Half Wolf Page 3

  Grabbing Quill’s arm, I pointed him in the right direction. “Run!” I ordered, putting my own mild alpha compulsion behind the command. My genetics meant I shouldn’t have been able to command so much as a field mouse, but my previous alpha’s gifted mantle did the job...this time at least. I sighed in relief when the cowboy shifter turned to obey, then listened until the clatter of his shod feet was abruptly muffled by the safety of grass and dirt.

  Almost there. Four pack mates had now made it out of the bar alive, so I only had myself and Hunter to worry about. Luckily, I was pretty confident the two of us could take care of ourselves.

  I expected the uber-alpha to think differently since he apparently considered me to be a damsel in distress. Instead, he surprised me by pushing my body between himself and the advancing wolves. “Hold them off for a minute and I’ll see if I can reactivate that freeze,” he ordered.

  I was torn between being thrilled that the uber-alpha trusted me enough to depend on my protection and being annoyed that he didn’t seem to know how to pose a request in the form of a question.

  No, wait, I was none of the above. Instead, as thirty—yes, the number had grown yet again—slobbering werewolves advanced upon me and my thin blade of metal, I knew exactly how I felt.

  Terrified.

  I WAS WELL AWARE THAT my previous pack leader, Wolfie, had handed me his grandfather’s sword as a metaphorical symbol of my newfound power. But I’d focused on the more practical utility of the weapon right away.

  It wasn’t so surprising that Wolfie and I didn’t see eye to eye on the purpose of my new katana since we were about as different as two werewolves could be. My old alpha was a bloodling—a shifter born in lupine form who tended to retain those wolfish characteristics for the rest of his life. His alpha dominance alone could always bend troublesome shifters to his will, but he never hesitated to don fur if he needed sharp teeth in order to prove a point.

  So Wolfie probably had no clue how defenseless my submissive wolf made me. And how unsuited I was to running a pack.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t just yank out the fur and claws when threatened like everyone else could. Sure, I was capable of transforming into a four-legger. And even though my animal half was more likely to turn tail and run than to fight, I could overcome her urges with my human brain and get the job done. The sublimation caused a subtle slowing of our reaction time that had negative consequences at critical moments, but it was better than nothing.

  Still, I almost never shifted because my wolf was just too darn weak to be shown off in public. Specifically, I couldn’t risk her being barked into line by more dominant shifters...and, newly gifted mantle aside, every single shifter’s animal half was more dominant than mine. So I didn’t have the option of taking advantage of a werewolf’s typical physical defenses—teeth and claws.

  Back in my old clan, the halfie disability hadn’t been much of a problem. Wolfie had protected our pack with a gentle yet strong dominance that put the worries of weaker wolves to rest. Even at the worst of times, I’d always known someone was guarding my back.

  That all changed when Hunter’s manipulations thrust me into the position of watching out for four—now five—other werewolves. And I still couldn’t use lupine teeth to get my way.

  So as soon as Wolfie presented me with his family heirloom, I got to work. I streamed YouTube videos on my phone and practiced while my new pack slept until I fell to the ground exhausted time and again. Only Ginger had noticed the strange nicks on my legs, but she appeared to accept the explanation that I’d cut myself while shaving. And eventually I became skilled enough that even those signs of fumbling disappeared.

  Which is all a long way of saying—I did know how to handle the sword I was carefully grasping between two sweaty palms. But it felt very different to hack at a tree trunk compared to swinging at living, breathing shifters, even if the latter seemed ready to tear out my throat.

  Here’s hoping I can just wave the scary sword menacingly and buy Hunter time to do his work, I thought without much faith in the possibility. Sparing a glance over one shoulder, I saw that the shifter in question had stretched out flat on the ground and appeared to be meditating...or perhaps taking a nap. Not a good sign.

  “She looks tasty.” I couldn’t tell which of the shifters had spoken, but a rumble of agreement rose from both men and wolves alike. So I guess the identity of the speaker didn’t really matter after all.

