Omega's Wolves: Hell's Wolves MC

by J. L. Wilder

  Then something hit my flank, and I blacked out.

  Chapter 11

  I awoke moments later, and saw a brown Wolf standing over me, its teeth bared and saliva dripping from its muzzle. But all the boys were back in the den. This was a stranger, an interloper, someone who wanted me dead. Opening my jaws, I lunged.

  His paw batted me aside as if I were a ragdoll. I came up against an oak tree, then slid down its bark, the rough surface scraping the skin beneath my fur.

  The shock of the hit triggered a shift; within seconds, I was human once more, and shivering in the cold. The brown Wolf would kill me, I knew it. Maybe death would be more peaceful.

  And then the Wolf transformed, and standing in front of me was a naked, furious Tristan.

  “What the hell?” I cried. “Why’d you attack me?”

  “Why did I attack you? Why did you leave the damn den?”

  I sniffed, trying to maintain my pride despite my nakedness. “You said I could go whenever I liked.”

  He rolled his eyes, his hands balling up into fists. “I said you could go whenever you liked. I didn’t tell you to get yourself killed.”

  His chest was rising and falling, breath coming fast. Despite myself, I found his anger hot. I’d never seen his icy demeanor drop, revealing the hot blood that coursed in his veins. Was this the Wolf beneath the man?

  “I’m perfectly fine, thanks for asking,” I spat in response. “You’re the one who almost got me killed, knocking me into a tree.”

  “Killed?” he laughed, a sound that was almost manic. “You are such a—”

  With some effort, I pushed away from the tree, managing to find my feet. “Such a what?” I fired back. “Go on, say it.”

  His lips turned into a thin line, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a danger to everyone around you. You’re reckless, impetuous, ungrateful. Do you know what kind of risk we took, the Hell’s Wolves, when we let you in?”

  I snorted, furious. “Don’t pretend like you got nothing out of it.”

  “Oh, Emma,” Tristan said, shaking his head. “You’re naïve. How much clout do you imagine we got by letting people know we had a major omega? You’re valuable, sure, but the Hell’s Wolves could give a shit about reputation, or prestige. We live on the outskirts of the shifter society. What makes you think we’d want to ratchet up the ranks? We didn’t. But it was the only thing you had to offer us, and we were feeling generous. That’s it, that’s the ballgame.”

  I sucked in a breath. “I’m not your charity.”

  “You are, actually,” he replied. “We have gone out of our way to keep you safe, at great cost. Because you are one of us—a Wolf. And you repay us by trying to run away.”

  A heavy stone of guilt settled in the depths of my stomach. I knew, without a doubt, that Tristan’s words were true. I wondered if I’d been kidding myself before. Of course, of course, they had little to gain from my rep. They weren’t a prestige pack; they didn’t care about having a major omega, especially one that wasn’t even going to reproduce with them. The HW had helped me because I was in danger from a notorious abuser.

  My walls dropped, and I was subsumed in shame.

  Aloud, I admitted in a vicious whisper, “I was tearing you guys apart. It wasn’t fair.”

  “You could never do that.”

  Though Tristan tried to put conviction behind his words, I looked between those heavy brown lashes and saw the lie. He knew, as well as I, that they were fraying from the strain of my presence. I called him on it.

  “I’m wreaking havoc, Tristan. You don’t have to be nice about it. It’s not what I wanted but … but we can’t deny that it’s happening. So, why are you letting me stay? Hell, why are you begging me to come back?”

  “I’m not begging,” he sniffed, dodging my question, his eyes falling on the mulch of the forest floor.

  “Answer me.”

  In those two words, I felt an abrupt exchange of power between me and Tristan. For a moment, just a split second, the authority of an alpha had surged through me. The demand in my voice couldn’t be ignored, even by him.

  He raised his eyes, which met my own in a steady gaze. Slowly, as if the words were being dragged out of him, he said, “Because I want you.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to be safe,” he clarified quickly. Too quickly—he’d already shown his cards. Tristan desires me, just as I desire him, I realized with a sick satisfaction.

