by Penny Alley
“Run! Run!”
Neoma didn’t need to be told. She felt the panic—that spark of absolute terror—that accompanied her realization that she might very well die today. Her son might die. This was a plan she could never come back from. There was no guarantee of safety. There would be no mercy if she failed. All four paws rooted in fear, Neoma stood where she was even after the rope fence fell to the ground. It wasn’t until she was knocked down in a stampede rush for the trees that Neoma was finally able to move.
Scrambling to get up again, Neoma ran. She tried to merge with a pack of six other females, hoping to hide from Wayman among them, but they noticed and two of them turned on her with teeth bared. She quickly veered away, running harder than she ever had in her life, her lupine gaze never once leaving the security of the trees ahead. She didn’t reach them first. Two Patoka females leapt right over her, tails snapping as they vanished in among the towering pines. Neoma followed them, but only until she happened to spy two Scullamy females running through the bitterbrush. She changed direction, following them down into a gully cut by old snowfall and flood waters. Unsure if Joela was among them, she stayed well back, following as close to their footsteps as she could. The matron mamas had painted all the Scullamy females with the same hated symbols of obedience, and then covered them in the same overbearing scent. It was probably too much to hope Wayman might be confused enough by that to follow the other Scullamy females, but it was the best idea she had. And as soon as Neoma found the thin, mossy creek that cut through the bottom of the gully between the hills, she took off on her own, running through the water.
Snow melt runoff, the cold hurt her toes and splashed up to soak her belly and legs, but Neoma kept to the water, running upstream for fear that down might take her too close to the field. Wayman wasn’t likely to fall for such a childish trick, and if he did, he wouldn’t stay confused for very long.
The males were coming. She could hear their snarling confrontations and the crashing as they cut through the vine maple thickets around the gully ridge. Neoma looked up just as a blur of dark fur, painted in pink and white, leapt right on top of her. They collided, rolling down into the water, sending Neoma’s anxiety exploding beyond her ability to swallow. Her yelp was drowned in a mouthful of water. She almost dropped to her belly there in the creek before she realized the volka scrambling to get off her was female.
A crash of many-bodied pursuit shot off the top of the embankment, chasing the other volka’s hinds. Her hinds now too. Neoma ran, following the snapping tail and squiggles of pink painted down the sleek side of the black wolf ahead of her. She heard pant-laughter and looked back. Three gray shapes raced at her tail, all of them too big to be female. Two she didn’t know, but the third…that was a scent she had endured all night long and if he caught her, it would be the one she suffered to every day and night until Deacon took her life.
There was no hiding now. Wayman was right behind her, running hard to pull ahead of the other two males, but the gray in the middle was outpacing everyone, including Neoma.
A howl somewhere beyond the edge of the bluff announced a successful Claiming. Somewhere else, two rival males were battling savagely. Neoma couldn’t see it happening, but she knew a female would be crouched nearby, watching to see who was fast or strong enough to take her. It was a distraction she should have tried harder to ignore. The female ahead of her suddenly leapt, and that jerk of upward movement was the only warning Neoma had of the fallen cedar that blocked their path. She nearly ran muzzle-first into it. Her last-second jump saved her, but her hinds caught in a broken branch as she scrambled to get over the top.
A tug at the tufts of her tail let her know Wayman was close enough now to snap—and miss, but only by the span of a few hairs. He was almost on her. Her clumsiness had cost her, but trying to knock out a competitor, the gray in the middle became an instant ally. He collided with Wayman, slamming him out of the way before he could scale the fallen tree. Even as Neoma leapt from the mossy bark to the forest floor on the other side, the gray sprang up in her place.
This was it. This was her chance. She had to drop, right here and now and let him take her. Before Wayman got his feet back under him. But in that half second, she noticed one terrible thing. The gray male perched to spring, with every hard muscle under that sleek coat bunching for one last burst of action, wasn’t looking at her. He was looking past her. The black-furred female had dropped to her belly, an age-old position of submission not quite echoed by the excitement alive in her lupine stare. With three males in easy leap of her, she was eager to be Claimed, and the gray male’s focus was set.
