Half-breed Wolf

by Shiloh Saddler

  Half-breed Wolf

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter 7

  HALF-BREED WOLF

  Alpha Rules Book 1

  By

  SHILOH SADDLER

  HALF-BREED WOLF

  Copyright 2016 by Shiloh Saddler

  Smashwords Edition

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, including photocopy, recording or any information retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter 1

  Lance knelt at the freshly dug grave, singing his father’s death song. The man had suddenly taken ill. He barely had time to say goodbye. He mourned privately, the others in the village giving him space as was their way. Taking a small knife out of the sheath on his belt, he sliced his arm next to the scar in honor of his mother. Warm blood spilled from the wound, easing a fraction of his pain. The deep cut would form a visible scar—scar that would serve as a reminder of his father.

  As soon as he shifted into wolf form the bleeding would stop. He drew a deep breath and slowly rose to his feet. Now without a mother or a father all he had was his pack.

  He steps back to the village were measured in time with the throb in his chest. When he arrived he saw the pack gathered waiting for him. It was time to celebrate his father’s life, not dwell on his death.

  One glance at his Alpha and the dull ache in his heart intensified as if he’d been stabbed. What was wrong? Instead of offering to console him, his Alpha looked ready to go on the war path. Those menacing amber eyes bore through him.

  “Lance,” his Alpha called in a gruff tone.

  “Yes?”

  “Come here.” Mighty Elk motioned Lance over to him. His top lip curled, showing off his teeth.

  Lance swallowed hard, his inner wolf trembling. The man was imposing when he was in a good mood with broad shoulders, his limbs bulging with muscles and sinew.

  Standing in front of him, Lance tilted his head to the side, exposing his throat.

  “I tolerated you as a favor to your father,” he growled. “Not that he’s dead you are no longer welcome here.”

  Lance blinked. Did he hear his Alpha right? He’d done everything he could to fit in. He’d adopted all their traditions and beliefs. “Not welcome?” His shaky voice sounded almost ghostly.

  “Don’t worry,” Mighty Elk sneered, “we’ll help you start your new life.”

  Help how?

  The Alpha snapped his fingers and his Beta overpowered Lance.

  He landed on his back with a thud, the wind knocked out of him. The Beta held him down. Sobs bubbled up his throat and he did not try to push them down. He was a small man, no match to fight his captors if he’d had it in him to fight.

  His Alpha stood over him sneering. “You really are a poor excuse for a man. It wasn’t your father’s fault. He was a great warrior and will be honored. Your mother ruined you.”

  Lance didn’t respond. There was nothing to say. He’d heard it all before, and now he didn’t have his father to come to his defense.

  His Alpha held a small branding iron to the fire. After it glowed red he pulled it out and held it in the air waiting for it to cool to the proper temperature. “I forbid you from shifting from this day forth,” he snarled.

  His inner wolf shrunk deeper inside him, cowering.

  The Beta’s turned Lance’s head to the side, showing his cheek. His Alpha pressed the hot iron onto Lance’s skin and he howled.

  This couldn’t be happening. It was all a nightmare. Why didn’t his Alpha just spare him the agony and kill him?

  * * * *

  Exiled from the pack after his father’s death, Lance didn’t have anywhere to go. He touched the small S branded on his left cheek. The flesh had healed, but the emotional scar ran clear to the bone.

  Lance’s anger ebbed leaving him numb. He might as well be a nothing. He had no family, no connections. He should just sing his death song and… He heaved a loud sigh. That would be the coward’s way out, and would not bring him an honorable passing. He’d brave the miserable storm his life had become.

  He stayed hidden in the day time, only traveling by the light of the moon. In wolf form he had protection. He longed to shift, to race through the wilderness and hunt, to see the fear in the eyes of the rabbits and deer as he passed. In wolf form, he was still at the top of the food chain, holding on to some form of dominance. As a human he was as low as they came. Damn it. He might be trapped in human form forever unless he could find another Alpha to give him permission to shift.

  That seemed highly unlikely. The Wolf Creek Pack were the only shifters he knew within hundreds of miles. He’d heard rumors of roving bands in the wilderness. Even if they existed and he could find one, they wouldn’t want to make him a member. He really was a poor excuse for a shifter.

  Lance yawned, his feet heavy. He hadn’t had a decent meal in days. He’d been walking for countless miles on two legs. Now all he wanted to do was lie in the soft grass and sleep.

  Three horse and riders approached riding fast, their mounts snorting. Lance didn’t have time to hide. He stood at the side of the road, head bowed. White men had a low opinion of Indians and Africans and he was half of both.

  “What do we have here,” the largest of the men said. The round, stocky man dismounted and strode up to him reeking of false importance. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Lance, sir,” he said in a soft voice. He didn’t want to cause trouble. Lately trouble had a way of finding him.

  One of the other men, a tall scruffy fellow spat a stream of tobacco juice on the ground. “You got permission to be out?”

  “I don’t need permission, sir.”

  “You hear that?” The stocky fellow said. He exchanged a smile with his friends. “He thinks he’s free. Is that so, boy?”

