Command of the Wolf

Jeremy Lennon strode across the pasture, holding the rim of his Stetson against the wind. The heels of his brown leather cowboy boots dug into the frozen ground, each step punctuated with murderous intent. He’d read the note scrawled in his packmaster’s hand an hour ago, yet he still seethed with anger. He’d never contemplated disobeying a direct order before, but there was a first time for everything.

Not unless provoked, Maverick’s orders had read. During active wartime, no less. What a load of horseshit.

When Jeremy reached the stables, he tore open the doors. The cold mountain air seared through his lungs, mixing with the familiar scent of manure and fresh hay. The soft purrs of several sleeping horses filled the small space. Jeremy spied Silver in the third stall down. In the glowing orange of the heat lamps, the silvery threads of the white Arabian’s coat shimmered. At the sight of Jeremy, the horse’s tail lifted high and proud. Silver was a horse fit more for a purebred high commander than the cowboy Jeremy was at heart, and the animal damn well knew it.

Even his own horse suspected the dark truth of his past.

Jeremy was anything but purebred.

He grabbed an available saddle, and the attention whose wrinkled his nose in distaste at the old, worn leather. Jeremy ignored him. He needed to reach the location, scope out the perimeter, and strategize his men’s placement before their enemies arrived. Thanks to Maverick and the Seven Range Pact’s orders, Jeremy and his men wouldn’t be running headfirst into battle tonight, but they would be

armed to the teeth all the same.

Jeremy led Silver from the stable, mounted, and gave the beast a commanding kick. Silver shot through the camp and into the nearby forest at breakneck speed, rushing past the darkened pines and navigating the underbrush with ease. Jeremy would give Silver that much. He wasn’t the most obedient working horse for rounding up cattle on the main Grey Wolf ranch back home at Wolf Pack Run, but his speed was rivaled by none.

As they rode, the setting sun painted the Montana mountain skyline in pink and orange. Shadows elongated, chasing Jeremy like dark, snarling demons as evening descended onto the forest. When they reached their destination, Jeremy tugged Silver to a halt, dismounted, and scanned his surroundings. The forest was deadly quiet. The remaining late-spring snow blanketed even the most dangerous of sounds. He led Silver to a nearby bush, allowing him to graze on the frozen grass beneath.

With his horse content, Jeremy searched for the moon. The white crescent cast a dim glow over the pines. His wolf stirred, and his eyes flashed gold before he threw back his head and released a long howl.

The sound reverberated off the trees, and his men answered, providing him with a keen sense of his soldiers’ positions and acting as a warning to their enemies. Though Jeremy was the only wolf in the clearing, he was far from alone.

Maverick hadn’t specified anything against intimidation.

As his howl ended, Jeremy inhaled a sharp breath. Three vampires several meters upwind. A low growl grumbled in his chest as the scent drew nearer.

“You failed to follow protocol,” he called out.

One of the vampires emerged from the trees. At first glance, he appeared human, but he was far from it. The bloodsucker smiled, the moonlight revealing a sinister, sharp-toothed grin.

Jeremy recognized the vampire instantly. As Grey Wolf high commander, he made it a point to know his enemies. Lucas was a crony of Cillian, the ancient bloodsucking leader of the Billings vampire coven. Lucas, neither the most powerful nor eldest of bloodsuckers, was hungry for power and a force to be reckoned with. But what the hell he was doing all the way out here near

Missoula in one of the Grey Wolves’ subpack territories, requesting a negotiating meeting during wartime, Jeremy hadn’t the slightest clue.

“You said one representative.”

“You have exactly that, Commander. One representative…and my two guards. We also requested the packmaster, so promises were broken on both sides.” That sinister smile flashed again.

A vein pulsed at Jeremy’s temple, but he held his features steady. He had learned long ago never to betray his emotions.

