by T. S. Joyce
Three hundred yards from the cabin, they skidded to a stop. Marissa and Rachel parked the ATVs and unfastened the weapons.
Times like this, she wished she was a better werewolf. Her shifts were slow and painful, and they were so much worse when she was stressed out. If she tried to Change now, she would miss the fight completely. With a frustrated growl, she dismounted and grabbed her blades.
Though they were quiet as wolves, she was listening for them to follow. Rachel and Marissa’s soft footfall sounded against the dry leaves behind her. The smell of adrenaline only spurred her forward.
They were close. “How many yards do you need?” she asked Rachel.
“I’m accurate at forty,” Rachel whispered back.
“Good.”
They would have to find a tree right near the edge of the clearing. When she crept around to the front of the house, the sheer noise and chaos from the fighting stopped her in her tracks. Such violence. Pairs and trios of wolves were ripping each other to shreds. She looked automatically for Grey but didn’t see him.
Marissa tugged at her arm and pointed to a good tree with a low branch that Rachel could take a handhold on. She was panicked and ready to fight but she stayed to hand Rachel the crossbow when she was a few branches up while Marissa stood as lookout.
Rachel was just getting into position as Marissa gasped. “Uh, guys?” she said in a tiny frightened voice.
An unfamiliar, gray-colored wolf was running straight for them with its teeth bared. Marissa was a frozen statue with swords hanging limply at her sides. As the wolf launched himself at Marissa, Morgan bolted in front of her. Time slowed as he sailed through the air. Morgan gritted her teeth and braced her legs, held the biggest blade out in front of her and held up the larger knife. Her muscles tensed as she thrust it against the wolf’s momentum. His throat propelled down the blade. Warm blood sprayed across her face, and Marissa screamed as the weight of the animal knocked Morgan back into her. They hit the tree hard.
“New plan,” Morgan whisper-screamed. “Get up the tree and I’ll cover you.”
Marissa stood up and froze, stared down in horror at the twitching wolf at Morgan’s feet.
“Marissa, focus!”
“Okay. Okay!” Marissa scrambled awkwardly up the tree as Morgan put her foot against the body of the wolf and pulled her blade out.
Rage and adrenaline unfurled in her chest, spreading outward.
When Marissa was up in the tree with Rachel, Morgan sprinted for the heart of the fight. Two wolves ran for her. The closest one hurled his body weight at her, but she spun and used the power of her movement to cut through his face. The other wolf used her drifted attention to sink long teeth into her leg. So much for the wolves-wouldn’t-hurt-Silver Wolf theory.
With a yelp of pain, she hit the ground hard. The wolf shook his head hard enough to rattle her bones, and his teeth cut deeper into her leg. Before she could bring the curved blade down on him, he released her leg and dropped like a sack of flour. He didn’t rise again. Panting, she frowned at his eyes as they glazed over. What the hell?
A small arrow was embedded into his shoulder. Rachel hadn’t lied. She was good.
Move, her inner wolf demanded. Find him. Find Grey.
Morgan staggered to her feet and bore weight on her leg. The bite hurt, but the bone wasn’t broken. A few steps more, and she was at the edge of the battle. Two rival wolves already lay dead. Dean and the boys were each occupied in a dogfight, but Grey was still nowhere to be seen.
“Where are you,” Morgan whispered, searching the chaos frantically.
On the other side of the yard, there was a pile of wolves, fighting so hard, they’d kicked up the dust in a cloud. And through the masses, Golden eyes blazed. A massive black wolf lurched out from under his attackers and turned on them. He snapped, catching the closest wolf by the leg as the others scrabbled toward him. That wolf didn’t keep his leg, and Grey tossed him away like he weighed nothing. His expression was focused and fierce as he ripped and clawed at any flesh and fur within reach. The noise, the blood, the sheer volume of the snarling was overwhelming, and for a moment, she fought the urge to cover her ears.
Bones broke, teeth snapped, and a wolf latched viciously to Grey’s neck as he fought the others. They were hurting him. They were trying to kill her mate. Her Grey. Her Wolf.
