True Alpha

by Ranae Rose

  She scrambled off of him as hastily as she could and reached for the gun he’d dropped when she’d stabbed him.

  For a moment, their eyes met, her gaze locking with his bulging blue eyes as he extended a hand, trying and failing to reach the gun as she cradled it against her chest. Blood was trickling down his throat, and when he opened his mouth, it flowed from one corner. Abandoning his attempt to retrieve his original weapon, he shoved a hand into the deep cargo pocket of his hunting pants.

  He pulled out a small .22 pistol, much like the one she’d brought along on her trip to the Smokies months ago, when she’d first met Jack. His knuckles went white as he gripped the handle, raising the gun so that she was staring down the narrow barrel.

  She hurried to raise her own weapon, but it was heavy and her body was wracked with pain; acid climbed up her throat, threatening to make her vomit. She’d never used anything like an AR-15 before. He fired before she could, and tiny as the gun’s bullet was, it hit her with all the force of a freight-train.

  Chapter 14

  He’d probably been aiming for her heart. She was lucky that he’d missed, hitting her shoulder instead, and yet, she felt nothing but horror as blood blossomed on the front of her robe. She’d managed to carry out her plan, and still, it had failed. Even with blood flowing from his throat and both corners of his mouth, he was still going. The AR-15 was suddenly too heavy for her arms; it slid over her belly and into her lap as pain radiated throughout her chest and left arm.

  A long howl sounded from outside, quickly followed by another gunshot. Leaves churned and her other captor’s curses echoed, along with another shot fired, and another.

  A vicious snarl rent the air, much closer than Mandy had anticipated. Her heart sped as she realized how close at least one of the others was. Unfortunately, this sent more blood rushing from her wound, soaking the front of her robe. Blackness invaded the corners of her vision as she struggled to focus on her captor, the man whose throat she’d driven a nail into.

  He rose on shaky legs, and the last thing she saw was him turning toward the door, pushing it open as he raised his gun.

  ****

  By the time Jack, Daniel and Clarissa reached the top of the hill, the man who’d been patrolling near the shack was dead. He’d noticed Noah, April and Violet and had opened fire. Within moments, either Ronnie or Will had taken him out with a well-aimed shot that had penetrated his chest. The bullet had hit something major; he lay in a pool of blood, already dead. Had he managed to hit Noah, April or Violet?

  No, he hadn’t. All three of them crested the hill, whole and unwounded. As all six wolves reached the top of the hill, panting, Jack was so close to the shack that he could almost feel Mandy in his arms. His first instinct was to run to her, to rush into the shack and tear apart the hunter who was in there with her. There’d been several gunshots – what if one of them had come from inside the shack? What if her captor had shot her as soon as he’d realized that she’d served her purpose as bait? Jack’s heart wrenched, but before he could take another step, the ground exploded around his feet, absorbing a hail of gunfire.

  The instinct to run to Mandy nearly tore him in two, but he resisted it. Where was the gunfire coming from? He had to find out, and he had to stop it. It would be so easy for a stray bullet to fly into the shack and hit Mandy.

  April dropped to the ground, a sharp yelp piercing the air, mingling with the sounds of gunfire.

  Horror gripped Jack as a pool of blood began to form under her. She’d been shot in the hip. He hardly had time to notice the location of the wound before Noah fell too, flopping to the ground beside her with a shoulder wound.

  A heavy crashing sound came from maybe fifteen yards away, distracting Jack from the gut-wrenching sight of his injured packmates. He snapped his head toward it, his ears twitching as he turned just in time to see a man tumbling from a tall pine, his body hitting the forest floor with a muffled thunk, a rifle bouncing off a branch and landing on top of him. For the first time, Jack realized that some of the gunfire was coming from below – from Ronnie and Will. Pine needles and leaves rained down from the surrounding forest – they were shooting at the trees.

  The other hunters were in the trees. Jack’s gut twisted as realization struck him, pumping fresh energy into his veins. He leapt forward just in time to avoid a bullet that sped by his ear, whistling past.

