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

  Sunspots glittered golden in his vision every time he blinked, the aftermath of not bringing or buying sunglasses. The road looked freshly paved, and as he started down it, he realized he wasn't the only driver out and about anymore. More cars than he expected were filing in and out of the area. He tried to catch glimpses of the faces of the drivers, but he couldn't see much of them. It wouldn't have helped, as it's hard to just look at someone and see if they're a shifter or not. His desperation to know anything about the pack was clouding his logical thinking.

  The Casino – just as bright and showy as its sign was – finally came into view, and he was relieved to see there was a hotel attached.

  His body recognized it as well, and he physically slouched into his seat a bit in relief. He'd been close to considering just pulling off on a dirt road and sleeping in the backseat again. There weren't any restaurants in view to help with his roaring stomach, but he was sure the Casino would have at least a little something.

  He got a room for the week, unwillingly giving them his name and credit card. He didn’t carry cash on the road – too easy to rob and take advantage of – but he didn’t want to have a paper trail either.

  Anthony hated anything that could identify him, anything that could cause a bit of his past to be able to hunt him down.

  He unpacked.

  It didn't matter how long he'd stay somewhere, or how often he moved. Anthony always unpacked. It was some vestigial action that held strong, this tiny hope that someday he'd be able to unpack and never have to pack up again. That he'd be able to finally grow his roots deep and let his belongings gather a little dust from sitting still. It didn’t matter if he was in hotels and obviously wouldn’t be staying in that room even if he moved to that town, he unpacked.

  When he was a kid, he used to dream about leaving his small hometown. To get on a plane and never look back.

  He would pay every last cent of his money now to never have to see the open road again.

  It doesn't work that way, though. A shifter needs a pack.

  Those who go without social interaction with other shifters, those who can never shift again, eventually lose their minds. They slip into a deep depression and disordered way of living that they can't control themselves anymore. Outbreaks happen. People get mauled or attacked. One shifter in Florida a few years back half shifted in public and wasn’t stopped until he’d eaten part of a stranger’s face off. He knew that what he was doing was for a reason. He just didn't want to have to deal with it anymore.

  Showering to remove any stink of travel, he changed into a clean pair of jeans and a shirt, and headed out to the Casino.

  A large crowd of people were loitering out front of it. Cigarette smoke filled the air like it was replacing it, and the people spoke loudly and energetically like they'd not seen each other in years. One woman who was bragging about her wins eyeballed Anthony like he was a far better prize.

  He nodded his hello, and then headed in.

  He wasn’t going to waste his energy starting a relationship somewhere he may not stay, much less get himself raveled up in any small town drama that might happen from that.

  His thoughts vanished the moment he stepped in.

  The place was filled with the stench of other shifters.

  They were there, all right, but he couldn't be entirely sure which people they were. Shifters, especially Alphas, had a certain smell that was instantly recognizable. Only problem was that when they were packed in tight with non-shifters, it was hard to tell one from the other.

  The music that was pumping out of the speakers was fast paced and loud, something he'd expect more from a nightclub than from a casino filled mostly with people in their forties. He slipped through a few people and made his way to the bar.

  There was food on the menu.

  Thank god.

  He ordered a burger, fries, and a beer. He'd be ashamed of the cliché if he even gave the slightest fuck what anyone around him thought. While he waited, he watched the room for any signs of shifters. There were definitely people who were stressed. He could smell the worry on them, could tell that a lot of people had a lot riding on what they were doing in there. Only a couple people seemed to be strangers from out of town like him. He narrowed them out of the pool of possibility.

  His burger came, and when he looked up, he realized it wasn't the surly barkeep who had taken his order.

  The woman in front of him was to die for.

  Any appetite he thought he had for food was borderline nonexistent for how he felt when he saw her.

  She was about six inches shorter than him, but her curves could have knocked him flat out. The skimpy uniform she was wearing was basically a glorified Halloween costume – snug and sexy, hugging to her hips and her chest. Her heels made her ass stand out, made her legs look longer, and he wanted his hands on every bit of her.

  Don’t get him started on her face, though.

  Her features were soft, beautiful. She had makeup on and was trying to look serious, but he was still taken aback by how gorgeous she was under that facade. Large, intelligent eyes, a perky nose, big, plush lips with a red lipstick he wanted to make a mess of. Her light reddish-blonde hair was sleek and back, and he wondered how it would look down and on her shoulders.

  How she'd look disheveled, out of this costume.

  “Thank you,” he managed to say as she set down his food.

  “Can I get you anything else?” she asked. She looked like she was already prepared to go do what she had to do next.

  She was on the job, and he knew better than to be sleazy to people who were being paid to be nice.

  “Just your name,” he answered anyway, unable to help himself.

  “Sierra,” she said as she walked off. He couldn't help but watch as she left, that miniskirt hugging to her like she was vacuum packed into it. Even if he couldn't get in contact with the pack, this stop didn't have to be a complete waste.

