Her Wicked Wolf (4 page)

FIVE

Alistair ached for her, and it was no one’s fault but
his.

Pointless
, he told himself
furiously, remembering how she’d writhed against him, asking without words—and
then with words—to have his hands all over her. Knowing that he could be taking
her against the living room wall right now instead of brewing this blasted tea.
She’d come for him so quickly, so sweetly. He could only imagine how much better
it would be for both of them if he brought her to that peak moving inside of
her.

Alistair groaned, curling his hand into a fist and resting it
on the counter. He felt like putting it through a wall. He was harder than he
thought he’d been in his entire life. And still, here he was, forcing distance
between himself and what he wanted. What, in some twisted joke the gods had
played on him, was
meant
to be his. His destined
mate.

And of course, he’d figured it out just as he was finally going
to let Owain catch up with him. If he lived through it, which he intended to,
then he could start thinking about Brie. Would she want the kind of life he
lived? How would she feel about being uprooted and joining a pack? Would she
even want to be turned?

He breathed deeply, tried to focus. He couldn’t deal with any
of that until Owain had been dealt with. He couldn’t sense his brother, couldn’t
feel him near at all. But given the scout, it wouldn’t be long. Days, at most.
This was what he’d chosen, what he had wanted. Now he knew he’d made a mistake
in his decision, staying here to be close to his mate without allowing himself
to acknowledge the reason. And of course she was just as drawn to him. He’d put
her in danger. That was unacceptable.

Until the day he was free to return to his pack, he refused to
inflict his life on anyone else. But...God, he wanted her.

Soon
, he told himself.
I’ll
leave
here
as
soon
as
the
sun
rises
,
meet
Owain
head
-
on
somewhere
else
.
Gods
willing
,
I’ll
be
back
before
long
and
we
can
do
this
properly
.
Whatever
“
properly
”
is
.

Alistair tried to collect himself as he stood in the small
galley kitchen, lighting the gas burner with a lighter to heat the water. The
process was often soothing to him, the length of the steeping, the scent of the
tea leaves. Not tonight, though. Though the wind howled and the electric lights
stayed dark, he was almost certain he’d walk back out to find her gone, and the
better for both of them if she was...but Brie was very quietly waiting for him
on his couch when he emerged. Just the sight of her, those honeyed curls
tumbling around her shoulders, lips still swollen from his kisses, left Alistair
with an ache deep in his chest. The part of him that still possessed any
rationality where she was concerned was uneasy about having insisted she stay,
even for a little while. He was both man and wolf. And he was very familiar with
what sorts of things happened when the wolf decided it really wanted something,
whether or not it was the best idea.

Mine
, he thought, a fierce snarl
from within. It had him moving to one of his wing chairs once he set the tray
before her on the heavy chest that served as a coffee table. Alistair picked up
his cup and settled into the chair as he watched Brie, who looked slightly dazed
as she doctored her tea with milk and honey. She stirred it contemplatively
before looking at him, her expressive eyes guarded. The air, however, still
smelled of her desire. His jaw tightened.

“So,” she finally said. “Who exactly are you, Alistair?”

She had no idea how different her willingness to listen made
her. But then, he already knew she was different than most. Alistair considered
carefully how to begin.

“I’m a werewolf. And I’m very old,” he said.

Brie tipped her chin down. “Old. Are we talking fifty years? A
hundred? Vampire old?”

That made him laugh, a soft chuckle that helped a little with
the tension that hung heavy in the air, sexual and otherwise.

“There are no vampires, only the werewolves. The legends seemed
to have gotten muddled together over the years, though. My kind lives for
centuries, sometimes even longer. It’s hard to know, with so many of the older
ones having died in battle before their time.”

“And...you’re an older one.”

