Not so fond memories aside, I opened my mouth there in the bar to remind Hunter that my name was Fen. F-E-N. Surely three little letters weren’t too much for his wolfish brain to handle?
But before any snark could emerge, an overwhelming scent of rotten bananas filled the crowded room and five of the frozen shifters around us abruptly transformed into wolves with an audible pop. Then the outpack males’ growls merged into one ominous rumble as they stalked forward, progress only slightly hindered by the sea of torpid bodies between them and their prey.
Oh, and in case I wasn’t entirely clear—I was their prey.
“I think that’s our cue to leave.” Hunter must have sprinted to reach me so quickly. But when I looked down from my table-top perch, the enforcer didn’t appear out of breath. Still, his usual lackadaisical attitude had worn thin, suggesting that the uber-alpha was as shaken as I was to see his compulsion overthrown. Given the fact that Hunter was the strongest werewolf I’d ever met, he’d probably never lost a battle of wills before.
As a consolation prize, I accepted the uber-alpha’s hand even though I didn’t need any help descending from the table. A zing of awareness rushed up my arm at the contact and our eyes locked for a split second. Despite the unexpected attraction, though, I planted my feet when Hunter began tugging me toward the door.
“We’re not leaving without Ten-Gallon.”
“Ten-Gallon?” my stalker queried. One thick eyebrow rose quizzically and I gestured with my chin toward the man who’d helped Ginger, Cinnamon, and Lia escape.
Hunter considered the buff shifter for several long seconds, then shook his head decidedly. “No, I don’t like the look of him. And you don’t even know his name. Hurry up.”
The uber-alpha’s words were a terse command and I had to literally bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying You’re not the boss of me and flipping him the bird. Instead, I turned away and prepared to make my stand, drawing the sword gifted to me by my previous alpha. If Hunter wasn’t going to help my new pack mate survive the ensuing altercation, then I would.
The ring of steel emerging from its scabbard halted the enemy wolves’ forward momentum momentarily, but now we had an extra half-dozen combatants arrayed against us. All were much closer than I would have liked, too, while Hunter and I still appeared to be at an impasse. Not good.
“Are you going to unfreeze my buddy or run away and leave us here like a scaredy cat?” I demanded without taking my gaze off the approaching danger.
Hunter seemed torn between commenting on my juvenile language and on the three-foot hunk of metal I’d been learning to use in lieu of wolf form. Then he shook his head and sighed out an “okay” that promptly sent Ten-Gallon sprawling at my feet. Keeping the sharp blade carefully clear, I leaned down and gave the fallen werewolf a hand up.
“Much obliged, ma’am,” the cowboy shifter said, doffing his hat. “I’m Quillen Atwater, by the way. But you can call me Quill.”
See? Chivalry isn’t dead, I wanted to tell Hunter. But the rotten-banana scent was growing stronger by the second, and the sound of enemy werewolves shaking off the uber-alpha’s mental grasp now resembled the clatter of corn in an air popper just before the kernels achieved critical mass. So instead, I simply offered my own name back to Quill and led the three of us down the shifter-free aisle between table and door at a speedy walk.
Without further comment, the uber-alpha dropped in behind Ten-Gallon, pacing backwards while warily scanning the crowd we passed. I half expected him to shift into lupine form to expand his arsenal, but instead, Hunter remained human and weaponless, even deigning to offer a conversation starter.
“That reminds me...” the uber-alpha began, and I couldn’t quite prevent myself from interrupting. My companion just sounded way too calm and in control in the face of what looked like it would soon become a bloodbath.
“What reminds you? The fact that we’re being stalked by twenty angry werewolves?” Because at least that number of shifters had now reanimated. One reached toward me in human form, and I swiped at his bare arm, giving my opponent just enough of a scratch to warn without causing an emergency-room visit. The wounded shifter lifted his human lips into a lupine snarl and I got the unpleasant impression that he was filing my face away in his mental database to make future vengeance easier. Great.
“Exactly,” Hunter replied easily. “You’re not safe here. Someone’s been kidnapping ha...” He paused, abruptly realizing he’d almost used a common slur for half-breed werewolves right in front of one. “Um, I mean, human-werewolf hybrids....”
To my discredit, I let the uber-alpha flounder as we continued walking carefully toward the door. It was nice to be able to embrace the upper hand for a few seconds, but I put him out of his misery soon enough. “You can call it like it is. I’m a halfie and proud of it.”
“Hmm,” Hunter answered. Then he regained his composure and continued. “As I was saying, halfies have been going missing around these parts, but more so further east. Some were males, but most were young, attractive females like you. You’re headed in the wrong direction. You need to take your pack and go back the way you came.”
Now it was my turn to growl. I hated nothing more than being told what to do, even though the “attractive” part sounded nice. “I’ll take it under advisement,” I said between clenched teeth.
Then time for conversation abruptly ran out as the first wave of advancing shifters reached the aisle and began trotting toward us at a steady clip. I eyed the door—close, but not close enough. We wouldn’t all be able to sprint to safety, but maybe at least one of us could.
Grabbing Quill’s arm, I pointed him in the right direction. “Run!” I ordered, putting my own mild alpha compulsion behind the command. My genetics meant I shouldn’t have been able to command so much as a field mouse, but my previous alpha’s gifted mantle did the job...this time at least. I sighed in relief when the cowboy shifter turned to obey, then listened until the clatter of his shod feet was abruptly muffled by the safety of grass and dirt.
Almost there. Four pack mates had now made it out of the bar alive, so I only had myself and Hunter to worry about. Luckily, I was pretty confident the two of us could take care of ourselves.
