Fierce Cowboy Wolf

by Kait Ballenger

  Once the truck was started, she drove into downtown Billings, parking outside the nearest recruitment office. She waited more than an hour before one of the recruitment officers finally unlocked the door. The moment he did, Sierra barreled inside, catching the human soldier by surprise.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I need to speak with Colonel McGinnis.”

  The recruitment officer furrowed his brow, but he sat behind the desk and pulled the phone toward him all the same. Perhaps she’d set him on edge. That was often the case when humans came into her presence.

  The human raised a brow. “And to whom exactly am I speaking?” He looked skeptical, intimidated by her eagerness.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat as she removed her fake human ID from her wallet along with her former MAC-V-Alpha ID, though the card would never identify her as such, not to someone this low in the ranks. MAC-V-Alpha didn’t exist on paper. “My name’s Sierra Cavanaugh, and you can call Colonel McGinnis and tell him that I’m here to reenlist.”

  Chapter 27

  “You need to see this.”

  Maverick stood over Blaze’s computer, one hand on the back of Blaze’s leather office chair and the other planted firmly on the control-room desk. Ever since he’d found Blaze searching for him throughout the compound, the elite warrior had launched into a long-winded explanation with far too many tech and military terms for even the most intelligent of cowboys to understand.

  Maverick grumbled. “In plain English.”

  Blaze’s fingers had been flying across his keyboard for the past thirty minutes, replicating the process he was attempting to demonstrate as he droned on. Meanwhile, his mouth had also unfortunately been going a mile a minute. In the reflection of the several large monitors, Maverick could see where Blaze’s current particularly apropos T-shirt read I can explain it for you, but I can’t understand it for you.

  “In easy-to-understand terms…” Blaze said, pointing down to his shirt with a pointed You-may-be-packmaster-but-I’m-the-brains-of-this-operation look. “I cracked the code.” Blaze jammed his finger onto the final enter key, and a moment later, a distorted video popped up on the screen.

  Maverick watched with narrowed eyes. The quality was fuzzy, blurred considerably, but he could make it out enough to see vague forms, shadows. “Is that a she-wolf?” he asked.

  “I think so.” Blaze nodded.

  The video played out, allowing them to see through Sierra’s eyes as she had when she’d been alone in the genetic memory. The duration was no longer than two minutes. Sierra had described what she recollected to them in detail more than once, save for the last few seconds that had faded away. The last few seconds when the pack’s female ancestors had joined in a haunting, howling chorus. The screen finally went blank.

  Maverick ran a hand over the coarse hair of his chin with a quiet shake of his head. He’d hoped if they were able to access the footage, it would be illuminating. But seeing the last few seconds play out only wrought more confusion.

  “We need to show this to Sierra,” he said.

  When they found her, Sierra was driving up to the compound in the truck from who the hell knew where.

  “Where have you been?” Blaze asked before Maverick could get a word out.

  Sierra shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  Ten minutes later, they stood in the control room, having replayed the video over a dozen times. Sierra was shaking her head, pacing about the room, muttering under her breath as she racked her brain. Maverick watched her with more than a hint of pride, this intelligent, fierce female he had the fortune of calling his wife, even if they both knew that they couldn’t continue like this. He’d decided as much when he’d been inside her, making love to her on the porch swing last night. This had to end. For both their sakes.

  “For the Seven Range Pact. For the Seven Range Pact,” Sierra repeated like a mantra, shaking her head and unable to make sense of it.

  “What does that have to do with the genetic memory?” Blaze asked.

  Sierra shot him a hard look. “Everything. It’s the only solid clue we have. We can’t hinge all our hopes on deciphering a few seconds of symbolic, blurred footage our ancestors thought might be relevant. The fact that the pack has survived so long with this being one of our main intelligence tactics is a miracle.”

  “The ceremony is helpful, but it’s not the main tactic,” Blaze said defensively. “What do you think I’m doing in here all day and night?”

