The Alpha's Fight

by Michelle Fox

  The Pack Council ran the league. Its power didn't lie in any one shifter. They outranked him due to their numbers and bureaucracy. It made the two men in front him alpha even if they weren't. He might pound them into the ground, but there'd be dozens more ready to swarm him afterwards. Better to go along and not make waves. Still, it riled him to have pissant betas telling him what to do.

  "It is a good thing...until it's boring."

  And that's how Ryder had ended up back in Timber Creek. He'd been too good—oh wait, make that boring— for the MMA circuit and what he saw upon returning home made him realize he was too 'good' for his pack, too. He'd grown. They hadn't, and apparently, only Ryder had benefited from his grandfather's wisdom. The pack was different now. Changed by the new alpha, Mason Claw, and warped by his sense of violence and domination.

  Ryder had stayed out of Mason's way, but not because he was afraid to fight him. No, he could take his alpha. The thing was, he didn't want to.

  Let Mason have Timber Creek. Ryder had other dreams.

  With a decisive nod of his head, he crouched into the shadows and waited.

  The wolf that emerged through the brush a few moments later was one Ryder knew well. They'd grown up together and when he was five, he'd lost a bit of his ear to some tomfoolery with a knife. Any scars or missing parts before the first shift were often permanent and so he recognized his friend, Erik, by the notch in his ear.

  Ryder gave a loud 'woof' of greeting that caused Erik to practically jump out of his fur. Frowning, Ryder stepped into the open, his paws quiet on the soft ground. It wasn't like Erik to be skittish. He kept his body language open and smiled, allowing his tongue to loll out of his mouth to make the gesture extra friendly.

  Erik's ears went back and a soft whine trilled in the back of his throat.

  Wanting to talk, Ryder shifted back into his human form. The one drawback of his animal nature was the inability to express the complex ideas and emotions of his human side.

  "What's up? Everything okay?"

  Erik shook his head, his form blurring as he also returned to his human form. "I heard you're starting a new pack."

  Ryder went still, but then forced his body language to relax into a more casual stance. "Where'd you hear that?"

  "From Mason."

  "Where'd Mason hear it?" Ryder kept his voice even as his heart raced in his chest. Someone hadn't kept his secrets, which put them all in danger.

  "He took Peter's kid." Erik fidgeted, transferring his weight from one foot to the other.

  The news hit Ryder like a slap. "What? He's got Julia? Why?"

  Erik shrugged. "I dunno. He just took her. Said she was old enough to be mated and that he'd see to it since her own father wouldn't."

  "She's seventeen. Barely past her first shift. What the hell is Mason thinking?" What a dirty fucking cur, he growled to himself. Julia had both feet firmly planted in childhood, she was nowhere near ready for a mate. "At least let her graduate from High School first."

  "He's the alpha. It's his right—" Hostility peppered his scent as he defended his alpha.

  Ryder cut him off. "To what? Mate children?"

  Erik just shrugged again. "You can challenge him and find out if you want."

  "Don't tempt me." Ryder clenched his hands into fists. Mason wasn't a fool. He knew no one in their right mind would mate with someone as young as Julia, but hiding behind mating laws gave him an excuse to work her over for information. Julia was a frail, timid girl. A little roughing up and a threat to send her to some other pack for mating and her father had probably told Mason everything he knew.

  "Why are you here, Erik?"

  "Mason sent me." The other man's hands curled into fists and he swallowed hard as he straightened his shoulders. "You're a traitor and you'll meet a traitor's death."

  With that he leaped for Ryder, but he'd anticipated the move and stepped to the side. Erik flew past him, crashing into a bush and emerging a second later, scowling and muttering swear words.

  Ryder held up a hand as Erik prepared to charge him again. "I'm not fighting you."

  "Fine. That makes killing you easier." Erik lunged forward again.

  Ryder met him halfway, pushing him backward, until he lost his balance and fell. "Why are you doing his dirty work? It's not like he's taking care of your family."

  Erik jumped to his feet. "He's the alpha."

  "So that makes it okay to cut off your mom and force her to get a job in the human world just so she can eat?"

