Brick stood his ground, without looking down or tilting his head to offer his neck in a more submissive stance, as a good and respectful pack member should. He neither feared nor respected Magnum and felt no compulsion to bow before him. Maybe that made him crazy—along with the wolf voices and death visions alcohol couldn’t chase—but the alpha had grown crazier, maddened by his power, no longer the moral compass of the pack, no longer the protective leader of those less dominant, no longer interested in anything except his own greed—and violence for the sake of violence. Magnum had never bothered to pass on any wolfdom lore; he’d never had any interest in teaching the pack’s young what it meant to be a wolf. He’d entirely shirked his duties to the cubs. Instead, Magnum had become one sick twist. Too cozy by half with the encroaching clan of cat shifters on the other side of the mountain who lately seemed bent on nothing less than territory domination. Way past time for someone to take Magnum on…and take him out.
Should have been his son’s responsibility. Right? Protect the pack, issue the challenge, usurp and depose the father, take on the mantle of leadership. But Drew Tao had left the Black Hills…maybe for good. And no one else seemed ready or willing to step up. Except the stupid loner who had snatches of other wolves’ convos drumming commentary inside his head. Nearly drowning out his own audio loop. Not that he wanted to take over the pack or lead anyone anywhere. He just wanted Greasy Locks the hell gone.
Do it. It’s time. Either Magnum goes…or you do.
A growl rumbled up from Brick’s gut like the Union Pacific barreling over the tracks. Freight-training from his belly. His lungs expanded, inflated and squeezed oxygen like a blacksmith’s bellows. The roar burst from his mouth into the dead silence swamping The Den. His anguished howl swept through the town of Los Lobos, a dark wind vibrating out through the quiet South Dakota night, rattling across the empty prairie to the Black Hills, bouncing off the thick stands of ponderosa pine and aspen blanketing the granite mountains. Loud enough to be heard in the cat stronghold of Shady Heart. A war cry echoing from peak to peak.
Brick bared his teeth and launched himself at his alpha. Prepared to die.
Suicide by werewolf.
Mother Luna, give me strength to wipe the oily smirk from that asshole’s muzzle before I go.
Barely eighteen, without the deadly muscles and massive bulk he’d acquire if he lived to prime adulthood, he faced a mature and powerful creature with decades of experience and more than one hundred pounds on him. He gauged his chances somewhere between nil and none. Even slim and fat seemed too great a percentage with the odds stacked more heavily against him than the siliconed boobs of Magnum’s groupies. But irrational fury compelled him, lent him a false sense of bravado.
He grasped the older male’s long, stringy locks and tugged, wringing a surprised yelp from the other wolf. A scent, acid and toxic, rose from the Magnum’s hide like a noxious cloud.
“You fight like a girl,” the alpha spat, shoving him away. “Apologies, ladies.” He winked at his coterie of human wolfies before turning back to Brick. “Are we done here, whelp?”
“You’re done, wolf. I haven’t begun.”
A head taller than the alpha, Brick relied on his youthful speed. And recklessness. Definitely not his best idea, calling attention to himself and maybe putting paid to his ability to visit Gee, if not his ability to draw breath. Underage, he shouldn’t have been in the saloon at all, let alone issuing his death-wish challenge. The stunned and silent crowd surrounding the combatants jostled for position to best view the coming massacre. No one dared step up to second him.
“Submit to me, pup.” Rage lit eyes the color of urine, the male’s stench equally foul. “And I might yet let you live.”
Brick ignored the command. He head-butted the pack leader in the throat until the squat honcho gasped for breath, grabbing at his neck, then rippled off a quick succession of punches and uppercuts. Magnum’s head snapped back, his nose exploding like a liquid rose, blood squirting from nostrils and cut lip.
“Hold him.” The wolf chief barked the order, the words all but strangled due to the blows to his vocal chords and hemoglobin he gargled.
Two of his lieutenants—henchmen, really—stepped forward and wrenched Brick’s arms behind his back to allow Magnum to knee him in the family jewels. Pain and nausea crippled him, doubling him over, sending him to the floor.
Nice. Their oh-so-powerful fearless leader needs help to mash me into the ground.
“That’s where you belong, punk. On your knees before me.” With the side of his hand, the alpha chopped him on the back of his neck. When he sprawled forward onto the peanut shells, the lieutenants released his arms so they could kick and pummel him into a limp mound of ground round.
Magnum beat him into oblivion.
The pack closed in, along with darkness.
Chapter One
Summer McCoy perched in the uppermost branches of her special Ponderosa pine, in raven guise, engaging in her favorite pastime, spying on the lone wolf chopping wood below. Two days’ worth of whiskers shadowed his rigid jaw. She loved when he forgot—or didn’t bother—to shave. Scruffy stubble suited him.
The sun beat down on the back of his bronzed neck and shone on his hair, the color of roasted coffee, a shade lighter than the dark shadow that charcoaled his face.
She fluffed her feathers in anticipation. Take your shirt off, Brick.