by Moira Rogers
Oliver’s hands clenched into fists. “Don’t think she’d want me bringing it up in front of Ginny, but I’ll talk to her. First chance I get.”
Interesting. “Good. I’m headed over to deal with Dawson now. Would you mind escorting Ginny and Hazel back to town when you’re done? I’d feel better if they were tucked up with Lottie instead of out there on their own, until I know everything’s taken care of.”
“I’ll ride over as soon as my chores are done.”
He’d already gotten more words out of the man than he usually heard in a week. Jack nodded once and turned his horse around. “Thanks, Oliver.”
“You’re welcome.”
Dawson met him with a rifle and three strapping men who might have been a threat if they hadn’t all been morons. He spit over the railing of his porch and into the dirt near Jack’s horse. “Surprised to see you up and about so early, Owens.”
“Dawson.” Jack ignored the sign of disrespect and slid off his horse. The mare was well-trained, but even the calmest horse got edgy when werewolves started playing dominance games. And flat on my back is not where I need to be. “You’ve been busy.”
The man’s lecherous grin was chilling. “Could say the same about you, sir.” His tone made the term an insult.
Jack hadn’t even considered the fact that he was covered in Ginny’s scent. “I told you not to bother her again. I made it pretty clear there would be consequences.”
Dawson made a rude noise, and the men on the porch fidgeted nervously. “I’d ask what claim she has on your protection, but I guess you done answered that.”
“I guess I did.” Jack hooked his thumbs in his belt and let the power inside him off its leash to fill the space around him. “But even if that weren’t the case, every wolf in this territory is mine. That includes you and your thick skull, Dawson, which means I don’t particularly want to hurt you. Doesn’t mean I won’t, though.”
Dawson returned his look with a glare. “Ginny Howard runs around, making a big fuss about how she isn’t part of your pack. That she doesn’t belong to you. But here you are. Makes a man wonder, Owens, why in hell he’d want to bother toeing the line.”
“Virginia Howard minds her own business and doesn’t damage anyone else’s livelihood. That’s the line you need to start toeing.”
The three men flanking him lowered their eyes, but Dawson kept staring. “I don’t think I’m much in the mood. So you do what you’ve got to do, but make sure it doesn’t include telling me what I’ve got to.”
And there it was, the challenge he hadn’t wanted.
So much for words. He didn’t want to think too closely about the thrill of satisfaction that claimed him as he gathered the magic that made him the strongest -- that made him the alpha.
When he moved, it was too fast for Dawson to stop him. He cleared the space to the porch in three strides and had his fingers curled around Dawson’s rifle before the man had done more than raise it up. One hard jerk, and Jack curled his other hand in the man’s shirt and hauled him over the railing.
Dawson swung, a hard punch that clipped Jack on the jaw. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other three wolves back away, knowing instinctively they had no place in this fight.
Not that it turned out to be much of one. Dawson was plenty brave with a rifle and a gang, but one-on-one he couldn’t keep up with Jack. He kicked the gun out of the way before wrenching the man’s arm nearly out of his socket. One sharp kick to the back of the leg and Dawson hit the ground with Jack on his back, one knee positioned at the base of his spine.
Jack pulled Dawson’s arm behind him and leaned down. “Give me a compelling reason why I shouldn’t snap your spine right now and save myself a world of headaches later on.”
Dawson made a valiant effort to throw Jack off of him, but he couldn’t muster the leverage. “You don’t deserve to be alpha,” he muttered angrily. He snatched a knife from his belt and slashed it across Jack’s forearm.
It hurt like hell, but Jack didn’t release his grip. He grabbed Dawson’s wrist with his free hand and used the strength he usually kept so carefully in check. Bones gave way beneath his fingers with a grind and a sickening crunch. Dawson screamed a curse and jerked his injured wrist away. Then, insanely, the man began to laugh.
Jack’s blood chilled. “What?”
His laughter died with a wheeze. “You think those three idiots up there helped me cut the fence? You’re stupider than you look.” He snorted. “I sent the rest of them out to her place already to take care of things.”
