By the memory of the sounds she’d made. The scent of sex on her skin.
Not to mention that every time Colt looked at him, he was certain his friend saw straight through him to all the filthy things he’d done. It didn’t matter that she was a grown woman, fully capable of making her own decisions; she was Colt’s sister for fuck’s sake. Maverick shook his head as he stared out the window. The landscape blurred before his eyes. He knew how protective he felt of his own younger sister, even though she too could make her own choices. What would he have done if he’d known Rogue had been seducing her?
Seducing her.
The weight of those words hit him.
Inhaling a sharp breath, he looked out over the pastures. He hadn’t seduced anyone since long before Rose had passed, though he supposed he’d faced worse situations. They both knew the terms. Marriage of convenience. No love. He’d been very clear about what he couldn’t be to Sierra. All he had to do was soldier through their little agreement, delicious and torturous as it would be. A few of their little lessons and he’d work her out of his system once and for all. Then after their wedding night, they’d be done with it. Live their separate lives. Maybe then, after years of wanting her from a distance, the itch would be scratched and he could finally move on with his life.
Maybe then he could find some peace.
He replayed everything she’d said, all she’d asked him. Fuck, he hadn’t stood much of a chance of saying no. But he’d need to tread lightly—for both their sakes. Pushing her out of his mind, Maverick watched the last rays of sun disappear behind the snowcapped mountains. It wouldn’t be long before the ceremony began.
Every year on the last full moon of their lunar calendar that marked the shift of season from autumn to winter, the Grey Wolf pack gathered as one to shift beneath the full moon. It was a ceremony as ancient as the true wolves from which they’d descended, designed for remembering their past while they navigated their future, which meant they’d be joined by the full pack. The council, the subpacks, the wolves of Wolf Pack Run. They’d all be in attendance.
Tonight, they existed as one. Past, present, future.
The evening would be a mingling of those concepts in more ways than one.
“We’re ready for you.”
The calm comment interrupted his thoughts. Maverick turned away from the window.
Blaze stood in the doorway, dwarfing the frame and looking pleasantly abnormal in a black T-shirt and a pair of worn work jeans. It was strange seeing him dressed so plain. There wasn’t so much as a single flamingo, palm tree, pineapple, or other kitschy image or raunchy phrase in sight. Maverick gave an appreciative grunt and nodded toward Blaze’s attire. Thankfully, even Blaze knew better than to press Maverick’s patience on an evening like this.
“I figured you’d approve.” Blaze shrugged. “Colt and Wes figured out what to do with the prisoners and the rogues.”
Maverick struggled to hold back a grin. “You can’t keep calling them that now that they’re integrating into the pack.”
Over a year ago, following the dissolution of the Wild Eight, the remaining at-large members had been captured and brought to Wolf Pack Run. As an opportunity to prove herself, Sierra had spearheaded the project, leading the elite warriors to bring the remaining members to justice. Since then, Wes and Colt had been working to reintegrate the bastards into pack life. Wes had insisted that like him, the two former Wild Eight members were worth saving. Tonight, they, among several rogue wolves who’d petitioned for pack membership, would officially swear loyalty to the Grey Wolves.
“I know. Wes says they’re loyal.” Blaze hesitated. “For now.”
Blaze had never been a fan of Wes, at least not initially, and he was equally distrustful of the newly integrated Wild Eight members as well as the handful of former rogue shifters who planned to join the pack tonight. After serving in MAC-V-Alpha, a shifters-only special ops team that worked alongside the human military and the CIA, beneath his sarcastic, comedic exterior, Blaze was as lethal as they came. The Grey Wolf information security specialist had spent enough time searching out dual identities in their enemies and threats hidden behind humanity’s anonymous black mirrors to be cynical, if a little impatient with anyone he perceived could be two-faced. It’d taken him considerable time to warm to Wes.
But who could blame him? Considering all he’d seen and done abroad, all the things he still did off the record on behalf of the pack, he carried more darkness than most on his shoulders. With a unique blend of strategic intelligence, lethal physicality, and the confidence and charm to pull the wool over the eyes of all who knew him, Blaze answered to no one. Not even Maverick, unless he chose to, which thankfully he did. If they knew the truth, perhaps the part of Blaze that would terrify both his friends and enemies the most was…
He knew how to cover his tracks.
Maverick cleared his throat. “I’m thankful for what you do for this pack. I likely don’t say it enough.”
Blaze shrugged. “You’ve never said it, and I would know. I monitor all your emails and messages, but who’s counting?” He cast Maverick a wry grin.
“Add it to the ever-growing list of things I need to apologize for.”
“So the Monster of Montana has an apology list now, huh?”
Maverick stiffened.
“I see and hear everything,” Blaze said as a means of explanation. “You know that.”
It was part of what made Blaze a valued member of the elite warriors. He protected them, all of them, even when he’d seen every one of them at their worst.
“You’re not a monster, even if some of them believe it. Even if Rose believed it.”
Maverick didn’t respond. He couldn’t find the words. They were caught in the swirl of dark memories that lived in his chest.
