Boundary Lines

by Cattraine

Summary:

Second part of a planned trilogy.

Notes:

This is the second part of a planned trilogy.

Read with care, I don't tag.

I will correct any mistakes I find after I post.

I enjoy chatting in comments. I find them encouraging.

Lots of OCs and OPVs here as world building. Not all these folks are nice, but neither is this universe and its from their POVs.

1

Camryn knew the pack was fucked when Owen returned to the den with his scorched tail between his legs and almost all of the scouting party lost. The fool should have known better than to challenge the Hale alpha. Sure enough, the pack imploded from within, and Wes had to step in and take over. Owen should have kept running. Wes was an immensely more sensible Alpha and decided a treaty was in order.

While they didn’t think Hale would bother to retaliate, they sure as shit did not want him as an enemy. His Left Hand was a fucking psychopath and the less said about his freaky emissary the better. Camryn has heard rumors about him that make her cringe.

It became imperative that they make peace with the Hales when the Vancouver pack, the St. Croix’ heard about their losses and came sniffing around. Because of Owen’s stupidity, they were going to have to focus everything they had on defending their northern boundary now. They sure as shit didn’t need Hale snapping at their tails while they did.

So, that was why she was here with Camille, their new Emissary trying to broker a treaty. It wasn’t going particularly well because the stupid cunt had immediately tried to spell the Hale wolves to make them more amendable to suggestion.

Now she was frozen in place, her face a frozen rictus of pain, while the Hale Emissary toyed with her like a cat with a mouse. Camryn and Alex couldn’t move either. If they could, they would have been long gone and left the woman to her fate. What the hell had Wes been thinking? Had he been thinking? Maybe Camille had spelled him too?

She had appeared conveniently out of nowhere when they needed an emissary and no one else applied. That alone should have been a clue, because the Corvallis pack used to have no small amount of prestige before the Fall.

“Well, well, what do we have here Der? Oooh, I think it’s a Darach. We haven’t had one of those sniffing around since the Alpha pack. Should I question her or kill her?”

The handsome Hale Alpha turned angry red eyes on Camryn and Alex and spoke casually.

“Kill her. Make sure she can’t rise. If her minions won’t answer my questions, I’ll let Peter play with them for a while.”

Camryn squirmed, testing her invisible bonds again, fighting panic. Peter Hale would take them apart sinew by sinew. The Left Hand beamed benevolently at them, and gleefully rubbed his palms together. Camryn wanted to puke. There wouldn’t be enough left of either of them to send home to Wes.

As she watched the tattooed Emissary snapped his fingers and Camille’s neck cracked like a twig and she went limp in midair. Her body seemed to wither and mummify. He gestured and she disappeared, and he turned bright eyes on them. He made no move that she saw but suddenly she could move and take a deep breath again and beside her, she felt Alex do the same, inhaling shakily.

“Talk.” Hale ordered, folding leather clad arms across his broad chest.

“What do you want to know? We’re only the escorts, and I think she spelled our Alpha too. We thought we were here to work a treaty.”

Alex answered shakily.

Camryn’s gaze flicked around at Hale’s pack. It was humiliating to her at how few of them Hale brought with him as backup. The Emissary, the Left Hand, his Right Hand, a slim Coyote shifter, a tall blond human male with a red birthmark over his eye and a handsome dark-haired wolf who regarded them silently with cold, dark eyes. This must be a Hale sibling.

“Truth. At least as he knows it.”

Peter Hale drawled, as he yawned and examined his nails, frowning at the state of his cuticles.

Hale questioned them sharply and they answered the best they could. They began to breathe a little easier when it became obvious he believed them. He had the reputation as a fair Alpha. He stared them both coldly down and they exposed their throats with soft whines.

His power was palpable, Camryn has never felt a more powerful Alpha and she wished fiercely that she was in his pack. He was so powerful that his Bitten wolves could full shift with ease.
Speculatively she ran her gaze over the males in the pack. She knew she was eye-catching. That was the main reason Owen bit her. He had a thing for tall, buxom blondes. If she could get an in with one of these males, especially a Hale…she eyed the handsome, dark-eyed wolf and licked her lips.

A loud snort drew her attention back to the Emissary and she realized he was smirking right at her. Fuck, could Emissaries read minds?

“Yeah, no, girl. You’re going to have to go shake your tits at some other fool. Hales don’t take in cast-offs from bitten packs. Especially those without a loyal bone in their bodies.”

He grinned at her outrage, daring her to challenge him and face hot, she turned away, fuming at being so transparent. Alex was glaring at her in disgust. Like he was any better. He was a bootlicker of the first degree.

“You know, Der, this could be seen as an aggressive move on Corvallis’ part. They sent a dark druid to attack us. Should we send these two home in pieces or just their heads?”

Hale tilted his head and eyed them thoughtfully and Camryn froze under that cold gaze. Finally, he shook his head.

“No. They’re just young and stupid. Give them the chance to run home. If they make it across the state line, let them go home with a message.”

He was glaring at them now.

“This is Hale territory. Trespassers will not be tolerated. Anyone wanting to pass through, stick to the I-5, pay the toll and don’t leave it until you are past the boundary lines. Anyone caught on my land will be buried there.”

He waved a hand dismissively.

Camryn hesitated and felt Alex do the same next to her. Did that mean they can go?

Peter Hale gave a dark chuckle and his eyes flared blue. When he smiled his teeth were very sharp, beside him the coyote gave an eager yip, but it was the Emissary who spoke.

“That means run puppies. You still have to make it to the state line.” He flapped a hand at them dismissively. “Shoo.”

Camryn realized the Hale wolves were shifting and turned and ran for her life, Alex on her heels. The Hale wolves harried them for miles, slashing and biting. Limping from a half dozen wounds, she barely made it past the state line. Just when they thought they were safe, miles into Oregon, a Howler leapt out and dragged Alex down. Camryn didn’t stop and she didn’t look back.

Things went to shit after that with the Corvallis pack. The St. Croix offered a treaty, and Wes was fool enough to take it and before he realized it, there were Vancouver wolves smoothly infiltrating the pack and just as easily taking over. Wes died bloody. Then somehow a clan of Hunters got wind of the pack war and moved in with heavy artillery and extreme prejudice.

Camryn fled, uncertain if either of the packs survived, heading south, and wary of Hale’s warning kept to the I-5 until she was well past Hale territory.

Ito would have nothing to do with her either, and her wolves drove her further south and Camryn was horrified to find southern Cali heavily infested with raiders, infected and Hunters. The packs left in LA were suspicious and stubbornly holding onto their little territories in a city with few resources and swarming with infected. No one wanted a packless bitten wolf. Even McCall, the so called True Alpha would have nothing to do with her, clinging stubbornly to his miniscule territory in Topanga Canyon.

She retreated north again and found herself living like an animal in the woods and on the outskirts of the human settlements. For the first time her looks got in the way and more than once she had to avoid slavers.

She quickly discovered that since she had no marketable skills like medical training or mechanics, her only choice was whoring or scavenging. She chose scavenging, but still had to deal with harassment every time she came to a settlement to trade from men who wanted something ‘extra’. Plus, she wasn’t really good at scavenging at all, always too afraid of the infected. Bitterly she wished she could go full shift and at least live as a wolf.

Her luck changed the day she came upon the human woman being attacked by a small group of Raiders. The hooting bandits had managed to kill most of the woman’s security detail and were now teasing her because she has stubbornly barricaded herself in her armored SUV. Clearly she was a wealthy person with connections. Camryn noticed the Nevada plates on the car, and the name of a casino on the side panel. The redhead showed no fear, simply sat in a way that indicated she was holding a gun, while eyeing her attackers with undisguised contempt.

Camryn had a wild idea and took a chance, after all there were only six bikers to deal with and she enjoyed killing humans. By the end of the day she had a new job as the chief bodyguard for Taylor Kelly who was in Cali to visit the slave yards in Stockton for new stock. Kelly ran the most popular whorehouse in Vegas for one of the big Bosses.

Camryn was careful not to reveal that she was a wolf, that caution deeply ingrained. Taylor just thought she was former military, highly trained in martial arts. Things were suddenly looking up. She was still an Omega, but she has never fit into any pack well anyway. It was nice to suddenly move from the proverbial rags to riches and better to work for slavers than to be enslaved.

 

2

Bryce leans against the SUV and waits for Argent to finish his deal with the armorer. Argent used to deal arms himself Before, so he is careful to keep them well stocked. He is a good man to work for and well respected among the Hunter clans. His clan has taken it upon themselves to police and keep the I-5 Cali corridor open for travelers, which means they stay busy with Raiders and Infected and the occasional pack of rogue wolves.

He even occasionally works with the Alphas who hold territories north, near the Oregon line. The Hale and Ito packs have held their ground for years. Hale’s family was here long before California even became a state. Argent has some kind of convoluted history with the Hale pack.

Bryce was leery about working with wolves at first, but Argent educated them all about the difference between Born and Bitten wolves, and Born are a world apart from Bitten. Traditionally they are peacekeepers and protectors. They police the supernatural in their territories and save Hunters a lot of dangerous work, and Bryce is all for that.
Hell, they even take out rogue wolves, refusing to tolerate an out of control wolf who could reveal their secrets to the general human population.

As Argent says, Ito and Hale are the best of their kind. They don’t go around randomly biting people to grow their packs, they just want to mind their business and live in peace. In fact Hale has one of the smallest packs in the state, but he also has a vast network of treaties with packs, covens and supernatural clans all over the states and his pack is fucking legendary. He has taken on and defeated everything from darachs, wendigos, and witches to an Alpha pack and a Nogitsune fox demon. He is as close to royalty as wolves get.

Hale is very progressive for a Born wolf. His pack is a mixed pack, which is rare. His Emissary is human, his Right Hand is Bitten, his Left Hand Born and he has both a Coyote shifter and a Hellhound in his pack. Rumor has it that he may even have a Kitsune and a Kanima in his pack.

Before the Fall he was meticulous in taking care of his pack’s needs, even sending the younger ones to college on his dime. He wasn’t one of those jealous wolves that insisted on keeping pack members under his thumb, either. Word was he has members overseas and roaming the states now, networking with other supernaturals.

Now he is the de facto guardian of Beacon Hills, humans and supernaturals and his town and people are well hidden from human raiders and the undead. No one fucked with Hale and his people.

Bryce wasn’t really familiar with werewolves Before. His clan specialized in witches and warlocks. The black magic practitioners who didn’t think twice about sacrificing children for power boosts. It was educational teaming up with Argent, especially the day he and Hale took on that rogue pack from LA. Clear Lake was the first time he saw Born wolves shift and he had been in awe.

Hale had been magnificent, huge and powerful and yes, beautiful. He was the size of a small horse shifted, as was the other Born wolf now running with his pack. The one Argent was so curious about, the quiet, handsome one, whose blond packmate was so fiercely protective. Bryce was the first to admit that he found the quiet wolf attractive.

They were too late to catch the rogues at Clear Lake, they had been nearly decimated by infected, but Bryce saw what was left when the Hale pack caught up with them later. The Hunters were searching farther south and at their camp that night they first heard the sound of a Born wolf on a hunt.

That deep, moaning boom of a howl had caused every hair to stand up on his body, but when the others joined in, and Argent recognized the coyote and fox howls he had relaxed and calmly stated that Derek had everything in hand. The next day they caught up with the pack and discovered what was left of the Flores pack in the convenience store parking lot for clean-up.

A pile of decapitated corpses with the heads neatly displayed on stakes as a very effective and graphic warning with the Hale sigil was displayed to any would be raiders passing through. Bryce had to admit, very few experienced raiders dared venture into Ito or Hale territory and the farmers and ranchers lived there relatively unmolested.

They picked up the fleeing captives, both groups, and ferried them home. He learned that one of them was the sister of the blond in Hale’s pack, which explained why the rogues had the Hales on their asses. The blond had traveled with them to see her safely home, while the Hale wolves simply returned home themselves, their job done. He was disappointed not to see the quiet Wolf among them.

Argent attempted to strike up a conversation with the tall blond, to interrogate him, but he kept his mouth firmly shut, not even sharing his name, blue eyes cold and wary of the hunters. It wasn’t long before they realized he was former military, and they would get nothing from him. Bryce wondered at how a human could be so loyal to a pack of dangerous supernaturals.

It was Jana, who took it upon herself to casually chat with the former captives who learned that the blond was once a first responder, a firefighter from LA. He was a good guy, a former Navy SEAL, twice decorated by the LAFD for courage. His name was Evan Buckley, and it was clear none of them, including his sister, realized he was now running with wolves. He was something of a hero to the group even before their rescue from the Raiders.

Argent speculated that it was because he was mated to the unknown Hale wolf and that had startled Bryce. As a deeply closeted man (most of the Hunter clans were not only extremely conservative, but religious as well), it sparked an interest that was rapidly becoming an obsession. Apparently wolves had no special prejudices regarding same sex couples.

What would it be like to be partners with such a powerful being? To fuck such a beautiful man? His long repressed libido stepped in, and it wasn’t long before he started speculating how the dark wolf would look wearing a silver studded collar, with Bryce holding the leash.

Bryce knew quite a bit about compulsion magic. A slave collar with a good spell hammered and woven in could work wonders on a reluctant captive. His uncle had kept a pretty young witch collared and used her to hunt her kind, but one day he got careless and was found gutted in his own bed, with his genitals crammed down his throat, the girl long gone. Bryce didn’t believe in human enslavement, but werewolves weren’t really human were they?

Anyway, they were at this extremely well-fortified stockade just outside of Garberville where a batch of armorers were set up for business during Trade day. Bryce was guarding the SUVs against would be fuel thieves while Argent bargained and the others in their crew meandered around. The armorers and machinists refused to allow strangers inside their compound, near their valuable tools and goods, so all trading was done outside the heavily fortified gates and business was brisk.

A familiar fair head caught his eye, and he watched as Evan Buckley and another man moved through the crowd on the Trading grounds.

Bryce recognized the dark wolf immediately despite the hat and concealing veil. There was no mistaking that well-built body and exquisite ass. The two were talking with a skinny, unkempt old hippie who was on Bryce’s radar simply because he was odd as fuck. Argent said the old fart was an alcoholic and a weed dealer and harmless.

By talking he meant the trade sign that was flying between the wolf and the old man, while the blond stood protectively beside them, his blue eyes alert, always on watch. That he is very aware of the hunters is obvious. Every time Buckley saw Bryce he glared at him and stared him down.

Bryce watched curiously, but he couldn’t read the sign at all. The ‘dialect’ was different. Did this mean the dark wolf was mute? His interest sparked anew, he watched covertly, idly wondering what noises he could wring from the attractive wolf.

The wolf dug into his pack and handed the old fart a flask of liquor, which he fawned over before wandering off towards the food tents. A trade has happened, probably information.

The two stand, heads together for a few minutes. The blond says something close to his partner’s ear and the wolf nods once, but makes no sound. After a few minutes they move off down the road for a while before abruptly veering into the tree line at a brisk jog. The blond close on the wolf’s heels. They are gone in moments and Bryce sighs wistfully, suddenly sharply aware that he wants what Buckley has.

Jana nudges his shoulder and hands him a cup of cold cider. He hooks up with her occasionally, to keep his macho image intact, but lately she has been making partnership noises and he isn’t interested. The next whorehouse they come across he will trade for a fuck to hammer that point home. He nods thanks and sips while he speculates why the Hale pack is down here, trading obviously, but more probably exchanging information and networking.

His ruminations are interrupted by loud groans as a small group of Biters shamble around the bend in the road, eagerly picking up their pace at the sight of live meat. Sighing, Bryce and everyone nearby pauses their business and haul out hammers, iron bars, and other blunt objects and step up to whack skulls. Just another day in the zombie apocalypse. Beside him Jana exclaims in delight and pauses to pluck a large diamond ring off the hand of the old female Biter she just decimated. It’s always good to get a nice bonus for dirty work.

 

3

Nate glares down the road and waits impatiently for Aaron to get Holly off her fat ass and moving again. He fucking wants to make a settlement before dark and they get picked off by Howlers. He wishes for the thousandth time that he had left LA weeks ago and left his best friend and his pregnant girlfriend to their fates.
The problem is that while he loves Aaron like a brother, he loathes Holly with every fiber of his being. She was just an entitled club girl before the Fall, now she is a full on whining bitch and his dumbass friend caters to her every need.

Yesterday Aaron nearly became Biter bait after he risked entering an infested, half-looted grocery store to search for a jar of fucking pickles that the bitch claimed she was craving. If Nate had not waded in with his crow bar, Aaron would be dead.

He had apologized sheepishly, but Nate would have none of it, stalking off and leaving them both to follow or stay, he didn’t give a fuck anymore. They could either keep up or stay behind. He then had to listen to her whine the entire time between noisily stuffing her face with the gherkins. She never fucking learns to keep quiet.

Finally they catch up, the bitch huffing and clutching her swollen belly. You would think the two would have had more sense than to breed during a zombie apocalypse, or at least use birth control. Nate has his suspicions about the kid’s paternity anyway. Aaron keeps soothing her, talking to her gently and patiently and shooting Nate apologetic looks.

Nate curses as he checks out the sun, it’s getting to be afternoon already and they are miles from the settlement they are trying to reach. The one that allegedly has a midwife in residence. He starts looking around for a house or building they can fort up in for the night, but most of the buildings they have passed so far have been burned out rubble. Settlements burn out many roadside buildings to keep the Infected and Raiders from hiding in them.

They are not in a good spot, strategy wise. The road cutting through the hills to the coast has been curving and slanting uphill for miles and all the twists and turns are dangerous. They could walk up on a Biter herd at the next bend, or not hear a pack of Raiders until they roared around a curve. They should have waited and hooked up with a caravan, but Holly’s belly ruled their time table now.

His mood sours every time he hears his friend sooth his querulous girlfriend. If it wasn’t for her whining tantrums and constant need to piss, they would be at the settlement by now. The enforcers at the last Trading Post they stopped at had quietly told them it was good family orientated settlement run by a former LAFD Captain and his wife. It even boasted a small clinic.

They also warned them they were prime targets for road raiders. As if Nate wasn’t already aware of that. All three of them were young, healthy and in Aaron and Holly’s cases, really good looking, with that Southern Cali blond surfer look. Nate has fantasies of trading Holly away for a safe escort to the coast and enough weed to get high for a month.

Behind him Aaron called out again that they needed to stop. Nate took a deep breath, counting to a hundred to keep from cursing them out, gripping his crow bar hard and viciously decapitating a tall weed. If only it was Holly’s empty blonde head. He stops and looks back impatiently.

She has plopped down again on a small boulder and is whining about her swollen feet. Aaron kneels in front of her and massages her fat ankles, encouraging her with gentle words and smiles. It makes Nate want to puke. He never thought a smart guy like Aaron would be dumb enough to get himself baby trapped by such a bitch. She is as dumb as a box of rocks, but cunning enough to realize she needed a protector when everything went to hell. Too bad she picked his kind, gentle best friend as the patsy.

Even now she flicked a smug glance at him over Aaron’s bent head only for it falter, when he coldly stared her down and smacked his palm with his crow bar. Yeah, bitch, I want to put it through your fucking skull. She got the message and quickly dropped her eyes, slim shoulders hunching. She knew if anything happened to Aaron, Nate would abandon her in a ditch for the Biters.

He has fantasies about using his last few bullets in his Glock to put her out of his misery. He thinks it might be worth losing his best friendship to be shed of her. She is such a user, and Aaron way too nice to realize that.

Somehow they make it a few more miles and they’re relieved to see the nearly hidden painted mark on a road side sign that indicates there is a shelter coming up. The bigger settlements set them up for travelers and sometimes even stock them with supplies. Nothing fancy, but it should be sturdy with a door they can bar.

When they reach it, it’s a small old fashioned Standard Oil station built of cinder blocks. The door of the garage part is metal and can be rolled down. The tiny office area has its big window and separate door reinforced with iron bars. It’s also already inhabited.

Two big guys regard them impassively as they hesitantly approach. One is tall, built like a brick shit house and has a pink birthmark over his left eye. His buddy, squatting by a small firepit, outside is completely veiled. He’s wearing one of those fishing hats with the neck drape and snap on veils.

Poor guy must be plague marked. Seeing people disfigured by plague always creeps him out, aware he was lucky to escape the Red Plague, but he always tries to be polite to them. Both men are dressed in good condition military camo gear and very well armed and carrying full packs.

Aaron nods amiably at them, posture open and harmless, like Nate, hoping these are decent people and not murderers. Holly typically tries to thrust her tits out, and flash her cleavage, but her belly spoils the effect.

“Hey. Do you mind if we share the shelter tonight?”

The two guys look them over for a long moment, exchange a glance and the blond shrugs and gestures them closer to the fire. He winces minutely when he sees how visibly pregnant Holly is, but says nothing as he carries his pack inside the garage bay. He returns in a few moments and sits by his friend.

Hesitantly they gather closer to the firepit, and Holly immediately plops down, eyes greedily on the spit the guy is turning. The fat roasting rabbit smells wonderful. Nate can’t remember the last time he tasted hot, fresh food.

The veiled guy silently turns the spit and puts a piece of wood on the fire. When the meat is finished he cuts the big haunches off and hands one to his friend, keeps the other and gestures to them to help themselves to the rest.

Nate is pretty embarrassed at how hungrily he tears into his portion, but at least he isn’t as bad as Holly who is eating like a fucking animal with grease smearing her chin and hands. Even Aaron looks embarrassed for once. After he finishes and wipes his hands and face. Aaron takes it upon himself to introduce themselves and quietly ask how far it is to the Point Arena settlement.

The blond guy, who introduces himself as Buck tells him they have a way to go yet, another day or so, and they slump wearily. Buck glances over at Holly, who is actually gnawing on a bone and raises a brow at his friend, who shrugs, apparently indifferent but pushes his pack over.

Buck opens it and roots around and pulls out a few MRIs which he offers to Aaron, who thanks him profusely. Before he can open them, Buck quietly reminds them they might want to save them for tomorrow and he flushes and agrees, quickly putting them in his backpack, for once ignoring Holly’s murmured protest. The fucking bitch will get more than her fair share tomorrow. There is a reason Aaron is skin and bones now. He gave her half his share of rabbit tonight.

Nate glares pointedly at her grease smeared mouth and hands and she drops her head and wipes her hands on her thighs and her mouth with her sleeve. Fucking pig. He doesn’t bother to hide his revulsion. Personal hygiene was one of the first things to fall to the wayside with her. She can barely be bothered to wash these days.

They head into the shelter of the garage bay. Someone has constructed wooden sleeping platforms, like those found in Hiking shelters. One already has Buck’s sleeping bag and pack on it. They choose two across from it and notice that Buck and his friend (who declined to introduce himself) elect to stay close to the fire.

The veiled guy keeps glancing across the road into the trees and Nate notices his rifle is now laid across his knees. They speak quietly together, heads close, then Buck stands, gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze and enters the bay. It’s almost full dark now and he makes sure the other door and the window grills are latched and locked securely before pulling the bay door most of the way down. Instead of lying down, he crouches by the bay his own rifle at hand, eyes intent on his friend.

