Real Men Claim: Real Men Shift Read online

  Every breath he took brought a chorus of scents rolling through his body, setting every nerve aflame. His sight was sharper than ever—not the fluttering of wings between the branches nor a falling leaf escaped his notice. His highly tuned senses could have led to sensory overload, but for the fact his wolf’s instinctual brain remained focused on one thing—his prey.

  Max’s wolf weaved through the towering pines and down a gentle slope, carefully choosing every step to make as little noise as possible. He padded on rocks and firm earth, avoiding the brittle sticks and rustling leaves. He no longer clumsily heedlessly trundled through forest as he had when he’d first arrived in the woods outside of a small, kitschy town called Tremble. That had been a few weeks ago, but it felt like a lifetime. Since then, he’d memorized the woods like the back of his human hand.

  He was aware of where every deer trail started and ended. He knew which embankments were liable to collapse the next time it rained. He noticed when a prey animal was killed by something other than him. He even knew every step the local pack’s alpha took to track him. That should have been an annoyance, but the more time Max spent in what the locals called Wolf Woods, the more he grew to admire the alpha. It was just one more thing for him to hone his skills against, always making himself better, never staying still and getting lazy. Being hunted kept him on his toes. Iron sharpens iron.

  He dropped his nose to the earth at the bottom of the slope next to a winding creek and caught a whiff of his prey. It had passed recently and was still nearby. His prey liked creeks. It probably thought the water would wash away its scent. Stupid. Nothing could save his prey. His wolf’s zeal for the hunt built as he tracked the faint scent down the creek and up another ridge. He was spurred onward by glimpses of footprints in the earth here and there.

  His wolf’s cravings were growing so insatiable, they consumed all of his attention. That didn’t matter to Max. As long as they carried him closer and closer to his goal, he’d let his wolf indulge itself as much as it desired. Every day, he felt more attuned to the beast, and that could only be a good thing. His newly discovered wild side was a far cry from the quiet, stable guy he’d been before he’d struck out on his own, but that was just the life of a lone wolf. It was hard on the mind, and it would either make you or break you. That had given Max some pause at first, but it was a risk he’d been willing to take.

  Too much was at stake to allow fear of going feral to get in the way. That old terror from a few months earlier felt like a child’s worries as he paused to sniff a wet spot in the dirt.

  Piss.

  His prey had stopped to take a leak, unaware of being stalked. That was good. It meant its guard was down.

  He’d become quite the hunter over the past three months. Skill built upon skill until he could kill a buck before it knew it was under attack.

  Then again, maybe his wolf had a slightly elevated sense of superiority. Without the ministrations of a healer, his arm still hadn’t fully recovered, yet he’d managed to elude the local pack’s alpha. Not too shabby. Of course, an arm injury translated into a foreleg injury for his wolf, but the pain hadn’t stopped the beast. On the contrary, it reminded him of his limits so he could keep pushing them. He needed that, now more than ever.

  The revenge he hungered for was so close he could taste it. In fact, it brought a flood of saliva to his lips. He just hoped his prey couldn’t hear the drool pattering on the forest floor. The scent grew stronger the longer he followed the trail. His prey was usually smarter than this, and the way it moved made him think this one might be desperate or even injured. He couldn’t hold back a quiet snarl at the thought.

  His beast brain wandered, just as it did so often lately when he got close to a kill. It didn’t wander in the same way when he was in his human form. It went to darker places. Images of chasing down his prey flashed in his animal brain, smelling its panic as he let the knowledge of its impending death sink in. If he focused hard enough, he could almost taste that sweet emotion in the air like a pheromone, a signal to every predatory instinct in his body to kill kill kill.

  Blinking away the fantasy visions, he spotted fresh signs of his prey, indicating it was almost within striking distance. Broken branches, brush that had been trampled, and potent odors that sent his wolf into a frenzy. The stupid creature wasn’t even bothering to use deer trails to mask its tracks.

  Stupid.

  Short-sighted.

  Dead meat.