He leapt.
Absolutely no thought went into Neoma’s desperate jump. She hit the other female, knocking her sprawling a bare heartbeat before the weight of the gray male fell. Like a cage of muscle, fur and heat, he landed on her back. His teeth snapped, catching the excess fur and skin at the nape of her neck. It was a Claim, and it lasted all of three startled seconds before the gray realized he’d landed on the wrong female.
He released Neoma’s scruff, but never got the chance to correct his mistake. The blow came from the back, hard enough to knock both Neoma and the gray rolling. A fury of teeth and aggression, Wayman attacked the gray male. His intent might have been to send the other male running, but the gray turned on him with equal viciousness.
It was an awful sound. The sheer power of the two males grappling and shaking at one another was interspersed with deep-chested snarls and the snap of teeth ripping at legs, ears, muzzles—any part of one another caught unprotected. If Wayman was expecting an easy victory, the gray didn’t give him one. Although closely matched in size, the gray was denser, stronger, and he refused to give up.
They nearly trampled Neoma twice. Both times, she edged out from underfoot, but Wayman kept trying to duck the gray and cover her. On full attack now, his opponent was taking no concessions. He bit every part of Wayman he could reach, repeatedly tearing at his hinds until, by the time the gray got hold of Wayman’s throat, the question of who was bigger or stronger didn’t mean anything compared to who was meaner. The bigger male threw his entire body into shaking Wayman’s, until Wayman ceased trying to get his teeth into his attacker and instead scrambled to break away. He yelped, high-pitched whining cries as blood poured from his neck onto his ruff. Tail tucked, Wayman dropped to his belly, but the big male fought on, rolling and shaking him down in the cold of the creek bed. It wasn’t until Wayman flopped all the way onto his back, exposing his vulnerable belly and throat that the big male let him go. The second Wayman broke free, he ran.
Standing stiff in both his blood and Wayman’s, the gray waited, glaring until he was sure his opponent would not circle back. Belly to the ground, Neoma dared not make a sound, but someone must have because the big male’s ears cocked and then he snapped that glare onto her. She submitted, baring her throat the instant he moved, but the big gray stalked past her without interest. After only a few feet, he stopped and stared at the pink- and white-painted female lying beneath the third gray male.
It was a successful Claim. He held her by the scruff, his legs staked all around her, shielding her in a stance that was at once both possessive and defensive. The bigger gray took another step toward them, but stopped when the third male growled. A warning instantly echoed by the female.
Which male Shifted first, Neoma couldn’t tell. The bigger gained his human legs first, but it didn’t matter. Once fur and muzzles receded, paws elongated into hands and feet, limbs lengthened and chests broadened, and finally both were men again, they still only stared at one another. Tense, each waiting for the other to make his move.
Neoma had no idea who the man crouched over his claimed female, still in wolfish form, was. But the bigger male she knew. It was none other than Hollow Hills’s first lieutenant, Gabe Michaelson, who had landed on top of her and pinned her down. Almost twice her size, he’d felt even bigger when he’d been on top of her. A pang of timid warmth awakene
d inside her too-tight chest, cutting through the icy fear, even though (or probably because) he still wasn’t looking at her.
“Maya,” Gabe coaxed, holding out his hand. Every part of him Neoma could see was covered in bloody bites and scratches and all the hard lines of tense muscle that wrapped his naked frame. Equally naked was the pain he wore on his face when he beckoned to the black-furred female, lying contented under the other man. “Maya, please…”
Tsking, the unknown male stroked Maya’s head, ending with a gentle scratch behind her ears. “She’s made her choice.” Reaching under her muzzle, he rubbed her chin, his gaze flicking to Neoma and then quickly back again. “So, it seems, have you. Go home, Michaelson. In about two minutes, if I don’t plant my first pup in my lovely Bride’s belly, it won’t be for the lack of trying. No voyeurs allowed, sorry.”
