Zoe Hamilton. The filthy hypocrite.
Movement caught Amara’s eye from the shadows. Her fingers itched for the knife strapped to her ankle. Before she could stop it, the wolf attack from ten years before flashed through her mind. Once again, Amara imagined herself flat on her back, sprawled out on the pavement, the russet-colored wolf tearing into her skin. She had never felt so helpless in her entire life.
Never again.
Leaning down, she slipped the knife from its sheath, loving the feel of the cool steel against her hand. She let the weight of the blade settle in, enjoying the way it felt both lethal and familiar. The way she held it spoke of a lot of years handling a knife. “Who’s there?” Amara called, her steady voice the only sound in the stillness of the night. No one answered, but she knew someone was there. She could feel it.
Seconds passed. When the silence continued, Amara shrugged, cursing herself under her breath for not bringing her car, and again for worrying about not bringing her car. As Becca would say, her paranoia was showing.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
How many times was she going to let her fear get the best of her? Yes, her grandfather had been right; there were, in fact, wolves in Strathford, and they were definitely not friendly. Well, not all of them, she conceded, thinking about the black and silver one that followed her around like a shadow. Most of them, however, were vicious. But did that mean she had to stay indoors after the sun went down like her mother? Was she supposed to be forced to spend her nights within the confines of her own home, unable to enjoy her life just because some wolf out there might take it?
She didn’t think so.
Glancing over her shoulder, Amara scanned the darkness again, searching for any sign of movement, but there was no one there. Still, she found herself gripping the knife tighter as she picked up the pace. Only two more blocks to go.
Chapter 7
As she rounded the last corner, Amara could finally see her apartment building. She thought she would feel relief, but instead, her sense of urgency only strengthened. She began to walk faster.
From somewhere behind her, a low growl echoed off the street. Amara froze. She knew that growl. She would recognize it anywhere. It was the same growl she heard in her nightmares when the wolf was trying to rip her throat out.
Terror ripped through her, propelling her forward; faster, faster. Amara broke into a run. Her heartbeat pounded like a war drum against her ribs. The rushing sound of her blood roared in her ears. The pounding of her feet as she charged down the street was nearly deafening.
But she could still hear the wolf gaining on her. Or were there two?
Twenty more feet. Fifteen. Five. Up the steps to her door. Frantic now, Amara felt the panic attack coming on, and she dug into her purse for her keys, cursing the fact that she basically lived out of her purse and could never find anything.
There!
Victorious, Amara’s fingers clamped around her house keys. She tugged them from her purse and tried to find the right key to insert into the lock, but she couldn’t manage to do it. Her hands were shaking so badly that the bundle of keys on the keyring slipped from her hands and fell into the bushes beside the stoop.
For one split second, Amara squeezed her eyes shut. The Universe could not be that cruel.
The wolf’s deadly growl was so close, Amara imagined his muzzle right up against her neck. Slowly, she turned, bringing the knife up in front of her. Right before her mind went blank with shock.
It was the same wolf. And he was huge, at least twice the size of a normal wolf. Behind him stood a second one, tan. Waiting.
How? her mind screamed. Did wolves even live that long? Was that even possible? He didn’t look that old, she admitted. Maybe it was a different wolf. No. It was the same one, of that she was certain. But that was impossible. The last time they had met had been a decade earlier. Yet, there he was; the same look of hatred and thirst for blood that she remembered in his tawny brown eyes.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she told them, her voice quaking. Oh, how she wished she could be stronger than she felt. Defiant, Amara dropped down into a fighting stance. “You don’t scare me.”
The first wolf made a choking noise deep in his throat. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was laughing. Wolves didn’t laugh.
Amara switched the blade to her other hand and wiped her sweaty palm on the leg of her jeans. Now was not the time to freak out. This is what she had been training for all these years. Revenge.
The wolf stalked toward her, each footstep slow and deliberate, as if he was toying with her. He was enjoying her fear. What an asshole.
Keep it together, Amara.
The wolf ran his long, red tongue over his jowls, exposing sharp, pointed, yellow teeth.
There was nowhere for her to run. There were two of them; they would get her no matter what she did. And if that russet wolf had it his way, she wouldn’t live through it this time. She could see it in his eyes, he wanted to kill her. She was going to die. And he was going to love every single second of her death.
If only she could get to her keys.
The wolves stalked forward, taking calculated, even steps. Then suddenly, a third wolf howled in the distance. There were three of them.
The two wolves froze. One glanced to his left, down the darkened street, but Amara didn’t wait to see if the third wolf was down there or not. She took her chance. Grabbing hold of the post with her free hand, she swung herself off the porch like she had done in pole vaulting in high school. She landed in the bushes below.
The russet wolf charged. One massive paw slapped across her back, his claws catching the material of her coat. Amara fell forward, her hands slamming down onto mulch and cement, catching her weight. All the air shot out of her with a whoosh, and she wheezed, trying to breathe again.
And then her attacker was gone.
