Alphas in the Wild

by Ann Gimpel

  She shifted gears. “Does Singing Bear know you came back?”

  A shrug. “Yeah, I convinced him you lied.”

  I fucking doubt it.

  Anger and adrenaline surged. Good. She needed the energy. “No. You’re the one who’s lying. I lived with you long enough to recognize the signs.” She spat in his direction. “Pah. You lie so much, you wouldn’t recognize the truth if you tripped over it.”

  “Cheap Irish whore. Watch who you’re spitting at.”

  “Moira.” Tim walked up beside her, staff held in one hand. He placed the other on her arm. “Don’t antagonize him. Let me handle this.”

  “I don’t want you involved,” she gritted out. “Go find Jake.”

  I don’t want you to get hurt. Couldn’t stand it if you got hurt because of me...

  “Noted, but not your choice.” Tim didn’t move.

  “Got yourself another lover boy so soon? Touching he’s so loyal.” Ryan swung his gaze to Tim. “She’s a real cock-hound. Can’t do without it for even a day. I’m surprised she lasted this long—unless she’s been keeping you on the side.”

  “I’d watch your mouth.” Tim’s voice was quiet, but there was steel behind his words.

  “Or?” Ryan chuckled nastily. “You two don’t get it. I have all the power here. You can’t do shit to me.”

  “Where’s your father?” Moira asked.

  “Busy,” he smirked.

  Yeah, right. Wonder if Singing Bear would show up if I called?

  “So,” she squared her shoulders, “you seem to have us right where you want us. What do you plan to do?”

  “You used to be smarter than that, wifey-dear. You’re worth much more to me dead than alive. There’s that accident insurance the Feds carry on you. And your savings accounts. Didn’t matter while we were still married, but you got this bright idea to dump me. That, darling, was a big mistake.”

  His projection pulsed, radiating danger. Moira’s mind raced. What could she say to buy time? She’d known Ryan had an anger problem, but she hadn’t realized he was truly insane. Maybe that would give her something to work with. Psychopaths—the cold-blooded killers of the world—never bothered to explain themselves. Other varieties of crazy people wanted you to understand why they were planning to hurt you.

  “Okay.” She took a measured breath. “How about something like this? You and I develop an, uh, arrangement. Think of it as détente. You’re free to do what you want, so am I. And we’ll stay married.”

  He snorted derisively. “You expect me to fall for that? With Mr. Serious hanging on your arm? He’d never tolerate something like that. And,” he leered at her, “I’m not crazy about sharing you, either. You’re a great piece of ass, babe. Not sure I want anyone else’s dick in there...

  “Enough of this.” Ryan interrupted himself by making a clicking sound. He wove his hands in circular patterns in front of him.

  “Shit.” Tim blew out a tense-sounding breath. “He’s calling the birds.”

  “How do you know?” When she looked at his staff, it was glowing again.

  Tim took a step back. She missed the warmth of him against her. A Gaelic chant filled the room. Confusion swirled through her. What was he up to? She was afraid to take her eyes off Ryan. Afraid he’d do something horrible if she wasn’t looking. The sensation she’d had earlier, of being dragged down by an invisible, sucking web resurfaced, but she fought it.

  It’s illusion, she told herself. If Ryan could actually harm her directly, she’d be dead by now. No. He needed the birds for that. Or did he?

  She stamped her feet and shook herself to sidestep bonds winding tighter about her. It didn’t work. Panic rose. Could Ryan do something to cut off her breathing? A strangled gasp rose to her lips. Feeling like an idiot, she grappled with invisible pressure that felt as if it were crushing her windpipe.

  Tim said something to her in Gaelic. She didn’t understand and asked, “What?” her voice barely there.

  But he’d resumed his earlier chant. Staff extended, his gaze was fixed on the Ryan projection. The inside of the tent took on a shimmery blue-gray hue. Spots swam before her eyes. Moira swayed on her feet, close to passing out. Her lungs burned. It was like drowning but without the water.

  The tent door flapped open in a gust of wind. Jake raced past. A rifle report nearly deafened her, and the reek of gunpowder filled the air. A hole blossomed in the tent wall. Jake stood, rifle against one shoulder, his face twisted into a grimace. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled.

