The Wolf Princess: The Wolf PrincessOne Eye Open (The Pack)

by Karen Whiddon

  She recoiled, still reeling from her brother’s lack of defense. Carson’s words stung.

  “I’d like to beat some sense into both of you,” she muttered. They both looked at her, Carson still expressionless, Alex registering a brief moment of surprise.

  “Brenna—” Warning sounded clear in Alex’s sharp tone. “You have no place in this.”

  “But I do.” She touched her brother’s shoulder lightly. “I’d like to see this settled. Let’s go somewhere else and talk, someplace private.”

  “No time.” He looked once more at the crowd still gathered in the back corner.

  “You’re coming with me.” Carson’s hand still rested on the pistol. “Under arrest. For murder.”

  A shout came from the back of the room. One of the combatants lifted a chair and bashed another on the head. The man crumpled to the ground. Shouting, several others moved in to restrain the first man. The fight was winding down.

  Alex looked around them yet again, his actions furtive and earnest at the same time. He stared at Carson with such deadly intent that Brenna’s entire body stilled.

  “Shoot me, then,” he growled, baring his teeth. “Shoot me and be done with it. But, buddy, if you do, you won’t ever know the truth, will you?”

  Carson drew his gun.

  With a savage snarl, Alex stood his ground. “I didn’t kill Julie and Becky. It wasn’t me, damn you. But go ahead, shoot me now. Get it over with. Do you want the blood of the wrong man on your hands? Do you?” He poked Carson in the chest, hard.

  His free hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist, Carson stood frozen, his expression shattered, and let him. Slowly, without taking his gaze from the other man’s face, he holstered his pistol.

  “I sure as hell don’t,” Alex said. His hard voice cracked, and Brenna knew that no matter what had really happened that awful day, Alex blamed himself for Carson’s loss.

  As the fight broke up, the first wave of men scattered, returning to their seats or making for the exit. A man moved in front of Brenna, and for a moment she couldn’t see Alex or Carson. Two or three more burly bikers shoved each other—and her. She pushed back, ignoring a challenging glare from one man, squeezing around another. When she could see Carson again, he stood alone. Alex had gone.

  “Damn.” Pushing a man out of his way, Carson turned and began elbowing his way to the door. Grabbing hold of his shirt, she followed in his wake, continually scanning the crowd in vain for a glimpse of her golden-haired brother.

  Along with twenty or thirty others, they spilled out the door, trapped in the stream of exiting bikers.

  Outside, dusk had fallen. Men congregated in the parking lot, laughing about the fight, standing around their gleaming motorcycles. There were bikers of every size, portly men in leather and short men in jeans. Long-haired and short, tall or thin, the crowd looked menacing. Brenna saw no sign of Alex.

  “He’s gone.” Carson swore. “With this many people, we won’t even find footprints in the snow.”

  “Look!” someone yelled, pointing toward the field across the road. At the edge of the snow-covered grass, where the tangle of forest began again, a large, silver wolf watched them, silhouetted in the approaching darkness.

  “That’s one big dog,” another man commented. Someone whistled, and the animal lifted his massive head.

  But Brenna knew the shadowy figure was not a dog. The wolf was her brother. Alex had changed. As they all watched, he turned and slipped into the underbrush.

  Ignoring the latest commotion, Carson still scanned the crowd. Two men sidled up behind him. Distinctive snake tattoos decorated their forearms. Hades’ Claws. She saw the glint of metal. One of them held a weapon in his hand.

  Correctly recognizing the threat, Carson spun. Too slow. The metal edge of a knife glittered and slashed. He grunted in pain.

  Brenna lunged forward. Arms came around from behind her, pinning her in place. Pretending to struggle, she twisted instead and dropped her shoulder, freeing herself. Out of his grip, she spun and aimed a hard kick at his shin. Violence—the scent of blood… Change. She felt an inner shifting. So it always began.

  No. Not here. Not now.

  Carson.

