She’d warned her brother that they could both be accused of nepotism, so he was out of the question. She and Dakota had a sneaking suspicion that Wes or Austin had nominated her, or maybe even Blaze, since he and Dakota had always been close friends, and Sierra and Blaze once served together outside the pack. In any case, she’d never be certain who had submitted the nomination unless she assumed the role. But while Maverick may have presented the nomination to the council as his role dictated, he was no obvious fan of hers.
Unsatisfied that the trainee was not about to slice one of her own fingers off, Dakota glanced over her shoulder again. “But let’s be real. Without you getting the position, the recognition makes little difference. Maverick offered you a path that will pave the way for the rest of us. It’s only been so hard for you because you’re the first, but once you’re through, it sets a precedent. Who cares what means you use to get it if the council refuses to play fair? You’ll be so good you’ll blow them away, and then years from now, there won’t just be a first, but a second, a third, hell, a hundredth.”
When Dakota said it like that, Sierra felt a tinge of guilt. She was aware that for some, she was a role model, but in this instance, that responsibility was a double-edged sword.
The kind Amaya was still slouching over top of.
Sierra cupped her hands in the shape of a megaphone over her mouth to amplify her voice against the autumn wind. “Shoulders back, Amaya, or you’ll have to fight me with that sword.”
The young trainee blanched and immediately corrected her posture.
Sierra lowered her hands and glanced back toward Dakota. “But he offered me the position only if I’d marry him and…fulfill my wifely duties for a night.”
“It’s the council whose requiring you to take a mate, not Maverick, and now he’s offering to help you get it in spite of them, even if it’s not the most favorable of terms.” Dakota’s lips curled into a devious grin. “And please, like those wifely duties aren’t one of the many reasons you should have agreed.”
Sierra’s cheeks turned a fiery red. “Dakota,” she hissed.
Dakota rolled her eyes. “Don’t ‘Dakota’ me. I know the intimate details of your little predicament, and I also know that despite how you’re always growling at him, you want to climb that tree like a friggin’ monkey. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Sierra groaned. Dakota wasn’t wrong. She did want Maverick—or the old him at least. She had since she’d been a teenage girl, despite how she disliked the power of the position he now held, and Dakota was also intimately familiar with the details of Sierra’s predicament as she called it, a.k.a. Sierra’s sex experience…or more accurately, her lack thereof.
She wasn’t totally naive. As a teenager, she’d once snuck away from Wolf Pack Run and tried to sleep with a human male who lived on a nearby ranch. That experience had ended in tears before it’d even really begun when she’d made the mistake of thinking that humans enjoyed biting each other on the scruff during the act like wolves did. She’d been young and had only seen other wolves mating while in their true form, so she’d had no frame of reference. Needless to say, that hadn’t ended well.
Fast-forward to the years since, and she’d never been afforded the opportunity of sexual exploration, considering she’d declared her intent to become one of the pack’s elite warriors shortly thereafter. She couldn’t have slept with anyone in the pack without gaining an unfair reputation. Then after Maverick had chosen Rose as his mate, she’d briefly left Wolf Pack Run to train in a shifters-only branch of the human military. Considering her rank and the position of power she’d held there, she hadn’t wanted to open herself to the harassment that often came with being the only female in the barracks by sleeping around. Then, upon her return to the pack, doing so would likely have injured her candidacy as a warrior.
Not that there were any males on this godforsaken ranch who weren’t already like her brothers. Save for one.
Dakota’s face softened at the hint of embarrassment on Sierra’s face. She knew Sierra’s remaining virginity was a sore point. Sierra had been dying to be rid of it for years. “I’m your best friend, Sierra. You can’t lie to me. If it were anyone else, any other man, it would be different, but I know you want Maverick, at least physically, and my speculation is that Maverick’s sexual prowess is likely insanely skilled, if the fact that he’s your brother’s closest friend is any indication.”
