Ronmin only ever wins these things because he plays nasty while other packs play nice.
Ronmin has always been too smart to take on the mad or the psychopathic or the unpredictable. The Winterstokes would be better served by just killing all three of them where they stand and dealing with the consequences later.
Instead, Adam Winterstoke offers Ronmin a glass of whiskey like they’re old friends. It’s hard to watch.
Otto schools his face to blankness and puts a mildly stupid expression on it. He’s played this role a hundred times. All he has to do is stand there and be the muscle while Ronmin makes his little jokes and tries to get one up on whatever poor sap he’s trying to get one up on.
The Winterstoke packhouse is a small one. From what Otto can see, it’s just big enough for the family plus a few guests, it’s nothing like the extended warren of the Fort Gosford pack.
It’s much homier for one thing. There’s a fireplace at one end of their common area and a bar, and enough comfortable chairs with seats worn enough that it’s clear that the pack spends a lot of time here.
One of those worn chairs is occupied by the sole omega in the Winterstoke clan. He’s pretending to read, staring at the same page of a mystery novel and every now and then, he flinches just slightly whenever one of Ronmin’s barbs hits home.
Otto feels a stab of sympathy for him. It’s not the first time that he’s seen some poor pack omega wheeled out to show just how much the home-game pack aren’t concerned about the threat coming from Ronmin, even as even as both sides know it’s a ruse.
This is Jax Winterstoke according to Dan’s notes, and according to Elyse’s most recent report, he’s also the imprinted mate of the wild wolf who came down the mountain just days earlier.
The wolf has been here recently, although it’s not a strong scent. Someone has recently liberally sprayed the room with scent blocker but it’s not been enough - or been too hurriedly applied - for all the scents to be completely destroyed.
Jax Winterstoke is also starting to give off the very distinctive scent of an omega about to go into heat.
Ronmin doesn’t appear to have noticed. He’s enjoying himself far too much. He always was like a cat playing with a mouse with these packs, instead of just taking them down by the throat the way a good wolf would.
The other Winterstoke brothers haven’t noticed either. If they had, the atmosphere in here would have become a lot more charged.
Maybe it’s because Otto is the muscle. People ignore him while they watch the grand show that Ronmin is leading them through. It gives him the chance to size people up.
There’s an element of strain around the omega’s eyes and his mouth is tight, a tic showing at the corner of his jaw.
Out of the corner of his eye, Otto sees Ronmin finally pick up that something is going on with Jax as he zones in on him, asking him seemly friendly questions even as the brothers tense and inwardly fume.
Finally, Ronmin runs out of steam or at least comes up with another plan because he says, “Your fellow at the clinic said you had some spare rooms here. I hope you don’t mind if we stay here rather than at a hotel? It’s far better to build up a relationship with the local pack when you travel, wouldn’t you say?”
And just like that, the theatrics are over. Otto wants to breath a sigh of relief but he’s not out of the woods yet. He’s still got to play his part and that part is of the dumb muscle who shows no sign of emotion or intelligent life at all.
Luke Winterstoke leads them through a door at the base of the tower. It opens onto a small landing with one door leading off and a set of steep, narrow stairs leading upwards. The stairs look narrow enough that Otto would be able to bump his elbows on both sides if he wanted to.
Space is limited in the tiny landing and it stinks of alpha dominance: competing pheromones jarring against each other.
Ronmin looks from Otto to Garrett, then his lips curl as he makes a decision and his eyes settle on Otto.
“I’m just going to send my man here to go get our luggage from the hotel,” Ronmin says, “We weren’t sure if you had space. Can’t always count on these things, you know.”
In the tiny confines of the space, Luke Winterstoke gives an almost imperceptible nod as if any bigger physical action might be too much provocation.
Otto nods back and exits out of the room and rising pheromones as fast as he can while still retaining his dignity and bad-guy demeanor.
Gregor Winterstoke is still sitting in the common area when he comes out. The scent of omega-in-heat has grown stronger. It drifts in from the other side of the packhouse.
