If only…
Wes would never be that free, and the events of the day had only served to remind him of that. He’d always known that whatever had passed between him and Naomi wouldn’t end well. He’d said as much from the beginning when Maverick had first tasked him with protecting her. But for a moment, he’d lost himself in her lips, in her touch, in her forgiveness, and allowed himself to believe it. Believe they could somehow be together even though they lived in separate worlds, believed that she could love him. Believed he could escape his haunting past. Even now, in the wake of her betrayal, something inside him whispered that maybe it was true.
He desperately wanted—hell, needed—to believe it was true.
But it was a lie. A beautiful lie. The past history he’d fought so hard to outrun dictated that, no matter how much he wanted otherwise. His past had caught up to him, no matter how far or hard he ran.
He realized now the effort had been futile. He would never outrun his past. He had never even stood a chance. He would always be a Calhoun, born and bred. A monster, an outlaw, a murderer. A man who trusted no one, whose friends were his enemies, whose lovers were his betrayers. No love could wipe his sins clean. He was destined to this life, even as it destroyed him.
But he couldn’t allow it to destroy him, at least not yet. He steeled himself. Pushing down the emotions, the loss of her, into the deep, dark part of himself that housed his most damaged pieces, the part of himself where he’d lived for the better part of three years before she’d burst into his life, tugging him out of the darkness with all the strength of a force of nature. It was the only way he could survive her loss. He couldn’t live without her, but he could exist, go through the motions. And he would do just that, because there was one emotion he could keep.
His anger. His drive for revenge flaming anew. For everything the Wild Eight had ever taken from him. His childhood, his innocence, his life, his love. And now, Naomi. They’d taken everything from him, and they would pay.
The eagle reappeared and flew back into the chasm, skimming the waters below with the wide expanse of its wings. It snatched a fish in the sharp clutches of its talons. Soaring through the air, it carried the live, flopping morsel in its hooked beak to its nest. In several quick chomps, it devoured the salmon before it nestled into its perch, fed and sated.
Maverick and the other Seven Range Pact members would be waiting for him to consult on their battle strategy. With one last look at the cliffs, he turned back toward the forest. This time, he ran with purpose, with intent.
Somewhere halfway back to Wolf Pack Run, the scent of another shifter caught on the breeze. Not Grey Wolf or Wild Eight but familiar, and the track was fresh. Wes slowed his pace and drew closer to the scent, each step intensifying it on the trail as he headed east. Crouching low among the bushes and bramble, he slunk through the underbrush. Through the leafy growth, he spotted two mountain lions ahead. He remained hidden and watched as the pair shifted, revealing themselves as Clay, the mountain lion pride leader, and Jonathan, his second.
Jonathan paced among the trees. “I knew that bastard Grey Wolf Maverick was holding something back as soon as he called us here, and now they expect us to fight a war on their behalf.”
Clay stood before him, a calm pillar among the gentle swaying of the breeze-blown trees. “We won’t be fighting. Not this time.”
Jonathan stopped in his tracks. His eyes narrowed in skepticism. “But the Seven Range Pact states…”
Clay shook his head. “I don’t care what the Pact says. I will not risk our pride members’ lives on petty, inbred fighting. If the Grey Wolves need to battle their own kind for control, they can do so without us. We will put on the necessary face, play by the rules as long as needed to gain the necessary information and advantage, but when it comes down to it, we will not take part in this fight.”
Wes’s blood ran cold. They were planning to hang the Grey Wolves and the other shifter clans out to dry when the others needed them most. It wasn’t a death sentence for the Grey Wolves, but it was one more disadvantage they didn’t need in a fight that was already certain to cost lives. Such a decision amounted to little less than a declaration of war against both the Grey Wolves and the other shifter clans of the Seven Range Pact.
Sure, at a time like this, it was unlikely to result in Maverick ordering a direct attack against the Mountain Lions, particularly when they had the Wild Eight and their vampire allies to contend with, but the relationship between the two packs would remain in shambles long after this battle was over.
And what Wes knew that the cougar leader failed to realize was that this first battle was just the beginning.
“At what cost? We will lose the protection of the Seven Range Pact, and if the Grey Wolves are right about the vampires, we will need the strength of the Pact for protection. This decision would make the Grey Wolves our enemies.”
Clay rounded on Jonathan. “Are you suggesting that some outdated Pact is worth more than the lives of our people?”
“I am suggesting equal lives will be lost, should we choose to double-cross our allies. It’s a poor decision made only for the sake of your pride.”
“Hold your tongue,” Clay hissed, stepping forward in a clear attempt to assert his dominance over the other man. But Jonathan wasn’t having it. He stepped forward with equal vigor, drawing his shoulders wide. The two cougars stood nose to nose, the challenges in each of their stares clear. For a moment, something flickered in Jonathan’s eyes; then, after a long beat, he lowered his gaze.
Clay smiled a smug grin. “It is a good thing that the lives of our people do not depend upon your decision, Jonathan. Let me remind you that your place as second does not warrant your disobedience,” he said. With his point made clear, the pride leader turned his back, shifting back into his beast as he prowled eastward from the clearing toward Wolf Pack Run.
