Alpha's Hunt

by Aimee Easterling

  Luke strode through the silence with a back as straight as my sword blade. His eyes glimmered blue as he greeted me. “Sword maiden.”

  I knew without having to be told that the ceremony had begun.

  “Alpha.” At my response, everyone followed my gaze to Luke then bowed their heads in unison. This, I was beginning to understand, was what passed for respect among skinless. The pack might be floundering, but they knew who their designated leader was.

  “I have claimed you,” Luke continued, his voice rumbling through my belly. “Do you accept my claiming?”

  My pelt squeezed tight around my belly. Despite my best intentions to the contrary, I took a single step backward.

  Ruth growled something I couldn’t quite hear. Luke’s brows slammed down. His eyes turned a steely gray.

  I was meant to stand firm and reject him. A few hours of discomfort on my part, then Luke’s job as alpha would be simplified. The two of us wouldn’t have a premature mating standing between us, so we could start fresh as soon as he completed his duties. The pack would have the breathing space to grow cohesive once again.

  And I could physically do it. Easily. I’d prepared myself for the pain of a sword cut. But....

  Cinnamon sweetness emanating from my neck unfurled around me like a heated blanket. The chill in my limbs receded. My path forward was no longer quite so clear.

  Then Ruth was there, my sword raised between us. “Honor?”

  I froze rather than baring my neck as we’d planned moments earlier. Thoughts flitted in and out of my mind like sparks from the fire.

  Luke, last summer, supporting me before I’d trusted him enough to beg assistance.

  Ruth, showing up at Central Park with a request different—I now suspected—from the one she’d finally broached. “My big brother? Ask for help?” she’d said. “Not a chance.”

  I inched into the shadows while a murmur rose from the spectators. Their discomfort was bitter while my hesitation tasted like cinnamon. I peered into Luke’s face, but he was backlit by the fire. I couldn’t see what color his eyes were now.

  I could, however, make out the scars rising white and painful on Ruth’s cheekbones. She didn’t snort. Didn’t demand. Just stared me down so intently I got the distinct impression she would have liked to run me through with my own blade.

  And yet, she didn’t push me. “Honor makes her own choices,” Luke had told his sister.

  Before that, he’d accepted my dressing down when I schooled him about woelfin autonomy. He might act like a wild wolf, but he was trying to build something better out of a skinless pack’s rubble. I’d seen his combined strength and gentleness, over and over, in my dreams.

  Who better to help Luke civilize his pack than a woelfin? Who better to sniff out malcontents than a bounty hunter?

  And, yes, there was that relentless sweetness of cinnamon trying to make the decision for me. But why assume our attraction was wrong?

  I didn’t. Instead, I assumed the cinnamon was right. I opened my eyes, took another long step backwards...

  ...Then I succumbed to the cinnamon. Hidden—I hoped—by darkness and by the puddle of clothing sloughing off around me, I let my woelfin nature emerge to mingle with a skinless pack.

  THE BYSTANDERS’ SCENTS remained confused rather than hungry, so I had to hope my secret had stayed hidden. Ruth didn’t spear me with my sword, either, as I padded toward Luke on four silent feet.

  For his part, my mate-to-be was smiling. I’d made the right decision. He welcomed what was to come.

  Or at least I hoped that was the case as I leapt, fangs bared, for the alpha’s neck.

  He didn’t push me away. Didn’t yell or even grunt as my teeth sank into him.

  His blood on my tongue was salty sweet. No cinnamon. Just iron and salt pouring down his chest and across my taste buds.

  I’d bit much deeper than intended, I realized as I fell back upon four paws.

  And...it was more than a bite. Cinnamon whirled around me. Luke’s fingers slid over my body even though we were no longer touching.

  “My sword maiden.” His voice in my head was so sweet I was pretty sure we’d raided that bee tree together. “Thank you for choosing me. For choosing us.”

  The pack couldn’t have heard him. Those words were mine alone. Still, a howl erupted from the skinless, never mind that they were two-legged. A howl...then a shout as something rushed past the corner of my eye.

