After the Moon Rises (16 page)

Landa’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as the energy ball streaked toward Sid, slamming into his back. He stumbled into Landa, releasing his grip on the blonde’s arm. Landa fell backward, landing on her butt as Margie darted toward Sid. Why wasn’t he down? Sure, she didn’t lob energy balls all the time—okay, hardly ever outside of the practice field—but that one should’ve knocked him down.

He recovered his balance, turning to glare at her as she ran toward him.

Despite telling herself not to, her breath caught at his appearance. White hair and a close trimmed beard gave him the look of a kind grandfather, if not Santa Claus himself. Although his flat gaze reminded her of portraits of killers flashed on the nightly news, dead and lifeless.

She threw her energy ball. He countered. His met hers with a blinding crash. Margie formed another ball and threw it, but Sid deflected it with a pop into a tree.
Whoosh!
The tree caught fire, flames licking toward the stars, the scent of burning pine filling the night. Sid laughed, a mirthless roar of air. Margie circled around him, heart hammering in her chest, muscles twitching the jitterbug. Her peripheral vision showed Zane moving—praise God—his feet inching forward, his body low to the ground.

Sid threw a ball and Margie dodged it, leaping toward the tree line, putting Sid’s back to Zane as he turned to face her.

“Pesky fool. You’re going to die tonight and your pack will belong to me.” Another ball shot her way, this time nipping her in the leg as she dove behind a tree. Fiery shots of pain streaked up her leg as she dashed tears from her cheeks.

Dream on, jackass.

“No response? What, afraid of the big bad wolf?”

Maybe a bit, but she’d be roped and dragged before she admitted it.

She ducked another energy ball, peering from behind the thick trunk of a pine to see Zane converging on Sid. Muttering came from her left, Landa’s lips apparently forming not-quite-soundless prayers. Margie picked up a rock and pitched it to her right. Sid turned toward the sound as the rock rattled against bark, thudding to the ground. She lobbed another energy blast right into his chest.

Score! Sid stumbled backward as Zane leapt forward, claws sinking into Sid’s back. Canines flashed white as they attempted to bite into Sid’s neck. One minute Zane latched onto Sid’s back and the next he went flying, landing with a whimper. Margie jumped forward, flames burning in her hands.

Sid knelt on the ground, stretching one hand toward her. Even though he didn’t touch her, she felt like he squeezed her throat, cutting off her air, his invisible grip crushing her windpipe. The flames died in her hands as she struggled against the invisible force. She couldn’t move, couldn’t fight it, couldn’t draw in a breath. Dark dots danced across her vision as her ears caught waves of chanting coming from where she last saw Landa. Margie sank to her knees, her hands clasped against her throat, her eyes level with Sid’s.

So this is what dying felt like.

She wasn’t going down without a fight, dammit. As both hands clasped around her throat did nothing to reduce the choking pressure, she dropped one. Focusing her energy into her palm, she tried to summon a flame, but only a wisp of smoke danced and disappeared. She tried to move forward, tried to reach Sid, tried to stop him but his invisible grip around her throat held her immobile.

Fight him! Fight him!

Her mind gave the command, but her body refused to move. Dying. She was dying. Despite her wish, despite her will. Her gaze sought Zane, wanting one last glimpse of her mate before she died, before her life journeyed to a new existence. Where was he? The last thing she saw before darkness consumed her vision was Zane appearing in a rush of flying fur, soaring toward Sid.

****

Zane jumped at Sid, the force of his momentum shoving the sorcerer to the ground with an audible whoosh of breath. Margie toppled sideways, her hand still at her throat as she landed on the grass. He couldn’t tell if she breathed or if Sid had killed her. A bone-shaking growl ripped from his throat as he swiped a paw across Sid’s back. His claws seemed to slide off Sid’s skin, shredding the shirt, but leaving the skin unmarred. What the fuck?

Sid scrabbled in a vain attempt to get out from under Zane. Not happening. Sid tried to kill his mate. Twice. Dying was too easy. Pain had its good points.

Before he slashed his claws against Sid again, Sid’s torc began to glow like a red-hot poker. High-pitched humming vibrated from the torc, the same painful frequency as when Landa removed his own torc earlier in the day. Zane let loose with a howl before ducking his head between his legs and trying to stick his paws over his ears.

