Omega's Second Chance (Hells Wolves MC Book 4)

by J. L. Wilder

  The motorcycle roared to life. Charity jumped in shock.

  “Hang on,” Weston said grimly, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her forehead to his back. Weston rolled slowly down the street, then gave it some gas as they turned the corner.

  Five minutes later they were on the highway again, swallowed up by the night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  WESTON

  When was the last time he’d gotten a full eight hours of sleep? Weston had no idea, but he did know that his body was responding to the pressures of their situation in ways he never would have expected. It was as if the wolf within him had been waiting for a fight like this. Robbing liquor stores had made Weston feel weak—that was a pathetic way to use his strength—but digging into the reserves of himself to protect his family seemed to make him stronger.

  They rode all night. Weston paid careful attention to the way Charity gripped his waist. If her embrace slackened, it would be a sign that she was drifting off to sleep, and that would be an unsafe way to ride. But she seemed to have found a reserve of strength within herself too, and she stayed upright, holding on tightly.

  As the sun began to come up, they crossed the Mississippi River. Weston didn’t know much about the kind of shifters who lived on the East Coast, but the best chance to protect themselves probably came in getting as far away from Hawk and the Hell’s Wolves as possible. Maybe the Hell’s Wolves themselves had returned to Montana now that they had other packs out looking for Weston and Charity.

  Maybe word hadn’t spread this far yet. They might be safe here. There was a chance.

  There was no money to spare on a motel room for tonight, so Weston parked the bike about a mile off the road in the middle of a wooded area. “We’ll sleep here,” he said quietly, helping Charity down. “Will you be all right?”

  She nodded, her face a mask of determination. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay.” He cleared a bare spot on the ground, moving piles of sticks and leaves aside, and then dug in his duffel bag and laid out his jacket on the ground. “Sleep on top of that,” he said. “It’ll help you keep warm.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to shift.”

  He eased his way carefully out of his clothes, packing them away in the bag so he’d be able to grab them and run at a moment’s notice, and then he closed his eyes and reached inward, calling his wolf self forth.

  It was shockingly easy. It was easier than it had ever been. Usually, Weston had to take several minutes to relax his mind and drop into the instinctive aspects of himself, to explore scents and reach out for the greater depth they had when he was a wolf, to feel the strength of his muscles and will it to build. But today the transition was as easy as breathing. It was as if he’d been riding the edge between wolf and man for days, and it required a mere step to take him over.

  He opened his eyes and looked at Charity. She was watching him trustingly. It might have been intimidating for her to be human in the presence of a wolf, but she didn’t look bothered by it. Even knowing that wolves had very little control over their impulses, that a wolf was much more likely than a man to lash out, she seemed to feel safe. She rested a hand against his shoulder, burying her fingers in his coarse, dark fur.

  Weston settled himself beside her, his protective instincts at the forefront of his mind. Protect her. Protect the babies. Keep them warm. Keep them safe. He curled his body against hers, sheltering her from the wind and helping to increase her body temperature.

  “You’re really handsome like this,” she murmured, stroking his fur softly. She was already falling asleep, he could tell. Good. They would need to take as much rest as they could get.

  He tried to sleep himself, but for a long time, he couldn’t. His hearing was more sensitive as a wolf, and the forest seemed to be suddenly full of sounds. Birds twittering, branches moving, even the sound of the wind gusting. Which sounds were indicative of danger and which were just the normal sounds of the forest? It was impossible to settle down, impossible to let sleep take him.

  Eventually, though, his exhaustion won out. He closed his eyes and let himself slip away.

  WHEN HE WOKE, IT WAS dark out.

  It was a deep, suffocating sort of dark, and if Weston had been in his human form, he knew he would have found it oppressive. As a wolf, his vision was a little better. He could see the area around him. He could see Charity sleeping by his side.

  He rose to his feet in a fluid motion, the fur along his spine standing straight up. What had he heard? Something had woken him. The night was silent now, but Weston sensed danger.

  Should he wake Charity? Maybe they should be ready to move? He felt paralyzed by indecision. What if it was nothing? What if he’d just imagined that he’d heard something? He couldn’t rob her of sleep because he’d gotten paranoid in the night.

  A twig snapped.

  Weston lowered his head to the ground, lips peeling back from his teeth in a silent snarl. Human or animal, there was something out there.

  He sniffed the air cautiously, trying to figure out what the threat was, but the woods were too full of other scents to locate the one that was stalking him. It might have been anything. It might have been just a deer passing by.

  Or it could be a human...

  The moonlight glinted off something metallic. Gun!

  There was a split second when Weston didn’t know whether to launch himself forward, to take his attacker on, or whether to move backward and shield Charity, and in that instant of hesitation, he lost his chance to do either.

  The first gunshot woke Charity. He heard her scream behind him and was sick with horror. Had she been hit? Was she okay? Were the babies?

