Wolf Claim (Wolves of Willow Bend Book 3) (6 page)

The idea of being so separate was alien to her. “Why?”

“Maybe the fact that they spend six months of the year living raw? I don’t know.” He shrugged.

Not ready to let him lapse back into silence, she pursued her curiosity. “How long were you there?”

“Two weeks.” She thought he wouldn’t say anymore then he shrugged. “Toman wanted to renegotiate some trade rules. I carried a letter from him.”

“Wouldn’t a phone call have been easier?”

“Yeah, but the Yukon Alpha doesn’t have a phone. Or, if he does, he didn’t share the number with anyone. He prefers to look his messengers in the eye and negotiate face to face. So, if the other packs want something from him, they have to send an emissary.”

“That’s—archaic and kind of sweet, too.” Several days of running with little sleep had begun to catch up with her, and she had to smother a yawn. The more Owen spoke, the more the tension in the vehicle dissipated and she relaxed.

“Sweet?” Disbelief filled his voice.

“Yes, sweet. We have cell phones and text messages and social media and a thousand different ways to distance ourselves, so it’s kind of sweet that he insists on the personal touch.”

“It’s a power play, Gillian. He controls access to information and trade, he makes the other Alphas send wolves to him knowing damn good and well they can’t negotiate anything without checking in. If one of us pulls out a cell phone, he walks away and ignores us. For
days
.”

Maybe it was a show of dominance. “He’s an alpha. He can do that.” Toman had his own eccentricities. The disloyal thought didn’t sit well with her. She’d heard the stories and the rumors about Toman’s actions, most notably his abandonment of A.J. Buckley to the human justice system. There were other stories—seedier ones. The type she didn’t want to believe, so she didn’t ask about them.

“Being an Alpha doesn’t make you a god. If anything, it should make you
more
responsible, not more of a dick.” He grimaced. “Sorry.”

She laughed and he cut a quick look at her. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated faintly. For a brief second, she thought his wolf peeked out, but his eyes darkened once more.

“What was funny?”

“You apologized for saying ‘dick.’ Dylan about cuffed Kyle the other night for cursing in front of me.” Did he even know how archaic and old-fashioned his behavior was? “You do realize I won’t faint if you say fuck or damn or even shit, right?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he gave her hand a light squeeze. “You can say whatever you want, but I’ve never heard you curse before today.”

Fresh amusement filled her, and she laughed all over again. “That’s because you don’t see me every day. I bet this trip will open your eyes to all of my flaws.” The moment the words were out, she regretted them. His scent changed, deepening, and no way could she miss the musk of arousal spiking his naturally spicy aroma. A wave of heat pulsed through her and she blew out a breath between her teeth. The profound urge to rub against him threatened to drive her crazy.

Eager to change the subject, she said, “I’m really curious if Hudson River’s problem is as serious as their Alpha told Mason.”

He said nothing, and the silence pulled her nerves taut.

“A dozen deaths in two years? That’s a lot for a pack.” Willow Bend saw one or two natural deaths in a year. Wolves were built hardy, and they lived long lives with a low incidence of illness. Injury, however, was an entire other story.

As though following her line of thought, Owen said, “Unless there’s a dominance fight within his ranks.” Though rare when a strong Alpha led, the rise of some dominants could have an unsettling effect on the mortality rate—particularly among males.

“But wouldn’t the Alpha know?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

When he added nothing more, her stomach cramped. “You think if he knew, he wouldn’t tell Mason that.”

“Gillian,” Owen said, slanting a long look her direction. “Do you think Mason would agree to send you into a situation where the Alpha’s position is under challenge by fast-rising dominants?”

No.
Because a pack at war with itself would quickly disintegrate into chaos, particularly if the Alpha didn’t step in and deal with the troublemakers himself. “Not all dominance challenges end in death.” Willow Bend had them, though usually limited to maturing adolescents. Some males were so evenly matched that a brutal fist fight had a way of settling the matter. In fairness, she’d seen it with some of the female Hunters, too. The men had a habit of wanting to defend their women, protect them, even the strongest of the females. Those women would challenge the men around them.

