Her Wanted Wolf

by Renee Michaels

  “I believe I’m in good hands. You wouldn’t take a chance with my safety.”

  He shook his head. “Not with you, never with you.” He hauled her up for a short, hard, knee-weakening kiss, before he dropped her back onto her feet.

  Dazed, Sabine blinked several times and watched her mate move away from her in a fluid, ground-eating stride. The itchy ache settled in her heart with each step he took.

  Drew stalked across the deserted parking area shedding his borrowed clothes as he went. In a rippling release of fur and bulky muscles, Drew shifted and fell on all fours. A commanding example of an alpha were in his prime, he lifted his head, and summoned his pack to come to his side. They answered and the Lunedares raced to him en masse.

  He turned and faced the brooding Micah, his expression shaded by the gloom

  “Oh fuck it all to hell,” Micah grumbled, ripping off his own clothing, reluctance in every stiff motion. He morphed in a surge rather than a ripple, the mass of him awesome in its massive lethalness. It had some weres skittering back.

  Micah let out a roar. The other Redmavens did as he ordered and transformed to wolf form.

  With a final glance at Sabine, Drew motioned with his muzzle for Micah to join him. He lumbered over to Drew’s side, and shoulder to shoulder they took off into the darkness.

  Sabine let out a shuddering sigh and watched them disappear. She gathered Drew’s clothes and buried her nose in them, drawing in his scent. Would he come back to her unscathed?

  “I’ll put those away in the bus.” Sirah, Royal’s primo gently eased the clothing from her grip. “He’s going to need them later after the fight, which I have no doubt he will win.”

  Sabine gave a brief smile to show her gratitude and glanced up at the buildings towering above them, shrouded in silence, not giving anything away. The wasn’t a flicker of movement, no twig being snapped under a paw, no recognizable sound of fur brushing by a bush, or prey scrambling out of the way at the approach of a predator. She missed the forests and all the tells that would guide her.

  Sabine had never hunted in an environment like this, but she’d adapt.

  Rolling his shoulders, Royal stepped over to her. “So, sweetness, how do you want to play this?” Royal asked, straining at the figurative leash put on him to see to her safety.

  “How do you feel about heights?”

  * * * *

  Drew would never admit to Royal that he was right, but staging a battle in the city brought with it a particular set of problems. They were out of their element in a city where the buildings were packed together, which didn’t give them much room to maneuver.

  But a fight was a fight, and it was the were who was faster, stronger, more agile and more cunning who’d triumph tonight.

  The scent of blood grew stronger as they approached the warehouse Bardo was holed up in.

  A growl rattled in Micah’s chest and Drew slowed his run to a trot. Directly in their path lay the bodies of two wolves. Rivulets of blood trickled across the tarmac to wet their paws. Even in the dark, he could see that their throats and bellies had been ripped out. The odor of a disembowelment worked its way over to them, rank and sickening, it filled their muzzles. The evidence of having been attacked by more than one wolf was clear. With their jugulars shredded, the blood loss would be too much to overcome, and they had been left there to bleed out.

  Micah, after extricating himself from the mass of lupine bodies, walked over to the fallen pair. He sniffed them and nudged them with his nose. In a flash, he shifted and turned to Drew.

  His eyes savage and iced over with fury, Micah picked one were up in his arms, cradling him with a gentleness denoting his grief.

  “Left out the open like refuse. They didn’t deserve to die like this, not without a fair chance to defend themselves.”

  “We won’t leave them here. We’ll put the bodies in one of the buses; we’ll perform a proper passing ceremony for them later.” Drew dipped his head and a pair of his younger beta males shifted. One relieved Micah of his burden, the second retrieved the other dead were and they trotted off in the direction they’d come from.

  Bathed in his pack brother’s blood, Micah let out a vengeful howl, shifted and raced off, his pack mates hot on his heels.

  Shit, Micah was in the grip of a blood hunt, driven by a berserker’s mindless rage.

