The Alpha's Fight: Huntsville Pack Book 3 (4 page)

"So says you." Erik snorted. "This isn't the Pack League. There's no referee coming to save you." Erik doubled his speed and got close enough that Ryder was forced to react.

He hated to see his friend in this position. Sent by Mason and no doubt told he was a worthy opponent, when, in reality, he didn't even stand a chance. Ryder studied fighting like a science. It would take more than being shifter strong to best him.

His heart heavy, Ryder slammed a fist into Erik's temple, dropping his opponent with one blow. His friend—at least that was still how Ryder thought of Erik, finding it hard to let go of childhood loyalties—fell to the ground with a grunt and didn't move.

Ryder squatted down and touched Erik's neck, making sure he was still alive. A steady heartbeat thumped under his finger. Erik would be okay. A raven swooped down to investigate and he waved it off. "It's not food for you," he growled. The bird seemed to nod as it flew up to roost with its brethren.

Taking a deep breath, Ryder shifted back into his wolf and ran toward his bike. It looked like he was going to have to lay low for longer than he planned. His pack had split into factions while he'd been living on the road: Those that supported Mason and those that suffered because they didn't. Ryder was determined to forge a new path, one that left Mason and his cronies in the dust. Because he sure as hell didn't plan on spending his life suffering.

***

B
ack at his bike, he donned his clothes; thick jeans, a T-shirt and a black leather jacket. The shirt commemorated his first big win in the ring. Normally, he didn't wear things like that where people would see it—any male shifter within a ten-foot radius often felt an uncontrollable urge to test him once they knew he'd been a fighter—but he'd thought it would be safe enough for a day of running in the woods outside his pack lands. He'd also believed he could stay off Mason's radar and look how wrong he'd been about that.

With a sigh, he picked up his helmet—shifters healed fast, but crack the skull like an egg and good luck staying alive. Just as he was about to put the helmet on, something slammed into him from behind.

He landed face down, but quickly spun around and up to his feet. Overhead, the crows threw high-pitched sour notes in the air. Ryder frowned.
A little late, guys.

Putting up his fists, he prepared to face whoever had tackled him. The testosterone burning his nose wasn't from Erik, the scent was different.

Indeed, the man across from him was Trent, one of Mason's cronies.

"What do you want?"

"I'm here to finish what Erik couldn't." Trent's face flushed, matching his red hair. "I knew he'd be too weak. He's just a notch above being a no-good omega."

Ryder tried not to roll his eyes, but failed. "What makes you think you can fight me and win?"

Trent spit. "I just took you down, didn't I?"

"That is not the same as winning. Look, walk away and I won't say a thing." Ryder kept his posture relaxed, hoping to decrease the tension of the situation. He'd found if he got wound up, so did everyone else.

"You think you're hot shit. Coming back home with your money and your fancy toys." Trent kicked the Ducati, shoving it to the ground. "But you're not the alpha. You forgot your place, boy."

"What is my place, Trent?" Ryder ground out the question and then took a deep breath, wiggling his shoulders to keep them from getting tight. Anger seethed in his stomach.
Keep it chill, man.

"You do what Mason says."

"He hasn't told me to do anything, so how could I have earned a beat down from you, huh?"

"We know what you're up to and you won't get away with it. Mason will kill you first." Trent flexed his thighs and launched himself at Ryder.

Unlike Erik, Ryder didn't side-step this time. Instead, he caught Trent's chin in an uppercut that snapped the man's head back. He'd spent years perfecting the angle and the amount of pressure it took for an uppercut to take an opponent out. So, yeah, Trent may have slammed into Ryder and dropped him to the ground, but he was no longer conscious when it happened.

Shoving Trent off him, Ryder got up and went to his bike. He shook his head as he picked it up and saw the damage. Fine scratches crisscrossed the satin black finish. The paint job would have to be re-touched. Muttering swear words under his breath, he climbed onto the bike. Gunning the motor, he shot out of the brush and onto the road at full speed.

R
yder aimed his Ducati toward the higher elevations of Appalachia, deciding it was a good time to visit Huntsville, one of the larger packs in the area. Ryder was on good terms with the Alpha, Cal, and the Alpha-in-Waiting, Jackson. And it wouldn’t hurt to start establishing diplomatic ties.

