Wolf Claim (Wolves of Willow Bend Book 3) (18 page)

Owen didn’t add,
as far as Brett knows
.

“Yes, I do know where my Hunters are. They are not the ones that concern me. None would try to usurp me in this fashion. A direct challenge?” He shrugged. Hunters didn’t dabble in subtlety, a known reality of pack life. “If our mad wolf wants me, tonight would be the perfect opportunity for him to try.”

“Albeit a risky one. You will have a great many of your vulnerable present. Mates, children, non-combatants, Elders, too.” Pack Elders were respected across all borders because they held the wealth of knowledge from previous generations. Normally, even the expectation of a challenge would harm none of these passive groups.

Yet they could put nothing past a mad wolf.

“I’m rather hoping he will. I’m ready for him.”

Posturing aside, Owen didn’t see how the Alpha could be ready. How did one prepare for an unseen enemy who used a coward’s method to attack? One, which, as far as they knew, didn’t require actual contact… His disbelief must have shown, because Brett released a humorless laugh.

“I will have contact with every member of my pack tomorrow. I will see them, embrace them and give them comfort during what will be a highly emotional and…”

“Stressful.” Owen understood his reasoning. “Mad wolves do not respond well to stress.”

“No, not a single one in any of our histories. The greater the stress, the more likely they are to snap under the pressure. The killing of Hatcher may have been a mistake, an accident or some other excuse, but I agree with your little wolf. He was not supposed to be a victim.” Brett’s mask of utter control slipped and a deadly, ruthless wolf peeked out. “For that alone, I would kill his attacker, but it may be the very thing that betrays him to us all.”

Acid churned in Owen’s gut. The mad wolf could very well reveal himself. If he did, Gillian would try to help him. She would want to heal him.

“You have to keep her away from him, a task I do not envy you, but I will not wait for trial or excuses.” No, the Alpha would execute the creature.
Justice.
 

And a kindness.

“I will take care of my mate.” Yet, that left one issue unresolved. “What will you do if he tries to poison you first?”

Brett shrugged. “If he succeeds in killing me, I deserve to be dead.”

Folding his arms, Owen split his attention between the gathering beyond the windows and the door upstairs leading to his mate. Only one thing truly stood between the mad wolf and his goal.

Two
, he decided. The mad one would have to go through Gillian to kill the Alpha, and he’d have to go through Owen to get to Gillian.

“Should you ever be willing, I could make a place for you and Gillian in my pack,” Brett said, his tone casual.

“Never gonna happen.”
No consideration required.
Willow Bend was their home.

When this shit was over, that was exactly where he planned to take his mate.

“Had to try.” A small smile added a touch of humor to Brett’s words.

“Don’t bother on our account.” But Owen grinned, because there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

He would take Gillian home, safe and whole, and the mad wolf would be dead.

Or we will be.
The nagging voice of worry wound through his mind. He didn’t deny it. If he lost Gillian, they might as well shoot him.

Because he would be dead anyway.

Chapter Ten

“That is a
lot
of wolves.” Gillian stopped, trepidation quivering beneath her words. Owen had been watching them gather steadily all day. Tents had been pitched, bonfires prepared, and tables erected beneath somber colored tarps. Food had been piled onto the tables, most of it brought by the gathered. Hunters watched those tables, guarding against anything remotely resembling interference.

Brett had been cagey in the instructions he gave his wolves and, having been privy to all the discussions he’d hosted in the house, Owen knew he’d given different sets of instructions to different wolves. No two knew the exact same pieces of information. Owen’s inclusion was over Gillian’s safety and because, frankly, Brett was certain Owen didn’t want his pack.

His mate slid closer to him, edging into his side. Disliking her discomfort, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and frowned. “You’ve been around a lot of wolves before.”

“Yeah,
our
wolves.” Her eyes widened a fraction and her nostrils flared. Too many scents to try to sort through and identify, he concentrated only on the scents which were ‘off’ or ‘sour.’ Sadness carried its own odor, one blanketing the crowd before them.

With a shudder, Gillian’s expression changed subtly. “All right,” she didn’t quite project the confidence in her words. “I can do this.”

