Wolf Claim (Wolves of Willow Bend Book 3) (16 page)

After unwrapping the sandwich, he considered the food. “Twelve dead, three missing and a poison. Gillian is absolutely certain it’s poison, and she has the details.”

“Fuck.” Brett’s knuckles whitened. It would have been kinder if it were a disease. Footsteps on the porch interrupted their conversation, and Brett crossed to answer the door before a knock could sound. The dark-skinned wolf from the rest stop stood on the other side. “Did you pull all the records, Marco?”

“Every death. I went through Hatcher’s files myself. Pulled every name and cause for the last five years. Not much more than the twelve we already knew about.” He held up a stack of files. “He kept a lot of notes, but he didn’t keep them on digital files.”

Owen watched Marco studying him. The other wolf didn’t meet his Alpha’s eyes if he could help it, strange considering his rank. Hunters were a stubborn lot.

“Do the files include the deaths of the two women at the beginning of the pattern?” Brett asked.

Ten males, two females
. Something wasn’t right about the number. Of course, nothing was right about the situation.

Frankly, he’d rather be teaching kids lessons about setting traps for their friends in the woods than dealing with the mess in Hudson River, but not until they’d captured the mad dog.

Marco didn’t answer immediately, waiting for Brett’s permission.

“Go ahead.” The Alpha nodded and glanced at Gillian’s door once before carrying the files in to sit on the table.

“Andrea Michaelson and Jeanine Renaldi.” Marco shifted his stance, locking gazes with Owen.

With a raise of his eyebrows, Owen waited out the stare. “Andrea was the one in the car accident?”

“Yes.” Marco scowled, blinking once, before sliding a look to his Alpha. “It’s in Hatcher’s notes.”

“I see that,” Brett said, scratching his jaw.

“And the other one? Renaldi?”

Marco shrugged, but Brett answered. “She was Marco’s grandmother. A lovely lady, though prone to being a bit dotty.”

The other Hunter grimaced. “She wasn’t the same after Grandpa died. It was a couple of winters ago. It got pretty cold, and we had some terrifically bad blizzards. She wandered out…we found her a couple of weeks later.”

An unpleasant death, but no reason to assume poison. Surviving the loss of a mate was a brutal prospect. Marco’s family had to have participated to keep his grandmother with them. “Perhaps she felt nothing.” He offered the only condolence he had. “The cold tends to make us sleep.”

“She survived her mate,” Brett growled. “A wolf must have enduring strength to do that. How does the cold kill a woman like that?”

The door above creaked open and Gillian padded out, looking sleep rumpled and delicious. “Warning perhaps. If her mate were ill or declining slowly, it would have given her time. It’s the shocking deaths that are the hardest to survive.”

Owen moved to the stairs and was halfway up them before she reached the top. She’d dressed in a shirt—his—and a pair of leggings. Her expression softened when she wrapped her arms around him in an easy show of affection. His wolf rubbed against his skin, eager to hold their mate. Cradling her, he carried her down the stairs more to continue holding her than because she needed the assistance.

“Perhaps.” Marco’s attention wasn’t on Owen or his Alpha. Instead he focused on Gillian. “She is well, for sure?”

“She is fine,” Brett answered before Owen could, and rose to his feet. “Continue the search for the boys. Send two trackers into Manhattan, just in case they’ve simply gone looking for trouble.” Though they were far from the skyscraper-laden city, it wasn’t an impossible idea.

“Of course.” Marco edged toward the door. “Are we still planning the vigil this weekend, Brett?”

“Yes.” Brett strode toward the door and opened it, then he clasped Marco’s shoulder. The other wolf shuddered and the faint sour notes muddying his scent strained further. Gillian tugged at his arms and faced the Hudson River Hunter. Her frown warned Owen a second before she slipped free. “Oh no you don’t little wolf,” Brett said to her even as he gave Marco a nudge. The Hunter retreated outside, and Brett shut the door.

Satisfied Brett had effectively derailed Gillian’s urge to heal, and put himself in the line of fire for it, Owen wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her back against his chest.

“He’s hurting,” Gillian protested.

“They’re all hurting, sweetheart. They’ve had a lot of death in a short time.”

Brett nodded once. “We will survive, little wolf. We will survive better if you are still with us, and you didn’t exactly rest all night.”

