Page 40 of Stolen

Chapter 19

Gunn spoke to Dobe, but loud enough for Rex to pick up with his wolf hearing. “Shoot to wound, and only if you have to. And whatever you do, don’t Change.”

If they Changed, their wolves could get pulled into the pack mania.

He stood up slowly in the back of the Jeep, hating the seconds that were ticking by, but knowing that any sudden move could touch off a blood bath.

“We found him like this,” Gunn said. “Up near the airfield. He said Ricardo De León shot him.”

The pack snarled louder. Sanchez’s cousin, Francisco, rasped out, “You lie.”

Sanchez and Cisco, along with their cousin Mateo, were the Hounds—the best trackers in the pack. Possibly in the world. And also the craziest of all the Outlaw Ridge wolves.

“Ask him,” Gunn said. “But for fuck’s sake, get him to the med center. He’s bleeding out.”

It was more than that, though. He could sense it. The old man was dying—had been dying for a while. Gunn wasn’t sure anything could help him now.

Sanchez said, “De León is in South America.”

Holy fuck. They didn’t even know.

“Dammit, no he’s not!” Gunn said. “What the hell do you think I’m doing here? De León is outside of Rockhaven with a small army right now. They need you.”

“Liar!” Cisco said again. “You always hated Gregor.”

Again, Gunn glimpsed movement in the forest out of the corner of his eye. Again, there was nothing there.

Suddenly, Gregor sat bolt upright in the back of the truck, his eyes glittering pure gold. “They’re coming!”

The cartel? Gunn looked around.

Sanchez growled. “Who’s coming?”

“In the forest,” Gregor babbled. “Behind the trees, behind the rocks. The Black River pack.”

Dobe muttered, “The who?”

Gregor was still talking, his words running together. “I sent the men off. On the hunt. Couldn’t protect the females. Couldn’t protect the cubs.” His eyes were wide, unseeing. “Blood, blood and death, the screams, the burning…”

Half the Outlaw Ridge pack looked completely confused. The others were scanning the woods. “There!” Somebody pointed.

“No, there!”

Once again Gunn saw shapes in the woods, flickering and disappearing. Beyond the ghostly shadows he heard the baying of the rest of the pack, already over the edge, chasing the ghosts in the woods.

“Don’t leave,” Gregor mumbled. “Shouldn’t have let them leave. Black River… Oh gods… It’s too late…”

Suddenly it all clicked together in Gunn’s mind. Scraps of stories about a wolf war back in the 1800s, when most of the Outlaw Ridge pack had been wiped out.

Gregor’s pack, he realized. The alpha was much, much older than they’d realized. He’d been there; he was the one who’d let the men leave on a hunting trip, left the Ridge undermanned, and the rest of the pack had been wiped out by their rivals. All the women and cubs, except those that had been taken as captives.

And now Gregor’s mind was collapsing, and he was reliving the whole thing. That’s why he hadn’t led the pack down into the town. He knew a threat was coming, and somehow he’d merged the long-ago threat with the current one in his mind.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. He believed the pack had to be kept here at all costs, to defend the Ridge. That somehow, if they left, they would be the ones to die this time.

Gregor’s memories—delusions—were so strong, so emotional and intense, that now the whole pack was seeing them. Even Gunn. Ghosts in the woods.

With the last of his strength, Gregor leaped to his feet and gave a furious howl, face to the sky. “Attack!” Gregor cried. “Attack!”