PacksBrokenHeart

by Gwen Campbell

  “Mark me,” she cried out. “Mate me or lose me.” It wasn’t ego speaking. It wasn’t a threat or coercion. It was the most basic tenet of their species. Marking had to go both ways.

  Without hesitation he lifted his head, fastened his teeth over her shoulder and bit down. For the second time she felt the ache, the sting and burn of a mating bite. Throwing her head back and grinning like a drunkard she squeezed Owen’s wrists, held him still and hers as her body brought him to orgasm.

  He groaned against her, lifted his hips to her again and again, filled her with his sweet, potent seed. Without warning he reared up, grabbed hold of Tom and pulled the other male to him. He bit down on his Beta’s shoulder, groaned, snarled then released him with a gasp. When the tension drained out of him, when his muscles began to unclench and he started to breathe fast and deep, she shot forward. Both her males grunted when she yanked clear of their shrinking rods. With a strength that caught her completely off guard, she turned, grabbed Tom, tossed him onto his back, straddled his belly and bit down on his chest.

  Hollering and holding her so tight it was hard to draw a full breath, he shook as he accepted her marking. When it was done, when she was finally finished licking the tiny wounds she’d given him, he still wouldn’t let go. Owen rolled into them, pressed into the sides of their bodies and pulled the covers up over the three of them.

  Suzanne wasn’t a delicate female and she knew she should get off Tom. He wasn’t having any part of that though. He just hugged her tighter until she relaxed and used his big warm body for a bed.

  Owen rolled his shoulders. His mating marks didn’t hurt but he was hyperaware of them. He was also aware of the way the other members of the pack were sniffing in his direction. His direction, Suzanne’s and Tom’s. Their scents had changed and announced as effectively as a neon sign, Hey! In a threesome and loving it.

  As he walked the path between parking lot and clearing at the edge of the pack’s running grounds he steeled himself for dirty looks and ribald comments.

  What he got were weres stopping him with the pressure of their hands on his forearm, leaning into him, nuzzling him and breathing him in deep and long like they were anxious to learn his new scent. Without conscious thought he growled when one or two males stayed too close to Suzanne too long.

  They dipped their heads, watched him warily from the corners of their eyes and backed off. He snorted and felt all big man when they took the hint and took their paws off his female.

  He felt the same impulse when weres crowded Tom too long but the rational middle of his forebrain let Suzanne take that battle on. Part of it was he knew the male could take care of himself. Part of it was the gut-deep surety that Tom, now that they were mated, had absolutely no interest in any female other than Suzanne. Or any male but him.

  The others could look, even be tempted to lust after the handsome, dark-haired male. Tom’s heart was solidly in his and Suzanne’s corner and Owen knew it would stay that way.

  When they entered the clearing the weres already present stepped aside and let the three of them through. He’d timed their arrival deliberately. Most of the pack was there and they’d formed a tight, seething ring around the four rogues in the center. Jackson, Steven, David and Garnett weren’t bound. They stood close together, back to back, their eyes shifting and narrowing, circling as if they were looking for a way out.

  Keenan, Terry and their two buddies were there too. They were held in place by a smaller but no less fierce-looking ring of weres.

  After a slow, deliberate inhalation Owen stepped up to the older weres from Grace Junction. “You planned and carried out the murders of this pack’s Alpha and Beta.” His voice rang through the clearing but there was no pleasure in it. “Only two of you pulled the triggers but you share equally in the blame. The motive was your greed for control, which you were incapable of earning honorably and which you in no way deserved.” He spit on the ground because every part of his being needed to rid itself of the aftertaste of speaking the unthinkable crimes these males had committed.

  “The punishment is death.” Oddly he felt no triumph proclaiming that. He simply spoke it as fact. This distancing of his emotions, this stifling of his compassion and empathy had served him well in battle. Now, distancing himself from his emotions gave him clarity and a determination to do right by this pack. Cory had been a strong leader and a benevolent one. Owen was proud to now carry part of Cory’s legacy inside himself.

