Wild Wolf: Black Mesa Wolves #4

by J. K Harper

  “She is my mate. You will not harm her.” How he managed to keep his ragged voice understandable was beyond him.

  “Semantics, silly wolf.” Bashar's voice hissed down the phone. “We can break the mating bond. And for a wolf like Claire, we certainly will. Especially when we also find her mother. Two prizes. Rare, and perfect for my pack. Not for yours.”

  “Put her on the line,” Tate demanded. “I need to know she's safe.”

  Bashar tsked, the sound grating on Tate's ears. “Patience is a virtue. Did not your sire teach you that? It seems he has fallen away from the old ways. Modern packs are weak. No wonder my foolish brother joined yours. He needed one as pathetically ineffective as he is.”

  Tate urged himself not to fall for Bashar's goading. He needed the other wolf to slip up and give him a clue. Any clue. Straining to hear anything else over the line, willing his breathing to slow as he listened as hard as he could, Tate forced himself to think. “She will never betray her mother to you. Claire is much too loyal for that.”

  Another ugly laugh.

  Galloping paws and human feet alerted him to Lily's return, along with Kieran and few other pack members. Frantically, he waved his arm at them, shushing their arrival without saying anything out loud. They drew up beside him, panting and stark-faced.

  “You'll never get to her in time.” Bashar's voice held a gloating edge. Desperately, Tate played up to it.

  “You're probably right. You must have been waiting for me to leave this morning.” Wondering how far he could push it, Tate tried. “Your brother does hate you, yes. But he also tells us how smart you are.”

  A pause told him he'd taken the other wolf by some surprise. Good.

  “Does he now. Well, let me continue to prove him right, then. Game on, silly little wolf.” Bashar's voice oozed disdain as it lowered into a taunting whisper. Behind it, Tate heard another whispering sound. “Try to find her. You'll never reach her until we have her where she belongs. She and her lovely dam both.”

  The silence told Tate he'd been hung up on. Even so, he aimed a grim smile at his family as they hovered near, waiting with snarling faces or clenched fists. “I think I know where she is. To some degree, at least.”

  ***

  Claire spat again, which was challenging in wolf form, but doable with practice. This time, it landed on the already wet sand close to Bashar's paw. She smiled at him, letting pure contempt drive through it. “That's pretty much what I think of your plan, Bash. And you.”

  Her former lover didn't even flinch. With his three other wolves lounging around, all in wolf form, he knew full well Claire couldn't do anything to him, even if she attacked him right then.

  Tempting, her human growled, glaring through Claire's eyes.

  Maybe, but it was also utterly impractical. She was less than no match against four large male wolves. Even though she understood they didn't want to physically hurt her—well, she was pretty sure about that—they certainly wouldn't let her either hurt them or escape. They were in a small box canyon anyway, with high cliff walls that were unscalable by either hands or paws. Her only escape route was blocked by the wolves. As cold rain sliced down on them, dripping into her eyes, she kept a level glare on her ex-asshole, while trying to make her brain work better at a plan.

  The weirdly-speckled wolf on the far edge of the small canyon opening kept eyeing her, a nasty grin adding to his overall creepiness. His bright yellow eyes were locked on her, tracking her every movement. Although larger than Bashar as well clearly higher in rank than the other two wolves also there, the speckled one definitely deferred to her ex.

  No good, indeed.

  “Temper, Claire,” Bashar said now, looking at Claire with cold eyes. Brilliant blue in his human shape, she'd once thought them interesting. Now, and especially after Tate's soft, welcoming brown eyes, she only found them utterly arrogant and even somewhat sinister, either human or wolf. “I've always enjoyed that about you, actually. A sometimes fiery personality to match your beauty. It makes you quite the prize.”

  Infuriated at his mocking tone—how had she never heard that before?—Claire lifted her lip in a snarl. Otherwise, though, she kept a tight check on herself. These wolves would slip up, and her moment would come. Patience was all she needed in this seemingly bleak situation. That was one lesson Melle had well drilled into her throughout her entire life.

