Wolf Fated

by Nicole R. Taylor

  “There’s room,” DeLuca stated. “You’ll see when we get there.”

  “Right,” Gasket declared, taking charge. “DeLuca, mark this house on a map for us. We’ll split into fives, take separate routes, and meet there in two hours. You’ve got five minutes to collect anything you want to take. That goes for the women upstairs. Merrick, Gage,” he snapped his fingers, “do one last sweep of the compound and clear it out. We don’t want to be leaving any presents for Rocket.”

  I hung back as the werewolves crowded around and synchronised their phones, watching the commotion unfold, though one eye was firmly stuck on the boot of the car next to me. I almost expected it to burst open like a screwed-up jack-in-the-box, but all was still.

  “Do you need anything from your room?” Gasket asked, lingering beside me. “We won’t be able to come back here for a while.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just stuff.” I had all I needed in my pocket.

  He narrowed his eyes but didn’t offer any commentary or reassurances. He knew I didn’t need them.

  “Then we’d better get with our road crew.” He nodded towards the garage door.

  “What about Chaser?”

  “He’ll wake when he’s ready.”

  “I want to ride with him.”

  “Go with Hopper,” Gasket ordered. “Too many high value targets in the one car is bad news.”

  “But—”

  “Sloane.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me towards him. “He’ll be all right. You’ll be all right. The hard part is over.”

  I narrowed my eyes, wanting nothing more to argue that he was wrong, but the longer we lingered, the more danger we were in. I nodded and allowed him to steer me towards Hopper.

  “So,” the younger wolf said as I sidled up beside him, “can I have my gun back now?”

  Chapter 24

  Chaser

  When I came to, I was somewhere outside the city, laying on the backseat of a car that stank like wet dog.

  I jerked upright, my vision hazy. “Sloane.”

  Leather creaked as Gasket turned in the front passenger seat. Ratchet was driving, and he glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Sloane’s with Hopper, Watts, Spike, and Shondra,” Gasket told me. “She’s fine.”

  “You shot me in the head,” I grumbled, rubbing my forehead.

  “You had it coming.”

  Ratchet chuckled but didn’t add any commentary.

  I righted myself in the backseat and peered out the window. The city was behind us, the orange glow muddying the horizon. “What happened?”

  “Marini tried to make you kill me, so I shot you, then knocked him out before he could pick his jaw up off the floor,” the old wolf said. “King hit the bastard.”

  I grunted. He deserved it. “Where is everyone?”

  “We couldn’t hold the compound, so we’re headed to a place DeLuca has out in the bush,” Gasket explained. “Before we hit the highway, the group split off into fives. If anyone’s following us, looking to take Marini back, they’re gunna have a hard time figuring out who has him. We’re low on numbers, but it’s enough to get the job done.”

  “Where is Marini?”

  The old wolf nodded towards the back. “In the boot, wrapped up like a little baby.”

  “How far out are we?”

  Ratchet checked the GPS. “‘Bout twenty minutes, I reckon.”

  I sank back and narrowed my eyes. My head throbbed as the last of the gunshot wound healed, but all I could think about was Sloane.

  We wove through the outskirts of the city, watching for any tails, but we managed to escape detection, and by the time we’d finally merged onto the highway, we were clear. The sunrise was the only thing that chased us to DeLuca’s secret hideout.

  I pushed out of the car when we finally arrived, leaving Gasket and Ratchet in my dust. Sloane was already there, standing beside the rotting verandah of an old miner’s cottage.

  “Okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low as more motorcycles and cars rolled in behind us.

  Her eyes were on the others, scanning for Gasket no doubt. The dawn was bright, the fire of it lighting her skin with a dusty orange glow.

  “As long as you are.”

  It wasn’t what I meant, but I’d take it. My gaze fell to her lips, and for the first time, I hesitated.

  “I think they all know by now,” she murmured. “You’re all up in my personal space.”

  My lips curved and I caught her face in my hand. Our kiss was swift, but for now it was enough not to pretend anymore.