  “Sentence must be decided by the pack. If anyone wants to speak in these males’ defense, do it now.” Owen stood still, closed his mouth, waited. He heard breathing, smelled anger, pain and impatience. When the breeze shifted he turned around, scanned the pack’s faces, saw zero compassion. No one spoke up and although he hadn’t expected anyone to it was only right to present the opportunity. “A vote by show of hands will do. Raise your hand if you think these rogues should be killed.” Again he scanned the crowd. An overwhelming majority of weres raised their hands and resolutely kept them there.

  “Thank you.” It took a long time for every hand to go down. “Raise your hand if you think these rogues should be banished.”

  A few hands went up but again that was only right. Even among weres, not everybody believed in capital punishment.

  Straightening his shoulders, he turned and faced the four older males in the middle of the clearing. They’d been eerily silent, as if they’d assumed they’d be banished as they’d been banished from Grace Junction. Maybe the thought the pack would kill them had never occurred to them. “Garnett, you lured Sheriff Ed Timberman out and shot him while his back was turned. Jackson, you—”

  A wrenching scream cut him off and faster than he’d ever seen a female move Victoria Timberman was leaping through the air. He heard clothes rip, saw her change in mid-jump. Garnett didn’t even have time to get his hands up before the weight of her compact brown wolf drove him backward. Owen heard a wet gurgling sound before a silence so thick it pressed in on his chest filled the clearing. He didn’t need to look but he did anyway. Garnett lay sprawled on his back, his eyes wide and unfocused. There was a bloody hole where his throat used to be.

  The three other males who’d been standing with him backed away in panic. They were shoved without quarter by the weres already closing in on them. Victoria’s wolf scrambled to its feet, staggered then turned to Owen. He held himself still. An instinct, one he still wasn’t comfortable with and one he was certainly unfamiliar with, kept him where he was. The wolf took another step toward him. Her mouth was open and drops of blood fell from her muzzle in her wake. When she came to an unsteady stop Owen leaned down, put his hand on her head, ran his thumb over the soft fur between her blank blue eyes.

  She changed back, although nowhere as quickly as she’d morphed into her wolf form. With blood smearing her chin and her chest rising too fast for her small frame, Victoria stumbled forward. Owen grabbed her, hugged her tight and stared up at the stars as she began to sob.

  He heard snarls then screams as the pack surged forward. Smelled fresh blood and urine then the screaming stopped. While the inconsolable female clung to him he looked over the heads of the pack. Keenan and his buddies were still standing. The front of Keenan’s shirt looked like he’d thrown up on himself.

  When a group of large males walked by wheeling carts of cut logs so the rogues’ bodies could be destroyed by fire, the scent of the young males’ fear made the inside of Owen’s nose burn. Owen knew he’d taken a risk declaring sentence on the rogues first. He still felt the young males could be reeducated. The pack might very well pardon their own but only if their bloodlust and need for revenge had been appeased.

  But the blood of four rogues only went so far.

  Eventually the pack, Victoria included, fell silent. She still clung to him so he still held her, even when her adult pups approached and tried to coax her away. Owen had fought his innate drive to lead his entire adult life. For the first time he made an effort to embrace it. This fema
le needed to draw on his strength for a while. The drive to care for her, for every were in this clearing, was so strong he refused to step back from it a moment longer.

  He was Alpha. They were his.

  What a clusterfuck this was probably going to turn out to be.

  But as long as he stepped up, as long as he made an effort, right or wrong—that’s what mattered.

  Victoria trembled, loosened her hold on him a little but didn’t let go. Not yet. He lifted his head. “Four young males, four of our own,” his voice carried with confidence and authority, “were recruited by the rogues to aid their plan.”

  “We were lied to,” one of the males, Terry, shouted.

  “Shut up.” Tom’s powerful voice boomed across the clearing.

  Everyone fell silent.

