by Aliya DalRae
One afternoon, after almost a month of daily ass-kickings, Butch showed up at his cabin.
“Grab your shoes.”
Patrick was lying on his cot, healing from his most recent run-in with the Dumbasses and contemplating the upcoming full moon. “Why?” he asked, not moving.
“Because I said so.” Butch wasted no time in kicking the cot over and spilling Patrick to the dirty floor. He never lost his temper, but the same couldn’t be said for Patrick.
He was on his feet in a flash, and Butch took a step back at the growl that rumbled from Patrick’s throat.
The big man narrowed his eyes, quickly regaining his composure. “Please,” he said, which for some reason had Patrick easing down.
“Sorry,” Patrick said as he stuffed his feet into his sneakers. “Full moon’s in a couple of days.”
“It’s cool,” Butch said. “But we need to take a ride.”
Chapter Eleven
B utch led Patrick to a rusty old pickup truck, circa 1970. Springs were sticking out of the bench seat and you could practically see light shining through the floorboards.
Patrick climbed in and used the hand crank to roll down the window as he reached for a seat belt, only to find it unavailable. He glanced at Butch, but the man only shrugged as he made several attempts at starting the vehicle. Third time was a charm, and Butch worked the clutch as he shifted the truck into gear and aimed them down a gravel drive.
“How old are you, son?”
Patrick tore his eyes from the scenery passing by to look a question at the guy.
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Butch said. “Just making conversation.”
Patrick couldn’t think of any reason not to answer, so he said, “I’m twenty-five. Not sure what that works out to in dog years, though.”
Butch let out a barking laugh, and Patrick jumped. Other than the jeering cackles of his tormentors, he couldn’t remember anyone in the Pack outright laughing.
“In wolf years,” Butch said, still smiling, “you’re just a pup. And that sort of brings me to why I suggested this little trip.”
Patrick turned in his seat to see the man better, leaned against the door, then quickly sat up straight again as he felt the metal give a little under his weight.
“I understand you’re not real happy with your current circumstances,” Butch said.
“That’s an understatement.”
“I know. I get it. You got a shitty deal, and that’s on Dewey. Well, you took care of that, and now you need to learn how to play the hand you’ve been dealt.”
“And if I don’t?”
Butch blew out a breath and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Patrick, do you know why the other wolves shy away from you?”
Patrick hadn’t really noticed that they were. He was so hell bent on pissing everyone off, he figured they just didn’t want to be bothered. Or be associated with someone determined to get his ass kicked every day. In answer to Butch’s question, he merely shrugged.
“They’re afraid of you.”
“Bullshit,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes.
“Have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror when you were pissed off or hurt?”
“Why would I? I’m usually busy defending myself.”
Without warning, Butch swiped out a meaty paw and sliced sharp claws down Patrick’s arm, leaving bloody tracks in his wake.
Patrick reacted without thinking, and jumped at Butch, who had pulled the truck over to the side of the road in anticipation of this reaction. Unfazed, Butch pushed Patrick away and flipped down the visor where a mirror was precariously held with dried-out rubber bands.
“Look,” the older wolf forced his head forward, and Patrick glared into the reflective glass in front of him. Yellow eyes stared back. Patrick’s mouth fell open, revealing a pair of fangs he hadn’t felt in his fury.
“What the…”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You run around the compound like a wolf with his ass on fire, bound and determined to get yourself in trouble, and when you do? When someone challenges you? This is what they see.
“Now, those friends of Dewey’s, they’re not real smart. They wouldn’t know respect if it came up and bit ‘em on the ass, let alone who to show it to.”
“They respect Devaris,” Patrick countered.
“They’re afraid of Devaris, and that’s a whole different animal. You, on the other hand, are someone they should respect.”
“Why? Because I wolf out when I’m pissed?”
“No, Patrick, because you can wolf out. Do you have any idea how long it takes for most turned wolves to get where you are now?”
Patrick shrugged again.
“Years, Patrick. Years. You killed a wolf during your first change and there are signs that you stand to become one of the strongest wolves in the Pack.”
“Does that mean I’ll stop getting my ass kicked?”
“It means if you keep on the way you are, the Alpha is going to take issue with you. Anyone with eyes sees the potential you have, and believe me, Devaris has eyes. You keep putting it out there for everyone to see, and before long, Devaris is gonna do more than sic his lackeys on you.”
“How the hell did he get to be Alpha in the first place?”
“He killed the old Alpha.” Butch let his words hang in the air for a minute before he continued. “There aren’t too many of us left who remember what it was like under Benjamin Montgomery. He was a good man and an excellent leader. People respected him, without the fear.
“Don’t get me wrong. He was a wolf, and perfectly capable of putting the rest of us in our places if the need arose. And he wasn’t above hurtin’ a wolf if the wolf needed hurtin’. But we followed him because he made us proud of what we are.”
Patrick considered for a moment before asking, “How long have you been a wolf?”
“All my life.”
“What? How?” Patrick stared at Butch with new respect. He couldn’t imagine being turned as a child.