I expected the uber-alpha to think differently since he apparently considered me to be a damsel in distress. Instead, he surprised me by pushing my body between himself and the advancing wolves. “Hold them off for a minute and I’ll see if I can reactivate that freeze,” he ordered.
I was torn between being thrilled that the uber-alpha trusted me enough to depend on my protection and being annoyed that he didn’t seem to know how to pose a request in the form of a question.
No, wait, I was none of the above. Instead, as thirty—yes, the number had grown yet again—slobbering werewolves advanced upon me and my thin blade of metal, I knew exactly how I felt.
Terrified.
***
I was well aware that my previous pack leader, Wolfie, had handed me his grandfather’s sword as a metaphorical symbol of my newfound power. But I’d focused on the more practical utility of the weapon right away.
It wasn’t so surprising that Wolfie and I didn’t see eye to eye on the purpose of my new katana since we were about as different as two werewolves could be. My old alpha was a bloodling—a shifter born in lupine form who tended to retain those wolfish characteristics for the rest of his life. His alpha dominance alone could always bend troublesome shifters to his will, but he never hesitated to don fur if he needed sharp teeth in order to prove a point.
So Wolfie probably had no clue how defenseless my submissive wolf made me. And how unsuited I was to running a pack.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t just yank out the fur and claws when threatened like everyone else could. Sure, I was capable of transforming into a four-legger. And even though my animal half was more likely to turn tail and run than to fight, I could overcome her urges with my human brain and get the job done. The sublimation caused a subtle slowing of our reaction time that had negative consequences at critical moments, but it was better than nothing.
Still, I almost never shifted because my wolf was just too darn weak to be shown off in public. Specifically, I couldn’t risk her being barked into line by more dominant shifters...and, newly gifted mantle aside, every single shifter’s animal half was more dominant than mine. So I didn’t have the option of taking advantage of a werewolf’s typical physical defenses—teeth and claws.
Back in my old clan, the halfie disability hadn’t been much of a problem. Wolfie had protected our pack with a gentle yet strong dominance that put the worries of weaker wolves to rest. Even at the worst of times, I’d always known someone was guarding my back.
That all changed when Hunter’s manipulations thrust me into the position of watching out for four—now five—other werewolves. And I still couldn’t use lupine teeth to get my way.
So as soon as Wolfie presented me with his family heirloom, I got to work. I streamed YouTube videos on my phone and practiced while my new pack slept until I fell to the ground exhausted time and again. Only Ginger had noticed the strange nicks on my legs, but she appeared to accept the explanation that I’d cut myself while shaving. And eventually I became skilled enough that even those signs of fumbling disappeared.
Which is all a long way of saying—I did know how to handle the sword I was carefully grasping between two sweaty palms. But it felt very different to hack at a tree trunk compared to swinging at living, breathing shifters, even if the latter seemed ready to tear out my throat.
Here’s hoping I can just wave the scary sword menacingly and buy Hunter time to do his work, I thought without much faith in the possibility. Sparing a glance over one shoulder, I saw that the shifter in question had stretched out flat on the ground and appeared to be meditating...or perhaps taking a nap. Not a good sign.
“She looks tasty.” I couldn’t tell which of the shifters had spoken, but a rumble of agreement rose from both men and wolves alike. So I guess the identity of the speaker didn’t really matter after all.
“A little skinny for my tastes.” This time I caught the eye of the man in question. Speaker two was in his thirties and brimming with good health. In fact, I would have thought he was cute if he wasn’t obviously undressing me with his eyes and finding me wanting. Ew.
“But serviceable,” the first voice countered. “You heard the man—she’s a halfie.”
A word that had seemed almost charming when emerging from Hunter’s lips now cut me like the blade of Wolfie’s sword. But I couldn’t let them know their barb had hit home. Instead, I lengthened my spine and swung at an encroaching four-legger, this time failing to soften the blow at the last moment.
A whoosh of displaced air, half of a furry ear flying across the floor, and a yelp from my opponent proved that those weeks of practice had paid off. The injured wolf jerked backward like a stepped-on puppy dog before remembering his audience. Then he growled, reversing his retreat even as blood began streaming down the side of his face.
“That was a warning blow.” I was proud to hear that my voice was calm and steady even though the more powerful werewolves in the audience would be able to hear my heart beating a mile a minute. “This sword is sharp and I know how to use it. I recommend you all back away while you have the chance.”
Voice number one laughed. “Spunky, aren’t you?” The shifter in question emerged from the crowd at last, and it was instantly clear that this was the other mens’ leader. “That’ll make you even more fun when we have you on the altar.”
I shivered as my gaze flicked over my opponent’s form. Even without the help of my wolf, I could see the wildness of a rampant lupine half within the enemy’s eyes. And his stance was relaxed as he strolled casually within range of my sword as if the weapon didn’t even exist.
I should’ve taken the chance and cut him down then and there. Sure, the shifter looked like any other aging businessman. Dark suit, expensive haircut, fancy shoes. But I could feel the evil emanating from his cold, hard eyes and my gut told me the world would be a better place without this particular shifter in it.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite make myself take advantage of the opening presented. Yes, I’d killed a man before and with this very sword to boot. Still, my previous opponent had been menacing a toddler and, by extension, had been a danger to our entire pack.
And despite that clear-cut motive, I still had nightmares about the sickening crunch of blade through bone, the sucking sound as flesh parted and blood gushed.
They say your first kill is the hardest. But I had to disagree. It’s the second, when you knew what to expect, that makes even a brave wolf hesitate.
And, as I mentioned before, my wolf was anything but brave. So I wavered.
In response, the man smiled...then knocked the sword right out of my hands.