Sacrifice of Love (The Grey Wolves #7)(65)

Wes pursed his lips. “You’re hilarious.”
I poked him in the ribs and his glare dissolved into an unwilling smile.
“I do what I can,” I said, relieved he’d chosen to let it go.
I trailed kisses down the side of his face and his smile widened. When I got to his jaw, he turned his head so our lips met. I drew him closer and held on, letting the heat creep in. I still sensed frustration under the surface but I knew I couldn’t extinguish it completely. The bond bothered him as much as it bothered me—maybe more. Unless it was broken, there was no getting rid of his frustration, not entirely.
I ran my hands up the back of his neck and let my fingers tangle in his hair. The kiss deepened, his chest relaxing against me.
He broke it off before we could get carried away. I knew he was thinking of what George must be sensing right now, but I didn’t want to get into that again. On top of that, the noise in my head was getting a little distracting for the sort of activity we were engaged in.
Forty-six.
That’s how many hybrids had survived the Hunter attack in the woods after I revived them with an injection of my blood. That’s how many followed me home to Frederick Falls. And that’s how many were now linked to me through a blood bond. At its base form, the bond was an emotional connection—or at least it had been when I’d only been bonded with my friend, (and ex-boyfriend. Long story.) George. But with forty-six more of them bonded to me through a mostly-magical-but-also-somehow-scientifically-explainable blood connection, it’d become strong enough that I’d begun hearing actual voices on occasion.
The first two days were the worst. It had taken me three valium and fourteen hours of sleep before I’d convinced myself the voices were real and not some sort of psychotic break after all I’d been through. My mother still wasn’t entirely convinced.
Fee had pointed out the bright side: though it’d taken twice as long as if I’d shifted into a Werewolf, all that rest had healed my dislocated shoulder and any other injuries left over from my time with Olivia.
When the bond happened with George a couple of months ago, I’d wondered how I’d ever get used to constantly having access to someone else’s emotions. It was a live feed with no “off” button. And for a while, it was overwhelming, making it impossible to know which reactions were mine and which were his. Not to mention the awkwardness of him feeling what I did. Especially when things got a little heavy with a certain Werewolf boyfriend of mine. Wes found it amusing—until he realized a shared, constant stream of emotion meant he didn’t get past first base. Then he was as frustrated as me. 
I’d just begun to get it under control, finding ways to turn the volume down a few notches, when I’d woken the bond between myself and the dozens of hybrids Miles DeLuca created before he’d been killed. After his death, his mother, Olivia, had forced me to inject them all with my blood as a means to save them from the change of becoming what could only be described as a rabid, conscious-less Werewolf with yellow eyes and an appetite for human guts. Their survival rate—and likelihood of turning out a little more humane—was better with a little Tara Godfrey blood in them.
Most had been Hunters before their change—a superhuman created with the ability to kill a Werewolf in order to protect humans—so their bodies were strong enough to accept the change and hang on. But a lot of the humans had died before I got there, which is why there’d been only forty-six.
The memory of a room full of the dead and dying was an ongoing nightmare for me. Valium helped. And sometimes Wes came through my window and held me tight enough there was no room for the memory. Those were the nights I slept best.
And now, whether I wanted them or not, the pack of hybrids was mine. Not just because I could hear and feel everything in their heads. It was more than that. When the bond formed, it was like my body or my heart itself melded to theirs and I cared. That was the weirdest part. These people—or animals—were strangers to me. I didn’t know their names or recognize their faces like so many Hunters that’d grown up in the same community. None of them had meant anything to me before that day. But now … the thought of parting with them disturbed me. Imagining them hurt stirred a protectiveness in me that awakened my Werewolf side. The alpha. And maybe because I cared, the constant hum being poured into my head was driving me crazy.
The only thing I’d found that quieted the noise was music. Really, really loud music.
