Prayers By Night (Faoladh Series Book 2)

  Prayers by Night

  Danielle Parker

  For Troy,

  Thank you for supporting, mentoring, harassing, and always believing in me. You helped me make this crazy writing dream come true. On to the next one, yeah?

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Emerson

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  6. Harper

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  11. Emerson

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  16. Harper

  17. Emerson

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  22. Harper

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  27. Emerson

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  30. Harper

  About the Author

  Also by Danielle Parker

  Excerpt from Wolfsbane, the next in the Faoladh Series

  Prologue

  Griffin grinned at himself in the mirror as he dragged a comb through his wet hair. He had to make sure there were no snags, just in case the girls wanted to braid it one last time before his Spring Shearing. The other counselors always asked him why he looked so shaggy at the beginning of camp – and the parents certainly side-eyed him when they dropped their children off in his care – but he knew how to sell a lie with charm.

  “It’s a free haircut, and the kids love shaving my head.”

  It wasn’t like he could tell them the real reason he looked like a Viking hobo that lived in the woods. Life as a Nomad didn’t always leave him with time or money for haircuts or beard trims. They also probably didn’t want to know that having their kids help alter his appearance made drifting around the country much easier.

  He tugged at the scraggly hair on his face he’d be removing as well, and not a moment too soon. As much as he enjoyed the intimidating face fur it wasn’t all that fun in the summer heat.

  Going to have to leave soon. Been here too long already. He shook his head at the thought. Things had been steady for a couple of seasons – he was having fun, making friends – he could afford to enjoy it just a little longer. There would be plenty of time for wallowing in loneliness while sneaking his way into the next territory.

  He moved around his tiny cabin, his smile returning when he picked up the friendship bracelet little Lucy made for him during craft time. A leather string lined with plastic rubies surrounding his nickname, Thor, beside her own name, spelled out in white beads.

  Thankfully she’d used the nickname the kids had affectionately bestowed upon him instead of his current alias.

  Tucker. He rolled his eyes as he pulled on his one good pair of jeans. Why not just call me ‘fucker’ and get it over with? That’s the last time I ask Milo for IDs.

  He didn’t recognize the odd silence of the campground until the screams of terrified children broke it. Not the usual happy squeals or annoyed wails and shouts he heard on the daily. He knew the difference. Something had gone wrong. He dropped the absurd purple polo shirt he was required to wear and slammed out the front door, bare chested and racing toward the continuing commotion.

  There weren’t many dangers besides him, and he checked the perimeter nightly for other predators, but these weren’t his woods. Some dangers lurked that would be drawn to him, and if he wasn’t careful, he would endanger everyone around him.

  Stupid, Griffin. You got comfy and overstayed your welcome. They found you. The rules didn’t matter – they weren’t always followed. He’d seen first-hand what a pack could do to outsiders, and humans were often collateral damage.

  He slowed to a jog as he saw the gaggle of kids surrounding John, one of the other counselors. Though clearly out of his depth, the man waved his arms erratically and grinned far too wide to be believed as a voice of reason and safety.

  “John,” Griffin called in as even a tone as he could manage. His voice still came out gravellier than he wanted, but he didn’t think anyone would notice. The kids parted to let him through, none of them appearing hurt. He smelled blood though. Blood, vanilla, fear, and the unmistakable odor of his kind.

  Don’t show fear, Griff.

  “What’s the… what happened?”

  John, wide eyed and still grinning like an idiot, stepped aside.

  Griffin stopped.

  On top of the large picnic table they’d set up for the ice cream party lay a dead white-tail deer, torn up in a way no natural predator could, throat and belly open, spine showing, nothing eaten. Faint wisps of steam rose from the bloody ice cream mixture puddling and dripping from the table. There were no prints, no clear bite marks, nothing to give away who – or rather what – was responsible.

  He knew.

  “Mr. Thor! A bear killed the deer on our ice cream!” one of the kids cried.

  Not a bear. Griffin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from growling. He turned to John. “What the heck? Where were you?”

  “I took the kids to get washed up,” John said and crossed his arms. “When we came back… a bear must’ve come over to get some ice cream.”

  “With a fresh kill?” Griffin snorted. “And displayed it like this?”

  It’s a warning.

  “Well, what the fu-frick else could it be, Tucker?”

  Werewolves, you sheltered fool. He shook his head and shoved damp strands of hair off his face. His hands shook and his back tingled, the need to go out and defend his human cub pack making his shifting hard to control. If he wasn’t careful, he’d show his other nature and make things far worse.

  “Mr. Thor, is the bear coming back?”

  He knelt before the wide-eyed scrum and put on a smile. “No, it’s not going to come back because I’m going to go find it and make sure it doesn’t stick around. Mr. John will take you guys to the cafeteria and get you your ice cream. I promise I will make sure it’s safe out here.”

