Wolf Hunter

by Loveless, Ryan

  “Did you brew a less strong batch?” Jaylen asked.

  Westley glanced at it and took a sip. He came away with another grimace, which somehow made him look more attractive. “Practice makes perfect,” he said brightly.

  “Why don’t you dump it and start over? I can help you. I used to be pretty good at cooking.”

  “Waste not, want not,” Westley said. He pinched Jaylen’s elbow as he pulled him back to the couch. “That’s what Gram says. So, you cook, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah. I am a terror with a skillet.”

  “In that case,” Westley grinned, “you are totally on omelette duty in the morning.”

  “You’re on,” Jaylen said. He only realized when Westley kissed him that he’d basically agreed to spend the night. Putting his hands on Westley’s shoulders, he pushed. “You’re a manipulator, you know that?”

  “I have ninety channels dedicated solely to sports on my television.”

  Jaylen eased his grip and pulled Westley in for a kiss. “Then I hope you’ve got a spare toothbrush.”

  “Of course,” Westley said. He snuggled against Jaylen’s shoulder, somehow feeling lighter than his size indicated. “I have whatever you need.” Jaylen hooked his arm around him. ESPN was still on and had switched to a soccer game. Jaylen tested his tea. When he didn’t burn his tongue, he took a longer swallow.

  “Good?” Westley asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s the fresh mint. Makes a huge difference. You know, you could grow herbs on the road, set up something in the back of your car—”

  “Westley, if you’re going to talk about gardening, I am fully willing to tell you to blow me.”

  Rather than look insulted, Westley lit up. “You mean it? I mean, I can stop talking about gardening. I don’t want to pressure you into—”

  “Westley. Please get on your knees and put my cock in your mouth.”

  “Oh.” Westley flushed as he obeyed. He looked up at Jaylen with a bright, eager smile. “I’m good. You’ll see.”

  Jaylen lay his head back, finding he already believed him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JAYLEN WALKED OUT of Westley’s bedroom wearing his boxers and nothing else. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes.

  “Hey sleepyhead,” Westley said. “Didn’t know if I’d see you before noon.”

  “Hey,” Jaylen said. He rubbed until the blur representing Westley cleared. He was in the kitchen again. For someone who claimed he didn’t cook, he sure seemed to live in there. “I thought breakfast was my realm today.”

  Westley grinned. “Brunch now.” He walked around the counter, mug in hand. Although he’d slept naked—they both had—now he was wearing a pair of cut off sweatpants along with a ratty T-shirt. “It’s all yours.” He slapped Jaylen’s ass as he passed him. Jaylen caught his hand and pulled him in for a quick kiss.

  “Same tea as yesterday?”

  “Yep.” Westley carried it over to the couch and sat down. He’d drunk another cup after they’d fucked again. As far as Jaylen could tell, he was mainlining the stuff like he was on an all-liquid diet. Jaylen found a clean skillet and spatula already on the stove. He pulled eggs and fresh spinach from the refrigerator. As he prepped omelettes, his stomach twisted into the beginnings of a cramp. He was almost at his twenty-four hour point on the drug. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d have to detox here. Not his idea of a great morning after.

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Westley cried out.

  “West?”

  Westley curled up on the couch clutching his stomach. Jaylen shut the stove off and raced to him. Grabbing Westley’s shoulder, he helped him sit up. “What happened?”

  “Hurts,” Westley said. He curled forward. Tears beaded in his eyes.

  Jaylen stared at his pale face. “Are you going to throw up?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Forgetting his own pain, Jaylen offered his hand. “Okay, here, hold my hand and ride through the pain. Breathe.”

  Westley glanced up. An ironic smile touched his lips. “I’m not having a baby, Jaylen. It’s a stomachache.” He squeezed Jaylen’s hand anyway.

  “Good. Because we would be screwed if that were happening.”

  “Ha.”

  Westley was strong. Jaylen lost feeling in his hand before he let go.

  “It’s your tea,” Jaylen said.

  “It’s not—”

  “You’ve been mainlining it. Tea isn’t supposed to be inhaled, Westley.”

