"Ye might want to press this machine faster lad. I think ye'r alpha is dying."
"He's nary my alpha." He glanced over at Mercer. The alpha's eyes were shut and his breathing was shallow. The lack of streetlamps left the back road dark, but moonlight caught the glimmer of blood on Mercer's torn jeans.
"Keep your attention on the road," Mercer growled without opening his eyes.
Wolffey jerked his concentration forward, feeling chastised and embarrassed for getting caught staring. He never should've gotten involved with the werewolves. He promised Sayen-ael and
Aire'si that he'd keep his distance, but that wasn't an easy promise. Mercer was always there, inconveniently getting in his way.
Rufus planted his feet on the dashboard, too jolly for the situation. "I supposed the creature is
nary dead yet."
Wolffey fought the childish desire to roll his eyes. "Nay."
Mercer's aura hummed in the compact space. It made the hairs on the back of neck and arms rise as if more hair underneath was trying to sprout. He held his breath, determined to keep the werewolf he hadn't felt in decades from splitting his skin. He wouldn't know what to do with it, nor did he trust Mercer and his betas not to challenge him.
“Why are you holding your breath?” Mercer hissed as he tried to adjust himself on the seat.
This time when he looked over, the alpha was studying him. Holding his breath was subconscious. He’d been concentrating hard on not letting the alpha’s chaotic aura affect him. “You stink.”
Mercer chuckled, darkly. “Sorry if I offend your delicate senses.”
Wolffey didn’t relax until the alpha’s eyes drifted shut. Deep down, Mercer had to know how much this bothered him even if he could only speculate the reasons. He was driving a vehicle for the first time in his life, a manmade contraption and he was heading back to the one place that made him the least comfortable.
Was the key worth it if he got a werewolf killed? It wasn’t any werewolf; it was Mercer, the man who saved his life from the Mission when he was twelve.
When Mercer went limp, he stepped on the gas. The tires kicked up dirt, making the lights reflect back at him against the dust. He never thought he’d find relief seeing the old farmhouse with lights shining through every window, except one. He slammed on the brakes in the lot and dirt shot up around them.
He lifted his foot off the pedal and it rolled forward. He slammed on the breaks again. “How do you make this stop?”
Mercer never answered. Fear for the alpha was immediate.
“Try that thing,” Rufus’s light inner light didn’t brighten the car.
The front door was thrown open before he could debate honking. The habitants lifted their hands to block the glare of the car lights as they fanned out and approached. The driver’s side door was jerked open and the rich smell of pack filled the space. Rider reached in past him, hitting the knobs Mercer had maneuvered and turned the truck off.
“Where did you go?” Rider, who wore the cowboy shirts, stepped back, but not enough for him to slide past. His identical brother, Axel, went straight for the passenger side of the truck.
“Wyatt, go get your medical bag, he’s hurt,” Axel shouted.
“Explain this,” Rider insisted.
Wolffey held his ground. More of the pack seeped onto the porch to watch. There had to be nearly twenty people present, though he knew from experience that a pack like this was much larger. Movement at the edge of his sight drew his attention towards the porch steps. Two women pressed their way to the head of the spectators, one he recognized. By the narrowing of her eyes, she recognized him too.
Rider snapped his fingers in front of Wolffey’s face, drawing his attention back. “Where did you take Mercer tonight?”
The hairs on the back of Wolffey’s neck rose. This was turning into a pissing contest. He wasn’t a werewolf, this wasn’t his home and these people who stood curiously on the porch, weren’t his pack, though so many of them were familiar.
“Leave him, Rider,” Mercer said from the other side of the truck.
Neither of them broke eye contact. Maybe Rider wasn’t as careless as he thought. Wolffey fingered the blade at his side.
Wyatt cut through the crowd with his medic bag. It broke the tension, only for a second. “Do you have the strength to change?” Wyatt asked.
“I can turn,” Mercer answered.
