Chapter 2 - Dash
CHAPTER 2 - DASH
Trigger warning: reference to a sibling’s motorcycle accident.
Thudding footsteps climbing the hill to my cabin sealed my fate. Ash Lumbry. Father. Pack leader. Loaded with a command to change my life and the fate of the Lumbry line.
Muscles in my back, shoulders, and arms quivered with determination to resist the order. Save the pack from the spark I ignited and the detonation he unleashed.
Observing my father storm up the darkened hill, his step determined, stance inflexible, a soldier on a fucking mission, I slugged back the last of my bourbon whiskey and Coke . Spirits we brewed on pack lands, along with growing everything we needed, season in, season out. Fire burned the chill in my throat and steeled my nerves. Five hundred feet and counting.
I lifted the tumbler to eye level, the world through the glass small and caged with no way out. A replica of how I felt.
Shadows crawled across the rolling hills of our territory, swallowing up the last slivers of the light in the forest beyond the clearing sporting the pack’s thirty cabins. Scorched trees reminded us of the enemies prowling at our doorstep that must be stopped.
Glimmer from the Wolf Moon tinted everything in a soft silver that reminded me of my Leelaw’s hair. Weariness hit as it always did under a full moon, and I leaned on my porch pillar for support. Tremors flared in my body and everywhere began to shake. Glass and bottle tucked to my side, I concealed the motion from my father. Animals, especially ones as high up on the food chain as wolves, never showed weakness.
Exhaustion drained my strength, my will to move, my will to breathe. I had to force my body to take in air. Force my heart to pump blood through my veins. Resist the potency of the moon’s effect on me.
I traced the blackened blemish on the cabin’s railing, the fresh coat of wood stain stinging my nose. Thrown back into memories, I relived the fraught night that haunted my dreams. Trespassers on our land set fire to the outpost I now called home, burning the majority of the structure except for a few beams I kept as reminders to never let my guard down. Reasons why the moon cursed me.
I rucked my hand through my disheveled hair, preparing for Father’s imminent arrival. Dotted clouds tinted with gray cued the rain to come tonight. Stormy like my mood. Good. Maybe the ceremony might be cancelled, and Pack Lumbry was safe for another year when the Wolf Moon rolled around. Unlikely. No one outran his destiny.
The rebuilt outpost had the best damn view in the whole pack of the thousand acres we owned. Land locked away from the rest of the world, bordered by national parks, and the World Heritage listed Blue Mountains in the west, and the infamous Capertee Valley, Australia’s version of the Grand Canyon. The only remaining infamy us locals clung to.
Lithgow, my birth town and the birthplace of the Australian iron and steel industry, and home to coal, copper, and shale mines. Industry that previously employed a significant proportion of the blue-collar families until they were closed down. Steeped in history, the region was full of heritage-listed houses and railways built to convey gold from Bathurst, a small arms factory that supplied the British with defense materials in World Wars I and II. A bustling, lively town until asshole politicians—like my asshole of an uncle, rest his soul—sold off our industry to international interests and turned us into a ghost town.
Familiar scents roused my wolf at my father’s arrival. Leather, cedar, shoe polish, starch, and the crisp earthiness of the woodlands encircling our pack lands. Those that weren’t burned down in the ambush on our turf.
Adrenaline dosed my veins with strength. I waited for him to speak as he trained me to.
Military precision prompted his watch check. Everything with him ran like clockwork, from my childhood routine to pack duty and meetings and now to my fucking love life.
“You’re running late.” My father’s growl accompanied a wave of dominance that clashed with my own. A general ordering his soldiers instead of a father addressing his son. “What are you still doing here?”
Growing up, Father controlled our house with strict rules and an even stricter schedule. Breakfast before dawn, ruthless exercise regimens, and chores to feed the pack’s animals all before school. Household neat and structured, not a bed sheet folded wrong, or a shirt crinkled.
Before inheriting the Pack Lumbry, Father earned the rank of Squadron Sergeant Major in the Australian Special Air Service Regiment. Upon assuming command, he carried on his special force ways, running his pack like a regiment of soldiers, drilling his sons harder than the rest. Campfires with fatherly advice and stories were for pussies. Combat scenarios were how every pup spent their weekends or holidays, dropped in the middle of nowhere to find their way back. Trained to fight an enemy in both hand-to-hand combat and in our wolf fur, set up traps to capture and deter trespassers, and conduct patrol and secure our borders from intruders. Eat, train, defend, sleep. Rinse and repeat, day in and day out. Reasons I snuck off every Sunday with my best friend, Steele, to ride my dirt bike.
