by R. J. Blain
I told him the location of the lodge and gave him instructions not to approach if he saw my Porsche parked in the front. After he agreed, I hung up.
I pointed at Oliver and his two friends. “Change,” I demanded, and my wolf snarled with me. I drew on my distant pack, called on their strength, and forced them as they had forced Nicolina, calling on their wolves.
Changing to the wolf was painful when voluntary; it took me ten to fifteen minutes on a bad day, five on a good one. David stared at his pack with wide-eyed horror as they screamed and convulsed as my magic tore at them and forced their wolves out.
Involuntary transformations took a long time, but I didn’t dare turn my gaze away from them to check the time. My will and my wolf were all that was forcing them to embrace their other nature. Until they fully embraced their wolves, they could break free of my hold on them.
I growled with each breath until three gray wolves lay panting on the couch. They whined, their tails tucked between their legs.
“Desmond,” I whispered. Nicolina’s father snarled and snapped at me. “Don’t kill them,” I reminded him, careful to keep my voice gentle and submissive—both for my sake and for the Fenerec we faced.
Desmond was the authority. As he had demanded, I was merely his voice, although I bristled at my role. It was my duty to keep David where he was while his pack was subdued, beaten, and bruised by Nicolina’s father, until they had no fight left in them, and until they endured as they had made her endure.
He took his time, stalking them around the lodge as they scrambled to get away from him. In a few years I’d have an easier time telling them apart; they still had their puppy fur, the dull grays and browns of our natural-born cousins. In a few years, their colors would change, making them unique.
Some wolves took on colorations more like domesticated dogs. Some took on a more unique appearance, such as Desmond’s white fur dusted with red. Like Desmond, I was unique. I favored the arch nemesis of our kind: silver. In the winter, my fur grew in bright and pristine, the sterling white of the metal in its purist form, gleaming in the light. As the seasons shifted, my fur tarnished to black until winter once again turned my coat silver.
Under certain circumstances, I could force my fur to black or silver or the dull shades between, if my wolf was willing. I forced myself to stand still and listen to Desmond’s snarls, the snap of his teeth, and the pained yips of his victims as he cornered them and took his frustrations out on them.
When their blood filled the air, when David whined with them, I cleared my throat. “Desmond.”
A snarl and short bark of warning answered me.
“Desmond,” I hissed, drawing on my pack once more to sting the Fenerec’s pride with my defiance, drawing his attention me from the puppies he tormented.
He stalked in my direction, blood dripping from his jaws, his fangs bared as he prowled closer. I stood firm, and my wolf growled at the Alpha’s approach.
“We gave our word,” I reminded him, careful to avoid meeting his gaze.
He snarled at me, but settled beside me without taking a chunk out of my hide for daring to order him around. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned my full attention back to David.
I could smell a lot of things on him; the sharp bite of fear, the lingering traces of his lust, and the hot, acrid fume of his anger. If he felt any guilt, he hid it too well for my wolf to detect. Once more, I called on my pack, hoping he recognized what came for him.
“Change,” I ordered.
He fought me as the others hadn’t, and I delighted in holding his gaze with my own and forcing my will over his, breaking his attempts to defy me. I savored the moment his skin paled and the first patches of fur pierced through his flesh. He didn’t scream until the first of his bones snapped and writhed under his skin so he could become his wolf.
In time, he would’ve been a dominant, though he’d never be a match for me. I had won our first—and last—dominance battle, and I didn’t even need to bare my fangs to do so. I had cheated by calling on my pack, but he had preyed on a Normal.
He had hunted the young woman my wolf wanted to mark as ours, and I wasn’t going to lose, not to some ignorant rogue puppy.
Unlike the others, his colors had already come in. His coat was dark and his white patches matched a Rottweiler’s. While he looked young and counted as a puppy in Sanders’s eyes, he was old enough to know better.
He was old enough to be a risk, a predator of other young women, and that alone steeled me for what I had to do. I waited until my wolf settled and the burning edge of the pack magic eased. When I could speak without growling, I said, “He’s yours, Desmond.”