  Another man blocked her. One swift chop and he went down. She pushed past him. Outnumbered, Carson tried to draw his gun. Another cut—like slow motion—knife raised, Carson’s arm, wrist, a slash of crimson. Blood. The urge to change roared inside her. She froze, occupied momentarily by her own savage inner battle.

  Carson grimaced, held on to the gun a moment longer, but the second man knocked it from him. It fell, clattering to the ground. The first attacker reached, and Carson kicked it away.

  Blood. Carson’s blood. She could smell the coppery scent of it. She took a step forward.

  Change.

  Again she fought the compulsion. The laws of the Pack were strict. She could not change now. Not here. There were far too many witnesses.

  Still fighting, Carson swung. Missed. Grunted. An awful look on his face, he staggered. Straightened.

  Internal battle won, she used her martial arts training. A twist, an elbow. She sprang forward. Picking himself up off the ground, one attacker took off, running. The other man followed suit.

  No. She couldn’t let them get away.

  Change. The urge slammed into her.

  She felt the change begin in her. With a snarl, she shook it off. With the energy rush giving her strength, she began to run. Half wild animal, with each pounding step she regained control of herself.

  Someone shouted. Others came toward them. The two attackers rounded the corner of the building. The crowd surrounded Carson, blocking him from her view. Brenna stopped, breathing hard. Carson. She had to make sure he was okay. No one else must be allowed to hurt him.

  Abandoning the chase, she went back, thrusting herself between him and the others.

  “Give him room,” she ordered. “Back off. Let him have space.”

  Carson still stood, his eyes bleary and hot and furious. The only signs of his pain were the deep furrows at the edge of his mouth. That, and the blood from the slash on his wrist.

  She pushed back his jacket. The side of his shirt was sticky and crimson. Glaring at her, he held his hand pressed to his side.

  “Someone call an ambulance,” Brenna ordered. When no one moved, she raised her voice. “An ambulance. Now.”

  “No hospital.” Carson’s jaw worked. He touched her arm. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  She flashed him a look of disbelief. “You must be delirious.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “It’s not serious. A surface wound. Just get me out of here.” He grimaced. “Please.”

  That simple word, more than anything else, made up her mind. He must be badly hurt. For now, she did as he asked, leading him across the parking lot, waving off the curiosity seekers who came to try and help or simply gawk.

  A few scarlet drops had fallen on his boots, staining the leather. She wondered if he noticed. A quick glance at his set profile told her Carson was hurting far worse than he’d admitted.

  “I’ll drive.” She struggled to get the rear passenger door open, succeeded, then helped him climb up. Leaning heavily on her shoulder, he breathed hard. She closed the door, went around to the driver’s side, and once behind the wheel, held out her hand for the keys.

  “Don’t…” He swallowed and grimaced. “Don’t go back to the motel. Not yet. I’m too vulnerable.” He drew the key chain from his pocket and clumsily tossed it to her.

  She caught it easily. “The motel? Are you crazy? We’re going to the hospital.”

  After turning the key in the ignition, she backed out of the lot, zigzagging past the clustered knots of bikers. No one tried to stop her as she peeled out onto the road.

  “No.” He sat up. Winced. Lowered his voice. “No hospital.”

  Men. Pack or human, they were all the same. “Cut the macho crap. You’re hurt.”

  “Not really.”
He lifted his hand, showing fingers covered with blood. Reaching into the glove box, he grabbed a few paper napkins, pressing them against his ruined T-shirt.

  “I’ve had it. Really had it. Don’t lie to me.” Resisting the urge to bare her teeth, she allowed herself a furious growl.

  “Don’t worry about me. It’s not your problem.”

  She glared at him. “I can’t stand stupidity. This is my problem. You are my problem. You need medical help.”

  All at once the anger left him. The merciless planes of his face smoothed out. His mouth twisted in what Brenna guessed he must think looked like a smile. It resembled a smile as much as her low growl resembled a human sound. Not at all.

  “No hospital,” he said again. “I’m okay.”