  “I belong to no one.” He’d never be collared. No one would want him.

  The stocky man grunted. He reached over with a meaty hand and forced his head back and to the side. “That S on your cheek tells a different story.”

  “The S…” He couldn’t explain what it meant to a white man. Even if he tried they wouldn’t believe him. It wasn’t like he could shift into a wolf to prove his story. And if he could shift into a wolf in front of them they’d likely shoot him dead.

  “Are you going to come with us peaceably or do we have to drag you back to where you belong?”

  Belong? He didn’t belong anywhere. His mouth felt dry, his tongue thick. Where did they plan to take him?

  The man let go of his chin. One of his companions tossed him a whip. The large fellow let the leather fall softly across his fingers. “Now,” he said in a rough voice, eyes narrowed. “Are you going to cause trouble?”

  It wasn’t in him to resist, too tired and hungry and beaten-down. “I … uh … no, sir.”

  “Good boy.” His breath smelled like garlic and Lance’s stomach coiled.

  The stocky man put a hand on his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin. Lance winced and the two men leered
down at him, pleased with his pain.

  Damn them. Damn them all.

  “Good, boy.” He said again and gave him a push toward a large oak tree. “Maybe we’ll go easy on you this time.”

  Chapter 2

  Oliver cussed under his breath. He headed down the stairs, the gas lamps casting pools of light in the darkness. Being summoned at this hour only meant one thing: patrollers. While he didn’t mind staying up late at night, they were far from pleasant company.

  He pulled a few dollars out of his money clip ready to give to the men in exchange for whoever they dragged back. Some days challenging his father for control of their pack seemed a better option than managing his plantation in Texas. But he wanted to keep peace in the family for his mother’s sake. After his father died or became too old to lead he’d take charge—peacefully.

  He opened the door and saw Mr. Pierce holding the arm of a wiry colored man he’d never seen before. The stranger’s scent was a mixture of man and wolf. Oliver’s nape prickled, and he found himself both alarmed and aroused. He’d thought he was the only shifter this close to Mexico.

  Mr. Pierce gave the colored man a shove in his direction. “We saw the S on his cheek and figured he was yours, Mr. Sawyer.”

  Oliver nodded. “Thank you.” He handed Mr. Pierce the money. “I’ll deal with him,” he said in a stern tone.

  Panic flashed in the colored man’s eyes, but he did not move.

  Mr. Pierce mounted and the three men rode away. Oliver was glad to be rid of the lot. He looked the stranger over with an appraising eye. He couldn’t be more than twenty. In the moonlight he saw his features were more Indian than African although his parentage was clearly both. So that’s how he became a shifter.

  He’d never heard of an African shifter—at least not in the United States. But there were plenty of Indian shifters. Even though the man averted his eyes, every muscle screamed anger.

  The hairs on Oliver’s arms bristled. He’d have to handle this one with kid gloves.

  The man showed his clenched teeth. “I don’t belong to you, sir. I belong to no one.”

  Oliver bobbed his head slightly. Not for long. “You think they’d believe that?” Oliver’s gaze shifted to where the patrollers had disappeared down the road. “You know they’d take my word over yours.”

  The stranger grunted. He was trapped and he knew it. His erect posture softened to a meek demeanor.

  Now where should he start the conversation? The best place to start was usually the beginning. “Was your sire a shifter?”

  The slight man stared at his moccasin clad feet. “Yes, sir.”

  “You belong to a pack?” Oliver asked even though he already knew the answer.

  He drew a sharp breath. “Not any more, sir.” His voice was airy. If it hadn’t been for his keen hearing he probably wouldn’t have caught the words.

  Oliver’s nostrils flared. He inhaled the man’s masculine scent a heady mix of leather and sweat and a hint of pine. His tongue circled his lips, wishing he was tasting him instead.

  “Stand up straight,” Oliver ordered.

  Immediately the stranger’s spine snapped taut. Their eyes met. The heat in the colored man’s gaze told Oliver all he needed to know. He preferred men.

  Trying hard to hold back a smile, Oliver circled the man, his footsteps measured, firm, methodical. He’s inner wolf screamed Mate and his cock stirred.

  He concentrated on controlling his breathing. He didn’t want the Omega wolf to scamper away. He might not get another chance at a mate for years. Submissive males were a rarity, and not all submissive males were sodomites. This chance meeting could be his lucky night if he played his hand right.

  “What’s your name, boy?” Oliver whispered in his ear.

  His closeness elicited a tiny shiver. “Lance, sir.”

  Lance’s buckskin breeches showed off his tight ass. Despite his small stature, Oliver could tell he would be delightfully toned underneath his clothes. He caught Lance’s chin and the man closed his eyes.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” He spoke in a soothing tone. “I promise.”

  Lance didn’t move. He looked poised to absorb a blow.

  Oliver took a step back, giving him more space. He didn’t mean to be intimidating. He was powerfully built yes, but he would never hurt his own kind unprovoked. “My name’s Oliver. Oliver Sawyer.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” Lance said although he looked far from pleased, more like he had a toothache.