With the blood pounding in his ears, he didn’t hear Dawson’s spine snap. A furious growl tore free from him as he rose to his feet, leaving the limp body on the ground as he shifted his gaze to the three men on the porch. “This is your only warning.”
None of them lifted their eyes, and all of them murmured their understanding.
Fury rode him hard, and it was impossible to get within five feet of his horse. He tore his clothing free instead and channeled that rage into the change. As soon as his paws hit the ground he launched himself in the direction of Ginny’s property and prayed.
Chapter Five
“Hazel, where are the rest of those .30-30s from the hall closet?” Ginny swore and worked the lever on her rifle, sparing Oliver a quick glance. “You’re bleeding.”
Oliver rose up on one knee as he stuck his rifle through a shattered pane of her front window and fired. “It’ll stop soon.”
“Here.” Hazel appeared around the corner with her arms full of boxes. “I think these are all of them --”
Oliver made it halfway across the floor and dragged Hazel down before Ginny could even speak. “Stay down,” he hissed. “Unless we’re covering you with fire, you keep your ass below window level, got it?”
The tension in the room twisted into something hot and feral as Hazel let out a low snarl. Her shallow, quick breaths were audible even over the gunfire from the front yard. For a moment, Ginny was afraid the girl was going to lose it then and there, in the middle of a firefight.
Hazel rolled away in the next instant, coming to her hands and knees a few feet from Oliver. “Ginny.” Her voice sounded high and frightened -- a lot more frightened than it had a few seconds ago. “Where can I go?”
“Get to the washroom in the back hall.” Ginny caught the boxes that Oliver kicked her way and tore one open with one hand. “Stay there until I come get you.”
The girl scurried away, and Ginny made a face at Oliver as she reloaded her rifle. “Nice, Ollie.”
His own chest heaved, and he growled at her as he made his way back to the window. “Cut me a little slack, Ginny? I’ve been shot.”
“Not a lot of time for slack, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
She could have sworn he smirked. “Again, shot.”
She blew her hair out of her eyes and peered out the window. “Only four left. Not bad.” We won’t wonder how many Jack ran into over at Dawson’s, will we, Ginny? “Unless someone flanked the house and is about to bust through the back door.”
“Doubtful.” His dark eyes studied the front yard. “I think they planned on numbers and surprise.”
“And catching me and Jack with our pants down.”
He made a small, choked noise. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“You were thinking it.” It was Ginny’s turn to growl. “What the hell are they waiting for?”
“Bet they’re almost dry.” He slid the barrel of his rifle slowly through the window. “Doubt they carry much extra ammunition when they’re going to fuck somebody up. Your average posse depends on brute force and numbers.”
Leave it to Oliver to get downright loquacious when talking about the strategy involved with successful vigilantism. “They can’t sit out there all day.”
“They won’t.” He sounded sure. “They’ll either come up with another plan, or they’ll bum rush us.”
The third option announced itself with a furious howl. A wolf barreled
into one of the men, his powerful jaws closing on the back of the man’s neck. A furious surge of power roared through the house, leaving no doubt that the wolf who had joined the fight was the alpha.
And he was pissed.
God damn it. “Jack.” Ginny snatched up her revolvers and scrambled to her feet.
Oliver caught her arm. “If I let you go out there, Jack’ll skin me alive.”
Only the knowledge that he was trying to do what Jack wanted kept her from tearing his arm out of its socket to get away. “I like you Ollie. Now turn me loose.”
“All right.” He did, only to yank his own revolvers out of their twin holsters. “But I’m going first.”
They made it out into the yard a moment before one of the remaining men fired at Jack. The wolf rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the bullet that dug into the ground an inch from his body.
Rage gripped Ginny, and she emptied both of her pistols into the man. Oliver yelled something, but she couldn’t understand him through the blood rushing in her ears. More gunfire exploded around her, and a hard hand wrapped around her arm like a vise.
