Unjustified Claims Page 3

  “No doubt.” Ethan let his eyes drift closed and pretended he could feel the medications kicking in. He should really rinse out the wound, before infection set in, but he was scared to unwrap it again. Maybe the bleeding would be enough to clean it. Amoxicillin was a good antibiotic. It hurt too damned much to care. “It’ll stop. Eventually. One way or the other.”

  Ethan heard Brandt snort, and the sound was followed by a new stab of pain, as Brandt closed his hands around Ethan’s thigh. “Let’s put pressure on it a bit longer.”

  Ethan grunted some kind of assent, and things went dark and blurry around the edges again.

  Chapter 2

  Brandt knelt with his hands locked around the bandage on Ethan’s thigh. He could smell fresh blood soaking the gauze and feel it against his fingers. Too much blood. He didn’t know how much Ethan could survive.

  A wolf with this injury would wash the wound, shift a couple of times, limp for a few more days, and then be fine. He’d opted for auto mechanics over the first aid class. Back home, he’d had human friends, even girlfriends, but in an emergency he would’ve offered them a lift to the nearest hospital. He wished he could do that now, only the nearest damned ER was days away.

  He clenched his fingers inadvertently and Ethan whimpered, so he obviously wasn’t completely out cold. Brandt muttered, “Sorry,” but didn’t relax his grip.

  For the first time in days— in over a week actually— Brandt was thinking further ahead than his next meal. It sucked that the reason he cared about tomorrow was trying to bleed to death on him.

  Staying in skin, in his worrying, planning human mind, pretty much sucked, regardless.

  Living in wolf form made it easy to go by his instincts. The wolf didn’t care about tomorrow, or yesterday. It wanted food and safety and fun, right now. Brandt had taken to fur, not just for the speed and ease of it, but because being wolf faded hard memories and kept the future at bay. Thinking like a man while in fur was an effort he didn’t have to make. He could fall into the pleasure of running and hunting, of senses so sharp that a scent or a sound could be ecstasy or agony.

  So he’d wolfed up and run.

  He’d traveled alone for more than a week. In the daytime, he’d been careful, keeping to the shadows, napping curled up in dark hidden corners. Then he’d given himself to the nights. April had begun and the days were lengthening, but there’d still been hour after hour of velvet skies and cool winds, hour after hour to let his body stretch into a gallop and then slow to a trot, moving to the rhythm of his pulse in his ears, and the demands of breath and blood.

  Once his cuts had healed, he’d felt strong and well. He didn’t look back. Didn’t think back. He missed his pack, but even his wolf could tell that the pack emotions over the bonds in his head were not welcoming. He didn’t consider turning around.

  Each mile he’d covered had thinned those bonds, slowly fading the clamor of fury and alarm and disdain he sensed from one and all. He’d felt his Alpha summoning him, demand and loathing confusingly mixed. Charles’s ambivalence let him resist the call. He’d closed himself off to his pack and just run. Deep inside his wolf, he could flow through the unknowing world on four silent feet. If instinctive obedience started to make him turn back, there was just enough stubborn man left to keep him heading the other way.

  Now all that remained of his links to his pack was a little fuzz of energy, a faint mind-light when he closed his eyes and looked, that was his bond to Alpha, pack and all. The light helped keep him from feeling completely hollow and alone. His pack was still out there. He hadn’t been cut off yet. But he was never going back, either.

  He’d expected some packmate to come after him. Then he’d expected Charles to destroy his Alpha bond and throw him out completely. He’d braced for the knife-cut of being severed from his pack. Neither had happened. Staying wolf kept him from going crazy wondering why not.

  He’d hit the open safety of the wilderness park days ago, and quickly come across the scent of the timber wolf pack. They were his first wild wolves, his lesser relatives, so to speak. He’d followed out of curiosity and some vague idea of keeping himself busy. He’d been doing fine as a wolf among wolves until Ethan had managed to fall off a cliff…

  Well, maybe not fine. But stalking the pack had been better than the mountain of regret he knew was waiting to fall on him, as soon as he let himself think back and remember. So think forward instead. Figure out what to do next. “Ethan? You still with me?”