  Not something. Someone.

  I spun as the dark-haired shifter—Easton?—who’d fallen upon me naked in an attempt to steal a token four months earlier proclaimed his intentions aloud. “I demand a trial!” He was still naked. And, apparently, still intent upon the exact same goal he’d been aiming for earlier.

  Because if I was the sword maiden, anything I owned became a danger to Luke’s pack-leader status. Anything...including my pile of discarded clothes.

  Easton’s fingers were one inch away from my dirty boot when I pounced on him. One inch from disaster. One inch from—I didn’t know precisely what.

  “It takes six tokens to call a Hunt, remember.” Inside my mind, Luke’s words were calm and quiet. But I was too intent upon writing my own rulebook to pay attention to his tone.

  Instead, I spun Easton top over teakettle while he bellowed out curses. I grabbed boot after boot after panties after pants with wolf teeth unused to such effort. Then I flung everything that had ridden with me inside Ruth’s trunk onto the bonfire, watching as cotton and plastic flared and bubbled into ash.

  There. Nothing of mine could be stolen if it didn’t exist in the first place. Nothing except my sword—safely carried by Ruth—and the pelt that had merged with my lupine back.

  I was panting by the time the final shoelace curled into smoke within the fire. I was panting by the time half a dozen more skinless advanced upon me in a four-legged united front.

  Behind them, Ruth was the only skinless still human. She wielded my sword, not as a weapon but as the prize in a game of keep-away. She was a warrior beneath her cobweb of scars and scabs. As her muscles tightened, mine tensed also.

  It wasn’t just half a dozen wolves advancing upon me now. In the moonlight, my opponents had turned into an uncountable sea of glinting eyes and bared teeth. I couldn’t survive an attack from a full pack of skinless, but I’d go down trying. I’d....

  They parted around me like water flowing on either side of a boulder. Reformed into a wave of fur on the other side while a pitch-black wolf—my mate, my partner—raised his head into a howl.

  “Let’s hunt.” The words rolled over me, inside me, through me.

  Ruth was the only one left human as the rest of the skinless took up the call.

  Chapter 14

  I wasn’t prepared when the first rabbit was flushed no more than fifty feet from the bonfire. It tried to run, but there were so many wolves no prey had a chance to evade them all. The closest three fell upon it...then upon each other when the fleeing animal was ripped into furry shreds.

  Luke’s bark broke them apart before the scuffle turned into a dog pile. Still, there was blood in the air now. Blood and snarls and the electricity of dominance battles. It was suddenly palpable that this wasn’t a woelfin run but rather a skinless hunt.

  Still, there was pleasure in striding through the darkness alongside other lupine four-leggers. No tripping. No stumbling. Just scents and sounds and the heady intoxication of being part of a pack.

  Our numbers were too great for optimal stealth, however. And there was the ever-present danger of one measly rabbit sparking clan warfare.

  So, one by one, subpacks peeled away to follow scent trails. The first group headed up into the hills, hunting the faint thread of a bear’s passing. Another half dozen males chased a buck, rank with the musk of rutting. Luke cocked his head before joining the latter, and I nodded my answer.

  Yes. I had this under control.

  I did too, until Carly whined and sniffed at the spore of yet another deer
. Bloodlust aside, it was good to see the girl taking the initiative.

  Well, I thought it was good. Aunt May did not.

  The older wolf snapped her teeth shut around Carly’s ear so hard her great-niece yelped and dropped onto her belly. The other females looked away while the last of our male pack mates passed without a glance in our direction. Which left this up to me.

  Shifting wasn’t an option, but Aunt May had proven wolves don’t need words to communicate. Instead, I slammed into the older wolf’s side as hard as I dared given her age and presumable bone brittleness. Her teeth popped open, allowing Carly to curl all the way onto her back.

  The girl had quite literally rolled over, offering up her belly for additional abuse by her elder. I hated that. Hated the fact that Aunt May’s glare set the child whimpering.

  My own growl made my tongue itch. I craved a bite of my own.

