Shallow Grave: Grant Wolves, #2

By Lori Drake

Dead man walking.

 

Joey thought Chris was gone forever. Now he's back, and all the rules have changed. 

 

A fresh start in a new city may be just what the Alpha ordered, but it won't come easy. From the moment the Grant wolves meet the Seattle pack, they know something is wrong. And when an uninvited guest crashes their "welcome to the neighborhood" party, Joey and Chris are caught in the crossfire.

 

As the body count rises, can they regain their balance and stop the killer before they, too, fall prey?

 

Shallow Grave is a fast-paced, page-turning urban fantasy that continues the Grant Wolves' story and introduces a brand new pack into the mix. If you like werewolves, spooky stories, creepy old houses, shocking betrayals, and thrilling heroics, this is the book for you.

 

Click or tap buy to claim your copy today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clockwork Cactus Press
• Release date: Feb 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781955545068

Book preview

1

Chris lay in darkness, drifting on the edge of consciousness.

He had no idea how long he’d been trapped beneath the earth, but the air had definitely gotten thinner. The casket’s satin lining was thoroughly shredded overhead. If he’d been able to see anything at all, he would’ve seen the dings and scratches in the exposed casket lid, the fine cracks through the splintering wood. He’d bashed his fists against it until they stung and the coppery tang of blood tickled his nostrils.

Then he’d forced himself to close his eyes and take shallow breaths until the skin healed so he could do it all over again.

His eyelids were heavy. The adrenaline that fueled his efforts at escape had faded some time ago. Desperation had fled, and now all he felt was tired. So. Very. Tired.

A sound drew his eyelids up—at least, he thought his eyes were open. It was impossible to tell, in darkness so complete. Even his wolf’s night vision required a light source, however faint. The stars. The moon. How he longed to see them one more time.

He thought his oxygen-deprived brain might be playing tricks on him at first, but no. There was definitely a soft rumble overhead. It was just so faint that even his wolf ears had to strain to hear it.

Help. His voice was a reedy croak; he didn’t have the air—much less the energy—to shout anymore.

The rumble grew louder. A tremor shook the casket, vibrating in the air.

Help, he whispered. His fingers twitched where they lay at his sides, but he couldn’t summon the strength to lift them. The noise and vibration grew, shaking him until his teeth rattled and his sluggish heart thumped more rapidly.

Then the rumbling stopped and all was still. Quiet. Leaving him to wonder if it had happened at all, until the casket lid opened abruptly and light shone in his eyes, blinding him. He groaned and squinted against the glare, but took a deep, gasping breath of the fresh air that rolled into the enclosed space in which he’d been trapped. An exhale turned into a ragged cough, as if the purity of the air were too much for his lungs.

It’s all right, came a familiar voice. You’re going to be fine, child. Just breathe.

A light weight landed gently on his shoulder and warmth spread through his body from there. It rolled over him like honey coating a ravaged throat, soothing and relaxing until the moment it reached his midsection. Pain flared, a burning sensation, as if the not-yet-healed wound was turned inside out. His back arched and his vision swam. A ragged scream escaped from between tightly clenched teeth.

He sagged against the casket’s thin padding a few agonizing seconds later. The pain faded as quickly as it had come and the warmth continued flowing down his body. He pressed a hand to his middle. There was no more pain; the wound was healed. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the light, prompting its bearer to shift the beam of the flashlight off his face. He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust until they could focus on the face hovering over the open casket. The wrinkled, aging face was wreathed in a glowing golden aura.

Cathy? His voice sounded more like his own again, between Cathy’s healing magic and the infusion of air to his lungs. Is this real?

Welcome back, Cathy said, smiling down at him. She squeezed his shoulder and the halo around her winked out, taking that warm tingle with it. Can you sit up?

Chris pushed himself into a sitting position, but as soon as his head cleared the lip of the casket, he was possessed by the overwhelming urge to get out. He gripped the edge and scrambled out hastily. Too hastily. His knees buckled under him and he hit the ground hard, landing on his hands and knees in the grass.

Cathy was there in a flash, a hand on his back as she crouched beside him. Take it easy. It's going to take time to get your bearings.

