Awakening the Alpha

by Carolina Valdez

  As he started the car, he prayed to God bison wouldn’t block the roads before he found Logan. The prayer was answered. Still, although he took the shortest route, the drive seemed to take forever. He called on his sniper training to control his blood pressure and breathing and focus on his mission.

  When he at last spotted Logan’s car parked on the shoulder, he slammed on his brakes and was out of the car in seconds. The coast was clear, so he removed his guns from the trunk and concealed them under the jacket. To calm himself, he inhaled slow and deep through his nostrils and smelled…wolves. An entire pack of them.

  Using binoculars, Blaze searched the valley until he spotted them almost completely hidden by the trees. They’d have been out hunting in the moonlight. They were gray wolves—Canis lupus—but the largest of them was black. Blaze had the feeling it was the shifter he’d spotted in the market—the one who had murdered two men. He was alone, apparently having moved well ahead of the others.

  Next, Blaze found Logan. He was sitting on a campstool in the meadow just outside the forest’s edge, sketching with quick strokes. Blaze wet his forefinger and held it out to judge the way the wind blew. At least Logan was downwind of them. As if that would protect him if this black alpha spotted him.

  No park rangers were in sight. He loaded his pistol and put it on safety. Shoving ammo into the shotgun, he racked it, pushed it under his jacket, and headed into the valley.

  The moment his boots hit the ground, a powerful urge to change swept through him like the incoming tide. Determined to keep Logan safe, Blaze resisted its pull. He gritted his teeth and slipped into the trees, remaining downwind like Logan. In stealth mode, he moved fast in a low crouch across the loam until he was closing in on him, but when he glanced in his direction again, his heart jolted.

  The black wolf had spotted Logan and was closing in on him.

  Logan had seen the wolf and was standing tall, legs apart in a strong stance, hands on his hips, like an alpha himself…a Shoshone alpha.

  Pride and love for the man he cared so much about welled up in Blaze. Fear for him almost crowded it out.

  Logan was speaking to the wolf in a singsong dialect Blaze assumed was his native tongue. Blaze knew of his experience with the bison in the road, but if this wolf was a shifter and a murderer—and he was sure he was—it would be meaningless. Those words would have no impact on the crazed animal.

  Rage that this wolf would menace the man he loved broke Blaze’s tight control and brought him to the brink of shifting. Feeling the mystical purple aura that preceded the switch from human to animal, he burst through the trees and raced to Logan. Tossing him his shotgun and then his Luger, Blaze screamed, “Kill him if he kills me! Do it!”

  There was only time to see the shock on Logan’s face and his arm lifting as his hand grabbed the shotgun. Sucked into a swirling mass of muscle, soft tissue, sinew, and bone so fast the human eye couldn’t follow the details, Blaze changed.

  Leaping in front of Logan, he faced the black as his hackles rose, a blend of thick, white fur shaded with soft browns and some hairs tipped with black. Ears erect and pointed forward, Blaze’s wolf bared his sharp white teeth and snarled at the killer. His snarls grew louder, deepening into growls as he declared himself the new alpha of this shifter pack.

  Chapter 9

  The moment Logan had spotted the black wolf, he’d known he was in trouble. All the spit in his mouth had dried up. Rising slowly and laying his pad and charcoal on the camp chair without turning away from the animal, he’d slid his hand to pull his gun and found the holster empty.

  Shit. I was so excited about getting here, I left it in the car. My Swiss knife won’t even cut off an ear.

  Panic sent his heart rate skyrocketing. It almost sent him sprinting away from the dark form with the menacing yellow eyes shining like headlights in the moonlight. Blaze’s instructions hit his mind like a runaway train—Don’t run. You’ll be staring at a predator so fast, it’ll out run you and attack.

  On trembling legs, he stood tall, legs wide, and, looking straight into those eyes, he spoke to it in his native tongue.

  Unmoved by Logan’s words, the animal continued its slow stalk toward him. A snarl issued from its mouth.

  Logan heard a man’s footsteps running toward him, and relief rushed through him when Blaze burst out of the curtain of trees nearest him. Blaze yelled and tossed Logan his shotgun and his Luger.