  There was no time to check. Something collided hard with the side of Weston’s head and he saw stars. A moment later the breath was forced from his lungs as he landed flat on his back, the attacker astride him, pinning him down. One hand found his throat and closed slowly, firmly. Weston gnashed his fangs and battered the body on top of him with his claws, but he was at too much of a disadvantage. He couldn’t get away. He couldn’t turn the tables.

  He tried to gasp for air, but the hand closing his windpipe was too strong.

  His vision began to fade...

  Suddenly there was a loud whap and the pressure on his neck and chest disappeared. Weston found his feet and wheeled about, snarling and snapping, ears laid flat back on his head, ready to take a bite out of the attacker if he came close again.

  Charity was on her feet, holding the duffel bag in both hands. She had swung it at the attacker to knock him off Weston. Weston was flooded with relief at the sight of her alive and unhurt. He made his way to her side, pressing himself against her.

  And there was the attacker, also on his feet only a few yards away, gun aimed at Weston’s head.

  “Give up the girl and I’ll let you go,” he said.

  Weston’s shoulders lifted defensively. A snarl ripped from his throat.

  “Girl,” the attacker said. “Come over here. He doesn’t need to die.”

  “You won’t kill him,” she said. “He’s wanted alive.”

  “You’re wanted alive. He’s wanted alive or dead.”

  “I’m not leaving him,” she said firmly.”

  The attacker shrugged and cocked his gun. “Up to you.” He took careful aim at Weston’s head.

  Weston lunged.

  He plowed into the gunman’s body at full strength. The gun went off, the bullet scattering some birds off in the distance, but as Weston and their attacker hit the ground, the weapon was knocked loose and skidded away. Weston raked his claws across his attacker’s shoulder, but the attacker didn’t give in. They rolled over and over, fighting for dominance. Weston was amazed by the other man’s strength. For a human to hold his own in a fight against a wolf was impressive, but this man was doing it.

  He broke free of their entanglement and ran to Charity’s side again. She was now holding the gun. She must have pic
ked it up when it had dropped.

  She raised it and pointed it at the man who’d attacked them. “Who are you?”

  “I’m nobody.” The man seemed to have lost all his confidence now that he’d lost his weapon. “Hey, point that somewhere else, how about? Come on, this doesn’t have to be violent.”

  Weston huffed out a laugh.

  “You threatened to kill my mate,” Charity said. “Do you think we’re going to just let you walk away?”

  Now Weston detected a tremor in her voice. He wouldn’t have picked up on it, he thought, if he hadn’t known her so well. But she was afraid. He could tell. She was afraid of how far this was going to go. She was afraid of having to fire the gun in her hands, of having to take this man’s life. She would do it, he thought, to protect her family. But what would it do to her?

  He stepped in front of her, between her and the man.

  Shifting back into human form was harder. Everything in him wanted the safety of being a wolf, the strength and the teeth and claws. His human body was soft by comparison, weak and incapable of dealing much damage. Even though Weston was roughly equal in size and strength to his attacker, returning to human form made him feel much smaller.

  Still, he managed it. And when he stood upright again, he spoke. “We don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly. “We would much rather go our separate ways. But if you try to hurt her again, I’m going to kill you. And I’m pretty sure that if you try to hurt me, she’s going to kill you. So, you decide. How do you want this to end?”

  The man licked his lips, looking anxious and fearful. “No need. No need for that. I’m going.”

  “Do you have friends in the area? Is anyone else working with you?”

  “No, I’m alone.”

  He might have been lying, of course, but Weston thought it had the ring of truth to it. “All right. Get lost, then. Don’t come our way again, and we won’t follow you.”

  The man hesitated.

  “What?” Weston barked.

  “Can I get the gun back?”

  “No.” Weston didn’t trust him that far.

  For a moment, the man looked as though he was going to try attacking again barehanded. Weston crouched low, ready to absorb any blows.

  The man turned on his heel and strode away into the night.

  Weston watched him go for a long moment, then turned and raced to Charity’s side. He gathered her into his arms, easing the gun out of her hand, and held her firmly against him as she began to shake. “You’re okay,” he said quietly. “You did perfectly.”

  “I thought I was going to have to shoot him, Weston.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know if I could have done it. Actually shot a man—”

  “It’s okay. It’s good that you didn’t.”

  “But what if he tells people he saw us? What if he was lying about not having friends, and he tells them where we are, and they come back?”

  “We won’t be here,” Weston said. “We’re not staying. We’ve had plenty of sleep. It must have been at least twelve hours.”

  “I thought—” she hiccupped out a sob. “I thought we would be safe here. Isn’t that stupid? I thought that crossing the river would make us safe.”

  “I sort of hoped it would too,” Weston admitted.

  “Where are we going to go?” she asked. “If word’s made it this far, if people this far from Montana know there’s a price on our heads, is anywhere going to be safe? Is there anywhere we can go that they won’t find us?”

  “We’ll have to disguise ourselves,” he said. “You’ll cut your hair. I’ll grow mine out. We’ll change the color. You’ll wear a lot of makeup. We’ll start dressing differently.” He swallowed. “We’ll figure something out, Charity. I promise. I’ll find a way for you to be safe. I’ll find a safe place for our babies.”