  “Everyone’s accounted for,” Watts said, his voice breaking us apart. “We set the women up in the workshop for now. None of them wanted to stay in the main house.”

  “Why?” Ratchet asked. “It would be more comfortable for them.”

  “They don’t want to be in the same place as Marini.”

  “Why not hold him in the workshop?” Rhodes asked.

  “It’s not secure,” DeLuca said. He’d know. “There’s a basement under the cottage. It’s tighter than an arsehole down there.”

  Sloane snorted, and I leaned into her.

  Gasket thumped his fist on the boot of the car. “Basement it is. Chaser, give us a hand.”

  I glanced at Sloane, and she nodded.

  She watched us drag Marini out of the boot and dump him onto the ground. He groaned and squirmed, trying to fight his way free of his bonds, but even with his growing strength from the approaching full moon, it was useless. It was a pathetic sight, really.

  “Follow me,” DeLuca said, leading us into the house.

  Gasket and I carried Marini between us. I had his feet, and Gasket had his arms hooked under his shoulders.

  The basement had been carved out of the bedrock underneath the house. How they ever got the permits for that, I would never know—likely, there weren’t any. Either way, it was secure, isolated, and the only place we could keep Marini locked up. If miracles existed and he got free, there weren’t many places he could worm his way out of. Upstairs or through the access window. Beyond, there wasn’t anywhere to go that wasn’t arid and full of the men who’d defected to Gasket.

  And Sloane. She was out there, with one hell of an attitude.

  We threw Marini down on a chair in the middle of the dank basement. Gasket pulled out a roll of duct tape from his back pocket and taped him to the metal. A knife split the bonds on his ankles, and he was lashed to each leg of the chair before his arms were secured behind his body. His shoulders looked like they were about to be dislocated, the angle was so unnatural. It looked uncomfortable, which was fine with me.

  Finally, Gasket ripped the gag out of Marini’s mouth, tore away his blindfold, and unplugged his ears. It was past time to have a frank conversation. No more manipulation, no more betrayals. Just blood and truths.

  “Dog,” Marini said, narrowing his eyes. “After all we’ve been through, you stab me in the back.”

  “You would’ve killed us all,” Gasket said, not missing a beat. “You were leading us down a dangerous path, Anthony. Your beef with King was only ever going to end one way.”

  “Under me, Fortitude would’ve amassed more power than you could’ve ever dreamed of.”

  Gasket shook his head. “You can’t see past your own arrogance.”

  “I know how this is going to end,” Marini drawled. “Or how you think it is going to end.”

  “It’s not my decision,” Gasket spat. “This is not a dictatorship.”

  Marini laughed, the sound sending chills down my spine. He was cold, calculated, and…soulless.

  “You have no idea what it takes to be an alpha,” he said. “It is a dictatorship, Gasket. It’s hardwired into our very being. It’s your curse…and my blessing.”

  “Where’s the witch?” Gasket asked, folding his arms over his chest. “Has she cast the spell on the bloodline yet?”

  Marini smiled up at him, his eyes cold and emotionl
ess, but he remained silent. This would obviously be a drawn-out affair…and a painful one at that. I fought the ball of rage flaring inside me and clenched my fists.

  “You’ll talk,” Gasket said. “Eventually.” He turned his back on his onetime friend and made for the door. When I didn’t follow, he paused. “Chaser.”

  I didn’t move, my eyes glued to Marini’s smug face.

  “What did she ever do to you?” I asked, my only thoughts for Sloane.

  Marini smirked and spat onto the floor. “She looks like her mother. I didn’t need the reminder.”

  I raised my fist and hit him, the force of the blow jarring up my arm. Marini’s head snapped to the side, and he laughed, his teeth red with blood.

  “Betty’s only good for one thing,” he went on, his words hitting me right where it hurt. “She’ll end up a sack of blood and guts like Loretta because of you.”

