Bind Me in Steel Read online

  Show throat, he thought, and wondered why he cared. Show throat, and Connaught will only run you off without hurting you.

  Show throat…so he won’t kill you.

  It was Connaught who broke the silence first—a growl in his voice, demanding and annoyed, but frustration laced beneath, that he’d had to back down enough to speak. “Why are you in our territory?”

  The stranger cocked his head to one side, then the other, movements slow and deliberated, before he spoke a single word. “Trade.”

  His voice was low and strange—baritone, but made of smooth things like a shivering touch over the skin, soft fur on naked flesh and something warm, rich. Wren bit his lip; it was a kind voice, he thought, and this wasn’t a place for kind people.

  “No one trades with wolves,” Connaught threw back.

  The stranger’s eyes creased at the corners, amused. “Other wolves do.”

  “Not if they have honest intentions,” Connaught sneered. “Why are you alone? Where is your pack?”

  “I have no pack.”

  Connaught’s jaw hardened, the glint in his eyes almost triumphant. “So you were cast out.”

  The stranger’s head tilted once more, that air of quietly patient amusement radiating off him. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You aren’t saying much of anything,” Connaught growled, and the stranger shrugged his massive shoulders in a creaking of leather.

  “You haven’t asked anything that needs much of an answer,” he replied coolly.

  Wren’s eyes widened. Either the stranger didn’t realize the danger he was in…or he didn’t care. He was indulging Connaught, Wren realized, and wondered what the stranger knew that they didn’t, that there wasn’t the slightest hint of fear, wariness, or even concern in his scent.

  Even if Connaught’s expression never changed from its forbidding scowl, though…his scent bristled with aggression, barely held on a leash; his hackles were up, prickling invisibly all around him, charging the air around him with potential violence.

  “I’d watch that mouth,” he bit off, soft with warning.

  The stranger only looked at Connaught, but something had shifted in those calm, neutral eyes—something hardening, a subtle sense of…of…

  Weariness, Wren realized.

  Where another wolf might almost be excited by this…the stranger almost seemed tired.

  A feeling Wren understood far too well.

  “You’re no alpha of mine,” the stranger said—quiet but clear, firm. “I’ll give you courtesy. Not deference.”

  Connaught’s shoulders stiffened. He sneered. “I could have you killed for venturing uninvited into my territory.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” the stranger replied. Simple, certain, no posturing or bravado or snarling. He only stated the words as if they were irrefutable fact. “I’d advise you not to try. If you don’t want to trade, I’ll be on my way.”

  He turned away—but stopped as the four wolves guarding him shifted to form a wall of flesh and fur, these blendings of man with beast standing on their hind legs, bulging muscles straining against leather armor, hands clenched into taloned fists and muzzles drawn back to bare gleaming, curving points of teeth. The stranger heaved a slow sigh, then turned his head over his shoulder, looking back and up at Connaught with one coolly glinting eye.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “You’re trespassing,” Connaught said, then gripped the edge of the parapet and vaulted over, sailing down like a plummeting cannonball. His thickly compacted weight struck the earth in front of the portcullis heavily enough that his boots sank into the dirt, leaving deep prints; his body folded into a crouch, absorbing the impact, before rolling upward as he stood with his chest thrust out, looking at the stranger coldly. “And your story reeks. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a danger to my pack.”

  Slowly, the stranger turned back. He stepped closer to Connaught—and closer still, and even just reading the tense lines of Connaught’s naked back, muscle drawn stark, Wren could tell without even scenting him how much he hated having to look up at the behemoth of a man.

  “You don’t want this,” the stranger said, barely a whisper. “Let it go. Walk away.”

  Wren knew even before Connaught opened his mouth that that wouldn’t happen. Connaught was a creature of raw pride, and the slightest prick of it required blood. Blood, combat, dominance…and his skin was already rippling, prickling, the hairs along the backs of his knuckles thickening, his muscles tightening against his skin. The only thing that would stop him now was a greater threat to the pack than the one right in front of him—or the poison of silver, stabbed into his veins by blade or bullet to weaken him.