  Drew raced after him and almost barreled into Micah’s butt when he stopped abruptly. What greeted them was the fallout of a massacre, pure unadulterated carnage. Bardo Redmaven’s small army was decimated. Dead and dying weres littered the fenced-in lot fronting the building which was ripe with Redmaven’s signature musk. The door swung drunkenly from its hinges, creaking mournfully in a mournful dirge.

  Crap, they’d miscalculated. Badly.

  The rattling gasp of someone breathing their last reached them. Drew shifted from were form and ran over to see what he could do to help.

  Shit, he couldn’t believe it. He’d always knew he’d come face to face with Bardo but not like this. He wasn’t that badly wounded but the fucker was dying. He wasn’t going to get the ass-kicking he deserved, and yet he glared up at Drew with a mocking malice. An asshole to the end.

  All the hate and his desire for retribution melted into pity. Drew actually felt compassion for the were lying at his feet.

  “Micah!” he called over his shoulder.

  Micah trotted over and hesitated before he changed and knelt by Bardo’s side.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the turncoat,” Bardo gurgled, through blood-stained teeth. Crimson fluid trickled from the side of his mouth, nose, and ears.

  “Traitor! You’re calling me a traitor? Look what you did to your kin.”

  Bardo’s eyes flared with a zealous insanity. “It was for the glory of the Redmavens, as my father planned, but you were too short-sighted to see it. We were about to reclaim what was ours.” A bout of coughing racked his body, and he spat up clots blood. “Give Ambervane a message for me. Tell him we took a bit of what he stole from us.”

  Bardo’s glassy eyes flicked over the throng of weres crowded around him. “None of you will have any peace. It will all burn down around your ears. Your women will cower in fear for their cubs and mates. I’ve set the course of werekin history, even though I won’t be here to see it.”

  The hell he would, Drew thought. “Well, you’re not dead yet, and for the sake of our women and our cubs, we’ll remedy that. You’ll die knowing you had no say in who’ll be the next Redmaven alpha,” Drew pointed out coldly. He hoped Micah understood his implication.

  Micah gripped Bardo’s chin to capture his unfocused gaze. “The Redmavens will take their place in were society. It won’t be the path you chose for us; we’ll carve out our own destiny.” Unsheathing his claws, Micah sank them into Bardo’s chest and ripped out his barely beating heart.

  Bardo died, his lips forming a snarl of denial.

  “You’ll carry the scent of Bardo’s death on you when you face the council. Rifkin will have no claim on the leadership of your pack. He ran before he finished Bardo off. You are the Redmavens’ alpha, and according to our customs, it is irrevocable.”

  His eyes haunted, Micah stared at him. “Yeah? Then why the hell do I feel like the shit hasn’t hit the fan yet?”

  Drew looked at the dead. Every were there felt the loss of so many of the race, the waste of so much potential. Losing so many wolves in their prime would weaken Micah’s pack even more, making them vulnerable to stronger packs. Micah was going to have his hands full for the next couple of decades.

  “Get up, Micah, we are weres. As alpha, you’ll have to make some hard decisions. That was your first. Claim your position, for your weres, she-wolves, and cubs. Get on your fucking feet and proclaim your right to the leadership of your pack for all to hear. There is no time to wallow in self pity.”

  Micah’s head jerked up, and he was back. Eyes narrowed, they burned with a kick-ass attitude. He sprang to his feet, teeth bared.
/>
  “What are you waiting for? My permission?” Drew taunted.

  Micah flung back his head and let out a howl, declaring his ascendancy. He emitted spoor into the air, the scent of his kill in it, calling any Redmaven to challenge him for the position. His pack mates responded, broadcasting their recognition and loyalty to Micah in a pack song.

  Hell if the boy didn’t do him proud.

  Micah acknowledged their acceptance with a brief nod and turned to face Drew.

  “Satisfied? I am now head of my pack, but I’m still screwed.”

  “If it’s any consolation, you have in-laws who’ll help you hunt Rifkin.” Drew hoped his words would help to ease the burden he couldn’t lift for Micah or his sister because they would have to carry it together. They’d be saddled with that daunting task until Micah caught his brother.