  "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "I know he's driving a Mercedes while your mom's barely making it."

  "She deserved it," Erik snarled.

  "Really? How so?"

  "She didn't want me to join Mason's inner pack."

  "I can understand that. Can't you?" Ryder shook his head, stunned by Erik's inability to see the truth. "Did you ever ask yourself where the money comes from? And why he's stopped giving it to anyone but himself?"

  "He's the alpha."

  "So you do anything he says? Even if it hurts your own family?"

  Erik growled and came at Ryder, his fists swinging. "What do you know of family? Most of yours is dead and what's left you've dumped in a fucking nursing home. What do you know about our pack anymore? You haven't lived here in years."

  Ryder stepped back, staying just out of reach. The nursing home comment stung. He should've come home when Mason forced Grandma Tillie into Crescent Pines, but he'd kept fighting instead, thinking she could wait. He'd believed Mason when he said she had dementia and needed more care than the pack could give her. That had been one of the biggest mistakes of his life and he would do everything in his power to make it up to his grandmother. "I know what makes a good alpha and Mason isn't it. My grandmother is in Crescent Pines because of his lies, not because I don't care about my family."

  "So says you." Erik snorted. "This isn't the Pack League. There's no referee coming to save you." Erik doubled his speed and got close enough that Ryder was forced to react.

  He hated to see his friend in this position. Sent by Mason and no doubt told he was a worthy opponent, when, in reality, he didn't even stand a chance. Ryder studied fighting like a science. It would take more than being shifter strong to best him.

  His heart heavy, Ryder slammed a fist into Erik's temple, dropping his opponent with one blow. His friend—at least that was still how Ryder thought of Erik, finding it hard to let go of childhood loyalties—fell to the ground with a grunt and didn't move.

  Ryder squatted down and touched Erik's neck, making sure he was still alive. A steady heartbeat thumped under his finger. Erik would be okay. A raven swooped down to investigate and he waved it off. "It's not food for you," he growled. The bird seemed to nod as it flew up to roost with its brethren.

  Taking a deep breath, Ryder shifted back into his wolf and ran toward his bike. It looked like he was going to have to lay low for longer than he planned. His pack had split into factions while he'd been living on the road: Those that supported Mason and those that suffered because they didn't. Ryder was determined to forge a new path, one that left Mason and his cronies in the dust. Because he sure as hell didn't plan on spending his life suffering.

  ***

  Back at his bike, he donned his clothes; thick jeans, a T-shirt and a black leather jacket. The shirt commemorated his first big win in the ring. Normally, he didn't wear things like that where people would see it—any male shifter within a ten-foot radius often felt an uncontrollable urge to test him once they knew he'd been a fighter—but he'd thought it would be safe enough for a day of running in the woods outside his pack lands. He'd also believed he could stay off Mason's radar and look how wrong he'd been about that.

  With a sigh, he picked up his helmet—shifters healed fast, but crack the skull like an egg and good luck staying alive. Just as he was about to put the helmet on, something slammed into him from behind.

  He landed face down, but quickly spun around and up to
his feet. Overhead, the crows threw high-pitched sour notes in the air. Ryder frowned. A little late, guys.

  Putting up his fists, he prepared to face whoever had tackled him. The testosterone burning his nose wasn't from Erik, the scent was different.

  Indeed, the man across from him was Trent, one of Mason's cronies.

  "What do you want?"

  "I'm here to finish what Erik couldn't." Trent's face flushed, matching his red hair. "I knew he'd be too weak. He's just a notch above being a no-good omega."

  Ryder tried not to roll his eyes, but failed. "What makes you think you can fight me and win?"

  Trent spit. "I just took you down, didn't I?"

  "That is not the same as winning. Look, walk away and I won't say a thing." Ryder kept his posture relaxed, hoping to decrease the tension of the situation. He'd found if he got wound up, so did everyone else.

  "You think you're hot shit. Coming back home with your money and your fancy toys." Trent kicked the Ducati, shoving it to the ground. "But you're not the alpha. You forgot your place, boy."

  "What is my place, Trent?" Ryder ground out the question and then took a deep breath, wiggling his shoulders to keep them from getting tight. Anger seethed in his stomach. Keep it chill, man.

