03-Strength of the Mate (15 page)

Adam couldn’t help his chuckle. “Yeah, that kinda sums it up.”

“I didn’t know shifters were so fucking high maintenance,” Roger muttered. “There was less drama in my middle school.”

“I think that’ll get better when Rivers is the pack leader,” replied Adam. “Now that I think about it, this can’t be normal. Noah Hammond and my brother are really not the type to put up with this kinda shit.”

Dawson fell back and into step with Adam. Allen took the hint and jogged up ahead to talk to Will.

“I know this is a lot to handle all at once,” Dawson said quietly. “I’m sorry about everything. I didn’t want to have to resort to aggression, especially not this soon.” When Adam waved a dismissive hand, Dawson became insistent. “No, this is serious. We could encounter Granger any minute, and I want to make sure I tell you two things. First, if I get too…romantic after the Challenge, do what you have to do to get me back to my hooch.”

Adam looked at Dawson in surprise. He was more excited than he was worried. Adam was just so fucked up right now. “Okay,” he replied.

“And, I don’t want you to leave, after I fall asleep, this time.” Dawson didn’t give Adam a chance to reply. He skimmed his palm up the length of Adam’s spine, then strode ahead.

Adam shivered at the touch. He liked it. He wanted more. He was losing his mind.

As they neared the dining hall, Jason glanced over his shoulder. He hung back for Adam to catch up. “So, am I your first?”

Adam choked on a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Am I the first werewolf you’ve been friends with?” Jason smiled.

“Friends with? Yeah,” Adam replied. “I’ve been around a lot of them. But you’re the first one I’ve gotten to know.” He stopped himself from telling his oft-repeated lie; that he’d never avoided shifters, he’d just never been around them much.

“That’s only strange because of who your brother is,” Jason mused. When Adam didn’t respond, he looked askance. “Have you avoided knowing anything about us at all, because your brother knows so much?”

Adam mulled the question over. “Not consciously,” he finally replied. “But Tim’s one of those guys who’s good at everything, and everybody likes.”

“Runs in the family, huh?”

Jason’s smile kept Adam from getting pissed. “Fuck you, Rodriguez.” Adam smiled to show he could handle being teased.

“No fucking way, Madison,” Jason said emphatically. “I like Gunny Rivers, I want him to keep liking me. There is no doubt he can rip my throat out, in human or wolf form, so I’m steering clear of his claim. Only a werewolf with a death wish would push up on you now.”

Adam felt awkward. “Jesus Christ! I’m not a fucking chew toy. Nobody gets to call dibs.”

“Dibs is not what he called, and it’s crystal clear you are nobody’s chew toy.” Up ahead, Paul stood holding the door to the dining hall open for them all to enter. Jason lowered his voice as they approached. “I don’t know much about handling pack leaders after a ritual, but I’ll help as much as I can today.”

Adam had no idea what Jason meant, but they were inside the hall now so he’d have to wait for clarification.

Dawson stood directly behind Adam in the chow line. He stood close enough that they frequently brushed against each other as they moved. Adam was hyper-aware of Dawson’s closeness. Each touch set his nerves tingling. His discomfort with the public display, no matter how subtle, battled with his pleasure at Dawson’s every casual touch.

Adam abruptly became aware of an expectant tension hanging over the hall. It was like all the Marines were excitedly looking forward to something. There were a lot of glances in their direction, but nothing felt hostile. It actually seemed like Dawson alone was the focus of everyone’s attention.

They reached the front of the chow line and Adam had other things to think about. He was suddenly the focus of Dawson’s considerable attention. As weird as it was to have someone guide and assist him with filling his tray with food, it was also kinda fun.

They settled themselves at a table. A quick glance told Adam that none of them had much on their trays. That was strange for the werewolves. As they ate, Adam gradually became aware that Dawson’s relaxed manner was all bullshit. He repeatedly glanced around the room. The tension in his body was like a constant, low hum.

“What’s next, Gunny?” Paul asked in a low voice.

“Let’s head toward the gym,” Dawson replied. “If we make it there, we can wait a while and see if he searches me out.”

“What if he’s hiding?” Will asked.

“I’ll hunt him down.” Dawson’s reply was deceptively casual. “But that’s my last resort. I’m not even going to worry about that for several hours.”

