The Fallen Cross Pack Series: Boxset 1-4

by Aliya DalRae

  Patrick smiled again, this time flashing a bit of fang as he grabbed the gun. Nasty stumbled back a step or two, leaving a puddle of his own nasty pee in the spot where he’d stood.

  Nasty glanced over his shoulder at Butch, who was still leaning against the wall, cool as a cucumber.

  “Wh-what?” Nasty was stuttering. When Butch smiled, baring a fang of his own, Nasty P was out the door and in his Caddy, peeling off down the lane faster than a greyhound chasing a mechanical rabbit.

  Butch chuckled as Patrick picked up the briefcase Nasty had left behind. He clicked the tabs and opened it, revealing piles of hundred dollar bills. He closed it again, patting the top for luck, then headed out to Butch’s truck.

  This wasn’t how they normally did business, but the dealers in the area should know better than to send an amateur to one of their drops. Whichever boss owned this kid was going to be good and pissed at the loss of his money.

  Devaris would make it up to him, though. It was bad business to screw the clients, even if you were the only game in town. Devaris was a horrible Alpha, but he had scruples when it came to making money.

  Butch and Patrick climbed into the truck where the heroin was still tucked safely in a rigged compartment under the bench seat, and headed off back to the camp.

  Chapter Two

  “T hat was something,” Butch said as he shifted his truck into gear and turned onto Main Street. The neighborhood they had left behind was not someplace where you wanted to be seen in a decent vehicle. Patrick learned early on that there was a reason Butch insisted on driving the POS Ford, even though the only things holding it together were rust and chewing gum.

  Butch eased the truck to a halt as the light before them turned red, and Patrick could feel the man’s eyes on him.

  “You got something to say?” Patrick asked, but Butch just shook his head.

  “Nah. Just wondered what we’re gonna tell Devaris.”

  “Nothing to tell. The kid threatened us and we straightened him out.”

  The light changed and Butch stepped on the gas. “You know Nasty P is going to be yacking all over town about how two yellow-eyed monsters stole his drug money and chased him off with threats of murder.”

  “So what if he does? He can’t prove anything, and there’s not a sane person out there that would believe a word he said.”

  “Devaris will believe him.”

  Patrick made a derisive noise and turned to watch the neglected houses stream by outside his cloudy window.

  “He’s not gonna be happy with us,” Butch continued, unwilling to let it go. “Now he has to call up Spider or Patchy or whoever-the-hell and smooth things over. He hates doing that shit.”

  “And I hate dong this shit,” Patrick muttered, but if Butch heard him he didn’t respond.

  It was coming up on a year since that bastard Dewey had attacked Patrick in that alley. One long year of being Devaris’ drug bitch, selling large quantities of heroin to people who would then turn around and sell it to junkies, or to kids who would soon be junkies. It made Patrick’s ass twitch.

  And he didn’t even want to think about the guns they put on the street.

  Patrick faced forward and scrubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes, before dragging his fingers through his hair.

  One whole year he’d been without his family.

  Once, early on, he’d called Maggie to tell her he was okay and that he would be coming home to them soon. She’d answered the phone, all kinds of hope in her voice, but he hadn’t been able to speak. He just held that phone to his ear and listened to her as she asked who was there. When she’d whispered his name, the pain she sent through the line struck him square in the lungs, and he’d been unable to breathe.

  She choked out the words, “I love you Paddy,” right before she hung up, and Patrick had cried himself to sleep that night.

  Of course, somehow Devaris had found out about the call, and Patrick had taken the beating of a lifetime. Funny how that shit never made him cry.

  Butch blew out a breath through his lips, making a sound like a horse, and tapped out a drum tattoo on the steering wheel, bee-bopping to music that was only audible in the man’s own head. Patrick stared at him until he glanced over and grinned.

  “In A Gadda Da Vida. Been stuck in my head all day,” he said. “That drum solo was something.”