  “Is that all?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t.

  “Emma, don’t make me say it. Please.” The desperation edging his voice made me want to back off, but my hunger made me want to press forward. The hunger won.

  “Say it. Show me I haven’t been crazy, that I haven’t been imaging things. That this … this attraction … that it isn’t just in my head.”

  He swallowed, bending his head toward the earth before abruptly snapping it back up, and saying, with military precision, “We want you there, with us, in the den. And yes, Daniel, Caine and I are all drawn to you. It doesn’t mean we can do anything about it. But you’re not crazy. We’re crazy, perhaps, for thinking this could possibly go any further. But none of us are ready for you to go.”

  I tried to absorb this information, but it was too much for me to take in.

  All I managed to ask was, “So, you guys have discussed this?”

  “No.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “But we can’t hide powerful emotions from one another. Stray thoughts, sure, but nothing as overpowering as an attraction to an omega.”

  How could I forget? The bonds. I bit my lip. I’d demanded Tristan admit the pack’s lust for me, but now that I’d heard it from his own mouth, I was unsure that we could ever go back to a pretense of normalcy. Like he’d said, none of them could be with me; it would divide the HW. If I agreed to go on with them, what was I signing up for?

  I threw caution to the wind. “All right,” I replied, “I’ll come back. I guess we’ll just have to figure out how to keep things kosher.”

  “Or not,” Tristan murmured, voice raspy in his throat.

  He closed the gap between us, striding toward me. I tilted my chin up, my lips trembling, extremely aware of our shared nakedness, the cold-hot reality of our skin, gooseflesh on top of pumping blood.

  He’s going to kiss me, I thought. Tristan, say what he might, wasn’t giving up the hunt. We weren’t going to live in harmony—we were going to live by our desires, like the Wolf spirits at our core. The alpha was about to lay his claim.

  But then his eyes went wide and blank.

  “What’s wrong?” I whispered, surveying his expression. He was so close to me, I could reach out and stroke his cheek, try to snap him out of it. I didn’t, though. Something about his face told me now was not the time for the comfort of touch.

  At last, he spoke.

  “Brock is at the den.”

  My heart plummeted through my stomach, passing the internal lining, and falling out.

  “What did you just say?” I asked, my voice rising, knowing full well what he said.

  He turned to me, his eyes no longer glazed and glossy. “Emma, we have to run.”

  “Where?”

  But Tristan had already shifted into a Wolf, a transformation so blindingly fast I wondered if I’d passed out. He was intimidating as a man, but as a Wolf, he was downright terrifying: short brown fur, enormous brown eyes, and claws so long they could slash open a stomach. And yet, instead of finding him a threat, I was reassured—I was running with the right pack. Tristan, as a man and as a Wolf, would protect me. No one could cross him.

  He growled, a low sound that came between his canines, bidding me to transform too. Time was short.

  I shifted, and then we ran.

  Chapter 12

  The moon was high that night.

  Though we had excellent vision, we still followed its dim light through the woods, bounding through streams and around trees.

  Every five minutes, I wanted to stop Tristan,
demand to know what had happened, how Brock could’ve possibly found our residence. Where he was now. Where Daniel and Caine were, for that matter. I had so many questions, and no time to get them answered.

  So, instead, I worried and ran, pounding dirt beneath my paws.

  The week of training with Caine had helped—I was keeping up ably with Tristan (though I could also tell he was slowing down, for my sake). And, somewhere beneath all the fear and anxiety, I was feeling just a little bit robbed. I had been about to kiss Tristan, to kiss the alpha. Right? Then Brock had cut me off. As if just the possibility that I might experience joy and delight had awakened him, had led him right to me.

  God, I hated that man.

  We ran.

  Hours passed, and we left the forest, moved past a highway, and ended up on the outskirts of a small town. What the hell was this about? Shifters lived in remote places for good reason−normal humans aren’t usually delighted by the sight of enormous Wolves. That’s a pretty standard rule of thumb. Tristan was playing fast and loose with our safety. Though, I suppose, that was already out the window if Brock had uncovered our location.

