Omega's Wolves: Hell's Wolves MC

by J. L. Wilder

  “And I’m Daniel,” added the third one, who’d been remaining relatively silent. He tucked his long black hair behind his ear, his strong cheekbones catching the light.

  “What’s your position in the pack?” I asked politely.

  Tristan said nothing, but Caine snorted, “He doesn’t have one. Daniel, here, is a drifter.”

  Daniel shrugged, his green eyes burrowing into mine. “I don’t like staying put,” he explained in a low, measured voice. “It makes me want to run.”

  I stared deeper into the forest of his pupils. We had that in common—wanting to run. I waited for him to volunteer more information, but none was forthcoming. Silence seemed to be his currency, and I loved a good mystery.

  “Well,” I said at last, realizing Daniel wasn’t going to add any other illuminating details. “Thanks for saving me.”

  “We didn’t save you,” Tristan corrected. “We made a bargain.”

  I sighed. Of course—the bargain. Not like I was gonna forget that.

  See, money doesn’t really work in the shifter world. Or, well, it does, but only to a point (say, the constant need to buy new clothes after we accidentally shred ours). That aside, we live pretty simply; material constraints are for people whose spirits aren’t animal.

  All this to say, exchanges amongst shifters were exchanges of power. This makes sense, given the fact that our entire society is constructed around who has power, and who doesn’t: alphas, betas, omegas, so on and so forth.

  Brock had taken my power, and I wanted it back. I’d negotiated that by getting the aid of more powerful people—the Hell’s Wolves—and in return, I had to give them what little ‘power’ I had.

  This is gonna get a little shifter-y, and more than a little bragadocious, so stick with me. Omegas are prized in our world for being able to produce multiple, um, pups at once, and strong ones at that. We’re vied for by various packs, always in demand. Hence, the reason Brock had wanted me, so the Wolves, my people, couldn’t have me. I would’ve produced Wolves strong enough to be a threat to Brock’s supremacy among American shifters.

  Because, here’s the other thing … I’m one of the most desired omegas in the world.

  I know, I know, you wouldn’t think it; I come off as being kind, and friendly (or at least, I hope so). When I say I’m an extraordinarily famous omega, you’re thinking ‘this girl? Really? She seems so … normal.’ Or at least, that’s the feedback I’ve gotten in the past.

  But it’s the truth. My gift is notorious, and since the moment it manifested on my eighteenth birthday, when I turned blue under a blood moon, I haven’t known peace.

  Anyway, all this to say, having an omega like myself in your pack immediately lends you legitimacy and prestige—even if I weren’t to bear any of a pack’s pups. Which was convenient, as I had no intention of mating with any of these men. I didn’t trust them further than I could throw them, and I certainly wasn’t about to let them inseminate me.

  All I needed to do to keep our pact in check was stay alive and let it be known that I’d fallen in with the Hell’s Wolves. A simple trade.

  Or so I’d thought.

  Chapter 3

  I wrapped the sheet that had covered me around my shoulders, swaddling my small body. Once I was discreetly attired in said sheet, I swung my legs over the side of the table, and landed, unsteadily, on my feet. Daniel and Caine were there in a flash, supporting my weak arms and helping me balance.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Caine laughed, one of his enormous, tanned hands encircling my upper arm. “Don’t get cocky, you’ve been in a near coma for days.”

  “Coma?” I repeated, struck by the word.

  “He’s exaggerating,” Daniel muttered.

  “No, ‘coma’ is about right,” Tristan pronounced without emotion. “No more quibbling, boys. Caine, show her around. Daniel, I need your help on one of the bikes.”

  Daniel’s green eyes darkened, and I suspected he didn’t like receiving orders, from an alpha or otherwise.

  “Fine,” he replied, with a backward glance at me.

  Tristan didn’t even spare me a look, which made my heart sizzle with an unfamiliar feeling— jealousy? Scorned pride? —and then, without further discussion, he strode toward a door, Daniel sulking not far behind him. I made a mental note of the door, the third one to the right. Though there was no guarantee that’d be of any use to me; they could easily be keeping their bikes in a small room, and not outside. Given the distinctiveness of the bikes, their exhaust pipes famously shaped like a Wolf’s head, that would be the smart choice.

