by Anya Bast
I don’t know. You look like the omega to me.
The omega was the whipping wolf in a pack - the one everyone else took their frustrations out on. It was a deceiving title, since it sounded like it would take a weak wolf to occupy such a position. In fact, it was a position of honour, held by one of the strongest members of the pack, a wolf able to withstand the beatings of the others. In fact, quite frequently the omega eventually became alpha. To a human, though, being called the omega was a high insult, since they lacked a finer understanding of shifter society.
“Shut up,” the hunter snapped, the rifle shaking.
Oh, he’d hit a nerve.
Mac growled, hunkering down and ready to leap at the man. He needed to extricate himself from this and fast. This man lacked the cojones to pull the trigger without his boss’s leave. Human pack behaviour wasn’t all that much different from a wolf’s. This man wasn’t alpha material - not by a long shot.
“You seem antsy. Are you worried about the woman? Don’t be. I’m sure she’s dead by now.” The hunter shrugged. “Nothing to be concerned about any more.”
The hunter raised his rifle and sighted down the barrel at Mac. Mac balanced on his paws, ready to spring. Out of nowhere came a streak of black. The hunter went down with an anguished yelp of terror and the gun fired, shot going wide.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard a woman scream.
Mac bounded towards it, leaving behind him the sound of a growling Casey and an ever-widening red stain in the snow.
“What is it with you and the shifters, huh, Lily? What’s with the fucking fascination?” Derrick shook her. “What’s wrong with your own kind?”
“If we’re using you as the model, Derrick, lots.”
He pushed her down into the snow and pointed the rifle at her head. The sound of a bullet loading into the chamber made her shiver and her stomach go loose and nauseated with butterflies. Lily had never had a gun muzzle pressed to her forehead. She imagined she could even smell it — old blood and cold metal. The scent of her death.
She would like to be able to say she was fearless, but having a man so full of hate press a gun to her head made fear scream through her body and soul. She searched within for courage, scrabbling for every ounce she could find among the overwhelming flood of stark terror.
“I didn’t want to have to do this. You weren’t supposed to fucking be here and you weren’t supposed to recognize my voice. All we wanted to do was draw Mac out here to an area he wasn’t familiar with, so we could pick him off.”
“Why Mac? Why do you care?”
“He’s just good sport, Lily. Nothing personal.”
Rage flared hot and hard in her. She kicked out with her snowshoe and caught Derrick in the shin. He stumbled, off balance.
She dived to the side to avoid the misfire of his weapon, snow cushioning her lunge. A ringing crack sounded in her ear and then all was silent in her head. She’d gone deaf from the close proximity of the fired weapon. There was a flash of a silver-tipped wolf, a splash of red. Derrick waved his rifle, fired it into the air, then turned to run, only to be pushed into the snow by Mac.
Lily turned her face away, melting into the welcome quiet where there was no violence.
Hands grasped her arms and turned her. She opened her eyes to see Mac’s concerned face, his mouth moving. He’d shifted back to human form. Little by little, the sounds growing louder, his words became audible.
“I’m OK,” she answered, then launched herself into his arms, not even caring about the blood that stained his chin, throat and the front of his coat.
Mac held her close, rubbing her back with strong hands. She melted against him, feeling for the first time in years - no, maybe for the first time - that the man who held her truly cared. In his arms, she was cherished. She shuddered against him, shaking off the sensation of the gun pressed to her skull, and the echo of her death she’d seen in Derrick’s eyes.
A black wolf came bounding up to them and she recognized Casey. Lily knelt in the snow and wrapped her arms around him. With shaking hands, she explored the wolf’s haunches, legs and stomach. He was uninjured. Lily had never been so happy not to have to act in her capacity as nurse.
She let out a pent-up breath and hugged him. Maybe she would never quite be able to let go of the child she’d once lost, but this one was going to be all right.
They made their way back to Pack City. Not far from town, Mac made a call to the proper authorities to let them know of Casey’s well-being and where they could find the bodies of the hunters.
Lily and Mac stood at the top of the hill overlooking Pack City, watching Casey, still in wolf form, make his way down to the clutch of emergency vehicles at the base. Humanity and shifters alike swarmed the place. People everywhere. Just watching them all, anticipating their questions, made her tired.
“So, what are you planning to do now?” Mac asked.
“Now?” She sniffled. “I still have this cold, so I should probably get some rest.”
“That’s a good idea.” Pause. “I’ve got some tea left.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“It’s an invitation for a whole lot more than tea, Lily.” Mac’s voice was low and husky.
She smiled, happy warmth suffusing her face and chest. “Consider it accepted. Can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. Can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend my time with.”
In silence, they continued to watch the swarm of people. The news crews had arrived. One of the reporters spotted them on top of the hill and began to make his way up. Ugh.
“So, are you ready to let go a little?” Mac asked, watching the man scramble in the snow towards them.
She looked up at Mac, enveloping his hand in hers. “I’m not letting go, I’m taking hold.”
Together they turned and walked back into the woods.
♥ Scanned by Coral ♥
Author Biographies
Anya Bast
National bestselhng author of the Elemental Witches series
anyabast.com
Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters 162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the UK by Robinson, an imprint of Constable & Robinson, 2009
“Taking Hold” © by Anya Bast. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
The right of Trisha Telep to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
UK ISBN 978-1-84529-941-5
First published in the United States in 2009 by Running Press Book Publishers
All rights reserved under the Pan-American and International Copyright Conventions
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher.
US Library of Congress number: 2008942197 US ISBN 978-7624-3651-4
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