Triad

by Cheyenne Meadows

  “Ahhhh.” Rick stretched then rolled on his side, using his hand to prop up his head. “Gonna tell me what had you so wound up?”

  Dillon released a long breath. As glorious as he felt, sated and content, business and the looming threat wouldn’t hold off for much longer. Sitting down on the bed, he met Rick’s blue eyes.

  “There seems to be a pack of rogues forming.”

  “There are always rogues, Dil. Some chafe at pack politics and their lot in life. It’s been that way for centuries.”

  “But this is different. Members from all packs are mutinying as if they’re answering a call to duty from some trustworthy source.”

  “Juveniles often test the bounds. Heck, we spent some time on our own before deciding to return to the group.”

  “It’s not just juveniles. It’s some of the older members, supposedly upset with the modern changes.”

  “Interesting.” Rick intertwined his fingers with Dillon’s then pulled his hand up for a brief caress with his soft lips. “Worried about potential takeovers?”

  “Possibly. Or problems with humans. No one knows what to expect. One thing is for sure, when you take a bad apple and put him in with others, trouble is sure to arise.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  Dillon met his lover’s gaze and sighed. “Tell the overseeing pack council and prepare for a hunting trip.”

  Rick cocked an eyebrow. “Right now?”

  The corners of Dillon’s lips turned up. “No.” He pushed Rick to his back. “Right now, I need to fuck you again.”

  “I figured.” Rick chuckled and grasped Dillon’s quickly growing cock in his hand, then stroked, earning a low moan. “You’re one insatiable hardass.”

  “And you wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  “No way.” Rick pulled his legs up toward his chest and splayed them wide.

  Dillon grabbed the lube, squirted some in his hand and smeared the gel over his throbbing cock. “I shouldn’t have been so curt before.”

  Rick grinned wickedly and shook his head. “Alphas and their penchant for barking orders.”

  With more restraint this time, he eased his way into Rick’s depths, welcomed by the tight heat of the Rick’s core. Once he reached bottom, he leaned over, sealing his lips over his lover’s. Gently, he licked and nibbled before thrusting his tongue into Rick’s mouth for a quick game of tag. Rick responded in kind.

  Dillon lifted slightly for much needed air. “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

  Rick sighed heavily and bucked his hips upward in a nonverbal plea for more. “Easy. I love you.” The words came on a puffed-out breath.

  “No more than I love you.” Tenderly, Dillon began with long, slow strokes, making sure to brush his partner’s hot spot with every rocking motion, as they made love once again.

  Chapter Two

  Geoff paused at the pinnacle of the short hill and looked over the small gathering of shifters. Most were youths, barely starting their lives. Four were older, with the oldest probably no more than a century in age. A hodgepodge group if he ever saw one. Yet, they were his new pack, the future of his kingdom. His army in a war of species.

  Three years ago, fed up with the strict bindings placed on him by the ruling alphas, Geoff had walked away, eager to start over, create his own pack of followers, and prove his theory once and for all. Humans were weak prey, animals that needed to be eliminated to allow shifters to thrive and flourish once and for all. Too bad his former pack had scoffed at his ideas, chastised him for his liberal beliefs, his nearly obsessive drive to see shifters back on the throne of power. If his plans came to fruition, they would soon learn of their folly. He couldn’t wait for the day.

  Tonight, they would hunt down another human, teach his pack the thrill of the chase, the elation of sinking their teeth deep, and the feeling of victory when their enemy lay strewn about in pieces—start with easier kills, build up their excitement, their longing and cravings for the game. Then, as they sharpened their skills, he’d move on to more challenging targets. Isolated humans first. Shifters down the road.

  One day, he’d set them on his former supreme alpha and watch the old bastard fall beneath their mighty prowess. Only he would strike the killing blow, feel the extraordinary satisfaction as he tore out the throat of the one who demanded his meek and thoughtless following. He licked his lips and cherished the thought.

