Southern Alpha Book Four

by Carina Wilder

  “How do we know we can trust the birds?” the Marquis snarled.

  Layla glared at him. “Like I said, they’ll have mobile cameras attached to their chests, so I’ll see what they see. Are you preemptively accusing me of cheating, Marquis?”

  “Never,” he replied, his lips turned down into his signature scowl. “We all know how angelic and noble you fucking Valkyries are.”

  Layla looked for a moment like she wished she had a spear in hand to shove through his head, but she simply gestured for us to leave. “Go. Get to your starting points.”

  The Marquis climbed into his truck and drove off, a bunch of other vehicles following behind.

  On our way to my truck, Louis came over and asked if he could follow us out to the Basin Bridge.

  “Sure,” I said. “Let’s head out.” But as Sierra climbed into the passenger’s side, I took Louis aside and whispered, “Listen—if anything happens to me today or tomorrow, promise me you’ll look after her. Make sure she gets out of New Orleans to safety. You hear me?”

  My oldest friend was already nodding his head, his expression stern and serious. “Of course, I’ll look after her,” he said. “But don’t talk like that—nothing is going to happen to you.”

  “You can’t possibly know that, Lou, and neither can I.”

  “No, I can’t. But I know you. Now get in your truck and go win this thing.” With that, he slapped me on the shoulder and headed to his Chevy.

  When I’d parked at the designated spot at the southern edge of the Refuge, Sierra and I hopped out of our vehicle. A large hawk circled overhead, the small camera on his chest just under his neck reflecting brief flashes of glinting sunlight…which meant that Layla would know we’d arrived.

  “So what happens now?” Sierra asked as Louis walked over from his truck.

  “We wait for the signal,” I explained. “Jackson will have a five-minute head start. After that, the Marquis and I will have exactly fifteen minutes to pick up his scent, track him down, and corner him into surrendering. The first of us to catch him is the winner.”

  “You said ‘catch,’ not ‘kill,’ right?” Sierra asked, her voice tight with concern.

  “Don’t worry,” I told her, “Anyone who volunteers to be prey in these kinds of trials is a pro at it. Jackson’s probably done it a couple dozen times for different packs. He’s in no danger. The winner of the hunt just has to prove he could have killed the jaguar if he wanted to, but it’s not meant to actually go that far.”

  “You expect me to believe the Marquis cares about the rules?”

  I grimaced. She was right, of course. But if things went the way I intended, it wouldn’t matter. I’d win this thing and the Marquis wouldn’t have a chance to get anywhere near Jackson.

  I opened my mouth to reply when someone in the crowd shouted “There it is!”

  We all looked up to see a bright pink flare lighting up the sky above the trees. I nodded an all too quick goodbye to Sierra and Louis and plunged into the marshy forest, shifting into my wolf form as I sprinted forward.

  The Refuge was a wild and chaotic assortment of terrain, like someone hadn’t known what to do with all the leftover parts from the rest of the natural world and had decided to chuck them all into the wetlands of Louisiana. My wolf bounded through marshes, dashed across wide meadows, and navigated around patches of dirt and old hunting trails, all the while seeking the one scent I needed to find.

  Skirting around a small assembly of backwater lakes, I paused occasionally to get my bearings and to sample the scents in the air. There was no shortage of wildlife. Squirrels, swamp rabbits, Louisiana black bears. I roamed around, nose alternately in the air or skimming along the ground, until I found the one scent that didn’t quite belong: Jaguar.

  I followed the feline aroma as it drifted in and out of the marshy air. At times Jackson’s trail appeared to double back on itself or combine with the smell of decaying vegetation from the floodplain, throwing me off for a few seconds before I figured out which way to go. Jackson was no dummy. He knew how to throw a hunter off, but I managed to figure out his tricks.

  I could only hope I’d been quick enough.

  Following his trail, I came at last to a grove of cypress trees, their wall of knotted trunks forming the perfect hiding place.

  Well, almost perfect.