The conversation on that end of the car was made distant by the humming in his ears. The bustle of movement didn’t ease his tension. Rider stepped back, eyeing him before joining his group. They were stripping without care of the onlookers.
Wolffey slid from the car with Rufus at his side. The open was no better than being stuck inside the vehicle. Without his fey ability to snap out of existence, he was at the mercy of the werewolves. The betas surrounded their alpha.
Mercer separated himself from the group. “Don’t go anywhere. We need to talk.”
Wolffey swallowed. “That sounds like an order.”
Mercer threw him a sharp smile that made his stomach dip. “It’s a request.”
Wolffey raised his chin in thought. The betas stood behind the alpha, more pissed than curious. The longer he stayed, the better his chances were that issues would follow. Still, he needed the other half of the key. “Okay.”
“This is daft, lad!” Rufus hissed. “When they leave, ye can find the other key.
Mercer fell to all fours, and his betas followed his lead. Skin ripped from muscle. Bones cracked and reconnected. His heart stopped, waiting for an earth rattling howl, which never came. Mercer shook the wetness from his fur, than looked at him, licking his long pink tongue over his maw. Silently, he raced into the forest and his betas followed.
“It might be best if we were nay here when they return,” Rufus said.
Wolffey turned his attention to the mass of werewolves standing on the porch. To his surprise, the alpha female started pushing people back into the house, including the second alpha female.
“Any suggestions?” he whispered, as Rufus landed on his shoulder and took a seat. He felt nothing, not even the brush of wind from the spirit’s wings.
The smell of summer engulfed the farm. The flowers were in bloom, the earth was receptive to growth. The sharp werewolf scent marked the surrounding territory. Food was cooking inside. It made his stomach twist with hunger.
The alpha female waited until the door was shut before she took the steps down and crossed over to him. There was aggression in her stride, her chin was tilted downward and her eyes were narrowed. She stopped close enough for him to catch the unwavering scent of her anger.
“You’re the one Mercer’s been running around with this close to the mating moon,” she stated.
There it was again, the mention of the mating moon. As convenient as the Skin Walker’s abilities had been, he wasn’t bound to the werewolf rituals. He didn’t owe her an explanation though she pressed for one. She was an alpha female and there was only one reason two alphas shared space. She had to be Mercer’s intended mate.
The hairs on the back of his neck hackled in response to this conclusion. It was the wrong reaction and he willed his body to release the tension. Clearly the alpha female felt territorial.
“Your alpha has something that belongs to me,” he said, calculating her reaction. With the moon this close there was potential to play on her erratic emotions. “When I get it back, I’ll be gone. You will never see me again.”
“Careful laddie, she’s got teeth,” Rufus needlessly whistled under his breath. The howler couldn’t hear him. “And sharp ones ta’boot!”
She cocked her hip and crossed her arms. “What does he have?”
“The other half of this key.” He held Lilith’s key up so she could see what it looked like. “It’s of no importance to the werewolves, but it is important to me.”
“This has to do with Hota and the Mission,” she said. Her hands dropped and her posture changed.
“I
assure you, this has nothing to do with the Mission,” he answered.
“Hota, the Mission Leader for North America, was taken by a magi. Mercer is determined to get him back,” she said. Her eyes fell to the pocket where he slid the key. Her inner debate to take it from him was clear.
“She’s thinking hard on taking it,” Rufus said. “I canna get you out of this. I’m still weak from the last transport.”
“The key is of no use to your alpha and where it leads, the Mission would not want their werewolves to go,” he said. If she challenged him, he would fight, but a dead body was the last thing he wanted to deal with when Mercer came back. Killing an alpha’s potential mate was dangerous in itself, especially when he didn’t have a means to get off the property.
If Mercer wanted this female.
Of course he would, he chastised that tiny, hopeful voice at the back of his head. Topside wasn’t his reality and the werewolves were not his kin. He couldn’t stay. And he couldn’t be Mercer’s mate.
