With the agreement that she wouldn’t have to disclose anything about Wes or the Grey Wolves, she and Quinn had struck a deal. The Execution Underground’s manpower against the Wild Eight in trade for her provided location and cooperation. It was a win-win situation.
Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. In any case, I’m going to need you to ride along back to headquarters for questioning.”
“Well, since you were my ride here, I guess I don’t have much of a choice.” She’d anticipated as much. Pointing toward the back of the van, she raised a brow. “You don’t expect me to ride in the back, do you?”
The hunter slapped a hand on the side of the cab. “No, you can ride up front with me. They’re a dangerous breed. Leave the wolves to us professionals.” His eyes darkened. It was a mixture of warning and, from the playful gleam in his eye, maybe even a hint of suggestion.
She didn’t have the heart to tell him it was too late. Though she’d thought the hunter brash and asinine on initial impression, she realized now the man had little tolerance for the runaround and games, which is exactly what she’d been doing at their first meeting. Over the past few hours, he had grown on her. In his Stetson and well-fitting blue jeans, Quinn proved a very handsome, very human specimen, but she’d already been ruined for any other.
“That won’t get me to spill the beans on Wes.” The words came out with slightly more bite than she intended. “I’m not so easily persuaded.”
Quinn’s smile faded. “Pity.”
They climbed into the cab of the Execution Underground’s van. The engine rumbled to life as Quinn twisted the key in the ignition. They pulled onto the road, headed away from the rimrocks and toward the nearby highway. Naomi fought not to glance over her shoulder. Nothing but the seat where she sat separated her from Donnie and the other Wild Eight members. Though two other hunters sat in the back, armed and ready. The Execution Underground’s van seemed somewhat poorly equipped for transport. She had expected something more along the lines of a police vehicle with a cage separating the driver from the prisoners.
When she said as much, Quinn responded with a huff, “Tell that to headquarters.”
A deep snarl tore from the back of the van in response.
“Cut the growls before I shut you up permanently, wolf,” Quinn barked over his shoulder into the back seat. As he turned back toward the road, he glanced in Naomi’s direction. “Don’t forget your seat belt.”
She reached over her right shoulder and pulled the strap down across her body. Twisting to buckle it in, over her shoulder, she spotted Donnie. Though his hands were bound, his eyes remained trained on Quinn, unmoving and feral. She’d seen that look before. In Wes’s eyes just before he…
“Quinn!” she shrieked.
But it was too late.
Donnie lunged, launching himself into the front seat before either hunter guarding him had so much as a chance to stop him. The van swerved. The tires screeched as the massive vehicle skidded. The smell of burning rubber filled the air, and then an unknown force lifted Naomi from her seat. She was falling, tumbling over and over again. She felt weightless as shards of glass and debris flew past her face, a stream of constant motion she couldn’t stop or control. The seat belt jolted her into place, knocking the wind out of her even as it saved her from flying from the vehicle. Still, her head bashed against the side panel of the vehicle. Pain seared through her, sharp and fierce.
Then everything went black.
She had no idea how long she was out. When Naomi regained consciousness, she hung upside down from the front seat of the vehicle, the seat belt alone having kept her from having been thrown from her seat during the accident. Her vision remained fuzzy, and her head pounded with clouding pain. Someone tugged at her, unlatching the seat belt and pulling her from the vehicle. Though her battered body didn’t have the energy to fight, she relaxed into the touch. It was warm, heat embodied, so distant, yet so familiar.
Wes, her muddled thoughts cried. She searched for him, weak hands reaching out to clutch his warm shoulders, to stare into those blue eyes, so cold at first but that warmed over time. But when her muddled vision focused on the face of her rescuer, a sharp chill of ice shot through her. Because the bloodied, warm hands that had pulled her from the wreckage weren’t Wes’s at all.
Donnie’s dark features stared back at her, having survived the wreck with minimal injuries. It all rushed back to her. Of course Donnie would have survived the wreck. The beating and battering of a car crash would be barely more than a scratch to a werewolf with unlimited healing resources.
