Holding Noah close.
Early the following day, the normal red-haired messenger arrived with a note to bring Noah to the pack house. At least Mac gave Slade an hour to put them both in order. Slade started the coffee, showered, groomed his facial hair, and dressed in his everyday wear of jeans and T-shirt, his wolf charm shining against the black material of his shirt. There was no bacon in the house, but maybe six eggs might hold Noah for a while if he’d eaten his steaks last night.
He filled two cups with coffee and took them to the bed. He’d love to drink them out on the porch, like usual. Noah lay sprawled on his back. Poor guy must’ve been worn out. A little tugging got his shirt up enough to let Slade peek under the bandages at the healing bullet wound. He’d never get used to shifter healing abilities.
The two trays now sat empty in the bedroom trash can. Good.
“Hey,” he said, giving Noah’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Sorry. Time to get up.”
Noah groaned, then sniffed and shuffled into a semi-sitting position, grabbing a cup of coffee. “They should build shrines in your honor,” he said, toasting with the cup and taking a drink. “Oh, I needed that.” He rose enough to press his lips to Slade’s.
“Finish your coffee, take a shower, then get dressed. I’ll make eggs. Mac wants us at the pack house in, say” —Slade checked his phone screen— “thirty-five minutes.” The kiss was good, yet not quite good enough. He cupped the back of Noah’s head, putting a whole hell of a lot of feeling into a coffee-flavored kiss. He'd nearly lost this man.
“Hold that thought,” Noah said, “or we’ll be late. I don’t want to be the one who tells Mac why.” He padded to the bathroom.
With werewolves, they likely wouldn’t have to say a damned thing. One good whiff and the whole pack would probably know their business.
The day turned cold, wind whipping around them. Though they’d dressed in layers, Slade shielded Noah with his body, keeping his steps slow due to Noah’s healing wound.
More folks joined them in their trek across the compound, jacket collars pulled tightly around their necks. No young ones, just adults. An official meeting, then. Blessed warmth wrapped around them when they entered the room used for dining and pack meetings. Mac waved them toward the front, where a few empty chairs sat.
Once the flow of bodies reduced to the occasional late wolf slipping in, Mac stood at the head of the room. “By now, most of you know what transpired yesterday. Some of you even helped out. I’ll make this an official announcement. Hunters entered our territory.”
Judging by gasps from around the room, not everyone had known.
“Our human guest recognized them for who they were. We found a group of them stalking Ed, Debra, and Noah.” Mac paused to allow more gasps.
“Slade and I arrived shortly after, with Buddy, help from state law enforcement, and a whole lotta wolves.” Mac waited until hissed conversations died down to continue. “No need to tell you how many of our kind we’ve lost to hunters, in particular, to the Pritchard family who’ve seen wiping us from the earth as a personal mission. While we didn’t lose lives yesterday, the hunters got a bit more than they bargained for.”
“They had it coming!” someone shouted from the assembled wolves.
“A good hunter’s a dead hunter!” cried another.
“Well, I think yesterday might have turned the tide. You see, the Pritchards are the highest-ranking hunter family. All others follow their lead. They have the means to finance the operation. Or rather, they did. Thomas Pritchard is now in federal custody for a string of murders.
“We haven't had human-wolf hybrids in our ranks, but they are out there. When killed, their bodies don’t turn wolf.” Once more, Mac paused while folks talked among themselves.
“A seventeen-year-old high school cheerleader was found dead in Missouri of a gunshot wound to the head. I’m told she was in wolf form when she was shot, then turned human. While the hunters got away with killing our kind before, they’ll think twice in the future if killing one of us means a murder conviction. Thomas Pritchard is the one who killed her and many more. As we speak, forensics in North Carolina are about to uncover the remains of Thomas Pritchard’s daughter, her son, and her unborn child. Yesterday, in my office, he confessed to the murders in front of witnesses.”
Slade gripped Noah’s hand. The moment he put the pieces together, if he hadn't already...
More excited chatter echoed around the room. “Hey, I need quiet!” Mac bellowed. All conversation stopped. “Thanks,” he said, much more calmly. “I need to get through this. With Thomas Pritchard out of the picture, his son has begun talks with us for a truce.”
“You can’t trust a hunter!” someone called.
Mac nodded. “No. We can’t. Still, I believe if we work together, we might reach an agreement.”
Please let Mac not bring Noah into this. He wasn’t ready.
“Whatever you hear,” Mac continued, “don’t believe a damned thing unless the news comes directly from me. I’ll keep you informed with the truth.”
“Are we safe? Are our pups safe?” a woman near the front asked.
“Yes, ma’am. The wards still hold. As a matter of fact, Sam’s wards are what tipped us off to the presence of hunters.”
“What happens if we make a deal, then they go back on their word?” the man sitting next to her asked.
“They won’t.” Mac gave a broad smile. “I think we talked some sense into them.”