The broken Alpha - Healed by innocence

Pack vs. Pack

*Chase*

Dreams. Gossamer images that I carry with me into my sleep, but for me, they are the incentive that wakes me before dawn, the impetus that pushes me toward midnight.

Dreams are the stepping stones to glory.

By pursuing them, I have attained a level of success that exceeds most men's reach and acquired all that I have set out to gain: Land, cattle, and wealth beyond my highest expectations.

Yet, desperation gnaws at me like a starving dog that has just discovered a buried bone, and as I gaze at the stars that blanket the velvety sky, I feel as though I have achieved nothing.

I am an Alpha with a solitary dream that remains untouched, the one that has served as the guiding beacon for every goal that I have fulfilled. Without the realization of my greatest desire, my other accomplishments mean little, and I fear that they might mean nothing at all if I never gain a son with whom to share them.

The lingering warmth of the parched earth seeps through my backside as I work the ridge of my spine into a comfortable position against the gnarled and crooked post that serves as one of a thousand anchors for my barbed-wire fence.

I hate the fencing with a passion, but I know it is destined to become essential to every pack’s survival in the same manner that the railroad has wended its way into our lives. Workers continue to lay the tracks that bring more people farther west. The days of knowing one's neighbor pack and where their land ends and your own land begins are dwindling. The barbed wire cuts through the questions, marks a pack’s domain, and leaves no doubts as to his ownership.

Unfortunately, it is an aspect of the future that only a few men can envision, and those blinded by the traditions of the past are determined that the barbed wire will not stand.

I intend to make damn sure that it does.

"Chase?" The hoarse whisper momentarily silences the nightly serenade of the crickets, frogs, and katydids.

I glance at my youngest brother, who is stretched along the ground, his arms folded beneath his dark head, his tall, lanky body running the length of the fence. "What?"

"How long are we gonna stay?" Blaise asks.

I sigh softly. "All night if we have to."

"What makes you think they'll come?" He asks.

"Full moon. The Windscar brothers like to do their thieving and destroying by the light of a full moon." I mumble.

"I don't know how you can be sure that they're gonna cut the wire right here," Blaise says, exasperation lacing through his youthful voice. At twenty-one, he has little patience when it comes to waiting for the next moment.

I sigh again. "I don't know where they will cut it, but if you shut your mouth, we'll hear the tinny sound of the cut traveling along the wire, and we'll know in which direction to ride. Just close your eyes and imagine that you're listening for that first twang to come from your violin when you slap your bow on it."

"I don't slap my bow onto anything. I place it on the strings as gently as I'd touch my fingers to a she-wolf’s soft cheek or press my lips against her warm mouth. Then I stroke it slow and long, the way I'd stroke..."

"Will you shut up?" a deeper voice growls.

I don't need to lean forward to see the disgruntled expression I know I'd find on Wade's face. Wade, the middle brother, is the only one among us to have a mate. Right now, I imagine he would rather be curled up in bed with her nestled against his side. I appreciate the fact that Wade is guarding the fence instead.

Blaise snickers. "You're just aggravated 'cause you ain't home doing your own stroking."

"Watch your mouth, boy," Wade warns. "You're gonna cross into dangerous territory if you bring my mate into this conversation."

"You know I wouldn't say anything bad about Briony. I just figure you'd rather be at home making another baby instead of sitting out here waiting on something that might not happen." Blaise grins.

"We've already made another baby," Wade says, pride and a great deal of affection reflected in his voice.

I shoot forward so I can see my brother's face limned by the moonlight. Despite the heavy scarring on the left side of his face and the black eye patch that hides the worst of it, Wade looks like a man who has realized every dream he's ever dared to hope for. I sometimes envy him that contentment, especially since he accomplished it all by stealing my wife from me.

"When did this happen?" I ask.

Wade tugs on the brim of his hat. "Hell, I don't know. Sometime in the last month or so, I reckon. Briony just told me tonight before I rode out."

"So Maggie May is gonna have a little brother or sister," Blaise says, his wide grin shining in the moonbeams that pass through the clouds. "You ain't planning to name all your young'uns after the month they were born in, are you?"