  Then Aunt May was human, her eyes still focused on Carly. Her words, in contrast, were intended for me.

  “You’re not doing the girl any favors. Her betrothed doesn’t want a warrior.”

  Barring Ruth, who was still back at the bonfire, all of the other females had hung back while their pack mates streamed past us. Now the oldest—she smelled like witch-hazel—shifted to join Aunt May two-legged. Her voice, when she layered on a secondary explanation, was apologetic but just as firm.

  “We’d hoped things would change after Michael grew up.” The corners of her lips drooped. Her hands brushed mud off Carly’s supine body. “But this clan is still too dangerous for a breeding-age female. Carly must remain a pack princess so her betrothed will accept her. She’ll be safer somewhere else.”

  One after another, the silent females nodded agreement. Apparently I was in the wrong from a skinless perspective.

  Still, the scent of Carly’s apology infuriated me. An apology for being successful at what everyone else in the pack considered a win.

  So I ignored Aunt May’s snort—now I knew where Ruth got it from—then I nudged Carly until she’d gathered her feet under her. The youngster’s back was hunched, but at least she was upright. Ignoring the elders, I sniffed at the deer spore that had started this nonsense.

  After an extended glance in Aunt May’s direction, Carly timidly followed my lead.

  “If you’re going to do this,” Aunt May called after us as we began padding away into the darkness, “at least be clever about it.”

  I hesitated. The trail before us was fresh. Carly’s kill would come fast. Instinct suggested success would smooth the hunch out of her backbone.

  But Aunt May had the air of certainty about her as she elaborated. “If we head past the edge of Luke’s marked territory, Carly can practice and no one but us will ever know about it.”

  A secluded hunt, yet a hunt nonetheless. I glanced at Carly, but she’d already hunkered back down onto her belly, ears pinned in submission. She was too shy to stand up for her own wishes. This was my decision.

  And...it was a compromise I could live with. I nodded once then hung back while the old, scarred wolf took the lead.

  CLOUDS GATHERED UNTIL wolf eyes weren’t much better than human eyes. Scent trails, however, were so vivid I almost didn’t need sight to guide my feet.

  Plus, I wasn’t leading. Aunt May wasn’t even leading. As soon as the last male pack mate’s scent dissipated, our youngest member slid past all of us and took up point.

  We ran for some time before parting clouds revealed cloven hoof prints. Like a deer’s but larger. The spore were round pellets, all tumbled together into a pile....

  Around me, elders bumped shoulders and yipped quietly. If they’d been human, they would have murmured in excitement. I finally understood why when we broke out from beneath the canopy to see the beast silhouetted atop a rocky cliff.

  Our prey was five times larger than the biggest deer I’d ever set eyes on, with antlers wider than Carly’s body plus her tail. This wasn’t a deer, to be grabbed by the throat and brought down easily. This was a massive bull elk.

  I hesitated, uncertain how to guide Carly toward a doe or a rabbit without either nipping at her heels or shifting to speak with her. Her self-confidence was so tenuous....

  And in the midst of my indecision, the youngster shot away from us, directly toward the elk.

  Did she think she could take on such a tremendous beast solo? I had no idea what Carly was planning until Witch-Hazel bumped my shoulder, turning me away from the youngster. She was pointing me in the opposite direction. But toward what?

  Then I saw it—a rock arch at the top of the mountain. A road-like surface leading from one ridge to another ridge, with empty air beneath the platform in between.

  Carly was leading the elk toward one side of the arch while Aunt May was guiding the rest of us toward the other. A perfect trap for a prey too large to be taken down the easy way...especially if the moon once again slid behind the clouds.

  We had no control over the weather, but still we bled back into the shadows. Carly herded while the rest of us circled. And at just the right moment, clouds squelched moonlight while hard hooves rang out against even harder stone.

  The end, when it came, was almost anticlimactic. After all, the night was now pitch dark, nothing but scent to share what was happening.

  Hooves. Claws. A sharp yip. A lunge forward.

  My teeth grazed a bony foreleg. Someone’s lupine shoulder pressed hard against my side.