Nate stirs uneasily and sits on his platform, but doesn’t lie down. These guys are waiting for something. Uneasily, he fingers his Glock. Aaron shoots him an inquiring look, picking up on his tension. Holly, as usual is fucking oblivious curled up around her belly already asleep. The howl seems to come from right outside and Holly lurches awake screaming like a banshee before Nate clamps a hard hand over her mouth and hisses at her to shut up.

By the door, Buck raises his rifle, but waits. Outside something white barrels from the trees towards the veiled guy, who now kneeling, calmly raises his gun and shoots it in the head. The Howler splats face forward in the road, pale limbs jerking before going still. Neither of the men move. Veiled guy is still facing across the road and Buck is still backing him up. After a few tense minutes, Veiled guy relaxes and stands up, gestures to Buck.

It's gone.

Fuck, there were two of them.

Veiled guy remains standing for a long time, head tilted. He was listening, Nate realized. After a while, he relaxed and walked over to join Buck. Buck closed the bay door, made sure it was secured and they lay down together on the platform, back to back. Both seemingly asleep in minutes.

It took Nate a long time to fall asleep, especially with Holly blubbering next to him, while Aaron wearily tried to soothe her. He wasn’t sure what woke him next, just became aware of a surreptitious rustle, he stayed still, but cracked open his eyes. It was just light enough to see, and what he saw made him freeze.

Holly was crouched over Buck’s pack, arm deep inside as she rifled through it. What the fuck? The bitch was stealing from the guys who fed them and protected them last night? Before Nate could speak, there was the distinct click of a round being chambered into a gun and Holly suddenly found the barrel of a Colt placed
between her eyes, courtesy of Veiled Guy.

She immediately turned on the waterworks and started sniveling.

“Please… I’m so hungry.”

“Lie.”

To Nate’s surprise, it was Aaron who spoke. He sounded infinitely weary.

“You’re not fucking hungry. You already ate all the MREs.” Aaron sat up and dropped his face into his hands, broad shoulders slumped.

Nate turned his head and sure enough there was a pile of the empty containers discarded by the sleeping platform. She has gorged herself on food meant for three. The only food they had. He was suddenly so angry; he didn’t give a fuck about anything. She could have gotten them all killed, she still could.

“Blow the fucking bitch’s brains out before I do, please.”

He sat up and pulled on his boots, angrily lacing them up. If Buck and his friend let him walk, he was out of here. Let Aaron take his chances with the stupid bitch. He was so done with her.

Across the way, Veiled Guy calmly reached over into Holly’s jacket pocket and retrieved several small vials. Medicine. The stupid bitch was stealing drugs worth their weight in gold from two heavily armed men. They were going to die here, bullets in their brains because she was so fucking stupid.

Instead of shooting her, he placed the vials into his own vest pocket and sat back, holstered his gun and jerked his chin at her, indicating she move back. She did so immediately, scuttling away, moving faster than he had ever seen, to put Aaron between them.

Both he and Buck silently stood and began to pack up.

Buck was furious, mouth set, glaring at them all with contempt. He ignored their shamed faces and Aaron’s muttered apology. His friend walked over and raised the bay door, rifle at ready, but nothing lurched out of the morning mist at them. The corpse of the Howler has been dragged off the road, leaving a blood trail, apparently the other came back in the night for dinner.

Before they stepped out, Buck turned to them and spoke coldly.

“There’s a patrol that will pass through here at noon. I suggest you stay and fort up here until you hear them. They will transport you to the nearest settlement. Lower the bay door until then. The Howlers are day walking now, like the ones that trailed you here yesterday. I also suggest you choose another destination other than Point Arena. I have family there and I don’t want your kind near them. Go up to Arcata instead. They have work available and a real hospital. “

He looked pointedly at Holly. “And they don’t charge for services.”

They turned and stepped out into the fog and vanished.

Nate had a thought and quickly checked his own pack. The little packet of trade goods and his last pitiful strip of emergency jerky was gone. Snarling he reached over and grabbed Holly’s small duffle bag.

“That’s mine!” She shrieked and lunged at him, clawing at his face.

He shoved her back hard on her ass and upended it and quietly retrieved his belongings from the pile of stuff. There were many small items, and he recognized a small, silver trinket box he last saw on the table of a vender at the last trading post. With a sick realization, he
suddenly remembered how she would cozy up to anyone in the settlements they stopped in, all bright-eyed and friendly, only to be anxious to leave a few hours later.

How many people has she stolen from? It’s a miracle they haven’t all been lynched yet. Nate has seen what happens to thieves now. It isn’t pretty. He recognized something else and tossed Aaron his dad’s antique wristwatch—the only thing he has left as a family memento. Alex quietly fastened it on his wrist and reached for his own bag.

“We’re done.”

He spoke softly to her.

She immediately began to whine.

“The baby, what about our baby?”

Nate snorted. He has been waiting for this opportunity for months.

“You mean yours and Antonio’s baby?”

Aaron turned wide eyes on him, and Holly glared, but flushed beet red.

“Bro, she hooked up with Tonio every chance she got before and after the Fall. She only stopped because Biters got him.”

He gave her his best smirk.

“Of course, it’ll be obvious when you pop out the kid and its black instead of white.”

She snarled and lunged at him, and he took great pleasure in putting his hand on her face and shoving her back on her ass. This of course, caused her to start sniveling again, but this time, no one gave a fuck and realizing that she shut up and pouted instead.

They were lucky. They hunkered down, following Buck’s advice with the bay door securely locked, and sure enough, they heard the Howler snuffling and scratching at the door later. It ran away at the sound of approaching motors. The patrol from Argent Arms picked them up and gave them transport to the nearest settlement.

They took Buck at his word and headed up the coast to Arcata with the next caravan. There was a small hospital there and they learned that Buck often brought them scavenged medical supplies. Holly tried a couple of times to get cozy with Aaron again, but when he was done, he was done. She immediately tried to attach herself to another man, but they all wisely noped out because of her big belly and blatant avarice.

Both Nate and he found steady work on the fishing boats, and they came to really love the work and being out on the water and decided to apprentice until they knew enough to maintain their own boat. (On the water there were no worries about Biters or Howlers, they could actually sleep at night.) There were plenty of boats without owners now and they took their time looking for ‘their’ boat. The little channel islands along the Washington coast were relatively safe to live on as well, and the fisherfolk took advantage of having the ocean as a safe barrier.

When they found it, they even started ferrying folks up and down the coast as well as providing fish for the coastal settlements and it was steady, lucrative business. It was also good to see Aaron happy and relaxed again, instead of drained dry.

They learned when they went to the hospital to check on the birth (if it was Aaron’s kid he was determined to raise it) that Holly’s baby was, indeed, mixed race. She abandoned him at the hospital, and took off with a transport hauler the moment she could walk. The baby was adopted by a lesbian couple in Point Arena. The couple was known for adopting orphaned or unwanted kids. The last time Nate ever saw Holly she was flashing her tits in the display window of a whorehouse up near Newport.

He and Aaron caught glimpses of Buck and his partner sometimes, striding through trade areas at settlements. He learned they were dependable traders who worked the I-5 circuit, honorable guys who were known to be charitable with medicines to those in need and with a badass rep for taking out Infected and Raiders alike. He hoped they got the chance one day to thank them and apologize for their last meeting.

 

4

Isabel moved easily around the Hale house kitchen. It was nice to work with a modern kitchen again, complete with good electricity and running water, but she missed her own territory and snug kitchen.

She and Chris were here for a check-up with Dr. Fenris. Buck and Eddie had escorted them before moving on down the trade circuit route. They had a urgent request from David to scavenge for several drugs needed for patients at the hospital in Arcata. It was going to be tricky finding them because Eddie didn’t have any cached and they could only be found in heavily infested cities. Stiles was careful to provide them both with heavy duty charms for the trip and sent one of his own ravens along as a helpful lookout.

Derek and Stiles would escort Isabel and Chris home. They were excited to finally visit the Diaz homestead and den. An invite into family territory was a big deal to Born wolves, in many ways it was almost like an expansion of territory. The winter had been brief but harsh and everyone was happy that Spring was here even if it meant dealing with the thawed Biters and the Howlers coming out of hibernation.

She took a tray of tamales out of the oven and slid a Chile relleno casserole dish in. She always left some extra meals for Derek when she visited. She knew he missed his pack’s home cooking. His mother Talia and her sisters were expert cooks of the rich Pacific northwest fare. She suspected her dishes didn’t stay in the freezer long. Some of the desserts she prepared for the freezer have already mysteriously vanished.

Laughter came from the yard. Derek was giving Chris his famous wolf rides, loping around the house like a pony with a giggling little boy clinging like a monkey to his scruff. Derek’s role as favorite uncle was firmly established with Christopher.

Stiles was up in his ‘magic tower’ (his own words) putting together some last minute wards to bring with them to help guard the Diaz’ hidden valley. They were powerful enough that if set up and properly charged around the valley, no enemy, dead or alive would be able to enter it.

Isabel has also requested a boundary spell to keep their grazing livestock from wandering out of the valley. With a good magical ‘fence’, no predator would be able to enter either. There was a rapidly growing population of grizzly bears, cougars and actual gray wolves in California now. (The Diaz cabin now sported a very large bearskin rug because one tried to make away with the intrepid Eleanor.) Some of the larger predators even developed a taste for fresh Biters. Fortunately the plague virus wasn’t zoonotic.

Malia has already wandered through earlier and shyly asked about some of the dishes she prepared before slipping away. Peter’s coyote daughter still kept to her feral ways a great deal, preferring her secret den in the preserve to her room in the pack house.

Boyd was shy as well, but always quietly helpful, always taking care of things that needed doing and lending a helping hand. Ingredients appeared when needed and dirty pans and dishes were washed. As Derek’s Right Hand, he kept busy. He had lost his mate, Erica, to a Howler attack in the early days of the Fall, and he still grieved. Isabel saw her photos on the walls and the girl had been beautiful, blonde and vivacious.

The Hellhound Parrish preferred to stay on in town. He would be Sheriff Stilinski’s replacement when the man stepped down and he took his duty to the town and his mentor very seriously. The other members of the pack were away, traveling and networking with the remaining supernatural families with connections to the Hales. Isabel looked forward to meeting both the Kanima and the Kitsune.

She made note of the dishes she had in the oven and decided a couple more wouldn’t hurt. She had missed Derek too. When he was a boy he and her Eddito had been closer than brothers and she had encouraged that because Eddie had been a lonely child under intense pressure from his parents.

At the time she had been busy with curadora business and other branches of the Diaz family, and it took years for her to finally realize and admit to herself that her only son was an pompous ass, a poor choice for alpha and not improving as he aged. Yet, she had been hopeful and as a result her fool son nearly got his pack killed. When the time came, her Eddito would make a superb Alpha, even now she could sense his spark rising. With the Diaz territory aligned with Hale territory, the packs formed a formidable barrier to any trespassers.

After dinner, which the boys praised her lavishly for, she left Chris in Boyd’s capable hands and lap avidly watching Disney movies on Stile’s DVD player, and accompanied Derek and Stiles out into the preserve to visit the Nemeton.

Stiles has painfully explained his complicated history with the wounded tree and how he was trying to heal it, but healing magic simply was not his forte—he was geared towards battle. It still was a powerful focus and drew darksiders as well as creatures of the light like a flame draws moths. He and Derek stood respectfully back as she slowly circled the tree and looked it over.

Isabel cocked her head, hands on hips and regarded the slender sapling that now split the formidable trunk of the tree’s former self and scowled. She saw the problem instantly. The little shit was lazy and napping, smugly soaking up all the power Stiles offered and doing nothing in return. It was slacking on the job like a teenager at a concessions stand.

Snorting, she strode over and slapped her palm on the trunk much the same way she would to the bare bottom of a misbehaving wolfling and gave it a sharp jolt of green magic.

Stiles and Derek watched wide-eyed as the little woman strode over and smacked the shit out of the Nematon. Before their amazed eyes, it shivered, leaves dancing and seemed to stand at attention under Abuela’s stern gaze. It was still for a long moment, and they realized it was communing with the curadora.

Suddenly, the tree seemed to straighten further and spreading its branches, proceeded to grow another six feet, its trunk thickening to support it and its roots cracking through the old trunk it was rooted in. Its canopy was now dense with branches and leaves, and it seemed to be standing firmly at attention as Abuela again, circled it, examining it critically. She nodded to herself and placed a hand on it, eyes closing as she again ‘spoke’ with it. Satisfied she stepped back and returned to Derek and Stiles who were gazing open mouthed at the tree.

“It is awake now, and aware. No more slacking on the job. It will help you repel any darksiders who try to harness it and attack your pack. Come, let me introduce you, so it knows you. All mammals are much the same to them and time passes differently with the Green Ones.”

She took their hands and placed them on the tree and their eyes widened as they felt a vast, ancient, innocent Other that was connected to All, gently touch their minds. As she watched both men’s eyes filled with tears as the Tree communed with them, lamenting for their losses and its inability to help after being savagely cut down, it has been slumbering while it heals. When they stepped back, they looked much more peaceful and the whole clearing felt lighter.

As they watched a small ball of brown feathers suddenly fluttered down from the sky and landed on a branch just above their heads, strutted back and forth and hooted impertinently down at them, puffed up with self-importance.

Isabel rolled her eyes, recognizing him immediately and where he was…

“Isabel, Isabel, mo dheirfúr! It has been too long!”

A rotund little woman dressed in brown and green bustled out of the bushes, impatiently pushing branches out of her way and untangling her snagged shawl, a stout stick in her hand, her fleecy, gray curls snarled with leaves and twigs beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat. Her dark eyes were bright with merriment as she beamed at them.

Biting her lip to hide a smile, Isabel spoke sedately to a stunned looking Derek and Stiles.

“This is Meadhbh and Hooter. They will tutor you about the history and proper care of the Nematon.”

Derek watched in amazement as the little Green witch introduced herself, beaming with good cheer at them as she shook their hands firmly and apologized for her tardiness, she had been in Yellowstone cleansing a sacred grove. His wolf was curious but not at all alarmed and she smelled only of good, green things. Like Isabel she was a little thing, but he could sense her vast power despite the fact that she strongly reminded him of one of the fairy godmothers from the Disney version of Cinderella. She paused and peered up at him, eyes widening.

“Oh my, ye be a handsome laddie! A Hale, no doubt? I knew yer wee granny.” She turned to Stiles and beamed harder.

“Oh, look at you! Your dear mother would be so proud, the spitting image of dear Claudia!”

She wrapped a stunned Stiles in a motherly hug, before stepping back and peering around the forest clearing with great satisfaction.

“Yes, yes, there is much tidying up to be done here, but Meadhbh is here now, so ye need not worry.”

She froze and peered birdlike down at the forest floor and suddenly stabbed her stick into the carpet of leaves. When she pulled it back, a small, dark root like thing writhed on the sharp end of the stick and curled up and died in the sunshine. She snorted and flicked it up to the little owl who pounced on it and gulped it down greedily.

She beamed at a wide-eyed Stiles.

“Twas a wee feeler, lovie. Some Darkling be seeking. It won’t try again. I will teach you to ward against them. Come now and tell auntie Meadhbh what ye have learned about this wee, babaí Nematon.”

She turned a gimlet eye on the tree and shook her stick at it.

“And you! No more slacking, bucko! I have my eye on you now!”

Derek could have sworn the tree stood taller, leaves quivering.

Wordlessly he turned to Isabel and caught her hiding a laugh behind her hand, her dark eyes amused. It was going to be a very interesting day. He watched as his wide-eyed husband allowed himself to be towed towards the house, the little witch twittering away. He seldom saw his boy rendered speechless.

He followed, Isabel beside him, as curious as his husband. Suddenly a ball of feathers landed on his shoulder and cozied up against his bearded jaw, cooing and winking coyly at him. Was this tiny fluff ball of an owl flirting with him?

Hooter groomed his beard, nipped his earlobe and hooted seductively in his ear as Derek turned wide eyes on Isabel, who burst into joyous, unrestrained laughter at the incredulous look on the stoic Alpha’s face.

Poor Derek. Once Hooter was enamored with someone they could look forward to courtship displays and gifts of dead mice for weeks to come. At least the tiny Saw Whet owl had good taste, if a bit too much ambition for his size.

 

5

Emma eased out of the convent gate and made sure it was locked behind her, forage basket and rope in one hand and iron bar in the other. That damned goat was an escape artist. If she wasn’t the best dairy goat they had, Emma would leave her to the predators. She glanced back at Sister Claire, who nodded encouragingly, one of the babies balanced on her hip.

Before the Fall the convent, The Sisters of Good Hope, had been in the process of opening up to aid disenfranchised women in the community, offering a day care and temporary women’s shelter. After, they found themselves with a handful of orphaned children to care for as well as the nuns, most of whom were elderly.

Their saving grace was that the convent was well hidden and set far back from the main roads and behind tall brick walls with sturdy iron gates. The sisters had moved rapidly and torn down all the road signs indicating the presence of the convent and worked to camouflage the turn off from the main road with a planted thicket of blackberry brambles. They had immediately moved everyone into the safest, most secure building, one they could fort up in if necessary with few windows and doors.

They expanded the kitchen gardens, planting food in any available green space and they already had a small orchard and bee hives, plus Sister Rachel had just started a small livestock program so they had chickens and a few goats. The intrepid Sister Rachel has also stocked a pond in the meditation gardens with fat koi, retrieved from a garden supply store in the nearest town.

They survived by staying silent and invisible.

Emma and Ann, the oldest girls at sixteen, did most of the foraging now. They lost Caroline to a herd of Biters last year. The children learned quickly the only safe place to play noisily was in the sub-basement beneath the chapel.

A quick thinking Mother Superior has even hidden the entrance behind a Mary statue, so that if they were raided (and they all bleakly acknowledged it would eventually happen) the little stone chapel was the best hiding place. It was kept stocked with water and food and a medical kit in case.

The nuns drilled them relentlessly on hiding quickly if attacked, so that even the smallest member of the community knew exactly what to do.

Emma glanced at the sun, it was high and bright and reassuring to someone who had absolutely no desire to be caught outside after dark. Ann was in the clinic with a badly twisted ankle, she had fallen from one of the fruit trees while pruning it. So, Emma was without her friend and forage partner today and she felt naked and vulnerable, but they needed that damned goat because they still had hungry babies and little ones to feed.

She knew exactly where to look. Ruth, the goat, loved to graze in the lush meadows down in the river bottom. This was good, because there were plenty of mushrooms and Spring greens for Emma to gather, and bad because it was also a warren of lush, tangled greenery. Tall thickets of blackberry brambles, clumps of willows and all kinds of bushes for Biters to hide in.

Emma nervously checked the hatchet and knife on her belt and stepped silently onto the tiny path under the trees leading down to the river. She wasn’t surprised to see traces of fresh hoof prints. She was on the right track.

Two hours later she was getting increasingly frustrated. Her basket was getting full of morels, chickweed, dandelion greens, Miner’s lettuce and fiddlehead fern heads, but no sign of a fat, spotted goat. The one thing that usually helped find the damned goat was the little brass bell on her collar. It usually tinkled gently as she grazed.

Just as she was about to give up and head home, she heard the tell-tell jingle under the trees near the bend of the river. Knowing better than to call out, despite the fact that Ruth would come when called, she kept silent and approached cautiously. For some reason, the hair on her nape was standing up and Emma listened to intuition these days.

As she approached, the jingle moved a bit further away under the trees. Emma stopped in her tracks and crouched low near a thicket of briars, listening hard. She suddenly realized that the birds had stopped chirping and it was eerily silent here except for that tiny, repetitive jingle of the bell and the murmur of flowing water from the nearby river.

There was something off about the rhythm of the bell and if Ruth had gotten herself entangled somewhere, she wouldn’t be able to move away. She stared hard at the shadows in the thick undergrowth under the conifers, but could see nothing.

The bell sounded again, almost mockingly; a bit closer. Emma sidled back, keeping low and putting the trunk of a pine sapling between her and the sound, she gripped her iron bar hard and listened again, straining for the slightest sound. A little voice in her head chanted wait and see, wait and see. The bell was a little closer now.

She lowered herself until she was almost lying down on her belly and peered hard under the saplings branches and into the shadows of the thick brush under the trees. As she did, she heard the low buzz of busy flies to her left and caught the familiar iron tang of fresh blood as a breeze wafted into her face.

Slowly she turned her head and stared under the boughs of the willows, about three yards away. She caught a glimpse of a single cloven hoof sticking up from behind a log on a rigid leg, and red smeared bone. The bell jingled insistently now, getting closer and Emma forced herself to crawl away and not break and run, because something had slaughtered Ruth and was trying to lure her with the damned bell.

The breeze changed again, and she caught a whiff of something animal and rank, not as putrid as a ripe Biter but smelling of death and old blood and she stopped and stared hard back under the trees, if she waited just a minute there was a spot where the brambles were thinner. There, it moved, and she could see its shadowy bulk now, and a clawed hand holding Ruth’s collar, a flash of oily white skin.

She bit back a scream of pure terror. Howlers had ripped her entire family to shreds and she had escaped only because she was the only one who made it to their minivan in time. This Howler was moving in broad daylight and using a bell to lure human prey. She was close enough now to hear it snuffling the breeze off the river, trying to scent her. Thank God, she was downwind and hopefully it couldn’t see well in the bright sun.

Slowly, she began to inch back. Only when she reached the trail would she dare stand and run for the convent. There was no convenient hidey hole here or even a tree suitable for climbing. She abandoned her basket and the rope and concentrated on making no noise. The thing was being so patient as it jingled the collar. It made her skin crawl. She has to make it back to warn the sisters. Anyone going outside now to forage would be in danger.

Finally, she made it back to the trail, but the thing was following her now, it had her scent, and the jingle was taunting as it got closer. She sprang up and sprinted hard down the trail, and nearly pissed herself at the howl bellowing out behind her, the crash of its big body through the brush, it was gaining fast.

She approached a bend in the trail and a strong arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and a gloved hand clamped over her mouth and she was scooped neatly off the trail behind a big redwood, and the huge guy holding her hissed in her ear to be quiet.

Eyes wide, she froze in his big arms and saw a second guy across the way, waiting, a long, deadly rifle held at ready. He was veiled so she couldn’t see his face, but she noted he was absolutely still and quiet as he waited for the monster to get within sight. The second it did, it died, its head popping like a burst melon. The veiled guy, didn’t pause, he whirled and fired again at the second Howler that was creeping up behind them on the trail, killing it as well.

Emma stood and shook. She wouldn’t have made it home to the convent. The first creature was herding her right into the second one’s jaws.

A big hand clumsily patted her back and she found herself looking into a pair of concerned blue eyes, as First Guy peered down at her.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He asked, genuinely concerned, he stepped back courteously giving her space and she instantly missed the comfort of his strong arms.

“Yes..um, yes, I think so. Thank you.” She stammered, blushing.

These guys were certainly not raiders, she thought. Maybe military? They were both outfitted in clean, good condition camo gear and well-armed. She felt a surge of hope. Was the Army helping now with the infected? Would life finally return to normal?

