Wolver's Reward (8 page)

Holy shit, it worked! He'd never felt it like
that before. The transition probably took no more than five or six
seconds, but that was four or five more than normal. Over the moon
is over in a flash was a common joke among wolvers. This was no
joke. He'd felt every bit of the miracle that was wolver. Damn! He
wanted to feel it again.

Fortunately, his wolf had more sense. They'd
wasted enough time with human thoughts and frailties. Its nose was
up and its mouth was open, pulling in the scent and taste of the
air. River barely had time to loop the tied sleeves of his shirt
around his neck before they were running at breakneck speed over
the rough and uneven terrain of the surrounding forest.

The wolf didn't hesitate when a wood and wire
fence appeared before them. Without breaking stride, it leapt, and
sailed on a wave of grace and muscle over to the other side and
kept running. They sped through the sea of grass beyond. The dozen
munching cows barely had time to flick their tails in startlement
before the wolf was in the air again, leaving the field behind.

Tall trees, narrowing roads, and weedy
grasses flew by. Small animals scattered. Hungry as he was, the
wolf took no notice of the prey. It was on the hunt for larger
game.

The wolf didn't slow until the collective
smell of dozens of wolvers began to separate into individual
scents. River's hiss of warning wasn't needed. His wolf stopped
well beyond the line of sight. Belly to the ground, it crept around
the assembly through the underbrush, lifting its head only far
enough to confirm the wind blew toward it to keep its own scent
secret. No lone wolver worth the name would enter this large a
gathering without judging its strength and getting the lay of the
land.

They were gathered in a small, cleared area
of woodland bordered by a parking lot that showed more weeds than
gravel. Several wooden picnic tables were strategically placed to
one side of the clearing. On the other side, eight rustic benches
were permanently placed in two orderly rows facing a low, wooden
platform; an outdoor classroom. The wood of the table and benches
were gray with age and spotted with moss and fungi. A folding lawn
chair sat on the only sturdy place left on the rotting
platform.

The gathering was a strange mix of four
distinct packs, each party containing six to eight wolvers. They
were predominantly male, and none of them looked like they were
here for a good time. So much for the meet and greet. They were
still in human form, but their movements were pure wolf.

One pack milled about, always staying close
to one of their own. Their shoulders were relaxed, but not so much
that they appeared cowed in any way. They looked like any normal
pack of wolvers, but they weren't. Their heads hung low to avoid
direct eye contact, but their eyes were always watching, always
judging. They were doing exactly what River was doing. They were
sizing up the power and force of the competition. Neither River nor
his wolf liked this bunch. There was something about them that
raised his hackles, though they showed no sign of open
aggression.

The second batch reminded him of Wolf's Head.
They wore designer jeans and shirts that looked too new to be
comfortable. They belonged in khakis and polo shirts. Their faces
and hands were soft, though their bodies looked strong and toned.
River's snort of derision was echoed by his wolf. Those bodies were
probably the result of workouts in the gym. That didn't mean they
couldn't fight. Wolf's Head certainly could. They were wolvers
after all, and a beast with sharp teeth and claws resided in each
one of them. But these looked like wolvers better suited to fight
financial battles than real ones, and they weren't much older than
River.

The third group was mostly young, too, and
River felt immediately drawn to them. Okay, maybe it was the beat
up leather vests most of them were wearing along with their worn
jeans, or maybe the half dozen motorcycles he'd seen parked off to
one side, but River didn't think so. He knew better than to fall
for surface shit. No, when it came to shit, these wolvers had
theirs together. There was a wary tension in each one of them, like
they expected shit to follow them wherever they went, and this
place was no exception.

And fuck-all if he didn't recognize them!
They were the wolvers from the bar. This was the mating chase they
were talking about. It crossed his mind that he could slink back
into the trees, get dressed, and come out and join them, but he
decided against it. There was trouble brewing here, and he wanted
no part of it.