The look on Gabe’s face went from pain, to rage, to desperation all in the span of a few angry blinks. “Maya…sweetheart, please…just come to me…”
Closing her eyes, Maya the wolf arched into her male’s scritches, but otherwise she did not move.
Shoulders sagging, Gabe at last turned away. He stared down at the river rocks, for a moment his loss so great he seemed unable to do anything but breathe. Then his gaze found Neoma, and in a flash of bright yellow, pain and rage collided in his eyes. They were green, like a vast and stormy sea, growing ever more volatile until it seemed as if he were glaring at her in absolute hatred. He clenched his fists, his big hands trembling. When he stepped toward her, Neoma threw herself onto her back. He wasn’t interested in her submission, but at least he didn’t hit her.
“Don’t come near me again,” he warned, his breathing so ragged it seemed to be catching in his throat. He wanted to look back, to steal one last glimpse of Maya before he left. Neoma could see the intensity of his longing in all the stiffly controlled lines of his powerful body, but he didn’t do that either. Teeth gritted, jaw tight, when he started walking, he kept his gaze locked on the rocky ground.
Trembling, careful to keep a safe distance between them, Neoma followed him back to the Ridge.
CHAPTER FOUR
All the way across the gravel parking lot, Gabe managed to hold onto his anger. By the time he reached his truck, it was ready to explode.
He stalked around the tailgate, past the Fish and Game logo on the white-painted side and jumped up into the driver’s seat. He found no satisfaction in slamming the door. Nor was there any in his strangulating grip on the steering wheel. Any minute now, he was certain if he didn’t bend the column itself, at the very least he’d snap the bones in his hands.
Seth McQueen had claimed Maya, and she had accepted him. She was his now. Seth’s! Gabe would never hold her, never get the chance to show her how patient or loving—how perfect a spouse he could be. How had this happened? He’d had her. She’d been right there, right underneath him. The beautiful heat of her body had burned below his…right up until that bony, scrawny, Scullamy bitch had physically knocked Maya out of the way. Out of his reach. Forever.
That…that bitch!
Gabe lost it. He punched the driver’s side door. Once wasn’t enough. He did it again, and then again. Repeatedly. Until his knuckles ached and the skin on the crests of them split, and it hurt so bad he was sure he’d broken something now. And still, the pain in his hand wasn’t anything compared to what was cutting through his heaving chest. Contrary to what was often said, actual pain did not make losing Maya easier to bear.
Stabbing his fingers back through his short brown hair, Gabe forced himself to breathe. Eventually both pains evened out, faded, and became something—maybe—he could tolerate. And if he couldn’t, well, he had a lifetime of learning how to live with it stretching out ahead of him.
Years of watching Seth McQueen getting cozy with the woman he’d loved since he was a pup.
It wasn’t fair.
The truck rocked, and Gabe used that half second before Colton wrenched the passenger door open to compose himself. The Alpha of Hollow Hills passed over Gabe’s duffel bag of clothes, then handed up his own, having snagged both from the truck bed, and then heaved himself up into the passenger side. He smelled like Karly, sweat and sex. Gabe worked to swallow back the waves of angry resentment that rose up to crash down over him. He should be happy for his friend. At least one of them had Claimed the Bride they’d wanted.
Sitting side by side, they stared out the front windshield until Colton finally asked, “Do I want to know?”
Having to admit what he’d lost sliced through him like glass in his veins. “McQueen got her.”
God, he was going to cry.
Elbow braced on the truck door, he closed his eyes. Then quickly covered them, squeezing with his fingers until the burning had stopped and he thought he could speak without the embarrassment of a lip wobble. He was a man. Men weren’t supposed to be emotional, though he knew not for one second would Colton would find fault in his tears.
“She was right there,” Gabe admitted, swallowing over and over again until the threat of watery weakness was squeezed down tight inside him without any chance of escape. “She was right under me. I had her. I physically had her…until this Scullamy bitch knocked her out of the way. God.” He scrubbed both hands through his hair again. “I caught the wrong one. How could I have been so stupid?”
Colton nodded, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I really am. You caught a Bride though, and that’s more than the rest of the McQueens can say, including Sebastian.”
