Wolf Hunter

by Loveless, Ryan

  Westley shoved Jaylen down on his back, pushing him sideways so he didn’t hit his head on the wall. He sucked on Jaylen’s ear as he followed him down, breaking away only to say, “Then fuck me now.”

  “Well, since you said it so nice.” Jaylen kissed him. Westley smelled good and... Shit. He shoved him, hard. “What the fuck? You trying to trick me?”

  “Look. This is how mates work.” Westley sat up and, maybe as a form of revenge, sat his two-hundred plus pound muscular self right on Jaylen’s crotch. He held up a finger. “One. An omega and an alpha, or a beta and an alpha, or a beta and an omega, or two betas, or two omegas, but almost never two alphas because that’s asking for trouble, decide they’re going to be mates. Or the higher up one tells the lower one that’s how it is, but that’s a real dick move.” Westley glared at Jaylen as if Jaylen had ever had it in his mind to do that. From Jaylen’s purview, the tables were flipped around on that one.

  “Uh huh.” Jaylen tried to scoot out from under Westley. His legs were starting to fall asleep.

  “Or.” Westley held up a second finger. “Nature rushes in and bites you on the ass and says, ‘Hey, this one here!’ That’s us.”

  “That’s you,” Jaylen said.

  Westley shrugged. “Whatever. God.” He glared down, though he seemed more upset at himself than Jaylen. “I must have really amused you last night running around like a lovestruck pup.”

  “Hey, I’m just happy you didn’t eat me.” He thought better of adding like you almost ate Cody. “And, uh, it was a nice reprieve from the torture.” Fuck, a little honesty wouldn’t hurt, would it? After all, Westley had rescued him.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Didn’t say thanks.” It came out gruff, but dammit, he hadn’t meant for Westley to take it that way. All he was doing was stating facts.

  Westley leaned down and put his lips next to Jaylen’s ear. “I guess I’d better teach you some manners in the time we’ve got left.” His breath blew warm and damp into Jaylen’s ear canal.

  “We, um—” Jaylen licked his lips, unconsciously returning moisture to his suddenly parched mouth.

  Westley shoved his hand up Jaylen’s side. He grazed it over Jaylen’s bruises, but the feeling it roused was more pleasure than pain.

  “Hurt?” Westley asked.

  “No. Whatever you gave me, it’s working.” Jaylen arched his neck, and guided Westley to suck his bared skin.

  “Supposed to last twelve hours.” Westley kissed him. “I’ll rub more on you later.”

  “Can’t wait.” Jaylen combed through Westley’s soft hair with his fingers. Westley made a positive little noise. Jaylen kept his hands on him as Westley voyaged below Jaylen’s neck.

  “So, sex is not going to, um....” Jaylen blinked as he tried to remember a time when words had meant stuff like... like... talking and... uh... stuff.

  Westley paused in sucking Jaylen’s nipple to say, “I solemnly swear that we will not be wolf-married if we fuck. Sex has nothing to do with it. Tom and I fuck all the ti—” Jaylen wasn’t sure who was more surprised when he yanked Westley’s hair and forced his head up. Westley’s lips formed a fish-mouth O. Jaylen held him, his own mouth echoing the shape of surprise until the flare of jealousy eased. He swallowed and let Westley down, smoothing his hair in apology.

  “Sorry. Carry on.”

  He swore he could feel Westley smiling against his chest and cursed himself again. Bastard had done it on purpose to test him.

  Well.

  “Don’t mention fucking Tom again,” Jaylen said, because he didn’t want to hear about Westley’s sex life and not, not, because Westley responded by clinging to him and rubbing his cock against Jaylen’s leg as a solid promise. He tried to relax as Westley took care of him. He deserved this, didn’t he? Westley’s sure hands on him? Westley’s mouth? Denton had almost killed him. What kind of sick bastard used fire? The kind who shreds your family, jackass. Westley’s salve had worked on the burns too. He had almost no pain. Hell, if he’d known healing would be this easy, he’d have held out longer before giving up so mu—

  “Fuck!”

  This time, Westley got out of the way before Jaylen flung himself up to a sitting position. “I need your phone.”

  “My phone?” Westley looked confused.

