Chapter 2
ANTOINE FONTAINE , in wolf form, prowled the edge of the clearing. A tantalizing scent danced with the breeze—an aroma that seemed familiar, but one he couldn’t place. His ears pricked forward, tongue lolling as he padded through the heavy undergrowth. The humid air held traces of dank water and rotting vegetation—enough to overwhelm that elusive perfume teasing his nose. Blue Moon Bayou wasn’t far away. Perhaps the scent came from there. He lifted his muzzle, nose gathering in the scents and one ear flicked as children’s laughter skipped across the distance. Stalking closer, he watched the people gathered around a group of tables.
He tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps. Human. Clumsy. Loud. He sniffed the air. Isabelle. His niece. Sitting on his haunches, he waited for her. When she arrived, she reached for him, but hesitated. He didn’t tolerate touch—in human or wolf form—well and Izzy was very aware of his aversion.
“Antoine, will you change and join us? The kids are asking for you.”
He shook his head. He didn’t like the sour milk scent wafting off Izzy. Disappointment. She dropped to her knees and looped an arm around his neck before he could back away. She ignored the growl rumbling in his chest and buried her face in his fur. Izzy’s mate waited only steps away. Rudek Tornjak would shift and attack to protect Izzy so Antoine swallowed his anger. He had no desire to fight the other Wolf, nor would he fight the pack. Pack. It was a concept he couldn’t wrap his thoughts around. He’d run wild his whole life—didn’t know how to act civilized around these human women and their Wolf mates who had invaded his territory. The Wolves had accepted him as a brother. Their mates treated him like a favorite uncle, trusted him with their most precious treasures—their children.
He’d made that perilous Christmas trip to New Mexico, had celebrated the holiday with them. Partook in the pack run after the Alpha’s son made his first change. He’d stood apart from the pack both in human and wolf form but now, they all seemed determined to enfold him into their circle.
Later, after everyone went inside their RVs for the night, Antoine would continue to guard this small community. There were those who hunted his pack—no, the pack, not his—despite the devastation visited upon their enemies in New Orleans. Humans wanted to hurt those he considered under his protection.
The wolf resigned itself to the human contact and settled. Too bad the man’s thoughts would not do the same. He had to admit that in some strange way he had come to consider these people his own, despite staying aloof and apart from them. To be honest, they were as much his as his human blood family, the Fontaines and Dumonts, and he would guard them with his life.
A Wolf pup tumbled out of the foliage behind him and pounced on his tail with a mock growl. Liam, son of the pack Alpha and his mate. After the boy’s first change that previous Christmas, he’d seamlessly melded his two halves. Now he was full of bravado and curiosity. With a mock growl of his own, Antoine dislodged a laughing Isabelle and twisted his body, pinning the pup to the ground. Liam snarled and twisted away, but stopped and stalked back, stiff-legged, begging Antoine to play with him.
“See, Antoine? We miss you.”
He licked Izzy’s cheek and then pranced off, enticing the wolf pup to follow and play. Izzy rose, turned into Rudy’s arms and fitted her cheek against his chest. “I worry for him.”
Rudy kissed the top of her head and held her close. “I know, láska . But there is hope. He has not left us. He stays close, even in wolf form. This is a good thing.”
“Liam!” Hannah McIntire’s voice rang through the forest.
“He is hunting with Antoine,” Rudy called back. He uncurled from around Izzy and holding her hand, led her back toward the clearing. “Come, let us go reassure the anxious mother before she sends Mac out to retrieve our lone wolves.”
Antoine led the pup deeper into the woods. Together, they flushed a couple of rabbits and Liam charged after them. He caught one and with a gentle mouth on the back of the rabbit’s neck, he brought his prize to the older wolf. Antoine offered a wolfish grin at the offering. Had he been hungry, he would have eaten the bunny, but he’d fed well earlier. When Liam laid the rabbit at his feet, Antoine nosed the creature and urged it to take off. Liam danced in place wanting the hunt and chase far more than he wanted hot blood and meat.
Nose to the wind, Antoine located a small herd of deer nearby. They were downwind and the deer would not know they were near. He hung back, letting the pup take the lead. Mac McIntire had trained his son well. The pup stalked their prey with creeping stops, freezing in place before moving closer. The pup quivered, his excitement about to get the best of him. Antoine pinned Liam with a front foot. There were small fawns with the herd and he would not chase them. Antoine only hunted in wolf form for food and his years in the bayou had instilled a need to keep the nature of the bayous in balance. He didn’t hunt nursing does or their fawns, nor would he chase them for sport.
A boat motor shattered the quiet. The deer raised their heads, tense and ready to run. Leading the way to the nearest channel cutting through the bayou, Antoine waited for the intruders to come into sight. Liam was crouched behind an old cypress knee draped with Spanish moss. The pup would be invisible to any but a hunter with night vision or thermal imaging capabilities. The boat trolled past. Three men, dressed in dark clothing, all of them armed—not with hunting rifles but with automatic assault rifles and each one had a sidearm holstered on his hip. Mac needed to know about this incursion so close to their campground, but Antoine had to follow them.
He nosed Liam and stared into the youngster’s eyes. He knew the other Wolves could communicate in their minds. He’d never tried, but he needed to get the message across to the pup. He concentrated, forming both the words and word pictures in his mind—pictures of the men in the boat, of Liam racing back to his father to tell him, of Antoine tracking the intruders. He snuffled Liam’s cheek and thought, Do you understand?
