Authors: Lorie O'Clare
The
lunewulf
male danced sideways, away from Josie, his head low to the ground while long, pointed teeth clashed together. His inflictions, although minor, stung fiercely. Josie wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging any pain. He’d experienced a hell of a lot worse from quicker attacks in the past.
His littermates wagged their tails, barking anxiously for him to return to their sides so the next one could attack. Josie turned his attention to the second
lunewulf
, who anxiously waited to attack. The cuts running up and down his body from the first attack brought out raw primal instincts. He braced himself, growling in spite of the human side of his brain arguing he should keep his cool.
Fuck that. Let those damned puny
lunewulfs
know they didn’t stand a chance against him. He could stand here all night and let them do their best and they wouldn’t 120
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defeat him. He glared at the second male, who trotted forward and then stopped after his older littermate returned to his side.
The middle Wagner male growled fiercely, taking his time, his simple thoughts pondering the best way to attack and do the most damage.
Josie barked, wagging his tail just to annoy the male. When the male leapt, for the briefest of moments, Josie’s instincts ordered that he knock the male to the ground with his mind. All it would take was a thought. The gift ran that hard and deep inside him, pumping through him just as his blood did.
But he took the impact, this time falling to his side as the
lunewulf
male’s teeth sunk deep into his hide.
Josie howled.
Fuck
!
Shit
! It hurt like hell. Worse than hell. Blood warmed his flesh and made his coat sticky when he struggled to his paws. The smell of it turned his stomach and twisted his insides. Fury boiled over the top. He lowered his head, snarling as he dared the youngest littermate to make it a damned good shot.
Because once he was through, Josie would send the three of them running for their lives. And he couldn’t fucking wait. The lot of them smelled of cowardice, of their self-righteous, triumphant attitude. The way they attacked, leapt at him, not one of them trying to make their blow critical, proved they had never experienced fighting for their life, their next meal or for the right to sleep in a warm den. They were weak, pups with no knowledge of how to truly attack or do battle. Damned shame he wouldn’t be giving them the time to learn how it was properly done.
The youngest male didn’t leap like his littermates did. Instead he ran straight into Josie, reaching for the throat with long, thick, dagger-like teeth. Possibly Josie had underestimated this den after all. His heart sped to a dangerous speed while he dug his claws into the frozen ground, fighting every inch of instinct burning in his veins.
Tradition would be honored. Right to draw first blood meant just that. He had to stand still and allow each of them the opportunity to attack and draw blood however they could. If the right vein was punctured, the quick strike done just right, that one blow could be deadly.
The young punk, his thoughts muddled from alcohol, aimed for the jugular. If he reached into the
lunewulf
’s mind, let the gift come forth as instinct demanded that he should and prevented the inevitable, then Josie would be no better than the cowards he’d just labeled around him.
Honor and tradition meant more than allowing the
lunewulf
pack and his own packmates, as well as Maura, from seeing him turn coward at the last moment.
Josie howled, feeling the thick, long teeth puncture his flesh and the pain bite deep.
He glared down at the
lunewulf
male, seeing him stagger backward as if the taste of Josie’s blood didn’t appeal to him. Red stained his white fur and he shook his head fiercely as his pack screamed and yelled loudly around them.
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All of their thoughts bombarded his brain at once. The young male in front of him stared up at him, standing a good half foot shorter than Josie and watching, as if curious to see what damage he had inflicted.
First blood was over.
He now had the right to see the challenge through, or back down and retreat. The next move was his. But if his jugular had been hit, he wouldn’t be able to attack for long. Not much killed a werewolf that quickly. But breaking the neck or hitting a major artery would do him in. Within minutes his world would fade and he would collapse, resuming his human form and dying.
And he’d given his word that wouldn’t happen tonight.
Had the
lunewulf
missed his jugular?
With such a direct attack, it would be amazing if he had. And why did the male stagger backward, shaking his head as if trying to get Josie’s blood off him? Not to mention there should be more blood.