  Maverick tended to agree with them both on that front. Too much emphasis was placed on the ceremony, particularly by the elders of the pack, and considering the council’s decision to exclude Sierra for an act that had been his own doing, he understood the sharp bite of her rage.

  Sierra waved her hand, causing Blaze to fall silent again as he spun his desk chair back toward the screen. “Something’s just not adding up.” She glanced toward Maverick, those honey-brown eyes pinning him in place. “Are you certain that’s what the first attacker said?”

  Arms crossed over his chest, he gave a firm nod. There was no doubt in his mind. The attacker’s message had been clear.

  “For the Seven Range Pact. For the Seven Range Pact,” Sierra repeated.

  Blaze groaned. “It’s pretty obvious what ‘for the Seven Range Pact’ means, Sierra.” Within seconds, he had a dictionary pulled up across the computer screen. “‘Intended to, belong to, suiting the purposes or need of, or…’”

  “Because of,” Sierra shouted.

  “What?” Blaze asked.

  Maverick eased from where he’d been leaning against the control-room wall toward her. From the look in his brilliant warrior’s eyes, she’d realized something. “Sierra.” The rumble of his voice seemed to draw her attention back to the room.

  “The word ‘for’ has two meanings. That first night, when the attacker said, ‘For the Seven Range Pact,’ they didn’t mean on the Pact’s behalf. They meant ‘For the Seven Range Pact,’ as in because of them, because of what the Pact has done, because it exists, because whoever is doing this already views the Pact as their enemy. We made an error; the attacker was never an ally. They were always an enemy. Rock warned that our enemy wasn’t new but an old one, and what other shifter enemy could it be than…”

  “The Wild Eight?” Maverick asked, following her line of thinking. He shook his head. “Silas and Brent were the last at-large members. Since we’ve had Silas in holding, the attacks have stopped. You think he wasn’t acting on anyone’s order but of his own accord as a means of revenge?”

  Sierra nodded. “Potentially.”

  “Does an innocent man often escape from his cell?” Blaze asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

  Maverick and Sierra turned toward Blaze’s security monitor. Sure enough, on the screen Blaze had just clicked to with the image of the pack’s cells, Silas was nowhere to be found.

  “Fuck,” Maverick roared.

  Before he could get another word out, the door to the control room flew open, and Dean charged in. “Packmaster.”

  Maverick didn’t need to hear another word. He knew in an instant from the dark look in the elite warrior’s eyes that he needed to come with him. Now.

  Sierra and Blaze followed, and minutes later, they stood on the steps of Sierra’s porch above a bleeding and wounded Cheyenne. From the bloodied knife flung by her side and the pressure Austin was applying to her abdomen to stop the bleeding, it was easy to ascertain what had happened.

  “Cheyenne.” Sierra fell to the other warrior’s side, clutching her hand.

  It was then that Maverick noticed who stood lurking in the porch shadows.

  Silas.

  Maverick drew his blade, charging the other man and pinning the wolf against the wooden frame of Sierra’s cabin door. He shoved the point of the blade into the other wo
lf’s throat. “I showed you mercy. Now your death will be mine.” Maverick drew back his blade.

  “No.” Cheyenne let out a pained groan from where she lay bleeding, drawing Maverick to a halt. Her face grew more pale by the second, but she was still conscious. She drew in a sharp gasp of air. “Wasn’t him. I let him out.”

  “What?” Sierra gripped the other woman’s hand, drawing her attention back toward her as she brushed back the tendrils of Cheyenne’s blond hair, the locks matted to her forehead from the sweat soaking her face.

  “Hand me the gauze,” Austin ordered Dean, who was standing beside his medical kit, as Austin began packing Cheyenne’s still-bleeding wound.

  “Came to warn you. Not Silas. Brent,” she panted.