  “What are we doing?” Patrick asked, as though Butch hadn’t mentioned his favorite Iron Butterfly song.

  “Headed back to the Camp. Gonna get our asses chewed by the Alpha.” Butch shrugged and tapped the breaks as the car in front of him slowed to a crawl.

  “I’m talking about the whole thing,” Patrick said. “I mean, I know we’re doing this so Charlie and the others don’t have to, but seriously? How much more shit are we going to put into the world before it’s enough? Too much?”

  Butch didn’t say anything, just hit the accelerator again after the offending vehicle made a right turn.

  “Kids are killing each other every day, either with the drugs we supply or the guns. Dying by each other’s hands, by their own? And ultimately, we’re responsible. Devaris doesn’t care. All that matters to him is having enough money to keep the wolves under his thumb. As long as he keeps them fed and sheltered, most just go along, do whatever they’re told.”

  Butch was tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel again. It wasn’t like this was a new conversation.

  “And here we are, trying to protect them from the worst of it, and for what? Most are good wolves, good people, but they are still getting their asses kicked by Devaris and his Dumbasses if they so much as think about having a life of their own. It’s not right, Butch. It’s just not right.”

  “Any suggestions?” Butch asked, as he looked both ways before making a left turn.

  Patrick collapsed in on himself and dropped the back of his skull against the head rest.

  He knew what Butch was saying. The man had gotten more and more “encouraging” over the last few months, trying to convince Patrick to take over the Pack. Just one problem. In order to be the Alpha you had to kill the Alpha, the current one that is, and Patrick was barely a year old in wolf years.

  Devaris had been running the pack for nearly forty years, and running it into the ground to boot. He had his ass firmly planted in that fancy chair he claimed at the head of the table during meals, and his fist on the backs of the entire Pack. Any wolf who dared to disagree with him? Those were the ones who got disappeared. And you didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that he hadn’t put them on a bus to Albuquerque.

  Just last week a little female had gone missing. She’d had the audacity to speak out one night during dinner against the Alpha’s chosen methods of earning a wage.

  Devaris hadn’t said a word. He just gave the Dumbasses a look, and Patrick had seen one of them nod, as the rest of them grinned like a bunch of, well, dumbasses.

  Next thing you know, Jenny Jo was gone and Patrick had seen Frank Duncan, the Dumbass’s de facto leader, lurking around inside her cabin, going through her things.

  You either toed the line or you died. Those were the choices in this Pack now, and Patrick had just about reached the end of his patience.

  Just about? Strike that. His patience had deserted him months ago.

  “I can’t keep doing what we’re doing. I’m tired of bowing to that son of a bitch, and I’m tired of lowering my head every time one of those assholes looks my way. It’s revolting what we’re doing, and frankly, my wolf is as disgusted as I am.

  “We need to call a meeting,” Patrick said, and Butch looked at him sideways, his eyebrow cocked. “Signal Alpha,” Patrick added. “Just David and Poppy for now. I don’t want to get too many in the camp involved at this point.”

  Butch nodded, made a right turn.

  Patrick sat up straight on that hard bench seat, five kilos of pure, brain-destroying crap under his ass, and nodded to his friend.

  “Devaris has to be stopped.”


  There was silence between them for several miles before Butch turned to him and said, “It’s about fucking time.”

  Chapter Three

  D evaris’ office, if you could call it that, was in one of the larger cabins that occupied the site of a former kid’s camp. Devaris had picked the property up cheap when the camp had gone under. When he killed the previous Alpha, Butch’s father, he’d wanted to move the Pack away from the town of Fallen Cross. He wanted one hundred percent control over the wolves, and what better way to do that than by controlling every bit of their lives. Having them live in this commune setting was the first step.

  The office was sparsely furnished, just a desk and a chair and a couple of filing cabinets for furniture. Anyone in there on business with the Alpha was forced to stand, no matter whether the meeting lasted five minutes or five hours.