Wes lingered there among the bushes, watching Jonathan with careful movements. Jonathan glared after his pride leader. Rage and frustration twisted Jonathan’s face into a silent snarl. The intensity of his gaze spoke volumes about the relationship between the two men. It was commonplace, even expected, for a second to challenge his leader, but this was different. Wes had seen that look reflected in Donnie’s eyes. What he assumed then to be fleeting anger had actually grown into greater discord with time, perhaps leading to Donnie’s betrayal and his following indirect coup.
To this day, there was still no one who wanted Wes dead more than Donnie, and considering Jonathan’s expression and what Wes had overheard about the mountain lion leader’s plan to double-cross the Grey Wolves and the Seven Range Pact, Clay would do well to guard his back.
Chapter 20
When half a bottle of rosé and several long bubble baths failed to do the trick, sometimes a woman’s best course of action was to stop moping and get even. Naomi wore dress boots for the occasion—to make it convincing. Though she’d checked herself into a hotel upon her return, still uncertain if her property was truly safe, she’d returned home briefly to gather her best clothes in preparation for what she was about to do, the aforementioned dress boots included. She paired them with her best unscuffed jeans and a black blouse and overlaid the ensemble with a simple jean jacket, turquoise earrings, and a matching turquoise belt buckle. With her hair pulled up in a loose, gentle twist and a bit of rouge on her cheeks, she looked more put together than she had in months.
She was a new woman. A dangerous one, as it were.
Her hand slid inside the pocket of her jean jacket, running over the hilt of her blade. Backup, if she needed it. She had never killed a man before, but somehow, she knew in this case, she wouldn’t hesitate if it came down to it. Broken heart or not, she wasn’t the type of woman to disappear quietly into the night, and Donnie had another think coming if he thought as much.
She was no fool. She knew some of the fault in her and Wes’s rough parting had been her own. S
he should have trusted him and told him the truth the moment she’d realized that the Wild Eight had been the “investors” after her land. He’d never given her reason not to trust him. But in her defense, she’d been scared and afraid, uncertain at that point whether he had been an enemy or ally. By the time she’d realized Wes was more to her than she ever could have fathomed, it was too late to reveal the truth. She realized now that had only made the situation worse.
I’m not capable of love. The sting of his response to her confession still burned fresh and raw in her chest. She’d ached for him in that moment, for everything she realized now she couldn’t have. Though she knew the feeling would lessen in intensity over time, she doubted it would ever really disappear. But it didn’t matter that he didn’t love her like she loved him, that he couldn’t love her. She’d known from the moment she’d said the words that she was casting her bets on a man who’d never known true love, who anticipated—no, expected—to have those closest to him be the ones to destroy him.
Considering his past history, she understood why he could think the worst of her. In the heat of their argument, she’d wanted him to hear that the Wild Eight had been gunning for her lands from the start, lying and using her just as they’d done to him. That made them one and the same, not enemies. But he had refused to listen. Stubborn, hardheaded, wonderful wolf that he was.
So she would make him listen with her actions.
Though she knew he’d never love her, she refused to add to his destruction. She would prove her innocence to Wes. She was certain of it.
The previous time she had met with Donnie, it had been on her ranch. Her home turf. Though she knew now that the Wild Eight had prowled through her land enough that meeting there didn’t provide her with any hint of tactical advantage. This time, she had invited him to meet her on neutral territory, out in a secluded section of the rimrocks, to talk, to turn down the deal.
Not without backup waiting in the wings, of course.
Because if she refused to sell the ranch, then maybe Wes would see the truth. She had been a pawn in the Wild Eight’s game all along, and she had no desire to be indebted to the likes of those monsters, impressive investors or not. If that meant blowing this shot, then so be it. She would find another way to save the ranch. If she gave herself the freedom of honesty, something Wes had taught her, she had never wanted investors anyway. She had been too easily influenced by the will of others. In her last-ditch effort, it was time she trusted her own instincts. Risks be damned. It was the only way to real freedom.
The thought of such a loss sent an ache through her chest. Aside from her memories, the ranch was the last tangible bit of her father she had left. She still feared that loss, but not as she had before. She realized now the loss of the ranch would be devastating, maybe even like losing her father all over again, but it wouldn’t destroy her.
Not like losing Wes would.
She had already lost one great love of her life. She couldn’t stand to lose another, at least not without a fight. No piece of land, no memory, no legacy was worth it.
The image of her father’s smiling face came to mind. The old cowboy mounted on top of his horse as he rode up to the back of the house at the sound of her mother’s dinner bell. Though she had only been a child, she recalled in vivid detail the warmth and love evidenced by the crow’s feet lines at the edge of his eyes when he smiled. Her father had thought the sun rose and set in her mother’s eyes. The loss of her, of her love, had nearly killed him. Richard Evans would never wish the same for his only daughter.
And she would never forgive herself if she didn’t try to earn Wes’s forgiveness. And if she failed, if Wes refused to see her for the woman she truly was, she would fall to pieces, but she would survive. Like a phoenix, she would rise from the ashes no matter how hot they burned. She was the master of her own destiny and made from far tougher stuff than she’d ever imagined. She wouldn’t allow life, or death, to break her again.
