by J. K Harper
Bashar's lips drew even farther back in a calculating snarl as he advanced one step toward Melle. She held her ground, though, head high, body now equally tensed between fleeing and attacking. “He told me something very, very interesting. Something I'd wager my lovely Claire—”
“I am not yours, bastard!” Claire snapped, starting to shake with anger as well as her deepening nervousness.
“—something she never knew,” he finished smoothly as if she hadn't interrupted him. “Isn't that right, Melle? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Keeping secrets from her. That's no way to build a healthy relationship, now, is that?”
Claire's growl stopped halfway in her throat. Swinging her head between her mother and her ex, she felt a tickle of doubt lodge somewhere in her stomach. Her human seemed breathless, tautly waiting for an explanation. The rain poured down, although not a wolf moved a single muscle or tried to twitch the wetness off their coats as they also waited for the answer.
Giving her daughter a long look, Melle finally replied. “She didn't need to know the details of her native pack. All she needed to know was that it was unhealthy, unstable, and no place to raise a pup.”
Sharp, sudden horror whipped through Claire colder than the icy rain.
Her mother looked directly at her and shattered her world. “I'm sorry, Claire. We came from the same pack as these wolves. Bashar's sire forced me to mate with his cousin, who also came from pure arctic bloodlines, in hopes of creating more wolves just like you. True white wolves,” she whispered, the wolfish hint of a slightly sad smile on her face for an instant. The wind slammed through the canyon as the storm piled on overhead.
Claire's human gibbered in her mind, frantically trying to absorb and understand what Melle was saying. “But that's impossible. You said we were from an Alaskan pack! And you meant it!”
Wolves usually had a difficult time lying to one another, especially ones with close ties. There was no way her mother could have distorted the truth that much without Claire realizing she kept back information.
Eyes firmly settled back on the rogue wolves, keeping their every twitch under her watchful gaze, Melle responded, “I was. Originally. That was truth, and I never lied about it. Bashar's sire had me stolen when I was very young. He already had a breeding program in mind, even back then, and he forced me into it. But I never considered his pack as my pack. Never.” No bitterness lined her shocking words. Simply acceptance of past facts. A wild wolf through and through, she focused on the now. Another thunderclap startled everyone again, but their attention remained on the wild wolf's story.
“My goal always was to protect you, Claire. I did that. However,” and she aimed her baleful stare directly at Bashar, “I admit I underestimated how devious this one is, although in retrospect it's not surprising considering his lifelong role model. He made very sure to respect your wishes as a wild wolf and wear scent blocker himself when he was around you and your house. Quite clever,” she said with just a touch of sarcasm now framing her tone. Claire clenched her jaw, glaring with renewed disgust at Bashar. “I never once caught his scent,” Melle continued. “I would have been suspicious had you ever mentioned his name to me, but obviously he meant little enough to you that never saw reason to give him that much importance in any conversation.” Melle yawned wide to punctuate her words, though her sharp gaze still fixed on the rogues.
Despite her shock at her mother's revelation, Claire had to chuff out a wicked laugh at Bashar's suddenly murderous expression. Her mother was deliberately pushing his arrogance buttons, and it was working.
“Enough,” he snapped. “There will be no trade. My orders are to retrieve you both and return you to our pack. I was patient as I waited for just the right time to have Claire lure you in,” he said to Melle, “but our time is up.” Some agitation stirred beneath his words, but Claire had no time to ponder it before he went on. “To the car.” He tossed his head at the other three male wolves, who slowly began to prowl toward Melle.
Before Claire could open her mouth to protest, her mother shot her a glance that said volumes, even though Claire knew the others wouldn't understand. She, however, immediately grasped Melle's intentions.
Quicker than thought, she launched herself at Bashar just as Melle turned and leapt away down the canyon, spring and sliding and clawing through the muddy ground.
Bashar howled as Claire landed on him with a satisfying whomp. He swiped at her, snarling out to the others as he jerked his muzzle at Melle, “Go after her!”