  “I have to call someone.”

  “Um? I don’t... Tom said you need to stay here and—”

  “Westley. My friend’s in trouble. I told Denton her name. For all I know, she’s already puppy chow. So, I would appreciate it, please—” He stopped to get control of his cracked voice, of his tired eyes and weary life. “—if you would help me.”

  “Okay,” Westley said.

  “Oh... kay?” Jaylen wiped his nose.

  Westley got up. “Give me her number.”

  “You’re going to call her? What will you say?” Now Jaylen was the one acting like a hyper puppy.

  “I’ll tell her she needs to beware of werewolves. I assume she knows about werewolves?”

  Jaylen tried not to panic as he pictured Danni talking to Westley. God knew what would come out of her mouth. Out of either of their mouths. “Just let me call her.”

  Westley grinned. “Don’t worry. Denton hasn’t sent anyone out of town. Tom’s been keeping track. So give me the number and I’ll take care of it. If she’s special to you, she’s special to me.”

  “You’re trying to make it hard for me to kill you.”

  “Is it working?”

  Mumbling Danni’s number seemed easier in so many ways—and less subject to misinterpretation—than “maybe.”

  Westley kissed his cheek, said, “Back soon!” and bounced out of the room. Jaylen fell backwards. He covered his eyes with his forearm.

  What the fuck had he gotten himself into? Calm down. Focus. Kill Denton. Save Danni. Kill Westley...?

  His mind wouldn’t let him attach a positive to that task. But Westley was a wolf. He’d killed two people in front of Jaylen. It was that same old argument, and it had never failed him before.

  A werewolf was a werewolf was an instinct driven monster. End of story.

  End of Westley.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE TRANSITION BETWEEN pack alphas was called the “honeymoon period.” Tom didn’t know who decided on that, but he was damn sure it was someone with a morbid sense of humor. Standing alone next to his father’s bleeding corpse, Tom had only wanted to do one thing: call his mommy. In the hours since, he’d watched his town fall under Denton’s roving band of chaos and thrall. After entrusting Thomas’ body to his mother, Tom had spent the night as a wolf, rounding up anyone who Denton hadn’t warped into going on a killing spree and forming his own posse with the goal of offsetting as much damage as he could. He’d managed to gather six: four betas, two of whom were part of a mated pair and had brought their omegas along. To say it was less of an army than he’d hoped for would be an understatement of an understatement.

  For decades, the werewolves in La Mer-sur-Plaines had lived peacefully alongside the humans. Last night, all that changed. Wolves crashed through doors, tore people from their beds, ripped them apart in savagery that came from nightmares. Tom had the news playing on the small television that sat in the corner of the kitchen counter. A news crew had come down from the nearest station, over one hundred miles away. They’d set up camp outside the police station, where the somber reporter was fighting with her hat against the wind as she reported that inside everyone was dead.

  At the commercial break, Tom got up to check on the other wolves. He walked in on two betas in the living room staring blankly at a television tuned to a different station. Joshua was eighteen. A rare case of a child surviving an attack, he’d been converted when he was twelve. Mary was fifty, and, as far as Tom knew, was still married to Carl, the husband she’d had when she crossed paths with a werewolf twenty years before. He paused to watch the whooshing graphics and overblown voiceover announce: “Wolves Gone Bad! What caused a small tow
n’s legendary wolf population to turn rabid?”

  “We’re not rabid,” Joseph said, looking at Tom with insult in his eyes.

  “People like to make up classifications for things they don’t understand.” Tom picked up the remote and switched the television off.

  “How’s Carl?” he asked Mary.

  She continued staring at the television’s gray screen. “Dead.” She pulled her cardigan aside to reveal a shirt dark with blood. Joshua made a small, disturbed sound.

  “I’m sorry,” Tom said. “I’ll see if my mother has something for you to wear.”

  “I will wear this,” Mary said. She fell silent, still not looking at Tom. He glanced at Joshua, who had scooted to his end of the couch.

  “Get some rest,” Tom said. “I know it’s hard, but try.”

