by Odessa Lynne
Marcus raised his head and looked at Mason. “Didn’t expect that.”
Mason nodded, then curled his fingers around the latch and cautiously opened the door.
The hinges were silent, but the wood floor creaked under his weight as he stepped over the threshold.
“Anybody home?” His voice cracked and his words echoed off the bare walls. He cleared his throat. His mouth was so dry he was lucky he could talk at all.
Walking through the empty room felt like walking into a trap.
The kitchen wasn’t far. He could see counter space and a sink through the opening between rooms, and a shiny spout in the wall above it. He could almost taste the cool, fresh water that would pour out when he turned it on.
He glanced over his shoulder at Marcus, who was busy looking toward the opening at the other end of the room that seemed to lead deeper into the house—where shadows lurked in a dark hall.
Something moved in the corner of Mason’s eye. He jerked around, a startled grunt escaping before he could stop it.
A golden-eyed female wolf stood at the edge of the kitchen, her claws fully extended, her full curves and long, loose hair doing nothing to make her look soft as she stared at Mason.
“If you came here to do us harm, you’ll be disappointed.” Her melodic voice seemed at odds with the fire in her eyes. Her gaze drifted to Marcus.
“We’re not here to hurt anybody,” Marcus said, stepping forward. “I promise.”
“You promise?” Her head tilted. “What does a human promise mean coming from a human who smells of weapons and death?”
Marcus patted down his chest and his pockets. “I don’t have any weapons—unless you count my looks and charm.” He smiled. “I’m available as hell for anything you might have in mind, beautiful.”
Mason directed a sharp look at Marcus and wondered what the fuck he thought he was doing.
Her arched eyebrows rose and she drew in a careful sniff of the air.
A deep, accented voice came from behind them. “Your human scent won’t tempt my mate, and neither will your attempts at flattery. But if you want a challenge, I can offer that.”
Mason closed his eyes for one brief moment, then reopened them and turned. Two male wolves stood at the edge of the dark hall, nearly lost in the shadows.
“Well shit,” Marcus said under his breath.
Mason didn’t say anything, but he sure as hell didn’t disagree.
Chapter 7
The wolf who’d spoken separated himself from the other and strode toward Mason and Marcus. He was looking directly at Mason when he said, “This one has a knife in his boot and something in his pocket.”
Mason nodded, his gaze flickering toward his brother who was standing silently beside him. Marcus hadn’t taken his eyes off the wolf, who was tall, broad, and dressed in a dark t-shirt and dark trousers.
No wonder he’d been hard to see in those shadows. Only his eyes stood out, bright green and alight with an unspoken command as he stopped in front of Mason and put his hand out.
Mason unclipped his pocketknife and handed it over.
Marcus did the same, wincing as the burnished metal left his hand. “Take care of ’em,” he said. “We’ll want those back.”
The wolf was still watching Mason with those fierce eyes of his and didn’t acknowledge Marcus’s comment at all. He let his gaze drop to the small knives and he studied them for a moment. Then he tucked them away into his own trouser pocket and returned his gaze to Mason.
That look said everything Mason needed to hear.
Mason hunkered down and drew out the knife in his boot, then offered it handle first to the wolf. “It was for protection.”
The wolf held the knife in his hand for a moment, turning it, feeling the weight. “Feeble protection at best.”
Then he threw it, and the sudden motion made Mason lurch sideways and shield his head before he realized the knife wasn’t coming at him.
The blade buried itself with a thunk and twang in the back of one of the straight-backed chairs.
Mason rose carefully, eyes on the vibrating knife, while Marcus dragged his hand down his face and muttered, “Holy fucking shit.”
“Aiahaleaeille,” the wolf said, the alien word coming and going quicker than Mason could grasp, “it’s safe for you to question them now.”
Safe? How? What did they think he and Marcus were going to—
The renegades. Goddammit.