He heard Sid yelling, a string of no’s running together so fast as to become its own ululating shriek. Right when Zane knew his eardrums would burst, the sound stopped like an electric guitar being unplugged.

“Noooooooo!”

Too busy trying to protect his ears from exploding, Zane rolled off Sid, allowing the alpha to scramble away. As Zane watched, Sid grabbed something out of the grass, muttering words over it. Whatever. Didn’t matter what it was, those muttered words would be Sid’s last.

Zane sprang forward, his claws ripping through the skin of Sid’s back, blood wetting his paws. Sid screamed, a drawn out sound of pure terror as he dropped what he’d been holding. His torc. His source of power. Lying in the grass.

Biting into the soft skin of Sid’s neck, Zane’s teeth ripped and pulled, silencing Sid’s screams forever.

Zane stood over his kill, staring at the man who had tortured his sister, denied him his powers, made his life hell and felt nothing. Nothing. Shouldn’t he be excited? Shouldn’t he feel relief? Shouldn’t he get out of his own head and check on Margie?

As he raised his head, he heard movement to his right, a rustle of leaves, followed by scratching branches. Landa scrambled, half crawling, half walking to where Margie lay. Zane hustled to get to Margie first. She belonged to him. He needed to be the first one to check on her.

Sticking his muzzle against her neck, he sniffed. Blood pounded in the vein of her neck, pounding a rhythm that assured she lived. Air whooshed out his nose, a pent up breath he hadn’t realized he held. Margie sucked in a wheezy gulp of air as Landa clutched her wrist, feeling for a pulse.

“She’s alive! I thought she was dead.”

I did too.

“Alpha!” Big G ran toward them, the rest of Margie’s enforcers right behind him.

Zane turned, growling at the giant. In wolf form, instincts ruled and instincts told him to protect his mate, even against her own enforcers. For once Big G listened to him.

“Is she—” Eyes wide, he swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.

Calm down, Zane. Of course they’re concerned, they aren’t a threat. Margie is their alpha.

But the words didn’t stop the growls from coming out of his throat.

Get a grip.

If he sucked in a breath, then he couldn’t growl. Breathe in, exhale. Breathe in, exhale.

She’s hurt. Pick her up and take her to Allen.
And because it never hurt to be polite, he tacked on,
Please.

Big G’s eyes narrowed. Zane curled his lip. Big G dropped his gaze.

“Okay ... alpha.”

Landa scrambled backward as Big G knelt beside a gasping Margie, lifting her easily into his arms. The giant’s thoughts drifted back to Zane as his long strides headed toward the ranch house.

Your friends are unconscious at the edge of the trees. You might want to do something about that.

Okaaay. So he’d always have trouble with the giant, but at least he’d called him alpha. Even if it was spoken in the same tone as one would say “asshole,” it was still a start. And as the working alpha on the scene, he needed to handle clean-up, as it was, instead of going with his mate like his heart urged him to do.

Landa, go with Big G. Make sure Margie is taken care of.

She nodded, running to catch up to the giant.

He raised his muzzle to one of the enforcers—was it Jace?
Show me where the others are. And you,
he nodded at another male,
dispose of the body. Just remember where you put it.

“Yes, alpha.”

No wonder Sid enjoyed being alpha, having everyone bow and scrape when they previously rolled their eyes would go to anyone’s head. Working on not letting that happen would take some effort, but no way did he want to turn out like power-hungry Sid. He’d take a lesson from Margie on how to run a pack any day over how Sid had controlled his.

What should he do with his former band of enforcers? As he loped behind Jace he saw dark lumps upon the ground. Thunder rolled, closer than before, the wind joining in with its own accompaniment to the impending storm. He knew what he wanted to do with Sid’s enforcers, but what would Margie do? This was her pack and territory they had invaded, not his. Not yet, anyway.

The strong coppery scent of blood thickened the air around the bodies as Zane drew closer.

Are they dead?

“Two of them. The others are just unconscious.”

Which two?

Jace pointed out two lumps and Zane sniffed them. Yep, dead. One was a carbon copy of Sid, minus the magical abilities, while the other had been good, forced to follow orders he didn’t agree with. What a waste.

They’re dead.

Jace nodded. “They met up with Big G. He weren’t too happy about Margie going down.”