  Caine had been watching his alpha leave, but now turned back to me, a big, dopey grin on his face. I immediately warmed to him; his openness stood in stark contrast to his pack mates.

  “Okay, tour time,” he declared with glee, tossing his shaggy blonde hair back out of his eyes. “What would you like to see first?”

  My stomach growled, answering the question. “The kitchen,” I admitted. “I could use a little food.”

  “Then it’s your lucky day. I’m an excellent cook. Come on, follow me.” He appeared to reconsider this, then added, “If you can walk.”

  I sniffed. “Obviously, I can walk, I’m not a weakling.”

  He chuckled at my raised hackles. “I didn’t say you were, just trying to be helpful. We don’t get a lot of girls around here, you know?”

  My eyes took in the place once more, and I replied evenly, “Yeah, I figured as much.”

  Caine laughed out loud and began walking toward the kitchen, not stopping as he shouted over his shoulder, “You’re funny, you know that?”

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  “I like funny,” he continued.

  He stopped in the kitchen space, a tiny affair with a miniature stove, a few cabinets, and not much else.

  “Ta-da,” he pronounced, gesturing toward the room. “Kitchen.”

  I clapped appreciatively and was rewarded with yet another grin−though there were so many, they all seemed to run together.

  “What can I make you?” he asked. “Tea, coffee—”

  “Food,” I reiterated.

  “Right, duh. All right, let’s see…” He opened one cabinet, then another, at last producing a bag of cereal.

  “How’s this?” Caine inquired.

  I could see that he desperately wanted me to approve of the probably stale cereal, so I managed to nod with something resembling excitement. Besides, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “Perfect.”

  He looked quite pleased with himself as he passed the bag to me. No bowl? I thought, before squashing my entitlement. Packs didn’t keep stuff like, say, bowls, at least not small packs like this one. They needed to be able to leave at a moment’s notice. Brock had had a king’s ransom in plateware from the Ming dynasty, but then, he was also a fucking thief. Better no bowl than ones soaked in blood.

  “Thank you,” I replied, taking the bag from Caine’s hands, my fingertips brushing against his. I felt a warm tingly feeling spread from my fingers up through my arm, as if his skin was giving me a contact high. Caine must have felt it too, because he smirked with satisfaction, though he said nothing.

  “All right,” he said. “Bring the bag with you, because this tour is leaving the station.”

  I obliged, holding the bag with one hand and eating with another as Caine moved from the kitchen into another room.

  “This is the living room,” he said.

  “Great.”

  “And this,” he added, pointing at a nearby couch, filled with dents and furrows, “is where you’ve been sleeping for the past few days.”

  Yikes. Didn’t look particularly sanitary, but then, I was in no position to judge.

  “You’re a hot sleeper, you know that?” he said off-handedly.

  Normally, this would’ve induced a crimson blush in me, but Caine was so fun and silly that I just laughed.

  “What do you mean, hot sleeper?”

  He shrugged. “L
ike, some people open their mouths and drool or snore. But you just laid there in this kind of artful position, like a statue or something. I mean, you were a little beat up, obviously, with the—” he swallowed.

  Caine meant my bruises, the ones which covered my body. Brock called them ‘gifts’, said that every time he hit me, it was just because he cared so much. Said I was lucky to have such tactile proof of his love. The memory made me shiver, and I recalled that Brock had seemed nice too, at first. Not quite as earnest as Caine, but equally fast with a laugh or joke.

  Trust no one, I thought with a sick dread. Especially not the nice ones.

  Caine, to his credit, changed the subject immediately (not with much tact, but I give him points for the effort).

  “Okay, on to the next rooms,” he announced, tripping over the words to get them out faster.

  I was grateful he hadn’t pressed the point on the bruises; they weren’t something I was ready to talk about. Not now, probably not ever.

  I followed Caine as he took a few more steps, and slapped on a door.

  “This is Tristan’s room,” he told me. “Don’t go in there.”