“No, but if a pack is unhealthy? It happens more than you think.”

“Willow Bend is healthy, though.”

“Healthier, yes. Completely healthy?” He shrugged.

Shocked by his assessment, she slid one hand to his forearm and squeezed. “How is Willow Bend not healthy? I know we’ve been adjusting since Toman’s death, but Mason is a good Alpha.” Grief sparked in her. The night Toman died had left the pack keening. The Alpha challenge had been fair and well fought, but it didn’t mean they hadn’t hurt at the loss of a man they’d followed. Toman had been Alpha for all of Gillian’s life. She’d known Mason a little before he’d gone Lone Wolf, but she was only a couple of years younger than him.
Funny that he calls me little one.

She wondered if he remembered the closeness in their ages.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“Sadness is a part of life.” Reflection. Remembering. They were important. “It’s when we pretend everything is all right when it isn’t that we run into trouble.” Delusion in a wolf was a dangerous adversary. Though they weren’t prone to mental illness, they were not immune from it. She’d seen one case, when she was much younger, and it had been a horrible experience. The wolf in question hadn’t quite become a mankiller yet, but he’d been dangerously close to the edge. An edge he apparently recognized because he’d come to Emma and asked her if he had any hope of survival.

The man had stood in the middle of Emma’s living room, the sour stench of his sickness poisoning the air. Emma had ordered Gillian to leave, using a tone so stiff and cool, it had been foreign. Frightened, Gillian fled and ran to find Thomas, Emma’s mate.

He’d taken one look at her, likely caught the hint of the other wolf’s stench on her, and ordered her to go for the Alpha. Then
he’d
run. The sick wolf had been buried the next day. She never knew if it had been Thomas or Toman who put him down, but Emma had closed in on herself—gone silent for days.

“Hey.” Owen squeezed her hand twice. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” It wasn’t a total lie. The memory wasn’t a pleasant one, but it could hardly hurt her.

“Don’t lie to me, Gillian.” The hint of order in the words rankled her.

“I wasn’t lying. At least—it was a long time ago. We’re talking about things that cause death in packs and I remembered a very sick wolf who came to see Emma.”

He tapped his fingers against her hand. “And?”

“And nothing. He was dead the next day but—” She really didn’t want to dredge this story out anymore than she already had. “He was…something was wrong with him. His scent was wrong, his manner was wrong. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since. I think I was twelve or thirteen. He came to Emma’s house. Walked right inside, no knock, no waiting for an answer.” She could still see him, his scraggly hair, and filthy clothes. Dirt coated his nails and his skin as though it had been embedded into his flesh.

“What happened?” His soft and coaxing tone beckoned her back from the precipice of the memory.

“He said he said he needed help. He was hungry and he wanted to kill.” Odd, she hadn’t thought about those words in so long. Or the fact that… “When he said it, he looked right at me and leaned forward. It’s hard to describe, like he wavered on his feet. His eyes were all wolf, but they were wrong at the same time. He stank…the stench was awful. Emma told me to leave. She pulled me to my feet, shoved me toward the door and told me go.” Blinking, she pushed the memory away. “I ran. I found Thomas. He told me to get Toman, and he went home. The next day, he was dead.”

“Old Man Carter.” Owen stroked his thumb against the back of her hand. “I remember he died and the rumors about him. I had no idea he went to Emma’s.”

“What rumors did you hear?”

“Nothing.”

Her nose itched. “Now who’s lying?”

The corner of his mouth kicked upward. “Touché. Still…it’s not pleasant conversation for a lady.”

“I’m a healer, Owen, and I actually
met
the man. So what rumors did you hear?”

A grimace, then he slanted another look at her. “He murdered his family.”

“Oh.” Her stomach bottomed out at the thought.

“Like I said, it was a rumor…a fireside tale told between Hunters. My dad was on the border sectors. I used to run with him when I didn’t have to be in school. Whenever another Hunter was in the area, they’d swing by, have a beer and catch us up on the news. That’s when I probably heard the story.”

“You didn’t like school much, even though your mom is a teacher.”

His tiny jerk told her she’d surprised him. “Yeah, I’m not her favorite kid either, but we do all right.”

