Lead to Follow: Tales of the Werewolf Tribes, #2

By Alina Popescu

Werewolves, adventure, and romance

An attempt on Ganzorig's life by members of his own tribe sends the Siberian Killers into turmoil. On the brink of civil war, Ganzorig's role as a beta and the Mongolian leadership of the tribe are under threat. A relationship is the last thing Ganz needs, especially since the man he is falling for is a prime target for the Russian packs challenging his rule.

Cristian has enough on his plate ruling the Dacian Wolves. His alpha spends most of her time in the UK and the Romanian packs turn to him for leadership. Getting dragged into Siberian Killer feuds, discovering their male beta is who Cristian is falling for, and having a permanent target on his back are not things he's bargained for.

A grueling fight for survival, great plans for the future, and an attraction that's undeniable bring Ganzorig and Cristian together. Faced with real danger, tribe responsibilities, and their own fears, it hardly seems enough to keep them from going their separate ways.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alina Popescu
• Release date: Aug 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386152774

Alina Popescu

Alina Popescu is an author, traveler, and coffee addict. She has published several paranormal, science fiction, urban fantasy, and contemporary series, many of them having reached the Amazon bestseller lists for their genres. Her stories often fall under the LGBTQ fiction and romance subgenres. Born and raised in Romania, Alina has been writing for most of her life. She’s an avid consumer of stories in all their forms. She’s fascinated by myths, folk tales, and other creators’ visions of the future. She finds her inspiration in books of all genres, movies, and the occasional TV shows or anime binges. Alina is a proud geek and needs her fast internet connection and assortment of gadgets more than she needs air.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Werewolf Tribes

Meet Alina Popescu

More from Alina Popescu

Chapter One

I GROWLED AND BURIED my face into the pillow, cursing under my breath. I usually had no problem sleeping, no matter where I was. The moment my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light. Useful skill when you lived in a pack so tight-knit we knew what underwear the neighbors wore any day of the week.

Tonight, I couldn’t sleep to save my life. I twisted and turned in the cold sheets. I could have sworn those bastards hosting me had turned down the heat to mock me. So much for the respect werewolves held for their tribe’s beta. Who was I kidding? The Russian packs hated my guts.

I groaned and snuggled deeper into the sheets. I could have called them out on the heat, of course—pulled rank and demanded they treat me with respect. But that would make me look weak in their crazed eyes. Of all the tribes I could have been born into, it had to be the Siberian Killers! And I just had to be the only one with enough sense to figure out, we needed to change our antiquated ways.

That’s fucking it!

I growled and got out of bed, stomping right into the en-suite bathroom. I had been given a room on the top floor of the mountain cabin in which we’d convened. It was large and decent-looking, but this was no luxury lodging. At least I hadn’t been forced to bunk with one of their pack leaders. God, they snored like they were training for the Olympics. And some of them stank of alcohol from a mile away. If they weren’t wolves, they’d all have been convening at the local AA meetings.

I tried to turn the shower on, but there was no hot water coming through. A fucking yurta in the middle of nowhere would be more comfortable than this. I muttered a few curses and got dressed. That imaginary yurta would have some sort of fire going. All I could do now was wear my clothes on top of my pajamas and hope I could warm up.

Werewolves—we run hotter than most creatures. Not hot enough to deal with the Russian winter with no proper heating though. I would have bet my father’s prized stallions that this particular cabin had not been heated in years. The walls and floors were as cold as ice, and the only difference between inside and out was that there was no wind inside.

Maybe I should have just pulled a Shiki in today’s meeting and beat the crap out of them. I smirked, thinking back to the Dragons of the Fang beta whose life I’d saved. We’d become close friends since his failed death-by-Siberian Killers attempt a few years back. Shiki didn’t have any patience for the wolves he ruled. When the Chinese packs were giving him a hard time, he used force to bring them back in line. His mate, Blake, was the one who took care of the finer, business aspects of running the tribe.

Fully dressed, I snuck back under the sheets—not thick enough for this time of year, of course—and for a second, I wondered if wearing my boots in bed was too much. After pacing the room, the sheets seemed much warmer than before, so I gave up on that idea. With the added layers, and after the exhaustion of traveling from Ulaanbaatar and then being stuck in endless shouting matches, I felt the pleasant lull of sleep lurking nearby.

My eyes popped open and I shuddered, cold sweat sliding down the side of my forehead. Had I fallen asleep? Or had I been drifting off, only to come to my senses again? There! Sounds in the hallway. Booted feet coming up the stairs as those outside my door stopped.

I shoved aside the covers and sat up, expecting a knock that never came. Hushed voices, shuffling feet, and steady breathing was all I could hear.

They might have been reluctant to wake me. Thinking I’d get it over with, I pulled my boots next to me, intending to slide them and go open the door. This waiting outside and twiddling their thumbs was annoying as hell.

As I sat and laced up one shoe, the small hairs on the back of my neck prickled. My wolf was restless, and I tried to soothe him. There was nothing but familiar scents outside. It was probably some sort of emergency, and they knew I’d been pissed at the end of the latest round of talks.