  His body moved on autopilot, yet it was acutely aware of every noise, smell and sight around him. The scent of his prey hung so heavily in the air he could taste it.

  He visualized the kill. He would chase it down, letting it run itself into exhaustion. The air would be thick with its terror. Then he’d attack, relishing the way its eyes would widen in realization that the end had come, and so painfully. Sure, he could rush in and do the deed so swiftly his prey’s last thoughts would be nothing but surprise.

  But what fun would that be?

  The drool poured from his mouth uncontrollably as he darted through the woods, imagining blood spurting from his prey’s throat, the taste of copper on his tongue as the thing twitched its final…

  Movement caught his eye. He froze like a statue, peering into a clearing where his prey walked, completely unconcerned and totally clueless. Its shape was unmistakable. It must have been trying to find a way out of the woods. They always went for clearings. Their senses were not as fine-tuned as a wolf’s, and they were stupid enough to think being out in the open would somehow protect them. Nothing would save it from Max.

  He moved silently, certain his prey hadn’t seen him, until he reached the edge of the clearing, which gave him an unhindered view of his target. Tall, standing on two legs, wearing idiotic camouflage with an even stupider bright orange hat, gun propped uselessly against his shoulder, guard down. The human hunter was already dead, and he didn’t even know it.

  Max knew. The fur along the back of his neck and spine stood on end. Foam splatted to the ground from his frothing muzzle. Rage filled his soul so completely he could no longer think clearly. The world around him faded to a dark gray, except for his prey. It stood clearly in his vision, his sole focus, his only need.

  Unable to control himself, much less his wolf, Max barreled out of the woods at full speed, snarling as he ran. He’d made it almost halfway across the clearing before the idiotic human spun around, eyes wide and jaw slack. Only when the human’s gaze darted to the left did Max realize the hunter wasn’t alone. Max skidded to a stop, legs braced widely so he could dart in any direction necessary, as he took in what his kill-happy eyes had failed to see. Not one, but four humans stood before him. The three that were not his prey had hunting rifles trained on him. The sound of crunching leaves told him two more were behind him. He was surrounded.

  Then came that stupid fucking laughter.

  “Je-sus, you weren’t kidding! This fucker’s huge!” one jeered. “They weren’t screwin’ around when they named these woods. Were they?” another scoffed. “Careful, boys,” cautioned his prey, the one he’d dreamed of killing. “We got a job to do.”

  God-fucking-damnit! He’d loped right into their trap. Max’s ears laid back against his head, and he snarled at the hunters. Their stench surrounded him, lingering in the clearing like toxic fumes. How had he missed the others? He should have smelled this trap from a mile away, but he’d run right into it with less grace than a fawn.

  The hunters formed a circle around him, each with his firearm raised and aimed at him. Less than six feet separated him from the closest one. They had him. There was no escape.

  “Alright, boys, stick to the plan,” his prey grunted, and Max knew he only had a few seconds left to live.

  If that was to be his fate, so be it. It made every cell in his body cry out in fury, but he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. He’d make damn sure the hunters would have to bury one of their own along with him. Max kept his eyes locked on the hunter who’d been
the bait, waiting for his moment. The second the guy shot a sidelong glance at his buddy, Max lunged for him.

  BANG!

  Max landed in a heap. His wolf’s body hit the wet, muddy ground with a heavy thump as white-hot pain tore through him. Of all the trauma he’d suffered over the past few months, he’d never been shot before, and certainly not with a high-caliber hunting rifle. He thought the pain was unbearable, but it turned out to be only a little worse than the sting of the cheer from the hunters.

  “Nice shot, Jake,” his prey chuckled. “Shit, that’s gotta hurt. Serves the fucker right.”

  There was no more bitter ache than when the hunter realized he was the hunted all along.

  “You’ve got some balls of steel on you, Randy,” the gunman said to the human Max had been tracking. “I woulda shit my pants if that thing had jumped at me. You wanna take down a grizzly next?”

