Wolf Meets His Fate Read online

  Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2022 N.J. Walters

  ISBN: 978-0-3695-0606-1

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Jessica Ruth

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  Thank you to all my readers who have embraced the Salvation Pack and continue to ask for more. This next generation of the wolf pack continue to surprise and delight me. I hope they do the same for you.

  Thank you to all my friends in the writing community for your continued support and encouragement. It means so much.

  The release of any book takes a lot of work. Thank you to my editor, Jessica Ruth, and the incredible team at Evernight Publishing for giving me the opportunity to bring this spin-off series to life.

  WOLF MEETS HIS FATE

  Salvation Pack: The Next Generation, 4

  N.J. Walters

  Copyright © 2022

  Prologue

  He’s going to kill me.

  Biting down on her lip to keep from howling, Marie Theriot stared at the tiny infant lying on her chest. She was so beautiful with her wealth of black hair and blue eyes. All her little fingers and toes were perfect. Other than a small cry when she’d emerged into the world, she’d been silent, as if she understood both their lives hung in the balance.

  The child had come days early, the labor hard and intense, starting late the previous evening and continuing all day. She’d given birth in a ramshackle cabin, alone with no one to help, with no encouragement or celebration. Her family had turned their back on her for getting pregnant without being mated.

  The father of her child would be here within the hour—as soon as he finished having dinner with his mate and daughters. Bitterness coated her tongue.

  It’s too late for regrets.

  She’d never mated, and with each passing year, the yearning for a child had grown until it became the focus of her entire existence. He’d wanted a son. She’d gotten her life’s wish, but it had come at a cost.

  I’m dying.

  The bleeding wasn’t stopping. As a werewolf, her body should be healing itself, but the blood was still coming. “I’m paying for my sins.”

  The baby made a gurgling sound, as if to disagree. Love, bigger and brighter than a thousand suns, welled up inside her. This tiny, precious girl was depending on her.

  A tear rolled down her cheek. Another would raise her—if her father didn’t kill her. “I already have two useless girls. I ain’t supporting another,” was his favorite refrain. He’d been so sure the babe she’d carried was a boy he’d given her a pale blue blanket with the name Jesse embroidered on it.

  A moan broke from her lips as she pushed upright. Sweat beaded on her brow. The world spun around her. The baby flailed her little arms, thumping Marie on the chest.

  “I hear you, bébé.” Fearing for both their lives, she set the child down on the bed and wrapped her in the blanket. It was the only gift she’d ever get from her père. “I’m so sorry.” Every movement painful, she pulled on a loose shift and shoved the garments she’d made for her sweet angel into a satchel. She wouldn’t need any.

  Ignoring the trickle of blood down the inside of her thigh, she shuffled to the kitchen cabinet, pulled down an old coffee tin, and withdrew the two hundred dollars she’d managed to scrape together.

  She prayed it was enough.

  After putting the money in the satchel, she fashioned a sling out of a thin sheet and tucked the child against her. A wolf howled in the distance.

  Heart racing, she stumbled to the door.

  Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

  Her heart beat a frantic warning as she rushed down the dirt path, weaving like a drunken human. The pirogue floated at the end of the dock, the small wooden boat her only means of escape. The boards were cold beneath her feet. That’s wrong. It’s summer. They should be hot.

  Tripping, she lurched forward, skinning her arms and knees as she protected the child. “We’re okay. We’re okay,” she chanted, not sure who she was trying to convince, since the bébé could not understand.

  She dragged herself forward, practically falling into the boat. It tilted dangerously to one side before righting itself. “Hold on.” Grabbing the oar, she began to paddle. An owl hooted. A gator bellowed in the distance. The bayou was alive at night. The smell of blood would draw more than one kind of predator.

  The root of a cypress tree nudged the boat, startling her. She’d stopped paddling, almost nodded off. So tired. It would be so easy to lie down and drift away.

  “Marie!” The roar carried over the water, startling several herons that took flight in a flapping of wings.

  Adrenaline pouring through her veins, she paddled faster than she thought possible, even with her preternatural strength. The darkness closed in around her, forcing her to blink and focus harder.

  A howl of fury rent the air.

  It would take time for him to follow by land, even longer to return home for his boat. Each second counted. She was headed where no one in the Louisiana Pack dared venture. Desperation fueled each stroke.

  She risked a glance down at the child she’d carried for long months. Her precious eyes were closed and her lips worked, making a sucking motion. Tears rolled down Marie’s face, mingling with the sweat already there.

  I’ll never get to feed her.

  But if it took the last breath in her body, her child would live.

  The air thickened. The animals went silent as she crossed an imaginary line, going from pack land into that claimed by the witch. Her wolf was silent inside her. She hadn’t felt the creature for hours now. A vital piece of her was missing, maybe already dead. She wanted to howl for her loss but no longer had the strength.