  I raised my fist again, expecting Gasket to stop me, but he stood back and let me smash Marini’s face. My knuckles collided with the alpha’s face, the collision doing nothing to sate my anger. After a few good hits, Gasket finally stepped in and dragged me away before I beat his head clean off his shoulders.

  “You don’t stand a chance,” Marini gurgled as we walked away. “You’ll never be able to take King. She’s as good as dead.”

  We thundered up the stairs, and Gasket slammed the door closed, locking it behind him. It took all my strength not to turn around and finish the job, but at the thought of Sloane… I couldn’t do it.

  Shaking my hand, I stood on the porch, my anger still as hot as ever. Gasket followed me out, his expression just as tense.

  “What are you going to do with him?” I asked, looking out over the open field. The sun had risen enough to coat the entire landscape in bright, bold light.

  “Hell if I know.”

  I didn’t have to look across the yard to know Sloane was staring at us. The deeper I fell into this thing with her, the more connected I felt to her whereabouts. Sloane was magnetic north—my inner compass would always point towards her. I hadn’t felt like this since…

  Since Loretta.

  “You better talk to Sloane about it first,” I said. “He is her father, despite the things he did to her. She deserves closure, no matter how messed up it’s going to be.”

  “Yeah,” the old wolf muttered, following my gaze. “I will.”

  “You going to give me the talisman?”

  “I think I’ll hold onto it for now.”

  I snorted. “Bastard.”

  I walked through the mass of tents, watching the comings and goings of the other werewolves with interest. They’d really put together a full-on campground in a matter of a couple of hours.

  Ahead, there was a group of men busying themselves behind the house. I recognised Ratchet, Hopper, and Watts going back and forth to a car, taking out boxes and other supplies, and ferrying them over to the clearing where a large bough of a gumtree shadowed the whole scene.

  They were setting up around a circle, taking their places on long logs and various camping chairs. In the centre was a pile of ash from a long cold campfire that would probably be lit by the time the sun went down. They had two cases of beer, various guns and weapons lying at their feet, and packets of chips and pretzels.

  There was nowhere else to go out here, so I stepped over the log and sat. It was bordering on blistering, but there wasn’t much that could be done about that right now. Hopefully, this place was only going to be forced on us for a few days.

  “You and Sloane, huh?” Ratchet asked, handing me a beer.

  “Where’d you get this from?” I asked, looking at the label.

  “Bones brought it,” he replied. “But you didn’t answer my question. When did that happen?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows? One second you’re whatever, the next…”

  Hopper laughed and popped the top off his beer. “Was the same with Shondra. One minute I was a lone wolf, then…boom.”

  “Good for you,” Ratchet said, punching my arm. “Never thought you had a heart.”

  “Only someone like Sloane could catch him,” Watts said, taking a bottle from the case and sitting on the end of the log.

  I grunted and opened my beer, immediately necking it.

  “It was you, wasn’t it? Who got Sam out of the compound? You and Sloane.”

  I scowled, not liking how big Watts’s mouth was getting. He talked too much about the wrong things.

  “Rocket would’ve—”

  “Shut your mouth,” Ratchet said with a growl. “We know what Rocket would’ve done. She’s gone. Good for her. She didn’t deserve that.”

  “And Harley did?” Watts asked.

  “It had nothing to do with Sloane,” Hopper declared. “The vampires would’ve attacked sooner or later. And besides, we all saw what Harley was doing to Sam, and none of us did anything.”

  I tensed, knowing that none of the wolves—other than Gasket—knew it was me who had snapped Harley’s neck. Maybe it was best it remained that way. There was enough going on without dropping another bomb on the fractured pack.

  “What’s going on with Marini?” Rhodes asked, changing the subject before fists came out. “Any news?”

  “Don’t know,” I replied. “Gasket’s still working him.”

  “But you went in there with him,” Watts argued. “Are you his beta now or something?”

  “No,” I snapped. “I’m a vampire, not a wolf. Someone else deserves to be Gasket’s second.”

