Wolves of War: Third in the Tobias Finch Series Read online

  WOLVES OF WAR

  Third in the Tobias Finch Series

  ELISHA KEMP

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  About Elisha Kemp

  Also by Elisha Kemp

  Wolves of War © 2022 by Elisha Kemp

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For information contact the author at her website elishakempbooks.com

  Cover art and design © Elisha Kemp

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  For the fighters. For the lovers.

  This book is for you.

  Chapter 1

  Tobias Finch

  “Shift.”

  The alpha command pours from me, full of power, like water breaking out of a dam. It’s so easy. It shouldn’t be so easy.

  But nothing happens.

  “Shift.”

  My hands sink into Jamison’s fur, feeling for the bullet wounds. Feeling for his heartbeat. The rise and fall of his breathing. I have to make him shift.

  “Shift.”

  There’s another scent present, faint amongst the smell of blood and silver and gunpowder and death and damp earth. It rises and swirls with memories of charcoal and pine. With blood on the kitchen floor.

  “Shift.”

  The word cracks out like thunder, like it could sunder the earth in two. Jamison’s fur is wet beneath my fingers. Wet and so still. So, so still.

  Rage is dark and blinding. Or maybe that is just my tears, catching in my throat and burning my eyes.

  I’m not crying though. I’m not. I’m an alpha. I’m supposed to lead this pack.

  “He’s gone. Tobias. Tobias. You need to stop. You need to stop, okay. He’s gone.”

  Distantly, I’m aware of someone shaking my shoulders. Trying to pull me back. Danny, maybe? Beyond him, the whimpering of wolves, the low growl of the cats, the fluttering of wings.

  “Are you sure?” someone murmurs from behind me.

  “I’m sure. There’s nothing we can do. It’s too late. Hit him right in the heart.”

  A wolf presses beside me, warm brown fur leaning against my side. A pair of strong arms wrap around me, tugging me up to my feet, rumbling at my back as I struggle. I need to touch Jamison. I need to make him shift.

  “He’s gone, Tobias.”

  The arms around me tighten, lifting me, enveloping me in the scent of honey and blueberries. I could fight it. Maybe I should.

  My wolf lets out a plaintive whimper.

  “Grandpa,” I choke out. “I have to tell grandpa.”

  Even as I say it, I know that I can’t. I can’t. I can’t tell grandpa that his baby brother is gone. The brother he raised. The brother he gave up everything to protect.

  The feared born alpha.

  Reduced to lifelong exile.

  Reduced to silence and memories with a handful of silver bullets.

  Lucy presses up beside me, her warm hand grasping my own as Orrin steps away, leaving me to stand on my own feet.

  “He’s already on his way,” Lucy says.

  I force myself to look away from Jamison and look at Lucy instead. She meets my eyes with her own, expression unreadable as she reaches up to swipe away the wetness staining my cheeks.

  Not tears though. I’m not crying.

  “You saw?”

  She gives a reluctant nod.

  “But you didn’t see this?”

  The words tumble out before I can stop them, bitter and sharp. Full of accusation.

  The mask slips then, grey eyes widening with hurt. Her hand drops from my own, leaving coldness in its wake.

  “That’s not how it works,” she retorts, wrapping her arms around herself, blinking rapidly. Her eyes are dry though. Not like mine. But I’m not crying. “I can’t control what I see. When I see it.”

  I open my mouth to reply but am interrupted by the sound of footsteps thudding, the crunching of sticks and leaves. I turn to watch grandpa running, his feet moving, carrying him faster than someone his age has a right to move.

  He falls to his knees, hands hovering over Jamison’s lifeless form.

  “Jamison.”

  Something in that one word, in the frantic desperation, it cracks me open. My vision blurs, greens and blacks and browns swirling as my wolf surges forward, rippling and straining under my skin, demanding to break free. Beside me a wolf lets out a low keening howl, his voice tremulous, until it is joined with another and another.

  My muscles tense, shuddering under the desire to shift.

  “Who did this?” grandpa asks, his question directed to the un-answering trees. “Who would do this?”

  The sound of bones and tendons snapping and popping fills the forest until I know the whole pack is here in feather and fur, surrounding us. I can feel the anger and sorrow of my pack mates thrumming across the bond, echoing with my own.

  I can hear all their voices across the pack link too, a veritable cacophony that reverberates relentlessly in my skull.

  It had to be the Clear Creek pack.

  Cody. Cody betrayed us.

  They were after Tobias. It’s probably the same guns for hire as before.

  It could be Huxley Black and Drake. They’re getting us back for taking Lucy and Summer.

  No, they don’t know where we are, remember.

  Clear Creek. It had to be Clear Creek.

  I shake my head, wishing I could silence the chatter.

  Grandpa turns to face me, his wrinkled face streaked with tears.

  “I knew as soon as it happened,” he explains. “I felt it. Felt him go… And then the silence.”

