Malcolm hated the human hunters with a passion that outpaced his total disgust with humanity. The inside of Maverick’s office felt stifling, crowded with all of them crammed inside, the scent of shifters and human bodies muddled together in a dangerous mix. The security office or one of the conference rooms would have been more accommodating to the sheer breadth of them all, but even with the hunters blindfolded until the moment the office door had shut, Maverick had insisted he didn’t want to risk the human hunters getting the lay of their land. It spoke to how little he trusted them. In a room this size, with the hunters outnumbered, one wrong move and any one of the wolf warriors would end them.
Malcolm would be first in line.
Apparently, it wasn’t enough that they’d killed Bo—a misfire during a mutual raid on a particularly nasty cell of vampires. A supposed accident, according to the paperwork. A cold-blooded execution fitting of their name, if anyone asked him. Officially, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, yet unofficially, the pack hadn’t partnered so closely with the local division ever since, even with their cease-fire treaty in place. But now the hunters expected to be welcomed with open arms thanks to the treaty.
Malcolm nearly growled.
It was the only reason they were all here. The pack might patrol Montana’s bloodsuckers to protect humanity in accordance with their treaty with the hunters—a move that offered the shifters of the Seven Range Pact and their associates immunity from the Execution Underground’s militant reach—but that didn’t mean they trusted the hunters.
Not by a long shot.
“You’ve got a lot of gall, showing up here unannounced.” Maverick stood behind his desk, palms flat against the wooden surface. He addressed the hunter standing before him. His eyes flashed golden. More wolf than any of them. Their fearless leader. “And not alone either.”
Quinn Harper, wolf hunter and leader of the Billings division of the Execution Underground, gave a curt nod. He was flanked by another hunter from the clandestine human organization, a wild card the pack had heard of by rumor but never seen before—a fellow wolf hunter named Jace McCannon, with long auburn hair, trench coat, and piercing green eyes. He stank of the city. Whoever he was, he wasn’t a cowboy. Not like Quinn.
As if Jace sensed Malcolm’s eyes on him, he brushed back his coat, revealing the Mateba tucked into his belt that no doubt held silver bullets. But he didn’t place his hand on it. A subtle warning, not a threat. Malcolm swallowed down a growl. Maverick had ordered them not to disarm the hunters in a sign of good faith. But that wouldn’t stop Malcolm from tearing out either of these bastard’s throats if given the chance. In fact, he was hoping for it.
He sized the other men up. If he hadn’t known better, he never would have suspected the two hunters of being human, considering how they rivaled him and his packmates in size. But he supposed their unnatural abilities, a result of rumored government injections, allowed them to rival shifters and vamps alike and keep the supernatural world in check.
“Extenuating circumstances,” Quinn said as a means of explanation, tipping his Stetson amiably. He met Maverick’s gaze unflinchingly. “We have a mutual problem.”
Colt Cavanaugh, the Grey Wolf high commander, scowled. “In other words, there’s some mess you want us to clean up for you.” Colt didn’t take kindly to anyone wanting to put the pack’s foot soldiers in his charge in harm’s way. Not unless it benefitted the pack.
“You never did like to get your hands dirty.” That snide comment came from Wes Calhoun. The words to Quinn were personal, meant to provoke, considering Quinn and Wes had a sordid history.
“I seem to remember our dealings differently,” Quinn said tersely. Ever the politician.
But Maverick clearly wasn’t in the mood to tolerate any pointless posturing. “State why you’re here or leave, hunter.”
Quinn’s gaze cut away from Wes, settling back on the packmaster. “We have reason to believe the Triple S is partnering with the vampires and the remaining Volk.”
“Nice try.” Blaze rolled his eyes. He was wearing one of his usual graphic T-shirts today that read: I had my patience tested. It was negative. “Game over. We already knew that.”
“But not the reason why or your packmaster wouldn’t be asking me what we’re doing here,” Quinn shot back, undeterred.
He didn’t spare Blaze a glance, still focusing on Maverick. So like a human. They thought they knew where the power lay—with Maverick and Maverick alone—but what they failed to understand was that the strength of a wolf was the pack.
They were one. A united front. At least where their enemies were concerned.
Quinn’s expression turned dark. “Triple S’s goal is for the vamps to help them move a drug into the human market. They call it supe juice. It’s a mixture of diluted shifter blood and heroin. It’s a way to get humans high like vamp blood, but sellable on the black market. Makes them easier to control.”
