Defender of the Pack, page 1
Defender of the Pack
The Other Wolf Series, A Prequel Novella
Heather G. Harris
Copyright © 2022 by Heather G. Harris
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Cover Design by Miblart.
Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. What’s Next?
11. Also By
12. About the Author
Chapter 1
‘So I killed him.’ Silence greeted my announcement. The glares being directed my way were icy. I didn’t blame them.
‘That makes Lucy your new alpha,’ Greg Manners explained calmly. His words dropped into the silence like stone. The glares intensified.
I cleared my throat and smiled harder, like that would help. ‘I’ll be taking over Lord Samuel’s office and I will be having an open-door policy. If you have any issues, please do come and see me.’ My background as an accountant was showing. Office hours and open-door policies were things I was comfortable with. Being an alpha werewolf was as far from my comfort zone as I could get.
‘I appreciate that there will be a transition period whilst we all get used to each other. I want you to know that I won’t be calling a full pack tourney at this time – your rank within the pack is secure for now. However, I expect Greg Manners here will become my second, so he’ll fight with the current second, Mark Oates, to confirm his position. Any questions?’
I looked around hopefully for someone to engage with me, but the only response was from Mark Oates. He stood up and started to strip off his clothes. Shit – I hadn’t meant they would fight right now.
I glanced to my left, where Manners was standing legs akimbo, arms folded. He met my slightly panicked look with the barest of winks. Obviously, he wasn’t fazed. He unfolded his sizeable forearms, reached down to the bottom of his T-shirt and peeled it off. I looked away hastily. I’d only been a werewolf for a matter of weeks, and I’d definitely not gotten used to all this casual nudity. Manners had been a werewolf for only a day or two but was completely unabashed.
We’d stopped on the long drive down here for me to teach him everything I knew about being a werewolf. The lesson had been depressingly short.
Mark Oates had the jump on Manners in that he started shifting first but, at only two minutes long, Manners had a very fast shift. Obviously surprised, the pack members started to whisper among themselves. Manners sat patiently on his hind legs and calmly groomed himself as he waited another two minutes for Oates to finish shifting. My own shift takes a mere second – but my wolf and I are different in more ways than one.
It was clear that the speed of Manners’ shift had pissed off Oates, and he didn’t wait for me to start the fight. Despite this being a ‘friendly’ bout, he bared his teeth and raised his tail high. Uh-oh, he obviously wasn’t going to pull his punches.
I felt a twinge of fear in my stomach. Manners had never fought in wolf form before; we’d done some play pouncing, of course, but it wasn’t the same thing at all.
On two legs, Manners is as deadly as they come. He’s brethren born and raised, bred for the sole purpose of protecting the dragon shifters. He was handed his first gun before he was given a pencil. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but not much. Rumour has it that there’s not a single weapon he can’t handle. But suddenly having four legs and a tail to balance and move is a whole new game. He would need to put all his trust in his inner wolf.
Manners was virtually a stranger to me. Although I didn’t know him well, he was close to my best friend, Jess, so that made us … something. In a pack with no allies or friends, something was better than nothing.
Oates and Manners were assessing each other. Both were bigger than average wolves, at least one hundred kilos apiece. They were both grey wolves, which made it difficult to tell them apart. Manners had slate-grey eyes versus Oates’ brown ones, but if their wolfish counterparts took over those eyes would flash gold. I wouldn't be able to use eye colour as a way of identifying them. Then I noticed that Manners had a slash of black fur across his shoulders. That was enough for me to tell them apart.
No sooner had I identified their distinguishing features then they clashed. The only sign that this wasn’t a deadly contest was the sound of ominous growls; if their intentions had been lethal, they’d have slunk in silently on quiet paws.
Oates made the first move and barrelled into Manners’ side to make him lose his footing. Manners barely moved.
I suppressed a fist pump.
Oates’ eyes flashed with fury, and he leapt at Manners, teeth ready to rip and rend. Fur went flying, and Oates yowled as Manners ripped out a particularly large chunk of it, exposing red-raw, bleeding flesh.
Manners dropped back to give Oates the chance to regroup. It was clear that he didn’t consider Oates a threat, and his courtesy infuriated Oates even more. He ran across the space between them to crash into Manners, who easily side-stepped the furious assault. As Oates sailed past him, Manners bit into his leg and hamstrung him. The bite was precision perfect, and Oates let out a yip of pain.
Instead of landing on his feet nearby, Oates skidded and landed in a heap as his leg gave way. Again, Manners stood back, and waited.
He is an excellent hunter, Esme said, her tone full of admiration. Esme is my wolf; she shares my skin and lives in my head and my heart.
He is impressive, I admitted.
You should mate with him, she suggested.
I felt myself blush and hoped no one would notice as the battle continued. Blushing doesn’t exactly say ‘tough-ass alpha’.
I ignored her comment and focused on the fight – what was left of it. Oates limped forward pathetically; he might be down, but he refused to be out. The rest of the fight was painful to watch as Manners harried him until Oates was covered in dozens of small cuts and slashes.
