Her Wanted Wolf (47 page)

“Can you pinpoint their location?”

Bombarded from every angle, she couldn’t tell where it came from; the
needle on the internal compass she used to locate by scent spun wildly, out of
control.

She shook her head. “Not at this rate of speed, it lessens the effects. I
need to be in were form to interpret what I feel.” A shiver ran through her.

There was something out there.

Death. Its cloyingly sweet aroma slithered through the air with a gleeful
malevolence, adding to her apprehension. A shiver racked Sabine’s body. It was
a fresh kill. The coppery tartness of recently spilled blood coated her tongue.
As it would every werekin’s.

Was it warning or a blatant challenge?

“I need to get out of here, Drew.” Feeling caged, she slid across the
bench seat and pulled ineffectually at the lever that would open the door. She
had to find the source of the unseen threat.

“Sabine wait, we’re still moving.” He rapped on the ceiling, and the van
pulled to a jerky stop. She scrambled out and breathed deeply, filling her
lungs with the air tainted with oil, salt, death, and the familiar reassuring
scent of her race.

Behind her, the vehicles her pack sisters rode in pulled up. They
scrambled out, their bodies quivering with the same frenetic need to find the
source of their distress, to put a stop to the persistent clamoring of their
senses.

She felt Drew coming up behind rather than smelling his essence.
Disoriented, she twisted and turned seeking a trail, her senses off kilter.

He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Settle down,
babe. Don’t let them mess with your head.”

He was right as always. She laughed, apologetic. “Sorry, gave in to my
anxiety for a moment there.”

Sabine dragged in a calming breath and centered herself. Gritting her
teeth, she stopped shying away from the sting-sear pounding at her senses.
Pushing down her revulsion, she opened up and immersed herself in her
impressions to search for the font of her disquiet. It was easier than before,
now that she’d gotten over her shock. Using what she knew, Sabine worked around
what she didn’t comprehend, yet. And found what she sought.

Yes, there they were, hidden in the shadows, crouched, silently waiting
for an opening to take advantage of any weakness. Their presence now was a mere
irritant rather than a menace. There was no reason why it should come at her
from all points, unless…it came from above.

Sabine tensed; they were being watched. A hunter by nature, being eyed as
potential prey was an unsettling feeling.

Drew’s hands tightened, she lifted her gaze to see worried questions in
his eyes. She smiled at her mate with a growing confidence, now that she had an
inkling where to start her hunt. The were in her uncoiled and the gift
inherited through her Silverwolf bloodline stretched and adapted to overcome the
influencing effect attempting to deceive her sense of smell. More than any
other pack, they lived by their olfactory acuteness, had mastery over the
layers of scent that drifted on the currents.

Touching the spot where she’d been bitten, a shudder shook her, but the
excitement of a hunt urged her to shift, track, and disable her enemies.

She murmured, “They were watching us from above. We have to go now, they
are on the move.”

“I know you have to go.” Drew pressed his lips to her brow. “Be careful,
the emanations of wounded and dead weres are heavy in the air.”

“You will know where I am every second I am away from your side, as I
will know where you are. Be safe.” Sabine pushed back from him If she lingered
any longer, she might lose her nerve.

Doubt flickered through Drew’s eyes. “Your job is to locate the weres we
seek, nothing more.”

Oh, she didn’t intend to tangle with those wolves, but she’d make sure
they didn’t get away. “I will do better. I will tag them with a lure. There is
nowhere they can hide from you, you’ll be able to find them with my marker.”

“I’m not sure I want those assholes smelling like you.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Not like me, of me. A Silverwolf will be able to find him. It’s like a pheromone-borne
homing device.”

“After you’re done, find a defensible position until I find you. I have
to face Bardo before I relinquish my right of retribution to Micah.”

“I won’t do anything to jeopardize the making of our future cub.” The
softening of her body in preparation to conceive had begun. She grinned at him
with a relief she couldn’t share.

Her breasts, heavy and achy, chafed against the shirt she wore,
accompanied by a fullness in her pelvis and loins. Sabine kept a tight rein on
what she exuded. If Drew got a whiff of her readiness, his were would not
tolerate a separation, no matter how short. He didn’t need the distraction.

