THE WOLFLESS ALPHA

CHAPTER THREE THEY CAME TO MAKE SURE

“An Alpha.”

Cole tried to hold on to the words.

Adam carried him through the trees as if he weighed no more than the hammer at the man’s belt. Each step sent a dull pull through the wounds beneath Cole’s ribs, but the pain was already slipping farther away.

“What does that mean?” Cole asked.

“It means you need stitches.”

“The wolf.”

“I know which part you meant.”

Cole tightened his fist around the knife Adam had given him. He could barely feel the handle now, but he refused to let it go.

“You said it bowed to an Alpha.”

“I said the tracks showed submission.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No. It means the wolf believed it was facing something above it.”

Cole lifted his head from Adam’s shoulder.

“The Elder said there was nothing inside me.”

Adam kept walking.

“So did my father.”

The trees thinned ahead. A low building stood beyond them, its chimney breathing smoke into the night.

Cole tried to stay awake.

“They lied.”

“Maybe.”

“You saw what happened.”

“I saw a starving rogue put you on the ground. Then I saw it leave with its throat exposed.”

“That doesn’t happen for nothing.”

“No.”

Cole waited for more.

Adam gave him nothing.

“What are you?” Cole asked.

“A man carrying a boy who talks too much.”

“You smell like a wolf.”

“So did the one that almost ate you.”

Cole wanted to ask again, but the forge seemed to move closer and farther away with every step.

Adam shifted him higher.

“Stay awake.”

“I am.”

“What’s your mother’s name?”

Cole’s fingers closed around the tooth.

“Mira.”

“Your brother?”

“Vance.”

“The one who did this to you?”

Cole did not answer.

Adam looked down at the blood soaking through the strip around his ribs.

“Stay awake, Cole.”

“My father knew.”

“You don’t know that.”

“The Elder touched me and pulled away. Then my father made him answer in front of everyone.”

Adam opened the forge door with his shoulder.

Heat rolled over them.

“He knew something.”

“Then live long enough to ask him.”

Adam laid Cole on a narrow bed near the rear wall. The room smelled of coal, iron, old leather, and dried herbs. A fire burned low in the forge, but Adam did not waste time feeding it.

He cut the bandage from Cole’s side.

The cloth pulled away wet.

Adam’s mouth tightened.

Cole looked down once and wished he had not. Vance’s claws had left four open lines beneath his ribs. The running and the fight with the rogue had torn them wider.

Adam poured clear liquid over the wounds.

Cole’s back came off the bed.

“Hold still.”

“It burns.”

“That’s why it works.”

Adam placed a folded strip of leather beside Cole’s hand. “Bite this.”

“I don’t need it.”

“The needle disagrees.”

Cole took the leather.

Adam threaded a curved needle and leaned over him.

Cole caught his wrist.

“The tooth stays on.”

Adam looked at the black cord around Cole’s neck.

“I wasn’t taking it.”

“You reached for it in the forest.”

“I was checking whether it had burned you.”

“It belongs to me.”

“So does the blood leaving your body. I’m trying to keep some of it there.”

Cole did not release him.

Adam waited.

Finally, Cole let go.

The first stitch went through.

Cole bit down on the leather.

Adam worked quickly. He did not tell Cole it would be all right, and he did not ask how a ten-year-old had ended up beyond Frost Fang’s border with wounds from his own brother.

Cole preferred that.

At the sixth stitch, Adam stopped.

His head turned toward the door.

Cole pulled the leather from his mouth. “What?”

Adam listened.

Cole heard nothing except the fire.

Then a scent reached him beneath the smoke.

Pine resin.

Frostroot oil.

The leather armor of Frost Fang warriors.

Cole tried to sit up.

Adam put one hand against his shoulder.

“Four horses.”

“They came back.”

The pain in Cole’s side disappeared beneath a sudden rush of hope.

“Mira made him change his mind.”

Adam did not say maybe this time.

He tied off the half-finished stitch.

“Lie still.”

“I need to see them.”

“They can smell you from the yard.”

“Then they know I’m alive.”

“Yes.”

