Wolf Hunter (26 page)

Jaylen stood on his hind legs, head tilted, trying to chew the bars. Drool ran down his jowls, and his growling didn’t stop. “Jaylen? It’s me. Come on, Jaylen. You know me. Mates.” He put his hand through the bars, high enough that Jaylen would have to jump if he wanted to bite. Jaylen stared up. Slowly, his growling calmed and he returned to all fours. “That’s it,” Westley said. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.” Pulling his arm back, he sank down to his knees. Jaylen made a tight circle, sniffing, before he sat down against the bars. Westley reached through and scratched Jaylen’s back as Jaylen stretched out with a long, loud whine.

HIS HEAD ITCHED as his hair grew back where he’d been shaved bare, but that wasn’t the worst part. That was only annoying. At first, the worst part was the crying. Before, he’d rarely shed a tear, and now every damned minute he was erupting like a geyser. When he wasn’t crying, he was dealing with anger that he couldn’t express because he couldn’t fucking
speak or move
, which led to more crying. His brain and limbs had some serious synaptic miscommunication going on. For every intentional movement, there were twenty more that surprised him. And he couldn’t tell Westley which was which. He couldn’t tell him he’d intended that wave or he was trying to frown or he was going to piss himself. Frustration piled on frustration. He hated Westley for putting up with him, hated himself for not dying, hated Denton even more than before.
Turn the hunter into his own best enemy.
The Alpha’s great revenge. He’d gotten it in spades.

He wept bitter, hate-filled tears when he thought about Denton. A decade and change following him,
stalking
him, and
someone else
had killed him. Sure, Tom and Westley had saved Jaylen’s life in the process, but what importance was that when Jaylen had been denied plunging his knife into Denton’s neck straight through to his spine and then pulling it out to watch the blood spurt? Sometimes, he wished he could have died that night. At least then the battle would’ve been between him and Denton. His life’s purpose wouldn’t have ended with someone else performing the killing he’d dreamed so thoroughly he hadn’t needed to close his eyes to visualize it. And, if he’d died, he wouldn’t be a goddamned werewolf.

The whispering started in the middle of the month, after his shoulder had completely healed and the gash on his neck had closed. Jaylen couldn’t understand what the voices said. Hundreds of them tumbled together in a mix of high and low tones, some rushed, and others so slow a single word took a minute to say. Although he heard them as a human, they were clearest when he was shifted, and he paced the cage in circles, stepping over Westley or snapping at him when he got in the way. They called to him,
needed him
, but he couldn’t make them settle into cohesion. He couldn’t figure out what they wanted.

He threw himself against the cage doors over and over again, trying to break free, to
get to them
, but the bars held strong. He felt Westley’s human hands on him and he accepted his comfort with his body, but his mind stayed on the voices.

With each shift, the voices grew stronger. His hopes they would balance out were dashed on his next shift to a wolf when he found that the quiet voices had reached the level of a yell and the loud voices screamed at a volume that seemed designed to drive him insane. He couldn’t hear Westley yelling,
pleading
with him to “
Tell me what’s wrong, please Jaylen! Please!
” as he dove headfirst against the iron cage again and again.

Westley’s mother graduated him from the hospital bed to a high-backed chair. He watched without interest as she secured a strap around his chest to stop him from pitching forward and arranged his feet flat on the floor. He didn’t like how his diaper felt and liked it even less when she was the one to change him. Not only was it embarrassing, she didn’t arrange his dick right, and he felt smashed. Plus, it made noise whenever he shifted and despite the voices in his head, he could always hear it.

Ava—she’d said he should call her that, even though he couldn’t speak—hated him. He had no doubts about that, but she loved her son and had sworn the Hippocratic Oath, so Jaylen figured he was safe from being smothered with a pillow. Although there were moments when he wouldn’t have minded.

Westley drank his tea with renewed drive. When Westley kissed him, soft and light as if they were brothers rather than mates, his breath stank of it, but Jaylen found himself inhaling, trying to take in some of its powers. The tea could mute the voices. He was certain of it. He needed to find a way to get it before they drove him insane. Westley made tea for Ava too, which she sipped with a stern face, always mumbling “for the pack’s security,” which seemed to help her keep it down.

