7. Ambush
Like their counterparts in the wild, wolf shifters aren’t just pack animals. We’re also incredibly territorial.
Maybe my pack of two—and, later, three—is a little bit small to be considered a true wolf pack, but when it comes to being territorial, you can’t beat a she-wolf with my… quirks. It made it so much easier that Lorelei’s always had a much milder temperament than me so she never argued back, and poor Fallon would just throw one of her pillows at me whenever I tried to claim more of the dorm room than I needed to.
It worked perfectly for us when my twin and I were masquerading as college students. Then, when we shared an apartment, it might be ‘our’ space, but we both know I really thought of it as mine. That’s part of the reason it was so hard for me to leave it, but once I abandoned that territory—leaving it to Cal and Lorelei—I had no desire to go back to it at all.
In Winter Creek, I might sleep in the room on the third floor of the pack house. No one else does so it was easy for my wolf to claim the entire level as her territory—but that’s not the only spot in the town I’ve marked as mine.
The actual landscape of Winter Creek made it perfect to be a hidden supe sanctuary. The raging river they laughable refer to as a ‘creek’ is an obvious border to one side. I wouldn’t say it’s mountainous, but there are hills and rocky outcrops and even a waterfall spilling over into a lake that eventually feeds into the river. The town square itself is supposed to be one of the only areas of civilization without the trees and the woods encroaching on the land.
Shifters need nature. So do witches. The town is full of it, and it’s contained to, with the mystical markers of whose territory is what undeniable. One step onto pack land and my fur ruffles. If I inch too close to the witch-owned tracts, my spine itches. And if I settle down on neutral territory, I have the urge to mark it.
Whenever I need a break from being in the pack house and am after a bit of privacy, I return to the small clearing that I staked out after I first arrived in town. It has everything. A small rock shelter for my wolf to sleep under, hidden enough from view that I can let my guard. It’s within trotting distance of the waterfalls firmly on the pack’s land, but it was worth my scent lingering to splash in the lake that has so much meaning to Tristan.
Is that petty? Probably. The first time I found it, I was knocked on my furry rump when I noticed just how much Tristan’s unique scent overlaid the area. He must spend a lot of his time by the small lake in order for his markings to be so prominent.
And if I couldn’t keep from wondering if that was the lake he went to to wash off my scent after we met… well, maybe it made me feel a little better to leave a little more of it behind.
I still don’t get what the hell was going through his head then; three months later, and I doubt I’ll ever figure out the way he ticks. The thing is… he knew I was here. I mean, duh. He never got my name, but he knew there was another wolf in Winter Creek… and he never told his pack. Not Lucas. Not Fallon. Not anyone. He kept me such a secret that Fallon was convinced the first time I met him was when we escaped the Coven House.
Yeah. Not quite. And while part of me takes that as further rejection, just more proof that he wanted to pretend I wasn’t around, the other part wonders if he had a different reason.
Was he, in his own way, protecting me? Or am I still so delusional, I’m searching for something, anything to justify my continued pull toward him?
I need space. Fuck it. I need to think. I’d done a lot of that earlier by the creek, but after my latest run-in with Tristan, I’m even more confused than I was.
Possessive growls I can handle. I’m a shifter. So is he. We growl without even realizing it half the time. But the way he tried to call me by my full name? The look in his eyes that I haven’t seen since the late afternoon where we collided before he all but pushed me away?
Something’s different. Something’s changed. Out of nowhere, Tristan is actually acting like a bonded male… and if I need any other further proof that he’s taken my lack of rejecting him as an invitation to get a second chance with me, it’s in how he’s basically right on my ass right now.
Considering Tristan is tracking me step for step instead of heading in the opposite direction, he must’ve decided that, if I wouldn’t tell him where I was going, he’d follow and find out for himself.
I’m sure, if I called the Beta out on it, he’d pull the same BS about being out on patrol. That with Fallon and Lucas off of pack land, it’s just the two of us, and we should be prepared.
Maybe if I hadn’t seen the way he was eyeballing my tits, I’d believe that.
Oh, wait. No I wouldn’t.
Okay, then. Tristan wants to track a she-wolf onto her own personal territory?
Let’s see if he can keep up.
As if Ididn’t need any dose of reality and another slap in the face that Tristan doesn’t actually think of me as his mate, I get it anyway when he falls back.
In this, wolf shifters are like their wild counterparts. When there’s prey, they chase—and they ambush. That goes double when a wily male is trying to prove himself to his prospective mate. When there’s a hint of a bond—even if one of us is blocking it for some reason—and undeniable attraction, there’s an expectation between intended mates: if I catch you, I fuck you.