  No. Tonight would be another lesson for the younger shifters, particularly the wolves who instinctively hunted as a pack. They’d learn patience and how to toe the line, fulfill his orders to the detail, and bow in obedience to him or suffer the consequences of mutiny.

  With each kill, his army grew stronger, smarter and more willing to please. Give them a few more easy takedowns and they’d be ready for the next level. He counted the days. Nothing would get in the way of his success. Nothing.

  * * * *

  “We’re in Timberline right now. Sugar Springs is just down the road.” Rick glanced at the map and circled a name with a pen.

  Dillon peered over from his driver’s seat, shot Rick a curious look then turned his attention back to the road.

  They’d been riding in the black pickup truck for three long hours, a decidedly extended time in the rough and jarring vehicle, which seriously needed to have the shocks replaced and soon. Yet Rick couldn’t complain. His lover sat within arm’s reach, and more often than not, he gave into temptation and let his fingers do some exploring over Dillon’s lap. How the man kept his focus on the road while Rick fondled Dillon’s impressive erection, he’d never know.

  Mason’s voice pulled Rick back to the conversation at hand. “Sugar Springs had the last human death. My gut tells me this guy is edgy, yet cautious. He’s not going to wait too long to kill again, yet he’s too smart to do so in his own backyard,” Mason grumbled over the phone.

  The pure black wolf shifter held the same position in his pack, the Rocky Patch Pack, as did Dillon in his. Both alphas clashed more often than not, which left Rick to play peacemaker and go-between once more. Nothing unusual for the beta. He worked perimeter security and helped settle disputes and flare-ups within their large family group. More laid-back by nature, he possessed talent at both negotiations and easing tensions between conflicted parties. Not an easy task and he could still wipe the floor with just about any shifter dumb enough to refuse to listen or to throw out a challenge.

  With hundreds of members, Summit Pack ran a tight ship and demanded each wolf stay on the straight and narrow. While others considered them strict, Rick understood rules and boundaries had to be set when dealing with so many natural predators that just happened to live several hundred years. The alphas took their roles seriously and though strict, they genuinely cared for the welfare of each and every member.

  Though the packs’ lands didn’t border each other, the leaders maintained a good working relationship, which landed Mason and Dillon together at more than one conference, meeting, or get together. From their first encounter, they’d clashed—a side effect of being top level alphas with attitude and a stick up their butts. Rick had been surprised the first time he’d witnessed Dillon go off on Mason, both ending up in furry form wrestling on the floor in front of at least a dozen pack leaders from both groups. Since then, Nick had kept a tight leash on Dillon in the form of sending Rick along as a buffer lest amicable relations turn sour over Dillon’s behavior.

  That still didn’t mean Dillon saw eye to eye with Mason and didn’t want to wipe the floor with him each and every time they came close to one another. Alphas. Put two of them in close proximity and watch the posturing and fur fly.

  Rick shook his head and turned his thoughts back to the situation at hand. He surveyed the towns he’d marked and took a moment to play connect the dots. “Do you see what I see, Mason?” He knew Mason looked at a map as he spoke over the phone.

  “Yeah. The bastard is working within about a ten to fifteen mile radius.”

  “Whe
re’s he holed up? There’s Jasper in the very center of Winter Gulch right next door. Even Prairie Heights is close enough and hasn’t been touched.”

  “Could be any of those.”

  “We’ll take Winter Gulch. Tell Mason to take another town. We’ll stay split and increase our chances,” Dillon instructed as he drove down a small country highway.

  “You hear that?” Rick asked.

  Mason snorted. “Has to control everything, doesn’t he?”

  Rick chuckled into his cell phone. “You have no idea.”

  “Uh huh. Not going there. I’ll take Prairie Heights. If you find out anything…”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” Rick assured him, then clicked off the call with a wicked grin. “Mason sends his love.”

  The alpha wolf rolled his eyes. “More like the bastard sent me a box of chocolates, hoping I’d eat every one, and fall over dead.”