  “Like who?” Hopper asked, scratching his beard.

  “We’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Ratchet replied. “That’ll come later. Anyone who wants that will have to prove themselves in all this.”

  “Ol’ Rat Shit here is right,” Spike said, joining us. “A lot of stuff has to go down before we can get Fortitude back up. I’m just glad we got Marini out. I didn’t like where he was taking the pack. A little blood now versus an ocean of it later. I know which was my pick.”

  “Me, too,” Watts said, taking another sip of his beer.

  “On that, we agree,” Ratchet replied.

  “What do you think, Chaser?”

  It didn’t matter what I thought. When this was over, I was entirely sure I was going leave the pack and never look back if that was what Sloane and I agreed on. Ultimately, it depended on what happened next. Gasket still held the talisman, the Hollow Men still had it out for Sloane, and half of Fortitude was still out there looking for blood of their own. The war was only getting started.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” I said, voicing my thoughts. “I trust Gasket. I’ll follow his lead.” For now.

  “Shit, if Chaser trusts Gasket, we should all be in one hundred percent,” Spike declared.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Ratchet said, smacking him on the back of the head. “No one plays his part in a hostile takeover without all that.”

  Lifting my beer to my lips, I thought about Sloane. All in, one hundred percent.

  Chapter 25

  Sloane

  The sun out in the bush was just as blistering as it was in the city.

  I sat on a rock, partly covered by the shade of a twisted, ancient gumtree. Dirt and dust clung to the toes of my boots, and I lazily drew a pair of smiley faces on each toe. My arms were pinking up, which didn’t bode well—I hated sunburn.

  I pushed up my sunglasses—the pair of five-dollar aviators I made Chaser buy for me out on the road. That day had been barely two months ago. What a ride…

  The cottage DeLuca had brought us to was nothing like what I’d imagined on the way over here. Instead of a tiny, single-room shack with a rocking chair on the porch, it was almost a whole sprawling farm setup. There was a yard where all the motorcycles and cars fit, a shed with a workshop inside, the cottage had two bedrooms, an open kitchen, living and dining rooms, plumbed bathroom, the whole bit—and it was hooked up to rainwater tanks and a generator. Problem was, the water was in short supply after
a long drought, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  There was even a rudimentary basement carved out of the bedrock underneath the main house. From my perch, I could see the access hole in the side of the foundation. It was a small rectangle set with glass, covered with a layer of grit. No seeing in…or out.

  I knew my father sat down there, tied up, being questioned by Gasket. Chaser was there, too. I wanted to be there too, but my plans for leading the pack had been taken out of my hands a long time ago.

  What was it about this life? Every day felt like a year. Dragging its heels to claw out maximum pain.

  It was deathly quiet for a place that held half the population of the ragged remains of the Fortitude Wolves. All forty-eight. Twenty had descended last night, and ever since, other allies had been steadily arriving—those who’d been out on jobs, others who didn’t live at the compound, those who had families to protect. Not all could be there for the initial strike. Gasket trusted them, and by extension, so did I.

  They’d brought supplies, tents, and camping gear with them, and a miniature city had formed in the yard behind the cottage. No one wanted to stay in a house where Marini was being held, and I couldn’t blame them. I sat apart from it all, not knowing how to be around people. I was the cause of this, after all—the wolf who could turn at will. I wondered how much they knew.

  The front door of the cottage opened, and my heart leaped into my throat. Gasket appeared, his boots thumping on the verandah, and Chaser stepped out behind him. The old wolf leaned against the rail, looking as tired as I felt. Chaser stood tall, but he always did. Nothing cracked the surface with him.

  They exchanged a few tense words—but it was too swift for my enhanced hearing to pick up—then went their separate ways. Chaser walked towards the tent city, but Gasket came towards me.

  His boots crunched on the rocky ground, his eyes squinting in the bright sunshine. Marini must’ve told them something.

  “Any room on that rock, girl?” Gasket asked, towering over me.