Huntress Bound

by Aimee Easterling

  And...I’d forgotten all about it. Had meant to eat the cupcake last night, then been too exhausted to put food into my mouth after tracking down my brother’s data. I’d considered sharing the treat with Sebastien this morning, then had instead consumed an omelet we’d cooked together in perfect harmony within my mate’s well-appointed kitchen. In the end, I’d gone to work without Dad’s cupcake then had returned to my mate’s kitchen without even noticing whether the pastry had been snatched by government officials, snacked upon, or smeared across the tile floor.

  “I...” I started, unable to think of any way to explain away my lapse.

  And even without a pack bond to guide him, my father guessed that I was floundering in search of an excuse. “It’s okay,” Wolfie said quickly, absolving me of all sins without further explanation. “I’ll make you another. When you have an address, I’ll mail you one. In the meantime—be careful, take care of yourself, and be safe.”

  Then he, rather than I, was the one to disconnect our call.

  IN THE SILENCE THAT followed, Malachi’s concerned gaze seemed to burn its way into my skin. With the hearing of a wolf, my cousin had definitely caught both sides of the preceding conversation. So he had to know how chagrined I felt at letting my father down.

  Perhaps that was why Malachi swung off the highway at the first opportunity, pulling up at the window of a Dairy Barn. As teenagers, we’d spent far too many hours evading our pack and hanging out at establishments just like this one. So I didn’t buy my cousin’s tough tone when he informed me curtly that we were stopping for lunch whether I wanted to or not.

  Instead, my heart melted as my cousin ordered six hamburgers, a side of chicken nuggets, plus fries for both of us. Malachi was helping a pack mate gorge away her sorrows and he intended to do the job thoroughly. The gesture was unbelievably sweet.

  Sweet...and one of the first steps toward rebuilding a bond that had been lost nearly a decade earlier. So I wasn’t entirely surprised when the faintest tendril of incipient connection began as a tickle against my skin then advanced to a tug within my chest. And when Malachi’s eyes widened in surprise, I realized he was enjoying the same sensations I was.

  “Ember,” my cousin began, swiveling around in his seat to face me without answering the checkout girl’s demand to know whether we wanted drinks with that. “You....”

  For the first time all day, my companion’s eyes were no longer cold and hard, but open and inviting. He looked like the Malachi who had tagged along at my heels as a wolf for a dozen long years before gaining his own human skin. Like a wolf who saw no reason to hide his admiration from the object of his affections.

  And also like a man who was now confident that if he played his cards properly, he’d win the hand of the leading lady.

  Shoot. I hadn’t intended Malachi to think I was considering his mating offer. Hadn’t intended anything at all really by the connection I’d just forged between us. I was merely a packless wolf reaching out wildly in search of the first friendly face to bond to...just as my cousin had originally suspected.

  Like a coward, I decided it was time to change the subject. “And we want ice cream too,” I called, loudly enough so the human inside the nearby building could hear. “I’ll take chocolate with hot fudge on top.” At least that decision was easily made—I always wanted chocolate in as many forms as possible. “How about you, Malachi?” I added, meeting my cousin’s gaze again at long last.

  Unfortunately, my companion didn’t immediately voice his order. Instead his brow lowered in confusion as he attempted to decipher the confusing array of sensations that must have been flying in his direction down our tentative pack bond. I probably appeared to be running alternatively hot and cold, my behavior leaving him in the dark about my true intentions. As such, Malachi would have no way of knowing whether or not I wanted to be his mate.

  I couldn’t quite force further explanation out of my mouth, but it would have been unkind to leave him hanging. So I did my best to send an explanation down the thin tether that connected us instead. Cousin, I thought. Brother, I added. Pack.

  My clarification apparently came through loud and clear because Malachi’s jaw tensed. But before he could broach the issue further, our server grew impatient with the delay.