Gregor’s eyes narrow when he sees Otto.
Otto points at the front door. “Just going to collect our luggage from the hotel.”
“No problem,” Gregor says, but his eyes follow him as Otto makes his way outside.
The air is immediately fresher outside, away from the alpha-stink. Otto draws in a deep breath. The air of Aylewood has a distinctive quality: fresh and cool, without the ever-present stink of exhaust
This year, there’s the scents of the mating run too, although they’re faded and far away.
Amidst all that, Otto can still pick up the old scent of the ash-scented wolf: the new pack leader of the wild wolves, the wolf who had enough gumption to challenge his brother for the title but not enough to kill him outright for it.
Another one who was playing too nice, Otto thinks, and is going to reap the consequences.
The strongest scent, however, belongs to the defeated wild wolf who came down the mountain.
Otto can’t be sure without putting his nose to the ground – and out of the corner of his eye, he can still see Gregor Winterstoke watching him from the window so he doesn’t – but he thinks the wildling exited the packhouse somewhere near the rear while they were talking and headed out into the forest.
Otto walks steadily towards the car they arrived in, unlocking it with a beep, aware of the Aylewood wolf watching his every move.
And so you should, he thinks.
Luggage, Ronmin had said to him. Not baggage. And he’d said it to Otto and not the new guy. Otto’s instructions are very clear.
Remember, Hamish had said all the way back when Otto was feeling bad about having to sell out Cal Sherwood. You’re going to have to get your hands dirty. And they’re going to get a lot dirtier than this.
Otto starts the engine and drives the car out of the Winterstoke packhouse parking lot, and down the road just enough that the car is gone from view and the sound of the engine will have faded, then he turns off into a small rest area and parks the car midst the trees so that it’s not immediately visible from the road.
He takes a deep breath and then gets out of the car. He’s not got a big window to do this.
It was clear that Jax Winterstoke was going into heat and is going to be hitting the throes of it at any moment.
Otto swallows hard, looks around and undresses quickly behind the car, folding his clothing carefully before tucking it under the seat.
“Jax Winterstoke is not allowed to mate with the wild wolf,” Ronmin had said to him over breakfast. “Under any circumstances.”
“Yes, sir.” Otto had replied, trying to ignore the twitch that had appeared at the corner of his boss’s jaw.
“The moment you get an opportunity, that wolf has to go down. He’s strong but he’s injured. It won’t be hard if you get him by surprise. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Otto had said again. What else could he say? No?
That would have been a death sentence. Ronmin’s always been twitchy about the wild wolves. They’re too strong and too unpredictable. He’s relied on them staying away from the human packs but if that changes, his chances of taking over the Aylewood areas will fade into thin air.
Otto shifts by the side of the car, feeling his wolf form fill out and the scents of the forest fill his nostrils. He takes a long deep breath, trying to pick up the scent of the wildling. He finds it immediately: a stro
ng forest scent untainted by the scents of humankind.
His stomach twists. Somehow, he’d imagined his first kill for the Fort Gosford pack to be different: some kind of fight against an equal where the other guy had as much a chance as Otto to survive.
In his wildest dreams, he’d never imagined it would be an injured wild wolf with a broken arm, incapable of shifting or even protecting himself.
He’s testing you. Hamish had said that too.
Otto is so close now. His little savings fund has been getting bigger. He’s building up trust. He can’t waver now.
Otto puts his nose to the ground and sniffs, trotting quickly over the leaf-strewn forest floor. The Winterstoke alphas will be out looking for the wolf too, but with very different reasons.
All Otto has to do is get to him before the Winterstokes do. There’ll be little risk if Otto does it quickly. The Winterstokes will just assume that the ash-scented wolf finally finished the job he started earlier in the week.
They’ve called him Gray. The thought pops unbidden into Otto’s mind, a line from a message from Elyse.
The wild wolf has a name and he’s learning how to be human. His first lesson is going to be just how brutal pack life can be, and it’s going to be Otto who does it.