  “They did not participate in the murders,” Owen continued. “Nor were they aware of them. They were promised unchecked mating privileges and power they didn’t have the strength to earn on their own. They allowed themselves to be seduced by those promises. If you think they warrant a second chance…if you think they’re smart enough to be reeducated, we will punish them but they won’t be banished. If you don’t think they’re worthy of a second chance they will be banished.” He hesitated before he offered the third option. “If you think they represent a danger too strong to release into our pack or any another they will be killed. Raise your hands if you think they should be killed.”

  The hands were slow in going up but eventually fifteen, maybe twenty percent of the weres raised theirs.

  “Thank you. Raise your hand if you want them banished.” Owen kept his expression neutral as he gauged the votes. A little less than half the hands were up. Unless there were a lot of abstainers, it looked like he’d have to cast a deciding vote.

  “Thank you. Raise your hand if you want to punish then reeducate them.”

  He exhaled with displeasure.

  Ian, the were who’d been Cory’s go-to guy for the minutia of running the pack and had served Owen in that capacity since Cory’s murder, stepped up.

  “I counted the hands as best I could. Without breaking out paper and pencil, we’ve got a margin of only four votes in favor of leniency. Guess it’s your call, boss.” Ian spoke quietly. Still, there was no way even a hard-of-hearing were couldn’t pick up the sound of a single voice at this distance.

  Owen knew what his decision was but one of Victoria’s adult pups chose that moment to walk up to him. She had a sweater in her hand and, scenting like a nervous were, she handed it to him. The comfort and care of one of their own, especially the widow of their murdered Beta and sheriff, took precedence over any pronouncement he’d ever make.

  He settled the sweater around Victoria’s shoulders, pressed his lips to the top of her head then pulled himself up to his full height.

  “The young males will not be banished. They will perform a thousand hours of community service each, in addition to holding down full-time jobs. They will be mentored by senior members of the pack on the proper and right way to live within a pack.”

  “Thank you, Alpha,” Keenan called out.

  “Don’t thank me.” Owen’s voice was cold. “I’ll be the one supervising your community service. And unless I see a genuine change in each of you I’ll banish you so far north you’ll be fighting polar bears for food. Am I understood?”

  “Yes sir. Yes.”

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  Owen adjusted the fit of his belt, made sure it was centered and that his sidearm hung over the dark-brown stripe on his tan pants just like they’d taught him at the Wyoming Law Enforcement Academy.

  He looked at his reflection in the mirror. It had only been two days and he still wasn’t used to the way his new name badge looked or the pins on his lapels. He’d been used to the old badge, the one that identified him as a deputy sheriff. The new one just said sheriff.

  The election was over and the county, non-weres and all, had spoken its mind. Owen Wells, retired Army Sergeant First Class, badass were to the bone, was the man they’d given the nod to for the sheriff’s job.

  He squared his shoulders and stepped out of his office. The deputies coming on shift that morning looked up, applauded, made mocking attempts to polish his new badge for him until he growled and brushed them off. Grinning, they backed away and accepted the call sheets Tom was passing out.

  Suzanne was sitting at the dispatcher’s desk, looking up at Owen with so much pride he felt his chest swell. Her hand was on her bumped-out belly, rubbing a spot his unborn pup was probably kicking the heck out of. There was an open box of saltines and a glass of ginger ale beside her. She hated being back on dispatch but he refused to let her out on patrol while she was pregnant. Tom had backed him up adamantly and the discussion had ended there.

  Just like Owen knew he’d back Tom up when Suzanne was pregnant with the other male’s pups.

  “Heads up,” Owen barked and the station house fell silent. “Keep an eye open for any election signs still standing. If you see one call the campaign office and tell them to remove it by the end of business today. Most of you will be on traffic duty this week. Spring’s here and a lot of the big wildlife are wandering close to the roadways to eat the salt and vegetation near the shoulders.” He pointed at his deputies. “Keep the speeds on the highways down. There’s a BOLO for two stolen vehicles from out of state and one for a fly-by-night moving van that’s been ripping off customers up and down this side of the Great Divide all winter. Oh and Piper Amos and her boys will be back from Arizona next week. There’s a group of volunteers going out to her place to clean the yard, plant some bulbs and make sure the house is fit for habitation. If you want to contribute an hour or two phone Brodie down at the community center and let him know. He’s organizing the crews. Questions? Okay,” he continued after sufficient pause. “Have a good shift and come back safe.”

