River Wolf(106)

When the spine cracked, then shattered under his bite, Mischa’s struggle ceased. Brett rose and threw his head back to howl his triumph. Bloodied and furious, he eyed the female rushing toward him. She never made it. A bloody hole appeared in the center of her forehead and gore exploded from the back of her skull in bits of bone and brain matter. She was dead before she hit the pavement.

Luc walked forward slowly and Brett turned to face him. The acrid stink of gunpowder joined the scents of blood and death.

“So,” he said, conversationally before squatting down and lowering his eyes in deference to the battle fury flooding Brett. “What next, boss?”







The weekend gathering was in full swing, and Brett stood in the center of a large group of wolves. He’d returned late into the night from his Alpha Challenge, bloody and bruised, but alive. She wished like hell she could remember it. She’d still been wolf, shifting only after she fell asleep. For the first time in a long time, when she woke near dawn she’d not given into the urge to fall asleep again. Instead, she’d inspected Brett and woke him in the process.

Long red welts bisecting his scars marred his shoulder. Vivid blue-black bruises decorated his chest and his left leg…it wept in places. She’d been torn between touching and wanting to avoid hurting him. He’d tried to sit and cuddle her, but she pushed him down and focused on his leg. Everything in her wanted it better, and when she touched both sides of the wounds it began to knit itself closed.

He’d sucked in a deep breath, but remained silent through the whole process. When she finished, exhaustion rolled over her and when he caught her, she laid her head on his wounded chest. The steady beat of his heart brought tears to her eyes and she did the one thing she’d always sworn to avoid. She cried all over him. Instead of being repulsed, Brett stroked her hair and nuzzled her forehead. He’d held her. Comforted her. Then when she pushed herself upright and slapped his unwounded shoulder, he’d grinned at her.

Across the field, she caught him glancing at her, the same heart-stopping smile alighting on his face. He’d slept for a good portion of the day, slept because she’d insisted and kept him pinned in the bed. Though a part of her knew if he’d been needed, he wouldn’t have let her keep him there. He’d stayed because she needed him to be in her arms and she’d needed him to be safe.

They’d talked about everything and nothing for hours. Yet watching him interact with the other wolves, though, taught her more. He was vital to his pack. They all glanced at him from time to time no matter what they were doing. Why shouldn’t they? He seemed to glow from deep within. He wore his power well.

When he raised his eyebrows, she shook her head. She was fine where he was and his pack—yes, calling a whole community pack would take some getting used to—needed reassurance. They flooded him in waves. Everyone wanted a word, a touch, a hug. He shook hands with the men, kissed the women on the forehead or the cheek and hugged more than his share from nine months to ninety years. Every group seemed happier after they’d been around him, their excited chatter rising and falling like the ebb and flow of the tide.

Next to her on the bench was an envelope. Brett had her investigated the day she arrived in Story Pointe. Had it really only been a week ago? No wonder dogs aged seven years for every one human year, she could hardly imagine being anywhere else. Though she intended to keep that observation to herself unless she and Brett were fighting. He didn’t like it when she called them dogs.

The envelope held secrets about her life. He hadn’t opened it. As he’d explained when he handed it to her an hour before the gathering started. Wolves, he’d told her, could be turned but were most often born. But a wolf could only be borne from wolves. Her mother, if she wasn’t a full-blown wolf had to be latent like her and chances were, her father was also a wolf. Her biological father…not a subject she thought on much. The man she’d called Dad her whole life was a regular guy, an accountant, steady as the day was long and easy going though he maintained her mother’s strict rules. Did she have any business reading about a person her mother never mentioned? Brett told her he would respect her choice. He still wanted to meet her mother and she’d changed the subject back to his injuries.

Still wounded, he wouldn’t let her try to heal him anymore. The lecture after that argument still rung in her ears. Healers needed time to restore their own energy, and she was too new and too untrained.

Then he caressed her cheek. “I might have some new scars, but I’ll have earned them. If you overextend, you could truly do yourself harm and then I wouldn’t have you.” Those sweet words deflated her argument. Gillian was absent from the gathering. She and her mate were friends, and allies, but they were not pack. The meal, the party, and the conversation were about renewing pack bonds.