Something wasn’t right. Standing there, blood soaking his coat and the frigid night air seeping into his hide, Josie dwelt on the focal points of pain in his body. The young
lunewulf
had lunged for his jugular, yet for some reason, Josie didn’t collapse. Later he’d figure out why he still seemed able to function. In spite of the pain racking his insides, Josie leapt at the young male, sending him tumbling like a bowling ball into his two littermates.
It appears you missed your target
, Josie snarled at the three males as they fell head over paws, their bodies tangling with each other.
Cries for blood filled the night as their pack urged them to fight, to finish off the Malta werewolf, to show his breed once and for all that
lunewulfs
shouldn’t be messed with. Josie grabbed the nearest male by the back, latching onto the loose flesh covering his shoulder blades, and picked him up, shaking him like a rag doll. This time when he tossed him into his littermates, all three of them tumbled even farther away from him.
They looked like they danced around each other, fighting and struggling to create as much distance between him and them as possible.
Lunewulfs
were smaller than Malta werewolves. Josie easily glared down at the three males as they struggled to stand. But then they showed him their greatest asset—
speed. And at that moment he remembered his agreement not to use the gift. It hit him harder than any of the
lunewulfs
had just as he instinctively readied to send all three of them rolling into each other again. He almost fucked up in front of everyone.
Something unfamiliar washed over him, a warmth that swelled uncomfortably. He didn’t like it and wasn’t going to accept that it could be nervousness, embarrassment or humiliation. Josie never worried about fighting. There wasn’t any reason to fear or hesitate at any challenge. The gift took care of him, and for as long as Josie remembered, he always took care of and protected the gift. Especially now, with the pack regaining ground and their reputation.
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Which was why, with the
lunewulf
and his own pack members watching, it mattered more than ever that he honor his agreement not to use the gift. There was no way to turn off hearing their thoughts. But he could keep from sending them flying through the air or from moving anything with his mind.
If he really fucking concentrated.
Which he had to fucking do—he promised that he would.
At the same time one of the males charged into him, the other two attacked from either side. Howls and screams vibrated in his brain as the
lunewulf
pack sounded like they had just gone ballistic. So many minds, filled with bloodlust, pounded his brain and made it damned hard to stay focused.
And the
lunewulf
males pounded his body.
Don
’
t use the gift
.
Just fucking don
’
t use the gift
. He repeated his mantra, focusing on his own thoughts as a defense against blocking out all of the wired feelings surrounding him.
Josie focused, plowing over one of the males and swatting another, sending him tumbling head over paws. One of them pounced on him, tearing into his hide with teeth that felt like they ripped the flesh right off his back.
Fucking son of a bitch
!
He fought like a goddamned pup. Probably because he’d been a pup the last time he fought without the gift.
He howled, barely hearing his own voice over the multitude of those around him.
The pain surged through him like fire piercing from between his shoulder blades and spreading faster over every inch of his body than he could run. Sticky, hot blood seared his flesh, making his fur clump and pull and snag from the roots.
He would dishonor his pack if he used the gift. And he would dishonor his pack if he lost the challenge.
Being overcome by the three piss-ass males annoyed him as much as the pain did.
Facing humiliation if he lost the challenge after offering first blood would be worse than death. And he had no intention of fucking dying.
Throwing all his weight into the
lunewulf
next to him—all the damned white fur made it impossible to tell which male was which—Josie trampled the werewolf, hearing his screams and howls underneath him. Standing on the male with his hind legs, he leapt off him, grabbing another one with his teeth and taking him down.
Blood raced down his throat, gagging him. The metallic taste turned his stomach and so much of the liquid flowed out of his mouth as his teeth tore flesh that every inch of him dripped with the foul, sticky stuff. The extreme cold air made the blood freeze on his coat. At the same time he swallowed so much it choked him, but he’d be damned if he would let go.
