All Hallow's Howl (3 page)

It's definitely not a short trip, but it is a lot quicker as a wolf. Sometimes she has to stop and think about where she's going, but they're able to follow a stream part way up, and from there they take old deer trails and scramble under two bramble patches before they emerge into a clearing.

There's got to be another water source nearby, possibly an underground spring, because the clearing is lined on one side by willow trees and steep rocks. If someone approached from a different angle, there wouldn't be much cover unless he edged his way back underneath the tangle of thorns, but the clearing itself is lovely. When he looks up, he realizes that he'll have a good view of the moon, the trees forming nearly an exact ring around them, and he shifts back to human skin before letting out a low whistle.

"Thanks, Han," he says, and she shrugs.

He figures that she doesn't want to shift again when she'll get cold, and he doesn't want too much of his scent to linger in the clearing before the run and make it easier to find him. He looks around for somewhere to stash the bundle, ignoring the icy chill of the breeze as it bites against his exposed skin. There's rain in the air. Good. It should wash away any extra traces of his presence.

He stands in one place, pivoting in the circle, until he sees the perfect spot. It's easy enough to jog over to it, a willow tree with an intersection of branches that will hold the bundle down in a little hollow, and he places his supplies carefully inside before he shifts back and trots over to Hannah, nudging at her shoulder.

Let's go.

4 - Four

He's tense and focused, and he doesn't want to say anything to anyone. Dylan forces himself to smile and say hello to his friends out of politeness more than anything else, and when he looks around him, he sees that many of the pack's omegas are in the same position as he is.

He wonders how many of them will gain a reprieve tonight, and how many of them will be stuck in loveless bondings, trapped by their own physiology and their duty to not-yet-conceived cubs.

"Hey," Rusty says as he shows up, and Dylan narrows his eyes when he sees what he's wearing. Dylan's shirt is a bit tight on Rusty, and he's not even sure where he got it from. "Ivan and I are going to run," he says, and Dylan lifts an eyebrow. "Hannah helped me pick out what to wear."

Dylan nods, and the sides of his lips quirk into a half smile. "Thanks," he says, and Rusty nods. As a beta, he doesn't get the head start that the omegas do. Betas aren't supposed to run, technically speaking, but it's a night of bonding. An alpha and a beta who are already together are allowed to seal or reinforce their bond during the run, but Dylan knows they're only doing it for him. This way, Rusty can leave the slightest bit of a false trail.

If he was less nervous, he'd be able to tell his friends how much he appreciates their looking out for him. He settles for allowing their friendship to warm him from the inside.

"The Run will commence in five minutes!" An official wielding a bullhorn breaks through the noises of the crowd, and Dylan stiffens in anticipation.

"You got this," Rusty says.

"Yeah." Dylan licks his lips. "Okay."

Omegas only receive a meager head start, and from the moment the signal is given, Dylan determines to make the most of it. A few omegas hadn't thought ahead, probably overwhelmed with the crowd and their own emotions, and they begin to strip for shifting only when they should have already been running away.

Not Dylan. He leaves his clothing with Rusty and Ivan, who will be able to pass it along for safekeeping before they begin the run themselves when the alphas are signaled to go. They won't be shifting; merely running together in their two-legged forms before finding an appropriate place to indulge in their mating. He thinks that they mentioned something about a family gathering the next morning, but he can’t be sure. He’s tuned so much out in his panic.

Dylan's paws eat up the ground between the grass and the tree line, and he disappears into the woods quickly. He knows he needs to pace himself; he's seen the way certain alphas looked at him before the start of the run. It makes his skin crawl and his legs move instinctively faster, but then his reason kicks in and he slows down just
enough
.

He cannot afford to tire himself too soon, and neither can he afford to be too slow. But it’s not as if they make tutorials for finding the right balance when you’re being hunted down like prey.

The sound of the horn announcing the alphas’ entrance into the woods startles him.
Foolish
, he thinks to himself, and stops for just a moment, to regain his focus, expanding his senses to gather intelligence about what is going on around him.