Not like I thought I’d be getting laid today just because Tristan couldn’t control his own lust at seeing me naked. It’s a natural reaction between shifters who have that attraction instead of just being regular old packmates. He got hot, I got wet, but that didn’t mean anything was going to happen between us… until he started to chase me and a teeny tiny part of me thought: maybe.
Really, Jeannie? Really?
How much more fucking rejection do you want to take before you give up?
There’s stubborn and then there’s stupid. Tristan Crowder makes me stupid, and it pisses me off.
The worst part is that he did keep up with me at first, but it wasn’t long before the painful pricking against my skin fades enough to be noticeable. I’d rather the pain that meant he was acting like a mated shifter, chasing his female, than the discomfort disappearing because he got far enough away for me to feel it.
Even then I tried to come up with excuses for him.
He was in his human form when I left him. He’s still healing the damage to his leg from the silver knife that Remy Gauthier stabbed him with. Maybe… maybe that’s why he couldn’t match my pace.
The first time I met Tristan, he didn’t have a limp. It’s healed a little over the months to the point that you have to look to see that he’s favoring his bad leg, but we’re shifters. Silver is really the only thing that does damage to us, but we’re shifters. If it doesn’t kill us, we can heal it.
Unless…
No. I’m not shouldering the blame for that. If he can’t heal because he’s purposely using all of his energy to block our bond instead of putting himself back into tip-top shape, that’s not my fault—or my responsibility.
That doesn’t mean it didn’t infuriate me to hear Gauthier brag repeatedly how he knifed the Beta of the Winter Creek Pack during the time I was his ‘captive’ in the Coven House. Dumb witch had no idea that Tristan was my fated mate or that I was a shifter, but that prick loved to hear himself talk and he hated the wolves.
He wanted Fallon. He hurt Tristan.
I couldn’t forgive that. Then for him to finally confess that he was the one behind Jolie Bordeaux’s murder all those years ago? On the Luna’s authority, I was given the orders to eliminate whoever was responsible for the death that set the stasis curse into motion.
But the glee in which he spoke of stabbing Tristan? That just might be one of the reasons I was as brutally efficient with his elimination as I was…
Hey. At least I remembered Fallon’s blood phobia in time to get rid of the body. I’m not all bad.
So, yeah. I wanted to believe that it was his injured leg that had him falling back, and I’m so distracted with thoughts of him that I almost miss the fact that someone else has been stalking me.
The air shifts. I get a whiff of it, making a face when it hits me. I can’t help it. I put on the breaks, sneakers kicking up clumps of frozen ground as my hands fly to my face, covering my sensitive nose. It helps a little, but it’s not enough to completely block the shit stink that’s suddenly filled my nostrils.
This is the woods. While much of the prey animals are hibernating, there are plenty of others who aren’t. Voles. Shrews. Deer… shit in a forest is pretty common. But this is different. It’s mixed with something sickly sweet and almost floral.
Witch.
There’s a witch out there.
No, I fix, when two males come striding out from behind the rocky outcrop that I claimed as mine… there are two witches right here.
I recognize the tall, lanky dark-haired one as the witch who followed Armand out of the Coven House after I slaughtered Remy Gauthier. For the life of me, I can’t remember his name, only that he didn’t seem all that happy at the idea that Fallon would be the next madame.
The other male is visibly younger. Maybe twenty, though witches are like shifters: you can’t judge their age by their appearance. He has a mop of black curls and a look of hatred on his thin face as his dark eyes narrow on me.
Oh, wonderful. Because this just what I need right now.
Though my first instinct is to bare my teeth at them, giving them only that for a warning before I shift and attack, I do what I’ve always done: I think to myself, WWLD?
What would Lorelei do?
My good twin would find out what the witches are doing by her territory before she went wolfy on their asses. And since this is technically neutral land, they are technically allowed to be here. It’s just me who thinks of this part of Winter Creek as mine.
Be friendly, Jeannie. Fallon and Lucas have spent months working on keeping the truce up between witches and wolves. Don’t fuck it up now?—
The younger witch’s hands take on an ominous glow. The taller one turns a grin so predatory on me, if it wasn’t for the way sparks shoot of his hand as he advances on me—and, you know, the shit stink clinging to him beneath the overwhelming perfume of lavender—I might have mistaken him for a wolf for a second there.
“Howdy fellas,” I greet, tamping down my own wolf’s desire to show him what I can do with my hands. “Can I help you?”
See? Nice Jeannie. Friendly Jeannie. You don’t always have to treat every situation like it’s a threat?—
“Look, Gabriel,” the tall one says. “We found her. The murderous bitch.”