He wondered if this strange collection saw
each other as he did. River felt as if he'd entered a war zone
where someone had called a temporary truce that was about to break
wide open. He wondered why they weren't already fighting as
men.

Primal Law forbade man to fight wolf, or wolf
to kill man. The ancestral memory of the Law was so strongly
imbedded in their genetics that the most hardened rogue would be
hesitant to break it. The Law however, said nothing about wolvers
tearing each other to pieces as long as they were all in the same
form. So, why weren't these wolvers going at it?

River didn't care. If they were waiting for
the moon to do battle, more power to them. It wasn't his fight. As
far as he was concerned, the more they fucked up each other, the
fewer there'd be to fuck with him when he took back what was
his.

He circled around, slinking like the thief he
wasn't, and spotted his truck. His tarp covered motorcycle was
still in place. It was just as he left it. He wanted to edge
closer, but the wolf refused his urging. The animal had interests
elsewhere. It raised its snout and sniffed the air. A deep thrum of
pleasure sounded in its throat.

A group of females hovered around an old
recreational vehicle. They were all fully adult and ranged in age
from young to middle aged. The long-legged bitch was not among
them, but her scent wafted on the gentle breeze, though he couldn't
find those of her thieving companions.

As his nose had noted before, the odor of
worry and fear tainted the normally pleasant scent of unmated
female. They were of different shapes and sizes, but all
well-built, healthy looking, and strong. Like the men, their
anxiety was exhibited in wolf behavior. Their postures were
submissive. Their heads were turned to the side and down as if they
expected chastisement. If they'd been in wolf form, they would have
belly crawled with their tails between their legs, yet there was
something about their deference that didn't ring true.

Another scent caught River's attention. It
was wolver, it was male, and it was fouled by the faint but putrid
odor of rotting flesh. There was something familiar about the
scent. He couldn't place it, but it was there in his memory.

The bearer of that scent emerged from the RV;
tall, gray headed and broad shouldered. He'd once been powerfully
built, but now his body sagged as if his weight was too heavy for
his bones to carry. Still, there was power in the air of magic that
surrounded him and distinctly marked him as the Alpha of his pack.
He slowly walked to an awaiting chair where he sat as if taking his
place on a throne. This Alpha was sick, and every wolver in
attendance knew it.

A third and markedly interesting scent wafted
through this fourth pack, but she was not among those females
milling about. Curious, River's wolf wanted to find her, but River
wasn't interested.

"She isn't worth getting our throat torn
out," He whispered mind to mind. "Curiosity doesn't just kill cats,
you know."

His wolf snarled in reply, but didn't move.
Something was happening.

The milling wolvers began to step aside to
allow three others to approach the seated Alpha. They too, were
Alphas, and River could easily match the Alpha with his pack. The
blond Adonis was one of them. Their body language told River they
spoke as equals, but their voices were so low, he couldn't hear the
words and his wolf wouldn't share. The animal only growled low in
his throat.

It was interesting business, but none of his.
Once more, he nudged his four-legged half to move. He needed to be
near the truck when the shit hit the fan. He didn't need to hang
around and be splattered by it.

The door to the RV opened again and a woman
emerged, not any woman, but the seated Alpha's Mate. There was no
doubt about it. Kat was a mother hen, all ruffled feathers and
chicks tucked under her wings. This woman bore her small share of
the Alpha's mantle like a queen, a queen whose crown was growing
too heavy to bear.

She was tall and thin, too thin, and her skin
was drawn tight over the fine bones of her face. Her hands were
clenched in tight fists as she made her way to her mate's chair
where she stood behind him. Only when her hands settled on her
mate's broad shoulders did the fingers relax as if touching him
brought her strength and calmness.

The seated Alpha spoke loud enough for all to
hear. "The bargain is struck. Pay what is due and let the Chase
begin."

