by KH LeMoyne
“This explains Grant’s and the twin’s decisions how?”
“Suicide is against our oath. Our lives belong to the clan.” He reached across the table for her hand. The squeeze was brief, but warmth seeped back into her bones for a moment. “They found you. In the most tenuous way, you were the alpha who gave them their missions and allowed them to save others and end their lives without being hunted or endangering lives.”
“I was a loophole.”
“In a manner of speaking.” His lips turned up almost into a smile. “Deacon holds our oaths, but he has to weigh each threat against the harm to the entire clan for each situation. Your only responsibility was to your team. You gave them a job, one they counted on to be insurmountable, and you allowed them to find an honorable way to end their oath.” He nodded, tucked the book back inside the pocket of his large flight jacket, and then stood.
Stunned, Lena waited, gripping her hands, hiding the trembling at the enormity of his words. The past was the past, but her role with the shifters she’d idolized had been so much further reaching than she could have anticipated. “I had no idea.”
“As it should have been.”
When he didn’t leave, she looked up.
“I’ve done three tours in war zones. I’m trained in every type of defense imaginable. My other skills—well, you can probably guess at those. But I’m coming home to serve my people.” He drew back his shoulders.
Fists clenched, she narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this, Hansen. However, I’m not a suicide surrogate anymore.”
“I’m not infected.” He clasped his hands before him and shifted on his feet, nearly at attention as he glanced quickly around them. No one paid them any mind. “Given what I’ve shown you, how I implicated you without proof, I’m probably the last person you’d trust to have your back. That said, every alpha should have a detail. I not only owe you, but I respect what you’ve done for my family, so I’ll lay my cards on the table anyway. Whether you choose to take my alpha as your mate or not, I’d be honored to serve you. To be part of your protection detail. You’ll need one. You can’t shed what you are any more than we can.” He gave her a brusque nod and turned away.
Mouth open, Lena watched him leave. Wharton slid from his stool, flashed her two fingers in farewell, and followed the shifter soldier into the parking lot.
Confused as questions rambled around in her head like pool balls on a pocketless table, one thing hit home. Her loyalties were solid and, evidently, where they belonged. No more doubts.
She stared at the uneaten grilled cheese, slid a twenty under the plate, and headed toward the door.
Ferals were close enough that she could feel the twisted altered molecules of their blood beating beneath her skin.
They expected to kill her.
Or worse, claim her, sending a message of threat to Deacon and his clan.
Alpha or not, she would send her own bloody message back.
Back off Deacon’s clan, or die.
“I’m not leaving.” Hansen joined Wharton by the driver’s side of a compact car parked around the corner from the diner.
No. They weren’t going anywhere. Wharton’s muscles bunched beneath his clothes in response to the sickly scent of ferals moving across the open field. He searched from their hidden viewpoint, but not one movement caught his attention under the moonless night. He’d heard every word in the diner, but he still wanted assurances. “The alpha has sent protection to help her.”
Hansen sniffed deep. “I’m not leaving her alone to face whatever that stench is.”
“You gave a pretty speech in there.”
“My speech is none of your business.”
“She didn’t accept you on her team,” Wharton persisted.
“Doesn’t matter. From what little I know of Deacon, I doubt he bothered with acceptance in his own team.” Hansen’s gaze turned toward Wharton as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Probably saved all your scrappy asses, and you followed him home.”
Wharton raised a brow. So true. “That ‘pretty’ comment really got under your skin, didn’t it?”
Hansen ignored him, standing taller with his arms loose but ready at his sides. Lena exited the diner, set her backpack inside one of the motel rooms, and headed toward the field beyond the Dumpsters at the far end of the parking lot.
A black SUV drove up beside them and parked.
Breslin dropped from the driver’s seat and closed his door without a sound. “What’s the situation?”
“A dozen heading in from the north,” Wharton said.
“Three more from the east,” Hansen added.
Breslin cracked his neck. “Where’s the ranger?”