  “If you don’t want to fight,” Connaught hissed, stepping out of his boots even as his legs began to crack and elongate, warping inside his leather pants in a crunching of realigning bone, “you can die.”

  He shifted in a tearing and rending of flesh, then—body bulging outward into a thing of more densely-packed muscle, fur sprouting in lush tufts of dark brown to swarm over his skin, his legs re-aligning into haunches, fingernails lengthening into curving black claws, his face twisting into a tapered, graceful muzzle ending in a blackened nose. His spine rippled, lengthened, the furry brush of his tail sprouting above the waist of low-slung leather pants. Not a full transformation, from man to wolf—but his half-form, stronger and faster, a powerhouse of thickly corded sinew and salivating jaws. It tore over him in seconds, his head tossing back on a roar of both pain and challenge, rising hoarse and barking from the back of his throat.

  As the change settled over him, he dropped down onto his haunches for a moment, panting, tongue lolling, while the stranger watched—unmoved, unmoving. Connaught looked up at him from under fur-bristling brows, yellow eyes glinting hot, as one hand fell to press to the earth, claws digging in as he braced himself.

  “Prepare yourself,” he snarled, the words turned thick and growling in the back of his throat, slithering around the pointed curves of his canine teeth.

  The stranger’s lashes lowered as he let his pack fall from his back to the dirt. “I won’t need to,” he replied.

  Then he unhooked his belt, sending his sword and holstered gun crashing down, before kicking them aside. The wolves standing guard scattered back and away, forming a ringing circle, the flesh and fur walls of an arena of combat. Wren hardly noticed as nearly the entire pack swarmed up onto the wall with him, crowding for a vantage point, many howling in the backs of their throats with excitement, the air charged with battle-hunger and bloodlust. Out of the jostling throng, only Wren was still, resting his hands on the parapet edge and leaning forward, watching intently.

  This wasn’t right. The stranger wasn’t even shifting to challenge Connaught.

  Did he want to die?

  Connaught’s muzzle peeled back in a snarl, teeth clenched. “Are you mocking me?”

  “No,” the stranger said, and took a single step back, angling to shift his weight onto his back leg, his hands relaxed at his sides. “If you want to fight, then come.”

  For a trembling moment, Wren thought Connaught would refuse. No man in his human form could hope to stand up to even a half-shifted wolf, and killing a defenseless opponent this way would make Connaught look weak, rather than strong. Without honor. It would affect his standing with the pack, make them more hesitant to obey him, make them disrespect his orders more and more until his position eroded and he would no longer be able to hold alpha.

  Don’t do it, Wren urged silently, leaning into the parapet so hard the rough stone hurt his chest. Show mercy. Show leadership. Show temperance…and walk away.

  Connaught didn’t walk away.

  His thighs bunched, bulging thick enough to almost split the seams patching the various hides of his pants together.

  And with a guttural, challenging snarl, he threw himself at the stranger.

  Whooping cheers rose from the wall—but Wren only bit his lip, holding in
a soft cry of protest as snapping jaws went right for the stranger’s throat. Connaught was too fast, too strong, too hell-bent on blood, his entire weight smashing into the stranger. The stranger wasn’t moving. He wasn’t moving, and Wren wanted to scream for this to stop, scream for him to save himself, beg Connaught to—

  To fall flat on his face, as the stranger sidestepped at the last moment and Connaught shot past him, stumbling forward and nearly planting in the dirt. He caught himself on all fours, skidding, whipping around, closing on the stranger again, claws raking out…but the stranger batted his arms aside with almost lazy ease, barely seeming to move as he twisted out of Connaught’s path again, pivoting around him with a grace that seemed to mock Connaught’s sharp, slashing movements. Again and again Connaught tried to clash with him, close with him, but the stranger was too quick, all that bulk and solid muscle moving about lightly, seeming to know where Connaught would be before Connaught even moved.

  The wolves along the wall jeered, howling for blood, and as Connaught went surging past the stranger one more time, the alpha dropped back into a panting crouch, eyeing the stranger darkly, gaze glinting furiously.