The wolf wasn’t having it. I felt his apprehension and hurried through lacing my other boot and grabbing my coat.

The shuffling stopped for a second, then an ordered move followed. I froze in place and listened, my hearing focused on how they shifted positions. I could picture them parting, making room for someone to pass. And then the familiar click of a rifle being loaded.

My wolf snarled, trying to push to the surface, but this was no time to attack. He wasn’t happy, but I ignored him. I had a second, maybe two, to decide something.

One exit—the door—blocked. Top floor of three. I tried to remember what I’d seen outside. Were there trees? How thick was the snow?

I took a deep breath and plunged through the glass just as a heavy boot kicked open the door. The bullet flew by as I fell, more following at a steady pace. More weapons. People running inside.

I twisted just in time to connect with a large branch. The air whooshed out of my lungs and I couldn’t draw another breath. Dizzy and struggling for air, I let go of my unsteady hold on the branch and fell again. This time, my back hit the thick bank of snow under the tree, and once more, my lungs were emptied of whatever air was still left in them. I wheezed and punched my chest, trying to force myself to inhale.

Don’t panic, Ganzorig. Whatever you do, don’t fucking panic! My wolf snarled in the back of my mind, demanding control. I gripped the cold snow and looked around. Nowhere to hide. No time to think.

I closed my eyes and shifted. The wolf form sank into the snow as my body changed and it took all my strength to suppress my howl. Quiet and unseen. I needed stealth now, not a battle cry.

More shots ricocheted through the branches above me, some splintering the trees nearby. So they hadn’t seen where I’d fallen. Good. I had some feeble advantage.

Outside, now! Find him. The muttered orders in Russian sent a chill down my spine. Anton, the top mutt of the local pack. My host. So much for rules of hospitality. It seemed my Russian friends had no problem killing their guests. I wasn’t surprised, given their rotten ways. I was rattled by the fact that they weren’t shy about murdering their future alpha—the current alpha’s son and their fucking beta. They didn’t hold loyalty in high regard.

I took a guess that there was no one left looking out the window and hunched a bit, padding through the snow. They’d bring flashlights and find my trail soon enough, but right now, I had bullets to dodge.

I followed the line of trees along the driveway leading to the cabin and crawled under the wooden beams that acted as a fence. Behind me, shouts and howls broke the silence. Time to gain some speed. I focused on the line of trees marking the edge of the evergreen forest that surrounded the mountain peak where the cabin was located and made a run for it.

My finesse and stealthy crawl forgotten, I pushed my body to its limits, running as fast as I could. I was heading south-west and would be running down the mountain. They’d give chase on their snowmobiles and in their huge trucks.

Simply put, I was thoroughly fucked. As I ran, I tried to weigh my options. We were north of Moscow on some property the local pack owned. We usually held our meetings in the city, but they’d suggested a more traditional get together: somewhere we could run and hunt rabbits or something. They’d hunted all right, just not rabbit. It was larger prey that drew their attention.

Snowmobiles roared to life behind me, and I growled. I wasn’t far enough, but at least I’d made it to the forested area. Home was too far away. I’d have to go across Russia west to east, and then south to Mongolia. All the pack leaders from Russia had been present at the meeting. Which meant a good portion of them wanted me dead. It looked like I needed a new plan.

I zigzagged through the trees, heading toward the stream I could hear in the distance. In my rush to get away from them, I did a quick review of the western neighbors. The Russians had a strong hold on neighboring countries, with one exception: the Ukraine. With the war, the packs had started to bicker and mimic the human conflict. That was my best bet—make it to the Ukraine, dash through Moldova, and find a Romanian pack.

Moldova would be a little tricky, as the werewolf population was scarce and divided. Some were allied with the Russian tribes, so technically under my rule, the rest were part of the Dacian Wolves. Since Shiki’s sister-in-law was the alpha of the Dacian Wolves, the first group of theirs I could find, I’d hug them till they couldn’t breathe anymore.

I stopped when I reached the small stream. It was frozen for the most part, with small breaks in the ice through which I could see the water rushing down the mountain. Too much ice for me to run through it to mask my scent. I soon forgot my disappointment when I realized I wouldn’t dip my paws into freezing water.

Instead, I did my best to run atop the blocks of ice, to at least leave no paw prints for a while. That should be enough to slow down their trackers. A smidgen, true, but every second counted. It was too slippery to pull off, however, so after a bit of impromptu skating, I jumped to the other side and ran as fast as my legs could manage.

Engine sound drew closer with every second that passed, but the thick evergreens would hinder them. Once they reached the stream, they might have to wait for their trackers to catch up.

I could run faster and longer than any other wolf I knew. Okay, maybe Shiki outplayed me, but he had fae blood mixed with the werewolf juice that powered us all. Other than him, no wolf alive could outrun me.