  Lowering the oar, she glided the final few feet into the rickety dock. The boat began to drift away, but she caught the wood and heaved herself and the bébé onto it. The pirogue disappeared into the night, caught on the current.

  There was no going back.

  “Why are you here?” The female voice echoed with age and power. A thump brought Marie’s head up. The white-haired woman stood on the shore, a cypress walking stick topped with the carved head of a wolf held in her hand.

  “My child.” On her hands and knees, Marie crawled forward, digging her fingers into the wood. The satchel on her back, the infant strapped to her chest, both weighed her down. Panting as though she’d run for hours, she laid her head on the hard wood.

  “I should dump you both in the bayou,” the woman muttered.

  She made a sound and wrapped her arm protectively around her chest.

  Ignoring her, the woman laid her hand on Marie’s head. Immediately, soothing warmth spread through her entire body. “It is too late for you.” The blunt words were a death knell. She reached down and touched Jesse’s head. “This one is a fighter.”

  Marie licked her lips. “Take her. Please. Her father will kill her. Wants a son.” If she wasn’t there to protect her daughter, she’d likely end up left in the swamp for the gators. He certainly wouldn’t take her home to his wife, and Marie’s family wouldn’t take her. “I’m so sorry, sweet bébé.” This innocent was paying the price for her sins. “There is a little money. In the pack with her things.”

  Her eyes flickered closed as her life’s blood drained from her body. The last thing she heard was her daughter’s distraught cry.

  ****

  Lottie Broussard said a prayer over the body of Marie Theriot. She knew who the woman was. Even far out here in the swamp, she kept up on news. Working quickly, she removed the sling with the child. “Enough of the crying. Sleep.” She pressed her hand to the child’s head and sent healing sleep to her. The tiny body went lax in her arms. “Your life is so short, but already harder than most, oui?” The satchel came next. Taking it and the child, she carried them up the path to her snug house, nestled in the arms of several thick cypress trees. Easily maneuvering up the narrow stairs with her burden, she raised her head, listening to what the air had to tell her.

  The searchers weren’t far behind.

  After tucking the child into her bed, she grabbed what she needed and hurried back to the dock as fast as her old bones allowed. The same genetics that gave her kind double the lifespan of humans also meant they decomposed quickly. In this case, just not fast enough. The boat Marie had come in was tangled in some tree roots beyond the dock. Hiking up her skirt, Lottie waded into the water and dragged it back. Then she rolled the body into it.

  “I’m sorry, child. If you’d come to me sooner, I might have been able to save you.” The loss weighed on her, even though none of it was her business. People’s fate had to play out—for better or worse.

  She drew a bag of herbs out of her pocket and sprinkled the contents on the body. The matches were next. A soft scritch when she struck the head against the side of the box. The flame flared to life before settling. She tossed it onto the remains, igniting them like dry kindling. The fire danced in the sky.

  Lottie shoved the boat into the current and
watched as it burned.

  The men came soon after. She curled her lip in a sneer. None were brave enough to come alone. Not like Marie Theriot. There was nothing more fierce or powerful than a mother’s love.

  Standing at her full height, Lottie banged her staff against the wood of the dock. “You’re trespassing. Leave.”

  One brave soul stood up in his boat. “I’m looking for someone. A woman.” He glanced at the burning boat. “She was with child.”

  “She is dead. The woman bled out. There was nothing to be done.”

  “And my son?” he demanded.

  “You have no son.”

  The male threw back his head and howled, not in sorrow but rage and fury. She thumped her cane again, the clear sound ringing out over the water. “Leave this place and do not return.” Warning given, she turned her back and walked away.

  Boats were quickly turned and headed back upstream. It was good to have a reputation. Hers had protected her for decades. The night sounds returned, everything settling back to the way it had been, but nothing was the same. She looked up at the twinkling stars and acknowledged the commitment she’d made.

  The child lay on the bed, pale blue eyes wide open. “I didn’t lie to him. He never asked about a daughter, only a son. Let’s get you fed.” She lifted the girl into her arms and smiled. Lottie had lived for 130 years, seen such changes in the world, but none had personally affected her as much as this night had. “Let’s hope I have another twenty or so years left in these old bones.”

  Chapter One

  25 years later…

  What am I doing here?

  Aaron LaForge took a long pull of his beer. The icy cold drink went down easy. His seat in the corner of the local bar gave him the best vantage point of all the entrances and exits and kept his back to the wall. The choice of location came as natural as breathing.

  No one would take him unawares.

  He closed his eyes, momentarily shutting out the sight of the people around him. There was no way to turn off the rumbling voices, the laughter, or the country music rolling out of the sound system. The air was thick with a heavy mixture of sweat, perfume, liquor, and yeasty beer combined with the more pleasant smells of fried chicken, fries, onion rings, and burgers.