What happened? He looked up and met her eyes.

You don’t remember? Her brow wrinkled and her hand lifted, moving toward his head. That golden glow surrounded her again.

He jerked away, fetching up against the side of the casket. He warded her off with trembling hands. Don’t touch me!

Cathy backed off, sitting back on her heels. She pressed her lips together, but there was understanding in her eyes and sympathy on her face.

Chris shifted until he was sitting on the ground, his back to the open casket. He looked around, taking in the forest of headstones rising around him like granite teeth. His hands skimmed the blades of grass at his sides. They tickled against his palms, cool and wet against his skin. When his hands moved back too far, they encountered disturbed earth at the base of the casket. The ornate wooden box sat atop a small mound of soil, as if the earth had simply coughed it up.

He focused on Cathy again. I—I was dead. I remember that. We killed Tasha. Joey destroyed the dagger. What happened after that?

The remaining Eastgate witches saw the error of their ways and were allowed to return home. They took the body with them.

Chris nodded and curled his fingers in the upturned soil. And I woke up six feet under, instead of crossing over. And you—you dug me up.

Yes.

You knew this would happen.

She shook her head. No, not for certain.

Chris frowned. But you had enough of a suspicion to come out here in the middle of the night… Why didn’t you tell me?

Cathy clicked her tongue softly. I didn’t want to get your hopes up, child. Yours or Joey’s.

Joey. He had to get back to her. Chris picked himself up off the ground, moving carefully so as to not take another tumble. He ended up having to use the casket for leverage, and his eyes caught upon the shredded lining of the open casket lid. A shiver raced down his spine, but he finished pulling himself to his feet. His legs didn’t want to work, and that filled him with fear. Cathy rose, more gracefully, to join him.

Easy does it, she murmured. You’ve been dead all week.

I want to go home, Chris said, hoping it didn’t sound as childish as it felt. At least he hadn’t said he wanted his mom, but the sentiment was there.

I know, love. I need to tidy up a bit first. There’s a bench over there. Do you think you can make it?

It couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet, and he wasn’t particularly confident about it, but he nodded anyway. He straightened and locked his knees. Cathy reached for him when he teetered, but he shook his head and she stepped back with a sigh. Chris walked stiffly over to the bench. He’d never felt so graceless in his life, but he made it and collapsed onto it with a sigh of relief.

He stretched out his legs and rubbed his stiff muscles while Cathy reburied the casket. It was an unsettling thing, watching the earth swallow the casket once more. When she was finished, grass covered the ground where it had been once more, as if nothing had been disturbed at all at the foot of Chris’s tombstone.

Gonna have to get that taken down. Shit, how am I going to explain this to the cops?

Chris pushed those thoughts aside as Cathy walked over to stand in front of him.

Ready to go? she asked, and he nodded.

Hauling himself back to his feet, Chris found his legs to be more stable, but he still needed Cathy’s help to get all the way to her car. She tried to open the door for him, but he stopped her and curled his fingers under the handle to open it himself. It was a practically effortless act, but a wave of emotion nearly bowled him over. He sagged against the car until it passed.

He’d never take touching anything for granted again.

Josephine, a word.

Joey had done her best to ignore her mother’s approach, hoping that maybe she was angling for someone else nearby. It was standing room only in the formal living room that night. Between her own family and their visitors from San Diego’s other pack, a constant buzz of conversation filled the air, occasionally interspersed with laughter. Joey herself leaned against a wall, apart from the others. She wasn’t really in the mood for conversation—much less celebration. It had only been a few short hours since Chris had died—again.

Hmm? What’s up?

Her mother shook her head. Her face was an unreadable mask, but her hands told another story as she fidgeted with her wristwatch. Adelaide Grant didn’t have many tells, but Joey knew them all. Something was wrong.

Not here, Adelaide said, then turned and headed for the door.

Joey’s brows lifted. Intrigued, she abandoned the glass of sherry she’d been nursing for the last hour on a side table and followed. Technically, it was the third glass of sherry she’d nursed in the last hour, but she wasn’t counting. She was, however, nicely buzzed. It wouldn’t last, but it numbed the heartache. Temporarily, anyway.

