The Complete Bloodling Serial: Episodes 1-5 Page 3

  A figurehead. Now there's a job I could get behind. Standing on the prow of a ship buck naked and letting everyone admire me—sounded like a pretty good life.

  For a moment, I allowed my mind to wander to thoughts of a life at sea. Had werewolves ever sailed the open ocean? If I found myself shipwrecked, would I be able to dive off the floating debris and catch a shark? Maybe hitchhike a ride on a dolphin while two-legged?

  "Wolfie?" Chase asked, bringing my attention back to our woodland patrol duty. "Are we going to hunt the stranger down or not?"

  Reluctantly, I allowed the imagined salt wind to fade, then I rolled my eyes in lieu of answering. Vanquishing a fifteen-year-old didn't sound like nearly as much fun as hunting sharks. So I just shook my head, squirted a solid stream of my own urine over top of the stranger's, and fell back down onto four legs before turning my nose toward home.

  And even though he clearly disagreed with my decision, Chase didn't push the topic. Instead, he followed suit, donning fur and trotting in my footsteps as we high-tailed it back toward our clan's little village. I could smell Tia's cookies baking from a mile away, and if we galloped, we were likely to arrive just as dessert came hot out of the oven.

  ***

  But the sight that greeted us back home was less enticing than the milk and cookies my companion and I had raced out of the woods to consume. Instead, we came shoving and yipping through the door...and stopped dead at the sight of our entire pack congregated within Tia's living room.

  There at the center of the drama stood my uncle Oscar, an envelope gripped between thumb and forefinger and his nose wrinkled up in distaste. He looks like a housewife lifting a trapped mouse by the tail before flinging it out the door, I thought. And then, despite the tense emotions of the shifters around me, my attention wandered off on a tangent. Mmmm, mouse. Their little bones crunch so deliciously, and their tender hearts taste like the world's freshest pâté....

  Actually, in wolf form, mouse sounded much nicer than cookies. Perhaps I had time before dinner to go out and rustle a few vermin out of the shed? Just an appetizer—it really wouldn't ruin my appetite for the main course....

  Chase's human hand fell lightly atop my lupine ears and I knew the gentle touch was meant to remind me of my role within the pack. Immediately, the memory of fresh mouse fled from my taste buds and a much less pleasant aroma wafted into my nostrils to take its place.

  Justin—blood brother. Just who I don't want to see. Or, rather—smell.

  I growled despite myself, eyes scanning the room before they fell upon the offending missive in my uncle's hands. Wasn't it just like my big brother to send a letter rather than facing me head on? I hadn't set eyes upon Justin for approximately a third of my life, but seven years didn't seem like nearly enough distance to place between us. What was the big hurry? Couldn't my big brother wait to see me at our next family reunion—you know, the one scheduled to occur when hell froze over?

  Taking a deep breath, I ignored my building irritability and curiosity and instead focused on the needs of my pack. In a perfect world, I would follow Chase's lead and turn two-legged so I could soothe the worried emotions swirling around me...and also so I could read the letter clenched in my uncle's hard grip. Because, even though my lupine nose could pick out Justin's signature aroma from several feet away, the words on the envelope seemed to scatter as I looked toward them, and I couldn't so much as read my own name.

  On the other hand, I knew that I wouldn't be able to provide the strength my pack needed if I regained humanity right then. Not with my unfortunate tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve while two-legged. I'd like to think that I'd matured enough to keep my temper in check around my worried pack mates, but I was bound to at least wince at my brother's taunt.

  Because taunt it must be. Justin would never send a letter just to shoot the breeze, nor would he offer assistance in keeping my young pack fed and happy. No, my dear older brother would have found a way to stick a knife into my back, and this letter would be the twist of the handle that took out my heart.

  Luckily, Chase possessed the acting skills that I sorely lacked. So when my friend glanced my way, human head tilted to one side, I lifted my lupine chin in agreement and watched as my milk brother accepted the letter out of Oscar's hands.

