Whatever It Takes - A Standalone Second Chance Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boys After Dark Book 8)

by Gabi Moore

  “Why wouldn’t a wolf have a pack?” Khara asked.

  “Eventually, I think this one means to find a nice she-wolf and starts his own pack,” Laova answered. Khara already knew this; it was part of the ritual hunt to ask scores of redundant questions, to keep the initiate on his or her toes. Laova had gotten quite used to it, even between the more dramatic aspects of her first hunt. “He’s mature, but not very old. He probably just outgrew his old pack and is looking to find a better fit.”

  Bamet snickered. Ghal frowned at him.

  “How far ahead is he?” Taren asked. Laova actually wasn’t sure if this was a redundant question; it was hard to read the wolf’s tracks in the snow, as they didn’t show some common patterns of wolf behavior. He tended to go in a mostly-straight line more often than not, only veering this way or that when an obstacle popped up in his path.

  “He seems to have a day’s lead on us,” Laova answered. “We knew where he was five days ago, and the tracks have been constant since.”

  Taren nodded; in the five sleeps since his injury, he’d recovered fully, although he seemed to grow more annoyed with Laova and Nemlach’s behavior than ever. Laova’s determination to lay with Nemlach whether Taren liked it or not turned out to be nothing but smoke. When she sat up to watch, Taren sat up with her. When she went to sleep, Taren suddenly felt sleepy, too. He hadn’t let her out of his sight in days, and Laova was beginning to feel harassed.

  Nemlach seemed willing to let Laova handle it in her own way; this was a little frustrating. Laova didn’t want to have to spell things out for Taren, but Nemlach clearly couldn’t be expected to take the kid aside and set him straight. It wasn’t fair for Laova to expect this of Nemlach—Taren was her problem. Still, it would have made her life easier.

  “Why is he going up the mountain for either of these things?”

  Laova looked up at Rell. This question was murmured. It seemed as though Rell had not even meant to speak it out loud. She was looking through the trees, toward the slopes that led the peak of Star-Reach.

  “I don’t know,” Laova lied.

  Rell looked at her, thinking.

  “We must be more careful than ever,” Rell told them solemnly. “It’s getting colder, and the snow is falling heavier. If the wind starts, we could be in the midst of a storm by tomorrow.”

  “We might catch up to him by then,” Laova replied. “If we catch him in the midst of a storm, do we run or fight?”

  Rell grinned at Laova, telling her wordlessly that asking for help was the right move. “It depends on where we find him, and how bad the storm is.” Rell shouldered her pack and tied it on tight. She shrugged to arrange the straps in the right place. “And of course, on what he wants to do.”

  ***

  The wind was picking up, and Laova was trying hard to focus on the trail. Of course, she was following the wolf’s paw-prints through the snow. It would have been impossible to lie to a group of seasoned hunters about that. It was true that he was trekking upwards over the ridges of the mountain base, the area they were now climbing. And he was going in a basically straight line. Not straight up the mountain, but as if he meant to circle it, ascending slowly at a more gradual angle.

  What Laova was lying about were his motives. She’d seen the beast in her dreams many times now, close enough to look into the mellow green-gold of his lupine eyes. He’d as good as told her his plan, and it wasn’t to find a mate.

  No. The wolf was helping her find her way to the peak of Star-Reach. Without a clear understanding of her human motives, he saw the need to lead her fellows on, and was aiding her. Never in her life did Laova think she might be conspiring with a mountain wolf to pull a trick on the very people she wanted more than anything to accept her—yet here she was.

  This was all distressing enough without Taren’s help. If Laova didn’t know better, she’d be sure Taren knew her plan and was trying to drive her insane before she could complete it. Knowing what she did, however, Laova was well aware that it was Nemlach’s arms that Taren was trying to drive her away from. He was blind to all else.

  “He’s almost thirty and isn’t married—doesn’t that seem strange?” Taren pecked at her. “You have to admit, that’s strange. What’s he waiting for? How do you know there isn’t something wrong with him?”