As she watched the Veiled Guy cautiously inspected the Howler corpses, then signed something to his friend before stepping into the undergrowth and vanishing like a wraith in the shadows. Concerned, she stared after him.

“It’s okay. Eds is just making sure there isn’t a pack of them. Luckily, this was just a pair.”

First Guy said gently, trying to reassure her. As they waited a slim, middle aged Asian woman came down the trail behind the first Howler. She was carrying a rifle as well as Emma’s forage basket, but was dressed in normal jeans and flannel. She smiled gently at Emma and held out her hand.

“Hello. My name is Satomi Ito. My family and I live just north of the river. We have been meaning to visit and check on the sisters, but things have kept us busy lately.”

She indicated the corpses with a casual wave.

Emma felt herself relaxing at the familiar name as she shook the small, strong hand. Mother Superior always spoke warmly of the Ito family and had expressed worry about them. Emma had heard her talking with the other sisters, as they discussed whom they might be able to call upon for aid if necessary and the Ito’s were the first on the list.

Satomi smiled at her again, a motherly smile that Emma sorely missed and nodded at her tall companions. Startled, Emma saw that the Veiled Guy had silently rejoined them and stood shoulder to shoulder with his friend.

“This is Buck and Eddie. They have been helping us clear the woods on this side of the river of vermin. They run a Trade route along the I-5 corridor. “

The two men nodded politely at her, and Buck gave her a sunshine smile that had her blushing. He was, she noted, very good looking. It’s been years since she saw an attractive guy.

Back at the convent, the worried nuns welcomed her home with open arms. They had heard the howl and shots and feared for her. Mother Superior embraced Satomi, exclaiming with delight and it became clear that they were old friends. The nuns bustled about, hurrying to offer everyone herbal tea, sweetened with honey, they had little else.

While Satomi conferred with Mother, the guys sat in the courtyard and waited. They were instantly popular because Buck dug into his pack and produced a bag of hard candies that he passed around to the curious kids. Buck patiently answered their many questions. Was he a soldier? Did he hunt monsters? Why did his friend cover his face? And so on.

Emma sat with Ann, who has hobbled out of medical to gawk at their visitors, and specifically, like Emma, gawk at Buck and his friend.

Buck was really good looking, all sunshine and smiles but his friend was very attractive as well despite his veiled face. He was well built with smooth golden brown skin. What a pity he was disfigured by the plague. Both men were clean and neat with well-organized gear.

Ann suddenly poked Emma hard and they watched as little Joya suddenly sidled up to the bench where Eddie was seated and silently slid under his arm and climbed into his lap, her small face intent on his veiled one. Neither spoke, merely regarded each other closely.

Joya was a foundling who was left as an infant at the convent gate, apparently by Indian parents. She had been snugly wrapped in a torn piece of silk sari, a small silk bag of gold coins and some jewelry left for her care. There was a note as well, but none of the nuns could decipher it. The language and writing were unfamiliar. The only English was on the name tag pinned to her little shirt.

She was about three years old now, but mute and would have little to do with the other children and if any of them bothered her, she would scratch and bite with a vengeance. She hid from the nuns a lot and climbed every tree she could find. She was not mentally impaired, just very odd little kid.

When Satomi came out, she immediately went to Eddie, and they spoke softly to each other. When the woman reached for her, Joya went readily, clinging to her neck and rubbing her cheek against Satomi’s. Satomi spoke quietly to Eddie and then to the Mother Superior.

The next day, when Emma and Ann came down to breakfast, they found to their great disappointment that their guests were already gone, taking little Joya with them. Mother Superior calmly explained that Satomi knew Joya’s family and she would stay with the Itos from now on.

Two days later, Satomi came back. This time she brought two of her sons and an entire truck load of food and supplies, including two more milk goats. They had a small picnic in celebration, because Satomi assured them there would be regular supply deliveries from the neighboring farms.

After that the Ito’s visited regularly and Emma became aware that the family regularly patrolled the area, clearing away infected and keeping Raiders away. Life at the convent got better with that extra layer of protection and eventually the older kids could even visit Satomi’s farm to socialize and help with harvests. The nuns were able to adopt some of the kids out and take in other small refugees. Satomi’s people regularly patrolled near the convent and often provided escorts for foragers. Eventually a couple of teachers began to visit semi-monthly to provide basic classes in reading, writing and mathematics and the Medical caravan visited once a month.

Little Joya was thriving and running wild with a group of little Ito kids. One of Satomi’s people was a doctor who took Ann under her wing for medical training and Emma learned a lot about organic farming from Satomi’s daughter, Hanako.

Life never returned to Before standards, but it became less harsh and years later when Emma was a grandmother, the story of the Howler and the bell had become just that—a scary story of a monster that her grandchildren never saw or had to deal with, because the Howlers were completely eliminated from this area of Nor Cali.

 

6

Crixus croaks an ‘all clear’ and Buck and Eddie ease down the alley in the industrial district of what was once a city outside of Stockton. They have no idea if this particular facility has what they’re looking for, but the company that ran it was known for producing the costly but effective drug. What they do know is that this entire area is infested with Infected, and they are in the heart of Raider country.

Getting into the city has been difficult because of the sheer amount of the undead. They managed by slipping in at dawn and immediately taking to the roofs. With Crixus as their eye in the sky and early warning system, they had the advantage of knowing areas to avoid at all costs.

There were many areas still swarming with Biters and Eddie caught the fresh scent of Howlers more than once. Plus several fortified blocks housed Raiders. Twice they had to double back and go around another way to avoid discovery—once by a herd of Biters, and again by an armored truck holding Raiders clearly patrolling their turf.

Stiles has given them a charmed map; one he assured them listed unlooted pharmaceutical manufacturing facilities. The one they were approaching now had been so small and discreet, few knew its location when it was in operation, so no wonder Raiders had yet to unearth it. From what Stiles has deduced the packs of Raiders have no systemic method of scavenging and they waste a lot of time and fuel road raging, infighting and attacking caravans and settlements. So, there are entire stores and factories that hold pristine goods if one can slip past the infected and loot them.

Crixus swoops low over their heads with a low warning beak clack, and they immediately take to the roof of the nearest building—Eddie leaps up and grabs the lowest rail of a fire escapes and then hauls Buck up beside him and they hastily climb up and roll over the low parapet of the brick building and lie flat.

There is the low rumble of an engine, and an old M35 military cargo truck rolls up to the end of the alley. Several raiders hop out of the bed and take a look around, while the truck idles in the street.

“I’m telling you Ray; I saw two army guys. Why the hell would they be scouting our turf?”

“Man, probably just scavengers. No army anymore, remember? No fucking military at all unless you count that half-assed militia at Fort Bragg or those asshole marines down in Oceanside.”

“Those asshole marines nearly shot your nuts off, Bro.”

They bicker back and forth and half-heartedly poke around, then move on down the street, obviously not interested in hunting down two wayward foragers. A desiccated shambler shuffles out of a doorway and one of the men casually puts it down with a sharp blow to the head with a homemade mace.

It takes them a couple of hours to safely break into the pharmaceutical plant. There is a herd of dormant Biters clustered in both the alley and around the front entrance, so they go in via the roof. Eddie beta shifts and gives Buck a piggy back ride with a flying leap from the next building. Buck is both thrilled at his mate’s physical prowess and terrified of falling and splatting on top of a cluster of putrid Biters.
They use Buck’s Halligan to pry open the roof door as quietly as possible and slip inside.

They stand at the top of the stair well while Eddie silently listens and scents the air. He frowns and whispers in Buck’s ear, the building is infested with Biters on several floors. Some moving, some dormant. They have eight floors to search. They mull over the problem.

The good thing is that Biters don’t have the brain cells to open doors, so they can be trapped inside offices. The bad thing is that large numbers of them have been known to smash right through poorly constructed doors. Buck checks out the door he just opened. The doors to the stairwell appear to be metal and fairly sturdy. Under no circumstances do they want to be trapped and mobbed in the stairwell.

Crixus abruptly joins them, swooping in and landing on Buck’s shoulder. He has apparently decided to join them instead of sitting sentinel on the roof, which means he isn’t worried about them being interrupted by Raiders. The offices are silent and dark and pretty damned creepy even during the day.

Cautiously they move down to the top floor and Eddie places his ear against the door and listens intently before carefully easing it open. He whispers to Buck that there seem to be only a few dormant Biters on this floor, most in the corner office at the end of the hall. Moving silently down the hall, they ease a few doors open before deciding this floor is only executive offices.

They return to the stairwell and move on, continuing down. The next two floors are offices as well, they have to put down two Biters in the hall on the sixth floor, but they are old and dry and move slowly. They luck out and find an open plan packaging area on the fourth floor with boxes of finished product. Usually factories package merchandise on the lower floors.

Crixus glides from Buck’s shoulder and wings across the wide space, he croaks and draws out a few Biters who shamble after him and he lures them by fluttering and hopping into a small office and flies back out as Eddie neatly shuts them inside and jams the door shut. Crixus flies to a roof beam and keeps watch as the boys methodically search the long belts and tables looking for the drugs on the list David gave them.

They finally find a couple of dozen small boxes of product plastic wrapped together and Eddie places them in his backpack. In the meantime, Buck discovers some good quality painkillers, emergency contraceptives and antibiotics they can also use for trade goods. They will split the load with David. The haul doesn’t even fill Eddie’s backpack, but at least they found some of the requested drugs, maybe even the last produced. David will be pleased.

Crixus drifts down to Buck’s shoulder again and they hustle up the stairwell because they can now hear the moaning of Biters in the stairwell on the lower floors and unfortunately, the damned things can climb stairs, albeit slowly, and it sounds like a few of the fresher ones have caught scent of Buck and Eddie. Their hungry moans will sound the dinner bell for the others soon enough.

Once on the roof, they again make the dizzying leap and Buck refuses to admit he shut his eyes despite Crixus’ mocking squawk, as he circles overhead. They hurry away, although it’s clear they are not making it out of town today and will have to find a safe bolt hole for the night. There is a rumble overhead, and thick, dark storm clouds loom.

Eddie sends Crixus ahead to scout a safe location as they carefully descend from the roof and move quickly and silently towards the outskirts of the city. The weather is stirring the Biters and they are roaming restlessly. They almost make it out of town before Crixus swoops in with an urgent alarm call and leads them away from the direction they were heading.

They follow without question, and Eddie tells Buck it’s an enormous herd of Biters on the move, cutting them off, he can smell them from here. They are in an area of town near the edge with few defensible buildings—it’s mainly open ground with car lots. Eddie points to a Kenworth dealership and they see that there are several of the big trucks still in the lot, probably because all the tires are flat. One of the trucks has custom dark tinted windows, it’s their best bet for a bolt hole.

Eddie easily pops the driver’s door open, and they shrug off their packs and shove them into the cab. Buck quickly circles the truck, dropping camo charms around it in a defensive circle and muttering cantrips, then they clamber inside and close the door behind them, just as the clouds open and it starts to pour rain. Its stuffy, but at least dry with a hint of that new vehicle odor remaining.

The rain will help wash away their scent. As long as they stay still and silent, they should be okay. Soon enough, the herd starts to plod past, the sound of the thunder having stirred them up. There are hundreds of them. The largest herd either man has seen in ages. Both are glad they found the shelter of the truck when they did.

Buck swallows hard as the enormous horde of undead shuffle past. He hasn’t seen this many Biters since fleeing LA. He had been in shock then, traumatized and concentrating on keeping his friends alive. Plus it had been dark when they fled. Its twilight now and the rumble of thunder and lightning flashes don’t help the eerie sight of the sea of moving dead in various states of decomposition. He automatically shuffles closer to Eddie’s warmth and his love puts a comforting arm around his shoulders.

He swallows hard and finds himself trying to stay as still as possible although it’s impossible for them to see him behind the tinted glass. They must be attracted to the main Biker compound in Stockton. So many living in one place constantly draw in the dead. Especially when they insist on being as active and loud as communities of Bikers tend to be.

“Get some sleep, mi amor. I will take first watch.” Eddie says gently, dark eyes soft in the dim twilight.

Buck doesn’t argue and climbs back into the sleeper area of the cab. The mattress there is pristine, just a bit dry and musty. He doesn’t unroll his bedroll, just uses it as a pillow. Best to be able to move at a moment’s notice in case their luck doesn’t hold. With Eddie on watch, he feels secure and is asleep in moments. He learned long ago to sleep when he gets the chance.

Eddie keeps one eye on the passing herd, it seems to be slowly thinning out and begins a systematic weapons check. He keeps his motions slow and quiet, knowing that Howlers have a tendency to roam with Biters and they have extraordinary hearing and sense of smell. Luckily, the thunder and lightning is loud enough to more than mask the soft sounds he makes and hopefully Stile’s concealment charms work.

He glances back and checks on his sleeping mate, his novio is curled up like a child around his pack, head on his bedroll, frowning a little in his uneasy sleep. His poor mate is weary, his leg probably aching as the air pressure changes with the weather. When they take the drugs to Arcata he will insist they rest on the coast for a while and maybe forage and gorge themselves on fresh shellfish and take a few days for themselves. They have had little time for actual courtship lately.

The herd thins out a few hours before dawn and Buck snorts himself awake and ventures up to the front of the cab to relieve Eddie. The rain has stopped, finally and the sky cleared enough for a bright half-moon to light up their surroundings.

As they start to trade places, there is a clatter of hooves on concrete, and they watch startled as a small herd of elk stampede past their hiding spot bowling over straggling Biters. It’s not surprising to see deer and elk close to deserted towns now, but they usually stay away from those with human inhabitants, and they avoid the Infected. The animals are clearly running for their lives and the reason becomes apparent when an enormous Howler bounds from behind a truck and drags the slowest animal down and rips into it.

He is quickly joined by no less than four others, all smaller than he. The others squabble for portions of the prey, but the dominant male snarls them down and they cringe and wait for him to feed first. He tears into the dead elk’s belly and drops the organ meat in front of the smallest of his pack and Buck and Eddie are horrified to see that it is clearly a female. A female with a swollen belly. The Howlers have indeed mutated enough to produce progeny now. The men exchange grim, horrified looks as it gorges itself on the meat. Someone needs to kill this female before it drops its young.

They watch grimly as the Howlers feed. One makes the mistake of trying to take food before the Alpha male is finished and is brutally slashed across the face for its pains, nearly losing an eye. It shrieks and cringes away curling in a keening, submissive, defensive ball as the big male postures over it, snarling.

Buck thinks they remind him of a warped pack of mutated, half-human hyenas. They watch silently as the pack of monsters devour the elk, leaving only a torn, bloody hide and a few splintered bones behind. Then the creatures move on, deeper into the city. Eddie suspects they have a den there, and he risks exiting the truck long enough to send Crixus winging after them. The spirit bird was totally unaffected by the storm. Once they know the location of the den, they can return with reinforcements to kill the creatures or set Hunters on them. Right now their priority is getting the drugs to David. The Howlers will have to wait their turn. Stiles and Derek and even Argent will help.

It takes them nearly a week to make it up the coast to Arcata. The roads are rift with Raiders and Biters. They stopped midway to help a small caravan of travelers fight off a herd of Biters, but then continued on, despite the traveler’s trying to negotiate that they stay and escort them to a settlement.

Buck doesn’t like the dynamics among the group—the men are posturing and dominant survivalist types who lord it over the women, most of whom are suspiciously young for this group of men. There are also no children. Most of the women are clearly eager to detach themselves from this group, but not to gain independence, just acquire a more competent male protector.

Buck tries hard not to judge them, he is well aware that women’s rights no longer exist, it’s a dog eat dog world now. (He has seen women and men and children use their bodies as currency for food, shelter and protection.) But he doesn’t like the way these people shun Eddie, assuming he is disfigured. They barely glance at him, despite the fact that he put down more of the Infected than anyone. He will be glad to part ways with them.

Amber thinks she has finally hit the jackpot when the hot blond saves her from the Biters who nearly succeeded in dragging her off the truck, while Mark fucked around and fumbled with loading his gun. Hot Guy just grabs her waist and tosses her back up on the truck bed and wades into the fray swinging an iron tool, expertly cracking skulls.

He and his veiled friend work seamlessly together and in no time, the herd is eliminated. The men pause to talk with Mike, who tries to convince the pair to travel with them, but they decline, already shouldering their packs to move on. Amber tosses back her hair, grabs her backpack, shrugs off Mark’s hand and moves to join them. She is going to give her new man the best blowjob of his life as thanks for keeping her safe.

It comes as a rude shock when he turns her down and flat out refuses to allow her to join him, actually brushing off the hand she laid lightly on his arm and her face heats at the look of distaste that flickers briefly across his face as he steps away. What the actual fuck? She knows what she looks like. She made a killing on Only Fans and the occasional modeling gig Before. Maybe he is queer or something.

The Veiled Guy doesn’t bother to hide his snort of amusement as they start to walk away, and she is spitefully glad when Mark tries to make a stink about the whole scene.

When Mark steps angrily forward and starts to bluster and finger his machete, he finds himself looking down both barrels of the Veiled Guy’s shotgun. Only when the Blond coldly informs him he isn’t interested in her and already has a partner does he lose his bluster.

Mike hastily intervenes, apologizing and urging the pair back, but Veiled Guy doesn’t relax until they move on. Amber glares after them as they stride away into the trees, fists clenched. When she turns back to Mark, he turns his back on her and stalks off to the truck. Great, now she will have to grovel and blow him to get back in his good graces. She will do whatever it takes to keep someone else’s body between her and the Infected.

A couple of the other girls smirk and snicker at her, but she haughtily ignores them. The next prospering settlement they stop at, she is totally hooking up with someone more competent and hopefully cleaner and better looking.

After that, the guys are especially careful interacting with the groups they pass on the road. The southern California area is getting more volatile as resources dwindle. More humans and infected are migrating north as a result.

Traders have also noted an influx of travelers from the East. The Plague hit the east coast first and decimated the entire coast within a few weeks, people forted up or fled. The Raiders are having a field day with the increase of prey, and the travelers draw in more of the Infected.

David is gratified with the drugs they managed to scavenge, but Buck firmly tells him not to expect more. The area is too dangerous, and they won’t risk it again. They will keep an eye out for the items on the list, but they are not going to risk their lives for them.

The surgeon winces and acknowledges that and thanks them profusely anyway. He admits the hospital needs to try and find a chemist who can compound medicines for them, but that will be just as difficult because the Bikers enslave any pharmaceutical chemists they find to produce ‘recreational’ drugs and hoard useful chemical compounds for their own factories.

 

7

Coy ambles down the road, grumbling to himself, not sure how he found himself in this fine mess. One minute he is having a brief reunion with his daughters Mariposa and Arika, around the campfire, sharing a bottle and the next they have disappeared, and he is waking up with pups using his belly as a damned trampoline and he is suddenly stuck pupsitting his latest batch of grandkids. The little shits are a handful too. Nala, Zem and Sammy are bright, curious and incorrigible and refuse to listen to a damned thing he tells them.

Typical coyote pups.

He stalks down the road towards the Trading post at Red Bluff. He is pretty sure that’s where the girls are, despite the fact they sneakily hid their scent. Mariposa is probably looking for her wayward mate and Arika is looking for a good time. There is an actual genuine bar at Red Bluff, and he bets he will find them there, because its exactly where he would find himself.

The kids are scampering along with him, fully shifted. Ten year old Nala and Zem weave around him, darting to the tree line and back, little noses in the air, alert for the scent of Infected. Little Sammy follows close on his heels, tail wagging. He worries about the kid, he seems a bit slow for a Coyote, sweet, good natured and a bit dim. Oh, well, he’s only about six, so he has time to grow into a proper tricky ‘Yot if he doesn’t get et by a Biter.

Twice he and the kids have to dive into the bushes to avoid road Raiders. The assholes are getting thick already and its barely Spring. By the time they get close to the Trading Post his mood is sour, he has a headache, and the kids are whining about being hungry despite the nest of fat field mice they found earlier.

He digs into his gunny sack, but all he has are a few strips of old jerky. They eat it all anyway and still whine for more. He tells them to hush and that they need to shift and hauls their threadbare clothes out of his bag as a distraction, noting they have already outgrown them. Little Sammy’s ass is literally in the wind and Coy scratches his head for a minute and wonders why the boy is wearing a dress, his little pecker is swinging in the breeze, then shrugs. Young’uns are hard on clothes. Hell, when he was a kid, ‘Yot kids didn’t even wear clothes.

He won’t take the kids into the Post, but cache them in a nearby den for safety until he locates their wayward mothers. The den should be safe enough to shelter them from Infected. It’s dug deep into a stony embankment and has a hidden exit. They can hunt grasshoppers and mice until he can fetch them some food.

Sure enough, he finds his daughters laughing it up at the bar, having a fine old time. They are sly, attractive women and can handle themselves, so they have no shortage of admirers, most of whom will be fleeced clean of any trade goods by midnight. Coy sternly informs them where he parked their offspring and announces that he is done pupsitting and bellies up to the bar to trade for a few decent drinks for himself. His girls cheerfully share their bounty and in no time he is feeling really fine.

At some point he is aware of a familiar scent and notes that Wolf Trader’s tall mate is talking quietly to the bartender at the end of the bar and handing over a crate of clinking bottles. They must supply the bar with some of their high end liquor.

The bartender, a gruff woman built like a barrel with a brush cut and tattooed biceps that could crush Coy’s head, is all motherly smiles with Trader Wolf’s handsome mate as she slides a handful of small vials and a cloth wrapped package across the bar in payment.

He remembers then that the pair scavenge medicines for the Healers up in Arcata. Coy approves. The Medicine people don’t discriminate or charge for their services and in return the settlements do their best to keep the monthly traveling medical caravan supplied along their route.

He had been pleased to hear that Trader Wolf and his mate recovered and returned the stolen nurse to her people and damned delighted to learn that the Wolf and the Hale pack slaughtered those Flores upstarts. Fine work in his opinion. There was a reason Coy didn’t venture north into Hale pack territory. He knew better than to fuck around in spirit fox territory.

Coy celebrates the demise of the Flores fools and manages to drink himself insensible enough on house moonshine that his last memory before passing out is of Marisol hefting his drunken, yodeling ass over her shoulder and carrying him off to sleep it off somewhere. Of course he wakes to find pups sticking grass seed heads and fluffy milkweed pods in his hair and beard until he looks like a damned sticker bush.

He growls and shoos the giggling pups away and groggily sits up, head aching like a midget pounding a drum behind his eyes. Marisol is off somewhere, but her bedroll is still here, and the pups have been fed, so she must be close. Arika was cozying up to a Red Bluff enforcer last night, so she probably shacked up with him for the night. Good thing Red Bluff keeps a five mile radius around the post clean of Infected or he would probably have woke up being et by a Howler.

Glumly he paws sleep from his eyes, gropes hopefully for his flask, only to find it empty and stumbles down to the nearby creek for a drink and a wash. The kids are playing tag in the field, occasionally stopping to pounce on and crunch up a tasty bug. Little shits will eat anything at that age.

