Seconds passed.
The death strike didn’t come.
It seemed Zack considered him for a long moment before releasing his neck.
The new Alpha of the Faith Spring pack let out a rumbling roar. At first, there was silence.
Eventually, a werewolf answered Zack’s call and then another. Joe remained where he was, not moving a muscle, unsure of what the fuck just happened.
Zack got off him.
The new Alpha must have have put a lot of trust in Joe, because the vet shifted back to human and looked down on him.
“There’s still a couple of years before you can take me on, pup. Keep trying. Each time you will, I’ll beat you down,’ Zack finally said.
Joe didn’t know what to make of that. He remained stubbornly in wolf form. No one went to him—which was a relief.
Once the pack members cleared the yard, Joe rose unsteadily to his feet.
His neck bled like a bitch. Also, his entire body ached. It sounded like there was a party starting in the pack house. Joe looked to the house and then to the woods.
Freedom called again. This time he would answer.
Why Zack decided to spare his life, he didn’t know. Maybe it was to humiliate him, but Joe didn’t give a fuck. Footsteps neared him. Joe scented Cameron along with someone one—probably a healer.
Joe decided to bolt.
It hurt. Fuck, but it hurt like hell, but he ran.
Well, Joe didn’t run.
He dragged his sorry bleeding self out of there. He probably left a trail of blood, but no matter. He hoped, for Cameron’s sake, the vet wouldn’t go looking for him.
Cameron wanted a strong Alpha to serve. Let Cameron serve Zack. Perhaps Zack wasn’t as bad his father or as Cameron made him to be.
An opportunist wouldn’t leave his enemy—the sole threat to his leadership, alive. For all he knew, Zack was teaching him a lesson. Joe thought of it differently. This was his ticket out.
By some miracle, he reached his car.
Agony coursed through his entire body, but he needed to get the hell out of there. For one, Zack might change his mind or that entire fight had been a performance.
For all Joe knew, Zack might be tasking his new enforcers to hunt him down and make sure Joe never caused trouble again.
Shifting was sluggish. Gritting against the pain, Joe fumbled for the first-aid kit in the hood. Every werewolf carried one in case of emergencies.
He was no doctor but he knew basic first aid. Aside from his neck, he had some serious scratches, but no permanent damage. Once all his wounds were sealed, Joe got into the car.
He drove, destination still unknown.
Fifteen minutes later, he passed the town sign. His wounds started to act up again. His vision became dizzy and Joe knew he couldn’t stay on the road for long.
Joe turned on his phone GPS.
The nearest town was Ace Ville.
“Ace Ville it is,” he muttered under his breath.
* * *
West Morgan took his time opening the shop. Every time he walked through the front door of Alpha Wear and flicked on the lights—pride filled him.
Most of his peers said he couldn’t do it. His pack certainly expected him to fail, but here he was.
Most people expected Omegas to fulfill one role. They were meant to be kept pets, given away to an Alpha and his pack for breeding. They were good for nothing else but bearing pups.
Well, West was proud of not fitting into that particular stereotype.
Despite the disapproval of his parents and pack, West saved up enough cash by working part-time jobs during high school. All that money went to a degree in fashion.
After four years of slaving away and striving to be the best, West retuned to his hometown and opened his first shop.
The design concept behind Alpha Wear was brilliant in its simplicity.
West knew that o get ahead in the fashion world, he had to start small. He’d build his business brick-by-brick and get to the top.
He catered solely to one particular audience—dominant shifters, Alphas in particular.
Most of the townsfolk were skeptical. Business was slow at first, but once West got the hype up, invested in a couple of brilliant marketing plans—business started to boomed.
These days, dominant shifters came from out of town and from all over the country to flock to his store.
West sat behind the cashier and decided to go over some reports while munching on breakfast.
Chinese take-out wasn’t exactly breakfast food, but he loved the Kung Pow chicken from the restaurant below his apartment.
As a bonus, they always gave him free fortune cookies along with his meal.
He always arrived at the shop an hour or two early. This place felt more like home to him than his own apartment. West liked the quiet of the shop at this time. Sooner or later, Quinn and Harper—his two employees and coincidently, fellow fashion-forward Omegas, would come in.
West finished up his chicken and cracked open his fortune cookie. He read the little slip of paper out loud.
“A life-changing event will happen to you today.”
He burst into laughter.
Seriously? That was a new one.
After popping the rest of the cookie into his mouth, West continued with his reports. He heard the screech of tires outside fifteen minutes later.
The Omega wolf inside him woke up, instantly alert.
West paused. Ray, the shop security guard wasn’t in yet.
With three Omegas working at the shop, he figured there was a chance they’d come across some pushy Alpha. True, Harper, Quinn and he could handle themselves, but they were still Omegas.
Hiring Ray, an ex-navy SEAL werebear was one of the best decisions he’d ever made.
A battered car parked right outside his shop and a big guy got out—or rather staggered out.