Don
’
t use the fucking gift
. He continued the mantra in his head.
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But there was that damned third male, again on his back, howling and ripping at Josie’s hide. It got to where he couldn’t even tell where the pain came from. His mind wouldn’t focus. Blood and white fur filled his vision, and as long fangs once again ripped into him, he swore the fur in his face turned to white flesh.
Josie wasn’t sure. He was soaked, fucking cold as hell and the screaming and yelling seemed to blur into a dull roar, making his brain hurt as bad as his body. One thing hit him as the pain got so fucking intense that it took over his ability to think straight—he wasn’t dead.
But had he just killed one of them? Where were the other two? Hell. He couldn’t see a fucking thing.
As he fell to the hard, frozen, snow-packed ground, he was still in his fur. Blackness smothered him as the sounds around him faded. But if he were dead, he would resume his human form. That wasn’t happening. At least he was pretty damned sure that he was still in werewolf form when he passed out from the pain.
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Maura’s hair blinded her as she struggled against the strong hands that prevented her from running to Josie.
Rosa spoke next to her. “You can’t run to him. They will attack you without
thought right now while still in their blood rage.”
“Let me go!” she screamed, her throat burning. “They’re going to kill him.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t use the gift.” Nicolo, whose hands were on her, spoke way too calmly.
She shoved her hair out of her face, looking around her in disbelief at the Malta werewolves who discussed this barbaric attack as calmly as if it were some game. Like when it was over, Josie would simply stand up and brush the blood off him and they would all walk home for a drink.
Heidi stood next to her, her expression pinched as she stared at the bloodbath occurring before all of them. She turned when Maura looked at her.
“Perry Wagner is dead.” Her face seemed frozen in a twisted, nauseated-looking expression. “I’m not sure if the other two are going to make it or not.”
“Fuck!” Dimitri hissed as he stood on the other side of Rosa with his fists shoved against his hips.
Maura watched him as he watched the fight. Since she met him he always looked pissed, but now, his expression contorted into something worse. He was horror-stricken.
She spun around, knowing before she looked that her worst fear had happened.
Josie fell, hitting the ground so hard she swore it vibrated under her feet. Perry, Pete’s younger littermate that she’d never known that well, was dead. His naked human body lay in a pool of blood that stained the already dirty snow. Paul Wagner crawled away from Josie, seriously injured. The youngest of their den, Phil Wagner, fell off Josie, taking his time standing as if slightly bewildered.
An overwhelming urge to protect Josie, to stop Phil from attacking again, hit Maura so hard she tasted it in her mouth. Fighting Nicolo so furiously that his fingers stung her flesh, Maura screamed. There was so much noise going on around her that no one heard her. But Josie was down, his large body in a pool of blood almost as dark as his black coat. No way in hell would she allow that young punk to take that crucial bite that would end Josie’s life.
Dimitri spoke over her head, his tone low and serious, what he said making no sense. It took her a minute to realize he quietly made a phone call, asking someone from his pack to drive here so they could get Josie out of there. There was no way they could 125
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carry his body back to the Malta pack in their fur. But his voice turned into an annoying buzz that pissed her off even further.
“I’ve got her,” Rosa said, suddenly standing in front of her. The pretty bitch stared at her with concerned, dark eyes. “He’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “Trust me, okay?” Then she lowered her voice even more, speaking only so Maura heard her. “No one made me promise not to use the gift.”
At the same time that she spoke, Phil Wagner fell backward, as if knocked over.
Rosa continued looking at Maura, but glancing past her shoulder, Maura saw that Phil couldn’t get up, like someone was pinning him to the ground.
Bob seemed convinced that Phil not getting up meant the challenge was over and quickly entered the circle. Dimitri almost shoved her into Rosa’s arms, moving past her with Nicolo at his side. Maura watched the two werewolves stand over Josie’s unconscious body, growling and daring any of the
lunewulfs
to get anywhere near him.