Treeland Pack Tales 3: A Trace of Ivy (2 page)

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Chet finished the Windsor knot, smoothed the tie’s ends, and
then reached for his jacket. The opening notes of Strauss’s Opus 30 played from
the cell phone on his dresser, signaling a new text message. He scrolled
through the text.

Daniel, his old friend and the Treeland pack Alpha,
requested his presence at headquarters. He had actually texted:
Get your ass over here.

The summons was unusual enough to make him raise a brow. But
whatever his boss wanted was bound to be a hell of lot more entertaining than
hanging out with the arty crowd.

He sent back:
K

Then he dialed Amanda’s number. His call went direct to
voice mail. He grinned, unashamedly relieved to leave a brief message
cancelling tonight’s art walk. Even a tough enforcer picked his battles with
the fair sex. He had no intention of explaining himself to the sleek Beta
bitch. From their first date, he’d made clear any plans with him were tentative
until she saw him. That hadn’t stopped her from wanting more. Well aware a
sanctioned mating was her endgame, he remained steadfast on his no-commitment
rule.

Perhaps he was too pleased by having avoided a heated
discussion, and it was time to end their affair while they were still friends.
He tabled the idea for more thought. Happy to dismiss Amanda, he changed his
Italian loafers for steel-toed work boots and slipped a backup knife into the
right boot’s sheath. He shrugged into the Harris Tweed he’d bespoken from his
Hong Kong tailor last century, dropping a couple of extra cartridges of silver
bullets into his pockets before leaving.

His vintage Bentley purred through a steady stream of green
lights. The twenty-minute drive to pack headquarters took him less than fifteen
minutes. The squad on duty at the front entrance had the gate opened as he
approached. The car rolled past the saluting guard. Chet returned the gesture
of respect, proud to be part of a well-run pack. He parked and ambled through
the grounds to the pavilion. Daniel was already there, pacing. His Alpha took
responsibility too seriously, and pacing helped him burn off frustration. In
the boss’s current mood, asking questions wouldn’t accomplish anything good.

Since mating the lovely Scarlet, Daniel kept his head
straight, which proved even very old dogs could change. Even a strong Alpha
needed to deal with frustrations same as anyone. Clearly something had ruffled
the pack leader’s fur tonight. He had to come to terms with it in his own way
before he’d be ready to talk.

Chet hauled a bench close to the fire pit, parked his boots
near the toasty coals, and got comfy. He waited with patience born from their
long friendship and many a shared crisis, glad they were on the same side.

Daniel’s special gift gave him the ability to connect with
the humanity inside a male already slipping into the special hell of madness
and pull him back from the brink. If he failed in his grim missions, he ended
the feral bastard. Daniel saved many, but those he’d lost ate at his soul until
he found the one female capable of healing him. After mating Daniel accepted a
new mission, leading the Treeland pack.

He and Daniel were of an age—both old dogs. A typical Alpha,
the boss wore the centuries well. He was tall, an inch or two shy of Chet’s
six-six, but Daniel outweighed him by twenty hard-hitting pounds of muscle. His
skin remained taut, his gaze clear, and his mind as sharp as a shiny new trap.
His will, an innate power, made him far stronger than his formidable body.

Sin arrived next. He nodded to Chet, hauled over a bench for
himself, and joined him by the fire. “The boss say anything about what’s up?”

“Not yet.” Chet took a log from the handy stack and tossed
it on the fire.

Only seventy-five, Sin was the youngest enforcer. Rogues,
feral Alpha males who sometimes banded together, killed his half sister a
couple of decades ago. Since the tragedy, his good looks had hidden a gnawing
hunger for revenge and a fuck-ton of guilt.

Chet empathized. Every Alpha male carried the potential for
mayhem. The threat of losing one’s humanity was a lovely little bonus of destruction
that came along with their preternatural strength, speed, vigor, and longevity.
No one understood exactly what made a male snap. Extreme stress such as loss of
a mate was a common factor. But why some weathered the same kinds of crises
intact remained a mystery.

A lifelong bachelor, Chet didn’t have to fear losing a mate,
and he’d never admit he secretly envied Daniel’s bond with Scarlet.