Westley didn’t look too far from going off the deep end either. His eyes were constantly bloodshot and his hands shook. He never complained, though, and never looked at Jaylen with contempt, even though Jaylen had ruined his life. Ava had a point—Westley shouldn’t be giving up his future for this, but at the same time Jaylen was terrified that Westley would see that. If not for Westley, who did he have? His family was dead. He had an aunt, but he hadn’t seen her since he was little. She hadn’t stepped up when he was orphaned, no chance she’d do it now that he was a drooling pit of misery who couldn’t control his own body. For this reason, he was grateful to have some control over himself as a wolf. He could show Westley his affection then, could nuzzle him and love him and do everything his stupid human body wouldn’t allow him to do.

Concentrating on the voices took all his energy and eventually he gave up trying to distinguish between them and instead focused on ignoring them. More and more he disappeared into his own mind until he stopped noticing what was going on around him, seeking instead the safe, quiet space in his brain where nothing could find him. There, he wasn’t completely alone. Leslie and Stania sat with him, both radiant in their new dresses. He stayed and listened to them talk. What he’d once found unbearable was now something he sought out. These were voices he could distinguish, illusions he could understand, and he welcomed them.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“ANYONE HOME?” TOM pushed Westley’s door open. He winced when the screen door fell off its hinges. It seemed like forever since he’d stumbled into Westley’s house after his birthday celebration, seeking comfort for being a year older and drunk off his ass.

“
In here,” Westley said. He stood at the kitchen sink.

Tom stepped in cautiously and looked around. “Where’s your mo—?” Spotting Ava next to Jaylen, Tom paused to wipe his feet on the welcome mat. “Hi Ava,” he said, trying not to cringe under her scrutiny. As pack alpha, he was ridiculous to be scared of her, but old habits died hard. (As did memories of being boxed around the ears for tracking dirt into Ava’s house.) He took a few seconds to study his work boots’ ridged soles, wanting to tell her that if she was upset at him for not mating her son, it hadn’t been for lack of trying on
his
part. Glancing at Westley, he caught the amusement mingled with sympathy and shot him a glare. “Nice to see you,” he said to Ava.

“
Westley told me you broke his door.”

“
Yes, ma’am,” he replied, her tone shoving him back to a time when he wouldn’t have dared respond to her any other way.

“
Why don’t you fix it while you’re here? Westley has tools, but he’s not handy.”

Tom waited for her to add, “Not like an alpha,” and from the silence in the kitchen it seemed Westley was waiting too, but she only smiled with weighted pleasantness.

“I’ll send someone over.” Now that she’d all but ordered him to do it, he couldn’t. He had to show he had control, that he could command someone to fix Westley’s damn door.

“
I’d prefer it if you—”

“
I’ll take care of it.” He made his tone firm. And in the same tone, but still respectful, added, “Ma’am.” He shouldn’t have to play these power games here. It was bad enough out in the community, but that was partly his fault. His father had been pack alpha so long people didn’t remember that he’d started young too. Tom didn’t know if his dad had gone through the same challenges, but at least he’d had his mother and siblings to support him. Tom had two dead best friends, a dead mother, and Westley, who had his own problems without Tom coming whining at him.

“
Well, that door slams when the wind—”

“
Mother?” Westley cut in, weaving her name into the space between her words with caution, as if he’d never interrupted her in his life. She stared at him as if that were true.

“
Westley?”

“
Would you mind taking a walk?” Westley asked, in a way that made it seem like a mild suggestion rather than an insult. Tom didn’t know how he managed it, but Westley’s ability to do that was the reason Tom used to let Westley do the talking when they were pups. “I haven’t seen Tom for awhile and we have a lot of catching up to do.”

She smiled and rose up from the couch. “Sure. A walk sounds nice.” She gathered her jacket and Tom stepped out of the way so she could get past him. “I’ll be back in half an hour,” she said.

