Wolf Gift (Outcast Pack Book 7), page 1
WOLF GIFT
OUTCAST PACK
TJ NICHOLS
Copyright © 2023 by TJ Nichols
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Wolf Gift
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
Other books by TJ Nichols
About the Author
WOLF GIFT
Mitchell Wright expected to die when he was captured by hunters. When they chained him and left him in the bush, he hoped to die fast. Instead, his fated mate shows up and saves him. Now, he has to deal with his injuries for the rest of his life, and he’s a familiar to a witch he doesn’t even know.
Coven Agent Penrith Flint thought he was saving the wolf shifter’s life, not finding himself a familiar. Because of how it happened—the wolf didn’t consent to become his familiar—he’s desk-bound with his job on the line while praying to the Fates to let the bond fade.
After four months, it hasn’t.
When Mitchell turns up just before Christmas to see him, Penrith must decide if he’s willing to let the wolf into his life and risk his heart one more time. While neither man wants a fated mate, it is the gift they both need.
One wounded wolf shifter and a slightly bitter blood witch come together to discover that while love may not heal wounds, it makes them easier to bear and that finding Mitchell a pack is the family they both need.
PROLOGUE
There were few things Penrith hated more than search and rescues, in part because half the time, it wasn’t a rescue; it was a body recovery. And he didn’t expect anything to be different this time.
The hunters had taken three wolves over the last couple of weeks, one of whom was a Coven lawyer—though that had been planned. As much as those things could be. If they lost him, they were fucked. Justin knew too much about everything and wasn’t a trained agent; he was simply the profile the hunters liked to take, which was gay wolf shifter. While they needed to find out where the hunters took those they captured, having one of their own taken raised the stakes.
The other two wolves had been taken a few weeks ago. Like the previous shifters who'd been captured, they’d been taken from their homes. As far as the Coven could tell, neither had a connection to the Outcast Pack. Though one had attacked Con and the other was part of Sam’s family pack. Why hunters had targeted them, they had yet to figure out. That bothered Penrith because if they didn’t know why certain wolves were being targeted, they wouldn’t be able to protect those who needed it.
Hopefully, after this job, they wouldn’t have to worry about hunters again.
He moved silently through the bush, aware of the other agents now swarming the house, stable, and other outbuildings. Being a part of the raid wasn’t his job tonight. His job was to find the wolves.
Or any other of the hunters’ victims who were still alive.
He may not have their blood, which made things easier, but if they were alive, he could find them because their bodies were full of blood. His magic was a little like a water witch’s in that he could sense the large volume of blood in a person, and while he didn’t feel the electrical pulses of the heart, he did feel the tide of their pulse. A steady rhythm that drew him closer.
There were other large animals in the bush: kangaroos, a few wild dogs, and, more distantly, probably in a nearby paddock, some horses. But they all felt very different from a human. He stopped and reached out again with his magic because wolves and wild dogs were very similar, though wolves were larger.
He wasn’t worried about being attacked. Anything that foolish wouldn’t live long. Controlling a being’s blood meant he controlled their body.
Were they wild dogs or wolves he was sensing?
He was almost about to investigate, but something fainter…weaker, caught his attention. To most people, it might have been nothing, but Penrith had been trusting his magic for a long time, and if that’s where it was leading him, that’s where he was going.
He followed the weak pulse, and as he got closer, he built up a mental image of the body he was tracking. Blood was very good at providing an accurate image because of the way it reached everywhere.
He didn’t like what he sensed and the picture his magic was building in his mind. It was going to be bad.
While he prepared himself mentally as much as he could, the sight made his stomach turn. He hadn’t thrown up on a job in about ten years.
The wolf was chained to a tree in the middle of a clearing. He lay on his side on the verge of dying, and Penrith wasn’t sure if there was anything he could do. The wolf was so weak that even a healer might kill him.
Would that be a kindness?
Because the chain wasn’t around his neck, it ran through one of his hind legs, and from the looks of the wound he had attempted to chew through his leg.
Penrith glanced away and sucked in a breath. He held it for a couple of seconds.
He was sure the wolf knew he was there.
Maybe he didn’t care, or maybe he didn’t have the energy to do anything but wait to die.
Penrith took another couple of breaths before stepping closer. “I’m here to help. I’m with the Coven.”
What that help looked like, he still wasn’t sure. He sent a message to the head of the operation, tagging his location and letting them know he had found a seriously injured wolf. Depending on how things went at the main house and if they had recovered Justin, it might be a while before help arrived.
The wolf opened his eyes and gave a small whine.
As much as he wanted to put his hand on the wolf to get a better feel for the extent of his injuries, he refrained. The first thing he did was pick the padlock that held the chain through the wolf and around the tree.