Coy scratches irritably at his whiskers, scattering seeds, plucks a couple of smooth plantain leaves and ambles behind a bush to take a shit. Damned cheap booze always gives him the squitters. He keeps an ear cocked towards the pups as he squats and notes they have moved up onto the road and are now playing kick-the-can with a pop can. The sudden silence has him popping up out of the bushes like a Jack-in-the-Box. ‘Yot pups are never quiet unless they are asleep or in danger.

It took Bryce months to set up things the way he wanted. First he had to find and set up a good fortified dungeon. That took longer than he thought it would by months, but he finally located a deserted bunker some survivalist had set up and lost to others better armed and meaner then him. It was picked clean, but it also was pretty well hidden off the beaten path. He then had to haul in the materials for the cage. Iron rebar is a bitch to haul by yourself and bolt and weld together.

Bryce painted the inside of the cage with a special paint thick with silver dust and aconite juice. It should keep any Wolf well contained and hopefully Argent won’t notice the supplies he pilfered are missing until the next inventory. He also painted sigils on the outside of the bunker for silence and containment. He put a wool pad inside to keep his captive’s bare skin off the cold concrete.

His handsome Wolf would be sharing his bed soon enough and glad to do so. He is almost giddy with excitement. He has never tamed a slave before. He took special care setting up a luxurious bedroom area off to the side, complete with comfortable bed and bedding, a mounting bench and silver washed chains. He wanted to fuck his wolf in opulent comfort. He also hauled in enough supplies to last for weeks, he wanted take his time with the honeymoon period, train his boy right.

Next he had to find the old witch he needed to put the collar together. The old bat owed him a life debt and she was honor and oath bound to deliver. He already had the ingredients, following the careful list his uncle had put together. Tough, supple leather cut from a virgin, black bull hide, one untouched by the knife, silver blessed three times (twice by priests, once by a witch) and washed in holy water, fittings he crafted himself with his own hands—the sharp wolf studs and heavy, rune etched silver buckle, all infused with his desire and intent to hold and contain.

He finally found the old woman up in Newport, which was about a pagan a town as you could find these days, full of wickedness. The whole main street was bars, tents, whorehouses and shops of questionable goods, like some godforsaken Goblin market. The colorful street never shut down, was busy night and day. The harbor was full of wanna be pirates who plagued the honest fisherfolk along the coast. And the entire town was crawling with Supernatural folk.

His hair was standing the whole time he was there because he knew there was a powerful coven in the nearby hills and shifters all over the place. He caught a glimpse of a pale Fae woman slipping down an alley and that put him on edge, and he received the narrow eyed glare of an Asian woman carrying a katana. Hunters like him were most certainly not welcome here. Better to do his business and exit fast.

He cornered her in her rat trap of a cottage and made his demand, explaining exactly what he wanted. When she balked, he hauled out the enticement he knew would hook her good. He tossed the polaroid photo of the baby on her small table. He had it and the mother cached near his hidden bunker.

“Do this for me and your debt is cleared, plus the kid is yours. Born on a full moon night, she’s a Were-cat. You can train her up to be the best familiar you ever had, syphon power off her every month or sacrifice her and take her life force and refresh your own. Either way, she’s yours.”

He deliberately placed his bundle of materials down on her table, holding her eyes. It was best to forceful and blunt with witches. They understood that. That and fire and molten iron. Bryce came from a long line of Witch Finders. He knew all the tricks of coercion and just how far to push a body before it broke.

“I’ll be back in three months for the collar. I know exactly how long it will take you to charge it and spell it right. You make sure that the wearer answers to me, and me alone, you got it?”

She nodded slowly, mouth set in a grim line, and he strode out feeling triumphant. He would be back in three months and then he would catch his wolf and claim him.

Behind him he left a fuming, scheming witch.

Alice Took has spent the last twenty years of her life trying to make up for the first fifty, when she took what she wanted and went her wicked way, until one day she realized that life was about balance and her very immortal soul was in danger and set about course correcting. Now this Hunter asshole swanned in and was dragging her into a hole she had no intention of sinking back into.

Alice did not believe in slavery in any form or fashion. Hell, the majority of her mother’s ancestors were from Africa. Still, she was oath bound in debt to this man and had to do as he required. Up to a point. When Mr. Hunter Man used his wicked collar on that poor unsuspecting Wolf, he was going to be in for a very nasty surprise.

Sure enough, he was back in three months complete with a cooing, swaddled bundle. He examined the sigil incrusted, black leather collar with barely contained glee.

It was heavy and supple in his hands, and beautiful, expertly crafted and stitched together with silver wire, the silver fittings and buckle gleaming. Alice has always taken pride in her craft. It even felt powerful in his hands. He couldn’t wait to fasten it around his wolf’s throat, watch the defiance drain out of him and be replaced with slavish devotion.

He bit back a smile as he ran a thumb along a sharp wolf stud. This was exactly what he had envisioned. He turned to Alice and spoke sharply.

“He will answer only to me?”

She nodded curtly and indicated the sigil carved silver disc lying on the cloth next to the collar. The governor amulet. Bryce tucked it carefully into his jacket pocket, mind already miles south, wolf hunting as he rewrapped the spelled collar carefully. He nodded curtly at the old woman and spoke the ritual words.

“Our debt is done. By your hands and my words.”

He gave her a cold smile.

“Nice doing business with you Alice. I’ll see you again. Maybe send some business your way.”

He turned and strode out the door, leaving the silent witch and wriggling babe behind him. She watched him go coldly. He wouldn’t be back. Yes, she wrought the spells he demanded, but she had also given the intended wearer a back door and more than enough wriggle room. The arrogant fool did not even bother to check the sigils on the collar or word his demands so that she could not amend them. The beauty of the craftsmanship of the collar had distracted him well.

Sighing she turned to the little wriggling bundle on her table and carefully peeled the blankets back to meet lovely, leaf green eyes. The baby’s hair and skin was white as snow, like something out of an old tale. No doubt her poor mother is now dead. Temptation indeed. It mewled at her, tiny fangs just coming in, little translucent claws on tiny fingers. Beautiful.

Alice bent low enough to inhale that lovely scent of new life, but did not touch her. She knew herself too well. Instead she turned to the small mirror hanging on her workroom wall, mentally flinching as always at the reflection of her ruined face. She no longer drained other living beings to sustain her once legendary beauty.

Stiles would know what to do, and he and Alpha Hale would want to know about the Hunter and his plans to enslave a Wolf shifter. Now that her oath was complete, she could freely reveal it to the Mage and his mate and seek his counsel.

The Hale pack was one of the best when it came to dealing with Hunter bullshit. Her treaty with the Mage of Beacon Hills was one of the smartest moves she has ever made. If Alice needed help, Stiles came, no questions asked. He too, had walked in the shadows in his youth and dealt with the Dark. In her own aloof fashion she was fond of the boy. His light burned bright despite being rimmed with darkness.

Bryce tracked the Wolf to Red Bluff. Looked like he and Buckley were on their regular trade route. He had all the final details set up now. He told Argent he had family business and took some time off rotation at Argent Arms, slyly taking a few items with him.

He hired two young, unknown would be hunters and got his plan together. He had one man driving the van, another as the shooter. Carefully he checked the modified stun bolt in the Taser. It was something Argent Arms crafted to use against Shifters and had been part of what gave him the final incentive to act on his desire for the Wolf. He has been able to steal only one bolt, but that will do the job.

He was going for a Snatch and Grab. The steps were simple. Stun the Wolf, shoot the man, grab his prey and go. He would dispose of his ‘helpers’ along the road. He didn’t want word getting back to either Argent or the Hale pack when the dark Wolf disappeared. The plan was simple and flawless, and he has every confidence in it.

 

8

Coy is relieved to see that his pups are fine, just peering shyly up at the two tall men now regarding them with no small amusement. Trader Wolf and his mate are heading out of the settlement and paused to watch the pups play. Coy reckons they stopped to say howdy and make sure the kids have adult supervision and he appreciates the courtesy.

He suspects they have a den of littles of their own at home. He has seen them trade for small garments and shoes, the Wolf carefully checking sizes before he packs them up. He wouldn’t bother with sizes if he was trading the clothing on. He pulls up his ragged drawers and goes up to jaw for a few minutes, or ‘network’ as his daughters say. It’s always good to keep ahead of the road news.

The men are in no hurry, so they drop their half-empty packs and exchange what news they have. The most pressing concern is the increase in numbers of the migrating herds of Biters. The general consensus is that they have eaten most of southern California and are searching for food. The damned Howlers are breeding too, and Trader Wolf’s hands fly as he describes how he and his mate set a Hunter clan on the den of a pack containing a pregnant female. The damned things are mutating too fast for Coy’s comfort because they are getting faster and smarter as well as light tolerant.

Trader Wolf’s mate has generously dug into his pack and shared out thick slices of fragrant cheese bread with them while the Wolf passes Coy a packet of pipe tobacco and waves off his thanks.

From what Coy can see of his eyes, above his veil, he is amused by the antics of the pups who are boasting loudly to his mate about all the mice and grasshoppers they caught today, even as they stuff their greedy little faces with cheese bread. Little Sammy generously offers Buck a fat grasshopper he was saving in his dress pocket and the man even pretends to eat the insect, chewing and yumming vigorously as he surreptitiously releases it behind him. The Wolf’s tall, cheerful mate is a big hit with the littles.

Yep, old Coy called it.

This Wolf has pups hidden away in a home den somewhere. As they talk Mariposa warily sidles out of the brush and Coy hurries to introduce her. Mari is a hard nut to crack sometimes, but she softens when she sees how relaxed the pups are with the pair. Littles recognize good people. Coy finally learns the blond’s name is Buck and respects the Wolf when he still doesn’t offer his. It’s a protective measure, especially if his pack is small. Small packs stay safer hidden and unnamed.

As they talk, a few vehicles trundle past, leaving the trading post which is just out of sight around the curve. The drivers all wave at Coy as they pass, and he recognizes them as freight haulers who frequent this road, so they don’t really pay attention a few minutes later when a van lagging behind the other vehicles slows to pass them, apparently wary of kids near the road.

Trader Wolf has just shouldered on his nearly empty pack and Buck given out the last slice of bread when the side door slides open, and the fuckers open fire with an automatic rifle.

Both Buck and the Wolf dive to cover the kids with their own bodies, as Coy tackles his screaming daughter to the ground, blood spurting from her wounded arm and he feels a round skim his ass cheek and another part his hair and nip his ear. He closes a hard hand on her bicep to clamp the artery and give her time to heal and raises his head, snarling as he sees that Buck has been shot as well, and is down, curled over Nala and Zem shielding them with his big body.

As he watches one of the assholes in the van shoots Trader Wolf with a damned super charged taser that takes the charging man down seconds before he and his sharp machete reach the open door of the van. The men then drag the unconscious Wolf, pack and all into the van and the driver floors it. They are gone around the bend in moments.

Behind them, Buck struggles to his knees and Coy can see at least three bullet holes in the back of his tac vest and blood in his fair hair. He extends his arm after the van and yells a word, and a huge, inky raven seems to shoot out of his palm and swoops falcon fast to follow the van.

Tracking magic, the best Coy has ever seen, and he will bet his eyeteeth he knows the Mage responsible for that spell. He can almost smell the coming retribution from here and the old Coyote bares his teeth in anticipation. He is in on this hunt, come hell or high water.

Nala and Zem scamper whining to their mother just as Arika explodes out of the undergrowth, snarling, and gathers them close. Mariposa hisses and curses and shakes out her arm, glad the bullet wasn’t silver, and they hurry up the bank to help a wobbly Buck to his feet.

A quick pat down assures them he is actually fine, the vest stopped the rounds and the blood on his face is from a ricochet off the road that skimmed his brow. He is bruised and twisted his leg, but he is not perforated with bullet holes thanks to his vest and some heavy duty protection charms stitched into it.

He is furious, reeking of anger and magic and already determined to follow the kidnappers and regain his captured mate. Only a few minutes later Arika declares they are going as well, because according to Nala, the kidnappers grabbed little Sammy too, because the pup had shifted and climbed into Trader Wolf’s pack to play a fine joke on the big Wolf.

Buck strides to the tree line and again extends a hand and this time, a melanistic fox leaps from his arm and nearly vanishes in the shade cast by the trees.

“Go get Stiles and Derek. Tell them one of Argent’s hunters took Eddie. GO!”

The shadow fox melts away and Coy has no doubt that the little shadow walker will be with its Creator is seconds. Time works different in the Shadowlands.

Grimly the shifters and man start following the van, once well away from the trading post the Coyotes shift and the girls veer cross country, they know how the road curves and shifts, so they will cut miles off their pursuit and try to head off the van. However, Buck is only human and has twisted his leg and can only stick to the road, so Coy and the pups stay with him.

They set off at a steady dog trot and Coy shakes his head in admiration at Buck’s sheer stubbornness as he ignores his limp and powers on. No wonder Trader Wolf chose this human as his mate. He is as much a persistence predator as any Wolf. It is a pleasure to take a blood trail with him. Coy and the girls will have a fine song to sing later.

Bryce has the driver stop the van about twenty miles down the road, and pulls out a bottle to ‘celebrate’ their successful capture. When the unwary hirelings shift their attention to the liquor, he calmly puts bullets center mass in their chests, loots their groaning bodies and boots them out of the van. They’re not dead yet, but he figures they will be soon enough, they passed a batch of Biters a few miles past.

He checks his unconscious Wolf, who is already stirring, and hurriedly injects him with a ketamine and aconite mixture that will keep him unconscious long enough for Bryce to transport him to his hiding place. He can’t wait to strip the man down and collar him. He can’t stop smiling to himself as he drives. His plan worked perfectly, and he got away clean. Too bad about Buckley and the woman, but there’s always collateral damage to a successful hunt. He is so busy congratulating himself that he never notices the raven flying over his vehicle, easily keeping pace with it.

 

9

“We have to name her Luna, Der. It’s the only name that fits. Her birthday was the on the full moon.”

Stiles beamed down at the tiny cub curled in Derek’s big arms. The little Werecat was yawning sleepily, having just consumed the bottle that Boyd had produced. He was the only one in the house with any real experience with babies, having babysat his little sister and a slew of tiny cousins. She was so small; they were dressing her in doll clothing. Derek’s stoic Right Hand was smitten with the babe the moment he saw her.

“We may not be able to keep her Stiles. She may have a family out there looking for her. God knows where that hunter found her.”

The Alpha placed the baby against his shoulder and gently patted the small back until she burped daintily. He then placed her down in the basket they had quickly converted into a temporary bassinet and handed it off to an attentive Boyd who carried her off to his room.

Stiles retrieved the baby from Alice that morning, using his new talent for shadow walking. Better to remove temptation from the elderly witch as quickly as possible. For some, black magic could be as insidious as alcohol or drug addiction.

“We need to find out who the Hunter is planning on capturing…”

They were interrupted by a keen yap and a small black fox emerged from the shadows of the fireplace to bark shrilly at Stiles before fading away, his message delivered, his purpose complete.

“Shit! Its Eddie! Buck says they just took him, and he recognized one of Argent’s men!”

Stiles ran for his workroom to get a fix on Buck’s location. He knew better than to try to get a fix on Eddie, he was too well warded. Buck would be tracking him. Derek quickly spoke with Boyd, arranging care for the baby because he and Stiles would be leaving to find his cousin as soon as possible. He only hoped they were not too late.

Argent had better have a damned good explanation because Derek really has no problem eliminating the rest of his damned hunter clan. Especially if they hurt his cousin.

Isabel Diaz freezes in her garden when she feels her pack connection to her grandson abruptly tug at her senses, waiver and begin to unravel. Snarling she digs her bare toes into the earth, her mental claws into the connection and reaches.

Someone is trying to bespell Eddie, to bend him to their will, to enslave him. She grabs hold of their fading connection and dark eyes flaring red, pushes her alpha spark along it, gifting it to her beloved grandson with one final surge of power, and feeling their pack tie snap back in place stronger than before even as she gasps and sinks to her knees, dizzy at the loss of her alpha spark. Before she faints, she feels a deep surge of satisfaction. Eddie’s captor is about to get the surprise of his miserable life.

Bryce parks the van as close to the bunker entrance as he can, then hefts the Wolf and carries him inside, leaving the door ajar so he can quickly return to hide the vehicle. Once inside, he lays his captive down inside the cage and quickly strips him, starting with the hat and veil, taking a moment to admire his handsome face. He wishes he could take his time undressing him.

As he thought, the man is beautiful, all smooth golden skin and dark hair. He pauses to run a proprietary hand over the smooth curve of his hip. God, he is half hard already. He can’t wait to have him. He frowns at the sight of the small medallion on the sturdy steel chain around his neck and starts to remove it, only to receive a painful jolt to his fingertips. Hissing he shakes them out and looks closely at the metal. It’s only a religious medal for luck, he decides, with an anti-theft charm in place, so he leaves it in on.

When the man groans and stirs, Bryce quickly buckles the collar around his throat, steps out of the cage and carefully locks it behind him, making sure as he does, that he has the Governor amulet in his pocket. Eyes on the unconscious Wolf, he never sees the small form that slips into the bunker behind him and quickly darts behind a stack of crates in the corner.

Standing, he heads out to move the van, wanting it hidden well away from his bolt hole. There is no reason to think he will be found, but better safe than sorry. When he gets back, he will begin concentrating on training his slave.

Eddie awakens slowly, body aching and his thoughts muddled and sluggish. He stays still, eyes closed and accesses his surroundings as his Abuela taught him. He can smell dampness, concrete, aconite, silver and the reek of a Hunter. Sweat, cordite, lust. It makes him wrinkle his nose against a sneeze. Its cool here too, earthy and a bit musty.

He listens closely, but all he hears is his own heartbeat and the lighter more rapid pitter-patter of a…cub? A small whine sounds and he opens his eyes to the anxious honey gold of a small Coyote shifter peering at him through iron bars. It takes him a long minute to remember that this is one of old Coy’s grandpups and with that memory comes that of the ambush, of gunfire and of Buck falling, his mate being shot.

The fucking Hunters attacked them on the road. He tries to sit up, only to reel back, nauseous. Something around his neck slithers and tightens and with horror, he realizes he is naked and collared. Snarling he claws at it, but it burns his fingers and claws. It has been spelled to hold him.

He forces himself to calm and leaves it alone for the moment to look around. He is in a cage, which is in a bunker of some kind. When he touches the iron bars, they sear his palms. Silver and wolfbane laced paint. Nonetheless he grabs the cage door and shakes it viciously, ignoring the pain, but it’s too well made and magically enhanced.

The little pup whines at him and he realizes he is frightening the little boy. Did the hunters scoop up the pup up as well? Desperately he tries to remember if he saw Buck on his feet after he was tasered, but it’s all a blank. He remembers Buck falling, the scent of his blood. Anguished, he wonders if his mate is still alive. He can’t feel him through the pack sense, the fucking cage blocks it. Either way, the Hunter is dead. Eddie is going to rip him to shreds.

He stands and stretches, shakes off his nausea, takes deep breaths to center himself.

“It will be alright, mijo. I will return you to your family as soon as I get out of this cage.”

The pup shifts into a very grubby little boy.

“I’m Sammy.” He tells Eddie shyly. “I hid in your big bag.”

He scruffs a small bare foot along the floor, cringing a little, looking up at him slyly from under his lashes. A tricksy little Coyote like his grandpa.

“That’s alright mijo. It was a good joke, yes?”

“Yeah!”

He glances fearfully towards the door, then back at Eddie.

“The bad man shot the other men and threw them out of the van. I stayed in the bag until we got here.”

“Smart boy. When you hear him coming, hide. I have to figure out how to get out of this cage.”

Sammy nodded his tousled head.

“It bites. I tried to open it.”

He opened his small hands and displayed the red blisters on the palms.

“It has bad magic on it, mijo. You need a key to open it. Don’t touch it with your bare hands again. Okay?”

Eddie studies his surroundings carefully. The cage is large enough for him to stand and pace back and forth and there is a thin wool pad, like a carpet pad beneath his bare feet. He turns slowly in place, accessing his surroundings. There is a large stack of crates and other supplies against a wall. His clothes are stacked neatly with his boots and gear on top of a palette of MREs. A small kitchen area is set up nearby as well complete with a camp stove, water dispenser and coffee pot. He can scent only one Hunter here, and he recognizes him—the Argent hunter that Buck dislikes so intensely.

What disturbs him is the large, incongruous bed set up in the corner, the posts are rebar as well and he can see the silver chains and manacles hanging on the wall. Oh, hell no. He will rip this freak’s balls off with his teeth if he has to before he submits to him, collar or no collar. He tugs at it again and it flares up again, but this time it feels weaker.

He feels a flare of hope. The magic is fading the more he pushes at it.

He catches a glimpse of ruby red reflected off a shiny aluminum pot on a crate and realizes its him, his eyes reflecting red. Heart pounding, he examines his already healed hands. Has something happened to his beloved Alpha? Angry now, he tips his head back and roars his outrage as he feels the Diaz Alpha spark settle firmly within him.

If Hunters have harmed one hair on his grandmother’s head he will slaughter the entire clan. He closes his eyes and ignores the painful jolts from the collar, he can feel the magic weakening, dissipating and leaking out the leather. It was made to hold a Beta wolf not an Alpha. It’s the first and last mistake his captor will make.

Bryce hides the van in an old barn behind an abandoned farm house nearest to the bunker. He makes sure it’s ready to start, and tops up the fuel from the cans in the back and closes the barn door. He is careful on the half mile trek back to the bunker to leave as little trace as possible. He has to put down a few Biters that lurch out of the trees, but at least there are no Howlers. Soon, he thinks, smugly, with his leashed Wolf, he will be able to walk where he pleases, like Buckley did.

Eager now to get on with his plans, he hurries the rest of the way, and when he closes the bunker door behind him, he already has the Governor amulet in hand and a smirk on his face. He can’t wait to put his slave on his knees for the first time.

He swaggers over to the cage and removes his jacket and carelessly tosses it onto a crate, showing off his chest and flexing a bit in his sleeveless muscle shirt. He likes that he is taller and more muscular than his Wolf. The Wolf is awake and standing calmly at the back of it, utterly indifferent to his nudity.

Bryce licks his lips and runs possessive eyes down the lean, hard muscled body, lingering on the flare of dark hair between those sturdy thighs. His boy is very well endowed. Best to start strong, he thinks, so his slave doesn’t get any ideas. He runs a thumb over the amulet and gives his first order.

“Kneel.”

The Wolf arches a brow, but nothing happens.

Bryce swallows and grips the amulet hard, pouring his intent into it.

“I said, kneel!”

The Wolf grins at him, amused, teeth sharp and his dark eyes flare brilliant ruby red at him.

Fuck.

Bryce swallows hard on a dry throat as the situation slowly dawns on him. He has a fucking Hale Alpha wolf barely contained in a hastily cobbled together cage with a non-functioning control collar on him, wide awake and ready to rip his head off. Either the witch fucked him over, or the Alpha is powerful enough to render the collar null.

There are…legends as to what the Hale wolves are capable of. One allegedly survived being burned alive. Argent always said they have a special knack for survival, and he respects the Hale Alpha despite being a lifelong werewolf hunter. He raises his head, determined. He still has the upper hand.