  “Like you’re such a tea drinker.” Westley scooted away, seemingly through the worst of his pain.

  “I know things,” Jaylen said. He picked up Westley’s mug and sniffed. It smelled like a collision of cabbage and garlic. “Christ. What the hell is in this?”

  “I like it,” Westley said, with no conviction in his tone.

  “Uh huh. Which is why you were gagging on it last night.” Jaylen took a cautious sip.

  “No, don’t—” Westley lunged toward him, fingers splayed in panic like he was trying to stop Jaylen from jamming a fork in an electric socket.

  Before Jaylen could parse that, the taste registered and he spat. He didn’t mean to spit in Westley’s face, but he couldn’t hold the vile taste on his tongue a second longer. “What the fuck. You do not like this. You can’t.”

  “What do you mean I can’t?” Now he sounded defensive, as if swallowing his gross tea was a matter of personal pride.

  Jaylen put the mug down. It was all he could do not to scuttle away from it. “How am I supposed to like someone who likes this shit?”

  Westley blinked, then looked pleased. “You like me?”

  “It’s a saying.” Oh shit. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. Even if it was the truth. But liking someone was not an option. Not even someone as hot and perfect as Westley. He’d laid out towels for Jaylen’s shower and offered Jaylen a pair of clean underwear the night before. Who was more perfect than that?

  “You like me is a saying?” Westley’s lips quirked up.

  “Westley. What the hell is this tea for?” Jaylen tried to reclaim the conversation before it went too far out of his control.

  Westley’s face went firm, and he stood up. He plucked the mug from Jaylen’s hand. “It’s personal.”

  “Tea is personal?”

  Westley crossed his arms. “I have a condition.”

  “A... oh.” He’d interpreted at first that Westley meant he wanted Jaylen to do something before he told him what the deal was, but based on Westley’s dropped gaze, Jaylen figured he meant ‘condition’ like medical. Jaylen didn’t need to go there with a guy who was still hitting the definition of a one night stand. “Okay. Sorry. Hey, man, I can respect your privacy. I was worried, all right?”

  Westley grinned. “You do like me.”

  “Yes, fine. I do. But it doesn’t mean anything. I’m not the settling down type.” Jaylen squared his shoulders in a way he knew made him look more macho. A non-settling down type of macho man.

  “Who asked you to? Jesus, Jaylen. Jump the gun much?” Westley sounded more let down than annoyed, despite his words.

  “Right. Sorry.” Jaylen struggled not to feel bad. Eye on the prize. You’re here to kill Denton, not to fall in love, or lust, or whatever the hell this is. “Breakfast?”

  “Please.” Westley sounded relieved to end the subject.

  The omelette had finished cooking using the heat of the skillet. They ate quickly. Westley was fascinating to watch. He cut his food first and then shoveled in four bites at a time. “I have to go after this,” Jaylen said. It felt like ripping off a bandage.

  “You have to?” Westley looked alarmed. “I thought we could hang out here.”

  “I’m sorry, I have things to do.” People to see, super Alpha wolves to kill....

  “Are you leaving town soon?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” Depends on how long it takes to give Denton a bloody send off.

  “Well, why don’t you stay
here?”

  “Because I told you, I have things to do.” Jaylen wasn’t sure if it was Westley’s question or the fact his insides were doing an unhappy dance making him snippy.

  “Well, do them here.” Westley was almost whining.

  Jaylen put his fork down. “If I could, I would. But I have responsibilities. I don’t usually even bother explaining this to people.”

  “So I should feel special?” Westley asked, with bitterness.

  “No, yes. I don’t know. Look—we just met. So, what you’re doing here, it’s a little weird.” Now Westley was definitely on his nerves. It was a rehash of the night before. What was Westley’s problem? No way he wanted Jaylen’s hot bod that much.

  “Do you want to fuck me over the kitchen counter?”

  Jaylen blinked. He hadn’t expected that redirective. Westley stared at him, full of hope. “Tell you what. I’ll take a raincheck. I’ll come back tonight and fuck you on whatever surfaces you want.”