Picking herself up, Amara gasped for breath, drinking it in like water. She stared at the scene in front of her in disbelief. The three wolves were tearing into each other in the middle of the street. The russet-colored wolf was on his back, jaws snapping at the black and silver wolf that was pinning him to the ground. Black and silver? It was like a repeat of the night ten years ago. The tan wolf was trying to get in between the two. Growls, barks, and yelps filled the night as the canines fought over Amara’s life.
It was a full minute before she came to her senses and began frantically searching for her keys in the bushes. Behind her, she could hear one of them whimper in pain, and she prayed it wasn’t the black and silver wolf who had been hurt.
After what felt like ages, Amara’s fingers clamped down on metal and she pulled her keys from the dirt. As quickly as she could, she clambered to her feet and raced up the steps to her door. Forcing her hands to stay steady, she unlocked the door, slamming it behind her.
What she wanted to do was pretend none of this had ever happened. She wanted to feel safe. She wanted to lean back against her door with one hand pressed to her racing heart, and stay there until all she could hear outside was silence.
But she couldn’t do that. The black and silver wolf—her wolf, as she’d come to call him—had saved her life. Again. There was no way in hell she was leaving him out there alone, outnumbered, while she hid inside like a coward.
Running into her bedroom, she went to the gun safe in her closet, spun the combination, and took out her father’s double-barrel shotgun. With movements that spoke of years of experience, she reached into the box of shells and loaded the gun, loving the click and clang of metal telling her the shells were in the chamber.
That was her wolf out there. Her protector. This was the second time that he had saved her life. Now she just hoped she was in time to save his.
Throwing open her front door, Amara stepped out onto the sidewalk and fired a warning shot in the air. Lights came on in the house across the street, but no one opened the door.
All three wolves froze. To her horror, the ru
sset’s muzzle was covered in blood, his teeth at the other wolf’s throat. There was murder in his eyes.
Amara levelled the gun at his head, pleased to see fear for the first time. Beside him, the tan wolf cowered. She would pull that trigger. And they both knew it. “Get away from him,” she snarled, empowered by how cold she sounded. The two wolves only growled. Amara cocked the gun. She enunciated each word, somehow sure he could understand her. “I said, get away from him. Now.”
Glaring at her, the russet wolf released his adversary. He and the tan one began to slink away. When they were twenty feet down the road, they finally disappeared into the shadows.
The black and silver wolf slumped to the ground, blood flowing freely around his neck and hip. His dark, haunted eyes were full of pain.
Amara stood where she was for the space of a heartbeat. Then she set the gun down and went to the wolf. She hesitated for a moment more, before gently rubbing a hand over his fur. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft. “You saved my life. Again.” She raised her hand to her face. There was blood everywhere, and she wasn’t sure if all of it was his. He’d started to shake. “Well, shit. I need to get you inside. Sit tight, handsome,” she soothed, not wanting to be away from him. He had a nasty gash that spanned all the way across his left hip. It looked like it needed stitches. “I’ll be right back.”
Amara dashed inside and stowed her weapons just inside the door. If the other wolves came back, she was going to be ready for them. And she wasn’t going to let anything happen to her wolf.
Retrieving a blanket from the hall, she ran back outside. She had no idea how she was going to lift him, but she knew she had to try. But he was nowhere to be seen.
“What the hell?” Amara murmured into the silence. The wolf was gone. But how? How had he gone anywhere, all torn up like that? Dashing back into her house, she grabbed a flashlight. Maybe there was a trail she could follow. He couldn’t have gotten far.
Sure enough, there was a blood trail from where he had lain, leading into the woods that bordered her house. She searched for a few minutes, until finally her fear and caution got the best of her. She wasn’t going to find him tonight. And, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was terrified the other wolves would return.
“Sorry, buddy,” she whispered into the night. It was silly, and he probably couldn’t hear her…but just in case. “Thank you.” Turning on her heel, Amara made her way back, pausing at the door to glance out into the woods again. She just hoped that, wherever he was, he was safe.
Chapter 8
Nova woke before dawn the next morning, his entire body aching. At some point during the night, the pain had been so intense that he had shifted back into a man. The wound on his side spanned from one side of his hip to the other. It was beginning to heal, a mound of scar tissue covering the gash, his skin pulling as he walked.
Nova thought back to Amara’s face as she fired that gun the night before. For ten years, he had been watching her, protecting her, making sure Kal could never come near her again, and in one night, one night, he had turned his back for the length of time it took for her to get home, Vann had attacked her. He would have killed her if Nova hadn’t been on his way over in the first place.
When he was seventeen years old, Nova had looked down at Amara, lying broken and bleeding on the sidewalk thanks to Kal Vann’s savagery. Since then, he had made a vow to himself that he would never let anything bad happen to her again.
And he had failed.
To make matters worse, she ended up saving him. Amara wasn’t the only one Kal and his buddy almost killed last night.
Nova frowned. He hadn’t thought he would have to explain his absence to Nemoy. If his brother found out he’d gone to see her in the bar, talked to her, and fought the heir to the Valley Clan for her…well, it was safe to say that Nova would be in quite a bit of trouble with his Alpha.
Might as well prepare for it.