Cole grabbed Adam’s forearm. “Help me up.”

“You’ll open every stitch I just put in.”

“They came for me.”

The horses stopped outside.

Cole recognized one of them by its uneven step.

Garrick’s old black warhorse.

His mother must have sent Garrick. Of all the warriors in Frost Fang, she would trust him to bring Cole home safely.

A fist struck the door.

“Adam.”

The stranger’s name in Garrick’s voice stopped Cole.

Adam had never told the Pack who he was.

Adam’s expression did not change, but he looked at the door differently now.

“You know him?” Cole asked.

“I know his voice.”

The fist struck again.

“We can smell the boy. Open the door.”

Adam pulled the blanket over Cole’s unfinished stitches and walked to the front of the forge.

Cole swung his legs off the bed.

The room tilted.

He planted Adam’s knife against the floor and used it to push himself upright.

By the time Adam opened the door, Cole was standing.

Garrick entered first.

Hale, Tomas, and Rowan followed him inside. Cold air and Frost Fang’s scent filled the room.

All four men looked directly at Cole.

There was no surprise on their faces.

They had known exactly where he was.

Garrick’s gaze moved over the gray shirt, the blood on the blanket, and Adam’s knife in Cole’s hand.

For one second, he looked relieved.

Cole saw it.

“Did my mother send you?”

The relief disappeared.

“No.”

Cole’s fingers tightened around the knife.

“My father?”

“Yes.”

Hope returned, smaller this time.

“What did he say?”

Garrick did not answer.

Cole took a step forward.

The unfinished stitches pulled. Warm blood began sliding beneath the bandage again.

“Am I going home?”

“No.”

The word struck harder than Vance’s fist.

Cole stared at him.

Behind Garrick, Rowan looked away.

“What are you doing here, then?”

“We were sent to confirm you crossed the boundary.”

“I crossed it.”

“You stopped.”

“I was attacked.”

Garrick looked toward the bloody basin beside the bed.

“We followed your trail.”

Adam shut the door.

“The boy nearly died.”

Hale’s face remained hard. “He was ordered south.”

“He made it south.”

“Not far enough.”

Cole looked at Garrick.

“How far?”

“The river.”

Cole waited for him to correct himself.

He did not.

“The river is two days away.”

“For an adult wolf,” Adam said.

No one looked at him.

Cole’s voice came out quieter.

“I don’t have a horse.”

Garrick’s jaw tightened.

“You know.”

“Yes.”

“You know I’m hurt.”

“Yes.”

“You know there are rogues between here and the river.”

Garrick looked at the knife in Cole’s hand.

“Yes.”

Cole followed his gaze.

Adam had known him for less than an hour and given him a blade.

Garrick had trained him for years and watched him leave empty-handed.

“He gave me a knife,” Cole said.

Garrick’s face changed.

Cole held the blade out slightly.

“He didn’t know me.”

Garrick met his eyes.

“You did.”

No one spoke.

Hale stepped around Garrick.

“We should leave before the weather turns.”

Adam moved between him and Cole.

“The stitches aren’t finished.”

“Finish them on the road.”

“He cannot ride.”

“Then we carry him.”

Cole looked past them toward the yard.

Four men.

Four horses.

No spare mount.

No supplies for him.

No one had come to protect him through rogue territory.

They had come to make sure he kept walking into it.

Garrick raised one hand.

“He stays until dawn.”

Hale turned. “The Alpha said—”

“The order was to ensure Cole remained outside Pack territory.”

“He could turn north the moment we leave.”

Garrick looked at Cole.

“Will you?”

Cole wanted to say yes.

He wanted to tell them he would crawl back if that was what it took. Mira was still behind those walls. His father did not get to take her from him too.

But he remembered the southern gate closing.

He remembered his mother stepping back when he promised to return.

Not today.

“No,” Cole said.

Hale studied him. “You expect us to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

“You said you’d come back.”

“I will.”

Hale’s hand moved toward his sword.

Adam did not move, but the air in the forge seemed to tighten around him.

Cole continued before either man could speak.

“Not like this.”

Garrick watched him carefully.