  “Yuh.”

  “I’m going to wrap another layer on this bandage.” He could feel wetness under his hands. He dug into the pack, coming up with another roll of gauze and a couple of T-shirts he folded for padding. The makeshift wrap was ugly but by the time he’d finished, the scent of blood was less fresh. Ethan hadn’t opened his eyes. Brandt taped off the gauze and sat back. “So after this thing stops bleeding, I figure we’ll spend the night here and then what? Head back in the morning? Wait it out?”

  “Depends. On what I can do. Sorry.”

  “Quit apologizing.”

  “I never wanted to be anyone else’s problem.”

  Brandt blinked at the vehemence of that. “That’s why you hike alone?”

  “I guess.” Ethan’s eyes were still closed.

  “Too bad. I’m here now.”

  “And I’m too damned chicken to let you go.”

  “What does that mean?” Brandt stared at him. Ethan’s hair was very fair, his skin fine and pale. With the blood-loss he looked almost translucent in the evening light, but he didn’t look afraid.

  Ethan took a couple of slow breaths, and his voice was stronger when he said, “Just that you should be doing whatever you need to. Not sitting here worrying about me and my crazy hallucinations about giant wolves.”

  “It’s the bleeding to death that’s keeping me here, not the crazy. Anyway, like I said, there’s nothing in my stuff I can’t live without. I might as well be here as out there wandering around looking for it.” He was glad of the excuse not to pretend to search for gear that was two states away.

  “I’ll buy you stuff to replace it when we get to town, if you’ll let me. Or we could both come back when my leg heals up and I’ll help you find your gear?”

  “Sure. We can plan to do that.” Since he hadn’t brought any money with him either, he might actually have to take Ethan up on the replacements. Shit, he really hadn’t planned anything beyond running away.

  Not that he’d had a choice— stopping to pack his clothes and grab his wallet had not been an option— but living as a human again was going to be complicated. Maybe he’d just deliver Ethan to the nearest ER and walk back out and wolf up. That had its temptations. To distract himself, he said, “So who’s waiting for you back in town? Wife and kids?”

  “No. No one really.”

  “Your boss?”

  “I’m my own boss.”

  “What work do you do?”

  Ethan was silent far too long. Brandt could hear his heart race and then slow again.

  “Sorry. I’m being nosy. You should probably rest.”

  “No. Talking is good. Distraction. Definitely good. I own a motel.”

  “And you could just up and leave it? You must have good staff.”

  “Well, it’s not actually open yet. I inherited it.”

  The thin sound of those words probably explained the hesitation. Inherited meant a death somewhere. Brandt had enough of his own family issues to deal with; he had no desire to get involved with a stranger’s. Time to change the subject. He said, “Tell me about your town. I’m from Michigan. I just came here for the wolves.” Which was true enough, in a way. “Tell me about Minnesota. Do you really all love cheese?”

  “That’s Wisconsin, you philistine. We love hockey.”

  “Oh. Tell me about hockey then.” As if he hadn’t played as a kid. With his cousins. He pushed the memories away.

  For a while Ethan rambled on in short, jerky sentences, about his small Northwoods town. About the local passion for doing everything and anything on ice, from hockey to snowmobiling to hours sitting over a fishing line through a hole in the ice, hoping for a bite. His voice gradually got softer and more ragged. “M’brother sank an icehouse in the lake once. Too lazy to bring it in on time. So typical.”

  “Brother?” Brandt said tentatively as the pause stretched. Ethan had sounded mostly annoyed, but Brandt didn’t want to push a touchy subject.

  The answer was a quiet snore. Brandt sat quietly and let him doze. After half a dozen of those snorting little breaths, Brandt took a chance and leaned forward to sniff close to Ethan’s leg. Definitely better. Old blood had a different scent from the fresh, lacking the sharp copper tang that would have hit the back of the throat and roused his wolf. This smelled dry and boring. He sat back and wrapped his arms around his knees.

  He could tell himself the worst was over and leave Ethan to make his own way. But he didn’t even bother to pretend that was a real option anymore. An hour of being with another human, and all Brandt’s illusions about living the lone wolf life were shot down. He liked having people around. Family, friends, pack— he’d always been part of a group, and usually a popular part. Until that last pack meeting.