  Had the shot that had knocked one of the hunters from his tree been a lucky one? Clearly, Ronnie and Will realized where the other hunters were hiding, but the man who’d fallen had been decked out in camo gear, from an artfully painted face to every last stitch of his tree-patterned clothing. Even Jack couldn’t make out any more hunters in the trees, though the bullets raining from above made it obvious they were there. As he ignored his instincts and ran toward the fire, he breathed deeply, straining to detect any helpful scents on the air. The hunters had been hiding at a much closer distance than he’d realized – they must have taken care to cover up their scents. Still, he could smell faint body odors, and they helped guide him toward his enemies.

  Jack zeroed in on an evergreen that was fairly short, but wide and heavily needled. Unlike the deciduous trees that were losing their leaves, the pine offered plenty of cover. It was also short enough that the branches strong enough to support a man would be lower to the ground, where he could stand against a trunk and rip a hunter down by his boot. Hopefully. As he rushed toward the tree, a second’s worth of radio static buzzed from the branches, confirming his suspicion.

  A bullet flew by, narrowly missing him as he continued his charge. The next one grazed his shoulder, inciting a burning pain. He ignored it – the wound couldn’t be that bad if he was still able to run. With a leap, he lunged under the pine’s boughs, where he found his target perched, rifle aimed right at him.

  Jack feinted to the right, managing to dodge the next shot. Then he leapt up, balancing on some of the sturdier lower branches and throwing himself up them, his claws digging into the bark, until he was high enough to seize the man’s boot in his teeth and tear him from his seat.

  The man hit his head on a branch on the way down; by the time he collided with the ground, a bloody gash had been carved across one temple. He was still conscious though, and Jack met his eyes for a moment before he closed his jaws around the man’s neck and clamped down with as much force as he could muster.

  He was rewarded with the crunch of cartilage and the bitter taste of blood. The man struggled for a couple moments, and then was mostly still. Jack released him and left him to drown in his own blood as he rushed out from under the tree, ready to take down another hunter.

  Daniel had beaten him to it. His legs and tail were visible under the skirt of another pine, and as Jack ran to help him, he scrambled up some of the lower branches and pulled another hunter swearing and kicking from the tree. The man dropped his rifle – thank God – and Jack leapt on top of it before he could reach it again. Meanwhile, Daniel ripped out the man’s throat with brutal efficiency, putting an end to his struggles. Jack bumped Daniel lightly on the shoulder with his nose as a way of saying “good work”.

  Daniel toppled over on top of his kill.

  Confusion wracked Jack until he realized that not all of the blood staining Daniel’s front was the hunter’s. Daniel had been shot in the chest and had taken out the hunter that was presumably his attacker anyway.

  Jack wanted to curse; instead, the sound came out as a sharp, growling bark. Daniel might’ve just traded his life for that kill. Might’ve, but Jack didn’t dare stop to assess his wound, because he had to take out the other hunters and get to Mandy and there was nothing he could do to treat Daniel anyway.

  Two down, two to go. Jack followed the scent of sweat to another tree and was almost hit as he ran toward it. Either the hunters weren’t very good at shooting moving targets, or they weren’t aiming for central mass. Noah and April had each been hit in non-vital areas – the shoulder and the hip – and bullets kept whizzi
ng by Jack’s limbs, grazing or missing him. Unless he was in the throes of a full-blown lucky streak, it seemed the hunters still wanted their trophies. They probably thought that if they could incapacitate the wolves, they could kill them later with silver-bullets through their hearts, delivered from a point-blank range, guaranteeing wolf corpses to mount. The bastards were cocky, even with their numbers significantly reduced, and that was what would do them in.

  Jack managed to dodge another bullet as he looped around the tree that housed his latest target, darting around the back so that his attacker would be forced to change positions to shoot at him. This bought him a few precious moments, but also apparently put him within firing-range of the other remaining hunter. Bullets rained around him, sending chunks of earth flying until he darted under the evergreen’s skirt of branches. There, he was hidden from the other hunter, who wouldn’t dare fire at the tree for fear of shooting his partner instead.

