A few minutes later, after prowling the outskirts of the crowd, she found what she searched for. Had she not been looking for it, she’d have missed the faint trace of his scent.
She had him now.
With the smell of so many wolves in the air, it was only the scent of the city, the human smells of gasoline and concrete and construction and piss that tipped her off. Most of the pack made their home in the west, in the rural heartland. They had never been city dwellers. Moving westward of where the pack gathered, she prowled away from the crowd. Her suspicion was confirmed when she found several tracks in the snow, leading down toward the base of the mountain. All the tracks from her packmates should lead up the mountainside, radiating outward from the center compound at Wolf Pack Run.
Latching on to the scent, she circled back, following the snowy trail.
Now that she had his scent, she would find him, and when she did, God help the wolf who threatened the lives of those she loved.
* * *
The full moon was unusually bright tonight. Maverick leaned against a towering mountain pine with his Stetson tipped low over his brow. With his portion of the ceremony now over, he’d retreated to the outskirts of the crowd, looking onward as each member of the pack gathered around his cousin, Belle, taking their turns marking her and her pregnant belly, a custom to show that she and the pup she’d soon deliver were the responsibility of the whole pack. It was a ritual that would be repeated once the babe was born in a few weeks’ time.
Somewhere in the dark forest behind him, an owl hooted, drawing his attention to a quiet brush in the mountain undergrowth. Someone approaching at his back. The hand tucked in the pocket of his jeans slowly eased toward his blade, gripping the hilt in anticipation. Had he been in his true form, his hackles would have raised in alert.
The wolf who approached cleared his throat. “Men behave differently when they smell death on you.” The cool words were spoken as much to announce the other wolf’s presence as they likely were to stop Maverick from drawing his blade.
Maverick glanced over his shoulder toward the wolf in the darkness. Silas, one of the pack’s newest members, lingered in the shadows, watching him with knowing eyes that seemed to see too much. There was a coolness about the other wolf, a chill to the fiery spark of rage behind the former Wild Eight’s eyes that reminded Maverick of every time he looked in the mirror. He knew firsthand there was danger in a man whose anger was cold, who wielded his rage as a weapon of calm fury, separate and distant from himself.
For a man like that, nothing was personal, little sacred.
He moved his hand back toward his pocket, no longer reaching toward his dagger. For now. “They circle like sharks. One drop of blood and they swarm,” he answered. He’d experienced it before, but not like this. The vampires. The human hunters. His fellow shifters.
And now, one of his own…
He’d felt death lingering beside him before, but never this close.
“Vultures,” Silas whispered, turning his eyes toward the crowd. “They’ll pick the meat from your bones before your body goes cold.”
“Some, but not all.” Without intention, Maverick’s eyes fell to his high commander. From where Colt stood across the mountainside, his arm wrapped around his mate, the commander’s eyes found his as if he felt Maverick’s gaze on him. Colt’s steeled-gray irises hesitated on his for a moment before he turned back to his mate.
Maverick inhaled a sharp breath.
No, it wasn’t the vultures that fazed him. It was the men he trusted and believed in.
None of the elite warriors would dare show it, but he felt the doubt there.
In him. In his skills and leadership.
He couldn’t blame them. He’d been the sole cause of that. He should have known better than to end things as he had in the cave. Even if Blaze’s technology came through this time, he’d risked the lives of them all by stopping the genetic memory before they’d gone deep enough, because he’d chosen his own needs over their own. Their skepticism was warranted.
Monster. The harsh criticism ripped through him.
He’d be certain it wouldn’t happen again.
Silas nodded toward Wes. His former packmaster stood not far to Colt’s left. “I remember the same before Wes fell.”
The thinly veiled warning didn’t escape Maverick.
One wrong move, Packmaster, and you’ll face the same fate.
Maverick’s gaze narrowed, his upper lip curling both in security for his own position and protective instinct for a man who, like the one beside him, was never supposed to be one of his own.
“If I recall, you were one of the vultures.” Maverick pinned Silas with a hard stare, his distrust evident. He might have extended the invitation to join the pack toward him, but that was because he trusted Wes’s judgment. Maverick hadn’t remained packmaster this long by giving his trust freely. Even Wes himself had been forced to earn it.
And Silas would have to as well.
Silas dropped his head in respectful acknowledgment, but the action was underscored by the slight curve at the seam of his lips. “We all do what we need to survive.”
Maverick grunted, facing his attention back toward the ceremony.
But Silas refused to take the hint.
“And what will you do to survive, Packmaster?”
Maverick stiffened. The words shivered through him as if they’d been whispered by the Devil himself. If not for the sake of the pack, would he care if he lost it all? His position? His life?
He wasn’t certain.
Maverick cast a glance toward the other wolf.
This was a cowboy who’d seen the worst of him, because he’d once been his enemy. Maverick’s primal instincts raised on high alert.
And perhaps he still was…
The insurgent hadn’t made it onto their lands alone. Someone in the pack had betrayed him. And only time would tell.
A stir rippled through the far side of the crowd, bringing their conversation to a halt.
