Dark Wolf Running (Bloodrunners)

by Rhyannon Byrd

  “You scent anything?” he asked Jeremy, careful to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

  Jeremy shook his head. But as it turned out, they didn’t have to search for the shooter. The shooter came to them.

  “It’s all right. You can get up now,” a voice called out from the darkness. “He was the target, not you. I shot him to protect you, since he no doubt had orders to assassinate you both.”

  “Who’s there?” Wyatt grunted, searching the tree-shrouded shadows as he and Jeremy both moved to their feet. Whoever it was, he’d taken the same drug as the dead man lying at their feet, his scent completely disguised.

  “It’s Sebastian Claymore,” the male said, coming into view as he stepped through the pines. He was small for a Lycan, maybe five-eight and nowhere near two hundred pounds, but he was fast. And he was clever. A hell of a lot cleverer than the rest of his clan.

  “You’re trespassing,” Jeremy snarled, his long, sinister fangs gleaming white in the milky moonlight. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Gesturing toward the rifle hooked over his shoulder, Sebastian said, “I would think that’s obvious. I was saving your lives.”

  “You murder your own people now?” Wyatt growled, the guttural words rough with pain. Blood oozed from a nasty cut on his cheek and slipped down the side of his face. But it was his shoulder that was really screwed. The Lycan had caught him deep with his claws, tearing into the muscle and striking bone. It would heal, but the process was going to be painful as fuck.

  “Trust me when I say he was a necessary kill,” Sebastian murmured in response to his question, before a crooked smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “And before you ask about the gun, let me just say that, given my size, it was either learn to shoot or be killed. The Whiteclaw aren’t known for being the most gentle of packs.”

  “Then why did you come back to them?” Wyatt asked, his breath hissing through his teeth as he retook his human shape, the change making his injured shoulder burn with a fresh wave of pain.

  Sebastian’s response was simple. “Because I was needed.”

  “For what?” Jeremy grunted. The Runner had retaken his human shape as well and was now standing with his arms crossed over his bare chest, his steely gaze narrowed suspiciously on Sebastian.

  “That’s why I’m here. I need to talk to you.”

  “Then talk, and make it fast,” Wyatt snapped. “I want to know what you’re doing on our land.”

  Hitching the rifle strap just a bit higher on his shoulder, the Lycan said, “I’m here because I don’t want what’s coming. I don’t want the war. I would have called to warn you, but I can’t guarantee that my calls aren’t being monitored. Coming here to talk to you in person was my only choice.” He glanced at the fallen body of his pack mate, then returned his gaze to Wyatt. “Luckily for you, I came when I did.”

  Ignoring that statement, he asked, “Warn us about what?”

  His low voice rough with emotion, Sebastian said, “There’s something not...right with my brother. With Harris.” He started to pace, rubbing one hand against his lean jaw, his eyes worried behind the round lenses of his glasses. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a traitor. I love my brother, but he and Roy are going to destroy the Whiteclaw and I can’t let that happen. We might not be the most upstanding pack around, but there are women and children with us who need a home.”

  Jeremy made a rude sound in the back of his throat. “You really concerned about women? What about the ones being drugged and gang-raped in your hometown?”

  The Lycan’s mouth tightened. “You think I’m not disgusted by that filth?”

  “If that’s true,” Wyatt muttered, “then what are you doing about it?”

  Stopping his pacing, Sebastian stood with his hands shoved in his pockets and met their belligerent glares with a frustrated one. “There are those of us in the pack who hate what Roy’s trying to do. But we have few resources. He controls everything.”

  “Tell us about Harris,” Wyatt prompted, wanting to get the hell out of there and back to Elise so that he could see with his own eyes that she was safe and secure.

  Sebastian lifted his shoulders in a weary shrug. “I don’t know. He’s just... I have a bad feeling. His interest in the Silvercrest...it isn’t healthy.”

  “What kind of interest?” he growled. “Did that bastard break into Elise Drake’s house the other night?”