She caught up with Adelaide in the hallway, but not for long. Her mother turned to walk down the hall, and Joey hastened to follow.

What’s going on?

There was no immediate answer, but Joey was buzzed enough to shrug it off and amble along in Adelaide’s wake. Maybe that was the answer to dealing with her mother: copious amounts of alcohol. It seemed to work for Ben.

In the foyer, Adelaide stopped and turned to face her, catching her hands. Her mother’s fingers were ice cold, and Joey’s brow furrowed.

Mom, what’s wrong?

I wish I had more time to prepare you for this, but what’s done is done. Catherine is on her way here. With Christopher.

Joey recoiled in shock and horror and yanked her hands away. Her mother’s words chilled her to the bone, even as she struggled to comprehend them. What do you— Why would— What’s going on?

Christopher is alive, Adelaide said, a slight tremor in her lowered voice.

Struck dumb, Joey stared at her. That’s not… that’s not funny.

Adelaide stepped forward, taking Joey’s face between her frosty fingers. This is not a joke. I just spoke with Catherine. They’ll be here any moment.

Joey’s heart hammered. For a moment, she couldn’t even breathe. Her whole body started to tremble.

Hold yourself together, Josephine. This is a very delicate situation. We need to get Christopher out of sight quickly, and keep him there until the Newmans leave. No one outside the family can know about this until we’re ready. Do you understand?

Joey nodded mutely, too shocked to do anything else.

Adelaide’s hands fell away and she turned to stride for the front door. Joey followed after her in a surreal fog. Chris was alive. How was it even possible? She wanted it to be true, with every fiber of her being, but her battered heart resisted the hope that wanted to swell in her breast. Was this a dream or a nightmare? She pinched herself, just to be safe.

They didn’t have to wait long; Catherine’s blue Civic pulled up the drive a few minutes after they stepped outside. Adelaide started down the steps. Joey hung back, hands tucked under her arms. Waiting. Watching, as the passenger door opened and the man in the front seat pulled himself out of the car.

Her mouth went dry and her vision swam. It was him. It was Chris.

Joey raced down the steps, leaving her mother in her dust as she flew past. She flung herself at Chris with enough force to knock him back against the car, but he caught her and held her close as she clung to him with both arms wrapped around his neck. Tears streamed down her face as she breathed in his familiar scent, nose buried in his dark hair. If there had been any lingering trace of disbelief, it swiftly evaporated.

She pulled back enough to look at him, eyes scanning his face before locking with his. Neither of them said a word, but after a few seconds, he dipped his head and leaned his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and slid her fingers into his hair, holding him there.

A throat was cleared softly behind them, reminding Joey that they had a very important job to do. Though reluctant to let Chris go, she loosened her hold, and he lowered her to the ground. Joey stepped aside so Adelaide could claim a hug of her own, but she watched Chris the whole time. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, some part of her fearful that if she did, he might just vanish.

My dear boy, Adelaide murmured, taking his face between her hands. I’m sorry that not everyone is here to welcome you home, but we’ve got a rather full house at the moment. Let’s get you inside, shall we?

Chris nodded and stepped forward, but wobbled as he did.

Alarmed, Joey stepped in to slip an arm around his waist. Are you okay? She couldn’t keep the anxiety from her voice.

Yeah, Chris said, attempting to reassure her even as he leaned on her for support. It’s been a week.

Joey couldn’t help but chuckle as she helped him to the stairs. Yeah, tell me about it.

While they started up the stairs, which Chris mounted in a slow but determined manner, Adelaide lingered near the car with Cathy.

I don’t know what to say, Catherine.

A simple thank you will suffice.

Hardly. But thank you, my friend. From the bottom of my heart. Can you stay awhile? I have so many questions.

A little while, yes.

This time it was Adelaide that slipped past Joey. She hurried up the steps to open the door, glancing inside while waiting for the others to join her. It’s clear, she said, and slipped inside ahead of them.

Joey helped Chris past the threshold, eyes and ears alert for any indications of unwanted company. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if someone did appear. Shove him in the coat closet? Hide him behind a plant? He didn’t seem to be in any condition to move hastily, in any case.

