Summit of the Wolf (2 page)

“Okay, but what could she do to change the outcome?”

Morgan’s throat filled with a long stifled admission. “I can fight.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Rachel said. “Think about Lana.”

“I am! What kind of mother would I be if I show her it is okay to let everyone else fight my battles? If I just sit back and never defend myself while others get hurt or killed because of me. Rachel, Dean is out there, and you know Grey won’t be able to talk them down. There are at least twelve wolves at the cabin waiting for a fight while there are only seven of our wolves. This can’t be the last time I see him. There has to be more than a couple of days of happiness for us. We have to do something!”

Rachel stared at the wall, rubbing her cheek absently against her shoulder. She jerked her head back to Morgan. “Follow me.” She ran up the stairs to her and Dean’s bedroom. In her closet, she tore a bunch of clothes off the rack and tossed them carelessly to the carpet. In the back, she hit a latch hidden behind a shelf, and the panel clicked open. Once she moved it out of the way, an entire wall of weapons, mainly silver in nature, gleamed in a secret armory.

“Whoa,” Marissa said on an exhale. “I didn’t know you guys had all of this stuff up here.”

“Nobody does except for Wade. This is mine.” Rachel grabbed a crossbow and a quiver of silver tipped arrows. “If I can get up a tree I can pick them off and they won’t be able to climb up after me. It will take me time so someone will have to cover me and make sure no one sees us.”

“I’ll do that,” Marissa said, picking up a pair of silver swords. “I’m not going to be much good in a fight, but I used to play baseball. I could at least swing a sword I think.”

“I’ve been fighting and training since I was little,” Morgan admitted quietly.

Two sets of lightened eyes stared at her as if she had sprouted green beans out of her face. Why did she feel embarrassed? Her resurrected childhood insecurities were probably to blame.

“Look, when all of the little girls in my class wanted to be in ballet together, I wanted to take karate. I was doing weapons training by the time I was in junior high, but this past year I wanted to forget form and do some boxing instead.” She picked up a knife set. “These are mine.” One was small and easy to maneuver, while the other was larger and heavier with a curved blade for slicing. It was as if they were made for her hands. She touched the blade lightly and pulled a sizzling finger back. Silver did that to werewolves. Satisfied, she turned back to Rachel. “Okay, how do we get there? Truck is too obvious, and we can’t Change to run there and still carry the weapons.”

“We have four-wheelers in the barn,” Rachel said, frowning at the weapons cache. “We can stop them a ways off and run the rest of the way to stay quiet.”

Now that was a plan she could get on board with. No more waiting around for the boys to come back, or not. “Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste.”

The wind whipped Morgan’s hair as she ran for the barn. Thank God, Lana was still with Mom and didn’t have to witness what was about to happen. She threw the door open, and Rachel turned on the first four-wheeler. Marissa hopped on while Rachel started the other. Morgan secured the weapons on the front storage rack with ready bungee cords and hopped on behind Marissa. No sooner was she in place than Marissa floored it and skidded out of the barn, throwing gravel and mulch out beside them. The little engines were loud, but Morgan could still hear fighting and snarling in the distance. The pack war had already started.

Three hundred yards from the cabin, they skidded to a stop. Marissa and Rachel parked the ATVs and unfastened the weapons.

Times like this, she wished she was a better werewolf. Her shifts were slow and painful, and they were so much worse when she was stressed out. If she tried to turn now, she’d miss the fight completely. With a frustrated growl, she dismounted and grabbed her blades.

Though they were quiet as wolves, she was listening for them to follow. Rachel and Marissa’s soft footfall sounded against the dry leaves behind her. The smell of adrenaline only spurred her forward.

They were close. “How many yards do you need?” she asked Rachel.

“I’m accurate at forty,” Rachel whispered back.

“Good.”

They would have to find a tree right near the edge of the clearing. When she crept around to the front of the house, the sheer noise and chaos from the fighting stopped her in her tracks. Pack wars were bloody and brutal events.

Morgan pointed to a good tree with a low branch that Rachel and Marissa could take a handhold on. She was panicked and ready to join the fray, but she stayed to hand Rachel the crossbow when she was a few branches up while Marissa stood as lookout. Rachel was finally in position.

