by Penny Alley
“Come on,” Gabe goaded. “Do it.”
Colton edged closer, stepping around Neoma. She flinched when he tapped the top of her head with two fingers. His touch was neither gentle nor harsh and she didn’t know what it meant, but she crawled out from under his feet anyway. She shied from Marcus too when he offered her a hand up. No one else moved. Not until, from the gathered crowd, the Alpha of the White Water called out, “Ursey, come out of there.”
One of the newly-Claimed Brides standing among the Scullamy flushed. She looked at Neoma and Deacon, and then the male who had taken her. He cast his scowl to the ground, but made no move to hold her back. Her flush deepening, the woman—Ursey—tried to shake her head. “Father, please. I…I would honor the vow I made when I entered the Hunt.”
“You may continue to do so,” that Alpha announced. “But it will be from the safety of White Water. Your mate is welcome to join our pack, but you will not be getting on that bus.”
“Nor will you, Elsme,” the Patoka’s Alpha announced, beckoning to another Bride. Nowhere near as concerned over her honor or perceived lack thereof, Elsme abandoned her new mate and ran, edging around the Scullamy soldiers (none of whom tried to stop her), to get back to her pack. When she reached him, she threw her arms around her Alpha’s shoulders, hugging him in fierce relief before ducking behind the line of five Patoka soldiers who accompanied him.
Ursey was slower to obey. She glanced back once, but although invited, her new husband kept his head down and made no move to join her.
“Now we know the integrity of the Patoka and the White Water,” Deacon snarled, glaring first at the spurned male until he was sure the young man would not follow. But when he turned that same look on the two interfering alphas, Gabe moved in closer, bringing himself almost nose-to-nose with the leader of the Scullamy.
“I didn’t know you were familiar with that word,” Colton said.
Deacon flushed, his face growing more and more mottled the longer Gabe stared him down.
“You got something to say to me?” Gabe growled, tipping his head and shifting his stance until he loomed, his face within inches of Deacon’s. Never had Neoma seen anyone do anything so brave or so foolish. Her throat choked in. She gasped, her aching ribs and lungs refusing to accept more than a squeak of breath, but not enough to warn him. As if she could, or would. She stared, the way every Scullamy man, woman, and even the children stared, silent and appalled and too much of a coward to voice the smallest word of caution for someone who couldn’t possibly have known the danger he courted. She couldn’t imagine anyone doing this if he had known.
Deacon lowered his head, not taking his eyes off Gabe. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t back up either.
“Chicken shit,” Gabe snorted, deliberately bumping shoulders with Deacon when he shoved past him. He walked through the line of Scullamy soldiers as if they weren’t there, and not one moved to stop him from boarding the bus. He pushed past Elda, storming his way down the aisle to shove the man boxing Scotty into the seat out of his way. He pushed hard enough to knock the man backwards into the aisle. When he reached for Scotty, however, his hands were nothing but gentle.
“Come here, buddy,” she heard Gabe say as he lifted him into his arms. “Let’s get you back to mama.”
Scotty squirmed around far enough to see her through the window, but did not fight to break away. Not until they were off the bus again and Gabe was pushing back through the blockade that had so easily kept her out. When Scotty flung out his arms and strained to reach her, she grabbed onto him, yanking him out of Gabe’s arms in her fierce need to cradle him. She kissed his head, feeling the tickle of her own blood spilling from her hair down her nape as she hugged him tight.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, breathing in the little-boy sweetness of his scent. She squeezed him tight, trying to stop his shaking when she couldn’t stop her own. Looking up right then was a mistake. Gabe stood over her, his expression every bit as unforgiving toward her as it had been toward her Alpha. But worse than that was Deacon, his face flushed darker than she had ever seen before. And it only got worse. The longer Gabe stood between them, the deeper the rage grew just under the surface of Deacon’s barely contained temper.
“Get on the bus.” He snapped around on his heel and everyone got out of his way. He boarded, and silent as shadows, the rest of Scullamy followed.
