The groan mingled with a chuckle his best friend released helped to lighten some of the tension grinding in Brett’s bones, but he meant the sentiment nonetheless. His blood hummed and an ease he hadn’t experienced since before Hatcher passed stretched inside of him. The hollow points, the dark places—they were all still present but no longer a soul sucking void he needed to guard his pack from.
A burn of anxiety layered Luc’s scent at the headlights shining ahead of them. The vehicle slowed, but didn’t stop. Duncan’s orders were to fall back a good mile from the point where Brett would engage. Mischa brought only one wolf with him so Brett would do the same.
The memory of his pack’s embrace, their support washing over him and the way they embraced him before the not-fight with Landon. The hum of their faith seemed to ripple over his skin. Next to him, Luc grew tenser by the moment. The vehicle stopped twenty yards away.
“Stay here,” he told him. “Do what you have to, if necessary.”
Not waiting for a response, he strode forward. The Russians exited their vehicle with the male walking to meet him. Like Luc, the female waited by leaning against the vehicle.
Ten feet separating them, Brett stopped. “Mischa Markov.”
“Da.” The man pressed a fist to his sternum and bowed slightly. He stood a shade over six feet, but he was solid, brawny muscle with a ruddy complexion, which shone on his bald pate. A hint of a tilt to his eyes suggested a mixed ancestry, but he had an almost bullish expression and a jaw so square, he could cut paper with it. “Brett Dalton, Alpha of Hudson River.”
“All day.” But the humor didn’t even graze the other man. Unlike Landon, his posture didn’t change nor did his stony expression. “What is the name of your pack?”
“Krasivyye Lyudi.” His heavy accent made the words nearly unintelligible, but the name meant nothing to him. It wasn’t the same pack as the brutal wolf he’d fought before.
“You have claimed Alpha Challenge?” Not relaxing his guard at the lack of motion or posturing on the part of the other wolf. Power, contained and deadly, surrounded Mischa. Brett’s wolf had gone predator still at his approach. The battle they faced would not be as simply provoked or ended.
“Da.” One word of acknowledgement. No offers or counter offers. The discussion was over. With one motion, he stripped away his shirt, revealing a body littered with scars and battle marks. His neck seemed as thick as his biceps. Nothing spare lived on that body.
Shedding his own shirt, Brett’s attention never wavered as the Russian removed his shoes and stripped away his belt. He spread his arms and turned in a slow circle before removing his pants and standing only in a pair of form fitting briefs. Pure, unadulterated muscle. He would hit like a freight train.
To his credit, Luc said nothing as Brett stripped down to his briefs, then shed them. Nothing would impede him or his wolf. As Mischa had done, Brett held his arms wide, but he didn’t give the bastard his back nor did he look away from him for a moment. They honored an old tradition of showing no weapons. They were the weapons.
Holding a pack required power of personality and personal sacrifice. Taking one was a savage art, borne of blood and fire. Brett had walked through the fire, and waded through blood. This wolf would not remove them.
His wolf’s calm assurance spilled into his veins, and Brett lifted his chin. “I will give you a single chance to yield.” Once the fight started, he wouldn’t be so merciful. The wolf challenging him wanted no mercy and Brett found he had none left to give. Landon’s distracting attempt, the rebellion in his pack, and the restlessness in his soul had drained him of the last dregs. If the Russians wanted fire and blood, then they would have it.
“Krasivyye Lyudi expect no mercy. We fight to death, Ubiytsa Volk.”
The conversation was over. Mischa didn’t lunge immediately, he went for the shift. To interrupt a shift was considered taboo among all wolves and, even without witnesses, Brett wouldn’t have interfered. He simply reached for his wolf, and the animal was ready for him. It had sat back for far too long, soaked in the losses to their people and been denied the right to claim its mate. The wolf shifting before them was another obstacle.
Obstacles needed to be removed.
Before the Russian completed his change, Brett stood on four legs. The wolf dismissed the woman watching and left Luc to guard their back. They trusted Luc, his wolf was loyal and true. He would never say what he did not mean and he would never not fight for him. That was the gift of pack.
Hudson River is mine. His to shelter. His to protect. His to defend. His. When the Russian wolf completed his change, his size no longer matter nor did his deep silver, almost white coloring. Lips peeling away from his teeth in a warning snarl, he stared at the other wolf daring him to complete the challenge.