Jacks, Marcy - The Hunter's Omega Mate [DeWitt's Pack 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (7 page)

Tristan nodded, wishing that James didn’t have to be so good

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about this. “I know, but then you’ll just have to deal with Deacon  when he wages war on the pack for what I did. We—you—can’t fight  with him and a group of hunters who want to kill us.”

“He may have a point, my boy.”

Old Maggie. Tristan had been gripping her hand so hard he nearly  forgot she was there.

He looked at her. Her blue eyes, sunken within her skull from age,  seemed to fall further with what she was about to say.

She knew where Tristan was going with this. She also knew it was  the only option they had if James wanted the pack to survive.

“If he goes and agrees to be a part of Deacon’s harem  ”—

“Maggie—” James warned.

“It could bring peace between the two packs with no more  bloodshed,” she continued, ignoring the warning tone in James’s  voice.

She was the only member of the pack who had the authority to do that. Tristan wasn’t sure where that authority came from, but she was using it now to make James see her way.

He licked his lips, his neck and jaw clenching with the pressure of his anger. It was gone in only a couple of seconds, and James took in a deep breath.

“Tristan goes to Deacon, agrees to be part of his harem as punishment for killing Tanner, and then the two packs will fight as one,” he said.

“Exactly,”  Tristan agreed, miserable beyond belief.

The three of them were silent for a moment. James was the one to

break it. “You know I won’t blame you if you decide you don’t want

to do this.”

“Do you want the chances of Corey surviving the coming attacks

to increase, or not?”

It was a bitchy thing to say, considering how lenient James was being with him, but he couldn’t help himself, and he half hoped James would take him out onto the front lawn in front of everyone to teach

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him a lesson.

He didn’t. James took in another deep breath, released it, and then

nodded.

“I’ll get Deacon on the phone to tell him the bad news about

Tanner. I’m sure he’ll take the … compensation.”

* * * *

Marty was as happy as a pig in shit when Isaac told him he’d

killed one of the wolves.

Less happy when Isaac had explained how he’d left the pelt behind, but there was nothing that could be done for it now. The hours were going by, and it was nearly dawn. The humans who were used to rising this early in order to earn their livelihoods would already be up and about, and someone would notice the dead wolf, think it was an

animal—albeit a large animal—and have it taken away to be disposed

of.

Still, it meant that they were on the right track and that the message Dean had sent them, right before he’d died, talking about a pack of werewolves, had been on the money.

They’d packed up their camp, destroying any evidence of their ever having been there, and set off.

“Picked up some wolf trails just before you called,” Dale said, a hunter of a slim build who made up for his lack of strength with unlimited energy and his weapons expertise.

Any gun or knife they carried on them, they did so only on his approval.

“It’s pretty exciting,” he said, his grin showing off thin teeth, a couple of which were missing around the front, giving him a slight lisp. “We see and hear nothing the last several days, and all o’a sudden you kill yourself a wolf and we find tracks.”

“Yeah, exciting,” Isaac muttered.

His kill hardly made him a favorite, but it, and the news of tracks,

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put the guys in a more professional mood, and they were treating  Isaac with something akin to dignity, not even ripping on him for  falling into the river.

Despite the better working environment, he still couldn’t help the  fact that he was not entirely into this right now. Too many doubts  were floating through his head.

Tristan had said he was running away from his pack, but he was  still a werewolf. What if his instincts to protect his pack made him go  back and warn them? What if those tracks belonged to him? What if  Marty, Dale, or one of the others, killed him?

They would, too. You didn’t become a hunter unless you were out  to avenge someone, and that included Isaac. He just never thought he  would be second guessing his own motives over a fling.

“Hey.” A hard hand thwacked the back of his head, pulling him  out of his paranoid musings.

“Pay attention!” Marty snapped, then licked his finger and stuck it  into the air. “The wind’s with us. If we keep following those tracks,  and they stay constant, they’ll never see us coming.”

That was exactly what Isaac was afraid of.

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Chapter Eight

If Tristan had thought the looks he was getting from the member of his own pack were odd, it was nothing compared to the way  Deacon’s pack looked at him when he strolled  onto their land, asking to see their leader.

Deacon, unlike James, had been sleeping, and he was not the kind of man you wanted to wake up. James hadn't even been able to get the man on the phone, so Tristan had to just go and explain himself with no warning for the other man.

The twisted snarl on Deacon's face as he screamed at the omega who summoned him almost made Tristan regret coming here.

Jesus. He was about to admit to killing the man’s brother. Deacon might want Tristan for his harem, but he could easily decide to kill him instead and then go to war with James just for the fun of it.

Tristan never thought he would see the day where letting Deacon fuck him would be the lesser of two evils.

“You had better have a good fucking excuse for getting me out  of  bed, you little bitch,” Deacon said, advancing on the now trembling  red-haired female omega, his arm was lifting, his hand becoming  boney claws.

“I made her do it,” Tristan said, before he could strike at her.

His voice made Deacon stop his advancing, and the poor female  must have been so afraid of any sort of movement from her alpha,  that, that alone had caused her to tip on her feet and fall backward  onto her ass.

Deacon’s head slowly turned toward Tristan. His eyes weren’t wide, but his expression clearly spoke of how he never expected to

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see Tristan on his land.

Willingly, that is.

