She was surrounded by males who didn’t know the first thing about fighting, about protecting her. Who would have taught them? Meredith was an alpha female without a male. They would have been all children beneath her rule. There was little wonder she’d been able to hold them together all these years. Where had the rest of them come from? Werewolves were fiercely possessive when it came to their children. It was obvious that only Benjamin and Michael were blood relations to her.
Not his business.
He wanted to physically remove those three words from his head and crush them beneath his heel.
He strode out of the park and down the cracked sidewalk, ignoring the light traffic and the few people who were still out and about at almost three in the morning.
The challenge had been over him. Her son had questioned her leadership because she’d slept with him. Still, he’d wanted Meredith to choose his side over that of her sons in their fight. Wanted her to stand beside him with pride.
And how fucking stupid was that? He was just passing through Chicago, he wasn’t moving to the city. Wasn’t mated with her.
“Damn it.” He stopped and stood with his head down, hands on his hips. The farther away he got from Meredith the more tense he became. “She doesn’t want you,” he reminded himself.
That sure as hell wasn’t true. She’d definitely wanted him last night when she’d arched against him and screamed his name.
He was panting hard now, as though he’d been running full out for miles. He could still feel her body wrapped around his, her slick, tight channel squeezing his cock.
“Fuck,” he swore again. He wouldn’t go back. If nothing else, he had to retain some sense of pride. The woman had sent him packing. She couldn’t get any plainer than that.
It was then he got a tickle on the back of his neck that went down his spine. “Shit,” he muttered as he dove to one side and rolled, ending up at the mouth of an alleyway. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it was just one of Meredith’s pack following him to make sure he left the area. Whatever it was, his instincts were screaming at him to take cover.
And they’d kept him alive too many times for him to ignore them now.
Concrete shattered near his head, several shards hitting his face just as a muffled sound reached his ears. Someone was shooting at him. Definitely not Meredith’s pack. Not unless they’d had some concealed weapons he hadn’t seen.
There was another distinct sound of a gun being fired, this one in the distance. Meredith and her pack were under attack.
His breathing slowed, his senses becoming even more acute. He listened even as he began to move, keeping low to the ground. He didn’t shift. Not yet. He didn’t know who he was dealing with—humans, hunters or werewolves. He was exposed out here on the streets and couldn’t risk changing, not unless he absolutely had to.
Either way they were dead. No one shot at his woman and lived.
Isaiah loped forward, sniffing the wind. He could scent gunpowder and sweat and veered off to the right. This shooter was closer and had to be the one who took the potshot at him.
“Come out, wolf. I know you’re in there.”
Isaiah raised his brow at the man’s stupidity. A hunter, but not an experienced one otherwise he’d never have given away his location. Either that or he was smart and had a partner ready to take a shot when Isaiah exposed himself.
Both hunters and wolves knew they didn’t have much time until the cops showed up, and none of them wanted to deal with the authorities. The hunters had no respect for government or its employees, but neither faction wanted to kill a cop. That would bring too much unwanted attention to both groups.
He skirted down the alley toward the hunter, using a dumpster for cover. Scenting the air, he listened for any telltale sound. His nostrils filled with the stench of trash. But just beneath it he could smell anticipation, sweat and gunpowder.
Isaiah didn’t hesitate. He jumped, propelling himself up onto the lid of the dumpster and launching himself at his attacker. The hunter had been expecting such a move and was waiting, rifle raised and ready. Isaiah twisted his body, praying he’d reach the hunter before he could get off a good shot.
Time froze. The hunter seemed to move in slow motion, the barrel of his rifle tracking Isaiah’s movements. A shot rang out. He waited for the pain to kick in. Sure as hell, the hunter had silver bullets—bullets that would kill him instantly if they hit his heart or slowly poison him if they hit him elsewhere.
He felt nothing but the collision of his larger body with the hunter. Isaiah didn’t hesitate. He gripped the man’s neck and twisted. The crack was unnaturally loud, echoing in Isaiah’s ears.
He dropped the hunter’s body to the ground, panting heavily. It was then he saw the blood staining the front of the hunter’s chest. Someone had shot him.
Isaiah slammed his back against the wall as his eyes tracked the rooftops around him. He caught a glimpse of a shadow above him and then nothing. Who the hell had shot the hunter?
That was a riddle to puzzle over later. Someone was shooting at Meredith and the others. Leaving the hunter lying in the dirt and filth of the alley without a backward glance, he sprinted toward the park.
His heart pounded frantically. He was afraid. Not for himself, but for Meredith and her small pack. He heard grunts and groans as he raced past the iron fence and fountain and deeper into the park. His preternatural senses helped him catalogue the situation immediately.
Benjamin was down. Hank was beside him, his shirt off, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Neema was beside him, doing what she could. Teague and Kevin had shifted and were guarding the small group. Meredith and Michael were missing.
“That way,” Hank pointed when he saw Isaiah.
His legs were pumping, but not going fast enough. Was he going to be too late once again to save someone he loved? Despair threatened, but he shoved it back. Meredith wasn’t a child like as his sister had been. She was a mature woman. She’d held her pack together alone for years. She was a fighter. And he was no longer a young wolf. He was a male in his prime. He would protect what was his.
And whether she ever admitted it or not, Meredith was his. Isaiah was past fighting his instincts.
Sweat rolled down his temple. His shirt clung to his torso as he sped toward Meredith. A man was down on the ground, his neck ripped open. Meredith stood over him, blood dripping from her fangs. Michael was nowhere to be seen.
Isaiah skidded to a stop and stared at her. Pure despair filled her gaze as she looked back at him. He knew that she’d hated taking this hunter’s life, even though she’d had no choice. Unlike him, she’d suffer for this night’s work. The way he figured it, they’d come hunting. They deserved what they got.
Meredith was softer. Kinder. Not that she wouldn’t do what needed to be done. The evidence of that truth was lying on the ground in front of him. But it hurt her to do it.
“It’s okay.” He eased forward, hands out in front of him. “He’s gone. I got another one in an alley just outside the park.”
He heard a sound and spun around, catching the scent of another wolf. Michael loped up to his mother and shifted back into human form. “I got one just beyond the basketball court.” Hurrying to the base of a nearby bush, he grabbed his clothes and began yanking them on as fast as he could.
Sirens sounded in the distance. They had to get out of here. This place was going to be crawling with cops within minutes.
“We’ve got to go.” He wanted to pick Meredith up into his arms and carry her away from all this death. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t her mate.
She lowered her head and raced off. He quickly followed with Michael on his heels. Only Kevin was waiting when they reached the original clearing. “The others took Benjamin home. He’s still bleeding.”