  Aggravated and nearly at her wit’s end, Laova tried to ignore him. The first six hours of the day had been spent first patiently trying to disillusion his rants, then poking holes in them, and finally bickering back and forth with him until they both were red in the face.

  For five days, since Taren’s narrow miss with the wolf, they had ranged across the mountainside. Always, they split into three groups and fanned out. Laova always tracked—it was her hunt, of course, so the task fell to her. Another group of two or three would cross lower on the slope, while the last crossed higher up.

  Taren blocked every attempt of hers to be alone with Nemlach. When he could, he partnered himself with her. When Nemlach got there first, he attached himself without invitation and they all spent the day in awkward silence. But even awkward silence might have been preferable to Taren’s constant racket.

  “Taren, would you shut up and let me track?” Laova snapped at him.

  He scoffed and turned his bow irritably between his fingers. “Well, I know I don’t have Nemlach’s darn pretty voice—”

  “Nemlach wouldn’t pester me for six straight hours!” Laova straightened and faced him, clenching her fists at her sides to keep them from striking out. “Nemlach knows when to shut his bloody mouth! For the sake of my sanity, would you stop your whining!”

  Taren threw his hands up. “Sure, Laova. I’ll stop my bloody whining.”

  “Thank you.”

  And stop he did, at least for a few minutes. Laova enjoyed about thirty paces of peace and quiet to track in before Taren started up again. Unfortunately, this time he seemed to decide that the time to pull punches had long since passed.

  “He’s slept with Rell, you know.”

  Taren had had it coming all day, all of yesterday, and all of the several days preceding. Laova’s restraint snapped, and she spun around. Quick as a cat, she socked him across the nose; her thick gloves cushioned both her knuckles and his facial bones, but something cracked and Taren’s face was smeared with blood in seconds.

  He yelped and swore and clutched his nose. Laova wasn’t sorry, not even halfway. The groups ranging upward and down the mountain were too far away to see or hear what was happening, but she knew she only had a little bit of time before their stopping was noticed.

  “You’ve gone too far,” she hissed. “You’ve gone too far by days. You need to stop, Taren. I’m not going to take this anymore. From now on, you go with Rell or someone else. I don’t want you with me. I’m not going to put up with your nonsense.”

  Taren stared at her like she’d grown another nose.

  Laova glared at him, daring him to make her repeat herself. She stood there with her hackles raised, unimpressive in height and stature. Still, he didn’t reply, nor did he make any attempt to refuse. Laova huffed and shook her head at him.

  “And I know,” she muttered. “It’s none of my business.”

  Taren’s face crumpled.

  “Laova, I’m sorry I said that.”

  “I’m sorry you’re only now realizing it was terrible thing to say.”

  “It was a terrible thing to say—I just—”

  “No, don’t ‘I just’ me,” Laova cut him off. “You’re stupid sometimes, Taren. You’re emotional and you let your mouth outrun you. I do too, but at least this time it’s your mistake, not mine.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” Taren continued. Laova had started walking again, and he trailed her. His nose was still bleeding a little; Laova was quietly glad she hadn’t shattered it. “I just meant I think she still feels fond of him, and she might—I don’t know, she might not like the two of you together.”

  “That is a damn stupid excuse.
”

  “It’s not an excuse!”

  “Yes, it is,” Laova exhaled. At this rate, she was going to end up punching him again. “What, are you afraid she’s going to challenge me to mortal combat over Nemlach? We aren’t southern barbarians, Taren. We don’t fight to the death over people.”

  “It’s happened before!”

  “Once, and the offender was put to death,” Laova corrected him quietly. She looked at Taren straight. “You know the laws. Murder is punishable by death, no matter the circumstance.”

  He released his nose. “Is it still bleeding?”

  “I think it froze.”

  Taren sighed. “Well, at least it stopped.”

  Laova kept walking. “And Rell knows about us, by now. If she had a problem, she would be harassing Nemlach just as much as you’re harassing me. And she’s not. It’s just you.”