The pup stared back, intelligence shining in his eyes. One word brushed across Antoine’s consciousness as soft as an autumn breeze shifting through the branches of a willow tree. Yes. More thoughts quickly followed. Dad. Bad men. Going. With a twitch of his ear, Liam turned and darted back along the trail they’d followed.
As the moon rose higher and painted a languid path of gold and silver across the bayou, Antoine trotted through the dense underbrush intent on his prey. These were strangers and their fear, adrenaline, and evil created a miasma that filled his nose. He fought the urge to sneeze to rid himself of their stench. The man wanted to know why they were here in Blue Bayou. The wolf just wanted to hunt and kill.
LIAM TUMBLED into the clearing, his feet getting tangled up as he changed from four to two, panting so hard his voice came out more like little howls than words.
“Black suits. Antoine. Hunt. Scared. Get safe.”
The adults erupted into action. Wolves herded their mates and children undercover while weapons appeared almost magically in their hands. Hannah dropped to her knees, a Beretta 9mm in one hand while she patted Liam’s shoulder with the other. “Breathe, baby. In. Hold. Out.”
Once he was calm enough to speak in full sentences and the perimeter had been secured, Mac squatted on the other side of his son. “What’s going on?”
“Antoine’n me, we were hunting. He heard something out on the bayou and we went to check it out. Three men. In black fatigues and armed. Headed upstream.” Liam paused to catch his breath again. “They were headed this way. Antoine…he talked to me, Dad, like you when we’re in wolf form. Not as clear, but he talked to me.”
Mac exchanged looks with Sean Donaldson. Mental exchanges only came through practice and acceptance of the pack structure. This was further proof that Antoine was integrating into their group, despite his wildness. A rogue wolf was always a danger to the pack. Branches rustled high in the canopy. Michael Lightfoot, the team’s sniper, was in his crow’s nest. He had a 360° view of the surrounding land, including the approach from the nearest canal radiating from Blue Moon Bayou. He would provide high cover for the campground. Rudy had already changed, his white wolf restlessly pacing circles around Izzy. He’d run these bayous for several years and was almost as familiar with the terrain as Antoine. Sean and Danny would stay with the women and children, their on-the-ground defense. Nate Connor remained in human form. The former Marine was deadly no matter his shape.
Five minutes later, those on the team remaining in human guise had changed into camouflage, and hefted packs with a variety of weaponry and clothes for Rudy and Antoine. With Black Root and the feds still gunning for them, Mac would take no chances. They’d hampered the corporation’s operation by raiding their New Orleans’ offices, but like a hydra, the bastards had just reared new and uglier heads elsewhere. Until they could track down the government officials involved with the corporation and cut off that support, the Wolves and their families would stay off the grid.
Hannah leaned against him and dropped a quick kiss to his lips while she held her phone to her ear. She mouthed the name “Harjo” to him. Joshua Harjo, former Army colonel, had been the team’s commanding officer back when they worked for the US Army. Now, he was as much a fugitive as they were. Even so, he still had contacts in Washington and was working them from the shadows as they tracked down their enemies.
Goodbyes said, Mac moved out behind Rudy’s wolf. Nate followed, acting as rear guard. Mac hated splitting his forces, but those going with him—and he, himself—would not be able to concentrate if they left the women and children unguarded. Not that Hannah couldn’t handle things. Still. Wolves took care of their mates. Period. Didn’t matter if that mate was a kickass female who could almost out-shoot him. Mac smiled, lost in memories of Hannah, and almost got smacked in the face by a branch. Nate laughed softly behind him.
“Pull your head out Command Sergeant Major. I’d hate to have to carry you.”
“Jarhead.” The teasing came naturally now, though that hadn’t always been the case. Nate had been even more feral than Antoine when Mac first met the Marine captain. While Nate carried the recessive gene for lycanthropy, it was the bastards at Black Root that forced the change on a man not born for it. He’d spent months as a wolf before veterinarian Dr. Jacey Randolph—now Nate’s mate—brought him back from the brink.
Once upon a time, the Wolves lived for the mission. As an elite, and very secret, Special Operations unit, they were front-line operatives. Then they were betrayed and the ensuing years took their toll—they’d lost brothers-in-arms—even as those years brought great joy. Mac had Hannah and their son, Liam. Michael Lightfoot, his second-in-command, found Dr. Liz Graham, a wildlife biologist and mother of their son, Micah. Danny Keegan married Sally, and she carried their little girl, Grace, to full term despite being taken prisoner by Black Root. Sean wooed Annie, married her and adopted her little boy, Cody. Now Annie carried his child. Rudy had joined the pack with Isabelle, and Antoine hovered on the edge, drawing closer with each passing day. Harjo and his wife, Amy, though both human, were a big part of the pack too. They were family and the Wolves knew all about protecting their own.
Up ahead, Rudy stopped dead still, one paw curled toward his chest as he lifted his nose to sample the desultory breeze ruffling the foliage around them. Both Mac and Nate stilled. They could hear it now, the sound that caught Rudy’s attention, his animal’s hearing even more acute than their Wolf senses in human form. The chug of an outboard motor, waves sloshing against the banks of the canal, a swearword quickly bitten off. They watched the boat pass, recognized the patches on the black uniforms. Antoine, in wolf form, appeared less than a minute later.
Mac took stock of their position. This was not the canal that ran closest to their campground and it was miles away from the Fontaine and Dumont homesteads. Either the Black Root operatives were lost or they were traveling random canals looking for the Wolves’ camp. Or worse.
Nate stared off into the distance, still tracking the sound of the boat. As the chugging faded into a faint echo, he faced the others. “What if they have another lab?”