Inside Straight

by Mark Henwick

  Again, why the hell hadn’t I been told?

  We parked at the end of the a row, and I stepped out.

  I could hear live music. The sound of a foot-stomping tune from inside carried clearly in the night.

  I dragged in lungfuls of air that was full of a scent which flowed like crude oil leaking out of the factory. That scent carried a torrent of emotions—excitement, arousal, rippling with dark streaks of fear and anger.

  And a flood of Were dominance. I reckoned at least a couple of dozen alphas were bottled up in that big building—out of their territories, out of their familiar zones, and damn near out of their minds.

  Blood too. That tide of scents swirling around me carried blood with it, and death.

  Someone had died inside that factory this evening.

  Scott smelled it too. He was standing stock still, with his eyes closed. From a distance, I’d have thought he was relaxed, but he’d developed an impressive sub-audible werewolf warning growl. He knew in his mind the truth about the danger he was in, but his body hadn’t learned it yet.

  I took his hand and squeezed until he looked at me.

  “I can’t leave you outside.”

  “I understand.”

  “Stay close. Keep thinking about what you’re doing. Don’t just react.”

  With David on the other side of Scott, we walked down to the end, where there was a small door and a couple of guards illuminated by a bright yard light.

  Kane joined us there. Zane hadn’t waited—he was already inside.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  Of course he wasn’t, but Scott nodded, and in we went.

  We stood, dazed, as our eyes adjusted.

  What light there was came from the middle of the depot, where they’d made a tall bonfire out of wooden pallets. This was the old loading bay area of the factory—big enough for a dozen eighteen-wheelers to back in side by side, and the walls were corrugated iron so I guessed the fire risk wasn’t high.

  Not good enough for werewolves, so they’d lined up a bunch of workbenches near the bonfire and men and women were dancing on top, some juggling flaming sticks, tossing them from one to the other. One shirtless woman did her own thing, and damn, she was good at it: throwing the burning sticks high, catching them and drawing with fire across her bare belly and breasts, all while her hips circled smoothly to the beat of the music. If the benches didn’t catch on fire, some of the werewolves watching would.

  The music came from a group down the end who’d brought guitars and drums. They stood in a cleared space and made good enough music that most of the crowd were dancing.

  Some had started to shed their clothes.

  Well, it was hot, between the metabolism of pumped-up werewolves and the bonfire.

  The ratio of male to female werewolves was about three to one. In packs, that was normal—a lot of female werewolves had a couple of lovers. Here at a meet, it was asking for fights, especially as most of the alphas weren’t in this section. No one was fighting yet, so I decided whoever organized it so the werewolves blew off steam by dancing might be a genius.

  Maybe.

  As long as we kept away from the main crowd in the middle, I was thinking it wasn’t going to be as bad as it might have been for Scott, until I realized not all of them were focused on the dancing.

  Three young werewolves on the edge of the crowd had turned and were watching us.

  In the light from the flames, I could barely see the detail of their faces. Their scents were mingled with a hundred others. They could have been anyone, and the same went for us.

  They snarled at Scott and David. One of them reached out to grab my hand and tugged. Maybe it was his idea of an invitation to dance.

  Scott snarled back at them.

  Oh, my God.

  My new cub had a real snarl. More than that, his face flickered, part-changing—something that only mature werewolves were supposed to be able to do.

  My hand was let go, quickly, and the youngsters were saved any further embarrassment by a swirl of newcomers who came in and flowed between us. We got some token snarls from them, but more show than anything.

  We backed up until we were against the wall, well out of the way.

  “My, what big teeth you have, grandpa,” Kane murmured to Scott.

  Scott was trying hard not to smirk. I think he’d been as surprised as we had.

  “Great party,” David said. “Much better than the club.”

  I didn’t agree. The three youngsters had probably done us more good than harm, but I was picking up other stares from across the room. One or two noses were wrinkled at the scent of Athanate.