  That wouldn’t be a problem; I knew when I was unwelcome, and Tristan had made it evident that I wasn’t his guest so much as his inconvenience. I would steer of that man.

  Caine moved on, and banged on another door with his large fist.

  “This is Daniel’s room. You could go in there, I guess, but it might be … uh … weird,” he explained falteringly, averting his eyes.

  I wondered what that could mean. Weird? These were guys who lived off the grid, as a Wolf-shifter motorcycle pack. How weird did something have to be around here to register as capital-W weird?

  Despite myself, I was curious, and filed away ‘investigate Daniel’s room’ for another time.

  But Caine was flitting to the next door. I could tell he bored of things quickly, more like a pup than a full-grown Wolf. That boyish energy was infectious, and I bounced after him, anxious to learn more.

  “And this,” he said, waggling his eyebrows as he stopped in front of another door, “is my room. Wanna see it?”

  He certainly was a flirt, I had to give him that. He didn’t even seem to care that, generally speaking, an alpha had first claim on wooing a woman. Or maybe Tristan already passed on that particular privilege, I thought angrily. Wait, why was I angry? The feeling was mutual. Right?

  “Oh, go on, let’s see it,” I laughed, letting my guard down for a moment. It’d been a while since I’d done anything as fun—and foolish—as ‘letting my guard down’.

  Caine didn’t need to be told twice; he threw open the door, and beckoned me inside.

  I followed his hand, entering the room.

  It was softer than the rest of the lair, more welcoming. It didn’t have much, but it was clear that Caine had gone to the trouble of making it a little homey. There was a standard twin bed and blanket, but with a red plaid duvet that struck me as being quite at odds with the seemingly mandatory black and silver color code. He also had a set of portable speakers, and a poster from some alt-rock band whose name I didn’t recognize. Being in a compound for two years, with limited to no contact with the outside world, means you don’t have an extensive familiarity with hip new tunes.

  “Well?” Caine asked, his voice anxious even as he tried to play it smooth. “What do you think?”

  I smiled, and replied honestly, “It’s great. Very warm. Like you.”

  He beamed, obviously pleased with himself. “Thanks.” Then, his smile broadening, “You’re welcome in here any time you like.”

  “What a generous offer,” I retorted drily.

  I was out of practice with men hitting on me; it’d been rule of law in the compound that nobody besides Brock so much as looked at me. If you’re wondering if that was isolating, the answer is yes. But now, as much as I wanted to try and get back into some semblance of normalcy, I found that even Caine’s easy-going flirtation made me nervous. In my head, I silently cursed Brock for turning me into this fidgety shell of myself, someone who always suspected the worst in people.

  Though, in fairness, the Hell’s Wolves were people one ought to suspect, as they were rarely up to any good.

  “All right, let’s continue the tour,” Caine said, probably realizing I was nowhere near ripping his clothes off and making use of that twin bed. Though, in his defense, he didn’t seem to take this personally, but rather, as a challenge to be shelved for another time.

  He opened the door and I followed his lead, returning to the main space. He didn’t even bother to shut his door after him.

  Caine swept his hand across a few other doors, speaking quickly. “Those are three other rooms, available for traveling pack members, that’s the bathroom, and through there is the garage,” he finished, gesturing toward the door Daniel and Tristan had gone through. So, I’d been right on a couple of counts: one, this was a temporary housing situation, and two, there was no obvious exit. For all I knew, we were underground.

  How the hell would I get out, if it came to that?

  I suppose Caine didn’t pick up on my sudden concern because he continued blithely, “And here’s your room.”

  He traipsed toward another door, not distinct from any other, and flung the door open.

  It was the same format as his: bed, pillow. Nothing else. No storage, no nothing. Didn’t really matter, I supposed. I’d brought zilch with me, not even a change of clothes−hence the sheet I’d turned into a makeshift toga.

  “I know it’s not much,” Caine said, his tone apologetic.

  I shook my head. “It’s perfect,” I replied. Back at the compound, I hadn’t had my own room; I’d been forced to either sleep in Brock’s, or in a room with other female bear shifters who regarded me with open disdain. Not exactly pleasant sleeping quarters.