The last shooter, a rough man named Keller, jerked her to him, her back to his chest, and the hot steel of a blade bit into her throat. “Drop the guns and back away.”
Being used as a shield, as a means for escape, only made her angrier. He thought she was weak, that he could use her to leave Oliver and Jack helpless.
Ginny smashed the heel of her boot back into Keller’s shin and twisted the arm around her chest, unmindful of the knife scoring her flesh. She spun, grasped his face between her hands, and whispered, “I’m not a weapon.” A quick wrench of her hands snapped his neck.
“Ginny.” It was Jack’s voice, hoarse and tired. “Are you all right?”
She stepped over Keller’s legs and hurried to Jack’s side. Blood slicked his bare skin, and his eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted. “I’m okay.” She propped him up with his arm draped over her shoulders. “Ollie.”
He nodded. “I’ll make sure that’s everyone.”
Jack’s body stiffened as he glanced around. “Where’s Hazel?”
“Hiding inside.” Ginny urged him toward the house. “We’ll send --” Shit. She couldn’t send Hazel back to town with Oliver, not after the way she’d almost lost control and ravished him earlier. “We’ll send Ollie to fetch Thomas and Lottie. Thomas can deal with Dawson’s crew, and Lottie will take care of Hazel.”
“That would be a good solution.” He stopped and turned to look at Oliver. “Did you catch that?”
“Got it.” Oliver holstered his revolvers. “Need anything else?”
Jack’s gaze flickered to Oliver’s arm. “How badly you hurt?”
“Already almost healed up.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Ginny fought the urge to gnash her teeth impatiently they made their way up the steps and to the door. She knew Oliver would take care of the gunmen and be on his way as quickly as possible, so she focused her attention on Jack. “Can you manage the stairs?”
He shot her a tired but indulgent look. “It’s my arm, Ginny. I bled a lot, but I’m not going to die. If I hadn’t run on it, it’d already be knitting shut.”
“You shouldn’t have.” Fear sharpened her tone. “We were doing fine, and you could have been killed.”
“I had no way of knowing if Oliver had gotten over here yet,” Jack countered. “You’re good, Ginny, but you’re only one person.”
“I could --” She bit her tongue. Her arguments were naïve and silly, and all they really boiled down to was that she didn’t want Jack in danger, no matter what that meant for her. “Just… sit down and let me look at it, all right?”
The soft sound of Hazel’s footsteps drifted down the hallway, and Jack turned his head to follow the noise. “Check on Hazel first.”
Ginny headed her off at the end of the hallway. “Everything’s fine. Jack’s a little scratched up, that’s all.”
Hazel still looked flushed and nervous. “I don’t feel so good, Ginny. I feel -- not right.”
“Hazel.” Jack’s low voice filled the room, vibrating with the power of an alpha. Hazel’s body went tense as he continued. “Can you get me a couple of towels from the bathroom while Ginny checks my arm?”
The rush of magic wasn’t meant for Ginny, but she felt it brush past her as it found its target. Hazel’s face relaxed as the energy wrapped around her, an aura of pack and safety tinged with the protective strength that Jack lived and breathed. The girl’s eyes fluttered shut and she sighed as the tight tension bled away. “Okay, Jack.”
Ginny watched her go and then closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m -- I’m bad at dealing with things like this.”
“Come here, Ginny.”
She couldn’t let him comfort her while he was bleeding. “Jack.”
“Ginny, please. Don’t make me come over there and drip blood on your floor.”
She avoided his gaze, keeping hers on his feet as she made her way back to the table. “I don’t care about the floor.”
His uninjured arm curled around her shoulders and tugged her against his chest. “I just need to know you’re okay,” he whispered, his breath warm on her neck.
The rest of the world faded as she touched him. Her hands moved gingerly at first, and then clutched at his back. She breathed in his scent, nestled her face against his shoulder, and tried not to cry. “I’m okay, Jack. I’m not even hurt.”
The faintest sound of shoes on the wood floor heralded Hazel’s arrival. “The towels are on the table,” she whispered. “Is it okay if I go get some air?”