  “Stop playing,” he growled. “Fight like a wolf.”

  “Is that all you think you are?” the stranger retorted, quiet and almost sad. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m trying not to…but if you continue to pursue this, I won’t have any choice.”

  “You?” Connaught scoffed. “Hurt me?” He turned his muzzle to one side and spat on ground churned up by the furrows of his hind claws. “Packless weakling. Do you know how long I’ve held this territory?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Why did the stranger seem…sad? “You won’t walk away from this whole. Don’t leave your pack without a leader.”

  “There’s a reason I’m the leader in the first place,” Connaught flung back. “Now stop fucking around and fight!”

  The stranger didn’t get a chance to respond. Not when Connaught dove in for the attack once more, throwing his entire body, all his strength into it with every muscle bunching and straining. He struck the stranger squarely in the chest, bearing him down to the ground with jaws snapping and claws slashing, the two of them crashing hard enough to shake the earth. Connaught raked his claws down toward the stranger’s neck in a ripping swipe that would tear out his entire throat.

  Only to stop short as the stranger’s hand snapped around his wrist, halting it just a breath away from claws touching the leather over the stranger’s neck.

  Wren caught a breath, pressing his fingers to his mouth, watching wide-eyed. They held for a frozen second, the stranger expressionless and calm, Connaught wide-eyed and stiff…before the stranger clenched his fist, twisted, and the sound of crunching bone paired with Connaught’s pained, raging howl, his back arching in agony as he threw his head back.

  A collective gasp rippled through the crowd; several snarled, straining toward the parapet, hackles raising and fur starting to bristle through skin, but pack rule was pack rule and they couldn’t interfere in an alpha’s challenge. Heart pounding sickly, Wren stared, as the stranger released Connaught’s wrist, his hand dangling from the end of it at the wrong angles, bone protruding against hide and fur. But Connaught was already starting to pull back together, flesh knitting, bones realigning, and he flung himself back from the stranger, rolling away and to a defensive crouch, mouth hanging open, tongue flicking against the air. The stranger tumbled upward, dirt flaking off him as he shifted to one knee, tilting his head left, then right, cracking his neck.

  “This ends now,” he said, almost under his breath.

  Connaught tore toward the stranger once more, a guttural howl echoing over the night.

  And the stranger met him head-on, an unstoppable wall of force that crashed into Connaught and nearly plowed him over.

  Wren had never seen anything like it. Between one breath and the next, lightning-fast movements struck again and again, moving almost too fast for even a wolf to see, let alone follow, dodge, retaliate. The flat of the stranger’s palm crashed into Connaught’s throat, knocking the air out of him roughly. An elbow snapped into the underside of his jaw, and blood spurted, scented hot on the air, as his teeth snapped down on his tongue. Another elbow dropped to the top of his head, crashing him down into the dirt, a knee grinding down into the back of his neck.

  And snapping it, the vertebrae crunching loudly, nauseatingly, and Wren cried out against his palm, muffling it with his hand, his heart plunging down to his stomach. The others around him weren’t so restrained, crying out their fury in snarls and howls, many teetering between shifting, tense, the scents of fear and rage stinging Wren’s nose almost as much as the tears in the backs of his eyes. He gulped in several chest-constricting breaths. He wasn’t grieving for Connaught. There was no love lost between himself and his alpha, and it would take more than a broken neck to kill Connaught; nothing short of silver in the bloodstream or beheading or burning his entire body to ash could do that.

  But this stranger, this brute, this large and frightening thing…had just torn their alpha apart in seconds flat without bothering to change, and wasn’t even breathing hard as he knelt over him with that knee pinned to his broken neck, keeping Connaught’s choking, struggling form trapped even as Connaught’s fur began to melt back into skin, his muzzle shortening.

  That made the stranger their new alpha.

  And if he could be so cruel, even if Connaught had challenged him first…

  Wren feared what he would do, as the leader of the pack. Connaught could be merciless, but understood at least that he could only go so far before he drove his entire pack away.

