The Alpha's Temptation (Werewolves of Boulder Junction Book 4)

by Martha Woods

  They'd done it in the name of routine.

  He sniffed the air, the stench of their joy and the years old blood underneath their fingernails assaulting his nose, the taste of cold metal and sweat coating his tongue. Liam snarled, the anticipation of the kill making him lick his lips in hunger, his pupils shrinking as he focused on the sound of their blood flowing in their veins.

  Michael sprinted up next to him, taking one look and knowing that he was two steps away from going feral, the beast in front of him resembling his brother less and less by the second. He slammed his body sideways, the considerable bulk of his own wolf sending Liam crashing into a nearby tree. His brother looked up at him, pupils shrunken and tongue hanging out, chest heaving as the adrenaline still coursed through his body.

  Michael shifted back to his human form, keeping on guard just in case his brother decided to attack. "Liam! You need to calm down!" He advanced slowly, keeping his hands up in the air. "You're going to lose yourself, and you're either going to die, or not be able to go home to Skylar. You don't want that, do you?"

  Little by little, his breathing started to calm, his eyes starting to get a little less wild. Michael knew that he was still more than ready to attack, so he wasn't relaxing yet. "Good... good. Ok, just... think for a second alright?" He got down on his knees, maintaining eye contact the entire time. "If you want to kill these men, and I'm down with that plan by the way, you need to have a clear head. Otherwise they are going to kill you, and I am not going to drag your dead body all the way back to your house just to see Skylar scream in grief, you hear me?"

  Liam growled mournfully, his body slowly shifting back until he was sat underneath the tree, his hands around his knees as he took deep, calming breaths. He looked up at his brother, chest still heaving and his eyes heavy. "Michael I... I'm sorry." He cleared his throat, "I lost control there for a minute. I don't know what came over me."

  "You were angry Liam, and I get it. I really, really do. But we can't let it take over us anymore, we're not kids." He smiled. "We have people depending on us, people who want us to come home safe. We've gotta do this calmly, ok?"

  Liam chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe you should be Alpha with the way you're talking now."

  "No, I'm not made for that. I can just get my shit together sometimes. You're the leader." He held his hand out to his brother. "So lead."

  Liam grasped his hand, hauling himself to his feet and brushing down his front. He took a deep breath, the scent of the trees and of the dirt flooding his senses, the wind blowing softly against his skin and carrying the scents of berries and water. These were not the scents of blood and sweat, of despair and death. These were the smells of life itself, and it had been so long since he had allowed himself the pleasure of partaking in them.

  "I forgot what this was like."

  "Hm?" Michael hummed, "What did you forget?"

  "This." Liam swept a hand around him, his touch lingering on the tree to his back. "The forest, everything in it. The way that it makes us feel... I forgot it after I moved away, and even though I've been back for a while now I didn't really remember until just now." He turned back to his brother, by now wearing a grin of realization. "We kill, that's just what we do but... we do it to protect. We're not animals who kill at the first chance, we do it to protect our families, our clans... we do it to protect our land."

  "So... Are you not angry anymore?"

  "Oh no, I'm furious. All of those men, they are dying tonight, and I'm going to make it painful." He clapped Michael on the back. "I just know not to lose myself to it now, I have a wonderful woman waiting for me at home after all. And so do you."

  Michael watched his brother walk past, all at once worried at his blood lust and proud of him acknowledging his roots. He shrugged to himself, deciding that this would just have to be something that they talked about later, at a time when there weren't mobsters trying to kill them and everyone they loved. Preferably over at least a few drinks as well.

  "Alright then Liam, you lead the way. It'll be just like when we played as kids."

  "Oh, when you thought you could catch the rabbit before I did?" Liam laughed, "I think I remember beating you every time."

  "Uh huh, that was before you moved out to the big city. Think you could beat me now, city boy?" He smirked tauntingly. "I'll even give you a head start this time."

  Liam growled, "You're on." His words turned to gravel as he dropped to his hands and knees, shifting to his wolf form and taking off with a dash.

