“There,” she said when he finished the last bite. “We’ve both kept our promise.”
These too were old words, spoken in their early days together every time Malachi succeeded in cleaning his plate. His hunger and appetite had regained full strength in barely a month under Rebecca’s care. Now he let his growl convey how much better his body felt at being fed, how strongly he still regarded the old agreement between them and the steadfastness of Rebecca in seeing through her every promise to him, all his life. He downed the glass of water, parched yet again. When he set it aside, he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes, breathe deep, and appreciate.
“Thank you,” he said.
“My pleasure.” She smiled.
Then, as though he’d wanted to ask all this time, Arlo said, “Will you go after the rogues?”
“If I knew human authorities wouldn’t be involved at any point, maybe I’d consider whether I could justify it. But if I chase them down in Missouri and the police there find out… Look at how Ezra was treated in his own home, and they were nearly convinced of his innocence before they drove out here. I can’t risk my freedom for the chance to put this rogue down. That’s no way to serve my pack.”
“But self-defense is different.” Arlo nodded. “Legally and socially, as far as humans are concerned.”
“Which might matter to the welfare of our pack one day. And it’s morally different as well. There’s no gray area if he comes onto my land again to kill me.”
Arlo and Rebecca nodded slowly, mirroring one another.
Malachi’s jaw tensed, locking his teeth and reminding him of the headache he really didn’t need right now. He pressed his palms to his forehead, then sighed. There were things he couldn’t say.
“If you weren’t alpha, you’d hunt them down,” Arlo said with a low meditative rumble. “But youarealpha, so you’ll make defensive moves only with these lousy curs even though you could crush them in a fair fight.”
Ah. So much for keeping some thoughts to himself.
“I know,” Arlo said as though Malachi had spoken. “And maybe I’m just old, wanting the sort of justice that plays out in Western movies. But I’ll tell you, son.” Sudden tears filled the old wolf’s eyes, and he shook his head and blinked them away. “The scent of your life-blood pouring out of you, the sound of you fighting to breathe, and the sight of you laid out on that table… Those things won’t ever leave me. I want them dead, Malachi. Every last one of them dead for what they did to you.”
“They weren’t successful,” Malachi said. “Attempted murder doesn’t earn a death sentence. Not even in Old West justice.”
“That wolf has killed before. I know it and, if you’ve had time and a clear head to think about it, you know it too.”
“Yes.” Malachi would give him that much. But then he set his hands flat on the table and leaned toward Arlo. Time to speak as the old wolf’s alpha again. “But you and I are not vigilantes. We don’t pursue vendettas. We fortify our homes and defend the lives of our fellow wolves, the lives of our mates and pups. And that’s all.”
Arlo rubbed a palm over his silver hair and nodded. “I know.”
His scent proved his words. He longed to see justice done, but he’d never been a vengeful wolf, and despite his feelings now, Arlo’s core integrity wouldn’t change.
A little later, the elders retired, and Malachi sat alone in the room. Within minutes the tiny odorous fluff-ball under the couch began to move, one stealthy step at a time. When she emerged into the room, Flannery began to frisk as only a feline could. She pranced in a zigzag pattern across the carpet to Malachi, then jumped up to cling to the leg of his sweatpants.
He allowed himself a wince as he reached down, pulling his scars, to set her on his uninjured thigh. She mewled up at him.
“Lonely under there?”
Another mewl.
“I know, too many wolves out here. Well, believe it or not, I’m one of them, not one of you. I guess April had time to bring you, though I don’t know why Rhett allowed you in.”
A louder mewl, and then she jumped across his lap. He caught her inches from landing directly on his scar, for which she bit his thumb. He set her on his shoulder, and she licked his ear with her sandpaper tongue.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you. Sorry about that, little one. My priorities have been elsewhere.”
She balanced easily on his shoulder as he stood and went to the kitchen. He found the last remnants of some plain chicken in a glass dish, the dish nearly empty, and opened the lid. Flannery attempted to leap into the dish, landed in his hand instead when he held it out.
“None of that, now.” He set dish and kitten on the floor and watched her eat. “Tomorrow should be calmer for you. We’ll be back home. April will be there too.”
He dared to hope tomorrow would be calmer for all the pack.
Twenty-One
Forthenextthreedays, Malachi focused on the needs of his pack. He wasn’t fit to take one of the patrolling shifts, but he stopped by various homes after a wolf left patrol to hear what they’d seen, heard, and smelled. Which was…nothing. Still he kept himself apprised, face-to-face with his pack.