Marissa gasped. “Uh, guys,” she said in a tiny frightened voice.

An unfamiliar, gray-colored wolf was running straight for them with his teeth bared. Marissa was a frozen statue with swords hanging limply at her sides. As the wolf launched himself at Marissa, Morgan bolted in front of her and held up the larger knife. Her muscles tensed as she thrust it against the wolf’s momentum. His throat propelled down the blade. Warm blood sprayed across her face, and Marissa squeaked as the weight of the animal pushed Morgan back into her. They hit the tree with an unforgiving thud.

“New plan,” Morgan whisper-screamed. “Get up the tree and I’ll cover you.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Marissa said, scrambling awkwardly up the tree as Morgan put her foot against the body of the wolf and pulled her blade out.

That was the first man she had ever killed, but for reasons beyond her, she was numb. Remorse didn’t waste its time on a she-wolf in the heat of battle.

The man’s body was already transitioning back into its human form. When she was satisfied that Rachel and Marissa were up the tree enough to be safe, she sprinted for the heart of the fight. Two wolves who had spotted her ran for her. The closest one hurled his body weight at her, but she spun and used the power of her movement to cut through his face. The other wolf used her drifted attention to sink long teeth into her leg. So much for the wolves-wouldn’t-hurt-Silver Wolf theory. The fallen wolf’s body hit him in the side, and he dropped like a sack of flour. He didn’t rise again. She frowned. Getting hit by another wolf should have slowed him down, sure, but not killed him.

A small arrow was embedded into his shoulder. Rachel hadn’t lied. She was good.

A few steps more, and she was at the edge of the battle. Two rival wolves already lay dead. Dean and the boys were each occupied in a dogfight, but Grey was nowhere to be seen. He was likely under the sizeable pile of wolves near the edge of the yard. Golden eyes blazed as he lurched out of his attackers and turned on them. At least five were on him as he spun and snapped, his expression focused and fierce as he ripped and clawed at any flesh within reach. The noise of lethal chaos overpowered her sensitive hearing, and she fought the urge to cover her ears.

Bones broke, teeth snapped, and a wolf latched viciously to Grey’s neck as he fought the others. Her wolf howled, and she let her have a voice. She roared so loud it shook her marrow. Deliberately, she stalked the raging attackers with a heavy breath and blades tensed at her sides. She’d remember her training. She’d fight and end it quickly.

A couple of the wolves jerked their heads at her war cry, and feral eyes collided with hers. She slashed at the first one, nicking him but missing a fatal blow, and he shied away as another came for her. She spun away at the last moment, turning to thrust the smaller knife into the back of his neck. She forced his body to the ground with the strength of the blow. As she turned, she punched the other wolf in the side of the face. Gripping the scruff of his neck with both hands, she jerked her knee up to crack it into an unrecovered jaw. He hit the ground hard. She kneeled over him, the big knife in her hand raised for only a second before she brought the blade down into his chest. His struggling claws left bloody gashes in her flesh, but she was numb to the pain.

Grey had moved farther away, bringing the other wolves with him. Dean had finished his wolf and rushed to stand beside her. She passed her need in a single glance, and he tore off for Grey’s attackers. He pulled a wolf out of the fight and engaged him to the side. Another wolf had come out of nowhere to replace the one Dean fought, but Grey had thrown one of the limp bodies off and could focus on the two he had.

She stopped her advance. Her mate could handle the two left.

A cannon ball landed on her back. She hadn’t even heard the other wolf coming before he knocked her into the dirt. She gasped for breath, desperate to drag air into deflated lungs. Brandon lay a few feet away. His vacant, dead eyes stared back at her. His face was grimaced even in death from the last pain-filled moment of his life.

Her grief awakened her suffocating diaphragm. “Brandon!” she screamed.

The wolf on her back scrabbled for her neck. He had no qualms with killing Silver Wolf. It was obvious from the murderous expression on his face when she flipped over to defend herself. He lunged, and she wrapped her arms around his throat. He shook his head viciously and escaped her grasp, then lunged again. That split second of relief turned the tide. All she needed was a moment of relief and opportunity. He had given her both. She had enough room to get her legs up under him, and she kicked with all of her furious strength. Before he could recover, she was on top of him, pinning him to the earth. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and searched frantically for the knife. It lay ten feet away. It would have to be the hard way then.