Wade shrugs. "I'll name them whatever Briony wants to name them."

I lean back against the post. "I sure as hell am glad you took that she-wolf off my hands. I wouldn't like living my life around a she-wolf's wants and needs."

"If you loved her as much as I love Briony, you'd like it just fine," Wade says.

I have to admit that he's probably right, but finding a she-wolf to love in a land populated mostly by cowboys and prairie dogs is no easy task.

Hell, I can't even find a she-wolf to marry and bear my son, let alone a she-wolf to love.

The absence of decent She-wolves in this portion of West Texas is a sharp thorn in my side, a nagging ache in my heart, and a steadfast barrier to the fulfillment of my final glory: a son to whom I can pass down the legacy I have worked so hard to carve from a land known for its disappointments and broken promises.

I had hoped founding a town would attract she-wolves to the area, but Moonshadow-ville is growing slowly. The banker, Lester Henderson, has a mate who easily occupies the entire width of the boardwalk when she strolls to the general store. Perry Oliver, the owner of the general store, is a widower with a lovely daughter. I've considered asking the merchant for his daughter's hand. At sixteen, my mother married my father, but I can't bring myself to marry a she-wolf younger than half my age.

Besides, I have a suspicion Blaise has set his sights on the young she-wolf. Why else would my brother find an excuse to ride into town every day to purchase some useless contraption from the general store?

Neither the sheriff nor the saloon keeper nor the doctor has brought any she-wolves with them. The town's seamstress, Mimi Half-Moon, is unmarried, but she is on the far side of forty if not even older.

With resignation, I'm coming to the conclusion that, once again, I will need to search beyond my town, beyond the prairie, in order to find a she-wolf who can give birth to my son. At thirty-five, I'm beginning to feel the weight of the years pressing in on me. I need a son.

I want a son sitting beside me at this very moment, sharing the anticipation of the night. I want to count the stars with my son. I need to feel the breeze blow over our faces and know that when it no longer touches my face… when I'm dead and buried… the breeze will continue to caress my son's face.

The nearby river flows to the rhythm of Nature's lullaby: the mating call of insects mingled with the occasional swoosh of an owl's wings and the howl of a stalking coyote. I want my son to hear that song, to appreciate the magnificence of nature, to tame it, to own it. I imagine my son standing here years from now, looking out over all that we have accomplished, listening to the water lap at the muddy shore, listening to the...

Ping!

The tune of destruction breaks into the night. I jump to my feet as the high-pitched whine comes again. "They're to the south."

My brothers and I change into our wolves with an agility that comes from years of chasing after stampeding cattle. The moon's silver glow lights our path along the river's edge.

As silent as possible we run towards the sound. When the shadows of three men emerge from the darkness, our wolves don't falter.

The tallest of the men fires his gun while the two others scramble to get away. I hear shouts and yells. Quickly I change, gripping the lasso I have tied around my waist.

Raising my arm, I snap my wrist and throw a loop that whistles through the muggy air and circles Rowan Windscar. I yank hard on the rope. The gun flies from Windscar's hand as he stumbles to the ground. Without hesitation, I secure my end of the rope around my waist, change back to my wolf, and gallop toward the precious river.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see the moonlight glint off Rowan Windscar's angry face. I take satisfaction in the man's fury and run out into the shallow water that more closely resembles a babbling brook than a full-fledged river.

"Damn you, Moonshadow!" Windscar yells just before I splash into the center of the stream.

Water sprays my legs. I look back to make certain Windscar's head is above the surface. I don't want the man to drown, but I intend to give him a rough ride.

I hear the echo of three rapid gunshots. No responding gunfire sounds. The eerie silence that follows signals a warning.

I jerk to a staggering halt. My brothers aren't behind me. Three more steady shots sound.

Groaning, Windscar struggles to his feet, sputtering obscenities that I don't wait to address. Releasing the rope I turn and run back towards where I last saw my brothers..

Alarm skitters along my spine when I see the silhouettes of two men standing and one man kneeling. I change before I reach them.

I drop to my knees beside the man sprawled over the ground. "What happened?" I ask.

"Blaise took the bullet Rowan fired, and it doesn't look good," Wade says.