  “A little skinny for my tastes.” This time I caught the eye of the man in question. Speaker two was in his thirties and brimming with good health. In fact, I would have thought he was cute if he wasn’t obviously undressing me with his eyes and finding me wanting. Ew.

  “But serviceable,” the first voice countered. “You heard the man—she’s a halfie.”

  A word that had seemed almost charming when emerging from Hunter’s lips now cut me like the blade of Wolfie’s sword. But I couldn’t let them know their barb had hit home. Instead, I lengthened my spine and swung at an encroaching four-legger, this time failing to soften the blow at the last moment.

  A whoosh of displaced air, half of a furry ear flying across the floor, and a yelp from my opponent proved that those weeks of practice had paid off. The injured wolf jerked backward like a stepped-on puppy dog before remembering his audience. Then he growled, reversing his retreat even as blood began streaming down the side of his face.

  “That was a warning blow.” I was proud to hear that my voice was calm and steady even though the more powerful werewolves in the audience would be able to hear my heart beating a mile a minute. “This sword is sharp and I know how to use it. I recommend you all back away while you have the chance.”

  Voice number one laughed. “Spunky, aren’t you?” The shifter in question emerged from the crowd at last, and it was instantly clear that this was the other mens’ leader. “That’ll make you even more fun when we have you on the altar.”

  I shivered as my gaze flicked over my opponent’s form. Even without the help of my wolf, I could see the wildness of a rampant lupine half within the enemy’s eyes. And his stance was relaxed as he strolled casually within range of my sword as if the weapon didn’t even exist.

  I should’ve taken the chance and cut him down then and there. Sure, the shifter looked like any other aging businessman. Dark suit, expensive haircut, fancy shoes. But I could feel the evil emanating from his cold, hard eyes and my gut told me the world would be a better place without this particular shifter in it.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite make myself take advantage of the opening presented. Yes, I’d killed a man before and with this very sword to boot. Still, my previous opponent had been menacing a toddler and, by extension, had been a danger to our entire pack.

  And despite that clear-cut motive, I still had nightmares about the sickening crunch of blade through bone, the sucking sound as flesh parted and blood gushed.

  They say your first kill is the hardest. But I had to disagree. It’s the second, when you knew what to expect, that makes even a brave wolf hesitate.

  And, as I mentioned before, my wolf was anything but brave. So I wavered.

  In response, the man smiled...then knocked the sword right out of my hands.

  Chapter 4

  “Freeze.”

  The shifters, the air, and even the beer in nearby bottles responded to Hunter’s command. I could feel my teeth chattering despite my comatose wolf. And when the uber-alpha grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the exit this time around, I paused only long enough to scoop up my sword before obediently stumbling along in his wake.

  The outside world embraced us in a cloud of humid warmth and I gasped in a long breath, only then realizing that I’d forgotten to breathe for the last several seconds. Or perhaps my autonomous nervous system had also responded to the uber-alpha’s command. Whatever. It just felt good to be alive.

  My relief was short-lived. “Unhand her,” came Ginger’s familiar voice, laden with an equally familiar
snarky overtone.

  I straightened, taking in the scene before me. My entire pack now stood between us and our idling station wagon, three angry shifters plus Lia and Quill off to one side looking a bit befuddled. My comrades had clearly been ready to storm in and rescue me from the barflies, so it hadn’t taken much effort to transfer their aggressions to the uber-alpha who still clutched my hand in his over-sized mitt.

  I considered pulling my fingers free, knowing the gesture would soothe my pack’s ire. But I couldn’t quite talk myself into severing our contact. There was just something about Hunter’s solid warmth that made me feel better after that heart-stopping display inside.

  Plus, I wasn’t quite sure I could move yet. Good excuse.

  “I think you have the wrong idea,” the uber-alpha said quietly. He might have squeezed my fingers very subtly at the same time, as if he didn’t want to relinquish our bond quite yet either. But his attention remained riveted on my pack and a low growl underlay his words. Hunter didn’t like to be challenged.