Claire managed to twist away from him, though, and she also ran for all she was worth toward the canyon's entrance. She knew the other wolves would be able to stop her before she reached it, but it might give her mother time to get more distance. Melle wasn't abandoning her—far from it. This was an old defensive technique they'd practiced since Claire was young. Divide and conquer when surrounded, or at least divide. It would throw off attackers and allow the ostensibly escaping wolf to circle back and re-attack.
And Tate thought she had no self-protective instincts.
Claire raced as fast as she could on the treacherous ground, gaining the canyon entrance just as the creepy speckled wolf did. He bowled right into her, knocking her sprawling. She tumbled a few times before she could right herself, shaking her head and keeping her snarl ferociously in place. Thunder cracked again as more rain dumped from the roiling sky.
“Try that again.” Her savage tone paused him for a second. Then an unpleasant grin pulled back his lips, revealing his sharp canines as he prepared himself to launch at her again.
A dark shape came hurtling from behind a boulder, rocketing right into the speckled wolf and crashing him onto the ground. Melle flipped away just as fast, landing on her feet a few strides away, whirling quickly to parry with him again. Just as Bashar and the other two wolves got to them, though, a sudden surge of noise and movement exploded from around the corner.
Tate. And his pack.
***
Every Black Mesa wolf thudded to a halt, the pounding rain and whipping wind threatening to make the scene even more treacherous. Immense relief soaked Tate as much as the rain did. Claire looked angry as hell, and somewhat uneasy, but she appeared unharmed.
The speckled wolf with the yolk-bright yellow eyes was too close to Claire. Tate moved forward one step, then another. As he did, though, the speckled wolf growled, the sound of it just barely carrying over the rain. It was a warning.
Get the hell away from my prey.
Like hell he would. Tate snarled back, letting his lip ripple back and rise high so his sharp canines would gleam at the other wolf. Tate's human, though, pushed at him to think. There had to be a smarter way to handle this. Anger wouldn't diffuse this situation any more than laughter could.
Tate had sheer numbers on his side, not to mention the most powerful alpha in the northern hemisphere at his flank. His father had not uttered a single word to Tate the entire way on how to approach the rogues if sighted. The kill order was still in effect, a result from their having slaughtered the young wolf from the Silver Mountain Pack. Tate's friend, and Kieran's blood as well as pack relative. He vaguely registered Kieran a few wolves away from him, firmly flanked by Lily so he wouldn't make a rash decision at the sight of those who had murdered one of his own kin.
However, as Tate forced himself to slow down and think, he realized that he didn't truly believe killing all these wolves was the right choice at the moment. They can be useful later, perhaps, his human murmured, although tempered fury bracketed his words.
Taking them captive was a distinct possibility. It could also give them a bargaining chip with the Canadian pack that was fast-becoming Tate's least favorite pack of all time. Before he could say anything, though, Bashar Rawlins started to stroll toward Claire, insolent yet calculating. Tate tensed, muscles ready to spring after all, as did every other Black Mesa Wolf.
“Stop now, fool.” The words came from Luke. “You're already a dead wolf. Don't add torture to the list.”
> Tate saw Claire flinch as Bashar flung his head back in a disturbing howl that danced along the edge of mad laughter. Some of the younger Black Mesa wolves also teetered back on their legs, although they didn't break ranks. Tate felt proud, even though he didn't blame them one bit for their slight trepidation. The stench of purely batshit insane wolf managed to carry to their nostrils despite the sheets of water pouring from the dark, crackling clouds above.
“This pack is much too civilized to condone torture.” Bashar's voice was a sneer. “Or should I say, too weak? Look—even its alpha shrinks back from me. What sort of leader is he?”
Tate's human narrowed his eyes while also snarling swear words in his head. Channing Bardou was hardly shying away. He stood firm and steady beside Tate. Bashar's words, however, were meant to nastily spit doubt and more fear into the minds of the younger wolves.