Have a few more stairs in you? she asked him quietly, as they crossed the foyer.

I sure hope so, he murmured, and began the ascent with the same determination he’d shown outside.

You’re doing great, just a little farther…

The sound of voices approaching along the downstairs hallway froze Joey in her tracks.

Keep going, Adelaide hissed softly, then backtracked down the stairs. Presumably to go head off whoever was coming.

Joey tugged on Chris’s waist to get him moving again. Cathy slipped under his other arm, and between the two of them, they practically carried him the rest of the way up the stairs.

Why are we sneaking? he said, voice lowered to a bare whisper.

Because you just rose from the dead and Mom doesn’t want anyone else to know yet, Joey whispered back. Dad showed up with the Newmans after you—she swallowed—left. They’re still here, toasting our great victory.

At the top of the stairs, Joey turned left and guided them both down the hall to Chris’s room. She had no idea where her mother intended to stash him, but it seemed the most logical destination.

Once she got Chris settled on the padded bench at the foot of the bed, Joey sat beside him and tucked one leg under the other. She couldn’t stop looking at him, not even when he caught her doing it.

I can’t believe it. You’re really here, she said, giving voice to that disbelief at last.

Trust me, it’s weird for me too. He took her hand, fingers curling around hers.

His hand was so warm. Alive. She ran the fingers of her other hand along his forearm in wonder, then looked over at Cathy.

How is this possible? What the hell did you do?

Cathy pulled out Chris’s desk chair and dropped into it, weariness etched on her face. It wasn’t my doing. All I did was dig him up.

But he was— How did you— Joey didn’t even know where to start, overcome by emotion. Gratitude, certainly, but confusion as well. Joy, to have Chris back, and fear that it was simply too good to be true.

Maybe we should wait for Addie, Cathy said.

What? Joey sat up straighter, the corners of her mouth drawn downward. No. I want answers. I need answers. Her voice cracked with emotion. Maybe it should have been enough to have him there. Wasn’t it what she’d wanted so very badly?

Chris’s hand shifted, fingers sliding between hers. He squeezed her hand. It’s okay, Joey. We can wait.

No, we can’t. How is this even possible? Joey reclaimed her hand and stood, facing down her godmother from across the room. "He was—he was dead. I saw his—his body. With my own eyes. He was dead." Tears stung her eyes as the enormity of what had happened struck her. She’d put him in a box. Put him in the ground. While he was still alive.

Cathy rubbed her temples and sighed. I know, child. It must have been some sort of magical suspension. A deathlike state that would fool anyone that didn’t know what to look for.

Why didn’t you say something? If you thought it was possible, why didn’t you tell us? Joey asked. Fingers once more caught her own, and she looked down at Chris with a frown that melted when she saw the expression on his face. Earnest. Chagrined.

I think what Joey’s trying to say, Chris said, his eyes on Cathy, "is thank you. Thank you for helping me."

Joey’s cheeks heated and she flopped on the bench beside Chris. Yes, thank you.

The older woman smiled at them. My pleasure. It was a hunch, nothing more. I’m glad it turned out to be true.

Me too, Chris said. Joey nodded in agreement and resisted the urge to crawl under the bed. Unanswered questions burned in her brain, but she held them back. Chris was right. She ought to be more grateful.

The door opened and Adelaide poked her head in, sparing Joey—at least temporarily—from further embarrassment.

Oh, there you are. She let herself in and closed the door behind her. Thank the heavens, our guests are beginning to disperse.

Chris struggled to his feet, as conditioned as the other men in their family were to rise when their mother entered the room. Joey stood too, but only to support him. As a girl, she was exempt from this genteel expectation. Finally, a double standard that worked in her favor.

Adelaide crossed the room to hug Chris again, then eased him down onto the bench and settled beside him. There wasn’t quite enough room for Joey to sit back down, but when she tried to release Chris’s hand, he held on tightly and looked up at her. She nodded to him and squeezed his hand, lingering where she stood, close at his side.

Now tell me, Adelaide said, getting right to the point as she fixed her eyes upon her old friend. How did this happen?