  He caught the first in his right hand as deftly as a catcher might field a throw to home plate and tag a runner out. His life depended on it.

  The Luger fell at his feet, and he kept his eyes on the black as he bent his knees just enough to pick it up with his left hand. He shoved it into his back waistband.

  The shotgun had been racked. It was ready to fire.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Blaze begin to gyrate as fast as a whirlwind, so quick he couldn’t see him anymore. The hair on Blaze’s head lengthened, and the number of his legs doubled.

  Logan blinked, and Blaze was gone. A ferocious gray wolf stood in his place.

  Horror increased his panic. His heart beat so hard, he could hear it in his ears. His mouth went so dry, he couldn’t even spit. The low growls of the wolves curdled the air.

  The new wolf leaped between Logan and danger. Ears erect and forward, warning snarls uncurled from its open mouth as the fading moonlight glistened on sharp fangs and huge white teeth. It made sudden, short lunges forward, as if to force the black away.

  The black held its ground, snarling in response, and the gray’s sounds deepened into threatening growls.

  Logan stood transfixed, the shotgun muzzle pointed at the ground.

  For a time, they circled each other, and then the black attacked, going for the gray’s throat. The gray whipped its neck out of range, sank its teeth in the black’s flank and ripped. Blood smeared the gray’s mouth and dripped onto its flank, but the crazed attacker didn’t seem to notice. It went for the throat again. The gray avoided the charge, clamping down on a shoulder and tearing. A big chunk of fur-covered flesh hung from its mouth.

  Shaking its head, it spat it out.

  The injured black wolf limped now from the serious shoulder damage as the combatants continued their relentless growling. They became a swirling blend of fur and jaws, attacking over and over with open mouths, fangs, and teeth as deadly as daggers.

  Kill him if he kills me.

  Remembering Blaze’s words, Logan’s head cleared and he sprang to life, bringing the shotgun to his shoulder and sighting. He had no idea why Blaze had ordered him to shoot if he died, but he didn’t doubt that if the dark wolf killed the gray it would come for Logan too.

  He was prepared to shoot if the black won the fight, especially since the gray was Blaze. His throat tightened, threatening to shut off his air, as his hands tightened on the shotgun, but it was almost impossible to follow the movements of the fighters. Right now there was no way to kill the black without wounding the gray, so he waited for his chance. On they fought, and his shoulders grew so tired, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold the gun in firing position.

  The gray’s coat was matted with blood, but he thought the black had more injuries and seemed to be tiring. It had lost a lot of blood.

  At one point, something prompted him to look to the woods, and his fear rose to new levels when he saw at least six wolves standing just outside the forest edge. They were pacing, watching the battle, seeming without intent to join in.

  They only seem to care about the outcome of this battle.

  Then he wondered if they would attack the victor. At some point was he going to have to shoot them all? God help him, he was a lowly rifleman without a perfect score, not yet a sharpshooter, and his shoulders ached from holding the heavy gun. Maybe he’d have to kneel to shoot. Christ, he’d never done that.

  At last, in one swift move, the gray broke through his opponent’s defenses and sank his teeth into its neck. He shook it repeatedly, holdi
ng on until the black legs weakened, faltered, and went limp.

  The gray released the dead wolf and sat back with its tongue hanging out, panting.

  Logan lowered the shotgun and breathed again, filling his lungs with the fresh morning air.

  He assumed wolves, like dogs, had no sweat glands and the panting didn’t mean he was seriously injured. He was probably just cooling down after all the exertion of fighting to stay alive. Since wolves were the ancestors of dogs, that would be logical.

  At a sudden movement in his peripheral vision, he brought the shotgun up again as the other wolves surged forward to surround the victor. It stood with its head raised, letting the others press their bodies to him and touch their noses against his fur, as if in some ritual known only to lupines. One of them howled, and they all joined in.

  Logan started at a sound that sent chills through his body.

  The howls stopped. Now the conqueror led them as they slipped noiselessly into the forest and disappeared, leaving the dead wolf and Logan alone.

