He always did.
* * *
The gray wolf was silent, unseen in the forest.
Marcus sniffed the air and lowered down on his haunches. He, and the rest of his group, could smell the deer ahead of them. The wind bringing their scent, and keeping them hidden from their prey.
Now, if they didn’t screw up, he and the guys were going to eat well this evening.
For the last four hours he, Ted, Simmons, Adams, Merrit, and Marcus’s mate Charumati had been reveling in their Were forms, chasing rabbits and laughing at each other. It had been a good way to blow off some extra energy out in the wild. A chance to get away and enjoy themselves.
Now, they needed to bring home a couple of deer and placate the girls or their asses were going to be grass and the ladies would bring the lawn mowers. They might as well stay out all night. He chuffed, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea? No, no good there. No real reason and the bitching would be twice as bad in the morning.
The team took ten minutes to get closer. He snuggled lower, his mouth salivating at the thought of fresh deer.
BAM!
Marcus’s head turned in the direction of the gunshot and then quickly back towards the deer. DAMMIT! The deer had bolted and… THERE!
He started growling, and the four others in his group growled as well.
The human hunter looked in their direction, his eyes growing wide in surprise before narrowing. Turning around and then back to Marcus and his Were brethren, it looked like he was calculating.
The man turned and ran away from the group. Marcus and his team broke from their cover. The chase was on!
Just like a couple days ago with the other human, but that one had the decency not to scare off the game before he jumped off the cliff. Charumati stayed longer than the others on that day, watching the human swim away. She’d felt something different in him. The others had missed it, lost in their bloodlust. They could see he’d survived the fall to the river below when he came back up, sputtering, but chasing him wasn’t worth it.
This time, it damn sure was.
Marcus waved his snout in one direction and then the other. Ted and Adams spread out to the right and sprinted, well beyond the hunter’s avenue of escape. Simmons and Merrit went left, doing the same thing. Marcus raced straight down the gut, chasing the hunter, who realized his peril too late. Char followed her mate, but not too closely.
He turned to fire. Marcus dodged as he ran, foiling the aim. A round skipped past him, one blew over his head, and the last shot, as he closed in on the human, caught him high in the shoulder. Marcus howled his fury as he jumped with the full force of his Were strength, hitting the man chest high and sending him flying into a tree. The hunter crumpled to the ground, barely breathing.
The other Werewolves closed and encircled the man, but Marcus held them back. He was injured and for that, he’d drink his fill of the human’s blood before the others tore him apart. They would rend his flesh just because.
It sent a good message to those who might think they could hunt where the predator would become the prey. Marcus bit deeply into the man’s throat and savored the copper tint of fresh blood. It had been a while since he’d feasted on a human. Bile rose in Char’s throat and disgust for her mate enveloped her.
He had found a few years ago that he liked it.
And wanted more.
CHAPTER TWO
Terry Henry Walton woke early after a sound four hours of sleep. In the wild, he’d gotten used to sleeping in smaller chunks of time. When he had his dog, a rescued wolf actually, he’d slept soundly as the beast would watch. But finally the big, shaggy creature lost his battle with old age. Terry had loved that dog.
Ever since, he’d felt a certain loneliness. Maybe if he established himself here, he’d get another dog. They were more trustworthy than people. They wanted so very little but gave everything they had.
So with that thought to keep him warm, he silently left Margie Rose’s house while she was asleep and it was still dark, long before the false dawn.
He’d found out where the men lived, deciding that getting the information from the townsfolk would have been harder than simply tracking them down by their footprints and blood trails. He was impressed at how much blood marked the trail.
He figured they were still incapable of wiping their snotty noses without help. He chuckled to himself thinking about how they sniveled afterwards, dragging themselves away after the worst beating of their lives. Four against one. Terry figured they needed another ten to even things out.
When he arrived at their house inside the town’s boundary, he found that lights were on. He crouched and approached tactically, keeping his throwing knife at the ready. A woman was inside moving around, clanking pans and sounding like she was preparing breakfast. Good, Terry thought. They need to know that their families will die horrible deaths if they ever hassle Margie Rose again.
Terry sat below the window and listened, sneaking peeks when the footsteps walked away. Table, chairs, an old ratty couch, doors to various rooms. No one visible beside an older lady wearing an apron. He wondered which one’s mother she was, or maybe all of them with four different fathers. One never knew in this world, and Terry didn’t care. It wasn’t his place to care, only to know where he could find the best leverage.
He went from window to window, building a map of the home’s interior within his mind and coming up with a plan for one man to overwhelm five. Surprise was on his side, but that wouldn’t make the statement he wanted.
He waited.
They awoke, one by one, and stumbled into the main area of the house. The last one out, the man they called John, backhanded the old lady because she wasn’t quick enough bringing his breakfast.
She cowered as she returned to the stove for a new plate. That put Terry over the edge. He felt the rage surge into him and he started running around the corner of the cabin. Swinging wide to gain speed and hitting the door with a two-footed jump, both feet smashing into the door next to the knob.
It crashed open and he landed roughly, recovered quickly. With surprising speed, he crossed the room and leapt over the table, catching John’s head in his hands as he passed.