What kind of sick fuck did something like this?
The same kind of sick fuck who thought hunting shifters was good fun.
As the chain moved, the wolf whimpered.
“Sorry.” There was no good way to remove it, and he couldn’t leave the chain where it was, so he made it fast.
The wolf whimpered, and Penrith grimaced.
With the chain removed, he knelt beside the wolf and put his hand over the wound. The wolf didn’t lift its head to watch him.
None of the wolf’s wounds had been immediately fatal, but a few days of slowly bleeding out without food, water, and medical attention had almost done the job. The wolf’s other back leg was broken. Even if he shifted to attempt to get free as a man, he wouldn’t have been able to run away.
Anger bubbled and threatened to spill over. He wanted to destroy the hunters’ hearts slowly so they felt the same pain they had caused others.
But that wouldn’t help the wolf.
That left him two options: sit and wait and do nothing besides hold his paw and pat his head, in which case he gave the wolf less than six hours to live, or he used his magic.
He wasn’t a healer and couldn’t fix any of the wounds. However, he could give the wolf more blood, strengthen his pulse, and keep the wolf’s heart beating if he had to.
Penrith pulled his pocketknife out of his pocket and shoved up the sleeve of his black shirt. His arms were covered in the marks of his magic use because cutting palms was fucking stupid.
“You’re in bad shape. You know that. At the moment, a healer’s magic will kill you.” He flicked open the blade of the knife. “I’m a blood witch, so I can use my blood and magic to help you.” He’d helped shifters and witches in the past when jobs went sideways. “If you agree.”
They always agreed. No one wanted to die.
He moved around to the wolf’s head to look him in the eye.
The wolf watched him with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.
“This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to make a cut on my arm, and you’ll lick the blood up, which is you agreeing that I can use my magic to help you. I will then be able to access all of your body.” He could’ve let a drop of his blood fall into the open wound, and he had done that for injured agents, but then they had consented prior to the mission. This was different.
He ran the blade over his forearm, barely noticing the sting as the magic rushed to the surface. The cut wasn’t deep, but it didn’t need to be. He knew how much he needed to spill.
The wolf’s nostrils twitched.
He was hungry, thirsty, and wounded. Most people wouldn’t stick their hand near him. Penrith offered his arm. “Your choice, wolf.”
All the wolf needed to do was stick out his tongue and take the drop that rolled over Penrith’s forearm.
“If you don’t consent to magic, I will sit with you until you pass.” Which would be before dawn.
The wolf gave his arm a pathetic lick, but it was enough.
Enough for Penrith to realize something was very wrong.
He drew in a breath, clamping down on the pain in his thigh and ankle. He shouldn’t be feeling that. That was the wolf’s
Who are you?
The wolf’s thought echoed in Penrith’s mind as the realization tumbled through him. He rocked back onto his heels. The wolf was his familiar.
His fated mate.
He tipped his head back and laughed. “You twisted fuckers.”
His life was now bound to the wolf’s. To a man he didn’t know. Which one was he?
It didn’t matter now.
He gripped the wolf’s jaw and looked into his eyes. “I’m Penrith. And you’re not killing me, so buckle up as you’re surviving until help arrives.”
CHAPTER ONE
It was the second time in his many days that Mitchell Wright walked into the coffee shop beneath the Coven building in the center of Melbourne. However, calling it walking was fairly generous. A slow hobble might be more accurate, but given that he hadn’t been able to walk in either human or wolf form four months ago, he guessed it was progress.
Yesterday, he’d come in, bought himself a coffee, opened his laptop, and pretended he was super busy and enjoyed working in cafes while Christmas carols played in the background. He did not.
And he hadn’t been working either.
That was his other problem.
Now that he could walk-ish, and he wasn’t dying, his parents were pretty keen to get him out of the house. They hadn’t said he was a burden, but his presence was a thorn between their toes. His pack hadn’t kicked him out exactly, but they weren’t thrilled to have him around, either. Given the situation with the wolf politics, he didn’t blame them. They weren’t like the old-school troublemakers, but he wouldn’t have called them progressive, either. So, he was a reminder that they were part of the problem, and his presence made everyone uncomfortable.
Of course, he couldn’t move out until he had a job because, without a job, he had nowhere to stay. And he really didn’t want to work around humans who’d ask what had happened to his leg because he couldn’t tell them the truth.
The Coven had given him a tidy little cover story, but he was sick of lying.
He hadn’t even considered begging the Coven for a job until yesterday. The initial reason for his visit was tucked into his laptop bag and now seemed rather lame. A thank you card for the witch who’d saved his life. Surely he could do better than that?
Though, apparently not.
And there was no advice for the right kind of gift to give, and he felt he should do something because the witch had sat with him. Penrith was the reason he was alive, and yeah, there had been moments he’d hated him for that.