All of West’s senses were instantly on high-alert. He couldn’t see well past the clothing rack, but he could tell whoever this guy was, he was trouble. The big man stumbled in and West wished he locked the door. Ray kept reminding him to do that, but he never listened.
The Alpha that walked in was enormous and...all bloody.
The stranger was no doubt an Alpha. West could tell just by the waves of power emanating from him. The smell of blood reached his nostrils.
Shit. Did this guy got into some kind of fight and drunkenly wandered in here?
“Excuse me, are you drunk? Do you need me to call someone to pick you up?”
No, this guy wasn’t drunk. West didn’t smell any alcohol on him. Why the hell was this Alpha ringing all the alarm bells in his head?
From one glance, West couldn’t tell what the guy looked like. Half of the Alpha’s face was covered in blood and his clothing was torn in several places. More blood seeped through the stranger’s clothes.
Randomly, West did notice the Alpha fit his customer profile.
Worn leather jacket, torn jeans, black shirt on a buffed body—this Alpha exactly embodied Alpha Wear’s specific clientele. Some people considered West a joke for stereotyping what Alphas wore, but people still bought his clothes.
West knew he should get his phone and ring up Ray, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He repeated his question.
The Alpha finally reached the cashier. Dark intense brown eyes still ringed with gold, stared back at him.
“I need clothes,” the man slurred.
Well, the Alpha certainly needed more than that. Medical attention for one, but West wasn’t in the habit of helping random strangers.
For one, he was an Omega. Being alone in a room with a dangerous and injured Alpha capable of ripping his throat out without West blinking an eye—wasn’t the best decision in the world.
West ought to bolt for the doors. Call the cops.
Was he overreacting? But something about the Alpha made him pause. There was a pained expression on the Alpha’s face. This guy needed serious help.
“Oh right. You need cash. I have my wallet right here.” The Alpha reached for his pocket.
West winced at the sight of the Alpha’s arm. There were rake marks there. Where the hell did this Alpha come from?
West finally recognized those injuries and that strengthened his belief he should eject himself out of this situation before it got worse.
He was raised in a pack. West knew what injuries that came from a pack challenge. The question was, if this Alpha lost the fight, would his enemies come after him?
Plenty of questions raced in West’s mind.
He rushed out of the cashier table when the Alpha swayed on his feet. Reaching the man in time, West wrapped his skinny arms around the injured werewolf. He grunted at the weight.
“Jesus, man. You weigh a ton,” West muttered.
Most of it, West didn’t doubt, was made of muscle.
Wait. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. This man needed help.
“I want new clothes. That’s all. Maybe you can recommend me to a nearby shifter clinic?” the man was babbling.
The door opened, revealing Ray. Ray instantly tensed, probably spotting the stranger leaning against West.
“Ray, some help here. This guy needs to get to Maurice’s clinic,” he said.
Thankfully, Ray didn’t ask any more questions. The were bear simply helped West with the Alpha’s weight. Together, they dragged the Alpha out the shop.
“Hold on a sec,” West said.
Leaving the stranger in Ray’s care for the moment, he raced back in and grabbed the mysterious’ Alpha fallen wallet. The stranger might need it when he woke up. He retuned to Ray and the stranger.
“Help me load him in my car,” he said to Ray. “Please?”
The questions were coming and West knew it.
“Who’s this guy, West?” Ray asked as they got the Alpha in the backseat of West’s car.
“A friend,” West lied.
He didn’t know why he did that either, because he trusted Ray.
Heck, Ray was family, just like Harper and Quinn. Their tight-knit group had grown close over the past year, ever since West opened the shop.
In their own way, all four of them were rejects. They had no one else to rely on, except each other. Harper and Quinn were like him—independent Omegas who refused to let their roles be defined by their pack. Ray was a lone werebear, moving from place to place until he found a home with Alpha Wear’s staff members.
“Never heard you say anything about having an Alpha for a friend. Thought you hated Alphas,” Ray said. As usual, the inquisitive werebear didn’t miss a thing.
“I don’t hate them. I just dislike them,” he answered.
West had no time to explain. The Alpha in the backseat was bleeding out. West needed to get this stranger to the clinic. Pronto.
Although...he had to admit Ray made an excellent point.
His hatred of Alphas were personal.
Right after West declared he was opening a shop in Ace Ville, the Alpha of his parents’ pack told him to never contact the pack.
According to that bastard, West was a bad influence on other Omegas. Omegas should know their place.
Whatever. West might dislike Alphas on general principal, but they formed the majority of his clientele.
Business came first. Romance could take a back seat.
Okay, he was lying a little there too.
Loneliness would often hit him hard, especially after a long day at work. All West wanted to do was to come home to a mate who would give him the tender loving care he needed.
At the same time, he wanted a mate who would cherish him and treat him like an equal.
Yeah right. As if that was possible.
Dreams were all good, but reality was a different thing all together.
“I’ll come with you,” Ray insisted.