“No, I didn’t,” she agreed, leaning into Owen. “I did something better.”

Owen felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and Brett outright laughed. “I suppose you did. Come and eat. Afterward, we can figure this out.”

Interestingly, Brett was true to his word and kept the conversation light, refusing to engage in any darker discussions until Gillian ate enough to satisfy Owen’s concern. Overall, the Hudson River Alpha really wasn’t a bad guy. For her part, Gillian perched on the sofa next to Owen, their thighs touching. The ease of her touch and the affection in every glance she sent his way reminded him of the burn in his chest, the brand of their mating still very fresh.

How he fucking hated sharing her, yet he couldn’t mistake the determination in her expression or the glint in her eyes when she said, “Forgive me, Brett. As much as I wish otherwise, we can’t keep putting off this discussion. You need to know about the poison, what it does, and what we’re looking for.”

Owen wished he could spare her this discussion. Surprisingly, Brett didn’t consent right away. His attention was on the stack of file folders, and Owen took advantage of his distraction to study him. Like him, the other wolf hadn’t slept and how could he? Something dark and twisted ate away at his pack. Wolves preferred direct enemies, not shadow stalker cowardly shit.

“Before we say anything,” Brett replied, his tone carefully neutral. “I gave my word to your Alpha that I would send you home as soon as you are able to travel.”

Fucking bastard.
 

“I’m not going yet. Mason will understand.” Gillian’s refusal was immediate. She tightened her hand on Owen’s arm. He caught her imploring look and his heart squeezed. She wanted him to agree with her, wanted his permission to keep risking her neck. Growling, he caught her hand in his. “Owen, they’re in pain and Hudson River will need me if another is poisoned. I can save them.”

Yeah, she probably could. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about Hudson River’s wolves, but Gillian did. “Within reason, and if Mason okays it,” he told her, ordered her. “And you never leave my sight.”

Her smile lit him up inside. “Thank you.”

Across the room, Brett’s smile wasn’t nearly as pretty. “And to her thanks I shall add mine, but I will not risk you, little wolf. This is a hunt for a killer, not a cure. I will not hesitate to take advantage of your presence if it means saving one of mine, but I refuse to lose you to this battle. Clear?”

Fucking bastard wanted to make nice. Owen glared at him. “I will take care of Gillian. You fix your damn pack.”

“Oh,” Brett said and his tone carried the hint of a promise. “I will.”

Gillian sighed, but her hand stayed in his as she said, “Gentlemen, may I tell you what happened?” Her gentleness defused the burgeoning tension in the room and Owen shook his head.

Healer’s healed. In more ways than one. He had a steep learning curve if he planned to keep her safe from everyone, including herself.

“Please,” he replied, denying Brett the opportunity to give permission.
My mate. My rules.
 

Chapter Nine

The next three days were the best, since Owen was her mate and the hours spent together were precious. It was also the worst, since they were stymied in their hunt for a killer. Gillian found her freedom curtailed more than ever before. Owen never left her side, nor did Brett, save for when she and Owen retreated to their room. The Alpha’s distress, barricaded by his stern visage and carefully modulated control, raked at her.

The presence of a killer among their wolves hurt him. Hurt his whole pack, really. What other few members she’d been allowed to see also suffered. The one concession both men made for her was granting time with young Trent. The nine-year-old boy grieved for the loss of his brother, a wolf he’d clearly adored and worshipped, while also struggling with the hurt all around him.

Hurt he couldn’t fix.

His parents delivered him to Brett’s house early one morning, and Gillian spent several hours chatting with him while relaxing under a tree in Brett’s ‘yard.’ Vividly aware of Owen’s presence as he prowled a circuit around the house and Brett’s watchfulness from the house, she kept her attention on Trent.

“So I shouldn’t just make it better when someone is hurt?” The nine year-old struggled to wrap his mind around the concept.

“You can, but sometimes we have to pick and choose what we heal.” She smiled, then ruffled his hair. The boy had already stolen her heart, and her soul ached for him. She wanted to make it better, and she knew listening helped. “It sounds easier than it is, I know.”

