Destiny's Love

by Preston Walker

  Destiny stared worriedly into his eyes, his forehead creased underneath his wind-tossed hair. “Markus, what is it? What’s wrong? Who was that?”

  “That’s…” Markus licked his lips, which were abruptly dry. “That’s the man who killed Daddy Long Legs. Jacob, I mean. The one who gave me a concussion.”

  If Markus had ever loved Destiny, he didn’t think that emotion could compare to what he felt right now when the alpha didn’t even ask him if he was sure. He just trusted him, believed instantly in what he said.

  And there’s no way I would forget this guy. It’s impossible.

  “I feel like I know him.” Destiny paused, squinted as he concentrated. His shoulders hunched up. “Are you okay to follow him? Because I’m following him. This is our chance.”

  Markus nodded. “I’m coming with you.”

  Destiny reached to him, fingers glancing across his cheek. Markus felt the ghost of a touch quite intimately, shallow fingerprint ridges catching on his stubble.

  Then, Destiny threw himself onto his bike and started after the murderer.

  Markus fell in behind him, though riding even slower than before. Cars weren’t even bothering to pile up behind him this time, and horns were thankfully silent. The drivers who neared him just swept around past him, leaving him to choke on their figurative dust.

  The murderer led them west for several minutes, around a loop, and then abruptly south, where 1-10 became US-29. After that, they turned right, left twice, and then right again.

  Just like that, what Markus and Destiny had been looking for all along was right in front of their eyes.

  9

  Quite coincidentally and ironically, their destination was almost directly across the street from a church. When he realized this, Destiny wondered what those good old religious folks would do if they were informed that a group of shapeshifting murderers lived on the other side of the road.

  After all, Satan had been a shifter, first appearing as a snake, and thereafter, anything that suited his purpose.

  Then again, the God so many believed in had done the same thing.

  Maybe the opposite sides weren’t really so different after all.

  One thing was certain in Destiny’s mind. The real evil was there, hiding out back in a thick clump of trees behind a fucking recycling facility.

  The entrance to the property itself was a short dirt road that passed through a chain link fence so low and ineffective that it had to be for show and nothing else. There was a short, barren patch of earth which clearly served as a parking lot. The main building was a shallow, yellowing construction off to the left. To the right were a number of stacked containers, a few pieces of equipment. Surrounding the entire thing were trees and more trees, a thick band of greenery with growth clumped so close together it was always dark underneath the canopy, no matter how bright the sun might shine.

  Destiny sat there on his motorcycle in the middle of the road, looking towards the sinister facility. Really, this entire stretch of land had the same barren, enclosed feel to it. This was not going to be a well-traveled place, nor would it be a beloved location where people invested heart and soul.

  Because it was a fucking recycling station. Not even a processing facility. Just a lonely outpost, little more than an office. The equipment lying about looked like it had sprouted out of the ground, like the trees and ferns and bracken, it hadn’t been used in so long. This place probably did no more than hold a small team of employees, all of whom would either answer the phone or schedule things, or occasionally deliver recycling tubs so that a newly-concerned citizen could trick themselves into thinking they were doing good.

  At his side, Markus had said, “It looks like the sort of place where Peter Pan would play.”

  Destiny had seen that movie a long time ago, a delightful venture at the time that now disturbed him as an adult. The fairytale boy who refused to grow up, preferring to stagnate himself in a state of boyhood where the preferred methods of play could be occasionally rough and cruel.

  The way Markus said the words made it sound as if he could see the potential for fun here for himself, like the sickly strip of forest held only good things. The tone of his voice said otherwise, a surprising thing in and of itself.

  It occurred to Destiny that Markus had grown up somewhere along the way, and he didn’t know whether to be proud or sad.

  They abandoned their motorcycles a few hundred feet back from the building, pulling leaves and detritus over the vehicles to disguise them from sight. Though, whoever might come this way probably wouldn’t be surprised to see some abandoned vehicles lying out in the open.

  Turning into wolves, they crept back through the trees. The scents were so cloying they almost made Destiny feel sick, a ripe combination of garbage and rot and overgrowth. The air beneath the trees was hot and sticky, making him feel like he was swimming rather than walking.

  They headed deeper into the trees, around the back of the building. Immediately, they started picking up on different scents, different sights, that all pointed towards habitation.

  Swathes of grass and undergrowth were pressed down all over the place, signaling that a great number of people had been going this way recently. Footprints were stamped perfectly into the moist earth, and there were also pawprints in an even greater number. Certain areas smelled strongly of bodily waste. Destiny avoided those, having no desire to step in anything.

  The entire forest smelled like wolves. Smelled like alpha, unwashed men who had been on the road for a very long time. The reek was thick and ripe, making Destiny actually wish for the green, rotting aromas from before.

  There were sounds now, alarmingly close. Murmuring voices, occasional growls. Branches cracked underfoot, fronds swishing as they were shoved out of the way by immense bodies, like boats barreling through ice floes.

  Destiny pressed himself deeper into the shadows, aware his bright pelt would stand out like a sore thumb in this environment. Markus pressed up close to him, their fur brushing together. As one, they crept ever closer to the sounds.

