Wolf Hunter

by Loveless, Ryan

  Tom had pointed out that with each transformation Jaylen’s shoulder healed more. Bit by bit the stitches fell out, replaced by new soft skin. “The wolf is healing him. That’s the Alpha at work.”

  He was eating too, as a wolf, even though he couldn’t yet as a human, but if he could keep it down, it would be enough to sustain him. The biggest improvement, though, was his ability to breathe on his own. Without need for the hospital’s machines, he could go home. It might not be ideal for him as a human, but right then they were concerned about Jaylen the wolf. The wolf needed protection and he sure as heck couldn’t be anyone’s inpatient. He didn’t seem inclined to harm Westley (though he had growled at Tom), so they’d loaded him up in Westley’s truck and made the drive back to Westley’s cabin, circling through the back roads to avoid La Mer. He still needed care, though. Westley wasn’t about to trust his instincts with someone this injured. Fortunately, he knew a nurse who would understand how to treat a werewolf because she was a werewolf too.

  Unfortunately, that nurse was his mother. She and his father had survived the “night of terror,” as the media had started calling it. They had done so not out of any heroism but simply by locking their door and shutting themselves into their own basement cages. When Westley called her, it was the first time they’d spoken since Westley had refused to accept the older alpha that his father had tried to force on him as his mate. The conversation hadn’t been easy, especially when he’d explained who he wanted her to help (“The wolf hunter? Are you insane?”) but he’d held his ground. (“You wanted me to have a mate. I’ve got one. Are you going to help me or not?”) and she’d finally agreed.

  She taught him how to take care of Jaylen. How to feed and bathe him and, because he’d lost control of his bladder, how to diaper and change him. Jaylen lashed out as much as he cried. Westley was grateful to have his mother there because she accepted this as a matter of course. He was ashamed how often he needed to slink off and get his own emotions in order or cry before he could come back and pretend nothing was wrong.

  Westley tried to wait until the last moment before locking Jaylen up. If he put Jaylen in the cage too soon in the shift, Jaylen didn’t understand why he was there. Westley did his best to keep him comfortable, but Jaylen still cried as he lay twitching on the mattress on the floor. It wasn’t a well-appointed cage. Certainly not a Ritz, but it wasn’t dark and dank, either. Westley had done the rest of the basement up. It had a snooker table and dart board and a poster of Antonio Banderas as Che Guevara (which had also hung on Westley’s bedroom wall in his parents’ house), and a nice leather couch and a sheepskin rug. The cage, though, had none of this because a wolf would destroy it. It had a water bowl, a twin mattress and, because Jaylen didn’t eat solid foods as a human, Westley had at first tossed a rabbit in. He’d stopped doing that after seeing how upset Jaylen became when he regained consciousness to find the timid animal he’d enjoyed watching as a human and sometimes petting if it ventured close enough to his wiggling fingers was destroyed. Westley had berated himself for the better part of a day over that. He should have known better. Afterward, he’d stuck with spoon feeding Jaylen pureed food and left the rabbits out of it.

  “You know, Westley,” his mother said a few days into her stay when he was pretending his eyes weren’t red-rimmed, “I don’t think you ever fully understood why it’s important for you to have a mate. Why your father and I put so much pressure on you.”

  “Where’s Jaylen?” Once his mother started on a topic, avoidance was futile, but he could try.

  “Resting.” She’d rented a hospital bed for him. Glancing at it against the back wall of the main part of the cabin, Westley relaxed when he saw Jaylen nicely swaddled in the white bedclothes, his face slack in sleep.

  Westley turned back to his mother. “If I fight my nature, I’m a freak. I know, Mother. You and Dad made that abundantly clear when you tried to mate me off to someone three times my age.”

  “Your father did that without my knowledge. He shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, he shouldn’t have.”

  “But Hector is a good man.” She rallied. “And you would have been happy with him if you’d given him the chance.”

  “He was good enough to say no to your ridiculous proposal!”

  “You watch your tone.”

  When he was a pup, her tone would have sent Westley backwards in a fumbling attempt to offer his submission, but now it only made him angry. “Don’t go getting all alpha on me, Mom. I’ve got my own now.” He nodded at Jaylen. “Save it for Dad.”

