Awakened by the Wolf (13 page)

He pulled back his hand. A nauseating sweat disrupted his balance. He stumbled away and slumped against the window, the glass a cool welcome against the heat of his anger.

“Would you have let me kill him?” he asked his father.

Relaxed, even amused, Gavin sat with his feet propped on the corner of his desk. “Had you been set on killing Adam, you would've done so before I could stop you. Your anger is justified, Brice. You needed to act on your frustration, and I trusted you not to do irreparable harm to your uncle.”

“It wasn't your throat in jeopardy.” Returning to his seat, Adam rubbed the red imprint on his neck.

“I told you, Adam.” Gavin's flat lips gave no hint of the smile crinkling his eyes. “I know my son.”

Brice's heart pinched. Was his father actually proud of something Brice had done? The ill-conceived notion disturbed him as much as the confrontation with his uncle.

Adam's betrayal would not be forgotten, though in time, Brice would forgive him. Maybe one day he could also forgive his father.

“Now, to the matter of Brice's future.” Gavin swung his feet to the floor.

“I don't see how either of you has any business dictating my future.” Brice returned to his seat.

“Walker's Run is your birthright. You are the Alpha-in-Waiting. One day you will lead this pack.” Gavin didn't have the courtesy to look at Brice during the metronomic rote. His father didn't mean the words any more than Brice believed them.

“Here we go.” Brice squeezed his head between his hands again. “The Alphaship belonged to Mason. Before he died, you didn't care two hoots about me.”

“I understand that you believe that, Brice. However, it isn't true.” Gavin laid his arms on his desk blotter and steepled his fingers.

“Actions don't lie.” Brice's declaration garnered him a full-face grimace from his father.

“No, but they can be misinterpreted.” Gavin sighed.

Brice counted to thirty and swallowed the same old defensive argument. He'd been wrong about Adam. What would it hurt to give his father the benefit of the doubt?

Granny asked Brice to reconcile with his father. Maybe the time had truly come to do just that.

“I'm not ready to commit to the responsibilities of the Alpha-in-Waiting.” Brice's upheld hand stalled his father's interjection. “I have commitments, Dad. Important ones that I can't walk out on. I need time.”

“Take all the time you need. I'm in no rush to retire.” Gavin leaned back, stroking his short-cropped snow-white beard. “Now, to the next matter. You have until Christmas to claim an acceptable mate.”

“What?” Brice and Adam responded in unison, though Brice's shout drowned out his uncle's exclamation.

“You can't force him into a mateship,” Adam argued.

That's not what concerned Brice. His father's emphasis on the word
acceptable
was what troubled him. Especially since Gavin had pointed out Cassie's less than stellar pedigree yesterday. If she turned out to be Brice's true mate, he'd have no other but her, his father be damned.

Standing, Gavin flattened his palms against his desk. “Brice, this pack needs to see your commitment to them. What better demonstration of your loyalty than settling down and producing the next generation of Walkers?”

In that moment, an oil wick in a furnace had a better chance of surviving an inferno unscathed than peace settling between father and son. Brice jumped to his feet.

“Always the Alpha. Never my father,” he seethed as years of resentment erupted from the darkest place in his heart to gush poison through his veins. “You don't want me as your heir. You want my firstborn.”

He towered over his father's desk. “Is this why Mom came up with the crazy speed dating marathon for tomorrow? I'll tell you the same thing I told her. Hell, no! I won't do it.”

Gavin's eyes darkened like an angry storm. “If you want to remain in Walker's Run, you will follow my orders. If you don't make a concerted effort to find a mate, come the New Year I will put you out of the territory and strike at any Alpha who offers you sanctuary. Including your uncle.”

“Gavin, you've gone too far.” Adam approached, open-handed. “Think about what you're doing.”

“Fuck off, Adam.” Gavin shoved him aside. “This is for your own good, Brice.”

“Nothing you've ever done has been for my benefit. Consider carefully the trap you've set for me. You know what happened the last time I stepped in one.”

“Settle down before this spirals into a full-blown war.” Adam barreled between Brice and his father.