The big lug always seemed to love playing his role as big brother. His heart nearly went out for Ray, but he needed Ray at the shop.
West shook his head and put on the boss mask. “Stay at the shop. We’re opening soon and we have a big custom order coming up. You’d be more helpful there.”
Ray grunted. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Ray frowned, but eventually gave in. “Fine, but call me if something happens with your ‘friend’.”
“I’ll do just that,” West assured the werebear.
With that, West was in his car. He buckled his seat belt and drove to the nearest private clinic.
Hope Family Clinic catered specially to shifters and West personally knew Maurice, the doctor and owner of the facility. Unlike some establishments in town, Maurice didn’t turn anyone—even lone outsiders, away. Parking his car at an available lot, West turned to his injured Alpha.
His.
Okay. This Alpha wasn’t his anything. West was simply playing the good Samaritan card. That was all.
Once he got this stranger some help, he’d be on his way back to the shop. His day would go on as it usually did.
Hopefully, the Alpha would forget everything that happened.
With a grunt, West put his arm around the Alpha’s shoulders and helped the lug to the clinic doors. The Alpha was still somewhat semi-conscious, not letting West doing all the walking.
“Why are you helping me?” the Alpha asked.
The Alpha pressed his nose to the side of his neck and sniffed. West froze, nearly letting the Alpha go.
At the last second, he remembered the man was still injured and probably not entirely awake.
Still, the gesture didn’t escape West.
This was the kind of thing dominant wolves did when they scented a potential mate...and West was no one’s ideal choice of mate.
West found his voice. “Because you look like you need it.”
“You smell so fucking good, Omega,” the Alpha slurred.
“And you look like shit and about to die on me.”
“I’m not going to die. I’m free now,” the injured Alpha said with a half-smile on his lips.
Those were an odd choice of words, West thought. Thankfully, the Alpha fell silent after that.
The young woman at the reception finally spotted West and quickly rushed over.
West knew the clinic just opened so the place was empty.
That fact gave West some relief. Most of the town’s paranormal community viewed him as an anomaly in the system.
If word got out he helped an outsider, an Alpha to boot...well, it wouldn’t do him any favors.
The Ace Ville teuriritoy was divided by two animal groups. One half belonged to his old pack. West had a feeling thry wouldn’t like the fact there was an unknown Alpha in their town.
The receptionist called for Dr. Maurice Sanders. Luckily, the doc was in. They ushered the Alpha into an empty operating room.
“I need you to step outside, West. So I can do my work,” Maurice said apologetically.
Nodding, West headed back outside and took a sit in the waiting rooms. Worrying would do him no good.
He was aware he could exit the clinic right now. Leave the Alpha’s wallet with the receptionist and tell her to use one of the guy’s credit cards or cash to pay. But he didn’t.
For some incomprehensible reason, West stayed.
Taking out the stranger’s wallet, West ignored the cards and cash inside and took out the Alpha’s driver’s license.
“Joe Hobbs,” he read out loud.
Hobbs sounded like a familiar name. The picture on the card showed a sexy and good looking man. It was a contrast to Joe’s injured appearance in his shop.
“Why does Hobbs sound like a familiar name?” he murmured out loud.
The girl at the reception answered him. “Alan Hobbs recently passed away. It’s all over the paranormal news.”
He frowned. “Who?”
The young woman rolled her eyes. He spoke with her on occasion, especially when he accompanied Ray to the clinic. That werebear easily got into trouble. Hmm. West couldn’t for the life of him remember the girl’s name, but he did remember she was Maurice’s neice.
“Alan Hobbs was the former Alpha of the Faith Spring pack. Their pack rules the town next to ours.” The young woman went back to her phone when he didn’t say anything else.
“You mentioned ‘was’. So he passed away. Who’s the Alpha now?” he pressed.
He had a bad feeling about the stranger and this young woman was about to confirm it.
“I heard it was supposed to be Alan’s son. The son was about to take over but one of Alan’s enforcers beat the young Alpha instead.”
A chill went down his spine at those words. “And what happened to the son?”
“No one knows. People speculate he died.”
West carefully put back Joe’s license in the wallet. Helping Joe would already put him on the map if Joe’s pack went looking for him.
Rising to his feet, West made a decision. The right choice, even if it was a cowardly one.
If Joe’s pack wanted vengeance, they’d come looking for the Alpha. West wouldn’t just be in danger, but the rest of his adoptive family at the shop too.
He couldn’t have that.
West walked up the receptioniost. “Can you give this to the guy I came in with, once he comes back out?”
West pulled out his own card. “Charge his operation on my card.”
It was the least he could do. West left the clinic, not feeling any better.
For all he knew, Joe would wake up and forget him entirely. That wouldn’t be all that bad...except the moment Joe walked into his shop, he didn’t sense danger.
West felt something else. It was a kind of certainty that only happened to a shifter once in their life.
No. West refused to think about that. They were merely strangers whose paths crossed by accident. That was all.
After heading back to his car, West started the engine and drove back to the shop.