Pack and Coven (24 page)

Violet's grip on June eased. “Don't give up yet, Sue. He's around here somewhere.”

“Who?” June asked, but they ignored her.

While Gavin paced, Bianca strolled around the ring, making eye contact with each person. The cups progressed faster than she did until Susan held two of them, the green smell of peppermint reaching June's nose.

She twisted her arms, and one of her hands slid out of the restraint. Finally. She kept it hidden. Bianca reached Susan, June and Violet, touching Susan's hand where it rested against June's neck, before continuing onward.

“Enough,” Gavin ordered. “The one-on-one crap comes later. Instate me.”

Bianca returned to his side. Some might view her as obedient. Those people hadn't seen her face. Or her hands, curled into claws. “I suppose we have to do this. Is there anyone here who challenges Gavin Householder for the position of Millington pack alpha?”

Amid a sudden murmur of voices, a large gray wolf padded out of the shadows and into the firelight. He shimmered, stretching upward, until he solidified into a man. A lean, familiar man with a head of dark, shaggy hair and a smile that dared anyone to question his presence at the ceremony.

“I do.”

Gavin rammed into Harry before he had a chance to aim the gun. The pistol flew out of his hand, skidding across the dirt into the pine boughs. Harry landed on his back, the other shifter's hands around his throat.

The bridge had been guarded by heavily armed young men when he'd reached it, and they hadn't so much as blinked when he trotted past. He'd crossed the swaying suspension bridge and approached the circle unchallenged.

Was it the spell or was his timing exquisite?

When he got to the ring, the two-legs parted to let him pass. Even though he was a wolf, even though he was breaking pack law, no one stopped him. Several had stroked his fur. Many had smiled. One woman had whispered, “Thank God.”

But none could help him, and he'd just lost his primary advantage. His only advantage. He'd planned to force Gavin to stand down and take his place in the ceremony. Vern had been right about one thing. What did Harry care about the pack's opinion of him using a gun if it meant June was safe?

Being pack alpha would have been tricky enough, but now it seemed he'd be lucky to survive the encounter.

Harry yanked at Gavin's wrists, and the other man squeezed harder. The packer's strength cut off his wind.

“Stop him,” a woman screamed. “He'll kill Harry.”

June. Was she all right? Harry had scented her but hadn't seen her. He dug his nails into Gavin's fingers, craning his head in her direction.

Not enough range of vision. All he accomplished was letting Gavin get a better grip.

“You dumbass.” Gavin shook Harry, banging his head against the dirt. “I'm pack. I'm alpha. You're nobody. Your mother couldn't take me and neither can you.”

Harry whipped up his knees, pounding Gavin in the back. The other man lurched forward. Harry slammed his skull into Gavin's face.

Bone crunched. Blood splattered.

“First blood to Smith,” someone cheered.

Gavin let go of Harry long enough to punch him. Pain splintered through his head and he struck back, scrambling. He couldn't gain purchase in the blood streaking Gavin's arms.

Gavin, blood drizzling from his nose, got his hands back around Harry's neck and tightened. Spots appeared in Harry's vision, sparks of firelight. Was this going to be over before it started?

No time to be squeamish. Or sportsmanlike.

Harry was taller than Gavin. He went for the eyes.

Gavin howled and released his hold, protecting his face. Harry's instincts told him to shift to a wolf, fight with tooth and claw, but he wasn't the feral here.

Despite the shifters' worship of the wolf, the contest to rule a pack was between men. A gun Harry would risk. A shift would mark him for death—as if Gavin hadn't already done so.

Harry heaved the other man up and over, rolling toward the bonfire. The ring of mesmerized two-legs broke when Gavin tumbled near, none allowed to interfere once the challenge had begun.

Gavin grabbed a large branch from the circle, his muscles bulging as he ripped off limbs. Blood oozed from his nose and his eye was beginning to swell shut. Harry's throat and face ached with bruises. No doubt he looked as rough as Gavin.

No doubt he'd look a lot rougher after two more minutes of this.

They circled each other, Gavin thrusting with the wood. Harry spotted June, tossing a chair into the circle as if she hoped he could use it as a weapon, and ducked under a swing. Another. And another.

Barely.

He was not going to win a contest of strength. He had no idea where the gun was. Nor could he reach the chair June had thrown. He had to come up with something to stall so the coven could move into position. They'd told him they didn't have the power to put the pack to sleep, yet they promised they'd extract June if he played his part. It was all he had.

So he played.