  It was a shock. I supposed it was too much to expect the halfy ritual to have bought all the Athanate some goodwill, but if those noses could smell Athanate, they should have been able to work out who it was.

  Maybe the Southern League had expanded so quickly, there were wolves out there who genuinely didn’t know about me.

  Or... maybe they knew something about tonight I didn’t.

  I was saved any further wondering when I recognized a group of faces who were making their way to us.

  “Billie! Great to see you,” I called out.

  Billie and the Belles were the only all-female pack in the Los Angeles area. After an initial misunderstanding one evening back in LA, when we’d unknowingly invaded their territory, we’d gotten along well.

  Maybe they could tell me what was happening here.

  But Billie wasn’t smiling.

  She threw her arms around me in a hug and spoke in my ear.

  “Let go of the cub,” she said. “We’ll look after him and your friends.”

  The Belles had surrounded David, Kane and Scott. Scott’s hand slipped out of mine.

  Billie grabbed my head before I could turn and protest. She gave me a little shake. Her face was tight with anger, but not aimed at me.

  “Focus on yourself,” she said. “Don’t worry about them.”

  “But—”

  I didn’t get time to finish. Zane was back and Billie allowed herself to be pushed aside.

  The man had never developed any regard for personal space. He was all over me—pushing me back against the wall, hands on my ass, my hips. I hadn’t minded back down in New Mexico when I’d been flirting with him, but things were different here and now. On top of that, all the bullshit surrounding this meeting was getting to me. I was angry.

  I lined him up for a knee in the balls.

  His whisper was sharp as a pin in my ear and so quiet no one else could hear.

  “Amber, not much time. Listen.”

  I held back the knee for the moment and let go with the mouth.

  “You listen! You practically arrest me—”

  “What part of not much time are you too stupid to understand?” he growled. “There are people watching and I’m not supposed to be talking to you, so in addition to you listening to me, we’re going to have to put on a show.”

  He kissed me.

  Not a polite kiss. A searing, lip-bruising kiss, a hungry kiss, the sort of kiss that sent flames down my body, made my insides loose and my legs weak. I put my hands up to push him away and felt the heat of his skin all the way through his shirt, the hard edges of his belly muscles, the tension of desire in his body.

  Felt it. Loved it.

  I didn’t push, but he broke away. Not far. Barely enough to talk.

  “Damn, woman, kissing you like kissing a branding iron.” His voice was raw, his vocal cords all torn, his speech pattern ripped right back down to that desert peon he’d been.

  He kissed my neck. My head went back, offering my throat. My hands pulled his shirt open, clawed at his taut flesh.

  Only for show.

  Who’re you kidding?

  He certainly wasn’t doing this for show. He’d gotten his body between my legs and I had some hard evidence pressed against my belly about what he wanted to do to me.

  Breathe! Breathe!

 
Heaving in lungfuls of air only made it worse. His scent was thick with crazy wolf desire, like tires screaming on hot tar, like the wind whipping my face, like that moment when you stomp on the brake and nothing happens.

  His hand bunched in my hair, tugged. The muscles of his back flexed as he ground himself against me, then suddenly he was swearing coarsely in Spanish and shuddering with reluctance as he pulled back.

  “Mierda! Mierda! Stop!” he grunted hoarsely, lips at my ear, voice like a crow. “Oh, shit, woman! Bruja! Make me fucking crazy. Got to listen. All this gathering packs into the League. Brought too much pinche política with it. Couldn’t speak at the club. Not supposed to talk to you. Not supposed to show favor. Don’t know who to trust in the new packs.”

  “What?” I couldn’t stop my hands from sliding over his sweaty back, underneath his shirt. I was dizzy. Eyes closed. If he let go, I’d collapse on the dirt floor.

  What the hell was going on? It was like my body wouldn’t obey me when I told it to stop.

  “Yeah. Too much talk, not enough fangs and blood,” he said. “Then all of a sudden, challenges.”

  Breath caught in my throat.

  “Who?”