Alistair frowned. “I think I’m more middle aged, honestly. I
was born in England in the year 1509,” he said, “during the reign of Henry VIII.
We were on the lower rungs of the nobility, but...isolated out of necessity. You
see, my family is one of a handful ever to have produced hereditary werewolves.
Not in every generation, but often enough that life at court would have been
impossible. My father was not a werewolf, but he seems to have been a strong
carrier of the genes required to create them. All four of my brothers, and three
sisters, manifested the trait. My parents were...we’ll say
disappointed
...but they made do.” He smirked, remembering. “And our
woods were known to have some of the best hunting in the kingdom. Remarkably
free of predators.”

Brie looked fascinated. “So you were actually born this way.
Your whole family.”

He shrugged, unused to discussing it. It felt odd to remember
the earliest years of his life. “Yes, but we weren’t immune from the shortened
life expectancy of the time. Three brothers and two sisters never made it out of
the 16th century. Most were killed hunting, and one, Mary, turned out to be
susceptible to the English Sweat, a plague of the time. Catherine, Owain and I
survived. The wolf pack we founded remains one of the most respected in the
world. I’ve worked hard to build that.”

“So you went from being human nobility to wolf nobility.”

Alistair smirked. “Yes. Though we’re better at being wolves
than we ever were at being nobles. My situation is unique, even for a werewolf.
I’ve been able to personally oversee generations of wolves brought in, the first
either turned by or descended from Catherine and Owain.”

“But not you.” It wasn’t a question. Somehow she knew. Sensed
it, the way only a woman so compatible with him would.

“No.” He knew it sounded odd. “As the eldest, I took on most of
the responsibility. I didn’t have time to go hunting for a mate. Even if I had,
I’m not sure I would have stumbled upon one.” At Brie’s quizzical look, tried to
explain, worried that he would give too much away. “Wolves mate for life.
Werewolves are no different. The problem is that true wolf mates are rarer and
more...I’ll say combustible. It takes a certain chemistry, one that has to be
just so. When it’s right, we know it. When it isn’t, we tend not to bother, not
for long, anyway.”

“Oh.” There was a wealth of meaning in that one word. He raised
an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say we stayed celibate, Brie.” Her blush amused him.
It seemed to be her standard reaction to him.

“I assumed that,” she said, sounding as flustered as she
looked.

Alistair felt his lips curving into an unfamiliar smile,
relaxing into the comfort of conversation with her. It was nice to find he
enjoyed talking to Brie, though perhaps not quite as much as he enjoyed kissing
her.

Thinking about it provoked a fair amount of heat in his own
cheeks, and he tried to get his story back on track before they moved further
into dangerous territory.

“In any case, I’ve been busy dealing with Owain for most of my
life,” Alistair said quickly. “He and I are like night and day. It hasn’t been
pleasant. Roughly a century ago things got far less pleasant. Five years ago
what I thought was a meeting to finally make our peace nearly resulted in my
death. Which brings us to tonight.”

“I don’t understand why your brother would want to kill you.
That’s awful,” Brie said quietly.

Alistair shifted in his seat, trying to remember a time when
he’d thought of it as anything but normal. “Werewolves aren’t paragons of virtue
any more than humans are. Owain always struggled with the violence in his
nature. It didn’t take him long to focus on me as the source of all his ills. My
death won’t get him what he wants, but that won’t stop him from trying. It never
has. He’s got a substantial body count to attest to that.”

“What does he want? The pack? You’re still the leader,
right?”

“Alpha-in-exile, right now. He does want the pack. He wants the
legitimacy he feels like he never had as the youngest son. He wants the power he
thinks I’ve squandered by showing restraint.”

Brie looked confused as she took a sip of tea. When she looked
up again, she said, “I don’t get it. He’s nuts, right? It’s not like he can just
kill you, waltz on in and take over. Is it?”

“No. He wouldn’t waltz. He’d attack with his group of
bloodthirsty mongrel drifters until there was no one left in charge and then
demand submission. If he proves strong enough to do that, they won’t fight him.
He’s a Black. Heredity matters in our world, probably more than it should.
Heredity and strength. It can be a vicious existence when things are
unstable.”

“What about your sister?”