  “Like you wouldn’t do the same.” Rick couldn’t help but prod his normally taciturn mate. He knew for a fact Dillon’s bark was worse than his bite. For him. Although, his bites were pretty damn good too.

  Dillon swiveled his head and smiled. “In a heartbeat.”

  “How in the hell did you manage to spend a week together at the meeting without killing one another?”

  “Easy. The leading alphas put us at separate ends of the hotel, sat between us at the meeting tables, and promised to either send us packing or throw us in a cell for the duration of our stay if we so much as growled at one another.”

  Rick arched an eyebrow. Normally Dillon saw those kinds of threats as a simple guide for acceptable behavior instead of laws to abide by. “And you never crossed the line?”

  “Not with supreme alpha Nick breathing down my neck.”

  Rick shuddered. Nick ran the Rocky Patch Pack with a fist of iron and had done so for a few centuries. Intelligent, fit and fair, no one bothered to defy him without a death wish. Dillon’s secret idol.

  “No wonder.”

  Dillon drove until he found a rest stop at the edge of the Sugar Springs Forest. After parking, he hopped out of the vehicle.

  Rick followed suit. “From our information, the human was killed about a mile up this trail and to the west thirty paces. Not well concealed, which means someone meant for him to be found.”

  Together they followed the mulch-covered trail, their shoes crunching quietly on the uneven surface. Jeans and long-sleeved pullovers blocked the chilly wind and kept them warm on the early spring day. No matter what the groundhog had predicted, the temperatures weren’t anywhere near temperate, especially in the tree canopy-covered woods.

  Within minutes, they located the area, still roped off with bright yellow police tape. Ducking under, they surveyed the land, searching for any missed clue.

  Indentations of footprints were scattered all about, obscuring any remaining shoe marks that might have belonged to the killer. Small flecks of blood splashed across brown leaves strewn over an area of several square feet. No lingering smells caught his attention. Whatever had happened here, the forest kept a closely guarded secret.

  “I’ve got nothing. You?”

  Dillon stood and sniffed as a light breeze blew across them. “Maybe…” After bending under the barrier once more, Dillon set off at a fast trot.

  Rick sprinted to keep up as he tried to catch the scent his partner followed. He couldn’t pick up anything but trusted Dillon’s olfactory senses. Besides, they’d learned years ago that their senses keyed in better on different things. Dillon could find a deceased body a mile away. Rick had to be much closer, but he could pick up on living animals and people much sooner. A nice balance in their investigations.

  The alpha veered off the trail, slowing his pace as they entered difficult terrain. Brush, loose rocks and steep slopes cut into their speed. Yet Rick didn’t think time would prove to be of the essence as he finally caught the aroma his partner followed. Death.

  A few steps later, they stopped abruptly, staring down into the fixed eyes of another dead human. Several pieces and parts were torn, pulled off, or missing. Bite wounds and deep lacerations from sharp teeth stood out markedly on what remained of the skin.

  “Damn.” Rick’s gut clenched at the furious destruction that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with hate.

  Dillon knelt and surveyed the ground more closely. “A second kill in the same vicinity.”

  “They’re either staying here or they’ve labeled this as their hunting ground.”

  “Or both.” Dillon stood up and pulled out his phone. “I’ll report the find—anonymously, of course. You can update Mason. Tell him to stay with the original plan.”

  Rick pulled out his cell. “Looks like I need to find us a hotel as well.”

  “Yeah, but not here. Close enough to investigate, but not too close for any shifters to get wind of us.”

  “Winter Gulch is just down the highway a bit. I’m sure they have some accommodation.” With that said, Rick started making phone calls.

  Chapter Three

  Sipping his coffee, Rick scoured the local Sugar Springs newspaper while keeping an ear open to the rest of the room. Humans sat around tables and in booths, waiting for their orders to arrive. The small Mom and Pop restaurant sat off the beaten path, lacked luxury, but appealed to the folks anyway—most likely because of the laid-back atmosphere and decent food. He could verify the food anyway, after eating a thick, juicy hamburger with all the sides.