“You will do as I say. I’m the one in control here. If you want food and water you will obey me.”

The Wolf snorted contemptuously and curled his lip.

“You are nothing. A jacked up pendejo with delusions of grandeur and the fantasy life of a pimply teen age boy. You shot my mate. You are a walking dead man; you just don’t have the brains to realize it yet. I will tear your throat out if it’s the last thing I ever do on this earth.”

Swearing, Bryce jabbed his thumb hard on the sigil for dispensing pain on the amulet and watched as the collar sparked…and absolutely nothing happened.

The Wolf folded his powerful arms over his broad chest and grinned at him. Patient. Willing to wait for that one fleeting moment when the Hunter would drop his guard. There was nothing but amusement in his dark eyes.

Bryce wheeled around and stomped out of the bunker. He didn’t want the Wolf to see the panic on his face or scent his fear. If the Alpha’s power could deactivate the powerful spells on the collar, the cage sigils wouldn’t last long either. The low, throaty chuckle behind him as he slammed the door behind him and slid the bolt shut told him he was too late for that.

 

10

Sammy peered from his hidey hole at the mean Hunter as he tried to hurt the Wolf, a scowl on his small face. This was a very bad man. The kind Mama always warned him about every time they came to a settlement, and she cached him safely away while she traded.

He knew Mama and Grandpappy and Auntie Arika were coming to rescue them, but they were still too far away, although he could feel them through the pack sense steadily moving closer. He hoped Buck was coming too, Buck was a big guy and could help a lot, maybe he would shoot the bad man. The man abruptly turned and stomped out the door and slammed it shut, locking them inside.

Sammy scurried from his hiding spot and made a beeline for the leather jacket the hunter had thrown over a crate as the Alpha watched curiously. When the man had tossed it down…little deft hands rifled the pockets, and the little Coyote gave a yip of triumph as he pulled a big iron key from a hidden pocket. He knew he had heard the jingle of keys!

Buck and Coy came around the bend and found a half dozen Biters gorging themselves on a feebly kicking and screaming Hunter. Another badly wounded man was slowly, stealthily trying to belly crawl down the culvert and escape, while his companion was being eaten alive. Coy sent the pups into the trees with a sharp yip and he an Buck ignored the busily feeding Biters and dropped down into the ditch and dragged the other man upright.

He gave a choked scream, clutching the bloody wound on his chest, blood trickled from his mouth, and he whimpered for mercy when he recognized them, eyes wide with fear. Buck had no mercy left in him. He dropped the man and placed a heavy boot on his wound, while Coy kept an eye on the feeding Biters.

“Who was he? Why did he take the Wolf? Where is he?”

He pressed harder with each question.

“Bryce…Gorman. Don’t know…God, I don’t know…please, please.”

Coy spoke from where he stood nearby, eyes on the Biters, who were almost finished with their gory meal now.

“Truth.”

Buck nodded and reached a big hand down, grabbed the man’s vest and dragged him back up onto the road. He was bleeding heavily now, and choking on his own blood. Buck dropped him and stepped away.

Coy stepped up beside him and grinned down at the dying man. He recognized the asshole who had shot Marisol and Buck. His grin widened, yellowed incisors flashing, then he whistled shrilly, catching the attention of the Infected. Several stood and shambled towards them, jaws dripping with gore, dim eyes fixed greedily on their next live meal.

Coy and Buck turned and trotted off, doggedly on the van’s trail. Even Buck could see the oil it was leaving behind with every drip. The pups fell in at their heels as they reached the curve leaving the screaming Hunter behind them. By the time they rounded it, the screams cut abruptly off.

Chris Argent stepped into his bare bones office in the warehouse he had commandeered for Argent Arms and whirled as he felt the air change, reaching for the gun in his shoulder holster. A big hand clamped down and plucked it out of his hand and shoved him hard down on the nearby sofa and he found himself looking up into the face of a very angry Derek Hale. Stiles stood next to him, face grim.

Chris swallowed, took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. The Hales were not the type to attack without reason.

“Can I help you boys?”

Derek snarled, on the verge of Beta shifting, his red eyes flaring with barely contained rage. He deftly unloaded Chris’s best Glock, twisted the barrel like a pretzel and tossed it back into his lap. Argent winced as it bounced off his crotch. It was Stiles who spoke, eyes cold.

“Which one of your men has taken to slaving and collaring Wolves, Chris? Because I can guarantee if Der doesn’t have his favorite cousin back safe before nightfall, things will go very badly for you and your band of macho men.”

Chris frowned and straightened from his sprawl. He ran a quick rota through his head, he kept his crew close for safety’s sake and his lieutenants ran tight knit operations. Only one anomaly stood out. He had been curious at the time, but the man was due some leave, so he hadn’t objected. Gorman has always been reliable. He reached for the radio on his belt and looked at Stiles, who nodded curtly. He called for Jana to come to his office. She was the one closest to Bryce, or had been before they had an abrupt falling out two weeks ago.

She appeared quickly and easily answered his questions. Stiles and Derek had stepped back into the shadows and Chris realized with a chill; she couldn’t sense them at all. Stiles was just that good with magic now.

Bryce and she had split because he wasn’t interested in a romantic partnership with her (her plain face flushed scarlet at this admission) and he had been a real asshole about it, openly hooking up with a prostitute at the last settlement. As far as she knew, his family were all dead. They were witch hunters who made the mistake of taking on the wrong coven. Now they were a family of shrunken heads.

Bryce knew a lot about compulsion magic and in the last four months he made two trips up to Newport, which was notorious for its supernatural population. Most hunters never went there unless they were heavily armed, well warded and in a large group, but Bryce went alone. She knew he had several bolt holes, most hunters did, it was standard practice, but she didn’t know the locations.

Chris thanked her and dismissed her and turned a troubled gaze on his uninvited visitors, who were regarding him a bit less suspiciously now. It stung that they would suspect him of being involved in slavery, when he has made it his business to protect innocents from being preyed upon by slavers.

Once he thought they were closer to being friends than occasional allies but that changed after Alison died and Scott went off the rails. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, wearily.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of further help.”

He said sincerely.

Stiles tilted his head thoughtfully even as Derek huffed out a frustrated breath.

“Maybe you can. Do you have anything on hand that belongs to this Gorman guy?”

“I’ll check his locker here. There should be something.”

Argent went to do so, leaving the pair waiting in his office. Clearly they didn’t want others to know they were here. He returned shortly with an unwashed denim shirt and a pouch of odd items that made him uneasy.

Stiles nodded at the shirt and poked cautiously at the leather pouch before upending the contents on Chris’ desk. A handful of yellowed human knuckle bones rolled out along with several onyx rune stones. Stiles used a pencil to examine them, nose wrinkled as though he smelled something bad.

“Your boy dabbles in the Dark stuff, Argent. Maybe douse these with holy oil and set them on fire somewhere safe, them bury them deep.”

He took the shirt and he and Hale stepped back into the shadows at the corner of the room and disappeared. Hale shot him a grim, disappointed look as he did, and they were gone.

Chris huffed and sank back down on the hard sofa that he spent most nights on and picked up his ruined handgun and examined it ruefully. In all, he had been lucky. He hoped they recovered the Hale wolf safely. He sat back and tried to think of the most effective way to screen his Hunters for bad eggs like Bryce. He also wondered why Derek Hale had a tiny owl perched on his shoulder that had glared malevolently at Chris the entire time.

Mariposa and Arika popped out of the brush and onto the switchback road, noses to the ground. Ari gave a triumphant yip. The van has not come this far yet. Hopefully that meant the Hunter had probably turned off somewhere back down the road and gone to ground.

Mari shifted and scanned back down the road the way the van would have come and spotted a huge raven circling an area about three miles away off the road. Jackpot! She tipped her head back and sent a shrill, ululating howl to her Pappy, tipping him off as to their location. Then she exchanged toothy grins with her sister, and they headed towards the area the bird was watching so closely. She couldn’t wait to get her teeth into the asshole who had snatched her son.

Bryce paced back and forth in front of the bunker and tried to think of a way to salvage the situation.

Bitterly he realized he would never be able to have the Wolf now, not in the way he wanted him. He could drug him again, and take him while he was unconscious but that meant nothing. He wanted to own the man body and soul. Besides, he was nearly out of the drug mixture, it was closely inventoried at Argent Arms because it was difficult to acquire ingredients now.

He had fucked up there too. Having stolen from Argent, and killed two fledgling hunters, he would never be able to return to work with him and that burned, because it was the best gig he had found since his own clan was slaughtered. Argent was highly respected by the hunters, and he would pass the word now and other clans would shun him, or worse, hunt him down as a turncoat. A lone Hunter had a very short life span.

There was only one thing he could think to do, to profit from the situation. There was a Big Boss in Vegas who ran a underground supernatural fight ring. How much would he pay for an Alpha werewolf?

Whirling, he shoved open the bunker door and charged inside. The drug and his radio were in a crate inside. He would drug the wolf and call ahead to arrange an auction. An Alpha werewolf was worth a hell of a lot of trade goods. He would be able to start a new life somewhere else. Up near the Canadian border sounded good.

To his surprise a small naked child stared wide-eyed up at him, the key to the cage in his grubby hand. He moved without thinking, leapt forward and snatched the key from the kid and backhanded him across the room. The small form yelped and hit the crates head first and slumped to the floor, his eyes flared gold for a second before he slumped unconscious. Where the fuck had a shifter kid come from?

The Hale Wolf went berserk in the cage, shifting immediately into a huge black wolf and throwing himself savagely at the cage door, roaring and trying his best to reach Bryce to tear him apart. Collared, he shouldn’t have been able to shift at all. The cage door creaked ominously.

With shaking hands Bryce retrieved the sedative and loaded the ampule into a tranquillizer gun. After this, he only had one dose left. That and the silver chains would have to do until he got the Wolf transported to Vegas. He started to lift the gun, then hesitated. He needed to retrieve the van first. The Wolf wasn’t going anywhere.

He grabbed the kid, it was still alive, and stuffed it into an empty crate and latched it closed. Maybe he could sell it too. Some big boss might want a pet, and if it died he could always sell the parts to a witch. He set the gun down and grabbed his jacket and keys and left to get the van. He needed to move fast now.

Buck hobbled panting, over the ridge, grimly following Coy and the pups. They had heard Marisol’s call and responded immediately, cutting across country to reach her. He was getting closer to Eddie by the minute he could feel it. At the top of the ridge he saw the tracking raven silently circling an area down below. As he watched, it faded away. The hunter probably had a hidden hideaway there. With a surge of new energy, Buck ignored his throbbing leg and headed down the slope.

Coy glanced back over his shoulder, raised an interrogative brow and Buck grimly waved him on with a silent mouthed Go! The old Coyote could move faster without him. Coy yapped an order at the kids and they fell back to accompany Buck and he shifted and bolted; his skinny, tawny hide gone in seconds. Buck limped grimly after him, teeth gritted against the pain, the kids at his heels.

Stiles frowned down at the road map in his hands. He was beyond frustrated. It should be easy to locate Buck, but his magic refused to latch on to the man. It was as though it was being shrugged off every time he tried. The closest he has come so far was a general radius of about twenty miles.

It was beyond frustrating. The only thing he could think was that Buck’s latent magic was fluctuating somehow, and protecting him, which meant the man himself was hurt or in extreme emotional distress or both.

Here they stood in the middle of a deserted gas station, getting nowhere.

Derek dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He spoke quietly.

“Relax. Don’t try to fix on Buck. Look for the charms you gave him. Especially the trackers and Eyes in the Sky ones. You made those, they’re yours.”

Stiles beamed at his husband, who has never ever lost faith in him or his abilities.

“Der, you are a genius!”

Derek gave him a rare, wide white smile.

“I know.”

From his perch, clinging stubbornly to Hale’s shoulder, Hooter gave an enamored warble, sidled over and vigorously began to groom the Alpha’s neat beard, crooning strigidaen compliments.

Derek sighed heavily, having given up trying to dislodge his feathered lothario, who stuck like a persistent, amorous burr. His only hope now was that when Meadhbh finished her cleansing of the Preserve and left, Hooter would accompany her. Stiles chuckled, amused at his plight, before he returned his attention to scrying the map with renewed determination.

Bryce was sweating and panting as he finished loading the unconscious Wolf into his van. His hope that the man would shift back to human after he was once again drugged was for nothing. It had taken all his remaining aconite mix to take him down and now he was forced to move a heavy, immobile Wolf the size of a Fell pony to the van and figure out how to restrain it with silver chains in case it awoke during transport. He resorted to locking a heavy duty ‘kill’ stun collar on too, just in case. The witch collar had fallen apart like wet paper in his hands, reeking of rot and excrement, and he had cursed Alice vigorously and left it in the cage. The odor clung to his hands still.

Now he hastily tossed in a crate of MREs and a few plastic jugs of water, before remembering the Shifter kid and grabbing its crate. As he strode around the side of the van, he heard a coyote yip from the tree line, and he came face to face with a slim, naked, yellow-eyed woman who snarled at him with too sharp teeth.

He hurled the crate at her head and jumped into the van and slid the door shut just as she hit it hard. Jumping into the driver’s seat, he started the van and shoved it into gear and floored it, just in time to avoid another naked shifter woman who leapt at the driver’s side door, her long nails scratching the window glass. He shot her center mass with his Glock through the glass and swerved deliberately to sideswipe her and heard her guttural scream, but kept going, well aware he has in all probability, a pack of Shifters on his ass.

Sure enough, the skinny, old hippie now leapt out of the brush at him snarling and clawing for the door, but bounced off the armored van, yelping. Feeling smug at his narrow escape, Bryce drove up the dirt track and onto the paved road, he was making a clean getaway, prize still in hand. He rounded to curve and was startled to see two men standing in the middle of the road waiting for him.

Swallowing hard, he recognized the tall form of Evan Buckley, who was supposed to be dead in a ditch, and the lean, broad shouldered Hale Mage. He stepped on the gas, determined to mow them down, but the Mage lazily held out his hand, palm out and made a sharp, twisting, yanking motion and the Bryce felt the van shudder beneath him as it lost power as well as its drive shaft and wheels. The body of the vehicle hit the pavement and slid to an abrupt, screeching metal stop mere feet from the waiting men. It was as though the van hit an invisible wall, as the front end caved in with a metallic crunch.

Bryce’s face hit the steering wheel and he felt his nose break. Before he could move, a leather clad arm smashed through his broken window and yanked him bodily out and threw him down on the pavement. The back of his head hit hard, and the last thing he saw before lights out was the Hale Alpha in Beta shift snarling above him, red eyes and fangs gleaming.

Buck and Derek swarmed the van, yanking the door open. Derek leapt inside and emerged carrying the Eddie’s still body and ignoring the sizzle of silver against his skin, deftly snapped and unwound the heavy chains.

Buck sat and pulled his mate into his arms, alarmed by his total stillness, Eddie was limp and barely breathing. Cursing under his breath, he hastened to remove the ugly stun collar and threw it to one side, hands roaming desperately as he felt for other injuries.

Vaguely he was aware that Stiles had moved past him to where the Coyote family knelt by the fallen Arika, and he could hear the kids’ mournful howls, but his focus was on his mate. Derek was examining his cousin carefully, handsome face worried as he laid his ear against Eddie’s chest, which was barely moving. He raised his dark head, face grim.

“I think he’s been overdosed with aconite. Probably to keep him immobile for transport. Let me see if I can find what strain it is.”

He returned to the van and climbed inside.

 

11

Bryce floats for a while. A calm, friendly voice asks him questions that he answers sluggishly. He really wants to help the nice voice. The voice tells him to sleep, so he does.

He wakes to a hot, bitter stream of liquid on his face and sputters and sits up, outraged as he realizes that someone is pissing on his face. His face and head are pounding, and he is startled to realize he is now stark naked and chained by the neck to a large oak tree. The old hippie is standing above him, his lined, sunburned face grim.

Bryce cautiously sits up and notices that he is in a forest clearing, a long log chain locked around his neck and leading back to the tree trunk he is tethered to. His heart begins to pound when he sees the deep circular groove worn into the trunk of the old tree by the looped chain and a dim story surfaces in his memory of a very ancient and harsh method of retribution from Appalachia. It had scared him as a kid.

Looking around, he sees one of the Shifter women squatting on her haunches nearby. Her narrow face is tracked with tears. Three little kids huddle next to her, and he recognizes the one he crated. She says nothing, merely stares at him, golden eyes gleaming with malice in the twilight. The sun is starting to dip below the tree line.

Clearing his dry throat, he rasps out a demand.

“ I want to talk to the Hale Alpha.”

The old Coyote yips out a chuckle and grins at him and the woman smiles for the first time. It isn’t a pretty smile. Its sharp and angry.

“Alpha Hale done shed you like dead skin. He gave you to me and mine. You may have kidnapped and hurt one of his, but you shot my daughter, carried off my grandkid, then shot and killed my other daughter. Your blood is ours now to do with as we please, Hunter.”

Time seems to bend a little after that. Its fever, he realizes dimly, concussion and also the lack of food and very little water. The insects are eating him alive, the black flies and mosquitos especially. He freezes at night and burns during the day. He tries to pick at the padlock on the chain around his neck, only to find it sealed with some kind of hard epoxy.

He staggers around the tree, vaguely aware he is adding to the deep groove on the bark, as he drags the chain behind him, hoping to find something he can use as a weapon, but no luck. Every now and then in the evening he catches a glimpse of golden eyes in the brush. They are watching him.

They are always watching him.

Sometimes he finds a plastic bottle of water left under the tree, and he tries to savor it and make it last, but he’s just too thirsty. The day it rains he lies on his back with his mouth open for every drop he can catch. They don’t feed him; he finds himself gnawing at grass roots and scratching through the leaf litter and hungrily crunching any insects that he can catch. He is always hungry. He nearly catches a small bird one morning and bursts into frustrated tears when it flutters out of reach. He dreams of fast food he hasn’t tasted in years.

One evening, days or maybe weeks later, he opens his eyes to find them all back, the old man shifted into human form, his pack still in coyote skin. They regard him critically for a long moment, he is too weak to stand now, then the old man tilts his head back and makes a curious high pitched bleating sound, that echoes and carries in the cooling air. He repeats it, louder, now moving lazily around the clearing and with a sudden chill of horror down his spine, Bryce realizes it’s the mimicked call of a lost elk calf. A pathetic sound that will lure in predators.

He shivers and huddles at the base of his tree, trying to burrow down between the big roots. The old Coyote keeps calling, for what seems like hours until the female tilts her head, ears perking as she sniffs the breeze. The shapeshifters abruptly slip silently away in the brush, leaving Bryce to his fate.

He can hear it approaching now. Heavy footfalls crunching through last year’s leaves, deep breathing as it chuffs out a breath and sniffs the air, searching for prey.

He closes his eyes tight and curls into a ball, mind gibbering with terror. Is it a Howler or a Grizzly bear? It doesn’t matter, he decides, when he feels the hot, stinking breath on his face. He doesn’t have the balls to open his eyes and look his death in the face.

They carry Eddie to the pack house via the shadows after collecting his belongings from the bunker. Buck goes too, despite the fact that it disorientates him and makes him sick enough to drop to his knees and puke when they step out the tree shadows beside the Hale house. He is near collapse himself, his bad leg quivering, the muscles and joints hot and swollen, his back aches from the deep bruises from the rifle shots that impacted his vest. Boyd scoops him up without a word and carries him gently inside.

Both he and Eddie are placed in a guest bedroom, on the huge California King bed. Buck slumps back and watches anxiously as Stiles brings in a plump little woman with ivy in her hair, who examines his mate closely. She listens to Eddie’s heart and breathing, pinches a fold of skin on his jaw, opens his mouth to examine the color of his tongue and sniffs his breath.

All the while she is tsking and muttering under her breath in what he thinks is Gaelic. Finally she starts humming softly under her breath and moving her hands over the huge Wolf, crooning something like a lullaby or a chant and Buck finds himself drifting off as well, even as he feels Derek and Boyd tugging off his boots and undressing him, maneuvering his sluggish body like that of a rag doll and wiping him down with a warm, damp cloth and rubbing something herbal into his back and leg.

The last thing he is aware of is being fed a glass of something cool, sweet and herbal and a small hand gently stroking his hot face while a familiar voice tells him to sleep. He relaxes, recognizing the tender touch of his Alpha. He falls into a deep, dreamless sleep. Isabel is here now, and everything will be alright.

Eddie doesn’t wake up.

At first its not alarming, after all he was double dosed with a rare, very toxic species of European aconite mixed with ketamine. Gorman stole it from Argent, who is very apologetic as he explains they don’t have an antidote to that strain. Those darted with it, just slept it off, unless it was a dose meant to kill. Granted, the standard dose was much smaller than the one given to Eddie. So, they just have to wait.

After two days, Dr. Fenris comes in and quietly consults with Isabel and Meadhdh and puts Eddie on a IV fluids drip to keep him hydrated. Buck and Isabel move and massage his furry limbs everyday as well. They make a point of speaking to him, hopeful that in his comatose state that he can hear them.

Buck also tilts his big head and carefully pours sips of cool water down his throat. He tries hard to remain optimistic, but inside he is terrified that his love will never wake. He stays close to his mate and sleeps curled around his warm furry body every night, while he recovers himself.

Isabel and Meadhdh are meticulous in their care of them both. They slather Buck’s poor, throbbing leg with a healing ointment every morning and evening, massage it deep into the tissues and it feels much better. Derek stays close too, often shifting and curling close to his cousin, offering as much comfort as he can through their familial bond.

Isabel calmly explained about gifting her Alpha spark to her grandson, and that she has every confidence he will wake. Some things just take time. He experienced both the trauma of being tasered and dosed as well as receiving the spark all at once. His body needs time to adjust.

Stiles is in his workroom working through every shred of information they found in Gorman’s van and bunker. The man was meticulous about notes, but wrote in a cypher he hasn’t cracked yet. His daily journal though, was one long, bad nasty pornographic fantasy about his plans for Eddie. Stiles is glad that Derek handed the asshole off to Coy’s pack after his questioning got him nowhere. His end was neither quick nor easy. Stiles too, kept an eye on him to bear witness to the grisly end.

The fact that the man dabbled in black magic troubled him. Had he added something extra to the drug? He also has the hunter’s radio and other personal items, and he has just gone through the man’s wallet. Why does he even carry one? Or carry hundred dollar bills? Paper money is useless now unless you need tinder or toilet paper. Suddenly the man’s fancy, jacked up two way radio chirps.

Cautiously, Stiles answers it with a gruff tone, short and sweet.

“Yeah.”

“Boss is interested. You bring the Wolf to the Wynn undamaged in two weeks; you get paid your price. He wants him in the ring next full moon.”

“Got it.”

The radio goes silent and Stiles frowns and rubs his eyes. Some asshole Boss in Vegas is running a Supernatural fight ring. At least they have a heavy duty contact in Vegas with Peter, who is going to be very interested in this, especially since it was happening right under his nose. He stands and goes to find Derek.