  I lost my footing...tumbled over the edge in terror...landed and teetered on a tiny perch no more than three feet lower than where I’d started. Air—and elk—whooshed past, inches from my forehead.

  I clung to the ledge, regaining my equilibrium. Below me, the beast bellowed once then went silent as he struck the ground.

  Above us, the elders cackled their pleasure. I wanted to celebrate Carly’s success right along with them, but I was panting so fast I’d grown lightheaded.

  One second ago, I’d nearly followed the elk off the side of the arch. Someone had pushed me. Well, I thought someone had pushed me. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, I picked my way across rocks to follow the elk down.

  THE BULL ELK WOULD feed our pack for days...assuming we could drag its bulk away from this corner of wilderness before lone wolves discovered us. We didn’t dare howl and draw the rest of the skinless to us, however, and my tie to Luke was barely a flicker at this distance.

  So we’d deal with the rest of the carcass later. For now, the other females and I settled in to feast.

  It had been over a decade since I’d last hunted four-legged then consumed my kill raw and bloody. But I was starving. Perhaps that’s why I was the one to rip through the tough hide and expose muscles and ligaments. Maybe that’s why chunks of flesh slid down my throat and lodged in my belly, not as a cold lump, but as a warm glow.

  Or, no, that wasn’t it either. The warmth had kindled with the first sniff of pride rolling off Witch-Hazel. That spark raged into a fire when Carly stood up straight beside me then dove onto her kill without waiting for someone older and wiser to give her permission to dine.

  We could barely see each other in the darkness, but I knew where each female stood without raising my nose and sniffing the air. The hunt had forged a bond between us. Killing something so large and powerful had melded us together. As a pack, we gorged until we could eat no longer.

  We gorged until a harsh bark erupted above our heads. A bark...then, far too close for comfort, a sickening thud.

  I ran, elk hide trailing behind me and paws slipping on bloody leaves. Because I knew, somehow, what had happened. Even before my companions shifted and sighed in unison. Even before the clouds parted to reveal what had fallen off the arch above us.

  A wolf with fur as black as Luke’s. A wolf, unmoving, body splintered from the fall.

  I might have stood frozen forever if my pelt hadn’t nudged me forward. It forced my nostrils open until the male’s scent rolled across the membrane inside.


  Blood and urine, the latter escaping from a failed bladder during a terrifying plummet. Still, I would have noticed if there was cinnamon beneath the awfulness. Would have noticed if this was the pack’s alpha.

  Witch-Hazel glanced up from where she knelt with one hand pressed against the wolf’s fur. “Easton,” she told us, “is dead.”

  Chapter 15

  Aunt May leaned across the body, frowning down at the male who had tried to steal my boot only a few hours ago. “He wasn’t my brightest grandson.” Her words were cold, but her scent was filled with pain.

  “It’s my fault.” Carly’s tears overflowed into her voice. “I should never have led us into unfamiliar territory....”

  “Hush. It’s not your fault.” This was Witch-Hazel. “It’s nobody’s fault but Easton’s.”

  No living wolf’s fault, but all of our problem. After all, we had a corpse of a pack mate lying beside an elk that—now that the heady pack joy was fading—I realized shouldn’t have been dead in the first place.

  Because who would we say sniffed out the prey animal? Who would we say killed it? Not Carly. Not while she was being groomed as a pack princess.

  And did the rules that applied to a young female cover her elders also? I didn’t know enough about werewolf culture to puzzle this one out.

  I expected one of the aforementioned elders to take command, but no one stepped up to the plate. Instead, they stood frozen by bonds of dead family. Frozen by their instinct to let somebody male take the lead.

  But there were no males present, barring the dead one. So, reluctantly, I backed a little further into the shadows then shifted, pressing my pelt onto a ledge above my head to hide it from view.

  The moment my fingers left its fur, a scene that had been shades of gray via lupine eyesight became pitch black to human pupils. Still, I remembered where I’d been standing. Turning to face in the proper direction, I mimicked Ruth as I barked out commands.