  But this hunter had witnessed what had happened to the others and was prepared. Instead of bothering to fire his gun when Jack leapt, bracing himself against the tree trunk and searching for a mouthful of boot or leg to grasp, the hunter brought the butt of his rifle down across the bridge of Jack’s muzzle. A sharp crack resounded and Jack fell backward, stunned as blood instantly flooded his nasal passages and mouth.

  He landed on his back on the thick floor of pine needles. They cushioned his fall, but the damage was done – Jack choked and coughed up blood as the hunter raised his rifle and aimed it right at Jack’s heart.

  Bright, colorful spots blossomed in front of Jack’s eyes – shock. Still, he knew what was about to happen. Instinctively, he rolled, as if that would make a difference. As his motion sprayed blood across the pine needles, a shadow darkened his vision as something sailed over him.

  Make that someone – specifically, a wolf. A vicious snarl sounded and toenails scraped the pine’s trunk as the hunter cursed. His gun discharged and sent a flurry of pine needles raining down, but still, the other wolf growled, and something landed on the forest floor by Jack’s side.

  Turning his head and blinking away the spots, Jack found himself looking into the eyes of the hunter. They widened with shock as the other wolf leapt on top of him and commenced to mauling his throat with ruthless effectiveness.

  Clarissa? No, this wolf was larger and brown, not black. Jack’s heart sped as he caught a glimpse of a blood-stained muzzle and blue eyes.

  Mandy – had she somehow managed to escape? His heart hammered for a moment before reality crashed around him. No, the brown wolf wasn’t Mandy, but her father. He should’ve known that Michael wouldn’t listen and stay put while the others fought. At the moment, Jack wasn’t complaining. As Michael finished the hunter off, Jack heaved himself up onto all four paws.

  His muzzle had been transformed into a fountain of blood, but a nosebleed wasn’t going to kill him. He stumbled and righted himself, willing the bright patches of light that were compromising his vision to go away. He didn’t have time to waste. With Michael’s help, he could take out the last hunter and finally rush to Mandy.

  A howl of horror rang through the trees – Clarissa’s. She must’ve found Daniel. A pang of regret lanced through Jack’s chest, but that was all the distraction he could afford, at the moment.

  Jack and Michael emerged from under the boughs of the pine tree, both of their snouts dripping with blood. A low growl rumbled in the pit of Michael’s chest, and though Jack was too busy not choking on his own blood to do the same, he was more desperate to kill than ever.

  Clarissa and Violet had reached Daniel. Jack barely spared the scene of their grief a glance, and was surprised when both of the girls rushed to his side. Surprised and dismayed, because the last hunter had come down from his tree and looked like he had no intention of inflicting non-fatal wounds for the purpose of preserving trophies. He cradled a submachine gun, and raised it at the group of wolves. Clustered together as they were, it wouldn’t be hard for him to hit most or all of them in a single sweep. Jack did the only thing there was to do – leapt toward the hunter.

  Michael lunged too, but not forward. Instead, he rushed to the side, in front of Clarissa and Violet, just as the hunter opened fire.

  The burst of gunfire hurt Jack’s ears, but he ignored it just as he ignored the throbbing pain in his muzzle as he sailed through the air. All he felt was pressure when a bullet hit his leg and tore right through it. He didn’t have time to wonder whether it had hit bone or only muscle; all that mattered was that the wound wouldn’t stop him.

  He landed a couple yards from the hunter, and his front left leg buckled. Snarling, he steadied himself on three legs and leapt again. His injury kept him from lunging with as much force as he had the first time, but his effort was enough. He darted under the barrel of the gun and closed his jaws around the hunter’s knee. White-hot pain flared in his muzzle as he jerked the hunter to the ground.