He suspects this may be linked to the rumors of Supernaturals going missing from their coastal communities in Oregon. It might explain why Eddie was targeted as well, other than Bryce taking a fancy to him. Did the Hunter sell other Supernaturals to the ring in Vegas? Well, guess it was time to find out. But first he wants to contact Peter and to network with some Hale outliers and allies.

 

12

Taylor dresses carefully in the clothing that was delivered to her suite that evening. It’s not to her taste at all, the slinky, sequined, sapphire blue gown is cut nearly to her navel and the matching heels are too high for comfort, but she does not dare object. Other than a garter belt and silk stockings she is not given underwear. The mere thought of complaining now causes the invisible scars on her back to flare up with the memory of the whip. Once she is dressed, made up and her hair coiffed she presents herself for inspection. He won’t like it if she is late.

One of his minions lets her into the suite and another into his personal office. He is inspecting new merchandise. A slender, naked girl is standing before him, terrified but silent. She is all long, wheat blonde hair and large blue eyes with lightly freckled skin, pretty, but not exceptional. She turns at his gesture so he can see her backside as well. He nods, satisfied, at the man standing nearby.

“Give her to Addo to break in. He brought in a lovely liquor haul last week. Tell him he can keep her for a week.”

He waves them away and his people lead the teen away. He turns to Taylor, and she only refrains from flinching under that unblinking, reptilian gaze because of practice. He eyes her critically, then beckons her over, as he reaches for a black velvet box. Opening it, he removes a heavy necklace of flat, golden links set with an enormous square cut sapphire.

She kneels at his gesture, and he fastens it around her neck and tucks a tendril of her hair back. It fastens with a heavy click, and she swallows hard at the sleek, cold oily sensation that crawls over her skin and her mind. She hates this with every fiber of her being.

The collar renders her mute and powerless to refuse any command given to her. He only puts it on her when he plans on using her to entertain a client. One of his clients must have taken a fancy to her, despite the other merchandise on offer. She hopes fervently it’s not one of the Supernaturals.

Taylor loathes the Supernaturals with every fiber of her being. Especially the creature that now owns her. He plucked her off the auction block in Stockton, brought her to Vegas and immediately turned her out in the brothel he ran. She was able to work up to Madame by hook and crook, so was seldom forced to do sex work now except when he was having one of his exclusive parties.

She isn’t sure exactly what he is. He certainly isn’t human, and he makes her skin crawl whenever he is in the room. She tried seduction once in a bid for freedom only to have him laugh heartily in her face, assure her she wasn’t that attractive and give her to his favorite bodyguards for a public sex show at a party.

After that, she kept her mouth shut and her head down. He takes great delight in regularly reminding her that while she is highly ranked in his household, having her own bodyguard and maid, she is still nothing but a slave. Now he tips her chin up with one cold finger.

“At the dinner party tonight you will behave impeccably. The gentleman I am entertaining comes from one of the most powerful families in California and he still has connections worldwide. An alliance will benefit me greatly. Anything he desires from you, you will give. It came to my attention that he has a taste for redheads. Understand, little pet?”

She nods submissively, unable to speak unless he allows her to.

Satisfied he gives her an oily smile and extends his arm.

“Come Pet. You have work to do, and I am looking forward to dinner with Mr. Hale.”

 

Eddie wakes before dawn, blinks and yawns. His body feels stiff and sluggish, and his head is still foggy. It takes him a few minutes to realize that his mate is curled up next to him, heavily asleep and snoring like a rhinoceros. A quick sniff assures him, that his mate is not badly injured, but his bad leg reeks of herbal liniment and his breath of a medicinal tisane. Buck must have strained it in his search for Eddie. He relaxes further at the fresh scent of his abuela in the room. She is here and well.

A soft chuff sounds from the doorway and Eddie slips silently from the bed to join his cousin, who is also in wolfskin. They scent and nuzzle each other affectionately before Derek leads him out of the house into the Preserve. A good run is just what he needs to shake the kinks and cobwebs away. Derek will fill him in with all he missed.

Scuffling, nipping and shoulder bumping each other like pups, they lope into the woods. Eddie doesn’t realize that he is now the same size as his Alpha cousin and that they so resemble each other in wolfskin that they could be twins.

Peter sets the saucer of chopped meat on a small table by the balcony rail in exchange for the letter and Crixus croaks genially at him before tucking into his meal. He turns back into his penthouse suite and carefully opens the envelope. As he reads he frowns. He is very relieved that Eddie was rescued from the Hunter, but the news of the underground fight ring disturbs him.

Peter is not an Alpha, but he very much considers Vegas his territory. Yes, he runs a casino and brothel as do the other Bosses who took over the big hotels and resorts, but he keeps no slaves. The very concept is anathema to him. Its time he did a bit of investigation and if he finds this underground ring uses enslaved Supernaturals, well, he has no problem eliminating competition in the city, or enlisting his Alpha nephew’s help in doing so.

He sits down at his heavy antique desk and pens a quick response for Stiles, informing him he will investigate and keep him appraised of the situation. Sealing the envelope, he hands it off to the waiting raven and watches the spirit bird wing off, arrowing westwards towards Beacon Hills. Idly, he wonders about the raven, he has seen it turn to mist and he has seen it eat. How corporeal is the bird? Only Stiles knows.

He stands and strolls over to his balcony and stares out over his domain. Vegas, or at least the four mile Strip is a very safe area for one so sprawling, it has a well-tended twelve foot high wall of metal slabs and electrified razor wire. The desert sun fuels the solar panels that keep it charged. The fence has regular guard posts, and it is patrolled night and day. There is a one hundred yard no man’s zone outside it that is heavily mined. Biters and Howlers are not permitted to get close before being eliminated. Nothing comes in without the permission of one of the Bosses, so it’s a given that one of his colleagues is running the ring and enslaving Wolves and other shifters.

The large hotels and resorts have become fortified citadels. Each under the control of a Big Boss. They are mini cities, each with their own guards, medical staff and those regulated to servitude in exchange for protection. There are smaller, fortified compounds outside the Strip fence, of course, but they are regularly preyed upon by both Infected and Raiders.

So far Peter has been content to sit back and accumulate power here in what was once the Bellagio. Maybe it’s time he put some of it to use. In the meantime he will use tonight’s dinner party at the Wynn to put out some feelers. In fact he suspects Sinaga himself is the one behind the ring.

The old Komodo dragon shifter boasts that his bloodline is that of ancient Indonesian royalty. He would have no qualms about enslaving shifters he considers inferior, and he certainly knows enough magic to do so. If he is the one who ordered Eddie brought to his ring, like common goods, he will pay with blood. He will be eliminated, and while Dragons are hard to kill, it’s not impossible. Perhaps it’s time to call in a very appropriate favor.

Returning to his desk he pens another note and seals it, this time with a dab of magical wax, so it cannot be opened by anyone but the recipient. He presses a glyph on his desk and summons a small being, who emerges from the shadows, wings fluttering nervously. Peter saved her from being devoured by Biters after she became entangled in a net. Smiling benignly at the little creature he hands her the note.

“Deliver this safely in her hands and you are free of your debt.”

She flutters and bows gratefully and is gone in a flash and Peter smiles to himself as he pours himself a glass of excellent brandy. Viviane Argent has always fancied herself a dragon slayer. Now she will have the chance to prove it.

Taylor is glad of the collar tonight. She wants to remain silent and invisible, a pretty decorative doll. Sinaga grows increasingly irritable as the minutes stretch before his main dinner guest is announced. The man is late to the point of being rude and Sinaga doesn’t tolerate such slights well.

But when the man comes in, he is all charm, smiling and apologetic and gifts his host a present of what appears to be a crystal bottle of a rare liquor. Whatever the purple red liquid in the sealed bottle is, it has Sinaga actually smiling in genuine pleasure. He examines it with delight before carefully handing it off to a bodyguard to be whisked away to his inner den.

The meal begins and it is lavish, all sorts of dishes, but most are of various roasted meats and the men eat heartily while Taylor nibbles at a plate of salad. She doesn’t trust the source of some of these meat dishes, so better safe than sorry. She is relieved when their guest barely notices her. He is polite when introduced, but also totally disinterested in her offered charms.

He is interested in talking business with Sinaga and his colleagues and excuses his tardiness by explaining that he just received the distressing news that one of his family was kidnapped by Raiders and that he and his nephew are searching for him. The man is also his nephew Derek’s favorite cousin and there will be hell to pay unless he is returned safely, he is a much cherished member of their family and Derek Hale will rip the kidnapper’s heads off when he finds them.

Sinaga assures him that he will keep an eye out for his nephew, he has connections in Stockton in case he turns up there. If the nephew is as handsome as Hale says, Sinaga will be contacted because he has standing orders to be notified first if exceptional stock comes up for the block. The man’s cold black eyes are gleaming with pleasure and Taylor is sure he already knows where Hale’s nephew is. There is a lot being said in code here, she thinks because there are humans present.

The dining party soon moves into the lounge area, and she is reduced to the roll of bar hostess, silently pouring drinks for the chatting men and trying not to lose her smile and flinch when a wandering hand slides under the slit in her skirt to fondle her legs and bare ass. Her heart sinks as she realizes that because Hale is uninterested in her ‘entertaining’ him tonight, she will have to service one or more of the men here instead. She would rather have Hale, at least he is attractive, clean and fairly young.

Soon enough, Hale politely excuses himself with a promise to host Sinaga in turn, but he really must go see if there is more he can do to aid his nephew. Sinaga is all commiseration and tells him to expect an invitation to a very private party in two weeks and Hale thanks him for both dinner and the invitation before departing.

There is a look of deep satisfaction on Sinaga’s face as he gazes around the room and Taylor’s fervent hope that she will remain invisible is dashed when he curtly motions her to serve a burly, hard-eyed man whom she knows is one of men with fuel connections with the Raiders. Sinaga likes to keep his antique cars running.

The man is apparently in a sullen mood and is rough when he pulls her into a small antechamber and bends her over the settee, kicking her feet apart and flipping her skirt up over her back as he unzips his pants. All she can do is bite her lip and dig her nails into the soft cushions as he mounts her and takes his sweet time grunting his way to a messy climax. When he finishes, slaps her ass before he pulls out, zips up and swaggers out, she stays there in the dim quiet as long as she dares, blinking back tears of rage and shame.

 

13

Buck and Eddie spend a week at a small, hidden beach house on the coast, courtesy of Stiles, who, like all good Wolves, has a number of bolt holes scattered up the coast. This little house is tucked into a rocky cove, well camouflaged with Keep Away wards and thickets of magically enhanced rhododendron and blackberry brambles and well stocked with creature comforts and food.

The time not spent curled together in the big brass bed is spent on the beach. It’s too cold to swim, but they happily forage for clams, mussels, scallops and sea vegetables and enjoy seafood boils on the beach nearly every evening.

Eddie is still adjusting to his sudden power boost as an Alpha. He was horribly disappointed that Isabel cheerfully refused to take the Diaz Alpha spark back. He is the best Wolf for the job, she informs him. The reason he survived an aconite overdose that would kill ten shifters was the powerful merging of the gifted Diaz spark and his own manifesting Rising Alpha spark. The resulting Spark is all his now. The result was an epic Alpha sulk, much to his mate’s amusement.

Buck on the other hand is delighted at his handsome mate’s sudden hands on attitude and sheer power. The additional muscle mass doesn’t hurt either. It’s a thrill for a big man like him to be so easily lifted and manhandled in and out of the bedroom. Eddie was afraid at first to make love to his mate, afraid he would lose control and hurt him.

Buck would have none of that and cajoled and flirted and teased his man with kisses and nips until the big Wolf scooped him up and carried him to bed and took him vigorously, and while that bout of lovemaking resulted in both sporting bruises, scratches and mating bites and Buck walking funny after, Eddie never lost control.

He and Eddie spent one afternoon loping along the beach, a laughing Buck clinging like a burr to his shifted mate’s shaggy mane, it was a thrilling ride. Buck joked they didn’t need the horses now, just a new saddle and Eddie nipped his ass in retaliation making him yelp and laugh like a loon.

They shyly talk about the future. They both would like to live closer to the coast someday. Perhaps when things are safer. The new wave of migrating Infected is concerning. They won’t risk moving their pack from the safety of their hidden mountain valley den yet, but that doesn’t mean they can’t scout for a future den and start to claim and ward it for future use.

It’s nice to lie curled together, skin to skin in bed or on the beach and talk about mundane things and dare to make plans for the future. However, their reality is that the waves of Infected show no signs of slacking off and there are definite signs that the larger northern packs are testing boundaries.

There was a recent battle between a Hunter clan and the Oregon pack that wiped out quite a few of that pack, but the Vancouver pack is still expanding southward.

After the coast they return home to check on their family. Stiles graciously escorted Isabel home via the Shadowlands a week ago and she is busy in her gardens and greenhouses and keeps Pepa and the kids hopping because its planting season. If they want to eat well later, they must work hard now. She is expanding the vegetable gardens using some of the new seed the boys brought home the previous fall. They have access to flour and cornmeal now, thanks to the Ito pack’s gristmill, but best to remain as independent as possible even if fresh bread remains a luxury.

Eddie remains uncomfortable with his new Alpha status but relaxes when his family treat him the same, Abuela pinching his cheeks, Pepa sassing him about finishing chores and the kids happily climbing all over him with a million questions. They work diligently on building a sturdy barn for the livestock, and it goes up fast when Derek and Boyd drop by to help.

Boyd brings tiny Luna with him, tucked in a baby carrier and everyone takes turns doting on the infant and watching over her. A Were-Cat develops body control fairly early, when shifted and they have their hands full when the kitten decides she wants to wobble out of her snug wrap in search of Derek or Boyd and squeaks imperiously until one of them picks her up for cuddles or feeds her.

Both Derek and Stiles searched for any remaining family, but other than the notation in Gorman’s notes of killing the mother, and stashing the infant with a friend who owed him a favor, there is nothing. Since she is so attached to Boyd now, and he to her, they admittedly don’t search very hard. Most Were-Cats are solitary individuals and don’t pack up, and Luna is not of Leo stock, so it is likely that it only she and her mother.

The Diaz pack have four goats now; Rosa gave birth to her twins, Hop and Skip. Bacon and Pork Chop are fattening up nicely, and several of the hens are brooding over nests. The geese, Lord and Lady Honkers, lord it over the creek. The horses have been retrieved from their winter stabling, but the guys seldom risk them for the trade route unless they plan on acquiring a large load of goods. Eddie can almost taste the fried chicken now, because there are bound to be young cockerels that will be culled for the dinner table when grown and fattened up.

Isabel is pleased at how well the Boundary wards Stiles provided are working. She and Buck worked a bit over them as well before setting them up around the valley and they work extremely well at warding off any predators, living or Infected and keeping the livestock from straying.

The kids are growing like weeds and Eddie is glad that he brought in clothing with that in mind, because he will still have to trade for more before winter. Christopher is blossoming, he has put on weight and his bones are stronger now that he shifts regularly. He still has a mild limp and poor eyesight, but Dr. Fenris thinks he will grow out of that when he hits puberty and the power surge young wolves experience hits along with the hormones.

He runs and plays with the girls, climbs shyly into his Daddy or Buck’s lap for cuddles and loves to draw or paint pictures for them. Buck and Pepa read to him, and he traces the letters of the alphabet and mouths them silently, but has yet to speak aloud. Isabel calmly councils patience, remembering how very quiet Eddie was as a little boy. Chris will speak when he is ready.

In the meantime, Buck and Eddie wait for Derek and Stiles to summon them. They have upcoming business in Vegas with the arrogant Shifter who thinks he can traffic Wolves and other Supernaturals as well as innocent humans.

Peter has assured them that he has called in a couple of favors when it comes to manpower, so the Komodo shifter is in for a surprise when he makes his ‘move’. Peter thinks that Sinaga wants to be the Big Boss of the entire Vegas Strip and plans to eliminate Peter first, the only real competition he has for the imaginary title. What the Dragon may not realize is that Peter doesn’t give a rat’s ass about being Boss of Vegas and doesn’t play fair. His own people have been sowing discord among Sinaga’s slaves and minions for weeks now.

The Dragon is a harsh and much despised master with only a handful of truly loyal followers and everyone in Vegas knows that Peter doesn’t keep slaves and his people are well cared for and protected.

It is nearly midnight before the helicopter lands silently on the helipad on the hotel roof and a tall, blonde woman with icy blue eyes and several burly, well-armed men emerge. They cautiously approach the man standing silently by the roof door. The woman smiles coldly at the debonair Wolf. They have long had a standing truce between them. When she speaks it’s in French.

“Still alive, Hale? I am impressed.”

Peter smiles thinly at her. She can never open her mouth without using her razor sharp tongue to cut. It is the one character trait that reminds him most of her niece, Kate Argent. He replies in French, with an impeccable accent.

“Hello, Viviane. I see you got my message. I won’t say I am happy to see you, your kind tend to leave death and destruction wherever you go, all collateral damage. But I did promise you I would inform you if I ever ran across a certain Shifter.”

Viviane’s eyes brighten and then narrow with interest. She has been on this hunt since she was a teen, seeking the creature that murdered her parents, then ate their flesh.

“You know where Sinaga is?”

Peter gives her a genial smile and points down the Strip to where the lights of the Wynn glitter.

“He has taken over the Wynn. He runs his trafficking business there, both human and supernaturals. He has also set up a fight ring in the sub-basement.”

The blonde woman regards the hotel narrowly.

“He is well entrenched here, then.”

“He is. He is also arrogant enough to think I don’t know what he is or what he is doing, and he made the mistake of trying to traffic one of my Pack recently. He thinks my nephew will be delivered this Full Moon for his entertainment and had the gall to invite me to attend the ‘party.’ I presume he thinks to murder me there.”

Peter buffed his nails on his lapel and grinned at her, teeth sharp.

“He has made more enemies than he knows here.”

She regards him for a long moment.

“And your price for this information? You do nothing without profit, Peter Hale.”

“He wants to be King of the Strip and eventually expand, I think. I just want him dead. I will not allow him to fuck with my Pack. If you are not interested at first shot, I will take him out myself. No loss to you, of course. If you choose to work with me, I think you will finally accomplish your goal and finish your twenty plus year hunt without sustaining the losses you would on your own.”

Viviane ignores the subtle dig and stares hard at him.

“You can get us in the door, yes?”

“Yes, I can. You may have to get yourself out, though, depending on how things go. He has gained more power, Viviane, since you saw him last. I have blueprints of the Wynn and people working on telling me where he keeps his hoard and his prisoners. If you don’t believe me, contact your nephew. Chris may want an in as well, although playing Road Warrior and keeping the Raiders down over in Cali keeps him busy these days.”

She smiles at him and nods once.

“I will do that.”

She beckons and one of her men steps forward and hands Peter a high tech two way radio.

“I will be in touch before the full moon.”

She leaves without a second glance and the helicopter ascends in eerie silence. That silencing spell alone must have cost her a fortune. Peter takes note of the direction the copter takes, then returns to his suite to remove the tiny bugs and spells on the radio. That will irritate her, if nothing else and hopefully she will not notice the tracker his minion affixed to her helicopter.

 

14

Camryn paces her cage and glares at the redhead on the other side. She cannot believe this. The moment Taylor found out she was a werewolf, she reported it to Sinaga. The Komodo Dragon shifter immediately drugged her and clapped her into a cage. Now the stupid bitch actually thinks Camryn will help her escape?

She snarls at the woman and smiles toothily when she flinches back.

“Help you? Are you fucking nuts? You had me put in here! After I saved your life! I get thrown into the ring every Friday night! Last week I nearly died fighting a Wendigo! So you can save yourself bitch, because I’ve seen how you treat people here, you have no friends.”

Taylor clamped her lips together and stomped out, her face hot. It was true. She has no friends here. She has never had friends or a real relationship. The closest she came to a relationship was with Evan Buckley in LA and she ended that when he hotly objected to her using him as a source for a lucrative story. Her job always came first. Now her profession no longer exists, and Taylor must reinvent herself.

She returned to the Sorting room to look over the new merchandise, her mood foul and still smarting from Camryn’s righteous contempt. Taylor is the one responsible for distributing the women and boys to Sinaga’s various brothels and lieutenants. He is expanding his houses along the Strip. She has no compunction with taking her spite out on those less fortunate than her.

She idly notices several well-built, extra guards standing at the back of the room, all veiled, observing. They must be the ones who delivered the new cargo, ordered to stay until it is distributed. It’s a pity they are plague ridden; they appear tall and strong. Taylor doesn’t bed disfigured men. She ignores them and goes about her business.

A curvy, dark skinned African woman was angrily cursing out her captors in Swahili as she was stripped and placed on the display podium. Taylor eyed her dispassionately. She is beautiful, but not prime goods. She has a unsightly C-section scar, a resting bitch face and is clearly in her early thirties. She is also combative, which some customers enjoy, but not all.

“Send this one to Anthony, he likes dark meat. Tell him to dope her up if he has to. She’s a fighter. If anyone can break her in, it’s him and his club house.”

The big biker likes a challenge. He will be appreciative, and Taylor will benefit, because he is a good tipper.

The woman turns her attention to Taylor and curses her as well and lunges at her, fists flying, but Taylor is ready for her and slashes her hard across the face with the quirt she holds, before the handlers drag her away. She has heard it all before. She taps the quirt against her thigh and huffs out an impatient breath.

She turns her attention to the next piece of merchandise. A young Asian boy, slender and almost androgenous with beautiful dark eyes and flawless golden skin. The boy is so frightened he is trembling. Sinaga will love him. In bed and later on his dinner plate.

She orders him washed, oiled and sent upstairs and continues with her ‘work’ for the day until all the newest slaves have been inspected and distributed. The new guards, she noted are gone, presumably about their business.

When she returns to her suite she discovers that Sinaga appreciated the new boy so much that he has sent her a delicious gourmet meal and a gift of an emerald and diamond bracelet. Sighing, she examines the bracelet, calculating its worth and sits down to her dinner. The bauble is not worth as much as a vial of morphine or block of weed, but it will do. She is relieved to see that dinner is a poultry dish.

 

The herd of restless Biters gently part as she strolls through, humming to herself, her unkempt red hair is strung with bone beads and studded with ivory hair sticks, and she is barefoot and dressed in a torn, ivory lace Dior wedding gown. A piece of veil is still primly pinned in her disheveled hair. A lean, undead Howler that is more bone than muscle with a pink silk Dior scarf knotted around his neck paces beside her and every now and then she gives his bald bone pate an absent minded pat, like a pet dog, as she hums vacantly.

She lost her mind the day she lost her groom. The day when her perfect wedding was interrupted by the horde of hungry dead and she screamed her head off to no avail as her groom and wedding party were torn apart and devoured in front of her eyes. She had thrown herself at them, but the dead ignored her, pushed her aside and continued with their gristly carnage. The dead would not touch her, no matter how hard she tried to gain their attention. She has not screamed since.

Now she roams and dreams of better days and they flock after her like a herd of affectionate, reeking sheep and she the bellwether. She is looking for someone. She was in a Palm Springs resort for a long time, but one day she decided to take a walk. Now she is in Los Angeles, and she vacantly thinks she has friends to visit here as she walks down Rodeo Drive. This street is vaguely familiar to her.