Kill them all, her wolf demanded.
Morgan ran for them, parted her lips and roared an awful sound. Blades gripped tighter in her arms, she pushed her legs, ran faster for the pile of war.
Morgan snapped. She didn’t feel anything anymore, no pain in her leg, no fatigue, just fury. She turned her thoughts off. Instinct only from here on, until this was done.
A couple of the wolves jerked their heads at her war cry, and feral eyes collided with hers. She slashed at the first one, nicking him, and he shied away as another came for her. She spun away at the last moment, turning to thrust the smaller knife into the back of his neck. He hit the ground so hard, it shook beneath her feet. That knife was lost, but she still had the big curved blade. As she turned, she punched the other wolf in the side of the face with her free hand, and slashed with the blade.
Another wolf latched onto her arm and she snarled as pain ripped up her tendons. The blade fell out of her hand. Pissed, she gripped the scruff of his neck with her free hand and drove her knee up into his jaw. With a yelp of shock, the wolf released her arm from his bite and hit the ground hard. She knelt and grabbed the curved blade in a blur, raised it into the air, and brought the blade down into his chest. His struggling claw slashed across her forearm, but she was numb to any pain now. Too much adrenaline. Too much rage.
Next, her wolf growled.
Grey had moved farther away, drawing the other wolves with him. Dean had finished his wolf and rushed into Grey’s fight, pulled a wolf off Grey’s back and engaged him to the side. They were latched onto each other and shaking each other, ripping, growling, just a blur of war. Another wolf had come out of the tree line to replace the one Dean fought, but Grey had thrown one of the limp bodies off and could focus on the two he had left.
She took two steps toward him before a cannon ball landed on her back. Morgan flew forward and slammed into the ground with and oof. She hadn’t even heard the other wolf coming. She gasped for breath, desperate to drag air into deflated lungs. Brandon lay a few feet away. His vacant, dead eyes stared back at her. His face was grimaced even in death from the last pain-filled moment of his life.
Brandon. Brandon?
No, no, no, her wolf chanted.
Her grief awakened her suffocating diaphragm. “Brandon!” she screamed.
The wolf on her back scrabbled for her neck. He was moving for the kill. He didn’t give a fuck that she was Silver Wolf. The Bloodlust was too big now. The rage filled the clearing. Morgan rolled over with a grunt, threw her hands up to defend her throat. He lunged, and in a rush, Morgan gripped his neck and squeezed. He shook his head viciously and escaped her grasp, then lunged again. That split second of relief turned the tide. All she needed was a moment of space and opportunity. He had given her both. She had enough room to get her legs up, and her feet in between them. She kicked him viciously, and he was slammed back onto the ground.
Hurry, get up! Her wolf ordered.
And she did. She moved faster than she ever had. Faster than she’d known she even could. Before he could stand, she was on top of him, pinning him to the earth. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and searched frantically for the curved blade. It lay ten feet away.
The hard way it was, then.
She got her legs under her and hoisted herself up, still holding the scrabbling wolf by the neck. She tightened her arms around him. He was huge, and even with her increased werewolf strength, she still swayed under the strain of his weight. He clawed at her frantically as she tightened her grip around his neck. He tried to pull himself out of her grasp but had little hold after she’d pulled him off the ground. He was able to g
et his front claws under her arms and rip them, but she ignored his struggling and held on tighter, locking her arms together and screaming with the effort.
And something strange happened. Something she didn’t expect. The fighting faded. The snarling stopped, and the remaining wolves disengaged from their war with the Dallas packs. Slowly, they turned toward her, and watched her choke the life out of this wolf, their heads lowered.
Looking the biggest, closest wolf in the eyes, she gritted her teeth and gripped the jaw of the struggling predator. The one that had fought Grey. The one who had come into her territory to steal her away. The one who had helped to kill Brandon. She snapped its neck and dropped the body. Her arms shook from exhaustion, and fury wracked her body.