I wish I knew, Addie. Cathy crossed her legs and leaned back in the desk chair, settling in. The magic within that blade was unlike anything I’ve ever seen or read about. I would have liked to study it, but… Her eyes strayed to Joey, but she lifted her chin. She’d make no apologies for destroying the blasted thing.

You’re the most experienced practitioner within two hundred miles or more, Adelaide countered. Might you hazard a guess?

Cathy’s face screwed up like she’d tasted something particularly sour. If I had to guess, I’d say it had something to do with his lycanthrope nature. Lycanthropes are magical creatures. The best I can figure is that his body entered some sort of stasis when his spirit was removed. Once released, it returned to his body and regeneration began as normal.

Magical creatures? Joey said, eyes darting between Cathy and her mother. What does that mean?

Cathy clicked her tongue. Really, Addie, why do you insist on—

"What isn’t magical about changing into a wolf?" Adelaide lifted a pale brow and gave Joey a sideways look.

It seems perfectly natural to me, Joey mumbled. Chris squeezed her hand, and Adelaide returned her attention to Cathy.

Is his condition permanent?

Joey’s eyes widened. The thought that Chris’s return might be temporary hadn’t even crossed her mind. Her fingers clutched his tighter. He responded by folding her hand in both of his.

Cathy nodded. As permanent as life could be said to be. His aura appears normal, and I healed his wounds.

He can barely stand, Joey pointed out.

I’ll be fine, Chris said.

I have no explanation for that, Cathy admitted. But I’m sure it’ll pass. You just need time to rest and recover your strength. Do whatever you’d normally do the day after the full moon. Shapeshifting takes a lot out of you, yes? Same principle here.

Now that you mention it, I’d love something to eat, Chris said.

Me too, Joey said, suddenly keenly aware of her own depleted reserves after all the shifting she’d done during the fight. I’ll go down and rummage for some leftovers.

No, Chris said quickly, tightening his hold on her hand. Three pairs of eyes looked his way, and he winced. Sorry, I just… Never mind, go ahead. Thank you. His hands released hers.

Joey bit the inside of her lip and laid her hand on his shoulder, rubbing it lightly. He leaned into the touch, blue eyes slipping closed.

I think I can manage to find you something, Adelaide said, to everyone’s obvious surprise. Oh, don’t look so shocked. I know how to use a microwave.

Chuckling, Cathy stood as well. I’ll go with you.

The two women let themselves out, and Joey took her mother’s spot on the bench. She wasn’t sure what to say, now that they were alone. Before she could make up her mind, he turned toward her and wrapped his arms around her midsection, his upper body curled so he could rest his head against her shoulder. Her arms moved around him automatically and she leaned her head against his.

Maybe words weren’t needed just yet.

2

There was a warm murmur of welcome and a smile on every face as Chris entered the dining room the next morning. His father even put down his paper and stood to give him a hug before letting him settle at the table.

It’d been a late night, what with the family reunion and all, so everyone was getting a late start. Chris imagined they’d all slept soundly with him back. He hadn’t slept a wink. Truth be told, he was afraid to close his eyes, afraid to open them to find the world gone gray and blurry around him once more. Or, worse, to find himself in darkness so complete that even his wolf eyes couldn’t help.

He hoped he didn’t look as tired as he felt, but at least he didn’t have to force a smile or feign enthusiasm for breakfast.

Wow, Rosita outdid herself, Chris said, surveying the spread. Biscuits, sausage gravy, hash browns, scrambled eggs, and a large bowl of fruit were all arrayed on the table. A veritable feast of Southern comfort classics.

Actually, Mom gave Rosita the day off, Jon said. This was all Sara. He laid his hand atop his wife’s briefly and she smiled at him, a faint blush of color staining her cheeks. That would explain the down-home flair; Rosita’s special breakfasts were more typical of Southern California, but Sara’s roots were in the Deep South as much as his parents’ were.

Don’t make a fuss, Sara said. Ben helped.

Ben looked up from his plate and smirked, a fork loaded with eggs hovering before his lips. I made coffee.

Sara waved a hand and blushed deeper, eyes lowered.

I, for one, really appreciate the coffee. Thanks, bro,