“Flat white, thanks,” he ordered from the woman behind the counter.
She gave him a look as though she remembered him from yesterday. He didn’t want to be memorable anymore. Before the incident, as he called it, because it wasn’t an accident, he’d enjoyed being the center of attention. He’d lived for the applause and the stage lights. He wouldn’t be dancing again. He couldn’t even manage the average straight-guy nightclub shuffle.
“Would you like anything else?” the woman asked as if she knew there was a reason he was there again.
Where did he begin?
I’d like to go back six months to before I was caught and tortured and nearly killed. I’d like my old life back, thanks, and can I have a side of that pecan pie with that? How much will that be?
He held her gaze, and she held his. His heartbeat quickened and thumped against his ribs. The hand holding the walking stick shook just a bit. From exertion, he told himself. He’d been pushing himself hard now that he could take more than six steps without crumpling to the ground.
Too many people stopped to stare at the young guy with the cane, but he’d be damned before he used crutches the way he had been for months. Though for the first month, he hadn’t been able to walk at all. Even magic could only heal so much, and he’d been too weak. The muscle damage, the infection…it had all taken a toll.
At one point, he’d been convinced it would’ve been easier if he had died. He was sure his parents and pack thought the same thing. But he couldn’t bring himself to quit.
It was why he’d used the last of his strength to shift that night, hoping that he’d be able to chew his way free. But he’d been so weak and wounded even if he’d been able to take the pain, fleeing was impossible.
Mitchell ran his tongue over his lower lip and nodded. She wasn’t asking if he wanted pie.
“Yeah, I’d like to see Penrith.” He didn’t even know the witch’s last name. Or if he remembered the first name correctly. But he remembered how the man looked and how his magic felt coursing through him and willing him to live.
Penrith was the reason he was alive.
The woman typed something into the computer. If she said no Penrith worked there, he would walk out and never come back. Had Penrith come from somewhere else? Mitchell had been told it was a big operation and that agents had come from other states.
She glanced up at him. “And you are?”
“Mitchell Wright.” Did that matter?
Was there a note in a file somewhere? Oh God, could she read what had happened to him? He swallowed, and for a heartbeat, he wanted nothing more than to flee out the door…though that would take a good five minutes, so he might as well stand there in the air conditioning instead of sweating on the street.
He should’ve begged for a job instead of asking to see Penrith, as he didn’t think he could face turning up a third time.
The woman typed a few more keys and nodded to herself.
It was too hot in the café. The air smothered him, and he couldn’t breathe.
Lies. It was a panic attack, that was all. The knowledge didn’t stop the sweat from forming and rolling down his back. It didn’t slow his heart either.
She glanced up. “If you could have a seat at that corner table, I’ll bring your coffee over.”
Because he was clearly incapable of holding a cup and the stick—which he was.
“And when Penrith finishes with his meeting, he’ll be down. It could be up to half an hour. Is that okay?” she finished brightly as someone else stepped up to the counter.
“Sure.” It’s not as if he had anything else to do.
He paid for the coffee and made his way to the table she’d indicated. It was the kind of table that went unnoticed until pointed out, not because of its location but because of the magic used to ward it. He guessed it also prevented people from eavesdropping on conversations.
His cane tapped on the floor with every step. He was sure people were taking a good look and trying to work out what was wrong with him. He was not going to stop and ask them if they wanted to look at the scar. He’d done that once while in the hospital when another patient had kept staring.
The magic glided over his skin as he drew closer. When he dropped into the red leather chair, his shirt was clinging to him from the exertion. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and drew in a couple of deep breaths. Then he propped the cane up against the chair and flexed his fingers. His wrist and hand weren’t used to the extra work. His ankle, which had been broken, ached from taking the extra weight.
He should be using the damned crutches.
While he could tolerate using them at home, in public, the cane was bad enough. He was twenty-six going on eighty-six.
At least when he shifted, he could run on all four legs. It was uneven because he had a limp, and he’d probably always have a limp in wolf form.
He smelled the woman approach. She put the coffee on the table and, from the scent, a piece of pecan pie. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “I don’t want you to run away before Penrith’s meeting ends.”
That made sense, and she was bribing him with food, which he wouldn’t refuse because, like all shifters, he burned a lot of calories.
She considered him for a moment longer as though about to say something. But she turned away, weaving between the tables and back to the counter.
He’d taken that ease for granted. Once, he’d done it in heels and costume, while singing, and thought nothing of it.
His fingers curled into a fist, and his nails dug into his palm. If he let the anger rule him, the hunters still held him prisoner. He counted to ten and then uncurled his fingers. With a shaky hand, he picked up the fork and took a bite of pie.