“I’m a Wolf of the Blood. Never knew anything else.”
“I don’t understand.”
Butch started the truck up again, and pulled out onto the country road. He’d driven at least a mile before he scratched his beard and said, “Benjamin wasn’t only the best Alpha I’ve ever known. He was also my father.”
Chapter Twelve
P atrick stuck a finger in his ear and dug it around, certain he’d misheard.
“So you’re telling me you were born a Werewolf?” Patrick had heard the words, but it was too surreal.
Butch nodded, and turned left onto a road with nothing but corn fields lining both sides. “In the old days, that’s where most of us came from. We had families: mothers, fathers, grandparents and kids. Lots and lots of kids.” Butch smiled at the memory. “We worked in the community, lived wherever we wanted, and when the full moon came around, we all gathered in the woods behind the Alpha’s home and celebrated the thing that made us unique.”
Patrick’s mind was a whirlwind, thoughts forming faster than he could put them into words. Finally he settled on, “What the hell happened?”
“Devaris happened. He and a few others were whatcha’d call disgruntled. They couldn’t find jobs that suited them, and wanted to take short cuts. All the illegal shit that goes on now? You get the picture.”
Patrick nodded and Butch went on. “Of course my father wouldn’t hear of it, and he wouldn’t condone it. He said any wolf of his found to be breaking the law would be run out of the Pack at best, killed at worst. This didn’t go over too good with Devaris and his kin. They wanted it all, and they wanted it now.”
Butch pulled up to a stop sign, looked both ways and took a right, leaving the corn fields behind as they entered a forested area. “Long story short, Devaris challenged my dad for his position. My dad lost.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Patrick said, staring out his window at the to
wering trees passing by. “But why are you telling me this?”
Butch scratched his beard again as he wrestled with the ancient steering wheel one-handed. When he didn’t respond, Patrick glanced at the man. The sight of that big Werewolf so deep in thought…Patrick found himself unable to look away.
When he did speak, Butch chose his words carefully.
“You’re powerful, Patrick. No, don’t say anything. What I just showed you? With your eyes? As I said, new wolves can’t do that. They just can’t. They tend to just get their asses kicked and hang on, hoping for better times.”
“I get my ass kicked. A lot.”
“It’s not the same, though. You give out way more punishment than you take, and the smart wolves in the Pack—yes, there are some—they’ve been giving you a wide berth. Those boys that’ve been doing the Alpha’s dirty work?”
“Dewey’s Dumbasses,” Patrick mumbled, and Butch chuckled.
“I like that,” he said. “It suits them. Anyway, they’re too stupid and too far up Devaris’ ass to walk away. You’ve been a wolf for what? A month now? And already you’re giving as good as you get. What will you be like in six months? A year?”
Butch turned right onto a dirt path that was more pothole than road. The forest grew in density the farther they progressed down the lane, branches reaching above them to join hands with their brothers and sisters across the road. Beneath their shade, the afternoon sunlight dimmed, leaving Patrick with a sense of false twilight as Butch’s words sunk in.
“I’m just a guy,” Patrick said. “I just want to go home to my family.”
“You know that’s not going to happen any time soon,” Butch said, and before Patrick could argue he added, “but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
Chapter Thirteen
F or the first time in weeks, hope sprang in Patrick’s chest. A chance to go home again, to see his Maggie and hold his little girl? Could this really be in the cards for him?
A sudden light shined through the windshield and Patrick looked away from Butch to see that they had driven out of the shadows and into a large, overgrown clearing. A huge log cabin sat back against the trees. Patrick could tell it had once been a grand home. It had two stories with lots of windows to let in the light, and a large wraparound porch where a person could sit on a nice summer night and enjoy the sounds of the forest.
However, what had once been impressive, now stood derelict, with broken windows and crumbling chimneys. The roof was caved in on one side, with the branches of an oak tree peeking out the top. The mighty logs that had been used to create the former masterpiece now bore their weight dubiously, the level of decay laying odds on the next length of insect-infested hardwood to meet the ground.
Patrick tumbled out of the truck and turned in a wide circle, taking in all of the potential, all of the splendor surrounding them.
“What is this?”
Butch had exited the vehicle as well and was leaning across the hood, watching Patrick.
“This was my father’s place. My family’s.”
“The one you were telling me about?”
“Yeah.” Butch pushed away from the truck and walked to the front of the cabin. He didn’t go in, just stood with his arms folded across his chest and stared at his former home.
Patrick joined him by the steps and bent over to pull at a piece of splintered wood on the first riser. It came off in his hand, and when he stood to examine it, it crumbled in his fingers.
“How long has Devaris been in charge?” Patrick asked, brushing his hands together, then wiping them on his jeans.
“Too long.” Butch stood silent for a while, lost, it seemed, in another time. When he turned to face Patrick, his jaw was set and there was a new light in his eye.
“We need a new Alpha, Patrick. Someone who can bring the Pack back to what it was. What it was meant to be. We’ve been waiting longer than I care to remember for someone to join us. Someone strong enough to remove Devaris and reclaim the Pack.”