  Devaris lounged in his chair, his feet up on the desk in spite of the mud that covered his filthy boots. His body language was relaxed, but Patrick was no fool. The Alpha was royally pissed.

  “So you’re telling me you took the money without turning over the drugs.”

  “Yes sir.” Butch stood beside him, but Patrick answered for both of them.

  “And why is that again?” Devaris drawled.

  “Punk got spooked,” Patrick said. “Lit out like his ass was on fire.”

  “And was it?”

  Patrick looked at Butch as if to confirm. Butch shrugged and Patrick said, “Not that we could tell, sir.”

  A little respect never hurt, but Devaris’ lifted eyebrow told Patrick he wasn’t buying it.

  “Here’s my problem,” the Alpha said. “I just got a phone call from a very irate drug lord saying how my representatives turned into boogeymen and stole his money. I assured him that was not the case, but have to admit to a certain level of skepticism.”

  “Sir, I don’t know what his problem was. Sure, he was trying to drive the price down. Said his boss told him to. When we said we didn’t believe him, well, he pulled a gun on us. I took it away from him and he ran off. My guess is he was sampling the product. Hallucinating. Sir.”

  “You sticking with that story?”

  Patrick looked at Butch again, and together they said, “Yep.”

  Devaris pulled his boots from the desk and stomped his feet on the floor. He slapped his hands on his legs, then used them to push himself out of the chair. Once on eye level with Patrick, he held his gaze for a long moment before throwing his hands in the air and saying, “Then I guess that’s all there is to it. But here’s the thing. Now you need to haul your asses back to the city and deliver the product to the dealer himself. Now.”

  He pushed a piece of paper to the edge of the desk, and when Patrick reached for it, Devaris nudged it onto the floor, forcing Patrick to bend over and pick it up. It was just another of his little games, but it was one more straw on the back of a camel who was already at the breaking point.

  Patrick took longer to retrieve the address than was strictly necessary, but he needed to keep his eyes lowered. It was the only way to hide the flash of yellow in them as his wolf pushed inside of him, begging to get his jaws around the throat of the man before them.

  Once in control, Patrick stood and joined Butch at the door.

  “Oh, and gentlemen,” Devaris said, as Butch opened the door. He’d moved to stand in front of his desk, and he did not make the effort to hide the flash of wolf in his eyes. “See that nothing like this happens again. There are plenty of wolves eager and able to do your job. I would have no problem giving them the opportunity to…replace you.”

  Patrick and Butch nodded a swift, “Yes, sir,” and made a hasty retreat into the yard before hurrying off to do the Alpha’s bidding.

  Chapter Four

  P atrick paced the length of the old log cabin, the worn path in front of it evidence that this was not the first time he’d come there to do some thinking.

  Today was different, though. By calling David and Poppy in, by putting out Signal Alpha, even to just these two, Patrick was setting something in motion that could not be reversed. Once he took that step, there was no turning back, and it would end one of two ways. Either he would become the new Alpha and life as they knew it would start to improve, or he and anyone found to be in league with him would be dead.

  That’s why it had taken him so long to make this decision. It wasn’t just his neck on the line. If he didn’t succeed, they were all going to fry.

  “Would you stand still for five minutes?” Butch called from the crumbling steps that led to the front door of the once grand home. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  Patrick stopped mid-lap and turned to look at the cabin. It had been falling in on itself the first time he’d seen it, and the past year hadn’t done a thing to remedy that. It was a safety hazard just to look at the thing, and Patrick held his breath, waiting for Butch’s large frame to fall through the rotten boards he was sitting on.

  “Where are they?” Patrick asked for the tenth time.

  “They’ll be here,” Butch said, as he leaned back and placed his elbows on the top step. The sound of wood cracking had him sitting back up, but he just brushed the dust from his red plaid shirtsleeves and rested his elbows on his knees instead.

  Patrick opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again when he saw the cloud of dust making its way up the drive. The lane was long and full of ruts, which kept out any but the most determined. Still, Patrick exhaled a sigh of relief when the car came into view, a blue Pontiac that he knew to be driven by his friend, David.