  Michael chuckled to himself, "There's my brother."

  * * *

  Back at the house Skylar was trying hard to even process a modicum of what had happened, the explosion leaving a ringing in her ears that persisted even now, the high-pitched squeal by now almost driving her insane. On top of that, there were other concerns that she had as well.

  Like how she was certain she actually was hit by something.

  She swept her hand over her body, desperately trying to find some hint of wound, or blood, or even pain. Yet she couldn't find a hint of anything, not a single scratch.

  "Hayley..." She watched her friend place her hand over the gash in her arm, her teeth clenched from pain and the cloth tied around stained with blood. Hayley turned her head, and it was immediately obvious that her own pain wasn't the only thing on her mind. Her eyes glistened with the kind of worry you only get from a deep-seated dread, the pain and the anticipation of tragedy eating away at your insides until you either became hollow or spilled open across the floor. Thoughts of Cayden, of Farah, of Liam shot through her mind, but it was undeniable who the source of her pain was.

  Skylar shifted over, the curious case of her woundless body one that could wait for another day, a better day. Placing her arm around Hayley's shoulders, she leaned into her body, letting her friend lean her head on her shoulder. She ran a hand down her back, speaking as soothingly as she could, "It's alright, they're going to be ok. Michael is going to be back in your arms before you know it."

  "I thought I would have to be comforting you..." Hayley laughed, the sound wetter than normal, "You're pregnant, and you've just been caught in a bomb blast, and you're letting me know things are going to be fine."

  "Well, when you say it like that anything will sound ridiculous."

  The two women giggled together, the aching wound in Hayley's arm momentarily forgotten as her body shook with laughter. They both knew that they were likely still in danger, but they figured they could spare a few minutes for themselves, a few minutes where they could just be friends again. A few minutes where the world was normal and the room they were in wasn't completely demolished.

  "We should probably take a look at that gash in your arm, at the very least it'll give us something to do."

  Hayley nodded, grimacing as Skylar undid the cloth around the wound, the sting fully hitting her as the pressure was lifted. She looked down, thankful at least to see that the bleeding had stopped. Skylar leaned in close, careful not to aggravate the sight as she looked for anything that shouldn't be in her body.

  She nodded, reaching over to the side table. "There's some glass stuck in there, I'm gonna pull it out. Is that ok?"

  "Are... Are you sure we shouldn't just wait for the doctor?" Hayley cocked her head. "Since when do you know anything about dressing wounds?"

  "Tell you what, I'll tell you the story while I help you out, how does that sound?" Sky smiled up at her, and she was powerless to say no. She nodded, Sky grinning in response and pinching her tweezers together. "Alright, now this is going to sting a bit."

  She grabbed hold of the corners of a shard of glass, making sure it was secure before she started to gently pull. The glass slid out slowly, Hayley's vision filling with water and her lip clutched firmly between her teeth. "Back when I was a teenager I had this friend named Sarah. Now, Sarah was a real wild child, wild enough for the both of us actually." The glass clinked against the table, a cloth being dabbed against the now open site. "You're doing wonderfu
lly Hayley."

  Hayley nodded quickly. "I know I am, just keep going, tell me about Sarah."

  "Alright. So Sarah liked to drink, and she liked to party, and she didn't have much self-control when it came to either." She tugged on another piece of glass, Hayley noticing less pain this time. "What Sarah also had was a complete inability to not fight every person she thought had something against her." She giggled at the memories, "It was hilarious to see this five-foot two woman yelling obscenities at the biggest man in the bar, and it was even funnier to see her win when they eventually fought."

  "She really had no problems?"

  Sky shook her head. "I said she won, I didn't say she didn't get hurt. She got hurt." She winced. "A lot. And given that a lot of her fights took place in bars, it meant that she got quite experienced with having glass in her head somewhere. Which meant that since I was her best friend and she didn't have insurance, I got quite experienced with digging it out of her head."