At least the rest of the pack couldn’t read me as well as George could. With practice, I’d gotten better at filtering what slipped through into their awareness. I’d tried to do the same with George but I couldn’t seem to keep him out. It’s like he tried extra hard to stay inside my head. The rest of them were weaker, more agreeable to my pushing them out. Vera said it was an alpha thing, which didn’t comfort me much since I couldn’t manage to do the reverse. I heard every single one of them, whether I wanted to or not.
I needed a break. A deep breath. Not that it helped in clearing my head. Nothing did.
I looked around for my headphones.
My thoughts clouded and jumbled as the volume increased. Someone yelped out loud and it echoed through my skull.
“What’s that?” Wes asked, drawing away and raising his face to the ceiling.
I sniffed. The smell of burnt hair permeated the air. I didn’t waste time trying to cover my face against the odor. Instead, I jumped to my feet and shoved the flap aside, searching camp for the source.
My tent had been constructed in the center of the clearing. All around me, makeshift tarps and tents and everything in between that could possibly be used to escape the elements had been thrown together in haphazard rows. There was no system, only open space and taken space. The boundaries of each shifted daily.
For once, I was glad to be in the center of the chaos the hybrids called home. It gave me a great view for searching out drama and mischief—of which there was plenty.“Where is it coming from?” Wes asked, joining me.
“There.”
In the far left corner, beside a wounded-looking tent, an aging Werewolf-hybrid cowered underneath the menace of Nick. He was a hybrid as well, turned from Hunter to Werewolf in his prime. He was stronger and faster than a lot of the others. But not me. Not the alpha.
“Be right back,” I said.
“I’m going with you.”
Wes and I picked our way around tents and other obstacles. Torn shoes. Clothes—some shredded, some coated in mud from being left outside during last night’s rainstorm. Any other personal effects were out of sight. Possessions were limited and therefore closely guarded.
I approached Nick warily. More and more lately, he attempted to exert authority over the others. That wasn’t going to fly. I had the authority here.
“Nick,” I called. My voice was at normal volume but the severity of it was enough to get the attention of everyone in sight. “What the hell is going on?”
“Rafe decided to sneak into my tent and go through my stuff,” Nick said.
I looked at the older hybrid. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him as a human. His yellow eyes, normally gentle and clear, were wide in contained pain. He was missing fur in several places on his shoulders and face. What was left smoked faintly. The smell was worse standing this close.
“Is this true?” I asked.
Rafe stared up at me where he lay flat on the dirt before Nick. Behind the pain in his eyes was defiance. “He took my watch. It’s the one thing I have from before. I want it back.”
“You went into his tent because he went into yours?” I asked. Rafe nodded. “Nick?”
He scowled and averted his eyes. I followed their track to the ground and found a pile of shredded fabric underneath Nick’s paws. And half buried in a pile of pine needles, a lighter.
I bent down and picked up the lighter, making sure Nick watched me pocket it. Then I marched over and got in his face. “Apologize to him.”
He blew a short breath out of his nostrils. It hit my face and I almost gagged. Werewolf Nick was in desperate need of some mouthwash. “For what?” he spat. “I didn’t do anyth—”
“Give him back the watch and apologize,” I said, cutting him off.
“Is everything …?” Cambria walked up behind me but stopped short when she saw Rafe. “Holy cow. Are you all right? What happened?” Before anyone could answer, she clapped a hand over her nose. “You really stink.”
I shot her a look. She shrugged. “Well, he does.”
“Should’ve stayed out of my tent,” Nick muttered. 
My hands tightened into fists at Nick’s nasty attitude. I had to will my shape to stay solidly human. I badly wanted to shift, but I’d already ruined two outfits this week.
Rafe made some noise of protest and Nick growled.
“Nick, calm your ass,” Cambria snapped.
“He went through my tent,” Nick said.
“Stop stealing from people and they’ll stay out of your tent,” I said, my voice rising as my patience thinned.
“This is bullshit. He had it coming.” The way Nick spat out the words, his lips pulled back from his teeth, made it hard not to bite him—without even shifting first.
My wolf rose to the surface. Nick was pushing me. My wolf wanted to push back. “Bullshit, huh?” I said. “He came for his property and you burned him.”