“Alpha’s headed straight to meet them.” Hansen rippled with brown and russet, then his fox trotted into the shadows along the motel’s front.
“Technically, she’s not an alpha yet,” Breslin said.
“Technically, she was an alpha the minute she saved Deacon’s ass. But if you’re waiting for the tender moment when she claims him, then that’s up to you. If she survives this battle.” Wharton lunged, silver fur glimmering in the castoff light from the diner.
Breslin ran a hand across his scalp. “She damn well better survive. Or Deacon’s going to have all our heads on a spit.”
Deacon stood at the window, his body merely a vessel as his mind and spirit sought a path through the night sky.
Grizz’s ursine musk announced his entrance. “She’ll be back.”
Not if I don’t reach her. She needed his strength, and he wasn’t strong enough now to endure bleak survival without her. That she held at bay the surges threatening his sanity wasn’t enough for him. He needed her love, an addiction that would allow him a life in living color. Her courage and compassion made him dream of a fuller future, not an end.
Rigid with focus, he stared into the night, mentally traveling the miles between them. If he could see through her eyes, perhaps he could manifest the power to offer more than his words for her safety.
“She’s strong.” Grizz’s phone buzzed. The noise intruded on Deacon’s concentration. He didn’t waste energy on reprimand, but Skip to My Lou, My Darlin’ played in an annoying background melody.
“Breslin’s fifteen minutes behind her but closing the distance.”
Deacon swallowed his relief. Despite Trim’s initial attitude toward mating, she’d lately realized the importance of protecting Lena. Or maybe she understood the consequences for him.
The latch of his office door clicked faintly again. More scents drifted his way.
Shanae. Trim.
Waves of power wafted around him and spun as first wolf and then grizzly fur brushed against his knuckles. His fists released, then his fingers dug deep, seeking a faster, stronger connection.
Firm hands pressed him into his chair. He sank, the astral travel holding him in a tight grip. Starlight flickered behind racing clouds as he sought the touch of Lena’s mind. Familiar scents filled his nostrils, his body accommodating as energy pulsed from the furred bodies now braced against his legs as he sought his soul mate.
Even if Lena didn’t choose him, her life had value for his clan. She’d proven that for years, before he’d ever met her.
But he hoped.
Tonight, she’d survive this battle, and win. Whatever the outcome, it would build the foundation for her role at his side as the female alpha. Her responsibilities and decisions would dictate the fate of lives if she mated with him. Her success hinged on her actions, not his. Deep down, he knew and understood that truth. As much as his heart and wolf demanded he run to find her, she’d stand strong on her own. In his eyes, she had already proven her worth.
It didn’t stop him from trying to deliver more than just his confidence and support.
He dug his fingers into the armrest. A rough creak snapped with his loss of control.
Just because he didn’t physically stand beside her, didn’t mean
he wouldn’t do everything he could to protect her.
Right or wrong, he’d woven a totem shield for her from his mother’s artifacts based on his power. Not as the clan’s alpha, but as the man who loved Marlena Juarez more than life.
He wasn’t letting her go without a fight.
19
Lena’s boots crunched as she left the blacktop and walked across the gravel toward the Dumpster at the edge of the parking lot. She hadn’t seen Wharton or Hansen leave, but their car was gone. Somehow she suspected they were still close by.
This location was at least more isolated than the last several miles. That was the reason she’d had Doc pull over. Only a light every few miles peppered the road. The quarter moon with its limited light wouldn’t give her much advantage, but she suspected the ferals lacked the keen eyesight of the natural-born shifters. Maybe they were even.
From around a tree trunk, a pair of eyes gleamed in the darkness. She palmed her knife, hefting it in an open display as her free hand slid over her heart. They’d expect her to be well armed, but she’d come prepared with a few new tricks.
Another pair of eyes gleamed about three hundred yards to her right. Odd she couldn’t hear them, but she could certainly see them. It looked like—one, two, perhaps more than she could count were coming to confront her.