  “Yes, Alpha.” Joshua turned to his side and curled his spindly legs up to his bony chest. Mary clasped her hands in her lap. Tom swerved toward the stairs. He jogged up the wide oak steps, averting his gaze from the parade of dead ancestors that hung on the wall—judging him—until he stopped at his parents’ bedroom.

  “Mom?”

  She sat with her back to him, facing the bed where his father lay on top of a ninety-year-old handmade quilt. She’d wrapped a scarf around his neck to hide the killing wound and dressed him in dark brown slacks and a matching checked shirt. Tom had helped her pull the light brown socks on his feet and set his smartest shoes at the edge of the bed. What hair Thomas had was too matted with blood to comb when Tom last saw him, but now it was clean and smooth around the side of his head and his bald pate shone freshly scrubbed.

  “Is it true the hunter is here?”

  He ventured closer so he could see her face.

  “Yes.”

  She turned around. He almost stepped back. His forty-five year old mother had bags under her eyes, and for the first time he noticed gray in her dark hair. “Why?”

  “Well, Westley asked—”

  She began to laugh. “Oh, ‘Westley asked. Westley asked.’ I should have known. You should have mated him, Tommy. Then you wouldn’t have him holding you on a leash.”

  “He doesn’t—” Tom stopped to compose himself. He was pack alpha now; he should be able to handle his mother, but she plowed over him before he could think out what he wanted to say.

  “Westley’s always had a hold over you. He takes advantage of you.”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “He’s an omega. He should be subservient to you.” Her gaze blazed in anger. In that moment, Tom saw what a disappointment he’d been to her. Waiting so long to claim his place as pack alpha, spending his nights getting drunk and fucking an unmated omega. It must seem to her that he had no backbone at all. But she didn’t know Westley, and lately Tom had doubted if she knew her own son either.

  “I don’t subscribe to the old ways.” He forced his shoulders back, forced himself to look her in the eyes. “It was my choice to let Westley bring the hunter here. He’s bound securely.” She glanced pointedly at Thomas as if to say, ‘Your father would never do such a thing.’ Then she did say it. Tom refused to let the thought stop him. “I think he could be helpful to us. He’s tracked Denton for years. He knows him better than anyone.”

  “I always told your father that we needed to have another child in case something happened to you. ‘Later, later,’ he always said. ‘Tommy will be fine.’” She grabbed his hand. Hers felt clammy against his sweating palms. “Denton wants the hunter. He will stop at nothing to get him. Give him up now. I can’t lose my entire family in one day. Please.”

  Tom knelt beside her. “Denton won’t leave until he’s destroyed this town. It’s what he does. Then he’ll move on and destroy another. Dad might have given him the hunter, but I won’t. It won’t solve the problem. It will only show Denton he can control us.”

  “He already is.”

  Tom stood up again. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mary’s in the living room. She needs a new shirt. Hers is covered in her husband’s blood. Can you help her, please?”

  “All right.”

  “And I could use you downstairs. I’ve got a lot of confused people around and I expect more will show up as the day goes on.”

  “I don’t want to leave your father.”

  Tom reached out to touch his father’s leg. “He’s dead, Mom. He’s already left us. I’m going to go check on Westley.”

  He didn’t wait for her reply before leaving the room. The door had been open when he came in, and he left it open when he left.

  Downstairs, someone had turned the TV back on in the living room. “La Mer-sur-Plaines is well known among surrounding areas for its pro-wolf policies that prohibit any type of culling of wolf herds, but have those policies now acted against it in what appears to be an unprovoked assault on human life?”

  Tom indulged himself with an eye roll. Of course La Mer had pro- wolf policies. Every damn member of the city council was a wolf. Joshua was asleep hanging off the couch. Mary hadn’t moved, but Tom saw the black-haired head of Jasper and his mate Andrea sitting on the floor together. They held the remote between them.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it!” On the television, the program rolled a news clip from earlier in the day. Mr. Daly, the owner of the Five and Dime that still had a mechanical pony out front offering rides for ten cents in the slot, waved his arms as he spoke into the reporter’s microphone. “I grabbed my wife with one hand and my gun in the other and started shooting at the suckers. This is why we can’t let any of these leftie communists take away our right to bear—”

  Tom forced his attention back to his wolves. “Do you need anything?”