There are omegas almost directly to his right - two of them - and many others ahead and behind him, in all directions. One of them must have wanted to be caught, because just before he begins running again, he hears the triumphant howl of an alpha declaring his claiming, and the more sedate joining of the newly-mated omega’s voice as the other wolf begins to howl as well.

But there are more alphas coming.

Dylan tries to remember where the stream is, making a break for the low waters, both to orient himself and to disguise his scent. He finds it easily, but he's only ever been to the spot Hannah showed him once, and he's confused about the distance and the path to take in the dark.

He stays in the stream for a while, and he must be concentrating too much on knowing where the right way to go, because the alpha is closing in on him before he realizes. He stumbles over a fallen branch and ends up with a muzzle full of muddy water before he has the presence of mind to leap onto the bank and claw his way up the steep hill bordering the water’s track. It gives him more solid footing, but the scramble itself costs him time, and the alpha barrels straight forward, intending to bring him down under tooth and claw and make him submit.

It's luck. There's no skill to it or forethought; it's simple, sheer luck that he's positioned just the right way to swipe at the alpha when he lunges, hard enough that the older wolf is sent tumbling back down the bank.

Dylan panics; if he doesn't have the stream to follow, he might not know where to go, but he can't stay with the stream and make himself an easier target. He darts off into the brush, his heart pounding in his chest as he runs faster and faster out of sheer terror. He hears the howls echoing around him of other pairings as an alpha takes and claims, but it's a dim, distant sound underneath the rushing of blood in his ears.

His terror is just beginning to recede when the wind shifts, and brings fresh scents with it. The Atchisons.
No, fuck, no...

He races back to the stream. He wonders if this is how his prey feel when he runs them down on a hunt, or whether their lack of human intelligence makes it better or worse for them.

Almost there - almost -
there
!

He sees the tree with claw markings on it to signal that he needs to take the trail, and clambers up the opposite bank. He's got no time to quibble; it's a race against unseen contestants, and he's not going to lose it. He's not even sure that he's on the right course until he sees the brambles, thorny and hulking large in the blackness of the night, and he's able to stop himself just in time before he barrels straight into them.

His fur is slick with sweat as he scrabbles against the ground, pushing underneath the bushes and ignoring how claustrophobic it is, briers prickling at his sides as he heaves great, frantic gulps of breath.

With a last push of his hind legs, he slips free of the brambles.

Ahead of him, the clearing is bright and placid with moon shine.

He's human again within a few paces of the thorny bushes, and he doesn't hesitate to retrieve the bundle left in the tree. His hands shake as he lays all of his supplies out on the hard ground; his senses are sharper than a human's while he is two legged, but not so much as in his wolf form, and he feels especially vulnerable.

He's naked, and it's cold, and if this ceremony doesn't work he might be losing the advantage he has over his pursuers.

"It's okay," he breathes out, "I got this."

Schk
.

He lets his claws out and uses the tip of one finger to draw a shallow circle in the ground around him. At four points he adds the squiggly lines he's memorized to complete the sigil, and then he takes the plastic baggy full of salt and traces over the lines with it, dusting a thin circle into the ground.

He smooths out the cloth quickly, lining up his ingredients - an apple, a pomegranate, a small penknife, a long matchstick and a lighter, two thin white emergency candles. The mortar and the pestle. There's a sheet of paper, too, where he's written out the ritual words in thick, bold letters to make it easy to read just in case his memory fails him. The paper is damp, but the words haven’t run very much; it’s legible enough.

In the distance he can hear the snarl of an alpha.

He grabs for the knife and the apple, peeling the skin away in one long strip and placing it in the mortar. “I seek to honor my ancestors with this food of life.” He bites into the apple, taking only a small sliver and swallowing it almost before he’s finished chewing.

The pomegranate. He splits it into thirds; as he slices, the juices splash up to spatter him. He places two of the slices on either side of the bowl, then he takes a bite from the pomegranate before placing it in the mortar, too. “I seek to honor my ancestors with this food of death.”

