Tate didn't bother to ask how his alpha knew Claire was an arctic wolf. At this point in his life, he was fairly well convinced the old wolf knew just about everything there was to know about shifters all over the world.
Then Luke, who had been deadly quiet throughout the entire brief meeting, spoke up in a harsh tone that made every younger wolf in the room pull just the slightest bit back from him. “My native pack is diseased enough now that the females can no longer breed.”
Tate sensed bristling from the Black Mesa pack's own female wolves at his crude terminology, but Alpha held up a silencing hand and waved the one-time rogue wolf, now an alpha-to-be himself but still under the strict rule of this pack, to continue. Tate sensed his father already what Luke was about to say, however.
“Arctic wolves have been a part of my family's pack for generations. I have arctic blood in my veins as well, although it rarely actually shows up as a white wolf.” Luke's wolf was definitely not white. “Females are the gene carriers, so they are highly prized by my native pack. My—sire”—the brief hitch in Luke's tone told Tate he held back more colorful words to describe the wolf in question—“strongly held the belief that arctic wolves were more pure. I'm certain that's why he wants your mate.” Luke looked at Tate, and a flash of pity in his gaze softened his generally somewhat haughty bearing.
Tate's blood had run cold, then burning hot, then ice cold again. His wolf growled and snarled, straining to be freed so he could first find Claire, then hunt down and slowly kill the rogue son of a bitch who had dared to snatch her.
The Black Mesa Alpha nodded, effectively shutting off any more information from Luke. Looking at Tate, Alpha had inclined his head. This was Tate's search to run. Accepting that answer, sealing up his frantic emotions behind the coolness of his Guardian training, he had rounded up all the most able pack members. He'd seen only small surprise on a few faces when he'd announced to the assembled members that he'd found his mate, she was a wild wolf, and she was now part of the pack regardless of anything else, and must be defended as they all were. No one was upset or questioned how a pack wolf could be mates with a wild wolf.
Then again, he'd been talking so fast no one could get in a word edgewise, and the solid presence of their alpha equally ensured Tate's words and decisions to be true. He thought he'd caught an approving glance from Lily as he spoke, but that might have been wishful thinking.
“I've got something!” Lily barked out now, ahead of him by about two hundred yards. Tate surged toward her, his paws flying over the slippery ground as best he could, although he skidded a few times. Lily nosed the ground. “That way,” she said, jerking her head more westward. The entire pack followed, although Tate noticed Alpha circling the edges, nose up more often than not, trying to scent the air as well.
Miles disappeared beneath their paws, although those miles were hard-won. Every single pack member sported a mud coat, either from slipping in the stuff or having it inadvertently kicked onto them by a passing packmate. Every single pack member also focused on the task at hand: find the rogues, and find Tate's mate.
When they rounded yet another canyon corner, leaping over water-darkened sagebrush and pressing deep, sliding paw marks into the sopping wet ground, Tate barely avoided barreling into a younger pack member who skidded to a startled stop right before him. The younger wolf shied back as Tate lifted his lip at her, tripping over her own paws as she scrambled away from him, though he meant it more as a warning to be watchful rather than from any aggression.
Before them lay a fascinating tableau of frozen action as rogues wolves, a strange wolf, and thank god,
Claire,
all whipped their heads around at the unexpected appearance of the Black Mesa Pack.
Claire's mother stopped halfway toward them. She remained standing, body tensed to flee. When she spoke, more through body language as they all did in wolf form, the two subordinate wolves seemed utterly shocked, their hackles raised in confusion. Bashar and the speckled wolf, however, seemed to be expecting it.
“Trade. Me for her.” Melle's words were simple, direct, and flat. Claire smiled to herself. Her mother was nothing if not blunt when needed.
Bashar, of course, threw back his head and emitted a howling laugh that was quickly swallowed by the drenching rain. “Melle! Melle, Melle, Melle.” Claire's mother's name was an awful chant on his bared lips, making Claire's skin crawl beneath her soaked coat. “Such a pity you chose the path you did. However, you can still be quite useful to us. My sire assures me the shifter genes will still carry on to the rest of your cubs, despite you foolishly having relinquished your human side.”