  The hunters laughed and stepped in to peer at Max. He snapped his jaws to keep them away, but any movement of his body shot pain through him like a bolt of lightning. His snarl turned into a gurgling croak and, worst of all, a pained whimper escaped his throat.

  “Aw, poor thing,” Randy mocked as he crouched down and grinned.

  Max wanted nothing more than to rend the man’s flesh from his bones and let the vultures have a good meal, but he was too weak. He could feel his life draining from his body and pooling into the dirt beneath him. That would be him—nothing but food for the scavengers.

  Or a head mounted on a wall.

  “Ever see one that big before?” one of the hunters asked.

  “It’s about the same size as that one McNish had us take down a few months back.”

  “Really? This one looks bigger.”

  “Yeah, he’s a big fella, i’nn’he?”

  “Randy, you want to do the honors? You put your ass on the line, after all.”

  Randy chuckled, but he shook his head slowly, never breaking Max’s furious gaze. “Naw, I think we let this one bleed out. Tell you right now, that shot’s the worst pain this bastard’s ever felt. Let’s let him stew on that for a few hours. He ain’t getting up from this one.”

  “No, he ain’t,” the shooter agreed with a sick laugh.

  Hatefire burned in Max’s heart. He hated every single one of them more than he’d ever hated anything else in his entire life, save one man. Every contour and line of their faces burned into his brain. In those last moments, he didn’t even know where his wolf’s mind began and his own ended, or if there was even a difference here at death’s door.

  Shit, he didn’t even die well.

  Figured.

  “Yeah, you feel that burn. Don’t you?” Randy sneered at him. “That’s you dyin’, ya motherfucker.”

  The man pulled himself to his full height and spat on Max’s head. The sickening scent of chewing tobacco filled Max’s nose as the hunters turned their backs on him and walked away, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. He watched their forms melt into the tree line on the opposite side of the clearing until his vision started to blur. At least he would die somewhere peaceful. Without the hunters around, this clearing was actually kind of nice.

  Comfortable.

  A good place to die.

  Chapter Three

  “Pass the apple butter, sis?” Warren reached halfway across the tiny dining table for it while a warm buttermilk biscuit sat perched in the palm of his other hand.

  The hazy golden glow of early evening illuminated the siblings as they shared dinner in Trina’s tiny cabin. She handed him the antique glass jar of fragrant homemade apple butter. Her brother peered into it for a moment and licked his lips in anticipation. His eyes fell closed as he took a deep whiff, sighing theatrically.

  “Oh, come on,” Trina snorted. “It’s not that good.”

  Warren looked at her with mock indignation. “No, sis. This really is that good. Is this Grandma’s recipe or did you find a new recipe on whatever that app is you’re always using?”

  Trina rolled her eyes at her brother’s ignorance. “You mean Pinterest? No, this one is bona fide Granny Edgecomb, through and through. That’s why it’s so tart. All these apple butter recipes today call for a ton of brown sugar and stuff. I don’t know why you’d ever want to do that. Apples are sweet enough on their own.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I won’t turn up my nose at any kind of apple butter you put in front of me. I’m not that picky when it comes to fruity spreads for my biscuits, but I agree. There’s just enough stress and drama in my life already. Food is my escape.”

  Trina raised an eyebrow. Warren couldn’t still be pouting over his childhood crush finding her fated mate. Could he?

  “Stress and drama?”

  “Hell, yeah,” he retorted as he globbed an excessive few spoonfuls of apple butter onto his biscuit. “Remember how a construction trailer over at McNish Development Corporation got blown up a few weeks ago?”

  “Of course, but that’s old news.”

  “Well, Dick McNish finally brought in a replacement trailer.”

  “Okay…” Trina didn’t always keep up on the latest pack news, unless it related to her work as a healer. Her primary focus always was and would be the health of her pack mates. “Your point?”