The alpha moves closer.

His hands are shaking so much that he can barely light the match; he has to light both candles at the same time with the single match and hold them aloft as he pounds three times with the pestle. A footnote had said that the original ceremony relied on the seeker to grind the fruit to a paste, but he doesn’t have time for that now.

“I offer myself humbly, on this dark night, as one searching for balance. As light is to dark, as day is to night, as life is to death, as water is to sky and as earth is to fire, I come as an omega seeking my balance in my soul’s true mate.”

He's dizzy, reeling with his own emotions and the energy from the ritual itself. His head feels like it's about to burst open as a great pain hits him just between the eyes, and for a moment he blinks to see himself covered in a great white light.

Do you know what it is you seek?
he hears, but not with his ears - it is as if the voice is coming from inside his own head.

"A mate," he says aloud, and then, because he can see the alpha bursting through the tree line across the way, he can't stop himself from gasping, "Protection!"

So it shall be
, the voice says, and in the next instant, just before the alpha hurtles into him, a huge, snarling wolf appears out of thin air.

The wolf is insubstantial, but present enough that the alpha yelps as he scrabbles at the ground, sliding forward as he tries to stop running. The other wolf’s misty white outline of his form begins to take shape and to fill in, his body whole and solid and just as protective of Dylan as when he appeared.

The other alpha doesn't seem to care. As soon as he gets his bearings, he's attacking again, directing his anger at the wolf between him and his prize. Dylan feels he ought to shift, but he's pinned in place against the bare earth, watching as the new wolf waits calmly until the alpha makes the first attack, using the weight of the alpha's body against him when he moves quickly, striking out with tooth and claw.

It takes forever, and not long at all. The pain between Dylan's eyes recedes quickly, but for a moment he feels bleary and unfocused, like cotton wool has been crammed into his head. He watches the fight with a strange sense of detachment, the snarls and yelps seeming far away.

Then it feels like the bubble is burst. The world is over-loud and sharp to his senses, and he watches with grim satisfaction as the wolf he can now identify as Grady Atchison begins to flee.

The strange wolf watches him leave, his head tall and proud, his sides heaving slightly as he pulls in air. He is the picture of a majestic warrior, and Dylan rises to his feet slowly, his eyes wary.

The wolf turns around and Dylan tilts his head to the side, revealing the slender line of his throat. They stand there a moment, wolf and man, alpha and omega, until Dylan jerks with an involuntary shiver as the cool air flows over his exposed skin.

The wolf stalks forward.

When he shifts, he takes the form of a tall, well-built man. He's muscled and sturdy, his skin tan even in the pale light of the moon. His hair is wild and untamed around his shoulders, but it is his eyes - dark and heated with scorching want - that make Dylan gasp. He’s the Alpha from the library portrait.

Jamie McLean - the Uniter of the Southern Packs.

"You're dead!" he chokes out.

5 - Five

The wolf doesn't feel dead. Not when he steps forward, closes the distance between them, breathes out hot breath onto Dylan's tilted neck, scenting him.

As quickly as he comes forward, he steps back again, executing a bow that ought to look ludicrous, given that both of them are naked and the wolf's erection is hard and full in front of him.

It doesn't look ludicrous. It looks almost courtly, and Dylan fights to hide a blush.

The alpha regards him curiously. "You didn't know that the spell could recall someone already crossed to the other side?"

Dylan thinks of the torn page. He could have missed something, easily, if the writer had written more at the end instead of placing all of his explanations at the beginning as he had assumed. He shakes his head. "I didn't know," he says. "I - I didn't have any time to find another reference."
Not that I'm sure I would have thought of it in the first place
, he adds to himself. "I just had to try the magic and hope that it worked."

"I am glad you did," the Alpha says gravely, and Dylan bites at his lip.

"So, um," he starts, but before he can finish the thought he hears another wolf begin to bay close by, followed by the raspy sounds of the briers as another male moves beneath them. "For fuck’s sake," he murmurs, and his wolf looks at him in amusement before turning in the direction of the noises.