  She put her hands up, placating the air, and took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is your father and I were never concerned with you ‘keeping up appearances’”—she air quoted the phrase—“we were thinking of you.”

  Westley began to scoff, but her “death-by-looks” expression cut him short.

  “In a pack,” she continued, “having a mate isn’t only a part of order, it’s a beautiful part of life. We wanted you to have that. The older you got, the less interest you showed. And we realized that you didn’t understand what was truly behind the alpha and omega relationship.”

  “I don’t need anyone bossing me around and telling me to stay at home in the kitchen.” Westley thrust his chin up as he battled against memories of the fights he’d had with his parents, all around this topic.

  “That’s not what it’s about.” She began to walk in front of the couch, gesticulating with both hands as she spoke. “If we did something to make you think that, I’m truly sorry.”

  “I see it all the time,” Westley said. “All around the pack. It’s not just you and Dad. How many omegas do you know who have advanced degrees? Hell, how many have jobs? I wanted to be my own man.” He thumbed himself in the chest. “I put myself through graduate school and you two couldn’t stand it because you didn’t think an alpha would want me.”

  “No, Westley, that’s not it at all.”

  “What then?”

  “We thought you wouldn’t want an alpha.”

  “What?”

  “You were so independent! Going off on your own, and now, living in Grandpa’s house instead of staying at home until you find a mate—we didn’t know what to do with you!”

  He stared. His mouth opened and closed, lips moving until he finally spat out the words they were trying to form. “You could have loved me.”

  “Westley— We do love you.”

  “Mother—” It killed him to see her like this, even though she’d been in the wrong.

  “But now you have Jaylen.”

  “Yes.”

  “He’ll be a good, strong wolf once the change settles in him.”

  “Yes.”

  “But as a man? What do you have? You don’t have a mate, Westley. You have a dependent invalid who will never give you what you need. You certainly can’t be intimate with him.”

  “I need to care for another person. Isn’t that what omegas do? As for being intimate, I don’t care about that.” He’d die a thousand deaths before he told his mother he and Jaylen had been plenty intimate while they were both wolves.

  “Tit for tat, son. Jaylen has nothing to offer you. He’ll probably never be able to express any gratitude or love to you.”

  That was a lie. Jaylen made his emotions clear, both as a human and as a wolf. “I made him my promise.”

  “No one will hold it against you if you back out. Think of who this man is you’ve chosen. Think of what he’s done.”

  “It’s in the past. I’m sworn to care for him and protect him, and I’m going to do that until he gets better.”

  She stared at him as if his words had struck her silent. “Better? Better? Westley, who knows how long that will take?”

  “He improves every time he shifts. He waved at me yesterday.”

  “I wouldn’t call his forearm jerking a wave.”

  “Mother, I need you here for now. Jaylen isn’t going anywhere and when this is all over, he’ll
still be my mate.”

  She sighed. “I want my concerns known.”

  “Trust me, they’re known.”

  “Then yes, I’ll support you.” She leveled a stare at him that made Westley brace himself. “For now.”

  He exhaled. “Thank you.”

  She walked over to check on Jaylen, touching his wrist as if she hadn’t spent five minutes trying to talk Westley into leaving him. Westley had seen this too many times in his childhood, the nurse taking over when the mother had nothing else to say. Most werewolves were divided only between human and wolf; his mother had a third shift, to nurse. He watched in frustration before turning to the kitchen. Calming tea would do him good. He set a cup out for his mother too, though he had no intention of drinking it with her. Pulling a fresh batch of chamomile out of the cabinet, he began measuring it into the brewing basket.

  “Westley!” His mother’s sharp voice cut into his concentration. “You need to get him downstairs.”

  Westley stopped what he was doing and raced over. On the bed, Jaylen was in the beginning stages of a shift. Quickly, Westley shifted him over to a wheel chair, and rushed him out the back door, along the path and around the back of the house where he could wheel him directly into the ground level basement. He pushed him into the cage and eased Jaylen out of the chair, struggling to keep Jaylen’s jerking body from hitting the floor. One hand clocked him in the jaw.

