With every single word, Markus was jabbing him in the heart with that poisoned spear. Oh, how Destiny wished he could be angry. He wanted to be furious, to be righteously enraged so he could do what needed to be done and put an end to this absurd confrontation. That was exactly what Markus wanted, for him to act like he always had, to prove he was aggressive and unchanging. It would prove him right.
But if Destiny did nothing, that would also prove Markus right, by showing he didn’t know what to do when the tide was turned.
There were only wrong answers here. Markus had laid this trap so effectively it was almost like he’d been planning it, thinking about it, slaving over each word until they were as masterfully effective as they could be.
That was absurd, wasn’t it?
“What are you waiting for? Bite him! Chase him away!”
“Yeah, he can’t talk to you like that! Get him, Dusty!”
Encouragement from Knuckles and Crow, their words so dry and predictable.
Then Cain was at his side, his strength welcome and needed. “Maybe,” he murmured, “you should end this before it gets anymore out of hand.”
Cain was right. He was always right when it came to matters like this.
Lowering his head and squaring his shoulders, Destiny snarled. “Back the fuck off, Markus. Get out of here. This is our turf.”
“These alleys don’t belong to anyone,” Markus said. His expression flickered again, an earthquake of an expression where the ground parted for just a moment to allow a glimpse at something dark and secret down below. The gap closed again and he shook his head, taking a step back. “Dusty. I should be surprised but I’m not.”
Destiny had no idea what Markus was even talking about right now. He advanced on the omega, opening his mouth to expose his fangs. The message was clear. Markus could leave of his own volition, or he would be made to leave.
Turning, Markus shoved his hands in his pockets and started to walk away. As he headed for the same alley where his pack members had fled, following the trail of drying blood, he started to whistle. His head swayed slightly, his hips rocking with his easy walk, to the beat of his whistled tune.
Watching those hips, Destiny felt the same warmth in his groin as before. Suddenly, he was pissed. Their lives had been changed forever, shattered apart, reassembled separately, and now Markus was here taunting him with all the things that hurt, all the little shards that couldn’t fit anywhere. Markus was picking them up off the ground, slashing him with them, tipping that spear of his with them, doing it deliberately. Didn’t he hurt, too? Didn’t he care at all?
“Fuck you!” Destiny snapped, then lunged at Markus as fast as he could.
Markus dipped easily out of his grasp without even turning around, then bolted off down the alleyway. He ran for about ten feet as a human, then dropped down into his wolf form and peeled away so fast Destiny was left choking on the dust he kicked up.
I am Dusty, he thought, despairing slightly. I’m an old, used-up, forgotten thing.
He hadn’t realized he transformed too in his pursuit of Markus, until he came to a stop and felt one of his paws stinging. Looking down, he saw that he had wrenched a claw out from landing awkwardly.
Stupid fucking graceful omega, making him act like a bumbling oaf.
He lingered where he was in the alleyway, darkness pressing down all around him and emerging from inside him as well. He didn’t know whether to continue the chase or to turn back and have his pretend victory. It wasn’t really much of a choice at all, since Markus would be so far away by now he might as well be in outer space. Destiny could follow his scent through the alleys, though he would lose the trail as soon as Markus left for the main roads. Not even a wolf could track something through the thick, choking exhaust and smog that was the perfume of the city.
Sighing heavily, inhaling air so thick with mustiness that it was like breathing cobwebs, Destiny started to go back to his pack members. His uninjured paw slid on something and he immediately adjusted for it to keep from falling, then looked curiously down at the ground to see what had almost tripped him up. The sensation had been like what he imagined stepping on a banana peel would be like, slick and perilous and unexpected, except for the fact that the thing had crinkled.
He expected to see some sort of food wrapper, a paper bag, or something like that, though the sound didn’t match what would have come from either of those objects. Instead, he was looking at a folded piece of paper.
A note?
Even more curious now, Destiny turned back into a human and crouched on the cold ground to pick up the paper. It looked to have been hastily torn from a notebook, and not very well at that. The torn edge was all ridges and peaks and valleys. Unfolding it, the first thing he realized was he knew the handwriting. It was a very distinctive way of writing in that there was nothing distinct about it at all. The letters canted this way and that, sometimes done in a cursive scrawl where the writer had grown impatient. No one letter exactly matched the next. This note would have been created by at least ten different people, all of them taking their turn to work on the composition.
It was Markus’ handwriting. As with everything else in that wolf’s life, he couldn’t even stick with a writing style for long. Some of these words looked as pristine as typeface in a textbook, and then it all degenerated into a jumbled mess again.
Really, it wasn’t fair. Markus was so himself, not governed by anything at all but his own whims to do whatever the hell he wanted.
Destiny read the short note. He drank it in, guiltily, absorbing every mismatched letter right down to the little smudges and blots of ink where Markus had hesitated as he was writing it. A note from Markus, just for him, after their chaotic ending. It would have been too good to be true, had the contents of the note not been so serious.