  As exhausted as he was, he gathered his things up, slung the shotgun over his shoulder, and covered it with his jacket. He walked quickly to get out of there, Luger in hand, constantly looking over his shoulder and all around him. It would be just his luck to be confronted by a grizzly or a black bear wandering into his path. Or for a bison to charge him.

  Safely in his car with the doors shut and locked, the aftermath of what had happened set in. His whole body shook, his stomach roiled and he gulped air because he couldn’t take in enough after what had happened. What he had seen. Finally, he opened the door, leaned out and vomited.

  Blaze was a skinwalker. Logan gritted his teeth at the thought. Skinwalkers were witches. As a ten-year-old, he and the other Shoshone boys had sat around campfires at night and scared themselves with tales of skinwalkers and witches. It was so real they had trouble getting to sleep, and sometimes their sleep was filled with nightmares.

  Maybe magic was why Logan, since they’d met, had created some of the best artistic work he’d ever done, and why this man had such a hold on his heart. The horror of that possibility shook his Native soul to its core.

  If he didn’t slow his breathing he was going to pass out, which would be bad, so he made himself inhale and exhale on a regular count. The calming of his body as his heart slowed and his breathing again returned to normal was accompanied by a slump in his spirits. His relationship with Blaze hadn’t been real. Well, on his part it had been, but apparently not on Blaze’s since he’d said nothing about his dual nature to Logan.

  And what in hell am I doing falling in love with and fucking a witch?

  Then Logan remembered he’d seen Coyote, the Trickster, in the mist when he’d looked into Blaze Canis’s green eyes. Hadn’t given it serious thought. He’d dismissed it because of the pleasure he’d felt with this man. Not just the hot, raunchy, fulfilling sex, but because he liked him, enjoyed being with him. Thought they might have a future together.

  Starting the car and putting it in gear, he chided himself for not recognizing what this man was. His first indicator should’ve been when he’d noticed and felt the wiry, wild hair on his head, and seen the mingled colors of the fur of gray wolves. And then there were those mysterious eyes and what he’d seen in them. Blaze’s green eyes had the same depth, the intensity, of the yellow eyes of the dead black wolf.

  Maybe some night, when he slept after explosive sex, Blaze would morph into wolf form and kill him. Maybe for now Logan was only bewitched. He shook his head and pulled onto the road, his entire body shaking.

  All he’d seen was a physically strong, competent, retired Navy SEAL, with superbly honed weaponry skills and excellent teaching ability. He’d seen someone who teased and laughed with him, and who made incredible love with him.

  He let himself into the house, fearing he might see Blaze there in human form. What would he say? What would he do?

  Nothing but empty silence greeted him. Grateful to be alone, he packed his art supplies, sketches, and belongings to leave. He telephoned his grandfather to make sure he’d be welcome in Kenu’s home today, and then he dialed the range.

  “Mr. Canis asked me to let you know he’s been called away for a family emergency for a few days.”

  He barely listened to the voice at the other end of the line until he realized there was a silence there anticipating a response from him. “He’ll let me know when he gets back?”

  “Yes, yes. He’ll let you know when he’ll return.”

  Yes. Absent for a few days. Tonight was the night of the full moon, and until it faded, he would be with the other wolves, the pack.

  His emotions ran the gamut between gratitude he was still alive, outrage, anger at Blaze’s betrayal, and the bone-deep pain of loss. Anger let the tears wash unblocked down his face as he loaded his belongings in his car. He locked Blaze’s guns and ammo in the safe.

  There was no point in leaving a note of explanation. What he did leave was a head-and-shoulders pastel sketch of Blaze. He signed it, Thanks for everything, Logan Swift Rider. He propped it on a stack of books on the kitchen table. A second drawing, in charcoal, of Blaze’s striking body naked, he shredded into small pieces and let them sift through his fingers to the hardwood floor.

  As he made the long drive through the park, he slowed as he reached the Lamar Valley. Blaze’s car was still there. By the time he could return to human form, he’d either have a very expensive ticket under the wiper or it would’ve been towed. The urge to help in some way, such as getting the car towed back to the house—or whatever—faded as quickly as it began.