She stiffened, mauling his comment over. “You get the other half of the key; you will leave and never return to Texas?”
With the venom in his system, it was easy to make the promise. Sheer will kept him from curling into a ball and dying. “You and yours will not see me again.”
“I will search for the key,” she said.
“And I’ll wait as your alpha requested.”
“That is a bad idea, Wolffey,” Rufus whispered, fluttering anxiously back and forth like a hummingbird on a current.
The female looked him over, assessing her opponent. “Remember this promise, rogue.”
He waited until she was inside the house. “Go in there and look too, in case she changes her mind.”
“And leave ye alone out here?” Rufus asked.
“I can handle it.”
The air popped and Rufus was gone. He circled the truck, finding the lot too exposed and the surrounding forest too dense. He sniffed the air. Besides the overpowering smell of werewolf and forest, there was no orange blossom fragrance indicating he was being followed. Since he left the Hill, that smell tailed him. Why did Sayen-ael call off her fetch dogs?
Coldness took root at his core. There was always calmness before the storm.
He moved to the cover of the trees. The werewolves would easily find him no matter where he waited in the forest. At least within the forest, he could take higher ground and wait.
TWENTY-ONE
It was more than a chance to heal through his connection with the moon and the earth. It was the ebb and flow from human to animal. It sharpened his senses and gave him a different view. He ran to heal and to escape the strong pull his werewolf felt towards the assassin back at his farm.
The leaves and twigs rustled with their movement as the betas flanked his sides. Speed was of importance. He had to push and strain the beast inside him, to keep it distracted from the desire to hunt. There was nothing to hunt this close to the farm and he had no desire to leave Wolffey waiting. He’d be surprised if the assassin even stayed.
Mud kicked up under his stomach as he raced along the outer edge of the lake, but the fresh breeze sliding off the glassy water did nothing to clear his thoughts. He couldn’t outrun the images of the demon world or the fact that only seconds prior to entering the demon realm; he had been ready to make the assassin legitimately his soul mate under the laws of the mating moon.
He paused long enough to lap at the water, tasting things his human tongue would never be able to categorize. The pain was nearly gone, but the adrenaline lingered. Wolffey being the exception, how many of his kind ever saw another world? The young man handled everything with an expertise someone his age shouldn’t be nearly as worldly about.
In the same breath, his stomach tightened. Wolffey was a trained killer. He couldn’t forget the ease in which the assassin wielded his tools for torture.
His concentration was for naught. When this was over, things would be different. If he managed to rescue Hota, his father would keep pressing for heirs. Now that he was named next in line for the Mission, there would be responsibilities outside the farm. If he didn’t rescue Hota, there would be no continued farm life. He’d be forced to move into Hota’s territory and take over his duties. Who would train him, Tristen?
And what would happen with Wolffey? Would he go back to the fey? Would he wander the earth as a rogue?
A soft whine drew his attention. Axel didn’t approach, but he was vocal about his concern. Mercer dunked his head down, lapping more lake water into his dry throat. Everything burned inside him, and the fire at the pit of his stomach only grew worse. The power of the Ghost Moon lingered over his spirit, ebbing with magic so rare, it was a second insight, but never had it shown him the things the assassin had.
It was time to get back to the farm. He needed to be clear about his intentions with the assassin and lay claim like the alpha he was. The assassin would not be a rogue in his territory or anyone else’s and he’d be damned if he let the gestohlen go back to the fey.
oOo
Wolffey didn’t stray far from the farmhouse and the gentle sounds emanating from its many occupants. The Hill was maddeningly quiet compared to the werewolf territory. Nocturnal creatures stirred the brush underneath and the wind swept through the trees above. The moon hung lower in the sky. It would be morning soon. Another day gone and he was no closer to getting his hands on Hera’s Nectar.
He absently rubbed his injured side. The bandage was soaked through and his hands shook with exhaustion and hunger. He couldn’t ignore the growing fatigue. He needed the other half of the key before nightfall, if he was going to make this work.