  After scanning all five faces, the uber-alpha apparently decided that Ginger was the one in charge. His gaze locked ominously with the trouble twin’s...which is when I noticed that she was still entirely naked. Even clad, the teenager’s perfect curves had been known to turn males of both shifter and human persuasion to stone, so I thoroughly expected my companion’s eyes to wander south rather than maintaining their challenge. But, instead, Hunter’s attention remained resolutely focused above the teenager’s neck.

  Maybe he checked out the merchandise while I was gasping for air? It was the only reasonable explanation.

  And, more relevantly, if my brain was up to snarky mental comebacks, chances were pretty good I could talk again. So, with a shiver of regret, I released Hunter’s hand and herded everyone else toward our waiting vehicle.

  “I don’t know how long the freeze will last,” I said, “so we need to make tracks. Ginger can drive. Quill, you’ll come with us?”

  The cowboy shifter tipped his hat at me in cordial assent. But despite his good manners, this still wasn’t quite the way I’d planned on picking up new pack mates.

  We couldn’t really afford to trust the newcomer sight unseen, so I shot a questioning glance at Glen and was relieved when my most solid pack member nodded back. My second then proceeded to subtly rearrange seating order so Cinnamon took the middle back seat, separating Quill from our weakest member—the twins’ younger cousin. At least that thorny issue had been easily taken care of.

  I kept one eye on the closed bar door, wishing we could just jump in the car and make tracks. But a speedy escape was impossible when our vehicle was already stuffed to the gills with all of the pack’s worldly possessions. Some decisions would have to be made if we wanted to clear space for extra bodies.

  Still, after three weeks of living in each others’ pockets, we worked together like a well-oiled team. So it took mere minutes to clear a space in the far-back for an extra shifter to perch. Out went the cooler containing tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch. Out went the huge tarp we needed to keep our tent dry when camping in a soggy spot.

  Out went a tremendous duffel bag full of Ginger’s clothes. You’d think as skimpy as her preferred garments were, they wouldn’t take up much space. But the trouble twin’s tank tops and short shorts made up in quantity what they lacked in bulk.

  “Hey!” the clothes horse protested, and I shot her the stink eye in return.

  “You and your wardrobe fill a similar square footage,” I answered. “It’s up to you who stays behind—you or your clothes.”

  Our banter was normal, but the worried glance I shot toward the bar door was not. Which was probably why Ginger gave in so easily. “Whatever,” she grumbled, averting her gaze. But she still obeyed my veiled command, pulling the bag open and picking through in search of something to put on in case we ran across human cops who would be confused by a naked driver.

  Although, actually, that might be a good way to avoid the ticket we invariably ended up with when Ginger was behind the wheel.

  Second-to-last problem solved, I turned back around to face Hunter at last. He was still two-legged, but his face was averted from my little pack as if he were preparing to shift back to lupine form and flee the scene as soon as the car left the lot.

  Taking a deep breath, I touched the uber-alpha’s bare arm to capture his attention. “How about you?”

  Truth be told, I was even more torn about inviting this abnormally strong werewolf along for our grand escape than I had been about including the cowboy shifter in our little band. Because Quill was a known entity—an outpack male likely looking for a mate and a bit of power. Trouble, but in a manageable (and cute) package.

  Hunter, on the other hand was a conundrum, but one whose motivations were beginning to show through the murk. After all, how could he have shown up right in the nick of time to save our hides after weeks of separation if he hadn’t been following us around in the first place? That suggested a level of dedication to the project that I suspected vastly exceeded the stick-to-it-iveness of the average outpack male.

  And then there was the issue of the tremors my handsome stalker regularly sent down my usually shiver-free spine. The intense physical reaction to Hunter’s presence didn’t bode well for my own future sanity.

  Still, the uber-alpha would be in as much danger as anyone else once the outpack males woke up, and I had a feeling that even his intense alpha dominance wouldn’t hold the angry werewolves off for long. My stalker had almost certainly arrived on foot, and I doubted he could outrun his opponents indefinitely. So there was really only one ethical decision here.

