down and swallowed the thoughts with a dry mouth. He would kill for water.

  There was a knock on his window again.

  Anthony startled, looking over, and squinting in the morning light. A man, probably in his late sixties, was leaning against his car and looking in.

  “You’re on my land, son,” the farmer said, backing away from the door.

  Anthony noticed a shotgun by his side. Being in an open carry state, he was lucky the man didn’t shoot him for trespassing.

  “Sorry,” Anthony’s voice came out in a deep gravel from disuse. “I thought it was just a country road, I was just trying to sleep a bit. I’ll be on my way,” he said respectfully. His tongue was dry like sandpaper in his mouth, and his stomach growled.

  “Do you have any guns or weapons?”

  “No.”

  The farmer stared off at the distant highway for a moment, and then looked back at Anthony.

  “The wife told me to offer you breakfast and coffee if you want it. Come on.” The farmer motioned to him, heading off to a farmhouse not far away. Anthony would have killed for a life like this. Comfortable, able to trust people. Having someone who lived with him and loved him.

  Anthony shut his car door and straightened his clothing before following.

  ***

  The rest of the day wasn’t so kind.

  He’d lost time. He had wanted to arrive in the morning, and as he finally got back on the road, it was already after noon. He didn’t let himself stop for anything but gas stations, didn’t take any breaks or breathers.

  The sun was
setting, pouring painful, grapefruit colored light right into his tired eyes when he finally neared West Valley.

  Anthony's body ached from the drive; sitting so unnaturally for so long wasn't great for his back. A diet of mostly junk food from drive-thrus, save for the farmers who served him a proper breakfast, wasn't great for the rest of him either. He tried to work out between drives. He was still in good shape, but he could feel his joints and stomach paying for it. He was dog tired, sick of the quiet that filled the car when the radio stopped picking up stations, and was ready to collapse into whatever soft surface he could find to sleep on.

  His mind was racing out of boredom, though, and he let his thoughts go where they pleased.

  He couldn't stay in town tonight, that much was clear.

  Packs are, for obvious reasons, extremely territorial. Shifters can come or go through an area without knowing about a pack, and there are no hard feelings, but if a shifter deliberately goes into another pack's territory without permission there can be problems. Especially in recent times.

  Anthony missed having a pack, having a family, but he shoved it down and swallowed the feelings. It was something he'd deal with after a good meal and enough sleep to settle his mind. No use running his brain ragged when his body was already exhausted.

  A large, glittering sign, garish with flashing lights and words, came into sight. It almost outdid the eyesore of the setting sun, and he squinted at it to make sense of what it said.

  “The Casino, only three miles out, Stay A While,” it blinked and shimmered at him, a siren’s call to enjoy himself for a while. It felt like a place to trap not only tourists, but also the locals. Probably a good spot to gather information on the local pack, if he was smart about it. He turned on the road it pointed to, leading him away from West Valley and down into the shadow of the mountain.

  He silently hoped they had alcohol as well as food. He obviously couldn’t drink before driving, and the last town he stopped in was in a dry county. Alcohol and a game or two would be enough to unwind him for sleep.