Chapter 15: The Hunt Begins
The yard was still full of the low, easy hum of a pack coming down from a fight. Bikes were parked in loose rows, headlights off, engines ticking as they cooled. Someone had dragged a grill out from the side shed, and the smell of charred meat drifted on the evening air. Marcus stood by the chain-link fence with a beer in one hand, talking to Cole in a low voice. Sofia sat on the clubhouse steps with Barrett beside her, his arm in a fresh sling, his face pale but alive. The celebration had the shape of a victory, but it had not yet become one, not fully.
Duncan stood at the edge of the yard, letting the cool air wash over him. The mate bite on his neck was a warm, steady pulse against his skin. Jared's room still echoed in his body, the press of hands and the deep lock of the knot, but out here, in the open, the adrenaline had bled away into something heavier. His stomach turned, a slow, rolling queasiness that had nothing to do with the fight. It had come on him twice now since the rescue, a wave of nausea that rose and passed like a tide, leaving him dizzy for a moment before settling.
He pressed a hand to his stomach and breathed through it. Too much coffee, he told himself. Too little sleep. The pack had run on fear and fury for two days, and his body was catching up. That was all.
"Sofia's got Barrett settled," Danny said from somewhere behind him. The younger wolf had come up without Duncan noticing, which said something about how far they had both come. Danny stood with his hands in his pockets, not quite meeting Duncan's eyes. "He'll be moving slow for a while, but he'll be moving."
"Good," Duncan said. The word came out steadier than he felt.
Danny hesitated, then nodded and walked back toward the grill. Duncan watched him go, feeling the edges of something almost like belonging. He had earned a place here, one inch at a time, with his voice and his nerve and his refusal to be small. The pack had started to see him. The queasiness rose again, sharper this time, and Duncan swallowed hard.
The sound came from the road, a low, rising howl of an engine pushed past its limit. Every head in the yard turned. The gate was open, and a bike came through it fast, too fast, skidding to a stop in the gravel with a spray of dust. The rider was one of the younger wolves, a wiry kid named Reese who rode the northern perimeter. His face was gray under the yard lights, and his hands shook as he killed the engine.
Jared was already moving, crossing the yard in long, deliberate strides. He had been inside the clubhouse, washing the dust of the fight off his skin, and he came out with his hair still damp and his eyes already sharp. Duncan saw the moment Jared's senses caught what Duncan's had not, the extra note on the air, the wrongness. Jared stopped in front of Reese's bike and went very still.
Reese swung off the bike. He did not look at anyone, just stood there with his shoulders hunched, and Duncan saw the thing nailed to the seat. A scrap of red cloth, rough and fresh, torn from a jacket or a patch. It was wrapped around a piece of splintered wood, driven through the leather of the seat like a flag. Duncan stepped closer, his stomach turning again, and saw the crude coyote head burned into the cloth with a hot iron.
The yard went silent. Even the grill fire seemed to hush.
Jared reached out and pulled the cloth free. His hands were steady, but the line of his jaw was a blade. He held the thing up, turning it over, and Duncan saw the words scrawled on the back in dark, impatient ink. The writing was rough, almost like claw marks. Jared read it without his face changing, then closed his fist around the cloth.
"They found your scent," Jared said. His voice was flat, calm, and all the more dangerous for it. He looked at Duncan. "The Coyotl tracked you to the clubhouse. They know this is where you belong now."
The words landed like a stone in still water. Around the yard, the pack began to move, low growls and shifting feet, hands drifting toward weapons that were not there. Sofia stood up from the steps, her grey eyes hard. Marcus set down his beer. Barrett's face, already pale, went paper white.
"So this is how it is," Jared said, to the yard now. "They didn't get Barrett. They didn't get me. So they're going to come for what we built, and they're going to try to take it from us."
"Let them try," Danny muttered.
Jared's amber eyes cut to him. "They will. And we'll be ready. But no one rides out alone. No one leaves the yard without a partner." His gaze swept the pack, then landed on Duncan again, and something in his voice softened by a degree. "No one leaves a wolf behind. Not for any reason."
Duncan met his eyes. The nausea rolled through him again, and he pressed his palm harder against his stomach, hoping the motion would pass for fatigue. He could feel the weight of the pack's attention on him, the mate of the alpha, and he knew what they would think if they saw him stumble. He had been strong for them, voice steady over the radio, feet planted in the dust of their war. He could not be weak now.
The queasiness peaked and passed. Duncan took a breath and straightened his shoulders.
"They'll come at night," he said, and his voice carried the same calm authority he had found on the ridge. "They're hunting scared now, because we took Barrett from under them. That makes them reckless. That makes them ours."
Sofia barked a short laugh. "Look at him, telling us how to kill coyotes."
"Telling you how to not get killed," Duncan corrected, and a ripple of dark amusement went through the pack.
Jared stepped to him, close enough that Duncan could feel the heat of his body even through the leather and wool. The alpha's hand came up, rough and warm, to cup the back of Duncan's neck. His thumb brushed the mate mark, and Duncan felt that pull, that anchor, settle in his chest.
"You feel alright?" Jared asked, low enough that only Duncan could hear.
Duncan looked up at him, the lie already forming on his tongue, and caught himself. There was worry in Jared's amber eyes, the same fear he had voiced on the overlook, the fear of losing what he had only just found. Duncan could feel the weight of everything unrealized inside him, a secret still too small to name, and he knew he could not tell Jared yet. Not tonight. Not with the smell of war still in the air.
He smiled, easy and crooked. "I'm fine," he said. "Just hungry."