She got her legs under her and hoisted herself up, still holding the scrabbling wolf by the neck. He was huge, and even with her increased werewolf strength, she still swayed under the strain of his weight. He clawed at her frantically as she tightened her grip around his neck. He tried to pull himself out of her grasp but had little hold after she pulled him off the ground. He was able to get his front claws under her arms and rip them, but she ignored his struggling and held on tighter, locking her arms together and screaming with the effort.

Grey and the pack were finished with their battles and slowly gathered around her. Morgan’s eyes never left a group of unfamiliar wolves who had decided not to fight. They stank of fear and hovered around the vehicles that brought them in. When the suffocating wolf finally grew weaker and stopped struggling altogether, she dropped his limp body. Grey lunged and latched onto his throat, but the wolf was already dead. Her arms shook from exhaustion, and fury wracked her body.

“Hear me!” she screamed in a voice she barely recognized. “I’ll have no mate but this one.” She stabbed a shaking finger at Grey.

Oh, she could guess what she looked like. They would have a new wolf to call Demon after that day. Her white tank top was drenched with blood. It was sticky and dripping down her bare legs. Her arms were freely bleeding from the claw marks she had endured, and a single drop of blood dripped down her pointed finger. It made a small splat against the grass. Sprayed blood was slowly drying on her face, and her eyes were undoubtedly light purple and a disturbing contrast to the bloodstains and her wet and matted dark hair. Let them see her like this. What did she care?

She took the smaller knife from the back of a man’s neck and pointed it at the group of wolves who paced frantically. “Get the hell off of my property and take your dead with you.”

Rachel and Marissa darted around Morgan and toted their weapons through the front door of the cabin. They held the door open as the pack came in one by one. Morgan stayed where she was and glared at each in turn as the unfamiliar wolves Changed and dragged their dead to the cars. A few of them made the sign of the cross as if they were warding off evil. Grey stood beside her, teeth bared and a constant rumble in his throat. Blood matted his coat, and his eyes blazed like the deepest fires of hell. Her own personal demon.

She crashed as the adrenaline burned out of her blood and left her empty. Exhausted.

When the last of the cars had gone, she stumbled over to Brandon’s body and collapsed beside him with her knees in the dirt. A sob escaped, and her shoulders shook uncontrollably with grief. A howl of mourning ripped from Grey. Dean was the first one Changed and out of the house, quickly followed by the others who gathered to mourn the death of their brother.

Everyone had lost the war.

Brandon’s funeral was on a Wednesday. A subdued and drizzling rain escorted his loved ones to the cemetery, and dark clouds stifled any stubborn rays of sun. The weather was fitting. Morgan found comfort and solace in Marissa and Rachel. The men buried their grief in silence, inviting quiet lips and tumultuous hearts to be their only consorts. The animals inside of them demanded silence to honor the death of their brother, and the ways of the wolf were often the ways of the werewolf.

Brandon’s loss was a blow to the pack, and their agony was her fault. Brandon’s life cut short was on her. Without Silver Wolf, dissension in the packs wouldn’t have such mortal consequences. The police report said it was an animal attack, and a two-day hunt on Grey’s property turned up nothing that could have done this to a man. Jason had advised him to allow the hunt and cooperate with the police to shut Brandon’s case as soon as possible. On Dean’s order, no one Changed until everything had blown over. The last thing they needed was for panicked hunters looking for some animal to pin this senseless tragedy on.

Brandon’s coworkers and friends had left some time before, but Morgan couldn’t seem to drag herself away from his open grave. So many memories of her own sister and Marianna’s funeral flooded back. The rest of the pack slunk miserably into plastic chairs, ignoring the drizzle and staring at his headstone in silence.
Beloved Brother and Friend
, it read.

“This can’t happen again,” Dean said quietly from the row behind. His voice cracked on the last word, as if he hadn’t used it in a long time.

Grey’s draped his arm around the back of her chair and rubbed a gentle thumb against the material of her damp dress. “Did you call the Old Ones?”