“Royal and his men will be at your back. Dex will be at your side. Most
my personal guard will be with you. Rafe has to be by my side as my primo,
though I’d have preferred he was with you.”

She didn’t know whether to be touched or annoyed. “We all have our roles
to play. His is by your side at this time.” She glanced over at Rafe, Micah and
the other weres of his pack jumping down from the bus they were crowded in.
Royal’s people joined the throng. Those that traveled down with them slid from
the cars and vans, others that were there ahead of them separated from the
shadows, standing in wait for his next command.

“I believe I’m in good hands. You wouldn’t take a chance with my safety.”

He shook his head. “Not with you, never with you.” He hauled her up for a
short, hard, knee-weakening kiss, before he dropped her back onto her feet.

Dazed, Sabine blinked several times and watched her mate move away from
her in a fluid, ground-eating stride. The itchy ache settled in her heart with
each step he took.

Drew stalked across the deserted parking area shedding his borrowed
clothes as he went. In a rippling release of fur and bulky muscles, Drew
shifted and fell on all fours. A commanding example of an alpha were in his
prime, he lifted his head, and summoned his pack to come to his side. They
answered and the Lunedares raced to him
en masse
.

He turned and faced the brooding Micah, his expression shaded by the
gloom

“Oh fuck it all to hell,” Micah grumbled, ripping off his own clothing,
reluctance in every stiff motion. He morphed in a surge rather than a ripple,
the mass of him awesome in its massive lethalness. It had some weres skittering
back.

Micah let out a roar. The other Redmavens did as he ordered and
transformed to wolf form.

With a final glance at Sabine, Drew motioned with his muzzle for Micah to
join him. He lumbered over to Drew’s side, and shoulder to shoulder they took
off into the darkness.

Sabine let out a shuddering sigh and watched them disappear. She gathered
Drew’s clothes and buried her nose in them, drawing in his scent. Would he come
back to her unscathed?

“I’ll put those away in the bus.” Sirah, Royal’s primo gently eased the
clothing from her grip. “He’s going to need them later after the fight, which I
have no doubt he will win.”

Sabine gave a brief smile to show her gratitude and glanced up at the
buildings towering above them, shrouded in silence, not giving anything away.
The wasn’t a flicker of movement, no twig being snapped under a paw, no
recognizable sound of fur brushing by a bush, or prey scrambling out of the way
at the approach of a predator. She missed the forests and all the tells that
would guide her.

Sabine had never hunted in an environment like this, but she’d adapt.

Rolling his shoulders, Royal stepped over to her. “So, sweetness, how do
you want to play this?” Royal asked, straining at the figurative leash put on
him to see to her safety.

“How do you feel about heights?”

* *
* *

Drew would never admit to Royal that he was right, but staging a battle
in the city brought with it a particular set of problems. They were out of
their element in a city where the buildings were packed together, which didn’t
give them much room to maneuver.

But a fight was a fight, and it was the were who was faster, stronger,
more agile and more cunning who’d triumph tonight.

The scent of blood grew stronger as they approached the warehouse Bardo
was holed up in.

A growl rattled in Micah’s chest and Drew slowed his run to a trot.
Directly in their path lay the bodies of two wolves. Rivulets of blood trickled
across the tarmac to wet their paws. Even in the dark, he could see that their
throats and bellies had been ripped out. The odor of a disembowelment worked its
way over to them, rank and sickening, it filled their muzzles. The evidence of having
been attacked by more than one wolf was clear. With their jugulars shredded,
the blood loss would be too much to overcome, and they had been left there to
bleed out.

Micah, after extricating himself from the mass of lupine bodies, walked
over to the fallen pair. He sniffed them and nudged them with his nose. In a
flash, he shifted and turned to Drew.

His eyes savage and iced over with fury, Micah picked one were up in his
arms, cradling him with a gentleness denoting his grief.

“Left out the open like refuse. They didn’t deserve to die like this, not
without a fair chance to defend themselves.”