  Sebastian’s brows lifted. “Someone broke into her home?”

  Wyatt locked his jaw and kept quiet, choking back his words. He didn’t want to tell Seb anything about Elise’s life—he just wanted to know what was going on with the guy’s brother. But after Sebastian failed to answer the rest of their questions, it became clear that the Lycan either didn’t know anything more...or was simply unwilling to share. He claimed he didn’t even know who the Lycan he’d killed had been sent to the Alley to watch or who exactly had sent him. Dissatisfied with the lack of answers, Wyatt called in the two scouts who were taking over the patrol for them. After briefing the scouts on what had happened, he told them to escort Sebastian off their land and to make sure that the Lycan took the body of his pack mate with him. Then he turned his attention back to Sebastian and said, “If you learn anything that can actually help us, then find whoever’s on patrol, like you did tonight. They’ll know to be on the lookout for you.”

  With that, he and Jeremy headed back to the Alley, neither of them comfortable with what had happened...or with the things Sebastian Claymore had told them.

  “What the hell happened to you two?” Cian asked the instant they stepped out of the trees at the edge of the clearing, near the Irishman’s cabin. The Runner was sitting on the hood of his Land Rover, which was parked at the side of the cabin, smoking a cigarette, while silvery streams of smoke swirled over his head like a halo, though he was definitely no angel.

  Sounding as exhausted as he felt, Wyatt said, “We ran into some trouble.”

  Cian exhaled another ethereal stream of smoke and smirked. “In that case, I hope the other guy looks worse.”

  “He looks like something out of a fucking horror flick,” Jeremy muttered. “Got his goddamn head blown off.”

  Cian’s brows lifted, and they explained about their run-in with the Whiteclaw Lycan and the surprising conversation with Sebastian Claymore that followed.

  “Do you trust him?” Cian asked, taking another deep drag on his cigarette.

  Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know. I want to, but this whole situation is messed up.”

  “Speaking of being messed up,” Cian offered drily, “did I mention that you both look like shit?”

  “You don’t look so great yourself,” Wyatt replied, surprised to realize that what he’d said was true and not just a snarky comeback. There were new lines of strain around the Runner’s mouth and eyes, and one of his knees kept jiggling. Now that Wyatt thought about it, he realized Hennessey had been overly restless lately, not to mention chain-smoking to the point that it would have been hell on a human’s lungs. “Seriously, man. You look rough.”

  “Yeah, but all I have to do is find a willing set of legs to crawl between, and I’ll be good as gold,” the Irishman drawled with a sharp smile. “What are you going to do?”

  “Hell if I know.” He grimaced, his injured shoulder hurting like a bitch.

  “Well, I know what I’m doing,” Jeremy murmured, heading toward his cabin, where Jillian had just opened their front door, her petite body backlit by a golden, welcoming glow of light.

  “Can you let the others know what’s happened?” Wyatt asked, casting an eager look toward his own cabin, where a soft, colorful light was shining in the living-room window, making him think Elise must still be up watching television.

  “Yeah, I’ll let them know.”

  “Thanks,” he said, bringing his gaze back to Cian. From the look on Hennessey’s face, it was clear that his fellow Runner had noticed how intently he’d been staring at his cabin. And that he knew
why. But before his friend could give him any shit about it, the side door to Cian’s cabin opened and a woman Wyatt recognized from Shadow Peak walked out. She was tall and busty, with minimal clothing and a well-used look that said she’d been screwed through the Irishman’s mattress. She gave a little wave to Cian, then climbed into a small Toyota Wyatt hadn’t noticed until then and headed out of the Alley. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had gone down between the two, and Wyatt lifted his brows. “Don’t you normally go to the woman’s place?”

  Rolling his shoulder, Cian said, “Yeah, but I didn’t want to leave the Alley. We need all the protection we can get.”

  Wyatt snorted. “Exactly how much use would you be to us while playing ‘ride the pony’ with your current fuck-buddy?”