  “You gonna fight a bear?” Elijah asked, eyes even wider behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

  “’Course he is, he’s Thor,” Mason said, bumping into Elijah.

  “I only fight ‘em if I have to,” he said, winking at them as he stood back up. “John?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got them. You sure you want to go out by yourself? I can walkie the others, someone can go with you.”

  “It’s best everybody keeps the kids distracted from the mess. Maybe get them all in the caf and have one of the ladies talk to them about nature. Help them feel less scared.”

  “Right.” John nodded, looking a bit pale himself. He wasn’t much of an outdoorsman. Not a hunter, hiker, or casual camper. He was young too, probably took the job over Spring Break because his parents made him.

  Griffin slapped him on the back and nearly sent the guy sprawling. “It’s all good, man. Don’t worry about the bear.”

  “I’m not worried,” John said with a wince. “You maybe going to put on shoes and a shirt before you go out hunting bears?”

  He looked down at his feet, now freshly filthy. “Good idea. I’ll just head to my cabin really quick.”

  “And don’t forget your walkie.”

  Not taking it, and I’m probably not coming back either. He smiled at all of them as he walked away, backwards. One last look at those trusting faces. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to get lost.”

  He saluted and spun around, hurrying at an acceptable human pace back the way he’d come. It sucked to leave all his meager belongings in the cabin, but he didn’t have time and it would help sell the story that he simply got lost in the woods. He charged straight into the forest, speeding up as soon as he couldn’t be seen anymore. Senses stretched to their full potential, it didn’t take him long to catch the scent of the fellow wolf again. He scanned around him with sharpened eyesight as he ran along and strained his ears.

  There. He turned sharply and slowed to a walk. Ahead of him in a small clearing a lone figure stood, waiting. He had other options, of course. There were plenty of escape avenues in such a heavily forested area. It made more sense to run rather than risking a fight.

  Not a chance – not after they involved the kids.

  Griffin swung his arms forward and back to stretch out his shoulders, then shook his hands to get his blood flowing. He cracked his neck and bared a smile showing off his canines as he approached his adversary. “You know, you could have just asked me nicely to leave.”

  “Do I look like the kind of guy who says ‘please’?”

  He did not. He also didn’t look like a fighter. Thin, average height, dressed in mismatched hunting attire, he clearly wasn’t old enough to have the experience to make Griffin nervy. He was the typical cocky guy in a bar that started a fight with his mouth, swung one wild shot, and then got knocked the fuck out.

  “I’m going to make this quick, okay? Then I’ll leave.” He balled up his hands. “I just really feel like somebody should teach you a lesson in manners. Guess your mom couldn’t, so it falls to me.”

  Tiny swung on him, growling furiously. Griffin slipped the wild shot and countered with an overhand. It connected with a loud crack, and blood poured from the broken nose.

  His opponent wobbled on
his chicken legs. Griffin, grinning from ear to ear, darted in and wrapped his hands around the guy’s hamstrings and lifted. It was a beautiful tackle, nice and clean. He slammed him to the mossy forest floor, pleased to hear a wheeze as the wind left his adversary. The fight was already over, but Griffin couldn’t resist making double sure his lesson stuck with the shithead. He sat up and rained blow after blow onto the bloody face squinting up at him.

  “You. Don’t. Mess. With. Kids,” he said, punctuating each punch.

  The sound of a gunshot startled him out of his rhythm. Something sharp hit the side of his neck and knocked him to the ground.

  His bloody-faced manners student struggled to his feet and looked down at him with a smirk. “And people say I’m an arrogant prick.”

  Griffin growled at him and tried to reach up to punch that smirk away. His body didn’t move. He widened his eyes as he realized the fuzzy blanket of paralysis covering him from the neck down. His fingers felt like they had weights on them – he couldn’t even flip off the cheating fucker.

  A trap, you moron. Of course, it’s a trap. Idiot.

  “Took you guys long enough,” the rude little dick said over his shoulder. He wiped the blood off his face and flung droplets onto Griffin’s. “What happened to darting him before he could hit me?”

  “We thought getting your ass kicked might help build some character,” another voice said with a gruff laugh. “What’s the matter, Red, your mouth write another check your ass couldn’t cash?”

  “This hazing horse shit is getting as old as you.” Red huffed and reached down to Griffin’s wrist. He pulled the friendship bracelet free of his wrist and held it up for closer inspection. “Aw, how precious! You big guys are always such softies. I think I’ll keep this as a trophy, Thor. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Griffin’s mouth wasn’t working and he knew he would pass out soon. All he could do was memorize Red’s fugly face. There’s going to be a reckoning later, kid. You better believe I’ll take that back – right after I separate your flapping mouth from your face.

  “Good job, Red. Let’s get him to the truck. We need to hurry up and get to the next territory.”