  Westley didn’t answer for a long time. He sat in silence so long that Jaylen went into the bedroom to get dressed. When he returned, Westley hadn’t moved. Christ, what the fuck was wrong with him?

  “Westley—” Westley ducked away and wiped his eyes. “Are you crying?”

  “You won’t stay?”

  “Honestly, this is not normal what you’re doing.” He cursed himself. Usually he was better at avoiding the clingy ones. Westley’s appearance and dopey smile had blinded him. “Well, uh, I’m going to go before you decide to chain me in the basement.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Westley said dully.

  “Right. Okay. Um.” He debated giving Westley a parting kiss and decided it was best to run.

  Which he did.

  His hands started trembling on the drive. He reached the motel as the first wave of strong cramps hit. A few cars were parked in scattered places along the front of the motel as Jaylen pulled in. He recognized most. There was a red truck he hadn’t seen before. He parked and got out of the car. As he walked toward his room, his tongue dried and the veins in his arms burned. Wolves. Fuck. His body needed to get clear of the drug, but he couldn’t think about that now. Had to figure out where that wolf was and get safe before his body’s reactions put him into more danger.

  “Got you.” It grabbed him from behind and shoved him against his own door. He dropped to his knees, pulled his knife from his boot and came up swinging. The wolf didn’t have a weapon, but it had a smile that started with lips and ended with a bloody stripe of slashed skin.

  “Thought I killed you last night,” Jaylen said.

  “Thought wrong,” it said. Its stringy brown hair flopped in its face. Jaylen stabbed and slashed before it could grab him again. He cut its throat and shoved the shaking corpse away.

  “Hate it when they don’t stay dead,” he muttered. With the knife still at the ready, he shoved his key into the lock.

  “Austin!” He jerked up at the sound of the howl. Goddammit, should have known that was why his veins still raged with the drug’s fire. Fucking cramps distracting him. There were more of them. He spun around, back to the door. Fucking hell. One of them was huge. “I told him to wait. He never was a good listener.” Its eyes flashed gold, evil in a beautiful face. The bigger they are...

  Jaylen sprung at it.

  The other one, a blond about Jaylen’s height with spiky hair and a pissed off smile, grabbed his arm and knocked him back. It thrust his arm up and banged Jaylen’s hand on the door until the knife fell free. Jaylen scrabbled for the door knob. Suddenly, the wolf looked confused.

  “Tom?” It said, glancing to its partner. The other wolf closed in. It, too, stopped and peered curiously at Jaylen. Its mouth opened stupidly and its nose wrinkled. Jaylen took the distraction for the offering it was and twisted the key in the door knob. He fell backwards into his room. The wolves recovered themselves and attempted to dive in after him. The blond one fell backwards screaming. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “Wolfsbane, fuckers,” Jaylen crowed from the floor. “Tom” picked its friend up. Jaylen expected they’d stake him out now, but after a short, frenzied conference with a lot of yellow glares in his direction, the blond one picked up the dead one, waving off the huge wolf’s attempt to help, and carried it back to the truck. Jaylen watched the truck tear out of the lot before he stretched a hand across his threshold to grab his knife. He shoved it back into the ankle sheath.

  With the wolves gone, his body settled back into the pain of pre-detox. He shut the door and stood for a moment, trying not to collapse. Finally gathering himself, he limped into the bathroom and puked up his breakfast. It might be better to find a new place to stay, since they knew where he was, but he wouldn’t get far in his condition. At least he had the door warded. He didn’t know why those wolves had run off instead of waiting him out, but he was damn sure it wasn’t a reason that would turn out good for him.

  They might return any second. He pulled a chair up to the door and sat with a knife in his lap. He’d left his arsenal spread out on the bed, and it was there now, waiting with silver promise to slice and kill. The knife he held against his thigh was five years old, purchased at a pawn shop in an unmapped Texas town. It had a polished wooden handle with the initials “R.W.” carved along the side. If he held it just so when he twisted it in a wolf’s gut, he could feel the carving in his palm. He had no idea who “R.W.” was and had never cared. He’d twisted this knife into the bellies of fifty wolves. If the two from today returned, he would make it fifty-two. A cramp clamped down on his stomach like a fist. He surged forward until he was bent in half, the unsheathed knife caught between his thigh and his chest.