  “We have chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, peanut butter, and coffee ice creams,” she said, voice tinny through the speaker as she rattled off the entire dessert menu. “Toppings include peanuts, pecans, rainbow sprinkles, chocolate sprinkles, chocolate sauce, hot fudge sauce, and M&Ms. We can do sundaes and banana splits, but the milkshake machine is broken....”

  Realizing that our server was ready to continue on ad nauseam, I leapt into the breach. “Malachi will take the coffee,” I said firmly.

  And, okay, so answering before my cousin even had time to open up his mouth was unbelievably rude. But I couldn’t help hoping that once we were back on the road with food to keep our mouths full, Malachi and I wouldn’t be forced to talk about the tether I’d just created...or the implications thereof.

  Plus, I knew all of my pack mates’ favorite flavors by heart. Malachi had been a coffee kid as long as I’d known him, his affinity for the bitter concoction unsurprising given his early experiences of being sold by his parents into a human-run puppy mill. There was no way he’d changed so much in a decade as to leave that part of his character behind. Really, I was just saving us all some much-needed time.

  “That’ll be $24.56,” our server informed us, apparently as glad as I was that her recitation had been interrupted. “Drive around to the second window....”

  “Wait,” Malachi interrupted. “Vanilla,” he told her. “I want vanilla.”

  And as the disgruntled human read off our order one more time, Malachi ignored the patter and instead turned around to face me. One large hand came down to rest upon my knee, and the intensity of being touched by a pack mate after a day without deep lupine connection made me wonder for a moment whether my companion might be right after all. Perhaps there really was more between us than mere friendship.

  “I’ve changed since you knew me last,” Malachi murmured as the SUV crept forward just enough to let the customer behind us access the lunch menu. “I’m not the kid you once knew.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him that I totally agreed, that I’d changed too. I mean, ten years ago, I would have added the M&Ms and the chocolate sprinkles onto my ice cream as well, or perhaps gone for the gold with a banana split. See, we all eventually grow up....

  “Vanilla goes well with chocolate,” my cousin added, cutting through the excuses flitting between us down the pack bond. And this time, the intensity of Malachi’s voice drew my gaze unwillingly up to meet his own.

  There were stars in his eyes. Metaphorically only, of course, but I could see them there as plainly as if the two of us lived in a cartoon world where bluebirds flew around heads and music rose to a triumphant crescendo as lovers kissed.

  But there were no stars for me, either literal or metaphorical. Which meant I was really going to have to tell Malachi no. To feel my cousin’s pain filtering down our newfound pack bond as I dashed his hopes into the dust at last.

  After being rejected, would Malachi respond by breaking the tenuous tether I’d just built between us? I shivered, unable to stomach the thought.

  But I was saved by the impatience of the customers behind us. The driver of a shiny red sports car tapped on his horn, allowing us a bare second to respond before he lit into the device with all the vigor of a toothless wolf snarling at his own shadow.

  “We can talk later,” Malachi said in defeat after an endless second of cacophony. Then, removing his hand from my knee, he skillfully guided the SUV forward, paid for our meal, and collected bag after bag of greasy victuals.

  And while I should have been relieved to be let off the hook, I instead wasted my reprieve pondering my cousin’s abrupt change of tune. On the one hand, Malachi was right when he informed me that chocolate and vanilla wen
t well together. The latter was the most basic flavoring, fitting into any situation with ease.

  Vanilla was equally at home beside a slice of frilly wedding cake as when smothered by nuts and drenched in rich chocolate mousse. Few people asked for the flavor on its own, but nobody turned down vanilla when the taste came mixed into oatmeal cookies, drizzled into hot chocolate, or added to any number of other desserts.

  By his selection, Malachi had designated himself the ultimate chameleon. And what did that mean about his assertion that I was his own true mate?

  Chapter 14

  Chocolate ice cream combined with the growing tendril of a pack bond to ease the pain in my gut. So before we’d barreled another fifty miles down the interstate, I was ready to give Sebastien’s mini-SD card a try.