When she would have taken a step forward, he tightened his arm and pulled her back to him. Dipping his head, he nuzzled her hair. Brett had already seen her reluctance, but Owen didn’t give a damn. “If you don’t want to do this, you say the word and we’re out.” They would never catch him. He’d stashed the truck, fully fueled on the other side of the house. If necessary, he’d mapped a dozen ways out of Brett’s compound, all easily accessible and at least three they would need to travel in wolf form.

No matter what, if Gillian wanted to be gone, he’d make it happen. Another shiver wracked her and he cupped her nape. Skin-to-skin contact grounded him every bit as much as it did her. She closed her eyes and Owen stroked his thumb along the juncture between her neck and shoulder. His bite still showed against her skin.

Her sigh whispered over him, every cell of his body so wildly attuned to hers. When her brilliant topaz eyes opened, she gave him a singular smile and his wolf basked under the adoration they didn’t deserve, yet she continued to shower upon them. “I can do this.”

Strength—unbelievable strength and confidence.
Mason warned him she possessed a blindingly powerful inner core. Meeting her gaze, he warmed himself on the pure flame of her determination and will. “I love you.” He kept the words soft, but steady. She should be told, and often, how much she meant to him.

Her pulse leapt beneath his fingertips and her smile spread until it became a full-blown grin. “And I love you.” A rising keen from the crowd punctured the intimate moment, and she glanced past him. He brushed a kiss to the top of her head, relaxing his grip, but refusing to release her.

Together, they made their way across the grass toward the gathering. Brett came to greet them. He pressed a kiss to Gillian’s cheek and she returned the affection, before he turned to grasp Owen’s hand. The brief moment would be the only physical contact between the three. A tingle raced along his arm from where he touched Gillian. Her nostrils flared and her eyes seemed to shimmer, then all was normal again.

Leading the way, Brett weaved them into the throng. Owen glanced at his mate, quirking a brow in question. Her answering smile and quick headshake told him she’d checked—the Alpha remained unaffected by any toxin.

The next two hours passed in agonizing slowness as Brett made his way to every enclave, camp, and grouping. He showered affection on his wolves, squeezing shoulders, kissing cheeks and sharing stories about the lost. Everyone had a Hatcher tale. Fewer remembered Eddie and Leo, but they were always mentioned.

The healer had touched so many lives. A silver-haired elder regaled them with a tale of Hatcher’s questionable youth and a drinking contest. Another chatted about Hatcher’s enlistment in a military regiment during the second World War, and the then-Alpha’s fury at the young journeyman healer’s gall.

A dozen hunters enlisted alongside their healer, and all returned with Hatcher. Every one had a tale of storming the beaches at Normandy and defeating the Nazis. Gillian’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears with each story. She soaked them in, as eager to learn about the fallen healer, as they were to find the mad wolf.

Owen hadn’t realized the Alpha at the time had been Brett’s grandfather. He’d taken the mantle of Alpha when his grandfather grew too infirm in a battle performed more for show than with any real rancor.

An older woman let Brett sweep her into a hug, and no one had to tell him she was his mother. Her chiding tone and affectionate pets were so beautifully maternal; they tweaked a twinge of longing in Owen. His mother never seemed so openly affectionate with him. Gillian’s hand found his and she threaded their fingers together.

His world righted itself, the regrets passing away swiftly under the steady heat of their mating bond. He could only hope Gillian would continue to give him such affection, even when they had to be parted. The last thing he wanted was the distance in their mating his parents suffered through.

Scowling at the direction of his thoughts, he wrenched his attention back to the crowd around them. The sun descended steadily, soon the eulogies would begin, then the lighting of the fires. Already cremated, the ashes from their bodies would ring each fire, so those from the pack who wished could commit them to the flames.

Offerings would be made, a sacrifice of something personal to demonstrate their loss. They’d met many wolves along their wandering route, and yet none carried the disturbing scent of madness. Hunters guarded the prepared bonfires, waiting for the word to light them. Traditionally, the Alpha would light the pyre for the fallen, but with three to mourn, he’d chosen to light Hatcher’s. Eddie’s parents would tend his fire and Leo’s younger sister, Kristin, would dedicate the third.