Back when Brendan had been in charge, he’d been more than willing to send in his people to get inside the wolves’ dens with the hope their trackers wouldn’t be found before their capture gave him the location of another den to raid.
Without anyone to tell them differently, that was probably what these wolves suspected of Mason and Marcus.
The female wolf came forward. The male caught her by the back of the neck with his hand and he pulled her close to nuzzle at the side of her neck. Her eyelashes lowered and a soft sound came from her throat, along with a quiet rumble at a gentler, less cock-twitching pitch than the one that came from her mate.
Mason stared straight ahead, a knot in his throat and a slight flush rising into his cheeks.
Despite his experience three years ago, he had no idea what to expect from the wolves in this setting. He’d spent his entire captivity with the wolves in a locked room. After that first heat season, he’d hardly seen any wolves at all until he’d joined the renegades. What he had seen, he couldn’t trust. Nobody with any sense trusted what made it into the veo streams.
But even before that, the wolves had shared almost nothing about their intimate lives. People had wondered and speculated, but no one had suspected anything like what the reality had turned out to be. It was one reason everyone had been so caught off guard when the wolves’ first heat came after so many of them had settled on Earth.
He knew only that they could be savage when they mated, that humans—especially men in their mid-twenties—had a scent the wolves found impossible to resist—a scent that could set off a chain reaction in the wolves’ brains that had terrifying consequences for any human caught in their midst.
But at the sight of the male wolf gently holding the female’s stomach, rubbing his face tenderly against the long line of her neck, something in Mason’s gut clenched.
He didn’t want to feel empathy. He didn’t want to imagine they could love, just like humans. He didn’t want to imagine that what Marcus had given up because of him might have been something real.
But he was losing his ability to pretend otherwise, and had been for almost three years now.
The alphas fought for dominance and their chosen mates surrendered, just like he’d done to secure safe passage through the woods. They stole human choice and Mason wasn’t ready to forget that. He wasn’t ready to forgive them for cracking his world, even if Marcus seemed to have already done it.
Mason would let that goddamned wolf fuck him but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
And that niggling voice came back, drilling a hole in his head with whispered words: Marcus liked it. He said so.
Mason inhaled a deep breath, forcing back that goddamned voice and waiting impatiently for the wolves to end their show of affection and get on with the questioning.
The other male wolf spoke from the edge of the dark hallway, his impassive gaze on Mason, as if he knew exactly what Mason was thinking. “It’s to reinforce their bond so Ishikeille can more easily resist your human scent.”
Mason had nothing to say to that so he just let his gaze wander back to the female, wishing they’d hurry the hell up. He hadn’t had a sip of water since the bathroom in the biolab and his mouth was so dry he didn’t want anything as badly as he wanted a drink from that kitchen sink.
Then with startling speed the softness in the female’s gaze disappeared and she straightened away from her mate. He released her just as easily as he’d held her, except for the hand at the back of her neck—that he left in place and she seemed con
tent to have it there.
Her gold gaze shifted between Mason and Marcus. “Two from one. Uncommon for humans.” Her gaze settled on Mason. “But you… I smell Weketekari on you. Why?”
The context of her question told Mason he might have just heard Five’s real name. But Five had been right—there was no way for Mason to reproduce the pitch of the female wolf’s voice and recreate the sounds he’d heard.
“He was sniffing me?” Mason said. “I don’t know. We got close.”
Marcus shot him a dark frown.
Mason sent Marcus a dark glare of his own.
“Tell them,” Marcus said. Shitbrain might have remained unspoken, but Mason heard it all the same.
“Yes,” the female said. “Tell us.”
Her mate was giving Mason a hard look.
Mason wiped the palm of his injured arm on his jeans and blinked her into focus again. His forearm was also itching, but he didn’t dare scratch at it through the filthy bandage. What if the cut was already getting infected?
“Are you afraid to answer my question?” Then, her voice going flat. “Why are you here?”