Oates was clearly exhausted and fighting a losing battle, but he refused to give up. If he hadn’t been hamstrung so early in the fight he might have stood a chance, but now pure obstinacy was the only thing keeping him on his feet.
Finally, Manners felt that he’d made his point. He thundered into Oates and used his momentum and his skull to send his opponent flying. Then he rested one of his heavy paws on Oates’ throat. The threat was clear, and the atmosphere suddenly grew tense as the whole pack collectively held their breath. Would Manners kill him?
I hoped not because it wasn’t necessary in this kind of ranking bout, but I didn’t know Manners well enough. At sixteen, he’d joined the military and had risen fast through the ranks until he joined the special forces, where he became the type of soldier that would have to kill you if he told you what he’d done. Death wasn’t something foreign to him.
I was holding my breath too, but Esme was full of anticipation, cheering him on, willing him to rip out Oates’ throat. I love her, but she’s a bloodthirsty bitch.
Manners’ wolf must have been chanting the same thing as Esme, but his eyes remained slate grey. He was in control of his wolf and the moment passed. He removed his paw from Mark Oates’ throat and let him live. A sigh passed around the room.
Manners padded back to my side on all fours, then shifted. Two minutes later, he was standing before me on two legs, buck naked. I didn’t know where to look. This is a man who works out; his muscles have muscles. I stared determinedly into his eyes.
He went down on one knee and bowed his head. ‘Alpha,’ he greeted me.
Beta, Esme instructed me. You must acknowledge him as our second, our beta.
‘Beta,’ I said loudly.
The assembled pack stomped rhythmically, and the sound echoed around the room. Some sort of ceremony that I was ignorant about had been concluded.
Chapter 2
Manners rose and calmly pulled on his boxers and jeans. How do I know what he’s wearing? Okay, I admit it: I snuck a peek when no one was watching.
He was holding his T-shirt loosely in his hand. He had a slash or two on his body but the shift had kick-started his healing and, even as I watched, they closed and disappeared. He made no effort to cover his deliciously defined torso. I couldn’t blame him; if I was that cut, I’d show it off too. However, it was distracting. Think innocent friendly thoughts, I told myself.
Oates was still slumped in the corner of the room. He hadn’t even tried to shift into human form. Seren was by his side, stroking his fur and glaring at Manners. Seren was a goth and her all-black ensemble made her look funereal. Thick black eyeliner accented her glare.
The silence in the room was deafening as everyone looked at me. Shit: this was my gig. I smiled so widely that my cheeks hurt. ‘Right. Manners is second. Good meeting. See you.’
See you? Ugh. I was simply the worst at this alpha business.
As I turned and marched out of the room, Manners fell into step behind me.
You worry too much about what they think of us, Esme observed.
I want them to like us, I admitted, not caring how pathetic it sounded.
We don’t need their affection, just their obedience. With time, they will grow to care. As will we.
I care now!
I don’t. They w
They were alright. Just – cautious. Closed off.
They weren’t friendly and it made you sad. I don’t like things that make you sad.
I sent her a warm wave of affection, a mental hug. Esme is a wolf; she is feral and her moral compass is very different to mine, but she loves me and takes care of me. I love every inch of her wild heart.
I’ve got you, I told her. We’ll be okay. I’ll get the pack to like us – or at least respect us – one way or another.
Manners and I walked in silence to my office. I shut the door behind us to give us some privacy against excellent werewolf hearing, then I sat behind Lord Wilfred Samuel’s desk and swivelled back and forth in his chair. Manners sat in the guest chair, rigidly at attention. His years as a soldier were showing.
‘Well, good job,’ I offered. He nodded, his eyes still assessing me. I couldn’t cope with that clinical glance for a moment longer. ‘This is so weird,’ I blurted out, breaking the silence before it became uncomfortable. ‘Last time I was in this room, I was sitting where you are and Lord Samuel was in this chair.’
Lord Samuel had been eccentric, strict and kind. He’d gambled way too much, frittering away the pack’s accumulated riches. His relationship with his son, Archie, had been strained ever since Archie had embarked on a drug-fuelled rollercoaster. But Lord Samuel had been a friend of my bestie, Jess Sharp. Because of their friendship, he’d agreed to save my life by turning me into a werewolf.
I didn’t regret the change. Esme was everything to me, and it sure beat being in a coffin.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Manners offered finally. I got the impression he wasn’t used to rolling out comforting words. Until recently, he’d worked as the number two to the dragon king. Like me, he’d been turned into a werewolf so that his life could be saved. Now here we were, both of us fish out of water. But at least Manners had been born and raised in the Other realm. He knew about all things magical, while I was floundering as I tried to wrap my head around a place where magic was real.
‘So, I’m your second,’ Manners continued.
I blinked. Shit: I should probably have checked with him before I’d declared that to the whole pack. ‘Erm. Yeah. Is that okay?’
Manners studied me. ‘Sure,’ he said finally. ‘I can take on a hostile pack.’ His confidence wasn’t surprising; he was deadly, and he knew it.
‘No lethal force,’ I clarified. ‘No killing people.’
‘No, you’ve already done that.’ His quip scored a direct hit and I winced.