“Yeah, because when Anna hurt her arm, I wanted to fix it and I did. Course it kind of hurt her too.” He grimaced and rubbed at his shoulder. “I must have fixed it real good, ‘cause she punched me.”

Biting back another smile, Gillian nodded. “This is why we have to pick and choose. In part because pain teaches and not all injuries are so grievous that we can’t learn something from their healing naturally.” She knew it might be the hardest lesson of all for a healer to learn, when not to do it.

“But if they are hurting…”

Resting her hand on his shoulder, she gave him an affectionate squeeze. Like most wolves, he was a tactile child and enjoyed the contact. “Every healing we do comes at the cost of energy. We pay a price for it. Let’s say your friends are playing and they wrestle and get cut up, scraped, and bruised. That happens right?”

Trent made a face. “All the time.”

“You want to make it better and you heal all of them. How do you feel afterward?”

The boy bit his lip, his faint smile drooping. “Pretty crappy—um, I mean bad.” Another wince, as though he expected a cuff, but as she’d told Owen, language didn’t bother her. Trent also confirmed her suspicion about his talent.

“Exactly, because it takes energy. Energy you won’t have once you’ve used it. Now, imagine you’ve done all that fixing. What do your friends do after that?” Because they were wolves and children, the outcome seemed inevitable.

“The same thing…oh!” Realization dawned, visible in his unguarded expression. “And they get all kinds of more beat up because they know I can fix them.”

“Precisely.” But that wasn’t the worst issue. “The more they get hurt and expect you to fix it, the less caution they exercise with every risk they take. If you’re worn out from fixing their stupidity, you won’t have the strength for real problems that do need your help.”

His nose scrunched, Trent looked thoughtful. “Like when Eddie got sick.”

She understood the lie his parents had given him, or perhaps allowed him to believe, but he wouldn’t learn from a lie. “Yes and no. What happened to Eddie happened very swiftly. If we know or have an illness or injury in front of us, we might be able to do something, but it would take a tremendous amount of energy to help and even that isn’t a guarantee.”

Solemn eyes met hers. “We can’t fix dead.”

“No, darling, we can’t.” Not even the most powerful healer could reverse death. “We rely on our strength to heal, and our wisdom to know when to do it.”

“It’s
hard
to ignore others hurting.”

“I know, and you don’t have to ignore them. Believe it or not, a Band-Aid and a kiss can go a long way toward making someone feel better.”

“I am
not
kissing anyone.” Disgust filled his sentiment and he climbed to his feet. “Alpha’s coming, time for me to go home. Can I come see you again?”

“Of course you can,” she said and accepted his impulsive hug before he scampered off. Brett ruffled the child’s hair as he raced past. He watched, but Trent’s parents were already waiting for him and their voices carried easily.

After seeing the boy off, Brett continued to where she sat under the tree. Shockingly, Owen didn’t put in an immediate appearance, but she knew her mate had to be somewhere close by. Setting onto the bench next to her, the Alpha stretched his legs out and studied the surrounding landscape. Like so many dominants, awareness of his surroundings came naturally. He said nothing, so Gillian allowed him his quiet.

They’d gone over her experience repeatedly, from the type of poison to the effect it had on the body. Her only questions remained when had she contracted it? At the time, she’d thought from the bodies, which seemed to be the general consensus. Yet others had handled the bodies and not died, so why her? Why then?

Medically, it didn’t make sense.

“I am considering sending you home,” Brett said finally, revealing one of the thoughts traveling through his mind.

“We have not solved the injury to your pack.” Going home wouldn’t help him.

“It could be months before he strikes again.” Brett leaned forward and clasped his hands, elbows resting on his denim-clad knees. He didn’t look at her, his attention focused on the trees separating his property from what had been Hatcher’s. “These last three were so close together, they don’t fit the pattern of the rest.”

“No, they are as anomalous as the first two deaths, which makes me think Hatcher wasn’t a target, but an accident.”

Brett frowned. Her words had the desired effect; she had his attention “Why do you think it was an accident?”

“Well, the obvious reason is the time between the attacks. Then there’s what most of the dead wolves have in common except for the first two and Hatcher. I will hazard a guess and say Eddie, too.”

“First tell me why Eddie doesn’t fit?”

“Because Trent told me Eddie was talking to Hatcher about him.” The older brother understood his sibling’s differences.