Gabe's Bride

by Penny Alley

  Her eyes began to burn again, the pain easing at long last when—almost of their own accord—suddenly she blinked. That one monumental movement went completely unnoticed by everyone but Neoma.

  Her desperation changed then, and so did her anger. They came together, becoming calmer. Quieter.

  Colder.

  Systematically, she took stock of what she could do. Her arms felt heavy, as unresponsive as if they were attached to someone else, refusing to drag themselves over the short carpet fibers not even the short distance it would have taken to envelope Scotty and ease his fear. Her breathing eased though, becoming steadier, and she no longer had to think in order to drag in one chest full of stinking air after the next.

  A faint glow of light began to grow on the back of Marcus’s head, moving down his neck and shoulders as the hum of a distant car engine grew loud enough to tickle her hearing. Her finger twitched, but what use was that when the car drawing closer slowed down? The shifting light changed its focus, splashing up against the trees as the vehicle pulled over onto the opposite side of the road. Her finger twitched again. She blinked twice, sucking at air, but she had run out of time.

  The trunk bounced gently when Marcus stood up to face the new arrival. Unseen, two more car doors slammed and measured footsteps crossed the blacktop. Two fingers twitched now. Inwardly, Neoma was screaming, but no sound at all escaped, not even when Deacon’s shadow passed over her seconds before he appeared within her range of view and looked inside the trunk.

  He greeted her with all the warmth of a marble statue. The ice blue of his eyes noting Scotty before roving every shadowed inch of her.

  “She’s alive,” Marcus said.

  “Chloroform?” Deacon asked.

  “Succinylcholine. I needed to make sure she wouldn’t become a problem before I could get to you.”

  Stepping closer, the Alpha of Scullamy reached into the trunk to take her arm. He checked her pulse, then bent closer to see her face. “Her eyes are open. She’s looking at me. Is she aware?”

  “She can hear, see, and understand everything you’re saying,” Marcus confirmed, glancing past Deacon to where Alaric and Detric kept watch, a short respectful distance back. He sized them both, then discarded them to look at Deacon again. “You can take her…when and if we come to terms.”

  Deacon grunted, letting go of her wrist. “And the boy? You brought him too. What’s the price attached to that?”

  “Consider it a two for one,” Marcus said. “I know how much you dislike loose ends.”

  For the first time, Deacon looked at him. His tone cooled. “You’re right. I don’t.”

  If he gave any signal at all, Neoma never saw it. The nearest sentry directly behind Marcus raised his arm. The gun in his hand never registered until she heard the crack and saw the forward jerk of Marcus’s head. Hot splatters hit her hand and cheek, and Marcus fell, cracking his head on the bumper where he’d been sitting not a few minutes before.

  Yelping, Scotty scrambled to get behind her. The heat of his shaking body crawling down into her sundress to settle in the small of her back.

  Deacon barely flinched. In the light of both cars, she saw the flecks of blood and brain matter on his face and mouth. Pulling a handkerchief from inside his jacket, he wiped at the worst of it, looked at the pale cloth in his palm and then at the sentry.

  He moved fast too. His open-handed slap transferred the mess solidly back onto the shooter. The force of the blow nearly knocked the soldier off his feet. He fell against the open car trunk before he caught his balance. Cupping his jaw, he straightened slowly back up again.

  “Idiot,” Deacon muttered.

  “You said to kill him.”

  “Next time wait for me to get out of the way.” Stepping over Marcus’s body, Deacon sent both sentries retreating out of the way with little more than a look. Then his gaze found her again. Bracing his hands upon the lip of the trunk, he offered a disappointed sigh. “For every action, there is consequence, child.” He cocked his head. “I truly hope you can hear me. Otherwise, this might not hurt as much as I intend it to.”

  The muscles of her right arm convulsed, but refused to grab onto his when he reached behind her, dragging Scotty out of the back of her dress by the scruff of his fur. She gurgled, a rasp of air that poorly represented the scream still locked within her chest as he lifted Scotty, dangling him—tail tucked, but puppy teeth bared—in front of her.

