"Don't call me that," I snarled with more menace than this poor boy deserved. I sucked in a calming breath, shoving my fingers through my hair. "Who sent you? My mother, right?"
"Elder Delia said I wasn't to return if you weren't with me." He clasped his hands in front of his body, lowering his head so deep his chin rested against his chest.
I wished I could believe him, ask him in, give him a blanket, and then send him on his way, but Delia Walker had been trying to bring me back to the Walker family since the four of us—Aver, myself, Wyatt, and his twin brother Nash—left together at eighteen.
An act I'd followed by coming out.
Now, Aver got set up on blind dates, while I got barely legal, or possibly not at all legal, meat offerings.
My lips twisted into a scowl of disgust. I was sure the young man was very nice, and maybe, with a few years and pounds on him, he'd make some man very happy. Right now, he reminded me too much of my nephew, and when I thought of the types of things Delia, my mother, would've suggested to this kid to help him persuade me to return with him, I wanted to throw up. "What's your name?"
It was odd that I hadn't known him by scent, but maybe the cologne was blocking anything familiar about him. He was probably sixteen or seventeen now… Since it had been ten years since myself and my cousins had left, I should have had at least an inkling of recognition.
"Paul, Al—sir."
"Paul?" I didn't remember anyone by that name from the pack families.
"Paul Tyson, sir, I wasn't born in this region. My family comes from the south."
I frowned. "Oregon?"
Paul shook his head. He wore a light coverage of makeup, and as he turned his head, dark blue splotches shadowed underneath. "Texas. I hate it there, and I'm not going back. You can turn me away, but I ain't… I'm not going back." He tugged at his shirt, covering more of his midriff and telling me he wasn't any more pleased to be in that outfit as I was to have him there.
It would have ended my problem, but I couldn't block out those bruises. "Now hold on. Don't go running. I will not be going back with you, but I can't order you into the cold. Hold on." I lifted a finger to tell him to wait while I dug in my pocket for my phone.
He jerked back, toward the door.
"No, just wait—"
"Sir, I don't mean to disrespect you, but I told you I won't go back, and I won't. I thought I'd find safety here, but if that's not the case…" His attention swung up to something behind me. His jaw slackened.
"Fucking fuck, Aver, he's alive. I'm looking at him right now," Wyatt griped into the phone as he moseyed down the stairs. Aver's call had clearly woken him at the early morning hour of eleven forty-five. He wore only holey jeans, and his shaggy hair flopped long enough to cover his eyes. "And what's this?" Wyatt crooned, coming to a stop at the bottom step. "He's got a friend." Wyatt winked.
I rolled my eyes. Wyatt would flirt with a rock. But Paul had stopped trying to run out the door.
"Wyatt, this is Paul Tyson. I was wondering if you would wait with him while I make a call?" I stepped to the corner, never leaving the two.
Paul's gaze flitted toward me. "Who are you calling?" His tone was unmistakable. He didn't trust me.
That wouldn't change by me lying now. "The police. I know that might not be what you want, but I know the cops around here. They can help you. They won't make you go home."
"I know the sheriff," Wyatt said, but out of his mouth, the words were husky. "He's an alright guy. Can't quite keep up spotting me at the gym, but he tries."
I waited for Paul to start laughing, but the kid was lapping out of Wyatt's hand. "I'm eighteen, though…" Paul said instead in a half-hearted attempt.
Wyatt's gaze flicked to mine long enough for him to turn back to Paul and say, "Still, it's better to go by the book with these things."
I would've mentioned Wyatt had no idea what these things were. He was just good at dropping into a situation and assimilating to what was needed. He would've been much angrier had he known that Delia Walker had sent this kid to seduce me. As if I'd find my omega in a shifter who was still a child. She'd crossed the line this time, though. Maybe Wyatt didn't know enough to be angry, but I was livid.
"Sheriff Maslow." Jake answered on the second ring.
"Hey, Sheriff, this is Branson Walker. I may have a kid in trouble here."
"Kid? How young we talking? Are you at home? What's a runaway doing way out there?"
It wasn't like we were in the middle of the woods, but we were a few minutes out of town by car where the Lynx River emptied into Walker Bay. If Paul had come from pack lands, he'd likely run from the other side of the bay to here, but I wasn't going to tell the sheriff that. "Not sure. He doesn't seem like a bad kid, though…" I looked briefly over at the two of them. Wyatt had Paul's full attention talking about some superhero movie that had just released. "He might have been abused?" If my mother had knowingly sent an underaged male to seduce me, I wouldn't protect her. Pack pride be dammed.
"I'll be right there. This is good timing. Well—you know what I mean. That fancy hire from Seattle came in this week. He's been on my ass talking about updating our procedure and policy. I tried to tell him we don't have enough of those kinds of trouble in Walker County to have all that rigmarole." He stopped speaking suddenly and cleared his throat, making me wonder who had walked in on him. When he spoke again, his tone rang with polite authority. "Thank you for calling. We'll come up now. Keep him there, keep him calm."
I hung up, wondering how I was supposed to keep a skittish shifter kid from running, but Wyatt had that under control. His habit for flirting was an advantage at the bar he owned and operated, and, I guessed, it was an advantage when trying to keep impressionable youths from fleeing. I lingered around the border of the room, still keeping an eye, without interrupting. And yes, I got a vindictive amount of pleasure seeing Delia's trap circle down the drain.
If this was the type of shifter she thought would lure me back into her clutches, then she didn't really know me at all.
Suddenly, my driveway was a parking lot. First, Aver in the white work truck with Walker Construction written in blue blocky letters on the side. Behind him was a firetruck, lights spinning but thankfully not the siren, and then Sheriff Maslow in his cruiser.
"Holy shit!" Paul exclaimed when he caught sight of them all.
"It's okay. Only one of them is here to talk to you," I said. "The rest are just nosy." I'd recommended Aver come back to the house, but that was before I realized Wyatt had been asleep upstairs. He didn't always sleep at home, choosing to crash at his bar sometimes instead. And I hadn't meant for Aver to blab to our cousin Nash. He was Wyatt's twin brother and a fireman, as well as the fourth of the Walker cousins to live in this house. And apparently, the town could spare a fire truck. "Stay here," I ordered, mostly to Wyatt.
Aver was already crunching over the gravel. "What's going on?"
At the same time, Nash hopped out of the firetruck and strode over.