But to a human…
“Quinn,” Naomi tried to scream, but the hunter’s name came out as barely more than a whisper rasped from her throat. She still struggled to breath from where the seat belt had constricted and saved her.
Donnie smiled through blood-stained teeth. “No humans to save you now, bitch.”
* * *
No. Wes refused to bear the weight of it. His muscles tensed, and his lips curled into a deep scowl. He could handle Maverick’s rage, his anger, his censure, but never his pity. That was the emotion etched across the packmaster’s features as Wes strode, unannounced, into Maverick’s office the following morning. But Wes wouldn’t allow Maverick to pity him. Not for another damn second. He didn’t deserve pity, and he didn’t deserve her, betrayal or not.
“The cougars plan to break the alliance.”
Maverick’s pity melted away, turning instead to stern calculation. “How do you know this?”
“I overheard them in the woods. Clay and Jonathan. They plan to slip away before the fight, only staying until then so they can gather information. With your attention divided, Clay thinks he’ll avoid your wrath, at least until the battle with the Wild Eight is over.”
Maverick stilled, though from the cinch in his jaw, it was clear his anger simmered beneath the surface. “And you’re certain?”
Wes nodded. “Jonathan disagreed, but Clay wouldn’t hear otherwise.”
And their sources had told them the Wild Eight would attack tomorrow.
Maverick slammed his fist onto his desk. He perched both his hands on the carved wood, fingers splayed wide as he hung his head in thought. His dark-brown hair fell into his face, shrouding his expression. After a long beat, he mumbled, “The lives that will be lost…”
Wes didn’t envy Maverick, not even for a moment. In a battle of this caliber, there would be death. That was certain. The lives lost would lie on Maverick’s shoulders, as the lives of the Wild Eight had once rested on his. How the tables had turned…
“We will win this battle.” Wes said it as much for himself as for Maverick. He needed to believe that to be true, because the thought of any other outcome was unacceptable. The Wild Eight would pay. For stealing his life from him, for Delilah, for Naomi. Everything they’d taken from him.
Maverick lifted his head. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Clay has long thought the Seven Range Pact is beneath him, except when it benefits him, of course.” He stood to his full height. “What would you do in response to the cougars?”
The question struck Wes, catching him off guard. A week ago, Maverick never would have bothered with Wes’s opinion. Now, the wolf asked it of him as if they were old friends.
“We sit back and let them do the work for us.”
Maverick stepped from behind his desk. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Jonathan isn’t pleased. We offer the resources to stage a coup, then sit back and watch.”
Maverick crossed his arms over the large expanse of his chest. “There’s Wes Calhoun, packleader of the Wild Eight, the only enemy whose absence I’ve ever missed.” A small grin crossed Maverick’s lips, and a fiery spark lit in his eye. “I was a better wolf, a better packmaster when I fought you. Tell me more.”
&n
bsp; “On that course, we may not have the cougars’ help for this battle, but we’ll have it as the war continues. We both know this is only the first battle of many. Even if we wipe out the Wild Eight and the half-turned vampires, the vampire overlords will retaliate.”
Maverick cupped his chin in thought, turning away and giving Wes his back. Years ago, Wes wouldn’t have hesitated to use such a shot to his advantage.
“I’m still the same wolf,” Wes reminded him.
Maverick’s shoulders tensed before he twisted back toward him. “Not according to your human female.”
At the mention of Naomi, a snarl tore from Wes’s lips. “She’s not mine.” And she never was, never had been. Not as he’d hoped, not as he desperately wanted. “And she’s wrong.” She’d always been wrong, even as he’d wanted to believe it himself.
He couldn’t even bring himself to say her name. The pain in his chest burned so raw and fresh. He didn’t know what she had told Maverick about him to make the packmaster trust him enough to spare his life, enough to make him second, but clearly, she’d spoken well of him. But to what end? If she meant to betray him, if she was Wild Eight, why sing his praises? Why not turn the Grey Wolf packmaster against him instead? The questions plagued him, but Maverick quickly brought him back to the moment.