Stroking Scotty’s soft blond hair, Neoma watched the buses fill. She had lived with these people all her life and yet there wasn’t a single one she regarded as a friend. None of them regarded her as one either. She could see the envy, peeking out at her from behind those bus windows. She could see the anger too. They would hurt her without a single hesitation or reluctant thought if Deacon gave the order. Except, too many eyes were watching here, and too many of those belonged to alphas.
No, he wouldn’t give that order here, no matter the provocation. She’d done it. She was out. She and Scotty both.
“It’s okay,” she whispered as the buses rumbled to life. Belching exhaust, one after another, they lurched forward, kicking up gravel as each negotiated a three-point turn and then headed right for them.
He was going to run over them.
Knees wobbling, Neoma stood up. Anyone else would have got out of the way, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her feet rooted her in place while everyone around her moved out of the way. A good mother would have thrown her child to safety, but Neoma didn’t do that either. She clung onto hers, ice claws of certainty scraping at her insides as Scotty’s thin arms tightened around her and Deacon stood up behind the driver. She could just make him out, his shadowed form holding onto the hand bars for balance as he watched them bearing down upon her.
The Alpha of Hollow Hills stepped in front of her. So did his lieutenants. Shoulder to shoulder, they were a three-man wall of flesh and bone and frowning defiance, all but goading him to hit them.
Neither bus did. In a cloud of diesel and dust, both roared past them faster than any vehicle among so many pedestrians should have. They bounced and jostled over the ruts of the field, continuing on until they reached the road, turned left and the trees swallowed them from sight.
All solidity went out of her already unsteady legs, but it wasn’t until she felt sharp gravel biting into her knees that she realized she’d fallen again. She stared up at the backs of the three men who had stood with her, knowing they were the only reason she and her son hadn’t been hit.
“Thank you,” she stammered, her throat as tight as her grip on Scotty. “Th-tha—”
All three turned to look at her and what she saw stopped her. Though they had stood between her and Deacon’s bus, neither Colton nor his second lieutenant offered the slightest hint of comfort or friendliness. Gabe offered even less. He scraped her with his gaze. His eyes settled briefly upon Scotty and she thought he softened, but then he looked at her again and if anything grew colder still.
“Get off your knees,” he snarled and then he walked away, stalked back across the field toward the parking lot.
Watching him go, Colton sighed, then he looked at her again. “What is your name, woman?”
“Neoma,” she whispered.
“And your boy?”
She could barely make herself meet his dark eyes. Her arms tightening, her fingers clutching in the folds of his clothes. She pressed a trembling kiss to his tear-salted cheek, though she honestly couldn’t tell if she did it for his comfort or her own. “Scotty.”
The Alpha of Hollow Hills studied them both. It was the single most nerve-wracking moment of her life before he decided, “The boy is welcome.” Giving Neoma no chance to relax, he stepped in close and lowered his voice. “If you harm anyone here, I will kill you myself. Are we clear?”
He waited until she nodded.
“Welcome to Hollow Hills,” he said before he too walked away, leaving her standing there, in the full heat of an icy summer sun, shaking in every part of her.
At least she’d got them
out of Scullamy.
CHAPTER FIVE
The last two stragglers emerged from the woods shortly after noon. Neoma didn’t know either of them, but judging from the painted symbols that wrapped their lean bodies, she knew their packs. He was a White Water male and not much older than his newly-claimed Bride, a female of the nomadic Kennewick tribe. She looked so very happy. Her cheeks were flushed, excitement brightening her smile as she dashed from her mate’s side to fling herself into the arms of her approaching family. A twinge of envy cut Neoma, but then, the girl was young. No more than twenty, perhaps; no older really than Neoma herself. That startled her.
Right now, she felt so much older.
“Mom?”
Sitting next to Scotty on a small patch of grass at the edge of the parking lot, Neoma plucked a blade of grass and shredded it between her fingers. “Yes?”
“Do we have to stay here?” He’d long stopped crying and his cheeks were no longer flushed, but the scampering, playful pup of the night before was gone, buried now under concerns that should never have haunted the thoughts of one so young. She hated that he didn’t smile more. He was always so somber. It made him seem older too. “I don’t think they like us.”