  “Stop talking about me as a commodity,” she said, keeping her tone as cool as she could. “I'm no one's damn prize.”

  Bashar leaned his entire frame toward her, the coldness in his eyes more frightening than his menacing stance. “Oh, but you are,” he said. “Your mother's family lineage runs through your veins. That makes you quite attractive to us.”

  Claire bit back a retort, her human forcing her to count to ten before answering. Glancing around the wet, gloomy canyon yet again, she hoped for the millionth time two things would happen: her mother would have sensed her call but stayed well hidden if she was indeed in the area, and that Tate would not fall for Bashar's taunting phone call earlier and show up in a blind fury, ready to defend her from the crazy rogue wolves.

  She could now clearly see how crazy they were. Oh, not the two lackeys, who were simply following orders with the pathetic eagerness of losers everywhere hoping to curry favor from someone stronger than they. She doubted they even originated from Bashar's native pack. But Bashar and the speckled wolf reeked of madness. After Tate had filled her in more on her ex's psychologically ill native pack, she understood she was dealing with some very alarming and even dangerously unstable wolves.

  How the hell the bastard had hidden his natural ugliness from her during their months together, she had no real idea. Either he needed an Academy Award for acting, or she was a bigger fool than she felt right now.

  Probably true on both counts. Not taking her gaze away from Bashar, she wished she'd been allowed to hear Bashar's call to Tate earlier, sneakily using her phone so he knew the Black Mesa wolf would pick up. They'd all still been in human form, far away enough from Claire's house that they could easily disappear into the canyons, but still close enough to catch the last few bars of cell reception. His three goons—her human mockingly supplied that word, which seemed to fit well—had kept hold of her arms to keep her in one place while Bashar took her phone from her pocket, insolently letting his hand slide over her body as he did. “You used to like this, my sweet white wolf,” he'd said, flicking his tongue over his lips. “You will again.”

  “Never!” She'd spat at him then, which was much easier as a human. It had landed on his cheek, mixing with the rain that already had started to very lightly patter down.

  Once again, he'd only laughed before he stalked far away enough none of them could hear his call. When he returned, he informed her he'd told her “mate” he was taking what was rightfully his. First, though, he needed her for something else. With that, they'd told her to shift, then formed a deadly ring of large wolves around her as they forced her to march, stiff-legged all the way, deeper into the canyons.

  She'd already had a tiny dread then that Bashar fully meant for her to call in Melle.

  Now, after reaching ten in her head, Claire spoke again, struggling to keep her voice even. “Fine, I'll bite. Why exactly are you so interested in my maternal line? You don't even know anything about it, except that I'm an arctic wolf. Arctic wolves are rare, but not that rare.”

  He was already shaking his head, that cocky grin in place again. “Wrong, my beautiful white wolf. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You're gorgeous, but you don't get it at all, now do you?”

  Despite herself, Claire gave an internal shudder at his abruptly singsong tone. Okay, fine. Maybe Tate had been right to worry about her staying alone at her house.

  Yes, her human whispered. I'm an idiot to not have listened to him. He does know more about rogues and whatever else is going on than I could possibly understand.

  Bashar strolled a few paces away, pausing to glance at the sky. “Ah, ra
in,” he said, opening his mouth to catch a few drops. Then he shook his head, water droplets flying off his muzzle. “Cleanses everything, doesn't it? It should clean the stink of that pathetic wolf right off of you, Claire.” She knew he meant Tate. “His reek doesn't belong on your beautiful coat.” Bashar looked at her. His entire stance screamed dominance, craving, and an imbalance that had started to fray her nerves.

  She'd never seen this side of him before. It was vile. It was also deeply disturbing. Gripped by her sudden unease at witnessing his true nature, Claire felt herself stilling into the extraordinarily watchful state of predators on the alert.

  “Now that the rain is getting stronger, it hides our tracks as well as our scent.” His tone was oddly conversational. “But if another wolf is nearby, it can't completely hide her from us.”

