Alpha Domination (Alpha Wolf Book 1) Page 8

  If I went looking for him, I’d need to find my way back to the cabin. Snow swirls across the windscreen. There’s no way I’ll find my way back by sight in this. I snatch the mobile back off the seat and flick through the apps.

  Nathaniel has a jogging route recorder. I press it eagerly and swipe past the annoying greeting supposed to remind him he hasn’t used it in over a year. It doesn’t take long to set it going with a little highlighted map open on the screen. As long as that keeps tabs on where I am, I’ll be able to find my way back.

  I toss it into the passenger seat and start the engine. The pickup rattles to life. It complains when I crank it into the wrong gear, but I persist until I can jolt it into movement. These woods have big enough gaps between the trees for me to cram this beast, making it quicker to search for Nathan, especially when I have no idea where I’m looking.

  The vehicle lurches over the bumpy, blanketed woodland. Night has fallen, now, and the trees are like evil shadows clawing at the bodywork as I urge the pickup by. Still, I don’t know where I’m going or how I’m supposed to find him. My heart races ever faster and I almost succumb to panic, my hands beginning to burn with the urge to change forms.

  “You found him before.”

  Hattie’s words haunt me, but they’re a puzzle to work out and that seems to help ease my sense of hopelessness and draw the transformation urges from my veins. She’s right. I did find my way to him before, but that was an accident. I’d just been intrigued by...

  His scent.

  I wind the window down frantically, bringing the pickup momentarily to a stop as I breathe in the frosty air and try to work out where the fuck Nathaniel could be. His natural aroma is wispy on the breeze, but there’s enough of it to convince me I need to take a slight right turn through the trees. The pickup roars into life as I follow the trail, my journey suddenly affixed with more purpose than before. The aroma becomes stronger with every pause I make.

  But then I smell something else. Something tinged with iron.

  Blood.

  Swallowing, I lower the window fully and inhale as deeply as I dare. It’s definitely blood, but there are three other new scents, too, and I recognise them all from the bar last night. My heart clenches in fear. Instinctively, I know I’m downwind and that means they won’t be able to smell my approach, for now.

  “I am a strong woman,” I whisper, gripping the steering wheel for support. “I am a strong, frustrating woman and I taste like falling.”

  A smile pulls weakly at my lips.

  I turn the engine off and try not to panic as the sound of the reassuring motor dies. The wind is loud and wild. Hopefully, that means Caleb and his crew haven’t heard the pickup. I unhook the car key from the jangle of others and slide it into my jeggings pocket. Something tells me stealth is going to be my only saviour.

  I examine the gun, flicking a little switch near the grip and hoping I’ve just taken the safety off like they do in films. It occurs to me that Nathan isn’t the type of man to leave it off when the weapon was rolling around loose in his glovebox. My attempts to check on his phone have fallen foul of poor internet signal, so I’ll just have to hope I don’t need to fire.

  My hands are shaking, but I grip the gun like my life depends on it, lock the pickup, and follow the trail into thicker trees. I’m a good twenty metres from my safety net when I hear the unmistakeable thud of a punch thrown and connected. My breath catches and I slow my steps, smelling miniscule splatters of blood on the icy breeze.

  The trees are dense here, shuffled together like a crowd at a concert. I pick my way to where I think the noise has come from and find a tight clearing beyond the next line of fir trees. There are figures just visible through the branches. I sidle closer, keeping myself as hidden as possible and clutching the gun with white knuckles.

  I don’t even know how many bullets I have...

  As I suspected, Caleb and his goons are there, but I realise, with a squeeze of my heart, so is Nathan. He’s naked and bloody and Caleb’s henchmen are holding him up by his arms whilst Caleb rants at him. His head is lolling, face badly cut and bruised. He looks barely conscious.

  I shift my position slightly, my view obscured by Caleb.

  Nathan’s shoulder is torn somehow. Scarlet is dripping down his torso and seems to be splattered everywhere in the paper white snow. I realise with a short burst of terror that he’s going to be next to useless. That means I need to narrow down my enemies, but how the fuck am I supposed to do that?