  Oliver didn’t know whether to sigh or laugh. “Please open your eyes.”

  Lance did as he was told. Oliver found their slate gray coloring with flecks of amber very mesmerizing.

  Lance continued to look wary, unsure. Raised by his father’s pack he probably didn’t trust a white man, not that he could blame him. A trail of the government’s broken promises was in itself a lot for him to overcome. But he had to try. His inner wolf continued to scream mate, until it was hard for him to think.

  Oliver turned Lance’s head from one side to the other, carefully inspecting him. When he traced the S brand with his finger, Lance’s muscles turned to stone. “It’s a pity that brand marred your handsome face.”

  Lance’s forehead creased. “You think I’m handsome?”

  Oliver chuckled. The Omega was fishing for a compliment. Well, he didn’t mind. “Yes, Lance. I do.”

  Oliver dropped his hand. His watched the rapid rise and fall of Lance’s chest. The man was terrified although he did a good job of masking his fright. Maybe, just maybe the man liked the heat in his touch, too. At least a little.

  “Do you have a place to stay, Lance?” Oliver asked trying to remain casual, but not quite succeeding. Did the man realize he wanted him?

  Lance’s teeth sank into his bottom lip. “No, sir.”

  “You are welcome to stay here if you want.”

  Lance shifted his weight. He looked very uncomfortable. Oliver knew he could order the man to stay here and the submissive would comply. He didn’t want to use his Alpha influence, though. It had to be his decision. He wanted a mate, not a slave.

  The young man didn’t have many options. Thanks to his African mother he could be constantly mistook for a runaway slave. The wolf inside him stirred and his protective instincts soared. It was an Alpha’s job to protect the Omega wolves in his pack, male and female.

  He needed to try to offer Lance a reason to stay for his own safety—even if the man refused to be his mate.

  “Are you hungry?” Oliver asked. “I can fix you a plate.”

  Lance’s stomach grumbled, but he did not seem pleased by the offer. “You?” he said, his eyes narrowing, “Or your slaves?” The colored man spat the words with thick barbs.

  Oliver winced. Did he have to tackle that issue on the first meeting? “Me, Lance. I might run the plantation, but none of the slaves belong to me. I know you probably don’t believe that, but it is the truth.”

  Lance did not respond. He jutted out his chin and looked to be in deep thought.

  Oliver resisted the urge to pick him up and whisk him into the house. Maybe being willing to let him go would change his mind. “Well, it is getting late. I think I’ll go for a run and then get some sleep.”

  “You’re going to shift?” Lance spoke each word tentatively.

  “Of course.” Oliver began slipping off his coat. Would Lance approve of his naked body? Suddenly a thought struck Oliver like a bolt of lightning. He pulled his coat back on. “Why didn’t you shift before the patrollers found you?”

  Lance chewed on his bottom lip and looked away sheepishly. “I … I can’t shift.”

  Chapter 3

  Mr. Sawyer took Lance by the elbow and gently guided him up the stairs and into the house. “If you are too weak to shift, I definitely need to get you something to eat.”

  Lance’s insides trembled, but he let the Alpha escort him into the foyer. He was hungry. If only that really was what was keeping him from shifting. It was too
embarrassing to explain. He felt like he had a mouth full of cotton. Swishing his tongue around his mouth, he tried to generate saliva.

  He didn’t want the Alpha to take pity on him. Was it too much to ask to seek genuine acceptance? His stomach turned. He would stay only if it felt right. Unless Mr. Sawyer forced him to stay.

  The Alpha could. They both knew it.

  Mr. Sawyer glanced behind him. Was he making sure I hadn’t run off?

  A slight smile lingered on the white man’s lips. He tipped his head toward a hallway. “The kitchen is this way.”

  In the kitchen, Mr. Sawyer pulled out a chair from the small table. This must be where the house servants ate, and of course fit for me being colored.

  Lance sank into the chair. Before he could say anything, Mr. Sawyer set a plate of venison sandwiches and a tall glass of milk in front of him. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Sawyer nodded and sat across the table from him.

  Lance picked up the first sandwich and finished it quickly. It took the edge of his hunger pains. Picking up his second sandwich, he couldn’t ignore the heated gaze from Mr. Sawyer. Flicking his attention to him and then back to his sandwich, he noticed Mr. Sawyer was not eating. He seemed very content just watching him take pleasure in the tangy venison.

  Suddenly the food became harder to swallow. It was a strange sensation having his every move on display. He hated it, and yet also found it arousing. The meat became dry in his mouth. He washed it down with half the glass of milk fearing it would stick in his throat.

  Mr. Sawyer rose. “Would you like me to get you some more milk?”

  “No, thank you, sir.”

  Mr. Sawyer resumed his seat.

  Lance rubbed the back of his neck. He’d never been waited on before. Usually he was the one serving others. He’d waited on his Alpha and his Beta all the time.

  After Lance finished his plate, Mr. Sawyer picked up the dishes. “Do you feel up for a run now?”