by J. C. Holly
“What?” Willem stood. “Why?”
Harlan cracked his neck. “For me.”
Mitch had just removed the one reason for putting up with Willem and his trial. Harlan flexed his fingers, then willed blades into his hands. Two men rushed toward him, but by the time they got to him he had already used the impossibly sharp blades to free his hands. As the men approached he dropped the knives and punched out with both fists and knocked the men back, then ducked to free his ankles. He didn’t get there in time.
As he dipped down, Willem crashed into the chair with a roar, knocking it and Harlan sprawling on the floor. The collision broke one of the restraints, but it broke his ankle at the same time. He winced as he felt it snap, then struggled to break the other steel band. A group of shifters came toward him, but Willem shouted for them to get away.
“He’s mine,” the man said.
Harlan kicked the chair away and climbed to one knee. “Got to make sure you get the kill,” he said. “Keep what little of your honor is left.”
Willem roared again in anger and rushed in, the long blade in his hand slashing from side to side as he tried to score a hit on Harlan. Even with only one functioning leg, Harlan stayed ahead of the man, ducking and dodging away from the knife and occasional fist. Every time he shifted his weight to move, though, his ankle hurt a little more. He couldn’t keep the pace up for long, but he didn’t want to kill the man unless he was left with no option.
“You don’t get it,” Willem said, as he dodged back from Harlan’s jab. “My pack is everything. If they don’t trust me, I open myself up to attacks from members looking to take my place.”
Harlan ignored the man’s attempts at justification and focused on getting hits. For every punch he landed he had to dodge two slashes, and soon his ankle was screaming.
“Accept your fate,” Willem said as he came in once again. “A life for a life.”
“And what about the lives Brubeck took?”
Willem didn’t reply, instead coming in for another attack. Harlan twisted away and cried out as his ankle finally gave way. He hopped to keep his balance, but Willem knocked him down with a shoulder slam. Harlan glanced around for something to grab to fend the man off with, but there was nothing. With a resigned sigh, he summoned his blades.
Chapter Twenty
Mitch paced the short hallway next to his front door, his fists clenching and unclenching. It had been hours since Harlan had left. He should have been back already.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said under his breath. “Where are you?”
He glanced up at the security team he’d assembled after the press conference. He was happy to find that not a single one of them had treated him any different after his announcement. None had muttered anything to each other about it, either, as far as his shifter hearing had picked up. All he had heard was a pair chuckling, saying basically that it had been pretty damn obvious.
All that mattered not one bit, though. Harlan wasn’t here yet. That’s what mattered.
He’d sent his agent in a borrowed car to play the announcement near the address on the letter, so that Harlan and those inside could hear it, hoping that it would give the pack less leverage and leave Harlan with the upper hand, but what if it had just pissed them off? Mitch tried not to think too hard about it and resumed his pacing.
So wrapped up was he in his own thoughts that it was his security team that heard noises upstairs, and not Mitch. As a small team headed up to check, Mitch followed behind. His heart leapt as he recognized the scent, and he grinned wide as Harlan staggered out of the spare bedroom, bloody, moving with all his weight on one leg, but somehow in perfectly unmarked clothing.
“Miss me?”
Mitch ran to him and hugged him tight, then let go as the man groaned. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Harlan stepped back and almost stumbled, grabbing a security guard to keep him upright. “I’ll be fine. Could use a sit down, though.”
Mitch ducked his head under Harlan’s arm and helped him to their bedroom, then dismissed the guards, telling them to wait downstairs. Once they were gone he closed the bedroom door and let out a long breath, trying not to let his emotions overcome him.
“I thought you might be dead. You were so long.”
Harlan began pulling off his clothes, throwing them to the floor and revealing a nasty gash down one side of his ribcage. “My original plan of challenging the alpha and strutting out like a badass didn’t exactly go to plan.” He chuckled, then winced and clutched his side. “Turns out when you whup someone’s boss, some of his buddies get a little pissy about it.”
“But you made it out.”
He nodded. “They won’t bother us again.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He colored. “Uh, because I’m their new alpha.”
“What!” Mitch shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”
“That pack is based on aggression and control. After I beat their alpha, and the few that came after, it was a clear choice for them. I don’t like it particularly, but it will make life easier. Once I’m on my feet again I’ll select my replacement.”
Mitch didn’t know how to react to the news, so instead he focused on the positives. Harlan was in one piece—kind of—and the threat was over. They were the most important parts. The rest could wait.
“So,” Harlan said. “I hear you’re gay.”
Mitch grinned. “Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, some radio station.”
“Well, it’s true. Big ole homo, that’s me.”
“Funny, that.” Harlan reached over and pulled Mitch closer. “So am I.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm hmm. Though right now I’m not in much of a condition to prove it.”
Mitch laughed and kissed his lover on the lips. “I can wait.”
* * * *
It took three months before Harlan was able to pick and train a new alpha for Brubeck’s pack. He’d had to weed out several dissenters before he could act, and that took time, as they hardly held up a hand when he asked, “So, who’s planning behind my back?”
Oddly, he was sad to leave the group in the end. Without the bad element, the rest had turned out to be great people, if a little misguided. Still, he could look back and feel proud that he’d set them on the right track.
Mitch had weathered the press storm unscathed, other than a few too many salacious articles from past lovers looking for a quick buck. They had mostly been positive, though, which helped. The band had stood by him throughout, giving him all the support he needed to get through the hard times. He came out of the experience stronger, and more confident, and Harlan found his love for the man increased by the day.
Their training had long ended, but they still spent most weekends together in the private gym, as they had come to love working out together. Most of the time they kept their clothes on, too. They had plenty of runs together, too, both in wolf form, exploring the world without a care.
The Ancients had quietly given him time off, he decided, as he rarely went so long without contact. Not that he or Mitch were complaining, of course. By the time he finally got another message from them, he was ready, and now he had the full financial backing of a rockstar at the height of his career.
As they waited in the first-class suite of the airport terminal, waiting for their flight to the next job, Harlan pulled Mitch close and kissed him on the cheek.
“What was that for?” Mitch asked.
“For being you.” Harlan glanced around the empty suite. “I’ve been talking to my employers about some time off.”
“You’re not sick of me yet?”
He laughed. “Not in this lifetime. Turns out that there is a way to get extra time off, though, and it suited what I’d already had planned.”
“Oh, and what’s that?”
Harlan fingered the gold wedding band in his front pocket. “You’ll find out, soon enough.”
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JC lives in the south of England and spends the free hours of each day reading, writing, and indulging various other hobbies, in the company of Tuna the cat. JC has been writing for several years now, and refuses to acknowledge proper house attire, or people who say things like, “When are you getting a real job?” and, “Can I be in your next book?”
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