The Red Wolf

By Olivia Barrington-Leigh

He ran.
Not because he wanted to feel the air run like fingers through his fur or because running in his animal form offered a freedom one simply cannot experience as human, hell, not even for a little exercise. He was running for his life. Life sure as shit hadn’t turned out like anything he ever dreamed of when he was a young man. In a time when the kilt he favored was what men wore on the regular and women wore dresses that were a deep breath away from a wardrobe malfunction.
He was almost a hundred and ten years old, had fought in countless battles with men trained to kill him and a human woman with a pitchfork was how it was going down.

Freya was beautiful. It was not the boast of a merely pretty girl. She made every star or athlete on the cover of any magazine declaring them most beautiful look plain.. She’d been down-playing that beauty since she had to stab a foster father with a pair of scissors when she was ten. By the time she had aged out of the system she’d had to fight off three foster dads and five brothers. On the streets she’d had to fight off too many to count. Even with that shitty start in life, she didn’t let it get her down. She’d found jobs and taken care of herself. Managed not to get raped or killed.
She stood over the transforming animal, bug-eyed, opened-mouth, until before her was a man. Then she passed the out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olivia Barrington-Leigh
• Release date: Jul 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310342615

Olivia Barrington-Leigh

Wife, mother, sister, lover...and one day, a damn fine storyteller.

Book preview

****

The Red Wolf

The Odin

Book III

Olivia Barrington-Leigh

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015

All rights reserved by the Author

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only and remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

****

Chapter

1

He ran.

Not because he wanted to feel the air run like fingers through his fur or because running in his animal form offered a freedom one simply cannot experience as human, hell, not even for a little exercise. He was running for his life.

He veered left towards the sound of running water because it wasn’t enough that his kind’s oldest foe had newfound, superhuman strength; the motherfuckers had also started using dogs to help them hunt. It seemed like a little bit of a cheat, or betrayal, depending on how you looked at it. As soon as his paws hit soft sand he leapt, his big body hitting the stream dead center. Too bad it wasn’t deep enough to fully submerge him, the cool waters flowing over the lower half of his hot and bloodied body was refreshing. Somehow he didn’t think he could call a timeout and the sound of barking was not far enough behind him, so he kept moving.

Life sure as shit hadn’t turned out like anything he ever dreamed of when he was a young man. In a time when the kilt he favored was what men wore on the regular and women wore dresses that were a deep breath away from a wardrobe malfunction. The youngest of four boys, he had absolutely no chance of taking his father’s place in the family business so he’d been free to do as he pleased. He was welcomed in every bar, inn, whorehouse and family dwelling, not only because he was the king’s son but because he never met a stranger and his attitude, his love of life, his love for damn near everything, was infectious. When the castle was overrun and his family slaughtered it wasn’t the members of the aristocracy that saved him, it was the man too poor to have favor with the king. Paupers and common men held Wallace back from certain death when he tried to avenge his kin. It was barmaid, innkeeper, smith and prostitute that hid him, lied and yes, even died, to keep him safe when the dust had settled and the blood washed away and knowledge that the youngest had escaped came to light. He’d been smuggled out of his homeland like a rare and precious thing. It took a long time for joy to find him again. When he met Jean Rene he was just starting to find happiness again. He fought through the storm of loss and came out the better for it because he knew that tomorrow was not promised.

With the discovery of Maximus, aka Fenrir reincarnate, and his goddess, Josephine, their kind had also been gifted with Alfred 2.0. No one knew how it happened, or who did it (Lord knows Alfred was the last person in the world that needed super anything) but for some reason, some god had given the man extra…oomph. The man now had the ability to put a real hurtin’ on Wolfe and wolf. To add insult to injury he had also been gifted with super-soldiers, and while Wallace was always up for a good fight, facing-off with more than one or two of those big bastards was life-threatening. He had more holes in him than a damn pin cushion. Thank the gods the Robo-Wolfes had not been given super swords like their leader or Wallace would be dead instead of running. Not that the large broad swords and guns didn’t do damage—just not damage Wallace couldn’t recoup from given a chance…hence the running. He had to put some distance between him and the four Executioners, Alfred’s name for his band of slayers: The Wolfe Executioners.

