Bound to Kill

Darius

Blood pounds in my ears as I rush to the assembly room while mind-linking the pack. Pack meeting in ten minutes; we have a feral wolf to put down. Guilt tears me up inside. While I was wasting time telling Lexi about Kayleigh, two of my pack members were dismembered by the rogue.

Kill him, my wolf demands.

Meeting first, killing later. My assurance of spilling blood silences him for the time being.

I enter our meeting quarters, where Hunter and several pack enforcers await. The large hall comprises a mahogany table long enough to seat one hundred shifters, adorned with a map of the United Kingdom. Different coloured pins span across the map, highlighting claimed wolf territories. One red pin represents Lakeside, the pack we have a conflict with. Mounted on the walls are numerous rifles, swords and daggers, although for display purposes only, our wolves are the real weapon.

My Beta paces near the head of the table. “The son of a bitch tore them apart before they had a chance to link for backup.” His body trembles with a fury equal to mine. “Adrian is alive but injured.” I place a hand on his shoulder and gently squeeze. The rest of the pack filters into the hall, taking their seats while Hunter continues his update. “The doc says Adrian is stable. Should be healed by mornin’.”

I nod, relieved our childhood friend will survive, but my body physically aches over our loss. I bury the grief and channel my anger.

Stacey, our most dominant female wolf, speaks up. “Human news reports four people were ‘mauled to death by an animal’ earlier, in Helensburgh.”

Suppressing a groan, I rub my face. “The SEB are gonna be all over this. Where was the feral last seen?”

“Loch Lomond, Alpha,” Amanda, one of our best trackers confirms.

I look around the table. Each member of my pack is family; the need to keep them safe is a heavy weight on my shoulders. “The rogue took down two of our best fighters and left another in medical.” A rush of despair assaults me as I voice the attack out loud. “Our wolves demand retribution, but the rogue is extremely dangerous; we must take precautions. Fifty wolves will stay behind to protect the pups; the rest of you are with me. I want everyone in teams of ten until the threat’s neutralised. Whichever team finds him first, do not engage; wait for backup.”

They respond collectively, “Yes, Alpha!”

“Stay safe. Let’s move.”

Neil, our lead enforcer, delegates to the wolves guarding our territory. While Hunter assigns tactical teams as we make our way to the forest. Once outside, we strip, shift and then run ten miles to Loch Lomond.

Alexa

The Agent sends another text.

Handler: We need this rogue dealt with urgently! Four humans are dead.

After opening the profile he sent, I quickly read the crucial details.

Dexter Stern, 45

Wolf-vampire hybrid

Dexter went feral after losing his wife. After eliminating his vampire coven in Largs, he tore four humans apart in Helensburgh. The last sighting is in Loch Lomond. Target is highly volatile and an immediate threat to life; shoot to kill.

I whistle when I see his photo. He’s a big SOB; mean-looking, too. At seven feet, Dexter is even taller than the Alpha. A part of me is concerned the pack is ill-prepared. Hybrids are a double threat. Things won’t end well if Darius doesn’t realise the rogue is a vampire mix. I tell myself my concern is because I haven’t found a cause to assassinate the Alpha. But deep down, I know it’s the damn bond messing with me, ruling me, compromising me. I slam a fist on the wheel—furious over this ridiculous turn of events. Nonetheless, I don’t want this feral hybrid hurting anyone else. After typing coordinates to the lake on my sat nav, I text my handler.

Alexa: I’m on it.

As I put the car in shift, I catch movement from the packhouse. Around fifty bodies begin stripping as they edge toward the woods. It’s no challenge to spot Darius front and centre. His height and broad shoulders alone set him apart from the rest. I can see every ripped muscle on his back and can’t help but imagine how it would look with my nails marking it. Focus. I shake my head, forcing the unwanted thoughts from my mind, then speed to Loch Lomond, hopeful I make it to the lake before the pack.

While driving, memories of my last hybrid job come flooding back.

She was a witch-wolf and a nasty piece of work. Hexed humans to do her bidding using blood magic. Made them commit heinous acts, like sacrificing their loved ones to please Satan or whoever the hell she worshipped.

Naively, I assumed I could take the hybrid in hand-to-hand combat. She looked as harmless as one of those grandmas you see on TV in retirement homes, rocking in a chair while crocheting. But when I was within striking reach atop the hill that led to her worn-down cabin, she shifted faster than any wolf I’d seen. My wolf was free seconds later, but the delay cost me.

She tackled me, causing us to snowball down the bumpy hill, snapping at my throat at every opportunity. Somehow, I dodged her efforts, but my back took a hit when we slammed into the jagged rocks at the foot of the hill. I kicked her off me and clawed deep gashes into her sides. The fight was vicious, our wolves taking chunks out of each other. At one point, I chomped down on her leg. She yelped, then surprised me by shifting to human form, grabbing me with her magic. Her fists tightened like she was squeezing my heart, whispering words in Latin. It was almost like she was suffocating me from the inside. I told myself to remain calm, but that’s impossible when your lungs betray you. Luckily, her injuries weakened her enough her magic faltered; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. Once released from her magical hold, I ran.

After regrouping from getting my ass handed to me by a wannabe Minerva McGonagall, I tracked her to Michigan, then set up my rifle on the roof of an abandoned apartment building; it was a long-distance kinda gig. I couldn’t compete with her dark magic. Still, I was close enough to smell the putrid stench of evil coming from her. And in range to hear her threatening the human she had bound and gagged in a circle of blood. When she began chanting, I planted a bullet between her eyes.

Just like the witch, this hybrid is a long-distance job. Hand-to-hand combat is a sure way to end up dead. I pull up to the lake and scent the rogue in a cave about five hundred yards away. I’ll have to wait him out. I find the perfect vantage point, just off a hiker trail, set up my rifle and wait. Seconds later, there’s a tug in my chest as Darius arrives. I pull back into the shadows within the trees, hoping he’s too caught up in the hunt to notice my presence. The pack scents the rogue and spreads out, surrounding the cave. Good, they’re waiting him out, too.

It begins to pour. I try to keep my scope clear, but my vision is compromised by torrential sheets of rain falling so heavily that the droplets pelt off the ground, creating minuscule splashbacks. The wind picks up, too. I throw my hands in the air. I’m a good shot, but this is less than ideal; the risk of accidentally shooting a pack member just increased tenfold.

There’s a commotion near the cave. But with the rain, I don’t have a clear shot. Hearing yelps and snarls has my wolf fighting to shift. Indecision wars inside me; I can’t help from here, and by the sounds coming from the cave, the pack isn’t fairing well. But if I move closer, Darius spots me, arousing suspicion. Fuck! I debate whether to hold my position or run into the fray, but then a sudden sharp pain in my chest takes my breath away. It’s not my pain; it’s the Alphas. And my wolf loses her shit.