As they walked across camp, Dawson was never more than a few inches from Adam. It felt so natural. Panic welled up in Adam when he realized how comfortable he was with this, how much he enjoyed it. He could get used to this and that was too fucking dangerous.

There seemed like a hell of a lot more Marines than usual moving around. Adam was used to seeing desert camo everywhere, all the time, but this was different. Marines always had a task and a destination, but now they looked like they were loitering, hoping to see something happen.

Groups passed them and called greetings, which Dawson returned. Clusters of Marines stood all along the road to the gym, like they didn’t have anywhere else to go. They all noticed Dawson pass by.

Paul led them past a group of hooches on the right. They started to cross the road that ran alongside the office buildings surrounding the gym. The sun was low in the sky, casting an orange glow across the horizon. The temperature was still miserably hot. Adam was tired of all the tension-filled waiting. Whatever the hell was going to happen, he wished it would happen already.

He hadn’t even finished his thought when Dawson stopped dead in his tracks.

Paul came to an abrupt halt several feet ahead. “You smell that, Gunny?”

“Affirmative.” Dawson’s reply was abrupt. “Truck lot.”

“Do we continue on? Or change course?”

Dawson lifted his head into the slight breeze. He stood still for several interminable moments. “I think the fucker’s trying to hide behind an officer,” he said, words heavy with disgust. “No wonder things here are so fucked up.”

“So, you’re not thinking he’s picked his ground?” asked Paul.

“No,” Dawson replied. “But I like that location for the Challenge. Wide open, even terrain, no structures that could get damaged.”

“I like that it’ll be easy to see a sneak attack coming.”

Adam turned toward Paul in surprise. A wolf fight was dangerous enough. Did they really use sneaky tactics on each other? Adam couldn’t see either Noah or Jeremy using that kind of trick. He was suddenly glad to have the big, strong Sergeant Mercer on their side, watching Dawson’s back.

When the fuck did this become their side? Adam wasn’t a werewolf, he didn’t have a wolf in this fight.

But he sort of did.

“I bet they think we’re still at chow,” Dawson said. He wore a wicked smile and his voice held humor. “So taking the fight to them will catch Granger off guard.” He was headed for the truck lot before he’d even finished talking.

Adam found himself surrounded by Marines, carried along like he was riding a wave. He should be scared shitless and confused as hell. He should be worried about Dawson coming out of this whole. But he wasn’t.

They reached the truck lot to a sudden flurry of activity. Marines jumped down from the trucks. Others crawled out from beneath them. A small group stood between two large, armored vehicles, partially shadowed by the fading sunlight. Paul, Jason and Will arrayed themselves behind Dawson.

The group emerged from between the armored vehicles. Adam recognized Granger and Carson. His skin crawled.

Dawson took several steps forward, separating himself from the rest of them.

“Granger!” Dawson’s shout was loud and rough. It sounded angry and aggressive.

The sudden bellow made Adam jump.

“What do you want, Rivers?” Granger shouted back. He kept the clearing between himself and Dawson. Carson stood just behind him.

“I challenge you to a fight for dominance, for the privilege of serving as pack leader to the Camp Fallujah
sippe
of the U.S. Armed Forces pack,” Dawson replied. His voice was lower in pitch. It was rough, like a growl. He stood rigidly, his spine straight and his shoulders back. “We’ll fight ’til blood and submission.”

Dawson stripped off his olive drab shirt and tossed it to the ground. His dog tags followed. Granger started to shout a reply, but Dawson was already shifting. A brindle wolf leaped forward, shaking itself free of Dawson’s uniform, scattering his boots and socks. Will, Jason, and Paul took several steps forward, staying at Dawson’s back.

Without thinking, Adam gathered up Dawson’s uniform to get it out of the dirt. He clutched the dog tags in his hand, feeling them press into his palm.

The brindle wolf was even larger now than he had been. Adam didn’t know they did that. He wondered if Dawson was full-sized, yet. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice told him not quite yet.

Dawson paced. His huge, thickly muscled body walked back and forth with a lithe grace. Dawson had giant paws, a wide chest, and an immense, square shaped head. He snarled in Granger’s direction, his frighteningly long teeth giving him an even more dangerous look.

The sounds around them were getting louder. More and more Marines reached the truck lot. They formed a loose perimeter with Dawson and Granger in the center. Dawson’s pacing was more agitated now. He began to jog in a circle, looping closer and closer to Granger.