Terry landed behind John, twisted as he still held the man’s head. He rotated his trunk, yanking John out of his chair. As the man was falling, Terry jerked back and snapped the man’s neck. Terry let go of the man’s corpse, dropping him to the floor as he turned in a crouch and pulled a knife into each hand.
“Holy fuck, he killed John!” Jim blurted, his wide eyes darting back and forth between the man and his friends. “Did you see that? Holy fuck!”
Mark looked calm, leaning back in his chair as he chewed a pancake. He put his silverware down and held his hands up. After swallowing, he cleared his throat. “Let’s not be hasty. John was a bastard. I think Miss Grimes has done more for us than he did, and look how he treated her.” He nodded to the old lady, who only glared back.
“Can I get you some breakfast, mister? It would be my pleasure,” the older lady said kindly.
Terry glanced in her direction and shook his head before quickly returning his eyes to the three. “No, thank you, ma’am. If you could give us some privacy, I have unfinished business with these three.”
“It’s been too long,” she whispered as she gently ran one hand down Terry’s arm. Miss Grimes gathered her things and only stopped a second to admire the ruined door before stepping through. He watched her go, wondering what she meant, before returning his attention to the business at hand.
He leaned down and removed the black leather bullwhip that John had at his belt. He’d tried to use it when they tried to attack Margie Rose’s place. Terry had let him keep it because he was too slow with it to be dangerous. But he liked it and felt like he needed it to pay homage to his Indiana Jones namesake.
“Now, where were we? Yes, this is the part where I make you swear upon your mothers’ graves that you won’t ever return to Miss Margie Rose�
�s house, ever again, for as long as you may live.”
He nodded to the dead man on the floor. “If I don’t believe you, then we’ll measure that second part in minutes. Not a threat, but a promise.”
Terry lifted John’s chair off the ground, turning it around and sitting with his arms resting on the chair back as he watched the three men intently. He could tell the big one would be a problem as he wasn’t smart enough to understand that his size wouldn’t get him out of this.
Mark was the new leader and the last one, Devlin, he didn’t know enough to be as afraid as he should have been.
“I think that’s an easy promise for us to make. You see, tonight we were going to pay you a visit, burn that old house down with you inside. That was John’s plan anyway,” Mark said, stabbing a finger in disgust toward the body on the floor.
Jim looked aghast. “Why are you telling him our plan, fuckstick?” the large man cried, trying to be threatening, but failing as his voice was an octave higher than it should have been.
Terry understood that to mean that Mark was telling the truth. It was the start of the delicate truth dance, enough to be convincing, but would it be enough for him to drop his guard?
Terry was able to lean over the smaller table and rabbit-punched the big man in the temple. Jim’s eyes rolled back, he collapsed with a bang onto the table, and crumpled onto the floor. Mark casually leaned out of the way so Jim wouldn’t touch him on his way down.
Devlin’s eyes grew wide, but he kept his mouth shut.
“I suspect you have some kind of loose association with the man who runs this town.” Mark confirmed with a terse nod. “I need an introduction and then I’d like you two to work for me, and if you can keep him under control, Jim too,” Terry dropped his offer on them. Devlin’s mouth dropped open. Terry pointed with his knife and flicked the tip to encourage him to close his mouth.
“I can introduce you, but I don’t know how he’s going to take it. He’s used to dealing with us,” Mark said smoothly.
“Then dealing with me will be like a breath of fresh air, don’t you think? So, shall we?” Terry gestured toward the door. Mark sat still, finally deciding that Billy would probably have the man killed. That would put Mark in charge, so he figured it was a good plan. Devlin couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Help me,” Mark said as he moved to Jim’s side and took one arm.
Devlin took the other and mouthed, what are you doing?
“What am I doing? I’m not dying. Does that make sense to you? Can you take him?” He nodded toward Terry. Devlin hung his head. Terry stood and walked in front of them so he could look both the men in the face.
“Let me tell you what I see. That man will do what you tell him,” Terry said, pointing to Jim’s semi-limp form and then to Mark. “You think that your boss will take care of me so you’re turning me over to him. And you, you aren’t a bully at all. You’re the only one who’s trying to understand who I am and our relationship. I don’t want to have to watch my back. I have to believe that I’ve convinced you not to fuck with me or I kill you. There is no in between. Do you two think I can kill you?” They both nodded, looking at the knife in Terry’s hand that he was using to point with.
“Why don’t I just kill you now?” he asked, looking at Devlin. The young man couldn’t hold Terry’s gaze. His eyes bore into Devlin’s soul, making him feel ashamed.
“I don’t want to die,” the young man finally conceded. Terry used a finger to tip Devlin’s head up so he could judge the young man’s sincerity. He smiled and nodded.
“Me neither,” Mark said with a shrug. Terry pulled him close until their faces were inches apart. He glared at the bully until the man caved. “Let me go, fucker.”
“Finally, the first honest thing you’ve said. I expect your boss will take umbrage at my presence, but I believe that I have a convincing argument. Let’s go see who’s right.”