  The tiny rectangle of plastic fit into my phone perfectly and the device powered up with no problem, proving that a couple of hours spent baking on the SUV’s dashboard had been sufficient to dry out any residual tea. And while I’d expected a slew of impenetrable data to scroll across the screen when I clicked on the newest icon, a simple page of text appeared instead.

  “Huh,” I grunted, scanning over the few short paragraphs. Then, in response to Malachi’s hummed query, I clued my cousin in about where the card had come from before adding: “All that’s on it is an email sent to Sebastien the day before Derek disappeared. It’s from someone asking for information about one of the case studies the professor carried out at the college.”

  The test subject in question had been referred to only by number, but my gut—and the date—suggested that my brother was at the heart of the request. Meanwhile, as I read over the email a second time, my eye finally snagged on the header, which I suspect was where Sebastien’s attention had been drawn as well. “Emmanuel Shepard ” the line read.

  So Mr. Shepard—the leader of both of this morning’s stings—wasn’t an FBI agent after all. But what sort of organization was SHRITA? And how did the agency come to know enough about werewolves that they’d been clued in to Derek’s uniqueness based on Sebastien’s presumably vague reports?

  I only realized I’d spoken aloud when air in the cab of the SUV turned as electric as a thunderhead. And as the hairs stood up on my arms, I bit my lip and wished I’d kept that information to myself.

  Because I’d just provided information suggesting a government organization was hunting werewolves...information that struck to the heart of my cousin’s role as enforcer. As such, the trail we were following had just transitioned from a personal issue into a matter of species survival.

  Sure enough, my cousin didn’t debrief me further. Instead, he reached forward to tap at the touchscreen on the dashboard, calling up a preprogrammed number and placing a call. “What are you doing?” I demanded...only to fall silent as my cousin’s eyebrows lifted in warning.

  Instinctively, my hand reached for the door latch. Never mind that we were traveling at seventy miles per hour...if Malachi was about to throw Sebastien quite literally to the wolves, then I didn’t want to have any part in the matter.

  As if sensing my jitters, my cousin’s hand reached over to settle atop my knee. Meanwhile, the thread of a bond growing between us twined through my body, pulling my own fingers toward Malachi’s larger paw. Trust me, Malachi said with his eyes at the same moment the shifter on the other end of the line picked up.

  With no real alternative I subsided into my seat as my cousin opened with a curt, “I need your help.” Despite the simplicity of the word choice, Malachi’s voice was dark and deep while the tense line of his shoulder and jaw gave me the distinct impression he was calling in a favor that he would have preferred to keep banked for another day.

  Sure enough, the response, when it came, was couched in the deep rumble of another alpha werewolf, one whose mere words were enough to raise hairs along the length of my spine. “Is this an official request?” the other male countered, lupine snark and challenge barely hidden beneath human words.

  “Naw,” Malachi answered easily. “Just saw your exit coming up and thought I’d call. How about we meet at the old shopping center off exit 283? It should be deserted at this time of day.”

  A quiet chuckle that was little more than a huff of breath filled our ears. Then the other male agreed far too readily for my peace of mind. “Alright, we’ll play it your way. Shopping center, half an hour. But I’m bringing backup. If the problem goes south, I plan to take out the weakest link. She might be yours...but that means nothing if she’s breaking shifter law. You have been warned.”

  Then the line went dead as Malachi’s hand clenched into a fist atop my knee. Like it or not, my little problem was soon to become an issue with repercussions reaching far beyond my no-longer pack. I just hoped that, when push came to shove, my cousin remained loyal to my side of the fence.

  THE SNARKY VOICE’S owner roared up at the head of a cavalcade of motorcycles minutes after we’d pulled into the bar’s deserted parking lot. And despite Malachi’s warning glance, I hopped out of the SUV and walked by my cousin’s side as he strode over to join them. After all, enforcer or no, Malachi was only one man. A wolf should always have friends at his back.