“Maverick made no such promise. State your purpose or leave,” he said. Lucas broke a piece of peeling bark off a nearby tree, grinding the wood to

dust in his palm. “My coven thought we might offer a deal.” He broke eye contact, turning toward the trees in a way that raised the fine hairs at the nape of Jeremy’s neck.

The bloodsucker was anticipating something. Jeremy sensed it.

“We’ll cease all war efforts immediately for the span of one year,” Lucas continued. “It will give you time to prepare, rally and train your subpack troops, and get the other animals in that Pact of yours on board.”

Throughout Montana, the seven shifter clans that called Big Sky Country home formed the Seven Range Shifter Pact. They agreed to band together as allies in the face of their common enemies and for the greater interest of all shifters. If one pack went to war, all went to war.

But Lucas’s proposition lacked long-term logistical thinking. This early in the battle, they weren’t going to strike any deals with the enemy. Jeremy wasn’t eager to hear what came next. He’d rather call bullshit now and rip this bloodsucker’s heart out. But there must have been a reason the vamps wanted a delay…

“Name your price.”

Lucas’s face turned businesslike. “Ten of your strongest warriors.” “No deal.” Jeremy betrayed none of the hatred he felt.

A smile curved Lucas’s lips. “Be logical, Commander. It’s only ten men. I’m offering you the lesser of two evils. Think of the lives lost in a year of war. Far more than ten.”

“No deal,” Jeremy repeated.

“You can’t walk away from this.” Lucas’s eyes flashed a deep crimson red. Jeremy allowed his wolf eyes to glow through the darkness. “That’s where you’re

wrong.” Jeremy might not have been born a true Grey Wolf, but he was loyal to the pack, to Maverick. He’d never consider an offer that would endanger their packmates, his men. Jeremy advanced, forcing Lucas to ease back. “These are my soldiers. No deal,” Jeremy growled, low and foreboding.

He and the vampire stood nearly nose to nose now. The heat of their breath swirled together in a smoky dance.

“I was afraid you’d say that. You see, Commander, I really was giving you my best offer, because if you failed to accept, our intent was to take what we need by force. You didn’t think I’d play by the rules, did you?” Lucas snapped his fingers, and his two bloodsucking cronies emerged from the trees.

Provocation enough. Jeremy lifted a hand and tipped the edge of his Stetson lower, signaling to his men watching through the underbrush.

“On the contrary,” he said. From beneath the rim of his Stetson, he glared at his enemy. “I counted on it.”

The Grey Wolf soldiers burst through the tree line just as Jeremy tore his blade from his ankle holster. The hilt disconnected to double as a stake, and he intended to use it.

Four of his men took on Lucas’s cronies, which left Lucas to Jeremy. Despite his bravado, the bloodsucker fled. Jeremy bolted after him. With a quick whistle, he signaled Silver. Gripping the reins, he hooked his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle, leaning forward to urge the horse into a gallop.

As Jeremy rode after Lucas, a howl from one of his men echoed through the forest, cut short by a sharp, piercing yelp of pain and confirming his worst suspicions. He should have ignored Maverick and the Seven Range Pact’s orders, gone with his instincts come hell or high water, and attacked first.

He’d make their enemy pay for the mistake.

Jeremy steered Silver into the trees, maneuvering the beast into a quick turn until they rounded off Lucas at the pass. Jeremy dismounted into a drop-crouch with his blade in hand. But as he rose, another bloodsucker lunged from the nearby bushes, colliding with him in a tangle of snarls.

One of those damned half-turned vampires. He’d thought the pack had all but eliminated them at the start of the war.

The half-turned vampire screeched as it lunged for Jeremy’s throat. Jeremy dislodged his blade, revealing a small stake on the other end. Clutching the vampire by the throat, Jeremy drove his stake into the vampire’s undead heart. The vampire lurched. Jeremy shoved the dead bloodsucker off him, stake in hand, but Lucas had escaped.

And whatever Lucas wanted Jeremy’s men for, he wouldn’t succeed, because Jeremy wouldn’t rest this night until he found him and bled his enemy dry…