In his bid to rid the world of the werewolf Alfred was killing any he could find: men, women and children. He’d been part of the legendary Wolfe Hunters, a group of extraordinary men whose purpose had been to hunt and kill werewolves. Fast forward five hundred years and the two lived in relative peace. There were always those who thought wolves needed to be but down, no question asked, regardless of time, evolution, or agreement made between man and wolf. After all, werewolves are pretty fucking powerful, but like the man said: Can’t we all just get along?

Wallace cursed the gods for not giving the Sun Wolf’s people any real advantages. Yeah, having the ability to turn into wolf anytime day or night regardless of the shape of the moon was groovy but he would love to take half form and take to the trees like their Alpha, their King, Jean Rene, a werewolf over five hundred years old. He was the one who’d turned Wallace, and while he was also an alpha wolf, he had but two forms: human and animal. A thing he’d been happy with until eight months ago. But that’s not when things started changing. Not really. When the little, suave, French bastard returned from the States is really when things started to get interesting. Jean Rene declared himself King of the wolves at the urging of his mate, the White Queen, a human and descendant of Geri and Freki.

Many moons ago, when people lived in mud huts and killed what they ate, the Norse god, Odin, brought his two beloved wolves to earth. Geri and Freki were a mated pair and Geri was in active labor when Fenrir broke the chains that had tied him in a courtyard for time out of mind, which led to him being…well…out of his mind. The three of them, Odin, Freki and Geri, were all oohing and aahing over the female pup when a young boy from a nearby village stumbled upon them, scaring the bejeesus out of Freki. Freki did what any father would do when an unknown threat comes within biting distance of his defenseless babe. He bit the shit out of him. Odin gave the pup human form, assigned the boy as her protector and that’s pretty much how werewolves came to be. Afi and Cynric were the Adam and Eve of werewolves. And in other news…as it turns out Fenrir had been in love with Geri. To say that he didn’t like that she’d picked Freki instead of him was an understatement on an unfathomable level. Talk about a fucked up love triangle. Fenrir hadn’t kill Geri, Freki or Odin that day but he did eventually find freedom. Somehow he was implanted in the biggest, meanest fucker Wallace had ever met—Maximus. Who was sort of a gift from Alfred. The man had killed Maximus’s parents and raised the pup, if daily torture counts as raising a kid, and set him loose to kill Jean Rene. But being away from Alfred had given the sociopathic serial killer a taste of freedom and Maximus soon left the tyrant. It was a good thing for Maximus, because being a slave sucked big, hairy, musty balls. Add torture to the mix and there wasn’t a string of words in the King’s English that could be pieced together to describe the injustice. Unfortunately, said recently freed slave had an addiction. He liked to kill. The icing on top of the shit cake that was his life was he also had what the human medical profession called: split personality disorder. Too bad, his condition didn’t just mean he lost time as one of his other selves took over his body. Maximus was a werewolf. A powerful one at that, and he had three forms. The man fought the urges, but there were two other contenders: Beast and Wolf. Wolf was pretty chilled, Beast—well Beast was a fucking killing machine. But wouldn’t you know it, true love was all it took to get Maximus to fight the demons inside. Oh, he was still one big, bad wolf, had a habit of talking about himself in the third person, but love made him rein in his inner beasts. He mated with Josephine Baxter, another human, another descendant of Geri and Freki. If not for the new war Alfred had initiated all would be good.

The pain in his side bypassed stitch and felt like a fucking sewing factory with every inhale. The list of reasons why being a werewolf was long and right on top was heightened senses. Currently, Wallace could smell his own blood and his heartbeat was playing in surround sound in his ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been injured so badly. Of course, fighting a Hunter could hardly compared to fighting a mere human but fighting the new and improve was more like fighting one of his own kind. Preoccupied with tuning out the echo of his heart in order to better judge how far he’d left his enemy behind Wallace didn’t see the woman until she was right on him. Calm determination on her face, almost silent in her approach, a fearsome opponent if he’d ever seen one. Her hands were over her head and between them—was that—a pitchfork?

Really?

He was almost a hundred and ten years old, had fought in countless battles with men trained to kill him and a human woman with a damn pitchfork was how it was going to go down. Her aim was true. Tines slid between ribs hitting his lungs, those that didn’t cracked bone. As the darkness of unconsciousness (or death) took him, he thought: son of a bitch.

Chapter

2

Wallace woke up feeling like he’d been beaten with a bag of bricks, ran through a meat grinder and tossed in a blender for good measure. Everything on him hurt.