At the sudden narrowing of her eyes, Mason’s mouth went dry. “He brought us here, swear to God.”
Just as quickly, she said, “And why is he not here with you?”
“There’s another wolf out there. An alpha. They’re fighting. He wanted us to leave him. It was too dangerous, he said. But you should probably send someone. He might be in trouble—”
Maybe that’s what you want, that voice in his head taunted him. Get rid of the wolf and you don’t have to submit…
Shut the fuck up, he told himself. Just shut the fuck up. Because that wasn’t true. Mason didn’t want Five dead or injured, especially not because of a fight he’d taken on to protect Mason and his brother.
The female wolf’s lip pulled back, showing a quick flash of sharp eyeteeth. “Did he ask you to send someone?”
Mason answered grudgingly, “No.”
“I thought not.”
“So he sent you to us for protection.”
“That’s right.”
Marcus’s frown only darkened.
“Then you did as you should have done.” Her gaze skimmed Mason from head to toe. “So why did he send you to us for protection? Was his mate with him?”
“I don’t smell a mate,” her companion said. He stared at Mason with glittering green eyes so direct that Mason had trouble taking a deep breath.
Sometimes it felt like the goddamned wolves didn’t even know how to blink.
The female looked back at her mate, sharing some unspoken communication that Mason couldn’t decipher.
Marcus had obviously finally had enough. “You goddamned idiot,” he hissed toward Mason. “Tell them you’re his mate.”
Mason was watching the male wolf when Marcus spoke. The wolf’s nostrils flared, not too much, but noticeably, and it seemed as if all the air went out of the room.
“I see,” the female said. “That’s… unexpected.”
“It’s not official or anything,” Mason said. “If there’s one of your people waiting on him, I can step aside, no problem. Just put us somewhere out of the way and—”
Marcus jostled him from the side and gave him a fiery glare said shut the fuck up.
Mason took that advice, rubbing his hand on his jeans again. His stomach churned and the room felt hazy with the sudden spill of bright morning sunlight through the windows.
The other male was still watching silently from the shadows on the hallway, but the female’s mate had something to say.
“He should be honored Alpha chose him over all the others. Instead, he insults us and Alpha. He’s unworthy of being Alpha’s mate.”
“Honored,” Mason said in a flat, hard tone no one was going to mistake for friendly. “I’ve got another name for it.”
The wolf growled, and the sound skittered along Mason’s nerves, raising the hair on his arms and the back of his neck.
He felt Marcus tense beside him.
The female reached behind her and clasped the wolf’s arm in her hand. “Ishikeille…”
The wolf’s growl ended as abruptly as it had started.
Her voice soft, she said, “Alpha isn’t here to teach him our ways. He will learn.”
Mason had to bite back his reaction to that. But whatever had come over him earlier faded. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He’d pushed too hard, let his temper run unchecked, and he couldn’t make that mistake again.
Marcus made a small gesture that drew everyone’s attention. “We’re really tired and thirsty. Maybe we could have something to drink?”
“We’ll be finished here soon,” she said, gesturing at the third wolf, her long fingers making a short, sharp movement.
The third wolf turned without a word and disappeared into the dark hallway. Somewhere beyond Mason’s line of sight a door opened and shut.
“If someone challenged Alpha, he’ll come back ready to mate.”
“We’ll take precautions.”
But Mason had lost track of the conversation somewhere, wasn’t even sure what the two wolves were talking about. Sweat chilled his skin and the inside of his mouth tasted sour and dry.
Marcus’s voice cut through a sudden darkness at the edges of Mason’s vision. “You okay? Hey—oh—shit—he’s—”
Mason wasn’t sure what happened. One moment he was standing there beside Marcus and the next he was flat on his back, blinking up at the pale ceiling.
“I—” Whatever thought he’d had was gone too quickly to catch.
Someone was holding his arm.
“Hey, careful. He’s got a—goddamn…”
The startled sound of Marcus’s voice brought Mason’s head off the floor.