  Not my problem. Not my problem.

  Even that thought hurt. He sped up and continued until he reached the rez.

  Kenu met him at his car and opened the door for him before wrapping Logan in a welcoming hug when they stood together. Logan hugged him back hard as emotions welled inside him. Tears watered his eyes at this gesture of familial love, and he blinked them back.

  Kenu released him and stood back, peering sharply at Logan’s face and posture. “Your heart moans and swells with grief. Come inside.”

  Logan thought he’d wiped all traces of his tears and feelings from his face, but the wily elder had seen through it. “Thank you, my grandfather. I would like that. If you have lemonade, that would be welcome as well.”

  His grandfather’s face lit up with a wide smile that deepened the rivers of wrinkles on his face. “That I have,” he replied and disappeared into the tiny kitchen.

  They sat at the small table, where, at Kenu’s urging, Logan unburdened himself. The older man’s frown as he spoke didn’t encourage him.

  “Tell me about these sea creatures,” he said.

  Logan smiled at how wise this grandparent could be about so many things, yet be naïve when it came to the outside world. “Not sea creatures. They’re military men.” He explained the name.

  Kenu sipped his lemonade. “I see. They are warriors.”

  Logan was caught up short. He hadn’t thought of it that way. “Yes, I guess you could call them that.”

  “Warriors have honor.”

  Logan nodded. At least in American Indian minds, warriors were honorable. You might be successful in battle, but if you didn’t have honor you were not Warrior. It was that simple.

  Logan sighed. Life was not that simple. “Can skinwalkers be warriors?”

  Kenu sat up straight as alarm spread across his face, and he suddenly looked older. “He is a witch?”

  Even today, there were Navajos who believed in skinwalkers—evil witches who took over a person’s body. They were terrified of them. Wouldn’t go anywhere a witch had reportedly walked, occupied, or been seen. There were other non-Navajo Natives afraid of such creatures. Perhaps Kenu was one of them, but he had never spoken of it.

  “I don’t know. He hid that he was a skinwalker from me, but today I saw him change into a wolf.” He expressed his concern if what he felt about Blaze and how well his art was going
were related to witchcraft.

  His father was too Americanized to have listened to what Logan told Kenu now. He’d have scoffed and turned away, but Logan understood that his father’s father was closer to the earth and to the old beliefs. It would be safe to tell him. So he did. He spoke of the golden string he’d seen in Blaze’s eyes, and, although he didn’t mention his balls and dick, he told him how it had encircled his heart and drawn them close together.

  “But now you do not believe this as truth.”

  “It was an experience I’d never had before, and Blaze saw something too, although I didn’t ask what it was. I thought I saw Coyote in the mist but wasn’t sure. Now I’m afraid I did.”

  Kenu rubbed his chin. “The Trickster,” he finally said. “Yes. The Trickster.”

  They sat in silence until they’d finished their drinks, and Logan waited for wisdom from the elderly man before him.

  His grandfather rose. “Come. We will fish. Find the things we need,” he ordered.

  Logan smiled. Just like that…Come, we will fish. He went upstairs, aware his grandfather was on his cell phone, but by the time Logan had rounded up the equipment and brought it downstairs, the call had ended.

  They set off in their knee-high wading boots. Logan carried their poles, bait, buckets, knives, and nets. The woods they entered were quiet, except for the occasional whir of bird wings and the chatter of squirrels. They stood on the bank at their favorite fishing place and lowered lines and bait into the water.

  This place didn’t have the elegant, flamboyant beauty of Yellowstone, but it was peaceful and lovely in its own quiet way. A small brook fed into the pond higher up, and its song as it tumbled over rocks formed a light backdrop of sound.

  Logan remembered how Blaze had caught fish for them once. He thought of his strong hands, white with flour, recalled the sound and rich scent of butter hissing and popping in the pan as those hands laid the floured trout in. They’d had Dr. Pepper floats for dessert, followed by sizzling sex naked on the outdoor deck. He remembered the feel of Blaze’s hands on his body as they explored every sensitive spot and set his nerves on fire and his cock drooling.