Dark Wolf Running (Bloodrunners) (20 page)

He jerked his chin in silent agreement, hating that there was nothing he could do to make it better. Goddamn story of his life. He couldn’t help but think that if he and the others hadn’t been so damn stubborn about staying out of Shadow Peak, then he might have met Elise sooner. If he’d known her before the attack, would he have recognized her as his own and gone after her? Been there to protect her that night, letting his wolf rip those sons of bitches to pieces?

“You know, I’ve always wondered how Eli found the one that he killed,” Jeremy said, cutting into his dark thoughts. “I mean, if there wasn’t a scent trail to follow, either because of the rain or some drug the bastard might have taken, how did he know the guy was one of the attackers?”

“I’ve wondered the same thing,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. “But I guess we’ll never know until he comes back and tells us.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Moonlight glinted off Jeremy’s blond hair as he lowered his head to check his watch. “We should be heading back soon. It’s almost time for a shift change.”

They hadn’t taken more than ten steps when Wyatt threw his arm out to the side, stopping Jeremy in his tracks. The Runner cut him a sharp look, and Wyatt hitched his chin ahead of them. The forest had gone unusually quiet, and they both sensed that there was something out there, no doubt waiting to ambush them. There was no scent, but they knew better than to rely on their sense of smell. While the rogues who’d learned the art of day-shifting—thanks to Stefan Drake—had been accompanied by an acrid aroma, the Whitelaw’s “super soldier” drug simply removed any trace of scent altogether.

Jeremy was motioning for Wyatt to take the right while he took the left, when the bastard came right at them. Wyatt caught a flash of movement at the corner of his eye, and then the fully shifted Lycan was on him, going for his throat with his deadly jaws. Shifting the top half of his body, Wyatt went to knock him aside, when the Lycan landed a punishing knee strike to his ribs, the strength behind the blow making it clear that the male was hyped up on the drug. Jeremy immediately joined in, exchanging blows with the Lycan, claws striking against claws with an eerie hiss as the forest filled with their guttural snarls. When Jeremy tripped over a thick root, Wyatt lunged to protect him and ended up getting struck, his shoulder burning as his flesh was clawed open. Ready to end this bullshit, he went on an aggressive charge, blood spraying in a wide arc as Wyatt slashed the Lycan’s chest with his lethal claws. As messed up as it was, he was enjoying the violence of the fight, pouring all his anger and frustration over the way he’d handled things with Elise into teaching this asshole why it was a mistake to get near the people he cared about.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, once he had the blood-soaked Lycan slammed up against the moss-laden trunk of a massive pine tree.

“What do you think?” the male snarled, his voice roughened by the muzzled shape of his ebony snout. “I was told to watch her.”

He knew damn well the bastard was talking about Elise.

“Why?” When the jackass simply glared at him, Wyatt put one claw-tipped hand around his neck, letting his thumb claw dig into the base of the Lycan’s throat. “I asked you a question.
Why?
”

“Because he wants her!”

“Who wants her?” he growled through his own muzzled snout, while Jeremy came up beside him. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

The male’s bright green eyes went wide. “You don’t know? Oh, fuck, that’s priceless,” he wheezed with a gritty laugh.

Letting his claw dig a little deeper into the Lycan’s throat, Wyatt muttered, “Your time’s ticking, asshole. You really gonna waste it laugh—”
Bam!
One second the Lycan was glaring back at him, and in the next the guy’s head simply exploded, bits of brain and skull flying everywhere, splattering across both him and Jeremy.

“What the fuck?” Jeremy shouted, which pretty much summed up exactly what Wyatt was thinking.

“Get down!”
he snarled, but Jeremy was already dropping beside him. They lay on the forest floor on their bellies, braced on their elbows, sniffing the air as they listened to the wind howling through the trees, trying to determine where the danger was coming from. Someone was out there armed with a high-powered assault rifle, and they weren’t going to stand around making easy targets of themselves. Bullet wounds were something a Lycan could usually survive, especially with the help of a healer like Jillian—but when the shot blew a Lycan’s head into pulp, there wasn’t any coming back from it.

“You scent anything?” he asked Jeremy, careful to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

Jeremy shook his head. But as it turned out, they didn’t have to search for the shooter. The shooter came to them.