  She reached up to embrace him and kissed him deeply. “Nothing in the world could be safer than having you with us,” she said. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Weston, I really don’t.”

  “Without me you wouldn’t be in this situation. You’d be somewhere safe, not on the run.”

  “No, I’d be back with the Hell’s Wolves, probably carrying Hawk’s litter instead of yours. That isn’t safe. There’s nothing about that life that I would want.”

  He nodded. “I’ll never let that happen to you.”

  She kissed him again, and he lifted her in his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, already feeling himself starting to grow hard against her. He braced her back against a tree and leaned back to remove her pants. As he entered her, he sealed his lips against hers so that all the sounds they made went directly into each other’s mouths rather than risk making noise and attracting anybody else who might be looking for them.

  It was a wonderful release, letting go of his fear and anger and tension and losing himself in the pleasures of Charity’s body. He couldn’t believe he’d lived without this for so long. He wrapped one arm around her waist and allowed his other hand to explore her breasts, stroking first one nipple and then the other with the pad of his thumb. Charity bucked against him, her insides squeezing as her orgasm broke over her.

  Someday, Weston thought, We’ll do this all day and all night. We’ll do this for hours. I’ll make her come so many times we’ll lose count, and then we’ll sleep it off and wake up and do it again. Someday that would be their life, and not just these stolen moments in the middle of the woods, seized upon before they had to start running again.

  He managed to slow his pace as his orgasm came rather than speeding up, so that it settled over him like a radiant warmth instead of breaking like a wave, and he pressed his face to her breasts and shuddered. She clenched around him, and Weston knew she was coming too, and he eased her back down to the ground, holding her up, their lips still tightly locked together.

  They broke free of each other, found their clothes, and dressed quickly and quietly. They had already wasted far too much time here in the woods. It was possible—though Weston didn’t think it likely—that the man who had attacked them would be back.

  He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder again, took her hand in his, and led the way back to the stolen bike. His heart pounded in his chest as they picked their way over the forest floor. What if their attacker had found the bike and disabled it? What if he had stolen it?

  But no. The bike was still right there, right where Weston had left it. Charity climbed aboard without having to be told, and Weston attached the duffel bag to the carrying basket in front of the handlebars before boarding himself. He knew they would have to ditch this bike before long—it would have been reported stolen, and besides, it was going to run out of gas sometime soon. But he thought they could probably make it a little farther.

  He touched the exposed wires together, bringing the thing to life, and hoped the sound wouldn’t draw any attention. Charity wrapped her arms around him. For a minute, Weston felt as though they were a single person. He knew exactly how she was sitting. He knew every inch of her. He felt as though he even understood her thoughts—she was frightened, but she was determined to be strong.

  He couldn’t have asked for anything more in a mate.

  He accelerated slightly, steering between the trees, making his way carefully back to the highway.

  It felt exposed out here, under the open sky, with no canopy of branches and leaves to shield them, but they would be less trackable on the asphalt, and Weston knew that made them safer. He decided on a whim to start heading west again. Moving east hadn’t given him the security he had hoped for.

  But where would they go? Where was there even left to go? They could swing south, he supposed, bypass Montana and head out to the west coast. Or maybe they could travel north, into Canada...they didn’t have passports, though, and Weston didn’t know if they’d need them to cross the northern border.

  And what if they reached a new destination, tried to settle in, and found that the new place wasn’t s
afe for them? What if Hawk’s bounty on them followed them wherever they went? Then what would they do? They had to find safety, and they were on a clock—Charity wouldn’t be able to keep traveling for long. He knew how pregnancy affected an omega’s body. She would remain strong, probably, but she would also grow huge, her body expanding to make room for her litter.

  The idea was appealing, and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what she would look like, ripe with her pregnancy. Damn Hawk. He should have been allowed to enjoy this time with his mate, not spend it in fear.

  It all came back to Hawk. This was all his fault.

  And suddenly, like a light being turned on in his mind, Weston knew what he had to do.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CHARITY

  “Can you keep going for a while?” Weston asked. “Or do you need to stop and rest?”

  They had been riding for at least twelve hours, by Charity’s estimation. About two hours after leaving the woods where they’d had their confrontation with the armed assailant, Weston had detoured through a town. He’d parked the stolen bike behind a gas station, led her around a corner, and hotwired a new one. They’d made no stops since then.

  Now, though, they were standing by the side of the road—or rather, Weston was standing, stretching out kinks in his back. Charity had propped her feet on the seat of the bike in front of her and was alternately bowing and flexing her spine. As they stretched, they shared a package of beef jerky.

  “I can keep going,” Charity said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I can keep going as long as I need to,” she said. “It’s for the babies.”

  “But you need to take care of yourself too,” he reminded her. “They need you to do that. Don’t be afraid to let me know if you need a break.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m all right.”

  He nodded and handed her another piece of jerky. “Make sure you get enough to eat, at least.”

  “Where are we, anyway?”