  Not that his fate had been the worst. Not like Tirell’s.

  Brandt didn’t want to think back. He’d stayed in fur and run three hundred miles so as not to think back. But he was in human skin now, and the memories came anyway…

  He’d known he was in trouble from the moment he opened the door to Charles. Although his Alpha probably hadn’t realized it himself yet…

  Charles had nodded to him. “Hey, Brandt. You’re up next.”

  “For what?” He’d stood in his own doorway, feeling an unfamiliar reluctan
ce to let his Alpha into his space. He’d had an odd unsettled feeling for days, poisoning everything he did. Now that unease sharpened into fear. Maybe it was the chill that lurked in the back of Charles’s eyes, or perhaps the eager glitter in the gaze of the man behind him. Landon was only Fourteenth and had no right to be looking at Brandt that way. Brandt glared at him until his eyes dropped. But Charles was another matter. Brandt stepped back obediently and opened the door for his Alpha.

  “Security sweep. We all heard about the mess in Illinois, right? And now there’s that… Council.” Brandt could almost taste the curse that Charles didn’t actually put before that title. “They say if we don’t clean our own house, they will. I’ll be damned if they’ll come here poking around, so we’re doing our own investigations.”

  “I hadn’t heard…”

  “Of course not. What kind of moron do you think I am?” Charles glared at him. “Computer-boy here is going to check out your online security, install some new software, and we’ll make sure there’s nothing on your system that’s a risk to the pack. Then you’re going to sit here and keep quiet while we move on down the line, just like everyone else.”

  “Oh. So I’m not the first?” His heart was hammering. He was sure his Alpha could feel his tension— his bond had to be vibrating with it. But anyone might react like that to surprise inspection. If this was just a random sweep, part of this new hyper-secure paranoia that was dominating conversation in the packs lately, then perhaps he was safe. “Well, I sure won’t turn down some better virus protection.” He kept his voice level and amused.

  “Of course you’re not the first. We’re screening the whole pack top to bottom. It’s the only way to keep it secret— the wolves above you are already done, the ones below can’t make you talk. Show Landon your system.”

  “This way.” He gestured toward his bedroom. Surely he wasn’t the only person who kept their laptop beside the bed. Would that look suspicious now? He asked lightly, “So, Fourteenth, find anything good yet?”

  “Shut up.” That chill in Charles’s eyes became glacial. “This isn’t a joke. You’ll cooperate. You’ll provide Landon with any password he asks for. And you will keep your mouth shut otherwise.”

  Brandt nodded, swallowing acrid fear. Something bad was happening. Or had already happened. He didn’t think the tension was about his own secrets, not yet. Charles’s anger didn’t have a personal feel. But unless Landon was more inept than he acted, Brandt knew this disaster would become personal real fast.

  Why the hell did I assume passwords and encryption would be enough? What good would any security be, if my Alpha stands there and makes me give it up on a platter?

  Landon seated himself at Brandt’s desk. Charles pointed at the end of the bed and snarled at Brandt. “Sit there.”

  Brandt sank onto the covers, hands on his knees to hide their shaking. Landon turned the laptop on and clicked on the first username. He turned bright eyes on Brandt. “Password?”

  It wasn’t Charles asking. Brandt could’ve refused. But then he’d have looked guilty, and his Alpha would’ve pushed him, and Brandt could no more stand up to Charles than he could stop an avalanche with his bare hands. He told Landon what he needed to know, aiming for calmness, aiming for amused cooperation, hoping against hope that the crypt folders would be anonymous and secure. Which of course they were, until Landon asked for those passwords too.

  “Why?” Brandt asked, in a last-ditch effort to sound reasonable and not suspicious. “Why do you need to browse through my tax returns and my family pictures and everything? I thought the point was to keep us secure from Internet hacking. If you can’t get in there without me providing the password then surely that’s good enough?”