Zane knew the feeling.
Do you have a holding cell?

“This ain’t no prison.”

Where do you put lawbreakers?

“That’s what prisons is for.”

I mean, where do you put pack members who don’t follow the rules?

The enforcers glanced at each other, then at him, four identical confused looks.

Okay. Do you have a locked shed or something to put them in? Something they can’t break out of and isn’t close to the pack?

“The tack shed. We keep it locked so the humans can’t get in.”

Good. Take the ones that are alive to the shed. Make sure there isn’t anything in there they can use to break out. And take their torcs off.

“Why their torcs?”

I’ll explain later. And take the one I knocked out to the infirmary. He won’t give you trouble.

“You sure about that?”

I know for a fact the locked doors down there are secure. He won’t hurt anyone. And you,
he pointed to a thick-set blond,
bury these two. In separate graves. Mark them so we can find them again.

“Right on it, alpha.”

He watched Margie’s enforcers carry out his orders, watched as they lifted Sid’s enforcers into a fireman’s hold. Zane wanted nothing more than to run back to the ranch house, run down the infirmary stairs, and ensure Margie lived. But being an alpha, a good alpha, involved being a reliable leader, which meant he walked with the enforcers until they got to the tack shed.

After ensuring anything that could be used as a weapon was removed and the enforcers had no questions, he walked to the back door of the ranch house, intending to enter.

Which was a little hard to do with paws instead of hands. Change and walk to the infirmary in his birthday suit, or sit outside waiting for someone to help him? No choice at all.

Summoning his inner human, he forced the fur into hiding, exchanging wolf for human flesh. Sparks, like charged electrodes on his muscles, spread through his body, growing stronger in intensity as the change progressed.

Bones shortened, human flesh surrounded muscles, fur disappeared into body hair. Amazing. And he did it while the moon was still full. Hidden behind storm clouds, but still full. Even if he did stand buck naked in front of a ranch house full of pack members he’d just met tonight. Nope. No problem with the ass flash. For the second time in his life, he changed shape of his own free will. And that meant something.

Was that pull in his side normal when he changed of his own free will? He looked at the ache, surprised to see his gunshot wound open and trickling blood. Looked like an adrenaline rush masked pain. Good thing he was heading toward the infirmary.

Zane twisted the knob and entered into the large den, located at the back of the ranch house. He grabbed a leather pillow off the couch with “Cowboys Do It Best” written in large red letters, stuck it in front of his privates and walked down the hall, searching for the door to the infirmary.

Which door was it? They all looked the same. Wood paneling occasionally interspersed with a brass doorknob.

Wait. That one looked familiar. He paused, drawing in a deep breath, scenting Margie behind the frame. A keypad nestled against the wood paneling, a red light at the top of it blinking a warning. Yep. That was the correct one. Right when he reached for the knob, the door flew open, banging him in the nose with a bone-crunching thud. Zane dropped the pillow as he grabbed his throbbing nose
Shit, that hurt.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. Zane! Are you okay?” Margie’s voice cracked, all hoarse and sandpapery. “Let me see.” One hand touched the back of his wrist, soft and gentle, and he did as she asked, dropping his hands, tears streaking down his cheeks and dropping off his chin. A real masculine façade.

“I’m so sorry. At least it doesn’t look broken, but let’s let Allen take a look at it. Okay?”

“Fine. How are you?” A hundred hammers banged away in his nose. It might not be broken, but it sure hurt like hell. He dashed away the tears, not wanting anyone to think he cried over things like an almost-broken nose. Or seeing his mate alive and well.

Margie’s eyes went wide and she glanced down his body, small tinges of red firing her cheeks. “I’m fine. My throat’s a little sore. Looks like you dropped something.” She bent, picking up the leather pillow. One side of her mouth escaped her control, turning up in a lopsided grin.

“Come on, cowboy. Let’s get you some chaps so you can go riding.”

Chapter Seven

Margie stood outside the door of the tack shed, taking deep breaths, listening to the rain pounding against the umbrella, dripping into puddles at her feet. The thing she hated most about her job was passing judgment on pack members. Luckily for her, her pack ran a step up from flawless, which meant this judgment passing she was about to do was her first. Glancing at Zane, who held the umbrella, she smiled. He stood by her. He would support her, from now until they died. Her mate.