“We won’t leave them here. We’ll put the bodies in one of the buses;
we’ll perform a proper passing ceremony for them later.” Drew dipped his head
and a pair of his younger beta males shifted. One relieved Micah of his burden,
the second retrieved the other dead were and they trotted off in the direction
they’d come from.

Bathed in his pack brother’s blood, Micah let out a vengeful howl,
shifted and raced off, his pack mates hot on his heels.

Shit, Micah was in the grip of a blood hunt, driven by a berserker’s
mindless rage.

Drew raced after him and almost barreled into Micah’s butt when he
stopped abruptly. What greeted them was the fallout of a massacre, pure
unadulterated carnage. Bardo Redmaven’s small army was decimated. Dead and
dying weres littered the fenced-in lot fronting the building which was ripe
with Redmaven’s signature musk. The door swung drunkenly from its hinges,
creaking mournfully in a mournful dirge.

Crap, they’d miscalculated. Badly.

The rattling gasp of someone breathing their last reached them. Drew
shifted from were form and ran over to see what he could do to help.

Shit, he couldn’t believe it. He’d always knew he’d come face to face
with Bardo but not like this. He wasn’t that badly wounded but the fucker was
dying. He wasn’t going to get the ass-kicking he deserved, and yet he glared up
at Drew with a mocking malice. An asshole to the end.

All the hate and his desire for retribution melted into pity. Drew
actually felt compassion for the were lying at his feet.

“Micah!” he called over his shoulder.

Micah trotted over and hesitated before he changed and knelt by Bardo’s
side.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the turncoat,” Bardo gurgled, through blood-stained
teeth. Crimson fluid trickled from the side of his mouth, nose, and ears.

“Traitor! You’re calling me a traitor? Look what you did to your kin.”

Bardo’s eyes flared with a zealous insanity. “It was for the glory of the
Redmavens, as my father planned, but you were too short-sighted to see it. We were
about to reclaim what was ours.” A bout of coughing racked his body, and he
spat up clots blood. “Give Ambervane a message for me. Tell him we took a bit
of what he stole from us.”

Bardo’s glassy eyes flicked over the throng of weres crowded around him.
“None of you will have any peace. It will all burn down around your ears. Your
women will cower in fear for their cubs and mates. I’ve set the course of
werekin history, even though I won’t be here to see it.”

The hell he would, Drew thought. “Well, you’re not dead yet, and for the
sake of our women and our cubs, we’ll remedy that. You’ll die knowing you had
no say in who’ll be the next Redmaven alpha,” Drew pointed out coldly. He hoped
Micah understood his implication.

Micah gripped Bardo’s chin to capture his unfocused gaze. “The Redmavens
will take their place in were society. It won’t be the path you chose for us;
we’ll carve out our own destiny.” Unsheathing his claws, Micah sank them into
Bardo’s chest and ripped out his barely beating heart.

Bardo died, his lips forming a snarl of denial.

“You’ll carry the scent of Bardo’s death on you when you face the
council. Rifkin will have no claim on the leadership of your pack. He ran
before he finished Bardo off. You are the Redmavens’ alpha, and according to
our customs, it is irrevocable.”

His eyes haunted, Micah stared at him. “Yeah? Then why the hell do I feel
like the shit hasn’t hit the fan yet?”

Drew looked at the dead. Every were there felt the loss of so many of the
race, the waste of so much potential. Losing so many wolves in their prime
would weaken Micah’s pack even more, making them vulnerable to stronger packs.
Micah was going to have his hands full for the next couple of decades.

“Get up, Micah, we are weres. As alpha, you’ll have to make some hard
decisions. That was your first. Claim your position, for your weres,
she-wolves, and cubs. Get on your fucking feet and proclaim your right to the
leadership of your pack for all to hear. There is no time to wallow in self
pity.”

Micah’s head jerked up, and he was back. Eyes narrowed, they burned with
a kick-ass attitude. He sprang to his feet, teeth bared.

“What are you waiting for? My permission?” Drew taunted.

Micah flung back his head and let out a howl, declaring his ascendancy.
He emitted spoor into the air, the scent of his kill in it, calling any
Redmaven to challenge him for the position. His pack mates responded, broadcasting
their recognition and loyalty to Micah in a pack song.