  Every eye in the room was now trained on my milk brother as Chase tore through the flap of the envelope and pulled out the letter itself. The scent of my blood brother grew stronger in the air as Chase read silently, Tia and Oscar perusing the letter over his shoulder. I watched the trio with a predator's eye, analyzing the letter's contents through the minute expressions flitting across their faces, and by the way strong emotions changed each shifter's scent. Chase's nostrils flared with what I suspected was outrage on my behalf, while Tia's eyes squinted together in anticipation of my pain. But no one else noticed the signs of distress beneath the readers' clenched jaws and quiet demeanor—unlike me, my family possessed nerves of steel and knew when to keep their tension hidden deep inside.

  Well, if my inner circle could appear so calm while two-legged, then surely I could strive to exude at least as much confidence while in lupine form. I took in a deep breath through my nose, doing my best to calm the adrenaline rush that had tensed my muscles as soon as Justin's scent filled the air, then I sank down into a relaxed sit at the same moment that Chase crouched onto his heels by my side.

  My milk brother's intent had clearly been to bring his eyes level with mine, and I suspect that Chase didn't even notice how Justin's note now dangled nearly forgotten in one hand. But all I could really focus on was the scent of gun metal emanating from that paper while Chase informed me that my—and Justin's—father was finally dead.

  Good riddance. I knew I wasn't alone in that sentiment due to the murmurs emanating from the surrounding shifters, their words muted but cautiously joyful. We'd all spent the last seven years looking over our shoulders and expecting to be dragged back to my father's pack at any moment. So learning Chief Young was dead would be a weight off all of our shoulders...until, that is, Oscar prompted Chase to read the second paragraph of the letter aloud.

  "You won't be surprised, I'm sure, that I have stepped into our father's shoes," Chase quoted, Justin's harsh words sitting awkwardly on my milk brother's warm voice. "We all know you're not alpha material, and after all, I am the older son."

  Pausing, Chase let his hand fall onto my ears once again, asking without words whether I really wanted to hear this now, in front of our pack mates, where I'd need to hold onto my emotions with an iron fist.

  And, personally, I would have liked to burn the letter unread. But a glance in Tia's direction confirmed that we couldn't afford to stick our thumbs up our butts and ignore the implied threat that my blood brother's letter represented.

  So I just nuzzled Chase's hand until his eyes dropped back down onto the letter that lay between us. "He wants you to come to All-Pack," Chase continued, not reading now, but summing up the rest of the missive in his own words, likely smoothing over the rough edges while he was at it.

  But Oscar once again interrupted. "Don't paraphrase," the older shifter said firmly, his face pinched as if he'd smelled something foul. And not the good kind of foul that a hunting wolf might roll around in to mask his own scent. More like the hurt-your-nose scent of bleach accidentally mixed with ammonia while cleaning out the bathtub—unpleasant and dangerous all at once.

  "Okay," Chase said, willing as always to obey even a submissive wolf like my uncle. Still, my milk brother had to pause and gather himself before he was able to read out Justin's final demand:

  "I'll see you at All-Pack, where I expect your full support as I'm sworn in as chief of Clan Young. Don't be late, little brother. Don't betray me, or you'll be sorry."

  Justin obviously meant the entire letter to be a slight. Ha! he was saying. I always knew I'd take over Dad's job, and, more importantly, his power. You, little brother, will show up at my beck and call, a mere lackey whose worth lies
in your ability to increase my status within the packs.

  But if my blood brother knew me at all, he'd understand that I'd never wanted his current job. Alpha of a hidebound pack of back-biting uncles and cousins? I'd rather wrestle ten sharks at once while in human form. (Actually, shark-wrestling might be fun....)

  And yet, I couldn't help wondering if perhaps the time was finally right to make my own foray into All-Pack politics. Perhaps I was strong enough in my alpha powers to claim this little sliver of land that our clan had been squatting on for the better part of a decade. Perhaps the other alphas were overdue a reminder that the name "Clan Young" didn't refer only to my father's—now my brother's—pack.

