by Odessa Lynne
“Maybe it’ll turn out to be a manure factory,” Matthew said, already clambering down the other side of the concrete.
Brendan gave a startled laugh under his breath and followed, being careful where he placed his foot. “It wouldn’t matter what it was, no smell’s going to stick around as long as these places have been abandoned.”
“We’ve got two choices,” Matthew said. “Keep running, or hide. Either way, they’ll probably track us down easy enough if they’re looking.”
“Hide,” Brendan said, going with his gut despite the strong urge to keep running if it meant he didn’t have to go inside either of these two buildings. “We’ve got to get out of this wind. I’m slowing us down, and the more we hang around out here, the more likely it is one of them will get lucky and see us before we see them.”
“You’re the boss.” Matthew turned as if he was about to start looking for a way into the less damaged looking warehouse across from them when a sharp retort rang through the alley, and he jolted, an insignificant little movement that didn’t even make him stumble.
“Fuck,” Brendan said, grabbing Matthew’s hand and yanking him off his feet. Matthew hit the ground ass first, but a blood stain had already started spreading across his shoulder.
“Shit,” Matthew said. “Somebody shot me.”
Brendan shoved back through a gap in the brick wall of the factory and dragged Matthew with him while a shot chipped the brick inches from his head.
“Wolves don’t shoot people,” Brendan said, flipping his holster open and removing his gun. “So, Jay?”
“Asshole,” Matthew said, and Brendan knew Matthew wasn’t referring to him.
“Yeah, asshole. You think?”
“Goddamn, this hurts,” Matthew said instead of answering Brendan.
Brendan looked down abruptly, taking his eyes off the gap in the wall long enough to note that he couldn’t really see anything well enough to tell how bad Matthew was bleeding.
“Do you know where you were shot?” Brendan asked, hobbling back a few steps to get beside Matthew, where he went down on one knee.
“No idea. Just … it all hurts.”
“Can you put pressure on it?” Brendan couldn’t put his gun down and do it himself or they’d be easy targets for anyone who came through that gap behind them.
“I’m—trying.” The catch in his voice preceded a pained groan. “My arm’s gone numb. It’s kind of hard to breathe but could be the pain doing that.”
“I don’t hear any wheezing. Any blood in your mouth?”
“Can’t taste any.”
“Good,” Brendan said with a strong surge of relief. He took a deep breath for what felt like the first time since he’d heard the gunshot.
Almost a minute passed—he knew because he counted in his head. No one attempted to come through the opening after them. Matthew shifted and groaned beside him, and a quick glance showed Brendan that Matthew had managed to sit up. Matthew groaned again as he tried to pull his shirt off one arm and over his head, but had to stop in the middle to catch his breath.
Brendan grabbed the edge of the soft cotton with one hand and eased it up and over, until the fabric hung off Matthew’s injured shoulder.
“I got it now,” Matthew said, the edge of pain in his tone impossible to miss.
“Keep pressure on it.”
“Goddammit, I know how to do this,” Matthew said.
“Then do it,” Brendan ordered. “Every second you waste—”
“I know. I know, okay?” Matthew sounded disgruntled but not as pissy as before.
Brendan took a quick glance around. A wall to each side of them and a long stretch of fallen debris led into the heart of the factory. They were on the ground floor but a long metal rail stretched from one end of the space to the other and Brendan had a feeling there was a floor beneath them.
Sweat beaded on the back of his neck at the thought of just how precarious their position might be.
“Don’t move around too much,” Brendan said and he wasn’t proud of how his voice shook.
Matthew looked up at him, the whites of his eyes about the only thing on his face Brendan could see clearly in the gloom. “Why? What is it?”
“I think there’s a basement level and we’re on top of it.”
“Shit. This is not—” A gust of wind hit the side of the building and the floor trembled under their feet.
Chapter 25
As the floor trembled, Brendan thrust out his hand for the wall, the brick scratching his palm, and fought back the panic coiling in his gut.
“Can’t stay here,” he said.