  His throat works as he swallows, jaw clenching, eyes squeezing shut.

  I know what that feels like, the sudden silence of the pack link. I felt it when dad died. It was like being cut adrift in a storm. Like losing your anchor.

  “You can join our pack,” I offer lamely, because I don’t know what else to say.

  Grandpa nods.

  “I think it was the Clear Creek pack,” I say when grandpa doesn’t answer.

  Another nod.

  I draw one shaky hand across my face. Around us, my pack circles restlessly, surrounding me and grandpa. Surrounding Jamison’s fallen form. Waiting.

  We should run, Gareth urges across the pack bond, the tan ears of his coyote lying flat against his skull. Run and sing.

  Hamish cocks his head to one side, surveying the pack with cunning, unblinking eyes from his perch above us. We should fig
ht, he suggests. Make them pay.

  No. No, we need proof, Jason argues, tail drooping as he lowers himself to the earth, ears back, resting his chin on his paws.

  Lucy is silent, the white wolf like a statue of ice at the edge of the clearing, pressed close to Summer’s nut-brown wolf. Beside them, Aires stands in his human form. The only one besides me and grandpa who hasn’t shifted.

  “We should bury him,” grandpa says, turning back to look at Jamison. “And sing his soul home.”

  Chapter 2

  Lucy Stone

  I’ve attended my fair share of funerals. Said that last farewell to beloved pack elders. Stood silently as their loved ones gave tearful speeches or shared false, tremulous smiles over ham sandwiches and blueberry muffins.

  I’ve never seen anything like this.

  “It’s what he would have wanted,” Mr Vance, Tobias’ grandpa, explains, his voice hoarse and throaty as if he’s been crying.

  His eyes are dry though. Dry as the parched summer earth that Jamison is lowered into. Dry as the pine needles that line his earthen resting place.

  “He loved this land. He wouldn’t have wanted to leave it.”

  “He shouldn’t have had to leave it,” Tobias retorts, voice tinged with bitter anger.

  Mr Vance leans wearily on his shovel before casting his grandson a long, pitying look. Tobias ignores it, throwing one more shovel-full of earth onto the mound.

  “That’s enough,” Mr Vance says, gently pulling the shovel from Tobias’ grasp. “It’s done.”

  Tobias blinks rapidly, looking away in an attempt to hide his tears. It’s a futile effort, when the scent of his sorrow is as thick as the pine and earth scent of the forest. Especially when we are all in feather and fur.

  This is our show of solidarity and respect to the shifter who couldn’t shift. The born alpha trapped in his wolf form for so many years. Until the very end.

  “I’ll join your pack,” Mr Vance says abruptly, drawing Tobias away from Jamison’s final resting place and towards the edge of the clearing. Towards his patiently waiting pack. “Jamison would have wanted that.”

  Tobias wipes reddened eyes with the back of his hand, dirt streaking with the tears.

  “Yah. Okay.”

  Mr Vance holds out his hand and Tobias blinks in confusion.

  “Oh. What, now?”

  “Now.”

  “But, Jamison…”

  “You’ve done everything you could for Jamison. He’s safe. It’s done. Now I want to run with my grandson and his pack. I want our song to guide his spirit home.”

  The starlight is cold and brilliant against the nearly moonless sky, the milky way cresting in an arch above the purple silhouette of the Little Bighorns.

  The night run and wolf song to guide the spirits of the newly-buried home to the gods, that is a tradition I am familiar with. What is less familiar is the cacophony of other animal sounds joining what would normally be an eerie lupine symphony.

  The coyote’s yip. The bears’ low rumbles. The cats’ mournful purrs. The piercing cries of the avian shifters. It should sound strange, but it doesn’t.

  It sounds right.

  Another thing that is completely new is that I can feel the pack. I can feel the hum of sorrow and anger thrumming across the bond, so much stronger in my wolf form. I can feel the desire to retaliate. The thirst for vengeance. The worried pity. The fear of danger. The adoration of the run and wind and freedom.

  It’s almost overwhelming, all these conflicting emotions and I wonder idly if this is how Jason feels all the time.

  I don’t like it. It’s distracting. And uncomfortable.

  Which is why I don’t notice when we leave the Liberty pack territory.

  Where are we going?

  Jason’s worried voice broadcasts across the pack bond, waking me from my trance. I blink, cocking my head to the side as I take in my surroundings, looking at where my paws have carried me.

  We’re running along the ridge above Crazy Woman Canyon. Far away from the sheltering pines of the Liberty pack territory. Towards the Clear Creek territory.

  Justice, Tobias answers, and the one word is so thick with alpha and wolf and anger it makes my stomach clench. There is almost nothing of Tobias in it.

  Um, what? Jason asks, his panic palpable.

  We’re going to get justice, Tobias answers. For Jamison.

