by Laura Taylor
Tank turned back to the lawn, where Baron and Mark were taking their places in the centre of a circle of onlookers.
“Status. Dominance. We’re not human,” he reminded Dee wryly. “We don’t play by human rules.”
“So the instant anything goes wrong, you beat each other up? That’s barbaric. And stupid.”
“It’s not that simple. Baron would have had a chat with Mark first, to see if they could resolve things peacefully. We’re not total barbarians,” he said with a grin, and Dee was annoyed that he was taking her protest so lightly. “But if that doesn’t solve the problem, then a fight is the next step.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Mark challenged Baron’s status. So he’s making a public demonstration in return to prove he still holds it.”
Dee rolled her eyes. “That has about as much logic as a classroom brawl between a bunch of ten-year-olds. You’re telling me that if Baron doesn’t fight Mark, the entire Den would revolt against him?”
“No. They follow him because they trust him to lead us with wisdom and intelligence. Status here is as much about personality as it is about strength. If he can’t hold a following on a social level, he would never hold one by sheer force alone.”
“So if people respect him, why do they need to fight?”
Tank shook his head. “They need to fight because people respect him.”
Dee sighed in irritation. “That makes no sense.”
“Not yet,” Tank agreed. “But wait a few months.” Another one of those annoying grins. “You’ll get the hang of us. Where are you going?”
Dee was on her way to the door, determined to see if she could talk some sense into the pair. After all, she’d been the one to cause the problem in the first place. Or, at least, Faeydir had. “Outside.”
“Nope.” Tank moved faster than she would have thought possible, planting himself firmly between her and the door. “You stay in here.”
“I want to see Mark. To stop this stupidity.”
“Not your call.”
“Tank!”
“Nope.”
She reached forward and gave him a shove… and found it as effective as trying to move a brick wall with her bare hands. “Let me past.”
“Look, kid. I have one job here, and that’s to keep you where you can’t get into trouble. And I take my job very, very seriously. I can be a real nice guy about it, but push me again, and you’ll find yourself with a one-way ticket into a nice, cosy cage.”
Dee glared at him for a moment longer, then, having to admit that she was on the losing end of this particular argument, went to stand back at the window, arms folded, a scowl on her face.
The fight was well underway by now, and though Mark seemed to be holding his own, his wolf large and fast, she assumed it was a foregone conclusion that Baron would win. His wolf was a third as big again as Mark’s, and he had far more battle experience.
“This is stupid,” she said again, as Tank returned to stand beside her. He chuckled, giving her the impression that he was actually enjoying the fight.
“Welcome to your new world.”
John watched from the sidelines as Baron and Mark thrashed out their differences on the wide lawn. This kind of fight was rare – a high ranking wolf rarely had to do more than growl at one with a significantly lower rank to pull them into line. But on the other hand, this was also more for show than anything, designed to make a point but not to do any serious damage, and much of the ‘fight’ consisted of little more than posturing and growling.
It had been going on for ten minutes or more, and John knew the match was only lasting this long because Baron was toying with the younger wolf. If he’d wanted to, he could have had him pinned to the ground and gasping for air in less than thirty seconds.
Half the Den had gathered around to watch, news having spread quickly that Mark had challenged Baron while out on their run, and while he didn’t know the details, John had heard rumours that it had involved Dee.
Damn, he felt sorry for the girl. Snatched out of her life and thrust into this one, with no hope of ever going back. John’s own conversion had been just as rude and abrupt, but at a much younger age. He’d hardly known any life of his own before he’d been sucked into the grim world of shifters and the Noturatii, and after that, it had been one long battle for survival. Until Baron had found him.
He watched the fight with disinterest. Baron would win; the rest was just details. But even so, he would likely have a few scrapes and cuts as a result of the fight, and since a wolf couldn’t apply his own first aid, that would be John’s role. His duty. So even though he would rather be curled up with a book somewhere, minding his own business, he was out here on the lawn, bored and getting colder by the minute as the sun slid towards the horizon.
Mark was tiring, panting harshly, bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts, while Baron still looked fresh and keen. He put his tail up, bared his teeth and attacked again, the two furry bodies rolling over on the damp lawn, a flurry of teeth and tails and paws.
There was a sharp yelp, and Mark scrambled out of the fray, limped away to the side, holding one front paw off the ground. He circled around Baron, head down, ears back, a soft whine coming from his throat.
Baron pounced, landed right on top of his smaller opponent and pinned him to the ground, teeth around his throat. A deep, rolling growl filled the air, and the watching crowd waited…
Mark lay still, conscious, but utterly submissive to his leader. A surrender that marked the end of the fight.
John sighed and rubbed his arms. Thank fuck for that. Now maybe he could go inside and get warmed up again.
Baron climbed off Mark and shifted back into human form. Mark shifted where he lay, then staggered to his feet, exhausted. Baron didn’t offer him a hand up.
“Come see me after dinner,” he ordered shortly. “There’s something we need to discuss.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and stalked away towards the house. On his way, he caught John’s eye and tilted his head in a ‘come here’ gesture. John followed, silent and obedient.