“Fucking right about that,” Matthew said.
The wind eased, and the building popped and cracked as the walls resettled around them.
Matthew started trying to get to his feet.
Brendan shoved his gun into his holster and helped. If someone was coming in after them, getting deeper into the factory was their best option. He got his shoulder under Matthew’s arm and every second that he spent with his back to the alley felt like an eternity. He almost expected a shot in the spine and was relieved when he and Matthew made it to the wall furthest from the opening.
“That way.” Matthew nodded in the direction of the strongest looking wall. The other leaned outward in a way that made it look like it would fall at any moment. He hoped to God it wasn’t load bearing.
About halfway down the length of sturdy wall, a door gaped open, hanging from a set of broken hinges, and he could see nothing but darkness beyond.
“Fuck,” Brendan said. His stomach churned.
He had a small flashlight tucked into his pocket, but if he used it, they would be too easy to find in the dark.
Another gust of wind whined through the cracks of the building and shook the walls.
“Brendan, let’s go.”
“I don’t know if I can do it.”
Matthew took a step and Brendan either had to follow or let go of Matthew’s arm. He forced himself to move.
“What’s your problem? You were the one—”
“Shut up, I’m moving.”
He grasped at his memory of Trey fucking him in that cave—he was stupid to even think about it, but he needed a distraction or he was going to lose it. He hated that memory, hated how he’d just fallen right into line, done whatever Trey wanted just because he’d offered some kind of protection from the threats around him.
He hated Trey, and just because his breath wanted to catch in his throat when he thought about how good it had all felt, that didn’t make a damn bit of difference. Trey had used him. Broken him somehow.
But the thoughts helped. He trudged around the biggest pieces of debris with Matthew, gravel crunching underfoot and scattering with their every step, and then shouldered through the doorway and into the even gloomier space beyond.
Grime-coated windows high in the three-story walls and along the center vee of the building’s roof allowed some light in, more than he expected, but they still almost tripped over a fallen beam that hid in the shadows in front of the door.
Somewhere, a cracked wall or a broken window was letting the wind in and Brendan could feel the cool air swirling around him, drying the sweat at his neck and plastering the damp fabric of his shirt to his back.
He caught a whiff of something rank on the air just about the time his foot thumped against a solid mass and he heard a squish from beside him as Matthew put his foot down.
“Ah shit,” Matthew said.
The smell of rot and decay wafted up, strong enough to make Brendan gag. A dead animal of some kind, maybe a dog or a deer—all he could see was a vague shape in the pervasive gloom.
A clang echoed from the room they’d just left.
Brendan dropped Matthew’s arm and reached for his gun.
Matthew stood stiffly on his own, as if he was afraid to move for fear of falling over.
Neither spoke while Brendan strained to hear anything coming from the outer room.
H
e patted Matthew’s arm carefully. When he could see the shadow of Matthew’s face looking his way, he gestured to himself and the doorway.
Matthew shook his head. His breathing seemed heavier than before, and Brendan tried not to worry about what that might mean.
Brendan gestured again, nodding. Then he pointed at Matthew and stabbed his finger toward the floor. He was going whether Matthew wanted him to or not, but he needed Matthew to agree to stay put.
Matthew gave in and nodded and Brendan saw Matthew tuck his t-shirt into the waistband of his pants before pulling out his own gun. Matthew was left-handed, Brendan knew that, and Matthew’s injury meant he was going to have to hold his gun right-handed, putting him at a disadvantage if he needed to take a shot.
Brendan was going to do his best to keep Matthew from having to do that. Matthew didn’t deserve to die because of him.
He eased back to the opening.
He remembered thinking Matthew was younger than him, back at that cabin, and he’d been right. Matthew wasn’t even twenty yet.
Brendan had met Matthew the day after his nineteenth birthday through Matthew’s twin cousins Marcus and Mason. He’d wanted to fuck Matthew on sight and before the night was over, he was in Matthew’s run-down bedroom in the back of the twins’ too-small house on the county line with Matthew’s cock in his mouth. He’d got what he wanted before the night was over, with Matthew’s tight, hard body beneath him and his gasping breath and his sweaty skin too fucking beautiful for words.