Butch took a step toward Patrick, and then another, closing the distance until they were standing practically nose to nose.
“I think our wait is nearly over.”
Chapter Fourteen
F or the first time since Dewey attacked him in that dark alley, Patrick laughed.
For a minute there, he was convinced that Butch expected him, Patrick O’Connell, to take over this Pack of unruly, degenerate Werewolves. It was such an insane idea, and once he started laughing, he couldn’t stop. He was nearly doubled over when he heard Butch clearing his throat.
The older wolf wasn’t feeling the humor.
Patrick straightened up and wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “Sorry,” he said. “But you can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious,” Butch said.
Any remaining laughter died inside of Patrick and was replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread.
“Y-you can’t be,” he stammered. “I haven’t even gone through my second change. How can you think I’d be strong enough to…to…I don’t even know what I would have to do!”
“Kill the Alpha.”
“Kill the Alpha. I would have to…kill…Devaris? How the fuck do you even…?” Patrick drug a hand through his hair and paced the length of the cabin. Butch watched, but said nothing.
Patrick strode back to Butch and said, “Kill Devaris.”
Butch nodded.
There was sense in this. Patrick knew there was, but still, Devaris scared the crap out of him.
“I can’t do it,” he said, shaking his head.
“Not now,” Butch agreed, “but in time, you can. I believe in you, Patrick. I see how the others look at you. They see the power in you, just as I do, and—no pressure—but they are showing signs of hope for the first time in decades.”
“Can I ask a personal question?” When Butch nodded, Patrick said, “Why haven’t you done it? Taken over the Pack?”
Butch shifted on his feet and looked away before answering. “I’m not strong enough,” he finally said. “If I thought I could kill that bastard, I would have challenged him a long time ago. But you, Patrick.” Butch looked him dead in the eye. “You are an Alpha in everything but name. All we have to do is keep you alive long enough to claim your place among the Pack.”
Patrick smiled. He knew there was a catch.
“Just how do you propose we do that?” he asked.
“You need to be smart,” Butch said. “Stop testing the waters, stop pushing their buttons—the Dumbasses—and for God’s sake, stop pissing off Devaris. Play your cards right, Patrick, and you could have it all. This property, the Pack, and good Lord willing, your family.”
Patrick looked around again, seeing the images Butch was laying out before him. The cabin here, brought back to its old glory, a Pack of happy wolves running around, living their lives as they chose, and Maggie. He could practically see here standing on the porch, the sun bringing out the highlights in her red hair, Jessica standing beside her as they both waved him home. It could all be his.
All he had to do was kill the most terrifying creature he’d ever encountered.
Bitter
Challenge
Chapter One
N asty P was a dumb mother fucker. Who the hell wanted to be called Nasty P, let alone took pride in it? Dealing with idiots like him was just one more burr crawling up the underside of Patrick’s hide.
“A hundred K a brick,” Patrick said. “No more, no less.”
Nasty scratched his balls and then hitched up his pants, all while attempting to maintain his badass demeanor. Patrick rolled his eyes.
“My boss ain’t gonna go for that,” Nasty said. “You’re gonna have to come down or I’m walkin’.”
Oh, how Patrick wanted to tell him to take a walk—a walk on the wild side. A walk down memory lane. A long walk off a short pier—anything to get him the fuck out of his sight. Instead, Patrick smiled.
“Are you really going to argue wit
h me over this? I happen to know that your boss and my boss have already settled on the price. You wouldn’t be trying to skim a little off the top for yourself, would you Nasty? I don’t think your boss would be at all amenable to that.”
Nasty didn’t flinch, neither at the implication nor at the fancy word Patrick was certain he didn’t understand. “I’m just following orders,” he said. “And I ain’t leaving here without the shit.”
“That’s fine. A hundred K a brick, and the whole kit and caboodle is yours.”
Nasty was quick for a skinny little punk from the West Side. He had the gun out and aimed at Patrick’s head in the blink of an eye. Asshole wasn’t even breathing heavy, so it wasn’t his first time pulling it out. Patrick smiled at his private joke, which only infuriated Nasty.
The kid exploded in a burst of expletives and threats, waving the gun around to show them how serious he was.
How many punks like this had they been through over the past year? A dozen? More? You’d think in this billion-dollar industry, the drug lords would be a little more particular about the people they employed.
Patrick exchanged a bored look with Butch. His partner was off to the side, leaning against a filthy wall with his arms crossed, watching the attempted shakedown with something akin to amusement.
Butch lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and Patrick lowered his eyes to the floor.
“Look at me, you son of a bitch.” Nasty was screaming now, not at all happy that Patrick wasn’t pissing himself like the punk thought he should.
So Patrick obliged.
When his eyes met Nasty’s, though, it wasn’t Patrick who was shaking with fear. Where his ice blues had been, Patrick was now sporting what he referred to as the windows to hell. His bright yellow irises glowed in the darkened room, and Nasty P’s gun wavered.