Neoma followed his stare to the Hollow Hills hierarchy, gathered at the tailgate of a white Fish and Game truck. Wayman had approached the Alpha Lauren and his two lieutenants, Marcus and Gabe, and was now deep in conversation with them. Less than twenty yards away, she knew if she listened closely she could have gleaned enough of what they were saying to know what he was telling them, but she didn’t. Neoma looked away, averting her ears. Why couldn’t he have left with everyone else?
Dropping the shredded grass, she rubbed Scotty’s back instead. “They don’t know us yet, that’s all.”
“I don’t think that will make any difference.”
Neoma glanced at him, but he was watching the happy new couple across the field. Both sets of parents surrounded them now, along with their respective Alphas. Introductions were being made, hands shaken, congratulations offered and accepted before the Kennewick Alpha pulled that of the White Water aside. Less than a decade ago, the Kennewick had been a healthy pack four hundred strong, but that had been before the chevolak overtook their town, forcing them out. Now they numbered nine. The rest had disbanded, breaking down into smaller family units to be absorbed by stronger volka packs or disappearing into the Scruff, preferring life in the nomadic wilds to that among the chevolak.
Life in the Scruff wasn’t easy, not for anyone, but to have lost so much of one’s pack… The weariness hung on them. Even happy, they wore it like a set of clothes. Until the Alpha of the White Water put his hand on the other’s shoulder, and the weight of it there must have been crushing. Neoma felt the heaviness as if it were her own shoulders bearing the burden, but she knew what was happening the way anyone watching this would have known. Alpha no longer, the Kennewick patriarch let his family know they would not be returning to the Scruff. Just like that, they became part of White Water.
And there wasn’t one of them who would be made to feel unwelcome. No matter where she went, Neoma knew she’d never be received that way. By her bloodline, she was tainted and so was Scotty.
The boy is welcome, the Alpha Lauren had said. She rubbed the small of Scotty’s back. That was something, at least.
The field was almost empty now, but the campgrounds across the Ridge remained a bustle of activity as tents were broken down, RVs packed up, garbage gathered and disposed of in the dumpster provided. Whole convoys of vehicles were revving up and heading for the road. After Scullamy, those nomads who’d avoided the allure of recruitment left as they’d come—returning to the Scruff en masse in their personal vehicles, big rigs and motorcycles. A few hitchhiked. Now, the only reminder of the celebration that had taken place lay in the occasional patch of discolored grass and all the winding footpaths carved into the earth by hundreds of trespassing feet.
And of course, Wayman.
Pulled against her will, she glanced back across the parking lot. Arms folded across his chest, Wayman was laughing. The only one amused by what he said, everyone else frowned, Gabe darkest of all. Either she was the topic or perhaps he sensed she was watching. Whatever the reason, he glanced back at her. Neoma immediately dropped her eyes, but not before he caught her staring.
“They took all our clothes,” Scotty said, picking aimlessly through the rocks around his sneakers. “We don’t have anything to wear. Are they going to let us go home and get our stuff?”
They’d never get out again if she tried. “We can always get more stuff.”
“My Spider-Man was in my sleeping bag.” Scotty picked up a pebble and gave it a half-hearted toss into the parking lot. “They took that too.”
Neoma combed her fingers through his short blond hair, soothing him as best she could. “We’ll get you another,” was all she could think to say. She didn’t like how it felt, lying to her son, but sometimes lies were kinder than the truth and right now, her truth was clear: the lack of clothes and few hand-me-down toys was small compared with a new life surrounded by people who hated them. “At least we’re out of Scullamy.”
Scotty said nothing, but she could feel his reservations. They were hers as well. She honestly didn’t know if Hollow Hills was any better, either.
* * * * *
“I’m not Scullamy,” Wayman droned for the second time. “I was with them less than a day. Are you saying I’m tainted now for life?”