  “So … that’s about it,” Caine concluded as we exited my room, re-entering the main space. “Any questions?”

  “Uh, yeah. Do you guys have some spare clothes?” I looked down at my sheet. “I’m thinking this might not be a long-term solution.”

  He laughed. “But it suits you.” His face became about as contemplative as I suspected Caine’s face was capable of becoming. “Maybe I could give you some jeans? They’re not really gonna—”

  “I’ve got it.”

  We both turned around, and saw that Tristan and Daniel had returned from the garage, Tristan standing cold and firm, Daniel shifting from one foot to another. It was Daniel who had spoken, I realized, already beginning to distinguish their voices. Was that the Wolf in me?

  I was about to tell him thanks, but Caine butted in. “I already said I’d help her,” he explained to Daniel, his tone unyielding.

  Daniel smirked just a little, his smile a tiny cut in comparison to Caine’s broad gash.

  “You’re a mountain,” he replied. “And she’s a mole hill. She’ll drown in your threads.”

  This was a fair point, but that didn’t seem to mollify Caine.

  “I could rip them up for her,” Caine declared. “Like a, y’know, a crop top.”

  Tristan sighed. “Enough. Daniel, get her some clothes. Caine, we talked about this.”

  Caine looked down at the floor, and muttered petulantly, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

  I was taking in the dynamics of this group, the ever-shifting push and pull of power, when I realized Daniel had moved to my side, so silently I hadn’t known it until his lips were near my ear.

  “Follow me,” he murmured in a smooth, mellifluous tone.

  Caine flopped down onto the sofa, Tristan standing close by him, as I moved hastily after Daniel, anxious to be rid of my sheet—and to extricate myself from Caine and Tristan’s bubbling feud.

  As Daniel led me to his door, I heard Tristan say softly but firmly to Caine, “We talked about this.”

  “I know,” Caine huffed. “But have you seen her? She’s—”

  “Yes, I’ve seen her,” Tristan interrupted. �
�Don’t dwell on it. None of us can have her. Understood?”

  Caine nodded. I knew I hadn’t been meant to hear that, but there was no going back. It sounded like they’d discussed this in advance. I wondered what else they’d discussed about me…

  “Here,” Daniel said, pulling me out of my contemplation. “They should fit fine.”

  He was standing at the threshold of his open door, holding out some black, non-descript clothes. That was probably true—Daniel was thin as a wisp, and though about half a foot taller than me, not much heavier. Though I usually think skinny boys look gaunt, sickly, something about his thinness just made me think of an angular modern painting: all hard edges.

  I wondered what he’d look like as a Wolf, and pictured him shifting in front of me, his clothes ripping open. Don’t think about that, I snarled at myself. Shifting is an arousing process for all Wolves; seeing one another become primal triggers an animalistic part of yourself you can’t help. But I couldn’t dwell on Daniel’s shift, especially since I was bound to see it sometime soon, and didn’t want to stare too blatantly at him, like some kind of new, thirsty pup.

  He hefted the clothes again, and I realized I’d forgotten all about them.

  “Thanks,” I said hastily, putting my bag of cereal down on the couch, mostly untouched, and taking the clothes from Daniel.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  He began to shut the door behind him, and I caught a glimpse of his room. On the wall was … no, I must have seen that wrong.

  Because there was no way I’d seen a whip mounted to his wall.

  It’s in my head, I reasoned. But, if so, why was that the thing my mind had imagined?

  I gulped and took Daniel’s bundle of clothes to my room, not sparing him a second look. I worried that if I examined him much harder, somewhere between thinking about his shift and thinking about his whip, I’d make an ass of myself.

  In the privacy of my own room—oh, privacy, I’d missed that—I changed into Daniel’s clothes. They turned out to be a black t-shirt and black jeans, along with a pair of black boots that were a little too large but would do the job fine. I realized, with a little spark of embarrassment, that he hadn’t provided me with any underwear. That was, I suppose, to be expected, but didn’t make me feel any better.