  Chapter Four

  Another man eyeballing her like a piece of meat.

  Great.

  Sierra tried to convince herself that he didn't interest her, but he was freaking gorgeous. She glanced back at him when she was sure he wasn't looking, and got a good look.

  He was muscular, she could see that much was lying beneath his t-shirt and jeans. His face was stern and serious when he didn't know she was looking. He seemed to have something on his mind. Sitting down, he looked like he might be around six-feet tall, maybe a little taller, his height topped off with short, black hair that looked like it was due for another cut.

  His eyes were what caught her off guard, though.

  They were dark and colorless, not even brown like her father's had been – no color in them but a hungry black. She felt like his eyes could have sucked in a less prepared woman, but she wasn't just going to fall for some random man because he had interesting eyes and a gorgeous face.

  He looked like he just made it into town and was planning on leaving soon. She wasn't going to be dumb and go after a drifter. More than just a few of the waitresses had children who were from fathers that had only been in town one night. Sierra didn't need another complication to anchor her down to the small town.

  When his glass emptied, she noticed him looking for her, but she ducked out of sight until the bartender handled it.

  Best not to be tempted.

  Once he finished eating, he played one round.

  He won, and left.

  Not many people that came through were able to quit while they were ahead.

  The rest of her shift she tried to put him out of her mind. If she just didn't think about him, she'd be able to forget him and not realize when he left town.

  It didn't prove successful.

  She was still thinking about him when she left work.

  It was just after midnight; the late spring was being kind, and snow hadn't touched the ground in a couple weeks. She was free to space out on the drive into town
and think about the handsome stranger.

  Maybe if she were bolder, if she had more faith in contraceptives, she might have given herself permission to go for him. She knew that she deserved to be able to enjoy herself. The idea of doing anything for herself seemed to be filling her with more and more guilt lately.

  Sierra got home to a mostly dark house.

  Her mother was on the couch, the only light in the home was the large television flickering out a late-night show. The host was laughing more than the audience, and Sierra smiled at it before climbing onto the couch with her mother. She didn't care how she was dressed, didn't care that she still had makeup on, she needed to feel like she was important to someone.

  “How was work?” her mother asked, patting Sierra's hair. Sierra leaned her head on her mother's shoulder and let her continue.

  “It was fine. Slow,” Sierra answered. “How was your night?”

  “It was fine,” her mother replied, nodding. “Jean is still raising her voice to talk to me, like she thinks I'm deaf,” her mother sighed, shrugging. “I can hear just fine,” she reminded Sierra.

  “I know,” Sierra said, not looking over at her. It hurt her to think that her mother could sometimes feel that people were treating her differently. “I'll talk to Jean tomorrow. You ready to head to bed?” she asked, sitting back up.

  “Yeah,” her mother agreed. Sierra helped her up and walked her slowly to her bedroom. When her mother was finally settled, falling asleep, Sierra went to her own room.

  Staring up at the ceiling, she felt alone in the home.

  Chapter Five

  The hangover from the night before was throbbing like he'd been pummeled by bricks. Anthony's head throbbed, and he rubbed it slowly with his fingertips, trying to do anything to distract the pain away. The neighbors next door were having loud sex, so he decided a shower might help him drown out the noise and the pain.

  He didn't usually drink that much, but knowing he wasn't going to have to be on the road eased his hand.

  His joints cracked as he pulled himself out of bed, feeling like he was undead as he made his way to the bathroom.

  The water felt incredible; if it didn't start to run cold he would have stayed in it for the rest of the day. Instead, he stepped out, toweled off, and sat on the bed. It was too soon to make a move, not to mention it was a Sunday, which wouldn't be a great day to interrupt anyone's schedule. If he was going to contact the pack he'd need to be careful about it.

  The headache kept on, even after he chugged a couple bottles of water.

  There's only one way to stop this.

  Sighing, he looked over at the clock.

  It was just past four in the evening – a good time to run and catch what he could.

  Shifting is a natural way to fix most things. If you shift while a bone is freshly broken it'll be able to go back to its original form. Wounds can heal as long as one is conscious, and you always have the reassurance that most illnesses are only temporary. It doesn't work with all things – cancer, mental illness, and diabetes stick around – but it's a great cure for a headache or sprained ankle.

  Anthony made his way outside, looking out for any spots that he could sneak off into the woods. Behind the Casino there was an area where the grass was high, and the only mark of any people was two or three cigarettes. Not a threat. He wanted to leave his clothes close to the building so he'd be able to find them again easily. His headache was getting worse, and he wasn't sure how great his memory retention would be at this rate.

  Anthony ducked down against the building and slid off his clothing, making sure there was no sign of anyone else. He could always shift while dressed, but it usually resulted in stretching his clothing or tearing it off.