Totally understand now why Caleb hates them so much, his human muttered.
Agreed.
Tate flicked his glance at Claire again. Her eyes were on him as well, though she kept snapping them back at the wolves near her. Smart. He could see her every wild instinct at play here, keeping her safe and alive. Taking a breath, he glanced once at his alpha, who merely looked back at him with a calm expression.
Right. His mate, his shots to call. His pack was simply here for backup. Looking back at the rogues—rogues, sick pack wolves, whatever the hell the bastards were—he coolly assessed their stances, just like he did when he trained the most wild of horses. Their postures told him two things. One, they all deferred to Bashar. Two, they wouldn't harm Claire or her mother.
In a heartbeat, he made up his mind.
“Take them,” he said. His father growled his approval behind the order. Immediately, the Black Mesa Pack members spread out in what was almost a choreographed dance. Four groups of four or five wolves each broke off and headed directly for each rogue, surrounding and taking them to the ground in a matter of moments.
Tate knew he should be bothered by their feeble attempts at resistance, but for the moment he couldn't handle more thinking about more politics or murky reasons driving their bizarre actions. His entire attention had shifted to Claire.
He leapt over the mucky ground in bounding strides to her where she stood by the darker wolf who had to be her mother. Inhaling as deeply as he could when he approached, he could sense absolutely nothing about her that indicated she was anything more than a natural-born wolf, one with no shifter abilities at all. Only the facts that there were no natural wolves living in the area, and that obviously near-human intelligence lay behind her eyes, clued him or anyone else in that she was more than she seemed.
Ignoring the sounds of the others subduing the rogues, Tate looked at Claire. Her wolf was as beautiful as her human, and as spirited. In every line he saw restlessness, caution, and wariness. But she stayed still as he gently reached forward and touched her nose with his. Whining a bit, he rubbed his head against hers, then did a thorough check to make certain she was uninjured.
“I'm fine,” she finally said, lifting her lip in the tiniest snarl to tell him to stop fussing. “They wouldn't hurt us anyway. Not yet, that is,” she added, casting another dark look at her ex.
Tate shook his head. “Let's talk about it all later. Right now, I just want to get you back to the den. And you—if you want,” he added very deferentially to her mother. Lowering his gaze and head a bit, he tried to appear as unassuming as possible. The older female wolf looked back at him, unafraid but also not quite as wary as Claire. Then again, he had absolutely no hold over this wolf. Her decisions were utterly up to her.
“No,” the other wolf said. Glancing at the sprawl of canyons stretching out behind them, she said, “I made this my home, and it stays that way. I am a wild wolf by choice.” She nuzzled Claire once, then looked at Tate. “I could have taken Claire and myself to the Denver pack originally. We would have been welcomed. But I was done with packs. And I always will be.”
Softly, Melle added, “Claire's choices, however, are her own to make.” She backed a few steps from Tate, then looked at her daughter with a calm patience.
Tate shook his head, futilely, to scatter the ceaseless rain slicing across his vision. He looked at Claire. After a long, searching moment between them in which everything else faded away, she took a step away from him, then another. Tate felt his heart slide out from beneath his ribs and hit the ground somewhere near his paws.
“You are my mate,” she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her over the slam of the rain and the still-present rumbles of thunder as the storm slowly moved overhead and away from them. “But I am still a wild wolf, and I still don't know how to make this work. Give me time, Tate. If you're taking them,” she jerked her head in a contemptuous movement toward the subdued rogues, “then I truly am safe. For the moment, at least. Besides, Melle and I had it covered.” She gently bumped her mother's hip.
Leaning toward him, Claire rubbed her muzzle along his. “Let me think before I figure out how to upend my entire life for one wolf.”
With that, she turned and bounded out into the desert, although she managed to kick mud into Bashar's face as she raced past him lying on the ground, firmly held down by Black Mesa Wolves while simultaneously grinning and glaring at them all. After another moment of looking hard at Tate, Claire's mother turned and slipped away as well, disappearing into the storm behind Claire.