I released David from my influence so he could run. He crashed over the couch in his haste to escape, bolting towards the door. Desmond was on him in two strides and a leap. The two wolves crashed to the floor and rolled.
When chasing the other three pups, Desmond had been ruthless in his calculated motions. There was nothing left of the Alpha but savage beast. I yearned for the young Fenerec to suffer, but that wasn’t how wolves won fights.
Wolves struck to kill and didn’t play with their prey, and Desmond wasted no time in ensuring his victory. When the rogue was pinned on the ground, I braced myself for the worst part. Taking down a Fenerec so he couldn’t fight back was easy.
Making certain he stayed down so he wouldn’t get back up was messy business, but I watched as did the injured wolves cowering in the corner. There were several ways to kill a Fenerec for good. Silver ensured death, given time or enough exposure to old enough metal.
The other way could be done by anyone with enough patience, weapons, or brute strength. While we regenerated, healing far faster than Normals, we died if our bodies were injured too much. Age helped; the older we were, the harder it was to kill us for good.
When Desmond was finished, I pitied those who would have to clean up after him.
I had no recollection of how I got back to my Porsche or why I was sprawled across Desmond’s lap on the passenger’s side of the car. Someone sat behind the wheel, though with my vision so blurred, I couldn’t tell who. My cell rang, and it was the sound that made me realize I wasn’t fully conscious.
While my Boxster was comfortable, it wasn’t designed to seat three, though I didn’t have enough willpower to protest my discomfort. I did, however, squirm enough to untwist my foot from where it was jammed against the center console.
“Desmond?” I recognized Sanders’s voice, and my wolf’s sleepy grumble of annoyance reminded me that I had warned the other Alpha away. We growled.
Desmond dug in my pocket for my phone.
“It’s from his pack,” Desmond replied before sighing.
When had Desmond changed back to a human? I grumbled something, but considering I had no idea what I was trying to say, the other Fenerec didn’t stand a chance. They ignored me.
I groped for my pack, seeking any signs of trouble. All I felt was a faint echo of worry, far dimmer than what I expected. That bothered me enough to give me strength to struggle.
Desmond held me still with one arm, and I got the feeling he didn’t have to put in any real effort to keep me contained.
“Good afternoon, Richard,” Desmond greeted, and when my phone rang again, he answered, “Desmond.” I heard someone’s voice, shriller than I liked. Nicolina’s father chuckled. “While I am holding your Alpha, he’s not a hostage, I assure you.”
I scowled and started to put the missing bits and pieces together in my effort to make it fit together into something that made some sort of sense. I failed miserably.
“Richard, please calm your Second,” Desmond said, his tone calm and soothing. I grunted and held my hand up for the phone.
When I got it somewhere in the vicinity of my ear, I grumbled a slurred, “Murphy.”
My Second, Frank, was one of the younger members of my pack, though he was as level-headed as the older Fenerec—usually. “Richard?”
I was to
o tired to react much to the alarm in his voice, which made his tenor particularly shrill. “Yeah.”
It wasn’t the answer he wanted; I could tell by the way he let out a gusty sigh. “What’s going on, Richard? Are you okay?”
I wasn’t actually sure, and with a puzzled frown, I looked up at Desmond. He sighed, shook his head, and took the phone from me. “You’ll need to give him a few minutes, but he’ll be fine. Were any of your pack hurt?”
That alarmed me into trying to sit up, and Sanders reached over, pressing his arm across my chest and forcing me against Desmond. “Easy,” Sanders warned.
“Okay. I’ll let him know and have him call you back.” Desmond hung up. “Your pack is fine, although you made your Second faint, much to his embarrassment.”
When I couldn’t remember anything, I asked, “What happened?”
Sanders eased his arm off of me, and when I kept still he settled back in his seat—my seat. I growled a little at that, and Desmond nipped my neck until I quieted.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Desmond asked.
