Jacks, Marcy - The Hunter's Omega Mate [DeWitt's Pack 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (6 page)

Either way, both seemed to forget that Isaac was still there, and, slowly, he made his way behind the two struggling wolves. Tanner was a large, bulky grey wolf. Isaac wouldn’t mistake them when he went in for the killing blow.

It happened sooner than he though it  would. Tanner finally managed to pin Tristan, and keep the smaller wolf beneath him as he locked his jaws around Tristan’s throat.

The thick mane of hair there would prevent Tanner from accidentally ripping out Tristan’s throat, but Tristan still released  a pained whine that was like a sword through Isaac’s heart.

Don’t think about it.

Tanner released Tristan’s neck with a warning growl, and then, still keeping his body firmly on top of Tristan’s, looked into his eyes.  They were doing that thing that wolves did. Speaking to each other without words.

Isaac was in no mood to wait around until they were done.

The neck was a poor place to kill a wolf, even a werewolf who wouldn’t see the attack coming. All that fur was too much protection.

The way Isaac went for it was more difficult but still effective.

He raised the dagger high above his head and brought it down with all the strength he could muster into Tanner’s skull. The bone made a loud sound that was a mix between a pop and a crack as it was penetrated, and with a sudden twitch, Tanner’s body went down like a heavy rock.

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Tristan made more wolfy whining sounds, struggling and worming his way out from under Tanner’s heavy body, his claws scraping long lines into the grass as he fought to be free.

Isaac stepped clear of them at the sight.

Jesus Christ. How could he have been so stupid?

He planted his feet as the bleeding white wolf made a slow shift back into a naked man, the long hairs shrinking back into the pores of skin until the only hair that remained was the natural human hair found on a male body. The paws became thin and stretched out until there were fingers instead of claws and muscular arms and legs instead of those boney, hairy legs of the wolf.

There was still blood on his skin, and he trembled as he tried to

crawl backward away from Isaac, his chest rising and falling as he  panted heavily.

“Don’t kill me,” he begged, holding his hand out.

Isaac looked down, realizing how he held the dagger in his fist, as  though he meant to strike with it, and then he looked back at Tristan.

The guy’s chest continued to rise and fall in a rapid pace.

He was scared out of his mind.

No wonder. As a werewolf, Tristan must have finally put together exactly what it was that Isaac did for a living.

Well, he
 
had
 
said he  was on a hunting trip, after all.

Isaac wondered if the revelation was just as shocking for Tristan as it had been for Isaac. Then he decided it didn’t matter.

“I should kill you,” he said, all calm and professional.

“Please  ”—

“Don’t,” Isaac snapped. “Don’t you even think about saying  anything to me. You didn’t know what I was, but you know perfectly  well what you are, and you let me fuck you.”

Tristan winced.

Isaac played with the idea of stabbing him in the heart. Quick, painless, much easier than what he would get if anyone of Isaac’s team ever got a hold of him. Kind of appropriate, too, considering

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Isaac felt like someone had just stabbed him in his own goddamn heart.

He wet his lips, hating himself, and looked away from Tristan’s naked body that’s he’d practically worshipped earlier that day. “Get out of here. I ever see you again, and I’ll kill you.”

A choked sob sounded, but Isaac didn’t acknowledge it. He sheathed his dagger and took a couple of steps in the other direction.

When he couldn’t help himself anymore, just had to look back,  Tristan was nowhere in sight. The only things remaining were the scattered clothes and a dead werewolf body.

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Chapter Seven

Tristan burst in on the motel he and Isaac had shared. The smell of

the sex he and Isaac had had still lingered in the air. The scent of  Isaac was still on everything he touched.

It made Tristan want to cry like a little pup.

He hadn’t even taken anything out of his duffel bag, so it was a  simple matter of throwing on some clothes and running out the door.  He was barefoot, but he could handle it. His wounds were still

bleeding as well, though they were fast healing thanks to his  regeneration abilities, but the blood was still there, and if there were  anymore of Deacon’s men out and about, they would have no trouble  sniffing him out.

He would have to risk it.

He ran as fast as he could back in the direction of James and the

rest of his pack. There was no help for it now. Isaac was a hunter, and  he had said he was here with other people. Other hunters, all of whom  wanted nothing better than to skin Tristan and every member of his  pack alive. James would need to be warned.

And Tristan, if he was to go back and avoid and outright war  between the packs, would have to cut a deal with Deacon and pray the violent alpha would accept it.

The thing that made everything ten times worse was the way Isaac  had looked at him after Tristan had transformed, like he was the

swamp-thing or something. A disgusting monster.

He should have known better. Tristan shouldn’t have gotten his

hopes up the way he did.

Walking in the moonlight, however, holding hands with Isaac, and

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being asked for his e-mail address that would allow them to keep in  contact with each other had made him hope against his better  judgement.

That hope had vanished with a single look on Isaac’s face.

Tristan wiped the moisture from his eyes as he ran, feeling like  such a pussy about it. Running away, crying like a little girl, but he  couldn’t help himself.

Maybe he wouldn’t feel like such shit about being rejected by a  near stranger, had the revelation that he and Isaac were mates not  come onto him.

He had recognized the sensations inside of him for what they were when Isaac had shyly asked him where he was planning on settling down, the clear hope in his voice that they could continue whatever it was they were doing at a later time.