Suppressing a sigh, he kept moving. God, he hurt. A perk of his genetics was that shifters healed remarkably fast, but it was going to take a day or two for him to heal completely. Damn it.
Pushing through the pain, Nova hiked the two miles out of town to where his black Dodge was parked. He reached under the truck and pulled out his spare key. Unlocking the door, he retrieved a spare pair of pants, shoes and a tee shirt from the back seat and dressed. It was a good thing he was always prepared, he thought, as he slid into the front seat and put the key into the ignition. The truck roared to life, idling with a familiar purr. He ran his hands over the steering wheel, breathing in the intoxicating scent of treated leather.
Nova loved his truck—he even called her Betsy. It was one of the only things that let him escape the pressures of pack life. It was one thing to run as a wolf, to feel the open air as he flew through it and it invaded his senses. He enjoyed the smell of the woods as he barreled through the trees. He loved the power as his paws plodded against the earth, kicking up mud in his wake. He always felt invincible. Yet it was his truck that he preferred from time to time.
There was something about being human and being in control of all that metal, noise, and power that was invigorating. And being able to eat up all that distance while listening to music and feeling human was a freedom he could never explain. No matter how many times he’d tried.
Nemoy would never understand.
As the Alpha of the Mountain Clan, his brother was the biggest advocate for shifters. Their abilities were passed down genetically, inherited from one generation to the next. Whereas Nova believed mating with the humans would diversify and expand the pack, Nemoy seemed almost afraid of the idea.
He said humans would dilute the gene pool, leading to children who weren’t actually wolves. They would bring disease and immune deficiencies the pack wasn’t susceptible to, potentially wiping them out. Time after time, Nemoy preached about the necessity of secrecy, of keeping the wolves of the Mountain Territory pure and free of outside influence.
Please.
Nova snorted, thinking to himself. What did Nemoy know? His mate, Ivanah, had been his childhood sweetheart. Nemoy convinced their father to approve the marriage years before a betrothal could have been made. He’d never even been around humans other than to guard them. He’d never felt for a human what Nova felt for Amara. And he never would.
Wolves mated for life. It was a contract, not just to their mates, but to the pack and their ancestors as well. To violate that oath was to be banished, shunned from the pack for life. And, if the ancients willed it, they could be cut off from their inner wolf as well. Wolves mated with wolves. Humans were forbidden. Infidelity was not tolerated, no matter what the circumstances. Any children produced from an outside relationship would be kept in the pack, of course. But there always seemed to be something of a stigma around those kids, as if they themselves were the oath breakers. It wasn’t fair, but it was the way that it was.
For those that were joined through an arranged union, being married to someone you despised was like torture. For that reason, the packs had instigated several trials that mated pairs had to go through to ensure the strength of the mated pair would benefit the wolf community as a whole. It was rare for a couple to fail the trials, but it wasn’t unheard of.
With Nova’s luck, he would probably fail, if he ever even found a mate. Perfect.
Grabbing his sunglasses from the passenger side visor, he put them on, grateful for the shield from the sun. Shifting the truck into gear, he eased it out onto the road and gunned it, thrilled by the roar of the engine and the tread of the tire on pavement.
It didn’t take long to reach the unmarked graveled road that led to his village. The Pack owned their eighty-acre plot of land for the last two hundred years, well before the town of Strathford had been founded. And so far, they had been able to keep it from prying human eyes. They paid their taxes and made enough money working for the humans to maintain the commune, but they were a closed community. And with Nemoy in charge, humans
were just part of the territory under their protection, nothing more.
Nova didn’t agree.
He pressed the gray button in the middle of the clicker on the visor. His keen hearing could only just discern the electric hum of the gate as it swung open. He followed the road for another mile before reaching a second gate. This one had a guard station made of gray brick and covered in moss for camouflage. Rolling down his window, he grinned at the guard. He was one of the cadets who had just joined the Protectors. Young, eager, ready to serve. He reminded Nova of himself ten years ago.
“How ya doing, Nate?” he asked the kid, tipping down his shades.
Nate grinned back. He waggled his eyebrows. “Late night, Nova?”
Nova smirked. If he only knew. His hip hurt just thinking about it. As the buzz sounded, the gate swung open, and Nova drove through. The houses in the village weren’t much, but they didn’t have to be. They were functional. Small, maybe, but as most of the pack preferred to spend a lot of time in wolf form, the lack of size didn’t really bother them.
Pulling up in front of his cabin, Nova cut the engine, grateful to be home. He wanted a shower. Maybe to soak in his hot tub. He wanted fresh clothes. But most of all, he wanted a beer. He didn’t care that it was only six in the morning.
Chapter 9
Inside, Nova made a bee-line for the kitchen. When he opened the refrigerator door, he nearly cried. A six-pack of cold beer sat on the top shelf like a trophy just waiting to be claimed. He’d barely cracked the top when his front door burst open.
“Where the hell have you been?” Nemoy demanded. “I came looking for you last night and you weren’t here. You weren’t on patrol. So, where were you?”
Nova eyed his brother coolly. It was just like Nemoy to try to control his every move. “I went out. Is that allowed, Your Highness?”
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