  Pleased that I’d already won this competition handily, I padded forward, careful not to startle the jaguar shifter whose musky bouquet was wafting at me from the other side of the trees like delicate waves fluttering over the surface of the ocean.

  I circled around the dense cluster of trees, pressing my belly close to the ground and slowing my steps to an inaudible crawl. As I turned the last corner to get to the far side of the small grove, I tensed my muscles, ready to pounce.

  Fuck.

  It wasn’t Jackson’s jaguar that greeted me.

  It was a butt-ugly wolf, standing with his back end to me, head low, growling at his victim.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  The Marquis had somehow beaten me to the punch. He must have stayed upwind and managed to conceal his scent until it was too late for me pick it up. Clever, nasty bastard.

  He already had Jackson’s jaguar cornered at the base of one of the twisted cypress trees. What was more, from the looks of things he’d already tangled with him, as the elegant cat was now mud-crusted and nursing what appeared to be a broken front leg.

  Turning to look back at me over his shoulder, the Marquis’ wolf growled deep and low before turning his attention back to the jaguar.

  You’ve won, I thought, pulling my eyes to the sky, where both hawks were now circling high overhead. We all know you won, so back the fuck off.

  I could tell his hunting instinct was in overdrive, and the fucker was dead set on making a kill.

  Sure enough, instead of pulling away, the Marquis’ wolf leapt viciously at the wounded jaguar, tearing into him with powerful jaws and piercing teeth. The big cat shrieked and hissed, clawing blindly in an effort to put distance between himself and his psychotic attacker. Ramped up beyond reason from the thrill of the hunt and fueled by an unrelenting desire to bring pain to anything in his path, the Marquis was about two seconds away from killing Jackson when I bounded forward, slamming into him as hard as I could.

  With the Marquis’ teeth still locked onto Jackson’s foreleg, the three of us tumbled down a small embankment and into a marshy patch of the wooded bayou.

  The shock of the cold, shallow water distracted the Marquis just long enough to enable me to pry him off of Jackson with a hard bite to his shoulder and a hard toss that sent him reeling into a small bunch of trees that splintered on impact.

  Shaking off the collision and scrambling to his feet, the other wolf squared off on me. But I could see that he was still looking right through me, straight to the big cat who was desperately trying to claw his way out of the swampy water behind me.

  With my protective instinct in full gear, the fur on my shoulders bristled. I snarled at the Marquis and dug my back paws into the soft ground, preparing to launch myself at him. I let out a low, long growl of warning. If it came down to it, I’d kill him to protect our injured target. Rules be damned.

  For a few seconds it looked like the Marquis was considering leaping on me in an attempt to get to his victim. His front legs were bent, his head low, lips pulled back in a fierce snarl. But instead, he backed away and shifted into human form, his chest heaving, hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

  I followed suit, spinning around to see to Jackson, who’d shifted as well and was now lying on his side, moaning in pain. Blood trickled down his neck and arms from multiple wounds.

  “I found him first,” the Marquis grunted like the sociopath that he was. “I win.”

  “Fine,” I snarled. “You won. But you’re a serious fucking prick, you know that?”

  I looked up at the sky, signaling the hawks to descend. Seconds later, they’d landed next to us and shifted. Wi
th their help, I led Jackson out of the marsh towards our starting point.

  The moment she saw me, Sierra sprang forward, horror in her eyes as she stared at Jackson. “What happened?” she asked as I handed the jaguar shifter off to Layla and another Valkyrie who were equipped to treat his wounds.

  “The fucking Marquis happened,” I said. “It wasn’t enough to just win this thing. He had to take his pound of flesh.”

  “Shouldn’t he be disqualified for that?” Sierra asked, grabbing my arm and pressing her face into my shoulder, no doubt trying to purge the image of the bleeding jaguar shifter from her mind.

  I shook my head. “He won’t be,” I said. “The rules allow for a certain amount of scrapping. The Valks know there’s a risk of bloodlust setting in. They’ll say the Marquis couldn’t help himself. If Jackson had died, it would be different. The Marquis would be out. But I couldn’t let him kill someone in cold blood, so here we fucking are.”