  Maybe it’s the confusion of all the different emotions on the pack bond. Maybe it’s the fatigue from all the events leading up to tonight – from running away, being kidnapped, escaping Drake’s lair, finding out Tobias is my true mate, joining the Liberty pack. Either way, it takes me several long moments to understand the meaning of Tobias’ words.

  Wait, what? I ask, steps faltering over the loose granite stones as I pull to a halt. You can’t possibly mean…

  They killed Jamison, Tobias retorts, his own stride never slowing. They tried to kill me and they killed him. I’m going to get revenge.

  There is an eruption of thoughts and words and feelings across the pack link then, though the cries for war and attack and revenge are louder than the whispered concerns of the more submissive pack members. Even Mr Vance – normally calm and collected – seems caught up in the collective bloodlust.

  Panic rises in my chest, my own emotions fighting against the tug of my pack, of my alpha. Run. Run and fight, they all seem to say. I sprint after them, paws thudding against stone as I surge to catch up to Tobias. But he’s fast. So fast, and so many of our pack members block the narrow path between me and him.

  Stop, Jason urges over the pack link. Tobias, you have to stop.

  He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even glance back as he races towards Clear Creek territory.

  It’s not until we reach the foothills overlooking the Half Moon Ranch that Tobias slows, allowing me and Jason to catch up.

  To my surprise and horror, Jason throws himself in Tobias’ path, baring his teeth to the larger wolf, ears pinned back against his skull in obvious fear.

  In human form, Tobias is probably only a couple inches taller than Jason. In wolf form, Tobias is nearly twice the size of Jason’s sleek brown wolf.

  Tobias lets out a warning growl, gold eyes flashing dangerously.

  Any other time, Jason would whimper. Roll over. Show his throat in submission.

  Move, omega, Tobias orders, the words full of dominance but stopping just short of an alpha command. Still, even my wolf shudders at the order.

  The omega holds his ground, giving a tremulous snarl in reply.

  No.

  I feel Tobias’ surprise, then anger. A red, deep anger that is pure wolf.

  Move.

  I whimper, knowing instinctively that this is the final warning. That if Jason doesn’t move, Tobias will attack. And the attack of an alpha putting one of his wolves in their place, it can be brutal. Deadly, even.

  Jason lifts his chin, trembling as he meets the alpha’s eyes with his own.

  There is a flicker of hesitation in the golden wolf’s eyes. A brief moment where the look is more Tobias than wolf. Then it’s gone, and the golden wolf is lunging forward, teeth bared, claws extended.

  In a matter of moments, Jason is on his back, whimpering as Tobias pins him to the ground, jaws around his throat.

  Tobias, please, Jason cries out through the pack bond, his words rushed and frantic. The brown wolf’s eyes are wide, practically rolling back with fear. My mom is down there. My grandparents. Please.

  The golden wolf’s answering growl is merciless. I’m not even sure if the animal can understand what Jason is saying. Maybe the creature is beyond speech.

  Around us, the pack waits watchfully, muscles coiled like collective springs. No one dares to move. They all know as well as I do that to interfere with an alpha disciplining a pack member – that would be akin to a challenge.

  My stomach twists as I think of dad. Of the way he lost control of his wolf. Nearly going feral as he tore our house to shreds. As I t
hink of alpha Winslow, practically drunk on power and control.

  I had thought Tobias was different.

  My wolf’s ears flatten, but the bitterness of disappointment is quickly overpowered by a surge of protective anger.

  Jason is mine.

  My friend. My pack mate. My wolf. Mine to protect.

  Before I can stop myself, I’m rushing forward, teeth bared, ears back, slamming into Tobias’ side with as much force as I can muster. I’m barely half his size, even smaller than Jason actually, but my wolf is fierce. And pissed.

  I might as well have run into a brick wall at full speed. Pain radiates through my shoulder, the bone-deep sort of pain that leaves the taste of metal in your mouth.

  I stumble back, whimpering. I’m pretty sure I’ve broken something. Broken or dislocated. It feels wrong.

  The golden wolf lets out a grunt, turning his head to stare at me in shocked dismay, releasing Jason’s throat in the process. Without hesitating, Jason rolls out from under Tobias’ grasp, scrambling frantically to my side. He leans against me, just enough so that he’s bearing some of the weight from my injured side, and I can feel him trembling.

  The feel of that trembling – of Jason’s fear – it’s like gasoline to the fire of my anger.

  I meet the golden wolf’s stare with my own.

  Turn back, I tell him.

  I let every ounce of dominance, every ounce of anger pour into those words. I want him to feel it. I want them all to feel it. I let the challenge show in my posture, my rumbling growl, the flash of my eyes. I want him to know that I’ll fight for this. I’ll stop him or die trying.

  Mate, the golden wolf rumbles, the word whispered across the pack bond. I know instinctively that it’s said only for me.