  “Carson…” she warned.

  “I’m not lying. It hurts like hell, but it’s just a cut. Not much more than a scratch. I think it’s almost stopped bleeding. No hospital. I don’t trust anyone here.”

  “Fine.” She sighed. “No hospital.”

  “Thank you.”

  “They stabbed you.” Dividing her attention between the road and Carson, Brenna shuddered. The aftershocks of denying the need to change would last awhile. “Alex was right. They mean to kill you.”

  “Yeah. Probably on his orders.”

  “Get real. He warned us. He doesn’t want you to get killed.”

  “Right,” he drawled. “Let’s see. I’ve been hunting the man for eighteen months, and he slips right by me. Then, while I’m preoccupied looking for him—bam. Knife to the ribs. Out of nowhere. I sure as hell didn’t expect that. Carelessness nearly cost me my life.” He sounded so disgusted that she nearly smiled. Nearly. But she was too wound up to smile much about anything.

  “Alex is—”

  “One of the bad guys,” he interjected. “That’s obvious.”

  “Obvious?” She clenched the wheel to keep from snarling. “It doesn’t seem obvious to me. If he’s one of them, then why would he risk himself to warn us?”

  “You.”

  She looked sideways at him. “What?”

  “He showed himself because of you. He’s worried about you, about you being in danger. He didn’t warn us, he warned you. Alex doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me.”

  “You’re wrong. Did you see his face when he mentioned your family? Did you?” This time she did bare her teeth, just a little. “He’s hurting, too, Carson. Having witnessed that, can you honestly say he doesn’t care?”

  His face contorted. “Stop the car.”

  “Like hell I will,” she snarled back, matching his tone exactly. “Not until I think it’s safe.”

  He leaned forward, maybe meaning to reach over the seat and grab for the wheel. But his sudden movement made him grimace. He gave a strangled cry, jerking up short.

  “That was stupid, damn it. I ripped my side wide open.” He fell back in the seat. “Now it’s bleeding again.”

  Brenna’s stomach clenched. She wanted to pull the Tahoe over right then, so she could assess the extent of his injury. Instead, she lifted her chin and forced herself to drive on, staring straight ahead at the road, trying to calm the churning inside her.

  “He killed my family.” Carson’s voice was thick.

  The pain she heard in his tone made her wince. Still, she had to defend her brother. “You don’t know what happened. You didn’t see. How do you know who shot them?”

  “Maybe I don’t, but he let them die.” His expression was bleak. “I don’t remember much of what happened that night, especially after I was shot. My cover had been blown and I didn’t even know it. But Alex stayed with the gang, still undercover. How was my cover blown when his wasn’t?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “He had to know what they meant to do.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t or he would have stopped it.”

  She eyed Carson, letting conviction round out her voice. “I know Alex. He would never have done such a thing or allowed it to happen if he knew. I’m surprised you can think so, if you were as close as you say.”

  “I told you. I saw him holding the gun. The pistol that killed my wife and little girl. He was there. He shot them. It was a test, a test for him to prove his loyalty. If he failed, they wouldn’t have let him stay in the Claws.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe this—he disappeared.” Self-recrimination showed in the deep lines on the sides of his mouth. “I was in the hospital a long time. Nearly died. When I found out Julie and Becky were gone, I went a little crazy. By the time I—” He shook his head, raw emotion glittering in his dark eyes.

  Chest tight, Brenna looked away. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I can’t imagine—”

  “My wife never knew,” he said softly. “She didn’t suffer. At least, that’s what they told me. They shot her from behind, one shot, straight through the back into her heart. She died instantly. Didn’t even have time to scream.”

  Brenna’s throat ached. “Your daughter?” she heard herself whisper.

  “I can’t talk about my daughter.” His voice cracked. “She was only five.”

  He took several deep breaths. When he spoke again, his tone was flat and unemotional.

  “Alex made no effort to contact me. Today was the first time I’ve seen him in a year and a half.”