  The Runner gave a gritty laugh, a strange expression on his face that Wyatt had never seen before. “Not an issue. To be honest, despite what I said before about finding a pair of legs to crawl between, lately sex hasn’t been quite as...consuming for me as it used to be.” His tone was wry, with an unmistakable, underlying edge of something darker. “So there’s no need to worry about my powers of concentration, Pall.”

  Wyatt grunted, no idea what he should say to that. He and Cian weren’t exactly on “let’s rip our hearts out and talk life” terms. Not that he had that kind of friendship with anyone. And that was for a good reason. He didn’t ever know what to say when someone laid something heavy on the line like Hennessey had just done. Buck up? Sorry? Or the tried-and-true Life’s a bitch?

  Cian cut his hand through the air. “You know what? Just forget it. We never had this conversation.”

  “Er, right.” Wyatt started to walk away, then stopped himself and turned around, saying what had just occurred to him before he could think better of it. “But the problem might not be sex, man. It might just be who you’re having it with.” He paused, then added, “Or who you aren’t. You know. Sleeping with.”

  The tip of the cigarette gleamed like a demon’s eye as Cian pulled in another long drag. Wyatt braced himself for a smart-ass comeback, but the Runner simply jerked his chin toward Wyatt’s cabin and asked, “You gonna claim her?”

  He damn near fell back on his ass. “What?”

  “You gonna claim her?” Cian repeated, his deep voice for once devoid of its sarcastic edge as he slowly exhaled. “Because my advice would be to do it sooner rather than later.”

  “It’s not that simple,” he muttered, more than a little shocked that he was having this conversation with Cian, of all people. “If I care about her, then I’ve got to do what’s best for her. Right?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

  He blinked, cutting a sharp look toward the Irishman. What the hell? Everyone knew Hennessey was a man-whore, rolling from one bed to another. Christ, as far as Wyatt knew, the Runner had never slept with the same woman twice. The idea of him being hung up on one particular female was hard to take in—and yet, Wyatt recognized the shadows lurking in the Runner’s silver eyes.

  He’d seen them just that morning, when he’d looked in the mirror.

  Chapter 12

  At the sound of the front door opening, Elise slid her gaze from the sappy TV movie she’d been watching, hoping Wyatt wouldn’t notice that she’d been crying. Then she got a good look at him and her eyes nearly flooded all over again.

  “Oh, my God! What the hell happened?” she demanded in a breathless rush, surging to her feet and hurrying toward him. “Why are you bleeding?”

  A flat smile twisted the corner of his mouth. “Jeremy and I had an interesting night. But I’m fine.”

  Fine? Was he joking?

  “You don’t look fine,” she snapped, reaching out with her hands but unsure if she should touch him. His muscular torso was nothing but a soaked field of crimson. “You look like something out of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre!”

  With a masculine snort, he shoved his hair back from his face and said, “Yeah, I think that’s pretty much what Cian thought when he saw me. But most of it’s not my blood.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” she huffed, settling her hands on her hips. “If it’s not yours, then who does it belong to?”

  “We ran into a Whiteclaw soldier,” he muttered, running his tongue over the front of his teeth.

  Her eyes went wide. “Near the Alley? What was he doing all the way over here?”

  “I only know what he told us, which was that he was trying to keep an eye on a woman for someone.” His husky voice was tight with frustration and what was probably a lot of pain. “But before I could get any more out of him, Sebastian Claymore blew his fucking head off with a rifle.”

  “What was Sebastian Claymore doing on Bloodrunner land?” she asked, eyeing the angry claw marks in his shoulder, her stomach twisting at the thought of how badly the wound must be hurting him.

  “That’s the weird part,” he rasped. “He claimed he made the shot to help us. That he’s worried about the direction his uncle and brother are taking his pack. He also said that his brother especially has an issue with the Silvercrest, but wouldn’t go into details.”

  She locked her gaze back on his. “Do you believe him?”

  “I don’t know,” he muttered, watching her through the heavy weight of those long, incredible lashes. “I just know that I don’t want you worrying about it.”