  Warren leaned back in his chair and sighed over her cluelessness. “My point is that whoever went to the trouble of blowing up the trailer in the first place wasted all that time and effort just to barely make a blip on McNish’s radar. The stunt only put McNish out of commission for a short time, and now he’s back in the saddle again, ready to destroy Wolf Woods.”

  “Of course, he is. For a man like that, time is money. I suppose what’s really a surprise is that it took him so long to replace the trailer. Guess the saboteur wasn’t thinking far enough ahead.”

  “He wasn’t even thinking a few minutes ahead. Judging by the security footage, the guy hurt his arm in the process. Injured by his own explosion.”

  They ate in thoughtful silence for a moment before Warren continued. “I wonder what he was trying to accomplish. I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to see that good ol’ Dick is the kind of guy who makes enemies wherever he goes. There’s probably a list a mile long filled with people who’d love to see the guy get what he deserves.”

  “He doesn’t sound like a good guy,” Trina agreed and then she leaned forward, eager to hear a little gossip. “So how are we going to stop him from taking Wolf Woods?”

  “We?” her brother snorted, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline and his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

  Trina rolled her matching eyes. “Fine. How are you going to stop him? You, Zeke and Val must have come up with some kind of plan by now.”

  Warren paused his rapturous enjoyment of his biscuit to level a warning look at her. “Come on, sis. You know I can’t talk about that stuff with you. Why do you even want to know? You don’t usually put much energy into pack business.”

  “Exactly! I never ask for the dirty details. I just want a little something, anything. Besides, if someone in the pack gets hurt, I should at least have the lay of the land.”

  He wasn’t buying it. He’d seen right through her inexplicable desire to know more about the drama with McNish. But she couldn’t help herself. It was like a terrible celebrity break-up you know you shouldn’t care about, but you read all the gossip rag covers while standing in the supermarket check-out lane anyway.

  Warren’s expression softened, as did his resolve. She really did care. And worry. More than anyone else alive, her brother knew she’d spent most of her waking hours over the last nine years worrying about something or another. It’s who she’d turned into, it seemed.

  “Fine,” he finally said with a heavy sigh, much to her delight. “But only a tidbit, nothing more. I don’t want to know what kind of punishment Val would mete out if she discovered I gave away an important part of our plan.”

  Trina nodded emphatically, grinning at her brother. “Fine, go ahead. Tell me wh
atever you can.”

  Warren glanced furtively around the room, as if he half-expected to see spies or a carefully placed security camera somewhere. What a ham! But his flair for the melodramatic filled her with happiness. He’d been so down for the last month that this sign of his returning humor thrilled her more than any gossip could.

  “Zeke’s been talking with the National Ruling Circle about some ideas.”

  “Ooh, really? What ideas?”

  Warren tilted his head to one side and stared at her without blinking. Dammit! She knew what that look meant. That tiny tidbit, which she could have assumed on her own, was all he planned to give her.

  Trina slumped back in her chair and glared at her brother. “Fine, be that way.”

  The mention of the NRC sparked a quickly cascading chain of memories: Drew Cooper speaking at a healer conference held at NRC headquarters, Zeke kidnapping Drew to help his comatose mother, Zeke’s sister Chloe—and the girl Warren had been crushing on since they were pups—discovering Drew was her fated mate, and finally, Chloe leaving the Soren pack to live with Drew’s pack.

  “So… has Chloe been in touch lately?” she asked as Warren popped the last bit of biscuit into his mouth. The last thing she wanted to do was bring up any painful feelings, but he needed to move past Chloe and find his own happiness.

  Warren smiled softly, a look of wistful affection in his eyes. “She called a few days ago, actually. Says she’s adjusting really well to life over there with the Blackwood pack. Apparently, they welcomed her with open arms—her words. Drew seems like a really good guy, and her new family adores her.”

  “That’s great,” she spoke through a mouthful of braised chard.

  “It really is,” he agreed, and then he smiled and shook his head. “You know, there was a time not so long ago when that would’ve been a bitter pill for me to swallow. But now it’s just… I want Chloe to be happy, you know? She seems truly happy, and I’m happy for her.”