Sierra groaned. She’d thought she had escaped the shadow of her brother’s ladies’ man reputation when he’d finally married Belle. He’d once been known as Commander Casanova among the females of the pack.
Dakota continued, “So not only do you get to finally lose your virginity to a man you’ve wanted your whole life, but as an added cherry on top, you get the position you’ve been working toward for years, along with a place in pack history—all while telling the council to take their asinine sexist rejection and shove it. Then after the deed is done, all you have to do is say you’re married to him.” Dakota rolled her eyes again. “Cry me a river, Sierra.”
When she put it like that, telling Maverick no did seem ridiculous.
“It seems like a non-choice to me.” Dakota shrugged. “Plus, did you ever stop to consider that maybe he’s trying to help you?”
Sierra shook her head. “That’s not the case. He offered to marry me out of necessity for the game he’s playing with the council.”
“Maybe, or maybe that’s just his excuse. He does want you. According to you, he practically said as much.”
Sierra scoffed. “Saying you don’t have to like someone to want to sleep with them doesn’t count as a romantic confession. Plus, there’s one problem with the lovely little fantasy you’ve painted.”
Dakota quirked a brow. “And what’s that?”
“He doesn’t love me.” Of that, Sierra was certain.
And Dakota knew that as well. She’d been there the day he’d become packmaster, the day he’d chosen Rose. It’d been Dakota who’d held Sierra together, who’d helped pick her up when she’d fallen to pieces.
“Simple details.” Dakota waved a hand in dismissal. “The past is the past, and if it’s love that you want, then there’s only one thing you can do.”
Sierra quirked a brow.
A grin spread across Dakota’s face. “Make him fall in love with you.”
Sierra let out a harsh bark of a laugh. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that, all things considered?” Her sexual prowess was the one area of her life where she wasn’t the most qualified and experienced woman in the room. Not to mention that as a young girl, she’d sought out Maverick’s attention for years, only to be thoroughly disappointed that not only did he not want her, but he’d never so much as noticed her. At least not in that way.
“That’s easy. You’ll use your feminine wiles, that’s how. You’re the most badass female warrior this pack has to offer, and even with all your poorly timed, corny jokes, any man would be lucky to have you, Sierra.”
Sierra smiled. “We both know you secretly love my jokes,” she teased. “They’re punny. Punny, get it?” If only she was equally as confident in her feminine wiles as she was in her poor comedic timing. “And my crazy growing menagerie of animals.”
Elvis chose that moment to let out a loud, earsplitting crow, causing them both to wince.
Dakota shook her head yet smiled. “I’ve told you a thousand times, we could all make do without you being so punny, and I’m sure Maverick could, too.” A far-too-pleased nicker came from Randy’s direction, and Dakota leaned to the side, her eyes trained over Sierra’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”
Sierra followed Dakota’s line of sight to the other side of the training field and the source of Randy’s excitement. In the distance, Maverick dismounted from a less-than-docile-looking mare before he strode toward them. They’d been anticipating the arrival of her brother,
not the packmaster himself. As the leader of the pack’s warriors, the high commander often came to monitor the various training sessions, scouting out those who held the potential to advance up the ranks, but Colt must have been otherwise preoccupied and asked Maverick to serve in his place.
An evil band of fluttering butterflies invaded Sierra’s stomach. How could she act normal after the events of last night? After she’d kissed him? After her horse had almost mounted his? And from the look in Randy’s eye, he was planning a repeat. She groaned.
“No better time to start than now.” Dakota shoved her between the shoulders, pushing her into Maverick’s footpath as the other she-wolf grinned with uncharacteristic friendliness. “Packmaster, how nice of you to join us. Sierra was just speaking fondly of you.”
Sierra scowled. Oh, her friend was going to pay for this one day. In spades.
Thankfully, always the conversationalist, Maverick only grunted in acknowledgment of Dakota’s greeting. Small talk had never been one of his strong suits.