“Ye’r alpha hid the key well.” Rufus popped into existence on a thin limb with new leaves. “Nary the female, nor I was able to find it.”
“He’s nary my alpha, Rufus. You have no knowledge on pack dynamics.” The alpha female called him a rogue, and that wasn’t far from the truth. Having traveled this long without a pack, the Mission would execute him as a rogue if they got the chance.
“The daylight is coming. I cann’a stay longer,” Rufus said.
“I understand. Go. Be well.”
He leaned his head back against the tree, trying to find comfort in nature. Instead, unwanted memories surfaced. He was excessively thirsty too, adding to his discomforts. He eased himself from the nook of the tree and stretched.
“Ye like him like ye like Aire’Si. Why don’t you stay here with the alpha?” Rufus questioned from the trees. “Ye would be with ye’r kin.”
Wolffey bit back the sigh. He was hoping Rufus would leave. “I am a humble servant to the queen. I don’t have the luxury to do as I please.”
Rufus snorted. “So humble are ye, as to steal away with her treasure trove. I can see the way the alpha looks at ye and ye in return when nary a person is watching.”
“You’re misguided in your understanding. It is business and nothing more,” Wolffey answered. It was a matter of time before the queen came to collect what was hers. She wasn’t an enemy he’d wish on the werewolves.
“As true as that is for the moment, I hope there will be time to discuss a few matters.”
He swung around at the sound of Mercer’s gravelly tone. The smell of the forest and wolf hit his senses hard, making the goose bumps prickle along his flesh. The wolf spirit deep inside him felt the call of the alpha, but it was so buried, not even instincts made it move closer to the surface.
Mercer’s black hair hung sweaty and limp over his bare shoulders. In a flash, Wolffey took his entire naked form in; the wide chest, narrow waist, the flat, chiseled plains of his stomach, the happy trail of dark hair against his tan skin that lead to darker curls that housed a slightly aroused member, his muscular thighs and bare feet.
Wolffey turned his back to give the alpha privacy. In turn, this made Mercer chuckle, and he was sure the alpha saw more than chivalry from his action. He couldn’t get his cheeks to stop burning.
“Does my nudit
y make you uncomfortable?” Mercer asked.
“Maybe I’ll stay a wee bit longer,” Rufus announced from the tree branch over his head.
He had a few words for the fey, but declined speaking his mind when he was the only party aware of the nuisance. He steeled his face and turned to look at the alpha. Mercer stood with his arms folded, making the muscle in his shoulders more acute.
Wolffey cleared his throat. “My decision is final. You’re not coming with me to Chancellor’s.”
Mercer was quiet long enough to make him uncomfortable. “How old are you?”
The alpha was trying to analyze him, and he didn’t like it. “Nay, alpha. Nothing I say will help you find what you are looking for.”
“Your family deserves to know you’re alive,” Mercer said.
He wasn’t one to freely answer questions, short of permanent disfiguration, but Mercer did save his life. “I wasn’t stolen. I was a tithe. This is why no one is looking for me. Give me the key so I may return to my task.”
“I’m hungry and exhausted. If you want to continue this conversation, you’ll have to follow me inside the house,” Mercer said.
At the mention of food, his stomach twisted with hunger. The air was plagued with the smell of roasting meat and oven baked bread. Mercer moved on ahead, staying in the dappled moonlight so his muscular backside stayed on display.
“If ye go with him, ye should stay,” Rufus said. “Even Sayen-ael would nary approach the territory of a future Mission Leader.”
“I don’t need your advice, Rufus, I’m not a child,” he grumbled, pausing at the forest edge. The cars stood like grave markers in perfect rows and quiet.
The alpha female’s scent lingered in the lot, staking her claim, and it would be stronger inside the home. Mercer loitered on the other side of the truck. His attention drifted to the one dark window. The curtains swayed as the person in the room jerked back. Someone inside was watching him.
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