“Is this what you wanted?” she screamed in a voice she barely recognized. She stabbed a shaking finger at Grey. Blood dripped from her arm as she said, “Mine.” She pointed to herself. “His. And anyone else who comes in for a challenge won’t be given an honorable death. No one will win me. I will murder a pack in it’s fucking sleep if I’m ever taken.”
Oh, she could guess what she looked like. Wild matted hair, white tank top splattered with blood. Her arms were freely bleeding from the claw marks and bites she had endured. Her leg was gore where that wolf had savagely bitten her. Sprayed blood was slowly drying on her face, and her eyes were definitely a blazing lavender color. Let them see her like this. Let them see the monster they were so eager to fight for.
She limped forward and yanked her small knife from the body of a wolf, leaned her weight on her good leg and pointed the bloody blade at the group of wolves who backed up slowly from her. “Get the hell off of my property and take your dead with you.”
She could hear them before she saw them. Could smell them—Marissa and Rachel.
“Go on now,” Rachel gritted out, stalking to Morgan’s side, her crossbow aimed at the closest wolf.
Marissa settled at Morgan’s other side, silver sword held up like a motherfuckin’ baseball bat. One glance at the girl, and her eyes were blazing almost white, and her face was twisted with rage. “You don’t belong here,” she murmured to the wolves.
The stranger wolves backed away, toward a row of unfamiliar trucks and SUVs. Some laid down and began their Changes back.
“Rachel,” Morgan said. “Can you open the door for our boys?”
“Of course,” Dean’s mate said somberly. She made her way to the porch, never dropping her crossbow. Marissa went with her, and they opened the front door.
The two men who Changed back the fastest began to drag bodies to their cars, their faces downcast, not even daring to look her in the face. They exposed their necks if they had to step too close to her for a body. Grey came to stand beside her, as two more men Changed back. They made the sign of evil at him, and Morgan smiled. “You don’t even know the half of it,” she assured them.
Blood matted his coat, and his eyes blazed like the deepest fires of hell. He was her own personal demon. A constant growl rumbled in his throat, and the black fur on his hackles were raised.
It wasn’t until the last car left that she allowed a strangled sound of anguish. Not for her own pain. She dragged her gaze to Brandon’s body and let out a sob as she made her way to him. Morgan fell to her knees beside him as the first two tears streaked down her face.
Stupid, stupid wolves.
Everyone had lost the war.
Chapter Two
Brandon’s funeral was on a Wednesday.
A subdued and drizzling rain escorted the Dallas packs to the cemetery. The dark clouds hovered low above them. The weather was fitting. Morgan found comfort in Marissa and Rachel. The entire funeral, Marissa stood beside her with her head resting on Morgan’s shoulder. And Rachel stood behind her. Twice she reached forward and squeezed Morgan’s hand. Grey stood stoic and tall beside her, dressed in a black suit. He and the others buried their grief in silence.
Brandon’s loss was a blow to the pack, and Morgan couldn’t get over the guilt that was eating her. Their agony was her fault. Brandon’s life had been cut short, and that was on her. Without Silver Wolf, there would’ve been no war. The police report said Brandon was killed in an animal attack, and a two-day hunt on Grey’s property turned up nothing that could have done this to a man. Jason had advised him to allow the hunt and cooperate with the police to shut Brandon’s case as soon as possible. On Dean’s order, no one Changed until everything had blown over. The last thing they needed was for panicked hunters looking for some animal to pin this senseless tragedy on.
Brandon’s few human friends and co-workers had drifted off one by one, but Morgan couldn’t drag herself away from his grave. So many memories of Marianna’s funeral flooded back. She and Brandon had been killed by the same type of monster. Now, Morgan was that type of monster. The rest of the pack slunk miserably into plastic chairs, ignoring the drizzle and staring at his headstone in silence. Beloved Brother and Friend, it read.
“This can’t happen again,” Dean said quietly from the row behind her. His voice cracked on the last word, as if he hadn’t used it in a long time.
Grey tugged at her hand and guided her to a chair, then draped his arm around the back of it and rubbed a gentle thumb against the dark material of her damp dress. “Did you call the Old Ones?”