“What the hell are you wearing, a rabbit?” he asked Gavin. His voice was gravelly. If he could make the other man angry, perhaps he'd become careless.

Gavin growled and advanced. Harry skidded to one side, nearly colliding with Bianca.

She didn't budge from her spot near the bonfire, a delighted smile stretching across her face.

“Chicken shit.” Gavin bared his teeth. “You're going to die tonight, Lapin. Finally.”

How could anyone say Harry was chicken when he'd challenged a shifter who was the odds-on favorite? Indie versus packer? He was surprised he'd lasted as long as he had.

Harry danced away from the branch, letting it smack his hands. He tried to yank it free, but Gavin had momentum. The flesh on Harry's palms ripped on the sharp wood.

“I love it when men fight over me,” Bianca taunted.

Harry wasn't sure if she intended to rile him or Gavin. The other man knew Harry was the pack's choice—knew he wasn't wanted. Why was Bianca so pleased by this unbalanced fight? What did she know that Harry didn't?

Gavin threw the log at Harry and used the distraction to close on him. His fist caught Harry in the gut.

Air whooshed out of his lungs. Harry threw himself sideways to avoid an uppercut to the jaw. The blow glanced off his shoulder. Gavin swung again, missed and caught Harry's arm when he attempted to reciprocate.

He wrenched it upward, trying to twist it behind Harry's back. Harry dropped instead and pitched Gavin over his shoulder.

When Gavin landed, it was Harry's turn to pin him to the ground, hands around the other man's throat. Gavin gagged and clawed. Harry felt a burst of triumph, a primal urge to squeeze the life out of his opponent. The flesh, the bones of the throat, compressed beneath his fingers.

But Gavin was pack, and Harry was not. The other man threw Harry off. Blows rained on his head and shoulders, savage blows. The fists stopped, Harry caught his breath, and suddenly Gavin was flying through the air feet first like a ninja.

Harry didn't duck in time. The unexpected attack snapped his head back. Felled him like a tree. Nausea rose in his gorge and he remembered Vern's advice to shift. But shifting would mean failure, maybe death, if he couldn't outrun Gavin and the pack.

He wouldn't run. He couldn't see June anywhere and hoped she'd escaped to the coven, who should be here. Yet there was no sign of them.

He struggled to rise. Gavin's body slammed him to the dirt. The move was showy but effective.

Harry's head thwacked the ground. Gavin squashed his stomach all the way to his spine. He doubled up like a pretzel, and Gavin punched him back.

Harry hit the ground. Again. Blackness tunneled his vision. Gavin's leering face and crimson scar loomed over him as hands closed around his head. Lifted.

He was going to snap Harry's neck. Harry focused on the scar and thought about how good it must have felt to his mother to put it there. It would be the final sight he'd take to his grave.

“No!” A body pelted into Gavin, knocking him off Harry.

“What the hell?” Gavin tried to sling June aside, but she clung to him like a furious cat and jabbed him in the face with a twig.

What the hell? She shouldn't have come back. Harry crawled to his feet, gasping. There was damage to his windpipe. He couldn't suck a full breath. Hot pokers of agony seared his lungs—broken ribs.

“No interference from the pack.” Gavin whirled, trying to rip June off his back.

“I'm not pack, I can do whatever I want,” she yelled.

Gavin grabbed her hair and she squealed. “Somebody get this crazy bitch off me.”

Her cry energized Harry. He darted in and punched Gavin in the mouth so hard it cut his hand.

Gavin's head whipped sideways. He remained standing, occupied now with fending Harry off instead of pulling June's hair.

She jabbed Gavin's good eye with her stick.

“This bitch is dead. They're both dead.” He wrestled away from Harry toward the fire. “Get her off me, Bianca.”

“Hell no, this is the best ceremony ever.” Bianca tossed a baggie of herbs into the flames while June shoved a leaf into Gavin's mouth.

The air around Harry bulged with shouts and sound, pushing him from every side. Then came a pop. The bonfire flared.

Gavin bit June and she cried out, snatching her hand free. Blood dripped from her fingers. He threw her off. She skidded across the dirt toward Harry. He tried to pick her up, but pain lanced him so sharply he nearly blacked out.

She was flat on her back, her blue eyes huge. Furious. A bruise darkened one side of her face and she clutched her hand. “Drink one of the Dixie cups.”

Harry spotted a white cup in the hand of a shifter and ran. Gavin slammed into him from behind before he got to the edge of the circle.