  Elise gave him what she was pretty sure was a slack-jawed look of disbelief. “Seriously, Wyatt? How can I not worry?”

  He shook his head with a hard, curt movement, and she had to tilt her own head back as he closed the distance between them. “Because nothing’s different than it was before I came home tonight. We still don’t know anything for certain. Hell, Sebastian could be pissed at his brother for any number of reasons and be using us as a way to get rid of him. I don’t know the guy well enough to trust him. All I know is that I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. So promise me you’re not going to obsess about this.”

  She wanted to tell him that it was a ridiculous request. Of course she was going to obsess about it. How could she not, when they were talking about one of the bastards who could very well be responsible for ruining her life? God, there was a part of her that just wanted to grab Wyatt’s keys, run out and climb into his Jeep, and drive straight to the Whiteclaw’s pack town of Hawkley. That wanted to confront this Harris Claymore face-to-face and hear exactly what he had to say for himself. Would she know if she saw him in the flesh that he was one of the ones? Would she be able to tell? Would more pieces of the puzzle start coming back to her?

  “El?” Wyatt’s deep voice jerked her from her troubled thoughts, and she blinked him back into focus.

  “Sorry. I was just—”

  “Don’t,” he grated, cutting her off. “Don’t think about it.”

  She was surprised to feel her lips curving in a wry grin. “You’re so damn bossy.”

  “I know,” he said with a rough sigh, sounding exhausted. “And I’ll grovel later. I promise. Right now, I’m rank and need to clean up.”

  She bit her lip, feeling awful for getting so wrapped up in her own drama, when he was standing there bleeding out right in front of her. “Do you need Jillian to look at your shoulder for you?”

  “Naw. I can already feel it healing.”

  “Then come on,” she said firmly, grabbing his uninjured arm and leading him through the cabin. “Let’s go to the bathroom, where I can help you get sorted.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Wyatt, you’ve been hurt. Of course I don’t mind. I’m not that much of a bitch.”

  “You’re not a bitch at all, El. I just wasn’t sure how you were at dealing with shit like this and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m not going to pass out on you or anything. Blood doesn’t really bother me.” Once she got him to the bathroom, she let go of his arm and asked him where he kept his first-aid k
it, then pulled the plastic box out from the under the sink and started going through it for the things that she needed.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ll just grab a quick shower, and then you can patch me up. Okay?”

  She blinked as she swung her gaze toward him, her heart skipping a beat as she watched him undo the top button on his jeans. “Oh, uh, yeah, that’s a good idea,” she rambled. “I’ll just, um, wait out...there.”

  “Suit yourself,” he drawled with a crooked smile, as if he were perfectly comfortable stripping down with her standing right there, watching him.

  Elise didn’t bother shutting the bathroom door behind her as she fled, wanting to hear him in case he needed her. But she also didn’t linger too closely, trying to sneak a peek. Instead, she paced the hallway as she listened to the water rattling in the pipes, trying to think about anything other than how the Runner’s breathtaking body must look under the hot spray of water, all those hard, sculpted muscles sleek and wet, firm to the touch.

  Trying not to think about him, huh? Yeah, great job I’m doing with that one.

  “I’m decent now,” he called out, snapping her out of her thoughts again.

  She smoothed her hands over her tank top and jeans as she made her way back to the door, then nearly swallowed her tongue when she got a clear look at him standing on the bathroom rug. He was nude except for the white towel wrapped around his lean hips, droplets of water still clinging to his burnished skin as he lifted his arms, biceps bulging as he shoved his wet hair back from his face.

  “Um, just sit on the side of the tub for me,” she practically croaked, trying hard not to do anything embarrassing, like drool all over his sexy ass. Reaching for the antiseptic wipes she’d set out on the counter, Elise kept her focus firmly on his shoulder as she started to clean the wound, determined not to think about how big and beautiful and bare he was. Or how incredible his hard-muscled thighs looked as she stood between them.