“Easier targets,” Jace chimed in. “Not that the vamps don’t already do that fucking well enough with their feeders.”
That must have been what Trixie had witnessed at the Blood Rose.
Malcolm growled, but Dean’s icy comment took the words right out of his head. “It’s always about your precious humans, isn’t it? No care or love for any other species.”
For anyone who was different from them.
“This product targets us, too,” Dean continued. “But you don’t care about that, do you?”
“It’s not my job to care about supernaturals.” Quinn spared Dean a harsh but oddly understanding look, his choice of words revealing. There’d been rumors of late about discord within the human organization, a separation between those who wanted to hunt shifters and other supernaturals under the guise of false justice and those who wanted to work amiably with other species as true protectors. Apparently, Quinn considered himself the latter. “You all can manage fine without us. It’s our job to protect the vulnerable, the underdog, and while you all may consider yourselves hunted in this case, in the scheme of the world, it’s the human civilians who are truly defenseless.”
“We don’t hurt humans,” Wes muttered defiantly.
“But other supes do.” Quinn’s nostrils flared, his rage barely contained. “And the fact that you don’t is the only reason either of us is standing here.” He nodded toward his companion. “We’re not enemies.”
Malcolm snarled. “Like hell you’re not.”
Quinn glanced toward him, as if he only now noted Malcolm’s presence.
“One of your men killed my mate,” Malcolm accused.
Recognition flickered over Quinn’s face. But if he felt any remorse over what his associate had done, he didn’t show it. “It was a misfire. We’ve been through this.”
Malcolm surged forward. If Dean and Blaze hadn’t held him back, he wasn’t certain what he would have done. “It didn’t seem like an accident considering the bullet landed directly in the back of his fucking skull,” he snarled, his voice barely human. “At. Close. Range.” He had to struggle to hold in his shift, keep his fur beneath his skin.
“He’s not worth it, Malcolm,” Blaze hissed into his ear. Malcolm. Not Mac. Blaze knew to cut the jokes when it mattered. “Save it for the battlefield. Bo would want you to.”
The look Quinn gave Malcolm then was one of pity.
Fuck him. Malcolm didn’t want the hunter’s pity. He wanted them to bleed, all of them, the same as he had when he’d cradled Bo’s lifeless body in his arms.
“There’ve been grave losses on both sides.” The Adam’s apple of Quinn’s throat bobbed. The hunter meant his wife, Delilah.
Malcolm bared his teeth. As if a woman who’d deceived her way into a renegade shifter pack that wasn’t even theirs and then gotten herself killed for it compared in innocence to Bo. Bo hadn’t deceived anyone. He’d always been forthright, honest, a stalwart warrior and friend who had never once hidden his love for Malcolm, even though coming out had put him—hell, both of them—in an unprecedented position within the pack. Bo had been Maverick’s former second, and the idea that if something had happened to Maverick, an openly gay Grey Wolf would take his place had been a revolutionary one.
It was the packmaster’s unspoken duty to produce an heir for the pack. Bo’s coming out had sparked both outrage and support, questions about what it meant to be the pack’s leader, about the obligations and duties involved should a gay man become packmaster. The revelation had shaken the pack’s politics to the core. Almost as much as Maverick naming his now wife, Sierra, the first female elite warrior. The pack had come a long way in recent years.
But Bo had been loyal, brave in spite of it all. He’d fought for the pack from a place of love, even those who hadn’t supported them. He’d been all the things Malcolm had always wished he could be. Kind. Loyal. Compassionate.
The two weren’t nearly equivalent.
Malcolm’s breath came in quick starts, but slowly he stepped back. Bo would have wanted him to, for the sake of the pack he’d loved, the wolves who’d been his family.
“If it makes any difference to you,” Quinn said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “I personally ensured that hunter was terminated—permanently.”
Meaning he’d been put down like the killer he was. Malcolm swallowed. He felt an odd, unexpected sense of…relief at that. But it didn’t change the situation, didn’t make it right. It didn’t bring Bo back, and the look of pure hatred on Malcolm’s face must have said as much.
Justice still hadn’t been served.
But hatred had never solved anything.
Love did.
Love and enough righteous anger to create change.
Bo had taught him that.
Briefly, his thoughts turned to Trixie. To the look of support she’d given him when she’d gone to join the other females. Maverick wouldn’t have wanted her to be a part of this.
But he did.