  “The El Paso alphas are challenging Alex.”

  “What? What the hell is happening, Zane?”

  We were too close to look into his eyes. I got my hands back between us to push, but they’d developed a mind of their own, too interested in the sensation of his flesh.

  What’s wrong with me? Something in the beer at the club?

  I felt like I’d been roofied.

  Zane was still talking, short sentences like he hadn’t got enough air either. “Cameron and Felix been trying to handle it. Saying you’re a special case. You’re the one who runs the rituals. But El Paso say you can’t be an alpha. You’re just part of the Deauville pack. They should take over the pack.”

  “Hold on. Slow down.” My mind was spinning. “El Paso alphas? A pair? And they’re saying I’m not an alpha, so they’re going to challenge Alex alone, without me? I stand aside?”

  “That’s what Cameron wants.” He hurried on. “The pack can’t refuse a challenge. Alex can’t take them both. They’re old alphas.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I’ve seen them fight. Your man may be good, but he can’t take both. Cameron’s trying to give Alex a chance. Make it one on one. That means you gotta keep out of it.”

  “No! I’m co-alpha. I can’t ignore the challenge either.”

  “This is a wolf fight, Amber. Leadership fight for the pack. Four-footed. You haven’t done any of that. Listen to me: you’re dead if you go to your wolf and mix it with them. Cameron’s trying to keep you alive.”

  Alive.

  And maybe Alex dead. And I’d be in the El Paso pack.

  Or I could fight and we might both be dead. Then every halfy who couldn’t change would be condemned to death as well.

  What’s worse?

  The questions didn’t seem to make sense. I couldn’t think about them.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t being helped by the Call that was forming among the packs here tonight. Every pack used their Call to catch the members up into some important pack activity. Usually hunting. But tonight, the merged Call of every wolf here was an insidious mix of excitement and lust—and not just lust for blood.

  It seemed to pour down on us from every side, thick as molasses, sweet as sin.

  My mind and body were racing off in different directions. Danger, Alex, fight, death pulsed through me, but against that was an overwhelming tide of lust.

  I wasn’t the only one. The meet was getting out of hand. A few guys were shouting at each other and looked ready to fight. Some couples were finding dark corners.

  I didn’t know what Felix and Cameron had planned for this meet, but they were on the brink of losing it.

  All I could think of...

  The overhead lights came crashing on, flooding the whole space in a burning, arc-bright light.

  Chapter 23

  “Mierda!”

  Zane recovered first. He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the end of the building, to the cleared area where the band had been playing.

  “But Scott and—”

  “The bitches will keep them safe,” he said. “Trust them.”

  “Scott’s a hybrid. He’s not ready. He could do anything.”

  “Not if they stop him, and they can. Forget about them for the moment.”

  We were at the edge of the area. The band had been playing acoustic instruments, so had simply walked away, leaving it empty except for sand on the floor, put there to soak up the blood.

  That got through to me. The daze of lust ebbed and let the anger have free rein, as Felix and Cameron appeared at a door in the front. They led a group of werewolf alphas out.

  Alex!

  My heart leaped.

  He grimaced at me, then shook his head as I made to go to him.

  Zane gripped my arm, hard enough to bruise.

  “Wait,” he hissed.

  Felix was in his usual dressed-down style—a pair of dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. His deep-set eyes were shadowed in the harsh lighting and his mouth was tight. Angry as he looked, the Denver pack alpha was radiating dominance. So was Cameron, by his side. She wore red pants and a pale blue top that could have been sashaying down the catwalk in Milan, but her expression would have frozen the fashionistas into their seats.

  When I’d last seen them, Felix and Cameron had been snarling and spitting at each other like a pair of male lions challenging to lead the pride. Despite appearances, Zane had assured me that they were a done deal from that moment, and as good as mated.

  Looked like he’d been right. I could practically see the bond between them. I could taste their dominance, which had always been high, boosted by being mated.

  Hell, does that ever change things in the werewolf world.