When I’d lost my mate, I’d been an awkward teenager. Rage and pain had twisted me into a distorted, angry reflection of the person I’d been until that tragedy hit. My way of dealing with it had been to run away from it all. I used to run until I collapsed and couldn’t move anymore. I’d sleep it off, then hunt, replenish my energy, and run some more.

I never could outrun the blinding pain of losing a mate, but I sure as hell got fast and strong. It was helpful when we tracked someone, or in a fight, but I’d never thought my life would depend on this skill. Right now, the only thing standing between me and my would-be killers was the fact that I could run for an insane amount of time.

I knew at some point I’d have to stop, but I couldn’t focus on that now. I had to make my way through the thick woods and strain my hearing to its limits to keep tabs on my chasers. Barks and howls broke the dead silence of the night now and then, but the snowmobiles had stopped. They were probably just taking them over the stream, and then they’d continue their pursuit. Or maybe they’d all shifted and were planning to follow me on foot. Well, on paws, technically.

They kept at it, but they weren’t getting any closer. My stamina was as reliable as ever, so it would be a while still before they started gaining ground. Hopefully, they’d tire before I did.

I huffed out breath after breath and kept running. The best part about this race to save my life was that I couldn’t feel the cold anymore. In wolf form, and fleeing to save my life, I was running hot enough to melt the snow beneath me.

Survival instinct is a beautiful thing. Stronger in weres because of our animal side, it can push you beyond limits you never knew you could cross. Right now, as I was being chased through the snow, I was thankful for its existence. The rest of my brain that was still active was wondering what the fuck I was doing, contemplating the meaning of life and how wolves worked when my life was on the line.

The truth was, keeping my mind busy with useless contemplations was distracting me from the imminent danger creeping closer. They were coming for me, and it was a little too late for them to feign innocence and say it had all been a joke.

I kept running, using snow to hydrate myself now and then. It wasn’t doing much to quench my thirst, but it would keep me going. Plus, wolf urine wasn’t something they’d easily overlook. Not that my paw prints in the snow were hard to spot.

To my relief, it started snowing, and it wasn’t pretty. Cold, small, icy flakes rushed down from the gray sky. They’d cover my tracks enough that the Russians wouldn’t have an easy time keeping up. They’d tire before I did, so all I needed was to keep my energy levels high and keep running. It didn’t look good for the rabbits and other critters in my way. They’d keep me fed and fueled for this manic race.

The snow continued to fall as cool light replaced the shadows of the night that had made the chase more difficult. My gray and black shades blended in a lot more during the night. Now I felt like I stood out. I was getting tired, my pace was slowing, but I kept running.

I couldn’t hear anything except for my own breathing, the swoosh of the wind, and the occasional critter that didn’t run out of my path fast enough. How long? I wondered. How long until I fell, exhausted and unable to move any further? Not yet.

A small detour to hunt a rabbit was all the break I allowed myself. Its warm blood and the raw meat tasted better than ever. The hunger, the adrenaline, and the speed of it all might have something to do with that. I did my best to hide the stained fur left over from my meal and then started moving again.

I was running at a steady pace, but it was much slower than in the beginning. I didn’t feel tired though. The adrenaline pumping through my veins because of the very real threat of death by murderous traitors kept me on a weird high. It was as if I’d tapped into a pool of endless energy I never knew I had. So I put it to good use and ran and ran, sticking to the evergreen-covered side of the mountain, and then losing myself through the hilly woods covering the area.

By dusk, I could barely keep myself upright. My limbs were trembling and I felt there wasn’t enough air to breathe in. I wanted to stop and have a good listen, without the rush of my own blood and breathing deafening me, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to move again if I stopped.

I was famished and parched, and all I wanted was a break. I was in the middle of nowhere—some frozen field made a million times colder by the wind. I did some quick math, trying to figure out how long it had been. Over twelve hours, a few half-hour breaks to eat, and anywhere between 60 to 100 kilometers covered.

A shrill honk broke the silence, and I froze in my tracks. Train. Close by. I trained my sight in the direction of the sound and saw it. It wasn’t the kind of train that carried passengers who might have been afraid of a wolf suddenly jumping onto the seat in front of them. No, this looked more like a freight train. As far as I remembered, old trains in these regions still had some huge pieces of them missing: wagons with doors left open. If I made it to the next station on time, I might just be able to get in.

I spotted the small village a couple of miles ahead. The train was still far enough away, but I feared I might miss it anyway. I was tired—too tired for a full-on run—but I had to try my best. Worst case scenario, I’d lie low around the station and hunt for the next train that could haul my ass out of this danger zone. I knew waiting around was risky, as they could catch up, and I’d end up dead before the next train passed through, but I was also acutely aware that I couldn’t run forever.

I closed my eyes for a second, pouring all the energy I had left into this one task: run for your life, Ganz, and get on the fucking train. I growled low and bolted. The distant sound of howling wolves reached me just as I gave chase. I could stay ahead of them; they were miles behind. But I’d exhaust myself sooner rather than later. I needed to get on that train and get far away from