When he was far enough away to not have to worry about Trent or any of Mason's other side kicks, he pulled over to the side of the road and called Jackson on his cell phone. They'd become friendly after running into each other during a run and working together to hunt down a particularly clever rabbit. Jackson had even shared the kill, which had impressed the hell out of Ryder. It was the kind of thing his grandpa would've done.

"Hey man, what's up?" Jackson's voice filled his ear.

"You up for a visit?"

"Yeah, sure. What's going on? You sound upset."

"Same day, same old asshole." He couldn't hold back an angry growl.

"Mason, eh?" Ryder hadn't said much about his situation yet, but Mason's reputation did a lot of talking, and that made it easy for Jackson to connect the dots.

"Yep. Can you call Cal? I want to talk to both of you."

"Cal's going to ask me why, what should I tell him?"

"I have some news you'll both want to hear."

"Sounds ominous."

"It's actually good, but Mason's turning it into a shit show."

"All right. I'll call Cal. Meet at my house."

"I'll be there in twenty."

Ryder hung up and revved his bike's engine with a smile of satisfaction. Not too long now and the drama would be over. At least that was what he chose to believe. He’d finished up the last of the paperwork that morning, dressing in his nicest suit—the navy one with a crisp white shirt— for his meeting at the bank. He'd added a copy of his mortgage to the rest of the forms and dropped everything into the mailbox to find its way to the Pack Council. He and his grandmother, Tillie, now owned three hundred acres of land at the bottom of the Appalachian foothills. It was a hundred acres more than the Pack Council required for new packs.

The one thing he hadn’t counted on was the ire of his current alpha, although he should have known better.

***

A
while later, Ryder pulled up to Jackson's house, a single story ranch made out of pine logs.  He gunned his motor to let Jackson know he was there and the tall alpha sauntered out of the garage that stood across from the house.

"I heard you two miles ago," he shouted.

Ryder killed the Ducati's engine and slipped the key into his pocket. Removing his helmet and leather jacket he said, "Just didn't want to surprise you."

"You won't surprise anybody riding a noisemaker like that."

"I never said I was trying to hide."

"Not from me, at least. Mason might be a different wolf altogether, right?"

"I'm not worried about him. He knows better than to bring his dirty business into another pack's territory." Or at least Ryder hoped so. That was one upside of being in Huntsville. Mason couldn't march in and do whatever he wanted without starting a war.

"Come into the garage. I was working on my uppercut." Jackson waved for Ryder to follow him. "Maybe you can give me some pointers."

The large garage had been split into two areas. On one side, tools hung on peg board and a long work bench ran the length of the wall. On the other sat a weight bench with a punching bag hanging in the back corner.

Ryder threw a few test punches to get the measure of the bag. If the fill was too soft he'd strain his wrists, if it was too hard he'd jam his elbows. Once he had a feel for it, he started a pattern of jab, hook, uppercut, cross, increasing the force of his punches as he went. All his frustration found its way into his fists and soon the bag jerked and bounced on its chain, swinging higher and higher with each hit.

Damn Mason. Targeting his friends and hunting him down like he was a dog. Anger burned in him when he thought of Peter's daughter. And about the way Erik had been set up. Why was Mason surprised when people wanted to leave Timber Creek? Did he really believe he was a true alpha?

“Hey, man, you okay?” Jackson brushed past him to catch the bag before it slammed into the wall. “You know, you can’t kill the bag, right?”

Ryder forced a smile, not wanting to dump his sour mood on his friend. “Yeah. Just blowing off some steam.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Yeah, definitely, but not until Cal’s here. I want you both to hear what I have to say.”

Jackson nodded. “Okay. I can’t wait to find out what has you so hot and bothered. Did you even use gas to get here or was your bike running on your anger?”

“Was I that bad?”

“Well, Chloe hightailed it out of here just based on what she overheard of our phone conversation,” Jackson said referring to his mate who was pregnant and due any minute. "Said she didn't like the sound of your growl."