She pauses and peers into a shop window and beams when she realizes it contains designer handbags, Chanel! One of her favorites! She reaches for the bag displayed in the window and frowns, displeased, when the glass stops her hand.

Angrily, she thumps at the glass with a small fist. Around her, the Biters begin to become agitated and mill restlessly around the street. With a grunt, the Bone Howler thrusts his clawed fist through the heavy glass, shattering it. She reaches in and daintily shakes the glass off the bag before looping the handle over her arm, then pats the Howler approvingly on the skull.

“Good dog, Prada.”

She murmurs. Then frowns. What was she going to do? Oh, yes, she is visiting her friends. Yes, friends with a big house and a lovely pool in Topanga Canyon. It’s been a long time since she visited Scott and his pack. She turns west and strolls towards the ocean, her undead entourage in tow.

Scott McCall stares out over the canyon. He can hear the screaming and fighting from here. The massive herd is enveloping the whole city now. The Ruiz pack fell last night. He looks around at his remaining pack. Liam, Mason, Theo, and a few he bit when he moved down here ten years ago.

He needs to bite more to increase the pack numbers. It’s time to move on. He will return to Beacon Hills and reclaim his old territory, he thinks. Derek and Stiles will object, but there isn’t much they can do to stop him. He is after all, the True Alpha. Turning, he orders his pack to pack up for the move.

Kira and Jackson stare grimly down from the Hollywood sign at the incoming wave of Dead. It is totally engulfing the city and it won’t stop. It will continue north in search of living prey. The northern settlements will be completely overrun because they are just too small to hold out for long. Its time they returned home and apprised Derek of the situation. Stiles and his magic are their only hope now. Jackson shifts, tail whipping, into full Kanima, Kira leaps lightly on his back and they are off, heading west to the coastal road, then north and home.

Isabel Diaz stands on the southern ridge of their home valley, her face to the wind. She can feel them from here. A tide of Infected moving slowly north. It will be months before they get this far north, but they will come, nonetheless. She drops a hand to the heavy Ward stone and chants softly to herself as she lays another layer of concealment on it. She will weave protective spells around their home every day if she has to, until her strength fails.

Derek is lounging on the sofa, book on his chest, half-asleep. His doze is interrupted by a amorous hoot as a determined owl cozies up to his beard. With a soft snarl, he scoops up the feathered pest, hurries to the half-open window and tosses him out and slams the window shut with a huff of satisfaction and yanks the curtains closed, ignoring Boyd’s amused snort from the armchair, where he is cuddling a sleepy Luna.

Satisfied, the Alpha settles back on the couch to resume his nap. Suddenly there is a rustling in the chimney and a determined, sooty ball of feathers flaps out of the fireplace and swoops over to settle with a satisfied hoot to nest in Derek’s hair. Derek huffs out a sigh and practices his yoga breathing, ignoring the muffled snickers from the armchair. He wonders grimly what fried owl tastes like.

Stiles sits silently in front of his mirror, hands clenching the arm rests of his chair as he stares into the scrying mirror. At last it has shown him what he has been seeking. The source of the incoming tide of Infected. It makes his heart ache.

“Ah, God, Lyds. Why does it have to be you?”

He knows what has to be done. He just doesn’t know if he is strong enough to do what is necessary. He has time, he thinks. Time to contact the Covens and coerce their aid if necessary. But first, he has an upstart Dragon Shifter to deal with.

 

15

Sinaga is practically purring with satisfaction as he descends with his guest to the garage level of the Wynn. He cannot wait to see the look on Hale’s face when he realizes that it is he who controls his pack member, whom he intends to use to kill Peter Hale.

Hale is blissfully oblivious and humming softly to himself as he watches the elevator floors flash past. He has already complimented Sinaga on the repast they shared earlier, including a bottle of rare French wine that Hale provided. Beside him, the human woman keeps her head submissively down. Again, Hale showed no interest in her, so his intel about his preferences for redheads must be faulty.

“I think you will be impressed by my latest acquisition, Hale. It is quite rare to own one.”

Perhaps he searched the auction blocks for a particular individual. Ah, well, it didn’t matter now. Tomorrow Sinaga will be moving his people into the Bellagio and taking over Hale’s territory. Taylor shows promise as a lieutenant, perhaps he will allow her to run the casino. Sinaga runs possessive fingertips lightly down her bare back, amused as she shivers and her skin pebbles under his touch in a vestigial reflex. He had her dressed in ruby red tonight as a small private joke. He enjoys inducing fear among his minions.

The elevator stops and opens into the empty garage level. Sinaga wants nothing to interfere with his view of Hale being ripped apart by one of his own. His four bodyguards fan out, as instructed and one touches his radio, signaling those waiting outside.

The rumble of motors fill the garage and an armored van escorted by two other black vans with the hotel logo roll into view and the driver swerves and parks so that the back doors face where Sinaga and his guests stand while the escort vehicles park discreetly nearby. There is an angry roar from the interior of the van and the sound of heavy thuds against the interior. Hale raises an intrigued brow, but appears unaffected.

The driver of the van, a tall blond man, hops out and moves to open the doors, and Sinaga signals his bodyguards discreetly so they step aside so the Wolf will have direct access to Hale. Beside him, Taylor inhales sharply, eyes locked on the blond. Ah, someone she recognizes. No doubt from her Stockton runs. She has a certain penchant for tall blonds.

Sinaga steps discreetly to one side, and watches gleefully as the blond opens the van doors. What he isn’t expecting is a tall, lanky young human, dressed in a red hoodie (alarm bells start to sound in his head) to hop out, flanked by not one, but two enormous, fully shifted Alpha werewolves. The big black wolves could be twins, but that was no longer important as they turned ruby red eyes on Sinaga and flashed white teeth.

Peter Hale beamed at him from across the way where he too, has discreetly stepped aside, teeth suddenly a bit too sharp.

“Ah, how remiss of me! Allow me to introduce my Alpha, Derek Hale and his mate Stiles Stilinski. Though I believe you know him as The Red.”

Sinaga hisses in involuntary horror.

Every supernatural being in the western states knows of the Mage, the Red. The most powerful skillful adept on this continent. He also knows what happens to those who piss him off. He annihilates them body and soul. Why in the Seven Hells had no one ever informed him that the Red was mated to the Hale alpha? This changes everything, and he realizes in horror, it is too late for him to negotiate a truce.

Before he can react there is the sharp crack of a shot and Sinaga shrieks in outrage as a silver bullet lodges in his chest and he suddenly realizes that the two Wynn escort vans were actually full of armed Hunters. He orders his bodyguards to shoot, but they simply step back and raise their hands in surrender, refusing to obey.

Viviane Argent grins at him and raises her gun again, as he lunges back to claw at the elevator only to discover the doors shut and the lift long gone. Another bullet tears into his hip and he shrieks in rage, as the silver burns through his veins as he sluggishly attempts to shift. She is toying with him. Something is wrong, he can’t shift to heal, and his magic is too sluggish to respond. Another bullet kneecaps him and he falls, still trying to crawl away.

Dimly he hears Peter Hale’s voice,

“By the way, the wine was dosed. You can’t shift. You really should employ a food taster.”

He tsks reproachfully.

A boot on his back stops him from moving and he twists and tries to lash out, fangs flashing. The last thing he sees before Viviane briskly puts a silver slug in his brain is Hale’s smirk.

Taylor huddles in the corner by the elevators and stares as Sinaga is efficiently put down by the icy eyed, no nonsense woman who emerged from one of the Wynn’s vans. Peter Hale strolls over, hands in his pockets and speaks to her in flawless French. Her men are fanned out behind her, eyeing the huge wolves warily.

After a brief conversation, she motions to her men and they return to the vans, before she departs she turns, stares for a long moment at the man in red, who gives her a cocky salute, and says something sharply to Hale, who just grins at her unrepentantly.

Taylor notices that Evan is standing beside one of the Wolves a hand casually on its back as he stands with the young man in the red Hoodie.

“Well. That was easy. I was expecting something a little more interesting. “

The guy grumps, hands on his lean hips.

The Wolf next to him gooses him sharply in the ribs with a cold nose and he jerks and squeaks involuntarily before laughing.

“Okay, okay, it’s a good thing to not have a lot of bloodshed Sourwolf, but I was expecting a teensy more effort from a Komodo Dragon shifter! I mean, come on, he basically rolled over like a pill bug. I was expecting more hissing, claws and teeth and at least a little bit of venom!”

Hale snorts and bends to rifle through Sinaga’s pockets and emerges with several small objects, which he pockets, and an ornate golden key that Taylor recognizes as the Master key to Sinaga’s den and larder. He regards Sinaga for a long moment, then casually reaches over and gives his head a sharp twist and jerk, breaking his neck. Just to be sure. Smiling, Hale straightens and turns a cool gaze on her.

“I believe Ms. Kelly will be very helpful in freeing all of Sinaga’s captives, since she is so efficient at organizing them and distributing them. I’m sure she knows where all the cells are.”

“Yes. Yes, I can help. I’m happy to do so…” she calculates the odds and hesitantly extends a hand towards Buck and gives him a trembling maiden-in-distress smile.

“Buck?”

Buck stares at her, blue eyes hard, and the huge Wolf beside him wheels to face her and bares his canines with a warning snarl.

“Be careful of her, Peter. You can’t trust her any farther than you can throw her. “ His voice is cold. “She will back stab you the first chance she gets.”

Faltering, she lets her hand fall, face flushing with guilt and anger. Never in her life did she think Buck would carry a grudge against her. He was always so…soft.

“Oh, don’t worry. I am quite aware of Ms. Kelly’s shortcomings. I have an extensive dossier on her and Sinaga’s people have had a great deal to say.”

Taylor swallows hard as the man gently takes her elbow in an iron grip and smiles genially at her, teeth very sharp. Has she gone from the frying pan straight into the fire?

“I’m sure Ms. Kelly will be of great assistance to me.”

It takes Peter Hale a mere week to get things sorted out to his satisfaction. He first forces Taylor to take him to all the prisoners Sinaga has in his cells. He interrogates each briefly and releases most of them. The remainder he kills immediately and has their bodies incinerated. Most of those executed are Supernaturals. The humans were cannibals and rapists.

All of the slaves are told their options, they can stay and work for Hale and be paid and protected, or they can leave now. He doesn’t try to stop any who leave. Some return almost immediately, not liking what faces them outside of the Strip’s protective fence. He even organizes a caravan protected by the Argent woman’s hunters for those who wish to leave Vegas entirely and try their luck in Cali. Many go, but most stay.

To her dismay, Taylor is not allowed to leave. Instead she finds her former bodyguard, Camryn, now her guard. The wolf is anxious to perform well for the Hale pack. She owes them her freedom and her life, and even if she has to grovel she wants no part of being an Omega wolf now.

Taylor is confined to her suite (after Hale searched it thoroughly) and allowed to keep her possessions. She quickly assembles a small Go bag in case the chance to escape appears or she is freed. The only time she is allowed to leave the suite is when Camryn escorts her to Hale, who has taken over Sinaga’s holdings and inner suites with aplomb.

Taylor tried again to speak with Buck, certain she could persuade him to help her, but he would have nothing to do with her, turning bodily away, while the veiled man he was with stepped between them with a warning look.

It took her an embarrassingly long time to realize that Buck was one of the veiled guards who observed her that day distributing that last batch of slaves. Granted, she had been rather brutal that day. She was in a bad mood, sue her.

The last time she sees him is when he is helping the Mage move several ornate lacquered trunks from Sinaga’s inner chambers to the freight elevator. From the hall she can see the youthful Mage carefully filling yet another box with old books and scrolls, assisted by a strikingly handsome dark haired man. Apparently he is taking Sinaga’s entire collection of books and objects d’art.

Camryn prods her firmly away towards the office Hale now resides over, and her last glimpse of Buck is him laughing up at his veiled friend, after he almost drops a box on his own foot. He ignores her when she hopefully calls his name, and she lifts her chin and blinks back tears. What did she expect? She treated the man like shit and broke a promise of confidentiality for a story.

Camryn taps gently on the door and opens it at some unheard signal, dipping her head obsequiously at Hale, then closes it behind Taylor, standing watch outside the door.

Hale has a large jewelry chest set on a side table and is examining some of the beautiful pieces strewn carelessly on top of his desk. Taylor notices he is wearing bio-hazard gloves and that he occasionally drops a piece into a large, red velvet bag stitched with odd designs. The sapphire necklace that Taylor is so familiar with sits in its open box at his right and she flinches at the sight of it.

He notices of course. Like Sinaga, he misses nothing.

“Ah, I suspected you were familiar with a Compulsion collar.”

He sat back in his chair and waved her to a chair, regarding her thoughtfully with a tilted head.

“I have been debating what exactly to do with you, Ms. Kelly. While you are intelligent enough to be as useful to me as you were to Sinaga, I am also intelligent enough to take Buck’s warning to heart. He is an excellent judge of character, and I am not in the habit of taking serpents to my bosom. Also, almost every former slave I have spoken with here warns me that you are a self-serving bitch and that I would be a fool to trust you.”

He held up a finger when she opened her mouth to protest.

“I can tell when you lie, Ms. Kelly. Don’t bother. Do you know I have an entire list of people who petitioned for a piece of you? I could make a pretty penny by putting you on the block. However, I do not traffic in slaves. And I do understand what it is to be helpless and unable to free one’s self, so I am going to give you a chance for freedom. “

He smiled benevolently, but his eyes were hard.

“You have 24 hours. You may take your carefully squirreled away hoard of baubles with you. If you are still inside the fence in 24 hours, my protection ends, and you will be hunted down and subjected to the same treatment you gave those less fortunate than you unless they decide to tear you to pieces or feed you to the Infected first.”

He glanced languidly at the gold wall clock.

“Starting now. I suggest you leave Vegas as soon as possible and that, should you survive, you avoid all Hale territory in the future.”

Behind her, the door opened, and a grinning Camryn tossed her Go bag at her feet.

Refusing to panic, despite her pounding heart, she stood, picked up her bag and walked calmly to the door, ignoring the smirking werewolf. From there, she went upstairs to her suite to change into a tee, flannel shirt, jeans and her hiking boots. Sturdy clothing for the road. She added a couple of personal items to her Go bag, grabbed her favorite leather jacket and walked out of the door.

As she exited the Wynn, forcing herself to walk, not run, she was aware of the ticking clock in her head and the eyes watching her avidly. Camryn was not the only one with a grudge watching her. Her hair was raised on the nape of her neck as she strode out of the Hotel.

Her every move was being watched by a former slave. She has no choice but to leave the safety of the Strip. There is only one place she knows where she can find refuge and while it isn’t what she wants, the backwater settlement is a start. Now to hire transport and purchase a weapon.

“She’s headed west. I think she is going to Mackie’s place. He has a thing for her, and she will take advantage of that.”

Camryn reported to Peter.

She still hoped to be able to hunt down the red headed bitch, but she would obey Peter Hale. Peter was now the unchallenged Big Boss of the Strip. He did not flaunt it, but all of the Supernaturals and most of the humans knew. No one mourned Sinaga’s demise. Most welcomed it.

Peter nodded thoughtfully.

“Let her go for now. There are enough free lancers with grudges on her trail. If she survives, we will deal with her later. Let her think she escaped, but keep me apprised of her whereabouts. She won’t stay quiet for long. You added the trackers to her bag and jacket?”

“Yes, sir.”

Camryn responded. She genuinely liked the Left Hand, she realized. He was sly and devious and a league ahead of every other bosses on the Strip, and this huge Hotel was only his side gig. He protected his pack from all angles.

“Good. Please take this message to Mehta at the Mandalay. Make sure to give it to him personally.”

“Yes, sir!”

She hastened away, pleased at being given an important task. If she proved herself, she might one day be allowed into the Hale pack. She could only do her best, and she realized this was the best chance she had now for a decent life where she was appreciated for her abilities, not her cleavage. She was going to be the best assistant Peter Hale ever had. She would make herself indispensable.

 

16

Scott stood on the highway and stared out over the burned out remnants of what was once his home town. The wildfires had been brutal here. Theo has already returned from the Preserve, looking a bit rattled, to report that the Hale house was reduced to ashes as well. The whole atmosphere felt menacing and made his skin itch. It even smelled bad here. There was no reason to stay now, no comfortable home to inhabit. They had fought their way here for nothing and lost a third of his pack to Infected. Scott had been looking forward to claiming Derek’s new house and making himself at home.

When they stopped to pay a courtesy call to Alpha Ito, she had casually mentioned that a Hunter clan had wiped out the Oregon pack. That left their resources ripe for picking, unlike this wasteland. Corvallis would do, as a new home territory. He wondered why she had not mentioned the wildfires. No doubt she thought he already knew since it happened a couple of years ago, and she has always been close mouthed.

“There’s no point in staying, there’s really nothing left worth claiming here. We’ll move on and take Corvallis. Less chance of wildfires up there, there’s a lot more rainfall.”

“What about Derek and Stiles?”

Scott shrugged, unconcerned.

“They can take care of themselves if they’re still alive. They were never pack in the first place.”

The McCall pack climbed into their vehicles and moved on.

Behind them, Sheriff Stilinski and Jordan Parrish dropped the glamour hiding them and glared after the departing pack. They had stayed silent and taken note of every member of Scott’s ragtag pack, noting that Theo was apparently his Left Hand and that he apparently had no emissary. Also, his pack was now comprised almost entirely of young, bitten wolves. Deaton was nowhere in sight, but Melissa McCall was with them, and it was disheartening that she too was affected by the protective glamour.

The fact that Scott couldn’t even see Beacon Hills anymore, and Theo emerged dazed and glamoured from the Preserve spoke volumes of their true intentions. McCall had intended a hostile take over of Hale territory.

It was a good thing that Alpha Ito gave them the heads-up and they activated the emergency heavy duty protective wards since Derek and Stiles were still in Vegas and Meadhbh had thrown an extra whammy on the Preserve making it very unpleasant to even walk through, because Theo had certainly not lingered.

Stiles had sent word that they would be returning via caravan, meaning they were transporting goods that could not be passed safely through the Shadowlands. Both Stiles and Derek would be upset at Scott for his plans to claim Hale territory, so better that he move on out of state.

The Vancouver pack would keep McCall busy for a while as he fought to establish himself in Corvallis. Sheriff Stilinski made a mental note to send Alpha Ito a nice thank you gift. McCall didn’t have the sense to realize that she had superbly maneuvered he and his pack exactly where she wanted them. As a living buffer between the Northern packs and the Hale and Ito territories. Satomi was very experienced in dealing with arrogant young Alphas.

Derek was driving and nodding absently in husbandly ‘yes, dear’ mode while Stiles waxed poetic about the loot he had acquired from Sinaga’s hoard. Some of the books and scrolls were in Sanskrit, Derek and now he had to learn yet another language…blah, blah, blah.

In the back seat, Buck and Eddie were dozing, slumped against each other. They were riding back to Hale territory, staying a few days, then returning to Diaz territory. Derek understood, they missed their family.

As they rounded the curve they saw three familiar figures standing beside the road, two with thumbs out and smarmy grins. Stiles whooped, and Buck jerked awake with a snort and Eddie with a snarl.

The SUV skidded to a stop and both Derek and Stiles piled out and hugged the laughing hitchhikers. Buck and Eddie watched curiously, and Eddie recognized a couple of people from a group photo in Derek’s office. He exchanged a look with Buck, and they climbed out for proper introductions.

Derek happily scented Kira and Jackson, gathering them close and swinging them around. It’s been months since they set out to network and take a unofficial census of which packs survived the Fall. He turned, a bit surprised to see a rather maltreated looking Liam, whom he last saw heading south with Scott. He said nothing, but he recognized the dazed, lost look of a packless Wolf.

Jackson spoke for him, one hand gently clasping the back of the younger man’s neck, his attitude protective of the battered young Wolf.

“Scott abandoned him. Used him as Biter bait to get away himself, broke his legs, snapped his pack bonds and ran. Luckily, Kira and I were passing by and managed to get him out of the gully he was trapped in. Liam is doing better now, but it took a few days for him to reorientate himself.”

Jackson gave his Alpha a significant look and relaxed his protective stance as Derek gently hugged Liam and scented him, rumbling comfortingly. The smaller man slumped in Hale’s arms, relieved at the balm of the Alpha’s quiet acceptance. His high strung nerves began to slowly ease as a pack bond slowly began to form. It would strengthen as Derek eased him into the pack.

Kira chimed in, her hands forming quotation marks.

“Scott is headed to Beacon Hills. To “reclaim his territory”. “

Derek raised his head with a snarl, eyes flaring red and behind him, Eddie’s flashed as well in involuntary response to his cousin’s high emotions and Jackson and Kira regarded him curiously. One comforting hand still on Liam’s shoulder, Derek introduced his cousin and his mate to his packmates.

Stiles laid a reassuring hand on Derek’s arm.

He gave Kira a wry grin.

“Sounds like Scotty. Delusions of grandeur much?”

They all piled into the SUV. Liam curled up in the back cargo space among the boxes and instantly dozed off, exhaustion on his pale face. Jackson was riding up front with Derek and Stiles (Derek having noticed the lascivious, appraising look Whittemore gave both Buck and Eddie.) Kira piled in the back with the Diaz boys and cheerfully engaged them in conversation about her travels. Both men were quickly charmed by the sunny, good natured Kitsune, and she was happy to answer Buck’s curious questions about her kind.

Jackson quickly updated his Alpha about their journey. Most of the surviving packs they found were delighted the Hale pack had survived and were holding their territory and glad to reaffirm any existing treaties or make new ones. A few of the major packs were gone, annihilated completely by Hunters, Infected or both as Hunters took advantage of the Fall to ‘clean house,’ whether the packs were hostile or not.

Many of the small family packs had simply vanished and Derek suspected that they, like the Diaz family had simply hunkered down somewhere in the wilderness to wait out the worst of the plague.

When they warned the Hales of the huge wave of Infected slowly migrating north, Stiles spoke quietly and told them he was aware of the situation and already working on a solution. He said that if his plan to stop them did not work, he had a back-up plan to channel them up the coast and keep them moving past their territory.

Infected did not deal well with the northern climates and were more easily destroyed in winter. The tide of Infected would certainly keep the northern packs too busy to worry about expanding their borders. Indeed, the Alaskans and Canadians had the least amount of them to deal with.

She stood on the once green lawn of the big house and frowned at the pool. Why was it murky and half empty with a hose and pump leading to a large vegetable plot by the house? As she watched one of the Biters fell in and glugged and splashed feebly for a while before sinking to the bottom where it bobbled about aimlessly.

She turned and slowly looked at the empty house. Her friends must be away. Oh, well, she would make herself at home for a while until they returned. She was hungry and a bit sleepy. She daintily plucked a few ripe tomatoes, lettuces, nasturtiums and peppers from the garden, put them in her purse and strolled through the open sliding glass doors into the kitchen. She would fix a salad for dinner.
Her faithful Howler followed, claws clicking on the tiles, as it sniffed around, hoping to find something living to devour, finally settling for an old, blood stained leather boot.