  "You do what Mason says."

  "He hasn't told me to do anything, so how could I have earned a beat down from you, huh?"

  "We know what you're up to and you won't get away with it. Mason will kill you first." Trent flexed his thighs and launched himself at Ryder.

  Unlike Erik, Ryder didn't side-step this time. Instead, he caught Trent's chin in an uppercut that snapped the man's head back. He'd spent years perfecting the angle and the amount of pressure it took for an uppercut to take an opponent out. So, yeah, Trent may have slammed into Ryder and dropped him to the ground, but he was no longer conscious when it happened.

  Shoving Trent off him, Ryder got up and went to his bike. He shook his head as he picked it up and saw the damage. Fine scratches crisscrossed the satin black finish. The paint job would have to be re-touched. Muttering swear words under his breath, he climbed onto the bike. Gunning the motor, he shot out of the brush and onto the road at full speed.

  Chapter Four

  Ryder aimed his Ducati toward the higher elevations of Appalachia, deciding it was a good time to visit Huntsville, one of the larger packs in the area. Ryder was on good terms with the Alpha, Cal, and the Alpha-in-Waiting, Jackson. And it wouldn’t hurt to start establishing diplomatic ties.

  When he was far enough away to not have to worry about Trent or any of Mason's other side kicks, he pulled over to the side of the road and called Jackson on his cell phone. They'd become friendly after running into each other during a run and working together to hunt down a particularly clever rabbit. Jackson had even shared the kill, which had impressed the hell out of Ryder. It was the kind of thing his grandpa would've done.

  "Hey man, what's up?" Jackson's voice filled his ear.

  "You up for a visit?"

  "Yeah, sure. What's going on? You sound upset."

  "Same day, same old asshole." He couldn't hold back an angry growl.

  "Mason, eh?" Ryder hadn't said much about his situation yet, but Mason's reputation did a lot of talking, and that made it easy for Jackson to connect the dots.

  "Yep. Can you call Cal? I want to talk to both of you."

  "Cal's going to ask me why, what should I tell him?"

  "I have some news you'll both want to hear."

  "Sounds ominous."

  "It's actually good, but Mason's turning it into a shit show."

  "All right. I'll call Cal. Meet at my house."

  "I'll be there in twenty."

  Ryder hung up and revved his bike's engine with a smile of satisfaction. Not too long now and the drama would be over. At least that was what he chose to believe. He’d finished up the last of the paperwork that morning, dressing in his nicest suit—the navy one with a crisp white shirt— for his meeting at the bank. He'd added a copy of his mortgage to the rest of the forms and dropped everything into the mailbox to find its way to the Pack Council. He and his grandmother, Tillie, now owned three hundred acres of land at the bottom of the Appalachian foothills. It was a hundred acres more than the Pack Council required for new packs.

  The one thing he hadn’t counted on was the ire of his current alpha, although he should have known better.

  ***

  A while later, Ryder pulled up to Jackson's house, a single story ranch made out of pine logs. He gunned his motor to let Jackson know he was there and the tall alpha sauntered out of the garage that stood across from the house.

  "I heard you two miles ago," he shouted.

  Ryder killed the Ducati's engine and slipped the key into his pocket. Removing his helmet and leather jacket he said, "Just didn't want to surprise you."

  "You won't surprise anybody riding a noisemaker like that."

  "I never said I was trying to hide."

  "Not from me, at least. Mason might be a different wolf altogether, right?"

  "I'm not worried about him. He knows better than to bring his dirty business into another pack's territory." Or at least Ryder hoped so. That was one upside of being in Huntsville. Mason couldn't march in and do whatever he wanted without starting a war.

  "Come into the garage. I was working on my uppercut." Jackson waved for Ryder to follow him. "Maybe you can give me some pointers."

  The large garage had been split into two areas. On one side, tools hung on peg board and a long work bench ran the length of the wall. On the other sat a weight bench with a punching bag hanging in the back corner.