“Perhaps.” Maverick scanned Wes as if trying to detect evidence to the contrary. His eyes narrowed, assessing. “Or maybe she isn’t. Maybe you have changed. If you were given the chance, would you do the same? What Jonathan will do to Clay?”
Wes stiffened. “I have no desire to be Grey Wolf packmaster.”
Maverick shook his head. “That’s not what I asked.”
“If you question my loyalty, Colt is more deserving.”
“Of course he is. Blind loyalty being the problem. He’s loyal to a fault, which is exactly why I didn’t choose him. Colt would never have challenged a word I said, even if I was wrong.”
That was debatable. And Maverick deserved to know that Colt had indeed moved heaven and earth to see that Maverick reached the conclusions he needed to. Wes had never given Colt the credit he was due, and looking back, he regretted it. He’d carried a chip on his shoulder for years at being judged at face value, yet he’d done the same damn thing to Colt. He really should set Maverick straight on his high commander, but something stilled his tongue.
“Let’s get back to my original question.”
“Oh?” Wes played dumb.
“Would you usurp me?”
Wes glared at the packmaster. He’d been intentionally avoiding it. “If you thought that to be true, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
“Or maybe you would.” Maverick pinned Wes with a harsh stare. “As I get older, I find I’m a bit of a masochist, and as they say, keep your friends close…”
But your enemies closer.
Wes was more than familiar with the phrase. In the past, he’d often applied such words to Maverick himself.
Maverick grabbed a stack of papers off his desk and shuffled them together. “The cougars exit plan will weaken our army. We need to reassess, and fast. Our sources say the Wild Eight may attack as soon as tomorrow. We’ll go with your plan for the cougars. I’ll find a way to discreetly offer Jonathan resources. In the meantime, I’ll task Colt with reconfiguring our battle strategy in light of this information.”
Viewing this as enough of a dismissal and glad to know that Colt had returned—not that he’d ever doubted the wolf’s dedication amid this all-out war—Wes intended to get the hell out of Maverick’s office. Turning toward the door, he’d placed his hand on the handle when Maverick stopped him short.
“Wes?”
Wes paused. Without turning his back, he waited for the packmaster’s next words. He noted that apparently Maverick wasn’t the only one who’d gotten sloppy in their trust of one another.
Maverick cleared his throat. “Would you use a blade or a gun?”
Wes’s hand lingered over the door handle. “If I don’t die in this battle, neither.”
Maverick grinned. “Yet you say you haven’t changed, that you’re not a better man.”
He hadn’t changed. He was aware of that now more than ever as the feelings of losing Naomi scorched through him, destroying him slowly from the inside out. She and Maverick were wrong. The rage that lived inside him still burned. He’d simply learned over the years how to suppress it.
A spark ignited inside Wes’s chest. “I said neither blade or gun. I didn’t say I wouldn’t kill you.” Wes cast a glance over his shoulder. “For you, only my bare hands would do.”
Any remainder of Maverick’s pity disappeared, twisting instead to a look of dark consideration. “Someday, we’ll see…” With those words, some hint of dark macabre humor pulled at Maverick’s lips, as if he somehow failed to take Wes at his word. Or maybe he dared Wes to try.
With that, Wes turned and left, leaving the packmaster chuckling in his wake.
Chapter 21
Wes was only halfway down the hall from Maverick’s office when the adjoining door to the control room swung open. If not for his quick reflexes, it would have hit him. His hand slammed into the door, stopping it on its hinges. Blaze stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and stricken. “Where’s Maverick?” he demanded.
Wes didn’t have a chance to answer.
At the commotion, Maverick stuck his head out of his office door. Blaze’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men. “The Wild Eight just entered our packlands.”
Wes and Maverick swore in unison.