  “Besides to know what the hell’s going to happen next?” Jasper offered a tired smile. “We’re fine.” He glanced at his mate for support, and she nodded before snuggling under his arm.

  “Okay. Get some rest.”

  “How is your wife?” the reporter asked. Mr. Daly lowered his arms. “She’s dead.”

  Tom checked on the hunter next. He was locked in the bedroom of Tom’s teenage years, his sanctuary when he was too young to leave home and felt too old to sleep six feet from his parents. It was soundproof, thanks to the concrete walls and some extra padding that came as a result of his father’s hatred of hair metal and Tom’s absolute love of it when he was fifteen. The basement spanned the same area as the first floor, and Tom crossed through a laundry room, sewing room, and storage room before landing at the wooden door of his former abode.

  He knocked. After a moment, Westley stepped out. While the outside of the door was a simple varnish, the inner door was still painted neon orange, an act that he’d done in secret with Cody and Westley at his side giggling and shushing each other. “Is he secure?”

  Westley pulled the door shut. “Yeah. Can I use your phone? My battery’s dead.”

  “You didn’t use all the ingredients you asked for,” Tom said, ignoring Westley’s request.

  “The rest are for my tea,” Westley said.

  “The tea that stops you from shifting?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Westley....” He couldn’t believe Westley was going to pull this now. However, he guessed he shouldn’t be surprised, since apparently Westley had been getting one over on him and everyone else for months. Time to put a stop to that. “I need you healthy today, West. It’s all hands on deck. We don’t know what Denton’s going to do. Promise me.”

  “I need it.” Westley’s voice rose; not enough to be a plea, but enough that Tom recognized the first hint of desperation.

  “Not if it makes you sick like I saw. Fuck, Westley, Cody and I found you unconscious. Do you know what that was like for us?”

  Westley stared down at his feet at the mention of Cody.

  “Ah, shit. I didn’t mean to remind you—”

  “No. It’s fine. I killed him. And you want me to be a wolf again. It’s fine. I understand. I—” He cut himself off with a loud sniff and suddenly
Tom found himself with Westley’s nose against his collarbone and Westley’s arms around him. He hugged him back, tight. Westley was taller and broader than almost everyone in the pack, but he’d always fit against Tom like they were made for each other. Tom stroked his hair for a few moments. Upstairs, he heard the doorbell and footsteps walking toward it.

  “Until things go back to normal,” Tom said. “Then I won’t say anything about it. I promise.” It killed him to see Westley like this. Maybe his mother was right about Westley walking all over him, but Tom figured he used Westley as much, and he never had to question that Westley would do anything for him, or vice versa.

  Westley pulled back and looked like he was going to protest, but gradually he let out the breath he was holding and unclenched his fists from Tom’s shirt. “Fine. Now can I use your phone?”

  “Yeah.” Tom handed it over.

  He watched as Westley looked at a piece of paper and dialed, his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth in the “thinky face” he used when he thought no one was looking. “Who are you calling?”

  “No one.” Westley waved for Tom to be quiet. “Hello, Danni? This is Westley. I’m a friend of Jaylen’s and—”

  “The gardener?” she asked, loud enough for Tom to hear.

  “Uh. Yeah. It’s, uh, it’s Westley.”

  Tom snatched the phone out of Westley’s hand. “What are you doing?” he mouthed, cutting off Westley’s protest. He swung the phone to his ear in time to hear Danni say, “Well, honey, he’s told me all about you. If you’re calling to ask for his hand in marriage, you can ha—”

  Tom covered the mouthpiece. “Did he convince you to call for help?”

  Westley fixed Tom with a look that normally translated to “You stupid moron, why are you drunk again?” “No, he didn’t. He said he might have put this girl in danger, though, so he asked me to warn her.”

  “Don’t tell her anything else.”

  “Wasn’t going to,” Westley said.

  Tom shoved the phone back to Westley, who flipped him off.

  “Oh, um, thanks,” Westley said to Danni. With his hearing, he’d picked up Danni’s end of the conversation. She had continued to talk and was in the process of offering her cottage for the wedding when Westley got the phone back. “But I’m actually calling because Jaylen asked me to tell you that, um, he’s really sorry but he might have put you in some trouble.”