Good timing, because if things had continued, patricide would have become a real and present threat, despite Brice's vow to never to kill again. The anger he harbored against Adam paled in comparison to the pure, unadulterated, primal rage concentrated on his father.

“I've set no trap. Once your temper cools, you'll recognize this as the opportunity it is.” Gavin returned to his desk and sat down, confidence stretching the limits of his lips.

Brice stormed out of the room before he knocked that smug smile right off his father's triumphant face.

Chapter 20

B
rice's fingers slipped through Cassie's hair as she slept. Curls slid over his knuckles and spilled down his forearm, a cascade of red silk ribbons. The next time they watched TV at night, he needed to be shirtless. He wanted those ringlets splayed across his bare chest, among other places, if he could endure the tantalization. Already every strand that brushed his skin sparked an electric charge that shot up his arm, pinged across his torso and zipped straight down to his groin.

He closed his eyes, inhaling her sweetness. Such a perfect moment. Peacefully asleep, Cassie curled against him, her small hands resting on his arm secured around her midriff.

She reminded him of a china doll, tiny and fragile. A rarity to be guarded and treasured. He recognized her worth, even if no one else understood her value.

Mine
, his wolf insisted. Tonight, Brice wasn't so quick to dismiss the instinct.

His father's ridiculous edict made Brice realize two things. One—Gavin Walker was an idiot. At least when it came to handling his son. If he'd simply commanded Brice to find a mate, he would've complied. Maybe even within the time frame specified. Because in the aftermath of an afternoon gone wrong, the second thing Brice had realized was that Cassie was indeed his true mate.

Gavin's disapproval of Cassie and Brice's fear that his father would keep them apart had triggered Brice's primal rage. Only when he calmed did Brice understand the truth, and the consequences of breaking his father's edict.

He kissed Cassie's temple. The delicateness of her skin quickened his pulse. She turned her face into the curve of his neck, and inexplicable hope wormed through his soul. Warm, rich, redeeming.

He didn't have the willpower to force Cassie to sleep in his grandmother's room or the tolerance to leave her on the couch, so he carried her to his bed.

She looked so enticing that he ached down to his toes. He backed out of the room, listening to her soft, even breaths.

Cleaning the kitchen became his first task of distraction. When that didn't temper his thoughts, his nerves or his raging hard-on, he decided to get some fresh air. After shedding his clothes and locking the kitchen door, he fastened the silver-corded house key around his arm.

Bounding off the porch as a wolf, Brice found the tease of the late summer evening's woodsy fragrances deliciously satisfying. The crispness of the night air ruffled his fur, and the instinct to run full-throttle burned in his legs.

Movement just beyond the gazebo where the backyard sloped snagged his attention. Using his ears rather than his nose to track his prey, he stalked the worn path that led down to the creek.

Beneath the whispers of the wind, the muffled snap of a twig might have gone unnoticed by another Wahya less dependent on his auditory senses. The hair along Brice's spine spiked. He issued a warning growl.

The rustling ceased. A few seconds later, Brice heard a low, familiar growl followed by the sounds of paw steps. Emerging from the darkness, the trespasser continued in a methodical, unhurried pace down the moonlit trail.

Brice trailed him down the mountain to the stream, where the moonlight glinted off the water in a shimmering splay that mirrored the sparkle of stars in the sky. Planting surefooted paws on the polished pebbles, the red wolf lapped at the river's edge. A fish jumped. The wolfan pounced. Moments later, he stretched on the riverbank to eat.

“Rafe,”
Brice called telepathically.

The greeting went unanswered. Brice cautiously approached.

“Rafe, we need to talk.”

A series of short, snarky barks said Rafe wasn't interested.

Undeterred, Brice dropped his rump on the ground. He and Rafe had gone through a similar ritual the first time they'd met.

When Doc adopted a seven-year-old wolfan pup from a pack decimated by a tuberculosis outbreak, Rafe had been sick, frightened and confused. He'd lashed out at everyone who'd tried to help. Nine at the time, Brice had decided that even near-feral wolflings needed a friend and vowed to become that friend.

Tonight, he didn't know who needed their friendship more.

Rafe took an inordinate amount of time consuming his meal.