  There were no words she could speak to ease his pain. Blinking back the tears that stung her eyes, tears he would hate, she simply gripped the steering wheel and drove.

  “There.” He pointed to an unmarked road that led directly west, into the setting sun.

  She slowed the Tahoe and turned. After a few hundred feet, the pavement became dirt. They plowed on ahead. The road was full of potholes and ruts. They bounced, and more than once bottomed out. Carson groaned, and Brenna saw he’d gone white.

  On one side of the road, a grassy shoulder led to an old, untended cemetery. Coasting to a stop in front of the haphazard stone fence, she shifted into Park and killed the engine. With a sigh, she opened the driver’s door and went around to the back. Leaning in toward him, she nearly laughed out loud at the puzzled look he gave her.

  “Let me see it.” She pointed toward his side.

  His expression shuttered, he slowly shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  Carefully keeping her face impassive, she gave him the sort of look mothers all over the world could relate to. “Let me see the damn wound.”

  His slight recoil made her want to smile. She didn’t.

  “I’m fine,” he repeated.

  Ignoring him, she slowly pried away the hand he kept pressed against the bunched-up and bloody shirt.

  “It’s a clean slice.” Only by pretending he was like the injured animals she’d treated in the past could she objectively examine the cut. Carson had told the truth. It was a narrow slice, not deep enough to have caused serious damage.

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded distant. “Hurts like hell.”

  “We need to get some disinfectant.” Matter-of-factly she ripped away a clean part of his T-shirt, then folded and pressed it into his gash. “No telling where that knife had been.”

  This elicited a grim smile. “I don’t see a drugstore anywhere around here. So unless you happen to carry around a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in your purse, I’d say we’re out of luck.”

  “No first-aid kit?”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t care.”

  Brenna thought of the Pack and the way wolves licked their injuries to clean them. She sighed, envisioning Carson’s horrified reaction were she to suggest such a thing.

  “I’ll be fine,” he told her, again giving her the eerie feeling he had read her mind. “It’s just about stopped bleeding again.”

  She glanced around to get her bearings. The spot she had chosen was not only isolated but deserted. Not even a single house could be seen through the thick tangle of leafless tree limbs.

  A perfect place for a wolf to run. She pushed the
thought away.

  “Did you pick this place for a reason?” He indicated the tumbled gravestones, some of which were so ancient the engraving had been wiped clean by time. “Is this a hint?”

  This time, she let herself smile. “No hint. If I’d wanted you dead, I would have killed you a long time ago.”

  He whistled, giving her a long, slow perusal. “You sound like you mean it.”

  “I do,” she said. “What now? You said no hospital, and you don’t want to go back to the motel.” The deepening purple of the sky told her night would soon be upon them. Without a single streetlight, their parking spot by the cemetery would be dark indeed. She looked again at the jumble of tombstones, unease prickling under her skin.

  “Maybe this isn’t a good place to stop,” she said.

  “We’ll sleep in the Tahoe.”

  The back of her neck tingled. Not a good sign. No telling what other sorts of beings might roam such a deserted cemetery in the deep part of night. Though she had never met a vampire, she knew they were out there. She had no desire to meet one now, with Carson fairly reeking of blood.

  And, more important for her, being this close to nature would intensify the desire to change. She was struggling enough with that as it was.

  Of course, she could tell him none of those reasons.

  “You know,” she said, keeping her voice casual, “I really think we should go back to the motel. We’ve already made it plain we’re not leaving.”

  Immediately he shook his head. “Too easy. Let them think I’m scared. Or seriously hurt. Whatever. We need to throw them off a little. That’ll buy me time to come up with a plan.”

  “I thought you had a plan.”

  “Things have changed. I need a better one.”

  Because he’d seen Alex. Clearly that hadn’t gone the way he’d expected.

  “I think you need stitches.”

  He lifted his hand from his side. “I’m fine.”

  She gave up. She supposed another scar on his body wouldn’t matter. Why should it, when he already had so many scars on the inside?