The chair creaked as the alpha sat forward in his seat. “I did. I gave them the names of the involved packs. They said they will contact all known packs and put a ban on pursuing Silver Wolf, but it won’t be enough. The Old Ones want us to take her to Summit. Explain the situation and burn the rumor mill. They want to meet her too.”
Grey leaned forward and ran his hands through his wet hair. Sandy blond tendrils fell forward and hid his eyes.
“Look,” Dean said. “I know the plan was to steer clear of the gathering, but things have changed. It’ll take about eight seconds for others to catch on to the idea. Eventually, they will show up by the truckload, and we can’t fight them like that. They’ll pick us off. Brandon would only be the beginning.”
“We’ll help you keep them safe at Summit,” Brent said. His lips against his clenched hands had muffled his voice.
Dean’s eyes were a light and reflective gray. Much lighter than the thunderheads that hovered above the cemetery. Losing a member took a physical and emotional toll on an alpha. “We have to take control of this. The Old Ones want to hold an alpha meeting with every available leader in North America. We can field questions and clear up misunderstandings. You’ll be announced as Morgan’s mate so those other idiots don’t get the bright idea to challenge for an unclaimed female.” He sighed heavily. “It’s our best shot at keeping everyone alive.”
The shimmering yellow of Grey’s gaze fell upon her. She brushed the side of his face with her fingertips, and he leaned into her touch.
“We’ll be okay, Wolf,” she promised.
“If we do this, we do it right. “He kissed the palm of her hand lightly. “We need big enough lodging for all of us to stay together.”
Chapter Three
“Are you all packed?” Morgan asked Marissa as they turned down their long, dirt driveway.
Summit was in the windy mountains of New Mexico this year. The weather would be much cooler than in Texas. “Do you have enough warm clothes?”
“I might need to borrow some. Hoodies work just fine for me. It’s not like I’m trying to impress any of those wolves. I might not shower until after Summit.”
Morgan snorted. “I don’t think that would deter them.”
The girl leaned forward and squinted out the front window. “Who’s that?”
Morgan hit the brakes and a dust cloud wafted over a shiny and expensive-looking Mercedes Benz parked in front of the house. “Whoops.”
Marissa rested her hand on the door handle. “You want us to stay here?”
Morgan hesitated. She wasn’t excited about being split up. Not after learning her lesson from the Montana attack. Wolves hunted in packs. Their
favorite move was separating prey. “No. Come on in with me.”
She grabbed Lana from her car seat, hoisted out a bag of groceries, and headed for the house. Her ears pricked for any unfamiliar sound. When she pushed the door open and stepped inside, Grey’s irritated but calm voice floated softly from the kitchen.
“Can you watch Lana in here? I’ll find out what is going on.”
Marissa nodded and gripped Lana’s little hand.
Morgan padded toward the kitchen, but paused on the other side of the separating wall.
“That’s an easy hell no, Grant,” Grey said with exaggerated patience. “Please get to the point. What are you really doing here? You know I have no interest in running your company.”
Huh. Grant was his dad’s name.
“When I was flagged about you tapping into your trust fund, I thought you’d finally changed your mind. It is still something I want from you. The company should stay in the Crawford name.”
The scratch of friction sounded as Grey ran his hand over the two-day stubble on his chin.
“Why don’t you take off those ridiculous sunglasses?” Grant Crawford asked. “I can’t even see your face, and it’s been two years since the last time we saw each other. I hope you don’t treat all of your guests like this.”
“No, just you.” The chair creaked as Grey leaned back into it.
She could easily imagine Grey’s father rubbing his finger across the table, looking for dust. Arrogance and disgust were in his voice. Already, she didn’t like him.
His tone was harsh. “So you used part of your trust fund to buy this place?”
“Yes,” Grey answered. “And the property around it. I was ready to make a home.”
“So, do you have a job, or are your big future plans to leach off the trust fund as long as possible? The account your mother set up made you weak. I knew it would lead to this—a lazy man. She disagreed. I wish she could have lived long enough so that I could have said ‘I told you so.’”