All three of the waiting Alphas motioned
behind them with a flick of the hand and their Seconds stepped
forward. Each held a fat manila envelope and it didn't take a
genius to figure out what those packets held. After checking the
contents, the seated Alpha handed the packets to his own Second,
who passed them to one of the women standing outside the RV.

"Two minutes to moonrise," the seated Alpha
called out, "And the girl has three more after that."

Holy shit! What kind of Chase was this?
Normally, a Chase was a mating ritual practiced by his kind where
the male chased down his intended mate. Usually, the Chase was just
for show. It was part of the celebration when two wolvers chose to
bind themselves together as mates. That was how it was at Wolf's
Head, no matter who the mating couples were, or what their standing
was in the pack. At Wolf's Head, it was an excuse to party, but
this wasn't Wolf's Head, and River knew from experience that it
wasn't always just for fun, particularly when it came to Alpha's
Mates.

Only certain females, wolver or human, could
hold the position of Alpha's Mate. In his old pack, the intended
Mate had no choice. The ritual began with a kidnapping and ended
with a rape. He'd never heard of three Alphas vying for the same
Mate, but he instinctively knew that the end result would be the
same. The Alpha's would fight each other and the winner would mount
her and mark her, whether she liked it or not.

River had never witnessed one of these brutal
matings. He'd been too young to go over the moon with the pack, but
he'd heard the stories and the laughter of those who had
participated and watched. He'd seen Forest's terror at what her
future held, and he'd seen what that terror had done to the once
smiling little girl.

His wolf watched all this, not understanding
the transaction, but clearly understanding that something big and
bad was going to happen. Sharing his human's feelings, he began to
whine with impatience.

"I know, damn it. I can fucking see it, too,
can't I? But what the hell would you like me to do about it?" River
silently hissed.

"
No cub. Wolver. Fight
."

The wolf's curling lips and bared fangs
should have felt weird to the human River, particularly since the
snarl was directed to the human within, but River had felt this
show of angry disgust from his wolf since he was a pup. Man and
wolf were one just as boy and pup had been. The anger was like a
third entity that filled the space between them.

"We're here to get the bike back. That's it,"
River argued. "This isn't our business. It isn't our fight. Why
should I fucking care?" But even as he said the words, the image of
Forest's face formed in his mind.

The moon rose. Light flashed as men shifted
to wolves. A wolf screamed out its cry of death, and the tension
that was bubbling beneath the surface erupted in a volcano of
violence.

Chapter 6

Designer pack's Second was down and Leather's
was fighting for his life. The seated Alpha shouted something and,
with a wave of his hand, the females of his pack were sent over the
moon. In the midst of her shifting, the Mate was knocked to the
ground by a snarling wolf. Having spent energy he couldn't afford
on the females' shifts, the sickened Alpha was slower to shift
himself. It was obvious his strength was ebbing fast. He had all he
could do to fight off the attack directed at him by two other
wolvers.

River pawed the bundle of clothes from his
neck and raced for the Mate, enraged by the wolf that attacked her.
Ruthlessly, his sharp teeth tore into the assailant in a relentless
release of pent up anger. A Mate was sacred. She was the heart of
every pack and he would not see another die a brutal death. His
wolf was right. He was no longer a helpless cub. He gave the
attacker no chance to fight back.

Muzzle muddied with the blood of his victim,
River turned to the Mate, but she was already on her feet and
defending her Alpha. She was vicious in her defense, but obviously
untrained in the rules of this kind of battle. She slashed, but
when her opponent was temporarily blinded by blood from the swipe
of her claw, she turned away to scan the area around the RV.

River finished off the blinded wolf before it
had a chance to regain its sight. He did it without thought or
mercy. The wolf had threatened the Mate. It deserved no mercy.

The small clearing had turned into a riot of
battling wolves. The sharp, coppery smell of blood filled the air
along with the snarls and growls of the battling wolves and the
cries of the wounded. Flashes of light began to flicker in the area
where the vehicles were parked as some wolvers, probably Designers,
fled the scene.