The White Wolf

The north wind howled, sweeping warm air around my bike as I pushed through the last part of my journey. Familiar foliage signaled a turn in the road, bringing me back to the outskirts of my town. The motorcycle club and my pack would be out enjoying summer’s end. 

My wolf was restless as I pulled into the dusty parking lot of the pack’s favorite watering hole, a country bar called the Diablerie. He pressed inside me, and our dual nature became more agitated tonight. The air crackled with an unusual energy, making the hair on my neck stand on end. It was as if nature was holding its breath, anticipating a destructive event or the arrival of a predator.

Most of the club members were already inside. Their bikes lined parallel to the saloon’s long wooden porch. Our MC had claimed Diablerie as their own when Harris, the owner, opened his doors decades ago. The clever name went synonymously with the black magic lore of a wolf shifter.

My formidable Dune motorcycle was altered to run silently, allowing me to sneak up on our Alpha, who was dismounting from his Harley. With my enhanced abilities, I could move through the air undetected, hiding in pockets of distortions that naturally occur in the web between the physical and biological landscape. I was untrackable, earning my nickname. 

“Holy shit!” Cyrus turned, ready for a fight, when I forced him into a hug. “Fuck, Ghost.” He relaxed, finally gripping me back. “God, I’ll never get used to that.”

“My great hugs or sneaking up on you?”

“Fuck off.” Cyrus snapped and pushed me off of him, but kept me close. “Good to have you back. We’ve missed your ugly mug. Let me buy you a drink. After this shitty year, you’ve earned it.” 

“Running intel for three months earns me one fucking drink? That sucks.”

“Fine. Two.” Cyrus wrapped his hand on the back of my neck, trying to take me down in play, but my body refused to bend to his strength. An Alpha is always the most powerful wolf in the pack. “What the hell?” Surprise bested his anger.

“My wolf’s on edge. What’s been going on here?”

“Nothing.”

“Something.”

“Let’s get those drinks, and we’ll catch up.”

I was thankful Cyrus didn’t view my strength as a challenge. We had grown up together in the club and the pack. When his father passed, he rightfully took his place as the Alpha. I would never want his job. I liked my fieldwork and time away too much.

The wolf gene was prominent in the hills next to the Adirondacks. The recessive trait occasionally found its mate, ensuring the survival of our species. Only a few members of the next generation were lucky enough to find the other half of their soul. Thankfully, our Alpha was one of them, securing the stability of the pack.

My time with women was usually only for a night. In college, I was intolerant of dating, dedicating my energy to academics and field work. The mate bond was as cruel as it was fulfilling. Any relationship I had would become instantly insignificant when I found my mate, and hope steered my loneliness away.

Mating with humans was possible, but they rarely passed on the shifter trait to their offspring. The older bloodlines, like Cyrus’s and mine, uniquely carried a mystical component through the generations. After puberty, the wolf gene would activate along with a gift. Cyrus received enhanced strength and stamina, whereas mine was the ability to hide in plain sight…like a ghost.

I followed behind Cyrus towards the bar as the air continued to spark and rip around us. He seemed unaware of the extra energy in the atmosphere. My curiosity won over the caution presented. There was little that could take down a full-grown wolf shifter.

“Hey, look what I found lurking in the …” Cryus’ introduction was muted as my head spun. The tiny molecules that once filled the air were replaced with waves of light and color that swirled and pulsed through the bar. I stumbled as a mean case of vertigo pulsed through my head. “Ghost…Ghost…” My Alpha’s calls were lost in the chaos.

Every nerve fired at will, taking away the control reverently. My wolf peeked through my eyes, looking for her. He knew before I did.

My mate. The most magnificent girl I had ever seen stood behind the bar, slinging drinks to commoners. Her beauty was exotic and unmatched. Long dark hair wrapped around an angelic, round face. Almond-shaped eyes were drowned in an icy blue color, and a prominent jaw made her look out-worldly. “Fuuuuck.”

I reached out to Cyrus for help. My wolf was panting to break through and claim her. I was caught too off guard to control him.

Cyrus knew my issue instantly and pushed me back out the door. He pulled me to the side of the building. “Run. Go, “ he commanded, and I turned and shifted in mid-air, my clothes of little consequence. I ran full throttle into the forest. Against his craving, I forced my wolf up one mountainside, down another, over a ridge, and through the riverbed until he was exhausted and I could regain control.

Hours later, Cyrus was waiting for me in the parking lot with a fresh set of clothes. “So you want to talk about that?”

“No.” A shitty grin replace his chuckle at my distress. He filled my head with love and support. I had found my mate.

“She’s human.”

“Fuck.” He didn’t say it admonishingly, but being mated to another wolf shifter was preferable in a pack. Humans are more vulnerable, even with the strength of the bond. Our lives are linked so intimately that one does not survive well without the other.

“Harris’s niece. She works weekends. Going to be starting at the U next week.”

“Fuck. How old is she?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Why so late starting college?”

“She’s sick?”

“What?” This conversation was getting worse and worse. “What kind of sick?”

“Some autoimmune disease, according to Harris. His sister needed a break, so sent her here.”

“That seems shitty.”

“She’s quiet. A good girl.”

“Fuck. She’s a virgin.” Cyrus shrugged his shoulders. Wolves could always tell. “What do I do?”

“Let’s go meet the girl.” His stupid grin calmed me a little. “You in control?”

“Yes, sir.” I double-checked on my slumbering wolf, who I had to convince this was the twenty-first century, and we had to court our mate. He whined like a toddler until I sent him to bed. “Ready.”

Cyrus placed his hand on my shoulder in brotherly support. “Leave it to you to claim the most beautiful woman in the room.” He snickered. “Probably the state. Magnus and Gunnar will be gravely disappointed.” I growled at the news while Cyrus laughed.

The door opened again, and her earthy scent punched me in the face: sweet freesias and bay leaves. Cyrus had to steady my spine. Without the disruption from my wolf, the waves were now concentrated around her as she moved behind the bar. Colors of lilac and blood red pulsed, her energy taunting me.

“Breathe, brother.”

“Does everyone know?”

“Yep.”

“Fuck.” My fingers threaded my hair and pulled, trying to get my brain to function.

“The mighty has fallen, and it’s a sight to see.” Deisal, another of my oldest friends, always had something to say.

“Fuck off. All of you.” I only had to whisper for our whole pack to hear. I breathed in her scent through my nose to get my bearings. My body was rigid and stoic. I watched her rather than approach. She was animated while talking with Gunnar. Her laugh was musical, and she had a broad smile that melted my heart.

“What the hell?” Gunnar was about to touch my mate. All my brothers froze in anticipation and fear.

“Don’t do it, Gun-man,” Cyrus yelled before all hell broke loose.