Blaze must have sensed his unease, because he cleared his throat. “We should head down there now, Packmaster.”
They’d meet with only the elite warriors first, and then once the worst part was finished, the rest of the pack would be waiting. Maverick nodded and moved to step past him, but Blaze caught him by the shoulder. “The situation is under control, but I wanted to warn you,” he said quickly.
Maverick grunted to encourage him to continue.
“One of the foot soldiers traced an unfamiliar scent near the edge of the territory. A wolf, but not pack. We followed the scent, but the trail went cold. Whoever it is, he passed the boundary lines and guards with ease, so he’s either trained or likely had help…”
Which meant they had a traitor in their midst.
Maverick’s upper lip twitched with unchecked rage.
“We don’t have eyes on him yet,” Blaze continued, “but I wanted your word before…”
Before they took the bastard out. One word from him and the insurgent wolf’s life would be snuffed out in an instant. Maverick would never lose an ounce of sleep. Never even give it a second thought. That kind of power isolated a man.
All the more reason he was better off alone.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled a steadying breath.
This was all he had now. Years of dedicating himself to this pack, to his role had ensured that was all he’d ever have for himself. And yet…
Would he give it up? If he had the chance?
He’d never been certain.
Maverick cleared his throat. “Find him. His death is mine.”
Blaze nodded. Silently, the elite warrior trailed Maverick as they headed out of the compound. As they stepped outside, the wind whipped past them, the dropping temperatures promising to bring an increasing number of chills throughout the night. They headed across the pastures.
“Are you worried?” Blaze broke the silence.
Maverick quirked a brow.
“About tonight?”
They both knew the outsider was here with only one purp
ose.
Maverick released a long breath. Perhaps he should be worried. Years ago, when he’d first became packmaster, he might have been. But now, after so many battles and wounds had left him a seasoned warrior, worry wasn’t worth his time.
“I can’t live in fear of the moment I draw my last breath. I wouldn’t function if I did.”
Blaze huffed a laugh with a small smile as if he understood the feeling, but Maverick didn’t press further. They headed out toward the forest. As they did, Maverick glanced over his shoulder, the lights of the compound fading into the distance.
He would die someday. They all would.
The only thing he feared was that when death claimed him, he wouldn’t have the will to fight against it.
Chapter 11
The significance of this moment didn’t escape her. A persistent dampness hung in the air, the earthy smell of running water against rock filling Sierra’s nose as she reached the caves. She ducked inside the cavern, her bones instantly appreciating the shield from the freezing Montana winds. An arctic front had begun spilling over the Milk River Ridge in the north, causing the temperature to steadily drop throughout the state by twenty degrees within an hour.
They’d gotten snow by midday, and even now with evening set in, the fluffy white stuff still hadn’t quit coming down. Thankfully, they’d arranged their pasture rotation to anticipate the dropping temperatures and the timing of the ceremony earlier in the year, because the Montana weather waited for no one.
By Sierra’s guess, the inside of the cave was a fair fifty degrees Fahrenheit, balmy in comparison to what her packmates would endure waiting out on the mountainside. Inside, Maverick and Blaze waited for her.
The packmaster spoke first. “Tell me you left that damn horse of yours in the stable, or at least tied to a tree.” He didn’t look amused at the prospect of Randy roaming about.
She sighed. “Yes.”
“And the rooster?”
Sierra frowned. When he asked it like that, she supposed it did highlight how silly her menagerie of pets was coming to be. “Yes, and the rooster,” she huffed. “But his name is Elvis—the King to you—and that damn horse has a name, too. It’s Randy.”
Maverick grumbled in response before he turned away.
A grin curled Blaze’s lips as he cast a glance toward where their surly packmaster descended the stone staircase. “You have to admit, Randy’s really more of a descriptor than a name though, isn’t it?”
Sierra cast him a hard look. After having served with him in MAC-V-Alpha and considering that he was one of Dakota’s best friends, Sierra had never known Blaze to thwart her before. “Traitor,” she mumbled under her breath with a smile.
To her surprise, Maverick stopped on one of the lower steps. His gaze narrowed on her. “Be careful tossing that word around, warrior.” The biting order in his tone caught her off guard.
Without another word, Maverick eased his way farther down the carved, damp steps, clearly expecting her and Blaze to follow as Blaze filled her in on the news of the insurgent and the assistance he’d likely had in making it onto the ranch. As he finished, Sierra released a long breath. She appreciated that she was now in the know alongside the other elite warriors, but that didn’t make the news sit any easier. She watched Maverick descending the steps ahead of them, contemplating strategies she and the others could use to ensure their packmaster’s safety. In truth, she was more than a bit afraid for him.
They needed to end this threat against him and fast.
Hopefully, the ceremony would do just that, or so the other warriors had hinted, though how she wasn’t certain.
She followed the other two wolves down the narrow stone-carved staircase. Over the past fifty years, since Maverick’s grandfather’s days as packmaster, the pack had installed a network of artificial lighting, making it easier to see the several hundred-foot drops inside the mountain cave. Sierra still recalled stories Maverick’s mother had told her of his great-grandfather using chicken wire as a ladder to the depths below.