Odd, Owen met so many wolves over the past few days and made a point to identify their potential threat, but not to really get to know them. Hudson River wasn’t their pack. Getting to know them led to caring, investment—and a need to protect. Gillian’s attention wandered away from Brett, and he knew the moment she’d latched onto a scent. A young female, heavily pregnant, drenched in so much sadness his eyes burned from the scent.

Without a word, his mate pulled away and went to the woman. He kept close, but the male with the pregnant female saw the healer coming and the intensity of his relief satisfied Owen into staying where he was. The others drew back a step as Gillian knelt. Within moments, she’d gathered the pregnant female’s hands into hers and warmth flared against Owen’s side, as though sunshine struck him.

His wolf seemed as puzzled as him. The taste of the heat filled him.
Gillian
. She was healing.
I can feel it.
Surprise and pride paved the way for delight. He could feel her working, and he would know if she needed him. The pull against his strength was slight, but he opened himself to her. She could have all of him, if she needed it. No sooner did he allow it than he felt the fur brush along the inside of his skin—her caress a silent thanks.

He could feel her wolf. Shock didn’t begin to cover the new revelation. His wolf went on point, and Owen scanned everything around her. Something had changed while he’d been distracted by his mate. He checked the wolves in her vicinity. All normal, grieving family members of the woman Gillian eased. Nothing out of the ordinary about them, nor the two groupings nearest them.

Shifting his stance, he continued to track the wolves around them by gradually increasing the grid search. Brett stood near the fire, bracketed on all sides by his Hunters…

Owen frowned and studied the Hunters around Brett. All wolves he’d met, from a distance. The first two he discounted—their attention wasn’t on their Alpha, but on the gathered pack. They were watchful, but in a manner that spoke of protectiveness.

The third one, however, he’d been around on a number of different occasions since Gillian and Owen arrived.
His name is…Marco.
His grandmother had been one of the first suspected victims. They’d almost discounted the two at the beginning as being anomalies, but what if they weren’t?

Marco stared at Brett, his attention rigid and fixed on the Alpha. He stood only three steps behind him. As Hunter’s went, Marco’s dominance was questionable, but dominant traits weren’t a requirement for a Hunter. They came in handy when dealing with testy wolves, but a clever wolf could make sure…

Clever wolf.
 

The other wolf was too close to Brett to scent properly. Marco glanced from Brett to Gillian and back again. Had Owen not been fixed on him, he would have missed the lapse in attention. Adjusting his stance, Owen continued to watch Marco. He made no overt move in Brett’s direction, but unlike the other Hunters, he wasn’t looking at the gathered wolves, or the area or, frankly, doing his job.

A footstep sounded next to him, then a shove. Braced for such a move, Owen spared the wolf who’d bumped him a hard look.

“Stop glaring at our Alpha.”
Another Hunter.
He had flinty cool eyes and a harsh demeanor to match them. “We’re mourning, and you may be a guest, but guests show manners.”

Not having the time or inclination for a pissing match, Owen glared. “Shut up and go do your job.” The wolf eyes narrowed, but Owen let his wolf stare out of him. The other man fought to hold his gaze and couldn’t. That close to Gillian, it wouldn’t matter if he’d faced off with an Alpha, Owen wouldn’t back down.

His conviction, combined with a deep sense of purpose and a total lack of fear, stymied the other man’s wolf and he blinked first. The low growl rumbling in the thwarted Hunter’s throat gathered attention from the wolves around them. Their restless motion drew Brett’s gaze as he set the first torch to the pyre. The wood crackled, wood smoke perfuming the air.

A breeze stirred, carrying with it the scent of the freshly lit pine and oak—and something darker—far more disturbing, but definitely sour. Realization crystalized in Brett’s gaze as his eyes locked on Owen. Three things happened in such rapid succession, Owen barely had time to process them…

Brett swung around, his face a twisted mask of rage and a blow slammed him sideways right into the fire. The flames burst over his clothing and a scream tore through the gathered.