  But then he took us down a garden path, on the opposite side of a wicker fence as the town. No, not a town—a gated community, I realized. The houses were all too nice, and too similar, to be an average town. I couldn’t begin to hypothesize as to why a gated community would want to be in a secluded, wooded area, as opposed to a normal, bustling city, but then, I don’t understand rich people.

  We followed the fence for half a mile, before Tristan stuck his paws into the grass, coming to a halt. He turned to me, his large Wolf eyes making sure I was tracking his movement, and then he leapt over the gate, clearing six feet of it. Once on the other side, he circled back to face me, his eyes visible and shining through the planks of the fence.

  With a shudder, I remembered my own traumatizing escape from the compound, how I’d jumped the gate to the sound of Brock’s bears on my tail.

  But now was no time for crippling memories. My life was at stake. I couldn’t allow the mounting panic attack to inconvenience me.

  I shut down my human thoughts, tapping into my Wolf brain, and let instinct guide me. I lunged toward the gate, jumped and landed next to Tristan’s side.

  He shifted back to human form, his fur rippling back to skin, his claws retracting.

  “Shift,” he ordered me, and I obeyed, dropping my Wolf form.

  “Where are we?” I asked. I had a million questions, but that seemed the most pressing.

  “A backyard.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, whose backyard?”

  “Ours.”

  He strode forward, and my human eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  We were, indeed, in a backyard. There were lawn chairs, a Jacuzzi with those cheesy kind of Spanish-looking tiles, and a barbecue. In front of us loomed a two-story white house with navy shutters, in the colonial style. Our backyard? I was finding it hard to imagine the Hell’s Wolves, a motorcycle gang of shifters, who wore all black and had more enemies than friends, also owned a house in the suburbs.

  But Tristan was picking up a key from beneath a fake flower pot. If this wasn’t their house…

  “We own this place,” he said, replying to my thoughts so smoothly that I wondered if we were beginning to form a telekinetic pack bond. Off my startled look, he added, “Yes, we diversify our properties.”

  I gazed up at the subdued family home. “This is … pretty diverse.”

  His lip twitched with a smile, then he stuck the key in the back lock and twisted, swinging the door open and bidding me to enter.

  Wildly out of my depth, I obeyed unquestioningly.

  The inside of the house was what you’d expect. That is, what you’d expect from a suburban home—not what you’d expect from the Hell’s Wolves. It looked like it’d been cut out from a 1950’s Sears catalog, save for the fact that there was little to no furniture; a couch, a few bar stools, and little else.

  “The Great Recession.”

  I turned and saw that Tristan had closed and locked the door behind him.

  “What?”

  “That’s why we have the place,” he explained. “This was built as a retirement community in 2007. Then the housing market crashed, and basically, the whole neighborhood was up for sale for pittance. The Hell’s Wolves snatched it up. Not much of an investment, but it’s a good stop for when you’re on the run from something. Which, we usually are.”

  “You guys make investments?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “We might be Wolves but we’re also humans. Don’t you have a stock portfolio?”

  “Tristan,” I sighed, tired of the games. “What’s going on? Why are we talking about stock portfolios when Daniel and Caine are in danger?”

  His knuckles dug into the marble counter tops. “Because there’s nothing else we can do.”

  I inched toward him. The alpha was a picture of molted, quiet rage. He was trapped, helpless—his least favorite position. I felt, with a pang, how hard it must be for him to have a connection with his pack, to know they were suffering, and to be unable to act on it.

  “But,” he continued, “they’ve evaded Brock. I’m not sure where they are—their thoughts aren’t exactly giving me GPS locations—but I think they’re in the clear. For now.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I whispered, pressing my fingers to my mouth in prayer.

  “Emma, you know it’s not your fault, right?” he asked. Damnit, why did he seem to have a mainline to my thoughts? I dodged the question.

  “Can I have a blanket?” It was enough for my thoughts to be bared to him—I didn’t need my body to be equally exposed.