You’re lucky to be alive. The Nonakris, his queen, sat next to him, her worried gaze looking him over like she could hardly believe he was still in the land of living.

What...this... flesh wound, he said trying to sit up. He wouldn’t be weak in front of the woman sitting on the edge of his bed. For her he’d slay dragons, he’d fight off death so that she may live. Just as soon as he felt like his guts weren’t sitting on the outside of his body, twisted in knots, and on fire.

Please, she said putting a hand on his bare shoulder, her power a warm current flowing from her palm through his body. Be at ease, my wolf. She would never be anything but beautiful but fatigue had settled in; from the slight sag in her shoulders, to her wild hair that looked uncombed instead of it usual beaten into submission. How long had she been with him? How many others had she sat vigilance with?

I’m fine. You should rest. Wallace voice was loud because it was the only volume he’d been born with.

I think I will now that I know you’re out of the woods. She stood, put her hands on her back and stretched. Her vertebrate sounded like machine gun fire. I’ll send food down. He opened his mouth to protest but stopped when she raised her eyebrow. Yeah, he outweighed her by a hundred plus pounds but when the queen of your race says jump…you know the rest.

Thank you Nonakris. He dipped his head. The only show of respect he could manage lying flat on his back.

I’ll let the others know you’re awake. She leaned forward and Wallace raised his head, tilting it slightly to the side to be kissed on the cheek, but instead of lips, hands landed on the bush covering his cheeks that he called a beard. When he saw where her lips were headed he closed his eyes. The exhale deflated his massive chest as her lips landed on his lids.

Thank you, she whispered with her face still inches from his, her breath warming his skin. Her payment was better than gold.

You are lucky she loves you so.

The man standing in the doorway was not large, he stood in Wallace’s shadow, but next to Maximus he was the strongest werewolf Wallace had ever encountered. Curly black hair that fell just past his shoulders and today’s attire is a three piece charcoal grey suit and baby blue tie with navy paisley and dark brown leather shoes. It didn’t matter, weekday or weekend; the man was always dressed to the nines, as was the queen. She looked at her mate, her long, grey silk dress the exact same color as his wolf form, the small train making her look every bit as regal as she was.

Mon Lupe, she said sliding into his open arms and offering her lips. It didn’t matter who was around, they took public displays of affection to new levels. It was that way with all mated wolves, alphas being the worst of all. It didn’t matter how many kisses she offered to her wolves, or where, she belonged to one man, he controlled her—literally. She was queen of wolves but her mate trumped even that. If the king threw down a command the queen had to obey. Not that he bossed her around.

How are you? Jean Rene asked. Wallace had his mouth open to answer but saw the king had eyes only for his queen.

Fine…well.

Go…rest. I’m sure your kisses have done more for Wallace than the doctor ever could.

You’ve got that right, Wallace agreed.

Diana nodded before leaving her mate’s embrace, they held hands until they had to separate.

Jean Rene waited until Diana was out of hearing distance, which meant he stood there almost a minute before speaking. Like all werewolves she made those bionic people seem deaf. Alfred called a council meeting.

The Nonakris was not the only royal wolf fatigue had come to visit. Funny, he didn’t look that way while Diana was standing there.

And you’re not telling Diana why? Wallace asked.

I’ll tell her soon enough. He crossed the room and sat in a chair at the head of the bed. She’s running herself ragged visiting all the injured. I am hoping that Alfred will give us a few days peace while he prepares for the meeting.

Not much was known about the upgrades that suddenly happened eight months ago: the who’s or whys, but they were grateful. Diana, who had a special connection with all wolves, natural and super-natural, could now heal her pack. It was not at a cost. It left her drained if she spent too much time doing it.

"The question is what he’s preparing. It could be another trap."

He gave his word.

And he’s just so fucking trustworthy, Wallace growled.

Jean Rene gave a short laugh, No, he is not, but he has to know we will be prepared for almost anything. The king looked at him long enough that Wallace was almost sure he was looking past the thin sheet covering his body and at the injuries below. I am glad you made it.

How many times had that bitch stabbed him?

I’m alright. The king nodded, but the look in his eyes made Wallace want to double check, maybe his insides really were knotted on the outside of his body, he hadn’t checked under the sheet.