  “This,” Deacon said softly, almost fondly, “is your first consequence.” He dumped Scotty into the second sentry’s arms. “Take both where neither body will be found. Do you think you can manage that?”

  Both sentries looked from Scotty to Marcus. “Yes,” the one with the sore jaw muttered.

  Deacon dismissed them. Neoma screamed again when he reached in after her, rasping no more sound than she had before as he seized her wrists and dragged her up over his shoulder. If she could have moved, she’d have gone for his throat. She’d have clawed to grab Scotty back again. She’d have run, into the woods and back up the mountain road, as far from her father as she could get before his lieutenants caught her and killed them both. She’d have done something. But she couldn’t. Unable to move, unable to squeak, she flopped limp across his back, her thighs burning where his hand slipped under her skirt to grip her knee, her arms dangling limp just inches from clawing through the tendons in the backs of his. Her fingers twitched. In this new upside down position with the angle of his shoulder digging into her gut, it was everything she could do not to throw up.

  “I have indulged you, Neoma,” Deacon said, carrying her across the road to his waiting car. Alaric walked ahead to get the back door for him, and Deacon bent, dumping her length-wise across the seat. “I’ve spoiled you. It was the only promise I made your mother before she died, but I see now how remiss I have been. Oh yes, there will be consequences. Some must, of course, be severe.” Arranging her more comfortably on the seat, he paused to smooth her skirt around her legs and stroke her hair. “But I know you, girl. I know the kind of woman you are. You will hate me, I know. For a while. I should have disposed of the boy when I took care of his father. I was weak. I allowed my parental indulgences to sway my better judgment, but no longer. There will be other pups for you, child. Other mates.” He caressed from her bangs down onto her cheek. “In time, you will be my ever obedient Neoma once more, daughter of the only woman I have ever loved.”

  If she could have, she’d have sunk her teeth into his hand until his blood filled her mouth and they had to break her jaw to pry her off him.

  “You are so much like your mother.” His thumb trailed across the bow of her unresponsive lips. “She betrayed me too. My indulges. They have ever been my only weakness.”

  Her skin crawled, every prickling nerve itching to pull away as he shifted her legs to ease onto the backseat beside her. With Detric and Alaric climbing into the front, he pulled her legs across his lap so he could continue to stroke them, and just beyond him through the tinted side window, she saw the sentry lift Scotty by his scruff so he could manipulate her son’s tiny paw into a farewell wave. The purr of the car’s engine muffled what the soldier said, but both men laughed…right up until Scotty attacked his hand. Needle-sharp milk teeth savaged his finger, and he howled, dropping Scotty to the road.

  The last thing Neoma saw was her son racing for the brush with both soldiers fumbling to catch him before the shadows of the night swallowed them all.

  “Remind me to have them replaced,” Deacon said, as Alaric turned the car around.

  Her eyes burned, yielding to the sting of tears when she heard the first high-pitched screams of a puppy in pain, then there was nothing. Nothing but the low hum of the car’s engines and the whir of tires on blacktop, taking her back to Scullamy.

  CHAPTER NINTEEN

  “It’s just a mile up the road now,” Gabe said from the passenger seat. He alternated between staring at the night-blackened road ahead and the handheld GPS display, where the d
igital dot that marked the location of the car Marcus had stolen remained as it had been, unmoving now for more than an hour. He was one solid knot inside. A quivering wire that felt so raw and grew more electrified the closer they came to Scullamy’s borders. In the last forty miles, he’d calmed down a lot, but at the same time, he knew it was a deceptive calm. He was still keyed, the wolf of him waiting just under the surface, ready for any excuse to erupt into being.

  “Still not moving?” Colton asked, from the driver’s side.

  “Not an inch. He’s just sitting there.” Right on the cusp of trespassing into Scullamy territory. Gabe studied the GPS again. “Maybe he broke down.”

  “Maybe,” Colton replied, but doubt hung heavy in his voice. Adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, he glanced into the rearview mirror, pretty much as he’d done every few seconds since they’d left home. And, pretty much as he’d done every few seconds, he grit his teeth when he saw the McQueens were still behind them.