Where my brother obeyed, I did everything in my power to bend, break, and obliterate the rules. “I declined the invitation.”
A darker, hotter flash of dominance sparked between us. “Get your hide down to The Grove and get matched with a mate.”
Hailed in our society as a sacred ritual pairing lunar wolf mates, future leaders, priests, and other roles demanded by the Lunar goddess, the Grove ceremony brought surrounding packs together on the night of the Wolf Moon.
Defiance trembled through my muscles.
Screw the damn Grove and a Lunar mate.
“I don’t believe in that shit.” I didn’t even bother to use his title.
Too many Lunar mated pairs poorly matched. Clashing personality types. Mates betraying their partner. Wars breaking out. Pack lines extinct. What did the Lunar goddess know about love when I couldn’t have the one I wanted?
“I don’t give a damn what you think.” Father’s fresh surge of dominance threatened to topple me like a tidal wave.
Irritation tightened my muscles, and I poured myself another bourbon to numb it and ease the burn in my chest. I savored my drink, sipping it, admiring the rugged wilderness. He might be able to command me in pack duty, but I drew the line at finding a mate.
Father surveyed the horizon like a sniper scanning for enemies. These days it paid to be vigilant with invaders roaming our borders and greed swarming on our doorstep.
Feeling weaker by the moment, I tugged at the roots of my hair. More important matters battled for dominance in my mind. Shitty luck that culminated in me getting in with the wrong crowd, avenues to eradicate the liability and threat looming over us.
Heat seared my chest in the shape of the crescent moon amulet nestled beneath my shirt. A countering spell that fought the power of the Wolf Moon. My fingers flexed to clasp it, yank the chain from my neck and shove it in my pocket where it didn’t burn.
Best to hide my failures and not prove my father right. The letdown son. Second choice. Inferior. If he discovered my fuck up, he’d kill me for risking the pack’s lives.
Stormy gray eyes that didn’t entertain disobedience narrowed at my failure to execute his order. “Are you deaf, boy?”
“I heard you, Pop.” I returned his thunderous growl.
Father was grinding my fucking gears for months to find a mate and settle down. Secure Pack Lumbry’s survival with matches to rival packs, produce heirs, settle territory disputes, and strengthen our line of half-breed shifters with only the fittest, strongest, and most robust females. Guarantee a strong line of soldiers, defense for our borders, and females for breeding and nurturing the young.
At an early age, I learned to obey him or suffer the consequences. Sentinel duty along the borders of our territory for a month straight with no interaction with friends. Stuck in the pack’s garage after school to soak and clean vehicle parts, then in our bar after dark to wash dishes. No parties. No girls. No bikes. Zero fun. My only consolation was to sneak a warm bed in the sentinel lodge, or beer when I was old enough.
These days it became a game to test how far I could stretch his limits. My aim: to be demoted from Umbra Heir status back to where I belonged. The second son, free of responsibility to do as I pleased. The Prince Harry of my pack. I didn’t want to lead when the road and a bike between my legs called to me.
Father chose to ignore my insolence when he didn’t have a choice but to declare me as his heir. Chase, my older brother and the better option of the two sons, couldn’t defend Pack Lumbry, his body left mangled and broken after a dirt bike accident I caused. Genes expressed differently in every shifter, and unfortunately for him, he never inherited advanced healing to correct the damage. Legacy meant everything to Father, and he’d rather accept the failure, the second choice, than let his pack go to another family.
I wasn’t a good guy. Long ago, I embraced being the villain when I destroyed my brother’s world. Happy endings never came for villains like me.
Hair atop my father’s head prickled at my resistance. “If you heard me, then get your hide on your bike and ride down there.” His Alpha will hammered at me to submit.
The tumbler creaked under my stiff grip, my knuckles aching. “I already told you, this is a bad idea.”
“A bad idea because you don’t want to give up your hussies at the club?” Tension in my body ratcheted at his Alpha bark.
He resented me for declining to take over the repair garage he ran, and I secured a deal to turn my recreational motorcycle club into a fully-fledged club.
My chest rumbled with a warning to back the fuck off. Who I slept with or what I did in my private time was my business, not his. He dictated my love life to me once, never again.
His wolf responded, his spine snapping straight. Standing at six feet six, Ash Lumbry’s height alone intimidated the smaller, weaker wolves who fell into line.