I had killed Lord Samuel at his lordship’s behest – and whoever killed the alpha inherited the pack. Lord Samuel had fought with the Cheshire alpha, Jimmy Rain. Rain had cheated and coated his claws in poison, fatally wounding his adversary, so I’d killed Lord Samuel to keep the pack out of Rain’s abusive hands. So here I was: alpha to a pissed-off pack that didn’t seem overly grateful that I’d saved them from Rain.
Marissa strolled in without so much as a knock. Rude. I tried to overlook it because she bore a coffee and a warm smile. Manners leapt to his feet at the intrusion and drew a knife, but he sheathed it again when I gave him a pointed glance. Though not before he’d let Marissa see it.
‘Oh my,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt. I brought you a coffee, alpha. A latte. I know you like a latte.’
Maybe some of the pack were grateful; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. I gave Marissa a huge smile. ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you.’
‘Next time, knock,’ Manners ordered gruffly, his eyes narrowed at her rudeness.
‘Of course,’ she simpered. She passed me the mug and I took a big sip to show willing. Ack. Salt – she’d put salt in my latte.
I set down the hot drink and gave her my best smile. ‘Thank you so much but, just for future reference, I take sugar in my latte, not salt.’
‘Oh no!’ she gasped, outwardly dismayed. ‘I’m sorry, alpha, that wasn’t me. Someone else must have slipped in some salt whilst my back was turned.’ She batted her wide, innocent eyes at me.
I wasn’t buying what she was selling; I know bitch warfare when I see it. ‘Don’t worry. We all make mistakes. What’s important is that we learn from them. I’ll always tolerate the first mistake.’ My smile held as much bitchiness as hers, and my tone carried the threat.
We should bite her, Esme said grumpily. My mouth tastes not nice. Blood would clean it out nicely.
‘Blood is a good palate cleanser,’ I agreed aloud.
Marissa’s eyes widened and for a split second her fake smile dropped. Gotcha. ‘I’ll get you another latte.’ She retrieved the salt-laced beverage from my desk.
‘Don’t bother,’ I replied. ‘I’m not thirsty for coffee just now.’ And I don’t trust you not to spit in the next one.
After she’d walked out carrying the offending coffee, Manners grinned. ‘This is going to be interesting. Did you just imply you’d like to wash your mouth out with her blood?’
‘I didn’t mean to say it out loud,’ I admitted. ‘Esme is bloodthirsty.’
He leaned forward. ‘You can speak to her? Your wolf? I can feel mine, but I can’t talk to him.’
‘I’m a piper, remember?’ My turning was – complicated. I was stabbed with Glimmer, a magic knife that had imbued me with the ability to pipe, to speak to animals.
‘Right,’ Manners said, suddenly understanding. He smirked. ‘That gives you a huge advantage, you know? The pack isn’t going to know what hit them.’
Chapter 3
There was a knock on my door. I shot Manners a warning look and he stood up. Always ready for battle, his hand hovered, ready to draw a weapon. He leaned against the wall, looking tough and intimidating.
‘Come in,’ I called firmly.
One of the pups strolled in. He must have been seven or eight years old. I couldn’t remember his name. I blinked. ‘Hello,’ I said finally.
‘Hi, alpha. I’m Bobby.’ He scooted forward, slumped into the chair that Manners had just vacated and farted loudly. ‘Better out than in!’ he said breezily.
He wasn’t my kid to school in manners, so I let it slide. ‘Hi, Bobby. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve got a very big problem,’ he announced solemnly.
I leaned forward. ‘What is it? You can tell me.’
‘I’ve lost Ham, my wolf.’ he declared.
‘Your wolf? You’re too young to have called your wolf.’
‘Not my actual wolf. My Ham. My toy. I’ve had it since I was born. It’s missing.’
I was momentarily speechless. I had been braced for at least a confession of parental abuse. Finally I stuttered, ‘You’ve lost your toy? When did you last see it?’ I was repeating the phrase my mum often used when I was looking for something.
‘If I knew that, it wouldn’t be lost,’ he sassed.
‘Careful,’ Manners growled from the side of the room. ‘Show your alpha some respect.’
I shot him a look that said I thought his attitude was overkill. He ignored me.
‘Will you find it for me? I’ll wait here while you shift.’ Suddenly Bobby sounded eager.
Ah, he wanted to see me turn. ‘Did someone put you up to this?’
‘The other kids said I should ask you, and it seemed like a good idea. Can you help me?’
Bobby was the youngest pup by quite a way; all the other kids had called their wolves so they were into their teen years. They were using him to see what I would do.
We should shift. That would show them.
Esme and I shift insanely fast. All other wolves I’ve met can do it in three to five minutes. Lord Samuel had been able to do it in two, as quickly as Manners. But I’m faster. I can shift in a blink.
During the few weeks I’d stayed here before I’d killed Lord Samuel, I had kept my shifting time a secret. It would come out sooner or later, but for now I’d keep it as a secret weapon in my arsenal. I didn’t need a reason to stand out – and I certainly wasn’t shifting to find a stuffed toy.
‘I’ll help you look,’ I said finally. After all, he’d come to me in office hours and I was keen to help those who came to me – no matter how bizarre their request might be.
