Grinning, Owen started paying more attention to the young males in the booth.
“This new central leadership model is just what we young weres have been waiting for. No more toeing the line for old farts who can’t remember what real love feels like.”
“Or get it up.”
The grin on Owen’s face disappeared when he realized the young guys out back were laughing and the females were conspicuously silent.
“Lots of benefits for young weres like us. We’d be free to mate with whoever we wanted.”
He put his beer down and sat up straight. Although he’d been away from packs for a long time, he knew the notion of ranking pack members claiming any female they wanted was archaic. And wrong. It was a perversion of a lower-ranking member’s acceptance of the pack system.
“Let me go, Terry. I mean it. You’re hurting me.”
Owen was on his feet and running for the back door. Good thing it was heavy otherwise he probably would have popped it off its hinges in his race to get through it.
“Let her go.” His voice was so commanding and so brutally harsh the young males backed away from the two females like the move was instinctive instead of deliberate.
He recognized one of the females. She was one of the office workers he and Tom had danced with weeks ago, the pretty little one with the made-for-sin mouth. Right now though she just looked scared. He planted himself between the two groups. “Go inside,” he told the females with a gentleness that surprised him. “I’ll be there in a few minutes to check on you.”
They nodded and scurried away. He turned back to the males when the metal door clanked shut with the females safely on the other side.
“You fellas were saying?”
“We were saying…” This was from Terry, Keenan’s number two and, right now especially, Owen’s least favorite person on the planet. “You should get out of here, stray, while you can still walk.”
“Stray. Hmm. Where have I heard that before?” He bared his teeth. “If you want to take me on now’s your chance. There’s three of you and only one of me. Odds seem good.”
“Better than good, I’d say.” One of Terry’s buddies picked up a big plastic crate and threw it at Owen’s head.
He dodged the crate, roared and charged. Two of the boys got pitched back like tackle dummies. A clothesline from each of Owen’s outstretched arms took them down with little fuss. He grabbed Terry next, spun the young were around to face him, hauled back and hit him so hard the kid’s jaw rocked back and forth. When Terry slumped to the ground Owen figured that was it for him for the time being.
The other two struggled to their feet. “Time to call it a night, boys. Oh and pick your friend up out of the dirt. Don’t leave it to Andy to clear away all the trash back here.”
It didn’t take long for Owen’s breathing to return to normal. While it did he stood his ground, feet spread, arms across his chest as he watched the three weres stumble off. When they disappeared around a corner he turned around…only to find Andy himself standing in the doorway, crowbar in hand. Frannie and a handful of patrons were looking out around him.
The big bar owner’s forearms flexed as he lowered the crowbar. “Looks like you managed to chase off those punks who tried to jump you. Those males are turning into bad news. Guess I’ll call in a bar fight and see if Pinebridge’s finest can’t pick ’em up and throw ’em in a cell for the night.”
Straight-faced and solemn, Owen nodded. “Good plan, Andy. And thanks…for looking out for your patrons.”
“My pleasure.”
Owen followed him back into the bar only to find himself assaulted by Frannie’s off-the-charts coddling.
“Are you all right, baby?” she cooed into his ear and started massaging his arm.
The two females who’d been out in the alley joined the scrimmage. They were worse than kids. Kids just nuzzled you or hugged you so hard you wondered if your bones were going to bend. These females were hell-bent on fawning over him, touching every inch of exposed skin on his body, pressing into him and asking over and over if he was hurt.
It took some time and he’d just about managed to disengage himself when the bar got really quiet. He looked up, right into Suzanne’s bright, furious eyes. She got out her nightstick and started swinging it.
“Paws off my male,” she growled and used the stick to lift the chin of one female away from Owen’s biceps. Another, who had been in the process of running her dainty little hands over his waist, got elbowed aside unceremoniously.
Frannie, ever the smart one, obviously knew when it was time to cut and run. Without another word she got off Owen’s knee and raced back to the bar. He screwed up his courage, looked into the eyes of the only female on the face of the planet who could intimidate him and groaned when he saw Tom hovering just behind her.