  “It’s just me?” Taren’s voice hitched again. “Just me? Don’t I matter to you at all, Laova?”

  “Of course you do, idiot!” Laova had to stop again and turn back to him. “How can you ask me that? You’ve been like a brother to me since we were children! I love you—like a brother!”

  “Well, I don’t love you like a sister!” he hissed back. “I love you as a woman!”

  “Well that’s your problem!” Laova shot back. “What can I do about it?”

  “You can give me a chance!”

  “A chance to what?”

  Taren gestured in frustration, mindless, pointless hand waving that really just illustrated how incomprehensible he considered her response.

  Laova stopped him with a hand on one arm. “Look, Taren. I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

  He glared at her, and the frozen blood across his nose and cheek made him look slightly insane. Before he could lash out, Laova pushed on.

  “Taren, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember,” she told him. “There was even a time when I thought we could get married and we’d do well together. But then I got older and I realized that I was wrong—no, let me talk.”

  Taren had started to interrupt, and lapsed back into sullen silence.

  “I realized that we are too alike,” Laova explained gently. “Taren, we’re exactly alike. We’re both hot-headed and we rush things. We make each other angrier and angrier. Just look at how we are now. You’re right: Nemlach would never behave this way, and I’d never behave this way around him. We fit together better.

  “But you and I are too alike,” Laova repeated sadly. “And I don’t love you as a husband. Not now. Not ever.”

  Taren’s arms dropped to his sides. “You can’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Laova looked at him and realized he might be right. Maybe in some world, in some circumstance, she might have loved him enough to marry him. Maybe if Nemlach had never existed, or if he’d left to marry a woman in another tribe. Perhaps if Taren had been a little older, and had had time to become wise, as Nemlach was.

  Or maybe Laova was right, and they weren’t meant to be.

  “Please don’t make this a mess, Taren,” Laova pleaded quietly, aware that the time had passed to avoid this becoming a mess.

  Instead of answering, Taren held her hands in his.

  “Dammit, Taren, don’t make this a mess.” Laova knew what he was going to do. She could have stopped him, and she never could pinpoint exactly why she didn’t. She could have. She should have. But Taren leaned down, bloodied face and all, and kissed her, and Laova let it happen.

  His blood was coppery in her mouth; everything about him tasted wrong. The very love she felt for him turned bitter and cold and she desperately wished she had the heart to push him away.

  There was a crack, a sharp explosion through the air like thunder. Laova and Taren darted apart, staring wildly upward. They were far up the mountain. Neither of them had any idea what had caused such a boom this far into winter—it was snowstorms, not lightning storms, this time of year—they were too well aware what was bound to follow.

  Something far above was crackling, like splintered wood. Like a tree falling. Like a big, giant, white snowy tree falling.

  “Oh, gods,” Laova gasped.

  “Run!” Taren shouted.

  The snow started impossibly slow. From a distance, it hardly seemed dangerous. They all knew it was misleading; blindly, the two of them charged forward, forgetting the wolf, forgetting the tracks, forgetting the hunt, forgetting everything except the will to live. The avalanche picked up speed as it barreled down the face of Star-Reach, and the crackling had intensified to a roar.

  Trees whipped by. Laova thought desperately that they might climb one, but that would be awkward and slow in their gear, and they could easily get ripped out of the branches if—when—the snow rushed by through the lower boughs.

  Their best chance was to find a ridge, or some rock outcropping that would protect them. There was no time to regroup with the others. Laova knew they were running, too, and prayed silently to any god watching that all of them would make it, but especially one, especially one…

  “There!”

  Laova looked where Taren was pointing; it was perfect. Perfectly treacherous. A little ways down the slope a rocky shoulder cut upward out of the mountain-side. Under normal circumstances, it would be damn dumb and pointless to try and climb it, but now Taren and Laova bolted for it with the last of their strength. The snow was pouring in fast, speeding down upon them and there was no other chance to escape it.