  A clearing opened up out of nowhere, so sudden that they almost walked right out in the open. Destiny lurched back, dropping down onto his stomach beneath the thick branches of some thorny bush. Markus did the same, and they settled down to watch.

  There was no order at all to the contents of the clearing. Makeshift tents stood next to sleeping bags which were left out in the open. Fire pits studded the ground, which had been torn into shreds of dirt and lifeless grass by so many different people all walking around. Men and wolves lounged everywhere, most of them keeping to themselves, watching from within their shelters, or peering dangerously out from the shadows.

  The massive burly man who Markus had identified as his attacker was also there, seemingly completely unaware that he had led them right to his den. He dropped the bag of ice he held right on the ground, sending up plumes of dust and ash.

  “Ice is here,” he grunted.

  Markus stiffened at Destiny’s side, his pelt prickling. No doubt he was experiencing flashbacks. Destiny ached to comfort him, hurting even more because moving would potentially attract attention to where they were hiding. So many of these wolves seemed utterly unaware of their own surroundings, but there would undoubtedly be several who would go off at the first sign of a threat.

  The nearest men stood up and went over to the bag of ice on the ground, ripping into it with their bare hands. They plucked out handfuls of ice, shoving it against their faces, their armpits.

  One of them looked up, streams of freezing water pouring from between his sausage fingers. Though huge and muscular, he somehow managed to have a lean, hungry look about him. “Are you fucking serious, Yak?”

  Now it was Destiny’s turn to freeze. He knew that name, could now recall the individual to whom it belonged. Back when he had to chase away the group of dangerous murderers from Pensacola, there was a single wolf named Yak amongst their numbers. Yak couldn’t be convicted for any serious c
rimes, as there wasn’t enough evidence to pin him down. Instead, he was sent to jail with some light charges.

  Destiny didn’t think his sentence should have been up yet, which meant Yak got out early on good behavior. Now he was here, with this group who were causing so much trouble. Had he told them about his past? Led them here? Was he the mastermind behind it all? The idea seemed ludicrous. Yak was an appropriate nickname for such a hairy, burly individual, like a cow on steroids. He hadn’t gotten that name because he was smart.

  Why didn’t I realize who this was when Markus talked about him?

  Yak did look much bigger than he used to, much odder. Maybe he actually was on steroids.

  At Destiny’s side, Markus was nudging him, trying to get his attention. Destiny let out the tiniest of growls, not so much a warning as a reassurance, and went back to watching.

  Yak gave a ponderous shrug, shoulders rippling. “You wanted ice.”

  “This isn’t fucking ice anymore.” The hungry-looking man turned his hand over, letting tiny chips of melting ice fall to the ground. Someone else darted in, eagerly snatching up the cold morsels and shoving them into their mouth, dirt and all. “It’s almost completely melted. You couldn’t have bought a cooler? Or more ice? A fucking ten pound bag isn’t going to keep thirty men cool, you fucking idiot.”

  Thirty men. A random figure, plucked out of the air for emphasis, or an actual accurate approximation of how many attackers there were to deal with?

  “Didn’t buy it,” Yak rumbled. “Stole it. I can go back, Anubis.”

  Anubis, the jackal-headed Egyptian god of the underworld. It seemed fitting, and it also identified the man as an important figure, at least in Destiny’s eyes. He was the only one so far who had said anything about the ice, who had seen anything wrong with Yak’s method of delivery.

  Anubis raised one grimy hand to his head, a dramatic gesture of frustration. “Yes, by all means. Do go back. But not to the same station. Go to a different one. Go in. Buy a cooler. Pay for some ice. Put the ice in the cooler. Bring it back. Can you think of anything else you might want to get while you’re there?”

  Yak looked perplexed. “I’m going for ice. What else would I get?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” That was a new voice, belonging to an alpha with balding blonde hair and a chemical-laced scent indicative of heavy drug usage. The man picked himself up off the ground, staggered and then got his footing. “I’ll go with him.”

  Anubis looked relieved. “Thanks, Sugar.”

  The two alphas wandered away, Yak looking rather perplexed but more or less unbothered by the whole situation. Sugar, at his side, seemed incredibly irritated.

  The rest of the ice was gathered up by a few of the other wolves, hoarding the cold relief all for themselves instead of passing it around.

  When that was done, Anubis clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. Only a few people actually stirred, looking in his direction; the rest looking too hot, too miserable, or too ornery.

  Anubis either didn’t notice or pretended not to. “I have plans for our next attack on those idiot beach wolves. We’re going to finally have a home, all of us. We’ve been outcast but that won’t be true for much longer.”

  That caught the attention of a few of the other wolves. Destiny pricked up his ears. Here was his answer, then. These dangerous fuckers wanted a place to live. Through Yak, they had heard of a city already conquered by the presence of wolves. It was only a small leap of logic from there to realize these wolves wanted to replace Shadow Claws and Lethal Freedom, to take what wasn’t theirs so they wouldn’t have to work for it.

  “But before I can share my plans, we need to make sure the forest around our camp is clear. We can’t risk being overheard. Can I get two of you to do that?”