Likely after Isaac and his buddies had finished cutting off the heads of everyone Tristan loved.

It was the worst sort of cosmic joke Tristan had ever heard of. He was mated  to a hunter, and he would never be made happy by it.

* * * *

Though Isaac had told Tristan to run away, he still found himself entering their formerly shared motel room with a hint of trepidation, dagger in hand.

The lamp light was on, bathing the room in bright fluorescent light, but the few possessions Tristan owned were gone, and so was he.

Isaac sat down on the bed, keeping himself to the very edge of it, avoiding, as much as he could, the reminder that he had fucked  Tristan in it only a couple of hours ago.

Christ
. Isaac ran a hand through his hair, rubbing the itch that had developed on his scalp. He was getting a headache just thinking about it.

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Would he become a werewolf now? Tristan had never bitten or

scratched him, and he’d been human the entire time they

were…together, but did that make Isaac safe against the disease?  They had shared body fluids, but Tristan hadn’t seemed too worried  about that at all, and he knew Isaac was a human.

He wasn’t going to so much as breathe a word of this to the guys until he knew for sure. When he’d called them earlier, he’d told them

where he was and had explained that after the trip down the river, he  needed to get laid.

Thinking he’d found a willing woman to hole up with, the rest of  the team had been indulgent in the way men were when one of their  boys was about to score. They didn’t know Isaac wasn’t batting for  their team, and they wouldn’t know he’d been in bed with a werewolf.  Ever.

He needed to get back anyway. The time they’d given him to get his itch out of his system was going to be up in just over an hour, and he would need that time to get back to camp and let the guys know the werewolves were nearby.

He’d make up a story about how he knew that on the way there.

He hoped Tristan would be a good distance  away by the time the attack commenced. He also hoped Tristan would be there so Isaac could kill him.

He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard if he hadn’t genuinely enjoyed Tristan’s company.

Isaac got up and left the motel room. He’d had enough thinking.  Time to act. First he would call Marty’s cell. He was the one leading their team. He would need to be told that Isaac was on his way.

Next he would have to make the long hike back up the river to his campsite to let his team know that he’d killed a werewolf. They would have to attack before someone from the dead wolf’s pack noticed he was missing.

* * * *

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The night air was cool by the time Tristan made it back to James’s land. Though it was well past midnight and the crickets  were chirping and fireflies soaring, there were still enough men and women awake and walking about to notice his return and quirk their heads over it.

So the news of his abandoning the pack had gone around already.

Perfect.

James would still be awake. It was only a couple of hours before midnight, and Tristan knew he wouldn’t have to worry about getting him up from his bed.

As it happened, James was in bed but not sleeping. Despite this, he and Corey still seemed to be genuinely pleased to see him.

Until he told them what had happened with Tanner and the hunter, leaving out Isaac’s name and their ever-so-brief encounter.

“Christ almighty,” James sighed.

Old Maggie, the pack’s wise woman, had been called in as soon as Tristan had come back. She had smiled brightly, the winkles on her face deepening until she damn near disappeared within them, then kissed his cheek and hugged him.

Now she was stoic, still holding Tristan’s hand, patting it gently in that grandmotherly way she did, but at the moment, though she  was their wise woman, she had no words of wisdom to offer.

Tristan was just happy to have someone hold his hand. That was probably the only thing that kept him together at the moment.

“James, we’ll have to put everyone on full alert,” Mick said.

James nodded. “You’re right. Round everyone up and get them onto the main lawn so we can have a meeting about this.”

Mick nodded and took off at a power walk to do his alpha’s bidding.

“What should I do?” Corey asked.

“You,” James said, taking his mate by his bare shoulders, “will go with the omegas when the attack comes and keep the pups safe.”

Corey’s shoulders went tight. “I’m not leaving you!”

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“You will do as I say and like it if I give the order,” James said,  glaring at his mate, the scars on his face making him look all the more  fierce.

Corey glared back. Tristan didn’t know what was going through the guy’s mind. He wasn’t born a werewolf. He still had a human way of thinking about things.

“Fine, whatever,” Corey muttered, right before pushing past  James and leaving the office where they’d been having their meeting.  Off to be with the other omegas.

“You’ll have to do the same, Tristan.”

And here was where things were about to get a little more awkward. “Sorry, sir, but no.”

James’s dark brows rose up high, creating crooked lines within the burn and pockmarked scars on his forehead.

“No?” he asked, taking a step forward. Tristan wanted to shrink back, but he didn’t dare.

“No?” James asked again, a silent dare in his voice.

Tristan swallowed. He thought he heard Old Maggie sigh behind

him but was too scared shitless to be sure.

As the leading alpha of a pack of werewolves, James did have to, on occasion, bring an unruly omega or competing alpha out onto the lawn for a light beating whenever they got out of hand, disobeyed, or put the pack in danger.

The level of the beating depended on which affront had been committed. Tristan was glad James was the understanding sort. He would let Tristan explain himself before he took him out in front of everyone to remind him who was boss.

“I abandoned the pack, sir. And killed Deacon’s brother. You know I can’t stay.”

“You’re back on my territory and are officially a wandering omega. I can make you part of this pack again if I want to. I can do that for you.”