“You dealt with that puppy,” I replied.
Sanders sighed. “I never thought they’d do that, Desmond. While they had been upset last year, they hadn’t mentioned anything about their failed courtships after March. I had no idea.”
It was the truth; there was no scent of duplicity about the other Alpha. Desmond waved Sanders off. “The fault is, in part, mine.”
Sanders didn’t argue, but it looked like he wanted to.
“What happened?” I demanded, and my wolf stirred, though he remained quiet and subdued.
“I’ll tell him,” Sanders offered.
Desmond grunted his approval.
“First, thank you for guarding my puppies. They’re not bad kids, but they’re young.” He paused, sighing. “Once Desmond killed David, he turned on the other three. You got in the way. You challenged him to keep him away from my puppies, and you won—mostly. He tanned your hide, though. When I got there, he had your throat in his teeth and was growling. You were out cold on the floor. It took me about an hour to talk him down. You’ve lost some blood, but his bites have already closed up.”
Shaking his head, the dark-haired Fenerec relaxed into the leather seat, stretching his legs out. “You called on your pack to withstand him and buy me time to get here. I saw your Porsche, but decided you might need a hand.”
“I challenged you?” I asked Desmond, and when I tried to pull away from him, he tightened his hold on me.
“Smart wolves change before issuing challenges,” he rebuked.
No wonder my pack was worried; facing off against a Fenerec who was in wolf form while I remained human was tantamount to suicide.
That’s why I had forced the puppies to change, to give them a fighting chance to withstand Desmond and survive to learn from their experience. I grunted as I remembered the four forced transformations.
There were limits to how much I could draw on my pack without hurting myself—and them with me.
“Why am I not dead?” I asked Sanders.
“Desmond likes you?” Sanders suggested with a shrug.
“No, it’s because he was right to challenge me,” Desmond replied. “His wolf knew it, my wolf knew it. I overstepped my bounds.”
Angry Fenerec didn’t always make the right choices, and there was the faint sourness of guilt in Desmond’s scent. Desmond didn’t apologize to anyone. He couldn’t afford to, but I accepted the fact I was still among the living as apology enough.
It wouldn’t ever make me the dominant one; if the phone call was any indicator, I must have drained my pack dry standing up to Desmond. My wolf was as exhausted as I was, and I felt like I had been run over by my car a couple of times.
“We’re done here,” Desmond announced shifting beneath me to pull keys out of his pocket, which he tossed to Sanders. “I’m parked at the base of the trail. Have one of your pack bring it to my house and leave it in the driveway. I’m going to take Richard home before anyone gets the idea to challenge him for rank.”
“I’ll gut them myself if they try,” Sanders growled.
“Good. If I get any unwelcome visitors, I’ll be dealing with them harshly.”
I wanted to protest, but my wolf wrested control away from me before I could speak. Exhaustion and Desmond’s influence kept me limp, letting the Alphas situate me to their liking. I did manage to thwart my wolf enough to growl at them.
My defiance drew a chuckle out of Desmond. Once Sanders was gone and Desmond was in the driver’s seat, I relaxed. There were six other cars parked in front of the lodge, requiring Desmond to weave my Porsche through the maze of vehicles.
“If I didn’t let them come each winter, if I did not have at least one guest to introduce to my puppies, this would happen all of the time,” Desmond said, his voice tired and resigned. “Too many young male pups and too few bitches, Fenerec or Fenerec-born, to partner with them. Our work aside, that’s why I called on you and not your brother.”
I found the strength to sit up, though when Desmond reached down and turned on the heated seats, I relaxed into the leather’s warmth. “You’re planning for next year.”
If I agreed to bring my brother for the next winter season, it was another year that Desmond could keep his daughters out of the reach of rutting, young Fenerec. I wasn’t immune to the rut, but I was older. I could control myself and my wolf. Young puppies often couldn’t, and young bitches, Fenerec and Fenerec-born alike, responded to the needs and desires of eligible males.