  Sierra pulled away and stared up at me. I hated knowing how disappointed she must have been in me. I’d failed her, I’d failed the pack, and I’d failed myself, all in the space of fifteen minutes. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I thought I had him.”

  “Sorry?” she all but shouted. “Are you kidding? I’m just happy you’re okay. Not to mention that Jackson’s only alive because of you.” She wrapped her hands around my neck and kissed me. “You still have tomorrow, and I have faith in you. Come on, let’s get you home.”

  “Yeah,” I said, rubbing a hand absently over her back. “Let’s get me home so I can get busy looking forward to the end.”

  All I can hope is that it’s not my end.

  Chapter 9

  Sierra

  After the hunt was over, Trick put up a wall around himself and seemed unable to take it down again. Instead of relaxing together, we spent Thursday afternoon and evening in a state of silent, oppressive tension. I felt helpless. But Trick seemed agitated to the point of rage. He didn’t want to talk to me, and every time I looked at him I could see that his irises were flaring bright, his wolf all too alive inside him. Even though neither of us said it out loud, we both knew the truth of the situation.

  Tomorrow, in some way or other, the Marquis would attempt to take my lover’s life.

  “Trick…” I finally said after we’d shared a meager dinner of chicken salad, “tell me what to say right now.”

  “There’s nothing you can say,” he replied in a voice that wasn’t altogether human. “Nothing.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not good enough. I need you to talk to me. I need to know what you’re thinking, feeling…”

  Growling low, he rose to his feet to begin pacing the room, brooding like a dark cloud was hanging directly over his head. “Shit,” he said after a time, “I’m sorry, Sierra. Maybe I need to leave. I should go to my place. I don’t like you seeing me like this…”

  “No!” I blurted out, pulling myself up and moving towards the door to bar his way. “No fucking way are you leaving me tonight! Don’t you dare even think about it. You may have an angry wolf inside you right now, but I will fight him if I have to, if that’s what it takes to keep you with me.”

  “He’s out for blood,” he murmured, pulling his eyes to my own.

  “Are you saying he’s dangerous?”

  He shook his head. “No—not where you’re concerned. I’m saying it’s impossible for me to be fully human right now. Impossible for me to give you what you need. God knows I want to…I want to give you everything in this world. That’s why I feel so fucking destroyed right now. If I don’t win tomorrow…”

  “Shhh,” I said, rushing over to cup a hand onto the back of his head and pull his face down towards my own. “You’re everything I ever wanted,” I told him softly. “Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that.”

  When I felt him nod against me, I took him by the hand to lead him into the bedroom.

  We spent the night wrapped up in one another’s arms. Our tacit understanding was that there was to be no sex. He was too dangerous, too volatile, too emotional.

  So for now we’d just hold each other, knowing without uttering the words that this might be the last night we would ever spend together.

  As I pressed my cheek to Trick’s chest, listening as always to his powerful heart, tears welled in my eyes. All I could think was how deep my feelings for him had evolved over such a short time.

  How much I’d grown to love him.

  I wanted so badly to tell him. But I couldn’t, not like this. Not while he was consumed by hatred and rage, and not when there was so much at risk. It would be too much like acknowledging the danger he was in.

  Too much like saying good-bye.

  And I wasn’t ready for that. It was the one thing I’d never be ready for.

  On Friday morning we climbed into Trick’s pickup once again. The damned truck was starting to feel like a cruel vehicle that thrived on transporting us from one potential disaster to another. Maybe at the end of today, it would absolve itself by bringing us home together.

  Trick had spoken all of two words since waking up. His skin was so hot to the touch that I felt like he might burn me, and I’d become all too aware that his human side was only fighting off his wolf long enough to get us to our destination. The moment we arrived at the location designated for his final battle, I knew full well that the beast inside him would take over completely. I could only hope the beautiful creature was powerful enough to defeat the most notorious and villainous shifter in the south…and that the Marquis didn’t pull any more of his unethical bullshit.