Cole looked at the warrior who had taught him to ride, track, and hold a knife.

“Did my father ask if I survived?”

Garrick went still.

Cole waited.

“When he sent you out here, did he ask if I was alive?”

Rowan lowered his head.

Tomas looked toward the forge.

Garrick answered because no one else would.

“No.”

Something inside Cole settled.

Not broke.

That had already happened at the southern gate.

This was different.

The last piece stopped moving.

His father had slept through the night. He had woken the next morning and sent warriors south.

He had not asked whether his son was alive.

He had only made sure the exile continued.

Cole looked down at the Frost Fang crest stitched into the shoulder of his old coat. Adam had hung it beside the fire after cleaning the blood from it.

“Give it to me.”

Adam took the coat from the hook and brought it over.

Cole pulled it on, though the movement tore at his side.

Garrick frowned. “What are you doing?”

Cole removed Adam’s knife from the floor.

He cut through the stitching around the white fang.

The blade moved cleanly.

Garrick had taught him that part.

Cole peeled the crest away and held it out.

Garrick stared at the symbol in his hand.

“Take it.”

“Cole—”

“You said Pack weapons stay with the Pack.”

The memory hit them both.

Cole placed the crest against Garrick’s chest.

“So do Pack colors.”

Garrick took it.

His fingers closed slowly around the white fang.

Hale opened the door. “We’re done here.”

Rowan hesitated beside Cole.

His mouth opened, but Cole looked away before he could speak.

The patrol filed into the yard.

Garrick remained behind.

“I can give you until tomorrow morning,” he said.

Cole said nothing.

“After that, I have to report that you continued south.”

“You have to?”

Garrick looked toward the other warriors waiting outside.

“Yes.”

Cole nodded once.

Garrick glanced at Adam. “If he stays near the border, Alton will send another patrol.”

“Then I’ll move him,” Adam said.

“You don’t know what you’re taking in.”

Adam looked at Cole.

“Neither do you.”

Garrick flinched.

Cole almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“Tell Mira—”

Garrick stopped.

Cole waited.

“I can’t carry a message from an exile.”

There it was again.

A line Garrick would not cross.

He would give Cole one night.

He would not give him his family back.

Cole turned away.

“Then don’t.”

Garrick left.

Cole listened to the horses until their hoofbeats disappeared north.

Adam closed the door and returned to the bed.

“You’re bleeding again.”

Cole sat down.

Adam pulled the torn bandage aside and picked up the needle.

Cole did not bite the leather this time.

He watched Adam finish the stitches.

When it was done, Adam tied the bandage and stood.

“At dawn, we leave.”

“South?”

“Far enough that Frost Fang stops following your blood.”

Cole looked at the knife on the table.

“Will you teach me?”

Adam wiped his hands on a cloth. “Teach you what?”

“How to survive without a wolf.”

Adam said nothing.

Cole touched the tooth beneath his shirt.

“And how to find out why that one bowed.”

Adam looked at him for a long moment.

“I can teach you to use a blade.”

“I already know how.”

“You know where it goes. You don’t know how to keep it when someone stronger wants it.”

“Then teach me that.”

“I can teach you how to track without leaving a trail. How to fight something faster than you. How to stay alive when your body wants to quit.”

“And the other thing?”

Adam’s gaze dropped briefly to the tooth.

“I don’t know what’s inside you.”

“But you know it’s there.”

“I know a rogue saw something.”

“That’s more than my father admitted.”

Adam moved toward the forge.

Cole picked up the knife.

“I’m going back for my mother.”

“I know.”

“I’m going through the same gate.”

Adam placed a fresh strip of iron into the coals.

“Then you have a long way to go.”

Cole closed his hand around the handle.

“Start.”

Adam looked over his shoulder.

For the first time, he did not look at Cole as a wounded child.

“Sleep.”

“That isn’t training.”

“It is when you’re stupid enough to reopen twelve stitches.”

Cole lay back, but he kept the knife in his hand.

Outside, Frost Fang’s scent faded until there was nothing left of it.

This time, Cole did not wait for it to return.