Wolf Hunter (16 page)

Yeah. Great idea. Run for wolf central when you’ve got your new best friend perched above you and one who wants you for snack time waiting inside.
Plus, his feet hurt. Pulling his leg into his lap, he inspected the fragile skin where Cody had burned him. He hadn’t been sorry to see Cody get his neck twisted, that was damn sure. Westley had looked stricken, though, and Jaylen had pitied him.

Of course, that was before he knew. Big ass werewolf like Westley? Probably had a few hundred kills under his pelt. Jaylen didn’t know why he acted like puppy with him, sweet and submissive—a little stupid—but turned into a killing machine against those other wolves. He’d acted like he had the intention to eat Cody. Jaylen’s stomach churned. He didn’t have anything in him to vomit up, but he swallowed on his gag reflex anyway. He shouldn’t be surprised. Mindlessness of beasts and all, but... that wasn’t something he’d wanted to see. Plus, Westley would probably be upset if he ate someone. Westley the person; Westley the wolf obviously wouldn’t have minded.

His feet were tender, but he’d survive. Few days off them, some decent salve—another reason to call Danni—and he’d be fine. The cuts and welts from the cane were another issue. He tugged his shirt off. Fabric, dried to his skin with blood, opened fragile cuts. They announced their pain with a parade. It drowned out his other senses. Every movement made him want to scream with his torn throat. Dropping the shirt on the floor, he glanced out the window, searching for a sign that the night would end. Still dark as blazes out there above the street lights. Stars and moon shining down. Gritting his teeth, he settled in for the night. He didn’t have a weapon, but he had Westley, who seemed intent on protecting him for whatever wolf logic pleased him.

With pained tears welling in his eyes—he blinked them away before they spilled—Jaylen lay down on the bench seat, out of sight of curious wolves, (as if Westley wasn’t beacon enough) and waited for morning.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DESPITE THE WIND whipping freezing air around him, Westley’s ass felt like he’d sat on a hot plate. He reached back and tentatively squeezed. Fuck. Eighty percent chance he’d burned it. He sat up, clutching his head. What the fuck had he drunk last night? Looking down, he did a quick inventory. Arms, legs, head, dick, all present and accounted for—
Dick? Holy shit I’m naked.
His hands flew to protect his modesty so fast he almost injured himself. At the same time, he woke up enough to recognize where he was.

In the police parking lot.

On a truck.

That wasn’t his.

Because he’d stolen it.

Which he’d done because...?

Ohhh shit. Jaylen.

Westley climbed down as the memories returned. The ones he could grab, anyway. He’d wolfed. And... blank from there, but apparently his evening had ended with him on top of a stolen truck and—he checked the window—Jaylen asleep inside. So... that was a win, right?

Fortunately, it was too early for anyone to be around. Not that too many eyebrows would be raised if Westley turned up naked. It wasn’t unknown for Cody’s friends, both human and wolf, to wake up in similar situations. The man owned his own keg. And put it to use every weekend.

Okay. Keys. Obviously he hadn’t had the forethought to stick them up his ass, so he’d need to go inside and get his clothes. Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he headed for the door. All quiet as he went in. Marjorie was sleeping at the desk. Westley tiptoed past her. He was almost to the corridor when something made him pause. She wasn’t moving. Not even breathing. Turning back, he saw her hair was matted dark with blood. He stumbled backwards and spun when he hit something. It was Lyddie. Had he killed...? The memory returned to him, not in clarity but as a haze of emotion and shadow that still left no doubt to what he’d done. Pressing himself to the wall, he rushed past her. The open bullpen reminded him that either Donnie or Captain Bogard was dead in there. He averted his eyes as he made his way to the holding cells. The door to the one Jaylen had been in stood open. Westley grinned in relief as he hurried in.

He stopped cold.

Cody lay stomach down on the floor, head turned to one side. His eyes were open, glassy beneath his blond lashes. His hands lay straight along his sides, and a bloody paw print stained the back of his shirt.