She wanted to press for more information on that statement, but Owen was a very private person, even among wolf standards. Demanding answers would be rude. If he wanted to offer them, though…

His continued silence, however, said he didn’t. At no point did he bring up her parents, either. Few did. They’d died when she was five, in a car crash of all things. They’d left her to spend the night with a friend and had gone out of town to see a show. Her mother had loved musicals. On the drive home, a drunk driver started a chain reaction crash. Her parents might have survived except for tractor trailer carrying fuel that jackknifed and flipped.

Not even wolves could survive being incinerated. Gillian closed her eyes. The truck slowed before coming to a stop. She opened her eyes in time to see Owen unbuckle her seat belt. He tugged her across the seat and into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head to his shoulder.

Thinking about her parents always made her sad, but it was more regret than pain. She’d had a good life, she just hadn’t had them. Burying her face in his shoulder, she closed her eyes and soaked up the comfort he offered. Whispering against his shirt, she said, “Thank you.”

He paused, his fingers still buried in her hair, then stroked her curls in a petting motion. The act soothed her all the way to her bones. “You’re welcome.”

Sighing, she burrowed closer and her muscles went lax. Maybe this was a one-time thing, but she’d wanted to be in his arms for what felt like forever. Comfort hadn’t been what she had in mind, but she’d take what she could get especially since the conversation left her aching inside.

For Old Man Carter.

For her parents.

For Owen.

Chapter Four

Owen used the truck’s GPS until he reached Westchester County in New York. Then he consulted the map. Hudson River held all of the northeastern territory and some into Canada. They’d crossed onto Hudson River pack land in eastern Pennsylvania. A text message to the number Mason had given him notified the Alpha, Brett Dalton, of their progress. The wolf sent a one-word response.

Welcome
.

He followed that with an address. Gillian slept, curled sideways on the seat, her face toward him. He’d draped a blanket around her when she’d drifted off. They’d shared a rocky beginning to the journey, partly because his black mood proved difficult to shake. Once her burgeoning arousal sank beneath a well of sadness, cuddling her until she calmed became a priority. When she fell asleep in his arms, gifting him with a bottomless sense of trust, he made a private vow.

He had to stop being a dick to her. Healers healed. They had no other choice, and if he could stop reacting like an ass, he’d accept what he knew to be true. Her courage, however, astounded him. From the moment he’d picked her up, he’d scented her discomfort. But instead of sulking, she’d tried to engage him in conversation and her anxiety continued to spiral until it finally struck him.

Though she’d volunteered for this task, she was frightened. Her fear was unacceptable. So he’d offered her comfort through touch. He might not like most other wolves, nor feel any real need to spend a lot of time with them, but holding Gillian’s hand? He could do that. The simple contact worked—she’d relaxed until the sadness hit.

They’d taken few breaks, stopping only for fuel and to stretch their legs as needed. She’d slept most of the trip and, though it left him alone with his thoughts, he found himself strangely content. The little wolf needed her rest because he really had no idea what they were driving into. At the next fuel stop, he pulled in and stayed close to the vehicle. No way would he leave her sleeping and exposed, alone in the truck on foreign pack lands.

Keeping a wary eye on the other travelers pulling in and leaving, he dialed Mason’s cell. His Alpha answered after the first ring. “How close are you?” he asked, not bothering with the preamble of a greeting.

“A couple of hours at most. The address he gave me doesn’t show up on the GPS, but I can find it.”

“Call me when you’re five minutes out.” Not a surprising order. Mason would reach out to Brett the moment he knew his wolves were close. “How is she?”

Owen glanced in the truck. Utterly relaxed in sleep, she was a picture of pure, beautiful innocence. Everything inside him tightened. “She had a moment on the drive when she realized we were leaving our territory. I will take care of her.”

“I know you will.” Confidence radiated in the words, a command and a boon in one. “I had a talk with Emma after you two left. Stay close to Gillian, her need to care for others could leave her drowning. And I don’t care how private Brett is—keep me in the loop.”

“Of course, Mason.” Owen owed no loyalty to the other Alpha. “Has he given you anymore insight about what we’re driving into?”