Page 30 of Ice King

“Don’t you say it,” I cautioned.

There was a strange look in my mother’s eyes as I grabbed the platter for the steaks she was handing me. Her voice lowered, but her eyes pinned mine. “Listen to what you coach tells you and what the girl offers. She knows what she’s doing.”

Why did it seem as if my mother knew much more about Georgia than she wanted to let on? Was everyone working against me?

“Yes, ma’am,” I told her.

“I’m serious,” she called after me.

“She’s just worried about you,” Beck suggested as he trailed after me toward the back door.

My sigh was overly exaggerated. My family knew me too well for me to bother lying to them. “Yeah, I know. I’m not handling this injury very well.”

He snorted as if I’d just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “No shit, Sherlock. You’re one alpha wolf through and through.”

We all were. There wasn’t a damn beta amongst us, which was part of the problem according to our mother. When you had three rough and tough boys with heavy levels of testosterone in their bodies and were born as alpha pups, that spelled trouble. We’d certainly lived up to our reputation.

“Hey, Dad,” I threw out as I placed the empty plate on the table near him.

When he didn’t even offer a greeting, Beck and I looked at each other with my brother shrugging.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

It took our father a few minutes to even realize we’d joined him. “Oh, hey, son. Sorry. Deep in thought.”

“Is something going on we should know about?” I leaned against the rail, curious why he wasn’t his jovial self. Not only was Patrick Kendrick the patriarch of our family and the owner of Kendrick Mills, a multimillion-dollar sawmill and lumber refinery company, but he was also the town council president and a liaison to the four wolf packs living in the area. If there was anything going on in town, he’d know about it.

Grabbing his favorite pair of tongs, the one our sister had gotten him as a gag gift at Christmas last year with the words ‘Big Pop’engraved on the side, he flipped every steak, ensuring they each held a perfect position on the grill.

As the saying went, his silence spoke volumes. From everyone else’s point of view, our father was a gregarious man in all aspects of his life. A big man at six foot seven, most compared his happy-go-lucky demeanor as a big bear when in fact his canines were razor sharp. When he was reflective, there was almost always an issue either the family or the pack had to deal with.

“I’m not sure. There might be,” Pops said as he shook his head.

“What’s going on?” Beck joined me next to the railing.

“There was a gruesome murder up in Carnation. The body was found yesterday.”

Carnation was a world apart while being only twenty minutes to the north. Known as a farming community, the closeknit shifters outnumbered humans in the same percentages as in North Bend. Only they weren’t eager or willing to share their town or their space with humans.

“Let me guess,” I growled. “The FBI or the Canine Unit or whatever they call themselves these days is trying to pin it on a shifter.”

“They are a fucking nightmare. Some are calling them the Order,” Beck shared. “I’ve heard rumors they’re little more than a group of vigilantes scouring the countryside in search of shifters, eager to go a-huntin’.” He shifted his voice, the sound like what I’d heard good ole country boys who liked things a certain way.

“Just a rumor?” I tossed out while swirling the liquid in my bottle.

“I was at the tavern a couple nights ago and there was a guy talking to Jake at the bar. He mentioned there’s a secret initiative within the government, all those who loathe the existence of shifters banding together to push for controlled hunting, capture, and God knows what.”

“We’ve heard that rumor for a year.” I tried to laugh, even though my stomach tightened. We’d been ridiculed, tormented, treated as second class citizens and worse since coming out to the world. The haters’ legal attempts at stripping our rights had failed. I wouldn’t put it past some assholes to handle their hatred with violence.

“It could be true,” our father interrupted as he turned his head toward us. “The person who was killed was a shifter. A woman, for God’s sake. She was a wife and a mother, an attorney. I won’t describe to you what the bastards did to her.”

Beck exhaled while I studied my father’s tense face. There was more to the story. Our dad was clearly upset. Hearing that a woman had been killed was disturbing. We were taught women were precious.

“Was she working on behalf of the shifters?” Beck asked.

When Pops shifted his gaze, I sucked in my breath. Our own kind had been forced to defend our very existence.

“She was doing some good work,” Pops said with quiet reverence. “And she ruffled a lot of feathers.”