  “If Deacon doesn’t leave us buried out here, they will,” Gabe said, a grand statement to the obvious, but it was far easier to tackle talking about Colton’s problem than it was his own.

  Colton glared at the rearview. “I know. But he’s right. We’ve got a better chance of doing this with five, than we—Shit!”

  Tires screamed as Colton slammed the brakes. Grabbing both the GPS and the dashboard, Gabe barely caught a glimpse of the furry animal—raccoon, his eyes at first tried to see, before all the soft, puppy-furred lines suddenly clarified into startling recognition—dashing out into the middle of the road before freezing, the white of his wide, frightened eyes startling in the brilliance of their headlights. He screamed, flattening to the pavement as they went right over the top of him. They swerved, half the car bouncing off the road onto the soft gravel shoulder just as two volka wolves burst out of the woods in snarling pursuit. Colton hit one, the wolf slamming first into the bumper, before rolling up over the hood to shatter the windshield in a bone-splintering impact, and came to a hard stop less than a foot from the trunk of a tree wider than Gabe’s shoulders.

  Blood smeared across the still crackling glass and seeped into the broken grooves as the volka wolf slid down onto the hood. Gabe couldn’t remember Colton moving, but sometime during that stop he must have hit every lever on the steering column. The windshield wipers were humming, butting up against the corpse as they tried to function, and the left blinker light was clicking.

  Knuckles white where he gripped the steering wheel, Colton said, “Who the hell did we just hit?”

  Gabe snapped around in his seat, unable to breathe until he saw Scotty, belly flat on pavement halfway under the McQueen’s front tire. He was screaming, pain and panic in every high-pitched yipe.

  Erupting out of his seatbelt, Gabe shoved, kicked, and punched the truck door open. He was running as soon as his boots touched pavement, from Colton’s truck, around the front of the McQueens. He hit his knees when he reached the bumper and ducked to get under it.

  “I got you, buddy. I’ve got you.” He expected so much worse. To find Scotty pinned, half-crushed, dead in every way but for that awful crying, but apart from a scuff on the tip of his nose and a pelt full of thistles and burrs, he could find no injuries. “Don’t move,” he said, but whale-eyed and still yelping, Scotty strained toward him, all four legs shoving stiff against the road until, with a tumbling lurch that spilled him onto his battered nose, suddenly he was scrambling. He launched into Gabe’s arms, leaving behind nothing worse than a tuft of fur caught between the tire and the road.

  “Shh, I’ve got you.” Grabbing him out from under the car, Gabe crushed his pup close, rocking back on his heels as the relief ripped him every bit as violently as the fear of a moment before. “I’ve got you.” He cradled him, but they were both shaking too hard to be so easily soothed. Gabe stood, his watery legs barely holding him. “I’ve got you.” But he wasn’t breathing right, and neither was Sebastian. Not until he saw Gabe stagger by the window, Scotty clutched tight against his chest. They both sucked the same hard gasp of stabilizing air before Sebastian sagged, bending his forehead to rest upon the wheel he still gripped as tight as death.

  A growl, low as distant thunder.

  Sebastian raised his head. They looked at one another, and then at the other volka wolf, standing frozen in the light of McQueen’s vehicle, ears flat against his head, teeth bared.

  “I’ve got you,” Gabe said again, unaware his growl rolled out in sync with the volka wolf. Its head lowered, aggressive intent in every bristling hair spiking up along its back and tail. Gabe barely heard Sebastian’s door open or noticed Colton getting out of his truck. He forgot Scotty, shaking and small in his arms, no longer screaming, his hand cupping his pup’s small head and keeping it burrowed against his chest as he turned and faced the wolf. “I’ve got you,” he seethed, and then roared it, “I’ve fucking got you!”

  That he attacked with his pup still cradled in his arms was a shame that would haunt him long after the echoing crack of Sebastian’s rifle silenced both their snarls. The punch of a bullet struck the volka wolf’s chest and exited straight through, leaving a spray of fine crimson across Colton’s tailgate. It staggered, bloody bubbles frothing from the holes in its chest and its mouth, advancing a single faltering step before it dropped. Rasping and choking, all four legs scraped the road as it strained to run. One final cough, spewing red spittle out onto the pavement, and the volka fell still.