  That thought was enough to still my anger sufficiently that I felt safe shifting back to two legs at last. And as I did so, Uncle Oscar pulled me into a hug. "I'm sorry about your father," he offered, although his scent belied his words. Yes, Oscar was honestly saddened that I'd been hurt by Justin's letter, but he wasn't any sorrier than I was to see the back of that wily old bastard. No worries—I thought the old man was an asshole too.

  So I voiced the emotion that lay uppermost in both of our minds. "That old codger?" I replied, letting my eyes scan across the assembled shifters. "He finally got what was coming to him. And I figure it's just about time for my brother to receive his comeuppance as well."

  "So we're not going to All-Pack?" Chase asked, his eyebrows raised in warning. My friend thought that I'd decided to thumb my nose at my brother's taunt the same way I'd ignored the outpack shifter drifting through our woods. And, as usual, my milk brother was concerned about the repercussions of my decision, worried about the shit that was likely to fly back on both me and on our pack if I ignored Justin's letter.

  Well, Chase was wise to worry...but not because I was ignoring Justin. Instead, I'd decided to meet my blood brother's threat head on at last.

  Sure, there would be power struggles and army-like entourages at the annual shifter gathering. And most of the attendees would likely be allied against us.

  But, unlike my milk brother, that kind of challenge just got my blood moving and set my eyes gleaming. "Hell, yeah, we're going to All-Pack!" I answered loudly, and my bravado was rewarded when Chase's mouth quirked up into a reluctant smile despite himself. "It's high time we found out whether Justin the Shrimp ever grew into those dinner-plate paws."

  Chapter 2

  All-Pack was a swirling cacophony of scents and sounds. Which is why, despite my best intentions to look the part of a jaded alpha, I couldn't help padding in a tight circle, taking in the shifters around me while supposedly scouting out a spot for our pack to set up camp.

  Luckily, everyone else was too busy with their own lives to notice my lapse, although Chase did clear his throat meaningfully by my side. I started to glance up at my friend, but then my attention was drawn away again, this time to a gaggle of giggling pack princesses drifting past. Without conscious volition, my tongue lolled out in an effort to capture more of the girls' enticing aroma. Maybe that outpack shifter wasn't so crazy after all....

  One girl-pup shot me a glance out of the corner of her eye and giggled louder, but the others seemed oblivious to my attention. Their guard was less forbearing, though. The brawny brute trailing along in the girls' wake growled as he passed me by, and my own hackles rose in response.

  Sure would be fun to duke it out with another alpha-leaning werewolf, I thought wistfully. Not that I particularly wanted to get to know any of those girls better. But I was used to every shifter in my vicinity backing down from the slightest sign of my displeasure. So the guard's piercing eyes made my blood pump and my muscles tense in preparation for a spring to his throat.

  Still, my eye—as much as my lupine nature would allow—was on the ball. Objective one: ensure that my pack mates could hold their own amid the other nine clans assembled for All-Pack. Objective two: find some really smelly shit to rub my brother's nose into.

  I meant the second objective figuratively. Well, mostly....

  That thought made me laugh, and my returning good humor gave me the reminder I needed to let the passing guard win his staring contest. Shrugging, I glanced up at Chase at last, whose human fingers were holding my lupine ruff in a death grip. Calm down, buddy. I'm not going to do anything stupid, I told him, the unspoken words carried loud and clear by the jaunty tilt of my head and the sparkle in my eyes.

  At home, my milk brother would have swatted my nose in retaliation for giving him such a scare. But here, Chase was even more aware of my missing dignity than usual, his eyes scanning the crowd in front of us in search of danger or imagined slights, and I knew he wouldn't remonstrate with me in public. Earlier, my friend had begged me to don two legs for our introduction to polite society, but that had seemed like a terrible idea since I was even more erratic and unlikeable on two legs than on four. So we'd instead settled on allowing Chase to be in charge of dealing with the furless, while I padded along at his side as silent but menacing muscle.