“Don't!” Tate said, half ready to go after her. But suddenly Lily was beside him, placing herself in front of him and blocking his path.
“Let her go,” she said, looking at her brother. “You can't stop her.”
Tate flashed on a memory of Lily doing the exact same thing years ago, when she simply needed to escape her world and find her balance again. Although it was so hard he trembled from the effort, he managed to stand motionless, ignoring the jeering laughter from the scum his packmates held down, ignoring the smack of the cold rain, ignoring everything except the sight of his mate leaving again.
Lily was right. He couldn't stop Claire, and he wouldn't. She was still a wild wolf, bound to no pack. Mate or not, she was utterly free to make her own decisions.
Even though it felt like his heart had just punched out of his body and wouldn't come back anytime soon.
***
Claire sat silently on the high flanks of the mountain, staring down at the desert far below. A light skiff of snow feathered over her pelt. The crisp tang of pine trees, the sharpness of the air at this high elevation, the sense of being far above all the small things below—this was her natural environment. An arctic wolf belonged in the snow. In the mountains. And a wild wolf belonged on her own.
Right?
Nestling deeper into her little spot between two large boulders, the sprawling branches of a pine tree sheltering her from the winds that drove the little flurries of soft, cold white into the lengthening evening, Claire pondered her own thoughts. Staring down at her own paws, she looked at them as curiously as if she'd never seen them before. Wolf's paws. Part of her. Nothing like her human hands, which were also part of her.
Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head, scattering tiny drops of cold snow off her, making room for more to land. Paws, hands, four legs, two legs. Fur-covered pelt. Smooth, hairless skin. She was of both worlds, and this was how she usually saw herself: as one being that blended two creatures.
But alone, her human whispered. Alone.
Claire huffed out a sign and put her head down on her paws. Gazing over the darkly shadowed canyons and mesas far below, she felt an inescapable sense of longing.
Tate. She missed him. He should be here with her, pressed into her side, sharing his warmth with her as they nestled together, gazing down at the world below. But she was indeed alone. Tate wasn't with her, and that had been her own choice. Even Melle was gone, for now.
“I know you will be safe,” Melle had told her weeks ago, after they'd bounded away from the rogue wolves, Bashar's madness, and Tate's gut
-wrenched expression. “You will be much more alert from now on. But they are gone for now.” Claire knew she meant the rogues. “And he will not let anything harm you again. Ever.”
No, Tate wouldn't let anything harm her. If she could accept his protection. His—pack.
Melle had bumped her with a shoulder. “You will know what to do.” She'd eyed her daughter for a long moment, then gave a single, satisfied nod. “When you are ready.”
Ducking her head and looking at Melle sideways, Claire had said, “How do you know I'll ever be ready? He won't leave his pack, and I would never ask him to. He also won't ask me to give up being a wild wolf. Not even for him.”
She felt cold just contemplating either thought.
Letting her mouth hang open in a smile, moonlight glinting off her teeth, Melle had simply responded, “You will figure out a way. Because he is your mate and you love him. Anyone could see that.”
Anyone could see that. The words had brooded themselves around Claire's mind ever since then. She'd hunted, roamed, and tried to outrun her own thoughts in the mountains for these weeks. Keeping her wolf shape, she tried to simply be in the moment, which was always easiest in this form. But Tate had never left her thoughts. Not once. Was he her mate? Absolutely. Did she love him?
Wind flipped through the pine branches, sending snow into her face as she sat there, seeing only Tate's face.
Of course I love him. Of course. Her human's voice was low, but so certain it was like her own heartbeat, steady and sure and true.
After another hour or so, she finally set out for home. She hadn't been there since the rogues had taken her. Carefully, padding on her large paws in the snow-wrapped silence, she slipped through the dark back down the mountain. It was time, she decided, for a proper shower.