“I am.”
“How long have you been letting the pups court them?” I asked.
While he would have been within his rights to be angry at my question, he shrugged. “They were eleven; Mitchell had six new pups their age and inquired. One of them was his eldest son. I asked the girls if they wanted to be introduced and they were interested. Lisa liked it. Nicolina didn’t.”
I couldn’t imagine Nicolina submitting to anyone. My pack held courtships as well, though I didn’t allow anyone to touch the young bitches until they were thirteen—or they asked permission. Still, I couldn’t fault Desmond.
Any Fenerec with a single iota of intellect wanted one of his Desmond’s daughters, and I was no exception.
“I understand,” I replied. After a moment of quiet, I nodded. “Plan on it, Mr. Desmond. I will come calling again next year with Alex to pursue a potential match with Lisa.”
“Lisa?” Desmond asked, his tone neutral.
I was on thin ice, and I knew it. Lying to another Fenerec wasn’t easy, but it could be done if I hid the falsehoods behind the truth. “While my little brother might be intrigued by the idea of beautiful twins, I think it’s in his better interest if he is given the opportunity to court the sister least likely to kill him in his sleep.”
Compliments and flattery worked even on an old Fenerec like Desmond, and I had no doubt of his pride in both of his daughters. He laughed. “You’re smart, Richard. I knew there was a reason I liked you. Now be quiet and let me drive. Your car handles like shit in the snow.”
I kept my mouth shut, as wise wolves did when given orders by a superior. I’d already tested my luck enough for one day.
Firecracker
Charles Desmond’s influence isn’t enough to stop those who are determined to take Richard’s rank through force. With Nicolina Desmond out on the hunt to kill him once and for all, he’ll need a lot more than luck to survive his stay with the Desmonds.
Firecracker takes place several days following The Scent of Guilt.
Nicolina Desmond got her first taste of revenge when her father parked my Porsche in his driveway, and I lacked the strength or will to walk to the house. While I would’ve been content sleeping in my car, he had different thoughts on the matter.
Unlike his daughter, who had shrieked and fought for her freedom, I couldn’t. Desmond wouldn’t let me.
His mate and his daughters were waiting for us inside.
<
br /> Nicolina’s hoarse, mocking laughter was bitter and sweet. My wolf was pleased with her attention and at having given her some pleasure and entertainment. I knew better. Given half a chance, she’d kill me, and in my current state, she could probably do it with a spoon without too much difficulty.
“What’s wrong with him?” Wendy’s eyes widened as she looked us both over.
I’d forgotten about the blood, and judging from the way Nicolina stopped laughing, she noticed we were both covered in it. My clothing had likely been ruined while tussling with Desmond, and his had probably be ruined after changing back to help deal with me—and the body of Nicolina’s kidnapper.
Desmond dumped me onto one of the armchairs, perching on the arm beside me. “We got into a bit of a fight.”
Wendy inhaled. “Charles!”
Desmond laughed. “You worry too much. The punk won. He’s just tired. Our property is off limits to other Fenerec until Richard has a chance to recover. Girls, you do not leave the property without me. Understood?”
Lisa paled and Nicolina’s eyes narrowed as she glowered at me. They both nodded.
The bruises around her throat had spread, darker than they had been when I had brought her home in the early morning. She scowled at me.
My wolf savored her attention.
I, on the other hand, was making a mental note to check my life insurance policy to make certain it covered murder by a vengeful teenager.
“Charles Desmond, you do not dump house guests you injured on our chairs for them to bleed all over. Upstairs,” she ordered, pointing at the staircase.
“If he were bleeding, I wouldn’t have brought him home. It’s not his blood—mostly. I only gave him a nip or two, he’s fine,” Desmond replied, arching a brow at his mate. “I told you, he’s just tired.”
For all Wendy was a submissive, there was nothing frail about her as Desmond toed the line of his authority with her. The den was her place, and she clenched her teeth as though considering how best to rearrange her mate’s spine. “Charles.”