  Finished with his meal, he bided his time, hoping to catch some gossip pertinent to the case while waiting for time to pass until Dillon would join him back at their hotel room.

  Dillon. Just the thought of the alpha set his libido on high—sexy, domineering and well hung, Dillon would make porn stars weep with envy. And he’s all mine.

  Sure, Dillon could be rough, curt and demanding. In fact, his variety of sexual fun normally included a bite of pain mixed in, something others might shy away from. Not him. No way. He reveled in his bottom role, soaked up the sting, and grew all the hotter with a little hardcore added in the mix. The more physical, the better, in his opinion.

  He grinned to himself. After nearly a century together, they read one another as if they shared a common mind. Who was to say they didn’t?

  There was only one thing missing. Their third.

  In some wolf packs, three mates or lovers was considered ideal, no matter the gender. Pairs were better than singles, but nearly every wolf shifter longed for two lovers to complete the optimal mating number. Tri-matings had begun centuries before, when wolves lived more dangerous and violent lives, fighting and clawing not only for survival in unforgiving lands, but to gain and hold territories against other predators and shifters. With three members comprising an immediate family, pups were more likely to grow to adulthood with at least two parents to watch over and guide them, giving them the best chance at a normal existence. Without the stability of parental supervision, orphans found themselves struggling to find their place, even though the pack cared for their basic needs and offered protection. Despite the lack of offspring with same-sex mating, pack philosophy remained the same, implanting the belief into each individual at a young age. Three was the magic number.

  They had half-heartedly searched for the completion to their relationship, all to no avail. No one seemed to fit. Dillon’s dominance and Rick’s laid-back, easygoing nature meshed wonderfully. Yet, none of the lower betas or omegas they’d sampled clicked with their particular chemistry. Like oil and water, Dillon’s and Rick’s personalities never settled enough with anyone else’s to fuse them together as a solid threesome. So, leaving the matter to fate, they’d moved on with life.

  Rick glanced up to rake the area once more. Most of the customers ate fairly quickly then headed back out of the door, leaving only a few behind. A couple occupied a corner booth, young, probably lovers by the way they cuddled on the same side of the table with his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Both appeared perhaps to be i
n their early twenties. The rest of the restaurant remained nearly empty, clean tables surrounded by wooden chairs and thickly cushioned booths sat waiting for customers to come in and take a load off. An elderly group of men surrounded a long table, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze just a few feet over. They’d been there the entire time and seemed in no hurry to move on.

  “Did you hear old Hollis is missing?” The farthest man to the left of the table commented to the rest of the group. He pushed his cap upward, fidgeted with the front of his overalls and scratched at his forehead, as if trying to work on a particularly complex puzzle.

  “No! When did this happen?” The gray-haired man at the end of the table shook his head, sipped his coffee and stared at the speaker.

  “Day before yesterday. Or was it the day before?” Picking up his mug, the man paused before taking a drink.

  The words broke into Rick’s thoughts. He listened in on the conversation, an easy feat with his enhanced hearing.

  “What do they think happened?” The man closest to Rick piped up, as he absently patted his well-rounded stomach.

  “No one knows. Supposedly, his mail started to pile up. The mailman reported him missing. No sign of foul play. He’s just gone.”

  “That’s scary, especially after they found Tom Johnson dead the other day. Looked like animals ripped him apart.”

  “Why would wild animals attack a human? Aren’t they supposed to be afraid of us?” A slight man with ruffled brown hair leaned forward, his hands gripping the table as if needing a solid support with the unsettling conversation.

  “Supposedly so. The conservation agent thought perhaps there’s rabies or another disease going through the animals, causing them to act abnormally. He also said something about a tough winter and lack of food. Guess if you get hungry enough, you’ll eat anything.”