Another fish jumped in the stream. Unable to resist, Brice splashed after it to play, not harm. When he grew tired, Brice swam to the edge of the stream. Jumped out. Shook.

Rafe snapped at the water spray.

“What?”
Brice trotted closer.
“It isn't as if you aren't already wet.”

Rafe continued ignoring him.

“This is ridiculous.”
Brice shifted to his human form. “I'm not leaving until you talk to me.”

Rafe licked the fish bones clean. Licked his paws. Licked his lips.

Yawned.

His vivid blue eyes settled on Brice's unprotected feet.

“I swear to God, Rafe,” Brice snarled. “Do it and I'll kick those canines right out of your mouth.”

Growling softly, Rafe bared his teeth. A second later, he stood before Brice as a man. A few inches shorter with a slimmer build, Rafe would still be a formidable foe if he chose to be.

“Next time you stick those stinky toes in my face, Walker, expect to lose them.”

“Don't put me in a situation where I have to wiggle them under your nose to get your attention.”

They glared into each other's eyes, unfazed by their nudity, which was as natural to them as their wolfan forms.

Brice broke the stance first. He tipped his head slightly and shifted his gaze. Rather than a sign of weakness, the action demonstrated respect and contrition.

Rafe touched Brice's shoulder in acceptance. Though Brice knew this was one of many steps toward rebuilding their friendship, Brice took his first easy breath.

“Lexi's dead.” Rafe's bluntness reflected his manner, candid to a fault.

“I didn't know until yesterday.” Brice placed his hand over the pain slicing through his heart for his friend's loss. “You weren't at the R&L when I came by, and I didn't bother going by the house. Doc said you've never gone back.”

Rafe gave a curt nod. He tramped to the giant flat rock at the water's edge and gathered some pebbles. “Did he tell you that we'd just found out she was pregnant?” Grief rolled off him in waves. “Goddamn hunter.”

Joining Rafe, Brice gathered his own stones. “I should've been here for you.”

“Why? To pat my hand? To tell me it's gonna be all right? Well, it isn't.” Rafe paused. “Chafes my ass the way people tell me to put it behind me. To move on. Dammit, I don't wanna
move on
, got it?” He turned cold, soulless eyes on Brice. “Don't make me your mission again. If you want things to be right between us, just let me be.”

They took turns skipping rocks across the glassy river.

“Sorry about Granny.” Waning moonbeams cast a silvery haze over Rafe's upturned face.

At the mention of his grandmother, the pain of her loss seared Brice's heart. Coming home, he'd been prepared to say goodbye. He just hadn't expected his farewell to be so permanent.

“I should've come home sooner.” Brice cast his last stone.
“
Adam manipulated me into believing I was banished.”

Rafe snorted as if to say Brice should've known something was off. And that he should've realized the Walker's Run pack wouldn't turn their backs on him.

Or maybe he did know and was just too ashamed to come home.

Brice wondered how Rafe managed to convey so much without uttering an actual word. Well, the chastisement stuck, so there wasn't any reason to whine about something he let happen. Besides, as much as Adam's betrayal hurt, his real worry lay elsewhere.

The constant, dull ache in his leg began to throb in earnest. To ease the pressure, Brice leaned against the boulder jutting into the river.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke again. “Dad ordered me to claim a mate before Christmas.”

Rafe snapped his head toward Brice. “He can't be serious.”

“Said he'll banish me for good if I don't.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed and his upper lip curled. “He's an idiot.”

“I came to the same conclusion. But finding a mate isn't the problem. She's been right here all along.”

Rafe cocked his head, then slowly turned in the direction of the cabin. “Red?”

“Dad doesn't think she's an acceptable choice.”

“Since when have you cared what he thinks?”

Deep down, Brice always cared. So would Cassie.

* * *

Cassie's eyes stung from not blinking. Not that it improved her vision in total darkness, though the effort sharpened her hearing.

She wouldn't have been frightened if the front door hadn't rattled so hard before the distinct click of nails against the porch's wooden planks drew closer to the bedroom window. She sat crossed-legged in the center of Brice's bed, her fists balled in the threadbare folds of her comforter, telling herself that she was safe all the while her gut screamed that she wasn't.