  It was a lot to hope for.

  For the third time this week, Trick navigated us to a dead-end road in the middle of nowhere. His human instincts fading, he parked the truck crookedly on the shoulder and leapt out without so much as a word to me, storming towards the crowd that had already gathered several feet away at the entrance to a narrow, overgrown trail.

  I remained in my seat for a minute, reminding myself that he wasn’t himself right now and that I couldn’t let myself get upset over his coldness. The man I knew had left me, but only after he’d fought against his wolf all night just to hold me, to let me know he was still there.

  But from now until the combat trial was over, the Trick I knew was going to remain far, far away and inaccessible. All I could do was hope I’d find him again at the end of it all.

  When I’d climbed out of the truck, I heard my name from somewhere behind me, and when I spun around, I saw Louis making his way quickly towards me.

  “Is Trick okay?” he asked. He sounded anxious and agitated.

  “I…don’t know,” I replied. “He’s intense this morning. Like there’s a storm cloud hanging over his head. I’m really worried about him, after what the Marquis did to Jackson yesterday…”

  Louis nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m worried, too.”

  He took my arm and led me some distance down the path until we arrived at an open space in the middle of the woods. At its center was a pit, maybe eight or nine feet deep, dug into the middle of the clearing. A crowd had already formed on its outer edge, shifters and Valks milling around all the way to the tree-line. Every set of bright eyes watched as Trick and the Marquis took positions on opposite ends of the deep, damp arena.

  This time, apparently, Layla didn’t need to call out instructions. Both shifters already knew exactly what they needed to do.

  I reached for Louis’ hand, grateful beyond words to have him by my side. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I moaned as I looked at Trick, who was standing about twenty feet from me, his chest pulsing with quick breaths, his neck so tight that the tendons were jutting out. “I don’t know if I want to see him like this.”

  Louis squeezed my hand. “You need to be strong for him,” he said. “He’s doing this for you. For all of us. Try to remember that.”

  I looked around at the crowd, whose eyes were mostly fixed on my lover. I could see how frightened they were, how tense their ow
n bodies had gone as they silently hoped and prayed for him to emerge victorious from the fight to come. He was their last hope for a pack. For a home. They had as much at stake today as I did.

  The two opponents were staring each other down from across the pit. Without a word, they shed their shirts, tossing them to the ground. The Marquis wasn’t as well-built as Trick, but he was tall and solid. His chest muscles were powerful, ridged, and taut. His hands, the ones he’d had clamped around my neck only a few days ago, looked as big as catcher’s mitts. Knots of muscle twitched through his shoulders and danced down his arms.

  His face was the personification of fury and malice, and my insides shook just looking at him.

  Broad-shouldered, tense and focused, Trick stood ready on his side of the pit. His abs were ripped and heaving. Sweat glistened off his pecs, thick veins pulsing through his sculpted arms. He looked like someone had chiseled him out of granite and slapped on a pair of nice, tight jeans for good measure. I wanted nothing more than to run over to him, to hold him, to give him one last kiss. To offer him some—any—kind of support, to let him know that this may be a one-on-one fight but that he wasn’t alone.

  Louis must have sensed my desire to take off and dart over to the edge where Trick was braced to leap into battle, because he put a hand on my arm and shook his head.

  “No one’s allowed near them right now,” he said. “Believe me, it’s for your own good.”

  “Can’t I at least wish him luck?” I asked.

  “I hate to say it, but there’s no point, not anymore. He needs to focus, Sierra, and you definitely have a way of dominating his thoughts.”

  I bit my lip and nodded, crushed to think I may never get a chance to speak to him again.

  Louis squeezed my hand. “I’m sure he already feels lucky just knowing you’re here, cheering him on.” He knew as well as anyone what Trick was about to go through. After all, he had a wolf of his own hidden away inside his tall frame.