  “You heard my mother talking, didn’t you?” Westley asked. He didn’t expect Jaylen to answer, but Jaylen looked straight at him and there was no way to doubt the awareness in his eyes.

  “Son of a—”

  Jaylen arched backwards, jerking out of Westley’s grip. He managed to fall on the mattress. Westley stripped him naked, backed out of the cage, and closed the door. He folded Jaylen’s clothes and set them on the stand next to the couch. Yanking them off wasn’t dignified, but in the long run he figured Jaylen would prefer that over destroying his T-shirts when he shifted. He didn’t have many clothes to begin with—the duffel held a week’s worth—and his shirts all seemed to have been picked up either on the road or at a concert. Today’s had the Route 66 symbol on it and a slogan touting a rest stop in Missouri. He pitched Jaylen’s diaper in the trash. It was clean, but he would probably wet himself during the shift. Loss of bladder control was the unspoken truth of shifting, same as in death. No one liked to talk about piss. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he texted Tom the updated tally on Jaylen’s shifting. In the middle of the month, it had finally dropped off to a few a day, spaced far enough apart that he could come out of the cage. After some thought, he added, I wish I could understand him and know if he understands me.

  Tom didn’t respond, but Westley hadn’t expected him to. Tom was busy cleaning up the town and calming the citizenry’s bloodlust for wolves. The promised culling had happened, but for “unknown reasons” no wolf had been found. No one had thought to link the status of the moon to the wolves’ presence, which showed how blinded people could be to things they didn’t want to believe in. When the culling didn’t bear any fruit, the animal rights protesters had left. The media followed soon after. Now all that remained was rebuilding the homes destroyed when wolves had ransacked them, Tom’s parents’ worst of all, and recovering from the loss of life and the not-so-small problem of creating a cohesiveness out of a decimated pack.

  Westley almost jumped when his phone vibrated. In the cage, Jaylen, half-formed, lashed at the bars with a furred and clawed hand. Westley hummed to soothe him.

  Tom had written, No one is sick from the tea yet. Can I come get another batch tomorrow?

  Westley typed, Sure.

  The answer came in seconds. Will your mother be there?

  Tom felt the same way about Westley’s mother as Westley felt about Tom’s. Apparently his becoming pack alpha hadn’t changed that.

  Yes, probably. Be brave.

  Thanks, asshole. Later.

  Westley stopped responding after that. He scrolled back up to the phone number. Jaylen, finally a wolf, paced along the bars. He growled. Westley got up to let himself into the cage. Jaylen flung himself at the bars. Westley stumbled backwards. Jaylen attacked the door again, head first, to no avail. “Okay!” Westley flung his hands up. “You don’t want company. No problem.”

  Jaylen backed off, snarling.

  “Hey man, it’s me.” Westley started to put his hand through the cage, but when Jaylen’s teeth caught his sleeve, he thought better of it.

  Even though Jaylen looked at him, there was no recognition. Westley didn’t know how much of being a wolf Jaylen remembered when he shifted back. Until they figured out a way to communicate, he never would. Most wolves had sporadic shifting their first month, but who knew if Jaylen would be like them? Wherever this rage had come from, this was the first time he’d shown it. Jaylen’s newest development was disturbing to say the least. One more thing to thank the Alpha for.

  Jaylen stood on his hind legs, head tilted, trying to chew the bars. Drool ran down his jowls, and his growling didn’t stop. “Jaylen? It’s me. Come on, Jaylen. You know me. Mates.” He put his hand through the bars, high enough that Jaylen would have to jump if he wanted to bite. Jaylen stared up. Slowly, his growling calmed and he returned to all fours. “That’s it,” Westley said. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.” Pulling his arm back, he sank down to his knees. Jaylen made a tight circle, sniffing, before he sat down against the bars. Westley reached through and scratched Jaylen’s back as Jaylen stretched out with a long, loud whine.