Startled, Gabe almost laughed. “Are you serious? I’m not taking that woman to Bride, Cole. She’s lucky I don’t fucking kill her where she stands. I thought she was going to follow me all the way back to the truck. I had to throw rocks at her before she’d leave me alone. She’s damn lucky I didn’t hit her!”
A tic of muscle pulsed down both sides of Colton’s jaw. He didn’t look at Gabe, but unzipped his duffel bag and began pulling out clothes. “The whole point of this Hunt was to get Brides. We were agreed on that right from the start.”
“The whole point of Scullamy joining was so Deacon could get his foothold on Hollow Hills, and now he’s done that. He couldn’t trap you with his daughter, but he still got me.”
“Just because she’s Scullamy—”
“She’s a spy,” Gabe spat. “I saw her last night, pointed-ears deep in a plot with Deacon and some other guy!”
“Then it’s good that you caught her rather than someone whose mouth we can’t control.”
Now Gabe did laugh. “As if I’d keep her!”
“Brides,” Colton told him, as serious as Gabe had ever seen him. It was there in the amber of his eyes. He gained no pleasure from having to say any of this, but then he was alpha for a reason. With the faint exception of Karly, everything he did was for the benefit of Hollow Hills. “Brides. Pups. Stability.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “We need all three, Gabe, or we won’t hold Hollow Hills. The McQueens will take it from us if we don’t play the game. Right now, we’re all right. Seth caught Maya, but that’s only one Bride in a pack of four, and Seth isn’t their alpha. I got Karly.” Colton visibly shouldered the blame. “We’ll lose support for that, but hopefully not much. Especially since you also got a Bride. She may be Scullamy, but she puts us two to their one.”
“Then you take her!” Gabe scoffed.
“I didn’t catch her,” Colton reminded harshly. “If I had, my feelings for Karly be damned, I’d take her home! You’d probably have to give me this same damn speech first,” he admitted, sympathy softening his tone. “But you’d be right to do it. We have a responsibility to become stronger. We have to.”
“Anyone but a Scullamy,” Gabe moaned, but Colton was right. Were their situations reversed, Gabe would have told him to suck it up and do what was best for the pack. Gabe wasn’t alpha here, but how could he be expected to do any less?
Colton looked at him, the unspoken plea to please not force him to make this an order leaping again and again in the
repeated clenching of his jaw.
Gabe looked away first. Anyone but a Scullamy. It reverberated inside him like a silent howl, but there was really no help for it. Just like she’d no doubt planned it, he was well and truly trapped.
“Damn it,” he swore, under his breath. Grabbing his bag off the seat between them, Gabe started to get dressed now too.
It was a skill of necessity—dressing and undressing in the confines of a closed vehicle—but one which most volka perfected before they were out of high school. Gabe and Colton were down to socks and shoes when the screaming—a horrible sound; high-pitched and terrified—froze them both.
“What was that?” Gabe turned as far as the steering wheel would let him, looking back across the parking lot toward the line of temporary tents set up all around the Ridge. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know,” Colton said, hurriedly shoving his feet into his shoes and yanking the laces tight. “I think it’s coming from the Scullamy camp.”
Of course it was.
The screams quickly escalated. One voice, one word; ‘no’ wailed over and over again.
Shoving the truck door open with his shoulder, Colton headed across the parking lot, his face a mask of grim determination.
Wrestling into his shoes, Gabe swore again. He grabbed his belt and keys, and ran to catch up. The screams were joined now by shouts, a male voice issuing orders, and the even higher-pitched wails of a crying child. That someone was being punished was clear, and it quickened both their steps. Sometime later on, in the quiet of evening when he had a chance to really examine it, Gabe wondered if he would suffer some measure of shame that his instinctive hope was that that ‘someone’ might be his new ‘wife.’
If only he could be so lucky.
* * * * *
Neoma clawed to get over the wall of soldier blocking her access to the buses. She grabbed wildly, catching Scotty by his shirt and one arm before Elda dragged him out of reach.