Based on their intel, they hadn’t expected the Wild Eight to attack for at least another twenty-four hours, if not longer. With the news of the cougars abandoning the Seven Range Pact and no time to prepare, that left them severely disadvantaged.
Maverick stepped forward. Though he’d been laughing moments before, his expression was all business, fierce and focused, the face of a true warrior. “How long do we have to prepare the troops before they reach Wolf Pack Run?”
“Two hours at most.” Blaze shook his head. “And there’s something else.”
Wes barely heard Blaze. The words failed to register. Instead, his eyes focused on the massive monitor over Blaze’s shoulder. Pushing past Blaze and into the control room, Wes scanned the timeline. No. No. It couldn’t be true. A dozen images lined the screen, telling a story in sharp, pixelated color. Naomi meeting with Quinn, then meeting with Donnie, Quinn leading a handcuffed Donnie to a van, and then photos of that same van smashed to pieces, overturned in the mountain dirt.
Maverick and Blaze came to stand behind him.
Blaze’s voice easily filled the small room. “I was checking again for any updates the Execution Underground might have on the Wild Eight’s movement when I found this. From what I can tell, she contacted the Execution Underground and then set up a meeting with the Wild Eight. She aided the Execution Underground in capturing him, but then clearly, something went wrong in transport.”
Wes’s heart stopped. The reality that she had been innocent from the start slammed into him. The proof stared back at him from the screen, clear as day. Why would she use the Execution Underground to go after the Wild Eight if not to prove her innocence? She was no hunter. Yet he’d refused to believe in her, in the good, pure woman who had been standing right in front of him. A woman who when she said she loved him, the emotion touched him so deep, his chest ached.
And then he’d told her he could never love her.
What a lie. He’d regretted the words the moment they’d left his mouth. Even in the face of what he thought was her betrayal, he loved her. He still loved her. He would never stop loving her, but now…
His eyes scanned over the last image. The vehicle had overturned several times, the smashed metal landing supine in a ditch along the rimrocks. Shards of glass littered the surrounding ground. Wes envisioned the smooth
lines of Naomi’s face, the deep tones of her skin, strong yet so fragile, so human. A werewolf would survive such a crash, but a human? He opened his mouth, but drawing breath proved impossible. He’d couldn’t even think the words, let alone form them into speech.
“Is she…?” Maverick asked the question that was lodged in Wes’s throat.
Wes tensed.
“No,” Blaze answered.
The tension in Wes’s muscles released. She was alive. He wanted to collapse to his knees, praising every deity in existence, thanking the universe…
“She wasn’t among the bodies at the accident,” Blaze continued. He paused, clearly uncertain how to present his next phrase. “And neither was Donnie.”
Wes froze.
The bastard had her.
First, Donnie had betrayed Wes, then stolen his life, his position, and now he threatened the woman Wes loved. Wes didn’t deserve her in the slightest, but he was too damn selfish to care. He wanted her, and she wanted him. That was all that mattered. He saw that now. And he would fight for her to the death, until the last drop of his life’s blood poured from his veins. The need for revenge boiling in his blood confirmed what he’d known all along.
Wes Calhoun, nefarious packmaster of the Wild Eight, wasn’t a changed man. He’d been alive and well, lying dormant, waiting for the right moment to rise again. He would spill his enemies’ blood without remorse just as he always had.
Except this time, he fought for the right side.
* * *
Naomi faded in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of the sway of someone’s arms—or maybe it was a horse again—carrying her up the mountainside. Somehow, deep in the recesses of her mind, she knew wherever she was headed, it wasn’t somewhere she wanted to be.
Her eyes flickered open, and she stared at the dark sky overhead. She’d been dreaming of Wes, of the smile on his face the day he’d led her across the canyon, how the lantern light of the stable had lit him from within, highlighting the golden undertones of his tanned skin as he’d held her in his arms. She wanted nothing more than to stay in that dream, to lose herself in it. Yet her instincts drew her awake as if her body intrinsically knew that her unconsciousness made her all the more vulnerable.
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