Height and other similarities I inherited. Broad shoulders, wide waist and hips, thick, strong legs that could run all day in his wolf form, all carved from pure muscle that empowered us with agility and strength to defend Pack Lumbry.
Father was one mean motherfucker in a fight. Brutal and fast in the way he dealt with rivals who overstepped the rules or crossed onto our land without permission. At fifty-five, he had plenty of life left in him. Working the pack’s lands and daily training kept him fit and as strong as an ox, every bit the leader I could never be.
“I’m too busy to give a mate the attention she deserves.” The only reason I agreed to attend this damn ceremony was to get him off my case. “It wouldn’t be fair to her.”
I wasn’t going near that damn circle and getting paired with a female. Mates were a strict no-go when I didn’t do relationships. Fathers warned their daughters about men like me. Love them and leave them. No strings. No promises. Steal hearts and leave a trail of broken ones in my rearview as I rolled out of the town on my ride.
“Why not?” Here came the interrogation, treating me like one of his fucking captives to be grilled for information.
Other factors at play steered me away from attending the ritual. The risk of bonding to a lunar mate and putting her in danger when my reckless decisions earned us dangerous enemies. Intel father didn’t need to know about. Pack Lumbry needed me alive to fix what I started. My fingers twitched to stroke the amulet beneath my t-shirt.
Sure, I’d love a mate to snuggle up to at night. A female that belonged to me. Someone to have my back beside Steele. A companion to confide in and get advice from. Comfort on the back of my bike as she snuggled into my spine. Shit I didn’t have time for, when clearing my pack’s debt trumped my love life.
Moonlight sharpened, a soft hum calling to my wolf, summoning it to The Grove. Tremors in my hand intensified to the point of catching Father’s keen gaze, and I tucked it tight to my belly, refusing to bend to his energy.
His hand snaked out and caught my arm, jerking it from my body, and my pulse jacked up. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
“It’s nerves, that’s all.” I wrenched free, suppressing the effect of the moon on me. “I’m not ready for a mate.”
My abdomen clenched with dread at wanting him off my case. Inheriting Pack Lumbry was enough of a ball and chain. Past mistakes bound us to danger, and I refused to threaten them further.
Father’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, holding me in place while he commenced the father-son love chat to rouse me into compliance.
“I remember meeting your mother.” His tone came out soft and tender when he spoke of her, absent of the soldier’s bark he blasted me with. “Most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on. Prettier in her wolf skin with that dark grey pelt.”
Fuck. Heard this speech every year. It didn’t convince me last year and it wouldn’t convince me this time, either.
“Best damn woman and mate.” His iron grip tightened on my shoulder. An act to bend my will to his. The human side of me willed my body not to react, to remain calm, but the wolf within dared dispute his power. “Trust the Lunar goddess will pick a female perfect for you.”
I already found my perfect mate, and I lost her.
I tried to throw him off course with, “Maybe in another year, Umbra.” I used the term of respect afforded our leader instead of Father to piss him off.
Disapproval shaped his heavy brow, and he rocked me with another round of Alpha dominance. Years of practice hardened the layer of my resistance to his command.
Realizing this battle was lost, he switched gears. “Why are you still living on the pack outskirts?” My father’s grip on my shoulder warned me to contain my heated words. “It’s no place for the Umbra’s son. No place to raise a family and heir. You need to be encircled by the pack, where you’re safe.”
Ah. I see. Still on the topic of mates. Funny how he cared for my welfare when it came to preserving his legacy.
A year ago, I started camping at the sentinel lodge to stake watch for the night. Vigilance for intruders on our lands. A place to return after patrols for a hot coffee and a shower. Torched trees, dead, blackened stumps and branches a thousand feet to the north served as reminders of the dangers our pack faced. Threats I wouldn’t let past this outpost. Why I claimed the cabin for myself.
Wild wolves patrolled the edges of their packs to detect infiltrators and ward off threats. It paid to be vigilant with a rival pack illegally crossed our borders and disrespected treaties made by our Leelaws, especially when Pack Malice broke pacts with neighboring families, killed them, assimilating their lands into their own. We were lucky to survive a skirmish with them a year ago, our numbers too small to defend ourselves against a growing pack absorbing the females and soldiers of rivals. Steele, my best friend and second in command, barely made it out alive.