  The projection wavered, then resumed its previous form. Ryan laughed like a madman and smirked. “Don’t waste your bullets.”

  She could breathe again. Maybe Jake’s shot hadn’t been a waste of ammunition after all. It was possible Ryan could only do one thing at a time in his current form. She gulped air, savoring its sweetness in her aching lungs. Because she was facing Jake, she saw his sharp gaze sweep over the tableau.

  “Hit the deck and stay there,” he screamed at her. “There’s about to be a war in here.”

  “Like hell,” she shot back. “If there’s going to be a war, you need my help.” Four ravens streamed into the tent before Jake got the door shut. Moira grabbed the first thing her hand closed over. An ice axe. She judged the distance and drove it into one of the bird’s bodies. It fell with a squawk and lay still.

  “You can’t kill my birds, you sorry bitch.” Ryan sounded wounded—and deranged. She felt like a fool for not seeing the signs sooner.

  “Oh, really? Watch me.” She buried the aluminum adze in another raven. Part of her recoiled from killing, but it was her or them. And maybe it would help keep Ryan off-balance.

  “I’ll take care of the last two,” Jake yelled. “Get the fuck down, woman. You don’t understand what we’re up against, and I ain’t got the time to explain.” He swung the butt of the rifle he was holding and knocked one of the birds out of the air. The last one took off for the shadows at the back of the tent, cawing piteously.

  “He’s right.” Tim’s voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away. “Get down and stay there.”

  Moira glanced at him. Blackness shimmered in a circle, and it was obvious he was summoning magic of his own, but he’d told her he couldn’t use magic that destroyed things.

  No, what he said was it scared him.

  Crap! He’s doing this for me. A different inner voice was deathly calm.

  Fear twisted her stomach into a knot. If anything happened to Tim— If he died protecting her, she’d never be able to forgive herself. Moira looked around for something—anything—she could do to help. She balled her hands into fists, frantic because she didn’t know how to fight against magic. It went against the grain, but maybe the best way to help Tim was to stay out of the way, so he didn’t have to split his attention.

  The air got thicker. It smelled of mead and heather. The staff blazed so brightly, she couldn’t look directly at it. She backed toward Christine’s cot, amazed the woman hadn’t woken with all the racket.

  Tim turned then, hands raised in front of him like an old-world prophet. The staff pulsed in time to his chanting. His eyes glowed like otherworldly gemstones. A blushing nimbus surrounded him, protecting his body from the blackness, and his voice took on a compelling quality. Even though she couldn’t understand everything he said, she picked up enough to realize he was calling on the Tuatha de Dannan—the fairies—to send Ryan straight into everlasting darkness.

  Not knowing if it would help, she added a prayer of her own to the household goddess who’d blessed their hearth when she was a girl. Her grandmother had whispered stories to her about Brigid and the miracles she produced. They’d left offerings to her when things were rough. Moira felt the quick sting of tears.

  If I ever needed a miracle, she prayed, I need one now.

  Wind howling outside the tent intensified until it sounded like fifty freight trains bearing down on them. The canvas flapped so hard, she worried the tent would collapse. The
door blew open, its latch ripped from its moorings.

  When Jake started for it, a vicious gust knocked him on his ass. “Goddamned, motherfucker!” He screamed into the teeth of the storm.

  As if it had been an invitation, twenty more birds flew inside. They split forces, but the ones heading for Tim gave up fast when they couldn’t get their beaks into the light shield surrounding him.

  “Down, Moira!” Tim and Jake shouted almost in unison.

  She ignored them and swung the axe she’d never let go of at birds swarming around her. Two of them exploded in feathers and blood, but the rest closed on her, squawking in eerie harmony. She alternated protecting her head and face with dealing death to every bird within reach of her axe.

  Tim’s chanting escalated to a fever pitch, the light around him too bright to look at. A few tenacious birds flapped back to him, but they burst into flames. The odor of burned flesh thickened once Jake finally wrestled the door shut. He swung his rifle in an arc, knocking more birds out of the air.