  Sounded like a good deal at the time since I was always willing to let my milk brother take the lead if it floated his boat. But now I was starting to wonder whether the two of us had gotten in over our heads, walking unprepared into this melee of laughing, growling, posturing, and flirting shifters.

  "Welcome." The word came from behind our backs, and we both whirled, Chase nearly toppling over in his haste to find out whether the greeting emanated from friend or foe. Despite our plan to let Chase speak for the two of us, I surged forward to give my milk brother time to recover his composure, then looked up into the deepest eyes I'd ever seen.

  Usually, shifters kept their lupine natures under wraps when walking two-footed, but I could tell that the middle-aged man standing in front of me was more of my own school of thought on the issue. Why put the wolf to sleep when canine senses were so powerful, even if pointy teeth had to be hidden beneath human gums? This man's wolf was alert and rampant behind his human eyes, and despite my seven-year absence from All-Pack, I recognized him instantly.

  "Chief Wilder," Chase greeted our host, holding out one hand in greeting and proving that he also had guessed the man's identity. But even though Chase had called our host by the right name, my milk brother clearly hadn't understood the implications of the wolf lurking behind the man's eyes.

  Crazy Wilder, as shifters liked to call this man behind his back, was the host of All-Pack for good reason. He was the biggest, baddest shifter around. And, unfortunately, he and I both knew that shaking hands with a submissive werewolf barely old enough to drink was miles beneath the other alpha's dignity. The only question was how hard our host would slap my friend down.

  Sure enough, the older man stared pointedly at the offending appendage until Chase flushed and let the hand fall back against his side. Despite knowing exactly what was coming, my lip curled upwards at my friend's embarrassment and I placed the first mark in my mental tally book against Chief Wilder. Some day, I'd pay him back in spades.

  I didn't growl, though. First, there were my prime directives to consider. And, second, Chief Wilder's wolf was stronger than that of any shifter I'd ever met, and for once in my life I wasn't entirely sure I could take another werewolf down if a verbal altercation descended into a pitched battle.

  It was a strange sensation to feel cowed by another alpha, and a more human shifter would have puffed up his chest and tried to hide his weakness beneath brave words. But I was more intrigued than threatened at the concept of such a powerful shifter. And, apparently, Chief Wilder was equally intrigued by me, because he immediately proceeded to tweak my tail.

  "You're the spitting image of your brother," the older man said, and I could tell from the glint in his eyes that our host knew Justin was the last shifter I'd ever want to be compared to.

  Now I did emit the tiniest growl before I was able to stifle my annoyance. Last time I'd seen Justin, he was a gawky teenager, half my bulk due to spending his childhood on two legs instead of four. I sure hoped I didn't lo
ok anything like my brother...although perhaps Justin had grown into his wolf over the intervening years.

  "So I assume you're here to stand with Clan Young?" Chief Wilder continued, and despite myself I shifted upwards at last so I could speak my mind. No way was I going to let Chase tangle with the All-Pack host while I stood by and looked on like an empty-headed four-legger.

  "Well, in as much as I'm a Young and I lead a pack," I replied coldly, my speedy shift requiring only the slightest pause in the conversation. Sure, it probably looked a little bad for me to be standing around naked conversing with the All-Pack host, but who the hell cared? "Yes, in that respect I'm here to stand with Clan Young," I continued. "But perhaps not with the Clan Young you're thinking of."

  For a moment, the two of us stood there, chin to chin, eyes locked and fists clenched. I could feel Chase behind my back, struggling to think of a way to defuse the situation before I got both of us killed, but still willing to leap into the fray to protect my back if necessary. Further away, a car door slammed and I smelled Oscar emerging from the vehicle where I'd left him in charge of our pack's weaker members.

  Yes, in complete disregard for tradition, I'd come to All-Pack with my entire unruly clan of halfies, women, children, and disgraced shifters in tow. The deal was that I didn't trust my blood brother not to lead an ambush against my pack mates while I wasn't around to protect them, and Tia didn't trust me not to get my ass handed to me if I attended All-Pack alone. So we'd all piled into cars and caravanned down the interstate together to answer my brother's call.