The wild wolf’s scent grows stronger. He’s moving on human feet, unable to shift and run due to the cast on his arm. He’s no match in speed or strength for the full-grown wolf on his tail.
He comes into view within minutes, climbing higher up the mountains, his pale skin shining under the sun. Gray picks his way carefully over rocks and twigs, as if he’s still unsteady on unfamiliar human legs. He cradles the broken arm to his chest protectively as he moves.
Otto stops running and watches him, sitting back on his haunches.
Realization dawns.
He can’t do this.
Maybe he thought he could, but he can’t. It’s not a fair fight. It’d be nothing other than pure slaughter.
If he does this, he’s going to go back to Fort Gosford and fall into a bottle like Hamish, and he’ll never make his way out.
Shit. Shit. Shit. He also can’t go back to Ronmin and tell him he didn’t want to do it.
He moves slower going through the forest back to the car, wanting to put the moment off as long as possible. He turns the options over and over in his head, turning them this way and that, trying to find a way to tell Ronmin that he didn’t kill the wild wolf in a way that’s not going to screw everything up.
He’s going to have to lie and tell the boss that he didn’t make it in time, but Ronmin has a built-in bullshit detector like nothing that Otto has ever seen. He’ll know. Or he’ll work it out. Otto’s time with the Fort Gosford pack is coming to an end one way or another.
It doesn’t matter. This time Otto genuinely doesn’t have a choice.
He simply doesn’t have it in him to commit murder.
DAN
blushes and paperwork
Dan can’t stop thinking about the blush. He doesn’t even remember the last time he saw an alpha blush outside of high school, and seeing it on Otto?
It was damned attractive is what it was.
It also meant that not only did Otto remember but it wasn’t just a drunk mistake. He’d wanted to do it.
Dan’s not quite sure what to make of that.
He’s sitting behind his desk in the police station, trying to work out what needs to go in the police report about Cole Bennett, the omega that Ronmin and Otto had attacked in the forest.
The station is quiet. It usually is during the week of the mating run. Everyone causing trouble is up on the mountains while the locals stay home. The Winterstokes deal with the mountain problems and all Dan has to do is file reports.
Next week will be different. Then all the local crime that has been going on indoors will start to rear its ugly head, but for now, Dan has time to catch up on his paperwork. Or screenwork as it is now.
Dan leans closer to the monitor and rereads the words he put down only minutes before.
No one reads these. Or at least they don’t now. Maybe sometime in the future, there’ll be some kind of investigation and every report Dan has filed in the last fifteen years will make a giant dossier to be used against him, but for now, how much he actually decides to put in these reports is between him and his conscience.
His conscience isn’t winning. On the other hand, guilt is having a field day.
Dan rolls back on his chair to grab the folder with the photos of Bennett’s injuries so he can scan them into the system.
He can’t help flinching at the sight of them. Again.
Did Otto do it? He can’t imagine it. A year ago, he would have been able to imagine it easily. To Dan, Otto looks like the kind of man who’d chase an omega down in the woods, or at least he used to.
The kind of man who’d blush over a drunk kiss wouldn’t do that.
Except he probably had. He’d been there. Dan would put money on it.
Dan feeds the last photo into the scanner, his mind rushing to fill in the gaps. The mental image of Otto’s teeth scraping along Bennett’s neck as the omega screams has been haunting him ever since he saw the injuries.
No, don’t do that. Think about something else.
The kiss. It had been nice. Real nice. Or at least it had before Otto threw up. That bit had been a little gross.
No, don’t think about that either.
Elyse was right. Whatever was going on had to stop. It was going to get all of them killed. He might have no idea what it was yet, but she was right about that.
The memory of Michael returns: Michael lying on the floor by Dan’s feet returns, his blood spilling over the floor towards Dan’s shoes.