  Micah snorted; it was a laugh and a weary sigh. “You call that a consolation? It’s more of a booby prize.” He climbed to his feet with the jerky motion of an old man. “How the hell are we going to clean this up?”

  “Good question. What would be your preference?” Their options were few, and they had to haul ass. They only had three hours max to accomplish the impossible.

  “I’d bury them all on our home turf if I could have my way, but that’s not possible.” Micah bent down, pulled down Bardo’s eyelids to close his eyes, and straightened out his limbs. The other Redmavens moved off to do the same for their fallen pack-mates.

  “Well, we can send a couple of men back to our transports, load the bodies into the buses, and retrieve our clothing. I think Nara Sinclair can help us. She seems to specialize in achieving the impossible. I’m going to give her a call and see what she can do to preserve the bodies until you can get them home.”

  Whatever he could do to make this debacle easier for the weres who were layin out their dead in a line that was way too long, he’d do.

  Now all he had to do was find a phone to set the ball rolling.

  Royal’s angry incredulous howl reverberated through the night sky, slicing through the silence hanging over the dockside and enlightening Drew that Sabine had confronted Rifkin and his minions.

  Drew spun around, preparing to shift, his head already in were mode. “Take care of your dead. One of my men will lead you to Royal’s place on the outskirts of town.” He’d track and find his mate, no masking agent could hide her from him. She carried his mate’s mark.

  “No, some of my pack will see to it. It’s time I paid you back for all you’ve done for me. If your mate is in danger, I might be the only one who stands between her and Rifkin.” Micah nodded to his pack mates. As one they transformed. Weres from both their packs fell in behind them and they raced to the vehicles Royal asked for.

  With every running leap, Drew prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Plagued by an uncontrollable twitching, Sabine was ready to chew off her claws with frustration. If only she had full access to her faculties! But as it was, her skewed awareness deprived her of a fragrance-rich scent trail to steer her in the right direction. The thin lead she’d followed now felt like it’d been a figment of her imagination. Her hunt was not going well. They traveled in circles and the lack of progress weighed heavily on her.

  She’d fail. Fail her mate, the Silverwolf bloodline, and her new pack. To accept defeat was not in her nature, and she recoiled mentally as the possibility seemed more likely as time passed. They weren’t far from Drew, which was a small consolation.

  She vaulted nimbly over one of the tar patches dotting the roof. She was going to have a hard time getting the muck which matted her fur and gummed up her paws removed. Grumpy in her uncertainty, Sabine studied her surroundings. There were no landmarks to tell her if she’d passed this way before, every building had a generic sameness. All she needed was a wisp of scent, a filament to seize.

  A distant howl rang out, shattering the silence and freezing Sabine in her tracks.

  Bardo was dead by Micah’s hand, and he’d assumed the leadership of the Redmavens. His robust masculine spoor drifted on the currents. Every werekin who heard his cry and caught his spoor would read the message in the aroma he emitted.

  The depth of emotion in the extended bay surprised her. Sorrow, rather than the triumph she’d expected. Another yowling-croon followed his call. The sound of his newly claimed pack acknowledging their new alpha resonated through the air.

  And there it was, an insubstantial trace, but it was all she needed. Sabine raced forward. The faint whiff grew and became a churning billow of odors overflowing with rage, disbelief, and rampant bitterness. Then it blanked out.

  It didn’t matter. The were’s loss of control gave her something to hold onto. Sabine bounded from building to building, the tendons in her injured leg throbbing, but she pushed on. Going from high to low, choosing structures with the narrowest breaks between them, using pipes as bridges, as Royal had instructed her.

  The spike in her awareness drew her to her mark. Sabine stopped in mid-stride, senses wide open to catch the subtle distinctions that guided, and she listened.

  Her lips pulled back from her fangs in triumph.

  She’d found them. Breathing hard from exertion and excitement, her heart thumped. Sabine crept toward the edge of the roof. Royal edged up beside her. He tilted his head, asking for confirmation, and she nodded.

  The insistent nudge of Royal’s muzzle, and the question in his eyes spurred her to action. She had to tag the weres. Cautiously she inched forward, careful not to let her claws rap on the surface beneath her paws.