Sierra eyed him wearily. “Where’s Colt?”
“With Belle.” Maverick grumbled under his breath as the sole means of explanation.
Dakota let out a small eep of excitement. “Is she in labor?”
Maverick shook his head.
Sierra sighed. Which meant her brother was at the bedside of his mate needlessly worrying once again. Despite Belle, a talented orthopedic surgeon and physician, telling Colt herself that the false, practice contractions she’d been having were no cause for alarm, Sierra’s brother was too hell-bent on supporting her through every moment of her pregnancy to listen.
“Perfect, then we have you at our disposal for the foreseeable future.” Dakota rubbed her hands together as her impish grin widened. “Sierra and I were just talking to the trainees about demonstrating proper posture while wielding a sword, even when they’re training in the early no-blood stage. Considering you and Sierra are the best swordsman on the ranch, instead of Sierra and me, I think it’d be more valuable to the new recruits if the two of you demonstrated—together.”
Sierra shot Dakota a chastising glare. They’d been talking about no such thing, and Sierra had been friends with Dakota long enough to know exactly what sort of cockamamie plan the other she-wolf was concocting. In no-blood, the winner wasn’t declared until one of the opponents landed flat on the ground or tapped out, and Dakota knew full well that both Sierra and Maverick would never tap out, especially against each other. They were both too stubborn, which meant the only way to win the fight would be for either one of them to get their opponent on the ground, and with two masters at sword work, that wouldn’t happen unless one of them swept the other opponent’s leg.
That move required a level of proximity that was damn near close to an embrace.
Fortunately, Sierra had something in her arsenal Dakota didn’t—the truth—that would instantly douse the plans of one well-meaning but meddlesome friend.
“That’s a great idea, Dakota, but unfortunately, the packmaster is still healing from—”
A quiet yet rumbling growl sounded low in Maverick’s throat as he shot her a look, instantly silencing her.
Intrinsically, she knew what that growl meant. Save for the elite warriors and herself, the packmaster didn’t intend to make the attempt on his life known to the whole pack, which meant not only would she be spared the embarrassment of having been saved by him, but no one would know how he’d risked his life for her or the peril he was currently facing on behalf of them all. She doubted this was the first time the pack wouldn’t know the weight of the torch he’d been forced to bear. Saving her had been noble, but somehow, subsequently not claiming credit transformed the situation entirely.
He wasn’t only noble. He was selfless. Grumbly exterior or not.
Sierra swallowed the lump that instantly formed in her throat from her gratitude.
Perhaps Dakota had been right. Maybe he did understand the weight of her disappointment. Maybe his offer to marry her had been out of a willingness to take on the pain of the pack, her pain, and bear it as his own. Even if it was misguided.
“Thank you,” she mouthed silently.
At her gratitude, she expected to see his gaze soften, but it didn’t. Instead, his features hardened, but for a moment, she could have sworn she saw a hint of pain flash through the packmaster’s eyes. Silently, he nodded. Think nothing of it, his gaze seemed to say as he stepped away from her.
Their kind healed quickly, but she didn’t want him to risk tearing open a fresh wound. He may have thwarted his attacker with minimal damage this time, but whoever had ordered the hit had been bold enough not only to attack the pack, but to make an attempt on the life of the Grey Wolf packmaster himself. They wouldn’t be pleased with the result of their initial effort. If they were out for his life, she had no doubt they’d come for him again. It was only a matter of when…
“You’re sure you’re at your best?” she whispered.
Catching the subtext of her question, he cast her a dark look. Clearly, he didn’t like her attempt to coddle him. “Our enemies don’t wait for my best.”
Dakota, who was already busy rounding up the trainees, didn’t appear to have noticed the exchange between them. The trainees crowded around them in a large circle, forming a makeshift sparring ring.