The memory is still razor-sharp, even after so many years. Dan can see the small smear of toothpaste on Michael’s collar and the crinkles on his jeans. The fall made one leg ride up just enough to show a sliver of skin between sock and denim.
It’s a memory that still haunts Dan’s dreams. He knows he screams in his sleep sometimes, and that Elyse ignores him when he does.
Now, in his head, Michael’s face is replaced with Otto’s: brown eyes staring blankly up into Dan’s own.
Dan feels a shudder wrack his body.
Definitely don’t think about that.
He gets up and crosses over to the coffee pot. It’s empty so he empties out the grounds and refills it. He’s pouring water when the door to the police station clicks open. He doesn’t look around. “Afternoon. What can I do for you?”
“We need to talk,” Otto’s voice says.
Dan stills where he stands, coffee pot in hand. Otto’s face falling onto his. Otto’s lips against his own. The way his scent had changed just subtly indicating the first signs of arousal.
“Yeah, we probably do,” Dan replies, keeping his hands as steady as he can.
You can’t do this. Remember Michael, he thinks, before he turns around.
Otto is looking around at the station before he turns again and checks the view out of the door. There’s something antsy about him. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he can’t seem to keep eye contact with Dan.
“Perhaps we better go into the back,” Dan says.
Otto nods.
The big alpha follows Dan silently. The police station consists of a main section at the front that contains two desks, one for Dan and one for a deputy when he has one – they never seem to stick around longer than a few months –, then a handful of rooms at the back: a filing room that’s more of a filing cupboard, a tiny interview room and a small holding area that’s not big enough to take more than two perps at once. Finally, there’s a bathroom that consists of a single toilet and a shower that Dan rarely uses.
Dan shows Otto into the interview room, closing the door behind them.
The big man takes a seat. He lets out a deep sigh and rubs his face with his hands, rubbing up against at least two day’s worth of stubble.
“I’m
going to just spit this out,” Otto says.
We can’t do it, Dan thinks. I want to but I can’t. I don’t want you dead. Or me. Or Elyse. It’s too risky.
“I need out,” Otto spits out. “I can’t do this.”
We haven’t even started, Dan thinks, oddly hurt. He knows Otto is right. They can’t do it. It doesn’t make it feel any better.
“I can’t kill him,” Otto continues.
Wait? What?
Dan lets his brain change gears. This isn’t about kissing at all. It’s about something else. Dan should be pleased but disappointment seeps through his veins anyway. He wants to talk kissing with Otto. He wants to do kissing with Otto.
Otto lays his hands flat on the table and there’s a tremble to them.
“Kill who?”
Otto’s brown eyes meet Dan’s. “The injured wild wolf. At least, he’ll be the first one. Then it’ll be the other one: his brother. I suppose he’ll want to take out the rest of the pack after that. Or maybe just take them over. I don’t know.”
“Why?” Dan asks, bewildered. Why on earth would Ronmin want to kill wild wolves? They’ve got nothing to do with anything.
With the exception of the last week, Dan has hardly even seen a wild wolf. They keep to their own territories and stay well out of human politics. The wild wolves would hardly notice if Ronmin killed every single person in Aylewood.
Otto shakes his head and lets out another sigh. “He’s unnerved by them. They’re unpredictable and if they perceive a threat to their territory, they can’t be unsettled by verbal threats or politics. It’d be a straight physical fight to straight physical fight. Ronmin has many strengths. Physical fights aren’t one of them. He gets other people to do his dirty work.”
Otto splays his fingertips onto the tabletop and stares at them as if there’s something endlessly fascinating about them.
“It’s Jax Winterstoke that’s the problem,” Otto continues. “If the wolves stayed where they were, Ronmin would have left them, but if Gray is going to become part of the Winterstoke pack the Winterstokes will have far too much strength at his back,” Otto sighs again. He looks up. “I was supposed to kill him before any claim could be made and pin it on his brother. But it’s too late now. Jax and Gray are holed up in the heat suite at the hotel. There’s no way to move without it being obvious and Ronmin’s not ready for that.”
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