  She dabbed at the wound again, not seeing any more glass within. "And we're done! Can you pass me that pillow case?" She tore off a strip of fabric, tying it neatly Hayley's arm.

  "How good did you get at patching her up?"

  "I'm not a surgeon by any means, but I can do little things like this. I can't give you stitches or anything like that."

  Hayley chuckled, "Oh thank god, I don't know if I'd be able to sit here an-" Her ears pricked, the sound of crunching carrying through the air. "Did you hear that?"

  Skylar held her breath, not able to hear anything other than the beating of her heart and the crackling of the fire outside. She was about to speak when she heard it, the heavy sound of a boot coming down on their wooden floor, echoing from the entrance.

  Hayley turned to Skylar, her eyes like steel. "They're here."

  * * *

  Clark stood outside the doors of the garage where they had set up shop, eagerly awaiting the news that his replacement had come to relieve him, the chill of the night long having overstayed its welcome. He exhaled a lungful of smoke, his eyes tracking across the starry night sky as it dissipated in the wind.

  "This town fuckin' sucks." He went to put the cigarette between his teeth again, freezing when he heard a low growl from nearby, deep enough that he could swear he felt it in his bones. He turned, his hand coming to the pistol on his belt, before his eyes grew wide.

  Not twenty feet from where he stood was a grey wolf, eyes gleaming in the night and teeth bared in a snarl. He started to back away, the gun slowly being drawn from its holster as he fumbled for the door handle. With one final snarl, the wolf shot forward, a blur of muscle and fur streaking across the parking lot towards him. Clark yelped, he dragged his pistol up, finger squeezing around the trigger as soon as it was in his sights. His arm exploded in pain, a set of jaws from an opponent he had not seen clamping down around his forearm splintering bone and tearing through muscle like paper. He screamed in agony, the strong jaws dragging him down to the ground, the beasts head shaking from side to side and almost tearing his arm clean off.

  The grey wolf padded to a stop next to its companion, the brown wolves jaw streaked with his blood and eyes looking at its fellow, almost as though it was... gloating. The grey snarled, jaws clamping down around his shoulder, long teeth sinking in easily and robbing him of blood and breath. He could only find it in him to scream after a few seconds, but before he could get the chance the brown tore into his throat. The last thing that went through Clark's mind before his body shut down was a complete feeling of astonishment. He lived a life of crime, killed so many, had so many attempts to kill him, and this was how he died. Savaged by wolves.

  He died before he could realize just how incredible that nights events actually were.

  * * *

  Sarconi looked up from his desk, cocking a brow at Grayson. "Was that screaming just now?"

  "It... Sure sounded like it." Grayson walked over to the window, the office overlooking the main floor where all the other members of their crew were standing around. Judging by the way their weapons were all drawn, they had clearly heard it too. "Thought they might've brought back one of the guys to have some fun with but... doesn't look like it."

  He opened the door, stepping out onto the catwalk. He cupped his hands around his mouth, yelling, "Guys! What the fuck was that! Who's screaming?"

  One of the men close to the door replied, "I think it might've been Clark! He's out on watch!"

  "Well go check on him! I don't wanna have to stay in this town any longer than we have to, if he's hurt we need to take care of that as soon as possible!"

  The man waved back, walking towards the door. He swung it open, the scene greeting him enough to make him drop his gun in shock. He held his hand to his mouth in horror, his body shaking as he struggled to step backwards. "Ho-Holy fu-"

  The great form of a brown wolf collided with him, the heavy beast slamming him against a nearby car, his back snapping like a twig. Teeth dug into his neck, lifting him up and hurling him through the air, his body thumping limply against the concrete wall. The others looked on in shock, only after the dull thud of his body being tossed aside enough to make them raise their weapons and start firing. The wolf howled, pouncing further into the building, their fire snapping off of cars and cracking into the concrete, their tunnel vision so intense they didn't notice the second wolf until his jaws snapped one of their heads clean off.