Maverick went to the nearby weapon rack at the edge of the training field, the trainees quickly parting out of his way as he claimed a sword. “Are you still curious, warrior?” That seemingly innocent question, which to all other ears sounded like a friendly battle challenge, held an entirely different meaning to her ears. Maverick swung the weighted weapon in a large circling arc with ease, as if it weighed little more than a toothpick, before he cast her a grin.
That grin.
The one that sent a hot wave of moisture between her legs, and from the sheer look of amusement in his eyes, he damn well knew it. That dark, smoldering look said it all. He hadn’t forgotten how she’d kissed him last night, and more importantly, he wouldn’t allow her to forget it either. He was still the same frustrating, infuriating friend of her brother he’d always been, eager to relentlessly toy with her. And now he was challenging her.
She growled. So much for thinking she could play nice with him.
She squared her shoulders. “Not in the slightest, Packmaster.” She said his title with more than a hint of distaste. Dakota may have softened her to the idea of his proposal, but noble packmaster or not, Sierra would fight him with everything she had.
Had she not been looking for it, she might have missed the spark of pleasure that twitched in his scarred brow at her response, if only for a brief second. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who appreciated a good challenge.
Two could play at that game.
At least they’d give the trainees something to talk about.
Taking his lead, Sierra strode to the weapons rack where she’d stored her own sword, a custom claymore with a silver handle, which was inscribed with the words that she’d heard her mother often whisper to her father about her. Before they’d both passed, her mother had whispered it every time her father had expressed concern that she shouldn’t try to emulate him in his role as high commander, that she should be more like the other girls, normal girls. Those same words had fueled her and forced her to rise every morning, continuing to train, even when the grief of her mother’s death had hit her full force.
There’s fire in her.
And she wouldn’t allow that fire to be easily snuffed out.
Sierra gripped the handle of the claymore. She may not have swung her sword with the ease of her muscled brute of an opponent, but she could wield a lethal blow all the same.
She and Maverick stood at the opposite ends of the makeshift ring the trainees had formed around them, both clutching their weapons. Though Dakota hadn’t called time yet, Sierra knew better th
an to take her eyes off him, even for a second.
She’d never faced a more formidable opponent.
Once Dakota had finished reminding the trainees to pay attention to Sierra’s and Maverick’s posture, Dakota turned toward them as referee. “You both know the rules. No blood. First one to tap out or hit the ground loses.”
“Intimidated?” That hint of a grin still lingered on his lips.
Sierra didn’t blink. She refused to let her eyes leave his. “Not a chance, Maverick.”
From the quirk of his scarred brow, the use of his given name in a public arena caught him off guard, exactly as she intended. Dakota let out a quick whistle as Sierra surged forward. But the packmaster recovered quickly. Their weapons cut through the air and their swords clashed, both moving with a practiced, unrivaled skill that was more impressive than that of their predecessors.
Sierra’s heart raced as she pushed herself to her limit. She didn’t have time to think, to hear the reaction of the trainees, or even to notice the growing shouts cheering them both on. She simply was there. Present. In the moment.
Her attention focused singularly on her opponent.
Maverick moved with a lethal grace even the pack’s other elite warriors had never managed to master. Each movement belied a calm ferocity that stole her breath away. The dedication and training it would have taken were stunning. This was a man who’d spent his life pushing his body to its limits with one singular purpose.
To protect those that he loved.
Sierra sliced her claymore in a downward arc, barely missing the scruffy hair of his beard. It’d been all she could do to mitigate the intensity of his onslaught. He must have recognized that, because he chose that moment to ease in a way she hadn’t anticipated. As a result, the weight of her sword came down hard, too hard, catching her off-balance.
Any other opponent wouldn’t have been fast enough. She could have channeled the counterbalance of gravity and then fallen into a roll, recovering to begin fighting again. But not with him. Maverick caught her in his arms, wrapping her close against him to stop her from falling, even as his sword pressed against the skin of her neck. Had she been a true enemy, he could have slit her throat. But of course, she wasn’t his enemy.
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