Get some rest. We’ll talk later. He gripped Wallace’s shoulder. The queen’s power was like being submerged in warm waters, the king’s power as hotter and kind of fizzed along the skin, both were comforting touches, both a sign of their superiority.

Milord, Wallace said dipping his head again. He was itching to get on his feet; this lying down thing was getting old. Pride kept him in the bed; he’d wait until he was alone before he tried standing. There was no way he’d stumble before the man standing next to him.

A small smile tilted the lips of the king before he turned to leave. Do not think I missed the delicate undertone of sarcasm in your words.

True. Even with all that immense power, when Jean Rene turned the nine men who made up his pack he’d insisted that they were equal. It was all bullshit, that’s not how a pack work, it was all about power and hierarchy. Jean Rene had been raised a gentleman, a nobleman, his speech soft, his manners impeccable, but none of the nine dared challenged the Frenchman. Even with all the constant reminders that they were brothers, not master and servant. They first respected Jean Rene and then they’d loved him. Wallace sat tall in his bed, put steel in his spine and said, I serve you in all things my king…my Lycaon.

The king turned at the doorway, locking eyes with Wallace. I am both pleased and honored. Rest, my wolf, for the fight is not over. I fear it is just beginning. With those words the king looked damn near used up and it wasn’t weariness, it was worry that rode him. He and Diana ruled over the largest group of werewolves in the world. When they took over it wasn’t about subjugation, it was about unification and they felt responsible for every life under their rule. But it wasn’t the lives of the thousands they reigned over, but that of only four that worried the king: his mate and children. Wallace actually shuddered at the thought of the queen and children being in harm’s way.

The room was immaculate, the best of everything—priceless too. Most of the furniture had been in the room for over half a millennium. The mattress was new, one of those pillow-top kind, the sheets were soft on his skin and the bedding a solid weight on his top. The room’s temperature was pleasant. All were irritants. Wallace lifted the covers—no guts showing—but the large white bandage started at the middle of his stomach and he could feel the tape in the middle of his back. Man, she’d really gotten him good.

The worry he had for his new family made him think of his old one. While his family was being slaughtered Wallace had not been home, but news traveled fast, and soon he was being rushed out the back door of his favorite brothel by a group of regulars. They’d hidden in the woods for days until arrangements could be made for Wallace to be moved safely to a neighboring town. He was on the move for damn near a decade. The bounty on his head set too high for most people to ignore. With his entire family dead Wallace was the rightful king and the bastard who killed them wanted to make sure he never came knocking. But it was a title he never wanted and one he never held officially. The monarchy was eventually abolished but not before Wallace had his revenge. It was savage, a testament of the kind of man Wallace became after he’d been run from his home, the kind of animal. Jean Rene bite had given him the ability to turn wolf, but he was wild the second he was told his entire family was dead.

Throwing back the covers, he placed a hand over his abdomen. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and gritted his teeth against the pain that shot through his mid-section as he stood. After a wave of dizziness that threatened to put him on his ass passed, he made his way across the room and out the door.

The house had several hundred staff members: maids, butlers, footmen, scullery maids, cooks, valets, lady’s maids—the whole shebang and they were like worker bees in a hive. Diana had forbidden anyone being called a servant. It was the only thing she was able to win when it came to the men and woman that served her. She gave up trying to get them to call her Diana and Wallace chuckled every time someone called her Milady or better still Queen. Diana had insisted her mate become king but she hadn’t thought about all the fixin’s that came with the title. American wolves and humans had only a vague concept of what living under the reign of a king or queen meant and the European wolves had no idea how not to. So when the last king had been killed and no one picked up the reins it had been bad. When Jean Rene took over it had been open season for Alfred, another few months and Wallace wouldn’t have been surprised if the secret of their existence had come out and people were running through the streets with pitchforks and fucking torches. Oh, those were the days. Now Alfred was back on the war-path. And while Alfred was getting more and more soldiers, only the originals of Jean Rene’s pack were affected. The hunt for the remaining pack mates became top priority.

His pace was slow as he headed for the stairs. He could feel his wound mending. It felt like shit, but he was no one’s pussy, so he pushed on, headed for the great outdoors, for his den. His hand touched the smooth wood of the banister at the same time the scent hit him. Honey, and not just any honey, but the thick, amber colored sweetness straight from a bee’s hive, with just a hint of something floral he couldn’t put his finger on. It wouldn’t have meant much to