  The air was cold against his skin, and he eased into his wolf form like it was an icy bath. It had been a few weeks, maybe a couple months, and the shift was rough on him. His body felt like it was being torn to shreds and then sewn back together as his bones and organs reformed themselves. His fur came in thick and quickly, and any chills he had left vanished along with his human form.

  He could finally relax.

  Anthony's headache was immediately gone, and as he dove out into the brush and trees he felt the calmest he had since he was part of a pack.

  Birds flurried in the air as he scared them by running past, his paws exploding pollen into the air with every step from the few blooming wildflowers beneath. The sun was just a couple hours from setting, and he chased it like a prize, letting it warm his coat. He always missed this. It was why he wanted a pack so badly, why he wanted to find a place to settle. If he could do this every week – hell even just every other week – his strain and worry would be gone.

  Sure, he had his demons in the closet, skeletons he didn't want to air out, but while he was shifted he felt like they didn't exist.

  All that mattered was the smell of the sweet spring grass, and the wind he created from running at his top speed. He was at peace.

  Slowing his speed as he came to a river, Anthony ducked his head and lapped some water from it, almost panting from his run. A strong scent clung in the air, and he lifted his head for a smell.

  The other side of this river was where the local pack's territory started.

  He stared across to the woods, trying to catch a glimpse of any movement that he could. The was nothing. He considered, for a moment, crossing the river and seeing what he could learn from the local scents. You could learn a lot from stepping into a pack's territory. Their numbers would be obvious by how strong the smell of the pack was – their age, their health, it was all obvious from one smell.

  This distance the river caused diluted it, and instead of a proper reading on them, he was left with a vague idea that there were more than twenty. That didn't mean much. Could be twenty in their pack, could be three hundred; hell, for all he knew, the whole town could be shifters. He'd seen that before, tiny towns that chased out any non-shifters so that they could keep their happy and open utopia.

  No, that couldn't be the situation here.

  The waitress from the night before had definitely been human.

  She'd held his attention, and he wanted all of her, but there wasn't an ounce of shifter in her. He smirked to himself thinking about how he'd like to change that if he had the chance, and then turned away from the river.

  If he crossed that river while shifted it would stir more shit than he was able to deal with. He knew better than to pick a fight, especially when all he wanted to do was blend in and join them.

  As he trotted back, the early spring fireflies filling the air, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to live in West Valley permanently. Would he get a job at the Casino? Or become one of those old men that looked like they basically lived at the gambling spot? He couldn't imagine anything like that. He'd been an auto mechanic before everything in his life disintegrated, before…

  He fought back the memory.

  He didn't want to think about it. It was still too fresh. The dreams had brought it back as though it had happened the day before, leaving the painful wounds on his heart open.

  He distracted himself with thoughts about employment instead.

  Every town needs a mechanic. He was sure he could find some work if he needed to. If he couldn't work on cars he'd just become a general mechanic and work on commission until he could get a spot in a local shop. Until he could buy a shop of his own.

  These ideas that he'd taken for granted when he was younger as the plans of his life were starting to feel like fairy tales: untouchable, unreal.

  He wanted them to come true, he wanted to do anything he could to bring them to fruition, but he knew it would be difficult. Without a pack, it would be impossible.

  By the time he got back to his clothes, the sun was starting to set.

  The forest looked like it was on fire from the sunlight's orange and red, and he reveled in the beauty of it as he started to shift back. He co
uld definitely see himself living there. The shift was painful, again, and he grit his teeth as he finally completed it.

  His headache was a distant memory.

  Sliding on his clothes, Anthony buttoned his jeans and zipped them, checking his back pocket to make sure his wallet and room key were still in there. It was foolish to leave them, but he didn't think that anyone would have even noticed them.

  Cigarette smoke caught his attention, and his head whipped up.

  It was close.

  Twenty feet away, leaning on the wall in what looked like terror, the waitress from the night before was letting her cigarette hang loosely in her fingers. Her eyes were wide and she wasn't breathing, just staring right at him.

  His first thought was complete attraction. She was still gorgeous, still perfect even as the strong smell of cigarette smoke clung to her, she was–

  She saw him shift.

  A human.

  Saw him.

  Fuck.

  That's one way to let the local pack know you’ve arrived.

  Chapter Six

  Sierra's heart was pounding in her chest like a drum under a jackhammer.

  What the hell?!

  She had one thought – to run – and her body followed it immediately without hesitation. Dropping her cigarette, not bothering to make sure it got put out, she rushed out to the front of the building. She didn't consider getting in her car, didn't consider calling the police. Instead, she rushed to the back of the bar and finally stopped in the stock room.

  Her whole body was violently shaking, and she couldn't help but be sure she just lost her mind.

  There's no way in hell that what she just saw was real! No frickin way. Grasping a bottle, she poured enough vodka to fill a scotch glass and took a heavy chug from it. Her body repulsed against it, and she shook her head and slouched down against the boxes of alcohol behind her.