Ben slipped into the circle as silent as snow falling in the
forest. Most males pulled off stealthy when necessary, but Ben was uncannily
light-footed for a big guy. The half-blood always pushed himself to excel at
everything. No one doubted his abilities or dedication. An internal quirk made
him drive for perfection.

When Ben dragged over a third bench and sat, Gun appeared
behind him. He blended so perfectly with the night, only the glint of reflected
fire in his eyes betrayed his presence.

Sin jumped to his feet, knife in hand, then sheathed his blade.
“Quit sneaking up on folks before you scare someone to death.”

“Sorry I spooked you,” Gun intoned with no sincerity.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sin snarled.

“Don’t start without me. I’m dying for a good fight.” Joe
grinned, exposing an intimidating number of large white teeth.

Each of the males Chet tracked with and fought beside had
his own secrets and demons. Maybe that was what kept the enforcers tighter than
brothers. Except for Gun, who pretended he felt nothing for anyone.

Daniel continued to pace, but the polka tempo slowed to a
march as he spoke. “There’s been a series of murders moving up the
coast—small-time meth dealers for the most part. During the same period several
young women disappeared. Last night Lauren Thomas, a local teenager, vanished
on her way home from a pep rally. Her boyfriend was found dead, mauled by a
feral animal. From the bite radius the authorities suspect a bear.”

Series of dead crystal slingers, a missing girl, and her
mangled date were flashing signs of a rogue werewolf pack on the hunt. Chet and
every other enforcer connected the dots fine.

“Smells like we’ve got a new rogue pack in town,” Joe said.

The pack leader dipped his chin. “Yeah. As soon as I got off
the phone, I called this meeting, and I alerted Darin, the new Cedar Grove
sheriff.”

“You think they’re headed that way?” Ben asked.

Daniel shrugged. “He’s north of us. I figured he needed a
heads-up.”

“Good call, boss.” Sin straightened his backbone. “What can
I do to help?”

“I’m getting to that, bud.” Daniel squeezed the male’s
shoulder.

The boss handed out assignments to everyone but Chet. He
didn’t take it personally.

Daniel waited until the others left. “I want you to go to
Cedar Grove.”

“Is there a problem with Darin?”

“I’m not sure.” Daniel scratched his ear. “When we talked he
told me there’d been lights on in the old Hawthorne place the night before.
There’d been no sign of trouble when he drove past the next day. He said he’d
check it out after work and give me a call.”

“No call.” Chet didn’t make it a question.

Daniel’s brows sank into a familiar scowl. “No call. He’s
not answering his cell either.”

“Reception’s iffy in the mountains.”

“Nah, they’ve got cell towers on every other peak nowadays.”

“His battery could be dead.” Chet wanted to ease his old
friend’s worry.

“Not real likely. Go check on him and charge your phone so
you can report.”

“Will do.” Chet sketched a salute.

“One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Change into something casual. I don’t want you scaring the
natives.”

“Tweed is perfect for the country.” Chet drew himself up
with a pretense of huffiness.

“Yeah, sure, GQ, but humor me and dig out the denim. You do
have jeans?”

“I do.” His two pairs of 501s were well-loved classics and
perfect with tweed. A male could be appropriate without dressing like a
bumpkin.

After Bro locked them in for the night, Kat tipped her chin
toward the battered teen and whispered, “She’s a bad sign.”

“But she’ll heal, right?” Ivy chafed away a sudden chill.

Tess shook her head. “She’s too young, and she’s human.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ivy blurted.

“Just look at her. If she had werewolf blood, she would be
healing instead of getting worse. They didn’t do anything to her they haven’t
done to us.” Kat closed her eyes for a few seconds and then tried again to
explain. “You were there. You heard Vic say he ended Marc for taking a human.
What did you think he meant—that he’d fired him?”

“He was getting less stable for the past week.” Tess added
in a soft voice. “I’ve seen it before. They’re more violent. It’s as if the
only thing they can feel is pain—their own or someone else’s. That’s what
happens before they lose their humanity completely.”

Unable to accept the idea she shared anything with the
beasts, but unwilling to argue, Ivy shook her head in denial. The bleeding
child on the mattress didn’t vanish.

The women, or rather female werewolves if Kat and Tess were
right, took turns cleaning themselves. Tess went first, finishing quickly, then
hurried out of the bathroom with a damp cloth to tend the girl.