“No. No no no no no no.” Westley collapsed beside him. He tugged Cody into his lap. “Tell me I didn’t do this. Please tell me I didn’t do this. Please tell me...”

Cody didn’t tell him anything. Cody’s neck hung at its broken angle and his tongue poked out of his mouth. Westley rocked him. He would lie down here and die too. He would—

His phone’s ringing interrupted his silent proclamation. Carefully setting Cody down, he crawled to his ruined jeans and searched for it.

“
Where are you?” Tom asked before Westley said “hello.”

“
I’m in trouble,” Westley said. His voice shook. He wiped his nose. “I need to ask you something.”

“
Can you get here? Right now?”

“
Tom, please. I need to—”

Tom huffed. “Yes. What is it?”

“When you told Cody what was going on last night, did you do it so he would stop me?”

A pause on Tom’s end. Then: “What? No. I told him so he’d help you. Why? Is he being a dick?”

“He’s dead.”

“
What?”

“
I killed him.” Westley began to weep. “I didn’t mean to. But I was protecting my mate. I didn’t know what I was doing and I...”

“
Hey—” Tom’s voice was gentle.

“
I shifted.”

“
Westley, I’m at my parents’ house. You need to come here. Denton went on a killing spree last night. I want you here where I can keep you safe.”

Westley hiccoughed. “Jaylen’s hurt bad. I need—”

“Bring him. But Westley? He’ll be on lock down and if he even looks like he’s thinking about killing a wolf, I will end him.”

“
But if I hurt you protecting him, I won’t live with myself. I killed Cody.” He announced this with a sob that racked his chest.

“
I’m pack alpha, West. If you hurt me, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

Hearing the authority in Tom’s voice settled him. Westley sniffed away another sob and quietly said they were on their way. Once Tom hung up, Westley fished the truck keys out of his pocket, gathered up his clothes and shoes, and returned to the pickup.

Jaylen slept the whole way to the Wards’ home. It was a three story Victorian mansion located a half mile outside the town limits. There were other homes around, equally grand, each separated from the other by high fences to the sides, a line of forest at the back that led down to La Mer Creek, and tennis courts or swimming pools in the middle. Westley carried Jaylen from the truck into the house through the back door that opened into the kitchen and down the stairs to the spare room in the basement. Tom followed him the whole way.

“
Don’t you dare put him down on anything. He stinks.”

“
He peed himself,” Westley said. “You would too in his situation.”

“
I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Tom said. “Here.” Grabbing Jaylen under his arms, Tom tugged him away from Westley and held him up. “Take his pants off.”

“
What?”

“
I’m not going to do it, so you have to. Hurry up. I’ve got a house of wolves upstairs we’re hiding him from. The faster his clothes get in the washer, the better.”

Sighing, Westley shucked Jaylen’s pants and underwear. It didn’t feel right to look, even though he’d already seen it all—and tasted it—so he kept his gaze averted. Jaylen made a pained noise but didn’t wake up. “Do you at least have something for him to wear?”

Tom didn’t answer. When Westley looked up, Tom was staring down at the marks Denton’s torture had left on Jaylen’s body. With more care than before, he laid him face down on the bed. “He did a number on him, huh?”

“
Yeah,” Westley said.

“
Would you get him some clothes?”

Tom pulled a pair of underwear from a drawer and tossed them at Westley. “Go crazy.”

“Thanks,” Westley said dryly.

Tom nodded. He waited until Westley had wrangled the underwear on Jaylen. Then he pulled his handcuffs from his back pocket and reached for Jaylen’s wrist.

“Don’t cuff him!” Westley protested when Tom tried to handcuff Jaylen to the bed, pointing out his raw wrists.