“It’s all right. You can get up now,” a voice called out from the darkness. “He was the target, not you. I shot him to protect you, since he no doubt had orders to assassinate you both.”

“Who’s there?” Wyatt grunted, searching the tree-shrouded shadows as he and Jeremy both moved to their feet. Whoever it was, he’d taken the same drug as the dead man lying at their feet, his scent completely disguised.

“It’s Sebastian Claymore,” the male said, coming into view as he stepped through the pines. He was small for a Lycan, maybe five-eight and nowhere near two hundred pounds, but he was fast. And he was clever. A hell of a lot cleverer than the rest of his clan.

“You’re trespassing,” Jeremy snarled, his long, sinister fangs gleaming white in the milky moonlight. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Gesturing toward the rifle hooked over his shoulder, Sebastian said, “I would think that’s obvious. I was saving your lives.”

“You murder your own people now?” Wyatt growled, the guttural words rough with pain. Blood oozed from a nasty cut on his cheek and slipped down the side of his face. But it was his shoulder that was really screwed. The Lycan had caught him deep with his claws, tearing into the muscle and striking bone. It would heal, but the process was going to be painful as fuck.

“Trust me when I say he was a necessary kill,” Sebastian murmured in response to his question, before a crooked smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “And before you ask about the gun, let me just say that, given my size, it was either learn to shoot or be killed. The Whiteclaw aren’t known for being the most gentle of packs.”

“Then why did you come back to them?” Wyatt asked, his breath hissing through his teeth as he retook his human shape, the change making his injured shoulder burn with a fresh wave of pain.

Sebastian’s response was simple. “Because I was needed.”

“For what?” Jeremy grunted. The Runner had retaken his human shape as well and was now standing with his arms crossed over his bare chest, his steely gaze narrowed suspiciously on Sebastian.

“That’s why I’m here. I need to talk to you.”

“Then talk, and make it fast,” Wyatt snapped. “I want to know what you’re doing on our land.”

Hitching the rifle strap just a bit higher on his shoulder, the Lycan said, “I’m here because I don’t want what’s coming. I don’t want the war. I would have called to warn you, but I can’t guarantee that my calls aren’t being monitored. Coming here to talk to you in person was my only choice.” He glanced at the fallen body of his pack mate, then returned his gaze to Wyatt. “Luckily for you, I came when I did.”

Ignoring that statement, he asked, “Warn us about what?”

His low voice rough with emotion, Sebastian said, “There’s something not...
right
with my brother. With Harris.” He started to pace, rubbing one hand against his lean jaw, his eyes worried behind the round lenses of his glasses. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a traitor. I love my brother, but he and Roy are going to destroy the Whiteclaw and I can’t let that happen. We might not be the most upstanding pack around, but there are women and children with us who need a home.”

Jeremy made a rude sound in the back of his throat. “You really concerned about women? What about the ones being drugged and gang-raped in your hometown?”

The Lycan’s mouth tightened. “You think I’m not disgusted by that filth?”

“If that’s true,” Wyatt muttered, “then what are you doing about it?”

Stopping his pacing, Sebastian stood with his hands shoved in his pockets and met their belligerent glares with a frustrated one. “There are those of us in the pack who hate what Roy’s trying to do. But we have few resources. He controls everything.”

“Tell us about Harris,” Wyatt prompted, wanting to get the hell out of there and back to Elise so that he could see with his own eyes that she was safe and secure.

Sebastian lifted his shoulders in a weary shrug. “I don’t know. He’s just... I have a bad feeling. His interest in the Silvercrest...it isn’t healthy.”

“What kind of interest?” he growled. “Did that bastard break into Elise Drake’s house the other night?”

Sebastian’s brows lifted. “Someone broke into her home?”

Wyatt locked his jaw and kept quiet, choking back his words. He didn’t want to tell Seb anything about Elise’s life—he just wanted to know what was going on with the guy’s brother. But after Sebastian failed to answer the rest of their questions, it became clear that the Lycan either didn’t know anything more...or was simply unwilling to share. He claimed he didn’t even know who the Lycan he’d killed had been sent to the Alley to watch or who exactly had sent him. Dissatisfied with the lack of answers, Wyatt called in the two scouts who were taking over the patrol for them. After briefing the scouts on what had happened, he told them to escort Sebastian off their land and to make sure that the Lycan took the body of his pack mate with him. Then he turned his attention back to Sebastian and said, “If you learn anything that can actually help us, then find whoever’s on patrol, like you did tonight. They’ll know to be on the lookout for you.”