  Through scrub, under tree branches. Laova and Taren dashed, tripped, rolled, and staggered like wounded animals towards their best chance. There was a roaring in their ears, and Laova guessed it was half the sound of a cold death approaching, and half the sound of blood pounding in time with her fleeing boot-steps.

  The first of the avalanche was swirling around their feet when they reached the shoulder of rock, and Taren unceremoniously grabbed Laova and hauled her up the rock face. Taken by surprise, Laova found herself climbing before she realized what had happened, and had to scurry into motion so she could reach down and grab Taren by the neck of his coat. The two of them scaled the rock to its summit and collapsed.

  An avalanche is a short ordeal. Terrifying, but short. The snow did its work, rushing and growling past. It rose uncomfortably high on the rock, and for a moment Laova was quite certain they were going to be swept away, despite their efforts. But then it slowed. The current that once raging diminished to a flow, then coalesced into a full stop. And Laova and Taren breathed, hearts racing long after the danger had passed.

  When their arms and legs stopped shaking, it was time to look for the others, but this turned out to be a short affair. Their five companions were old hands at this; all of them had survived an avalanche or two. It was difficult walking on the loose snow, but Rell and Ghal were not far away. They soon appeared, picking their way down the slope with due—if cautious—haste, and the four of them continued on to find the other three.

  “Where’d you shelter?” Taren asked Ghal.

  “Couldn’t get to shelter fast enough,” Ghal admitted. “We went with the snow. You just swim with it, boy, if the time ever comes. Just let it sweep you away and focus on keeping your head up.”

  Taren had simply stared at him, awestruck.

  Laova hardly had a thought to spare towards swimming with avalanches. Nemlach had been in the downhill group today. He’d been with Khara and Bamet, and she didn’t remember seeing shelter down this far.

  The further down the hill they went, the more they slowed. Rell searched and scanned with her eyes, clearly anxious. They called for their missing friends softly; it wasn’t too late to trip another snow-slide. No one answered.

  “Khara!” Laova hissed. “Bamet!”

  There was no answer. She rushed a little way down the hill, slipped on a loose cluster of snow, and slid about ten paces before skidding to a halt. She waved at Rell that she was all right, and turned ba
ck to the trees; ten or fifteen feet of trunk was buried in snow. Laova tried not to think of her friends, cold and buried beneath it.

  “Nemlach!” she shouted in a whisper.

  “Laova!”

  Her heart leapt, and she beckoned frantically for the others. “Nemlach?” she asked. Her voice burst out louder than she meant, and when she spoke again, it was softer. “Where are you?”

  “Here, Laova.” A tree further up rustled.

  “Over here,” she waved to the others again, who were following her slide at a careful and slower pace.

  Taking care not to sink into a patch of loose snow, Laova crossed over and peered through the tree branches. She squeezed through them, and saw the problem at once.

  “You climbed a tree, I see,” she observed, chuckling.

  Nemlach rolled his eyes. “We tried.”

  “Laova?” Khara head peered over another branch. “It’s Laova!”

  “Good,” Bamet’s voice muttered from somewhere around the trunk. “Dig us out.”

  They were all buried up the chest in snow. If they’d stopped climbing five feet sooner, all of them would be buried alive; as it was, they were all stuck.

  The sight of solemn Nemlach in a tree, buried to the chest in snow was funny, but it wouldn’t have been quite as hysterical if Laova hadn’t been worried for his life seconds before. Her anxiety crackled into fits of laughter, which Nemlach and Khara and Bamet bore with varying degrees of patience.

  Finally Nemlach reached out and grabbed her arm. “That’s it. Come here.”

  He pulled her against him, which amounted to Laova lying on the snow in his arms. She hugged him tightly and kissed him as if he really had died. He kissed her back in assurance that he hadn’t. Khara whistled.

  “You won’t find his nether parts much use at the moment,” she jeered through the branches.

  Laova threw a snowball at her; it seemed Khara’s arms were pinned, because she could do nothing as the snow struck her cheek and filled the collar of her coat.