  “Hunter?” I prompted.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” he countered.

  The uber-alpha was the furthest thing from weak, but something about his words brought to mind the insecurity that had underlain my former pack leader’s first interactions with his mate-to-be. Hunter was a bloodling as well, I now realized, and as a result he probably wasn’t the most adept at human social behavior. Perhaps some of his semi-psychopathic mannerisms stemmed from simple discomfort while wearing a two-legger’s skin.

  You’re reaching, I admonished myself. But, still, I nodded even as I heard the first angry shouts emerging from inside the bar.

  “Yes, I want you to come along.”

  GINGER DROVE LIKE A mad woman. We screeched around curves, blew through red lights, and once we were on the interstate our intrepid driver did an admirable job of pissing off truckers by cutting in front of them and then slamming on her brakes. Amid all the mayhem, the trouble twin slowly but surely shook every last barfly off our tail.

  And, then, once the final outpack male was a distant memory, the real trouble began.

  “So, what are your intentions toward Fen?”

  Glen’s throaty murmur from the far-back area of the car barely carried to my shotgun position, and Ginger cleared her throat irritably. Her lupine-assisted ears wouldn’t have had any trouble picking up the conversation, but she knew as well as Glen did that my own hearing wasn’t similarly enhanced.

  Agreeably, the latter raised his voice when he continued. “Well?”

  Widely spaced streetlights above the highway cast alternating bands of light and dark, and I took advantage of one of the latter to swivel in my seat and glance across the car’s inhabitants without being too obvious about it. Lia was sound asleep with her head on Cinnamon’s shoulder, and her pillow looked only vaguely more aware of his surroundings. But Quill nodded a greeting from directly behind my seat. And the two shifters in the far-back were erect and alert, bristling with barely contained antagonism.

  “My intentions?” Hunter’s voice was quietly sarcastic, as if Glen was an overzealous waiter who had dared to ask for his movie-star customer’s autograph. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”

  “Oh, I believe you do,” Glen countered. “We’ve smelled you around our campsites from the beginning. You never come close enough to in
vade a traveling territory...not quite. But you’re always there. Watching. Waiting.”

  This was news to me, and I shot a glance at Ginger. A well-placed streetlight illuminated the trouble twin’s unsurprised face, proving that she had also known about our stalker’s presence.

  The teenager shrugged apologetically as she met my eyes. “Didn’t seem relevant,” she answered my unspoken question.

  It didn’t seem relevant that the uber-alpha who had pushed us so abruptly out of Wolfie’s safe clan and into outpack territory had been dogging our heels for the last few weeks? No, what Ginger and Glen really meant was that there was no point in worrying their so-called pack leader since my mild alpha dominance couldn’t do anything about the potential danger. Hunter’s menacing uber-alpha skills were entirely out of my league.

  But now wasn’t the time to delve into that issue. Not when our car contained two strange werewolves who might or might not have ulterior motives for befriending us. Hunter and Quill didn’t need to know about the rot at the core of our little pack.

  Instead, I held my breath and waited to hear how Hunter would respond to Glen’s demand. It didn’t take long, and the uber-alpha’s words carried so admirably that it was clear he was aware of his larger audience. “And why do you care?” the uber-alpha demanded, his words projecting an almost tangible bite. “Are you her father? Her brother? Her mate?”

  In response, Ginger’s hands twitched on the steering wheel and suddenly our tires were vibrating across the rumble strip and out of the right-hand lane of the highway. I lunged for the plastic-coated wheel across the trouble twin’s suddenly frozen form and righted our progress.

  “Hunter!” I demanded through clenched teeth.

  “Oops.” The word was so quiet I almost thought I’d imagined it, but then Ginger’s hands abruptly tightened beneath mine, proving that the uber-alpha had relinquished his control over the car’s inhabitants. Meanwhile, a gasp from the far-back suggested that Glen had regained the ability to breathe as well.