“Thanks, Mother.” Westley called after her, but Tom decided the wise course would be to keep his own mouth shut. “So what happened?” he said to Tom. “You said you’d be over ‘tomorrow’ a week ago.”

“
I’m sorry.” Tom rubbed his forehead and finally stepped all the way inside. “Turns out being pack alpha is a shitty job.”

Westley grinned. “Well, welcome to paradise.” He gestured around the cabin, taking in the stack of dishes piled in the kitchen sink, the boots stacked at the fireplace, an unmade hospital bed, a coffee table with gardening magazines strewn across it, and the couch, on which Jaylen sat in the middle, bolstered up by two stacks of pillows on either side. “Stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks.” He took a few steps toward Jaylen. “Hey, Jaylen.”

Jaylen briefly lifted his gaze, but dropped it before he made eye contact. “Jaylen’s doing a lot better,” Westley said.

“Yeah? That’s great.” Tom could hear through his lying, but there was desperation behind it, as if Westley needed Jaylen’s improvement to be true. From where Tom stood, Jaylen didn’t look like he knew he was in the same room with two other people. He fixed a smile on his face. “Hey, I got you something.” Since his text conversation with Westley, Tom had tried to think how to help him, and after some legwork, he had it. If this didn’t improve both Westley and Jaylen’s lives, nothing would.

“
What?” Westley continued with his Disney cheerful tone. Tom’s stomach turned. He fought the urge to take Westley by the shoulders and shake him.

Tom turned to Jaylen. He had a bell tied to his wrist. “Nice bell.”

Jaylen fixed him with a brief, but deadly, glare.

“
Hey, I mean it. I imagine it’s useful for getting Westley’s attention, right?”

“
He hates it,” Westley said, “but it’s the best thing we’ve come up with. We’re still working on distinguishing between on-purpose rings and muscle spasms, though.” Jaylen jangled it for a solid minute. He started off glaring at Westley, but his gaze drifted toward a distant wall. Westley waited until he stopped and said, “That’s his third kind of ring, which he does to be annoying. It’s the ring he does best.”

“
Well, I’ve got something that’s way cooler than a bell,” Tom said.

“
What did you get?” Westley dried his hands and walked over as Tom opened his bag.

“
Jaylen. Jaylen.” Jaylen’s gaze flicked in his direction. Encouraged, Tom pulled the coffee table away from the couch and sat down in front of him. Two issues of
Gardening Today
cushioned his ass.

“
iPad,” Tom pulled it from the bag with a flourish. “I had it set up special so you guys can communicate.” He turned it on and started to demonstrate. “See? You tap the categories—food, emotion, question words, needs like cold, hot, wet, toilet, and it opens up another category that’s more specific until you find the one you need. There’s two million words available.”

“
Wow. Tom, this is amazing.”

“
And!” Tom put his finger up and tapped Jaylen on the knee. “Since I remembered what a pleasant guy you are, I added an extra category for you. He flipped the tablet around and pointed to the category called “FU.”

“
What’s that?” Westley asked, with the tone he used when he didn’t want to know.

Tom beamed. “Exactly what it sounds like.” He tapped it and the screen filled with national flags. “Just tap the flag you want and you get a picture of someone making that country’s equivalent of the middle finger.” Jaylen seemed to light up. “Yep, I figured that would be your favorite part. There’s voice assignment too, so it’ll talk if you want.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Westley said. “Or if I should.”

“
No need. Though I’ll take the tea if you’ve got it.”

“
Sure thing.” Westley stood up.

Tom stayed with Jaylen. “You want to try this?”

Jaylen reached out a flat hand and slapped it. “Mongolia, excellent choice,” Tom said. A photo of a fist, seen from the back, with the person’s thumb pushed between the index and middle fingers appeared. Jaylen smiled. His throat moved like he was trying to make noise. For all the healing the shift had given him, it hadn’t returned his voice. “Yeah, it’s pretty funny,” Tom affirmed. “You can flip me off in any culture. Want me to show you how to get to the start?”