  “Brent?” Sierra muttered. She glanced up to where Maverick held Silas at the point of his dagger to watch the other wolf’s face. “When you came out into the barn that night, you weren’t threatening me… You said you were…”

  “‘Chasing the demons away,’” Silas snarled from where the point of Maverick’s blade still lingered at his throat. “I know Brent well. I was certain he was up to something, but who among you fucking Grey Wolves would believe a former Wild Eight?”

  With a reluctant shove, Maverick released him.

  “Came here to warn you,” Cheyenne rasped at Sierra again. She let out a wet, painful-sounding cough. “Brent came from behind. Thought I was you. Not Mav. You.”

  Sierra cast Maverick a concerned look as realization dawned on them both.

  He had never been the target.

  She had been.

  “Where is he?” Maverick snarled. He’d flay the bastard alive for daring to look twice at her. Threatening his life was grounds for death. Threatening hers? He’d torture the sick fuck slowly, only to allow him to heal and then repeat it again…

  For him, Maverick would know no mercy.

  At that moment, Austin shooed Sierra back. Having slowed Cheyenne’s bleeding, he scooped her into his arms as he headed toward their medic center.

  “He likely wants retribution for you capturing him.” The sound of Silas’s voice grated on him, and Maverick rounded on the other wolf again. Silas may have been innocent of these crimes, but he’d still failed to be forthright with his packmaster—fully honest.

  Once more, Maverick’s blade was at his throat. “Where is he?”

  With several touches, Blaze accessed the pack’s security cams on his phone. “He’s in one of the trucks.”

  “Where’s he headed?” Maverick snarled at Silas.

  The Adam’s apple of Silas’s throat jumped, though his eyes didn’t betray a hint of fear in the face of Maverick’s blade. “By my guess, likely headed to the old Wild Eight clubhouse. It’s abandoned now, but—”

  Maverick didn’t need to hear another word.

  Releasing Silas, he caught Dean’s gaze. He pointed toward his own wolf eyes and then toward Sierra. “Don’t let her out of your sight,” he ordered. Maverick tore from the porch, headed toward the other spare truck.

  But Sierra wasn’t far behind him. Gripping his wrist, she stopped him. “Like hell you’re going to leave me behind.”

  He didn’t have time for this foolishness. Maverick’s eyes flashed to the gold of his wolf, and he bared his teeth in a feral growl, in their world, a direct order to stand down. But she wasn’t having it.

  Her own eyes flashed to her wolf as she bared her teeth and let out a snarl of her own. She wasn’t intimidated by him in the least. “This is my fight. Not yours. Cowboy or not, you’re not leaving me standing here in your dust as you ride off into the fucking sunset. We do this together or we don’t do this at all.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a long beat, both too stubborn and bullheaded to back down. But when it became clear this was what she wanted, Maverick forced his eyes to shift back to their human form and staked his blade at her feet.

  Fighting by his side was where she belonged.

  * * *

  The old Wild Eight clubhouse had long since been abandoned. Inside the run-down building, the walls had been tagged by graffiti, and only broken-down bits of furniture remained among the layers of dust. Sierra eased inside, not knowing exactly what lay ahead of her. As she did, one of the floorboards let out a loud creak.

  She stiffened in anticipation of her enemy’s onslaught. But it didn’t come. Slowly she eased in farther, inching forward as she held tight to the hilt of her blade. Finally, she crossed the threshold into the old house’s foyer.

  And then he was on top of her.

  Brent lunged at her from the darkness, springing onto her back to knock her to the ground, but she was ready for him. She gripped him by the wrist, using his momentum against him and throwing him over her shoulder. The move brought them both rolling onto the floor of the small space. In a flurry of fists and punches, she met him blow for blow, refusing to back down. As a male of their species, he rivaled her in strength, but he was no match for her skill.

  As their brawling roll ended, he came out on top. He slashed his dagger down, and she was forced to block it with her arm. Her own dagger dropped from her fist as his blade sliced against the skin of her wrist. She let out a sharp hiss as a warm trickle of blood coated her sleeve, but she didn’t falter. With him on top of her, he thought he had her pinned in place. That he held the advantage.