The fight had seemed to go on for ages, and when it finally came to an end, Dee realised she was standing with her face and hands pressed against the glass, biting her lip anxiously, heart in her throat as Mark got pinned to the ground.
“He’s not going to hurt him,” Tank said gently. “This is for show only. They’re not going to do any serious damage.”
Dee tried to relax, both at the news and at the fact that it was over now. She watched as Baron strode toward the house, John tagging along behind, and then waited while Mark picked himself up. Oddly, several of the shifters outside paused to shake his hand or pat him on the shoulder as if congratulating him. He had a brief chat with Alistair, before the pair turned to head towards the house. Dee took two steps towards the door, then froze, glancing back anxiously at Tank. “Can I go into the foyer to talk to Mark?”
Tank nodded, then followed on her heels as she hurried out of the room.
The front door opened only a moment after Dee reached the foyer and Mark strode in, pulling up short when he saw her waiting for him. Alistair took one glance at her and headed for the stairs. “I’ll see you up there,” he told Mark, then took the stairs two at a time, disappearing along the landing at the top.
Dee glanced sideways at Tank, feeling self-conscious about having an audience for this conversation, but knowing there was no way around it.
“Are you okay?” she asked Mark, not sure if her concern was misplaced.
He shrugged, but didn’t seem too unhappy about it. “I’ve had worse.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologised awkwardly. “It was my fault you got into trouble.”
To her surprise, Mark laughed. “Nope, I think I managed that one all on my own.”
“Tank said that you and Baron talked things over beforehand. Why was this necessary?” she asked in dismay, flinging her arm at the door, trying to encompass everything that had happened outside
.
“Baron said he had the right to protect his Den from mistakes that could jeopardise us. I said he was right,” Mark explained, then went on before Dee could voice her confusion about the apparent agreement. “But I also said that I felt the need to protect you from punishment for a rule that no one had even told you about. And after getting my arse kicked from one side of the lawn to the other, I still feel that way.”
Dee fidgeted under his intense gaze, not used to having anyone stand on her side quite so resolutely. “Well, thank you. But I’m still sorry you got hurt.”
A smile quirked the edge of his lip. “It was worth it.” Then he carried on up the stairs, leaving Dee staring after him.
Beside her, Tank let out a soft laugh. “Sounds like you have an admirer,” he observed, making Dee blush.
“Dee?” Caroline snapped from the library doorway, sticking her head into the room. “In here. We have some things to discuss.”
Dee slunk into the room, wondering what news was to follow, and what it would mean for her future in the Den. Things had unfolded rather rapidly in the last twenty-four hours, and she hoped that, despite the howling incident, she’d behaved well enough to be let out again on occasion. The cage was getting rather lonely, after all.
Baron was already halfway up the stairs when John got inside, and he followed, but not in any particular hurry. He trudged his way up the stairs to Baron’s bedroom – still Baron’s room, though John had been sleeping in there for years – and closed the door behind him.
Baron was already in the bathroom, setting out disinfectant, swabs, tweezers. Wolf bites had a nasty tendency to get infected, and while his scrapes were minor, not even worth bothering about had they been in the field or on a mission, it was simply careless not to take care of such things when the time and resources were available.
Baron glanced over his shoulder as John arrived, then simply shifted into wolf form. No more of an explanation was necessary, this scene having played out dozens of times since they’d met and moved in together. Or rather, since John had been conscripted into Baron’s bedroom.
John stepped around the wolf and picked up the swabs. Poured disinfectant onto a wad. Picked up the tweezers, then sat down on the floor. Baron presented his flank for inspection, and John began searching through the thick fur for the inevitable cuts.
Shifters had an unusual advantage over ordinary humans – or ordinary wolves, for that matter. To a large extent, the injuries that one form sustained were undetectable on the other form. A wolf who had been shot and was bleeding profusely had only to shift into human form to be whole and uninjured again, able to go about their business until appropriate medical care could be found, at which point they could shift back into wolf form and have their injuries treated. Because of this strange quirk of nature, there were rumours throughout the various myths and cults of history that the shifters were immortal, unable to be killed through normal means. It wasn’t really true – it was just that they needed to be mortally wounded not once, but twice. Of course, if one of the forms was actually killed, then the whole shifter died. There was only so much damage the magic could disguise. No one had ever been able to explain to John how the whole thing really worked, but on the other hand, no one was complaining about the strange benefits that the magic afforded them either.
Baron flinched momentarily, and John realised he was being a little too rough as he swabbed a wound. It was seeping blood, and the disinfectant had to sting. But Baron never made a sound. He was a tough bastard, which was a lot of the reason they got along so well. Tough, but fair. Stern, but caring. Gentle and brutal. Stubborn, and yet able to compromise. Always able to see the bigger picture.
Except where John was concerned.
John finished cleaning the wounds and sat back. “Any others?”
The wolf shook his head and padded out into the bedroom, leaving John to clean up. Once the disinfectant was put away and the swabs tossed into the bin, John headed out as well, not at all looking forward to the conversation they were about to have.