  “I’ll do you one better.”

  He strode across the room, opened a cabinet, and pulled out what appeared to be two Ziploc bags. Tristan read them for a moment, then proceeded to walk back toward me, tossing a bag in my direction as he moved.

  “What’s this?” I asked, catching the Ziploc.

  “Clothes. The HW store them here, for emergencies. Those should be roughly in your size.”

  I opened the bag and began taking pieces out one by one, laying them atop the counter.

  “There’s underwear!” I squealed, feeling excited for the first time all evening.

  “You’re easy to please.” I looked over and saw that he had already gotten dressed in a simple black tee and black jeans. How’d he do that? Too bad his signature black leather motorcycle jacket was a goner; I had liked that one.

  “I haven’t had underwear in a week, that’s why I’m so excited,” I replied in answer to his question. “It was starting to get … uncomfortable.”

  He pressed his lips together, and I knew Tristan and his rigid manners had no interest in discussing my underwear situation.

  “Turn around,” I instructed him.

  “Why?”

  “So I can change, duh.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He turned away awkwardly, and even from his profile, I could see that his eyes were closed. I had to smile. Tristan was so chivalrous, despite the fact that chivalry wasn’t really called for. Especially seeing as how we’d already been naked around each other a number of times. But there’s something so charming about standing on ceremony.

  I tugged on the underwear, then rooted around in the remainder of the clothing. Oh, brother.

  “Um, Tristan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Who picks this clothing?”

  He tilted his head up, confused by my question, but didn’t open his eyes. “It was probably left by another Hell’s Wolves female Wolf. Why?”

  I exhaled. Yeah, that figured.

  “No reason.”

  With a grumble, I pulled on what turned out to be black leather leggings, so skin tight they might as well have been see through, and a matching black corset top, with leather paneling and lace cups. The items barely slid on even my petite frame, which I suppose was the intended fit: suffocating. Once I’d wiggled
them all on, I tried not to look as mortified as I felt. You have to let him open his eyes sometime, my inner voice reminded me.

  Ugh, I guess.

  “All right, you can turn around,” I told Tristan, my words shaky.

  He unsealed his eyes, and pivoted back in my direction.

  “Whoa.”

  “It’s awful, isn’t it?” I moaned. “Oh, I knew it. Jesus, why do you guys all have to be such total bikers? Can’t anybody just have like sweatshirts? This looks terrible on me, like a kid playing dress up−”

  But Tristan had stopped speaking. Instead, his eyes were roaming my body with a rabid, uninterrupted hunger.

  In a low, throaty voice, he murmured, “Terrible is not the word that comes to mind.”

  He licked his lips, and confidence reentered my breast.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Look for yourself.”

  He pointed a few feet down the dim hallway, not bothering to turn his head to follow the line drawn by his own hand. Tristan couldn’t rip his eyes away from me, and we both knew it.

  Slowly, still feeling silly, I followed his finger, walking a few feet down the hall before coming upon a photo.

  Or at least, I’d believed it was a photo. Because the girl in that glass couldn’t have possibly been me.

  She’s beautiful, I thought.

  She was petite and curvy, her hips and waist dipping in an hourglass shape, like a perfect Grecian statue. Her brown hair flowed down to shoulder length, but instead of looking mousy and uninspired, it was the hair of a woman who couldn’t give less of a shit about her hair. The pants cinched in, and the top pushed up. Her eyes twinkled with secrets.

  She was me.

  I gasped, a small noise that escaped me before I could stop it.

  “I look…”

  “Like you belong with the Hell’s Wolves,” Tristan finished, pacing toward me. “Like a true omega. Powerful, and—” he broke off.

  “And what?”

  His eyes burned into mine. “And unbelievably sexy.”

  Before I could think of some clever response, Tristan was upon me, his body just a breath away from my own. Our gazes engaged in a silent duel, our bodies speaking words to one another that our mouths could never manage. The pull between us was so powerful, so vibrant, that I worried if I resisted for one more minute, I would snap in half.