“Shift!” someone in the crowd called. “Shift! Shift!” others shouted in frustration.

Dawson’s growls and barks held more menace now. He snapped in Granger’s direction, even though he was still yards away. The meaning was clear.

“Just fucking shift, already!”

“Fucking shift and get it over with!”

“Stop stalling, Granger.”

“Either shift or yield.”

That last shout became a popular one. The crowd took up a chant, “Shift or yield…shift or yield…shift or yield…”

Dawson turned and ran straight at Granger. Adam held his breath, waiting for the impact. At the last second, Dawson swerved slightly and passed Granger by. Adam barked a laugh at the look of fear and confusion on Granger’s face. Dawson ran at him again, repeating his narrow miss.

The crowd voiced its displeasure with Granger. Their hostility was almost tangible. It made Adam a little nervous.

The shouted chant changed. “Yield! Yield! Yield!” the Marines demanded.

Granger yelled something in reply. He stomped around a few times, obviously agitated. Finally, he pulled the hem of his shirt over his head. The crowd’s response was immediate. Their cheer was a dull roar. Dawson jogged back toward where Paul stood, giving Granger time and distance. Yanking off his dog tags, Granger threw them aside.

When he shifted, Granger was a light brown wolf. His coat caught some of the last rays of the sun and he looked like burnished copper. Ganger shook himself free of his uniform, running in a circle like Dawson had done. He didn’t end up very tall; Dawson was a lot taller at the shoulder. But Granger was built like a tank. More like an AmTrak, squat, square, and devoid of any elegance or grace.

Adam understood why Granger was probably able to win so many fights. His neck, shoulders, and chest were blocks of fur-covered muscle. He wasn’t as tall as Dawson, but he was a lot thicker and wider. Adam hoped Dawson hadn’t been over confident.

Dawson turned and ran directly at Granger. This time, he didn’t turn aside. He slammed into Granger sideways, knocking him slightly off balance. Dawson bit into the thigh of Granger’s hind leg.

Granger yelped. Dawson swerved out of reach. Granger turned to face him. Dawson ran toward Granger, pulling up short. When Granger pressed forward, Dawson evaded the charge. As Granger passed, Dawson snapped at his head. He managed to sink his teeth into Granger’s ear and part of his face.

When he was slow to turn around, Dawson darted in behind Granger. Lowering his head, Dawson clamped his jaws around one of Granger’s back knees. Granger howled in surprise and pain. He spun, trying to turn on Dawson. Dodging out of reach, Dawson didn’t release his bite. When Granger pulled away, he ripped his own leg through the grip of Dawson’s teeth. A long gash was visible and blood ran down his fur.

“Rivers drew first blood!” Paul shouted to the crowd.

A cheer rose up in response. Adam wondered if that was like a point scored or something.

Granger struggled to put weight on his injured leg. Dawson pressed his advantage. He charged Granger, his vicious snarl rising over the shouts of the crowd. Granger stood his ground and met the charge. Adam winced at the impact. Both wolves growled ferociously as they snapped at each other’s necks and faces. They stayed locked, chest to chest, sinking their teeth into whatever they could reach.

Adam gasped, clutching Dawson’s uniform tighter. Blood appeared on both wolves. He had no idea who it belonged to. Probably both of them. It looked like one of Granger’s ears was torn. Dawson had blood on his teeth. It was smeared all over his muzzle. The fur of both wolves’ necks and chests was matted dark with blood.

Granger gave ground. A ripple of excitement raced through the crowd. Dawson rose onto his hind legs, struggling to push Granger down and back. Granger rose up, too. For several seconds they stood, both still snapping and biting at whatever vulnerable spot they could reach. Granger’s wounded leg gave out first. He landed on all four paws and managed to scramble out of Dawson’s reach.

Dawson stood, tail straight out, neck extended. He growled at Granger, his lips twitching as he licked the blood from his teeth. Granger stood with his side toward Dawson. He held his head low, his tail slightly tucked. His growl had lost a lot of its ferocity.

For one second, Adam thought Granger was going to walk away. Instead, he turned and charged Dawson. At the last moment, Dawson rose up slightly onto his hind legs. It wasn’t a large move. It was just enough to give him the leverage to meet Granger’s attack with his neck and chest. As gravity brought Dawson’s body downward , he got his front paws on either side of Granger’s neck. His weight forced Granger to give ground.