He wanted her to be a part of his life in all ways, with or without the pack. The realization hit him like an oncoming freight train. He’d thought he’d lost everything the day that Bo died. Before he’d lost Bo, he’d counted himself blessed that he’d found one other person who could make him happy for the rest of his days, if he allowed him to get close enough.
Let alone two.
“We’re not here to rehash the past,” Quinn continued. “We’re here to talk about the future.”
The clock on the wall ticked steadily, drawing Malcolm back to the importance of the moment. It was a reminder of how little time they had. Days, maybe, before they faced the vampire and the Volk one final time. And it would be the final time. They’d all make certain of it.
Quinn must have sensed the same thing, and he chose that moment to latch onto it. “With the Triple S involved, you’ll need allies, and we have as much interest in ensuring their…product doesn’t move west as you do.”
Blaze scoffed. “We already have allies. We don’t need you.”
“You’re talking about the wolves of the Rock City MC,” Quinn said dryly.
Maverick’s shoulders visibly tensed. “How do you know about that?”
“We hear things.” Quinn shrugged before he nodded at his companion. “And Jace here still has contacts back home in Detroit.”
Where the Rock City MC made its home.
Malcolm grumbled. Figured.
“The MC will help, but it’s not enough. You need us.”
“Our pack has never needed you for anything, Quinn. You’re simply a means to an end.” Maverick crossed his arms and nodded toward the door.
“Then take our deal, our means, and end it.” Quinn stepped forward, jabbing a single finger onto the edge of Maverick’s desk. “Or our treaty with the Grey Wolf Pack is off the table.”
The whole of the room went still.
Without another word, Quinn adjusted his Stetson and went to the door. Dean met him there, slipping the hunter’s blindfold back into place before leading him out.
His companion stepped forward. “A pleasure to finally meet you…” He extended a hand. “Packmaster.” The title sounded like a pointed interest in friendship.
Maverick stared at the hunter’s hand for a long beat before finally taking it. “I’ve heard things. None of them good.”
Jace released his grip, stepping back. “That’s what I’d hoped.”
Maverick nodded, some silent understanding seeming to pass between the two men. “You’ll have my answer come dawn tomorrow.”
Jace nodded once before he made his exit. Dean returned, having passed Quinn off to Sierra and Dakota, and led the blindfolded hunter out.
The lock shut behind them with a metallic snick.
“What in the flying fuck was that?” The colorful comment that cut the tension, of course, came from Blaze.
Maverick shook his head. “An ultimatum and a damn good one.”
Colt rested his head in his hands. “I’ve always hated those fuckers, every single one of them.”
“You’re not seriously considering taking their offer, are you?” Wes asked.
“We don’t have much of a choice. This supe juice is a problem for us, too, but even if it wasn’t…” Maverick’s jaw clenched, like he was struggling not to grind his teeth as he said the words. “It’s that or let the treaty collapse. Make the pack vulnerable to their organization, and they’re right. The alliance with the MC put us back in the game after the losses we had with the Volk, but with the Execution Underground’s help, that would push things over the edge in our favor.” He released a long sigh. “I hate to say it, but it’s a decent offer.”
“Fuck ‘decent.’” Malcolm growled. He cut Maverick a look as if to say, You know how I feel about this.
Maverick looked sympathetic but undeterred. “I can’t allow personal feelings to get in the way of protecting the pack. Partnering with them is for the greater good.”
Blaze opened the adjoining security office door, glancing inside toward where the wall of monitors lay. He was likely watching to see the exact moment when Quinn and his associate, Jace, left the ranch. “But what did he mean by end it?” the security specialist asked. “If they’re partnering with us against the vamps, when the final battle comes, they’ll be standing beside us.”
“He’s referring to what comes before,” Maverick answered. “He wants us to take out Cillian. Cut off the head of the vampire’s leadership, and with all our allies in place, the following battle will be easy, even with the Triple S and the Volk involved.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
“I don’t think there’s a single one of us who wouldn’t want to take out Cillian,” Blaze said finally.
“He doubled-crossed the Wild Eight, created the half-turned vamps.” Wes placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Colt nodded in agreement. “He ordered Lucas to torture me, tried to use my blood to make that fucking serum.”
Maverick glanced toward a picture frame on the mantel that held a picture of him and his younger sister. “Mae’s too. Then the conflict over the serum itself put the pack in a”—he chanced a look toward his office door where Quinn had exited—“tenuous position.”
