CHAPTER ONEMalcolm
Malcolm’s powerful jaws clamped down on the black wolf’s neck, snapping it quickly before moving on to the next one. The maneuver was clean, efficient, and avoided a protracted fight whenever it could be employed. All other thought processes shut down when he was in his wolf form, a muscular beast of abnormally large size. The thick coat of blood on his rust-colored muzzle was barely visible as he charged another of the dark bastards from one side, knocking it from its feet and tearing out its throat.
A sharp pain momentarily clouded his battle plan. He staggered from the blow inflicted by the sharp claws of a wolf who had caught him from behind and opened a gash down his left flank. It wasn’t enough to stop him as he whirled around and pinned it to the ground, ending its life without a moment’s hesitation.
Looking around, there were naked bodies littered across the forest floor, wolves that had now passed to the next realm and reverted to their human form. The last of the black wolves turned tail and ran into the forest, and he pursued, followed by more of his pack. The damp underbrush filled his nostrils with a musty smell, but not enough to lose the scent of the mangy curs who had thought they could wage a successful battle with his pack. The few that remained would be left alive to warn others against making their mistakes, but not without first suffering enough injuries to pay for their part in the attempt.
It didn’t take long to pick off the last of them and return to the clearing where their brothers lay scattered, broken and bleeding. It was the worst it had ever been, for both sides. The rivalry between their packs went way back, long before there were motorcycles, much less motorcycle clubs. No one knew why it had even started. It was most likely over territory, but in modern times, that had been set aside in favor of dividing the remote part of the county in which they dwelled and staying out of the other’s way.
“What are we going to do with them?” David asked.
“Nothing. It’s not our mess to clean up. Let’s get our guys home, talk to their families, and get them a proper burial. The Timber Wolves can work out how to deal with their dead. We didn’t ask them to attack us,” Malcolm replied.
“Why did they attack us?”
“I don’t have a clue. When we get back to the clubhouse, we’ll see what Foster knows about it,” Malcolm replied, walking over toward a group of shifters slipping into the spare clothes they kept in their saddlebags.
Everything had happened so fast that no one had had the time to get undressed before shifting. There were shredded clothes all over the ground, along with wallets and keys. One of the guys was gathering them all up into a bucket for people to sort out while the rest got dressed and gathered up the men they had lost. This had been the worst attack in their time, and they had lost a lot of men, despite having come out on top.
The drive back to the clubhouse was slow and somber. Bikes eased up the highway in front and back of the large van carrying their dead pack members back home. Malcolm dreaded talking to Foster about this. He’d been their Alpha for nearly sixty years now, but his advancing age was beginning to take its toll. Foster had never seen a loss from fighting, and here they were going to tell him that they had lost nearly thirty pack members in one day. They didn’t even know why.
Pulling into the large parking lot outside the rustic old lodge that The Red Fang MC called home, Malcolm climbed off his bike and stepped up to the driver’s door of the van as it arrived, tapping on it for him to roll down the window.
“Park the van in the garage, open the door, and put the big shop fans on it to keep them cool. I want guys on the doors so no one walks in and sees the bodies like that. I’m going to go talk to Foster and then I’ll come down and we’ll do what we need to do,” Malcolm told him, watching as he pulled forward toward the large open bay garage usually reserved for working on bikes and other club vehicles.
David joined him, waiting for instructions. Though Malcolm was not the Alpha of this pack, he had stepped up to take charge of things when they were away from the clubhouse. Foster trusted him. He hated that he had to deliver this news. He’d rather be doing anything else.
“David, grab Steve and Collier. Go down to the van, get a list of who we lost, and start notifying their families. We’re going to need to get right to dealing with their remains once I’ve talked to Malcolm and their families have been told.”