An ominous crack of thunder fairly close by made them all jump, although Melle didn't let the wolves out of her eyesight.
“I'm so sorry, a trade simply won't be possible,” Bashar went on. His voice was so different than the one he'd used with Claire during their time together, so ugly now. Her internal shivers deepened as she realized more and more just how unstable he was. And how well he'd played her. “I'm under strict orders to bring you both back. And after all the work I did wooing your sweet daughter”—Claire's own hackles raised, and she growled fiercely at him—“in order to get access to you as well, I'm certainly not returning to my sire without her as well.”
Bashar's lips drew even farther back in a calculating snarl as he advanced one step toward Melle. She held her ground, though, head high, body now equally tensed between fleeing and attacking. “He told me something very, very interesting. Something I'd wager my lovely Claire—”
“I am not yours, bastard!” Claire snapped, starting to shake with anger as well as her deepening nervousness.
“—something she never knew,” he finished smoothly as if she hadn't interrupted him. “Isn't that right, Melle? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Keeping secrets from her. That's no way to build a healthy relationship, now, is that?”
Claire's growl stopped halfway in her throat. Swinging her head between her mother and her ex, she felt a tickle of doubt lodge somewhere in her stomach. Her human seemed breathless, tautly waiting for an explanation. The rain poured down, although not a wolf moved a single muscle or tried to twitch the wetness off their coats as they also waited for the answer.
Giving her daughter a long look, Melle finally replied. “She didn't need to know the details of her native pack. All she needed to know was that it was unhealthy, unstable, and no place to raise a pup.”
Sharp, sudden horror whipped through Claire colder than the icy rain.
Her mother looked directly at her and shattered her world. “I'm sorry, Claire. We came from the same pack as these wolves. Bashar's sire forced me to mate with his cousin, who also came from pure arctic bloodlines, in hopes of creating more wolves just like you. True white wolves,” she whispered, the wolfish hint of a slightly sad smile on her face for an instant. The wind slammed through the canyon as the storm piled on overhead.
Claire's human gibbered in her mind, frantically trying to absorb and understand what Melle was saying. “But that's impossible. You said we were from an Alaskan pack! And you meant it!”
Wolves usually had a difficult time lying to one another, especially ones with close ties. There was no way her mother could have distorted the truth that much without Claire realizing she kept back information.
Eyes firmly settled back on the rogue wolves, keeping their every twitch under her watchful gaze, Melle responded, “I was. Originally. That was truth, and I never lied about it. Bashar's sire had me stolen when I was very young. He already had a breeding program in mind, even back then, and he forced me into it. But I never considered his pack as my pack. Never.” No bitterness lined her shocking words. Simply acceptance of past facts. A wild wolf through and through, she focused on the now. Another thunderclap startled everyone again, but their attention remained on the wild wolf's story.
“My goal always was to protect you, Claire. I did that. However,” and she aimed her baleful stare directly at Bashar, “I admit I underestimated how devious this one is, although in retrospect it's not surprising considering his lifelong role model. He made very sure to respect your wishes as a wild wolf and wear scent blocker himself when he was around you and your house. Quite clever,” she said with just a touch of sarcasm now framing her tone. Claire clenched her jaw, glaring with renewed disgust at Bashar. “I never once caught his scent,” Melle continued. “I would have been suspicious had you ever mentioned his name to me, but obviously he meant little enough to you that never saw reason to give him that much importance in any conversation.” Melle yawned wide to punctuate her words, though her sharp gaze still fixed on the rogues.
Despite her shock at her mother's revelation, Claire had to chuff out a wicked laugh at Bashar's suddenly murderous expression. Her mother was deliberately pushing his arrogance buttons, and it was working.
“Enough,” he snapped. “There will be no trade. My orders are to retrieve you both and return you to our pack. I was patient as I waited for just the right time to have Claire lure you in,” he said to Melle, “but our time is up.” Some agitation stirred beneath his words, but Claire had no time to ponder it before he went on. “To the car.” He tossed his head at the other three male wolves, who slowly began to prowl toward Melle.