  “Where are we going next, Sam?”

  “Fincher. Some fart of a town in Montana.”

  “The big lug’s still awake, boys.”

  “I got it.”

  Griffin saw the blur of an object coming down toward his head. He felt the impact and heard the crunch of his face being struck.

  Then he saw nothing but black.

  Chapter 1

  Emerson

  Emerson marched down the sidewalk, determined not to look back. Cold spread through her chest, through the layers of her coat up her throat, down into her stomach. She shivered and tucked her nose into her stolen scarf. The scent wasn’t her own, sharper than the sweeter fragrances she preferred.

  Because it was Harper’s.

  Don’t look back, don’t think about it. She took a deep breath and curled her hands into fists inside the pockets of her coat, willing herself to put one foot in front of the other.

  “We both agreed,” she said, sniffling. “It’s for the best.”

  She kept picturing Harper’s face as she’d wrapped the red, wool fabric around Emerson’s neck. Those big, sad, verdant eyes, full of resignation at being left behind even after they’d agreed that it made sense. She would never forget it, what leaving Harper felt like. Every step away from the Sullivan household was one too far. The chasm in her chest grew wider and wider with every beat of her heart.

  But she had to – she had to go back to work – and one of them had to be the adult about it.

  You’d think I was going off to war, she thought with a watery chuckle. So dramatic.

  Her phone rang, the long, mournful wail of a wolf howl breaking the snow insulated silence. Cooper had played with her phone again.

  She answered the call and tried to sound stern. “Harper, you’re not helping.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  Emerson closed her eyes, shivering at the rasp of Harper’s voice. “I can’t, I have to go. I’m a business owner, I have to be responsible.”

  “You’re your own boss though. Tell yourself to take the day off. You can come back and we’ll pretend you never left.”

  “Responsible, Loup.” She groaned, already more torn than before. “I already took two weeks off.”

  “I can adult,” Harper said, with a perfect touch of toddler-like sulk. “You know, I can see you? It’s not too late to correct this terrible mistake.”

  She spun around and squinted down the street. Her car and Grady’s sat parked in the gravel driveway alongside the quaint yellow house. A curtain moved at one of the windows. Harper waved.

  So much for walking to work to clear her head.

  “Harper,” she said, sighing. “No. I’m going to work. Grady’s there with you, and I’ll be back this afternoon. Remember the plan?”

  “Grady’s boring, and he can’t cook. He’s just going to poison me all over again. I hate this plan, it’s a bad plan.”

  Emerson put a hand on her hip. “Excuse you, it’s flawless. This way we can all go to work knowing someone’s still there to keep an eye on you.”

  “I’m not actually five,” Harper grumbled. “This whole house-arrest thing is dumb. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You still limp, and your ribs –”

  “I miss you. You’ve been gone forever.”

  Interruption aside, her heart fluttered at the sentiment. She shook her head. No, stay the course.

  “You’re sweet, but that’s not going to work either. I’ve been gone all of two minutes, and I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “That’s longer than forever.” Harper sighed. “Please? I’ll even let you pick what we watch today. Movies or TV, and I won’t complain at all.”

  “We both know that’s a lie,” Emerson said. “You’re going to have to tough it out.”

  “Why can’t I come with you?”

  “Because you’re injured?” She swallowed down a fresh lump in her throat. AJ had re-wrapped Harper’s ribs that morning, and Emerson had snuck a peek at the damage. A mass of twisted lines scarred Harper’s thin side, marking where Holt’s wolfsbane poisoned dart had struck. Thick, raised tendrils of bright pink leached out from the impact site, stretching around to Harper’s back, her shoulder, down across her stomach. “I don’t have any place where you can lie down at the bookstore.”

  “I don’t mean to be so… clingy,” Harper said after a long pause. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m freaking out.”

  She felt it too, the antsy energy in her body, the quick, confused thoughts, an inability to focus on anything for too long. “We’ve been attached at the hip for days – I’m not mad, but we have to try and go back to normal.”

  As normal as possible when werewolves and near-death-experiences are involved.

  She turned to keep walking, her chaotic thoughts jumbling into a pile-up in her mind. The memory of Harper’s hoarse, nightmare-soaked shouts bouncing between her ears. She shuddered and pushed the phone closer.

  “This sucks.” Harper sounded so despondent it made Emerson’s fingers ache.

  “I know, it really does, but it’s good for us.”

  “So’s broccoli, and you know how I feel about broccoli.” She huffed and Emerson pictured her scrunching her face in distaste. “I have this feeling of impending doom. More so than usual, and it’s making me crazier.”

  “Why don’t you stay on the phone with me until I get to the store? That would help me.”

  “Well now that you asked.”

  Emerson smiled and stepped with more confidence, an almost spring in her step. “What do you think you want for dinner? Broccoli?”