As she waited, her pulse thrummed in a quick rhythm, filling her with anticipation. The early evening sky cast shades of navy blue and cerulean across the mountain peaks. The glowing lights of downtown Billings glittered below. Despite what she was about to do, she felt calmer, steadier on her own two feet than she had in months.
The sound of tires crunching over dirt, gravel, and rock broke through the whipping silence of the wind. She turned toward the noise. An old beater truck—the kind driven by cowboys, ranchers, and rednecks alike—pulled to a stop several yards away from her. The driver’s side door opened, and Donnie eased out of the vehicle. The passenger doors also opened, revealing two other men. Despite the suits they wore, they couldn’t be anything other than Wild Eight. It was like putting a Hells Angel in a bow tie.
She had been too blind, too desperate for any financial help she could get to see that before.
At the sight of them, Naomi frowned. “I thought this was a private meeting.”
“These are my associates.”
“Associates or not, four is a crowd,” she countered.
“With all due respect, a last-minute meeting out in the middle of nowhere is not what I would call a formal business meeting.”
“Clearly, you don’t do as much business with ranchers as you’d boasted. We’re an outdoorsy group.”
Donnie returned her frown with a scowl of his own. “If it’s more money you want, I don’t have time to play games. Name your price.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need your money.”
Donnie’s eyes darkened. “I’ve seen your financial books. You need our money.”
“That’s my call to make.” She crossed her arms over her chest, slipping her right hand into her coat pocket to finger the hilt of the knife. “Other opportunities have come to light.”
“With no chance to counteroffer?”
She shrugged. “No, unfortunately, I’m sold.”
His eyes narrowed. “Sold to the Grey Wolves…”
The words caught her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to openly admit anything. When they’d met previously, he’d kept to his script, pretending to be nothing more than a human businessman. If it hadn’t been for the Grey Wolves, she never would have known who he was.
She tried to keep her face straight, but she’d never had much in the way of a poker face. They’d told her to keep him talking while they arranged the best tactical entrance. She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Donnie shook his head. “Wes put you up to this.”
Naomi took a step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, bitch.” Donnie stepped forward. “You either cooperate and let us buy your land, a win-win situation for us both, or this doesn’t end well for you.”
“What do you want with my land anyway?” she snapped.
“It’s prime entrance into Grey Wolf territory. Owning the rights to that land will make it that much easier to wage our war.”
“With your half-turned vampires.”
“The Grey Wolves know then.” A satisfied smirk spread across his face. “It’s no matter. There’s no way for them to prepare for this. They don’t stand a chance.”
She shook her head. She had to keep him talking, just a few moments longer. From the corner of her eye, she spotted one of the men taking position. “Why not just take my lands? If you’re so powerful, why not just force me to hand the land over?”
Donnie chuckled. “Even the Wild Eight have to play by the Execution Underground’s rules in order to fly beneath their radar. Humans are strictly off limits.” That smirk returned, twisting into something darker and more sinister. “But since you’ve put in the request, in this case, I think we can make the exception.” He stepped toward her.
She drew her knife. “I’m not so easy to kill,” she said, stopping him in tracks. “Being a human around these parts has it
s advantages.”
Donnie quirked a brow.
Naomi flashed him a smile of her own as she gave a small shrug. “It means I have friends.”
At that moment, the barrel of Quinn’s gun pushed against the back of Donnie’s skull. “Move another muscle, and I’ll blow your goddamn head off, wolf.”
“You bitch,” Donnie growled as several more Execution Underground hunters emerged, armed and prepared to take on the Wild Eight wolves.
“The plan was mine.” Naomi smiled. “But you can thank Wes for introducing us.”
The rage in Donnie’s eyes flared.
“Cuff them and throw them in the van,” Quinn ordered his fellow hunters.
Satisfaction filled Naomi as she watched the Execution Underground hunters load Donnie and the other Wild Eight wolves, wrists bound with silver handcuffs, into their van. It wasn’t until Quinn had safely slammed the door shut behind them that she breathed a sigh of relief.
The hunter turned to face her, his Stetson falling low over his handsome eyes. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to hand in that son of a bitch Wes Calhoun while I’m at it?” He asked the question with a small grin on his lips, but she detected the hint of fire in his eyes.
“No, that wasn’t part of our agreement,” she reminded him.
Quinn nodded. A strange sort of peace had settled over the hunter since they’d first met that morning. It seemed as if having Donnie’s head was enough to appease his drive for revenge, at least for now. Though she still held the distinct impression that if she’d hadn’t been human, Quinn wouldn’t have been so understanding of her silence.
She and Quinn had gone round after round in a verbal sparring match for the better part of the morning, with the hunter trying to convince her to turn Wes in. She’d simply told Quinn no dice, or her offer was off the table. But when she’d told him she would give him the wolf actually responsible for Delilah’s death, his interest was piqued. She’d explained to Quinn that Delilah’s death had been the result of Donnie’s setup and that Wes had been framed. It hadn’t lessened the hunter’s desire for Wes’s wolf hide lying skinned and tanned across his living room floor, but it had helped them strike a temporary truce.
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