  Not a chance.

  Knocking him sideways with a twist of her hips, she brought her knee up between them, aiming straight for his groin. He seized in pain, giving her the split second she needed to leverage his weight against her leg and kick him off her. He fell backward as the heel of her boot collided with the center of his face. From the sharp snap, she’d broken his nose.

  Yet he was still clutching his groin in pain. “Cheap shot,” he groaned.

  She lifted herself up. “You men think your balls are so fucking great, but they’re your biggest damn weakness.”

  There was a blade in his hand, but hers lay on the floor between them.

  He could have come at her again, but they’d be hand to hand in this small, enclosed space. He must have realized it wouldn’t be a favorable outcome for him, because he snatched her blade and scrambled like the spineless coward he was, running farther into the abandoned house in search of a larger space.

  Jumping to her feet, she barreled after him, finally cornering him in what appeared to have been an old billiards room. Brent stood on the far end of a worn pool table. The smooth green felt had been ripped around the edges.

  “What you gonna do without your blade, you nasty Grey Wolf bitch?” He held his blade in one hand and hers in the other, laughing at her as blood poured from his nose into his mouth. His teeth were already coated red with it, his demented grin even more insane.

  “A lot more than you can.” She had him cornered, and he knew it.

  At that moment, the side entrance to the gaming room flew open and Maverick prowled inside, his own blade in hand.

  “Oh look,” Brent sneered. “If it isn’t your packmaster come to your rescue.”

  Maverick snarled, his golden wolf eyes pulsating with lethal intent. He stalked toward Sierra, planting a kiss on the top of her head before he turned his attention back toward Brent. With both Maverick and Sierra surrounding him, there was no chance of Brent making any escape.

  “As easy to catch as you were last time.” Sierra grinned.

  “Suck me, you ragged bi—”

  “Speak to my wife that way again, and I will bury my blade in your trachea,” Maverick growled. He was inching closer by the moment, and Brent didn’t stand a chance against him. “I’ll never understand why you’d choose your own death over a life at Wolf Pack Run.”

  “I know why,” Sierra said.

  Brent’s gaze narrowed on her, the color of his face burning with rage.

  “Humiliation.”<
br />
  The red in Brent’s face deepened. If looks could kill…

  “That’s why he had to hire rogue wolves to go after me, because he was too afraid.”

  “Shut your mouth, you viper-tongued c—”

  “Can’t you see, Maverick?” she said, speaking over Brent.

  The knuckles of Brent’s fists turned white where he clutched the blades, but he wouldn’t dare move with Maverick so close to him. Not without a bit of bait.

  She drew closer to the edge of the pool table, within reach of Brent as she drove in her final blow. “Brent’s a weak, spineless coward after all. He couldn’t stand the thought that he’d been bested by a woman—that he was so pathetic, he couldn’t even find a beta mate.”

  Brent lunged across the pool table, his rage making him sloppy.

  Maverick grabbed the other wolf, hooking him under the arms and hauling him back with the whole of his weight until his blade pressed against his throat.

  “You’re one to talk,” Brent snarled. “You let him fight your battles for you now, you worthless flake?”

  Sierra shook her head. “No, but he’s a great distraction, isn’t he? I knew if he wasn’t here, a chauvinist pig like you wouldn’t have let me get a word in edgewise.”

  Brent snarled.

  “There’s only one thing I will let him do for me. I wouldn’t be a proper cowgirl otherwise.” She reached behind her, removing the revolver Maverick had slipped into the back of her jeans as she cocked the hammer back and aimed straight at Brent’s head. “I’ll let him slip me a gun in the midst of a knife fight.”

  She didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

  The shot rang out, harsh and clear. Their enemy crumpled to the floor, released from Maverick’s arms in a now-dead heap.

  Maverick grumbled, wiping some of the blood spray from his face. “You could’ve warned me you didn’t intend to let him linger for long.”