  Charles took two steps to loom over him, gray eyes stormy. “If I hadn’t found one fool embezzling from his employer, and another with filth on there, it might’ve been. But any dirt we can find, a human might also find and use against us. A wolf who can be blackmailed is a wolf who may turn traitor.” His hands closed on Brandt’s shoulders. “But you’re right, we don’t have to look through everything. There’s a short way. Tell me the truth, Eleventh. Is there anything there that you wouldn’t want to have seen by the light of day? Anything that makes you vulnerable or a security risk? Yes or no?”

  The force of Charles’s question was like a drill, driving home in his head, seeking the truth. For a long moment Brandt fought to say no. In the end, all he managed was to not say yes. Charles’s voice was almost mild when he ordered, “Give him the password.”

  Brandt’s vision darkened. He’d imagined getting caught, time and again. Imagined how it would feel. And yet he’d never really believed this moment would come. He took a steadying breath. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe no one would care about his kinks. Maybe he could give up the least of it and still hide the rest. “Yes, Alpha.”

  The crypt folders opened up to show a long list of files. He’d accumulated more than he realized, and most of it would be just fine. Landon clicked on one at random. The thumbnails showed women in a wide variety of lingerie, mostly corsets. Brandt liked corsets, especially black ones on pale skin. And garter belts and stockings. Landon opened one picture of a curly-haired blonde and grinned over at him.

  He smiled back, trying to make his grin relaxed, maybe a little sleazy. This was just porn, and mild stuff at that. He tried to look just embarrassed enough. He had his heart rate steadied now, and his muscles more controlled. But Charles eyed him narrowly and said, “Which file?”

  I reserve the right not to incriminate myself. But the Fifth Amendment was in the US constitution, and the power of his Alpha trumped any legal right in the land. Brandt managed not to answer. Charles turned to Landon. “Open them all.” If Brandt hadn’t been close to passing out, he might’ve had just a little sympathy for the deep sadness-tinged fatigue he felt from Charles across the Alpha bond. As it was, he sat watching as Landon clicked and moved on. Clicked and moved on.

  Charles wasn’t even looking at the screen— he was watching Brandt. Brandt tried to collect himself. He needed to find the calm he’d cultivated in fifteen years with the pack. This was funny. Amusing. They would laugh about it later, about him showing his Alpha file after file of girls in garter belts, girls in G-strings and camisoles, girls in lace stockings and… He couldn’t control the tiny wince as Landon clicked on the file labeled X-d. Maybe they wouldn’t look closely. Maybe.

  “Check that one,” Charles said.

  Landon clicked, eyed the picture, and then did a double take. A disgusted sound escaped his lips. He opened the next one.

  They were well done, Brandt thought, trying to slow his heart rate again. Artistic. The men were muscular, but sleek and hairless, butt-cheeks round and smooth under the curve of garters. Lace stockings stretched across thick thighs, silk panties barely contained generous assets.

  Charles grunted like he’d been punched. His hand tightened on Brandt’s shoulder until he felt the bones creak. He pushed Brandt back onto the bed and stepped away, rubbing his palms on his jeans, a convulsive scrape of flesh over denim as if to cleanse them of all contact. “Look at me, Eleventh.”

  Brandt sat back upright as if jerked on a string and met his Alpha’s eyes.

  “I don’t want to wade through that filth. I don’t want to ask someone else to either. But I will if I must. You can gain just a scrap of goodwill by telling me which of those files we’ll hate the most.”

  Brandt swallowed convulsively, his dry tongue feeling thick in his mouth. He couldn’t.

  In front of the screen, Landon hissed, “Sick, sick bastard.”

  Charles rounded on him. “Shut your mouth, Fourteenth. If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” He gritted his teeth. “Brandt? Last chance.”

  “The one called ‘2X,’” Brandt whispered. “And the one called ‘Mine.’ Alpha, please, don’t let Landon open them.”

  For a moment he thought he might win that much at least. As a kid, he’d been a bit of a pet for the Alpha, and even as Eleventh he’d thought there was some extra warmth between them. But true or not, any affection was clearly lost now. Charles just nodded to Landon.

  2X was his gay porn. Gay porn with cross-dressing, for the most part. Hard cocks plundering male asses framed in satin and lace. Big male hands pinching flat nipples draped in thin, translucent silk.