“Dusty?”
He lifted his head, automatically tensing up as footsteps approached from back at the mouth of the alleyway. Shoving the note into his pocket, he stood up and brushed some of the dirt and filth from his jeans. “I’m here,” he said.
He came out of the alley, emerging back into the alcove still littered with scraps of fur and splashes of blood. Knuckles and Crow came to him, laughing and slapping him on the back.
“Chased that bitch away with his tail between his legs, huh?”
“Fucking deserved it. Damn omegas need to learn their place.”
Cain’s mouth twitched with irritation at what the others were saying. “Well,” he announced loudly, “I think I’m going to go back to the garage. See how my mate is getting along. You guys can come if you want. Or not. I don’t really care.” He walked away after dipping his head to Destiny, signaling he knew his part in this was over.
Knuckles and Crow had the decency to look slightly ashamed of themselves for having trash-talked an omega in front of someone who was in love with one. Liking them better for this rare moment of self-reflection, Destiny decided to get their minds off of it. They couldn’t help the fact that they were idiots.
“Mind telling me how this happened? What were you two doing out here? You know I don’t want to be picking a fight unless we have to.”
“But we did have to,” Crow said. He sounded exactly like the bird for which he was named, possessing a croaking undertone that colored everything he said. Destiny imagined Crow’s mother, listening to her squawking baby emerging into the world and having what at the time must have almost been an epiphany. “We were doing rounds on our side. Just checking up on everything. It was our turn on the roster.”
The roster was one of the best damn ideas Cain ever had. To defend their half of Pensacola, to make sure everything was as it should be, he came up with the idea to have weekly patrols performed by a team of two wolves. Everyone was on the rotation, having their turn until they had all gone, at which point the rotation began anew.
Destiny would confess to occasionally fiddling with the rotation for the good of the pack. Less-aggressive wolves patrolling when tens
ions were high to avoid a fight; putting together two wolves who were currently arguing, to give them a chance to make up; pairing up a couple who looked as if they needed time alone for whatever reason. He also ensured the same people didn’t match up all the time, as there was no better way to cause a rift in the pack than to have his wolves sequester themselves off with only a few others. Even Stacy had her chance, and it was through this method he figured out who he could trust to watch her best when necessary.
“I’m actually pretty sure it was Gutbuster and Ruby who were on the patrol for this week. Not you.”
The two alphas exchanged a guilty look. Crow was noticeably blushing when he responded. “We asked if they wanted to let us do it.”
Ah.
He understood now. Pairings between two alpha wolves were rare and unfortunately frowned upon in certain places. Crow and Knuckles might have a thing going on that they were trying to keep on the down low.
Destiny wasn’t going to pressure them for anything they weren’t ready to admit. No more questions about that, for now. “So, you were doing rounds. Then what?”
Knuckles jumped in, as if eager to prove he had played his part in this endeavor. “We saw Cain booking it from this area, so we decided to come investigate. That’s when we found those three snooping around. They attacked us. Crow and I were just going to scare them away, but they jumped on us without any warning. It was like they had something to prove, you know? Like this was personal. I mean, look at what they did to us.”
Injuries carried over from one form to another, which meant Knuckles and Crow were sporting the wounds they received in the fight. Knuckles was mostly covered in bite marks on the meatiest, most muscular parts of his body where it would be most debilitating. Crow had his fair share of claw wounds and scratches, including one along the side of his skull that just might leave a scar. These wounds had already slowed their bleeding, sealed over with new scabs in most cases—except for Crow’s head scratch, which still dribbled with crimson—thanks to the combined healing abilities of human and animal.
None of these injuries would be life-threatening or even consequential in the long run. There might not even be any scars to remember them by. All the same, there was no escaping the fact that serious harm had been done and more would have happened had things not gone in exactly the way they had.
“You should both go home. Forget about the rest of the patrol.”
Crow frowned. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. I don’t think there’s going to be anymore trouble tonight.” He had the note in his pocket to thank for that opinion of his, not that he would tell either of these thick-headed, well-meant bikers. “If you need to, stop by the garage to get bandages or something. Take whatever you need. Cain just refilled our supplies.”
“What about you?” Despite the concern evident in his question, Knuckles was already leaving.
Destiny answered to his back. “I’ve got some business to take care of.”
When the other wolves were gone from the area, he still didn’t move. Ears pricked, he listened to their shuffling footsteps, fading and fading the further they went. When the two were just on the edge of his hearing, they grabbed up their bikes from wherever they had left them, and rode away together. Maybe to their separate homes, possibly to the garage, but most likely to somewhere quiet where they could be together privately.
He still didn’t move, not until the roaring of their engines grew too far away for him to pick up on them any longer.
Then, and only then, did he take the note out of his pocket and read it once more. The words hadn’t changed. The message was still the same.
Holding the paper to his chest, Destiny tilted his head back and looked up at the blank beach sky. No clouds, no stars, nothing but an endless black that reminded him very much of the spot in his chest that had once been occupied by a very special omega with laughing eyes.