"I'm claimed," Dylan calls out quickly, as the muzzle appears from beneath the bushes.

The new alpha doesn't retreat. He moves forward, stalking toward them, his ears proclaiming his readiness for a fight in the way they stand alert.

Dylan steps toward his wolf, but the wolf holds a hand out, stilling him, and he doesn't press forward.

The alpha smells like youth and aggression, and Dylan doesn't think he's ever seen him before. The newcomer looks like he's already gotten into one scrabble tonight - and he obviously didn't win, if he's up here picking a fight. He doesn't have to shift back for Dylan to get the message when he glares pointedly at the lack of any bite marks on Dylan's neck.
You're not claimed.

When he shifts it is a surprise, because it means he gives up his advantages. Weres are swifter as wolves, and fur coats are harder to pierce than naked human skin.

"Look, man," the kid says to the ghost wolf, and Dylan's surprised to see that the interloper is even younger than Dylan is. "You're just talking. If you don't want a piece of that ass, just stand aside and let a real alpha claim him."

There's no outward sign that his wolf is affected by the kid's words at all, but Dylan is. He wants it to be over. He summoned his alpha, and the man hadn't seemed to have a problem with it - the look in his eyes had been appreciative, and lord knows Dylan's been appreciative of him. Dylan reaches out to the wolf’s - to Jamie's - back with trembling fingertips.

"Do it, alpha," he says quietly, and in a burst of inspiration, says the ritual words. They've fallen out of favor, but Jamie is of a century where they still meant something, and who knows – maybe that’s the sign he was waiting for. "Where you are alpha, I am omega," Dylan says quickly, directing his words to Jamie, though his eyes don't stray far from the strange alpha for long. He watches the newcomer warily, ready to shift at any sudden movements. "I submit to the bond between us, Jamie, and take you into my own for the balance of life."

Jamie turns like a striking snake - quickly, silently, with purpose. Dylan barely has time to catch a flash of his eyes before Jamie's teeth are sunk into his neck, the alpha’s saliva activating the mating gland and bonding them together.

Dylan jerks as he feels the bond settle into place, and Jamie's arms come up around him, holding him steady as his legs tremble and his cock twitches with sudden heat. The bond feels like nothing he's ever felt before - he can feel the pain in his neck and a wave of euphoria all at once. It feels like he's been underwater and he's just breached the surface into the sunlight.

He doesn't think it's supposed to be so profound. Nothing he's read about mating has led him to think that it would be as wonderful as all of this, and he doesn't realize that he's lost control of his form until he feels the scrape of his fangs against his lower lip, and leans back far enough to see the glow of his eyes reflected in the patient, understanding gaze of his mate.

Christ. His
mate
.

He flicks his gaze to the silent clearing, but the challenger is gone, his scent left behind in a scent marking he obviously meant as a large
fuck you
. It doesn't matter. Jamie fills his senses. Dylan's skin burns where Jamie has hold of him, his thumbs stroking Dylan's flesh to soothe him. His scent lingers on the air, wild and heady, and Dylan breathes him in deeply. Jamie is a colossus; he has no need for brashness or posturing, because his presence is enough to fill the very land itself with a sense of nobility and power.

Dylan shivers.

Jamie is a warrior, a born leader, and he wears his dominance on his skin like a mantle that no one could ever take from him. It’s no wonder that the only way he could be subdued was through trickery; he is an alpha of alphas. And now he's Dylan's.

Dylan blinks, and when he meets Jamie's eyes again, his alpha very deliberately turns his own head to the side, exposing the lines of his throat. Alphas don’t have the same bonding gland as omegas do, but some of them choose to wear the marks of their mate anyway, and it’s clear that Jamie is offering to carry Dylan's.

Dylan's lips part open on a sigh, and then he's leaning forward, fitting his mouth to that unblemished skin. He kisses it once, lightly, licks the area with the flat of his tongue.

Then he bites down.