Lydia firmly closed the door behind her and the horde that accompanied her milled about aimlessly in the yard, trampling the garden and falling into the pool. Lydia ate her vegetables raw, sprinkled with salt she found in the kitchen, then wandered upstairs. When she finally fell asleep in one of the upstairs bedrooms the horde calmed and began to go dormant, standing in silent clusters, swaying in the night air. The undead Howler crouched on the floor at her feet and guarded his mistress, red eyes glowing in the shadows of the room. It never slept.

 

17

The SUV was approaching the southern border of the Ito territory when a black raven swooped low over the hood and croaked a warning. It was about four hours until sunset. Everyone in the vehicle was suddenly alert as Stiles closed his eyes and reached ahead.

Suddenly he clamped a hand on Derek’s shoulder, eyes still closed as he ‘watched’ what was waiting for them.

“Ambush, Der, but most of them are humans being coerced by something…a lich, or a vampire, I think.”

He opened his eyes and grinned wickedly at his husband.

“Shall we give them a surprise?”

Derek smiled ferally back, and glanced over his shoulder at Eddie.

“Ever dealt with a vampire?”

Eddie frowned; handsome face serious.

“No, but Abuela told me about them. They use compulsion on humans, correct?”

“Yep.” Stiles answered. “We don’t know how powerful this one is, but since it has a caravan under a geas and its not even dark yet, I suspect it’s an old one. It’s probably trying to get more juice so it can power past Satomi’s boundary wards.”

“By juice, do you by any chance mean blood?” asked Buck queasily.

“Exactly, padawan! Gold star!” He sobered and turned to look at them, eyes serious.

“Eddie, keep close to Buck. It won’t affect us, but it will try to compel Buck because he’s human.”

“Got it.” Eddie replied curtly. No giant, undead tick was putting a finger, much less a fang on his mate.

They slowed as they rounded the curve, not surprised to find two vehicles, one a battered pick-up truck and the other a large RV with deeply tinted windows. The RV had apparently veered half-way across the road and broken down. An older man had the hood up and was standing by it. A half dozen other people stood apathetically around. One, an attractive young woman, lifted a hand and waved with a friendly smile on her freckled face.

“Ah, the bait.” Stiles said cheerfully.

He noticed that of all of them, she appeared the healthiest. The others were thin and pale. The Renfield then, with the larder.

“I think Miss Mary Sunshine is the Renfield, Der. Shall we be good Samaritans, guys?”

There was a chorus of “We shall!” from the pack.

They all loathed vampires. The parasites were rare but horrible. They did not sip delicately and move on from their enthralled human prey, they sucked them dry, sometimes ripping them apart for funsies. Some of the old ones enslaved generations of a single family and kept them as pets.

Very young, newly turned vampires seldom survived long enough to control their blood lust. Luckily vampires were territorial creatures and rarely turned their victims because the ones who retained their intelligence and survived were often difficult to kill.

“Try not to hurt the humans unless you have to. Careful of the Renfield, she will be jacked up as her master’s eyes and ears.”

Derek stopped the SUV, and everyone piled out, including Buck, who stayed at the back of the pack, uneasily fingering his machete. He noticed that the cheerful young woman suddenly appeared startled and apprehensive at the sight of the smiling Wolves and Buck suddenly felt something alien and cold slither over his skin and plunge needles into his mind.

He murmured, “Eddie” as he felt himself become dizzy and nauseous, he staggered and suddenly Eddie was there, strong arm around his waist, holding him close. His touch seemed to clear Buck’s mind and his very presence was a barricade against mental invasion. Buck buried his face in Eddie’s shoulder, inhaled his scent and clung, gulping and fighting the urge to be violently ill.

“Naughty, naughty. Your master really shouldn’t try to mind rape one of my pack. That really pisses us off.”

Stiles grinned cheerfully at the girl who suddenly seemed to realize that they were clearly not the dupes she previously thought.

She whirled to run to the RV, but Stiles gestured, and she slumped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, and the people standing quietly around like extras at a play, suddenly gasped and seemed to become more aware of their surroundings. A thin woman began to silently cry and the man next to her spoke urgently;

“Help us! Please help us! There’s a…a thing…”

Stiles nodded sharply.

“We know folks. We’re here to take care of your pest problem. Der? I have her contained; you want to do the honors?”

 

Derek strode forward, Jackson on his heels and they yanked open the door of the RV and stepped inside, while Kira unsheathed her katana. In a few moments, they emerged carrying a narrow, old fashioned wooden casket. It was quite beautiful, all polished oak and bronze fittings, very Victorian in style.

At Stile’s gesture they brought it out into the middle of the road. Buck stepped up and offered his Halligan and the pack carefully fanned out around it, Kira with her katana at ready. Derek took it and deftly pried the lid loose and yanked it open, breaking the sturdy interior latches and making sure the sun’s rays fell directly on the contents.

There was an inhuman shriek and the woman inside sat up, her narrow, pale face a rictus of rage and terror as she snarled at the sky, revealing an impressive set of snake like fangs seconds before she caught fire, and writhing, eeled out of the casket. Her hair and lace clothing were smoking as she desperately tried to crawl back into the dark RV.

Kira stepped forward and expertly beheaded her.

The sunlight finished its work and in moments the now wizened creature was ashes, wafting away in the afternoon breeze. At a nod from Derek, Jackson brought over a container of fuel from the nearby truck, poured it on the casket and set it on fire. Derek kept an eye on the former thralls and the Renfield who was regaining consciousness as Stiles climbed into the RV and emerged a few minutes later with a small cedar trunk and an ornate jewelry box.

He opened the trunk and deftly sorted through it, he set two old leather bound books aside, along with a thick folio of papers and tossed several unsavory looking items into the fire before returning the saved items to the trunk. He glanced at the contents of the jewelry box, then closed it and placed the box into the trunk as well and motioned to Jackson, who lifted it and carried it to the SUV.

By this time the Renfield had regained consciousness and, catching sight of the remains of the vampire she began to scream hysterically and tear at her face and hair.

Before any of the pack could react, the man who had tried to warn them stepped forward and brutally brought a tire iron down on the back of her skull with a resounding crack. She slumped over again, only this time, she would not be rising. The man was trembling, but he raised defiant eyes to Derek and Stiles and spoke.

“She fed our kids to that thing and laughed while she did it. They were lovers, she gave it her blood too. Burn her so she don’t rise too.”

Derek nodded and he grabbed the body and tossed it on the fire. Stiles muttered something under his breath and the fire intensified and began to cremate the fresh corpse. The stench of burning hair and flesh was horrific.

“Is your vehicle really broken down?” Derek asked.

“No sir, she made us lay the trap. It’s the way she worked to get more food.”

“Okay, then you may want to get on your way before dark. There is a rest station about an hour up the road, that’s patrolled regularly if you still want to head north and you need a safe campsite and an escort to the next settlement.”

The man stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Thank you. You all saved our lives and probably our souls. You got a name?”

“Derek Hale.” Derek shook his hand and stepped back.

“I’m Alan McDermott. I have an orchard and farm up near Seattle. You ever need anything; you send me word.”

Derek and Stiles thanked him warmly and they all piled back into the SUV. Buck was still feeling a bit queasy and getting a headache, so Eddie made him drink some water and quietly urged him to rest his head on his shoulder and nap. He accepted gracefully and soon the motion of the car caused him to doze off.

Lydia hummed thoughtfully as she eyed the blue sky from where she lounged on the deck. She waited for a week, but Scott did not return. She didn’t want to overstay her visit here. It was very hot here in LA as summer approached. She craved the cool greenery and trees in northern California. She brightened. She would go and visit Stiles in Beacon Hills. Stiles was always happy to see her. She would stay at her grandmother’s lake house and would take the scenic route along the coast.

She stood and picked up her handbag and strolled down the driveway, humming absently to herself. The Bone Howler clicked his way beside her, bones protruding from his torn hide, and the horde of Biters began to stir as she moved away and turned and staggered behind her, following like faithful retainers in an undead entourage. Like a slow moving tide, the movement swept across LA and others turned to follow her.

 

18

Peter was sitting on his balcony enjoying a snifter of excellent brandy when Crixus ghosted silently down and dropped a small envelope in his lap and flapped away without waiting for a reply.

Frowning, he opened it and read the short missive within scribbled on a card in Stile’s atrocious penmanship.

“I found her Peter. It’s bad.”

A small faceted crystal slid out of the envelope and into his hand.

Standing, he abandoned his drink and hurried inside to his bedroom. Once inside he opened the door to his huge walk-in closet and shut it behind him, feeling the snick of protective wards snapping down. He walked over to the massive, gilded mirror over the 17th century French bureau and placed the tiny crystal in a waiting niche in the glittering frame among others like it.

A fog flowed over the face of the mirror, then cleared to reveal a landscape as though recorded from a drone high in the sky. Peter absently sat on a high stool and watched the scene unfold. It only took him a moment to recognize it as a view of LA. The view zoomed in and to his horror he saw the huge wave of Infected covering the city and slowly moving towards the coast. The entire city was engulfed.
The view shifted and narrowed and zoomed sharply in and he saw her, and hissed out a shaken breath and his shoulders slumped.

She was strolling along the beach, dressed in a ragged, lace bridal gown. Her small bare feet were calloused and filthy, her long, tangled hair half up and half down, studded with hair sticks and braided with beads. She wore a Dior purse over one arm and a Howler prowled beside her like an obsequious, undead service dog. Her face was vacant, an absent smile on her lips. Every now and then she would stoop to pick up a shell, examine it and put it in her purse before ambling on.

The Infected followed her and to his horror, he realized she was the source of the swarm. The view panned back again, and he saw they all followed her. She was heading north, he realized. She would unwittingly lead the dead straight up the coast to Beacon Hills unless she was stopped. They would engulf every living thing they encountered as they came.

The scene faded away to reveal Stile’s weary face, his eyes red-rimmed. He mouthed four words to Peter.

I’m working on it.

Peter nodded back grimly. He had no doubt of that. Stiles loved her too.

“Count me in.” he said, simply.

The young mage nodded and spoke again.

I’ll see you soon.

The image faded and it was just a mirror again.

Of that Peter had no doubt. Feeling very old, he stood and returned to his balcony. This time he brought the bottle of brandy with him and sat the rest of the night staring out over the lights on the Strip. As the Hale pack’s Left Hand he knows what he has to do, regardless of his own feelings.

Buck and Eddie stayed for a week at Beacon Hills. Derek introduced them around town and the townspeople were glad to welcome any Hale relations. They were very grateful for being under the protection of Alpha Hale. It was nice to be able to stroll around an actual town again without having to be on constant alert. Buck noticed that Eddie took careful notice of the schools and other resources, such as the hospital and the utility plants.

There had been a bit of tension at first with Jackson, who had made no attempt to hide his attraction to Buck, but then Derek had quietly taken his beta aside and sternly reminded him of what would happen to him if he tried to interfere with a newly mated pair—especially when one of them was an Alpha who would have no qualms with ripping Jackson’s face off. Whittemore had quickly found other business to keep himself occupied, including hooking up with Danny.

Buck spent more time with Stiles in his workroom, and they were pleased to finally figure out what his particular magical skill was. Buck was a Finder. This meant if he put his mind and will to it, nothing or no one could remain hidden from him for long. With practice it could also mean that any protective wards placed around what he was looking for would become null and void as he approached.

Stiles explained that he suspected that this had already happened to some degree when Buck found Eddie after he was taken by the hunters. Gorman had put up some heavy duty, witch wrought camo wards to keep his bunker hidden, yet Buck tore through them like tissue paper and those protections had faded when Buck entered the bunker seeking to recover Eddie’s belongings. He may have also had something to do with the slave collar’s magic fading almost the moment it was buckled on Eddie as well, though Alice had deliberately woven safeguards into it so it would eventually fail anyway.

Stiles had immediately cleansed and rehidden the bunker, adding it as another hidden resource for the pack if they needed shelter in the future. Also, Buck’s determination had fueled the tracking raven long after it should have faded, indicating that with time he might be able to manifest them at will as well. He just needed time and practice. After all, he still had the little no-longer-temporary compass tattoo on his wrist. It had become part of him, a handy magical tool for him to use at will.

They also spent the week being charmed by a tiny were kitten. Luna couldn’t even crawl yet in her human form, but as a kitten she was already wobbling about, escaping her crib in hot pursuit of her beloved Boyd. She loved Derek and Stiles too, but Boyd was clearly her favorite person. She wanted to be with him all the time and he had taken to tucking her into a hoodie pocket in kitten form or in a baby sling. She would purr so loudly her small form would vibrate, and he would rumble back at her as she dozed on his chest. They made an endearing pair. Both filled the void of loss of loved ones with each other, Luna had lost her mother, Boyd his beloved Erica.

To Derek’s quiet glee, the fickle Hooter suddenly shifted his attentions to Buck, who was charmed by the tiny owl and cooed right back at him when Hooter wanted to bill and coo and cuddle. Hooter could now be found either on Buck’s shoulder or nestled into his hair while Buck curled up in an armchair and read the books Stiles assigned him.

When they prepared to leave for home, Buck carrying an entire backpack full of books and ‘homework’ assignments, he had been sad to leave the little owl behind. This lasted only as long as it took Meadhbh to snort loudly and declare that Hooter had a mind of his own and chose who he stayed with, so Buck happily found himself going home with a wee familiar spirit in the form of a tiny bundle of feathers and spite that weighed less than four ounces perched on his shoulder.

Eddie, who was very familiar with his mate’s propensity for charming animals, just rolled his eyes and was relieved that Hooter was a tiny owl and not a grizzly bear. They left Beacon Hills with the promise of visiting again soon, before they set out on their summer trade route, as Buck very much wanted to visit his sister.

Stiles knew he would catch shit for it later with his husband, but he made the executive decision not to tell Derek about Lydia. Derek’s feelings for Stile’s ex were very complicated and the closest they ever came to an actual fight was when Derek discovered that Stiles still had the engagement ring he had bought for her before they broke up---before she dumped him and moved to the east coast and New York.

So he spoke with friends in the covens and consulted with Peter before coming up with a last ditch plan to try and save Lydia. They had to break her connection with the dead. Her unstable Banshee powers were causing them to flock after her. If they could not alter that, they would have to kill her and make absolutely sure that she could not rise again.

Alice, the former necromancer, had told him frankly that the smart thing to do would be to kill her anyway, because that would also take out most of her Infected following and save countless lives. Yet in his heart, Stiles found that hard to even contemplate because once he loved someone, he loved them forever. He wasn’t sure he could save her, much less her sanity, but he has to try.

Still, there was no more time to be wasted. Lydia has temporarily stopped her meandering up the coast, lingering at a luxurious beach house, but that would not last long and she would be on the move again.

So, better to act now while Derek is busy sorting through pack business with Jackson, dealing with renewed treaties and negotiations. A representative from the Vancouver pack had appeared, making noises about a treaty, but the woman didn’t get far before Derek sent her packing, offended by her nonstop flirting, her brazen assumption that he would be glad to offer Eddie up for an arranged mating with one of her Alpha’s sisters and her very obvious prejudices against humans. He has no doubt that the Vancouver Alpha will send his Emissary next, so Stiles wants the business with Lydia settled as soon as possible so he can be here when the Emissary arrives.

He sends a raven to Peter, packs up a small war bag and hopes he is back home soon with his husband none the wiser. He tells Derek he is escorting Buck and Eddie home; says he might stay for a few days and kisses him goodbye. Derek absently reminds him to be careful and sends him off before returning to the stack of treaties Jackson has piled on his desk.

Stiles spends only an afternoon with the Diaz pack before shadow walking to Peter’s penthouse in Vegas. They spent the evening refining their plan, which admittedly was half meticulously planned and half making it up as they go. The trick is getting close enough to grab Lydia without getting infected. Finally, they went to bed to get a few hours of sleep.

Buck and Eddie are seated out at the picnic table going over their gear in preparation for their first real trade loop for the summer. They hit only a few places this Spring and took breaks in between at the home den. This loop will hit all of Eddie’s route settlements and they will be gone for weeks. Both have growing lists of items to keep a eye out for. Buck wants to find a good portable DVD player for the kids that he can charge with solar power and some Disney DVDs, a certain herbal apothecary book he overheard Isabel discussing with Pepa and various odds and ends.

He also hopes to locate some toilet paper because he knows damned well some asshole survivalist has surely stockpiled a truck load somewhere. Last week he nearly wiped his behind on poison sumac leaves. Eddie just smirks at him because half the time he relieves himself after he shifts, finding it more convenient that way.

As Buck checks his guns, he takes note of how much ammo they need. Hopefully Eddie has some stashed somewhere in a cache, because the armorers want way too much for restock these days. He and Eddie debate on taking the horses this time, but decide against it despite the long loop. They are not after heavy loads of goods this trip and can maneuver better through tight spaces and are faster on foot, especially if Eddie shifts and gives him a wolfback ride. Plus, they primarily intend to scout for new scavenge sites this trip and don’t want to worry about keeping the horses safe.

They are also concerned with the increase in the number of infected and the people fleeing them. The roaming vampire made them aware that more Supernaturals were on the move as well now, because vampires are notoriously possessive, and are known for holding their territories for decades—they hate moving, a serious indication of how dire things are south.

Stiles has even left them a few emergency power boost talismans and booby traps for their boundary wards in case something nasty and familiar with magic came sniffing around the homestead. They must be especially careful now that Isabel is no longer an Alpha, because the pack will be vulnerable without one.

They are interrupted by a small form limping towards them, holding a basket carefully in his arms, Minerva at his heels, tail held high. Amused they watch as Chris approaches his small face beaming. He has something to show his dads. Eddie leans forward, the tender, loving smile he gives his son on his face. Buck watches them fondly.

“What do you have there, mijo?”

“ D…Daddy! Buckie! B…abies!”

The little boy stutters out, to the total astonishment of his fathers.

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears as his son speaks for the first time and he bends forward, swallowing hard, so proud he could burst. Beside him, Buck smiles wide, eyes wet and bright with pride.

“Well, let us see those babies!”

Chris proudly displays the nest of tiny furballs. There are four tiny kittens, two are calico like their mother, one is an inky black and the fourth is a cream and orange. Minerva winds around his ankles, purring proudly, tail held high, every inch the proud mother. She should be, this is her second litter in less than a year.

Both men admire the sleeping kittens, praise Minerva and hug the little boy and cover his small face with kisses as he giggles and squirms. A beaming Abuela approaches, she heard her nieto speak for the first time as well. She speaks tenderly to the little boy.

“Bring the gatitos back inside, near the hearth, mi angelito, so their Mama can feed them. They must stay warm.”

She shepherds them back to the cabin after sharing a beaming smile with her boys. She always knew Chris would speak when he was ready. They will celebrate tonight before the boys set out tomorrow.

 

She stands on the sand, the surf laps gently at her toes and soaks the ragged hem of her gown, but she is dreamily caught in the beauty of the sunrise. She pays no attention to her entourage, some of whom are in the process of being washed out to sea as they stumble into the waves and are tumbled off their feet. Beside her, the Bone Howler sniffs suspiciously at a small crab, before crunching the crustacean between his teeth.

She is caught up in a loop of faded memories. She frowns, knowing something is very wrong. Something she does not want to acknowledge because if she does…that will make it real.

Its morning now, and the shadows are retreating from the shore line and the rocks near the cliffs. There is a path leading up from the beach back to the road, but she doesn’t want to take it yet, despite the shift of the tide. Suddenly something else shifts and most of the dead around her are suddenly frozen, swaying in place, and she senses a familiar presence.

Smiling, she turns to face him.

“Stiles!”

“Hello, Lydia.”

She frowns, he looks so sad. His eyes are red rimmed. Behind him, like a silent shadow, stands Peter Hale. He too has a desolate look, but he meets her gaze steadily and suddenly she knows why they are here, and she smiles in gratitude at the sudden burst of clarity. They have come to give her peace at last. The peace she has so blindly sought for the past five years, since that long ago day in a New York.

“It’s all right Stiles. I’m glad you came.”

She says gently, stepping forward and extending her hand, ever regal and gracious. She looks at both of them, the Mage and the Left Hand and smiles tenderly, brilliantly. She loves them both so much, she always has in her own way.

“Thank you for coming.” She frowns, trying hard to remember when things began to crumble around her.

“I tried to stop them. I screamed and told them to stop. But there were too many to hold. There were too many…”

She tilts her head and lifts her chin bravely and asks, almost child-like.

“Will it hurt?”

Stiles closes his eyes in pain, but shakes his head slowly, no. No, it won’t hurt. She will never hurt again. He always had such a tender heart. She is glad he has Derek to take care of him now. She was never a good match for him, this bright eyed Spark of a boy.

It's Peter who steps forward and gently takes her small hand in his and pulls her close. Her slender arms slide around his waist, and she rests her head on his broad shoulder with a sigh. Wolves are always so warm.

Now that he is close he can see the palest tinge of blue to her white skin, and smell the decay under her perfume, feel the coolness of her slight body. There will be no saving Lydia today, she has been dead for a very long time. Since her wedding day, when she watched all that she loved pass away. When her brilliance faded away, but the strength of her will remained, trapping her between the living and the dead.

All they can do now is give her peace.

He buries his face in her tangled hair for a moment and presses a final kiss to her bone white brow. Then he slides his hand up her back and tenderly eases the slender silver witch blade into the base of her skull, and into her brain. That brilliant brain that once won a Fields Medal. She gives one last, soft sigh of relief and slumps in his arms, like a small child falling asleep, and he holds her small body close. Behind him he can hear Stiles softly chanting the blessing that will give her soul wings. The Mage has his head bent against Peter’s back and he can feel his tears soaking through his shirt.

There is a clatter of dry bone as the undead Howler falls apart, his binding gone, loosening his sinews and he follows his mistress into the dark, and all around him the dead suddenly sway and fall like wheat under the reaper’s curved scythe blade. The dead collapse gently in their tracks, as the entire enormous herd follow the Banshee into the Underworld, still bound to her indomitable will. They will take no more lives in this world. The invisible scythe sweeps over the city. The City of Angels will now became known as the City of Bones, Los Huesos.

They bury her in the dunes, near that liminal place where the earth meets the sea and leave her to her eternal peace and Stiles weaves enchantments over her so none can disturb her bones until they return to the earth. Years later, people will wonder why fragrant white jasmine grows so abundantly there, where none should be able to in the salt air and sand.

Then they go home.

Stiles climbs into his tower and spends three days there with an ever patient, loving Derek making sure he eats and drinks while he grieves for his brilliant, beautiful, strawberry blonde girl.

Peter shifts and runs and howls and rips his way through any Raiders or Infected unfortunate enough to cross his path as he heads back to Vegas. Camryn takes one look at his face, leaves a new bottle of brandy on his desk and quietly guards his door while he grieves.

There are still waves of Infected to be dealt with, as well as Hunters and Raiders.

Derek and Satomi will have to strike peace with the Vancouver pack or go to war with them. New alliances will be made. Pacts will be broken.

Scott will eventually have to be dealt with, one way or another, depending on where his questionable loyalties lie.

Buck and Eddie will scout new foraging grounds, visit old friends and make new ones and the Diaz pack will expand.

Life for the California Wolves goes on.

FINI

05/25/2

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Wolves of California