  After the other deputies filed out Tom sat on the corner of his desk and grinned up at Owen. “Not bad for your first day on the job, Sheriff. By the way, the ranch backing onto our house is going up for sale next week. The owner talked to me about it. Said he wanted to do the neighborly thing and give us first crack at it. If we were interested, that is.”

  “You bet we’re interested,” Suzanne called out. She shifted in her chair and her blonde hair, even thicker and shinier than it usually was, grazed her cheek. She pushed it away impatiently. “How much does he want? Between the three of us I’m sure we can swing the mortgage payments.”

  “There will be no mortgage payments,” Owen barked. He jammed his fists down on his hips. “I told you when we bought the place we own now, I’ve got money.”

  Tom frowned at him. “Enough for a four-bedroom bungalow, especially when I sold my old place and used the profit as a down payment, sure. But we’re talking almost half a million dollars, Owen.” His jaw dropped when Owen shot him a look. “You mean you can swing that?”

  “Yes. I’ll call Fina today and ask her to cash in some of my investments.”

  “Some?” Suzanne got up, walked over to him and threw her arms around his neck. She tended to be a little demonstrative when it came to the emotional stuff these days. He didn’t really mind, especially when he got to hug her back and feel the firm mound of his pup press into him. “Now I’m really glad I didn’t settle for a shaggy plumber.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Just an old promise I made to Cutler. One he was happy not to hold me to.” She looked over at their other mate and gave Tom the warm, intimate smile she reserved for them. “Tom, that means we’ll finally have the land for a couple of horses.”

  “Yeah.” The other were’s eyes lit up. “I know you wanted to give riding lessons some day.”

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” Owen huffed. “I’ll buy the land if you want it, even get a contractor in to look at those plans we had drawn up for a bigger place. But no way will I let any of my pups near some damn horse. Have you two lost your minds?”
/>   Suzanne glared at him. And glared. With his balls feeling like raisins, he slowly shut his mouth.

  Wyoming might still be cowboy hell as far as he was concerned but a smart male knew when to cut his losses.

  “Consider yourself outvoted, buddy.” Tom came up behind Suzanne. With his hand on her hip, he nuzzled her gently. His other hand rested on Owen’s waist. “A few horses, a few head of cattle…sounds pretty damn near perfect to me.”

  “Sheriff, we’ve got a fence down on County Thirty-One.” One of his deputy’s voices came over the dispatcher’s open line. “Jensen’s goats are all over the place. I called him up but we’ll need more manpower. He sends his apologies, this being your first day on the job and all. Any suggestions?”

  “Yeah. Break out the roasting pans,” Owen muttered. He stopped rubbing his forehead when Suzanne and Tom started chuckling. “Well, don’t just stand there, cowboy,” he told Tom. “You’re the one who wants to be a rancher. Get out there and round up the buggers.”

  “I’m on it, Sheriff.” Still grinning, Tom grabbed his hat and headed for the door.

  “Get him some help,” Owen told Suzanne as he watched his other mate leave. “Hawkins isn’t far from there.”

  She nodded, went back to her desk, put her headset on and started coordinating his department’s response.

  Shaking his head, Owen headed back to his office so he could finish preparing for his inaugural meeting with the town council. This life might not be anything he could have imagined for himself, even anything he’d thought he’d deserve. He was resigned to worrying himself into an early grave because his mates were hell-bent on putting their pups in the same space as crazy-eyed horses. Still, he liked this life just fine. Owen Wells had found a home. And it was a damn good one.

  About Gwen Campbell

  Gwen Campbell lives in Canada and got her start in the magazine industry, writing everything from news stories to obituaries. A life-long believer in romance, she’s combined her two passions and now focuses on romantic fiction. Gwen is married and she and her husband contribute the success of their relationship to making a point of saying “I love you” at least once a day, sometimes saying “yes, dear” just because, and making sure the toilet paper always come over the top of the roll.