Blaze turned away from the security cams. “Then the Volk. Austin.”
“Even Bo,” Malcolm added. If they hadn’t been trying to keep Cillian and his vampires in line, Bo might still have been alive. “Everything links back to him.”
“It seems there’s a score we all need to settle.” The voice seemed to come from the room’s shadows, and a moment later, Rogue stepped forth.
Maverick snarled. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Maverick shot a questioning look toward Blaze.
Blaze shrugged. “He’s always been good at getting around the pack’s security. It’s kind of his thing, being a criminal and all, remember?”
Rogue glanced between the two shifters as if he were bored. “If you think I don’t keep tabs on what you’re up to, brother, think again.”
Maverick frowned at the noun choice. The fact that Maeve, his sister, had run off with a man who’d once been his enemy was still a sore point. But being brother-in-law to the unofficial leader of North America’s packless rogue shifters had its advantages.
“What interest do you have in Cillian?” Maverick asked.
Rogue glanced down at his nails coolly. “You forget. He tried to kill my wife.”
Maverick growled again. “You mean my sister.”
“Yes, I suppose she was your sister, but now, she’s my wife. She made her choice.” Rogue smirked, driving the point home. “But Mae’s her own woman, of course.”
“It’s a risk,” Colt said, as if he’d already assessed the strategic possibility and what it would mean for the pack’s warrior ranks.
Wes shook his head. “The Seven Range Pact won’t be on board.”
“They don’t need to be.” Rogue’s face darkened. He had never been fond of the Seven Range Pact and their politics. “My men are willing to lend support. We do this alone.”
“Before the Rock City MC arrives,” Blaze agreed.
Maverick held up a hand, silencing them all for a moment like he needed the space to think. A few beats passed, every warrior in the room seeming to hold their breath, before finally he turned his attention toward Malcolm. “Do you think you can do it?”
“Not alone.” Malcolm shook his head. If he could’ve, he would have done it years ago. Cillian was too well guarded. “But if you tee it up, I can take him out without question.”
Rogue grinned. “From the sound of it, it won’t be a chore for you.” The packless wolf shifter knew a thing or two about revenge.
Malcolm cut Rogue a passing look. “It won’t be.”
He’d do it for Bo. For Austin. Exactly as he’d sworn to.
“One last raid?” Colt asked Maverick. “For old time’s sake?” The two had been best friends since they were children, always looking out for each other. Their partnership leading the pack’s elite ranks had been inevitable.
Blaze lifted a finger before Maverick could voice any dissent or issue any caveats. “This time without pipe bombs.” He grinned, anticipating exactly what Maverick had been likely to say.
“The rogue wolves are willing to stand beside you. On this and against the Volk. They pose a threat to us as well,” Rogue said.
Maverick nodded in approval. “Then for once, I agree with…” He nearly choked out the other wolf’s true name. “Jared,” he grumbled begrudgingly.
Blaze let out a little whoop of triumph. “Yes, I love a good raid!”
“Shut up,” Malcolm grumbled.
“Killing Cillian will be easy. It’s the retaliating battle to follow that will be the hard part. But we’re ready for them this time, more than we’ve ever been. It’s time to end this.”
The elite warriors nodded.
“I think you forgot something, Packmaster.” Dakota stepped in through the open security office door, wrapping her arms around Blaze’s neck and laying a quick kiss on his cheek.
The other females followed in behind her.
Naomi strode in toward Wes. “You need a way in.”
“A decoy.” That addition had come from Mae, who, like her new husband, seemed to have developed an uncanny ability to emerge from the shadows like she was a part of the office’s woodwork. Apparently, she’d been standing there, not far from Jared’s side, all along.
Belle was next, still in her physician’s coat, having come from the clinic. She cradled one of her and Colt’s children on her hip. “We need to make sure no one gets hurt.”
“And for that, you’ll need more than just a bunch of alpha males.” Sierra made her way in, her hands placed on Trixie’s shoulders as she steered the other woman forward.
To Trixie’s credit, she didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights but a veritable seductress of a witch, a magical demoness in her own right, a woman who knew her own power and didn’t hesitate to use it. Dumplin’ trailed at her heel like a hellhound ready to attack at her beck and call.
She smiled at Maverick and then gave Malcolm a knowing look as if the plan they were about to disclose had been her doing. “The Grey Wolf Pack is nothing without its females.”