Baron was standing at the window, hands in his pockets. He’d taken his coat off and his broad shoulders were now covered in a thick woollen jumper, lending him a deceptively cosy look. But there was nothing cosy about Baron.
“Well?” Baron prompted, without looking around. “You’ve heard the verdict. Dee is to be allowed free roam of the estate. That must make you happy.”
It had been a huge relief when Baron had made the announcement, but the fight had prevented him from saying anything at the time. “Thank you,” John said, meek and quiet. For all Baron’s even tone of voice, it was plain as day that he wasn’t happy.
He turned around slowly, face carefully neutral, and John couldn’t help but duck his head, eyes downcast. “Thank you?” Baron repeated. He took a step closer. “Thank you?” This time he mimicked not just the words, but the tone – weak, light, ethereal. “You fucking accuse me of torturing the girl, I risk the safety of the entire Den to let her prove she’s not a total liability, and all I get in return is a piss-weak two-word back-chat?”
Fuck. What was he supposed to do now? Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been full of fire, outraged at Dee’s continued captivity, starting to get nightmares of the time he’d been imprisoned himself, and more than ready to go toe-to-toe with Baron to give the girl another option.
But the trouble was that his anger, like his courage, could flare up in a heartbeat, only to vanish again the instant the crisis was over. “I didn’t say you were torturing her.”
“You compared her captivity to yours. And I fucking well know enough about what the Noturatii did to you to take that as an insult.”
“I’m sorry.”
Baron growled, a distinctly canine-sounding noise. “So. Are. You. Happy. Now?”
“Yes. Thank you.” John forced himself to lift his head, to meet Baron’s eyes, forced his lungs to push the words out firmly and clearly.
“Excellent,” Baron said, standing no more than a foot away now, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Because I now have a deluded newbie roaming my estate, Caroline is agreeing with me, when I was rather counting on her insisting Dee got shut back in her cage, and now that Mark has had his arse kicked, there are going to be half a dozen status fights in the next forty-eight hours as every wolf in the house tries to reaffirm his own place in the pecking order. Fuck, John, do you have any idea how much I do for you?”
John knew. God, how he knew, and he thanked whatever higher power was watching over him every single day for the second chance he’d been given.
And there was only one real way he had ever been able to express that gratitude.
He closed the distance between them, grabbing Baron’s head and slamming their mouths together in a kiss that was more brutal force than passion.
Baron’s reaction was entirely predictable. He wrapped his massive arms around John’s torso, lifted him off the floor and carried him to the bed. Dumped him on top of the duvet and followed him down, his superior weight pinning John to the bed in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Hands were everywhere, moans and growls as clothing was stripped off and sent flying, and then John was submitting to his alpha in an entirely different way…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dee stumbled up the stairs to her room and paused to glance at the big old grandfather clock that sat in the first floor hallway. Nine o’clock. It felt like later.
The meeting with Caroline in the library had gone better than Dee could ever have hoped. She was to be let out of the cage – not just on occasional excursions, but permanently! On condition that she behaved, of course, or her freedom would come to a very sudden end, but… Freedom!
And then there had been a list of rules – a really long list – about all manner of daily activities around the estate. Rules about where she could shift and when, how to treat other members of the pack, how meals were organised, the sections of the garden where her wolf was allowed to dig an
d where she wasn’t, rules about howling, and the expectation that she obey both Baron and Caroline as leaders of the Den. For safety reasons, she was to remain inside the house unless accompanied by an escort, and for everyday purposes, Mark was her nominated chaperone. That had been a surprise, and she’d longed to ask why he in particular had been chosen, or what he thought of the arrangement. But Caroline had charged on through the list of rules and regulations without taking a breath, so there had been no opportunity to ask. The idea was both exhilarating and daunting. Mark was gorgeous, fit and toned, with a brooding air that Dee found hopelessly appealing, but he was also prone to dark moods that left her a little apprehensive about how he’d react to the task.
After that, there had been a tour of the house, to the bedroom that would be hers for the foreseeable future, the industrial style kitchen, the long table in the formal dining room, the television lounge… it had gone on and on, and then back down to the basement to collect her things. Then she’d had dinner with Caroline in the library, going over more rules, more regulations, details on the Council, what to do if a stranger came onto the estate. For all that Dee’s days had already been filled with lessons, there was a vast amount that hadn’t been covered, and she suddenly understood why a mandatory two-year training period was the norm.
And then Caroline had dropped the bombshell that had really rocked Dee’s world. The decision to let her out of the cage was not just a reprieve for good behaviour. It was an official invitation to join the Den.
Dee’s jaw had dropped, and she’d sat there, speechless. “I’d be honoured,” she said, meaning it from the bottom of her heart. This place was a small miracle. Baron and Caroline, as different as they were, somehow made it work, kept their eclectic family together, maintained order, kept the world at large ignorant of their existence, and still had the energy at the end of the day to welcome in wandering strays like herself.
Finally, though, exhaustion had set in, despite the relatively early hour, and Dee had begged off another lesson in shifter culture in favour of a hot shower and a long sleep.