  Butch stood and brushed the seat of his jeans as the Pontiac pulled to a stop beside Butch’s old rust bucket. David jumped out of the driver’s side, his face a caricature of excitement and disbelief. He crossed the span of dried grass between them, and without saying anything, threw his arms around Patrick, pounding him on the back with a breathtaking level of enthusiasm.

  Poppy was slow to exit the vehicle, and even slower to join them. The man was old, though exactly how old was a point of discussion among the newer wolves. Like Butch, Poppy was born a Werewolf rather than being changed, as Patrick and most of the others had been. That meant that Poppy had to be on the north side of half a millennium. Butch was close to a hundred, and he barely looked old enough to be Patrick’s father.

  Poppy used a cane to balance on unsteady legs, the handle of which was carved into the shape of a wolf’s head. His steps were exact if not stable, but you didn’t want to let that fool you. When in wolf form, Poppy was just as formidable as wolves a quarter his age. Patrick was concerned about facing off with Devaris. If it were Poppy he had to fight, he would be terrified.

  The old man joined the other three, awarding Patrick with a broad grin that exposed several missing teeth. Even if the Devaris health plan had included dental, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference. Nothing but old age could rob a Wolf of the Blood of his fangs.

  “So it’s true?” David was saying. “This is really happening?” Patrick could only nod, his vocal chords seeming to have taken a brief vacation, but that was enough for David.

  “Praise God and pass the biscuits!” he hooted, slapping Patrick on the back again before turning his enthusiasm on Butch. The larger man narrowed his eyes before David could make contact, which had the offending hand changing direction into a proffered handshake. This Butch accepted before bursting into a grin of his own.

  As the two wolves exchanged pleasantries, Poppy returned his attention to Patrick, his face growing somber.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, son?” he asked. Butch and David’s conversation came to an abrupt halt as they all awaited Patrick’s response.

  “I don’t see as I have much choice,” he said, scratching his head and staring over Butch’s shoulder at the old cabin. “This Pack was something once. You and Butch aren’t the only ones to tell me that.”

  Poppy nodded as the mood between them sobered further. “And you think you can do it?”

 
“I have to try.”

  “You know what to do,” Butch added, a statement more than a question.

  “Sure,” Patrick said, sarcasm licking at his words. “Challenge Devaris. Fight Devaris. Kill Devaris. Easy peasey.”

  Chapter Five

  O nce the small talk was behind them, Patrick and his cohorts got down to business. There was much planning to do before the challenge could be tendered. With no room for error, every T had to be crossed, every I dotted.

  The Pack had grown to more than sixty wolves over the past year, most of whom were as thrilled about being there as Patrick was. Killing Dewey had been satisfying, and necessary for Patrick’s own sanity, but it had done nothing to curb the Alpha’s lust for increasing the size of his Pack.

  For every wolf that survived the change, ten more humans died in the process. Over a hundred souls had lost their lives, either to their God, or to the Pack. Either way, it had to end.

  A few of the turned wolves had actually been happy with their new circumstances, and these had been added to the ranks of the Dumbasses. They were sloppy little puppies eager to lick the Alpha’s boots or do his bidding. Devaris was happy either way.

  The rest, like Patrick, longed for their families, their homes, their actual lives. Jenny Jo had been one of them, and they all saw how that turned out for her.

  But there were many wolves, both new and old, who weren’t ready to pack it in just yet. Out of the sixty or so, Butch figured at least half would stand with Patrick, while another fifteen to twenty would not choose sides.

  Patrick didn’t resent them for it. If he lost, his backers would be paying the price right along with him. Devaris probably wouldn’t kill all of them. He needed to keep his numbers up, and doing away with over half of the Pack would be counterproductive.

  However, their lives would be hell on earth, as the Alpha would never trust them, or forgive them, and he would make them pay on a daily basis.