  We met the oncoming shifters in the middle, bikes rolling to a halt inches away from my companion’s unflinching toes. And as the lead wolf removed his helmet with a flourish, I eyed the newcomer critically. He was around Malachi’s age, nearly as broad across the shoulders as my cousin. Meanwhile, the stranger’s inner wolf was so rampant it nearly leapt out of his pale skin.

  Not good, I thought. But my cousin wasn’t daunted by the other male’s overt aggression. Instead, Malachi jerked his chin upward, acknowledging the leader with a single word: “Troy.” Then, as male eyes locked, hands flew together in a gesture that was more measure of strength than it was cordial greeting.

  While the two alphas were busy testing each other’s mettle, a female slid off the motorcycle just left of Troy’s, clingy black leather coating her body from head to toe. If appearances were any indication, she was everything I was not—tough, independent, and at the same time closely bonded with her chosen pack. She raised one eyebrow as she assessed me in turn, then yawned and averted her eyes as if I wasn’t even worth taking the trouble to intimidate.

  The other wolves were similarly silent. Each dismounted without a single word, parking their bikes up against the curb then arraying their bodies in a ring with Troy and the female at its center. The tightness of their pack bonds seemed to thrum through the hot summer air, one chin-scratching male setting off a relay of raised fingers as the mirrored motion made its way around the entire assemblage. Another shifted his weight to the left and that new motion spun through their midst like a wave of wind through a wheat field.

  Meanwhile, within our shared skin, my wolf whined, drawn to the nearby shifters’ connection despite herself. She leaned closer to Malachi, sipping strength from his body heat, and I realized that our own lack of pack bonds was hitting my inner beast far harder than it was affecting me. Perhaps I should call Dad and apologize about the cupcake incident sooner rather than later. He was bound to forgive and forget if I made the merest effort....

  But pastries and padres were pushed to the back burner as the handshake between Troy and Malachi came to an abrupt end. Something wordless must have passed between the two males in the interim, because Troy didn’t ask questions or needle us verbally. Instead, when fingers had been clenched sufficiently to bruise bones, both males took one long step backwards at the same instant. Then, as a unit, Troy’s pack swung away from the parking lot, Malachi pulled along by the general tide as the entirety of the assemblage swept away from me up the nearby hill.

  In the end, I was the only one left flat-footed as the other shifters climbed quickly and silently toward a line of scrubby trees ringing the backside of the otherwise deserted lot. And, scurrying along in their wake, I couldn’t help feeling like a lonely child...or like a packless werewolf who’d missed obvious nonve
rbal cues.

  Malachi and Troy have a history, I realized as I jogged along behind them. Of course, I’d known my cousin must have attached himself to other wolves after leaving my home pack a decade earlier. I’d known it...but I wasn’t quite prepared for the surge of jealousy that filled me as I realized my cousin’s bond to this unknown alpha was more powerful than the one Malachi and I now shared between ourselves.

  Whether from discomfort or exertion, I was panting by the time I caught up to the lead males. For his part, Troy’s mouth curved upward into a smirk as he glanced back over one shoulder to take me in. “So,” he offered, eyes boring into my skin, “this is the source of all of our troubles, eh?”

  The coldness of Troy’s gaze—combined with my earlier distress—raised an unconscious growl from my lips. And that reaction seemed to please the alpha, because he threw back his head and laughed out loud.

  “I’m...” I began, intending to say something clever and cutting to wipe the smirk off the alpha’s face. But Malachi’s hand reached over to grab mine, his squeeze more warning than show of familial affection.

  “Ember is mine,” my cousin growled before I could finish my sentence. And that cold, hard hole in my gut filled just a smidgen from the intensity of his claiming. Apparently the thinness of the tether running between us didn’t prevent Malachi from naming me as a member of his pack.

  “Well, if she’s yours,” Troy answered, his words seeming to bring our barely present bond into further question, “then, by all means let’s get down to business. What do you—or rather, what does she—want?”