With that, he and Jeremy headed back to the Alley, neither of them comfortable with what had happened...or with the things Sebastian Claymore had told them.

“What the hell happened to you two?” Cian asked the instant they stepped out of the trees at the edge of the clearing, near the Irishman’s cabin. The Runner was sitting on the hood of his Land Rover, which was parked at the side of the cabin, smoking a cigarette, while silvery streams of smoke swirled over his head like a halo, though he was definitely no angel.

Sounding as exhausted as he felt, Wyatt said, “We ran into some trouble.”

Cian exhaled another ethereal stream of smoke and smirked. “In that case, I hope the other guy looks worse.”

“He looks like something out of a fucking horror flick,” Jeremy muttered. “Got his goddamn head blown off.”

Cian’s brows lifted, and they explained about their run-in with the Whiteclaw Lycan and the surprising conversation with Sebastian Claymore that followed.

“Do you trust him?” Cian asked, taking another deep drag on his cigarette.

Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know. I want to, but this whole situation is messed up.”

“Speaking of being messed up,” Cian offered drily, “did I mention that you both look like shit?”

“You don’t look so great yourself,” Wyatt replied, surprised to realize that what he’d said was true and not just a snarky comeback. There were new lines of strain around the Runner’s mouth and eyes, and one of his knees kept jiggling. Now that Wyatt thought about it, he realized Hennessey had been overly restless lately, not to mention chain-smoking to the point that it would have been hell on a human’s lungs. “Seriously, man. You look rough.”

“Yeah, but all I have to do is find a willing set of legs to crawl between, and I’ll be good as gold,” the Irishman drawled with a sharp smile. “What are
you
going to do?”

“Hell if I know.” He grimaced, his injured shoulder hurting like a bitch.

“Well, I know what
I’m
doing,” Jeremy murmured, heading toward his cabin, where Jillian had just opened their front door, her petite body backlit by a golden, welcoming glow of light.

“Can you let the others know what’s happened?” Wyatt asked, casting an eager look toward his own cabin, where a soft, colorful light was shining in the living-room window, making him think Elise must still be up watching television.

“Yeah, I’ll let them know.”

“Thanks,” he said, bringing his gaze back to Cian. From the look on Hennessey’s face, it was clear that his fellow Runner had noticed how intently he’d been staring at his cabin. And that he knew why. But before his friend could give him any shit about it, the side door to Cian’s cabin opened and a woman Wyatt recognized from Shadow Peak walked out. She was tall and busty, with minimal clothing and a well-used look that said she’d been screwed through the Irishman’s mattress. She gave a little wave to Cian, then climbed into a small Toyota Wyatt hadn’t noticed until then and headed out of the Alley. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had gone down between the two, and Wyatt lifted his brows. “Don’t you normally go to the woman’s place?”

Rolling his shoulder, Cian said, “Yeah, but I didn’t want to leave the Alley. We need all the protection we can get.”

Wyatt snorted. “Exactly how much use would you be to us while playing ‘ride the pony’ with your current fuck-buddy?”

The Runner gave a gritty laugh, a strange expression on his face that Wyatt had never seen before. “Not an issue. To be honest, despite what I said before about finding a pair of legs to crawl between, lately sex hasn’t been quite as...
consuming
for me as it used to be.” His tone was wry, with an unmistakable, underlying edge of something darker. “So there’s no need to worry about my powers of concentration, Pall.”

Wyatt grunted, no idea what he should say to that. He and Cian weren’t exactly on “let’s rip our hearts out and talk life” terms. Not that he had that kind of friendship with anyone. And that was for a good reason. He didn’t ever know what to say when someone laid something heavy on the line like Hennessey had just done.
Buck up? Sorry?
Or the tried-and-true
Life’s a bitch?

Cian cut his hand through the air. “You know what? Just forget it. We never had this conversation.”