Since the four founding families of the Grey Wolf Pack—the Greys, the Blacks, the Cavanaughs, and the Calhouns—had first formed the pack in 1857 when Manifest Destiny had brought an influx of humans out west, Wolf Den Caverns had been a safe haven, a hideaway from human eyes that harkened back to the cave homes of the true wolves from which they descended and now, hundreds of years later, served as a temple for their ancestors. Originally descendants of the Clovis people, their current heritage was a mixture of various Native American tribal ancestry blended with the mixed-race settlers of Manifest Destiny’s claim for the West, all before mating with humans had been against pack law. But their original kind had made their home here since the Pleistocene period, and since as far back as their oral history went, the cave had been used for those purposes—the ceremony and their burial grounds.
She’d be the first female ever to witness what happened each year within its depths.
Maverick and Blaze reached the bottom of the cavern stairs first, and she joined them a moment later at Maverick’s side. Spinning in a slow circle, she glanced around her, taking in the breathtaking view. The twenty-foot stalagmites and stalactites told a beautiful, intimidating story of natural battles waged and millennia past. It was a reminder that this ground had been here before them and still would be long after them. It was both their privilege and responsibility to be good stewards of the Earth, the Mother Wolf, which had birthed them. Sierra inhaled a deep breath, her ears pricked to the slightest noise in the darkness.
Maverick turned toward her, the vibrant green of his eyes flecked with the gold of the wolf within. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, unable to form words courtesy of the nervous anticipation twisting her insides.
“They’re waiting.” Blaze tilted his chin toward the darkness up ahead.
Over the uneven rock, they followed the trail every packmaster in their history had for the last hundred and fifty years. Sierra had been in the caves before, for the burial of both her mother and father, but never this deep. Never here. The sound of the running stream and the din of hushed voices echoed off the cavern walls. They navigated several smaller drops and uneven climbs before they finally reached their destination. The last drop-off led to a grotto, culminating in a small waterfall, where in the dim orange of the cave lights, the other Grey Wolf elite warriors waited.
Sierra lingered behind a few steps.
“Not even the Duke of Windsor makes so grand an entrance.” Jasper’s thickly accented words cut through the silence as he set eyes on Maverick.
Maverick reached out a hand to pull Jasper and then Ace into a brotherly hug. Ace was the skilled Grey Wolf carpenter, who when he didn’t have a hammer in his hand was a cowboy who loved to work with his hands as methodically as he killed with them on the battlefield. Ace had been out in the western subpacks for the past several months in an attempt to help restore the Missoula ranch the vampires had previously ravaged, but Jasper on the other hand hadn’t set foot on the pastures of Wolf Pack Run in more than a few months.
The Indian British-born Grey Wolf liaison was an international jet-setter responsible for handling the pack’s international business interests, and as such, Jasper hadn’t been in the States in well over a year. He was the kind of wolf who traded a Stetson and cowboy boots for Armani loafers. He didn’t live the life of a billion-dollar business mogul; he embodied it. He could cut a deal with that sharp tongue of his as quickly as he cut their enemy’s throats.
Maverick clapped the other wolf on the shoulder. “It’s been too long, brother.”
“You’d be right ’bout that.” Jasper flashed a charming, white-toothed grin.
Sierra smiled. “Where’s your next stop? Dubai?”
At the sound of Sierra’s voice, Jasper turned toward her. “Well, would you look at that.” Jasper pulled Sierra in for a quick hug as she
waved over his shoulder at Ace.
Ace tipped his Stetson.
“Singapore, actually,” Jasper answered. When he pulled back, his dark eyes cut to Maverick as he ran a hand through his silky midnight hair, deferring to his alpha on how to react further to having Sierra present in their little fraternity powwow.
Maverick beckoned her forward to join the group as he addressed them. “Sierra is one of you now. Treat her with the same respect and loyalty you would any brother-in-arms.”
All the men nodded, none of them daring to question his word.
Her brother cleared his throat, coming to her rescue in the awkward silence that followed. “The pack will be waiting.” It was a reminder of the task that lay ahead of them. The timing of the moon waited for no one.
“Before we get started, I’ve got something new I want to try this year,” Blaze said.
All the elite warriors, save for Sierra, let out a collective groan.
“What’s that?” She quirked a brow as she watched Blaze dig out what appeared to be ten small microchips from his pocket. Watching him do so reminded her far too much of a particular mission they’d served on together in MAC-V-Alpha. Not only had the technology he’d developed led them straight to their enemies, but when she and the rest of the soldiers had gotten held up by a pipe bomb in the midst of their storm raid, Blaze, whose duty it’d been to swoop in from an alternative route, had taken out every one of those lethal m-fers.
Single-handedly.
After that, she’d never questioned his capabilities again.
“Every year, Blaze makes us wear some newfangled contraption he’s rigged up to try to record what happens,” Austin drawled. The Texan ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair.
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