Where was Brice? Why wasn't he here to protect her?

Before the thought had time to take root, Cassie threw back the covers and slipped from the bed. She would not fall into a helpless-woman trap.

Careful not to make any sound, Cassie reached into the far corner of the closet. The night Brice had ordered her to find his shoes, she'd discovered his old baseball bat and because of his bossiness had indulged in the brief fantasy of clunking it over his head.

Gripping the battered handle, she tiptoed from the room, only to hesitate in the hallway. Her panicked heartbeat muted all other sound.

Cassie lost count of the seconds that passed before she inched her way into the living room, only to pause next to the couch. Tomorrow would come before she reached the door at this pace. That didn't motivate her to move any faster.

Last week, a commotion outside wouldn't have terrified her. She would've been more certain in her ability to defend herself. Not even waking up to a scruffy, naked man in her room had caused her to freeze. Of course, she hadn't known of the reality of werewolves then.

Wahyas!
she corrected herself.

Brice said they were civilized. She had no reason to be afraid.

Her stomach seesawed between stark fear and the indignant irritation that something had spooked her this much. Enough was enough, though. Whatever lurked outside, she planned to greet it with a Babe Ruth swing.

Turning on the porch light, she threw open the front door. “Get away from here!”

Nothing scrambled off the porch. Nothing darted into the woods. In fact, nothing seemed to be happening at all.

Satisfied that she'd made a complete idiot of herself, she retreated inside, shut off the light, relocked the door and turned.

A huge figure blocked her path. “What the hell are you doing?”

Cassie hollered something intelligible and wielded the bat. The shadow stopped it midswing.

“Easy, Sunshine.” The smirk in Brice's tone grated on her nerves.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she snapped.

A heavy chill blanketed the subsequent silence, and Cassie recognized her poor word choice.

“I'm sorry. It slipped out.”

Brice released a weighted breath. “Where did you get this?” He wrestled the bat from her death grip.

“From the closet. I heard something on the porch.” She hoped the darkness masked her embarrassment.

“Next time, stay inside with the doors locked. I'll handle unwanted visitors.”

“You weren't here!” Directing her anger at him instead of herself made Cassie more cross. She knew how to take care of herself; she didn't need him to do it.

“I was marking my territory.”

“Please tell me you weren't peeing all over the porch.”

“Of course not,” Brice grumbled. “Just the perimeter of the cabin, the truck and—”

“The driveway?”

“Your car.”

“What?” she shrieked.

“For chrissakes, it was just the tires.”

“Great, now I have to find time to wash my car.”

“Don't you dare rinse off my scent.” His punctuated growl spiraled down her spine and threaded an inconvenient tingle in her core.

Thank goodness her mind, not her hormones, was in control or she might have forgotten the point she wanted to make.

“Listen,
Benji
.” Most men took the hint when she rebuffed their advances. If they didn't, an introduction to her knee usually did the trick. Brice, however, was a different breed. His penis and her knee had met with considerable force the night of his arrival, but the unfortunate incident hadn't quelled his interest.

She shouldn't have been flattered, but a teeny, tiny, idiotic part of her rejoiced, because for heaven's sake, what woman wouldn't covet Brice Walker's attention?

“My car is
not
your territory. And neither am I, so keep that
thing
—” she pointed in the general direction of his groin “—away from me and my belongings.”

Brice dropped the bat and hauled her against his rock-hard body. “You don't want me to stay away.” His broad hand splayed the small of her back, holding her flush in all the right places. As her body softened against the rigid planes of his formidable strength, her thoughts splintered and scattered as far and wide as her resistance.

A small mewling rose from the back of her throat. It didn't sound like the protest a sensible woman should've made, and Brice didn't take it as discouragement.

He backed her against the wall and leaned down to sprinkle delicate kisses across her cheeks. The feathery sensation penetrated her senses, muting the wisdom to push away and run. What was the point? She'd already learned the futility of trying to outrun a wolf.

She tipped up her head, exposing her neck. He could rip out her throat if he wanted, but he seemed content to nip and lick and suck every inch. Trembling, she felt no less devoured as her strength failed from the hum of sheer pleasure.