The two of them stumbled forward, crashing into the shifters who didn't get out of the way fast enough. The coveted cup flew through the air, its contents spilling in an arc. Harry fell face-first into the pine. Branches scattered.

Gavin kicked him in the side, breaking another rib. Harry curled up to protect himself and flexed his hands, intending to grab Gavin's foot on the next blow.

It landed in the center of his back instead.

Something snapped. An agony so intense it whitened Harry's vision swept over him. When he could see, when he could breathe again, he realized he couldn't feel his legs.

Gavin grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. “Something wrong, Johnny boy?” Then he let Harry's head drop into the pine. “Choices, choices. Do I break his neck? Rip his guts out?”

Murmurs, growls, rose around them, but the pack continued to obey custom.

And again, June felt no such restrictions.

She darted between Gavin and Harry, limping. Behind her back, she held a small cup, which she poured in Harry's face. The minty liquid trickled into his mouth. He licked and swallowed, the taste more pleasant than blood and anguish.

June, posture stiff, pointed at Gavin and Bianca both. “It doesn't have to be like this. You choose to be savages.”

She crouched beside Harry and put her hand on his chest. He felt another surge of magic. His whole body seemed to inflate like a balloon before it sank, back into a world of pain. Did the other shifters feel the magic? Did they realize what she'd done?

Speaking of which, what had she done? He still hurt. He still had no sensation in his lower half.

“It will be like this because I want it to be.” Gavin faked a lunge at her, laughing when she gasped. She still had on the nightshirt from this morning. No shoes. Her calves were scraped, dirty. Harry wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he was sorry he couldn't save her, but no words came out of his mouth.

The numbness in his legs crept up his body.

“You can have the pack.” June stumbled away from Gavin. The ring of shifters watched. Waited. “Take it. Harry and I will go far away and never bother you again.”

“But I want him dead, and what I want, I get.” Gavin spread his arms. “I'll let you live. Maybe.”

“Don't touch him,” June warned.

“How about I touch you?” He lunged again, this time with greater intent.

She didn't have a chance. Harry couldn't get up. Gavin ripped June's nightshirt and threw her onto the ground in front of Harry. He could smell her blood, even through his own.

He could sense her pain, her determination.

“It's okay. They're here. I know what to do,” she whispered before Gavin dragged her across the dirt, her fingers raking the surface.

Harry couldn't tear his gaze away. Gavin kneeled and hoisted June's hips into the air even as she fought him. He leaned over her body and grabbed her neck. “How do you want him to see it, bitch? You want to suck it or take it up the ass?”

Harry felt his hackles stir and anger twist through his body. A different anger. A protective one. His nails bit into his flesh as he fisted his hands. The ground rumbled. He realized he was growling so deeply it hurt his throat.

Why was no one helping her? This wasn't part of the challenge.

“Let go of me.” June glanced at Harry, her face pale. Almost greenish.

Gavin shook her. Her hair tumbled around her face as she bounced forward, hiding her expression. “No can do. Johnny needs to understand who's in charge here before I kill him.” He raised his voice. “This whole pack needs to understand I make the rules now.”

Voices buzzed in Harry's ears. He snarled—at Gavin, at all the shifters standing around, letting this happen. His wrath intensified when no one intervened.

Gavin bent over June's struggling form, one hand securing her hair. His scar blazed like fire, twisting his face into a demonic mask. “You think you can save her? Well, get up. Come on. Save her. Fate worse than death. I'm going to pound her so hard she bleeds.”

Harry tried. Shards of agony lanced down his legs. He welcomed it. He'd figured they would stay numb until he shifted—if he ever shifted again.

Gavin unlaced his breechclout, his dick popping free. “How's her hole, loser? Is she tight and hot or is she a flappy whore?”

“Oh, Goddess. That's just… I'm going to be sick.” June convulsed and vomited, greenish liquid spewing from her mouth.

Raising his head, and thankful he had the mobility to do it, Harry glanced around. The pack was transfixed. Many appeared uneasy or angry. Was it standard procedure for their alpha to rape and murder as he pleased? He'd known the Millington pack was primitive, but not degenerate and evil.

“Somebody stop this,” Harry managed.

Gavin cuffed June in the head. “Quit puking.”

Whispers. Rustling. As the pack stared with growing revulsion at Gavin, no one except Harry noticed coven members dressed in camouflage snatching Dixie cups off the ground before disappearing into the shadows.

What was going on?

Harry's feet began to tingle. His next breath hurt less than the previous one.

June shuddered one last time before spitting on the ground. Gavin watched her with disgust on his face. “You make me sick.”