“As if anything you say can be believed.” Gabe looked to Colton for support, but it was hard to tell what his Alpha was thinking. His arms were folded, his expression shuttered as he listened to Gabe. The problem was, he was listening to the Scruffer too and offering no hint at which direction his private thoughts might be taking. Gabe hated it when he did that. He wasn’t sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion Wayman was about to become their newest recruit.
Every inch of him bristled at the idea, and he wasn’t quite sure why. He didn’t know Wayman and couldn’t have cared less that he came from the Scruff, or even where he’d been before that. What mattered most now was he’d been in Scullamy last. Gabe had seen them, all three of their heads bowed together: Wayman, Deacon and that scrawny little mouse that had ruined his life. Wayman could insist all he wanted that he was only in negotiations, that he’d never been formally recruited, and that Neoma had only been there because Deacon had granted her to him in pravica do sre, but Gabe knew that explanation for what it was: pure, unadulterated bullshit. Nobody abided by that archaic dictate any more than they did ‘rule of thumb’ (a husband’s right to beat his wife so long as the stick he used was no bigger than his thumb) or prima-nocte (which Gabe doubted had ever been practiced, much as Hollywood movies such as ‘William Wallace’ might beg one to believe). Once upon a time, pravica do sre had served its purpose, keeping pack bloodlines healthy and cliquish inbreeding at bay. But that law had long been abolished and by volka kind. Nobody, not even Deacon, could be so draconian as to put it to modern use, and Wayman had to be an idiot to use it as an excuse.
“What do you want?” Colton finally asked.
Gabe couldn’t have cared less about that either. He wanted Wayman gone, not recruited. Oh, he understood Colton’s concerns. Up until a few days ago, they’d been a leadership of two. With Marcus, now they were three, which was a good starting base from which to build an alphaship. But the McQueens still outnumbered them, and four would put them on even ground. Gabe gritted his teeth against the slew of colorful metaphors trying so hard to vomit out of him. If he’d ever been this angry before, he couldn’t remember it. Of course, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had come at his back, either. Or the last time a McQueen had walked away with the love of his life. With the help of a Scullamy, no less. And now he was going to have to share command with another one? The very thought of it grated against every nerve this gross mistake of a Hunt had already rubbed raw.
“How about a home that do
esn’t move from place to place?” Wayman answered slowly. “I guess my need to wander isn’t what it once was.”
“You gave your loyalties,” Gabe growled. “You’ve been in bed with Deacon since you got here.”
Slate gray eyes slid to his. Wayman smiled, one corner of his mouth curling into a crooked smirk. “Not last night, I wasn’t. Your pretty little wife lay under me, shivering and shaking and burning my ear with her breathy pants.”
He flicked the air with his tongue, laughing at his crudeness and no doubt thinking he’d pricked Gabe’s temper. On the one hand, Gabe didn’t care where Neoma spent her nights; on the other, his temper was already as pricked as it could get.
Wayman was still laughing when Gabe grabbed him by the throat. He kicked Wayman’s leg out from under him and slammed him to the ground. Wayman grabbed his wrist, and then his fingers, prying to loosen them until startlement and fear both eased enough for him to realize he could still breathe. Not easily or well, but enough. The bright lupine glow of his inner wolf crept in to cover the fear, turning the gray of Wayman’s eyes to yellow. Gradually letting go of Gabe’s hand, Wayman forced himself to submit. He spread his hands in defeat and waited to be released.
It would have been so easy to squeeze, but in some detached pocket of his mind where rational thought was still possible, Gabe realized there were still too many people on the field for him to get away with murder. No matter how justified.
“Remember,” he growled instead, “the last time you lay under me. Shivering and shaking. Practically pissing yourself you were so fucking scared. Go on. Laugh at me again. See what happens.”
Wayman didn’t move. Neither did Gabe, although behind him he thought he heard Colton sigh.
“Let him up, Gabe.”
Gabe did squeeze then. “I don’t like you. Don’t ever forget that again.” Letting Wayman feel how it could have gone if he’d been so inclined, he let go and shoved back up to his feet.
