Undead and Unwelcome

Chapter 5

A few hours later, we were descending the stairs (except for Cooper, who stayed behind to do whatever it is pilots do after passengers exit) to the Logan Airport tarmac.

I winced when I saw Antonia’s coffin brought out and carefully laid down.

For such a huge airport, I was surprised at how quiet Logan was . . . it seemed almost deserted. I figured that was because we were at the part where they parked the private planes.

Three people were waiting for us on the tarmac, clustered around a vehicle that was a cross between a limo and a hearse.

I recognized them right away. Michael Wyndham, Pack leader (and, though this wasn’t the time or place, so so cute, with golden brown hair and calm yellow eyes). His wife, Jeannie, a blonde with a head full of fluffy curls (must be hell in the humidity). And Derik, one of Michael’s werewolves, also yummilicious with short-​cropped yellow blond hair and green eyes. Was being gorgeous written into the werewolf genetic code?

Well, wait. Jeannie was human, though the others weren’t. We’d met the week I got married (long, long story) and I’d gotten a bit of her history then. I guess, for Michael and Jeannie, it had been love at first sight.

As opposed to the loathe on first sight it had been for Sinclair and me. Ah, memories.

If nothing else, I hoped that my prior meeting with Jeannie might help smooth things over. The woman had helped me pick out my wedding gown, for heaven’s sake. There was a bond there, dammit.

I’d met Derik and Michael that same week, and though Michael gave off “cool leader” vibes, Derik was a ball of good-​humored energy.

Usually.

We faced each other through a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, I cleared my throat to say something when Derik walked over to the coffin and started to—

Oh, man. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. He . . . was. He was lifting the lid off.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” my husband said quietly, and I seized his hand and squeezed, which would have pulverized the bones in an ordinary human’s hand, but would have as much effect on Sinclair as a mosquito bite.

He squeezed back, which hurt.

“Derik, Eric’s right,” Michael warned. Under the fluorescent lights, he was as pale as milk. They all were, actually. Poor, poor guys. I wasn’t sure who I pitied more: the dead Antonia or the living Pack members.

“I need to be sure,” Derik insisted, and I winced again. The poor guy had pinned all his hopes on the chance that we’d gotten another werewolf mixed up with Antonia, which was so dumb I wanted to cry.

The lid was all the way up. Derik stared inside for a long moment and then, with infinite care, slowly lowered the lid.

Then he started to howl.