Wolf Bite (17 page)

The doors opened and pushed a fresh wave of her scent toward him. Hands clenching, he switched his attention to the new arrivals. Deeming none a threat, he returned to studying her. Her gaze collided with his, and awareness clanged off the hardened layers of apathy encasing his soul.

Vivian.

“Your Honor, in the event you throw out the evidence collected at the scene, I move for an immediate reverse of the conviction as the prosecutor never had a case to begin with.”

Another hurried discussion brought the attorneys to the judge’s bench. A.J. could hear every word they said, but very little of the subject registered. He’d ordered Vivian to not testify. Was she here for the prosecution? Would they try to force her testimony as they had the first time? Despite her steadfast refusal, the prosecutor had hammered at her on the stand. It had taken every ounce of his effort to stay in his seat.

He’d wanted to savage them all—more so when they’d arrested her. The image of her being taken from the room in handcuffs had been burned into his brain.

“You’re growling,” Ryan said, his voice too soft for most ears. “Stop.”

Closing his eyes briefly, he swallowed the sound. When he opened them again, Vivian was gone leaving only the faint hint of her scent.

“Your Honor…”

“You do not have a case,” the judge said, not allowing the prosecutor to finish. “Your case was built upon a house of cards with the contaminated evidence at the crime scene as the foundation. Without that evidence, the grand jury wouldn’t have handed down an indictment, you wouldn’t have taken the defendant to court, and you wouldn’t have been able to receive a conviction.”

A.J. had no idea what was going on.

“Mr. Buckley, please stand.”

Rising slowly, A.J. kept his attention on the judge. Ryan bumped his shoulder, a light brush. The grounding of pack helped him to keep the fraying threads of his straying attention from wandering. Vivian’s scent hung in the air, an elusive reminder of the forbidden.

“Mr. Buckley, it is the decision of this court to overturn the lower court’s decision due to the lack of uncontaminated evidence. While I do not believe that means you are
not guilty
of the crime, I do believe you should not have been found
guilty
in this matter. I am ordering your immediate release from Fannon Prison.”

What?

The prosecutor rose and said something, but A.J. couldn’t make out the words through the roaring in his ears. Ryan spoke up immediately and the other man shouted. The judge slammed his gavel down and silence fell.

“Motion for a new trial is denied, Mr. Langfield. Sheriff, please release Mr. Buckley. Sir, you are free to go.”

A.J. barely reacted to the shackles being removed from his ankles or the handcuffs from his wrists. The officer said something, and when A.J. stared at him blankly, not entirely certain of what he’d said, Ryan answered. The judge left the bench and the courtroom began to empty.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Ryan studied him. “Breathe. We’re going out to the car, and then we’re going home.”

Home. He wasn’t even sure where that was. Maybe this was his reward, he would go home to Toman. Toman would snap his neck, and it would be over. Glancing to the corner where he’d thought Vivian had sat, A.J. shook off Ryan’s hold and paced to the spot.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Cool, sweet strawberries.

Had she really been there?

An arm around his shoulders distracted him, and he looked at the older wolf. “Come on,” and though his voice was gentle, his tone was unyielding. The command shivered through A.J. and he nodded.

The sun was too bright outside. Too much noise. Cars roared past, their engines growling and knocking.

“Are you hungry?”

“What?” A.J.’s voice sounded rough, raw, and guttural.

“I asked if you were hungry, but I think we’ll just stop and grab some food on the way. I sent a message, your brothers are waiting for you. So let’s get you home…” Ryan had a flat data device in his hand. Cell phones had changed over the last few years.  

Brothers.
Linc and Tyler. Younger than he by two and four minutes respectively—and the other parts of his soul. Triplets, they’d done everything together, but he’d always taken the lead. Always looked out for them. Never had they been separated.

Yes, he would like to see his brothers. Perhaps Toman would allow him the reunion as a last wish.

“All right.” He followed Ryan like an obedient pup. Six years of backbreaking, heartless, soulless captivity didn’t leave him with the energy or the desire to do anything else.

At the vehicle, he touched the sun-warmed metal and the scent of strawberries wrapped around him. Tracking the scent with only his gaze, he spotted her across the street. Raising her hand, she curled her fingers in a half wave. Her mouth turned up in a soft, almost sad smile and she whispered. “You’re free.”

Yes. Free. Lifting his hand, he tried to wave back, but she’d disappeared again. She must be as well, and she’d found her voice. The last time he’d seen her, she’d be shocked mute by trauma and he’d told her—ordered her—to keep that silence.

“A.J.” Ryan’s patient voice reached out from inside the car. “C’mon man, I know you’ve had a rough go of it. Get in. Let me take you home.”

Comforted by the knowledge of Vivian’s freedom, he allowed himself to be coaxed.

“Buckle up.”

Obeying, he settled back and let his lungs fill with the scent of wolf and wild pervading the car. Ryan’s scent—his mate. His children. A.J. could identify the nuances, just barely. The combination overwhelmed his system and he closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. But for the first time in years, he fell into sleep easily surrounded by the sense of pack.

The car gave a little jerk and as he drifted off, he heard Ryan’s voice. “Yeah, I have him. We’re on our way.”

Home. Yes, A.J. was ready to go home.

Ready to die.

About the Author
 

National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
 

www.heatherlong.net
 

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