He glanced to the side to see the green-eyed wolf peeling away the last of the blood-soaked and mud-caked fabric covering Mason’s injury.
A long scab had formed along his forearm over the four-inch gash. It was hardly more than a long scratch and if Mason hadn’t seen the original damage himself he would’ve never believed how it had looked just hours ago.
“That’s not possible,” he said. He started trying to push himself up on his elbow.
The wolf holding his arm didn’t release him. “This should be cleaned. You could get an infection.”
Marcus’s laugh was almost a bark it was so hard. “I don’t think that’s the problem.” He dragged his hands through his hair and met Mason’s gaze with his own. “Shit. What the fuck is going on? None of this makes any sense.”
Mason swallowed, dropping his head back to the floor. “What were they working on in the lab, Marcus?”
Marcus loomed over him, then hunkered down, taking Mason’s free hand. “Nothing that could do this. I mean, I can’t be sure someone wasn’t working on something weird, but nothing I know about could account for this.”
Because of Marcus’s position, his knuckles brushed the upper edge of the rolled-up EP display tucked into the waistband of Mason’s jeans. Marcus frowned, then made to let go of Mason’s hand, already reaching with his other for the flexible screen.
The wolf’s hand covered Marcus’s just as Marcus grasped the screen. “What is this?”
Mason tried again to push up on his elbow, a hot dread welling in his gut. “It’s just something I found.”
He had no idea what was on that screen. It could be anything—something damning enough to make every one of these wolves turn against him, and since Five hadn’t yet returned, there was no one to tell them it didn’t belong to him.
The wolf pulled out the display, letting it unroll as it came free. The wolf stared at it momentarily, then let it drop to the floor. As before, there was just enough power to flash the screen to life for one brief moment. Then it went dark.
The female squatted beside them and re-rolled the screen, then rose with effortless grace. “I’ll take it to—”
“It’s mine,” Marcus interrupted, jumping to his feet
with a complete disregard for his safety and reaching for the screen. “He has nothing to do with what’s on that—”
The wolf beside Mason lunged upright, swiping at Marcus so fast he didn’t have time to jump out of the way.
“No!” Mason yelled, surging upright, only to have the wolf snarl and shove him with enough force steal his breath. He slid across the floor and banged into the legs of one of the straight-backed chairs so hard the back of his head cracked against one of the chair’s wood slats, snapping his teeth together.
Marcus staggered backward, blood welling instantly along five vicious slashes across his chest. He looked down at his torn t-shirt, his hands coming up, fingers curling inward, his eyes shocked wide.
The female jumped in front of Marcus, thrusting out her arm. “Ishikeille, stop! It wasn’t an attack.”
Mason groaned, raising his hand to his head, then used the seat of the chair for leverage and lurched to his feet.
The male’s fierce expression slowly eased. He shook his head, once, then again, as if trying to shake off a sense of disorientation. His chest rose and fell inhumanly fast and his claws dripped with Marcus’s blood, leaving perfect little circles of red on the floor at his feet.
Mason stumbled the fifteen feet that were between him and Marcus, watching the wolf for any sign that he might be planning to attack again.
Instead, the wolf stepped back, once, twice, three times, until he’d put a good ten feet between him and the female, who was still holding out her arm, her own claws fully extended from beneath the dark material of her fingernails, the EP display clutched in her other hand between her and Marcus as a clear warning for Marcus to stay put.
“I am sorry,” the male wolf said, looking at Marcus with as unreadable an expression as Mason had ever seen on one of their faces. “I reacted instinctively when you reached for Aiahaleaeille.”
Marcus stood behind the female, still on his feet, but looking down as if he wasn’t sure what had happened to him. At those words, he looked up, and Mason’s stomach lurched.
Marcus looked ready to drop, face pale, eyes wide, breath shallow.
Mason took hold of Marcus’s shoulder. “Come on, just let me—”