Jack answered before Ginny could. “Don’t go farther than the front porch before Lottie and Thomas get here, and if anyone else shows up, come back inside.”
“Okay.”
When she was gone Jack’s fingers tightened on Ginny’s lower back. “You’re not bad at dealing with things like this.” He laughed, the sound tired enough to make her chest ache. “I can barely manage Hazel on the best of days, and I doubt that’ll last much longer in any case.”
“Special circumstances.” She pulled away and picked up a towel. “Will you sit down, already? Let me look at you.”
He wrapped the second towel around his hips and sat without protest. “I promise I’m going to be okay.”
Ginny bent to look, and only the fact that he’d already stopped bleeding kept her from dissolving into tears. “Think I need to stitch it up?” she whispered, prodding gently at the wound. “It looks deep.”
Jack glanced at the wound and shook his head. “No, I heal fast. I just need a bath and some sleep, really. And some food.” He smiled at her. “And for Thomas to go get me some clothes, since I don’t think I’m squeezing my shoulders into anything you own.”
She kissed him, hard and fast, because she had to, and rested her forehead against his. “Bath. Do you need help, or can I go talk to Hazel?”
“I’ll be fine. Just… figure out how bad it is, would you? I know she’s on edge, but I can’t tell how close.”
“I will.” She didn’t tell him about the scene during the standoff, just straightened and nodded down the hall. “You know where it is.” The need to help him nearly overwhelmed her, but she forced herself to walk toward the front door. “Yell if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Ginny.”
Ginny found Hazel shivering on the front porch even in the warm early-morning sun, her arms wrapped tight around her legs as she stared at nothing.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Ginny whispered as she slid down to sit next to her. “I didn’t know Ollie would grab you like that. I don’t think he really planned on it.”
“I was being stupid.” Hazel’s voice sounded flat. “He didn’t mean anything by it. And I know it. I know it. But she wants him so much it scrambles my brains.”
“I know.” And she did. Even now, with Hazel’s physical well-being confirmed, the animal inside Ginny demanded that she go in se
arch of Jack. “That’s the hell of it, sweetie. He probably feels the same, but we’re not just the wolves. And Ollie --” She broke off and scooted closer to Hazel. “Ollie’s been hurt inside. And I don’t know if he’ll ever get over it.”
Even scared and confused, Hazel had no problem seeing to the heart of the matter. “You talking about Oliver, or you?”
“Maybe both of us,” she admitted. “I know what it’s like to not be sure if you want to risk it.” She had to swallow past the lump in her throat, and her voice still sounded ragged. “It’s no secret my parents weren’t happy. My mother never got over the War and everything she lost, but my father… He loved her, Hazel. More than anything, he loved her. He always said she’d get better, but she never did. And when she died, he gave up.”
Memories assailed her, and Ginny closed her eyes and leaned back against the house, folding her hands in her lap to hide their shaking. “I don’t know what I’m more afraid of, really. Loving someone as much as he loved her, or -- or disappointing someone as much as Mom did him.”
Hazel leaned into her side. “It was the War, Gin. It fucked everyone up. Things may be harder now than they were before, but Thomas says they’re a lot simpler, too. And you know what else he says?”
She drew in a calming breath and glanced at Hazel. “No, what?”
“That werewolves aren’t meant to be alone, and trying to live that way is like trying to make water run uphill.”
“Thomas is a smart man.” Ginny wrapped her arm around Hazel’s shoulders. “I don’t think we were meant to be alone, either. But I think some of us have to be.”
“And I think you’re full of shit.” She could almost hear the smile in Hazel’s voice. “I still like you, though. I just can’t ever get within twenty feet of Oliver ever again, so you might need to help me with that.”
“I’ll think of something.”
Ginny heard Jack moving around inside, his soft footfalls climbing the stairs, and she knew he’d head straight for the bed. The kind of healing he’d done -- and still had to do -- required enormous reserves of energy, and he probably wouldn’t wake up until hunger drove him from the bed.