  Violet and Clarissa materialized at his sides and helped him dispose of the hunter in true pack fashion. Jack remained clamped on the man’s knee, afraid that if he let go or wavered for even a moment, he’d pass out from shock. His nose had probably been broken, and his leg felt like it was on fire. It was all he could do to hang on while Clarissa immobilized the man’s arm, preventing him from picking up his gun again, and Violet tore into his throat as if he were an unfortunate deer or elk.

  Jack let go as soon as the hunter was still. His instinct to race to his mate’s rescue was even stronger than his pain. As he ran, limping, as quickly as he could in the direction of the shack, he caught a glimpse of Michael lying motionless on the ground. He tallied the pack’s damages as he hurried and prayed that Mandy wasn’t among the seriously injured.

  A dead man lay in front of the shack, looking as if he’d crumpled to the ground during an attempt to exit the little building. Like his partners, he was clad in camo, laden with weapons and wearing face paint. That made him the sixth hunter – the very last. Blood stained his skin and clothing a bright crimson and had spread from his mouth to his chest. It seemed to have originated from his throat, from which some sort of metallic object protruded. Hope reared its head inside Jack, sweet and vicious. What had happened to him – had Mandy somehow turned the tables? If so, where was she? God, where was she?

  Jack leapt over the dead hunter in one long jump, his heart in his throat as he rushed through the open doorway, heedless of his injury as his paws skidded over the packed-dirt floor.

  Oh, God. It was obvious why Mandy hadn’t exited the cabin, why she’d remained inside while her captor had stumbled over the threshold. She may have fought him, but she certainly hadn’t come away unscathed. She sat slumped against the back wall, wrapped in a familiar bathrobe, a semi-automatic rifle resting uselessly in her lap. The robe had once been blue, but was stained crimson with her blood. Damn, where had it come from – where was the wound?

  “Mandy!” Jack shifted into his human form and rushed to her side, desperate to embrace her but not daring, since he didn’t know the nature or extent of her injuries yet. He settled for stroking her cheek with his good arm, then pressing a couple fingers below her jaw to feel for a pulse as he raked his gaze over her battered body.

  She’d been shot in the shoulder – thank God. There was no reason she couldn’t survive a shoulder wound that hadn’t penetrated any major blood vessels, if he could just keep her from losing too much blood. He pulled aside the neck of her robe and pressed the heel of his palm against the entry wound, applying firm pressure as he visually examined the lower half of her body.

  One of her knees had been badly damaged. It was a swollen, purple mass, smeared with blood. Probably broken. He made a mental note not to jostle it as he used his injured arm, slowly and painfully, to lift the skirt of her robe, steeling himself as he prayed that none of the blood that soaked the dirt floor had come from between her legs.

  Her belly, thighs and hips were clean, nothing but creamy white flesh smeared with a little dirt. H
e released a shaky breath as he covered her again.

  He found where the rest of the blood had come from when he reached for one of her hands. All of her fingertips were raw and stained red. There was no time to wonder how it might have happened; he had to get her out of the shack and off the damn mountain. But first, he had to remove the thick leather collar that circled her neck. A livid purple bruise peeked out from beneath the collar – had she tried to shift forms while wearing it? It was tight enough that it would choke her in her wolf form. The damn thing was secured with a little padlock.

  Fearing that she’d slip into her wolf form while unconscious and be strangled to death, he forced himself to let go of her hand and hurried out of the shack. In his human form, he could walk normally – the bullet had pierced his forearm. Kneeling by the first dead hunter’s body, he searched the man’s pockets for any sign of a key as quickly as he could. It was frustratingly slow work to perform one-handed, and he found nothing in the first man’s half a dozen or so pockets. His throat grew tight and urgency mounted inside him as he scrambled to the next man’s body.

  His fingertips encountered something small and hard in one of the man’s pockets – a key. Breathing a long sigh, he hurried back into the shack, trying not to focus on the lupine bodies strewn around the makeshift battleground. Had any of the others been killed – Daniel or Michael? Damn it, he didn’t know, and he was only one person – he could only focus on making sure his mate didn’t slip away for want of care. He could only assume that Clarissa and Violet were with Daniel, over by the trees. At least they hadn’t been hit.