The younger one—Gabriel—spits on the ground.
Fucking wonderful.
Still, I don’t want to go from zero to a hundred unless I have to. Murderous bitch, huh? I can’t really argue against either. As a female wolf, I wear being a ‘bitch’ like a badge of honor. And murderous? Well… if the shoe fits.
These two were looking for me. I’m sure they think they have their reasons, but if it’s because their previous coven leader was murdered three months ago? Shockingly, that one was on Fallon. She’s the one who went for Marie Bordeaux’s heart, though Armand and Claude—that’s right, the tall witch is called Claude—seemed convinced Fallon only got the nerve because Marie’s spell turned her into a puppet, forcing her to kill her.
Suicide by wolf shifter. It takes all fucking kinds, yeah?
The way these two are eyeing me now, it looks like they might be heading for the same fate. But since I’d really rather not start shit if I don’t have to, let’s see if I can de-escalate this situation before it gets out of paw.
“Gotta be more specific there.” I shrug. “I’ve killed a lot of people, sparky.”
Gabriel’s hands convulse, the white glow surrounding his fingers. “And you’re proud of it, too, aren’t you?”
I show him my perfectly normal, non-glowing hand, my thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart. “Just a smidge.”
Okay. Maybe I’m still frustrated over what happened with Tristan earlier. I’d love some way to work out my aggression, and if these two don’t want to back down, I have no problem making them.
And then Claude uses his elbow to nudge the other witch.
“I told you, Gabriel, didn’t I? I told you she’d come back. And without any of the mutts to protect her, either. Let’s send a message with this bitch. You can kill her right now.”
Kill her?
He can’t be talking about me, can he?
I look over my shoulder, making a display of checking to see if someone else was there. Turning back, I jab my thumb toward my chest.
Claude doesn’t seem to find any humor in my surprise. Instead, he glowers. “Yes, you.”
The younger witch—who I’m beginning to sense might just be the more dangerous of the two—simply works on building his spell up.
Yeah, no. I can’t let him do that. A zap to the back I can take. A full-on offensive spell from a witch with murder on his mind? I’d rather avoid that if I can.
As if he honestly needs anymore egging on, Claude tears his nasty gaze away from me, nodding at Gabriel. “You know the plan. The new Madame and her lapdog are too far to stop us. Besides, she’ll understand the importance of blood. Madame sacrificed herself for the coven. Remy died trying to convince her to join us. And this mutt will pay for killing him. Unless you’re afraid this will stop the new Madame from taking over the coven and leading us…”
“This isn’t coven business,” snaps Gabriel. “You know that, Claude. This is Gauthier business. Either help me like you said or go, but I’ve waited weeks to avenge my brother.”
Brother?
Ah, shit.
Suddenly, this makes a whole lot more sense to me. Witch covens are like shifter packs. They’re insular units, where the good of many outweighs the wants and needs of a few. There’s a powerful leader at the top that is in charge of all the others, but inside of the coven, there are formidable bonds like those between mates.
Packs have the same thing going on. Shifters are loyal to the Alpha, but we have our own ties that exist separate from a pack hierarchy. Mates almost always come first. Pups, too. And in tight-knit families, so do the families you’re born into. Like my twin sister—or this witch’s brother.
Crap. My first thought was that this was an ambush; not just for me, either, but for Fallon and Lucas. Even as I was trying in my way to de-escalate, I was concerned for Fallon. Lucas can take care of himself, but if this was a trap? If the witches invited the Alpha couple to a meet only to attack while they were off of pack territory, what was happening to Fallon now?
It makes sense. The Luna insisted that her agreement with Hecate to bring Fallon back in order to unite the wolves and witches in Winter Creek meant that we could believe in the shaky truce between our kinds. But she went silent on us so who knows? Maybe things changed and, as usual, Jeannie Lipton is the last to know.
But this isn’t about Fallon, is it? This is revenge on me for doing my duty and eliminating Remy Gauthier.
Honestly? I prefer it. If I had to worry about Fallon the same time as these two were threatening my life, that would just make this a tiny bit more difficult for me.
Only a tiny bit, though. I’m not too concerned. So long as I can take out the threat before he lobs his spell at me, I should be fine?—
—and that’s when my spine starts to itch.
What the fuck? My danger radar doesn’t ping for me. That only happens when someone I actually give a shit about is in danger.
I grit my teeth, thinking it must be Fallon when the witches’ shit stink is overpowered by one designed just for me.
Sea spray and sage.
Tristan.
No.