  Wren wasn’t sure this stranger had that much restraint.

  Connaught dragged his arms against the dirt, his fingertips digging in even as his talons receded. The stranger pressed his hand to the back of his head, grinding his face into the dirt; humiliation on top of defeat. Connaught wouldn’t be able to live with either; it would be kinder to kill him.

  But “Yield,” the stranger said. “This doesn’t need to go any further than this.”

  Connaught could only snarl in the back of his throat, but he went still, breathing harshly. The stranger watched him for long moments, then eased back slowly, rising to his feet. He didn’t have a single scratch or bruise on him; just the smudges of dirt against his leathers. Silent, he stood over Connaught’s weakly twitching body, a proclamation of victory without a single word.

  And one by one, the wolves along the wall—and the four standing guard—fell silent.

  It was the four guards who knelt first; their half-forms melted away to leave only men, who sank down to one knee and bowed their heads in submission. Then the rest of the pack; one by one they made their way down from the walls, first in trickles, then in a stream as the portcullis gate raised.

  Until the entire pack stood outside the walls, save Wren and the omegas hiding inside.

  All of them bowing to one knee, and accepting this nameless man as their new alpha, their scents and auras trembling with fear and uncertainty.

  Pale blue eyes cut over them, silent for several more breaths, before the stranger flicked his hand. “Stand,” he said. “All of you. I’m not your alpha.”

  The pack all glanced at each other in confusion, heads still bowed, unsettled and uneasy murmurs sweeping through the crowd. Wren rubbed at his aching chest; he didn’t understand. What was happening here?

  The strange wolf swept them with another look. “I don’t want your pack. Keep your alpha. Keep your ways. I only want four things.”

  Silence. No one knew what to do with this—this strange man who had destroyed Connaught in seconds, who claimed to have no pack, who didn’t want theirs and yet with Connaught broken, they would have no alpha; no one to maintain the order, no one to provide structure and keep them together. But it was Stewart who had the presence of mind to speak first, lifting his graying head to look up at the stranger warily.

  “Speak your desire
,” he said.

  “Safe passage through your lands, as I asked before. Solar cell packs. Clean drinking water.” Then those pale, strange blue eyes, luminous as a full moon, rose up to the parapet walls…and locked on Wren like an arrow striking, piercing and stopping his heart. “And him.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  In the silence that descended, shocked and hushed and utterly confused, the pretty omega up on the wall stared down at Ero with his face frozen in a mask of combined dread, surprise, and puzzlement, tinged with a spark of something else. Something Ero didn’t think the omega was even aware of himself, but it colored his scent with a touch of wildness and made him smell so very warm, against the coolness of the night.

  Perhaps that scent, drugging and hot, was what had made Ero so impulsive. He hadn’t wanted this outcome, tonight. Hadn’t wanted the blood, the broken wolf at his feet, the pack staring at him with mingled deference, apprehension, and loathing. These weren’t his people. He had no people, and had no place here.

  And he didn’t need a slim, wide-eyed, lovely thing trailing in his wake on his journey south.

  The alpha was petite, small, with a sleek and heavy length of raven-black hair brushed back into a knot at the nape of his neck, stark contrast against skin as pale as pearls; his face was pert and delicate as a china doll’s, a little pink rosebud of a mouth set above a pointed chin, high cheekbones setting the stage for intensely vibrant green eyes shaded by lustrously thick lashes, their color so pale a cool jade they bordered on white. He couldn’t be older than a century, maybe two, when age was deceptive among wolves—moreso among those turned than those born, though from that certain something about his richly enticing, almost exotic scent, this omega had been born this way, well after the fall of the northern Disc had changed the world and everything in it.

  When Ero looked up at the fragile sylph of an omega, the call from the north grew louder in his blood, darker, hungrier, whispering dark things that almost formed words. Words of blood; words of pain; words of mindless havoc and shadow, things that didn’t belong inside him yet he couldn’t escape. He could run to the farthest ends of the earth, and he would always hear that voice.