God, how he missed Markus.
3
The unfortunate thing about a lot of the beaches in and around the area of Pensacola was they were mostly flat. That was a good thing for tourists, who just wanted to play out in the sun while being able to keep an eye on their kids and loved ones at the same time, but not so great for anyone who wanted to get away from everyone else. Sure, it wasn’t like the Florida panhandle was as widely-frequented as the shores of California. Crowding wasn’t an issue, just privacy.
Going alongside that issue was the fact that in many places, the surrounding cities pressed right up against the beach. The division between nature and technology was as thin as a piece of paper, if it could even really be said to exist at all.
Rounding out the trio of difficulties with this meeting Markus planned was the fact that the beaches were mostly off-limits at night. Guards roved over the sand, leaving deep tire tracks in their path, to make sure no one lingered where they weren’t supposed to. Destruction of property, and the lesser issue of possible bodily damage to the errant tourists, made this a necessity.
Of course, there were spots along the water that were still open, but those places were all as brightly illuminated as a football field. Not good, either.
So, after hours of brainstorming, Markus came up with his current plan. He would go to Opal Beach. Located on Santa Rosa Island, an extremely long and thin barrier island that stretched past Pensacola and many other cities and shores, Opal Beach was planted smack dab in the middle. The fastest way to get to it was over the highway, then directly across the island itself; however, that didn’t mean the journey was necessarily speedy. It was a long way to go, far outside of the boundaries of the two packs, and there really wasn’t much special about it. A visit to a website about Florida vacation spots would list Opal Beach as having parking spots, picnic facilities, and bathrooms, essentially making it out to be your average beach with no particularly outstanding features. If a place to pee was where your standards ended, then Opal Beach was perfect for you.
It was also closed at night, not that Markus was particularly worried. There were other, better stretches of shore the guards would focus on. What drunk tourist would think to go surfing intoxicated at fucking Opal Beach?
So, that was where he told Destiny to meet him in the note he dropped while being chased away. Everything had gone according to plan. Well, except for that little hiccup where they had to fight. That wasn’t supposed to happen. At least no one had died.
The note itself was short and sweet. The process of writing it, long and laborious. He kept wanting to spill everything he knew, except then there would be no point to actually meeting up. He had to censor himself, narrow it down to the facts, which was really a whole lot harder than he thought it should have been. Maybe that said something about him. He didn’t much care.
“Come to Opal Beach. Midnight. In two days. Follow your nose when you get there to find me. I need to talk to you about something.”
Hopefully that would be enough to lure Destiny in. Should be. That nosy alpha couldn’t mind his own business if someone put a gun to his head.
Crouched in the shadows behind the bathroom and shower building, which had been designed to look like a stereotypical grass hut—and which certainly wasn’t offensive to any native island-dwelling people in any manner—Markus kept his eyes and ears peeled for any sign of Destiny’s approach. His heart beat a little too fast in his chest. He blamed that on adrenaline, knowing it absolutely couldn’t be excitement or eagerness at the thought of seeing his ex again.
Lights played across the sand in the distance as a guard drove across the sugar-white shore. Markus tensed, then relaxed as the vehicle apparently turned around and went off in a different direction.
“Scared of getting caught?”
He didn’t flinch. That voice was too familiar to startle him, even after all this time.
Destiny North. A compass of a man who would point south and tell you it was east, insisting upon being correct. He was infuriating, arrogant, and maddeningly attractive. He stood as tall and
broad as an oak tree, with shoulders that seemed to go on for miles. Despite his stature, he also had a sort of stateliness about him, a rigorous and often proper manner that could be as annoying as his belief that he was always right.
His hair was long and pale brown, luxurious and thick and glossy. Markus knew exactly the sort of pride and care Destiny put into his appearance, could have listed off his various hair products without a moment of hesitation. He had, after all, been in the bathroom often enough with the alpha to see what he used.
But Destiny’s best feature, the one thing about him that truly stuck out and could never be forgotten by anyone who saw him, were his eyes. They were the only part of him disrupting the steady image of reliability he tried so hard to convey. One was blue, and the other was brown. Both were extremely beautiful, polished jewels set into an inlay of a handsome face.
There was a word to describe the phenomenon of differently-colored eyes that afflicted Destiny. Markus could never remember it. He didn’t have time to clog up his brain space trying to remember unimportant things. The label didn’t matter to him. The beauty did.
“How’d you manage to sneak up on me?” Markus asked.
“Simple. I followed my nose. Like you told me to. And it’s not my fault you were too distracted by the pretty lights out there to notice that I was coming up behind you.” Destiny nodded off into the distance, where Markus had seen the lights from the guard’s vehicle shining across the sugar bowl surface of the sand. “Why did you want me to come here? Better be a damn good reason after all those things you said to me.”
“I only said all that stuff so you’d follow me. And it worked, didn’t it? So, no harm, no foul, right?”
Destiny's Love Page 4