  HIS HEAD ITCHED as his hair grew back where he’d been shaved bare, but that wasn’t the worst part. That was only annoying. At first, the worst part was the crying. Before, he’d rarely shed a tear, and now every damned minute he was erupting like a geyser. When he wasn’t crying, he was dealing with anger that he couldn’t express because he couldn’t fucking speak or move, which led to more crying. His brain and limbs had some serious synaptic miscommunication going on. For every intentional movement, there were twenty more that surprised him. And he couldn’t tell Westley which was which. He couldn’t tell him he’d intended that wave or he was trying to frown or he was going to piss himself. Frustration piled on frustration. He hated Westley for putting up with him, hated himself for not dying, hated Denton even more than before. Turn the hunter into his own best enemy. The Alpha’s great revenge. He’d gotten it in spades.

  He wept bitter, hate-filled tears when he thought about Denton. A decade and change following him, stalking him, and someone else had killed him. Sure, Tom and Westley had saved Jaylen’s life in the process, but what importance was that when Jaylen had been denied plunging his knife into Denton’s neck straight through to his spine and then pulling it out to watch the blood spurt? Sometimes, he wished he could have died that night. At least then the battle would’ve been between him and Denton. His life’s purpose wouldn’t have ended with someone else performing the killing he’d dreamed so thoroughly he hadn’t needed to close his eyes to visualize it. And, if he’d died, he wouldn’t be a goddamned werewolf.

  The whispering started in the middle of the month, after his shoulder had completely healed and the gash on his neck had closed. Jaylen couldn’t understand what the voices said. Hundreds of them tumbled together in a mix of high and low tones, some rushed, and others so slow a single word took a minute to say. Although he heard them as a human, they were clearest when he was shifted, and he paced the cage in circles, stepping over Westley or snapping at him when he got in the way. They called to him, needed him, but he couldn’t make them settle into cohesion. He couldn’t figure out what they wanted.

  He threw himself against the cage doors over and over again, trying to break free, to get to them, but the bars held strong. He felt Westley’s human hands on him and he accepted his comfort with his body, but his mind stayed on the voices.

  With each shift, the voices grew stronger. His hopes they would balance out were dashed on his next shift to a wolf when he found that t
he quiet voices had reached the level of a yell and the loud voices screamed at a volume that seemed designed to drive him insane. He couldn’t hear Westley yelling, pleading with him to “Tell me what’s wrong, please Jaylen! Please!” as he dove headfirst against the iron cage again and again.

  Westley’s mother graduated him from the hospital bed to a high-backed chair. He watched without interest as she secured a strap around his chest to stop him from pitching forward and arranged his feet flat on the floor. He didn’t like how his diaper felt and liked it even less when she was the one to change him. Not only was it embarrassing, she didn’t arrange his dick right, and he felt smashed. Plus, it made noise whenever he shifted and despite the voices in his head, he could always hear it.

  Ava—she’d said he should call her that, even though he couldn’t speak—hated him. He had no doubts about that, but she loved her son and had sworn the Hippocratic Oath, so Jaylen figured he was safe from being smothered with a pillow. Although there were moments when he wouldn’t have minded.

  Westley drank his tea with renewed drive. When Westley kissed him, soft and light as if they were brothers rather than mates, his breath stank of it, but Jaylen found himself inhaling, trying to take in some of its powers. The tea could mute the voices. He was certain of it. He needed to find a way to get it before they drove him insane. Westley made tea for Ava too, which she sipped with a stern face, always mumbling “for the pack’s security,” which seemed to help her keep it down.

  Westley didn’t look too far from going off the deep end either. His eyes were constantly bloodshot and his hands shook. He never complained, though, and never looked at Jaylen with contempt, even though Jaylen had ruined his life. Ava had a point—Westley shouldn’t be giving up his future for this, but at the same time Jaylen was terrified that Westley would see that. If not for Westley, who did he have? His family was dead. He had an aunt, but he hadn’t seen her since he was little. She hadn’t stepped up when he was orphaned, no chance she’d do it now that he was a drooling pit of misery who couldn’t control his own body. For this reason, he was grateful to have some control over himself as a wolf. He could show Westley his affection then, could nuzzle him and love him and do everything his stupid human body wouldn’t allow him to do.