  This moment of foresight seemed to prove the leader of this ramshackle group wasn’t entirely stupid. However, the ensuing definitely seemed to hint at problems with his authority. It took almost a minute for anyone to stand up, and they were the only one who would do so at all. Sighing and shrugging, Anubis waved his hand at them. “Do it quickly, then. Since no one else can be bothered.”

  The patrolling wolf immediately started walking in the direction of the thorn bush where Destiny and Markus were hiding.

  Destiny braced himself to flee, then turned his head towards Markus to prepare to give the signal to do so. What he saw both astonished and impressed him.

  Markus had shifted back into his human form, and was pulling a lighter out of his pocket. He must have brought it along with him in preparation for his quest, then saw fit to have it on his person for some reason. Whatever the reason, it would be the decision that saved their lives.

  Markus threw the lighter, where it clattered noisily some 50 feet away. The patrolling wolf immediately turned to investigate the disturbance, knowing an unnatural sound when he heard one.

  Given the chance to escape, they took it.

  They fled back to the gas station and parked in the same place as before, consuming the supplies that Markus had brought along just so they would have something to focus on.

  When the granola bars were eaten and the last droplets of water drained from the bottles, they talked.

  10

  What Destiny and Markus decided upon was an enormous gathering of both packs in the same place so they could share what they had learned. It was to be done immediately the next day, and neither of them would say that the other pack was going to be there.

  Destiny didn’t know what difficulty Markus might have had in convincing his pack to come to the agreed-upon spot—maybe he had lied to Brock, roping his brother into it—but the only problem that he himself experienced was getting the members of Shadow Claws to agree to meet at a place other than the garage. They wanted reasons for going to William Bartram Memorial Park, especially considering the location was outside of their territory.

  He didn’t know how to explain. He didn’t want to say anything about Lethal Freedom, especially not to hint this was going to be a demonstration of some kind. That would put all sorts of wrong impressions in the minds of his members.

  Instead, he just stressed over and over that it would be worth their time to invest in attending the meeting. As much as they trusted him, they still might not have agreed had it not been for a sudden outpouring of support from Cain. And even then, not everyone agreed.

  But it did happen. Shadow Claws arrived, members filtering in at around the same time as the wolves of Lethal Freedom. He broke up so many potential fights that he was exhausted before the actual meeting even began, struggling to convince his former enemies to behave peacefully when their own leader was nowhere in sight.

  After nearly all the wolves arrived, at least those who were going to attend, Brock and Markus finally showed up.

  Brock, as always, managed to look stoic and unimpressed. Destiny watched him, watched the way the other leader looked at his younger brother with a condescending expression.

  Do your worst, the look said.

  Markus had done just that. They both had, standing by the twisted green sculpture with all eyes on them. Taking turns, they shared what they discovered, exactly as it happened.

  Leaving out the kissing parts, of course.

  Now they were finished, Destiny waited for the outrage and dismay, declarations of murder and war. He waited for the cries of revenge, fully believing with all his heart that these gathered men and women would want to set right all the wrongs that had been committed against them by that unexpected third party.

  Instead, there was only silence.

  Perhaps one hundred wolves, maybe more, just looked at him. They were all of various ages and backgrounds and nationalities, Caucasian and Italian and Latino and Asian. Gray wolves, Arctic wolves, red wolves, and timber wolves. Tentative teens, testing out their newfound desires, and 40-year-old seniors who would probably be on a bike up until the day they died.

  Shadow Claws. Lethal Freedom. Two sides of a co
in, the structured and the unregulated.

  They were joined now, completely as one, in their state of utter disbelief and confusion. The atmospheric blend of moods and mindsets each pack had was now so similar that there would never be a way to tell them apart.

  And that wasn’t a good thing.

  This was not what he had thought would happen. These were not packs united by the common goal of eliminating the threat against them. Instead, they both felt absolutely betrayed by him and Markus. Accusation was written across all of their faces, etched into their features so permanently he found himself suddenly afraid that no one would ever look at him normally ever again.

  His heart stuttered in his chest. He was overcome by a sudden, maddening urge to reach out and hold Markus’ hand for support. He could feel that Markus felt the same.

  Horribly, he could feel that both packs could tell. Omitting all the parts about kissing had done absolutely nothing. The fact they had gone behind their packs and acted out on their own meant that they were labeled as harlots.

  Cheaters.

  Betrayers.

  Destiny tried to clear his throat, but he was suddenly so dry—so parched, so utterly shriveled under the combined hellish heat of so many accusing gazes—all he could do was make a weak purring sound. “This is important,” he said.

  Not a single fucking person believed him. He felt their mistrust actually triple at his declaration, a rolling wave of sour and bitter that damn near knocked him off his feet. As it was, the unpleasant sensation made his thoughts go reeling away. His mind went blank. His heart skittered around. He couldn’t breathe. It was too much. Too much pressure, too much hate.

  He had fucked up. Oh, had he ever fucked up. Wolves were such strong and opinionated creatures. Why had he ever saw fit to bring them all together like this, so they could feed off each other, instead of addressing them one by one so he might stand a chance at having an actual conversation?