  Chills skittered down Claire's spine, though she held herself completely still.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are! I know you've been watching us.” His voice suddenly whipped around the canyon, although the rain muffled its echo against the water-streaked walls.

  A sharp, low bark drew all their attention to the canyon entrance. Claire's heart sank with a thunk as she recognized the scent. The two subordinate wolves seemed confused, nostrils flaring as they stared intently at the new wolf watching them from a few hundred yards away.

  Claire knew they wondered why a natural wolf stood there, staring back at them back just as intently. She knew they weren't close enough to see the intelligence in the new wolf's eyes. All they could smell was that she seemed to be a natural-born wolf, not a shapeshifter like themselves.

  Unfortunately, Bashar knew exactly who she was. A huge, calculating grin split his face open, although the coldness never left his eyes. “Melle! You're just on time. I wondered when you would stop watching us and come down to join our little party. See? I haven't hurt your sweet offspring. And you know we won't hurt you, either.”

  As the wolf slowly picked her way through the scattered volcanic boulders toward them, Claire harshly barked out, “No!”

  But her mother kept walking closer, determination evident in her every silent step through the icy rain.

  ***

  Tate kept his nose low to ground as he ran. It seemed like the entire pack ran with him, although it was only about twenty of them. All the remaining Guardians plus some of the pack's stronger members, as well as those who were training to become a Guardian someday.

  Half thankful Caleb with his generally hothead ways wasn't with them, and half regretful that the pack's best fighter had reluctantly but irrevocably agreed to be conscripted into Rafe's new pack, Tate spared a moment's thought for Rafe's admonition to Tate. It had been mere weeks, but it already felt like a lifetime.

  You'll have to step it up and choose. Your pack will need you more than ever after we leave. Rafe's words drummed along with Tate's steps through the wet desert, which was covered by dark skies and soupy with the rain, which had fallen ever more steadily since he had left Claire alone this morning. Typical fall weather in the desert, although this was a little late in the season. Damp days and light rain actually enhanced smells, making tracking much easier. The downpour happening now, though, was violently washing away a lot of scents, not to mention had obliterated any tracks the bastard rogues had left behind.

  Stupid! So stupid to leave her. His human paced his mind but kept a firm focus in place. While the heavy rain now made it extremely hard to track, it wasn't impossible. They'd started at Claire's house, which Tate hated to reveal to the pack members, but there'd been no choice. He'd heard a whispering sound behind Bashar when the bastard called him on Claire's phone, just before he'd hung up with his taunting directive for Tate to find her before it was too late and he took her far away.

  It had been the sound of rain tumbling loose small rocks, which slid down canyon walls onto the soaked ground below. They were somewhere in the desert. Two things had to be true: they had to be where they still had cell reception, which was mostly impossible in the twisting, deep canyons that blocked the radio waves. Now, of course, they were likely deeper into the canyons, the phone having served whatever purpose Bashar had deemed necessary in his unfathomable thoughts.

  They also still had to be close enough for Claire's mother to find them. Tate had very briefly asked his alpha if she was indeed a prize for them and whatever sick game they were playing. The Black Mesa Alpha had nodded once, curt yet also troubled, and simply said, “Yes. Her bloodlines are important to a pack in the far north. Arctic wolves are still an important part of pack structures up there.” Alpha's voice held some regret, along with the quiet darkness Tate knew signaled the simmering anger his father rarely let loose.

  Tate didn't bother to ask how his alpha knew Claire was an arctic wolf. At this point in his life, he was fairly well convinced the old wolf knew just about everything there was to know about shifters all over the world.

  Then Luke, who had been deadly quiet throughout the entire brief meeting, spoke up in a harsh tone that made every younger wolf in the room pull just the slightest bit back from him. “My native pack is diseased enough now that the females can no longer breed.”

  Tate sensed bristling from the Black Mesa pack's own female wolves at his crude terminology, but Alpha held up a silencing hand and waved the one-time rogue wolf, now an alpha-to-be himself but still under the strict rule of this pack, to continue. Tate sensed his father already what Luke was about to say, however.