  "Holy fuck!" Grayson jumped back, praying that the wolves had not seen him yet. He didn't want to hang around long enough to find out for sure. He ran back into the office, almost coming to a stop when he saw an expression he had never seen on his boss's face before.

  Fear.

  "Sir?" He walked over, Sarconi's face never changing. He slammed his fist on the desk, the sound enough to shock him out of his stupor. "Sir! We need to get out of here right now!"

  "O-Of course, lead the way Grayson." Sarconi reached into his desk, pulling out the revolver that he hadn't fired in years now. It looked like tonight may be the night to use it.

  The sounds of gunfire and death filled the air, what little men they had clearly no match for whatever it was that was attacking them. When they stepped out onto the catwalk, they saw for themselves the results of the battle. Men torn limb from limb, bodies trampled under the weight of a heavy paw, the stench of blood enough to make Grayson want to puke. He'd been a mobster for years, he'd done terrible things to people.

  He'd never truly seen death until tonight.

  Grayson shoved his boss through the backdoor, their getaway car parked right outside. Sarconi opened the door to the passenger side, clambering in and slamming the door shut. Grayson slid over the hood, the driver's side already opened for him as he prepared to step in himself. As he lifted his foot, blood streaked jaws closed around his ankle, dragging him down to the ground and dragging him backwards, screaming all the while.

  Sarconi leaned over the seat, expression one of shock. "Grayson!"

  He waved frantically. "Go! Just go!" He drew his pistol, firing wildly behind him in an attempt to hit whatever was attacking him. With a gasp of pain and a sudden tugging sensation, his arm fell limply next to him, pistol still in its grasp.

  Sarconi wasted no time in starting the car, trying to drown out the agonized cries of his second in command as the wolf quite literally tore him to pieces. The car roared to life, his foot slamming down on the accelerator as soon as he was able, the tires peeling out and carrying him towards the exit. He almost screamed as someone jumped onto his hood, and it was with a feeling of shock and revulsion that he recognized that his attacker was Liam Conway, face streaked with blood and mouth wide in a smirk that he thought he would only see in his nightmares.

  Liam cracked his fist against the windshield, screaming, "This is what I did to your son!"

  The revolver was drawn and raised, Sarconi fired without aiming, the slug crashing through the windshield and slamming into Liam's shoulder, the impact enough to spin him off the car and to the pavement
below. He looked in the rear-view mirror, fully expecting to see a dead body shrinking into the horizon. Instead, the sight of Liam alternately laughing hysterically and screaming at the sky in rage would haunt him to his dying day.

  His dying day, he thought as he drove out of the town, never stopping until he ran out of gas, was not to be tonight.

  * * *

  While the situation with Sarconi had been handled quite definitively, the same could not be said of the situation at home. A group of seven men were advancing into the house, guns drawn and more than ready to gun down any men or women they saw still breathing after the explosion. As they walked in, the air felt charged, heavy, as though it was trying to physically weigh them down. Boots crunched over glass, cloth drawn over their faces to block the stench of the explosives, their weapons held at the ready with hands that were experienced with death.

  They swept through the house, clearing room by room as they advanced deeper into the structure, so far finding no hint of anyone being alive. They had not yet found evidence of anyone being dead either, so their job was far from over. The leader turned to his men, cloth pulled down so his voice was clear, "Alright listen up! We've got four people in this house who need to be either killed, or confirmed as dead. I don't want any fuckups, so take this slow, and be thorough, alright?"

  His men nodded, breaking up into pairs and stepping around shattered furniture and cracked masonry. He turned to walk down the hallway, when he found he couldn't move his leg. He tugged, succeeding in nothing except feeling like his ankle was about to pop out. Looking down, it took a second for him to process that his leg was coated in ice, the crystals rapidly climbing over his knee. By the time he finally screamed out to his men, he was covered up to his hip.

  "Help! Something... Something's got me!" He tried clawing at the ice, the crystals latching onto his hand where he had touched, freezing it to his thigh. His heart began to beat harder, his jaw quivering with fear as he lost feeling up to his elbow. "Andy! Help me!"