Yet something was unusual about these ferals. They bore little similarity to the ones who had attacked them in Glacier.
Their heartbeats echoed through her link to them. Her brain processed the indrawn nasally breath, the palpable desire to stalk and chase one’s prey. The rhythm beat at her eardrums along with a blossom of pain behind her eyes. Violence faced her, but these creatures wanted her alive. Or did their leader want her alive? These hybrid misfits could barely walk in a straight line. From their intent focus on her every step, they wanted her dead.
Well, someone wasn’t going to get what they wanted tonight. And it wasn’t going to be her. The Dumpster now at her back, she waited.
“Lena, you’re outnumbered here. Leave now. You don’t need to make a point about your commitment to our people.” Deacon’s voice reverberated in her mind, their channel of communication separate from the static that constituted the ferals’ lifeline.
“This is my responsibility. I have the ability to sense and call these ferals. We need to take a stand. Now.” This was no different from when Vendrick saved her life, though she could hardly take the time to explain that to Deacon. Stopping to analyze why one was given an opportunity was pointless. The only thing that mattered in life was accepting the call and giving it everything you had. Deacon already understood as much.
She blinked, concentrating on keeping her discussion with Deacon isolated, narrowed in focus so the others wouldn’t hear him, wouldn’t know what she was capable of. “Weren’t you the one who told me everything happens for a reason?”
“Only if it doesn’t endanger you. I’m not letting you go.”
“Without my consent? Isn’t that against your code of ethics?” She’d laugh at his slip if the circumstances weren’t so dire.
“Damn my ethics.”
“Bring her to me.” A new garbled voice echoed in Lena’s mind. The ferals around her paused, heads tilted, shoulders rolled, and sank toward the ground. “Do as I say and be quick about it.”
“We could kill her with ease,” snarled one from the dark.
Not with ease. Never with ease. Lena’s fingers twitched as she prepared for an assault. “You can try,” she said as she slowly brought her hands close to her body, prepared to fight. “I’ll take several of you with me to hell. And it won’t end there.”
A soft chuckle and then a growl from her far right revealed a perfect pale wolf, silvered by the moon’s light, with lips peeled back. He snapped at her approaching enemies. Then he sank back into the darkness at her side. It seemed Wharton agreed with holding their ground for a good fight.
The foremost creature advanced toward her when it suddenly dropped to the ground and rolled on its back. It cried a mournful howl, jerked, and then stilled.
Evidently, not everybody wanted to listen to Mother’s rules. It also seemed Mother’s retribution was swift and harsh.
Lena kept busy eyeing the dozen or so creatures now surrounding her.
“Sweep in from the side. Push her toward me,” The voice was high-pitched for a male, but with a distinguishable testosterone-charged rasp. He was in front of her, but she couldn’t make him out from the others in the pack. He hid there, camouflaged and cowardly. Not a new feral trait, but one from a seasoned survivor.
The air stirred at her shoulder, and something whipped over her head, brushing her hair. Wharton’s wolf landed in front of her. The smaller outline of a fox landed on the back of the closest feral wolf.
Teeth snapped slowly enough for her to want to back away. Aware her attacker was still buried in the darkness as the clouds passed over the moon, she didn’t move.
She estimated a quick head count. The ferals outnumbered them, but it wasn’t as bad as the night on the mountain. Then again, the mountain hadn’t really been her fight. Tonight’s outcome would be different. Tonight’s objective was different. She shifted to the side. Her heart missed a beat.
She couldn’t move. Not a muscle. Not a twitch.
“Let go of me. I know what I’m doing.” She’d screamed the words out loud, partly to force herself not to use the channel to Deacon by accident and partly from frustration. She was certain he understood—and ignored her as her body suddenly lifted and pitched to the side as an oncoming force lunged toward her face. Hot fetid breath fanned over her skin with a cloying stench that sank into her nostrils. Blazing red eyes glared inches from hers.