Reaching out, Tom ran his thumb roughly across Owen’s cheek. He held it up, showing off the lipstick smear. “Not your shade, buddy.” Tom grinned crookedly. “We got a call about a bar fight. You need medical aid?”
“Maybe when Deputy Young gets finished with him.”
Owen scanned the bar quickly but by then everybody was laughing so he had no clue who’d spoken. He was yanked to his feet when Tom wrapped his fist in the front of his shirt and pulled. “Come on, lover boy. We’ll need a description of your assailants for the arrest warrant.”
More laughter, punctuated by a few whoops and whistles, and Owen was dragged out the front door.
“Some of the younger males might be pissed at you but you’ve got the female vote tied up.” Laughing at his own joke, Tom led Owen over to his pickup.
Suzanne parked herself next to one of the two squad cars in front and glared at him in a way that made his balls feel tiny as raisins.
“That’s youth for you.” David Hold refilled Owen’s coffee cup and added more to his own. “All balls and no brains. Wherever did they come up with that old idea that hierarchy males could mate with the females of their choice?” He shook his head and passed around a platter of buttermilk pancakes and a dish of blueberry compote.
There were four of them at that morning’s old-fart breakfast. Wally of course, because he’d been reassigned to keep an eye on Owen. David, who’d had them drooling over his sugared strawberries and every other thing he’d set in front of them. Steven McMaster, the soft drink delivery guy, was sitting across from Owen and enjoying the last thick, moist slice of Canadian bacon on his plate.
“Maybe it’s part of Pinebridge’s uniqueness though,” David continued. “Like we welcome outsiders, maybe we’ve got a mentality for new ideas. While I don’t cotton to mass claiming of females I say let the pups try something new. If it’s got value it’ll stick. Personally, I doubt this group-leadership thing will last but if you aren’t allowed to make mistakes, how will you learn? Coddling never did anybody any favors. More bacon, anybody?”
Owen scented the air in the clearing that opened onto the pack’s running grounds and didn’t like what he was smelling. Standing on either side of him, Tom and Suzanne looked like they were thinking the same thing. The pack was too hyped, there was too much aggression in the air and over the heads of everyone else he spotted a few older weres discreetly heading back to the parking lot.
Only a few days after his run-in with Keenan’s boys out back of the Hair of the Horse and they were up to their old tricks. They’d asked for this pack run and from what Owen could see had done a good job organizing it. He had to give them points for that. But as he saw a pushing match break out across the clearing he knew Tom had been right. This run was an excuse for the young males to pick fights.
Without delay, he got naked. He had a feeling those boys were out to bite his tail tonight and when the time came to change he didn’t want to be impeded by tearing clothes.
Tom and Suzanne followed his lead. The light of the rising moon reflected off their bodies and he felt a swell of warmth that almost overshadowed the quick punch of lust that rocked his ’nads. He
loved Suzanne’s breasts. Had from the day he’d met her. Those long legs and that cute little indentation of a navel of hers. He licked his lips. Tom’s body was all about size and symmetry. Bulging abs, a neck as thick as most men’s legs and that long cock resting against his thigh. His lovers had physical beauty to spare but that wasn’t why he was staring at them. Well, not the only reason. They were his as sure as his name was. When they looked at him, even in public, he felt love and acceptance shimmering around them, scented it whenever they got close to him. Close to each other too. This thing between them shouldn’t work. The odds against three big-balls weres sharing and playing nice just didn’t compute. But it did work and that was fine by him.
He spotted a middle-aged female step into the clearing. She was medium-sized, medium build, average in every way but the sadness in her eyes drew his attention. Victoria Timberman was surrounded by her three grown pups and their mates. One was even holding her hand, drawing her forward gently, saying something to her in a soft, appeasing tone.