  “Where’s my bitch, Nathaniel?!” Caleb is screaming. He pummels Nathan’s face with a swift one two. Nathan is sagging in the cronies’ grip. He can’t support himself and one of his legs looks decidedly awkward. “I can do this all night.”

  I can’t circle around to the other side and shoot the bastards through the trees because then they’ll be downwind of me. If they catch my scent everything is lost... Or is it?

  It’s me they want. If I can somehow convince them that I’m nearby enough that they can leave Nathan unguarded and search for me, I might have a chance of rescuing him. But I also can’t risk being caught.

  My eyes squeeze shut. I try to remember what I’ve learnt at the centre about wolves, but the only thing that keeps coming back is how territorial they are and how gamekeepers sometimes use wolf urine to deter the animals from entering their reserves. But I’m not trying to deter them. I’m trying to encourage them elsewhere.

  And didn’t Nathan say male werewolves were attracted to females like a dog to a bitch in heat...?

  The thought lingers, twisting into a sort of plan. If I can wee somewhere upwind of them, they’ll head there thinking I’m there... but how can I do that without leaving a scent trail to my actual location?

  Caleb gets closer to Nathan. He lifts his chin and I see my lover’s eyes raise blearily upwards. “The longer you prolong this, the worse I’ll make it for little missy.”

  Despite his definite poor state, Nathan still manages to give Caleb a black look of defiance. All it earns him is a painful blow to the stomach. Even from here, I can distinguish the sound of his raspy, winded breath.

  One of the other werewolves shakes his head. “We’ve been at this too long, boss. Let’s just cut his dick off and then he can’t mess with our plans any more and we can go back to finding the girl.”

  Blood is dripping from Nathan’s mouth into the deep snow. He’s dangling from the heavies’ arms like a man on a cross, but I don’t want him to sacrifice himself for me.

  “Not a bad idea, Bobby,” Caleb replies. “Go get the gear. I’ve had enough foolin’ around.”

  Bobby lets go of Nathaniel and the other guy doesn’t bother to catch his weight, allowing him to slump into the snowy ground, naked and bloody. I grit my teeth, watching Bobby disappear through the trees opposite to wherever they’ve dumped their stuff.

  I think back to the pickup and all the useless crap there: earphones, gum wrappers, a plastic water bottle, elastic bands. Hell, I was surprised he didn’t have a cuddly toy in-

  The plastic bottle!

  I race back to the truck and fish out the rubbish that has suddenly become my treasure. Peeing in the dark and the icy cold into a bottle is not a very pleasant experience. I put the lid on my bottle of wee and try not to think how disturbingly hot it is as I creep back to the clearing.

  Bobby hasn’t returned, yet, which is reassuring. Caleb, however, is still mithering to his other follower about Nathan scuppering his plans, giving enough background noise for my snowy footsteps to be dampened by the wind. I edge around the clearing, as far as I dare to go, carefully holding my bottle of piss. When I reach what I think is the limit on my scent not being cast downwind to my enemies, I loosen the lid a little on my bottle and throw it as hard as I can somewhere upwind of them.

  It makes a noise as it lands and I use its cover to return to my previous spying position. The two werewolves in the clearing are looking at each other, stock-still and attentive. The heavy mutters somet
hing to his alpha.

  “Yeah,” I hear Caleb say, “I can smell it, too. Go check it out. She should be easy to handle on her own.”

  The other guy nods and disappears in the direction of my urine bottle, leaving Caleb alone with Nathan. I cuss soundlessly. Why couldn’t they both have gone?

  I know I have to figure something out, but I don’t have much time. Bobby will return soon and then things will get much worse for Nathan. I have to do something and I have to do it fast. My gaze slips to the gun in my hand. If I fire it, the two werewolves will come running to Caleb’s aid in seconds. And there’s no guarantee I’ll even hit anything with it.

  My gaze catches on a great big lump of wood half buried in the snow. I dig it out with numb fingers, lifting it like a club. It’s an old branch, but it’s heavy enough to do some damage.

  I glance at Caleb. His back is turned to me and he’s still alone. It’s now or never.