  Sparks shot from Tim’s outstretched hands auguring into Ryan’s image. Where they connected, long rents formed.

  The Ryan projection wavered. “No!” He held up a hand. “I didn’t know what you were. I’ll go, Druid. You don’t have to go this far. The bitch isn’t worth it.”

  “She’s worth everything to me.” Tim kept walking toward him, chanting, the staff ablaze with ghostly light.

  A hand clutched her leg. Moira realized Christine was awake. “H-how did he get here?” Her voice shook, and she pointed at Ryan.

  “I think it’ll be all right,” Moira murmured, not wanting to disturb whatever spell Tim was casting.

  “No it won’t.” Christine’s words took on a shrill note. “That creep got me drunk at a party at your house, and, uh, well you know. I tried to get him to stop, but he just kept telling me how much I wanted to fuck him—” She clapped a hand over her mouth and turned bright red. “Sorry. Probably too much information.”

  “Jesus.” Breath rattled between Moira’s teeth as she wondered how many other women Ryan screwed while he was married to her. She tore her gaze away from Tim. “You should’ve said something. That sounds a lot like rape.”

  “He said I’d be sorry if I opened my mouth.” Her thin face twisted in disgust. “Said it weren’t like I was a virgin. You probably wouldn’t understand, but stuff like that happens to girls like me.” Christine started to cry.

  Moira bent and wrapped her arms around the distraught woman. “Hush. He’s not really here. He can’t hurt you.” Then she remembered being half suffocated and hoped she was telling the truth.

  A different note entered Tim’s vocalizations, something higher, multi-tonal. The air felt even heavier, more threatening as if something cataclysmic were coming. Moira’s skin crawled, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck lifted.

  “No! Don’t,” Ryan shrieked just before his projection whooshed into flames, flared, and disappeared. The stink of ozone and sulfur was so strong, Moira felt ill.

  The remaining ravens, seeming to sense their master was gone, flapped cautiously, milling in a rough circle. Jake raced toward them, rifle slung upward like a bat.

  “No!” Moira let go of Christine and rushed forward. “Open the door. They’ll leave now.”

  “You don’t know that,” Jake growled.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m not sure how I know, but I do.” She clicked on her headlamp. The magical illumination had faded, and it was hard to see.

  Tim dropped his arms. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, blowing out the breath before taking another. The staff clattered to the floor. He bent to retrieve it.

  Keeping a wary eye on the birds, Jake pushed the tent door open. The ravens scuttled through, seeming to understand they’d been given a reprieve.

  “It wasn’t their fault,” Moira murmured.

  “No.” Tim sounded like himself again. “It wasn’t. Ryan forced those birds to act against their nature. The Tuatha will see he pays for that.”

  “If the Native American spirit guides ever catch up to him, they will too,” she added.

  Jake pinned the tent closed, turned slowly, and walked to Tim. When he was about a foot away, he lowered his head. “Thank you, Master.” He straightened and trained his gaze on Tim. “I wasn’t certain it was you when Moira dragged you out of the storm. It was a long time ago. You probably don’t remember me, but I signed on as an acolyte about twelve years ago. Never had enough magic, though. They were nice enough about it, but they asked me to leave the priory.”

  Tim nodded. “I do remember you, but I’m no one’s master. Never was, really.” He made a sound partway between a snort and a grunt. “It’s been so long, I’m surprised I recalled the incantation I needed.”

  Moira nailed both men with a stern look. “Who’s going to tell me what just happened?”

  “Yeah,” Christine seconded, shoving tangled dark hair behind her shoulders. She struck a match and lit a candle lantern sitting next to her cot. “I’d like to know too. I wasn’t really sleeping through most of that, I was just afraid to open my eyes. But when I did and saw Ryan—” She shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t know, something just sort of snapped. I didn’t realize how upset I still am about what he done to me.”

  Moira glanced first at Tim, then at Jake. “Well?”

  “It’s not my story to tell,” Jake said. White teeth shone against his dark beard as he grinned at her. “Even though I never was really one of the, uh, order, I always honored the part about secrecy.”