Owen’s heart felt heavy all of a sudden. This was the first pack run Sheriff Ed Timberman’s widow had come to since his murder. As he watched, other weres approached her, greeted her with smiles, laughter and hugs. How many runs had she attended with her mate over the years? Hundreds probably. Now, surrounded by friends and family, she looked all alone.
Some of what he was feeling must have altered his scent because first Suzanne then Tom leaned into him. He kissed the top of Suzanne’s head, put his hand on Tom’s shoulder and breathed them in. Christ but he never, ever wanted to forget their scents.
As the pack edged around them Owen waited. Although Owen had taken it upon himself to announce the start of the last pack run, Keenan had organized this one. Owen wanted to give the young male a chance to finish the job, step into the shoes of authority, demonstrate that he could be more than a face man with a grasp of logistics.
No announcement came and Owen shook his head as the kid dropped the ball spectacularly.
By now most of the weres had stripped down and were giving Owen sideways glances, like they were asking him what the delay was. Through gaps in the crowd Owen spotted three groups of young males form. One was watching him and Tom. The other groups were closing in on Roger Madison and Skip Walters.
“Ah hell.”
The last word didn’t come out right because Owen was dropping to all fours and speeding through his change despite the pain, snap and grind. The four males who’d been tracking him had changed in a flash and were bearing down on him.
His wolf’s eyes picked up the movement of the other groups changing too. A young subpack ran off in a collision course with Roger and Skip.
One of the wolves charging Owen veered and came right at Suzanne. Tom’s black wolf leaped, planted himself in front of her and snarled.
Owen’s wolf figured out the strategy quick enough. Threaten the female and draw off one of the males to protect her. It was sound, although despicable. A male attacking a female? Oh these boys needed to be disciplined all right. These pups needed schooling and the teacher was in the house.
Three males charged him at once, two going high, one low. He spun, kept his tail down to protect his vulnerable bits, ducked his head to prevent a skull from bashing into his and took the opportunity to sink his teeth into one of their legs.
The wolf’s howl of pain satisfied him on a lot of levels.
As he turned he spotted the massive black male and the elegant golden-brown female standing nearby. Even though Owen’s wolf was being attacked by three—make that four now—wolves, he knew the black wouldn’t come to his aid. He couldn’t and besides, Owen’s wolf would probably kill him if he did. Right now that wolf’s place was at the female’s side, guarding her. As long as the threat of one of the attackers breaking away and going for her existed, the female had to be protected.
The black wolf whined and pawed the ground but stayed where he was.
Owen felt a sting of pain as teeth grazed his hindquarters. He locked his legs as the weight of another wolf came down on his back. Another tried to bite his snout, hold his mouth shut and probably suffocate him. This was no quick and furious scuffle where determination would win out over aggression. These wolves meant to kill him. He scented it on them, felt it in the coordinated hits and bites as they tried to bring him down.
Game. On.
He reared up, leaving the wolf sprawled across his back rolling in the dirt. Pain made him snarl as he tore his snout away from the wolf gnawing on his face. A shake of his head assured him he was unhurt, just torn up a bit. Blood seeped into the fur near his lip. Spinning, he struck the wolf trying to bite his ass and struck the other one closing in on him too. The wolf in the dirt was a little too slow getting up. Owen bit down on one of the male’s back legs hard. Bone crunched and the smaller wolf cried in pain.
One fool pup down.
Owen jumped, positioning himself so one challenger stood between him and the others. Oh sure the others would race around their packmate and flank Owen but he’d bought himself a couple of seconds where he faced only one opponent. He took advantage and took it fast. Snapping his jaws in the wolf’s face made the young male jerk its head back. Caught out of position, it lifted its head and tried to spin away. Owen was ready for him. He clamped onto the male’s neck and bit down. Blood, a warm gush of it, filled his mouth then drooled out the sides. His opponent froze. Letting go before the others could get to his vulnerable sides, Owen ran in the opposite direction, right between them. The male he’d bitten collapsed on the ground behind him, whimpering. He pawed the dirt weakly. Owen had missed the artery but not by much. The male would live but would never be the same. So be it.