  The gun goes into my back pocket and I sprint into the clearing, right up behind Caleb, and swing the chunk of deadwood at his head with eyes squeezed shut. There’s a resounding clunk and an oof.

  When I open my eyes again, Caleb is out cold on the floor. A soft, relieved gasp leaves my mouth. I almost can’t believe my luck. But I have no time to admire my success. Nathan is hurt and I have to get him out of here.

  I throw myself down in the snow beside him, lifting his head and tapping his icy cheek as I call his name. He half opens his eyes, vision bleary. Then his bloody mouth mutters, “No.”

  I blink.

  “No, Georgie. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  My teeth grit. He’s injured and still as frustrating as hell. “Can you walk?”

  “My leg...”

  He’s losing consciousness again. I glance down at the aforementioned limb. It really doesn’t look right. It’s lying at an awkward angle that doesn’t seem normal. I try to touch it, but the pain brightens his eyes and he hisses between his teeth. Whatever’s wrong, it will have to wait. Caleb will only stay out cold for so long and his cronies could return before then.

  I shove Nathan into a sitting position and warn him he has to help me, but he doesn’t seem to understand what’s going on much. Eventually, he’s standing, but he can’t bear to put much weight on that leg. Still, I’m determined and I half drag him to the edge of the clearing, finding a superhuman strength from somewhere.

  We’re only a few steps into the thicker trees when I hear Bobby’s voice over my shoulder. He’s standing over Caleb’s prone figure and my glance back reveals that he’s spotted us. He starts running. Panicking, I twist, pulling Nathan with me, wrenching a growl of pain from his throat, and grasping for the gun in my jeggings. I manage to bring it up and fire it with only a metre to spare between us.

  The sound ricochets off the trees, jolting Nathan from his daze.

  Bobby falls, a bullet hole through his heart.

  I’ve just shot someone. Just seen the light die from his eyes. His body is lying at my feet. Snow is speckling his figure. I hear myself starting to hyperventilate, the gun clenched in my hands. He was a person. A human being.

  “Georgie...?”

  Nathan’s soft voice cuts through my terror. He’s looking at me with that vulnerable, needy expression on his face. I focus on him, hands trembling as the gun draws down.

  “We need to get out of here, now.”

  I nod stupidly and pull him in the direction of the pickup. He moves a little faster, now, still groaning in pain, somewhat more lucid. I push him into the passenger side, snatching up his mobile and shutting the door. My arm is hurting and the gunshot is still ringing in my ears. I head to the driver’s door and get in, slamming it shut and ramming the keys hurriedly in the ignition.

  The pickup growls to life. I thrust us awkwardly into first gear and scramble through them until we’re racing past the blackness towards the start of our ‘jogging route’. The panic bubbling in my chest is climbing up into my throat.

  I’ve just killed a man.

  Me.

  A glance to the side tells me that Nathan is unconscious again. I touch his naked thigh, but he’s as cold as ice and that only brings more panic frothing up into my throat. Tears prick my eyes. What am I doing? How did I get into this? Where do I go?

  I hit the blowers and hike up the radiator. Nathan’s head is resting against the window pane, his features ghostly white under all the blood and bruising. His shoulder is the worst. I can’t bear to look at it. It’s obvious he’s wounded badly and bleeding from more than one place. I reach across the cab, trying to balance driving this wretched left-hand monstrosity with playing nurse. My fingers press to Nathaniel’s throat. His pulse is barely there. What if I was too late?

  Old And New

  “This is bad.”

  Hattie keeps repeating the same thing. I glance at her like she knows it’s not reassuring and she’s just trying to upset me, but if I’m honest, I think she’s just stuck in an anxious loop. She told me not to take him to the hospital, my first instinct, because there would be too many questions and it would be odd when he started to heal faster than a normal person. Instead, we have him laid out in front of the fire in the cabin, trying to warm him a bit more.

  He’s so pale and so cold...

  “This is bad.”

  “What do we do about his shoulder?” I ask, voice quivering. “It looks...”

  My voice trails off. I know this is my fault. I should never have showed up on his doorstep or fucked up his plan the previous night.