  “Arctic wolves have been a part of my family's pack for generations. I have arctic blood in my veins as well, although it rarely actually shows up as a white wolf.” Luke's wolf was definitely not white. “Females are the gene carriers, so they are highly prized by my native pack. My—sire”—the brief hitch in Luke's tone told Tate he held back more colorful words to describe the wolf in question—“strongly held the belief that arctic wolves were more pure. I'm certain that's why he wants your mate.” Luke looked at Tate, and a flash of pity in his gaze softened his generally somewhat haughty bearing.

  Tate's blood had run cold, then burning hot, then ice cold again. His wolf growled and snarled, straining to be freed so he could first find Claire, then hunt down and slowly kill the rogue son of a bitch who had dared to snatch her.

  The Black Mesa Alpha nodded, effectively shutting off any more information from Luke. Looking at Tate, Alpha had inclined his head. This was Tate's search to run. Accepting that answer, sealing up his frantic emotions behind the coolness of his Guardian training, he had rounded up all the most able pack members. He'd seen only small surprise on a few faces when he'd announced to the assembled members that he'd found his mate, she was a wild wolf, and she was now part of the pack regardless of anything else, and must be defended as they all were. No one was upset or questioned how a pack wolf could be mates with a wild wolf.

  Then again, he'd been talking so fast no one could get in a word edgewise, and the solid presence of their alpha equally ensured Tate's words and decisions to be true. He thought he'd caught an approving glance from Lily as he spoke, but that might have been wishful thinking.

  “I've got something!” Lily barked out now, ahead of him by about two hundred yards. Tate surged toward her, his paws flying over the slippery ground as best he could, although he skidded a few times. Lily nosed the ground. “That way,” she said, jerking her head more westward. The entire pack followed, although Tate noticed Alpha circling the edges, nose up more often than not, trying to scent the air as well.

  Miles disappeared beneath their paws, although those miles were hard-won. Every single pack member sported a mud coat, either from slipping in the stuff or having it inadvertently kicked onto them by a passing packmate. Every single pack member also focused on the task at hand: find the rogues, and find Tate's mate.

  When they rounded yet another canyon corner, leaping over water-darkened sagebrush and pressing deep, sliding paw marks into the sopping wet ground, Tate barely avoided barreling into a younger pack member who sk
idded to a startled stop right before him. The younger wolf shied back as Tate lifted his lip at her, tripping over her own paws as she scrambled away from him, though he meant it more as a warning to be watchful rather than from any aggression.

  Before them lay a fascinating tableau of frozen action as rogues wolves, a strange wolf, and thank god, Claire, all whipped their heads around at the unexpected appearance of the Black Mesa Pack.

  Chapter Ten

  Claire's mother stopped halfway toward them. She remained standing, body tensed to flee. When she spoke, more through body language as they all did in wolf form, the two subordinate wolves seemed utterly shocked, their hackles raised in confusion. Bashar and the speckled wolf, however, seemed to be expecting it.

  “Trade. Me for her.” Melle's words were simple, direct, and flat. Claire smiled to herself. Her mother was nothing if not blunt when needed.

  Bashar, of course, threw back his head and emitted a howling laugh that was quickly swallowed by the drenching rain. “Melle! Melle, Melle, Melle.” Claire's mother's name was an awful chant on his bared lips, making Claire's skin crawl beneath her soaked coat. “Such a pity you chose the path you did. However, you can still be quite useful to us. My sire assures me the shifter genes will still carry on to the rest of your cubs, despite you foolishly having relinquished your human side.”

  An ominous crack of thunder fairly close by made them all jump, although Melle didn't let the wolves out of her eyesight.

  “I'm so sorry, a trade simply won't be possible,” Bashar went on. His voice was so different than the one he'd used with Claire during their time together, so ugly now. Her internal shivers deepened as she realized more and more just how unstable he was. And how well he'd played her. “I'm under strict orders to bring you both back. And after all the work I did wooing your sweet daughter”—Claire's own hackles raised, and she growled fiercely at him—“in order to get access to you as well, I'm certainly not returning to my sire without her as well.”