  “Here you go, honey.” A plate clinked against the table, and the enticing aroma of cooked meat made his stomach growl.

  Eyes flipping open, he stared at the waitress. She jerked back a step and her smile wavered. Shit! “Thanks.” He needed to tone down his frustration. Most humans might not have preternatural senses, but their instincts worked just fine. They inherently understood when they were facing a predator. He forced a smile.

  It must have done the trick—either that or her instincts weren’t quite as sharp as they should be—because she smiled back. Putting one hand on the table, she leaned forward, giving him a glimpse of her lacy black bra and ample cleavage. The tight jeans and one-size-too-small V-neck shirt with the bar’s logo showcased her hourglass shape. Her light brown hair was pulled up in a messy bun that gave a man the impression she’d just rolled out of bed. Her lips were painted ruby red.

  “You live out at the old Smith farm, don’t you?” Word traveled in small communities, and he’d lived here long enough for people to notice.

  He placed a folded twenty-dollar bill on the table and pushed it over to her. “Thanks. Keep the change.”

  Laughing, she tucked the money into the pocket of the bar apron she wore around her waist. “I’m Cathy and I get off at one. If you’re still around, you can buy me a drink. If not, it’s your loss.” Hips swaying, she hurried off to another table.

  Most men would have eagerly taken her up on her offer. Hell, there was a time not so long ago he might have. A night heating up the sheets with a beautiful woman would keep the doubting voices at bay, at least for a few hours.

  But it would leave him feeling even emptier. She was human, and he was a werewolf, something out of myth, legend, and nightmare to her kind. He was tired of holding back, of having to hide the most fundamental part of himself, of one-night stands that could go nowhere.

  Grabbing his beer, he tossed back half of it. Hell, he couldn’t get drunk enough to drown his sorrows. His fast metabolism burned off the alcohol quicker than he could drink it. Not that he’d allow himself to lose control, especially among humans. He would do nothing to jeopardize his pack.

  Time moved forward. People and places changed while he was stuck in place, unable to go back or move forward. Six years. It had been six years since his older brother had found Bailey Smith and mated her. Now they, along with her brother and three adopted kids, were living with the Salvation Pack in North Carolina. They’d taken frequent trips home over the years, each one getting longer in duration until they’d finally moved for good.

  It had shocked them all when he’d offered to buy Bailey’s property here in West Virginia.

  As hard as it was to be apart from his pack, it was more difficult being there. He and Nicholas had been inseparable as kids. The three-year age gap had been nothing. They’d run wild over pack land, doing everything together—until his brother had left. In his roaming, he’d run across Bailey, and that had been that.

  Pulling his plate closer, he took a bite of the burger. It had cooled off some, but that didn’t change the taste. Dunn’s was like so many bars peppering the rural communities across the country—they served up liquor and beer with a side of music and fun and enough drama and fights thrown in to keep it interesting. And like many of them, their menu was limited, but they pumped out damn good food. The burger was rare, just the way he liked it—juicy and heaped with cheese and fried onions. The fries were homemade, crisp, and tasty.

  While his brother had been off finding love, he’d kept an eye on their parents. Giving a snort, he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. Jacque LaForge, alpha wolf of the Salvation Pack, would kick his ass if he suspected for one second his son was watching out for him. His dad might be pushing seventy, but that was like being in the late thirties or early forties for a human. He was in his prime and would be for decades to come. Wolves stayed strong and vital until the final decade or so of their lives when they finally began to rapidly age. Surprisingly, not many lived to more than a hundred, due to pack infighting.

  Wolves were violent by nature, the alpha holding position by might and, oftentimes, ruthlessness. His pack was unique. His father and four friends had broken away from their original one decades ago and struck out on their own. Any one of them could be alphas in their own right, but they’d combined their strength, creating something special. They were bound by love and honor and friendship.

  God, he was maudlin tonight. Going down memory lane changed nothing. Sick of his own cooking, he’d come here to eat and be among people.

  I should go home.

  Wasn’t the first time he’d had that thought, and likely wouldn’t be the last, but every time he did, he hesitated. He missed his brother fiercely, but nothing was the same, and it shouldn’t be. Nicholas’s priority was his mate and family.

  Among the next generation of the pack, the ones he’d grown up alongside, he was the only one left unmated. He didn’t count Emma, who was only twenty-three. With her protective father, brothers, and “uncles,” she’d be lucky to be allowed to date by the time she was fifty.

  Pushing away his empty plate, he debated ordering another. He was still starving, but no amount of food would satiate the emotional hunger eating at him.

  I’m lonely.

  Wolves were pack animals. They thrived in a group, each one doing their part for the greater good. He missed watching his parents interact—still so in love after all these years—and coaxing a homemade pie out of his grand-mère. Her apple and lemon meringue were second to none. He missed working at the custom furniture business with the other males of the pack and roaming the land he’d been born on.