He’d always believed they were both getting what they wanted from their relationship, but now he knew how wrong he’d been. Matthew had obviously thought they were meant to be more than just friends who fucked. Brendan had used Matthew, and he felt almost sick thinking about how he’d spent every moment after that first fuck convincing Matthew to come join him in his effort to push the wolves off the planet before they ruined the world for everyone.
He owed Matthew and it was time to pay up.
He squatted next to the wall for a moment, one hand on the ground for balance so the inflexible brace on his foot didn’t trip him up, before he twisted to peek around the edge of the door. He hoped his position would make him less of a target if anyone was on the other side watching for him.
Faint light spilled into the outer room through the gap in the wall, and he could make out two shadows near that opening to the alley. Tall and lean, probably male, but neither were turned his way and he couldn’t tell if they were wolf or human.
Since he couldn’t see eyes or weapons from where he crouched, he watched for the tell-tale flexing of fingers that seemed to be a common trait among the wolves.
The wind gusted against the factory with a howl and the shadow nearest the gap turned his head abruptly in Brendan’s direction. Eyes glowed in the dim light, and Brendan had his answer.
Wolves.
The wolf staring Brendan’s way jerked his attention toward the alley just as a shot rang through the air. His head twisted grotesquely, and he fell, thudding to the floor face down.
A crack echoed hollowly from somewhere below and Brendan felt the reverberation through the palm of his hand on the floor. Dread coiled in his stomach. This building was a fucking death trap waiting to snap its jaws around anyone stupid enough to come inside.
The other wolf roared and took off into the alley. Brendan’s pulse raced, his body reacting without conscious thought to what had sounded very much like a battle cry.
Brendan stared at the fallen wolf. Just enough light spilled across the wolf’s upper body so that Brendan could see blood drizzling from the back of the wolf’s head down across his cheek and over the bridge of his nose.
Drip, drip, drip.
Brendan almost didn’t hear the wolf’s moan over the blustering winds, but there, again, another low sound and he was certain of what he’d heard.
The wolf wasn’t dead. Brendan squinted and stared and sure enough, the wolf’s claws seemed to be scraping minutely against the floor beneath him.
Brendan’s heart pounded. A rustle of sound behind him made him glance back and he saw Matthew easing down to his knees. Brendan hoped Matthew had done it for a better angle and not because he felt too weak to keep standing.
He turned back to his view of the wolf. As best as Brendan could tell, the wolf hadn’t moved anything but his hand, which twitched every few seconds. Brendan could almost imagine each intermittent click as the wolf’s claws tapped the floor.
If that wolf managed not to die before the other wolf came back, Brendan and Matthew were going to be in more trouble than they already were.
He needed to kill that wolf.
Brendan bit back a curse and eased around the doorway, coming to his feet as he crossed the threshold. He had nothing on Ian when it came to marksmanship; in fact, Brendan had a damned aggravating problem with focus that had always kept him from being a consistently skilled shot. He was going to have to get a hell of a lot closer if he wanted to be able to make a good enough shot to hit the one truly vulnerable spot a wolf had. And—
Everyone would hear the shot.
Fuck.
Bringing a knife to a wolf fight was too stupid for words.
He was going to have to do it anyway.
He moved. Grit crunched under his foot, and the wolf growled low and thrust himself over onto his back.
Brendan jerked so hard that if he’d had his finger on the trigger he knew he would’ve shot one of his damn toes off.
At that moment, Brendan felt a bone deep gratitude for every smack upside the head Ian’s grandfather had ever given him when he’d caught Brendan holding one of his guns wrong. He never had liked old Marshall that much, but most of Brendan’s skills with a gun traced right back to that old bastard.
No time to lose now, though.
He holstered his gun, pulled the knife out of his boot, and ran.