“
He’s not getting free reign of the house, West,” Tom said, and after some discussion that involved Westley crossing his arms and shaking his head “no” at Tom’s every suggestion, they settled on tying a rope around his waist and ankles, followed by some other rope wizardry Westley couldn’t follow, which Tom concluded by knotting it beneath the bed’s antique oak frame. Tom wanted to loop it around Jaylen’s neck as well, but Westley put a stop to that.

Tom gathered up Jaylen’s clothes. “You’re good here?”

“If I write down some herbs, can you get them from my kitchen?” Westley asked. “I want to make a salve for him.”

“
I can send someone,” Tom said. “I get to do that now that I’m in charge.”

Westley smiled, feeling relaxed for the first time since that damned team meeting had introduced Denton into his life. Even the discussion about how to bind Jaylen had been carried out with the humor and ease he and Tom normally shared. “You’ve always done that, Mr. Heir Apparent.”

Tom grinned back. “Yeah, yeah. Write down whatever you need, and I’ll make sure Wolf City’s most wanted gets it.”

“
Thanks.”

“
Yep.” Tom turned to go. “If he moves, hit him with this.” He handed Westley a ceramic vase off the dresser. Westley obediently held it in his lap as he sat on the chair opposite the bed.

“
You got something I can write with?”

Tom produced his phone, tapped and swished through a few screens and gave Westley his full attention. Westley rattled off a list of essential items, which Tom dutifully typed. “Anything else?”

Westley looked at Jaylen, who had settled into a fitful sleep. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”

Tom squeezed Westley’s shoulder. “You’re asking the wrong guy.”

“He will.” Westley didn’t move his focus from Jaylen as Tom left. He heard the door close. Setting the vase down, he reached forward to take Jaylen’s limp hand. “You’ll be fine,” he promised. “You’ll see.” Silently, he added, “
My mate
.”

JAYLEN PRESSED DOWN with his knees and hands. Sure felt like a bed under him. He shifted. Rope around his waist, but it didn’t feel restrictive. His nipples scraped cloth. Felt like sheets, which meant he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Same sensation against his legs. No pants either. He was wearing underwear, though, which felt loose around the leg. He judged all this without opening his eyes. Had he made it back to the motel and strapped himself down? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in a truck. He was five, six, seven… well, however many hours out from his detox. His arrest-cum-capture had happened at the tail end, and he’d suffered a few aftereffects as he hung in the cell, but being tortured was a damn good way to hide that.

“
You’re awake!” Jaylen opened his eyes. Westley had positioned his huge smiling head right in Jaylen’s face. “How do you feel?”

Jaylen sat up. He glanced down at his groin and back at Westley. He thought about leading with “You’re a goddamned werewolf.” Figuring he should get aware of his situation first, he said, “Where are my clothes?”

“In the laundry,” Westley said. “You smelled like pee.”

“
And the tighty whities?”

“
Tom’s. But they’re clean,” Westley said, his tone vibrant with earnestness, as if
that
would be Jaylen’s first concern upon waking from unconsciousness to find he was in a stranger’s underpants. Taking a moment to consider, Jaylen decided it would be.

“
Thanks,” he said gruffly. He didn’t bother turning away to cough. His throat was raw from screaming, so much so that he decided to put off asking who Tom was until later.

“
Do you want water? I’ve got—” Westley cut himself off. He knocked the wicker desk chair he was sitting in over when he hopped up and almost spilled the plastic cup that he snatched off the dresser. Westley offered Jaylen the tall cup with both hands, holding it like a chalice. Jaylen stopped his smile when he remembered that as a wolf Westley shared a few of the same traits.

He took the water and sipped. No sense in being rude. Wolf hunting was all about professionalism. Rudeness was a sign that feelings were involved, when it was as simple as stab and twist. The water swished funny in his mouth, hitting places it shouldn’t. He followed it with his tongue and found the hole where his molar used to be.

“Sorry about your tooth,” Westley said. He offered what he probably thought was an empathetic smile, but it really only made him look constipated.