A rasping growl and a soft thud on the Dumpster over her right shoulder caught the attention of the remaining crew. Then a heavily muscled body brushed by her shoulder and clamped its teeth around her attacker’s neck. Larger than her entire body, the sleek, muscled outline of Breslin’s cougar stood etched in bold relief against the partial moonlight.
She released her held breath. “Okay, that was close. But don’t shove me again.”
“Move out of the way next time and I won’t interfere,” Deacon snapped back, his patience obviously thinning as the ferals closed in on her.
“I have a plan.” She only needed a small opening.
“I don’t have the patience for a plan that spills your blood.”
Desperate, she wrestled against Deacon’s hold on her. How he was able to do this long distance, she didn’t know, but this wasn’t the time or the place for him to manhandle her, even if he did have the best of intentions. Breslin’s lock on her opponent’s neck was going to ruin all her efforts. “I accept your help and even your protection, but trust me to see this through.”
An inch was all she needed. She punched the device in the breast pocket of her shirt.
As if a silent shockwave had rippled through the air, shifters and creatures alike fell around her, shaking their heads and battling for control. Breslin went down with his captor, the neck lock temporarily broken, the hold from the ferals’ master broken for a split second as well.
She swung her arm wide, the current from the Taser whip arcing into her attacker as he wrestled for freedom. The charge of electricity sizzled across his fur. He screamed, agony ringing in a strange mix of animal whine and human despair. The weapon bought her extra time to get closer.
A small bolt of white and dark with razor-sharp teeth darted for the feral’s belly.
“Wait. Don’t kill him.” She edged Hansen’s fox back by stepping beside him and nudging him with her boot. “Just make sure he doesn’t get free.” Darn it all. It was just her luck that the smallest ones recovered first. She would have been faster if the feral’s face didn’t shift to part human as the clouds pulled back from the moon.
God, it was a child.
Not a misshapen adult figure, but the wretchedly contorted physique of an adolescent. Twelve, maybe fourteen at th
e most, the man-child stared at her with a bleak expression mirroring the nightmares that had plagued her for years. Deacon’s growl reverberated in her head, echoing her sadness.
Then the feral shifted back into beast and snarled, even as Breslin’s maw gripped hard, and Hansen released his hold. Changing of the guards, to one who wouldn’t hesitate to perform Deacon’s command.
“They can’t save you. Can’t hide you.” A feminine voice gurgled from the feral wolf’s mouth, the voice forced from the animal’s throat. The wolf paws flailed, then an arm flashed into view, the palm stretched to her, beseeching as it struggled to breathe.
“Underestimating is a real flaw for you pretenders, isn’t it?” Lena clamped down hard on her feelings, ignoring the disgust at the feral’s torture and flicked her fingers toward Hansen, hoping he’d trust her and give her more space.
Wharton prowled around, guarding her back. Hansen’s muzzle withdrew but remained fixed between her ankles, eyes pinpointed on the feral.
“Your alpha isn’t here for you this time,” snarled another creature from the darkness. “Don’t worry, we’ll deal with him in time.”
“Maybe. Though I doubt you can handle the thousands of shifters he feeds with his strength. They will all come for you. He’ll empower them to kill you.”
“You lie.” Several strangled cries resounded, as if the malformed jaws and lungs of the others only managed odd contortions instead of speech and despair. “Alphas share power with no one.”
“The alpha shares with each of us.” She smiled, forcing a lightness that warred with the tightness in her chest, for Deacon shared power with her—she’d assumed. His blood pulsed inside her as his will surged through her tissues and made her stronger—faster and more fine-tuned, every enemy movement registering in her peripheral vision.
“Everything you need from me is yours!”
She warmed at Deacon’s pronouncement. “You get major points.”
“Please survive and ensure those are redeemable.”
Deacon’s chuckle reverberated in her mind as she palmed Matthew’s tool and braced her feet a bit farther apart. Six mangy mutations stalked closer. “Just because you don’t have the brains or intelligence to consider the advantages of sharing doesn’t mean better leaders don’t exist.”