  But is that part of the reason for their behavior tonight?

  They all lined up and Felix nodded at a couple of the alphas, who stepped forward.

  “Most of y’all know me by now,” the man said, “I’m Caleb Oaken, co-alpha of the El Paso pack with my wife Victoria.”

  He was tall and lean, broad across the shoulders, with a powerful body. His eyes were sharkskin gray, his hair was the color of straw, and he showed the tan of a man who spent a lot of time outside.

  His wife was dark, a couple of inches taller than me, with the eyes of a hunter and the body of an athlete.

  She spoke, and although her voice was soft, it carried. “We’ve run that pack in El Paso for over a hundred years, and that’s a hundred good years, friends. We’ve grown the pack. We’ve led ’em, cared for ’em, kept ’em hidden from humans, and been considerate neighbors to the packs around our territory.”

  She paused. The silence was broken only by the crackle of bonfire flames until she spoke again.

  “Now we understand the changes that are coming our way. We know we can’t keep hidden forever, so we all need a plan for that. This Southern League’s a good first step, which is why we agreed to become part of it, pretty much as soon as we got asked.”

  Her husband took over again.

  “But we ain’t some come-lately pack gonna be along for the ride. We’re fixing to be part of the steering and less of the paddling, if you get my drift. And that there seems to be a problem.

  “Now, I have no real problem with the fine people I find in the Southern League, on their own account. But what I do have a problem with, is where they’re at. As my wife said, we’re hundred year alphas. That’s given us perspective, and that there perspective is necessary for the League. Alphas who ain’t been alphas for more’n a handful of months are sitting high, when for the good of y’all, we need experience at the top.”

  There was a stirring in the werewolves, an agreement.

  All it did for me was to ramp up the anger. They were just a pair of opportunists looking for an
easy way up the hierarchy of the League.

  “It’s because of that, we challenged the Deauville pack,” Victoria said. Her eyes swept across the gathering until they found mine, and locked. “They ain’t minded to step down, as is their right, which is why we’re come to this impasse. We’re challenging, for their pack and position, as is our right.”

  The El Paso alphas stepped back and Felix looked across at Alex, who shook his head. He wasn’t going to step down—couldn’t step down and wasn’t interested in talking about it.

  There was movement around Zane and me. Pack Deauville gathering. Nick and Olivia. Even Ursula and Ricky, though both of them were officially still lieutenants in Felix’s main Denver pack.

  Beside them, Rita, Zane’s lieutenant in Albuquerque, there to support him.

  Cameron cleared her throat, not meeting my eye.

  “Despite talks, it seems this can’t be resolved amicably, and that poses a problem for Felix and me. We’re not willing to risk the loss of the woman who you all know runs the halfy rituals as well as being co-alpha of Deauville. But we can’t forbid challenges. So, it’s our decision that this challenge can go forward on the basis of a single combat between Alexander Deauville and Caleb Oaken.”

  The anger that had been steadily building in my head finally exploded.

  “No!” I shouted.

  I tore Zane’s restraining hand off and stepped forward.

  Cameron held up a hand. “Amber, you can’t—”

  “No, Cameron, you can’t. You can’t demote me without even talking to me first. This isn’t the Confederation, where they appoint alphas they want in the sub-packs. I’m co-alpha of pack Deauville. We accept the challenge, El Paso. For pack and position. To the death.”

  Shock passed through the building.

  Some of them yelled out in support, caught up in my anger because it felt right, it felt more werewolf than El Paso’s smooth argument.

  There was shock on the faces of the alphas as well. All of them, especially El Paso.

  It only made me more angry.

  “All of you.” I pointed at the alphas and then swung around to take in everyone. “We’re not animals, and these rules aren’t written down anywhere outside of our werewolf instincts and habits, which we don’t have to follow. We don’t have to do it this way. But hey, here we are. Great. If you’re stupid enough to keep working this way, then you’re going to have to be stupid enough to take the potential consequences. Even if that means the packs shrink again.”