  Gabe stared, uncomprehending, until he heard the cock of a rifle ejecting one spent cartridge and loading another. Standing on the running board, Sebastian pulled his rifle back in over the top of his open door and passed it across the passenger seat to Angus.

  “Told you we’d need the guns,” he said. He glanced briefly at Scotty, then dropped back in to sit behind the wheel again. His expression cold, he slammed the door hard enough to rock the entire vehicle, then braced his elbow on the door, rubbing a hand over his mouth. What Ian said from the backseat was too soft for Gabe to make out, but Sebastian nodded and rubbed his mouth again.

  “Here.”

  Gabe hadn’t heard Colton approaching until his Alpha offered up his coat. He hadn’t realized Scotty had Shifted until then, either. A pup no longer, he clung to Gabe with all four limbs, thin and naked, scuffed and dirty, no longer whimpering but still shaking and scared.

  “I peed,” Scotty quavered, as Gabe took the coat and wrapped it in tight around him.

  “It’s okay,” Gabe assured him. “We won’t think about that right now. Where’s your mom?”

  “The Alpha took her. He said I was a consequence.”

  Gabe cupped the back of Scotty’s head again, trembling for all his size and strength, just like a five-year-old. Deacon had no idea what a consequence really was, but he was about to find out. Just one more mile up the road, that was all Gabe could think about. He had Scotty safely back in his arms; just one mile more, and he’d have Neoma too. Then he’d deal with Deacon. And Marcus… He hugged Scotty fiercely. They could learn about consequences together.

  “I can’t see a thing through that windshield,” Colton said, taking stock of his truck. The windshield was destroyed, shattered, but still holding together in a pane of glass that was obscured by spider-web cracks, a wolf corpse and smears of congealing blood.

  “Fuck,” Sebastian growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shook his head once, then beckoned them to get in.

  “This is going to be fun,” Ian muttered, and began clearing off the backseat. He had to shift six rifles and an entire crate of shells into the very back before there was room enough, but with Scotty sitting on Gabe’s lap, the three men sat stiffly shoulder-to-shoulder, touching only when the jostling motions of the car made it impossible not to. But it was only one mile. They could suffer anything for one mile, even the McQueens.

  That mile took forever and yet passed so much faster than Gabe was prepared for. When they rounded that last curve, evening out onto a long flat
stretch of road flanked on all sides by BLM-protected forest, their headlights reflected off the stolen Fish and Game car. That gave him plenty of time to come to grips with the worst before they drove close enough to recognize the body lying on the ground in front of the open trunk.

  “Stay here,” Colton said, as Sebastian pulled up to park behind the car, but unwinding Scotty’s arms from around his neck, Gabe dropped him into Ian’s lap. He climbed over Colton and was out just as soon as it stopped moving.

  Six-foot-six, bearded, grizzled and reputedly a crack-shot with any weapon that could be fired, Ian looked like a grizzly trying to play Santa Claus. He awkwardly bounced Scotty on his knee, catching at his arms and folding them back around the struggling boy to prevent him from chasing after Gabe. “Shush up,” he rumbled. “Let your Da do what needs doing.”

  Da… Jesus… What was he going to do if Neoma was lying in that trunk every bit as dead as Marcus on the ground?

  As Gabe approached the car, a twinge he couldn’t bear to acknowledge tightened inside his chest. Sebastian’s headlights lit up the underside of the trunk lid; shadow sheltered its contents. He didn’t know if it was the night or his imagination, but the closer he got, the more his eyes tried to twist the shadows into a limp, female form. It turned the lumps of oil rags into clothes and the tire iron into a broken limb. And even when he stood there at the bumper, staring down into the emptiness within, he had a hard time convincing himself that she wasn’t lying there, lost under Scotty’s clothes somewhere.

  “She’s not here,” Colton called back to the car, startling Gabe. He hadn’t realized anyone had come with him. After a moment, Colton let his hand rest on Gabe’s shoulder.