  “Christ, fuck fuck fuck.” He clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t shout, and the resistance brought tears to his eyes. Finally, the pain eased enough that he could sit up. The knife lay flat, promise of harm unfulfilled. So sitting vigil waiting on the monsters’ return was a bad idea. He was lucky he hadn’t stabbed himself. Moron. Staggering to his feet, he made his way to the bed. With shaking hands, he folded up the towel the knives lay on, making a parcel of them, and shoved it into his weapons bag. His thoughts raced and tumbled, chasing logic—how long could he let himself be confined versus how much time he’d need to detox—and found contradictions and confusion in his half-formed answers.

  Maybe he’d be lucky and they wouldn’t come for him until the time he’d calculated had passed. He yanked the ropes out of his bag and tossed the coil onto the bed. Then he stripped out of his jeans. Detox was a hot business. Even his favorite, oldest pair of jeans tortured his sensitized skin.

  He couldn’t hold back a broken chuckle as he unraveled them.

  They’d come, and they’d find him trussed up like a turkey.

  And what could he do?

  He set his “R.W.” knife under the pillow. Keep it near. Keep it ready.

  He tied his ankle with the knife still strapped to it. The night before, he’d taken the ankle sheath off without Westley seeing, although in a small town Jaylen had found such a weapon didn’t raise many eyebrows, and he’d strapped it back on while Westley was busy acting like an obsessive weirdo. Now his fingers wouldn’t work to loosen it, even if he’d wanted them to. A weapon at his head and another at his feet to keep him safe. Paltry prayers, but prayers nonetheless. With the faith of a man who believed only, unquestionably, in himself, he dropped his head on the pillow as the hallucinations and headaches began.

  WESTLEY SAT AT the dining table for a long time after Jaylen left. He stared down at his empty plate. You did the best you could. Jaylen was right; short of chaining him up, there was nothing else Westley could have done to keep him. Now Jaylen was out there, free for Westley’s friends to kill or, if what the Alpha said was true, free for Jaylen to kill them. At least he’d kept Jaylen safe for the night.

  Why had the Alpha decided to come to La Mer-sur-Plaines? Why now? The Alpha was a fairy tale. Westley had never believed in him. Hell, he’d never known anyone who believed
in him, but suddenly here he was, and everyone was acting insane.

  His crying out probably hadn’t helped Jaylen feel he could stick around, either. The increased dosage of tea was doing every bad thing Westley had imagined. Jaylen, thankfully, had been asleep when Westley had dragged himself into the bathroom in the middle of the night for a long visit with Brother John. Nothing said romance like diarrhea. Of course, if the situation were switched, Westley would’ve offered him water and soothing back rubs because Jaylen was clearly an alpha. He was more alpha than the wolves Westley knew.

  And what a connection he’d felt. He hadn’t expected that at all.

  Westley pushed away from the table and headed for the kitchen with his and Jaylen’s plates. He was acting like a moron. So Jaylen made him want to submit. So what? So did Tom. He was omega. Submission was what he did. The best thing he could do now was find distraction for himself. In distraction, he would find reprieve from how sick the tea was making him, and in that reprieve, he might find the answer that would keep Jaylen and his friends safe. He washed the dishes with focused thoroughness and set them in the drying rack. A few hours weeding in the garden should do it. Nothing centered him better than feeling the dirt under his knees. He nurtured the garden as he might a child one day, coaxing each plant into its best potential, a potential of promise, sustenance, beauty and purpose. This was what had drawn him to gardening in the first place, and to plant husbandry when he’d entered college. In the garden, Westley didn’t have to explain himself. He didn’t feel judged. In the garden, Westley had everything he was missing in the rest of his life.

  At least, he’d thought so until Jaylen had turned up. Don’t think about him like that. Finished in the kitchen, he put his shoes on and jogged down his porch steps to the yard. The air was brisk and crisp, the sun bright. He dropped to his knees between the rows of potatoes. “Hey babies,” he said. “Miss me?”