Before Claire could open her mouth to protest, her mother shot her a glance that said volumes, even though Claire knew the others wouldn't understand. She, however, immediately grasped Melle's intentions.
Quicker than thought, she launched herself at Bashar just as Melle turned and leapt away down the canyon, spring and sliding and clawing through the muddy ground.
Bashar howled as Claire landed on him with a satisfying whomp. He swiped at her, snarling out to the others as he jerked his muzzle at Melle, “Go after her!”
Claire managed to twist away from him, though, and she also ran for all she was worth toward the canyon's entrance. She knew the other wolves would be able to stop her before she reached it, but it might give her mother time to get more distance. Melle wasn't abandoning her—far from it. This was an old defensive technique they'd practiced since Claire was young. Divide and conquer when surrounded, or at least divide. It would throw off attackers and allow the ostensibly escaping wolf to circle back and re-attack.
And Tate thought she had no self-protective instincts.
Claire raced as fast as she could on the treacherous ground, gaining the canyon entrance just as the creepy speckled wolf did. He bowled right into her, knocking her sprawling. She tumbled a few times before she could right herself, shaking her head and keeping her snarl ferociously in place. Thunder cracked again as more rain dumped from the roiling sky.
“Try that again.” Her savage tone paused him for a second. Then an unpleasant grin pulled back his lips, revealing his sharp canines as he prepared himself to launch at her again.
A dark shape came hurtling from behind a boulder, rocketing right into the speckled wolf and crashing him onto the ground. Melle flipped away just as fast, landing on her feet a few strides away, whirling quickly to parry with him again. Just as Bashar and the other two wolves got to them, though, a sudden surge of noise and movement exploded from around the corner.
Tate. And his pack.
***
Every Black Mesa wolf thudded to a halt, the pounding rain and whipping wind threatening to make the scene even more treacherous. Immense relief soaked Tate as much as the rain did. Claire looked angry as hell, and somewhat uneasy, but she appeared unharmed.
The speckled wolf with the yolk-bright yellow eyes was too close to Claire. Tate moved forward one step, then another. As he did, though, the speckled wolf growled, the sound of it just barely carrying over the rain. It was a warning.
Get the hell away from my prey.
Like hell he would. Tate snarled back, letting his lip ripple back and rise high so his sharp canines would gleam at the other wolf. Tate's human, though, pushed at him to think. There had to be a smarter way to handle this. Anger wouldn't diffuse this situation any more than laughter could.
Tate had sheer numbers on his side, not to mention the most powerful alpha in the northern hemisphere at his flank. His father had not uttered a single word to Tate the entire way on how to approach the rogues if sighted. The kill order was still in effect, a result from their having slaughtered the young wolf from the Silver Mountain Pack. Tate's friend, and Kieran's blood as well as pack relative. He vaguely registered Kieran a few wolves away from him, firmly flanked by Lily so he wouldn't make a rash decision at the sight of those who had murdered one of his own kin.
However, as Tate forced himself to slow down and think, he realized that he didn't truly believe killing all these wolves was the right choice at the moment.
They can be useful later, perhaps,
his human murmured, although tempered fury bracketed his words.
Taking them captive was a distinct possibility. It could also give them a bargaining chip with the Canadian pack that was fast-becoming Tate's least favorite pack of all time. Before he could say anything, though, Bashar Rawlins started to stroll toward Claire, insolent yet calculating. Tate tensed, muscles ready to spring after all, as did every other Black Mesa Wolf.
“Stop now, fool.” The words came from Luke. “You're already a dead wolf. Don't add torture to the list.”
Tate saw Claire flinch as Bashar flung his head back in a disturbing howl that danced along the edge of mad laughter. Some of the younger Black Mesa wolves also teetered back on their legs, although they didn't break ranks. Tate felt proud, even though he didn't blame them one bit for their slight trepidation. The stench of purely batshit insane wolf managed to carry to their nostrils despite the sheets of water pouring from the dark, crackling clouds above.
“This pack is much too civilized to condone torture.” Bashar's voice was a sneer. “Or should I say, too weak? Look—even its alpha shrinks back from me. What sort of leader is he?”