  Ryder threw a few test punches to get the measure of the bag. If the fill was too soft he'd strain his wrists, if it was too hard he'd jam his elbows. Once he had a feel for it, he started a pattern of jab, hook, uppercut, cross, increasing the force of his punches as he went. All his frustration found its way into his fists and soon the bag jerked and bounced on its chain, swinging higher and higher with each hit.

  Damn Mason. Targeting his friends and hunting him down like he was a dog. Anger burned in him when he thought of Peter's daughter. And about the way Erik had been set up. Why was Mason surprised when people wanted to leave Timber Creek? Did he really believe he was a true alpha?

  “Hey, man, you okay?” Jackson brushed past him to catch the bag before it slammed into the wall. “You know, you can’t kill the bag, right?”

  Ryder forced a smile, not wanting to dump his sour mood on his friend. “Yeah. Just blowing off some steam.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Yeah, definitely, but not until Cal’s here. I want you both to hear what I have to say.”

  Jackson nodded. “Okay. I can’t wait to find out what has you so hot and bothered. Did you even use gas to get here or was your bike running on your anger?”

  “Was I that bad?”

  “Well, Chloe hightailed it out of here just based on what she overheard of our phone conversation,” Jackson said referring to his mate who was pregnant and due any minute. "Said she didn't like the sound of your growl."

  Ryder grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare her.” That she’d been worried said something about how foul his mood was. Chloe had taken on a rogue alpha all by herself and even hacked off his head. The feat had been so remarkable, it had become national shifter news. She wasn’t weak or one to back down, so he must’ve really been fuming. Ryder resolved to work harder at controlling his emotions.

  "Oh, she wasn't scared. Chloe just didn't want to be around if you were going to lose your cool."

  Gravel spit in the winding driveway that led to Jackson and Chloe’s house. Jackson cocked his head slightly. “That sounds like Cal's truck. Shall we go back to the house?”

  Ryder took one last swing at the bag. “Yeah.” Wiping the sweat off his brow with his shirt, he followed Jackson into the house as a blue pickup parked behind his bike. Recognizing Cal's bald head and the alpha's cust
omary flannel shirt, Ryder waved.

  "Hey, Ryder," said the alpha, hopping out of his truck. "Good to see you."

  "Same here." The two men shook hands, matching their grip strength so they each felt it. Ryder held back a bit, as being stronger than the alpha was rude and could be construed as a challenge. Handshakes with dominant alphas were tricky things. Go at it too hard and you could start a fight.

  Ryder kept his eye contact light and friendly, too, wanting to reassure Cal that his intentions were good.

  "You guys coming in or what?" Jackson poked his head out the front door. "Heya, Cal."

  "Hey yourself, son. What's so important that you boys had to see me right away?" Cal ambled toward the house. "I was fixing to go fishing."

  "I won't take too much of your time, alpha." Ryder bounded onto the porch and held the door open for Cal.

  "I sure hope not, or else it'll be too late to go fishing. Once it gets hot, they stop biting."

  "Well, that's why I wanted to see you."

  The alpha turned back to Ryder, surprise on his face. "You want to talk fish, son?"

  "No. It's more that shifters are always ready to bite. I have some news you'll want to know."

  They moved into the house where a pitcher of cold lemonade sat on the dining room table along with a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies. Ryder snagged a cookie and gulped it down before he could blink. Sweetness exploded in his mouth and, in his mind's eye, his wolf did a little dance.

  "Those smell amazing." Cal sniffed.

  “These are delicious. Did Chloe make these?” Ryder asked as he grabbed another one.

  Jackson took a handful of cookies. “Yeah. She’s a great baker.” His tone held reverence, which Ryder understood. A mate who could cook was a real treasure.

  "Save some for me," Cal said, his voice gruff.

  Jackson waved the alpha forward. “You’d better hurry. We’re hungry.”

  “Really hungry,” Ryder added, filching just one more cookie. The plate looked rather sad now, with just a few cookies and lots of little crumbs the only evidence that there had ever been more.

  "To the alpha go all the cookies he wants, understand?" Cal gave them both a look of reproach and pointedly picked up the plate, taking it over to a seat, where he settled in to eat. “Your mate is one hell of a baker,” he said between mouthfuls.