A moment later, the sea of packmembers parted to reveal a small group of the female warriors led by Sierra, bringing the last of the ceremony to a halt. Maverick’s gaze instantly locked on her, assessing. Her hair was disheveled, and several scrapes marred her arms from the fight, but she was otherwise unharmed. She could take care of herself, and from the look in her eyes, anyone who dared to insinuate otherwise would face their own death.
The expression on her face was more dangerous than righteous fury. It was well-deserved and earned pride, plain and simple.
Dakota and Cheyenne flanked her, clutching the arms of the rogue wolf Sierra had clearly captured on his behalf. The rogue assassin was in human form, and his hands had been zip-tied behind his back as he struggled and fought against the women who held him. As they drew closer, the other she-wolves moved through the crowd, gathering behind Sierra in a sign of solidarity as she delivered their enemy to him.
“To protect the pack, you need to protect yourself, to be selfish in a way they’ll never understand.” Silas’s gaze darted between him and Sierra, and his grin widened. “That’s why you chose Wes as your second. He understands that. As do I. You don’t need to play the selfless leader, Packmaster. Not with me.”
The unspoken implication in those words was clear.
I know the truth.
Maverick straightened his Stetson, drawing up to his full height. “That’s why they call me the Monster of Montana, or so I hear.”
Silas chuckled. “People create legends of the things they fear most.” His hand reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, and he removed an engraved metallic flask. From the peaty scent of the container, whiskey. Even wolves like them used it to stave off the cold. Silas threw back a quick swig before extending the flask toward him. “If it’s a monster they want, I think you should give it to them.”
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Maverick accepted the flask, drawing it up to his lips. The fiery taste burned across his tongue as his eyes locked on his enemy held captive in Sierra’s hands. The second wolf who’d come for him. And not likely the last. Maverick’s gaze fell back to the woman who’d captured him, the woman who had saved his life even while the hope in her eyes as she looked at him threatened to destroy him.
“I think you’re right.” He passed the flask back toward Silas and strode across the cold mountain ground.
Maverick prowled toward Sierra and their prisoner, the rogue wolf thrashing against Cheyenne and Dakota’s hold, a reminder of himself, of what he was about to do.
This was the part where he would have told Rose to look away. Sensitive and tender as she’d been, she’d never had a taste for bloodshed. For years, he’d tried hard to shield that part of himself from her, to protect her from the darker side of himself, one of the necessities of his role, which for her sake, he’d told himself he didn’t enjoy.
But in the end, it’d been that same distance that had caused her to resent him.
He didn’t blame her. How could he?
“Release him,” he ordered.
As Cheyenne and Dakota let go of the prisoner, Sierra grabbed him and shoved the rogue wolf down into the snow at Maverick’s feet. Hands still bound behind his back, the rogue fell to his knees without much resistance. But that didn’t stop him from turning toward Sierra with a threatening snarl.
A spark of protective rage thrummed through Maverick.
That lone provocation was all he needed.
Palming the other wolf’s hair, he dragged the assassin into his arms, yanking back the other wolf’s skull as he drew his blade to his enemy’s throat. A feral snarl rumbled up from deep in his chest. “I will ask only once. Who sent you?”
The rogue wolf growled in response. He bared his teeth and twisted just enough to spit in Maverick’s face. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I’m no snitch.”
Slowly Maverick removed his blade from the other wolf’s throat, only long enough to wipe the spittle from his face. “Even if you had been, it wouldn’t have saved you.”
Without warning, he drew his blade across the other wolf’s throat, painting the white snow beneath them crimson. The assassin coughed and sputtered in his arms, choking on his own blood as several alarmed gasps came from the pack. He didn’t often make a spectacle of warning off his enemies, but when he did, he let brutality reign.
He held the now-dead insurgent out for all the pack to see. His voice was a dark graveled promise as he growled. Whoever had helped this assassin onto the ranch would hear him, and for whatever enemy they worked for, the message would be clear. “You’ve come for my life twice now, and each time you’ve failed. Make no mistake. I will come for you, and when I do, I won’t have to come twice.”
Roughly, he dropped the dead wolf from his hold. As he did, he hung his head. The heat of his breath swirled about his face as it hit the cold mountain air. With the body of his enemy laid at his feet, he felt the weight of every packmember’s eyes on him.
Their expectations. Their judgments. Their doubts and fears.
Fear of him.
But it was only the judgment of one he truly cared about.
Maverick lifted his gaze.
He watched Sierra as she stood still clutching her own blade in her hand. Moonlight reflected off the iron hilt. She was majestic, powerful, and to his shock, there was no hint of disgust on her face. No distaste for this small glimpse of who he truly was. Instead, she held his gaze, almost reverent, almost defiant. As if she saw every part of him, and she dared him to try to use it to push her away.
He’d saved her life before. But this time, she had saved him.
Maybe there was hope for them yet.
If only for a single evening…
A gust of wind whipped through the forest, and on it, he scented himself…on her. His wolf’s response was instinctual, but even in his human form, in an instant, he was salivating. His cock stiffened, and he could only think of the sounds she’d make as he’d fucked her with that damn riding crop…
Lord help him.