Ivy waved Kat ahead, snagged the bag of meat scraps, and
sank against the wall, letting the plaster support her sagging energy.

“Take some.” Ivy held out the sack to Tess.

The older woman shook her head. “Never thought I’d say this,
but I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat.” Ivy picked up a piece of something soft
and squishy, forcing herself to take a bite. The bag of meat slid to the floor
as she fought her gag reflex.
Chew,
swallow, repeat, and don’t think about what you’re consuming.

“You’re bleeding.” Tess’s voice rose in alarm.

Ivy choked down the rest of the scrap. “Just a nip.”

“Sit down and let me look at you, superbitch.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Tess huffed and examined the bite. “At least it’s clean.
Gonna leave a nasty scar.”

“Maybe I’ll get a tattoo to cover up the damage.”

“Good luck with the ink plan. Have you ever had a wound that
didn’t heal completely?”

Ivy stayed silent, because Tess was right. She’d attributed
her robust health to a killer immune system and luck. Maybe her new friends
were right, and she was part beast. The idea gave her chill bumps.

“Catch.” Kat tossed a pair of ragged denim pant legs. “I
figured the fabric would work to bind your feet. Not quite hiking boots, but
hella better than barefoot.”

Ivy gave Kat’s head a pat when she passed her on the way to
the john. “Thanks. I’m not going to forget you or Tess. If we get separated and
I get away, I’ll be back with help.”

“When you get away,” Kat corrected her, covering a yawn.

After Ivy had done her best to wash away the smell of sex
and blood, she curled up next to Kat and dozed.

She woke instantly when Dud opened the door. She tensed as
he crossed to where she and a still-sleeping Kat lay.

“Wake up, kitty. I’ve got a treat for you.”

Kat stretched and found a smile for the beast while Ivy kept
her eyes nearly closed and her breathing even. Then her friend was gone, and
the padlock clicked shut.

She couldn’t get back to sleep, so she sat up and started
working on the frayed fabric with her sharp canines. Hours went by, while she tried
to concentrate on tearing the material into usable strips rather than worrying.
Her gaze flickered to the crack in the plywood covering the window. The sliver
of visible sky had been a sullen gray when Dud hauled Kat away. Now a dark
orange tinged the slit in the board. Soon the rest of the monsters would wake.

A key scratched in the padlock outside the bedroom door. Ivy
stopped binding her feet with the strips of old jeans and scooted closer to
Tess. Shoulder to shoulder they crouched next to the filthy mattress, shielding
the broken girl from the threat. Behind them, the teen curled on her side. Her
emaciated body burned with fever. She hadn’t moved in hours. Her breaths were
harsh gasps that rattled the silence and tore at Ivy’s heart.

Kat hitched into their pathetic refuge and broke the
tension. She braced against the door, a bundle held tightly to her stomach.

Her friend’s swollen face and hunched body filled Ivy with
new doubts. She straightened and crossed the gap between them. Kat’s left eye
was rapidly swelling. An angry red mark decorated her cheekbone.

Ivy hesitated to touch her for fear of hurting her. Finally
she settled for gentle strokes on her brave friend’s dark hair. She swallowed a
knot of guilt before she spoke. “I should’ve gone with Dud and let Tess bring
the police.”

Kat shook her head, then dropped her bundle. A filthy
buffalo plaid jacket unrolled, revealing a ring with a single key. A spasm of
coughing took her words. She covered her mouth and held up the other palm in a
signal to wait. Her chest heaved, pulling oxygen past the wracking that turned
her face red and made her clutch her sides.

Always the most practical, Tess stumbled by them to the
bathroom. She clutched the thin towel she used to cool the injured teen. A
moment later, she came back with a glass of water.

Hell, they were all sick and growing weaker every day. Ivy
accepted the drink for Kat with a raspy “Thanks.”

Tess returned to stroking the damp cloth over the girl’s
fevered forehead and neck.

After Kat’s coughing fit subsided, she drained the glass of
water. “Don’t just stand there like a ninny. Go. Dud’s crashed too hard to
notice a marching band leaving the room.”

“What if he wakes and misses his coat?”
Unlocking the door solves one problem. There are still six merciless
monsters between me and freedom
. Ivy crouched and resumed wrapping her feet
with trembling fingers.