Terry hesitated for a moment then shook his head as he eyed the two men. “Please don’t make me kill you between here and there, as I have no desire to carry Mr. Lumpy. If you do anything, Mark, I’ll end up killing you both and do you really want his death on your conscience? Come on, man, buck up. There’s a new sheriff in town.” Terry slapped Mark on the shoulder hard enough for him to lose his grip on Jim, dropping him to the floor where Devlin was pulled down on top of him.
Terry backed away, laughing as the cursing men struggled to get things back under control. Mark held up his hands as he went to the sink and grabbed a pitcher, carrying it back to the comatose man. He splashed water in Jim’s face and growled at him to wake up, putting the pitcher on the table.
The four men left the house and headed toward town. Terry stayed behind them and started whistling happily. Devlin walked proudly, shoulders back and head held high. Mark was skeptical, and Jim was dazed, stumbling along as if returning from an all-night bender.
Must have a thin skull, Terry thought. They just don’t make them like they used to.
CHAPTER THREE
Billy was in a foul mood. He’d expected better harvests for the first crops. He’d apportioned both water and power to those with greenhouses to help them early-up the growing season. But the reward was minimal. Felicity leaned against him as he sat in his overstuffed chair, stewing as he remembered the last farmer to report.
He’d sent the man away with death threats. He told his men to bodily throw the farmer out the front door, which they dutifully did.
“What the fuck is wrong with these people?!” he howled, slamming his fist on the table. “Wankers!”
Felicity cocked an eyebrow. “Wankers? Where’d you learn that one, dear?” she asked in a soft voice.
“One of those damn foreigners that came through here. It’s almost as good as spunkmaster, don’t you think?” he said, calming as he thought about the breadth and depth of his colorful vocabulary.
“I wouldn’t know anything about that, Billy dear. Maybe we can just call them farmers and not beat them up when the garden doesn’t grow. You want him to work hard, don’t you? Imagine what he would do if he farmed because he loved it, not because he was afraid of you. He used to love farming, now I expect he’s wasting time planning to run away from here.”
Billy scoffed, his eyes looking at her before returning to look in front of him. “That’s crazy talk, bitch. They need me, far more than I need them. I survived a decade before any of those lazy dirt grubbers showed up. They can all get in a nice long line and suck my balls. And they’ll be happy to do it, too.”
“Really?” she said, icicles hanging from that one word. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Billy Spires. He looked at her, then stood and grabbed her arms, shaking her. Her eyes didn’t waver from his.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a normal tone, looking away. “They only know fear.”
He felt like carrying her to his bed, to show her what he meant, but a knock on the door stalled his hand. He realized that he couldn’t have done it. He cared what she thought and as much as she made him spitting mad, he didn’t want to hurt her. He was confused, like he’d been from when he first met her.
“I’m not a nice man,” he finally committed to saying as he gently let go of her arms. She blinked at him, crystal blue eyes below shining chestnut hair.
“Of course my Billy isn’t a nice man. Maybe that’s why I’m here…” she drawled, leaving the ending hanging.
* * *
Terry thought the governor’s mansion should have looked more like a mansion. It was barely bigger than a normal house, but it was far busier with people coming and going. Horse-drawn carts were scattered on a road leading east toward the fields.
Consolidation of food was one way to control the people. Terry wondered if he’d have to kill the self-proclaimed mayor and take over. He didn’t want that.
But he’d already made his decision. He would do what he had to because in that direction was his redemption.
The people n
eeded him and they didn’t even know who he was. That would change soon enough. The four of them approached the front door, where a fat man with a rifle stood guard. Terry wondered if the man could shoot. Bullets were one of the most scarce commodities of the new world. Terry brushed his thoughts aside once he was within arm’s reach of the man.
“We need to see Billy,” Mark said gruffly.
“I’m not sure you want to see him right now. Go away and come back tomorrow,” the man sneered through broken teeth, tipping his head back as he tried to look down on the group. Mark shrugged and started to turn, but Terry was past him and in a move too fast for the eyes to follow, grabbed the rifle and twisted it from the fat man’s grip.
Terry backed up as the man protested and started forward. Terry reversed the rifle and butt-stroked the man’s face. With his nose ruined, lips split, and face destroyed, the man collapsed.
Bubbles in the blood suggested he wasn’t dead, but that wasn’t Terry’s concern. He opened the door and walked into a small entryway, waving at the other three men to follow him. The look he gave them suggested they best not double-cross him.
Devlin followed first, in awe at their new acquaintance’s skills. “Did you see that?” he asked his two buddies admiringly.
Mark nodded tersely and pushed Jim in front of him.
Terry saw the marks on the floor where the majority of the traffic went. They led to closed double-doors. Terry walked up and knocked boldly, waiting for an answer.
When he heard a shout from within, he opened the doors and waved the others to go in first. Mark hesitated once he saw the look on Billy’s face.
“Get in there, dickweed,” Terry grumbled. When all three were inside, Terry put the rifle on the table in front of Billy and sat down. Billy’s face turned red as he let his anger get the best of him.
“Who in the holy fuck are you?” he demanded, eyes looking at the rifle and then back at the annoying man sitting in his chair.
Nomad Omnibus 01: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus) Page 2