  “Then you’ll understand why this isn’t your story to hear.” Tim looked meaningfully at Jake.

  “Yes, I do.” Jake tapped Christine’s shoulder. “Let’s give these two a spot of privacy. There’re sleeping bags in the next tent too.”

  “Okay. Let me get all my outdoor stuff back on.” Christine stuck a leg into a pair of storm pants.

  Tim waited until they left, then walked to Moira and drew her close. The staff felt warm against her back, even through her clothing.

  “You already know some of this tale, mo ghrá. But I will start it at the beginning. I was raised by Druids to be the Arch Druid in this country. Problem was, I didn’t want to be. My magic was strong enough, but it wasn’t a calling for me like it was for some.” He kneaded her back with strong fingers. “Never had much stomach for the destructive side of Druid power. That’s what Arch Druids do, among other things. They mete out punishment. And kill enemies.”

  His arms tightened around her shoulders. “Druid vows are for life. Long before my birth, it was foretold I would be the next Arch Druid. I couldn’t just tell Liam, ‘Sorry, but I quit.’ Like I said earlier, I couldn’t tell you anything. That grated on me worse than the rest of it put together.”

  “So what changed? You never did tell me that part.” She drew back so she could look at him. Her heart thudded heavily. It was tough to breathe. His answer would determine if they had a future together or not.

  “Liam called to warn me I was in danger. It was the first time he’d called me since I left the priory, so I took the warning seriously. He’d had a vision and thought you were mixed up in things somehow. It was one of the reasons I set out after you on the trail.” Tim stroked her hair tenderly back from her face.

  “Before we hung up, he gave me permission to be honest with you and to ask you to be my wife.” A corner of Tim’s mouth turned down. “I think he finally figured out he’d never get me back any other way.”

  She laid her head in the crook between his shoulder and neck. Relief flashed through her, and her cheeks dampened with sudden tears.

  “I haven’t summoned magic for years.” Tim’s voice rumbled against her hair. “In truth, I was surprised the gods and goddesses helped when I asked. They can be pretty prickly about being ignored.”

  Moira threaded her arms around him. “I asked for help too,” she admitted. “From Brigid.”

  “Well.” He pushed back enough to smile at her, laugh lines c
rinkling around his eyes. “That explains it then, sweetheart. I had help.”

  * * * *

  Tim felt a difference in the air. He spun away from Moira, staff extended, every sense on edge. The staff wasn’t glowing, but maybe that didn’t mean anything other than its magic needed to recharge.

  “What?” She clutched his arm.

  “You can stand down, son. Were you believing I’d not be by your side, knowing you faced such danger? Tch.”

  Relief made his knees weak. “It’s all right.” He touched Moira’s hand and lowered the staff. “This spectral visitor is Liam.” He started to laugh. “Those astral planes must be pretty crowded tonight.”

  He saw her eyes go wide, searching the tent for clues.

  “You passed every test tonight, son, even without my help—though I was standing by, mind you. I was there while you called and controlled the most difficult part of our power. Strong work. ’Tis proud of you, I am. You forged a bond with your heritage, protecting the woman you love. Call on me as soon as you can. Even beyond what will pass between you two this night, I will see you are properly wed in the eyes of the world.”

  “Thank you.” Gratitude swelled within him. Liam’s praise—and support—meant the world. To have that, and Moira too, was everything he’d ever hoped for.

  “Did it just get warmer in here?” Moira’s gaze found his face, seeking confirmation.

  Tim draped an arm around her shoulders. “Yes. But it will cool pretty quickly once Liam leaves.”

  The Arch Druid’s laughter rang in Tim’s ears. “And I can be taking a hint.”

  “Can you now?” Tim aped his accent. “Do you not think I’ve waited long enough for yon maiden?”

  The laughter escalated.

  “I just heard someone laughing their head off.” Moira quirked a brow at Tim. “What was so funny?”

  Warmth faded slowly from the room.

  He turned so he faced her and pulled her close again. “Liam has quite a sense of humor. I’m looking forward to the two of you getting to know one another. But right now, I have other priorities.”