The brace protecting his ankle threw off his stride and every heavy thudding tread made him feel like the floor was about to drop away beneath his feet.
The wolf moved weakly as Brendan stumbled to an awkward stop beside him.
Brendan dropped to his knees, already reaching for the knife with his empty hand. He didn’t hesitate before rearing back with the intent of plunging the knife into the center of the wolf’s throat.
Light spilled across the upper half of the wolf’s face and his eyes—they looked so much like Trey’s that it made Brendan’s breath catch.
What if this wolf was one of Trey’s children? What if—
The wolf clamped a hand around Brendan’s wrist, so tight Brendan could’ve sworn he felt his bones creak. He grunted with the effort to hold on, but he couldn’t control his fingers and the knife fell blade first, nicking the wolf’s bloody cheek before clattering to the floor.
He yanked his gun free of the holster awkwardly with the wrong hand and jammed it against the side of the wolf’s head, right at that weak spot that would let Brendan’s bullet snuff out the light behind those eyes with a single shot.
“The prophecy.” The wolf formed the words slowly.
Brendan couldn’t take his gaze away from those green eyes. “Is Trey—is the First Alpha your father?”
“Death before peace. Traesikeille is a fool for believing it must be our deaths instead of yours.”
Without warning, the wolf clamped his other hand around Brendan’s throat, claws digging deep.
Brendan choked. He pulled the trigger.
Chapter 26
The wolf’s grip on Brendan’s throat loosened. Brendan gasped for breath and immediately started coughing, but the wolf’s hand didn’t fall away from his throat. He had to pry the wolf’s claws out of his neck with shaking hands while slick warm blood coated his fingers.
He gritted his teeth to keep from whimpering as the last claw slid out.
He’d been lucky. If those claws had pierced his jugular, he’d be bleeding out right now, but he was still alive so he had to assume he was mostly okay.
/> “Brendan!”
Brendan wasn’t sure how long Matthew had been calling out to him, but he had a feeling this wasn’t the first time Matthew had said his name. He sat back on his heels, still coughing and trying to catch his breath so he could answer.
“I’m fine.” His voice came out too low and hoarse, so he started to repeat himself. “I’m—”
Something cold and hard pressed against the back of his head.
“Couldn’t believe it was you when I heard. Brendan Greer, the fucking peacemaker. That First Alpha should have just killed you.”
Son of a bitch.
Jay.
A hand twisted tight in the back of Brendan’s shirt, a set of hard knuckles digging into his spine. He grimaced but he didn’t dare try to turn his head to see who else had arrived with Jay.
“Drop your gun, Matthew. And don’t even think about it, Brendan.”
Brendan released his gun carefully beside his thigh. He didn’t hear Matthew’s gun hit the floor over the sound of the gusting wind. He wasn’t even sure where Matthew was.
Jay kicked Brendan’s gun aside and it skidded across the floor before clanging against something too far into the shadows for Brendan to identify.
“Don’t come any closer, Matthew, or I’ll have to do more than wing you.”
“You could’ve killed me,” Brendan heard Matthew say.
“I could’ve,” Jay said harshly. “But I didn’t. Now shut up, this isn’t about you. I’m in a hurry. Too many goddamn wolves around.”
The gun tapped the back of Brendan’s skull hard enough to make Brendan wince. “On his knees, Lamar.”
Brendan recognized the name. Lamar had been with Jay when Brendan had gone after Ian—but found Devon—in one of the wolves’ dens. From what Brendan had been able to discover from some things Devon had said, and through his own confrontation with Jay later, Jay and Lamar and another guy Brendan had only met once had tried to beat the shit out of Devon for screwing up that raid.
Brendan and Jay had almost come to blows over it, but Jay had backed down.
Obviously Jay was still pissed.
Lamar hauled Brendan up to his knees, pulling hard on the wadded up t-shirt in his fist. Jay’s gun bumped painfully against Brendan’s skull as Brendan shifted. He caught a glimpse of a heavy rifle slung across Jay’s back.