Ryder grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare her.” That she’d been worried said something about how foul his mood was. Chloe had taken on a rogue alpha all by herself and even hacked off his head. The feat had been so remarkable, it had become national shifter news. She wasn’t weak or one to back down, so he must’ve really been fuming. Ryder resolved to work harder at controlling his emotions.

"Oh, she wasn't scared. Chloe just didn't want to be around if you were going to lose your cool."

Gravel spit in the winding driveway that led to Jackson and Chloe’s house. Jackson cocked his head slightly. “That sounds like Cal's truck. Shall we go back to the house?”

Ryder took one last swing at the bag. “Yeah.” Wiping the sweat off his brow with his shirt, he followed Jackson into the house as a blue pickup parked behind his bike. Recognizing Cal's bald head and the alpha's customary flannel shirt, Ryder waved.

"Hey, Ryder," said the alpha, hopping out of his truck. "Good to see you."

"Same here." The two men shook hands, matching their grip strength so they each felt it. Ryder held back a bit, as being stronger than the alpha was rude and could be construed as a challenge.  Handshakes with dominant alphas were tricky things. Go at it too hard and you could start a fight. 

Ryder kept his eye contact light and friendly, too, wanting to reassure Cal that his intentions were good.

"You guys coming in or what?" Jackson poked his head out the front door. "Heya, Cal."

"Hey yourself, son. What's so important that you boys had to see me right away?" Cal ambled toward the house. "I was fixing to go fishing."

"I won't take too much of your time, alpha." Ryder bounded onto the porch and held the door open for Cal.

"I sure hope not, or else it'll be too late to go fishing. Once it gets hot, they stop biting."

"Well, that's why I wanted to see you."

The alpha turned back to Ryder, surprise on his face. "You want to talk fish, son?"

"No. It's more that shifters are always ready to bite. I have some news you'll want to know."

They moved into the house where a pitcher of cold lemonade sat on the dining room table along with a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies. Ryder snagged a cookie and gulped it down before he could blink. Sweetness exploded in his mouth and, in his mind's eye, his wolf did a little dance.

"Those smell amazing." Cal sniffed.

“These are delicious. Did Chloe make these?” Ryder asked as he grabbed another one.

Jackson took a handful of cookies. “Yeah. She’s a great baker.” His tone held reverence, which Ryder understood. A mate who could cook was a real treasure.

"Save some for me," Cal said, his voice gruff.

Jackson waved the alpha forward. “You’d better hurry. We’re hungry.”

“Really hungry,” Ryder added, filching just one more cookie. The plate looked rather sad now, with just a few cookies and lots of little crumbs the only evidence that there had ever been more.

"To the alpha go all the cookies he wants, understand?" Cal gave them both a look of reproach and pointedly picked up the plate, taking it over to a seat, where he settled in to eat. “Your mate is one hell of a baker,” he said between mouthfuls.

“I know. I'm a lucky man.” Jackson poured them each a lemonade.

Ryder sniffed in the direction of the kitchen. “Is there more? Does she have a stash?”

Jackson looked sad and shook his head. “Yeah, but I haven’t been able to figure out where she hides the extras. I do have some microwave pizza rolls, though. You want some?”

Both Cal and Ryder said yes at the same time. Jackson went into the kitchen to make them, the open floor plan allowing him to continue to speak with everyone.

“So what is going on?” Jackson asked as he dumped a bunch of frozen pizza rolls on a plate and threw them in the microwave.

Ryder heaved a sigh. “You know Mason is not exactly up for Alpha of the Year.”

Cal gave a slow nod. "Yes, and?”

“And you recall my grandmother was my pack’s Alpha’s Mate back when my grandfather was alpha? Well, there’s been a lot of friction. Mason stuck Grandma Tillie in Crescent Pines while I was out on the Pack League's fight circuit and she’s been fuming ever since.”

“That’s hardly a capital offense, though,” Jackson said, his tone somber. Talking against an alpha was serious business and a risk. It meant an instant challenge if the alpha in question caught wind of it. Just hearing Ryder out put both Jackson and Cal in a bad position.

“No, it’s not. But his brother almost beat his mate to death and Mason did nothing. When she killed his brother in self-defense, Mason kicked her out of the pack and made her a stray. She wasn’t the first or last wolf he’s done that to, either."

“Not fair, but not our business,” Cal said.