Alistair thought of her, eternally young and beautiful, and let
himself miss her laughter and mischievous nature, just for an instant.
“Catherine is mated to the Alpha wolf of another large pack. The two of them
have their hands full even on a good day. One of her sons, Edwin, acts as Alpha
in my stead. My nephew is a good wolf, but this isn’t something he wants as a
permanent job.” He blew out a breath. “I’ve been gone five years. Not so long by
some measures, ages by others. My pack is safe, with allies on either side of
our land. But they’re getting restless. Now that I’ve healed, they want me back.
And I need to find a way to do that, soon, before that restlessness turns into
challenges to Edwin’s authority.”

He wished she didn’t look quite so crestfallen. It would make
this easier. He didn’t want her to worry over him...in case.

“You left so that Owain would chase you instead of focusing on
your pack,” Brie said. She shook her head. “You’ve been running for five years?
What did he do to you?”

“He gave me wounds so deep that they would have killed a human
man a hundred times over,” Alistair said, setting his teacup down. “We’ll
just...leave it at that.” he remembered that night too well—the relief that his
brother finally wanted peace, the regret in Owain’s eyes, so sincere...his
brother’s jaws fastening on his throat, claws in his chest, looking to tear out
his heart.

Brie was silent for a moment, staring into the fire. When she
looked at him again, he saw she understood...possibly more than he wanted her
to.

“You’re going to fight him. Here. He just sent that scout first
to feel you out.”

He hesitated. “That was the plan.” He didn’t see any reason to
tell her that he’d decided that the plan had changed. But perhaps, before she
discovered he was gone, he could give her something that would help her
understand. “Over the years, the pack has lost good wolves to his madness.
Eventually, everyone I called friend became a target. Since I’ve been gone, not
a one has been lost. My pack is a force to be reckoned with, and they would
gladly fight for me, but my injuries were so severe that I couldn’t have stood
with them. No good Alpha lets his people die for him while he simply
lays
there, weak as a pup. My absence has kept them
safe. My brother is my problem. I have to take care of him on my own.”

She paled. “You’re ready for this...this fight to the death?”
She looked out the window nervously, where sheets of white shifted and blew as
the wind howled. “Is this happening tonight?”

Alistair tilted his head, closed his eyes, and reached out into
the darkness with his mind, looking for a connection. He found nothing, only
night and storm.

“I don’t think so,” Alistair said, opening his eyes again. “But
after tonight, you need to stay upstairs. Or elsewhere.” He managed a small
curve of his lips. “Not that your kitchen knife wasn’t appreciated.”

Brie shook her head gently. “And here I was, all this time,
thinking you just didn’t like me.”

The admission startled him, and guilt twisted in his gut. “It
should be obvious by now that I
like
you quite a
lot. More than I ought to.”

“More than you want to,” Brie said, looking into her tea as
though it might hold some of the answers she was still looking for.

“What I want has been irrelevant for years now. I do what I
need to, until this is done.” His eyes drifted over her, curled innocently on
his couch with her tea. Possessiveness made a hard, hot knot in his chest. He
couldn’t deny it—Brie was exactly where he wanted her.

The prospect of leaving here tomorrow left him with a sick,
sinking feeling. He had no choice, once again. Owain knew him far too well. If
he discovered Brie, he would quickly mark her as a valuable prize...and Owain
liked to play with his prey. This was a misstep he hadn’t intended to make,
Alistair thought. If he didn’t act quickly, it would be the downfall of him. Too
much was at stake to let that happen.

Brie was looking at him in the oddest way. It unsettled him,
until Alistair finally said, “Don’t pity me, Brie. I get by well enough, and it
isn’t forever.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Then what?”

“I just have to wonder...you’ve sacrificed a lot for your pack.
To take care of them.”

Alistair shrugged uncomfortably, not wanting her to lionize
him. He was just a man, at the heart of it. One who took his responsibilities
seriously. That didn’t make him a hero. It often made him tired.