  “They must have injured him when he was still a wolf. And then, when he’s transformed back, it’s made it worse, stretched the wound somehow.”

  I can’t help but stare at Hattie. She knows he’s a werewolf only she’s not fazed in the slightest. She looks at him with such adoration I almost feel guilty for sleeping with him. And yet, I think she knows he doesn’t care for her like that. It’s probably why she’s been drugging him to get him in the mood.

  Not that he cares for me in any way.

  “We need some alcohol to sterilise it and some warm water to get rid of all this blood.”

  I nod stupidly, getting to my feet like I have any idea where any of these things live in his house.

  “And some towels.”

  After minutes of panicked rummaging, Hattie directs me to the things she needs. She knows this cabin like the back of her hand. The thought almost makes me jealous, but I push it aside. Now is not the time for any more hysterics.

  We end up crouched beside him with a pile of clean towels, a bottle of strong whiskey, a face cloth, wound dressings, and a basin of hot water. I lift his head and carefully slide a pillow underneath. Hattie picks up one of the towels and places it strategically over his body, clearing her throat almost reverently, but I know that body has sinned.

  Hattie soaks the face cloth in water and then begins carefully cleaning the worst of his injuries. His upper torso is slathered with blood. It all seems to be spilling from his shoulder. Some of it is still coming.

  I can feel a thickness in my throat and my eyes are prickling with heat.

  Hattie’s lips are compressed. She’s diligent with her cleaning. Once she’s done with his shoulder, she picks up the bottle of whiskey and douses the open wounds with it.

  Nathan’s eyes are open in seconds and he’s sitting up, his hand clamped painfully around Hattie’s wrist as she yelps. He looks wild and dazed, like he doesn’t know where he is. His fist flashes as if he’s about to hit her, but I grab his wrist without thinking, stopping him just in time.

  His eyes snap onto me. The dark anger in his gaze is washed with confusion, but he keeps his attention on me as Hattie’s concentration flips between us.

  “Whiskey,” I murmur. “Just whiskey.”

  He follows my voice with uncertainty. I can see out of the corner of my eye that there is a drip of blood trickling from his shoulder again. The usually smooth expanse of flesh is pockmarked and torn. I keep my gaze fixed to his and
my voice soft and slow.

  “For your shoulder, Nathan. You’re hurt.”

  The tension in his arm relaxes and Hattie manages to pull her wrist free. She starts dressing his wounds whilst I have his attention, enquiring glances flickering our way. My grip on him loosens and he slips his hand free only to lace his fingers between mine. He’s still looking at me, a modicum of clarity in his vision, yet hazed with pain.

  “You were supposed to go,” he replies thickly.

  I swallow. “I know, but I didn’t.”

  Hattie is pretending she’s not listening to every word. I feel guilt curling around in my stomach. He stifles a grunt of pain as she addresses the wound that’s still bleeding. I squeeze his hand automatically, my heart clenching.

  “How did I get here?” he asks, briefly glancing at Hattie.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out and he’s watching me expectantly. All I can think about is the body that had dropped to my feet. My gaze flickers to the gun lying nearby on the floor. Nathan follows my eyes. His lips compress and his head tilts faintly as he shifts his attention back to me.

  “Caleb?”

  I falter. “No... Bobby, I think.”

  He nods slightly. I feel his fingers squeeze mine, just. “Okay, dahlin,” he murmurs.

  A lump forms in my throat. I know I want to cry, but I won’t do it in front of Hattie. Nathan releases my hand and touches her shoulder, apologising, which I think is for almost hitting her, whilst I try to swallow down the emotion in my throat. The lump barely shifts and I end up staring into the fire, my profile turned from them both, as I will the thickness away.

  “We need to relocate your tibia,” I hear Hattie say. “It’s not sitting in the right place and...”

  Nathan shakes his head and I see Hattie pull a school matron expression at him. “It’s not dislocated,” he insists.

  “Nathaniel–”

  “I’m fine.”

  “We need to put it back into place.” He opens his mouth to protest, but Hattie has apparently heard enough. “Georgina is going to help me.” His expression doesn’t change. Hattie huffs. “You know you won’t be able to walk, right?”