A slow smile played onto his lips. Already Tristan could sense the sudden rush of blood pumping through Deacon’s body as his heart hammered inside his chest. He was definitely excited to see Tristan.

“You…to what do I owe this honor?”

Tristan undid the first couple of buttons on his shirt, revealing much of his neck and chest. He stepped forward until he was well within Deacon’s personal space then dropped to his knees.

Deacon burst out laughing.

“Oh ho! This is too much!” he hooted, clapping his hands together, rubbing them but not making any sort of claim to what  Tristan was offering him.

“It must be my lucky day. James finally decided to give in, did he?”

“No,” Tristan said. Now his heart was hammering. He clenched  his fists into the shorts he wore, hoping the trembling wouldn’t be  noticed. “I killed Tanner. It was an accident. I’m here as your  payment and for your judgement.”

Deacon’s hands were still held together in front of him, but now  he was looking down at Tristan like he’d told the most inappropriate  joke at a funeral.

“What…did you just say?”

Tristan swallowed. “Tanner is dead. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean  ”—

His next words were cut off when giant fingers wrapped around  his neck, cutting off speech and air supply.

Tristan was hauled to his feet and was put nose to nose with  Deacon. The man’s intense black eyes had turned gold, the pupils  becoming snakelike.

Deacon had done this as though Tristan weighed no more than

twenty pounds.

“You want to repeat that?”

“Ughk!” Was all Tristan could say. He tried to dig his fingers

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under Deacon’s knuckles to pry them loose, but it was like a steel  trap. He couldn’t be moved.

“You killed my brother?”

Tristan nodded as best he could. He  could feel his face growing  hot from the lack of blood flow to his brain. His lungs constricted,  attempting to force air into them, but Deacon wouldn’t allow it.

He was going to kill him.

Deacon dropped him instead.

Not having expected the action, Tristan  was unable to catch  himself, and his legs crumbled beneath him as he fell onto his ass,  sucking back air and coughing when it would not go down properly  due to his near strangulation.

After a couple of seconds of this, he was aware that Deacon was  laughing again.

He looked up just at the alpha reached down and scooped his  hands under Tristan’s armpits, hauling him to his feet.

He wrapped an arm around Tristan’s shoulder, slapping his back  like they were best of friends, and went for a walk. “That sack of shit  has been after my pack for I don’t know how long. You’ve just done  me the biggest favor since my daddy died and handed the pack over to  me.”

The rumour in James’s pack was that Deacon had killed his father and stolen the leadership, but he wasn’t about  to argue. He smiled and nodded his head, committed to agree with everything Deacon said, so long as it kept Tristan alive and merged their packs in the coming fight against the hunters.

“So,” Deacon said, “you came here to make peace with me over  Tanner, eh?”

“Yes, but there’s ”—

Deacon’s grip around his shoulders went from friendly to hostile, and his arm squeezed Tristan around the neck so that he was in an inescapable headlock. Air circulation cut off once more.

He was beginning to discover what Deacon’s  favorite torture

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method was. Maybe that was why he wanted James’s pond so much.

To drown his enemies in it.

“You get something straight right here and now, boy,” Deacon  hissed, his warm breath in Tristan’s ear making him shiver.

“Just because I ask you a question, does not mean I want you to  answer it. You speak, only when I give you permission to speak.”

He released Tristan, and again he went down, gasping for air.

Deacon flipped him over, and Tristan damn near had the wind  knocked out of him when Deacon’s huge knee pressed down hard

right in the middle of Tristan’s chest.

“Your mouth and tongue belong to me, now,” Deacon said, the  blunt, calloused tip of his thumb brushing against Tristan’s lower lip.  “You only use them when I say, and only on what I want.”

The musky scent of Deacon’s arousal covered Tristan like a heavy  blanket. It smothered him, he couldn’t escape it, and the scent only  magnified when Deacon pressed his cock against Tristan’s hip,  releasing a small groan of approval as he did.

He was hard. Holy shit, this was it. Deacon was going to fuck him  right in his hallway, and Tristan hadn’t even told him about the  hunters yet.

Again, Deacon surprised him when he pulled Tristan to his feet,  all chummy, chummy again with his arm slung around Tristan’ s  shoulder.

Again they started walking.

“Bet you’re wondering where we’re going?” Deacon said, sounding very much like a kid off to play with his new toy.

Recalling the last warning he’d gotten, Tristan only nodded.

“We’re going to have us a little family  meeting,” Deacon said, punching open the door leading outside.

“Roger!” He called.

“Here, sir,” said a tall, muscular man with blond hair and orange skin, suggesting he’d used some kind of tanning lotion and had done it incorrectly.

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“Wake everyone up and get them in the center yard. We have an  initiation,” Deacon said proudly, squeezing Tristan’s shoulder.

He wanted to fade away and die.

“Yes, sir,” Roger said, not so much as giving Tristan a  questioning look before he turned around to do as he was told.

Deacon had them all under a tight leash all right.

“My beta,” Deacon said, as though Tristan hadn’t already figured  that out for himself. “Does as he’s told, doesn’t ask a lot of questions.  Not too bright. My most excellent hand.”

A loyal follower Deacon liked having around. Great.

Though his neck still burned from the last two times within fifteen  minutes Deacon had choked him, Tristan could not stop thinking  about James and his former pack. They would need to join forces with  Deacon’s pack if they were going to survive the coming attack.