He prowled toward her, unable to stop himself even if he’d tried.
Had she been one of the others, he’d have placed a hand on her shoulder in acknowledgment of her accomplishment, of how she’d served him and the pack. But she wasn’t like the others. She was more.
To him, she always had been.
Instead, he gently cupped her cheek in his hand. Her eyes flared wide, flitting to the packmembers surrounding them with unease before her gaze found his again. As it did, the tension in her body softened, and to his surprise, her eyelids fluttered closed as she leaned into his touch. The ache that single action created in his chest was enough that had they been alone, he could have fallen to his knees in want and worship of this woman he’d never be worthy of.
If you love her…
“For tonight,” he said, before he could stop himself.
She blinked, glancing up at him. From the surprised look in her eyes, she instantly gathered what he meant.
For tonight, you are mine.
His thumb caressed the line of her jaw. “Mé nótahshême.”
Not warrior, as he should have said.
My warrior.
He whispered the words in the Old Tongue, a language that for most of the pack was dead. But with the smooth touch of her skin beneath his palm, how could it be? These mountains, the pack, their home was alive with her beauty and strength, and had he been a different man, he would have laid it all at her feet.
But he wasn’t any other man.
It was the truth. He knew that. Still, he infused that singular phrase with every bit of emotion he’d felt for her over the years.
Friend. Rival. Lover.
All the things he wanted them to be but that would always hang just beyond his grasp, because the life he’d been born into forbid him from it.
He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb again, wanting yet unable to draw her closer, and for the first time since he’d brought her name forth to the council, he questioned his own judgment, because having this fierce, beautiful, courageous woman by his side when he knew he could never truly have her might prove to be the death of him.
Chapter 15
This isn’t real.
Sierra repeated that mantra to herself, trying to remember that whatever this seductive magic was that seemed to charge the air between them, it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
Yet she felt herself falling victim to it.
Maverick held the attention of the entire pack. But she held his attention. Slowly, he drew his hand away from where he cupped her cheek. As he did, she felt the loss of his touch as he eased away from her. Stepping back, he stood before her as wild and feral as she’d ever seen him. In the pale moonlight, the cold chill in the mountain air highlighted the jagged white scar that cut through his brow in stark relief against the golden hues of his skin. The pale green of his human eyes was nowhere to be found.
He raised his voice for all the pack to hear as his gaze remained on her. “The future of this pack is female.”
A shiver shook through her as a chorus of approving shouts sounded behind her. A sense of pride filled her chest.
It was no surprise when Maverick shifted into wolf form, his clothes falling to the ground beneath him. At his cue, the whole pack followed suit.
Leaning into her true self, she found the wild part inside her and urged it forward. She fell to the ground on all fours. Bones shifted and cracked as her fur sprang forth in a satisfying release. When she was fully changed, she shook out her fur before she looked back toward him.
Slowly, he prowled toward her again, his paws sinking into the damp drifts of pure white snow still falling around them. Immediately, Sierra lowered her
gaze. In their true forms like this, when they had no words, only actions, only sensation and feeling, it was a challenge to meet his eyes, a sign of outward aggression and not the kind she so carelessly wielded in human form.
She felt the weight of his stare on her, causing the fur on her back to prickle. As he drew nearer, she hunched lower, attempting to make herself smaller in deference. It was something she’d never consider in human form. But she wasn’t human, she was wolf. She felt that deep in the marrow of her bones, the reminder gripping her as his shadow approached in the moonlit snow.
He drew neck to neck with her, and for the briefest of moments, she worried she’d pushed him too far. She didn’t dare move. Positioned like this, his muzzle at her throat, he could easily bite her scruff or even take her life, punishing her for all the times she’d been haughty with him. Pack law gave him that power, while she was afforded none. But he didn’t choose to wield that power against her. Instead, he stepped back, lifting and exposing his throat to her with a harsh, alerting bark. It wasn’t without significance. It said so many things that any attempt to place it into human words in her mind lessened it.
I trust you. With my life. I yield my power to you. You are strong. You are alpha. I acknowledge you. I respect you. I am you. We are one.
She was supposed to place her jaws on the skin of his neck, accepting the power over him that he offered. It was what the male elite warriors before her had done, but she wasn’t them. She was female, and there was power in that. Instead, she leaned forward, licking and nipping at the fur of his neck up to his muzzle. His ears perked up in surprise, but she knew from the look in his wolf eyes and the relaxed position of his stance that he understood.
I don’t accept your power. I have my own. We are one. Friends. Equals.
She licked feverishly at his muzzle, savoring the taste of his wolf scent. He smelled like water birch, pine, and juniper.
He chuffed a hot breath, a swirl of heat in the air, and suddenly the tension between them changed. He drew up beside her again, pawing at her scruff until one of his front paws caught the fur and rested there. He snapped his jaws playfully, jumping back with spry, sharp movements as he wagged his tail and barked. The invitation was clear.
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