The lodge wasn’t too bad. Warmth from the elements with a lit fire. Scattered chairs and a table for playing cards or laying out maps. Rustic and cramped, but with enough room to fit six men in sleeping bags. Shelves packed with months’ worth of food and water in the event of a siege. Not suitable to bring a mate or rear a family.
“That’s where the Alpha’s son ought to be, Pop. Protecting the pack,” I said to shut down the conversation.
“No son of mine’s gonna live alone and so far from the rest of us.” Nerves discharged under my skin, fighting his strident command. “I’ll get Steele, Beau, and Arden to pack up and shift your belongings to a house closer to mine.” The finality in his voice said the deal was done.
Avoiding any objection from me, my father whistled, the piercing sound cracking like a whip over the mountain, shrill to my wolf’s ears.
Steele strode up the hill carrying two garment bags. Suits to wear to attend tonight’s ceremony. Six feet eight, with a body as huge and strong as a damn bear, his bare arms burst out of his clothes. Sleeves were always too short, and his tie choked him.
Long, dark hair set in waves over his shoulders and back rustled in the cool evening air. He grunted as he climbed my steps two at a time, a typical greeting for him when he said everything with his brows and gaze. Face drawn into a stoic mask, he rested the suits over the railing of my cabin’s porch, tempting me to set fire to them once Father left us alone.
Awaiting his Umbra’s instruction, Steele stroked his rugged beard that somehow managed to remain neat despite never meeting a brush or scissors. The scar running from the edge of his eye to his right cheek marked the brawl where we defended and saved our territory. His reminder of how close he came to dying, an encounter he vowed never to repeat.
Honey-brown eyes studied me, warning me to reel it in around my father and not stir trouble. Years of tailing my ass on adventure after adventure saw us undergo every discipline imaginable, and once he became a father, he reined in all that waywardness. I met his gaze, a connection beyond our pack bond piercing to the depths of me, exposing all my secrets. Rebellion came in spades for me, but Steele knew when to pick his battles.
My second-in-command clasped his wrists behind his back like the good little soldier boy schooled by his commanding officer. “Umbra.”
Father applauded him with a clap to the shoulder, authoritative and amicable until challenged. “Steele, get him dressed, will you? No son of mine will wear that filthy vest.”
Irritation snapped in my veins. “It’s a cut, Pop.” I pinched the edge of my vest for emphasis. “It symbolizes which motorcycle club I belong to.”
The pride and joy of my existence and the disdain of my father’s. The Jackals had them custom made for my six men and gifted them to us last week. I hadn’t taken the damn thing off except to go to bed.
Disappointment cast a dark shadow over his face. Any other father would be pleased his son fulfilled his dreams. Not mine. “They’re a filthy MC. Run drugs. Treat women like whores.” He spat at my feet.
Bikers generally didn’t keep their dicks in their pants when women threw themselves at them and gave most of them a bad name. Some remained loyal, and to be honest, that was none of my damn business. As for the Jackals’ Wrath MC—the club I allied with for business—the club management shared one woman and definitely didn’t treat her like a whore.
Shudders wracked my body as I fought my wolf’s attempt to shift and settle this once and for all. Father never approved of my lifestyle. Blamed my spate of bad luck and debt on starting a shifter-only riding club. A fight I would never win in this condition when the full moon weakened me.
Truth was, starting the recreational motorcycle club saved me. Gave me meaning and purpose. Extending that to partner with the Jackals’ Wrath MC and turn our club into a business, climbed the pack out of debt. Aligned us with shifters packing the powers of the Egyptian gods. Allies I wanted on our side if our enemies returned with greater numbers when we barely survived the last attack.
Father stared Steele down the way only an Umbra could. “If my son doesn’t show up to the ceremony, I’ll send you out on patrol duty and keep you from your daughter for a year.”
The command shot a spear through my heart.
For twenty-six years, Steele was a steady presence at my back, reliable, protective, and vigilant. Loyalty went out the window when it came to an order from his Umbra. Allegiance bound to be tested in the weeks ahead.
Although, at the disrespect shown to his club and brothers, Steele’s wolf rumbled, and he bit back the snarl working its way onto his face. “Yes, sir.”
Standard words from him. Any more were a miracle, except when it came to me. Best friends since we came out of our mother’s wombs, we shared all our hopes, dreams, and fears. Females in our pack gushed about him being tall, dark, broody, and mysterious. Not to me.
My father stormed down the steps and departed.
Steele turned his quietly confident gaze on me, and my lungs cramped. “You heard your father. Get your ass dressed. We’ve got a date with destiny.”