Two challengers down. Two to go.
They circled him, breathing hard, scenting the air around him. These two were cannier than the first. They took the time to look for weaknesses, signs of injury, a lapse in defense. Owen gave them one. The next step he took he leaned into one shoulder as if his foreleg was injured. The closest challenger was on him in an instant, teeth bared, aiming for the lame leg. He looked utterly astonished when that leg came up and hit him across the snout so hard his head spun to the side.
These young wolves were determined and too eager. He was bigger, stronger and far more experienced. He could have toyed with them. Wanted to toy with them. Wanted to make them hurt and rub their noses in their inevitable defeat. He was also disgusted by them. They were unworthy, pretenders, and he’d had enough of their short-sighted posturing.
A blow from his shoulder sent one wolf careening off course. The other, the one he’d just hit, turned to him, snapped its jaws and snarled.
It felt almost anticlimactic to plow into the smaller male, jump on his back, hump him a couple of times for good measure then bite down on the back of his neck hard. Owen’s teeth speared through fur, punctured skin and clamped down on the muscle guarding the male’s spine. When the wolf cried out in fear Owen jumped away, leaving his opponent to drop to the ground and cower.
He turned to face his last remaining opponent. This wolf was bigger than the others but still no match for a wolf of Owen’s size and experience. They circled each other, snarled, held their tails up at aggressive angles. Owen growled. It was deep and rumbled through his chest cavity with so much volume that other wolves standing nearby shook.
His opponent turned and ran. Owen might have let him go except the male ducked behind a female, cowering behind her smaller body and looking out at Owen from the sides of his eyes. Every instinct inside Owen—everything that made him a male and a leader—rebelled at the other wolf’s cowardice. The female, a tawny beauty with long legs, stood still and watched him with an alertness and trust that humbled Owen. He didn’t know this female. Her scent told him she was mated and healthy but he didn’t know her. And she didn’t know him. Yet she stood there, trusting him to protect her like she’d known him all her life.
Still growling, Owen raced around the female, clamped his jaws down on
the young male’s flank and dragged him out from behind her. Yelping, trying to curl up so he could snap at Owen, the male dug his claws into the ground and tried to hang on.
Owen just pulled harder. When the male was clear of the female Owen bit him over and over. Ribs. Shoulder. Ear. Holding long enough each time that the other wolf would turn and roll. Then he bent his forelegs and dropped down onto the male’s chest.
The male froze. The fight was over. He was on his back, belly exposed. Owen bit, hard. He cut into the male’s groin then his gut. He could kill him, wanted to kill him, wanted to tear his gut until he was dead. Instead Owen jumped away neatly, kicked his back legs so dirt and debris showered his opponent then walked toward the large black male and the elegant golden-brown female. The defeated male was young. He could be taught and it wasn’t in Owen’s nature to hand out death when a hard-learned lesson would suffice.
The female trotted over to him, head and tail held high and proud. She touched her forehead to his cheek then licked the shallow tear above his lip. The male stood on his other side, scented the pack that was beginning to crowd them and guarded Owen’s wounded flank with his body.
A small group of middle-aged weres changed back to human form and bent over the young were still lying on the ground. They examined the punctures in his groin and abdomen. When that wolf changed as well they helped him to his feet and held him up while he hobbled toward the parking lot. They weren’t overly gentle with him and there was no scent of compassion around them, still the doctor and two males Owen recognized as Rescue Services drivers did what was right.
Owen’s wolf scanned the crowd for Roger Madison and Skip Walters. Their wolves had been challenged too and Owen was relieved to catch a glimpse of the grocery store owner and the ranch foreman standing on their feet. They looked a little banged-up and Skip’s ear was torn but they were being nuzzled by their respective mates and projected a cockiness that told Owen they’d won their battles. Almost at the same time Roger’s and Skip’s wolves looked at Tom like they were sizing him up for another round.
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