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Fuck.
The breath quickened in Garret’s chest, and chills rippled up his arms. Roy was out of the cage, and he’d sniffed out one of Clint’s wolves, probably lined up to shoot him.
Roy’s face was nearly unrecognizable as he pulled his lips back, exposing his sharp teeth. He glanced at Garret and nodded once.
“Clint, you’ve met Roy before,” Garret murmured.
Clint was staring at the new wolf with blazing eyes, his chest heaving. Garret could hear the snarl in his lungs from here.
“I didn’t realize you had been Turned,” Clint admitted low in a growling voice.
“I like it,” Roy uttered. “I like having the wolf.” Truth. “On your knees.” He pushed the barrel of that rifle against the man’s head, and Clint’s wolf went down to his knees. “Drop the gun.”
The werewolf did as he said.
“There’s four more in the woods, farther back,” Roy uttered, his too-bright blue eyes casting to Garret. “The trigger is yours, Alpha. Tell me to pull it, and I’ll pull it.”
Chills. Chills. Chills.
Garret looked at his Pack, and twitched his chin toward the woods.
Lenny, Burke, Cookie, and Wells strode for the trees and disappeared into the tree line.
Garret clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Breaking the rules, Clint.”
“All this for that red-headed bitch.”
Garret allowed a humorless smile. “All this because you kept pushing me. Take accountability, Jennings. How many have died on my land? Ask yourself if they would still be here if you had better control of your wolves. If you were a better Alpha. All of my people live.” Garret raised his eyebrows and uttered, “All of my people will live, and there won’t be anyone left to tell your story. Change.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, pup.”
Garret huffed a laugh and scratched his beard, lifted his gaze back to him and let him see the smile drop from his face. “Change. Now.”
Clint made a strangled sound and dropped to his knees. His wolf struggled out of him painfully, while Garret Changed in a moment. It was just a smattering of breaking bones, and then he was the wolf. And that wolf had been begging him to rip Clint Jennings’s throat out for years.
The fight didn’t concern him. Garret was fine. He charged the pure-black wolf and latched on with his teeth, shook his powerful neck, ripping and bleeding him.
It was the gunshot in the woods that drew the snarl from him.
Clint had done this. Once again, he had involved his wolves, put them in the line of fire, and if any one of them hurt Garret’s Pack, he would destroy them. Slowly.
Clint fought like a cornered animal, because he was.
He was cornered.
He was weaker.
He was less-than, fueled on this idea that he was better than Garret, but he wasn’t.
His people had come for Eliza. They’d hurt her. Clint had threatened her in that alley. He’d put fingerprints on her arm that neither Garret nor his wolf had ever forgotten. They hadn’t stopped thinking about revenge, and then this asshole had the gall to Challenge Garret?
He should thank Clint for his arrogance.
When the Alpha of the Jennings Pack laid under Garret, his throat in Garret’s teeth, he didn’t feel bad for him. He didn’t feel regret. He didn’t even feel respect.
Garret felt like the blood he ripped from Clint was owed to him for his Pack’s mistreatment of his mate. His Eliza.
Gunfire was everywhere, and the smell of gunpowder was pungent in his nose as he left Clint’s limp body in the clearing and bolted for the woods.