  Ishbel and Tija moved up to flank her to form a stalking trio. A hunter, a spotter, and a fighter to cover the first two’s back.

  A harsh, admonishing snarl, followed by the piteous yelps of the reprimanded wolf, ricocheted up for the narrow tunnel. As one, the three Silverwolves crept to the eave and looked down into the alleyway. Sabine saw an oversized were hovering threateningly over a cringing female were. The reddish streaks in the aggressive were’s fur gave away his identity.

  Rifkin. And his hodge-podge pack. She did a quick head count. There were about thirty weres milling about. And they were not the average wolves. They seemed to be preparing to climb into the back of a semi trailer. They would get away.

  Terrifying memories of the oversized fangs tearing into to her flesh flooded her mind. Icy fear held her frozen on the barren roof, staring down at her worst nightmare, another encounter with his kind. Her paws curled over the ledge, her claws digging into the unyielding concrete.

  Rifkin sank his fangs into the cringing she-wolf’s ruff, shook her like a dead rabbit, and tossed her aside. The pungency of the abused wolf’s terror floated up to Sabine.

  Feeling a kinship with the female, Sabine’s dread evaporated and sizzled into fury like water on hot metal. She bunched her muscles and pushed off the ledge to plunge down onto Rifkin’s back. Taken by surprised, he dropped on his belly.

  Sabine raked her claws over his muzzle. Rifkin reared up and bucked her off in his astonished rage.

  She landed her hard, the breath leaving her body in a soft whoof. On shaky legs, she rose to stand between him and the cowering she-wolf. Sabine snarled her intention to assume guardianship over the were who couldn’t fend for herself.

  Royal’s horror-struck furious growl reverberated above them. It grabbed the attention of the rogue weres who’d been shocked into immobility by either her sudden appearance or her daring to attack Rifkin. Vocal challenges flew between the packs, vicious and insulting.

  Rifkin didn’t react. He had his eyes fixed on her. Sabine recognized the hard soulless avarice in them as they narrowed into slits, studying her. His malevolent, triumphant snigger sent a frisson of fear through her.

  Royal sent up a howl for every wolf in the area to hear before he hurled himself off the roof. The Sinclairs, Silverwolves, and Lunedares followed in his wake, and a chaotic melee ensued. At a glance, there was no way to differentiate friend from
foe in the writhing mass of fur, fang and claw.

  It took her a second to scent and separate. Sabine was about to join the fight when her newly acquired ward nipped her on the shin.

  With a plea in her eyes, she clawed at the plastic collar cutting into her neck.

  She would have to wait. In spite of being outnumbered, the Redmavens seemed to have the upper hand in the fight. Mortally wounded wolves littered the alley and none of them carried the Redmaven markings. Sabine started to turn away but the mute appeal in the other wolf’s expression and the piteous mewl gave her pause.

  Pressured by the need to join her pack sisters in the battling raging around her, Sabine impatiently clamped her teeth around the thin circle and, with a twist of her head, snapped it in two.

  Malice glittered in the she-wolf’s eyes, her lips spread in a toothy vengeful grin. She started to change in a slow elastic shift, not into a wolf but something bigger and much more frighteningly dangerous.

  Sabine skittered back. Had her impulse to help become a grievous, lethal mistake?

  The she-wolf grew to tower over them. Black bristly fur shot out of her skin. Her features morphed from lupine to ursine, but not like any bear she’d ever seen. It was primitive, like a less evolved ancestor of what a bear was today.

  Letting out a blood-curdling roar, she unerringly plucked up a Redmaven from the roiling mass and ripped his head off. Blood spewed over Sabine in a crimson spray.

  Rifkin abandoned his fight with a pair of Sinclairs and leapt, fangs and claws aimed at the bear’s neck. She swatted him away like a gnat. Rifkin crashed into a brick wall and fell to the ground, his neck at an odd angle. Sabine watched the bear use the bulk of her body and her scythe-sharp claws to cut through the writhing bodies, dismembering Redmavens with lethal efficiency.