Red Moon Rising

3. arrival

"They're a conservation group—"

"For who? You?"

"Why don't you shut up a damn minute and let me explain myself?"

"No, let me explain something to you. I just spent the entire evening tracking a nine year old boy through his first shift alone in the woods. The reason I do that is because I know some asshole in an NHA baseball cap is waiting just outside our territory to shoot him if he wanders outside. And then lo and behold, said NHA asshole shows up the next morning as if he wasn't the one that laid leg holds in our woods last night."

"You found leg holds?" I think some part of me was hoping for his face to break into a grin, for him to reach for a gun and shoot me like he planned. But the genuinely troubled surprise on his face knocks the wind out of me. It wasn't him, and he definitely doesn't know who did it.

I nod, slowly, watching as the two men exchange a look. "One, so far. Tom Bartels will be here any minute." I point wearily to the dead deer in the back of the pickup truck. "So you might not want to be around when he arrives."

The other man fidgets and finally speaks up. "My arrow is still in the deer, and it has my name on it."

"You're seriously poaching with a monogrammed arrow?"

The NHA capped hunter takes a step toward me, his face still serious, and without thinking I shift backward. He spreads out his hands in a gesture of appeasement but his eyes tell me that he isn't going to take no for an answer. "In and out. We need to get that deer."

"No."

"The fuck do you care for?"

"Were you not listening to me just now?" I don't like that he takes another step, like he's figured out that I'm going to keep giving ground if he does it. I watch him size me up, his patience wearing thin. Before long the fake politeness will run its course and he'll tell me what he really thinks of me, what he really thinks of us.

"Do they intentionally send the mouthiest bitch to greet guests?" There it is.

"You're not guests, you're trespassing."

"There's no gate on the road."

"It's posted. Can't you read?"

I can hear the blood rushing in my ears as he takes another step toward me. Take a swing at me, fucker, just try it. I know that look that he gives me now, like he'd like to take me down a peg but he's afraid that I'll bite.

A heavy arm settles around my shoulders and both hunters take a step back. I'm frozen as I expect it to belong to Cameron, but it isn't his smell, and when I look up I'm staring at a face I don't recognize. "We'll bring the deer to you. Fair?" It's only shock that keeps me from shoving the stranger away. Shock, and the sudden change in demeanor of the two hunters, who are staring at this new arrival instead of me, and are nodding slowly.

"Fair."

"The sheriff is going to be here any minute," I hiss, finally having the sense to dig my elbow into the newcomer's ribs. He's all wolf, I can smell it, but it's no wolf I've ever met before.

"We'll be quick, then." He has the kind of easy smile that I imagine these hunters wear when they're talking to women they don't want to throttle, the kind that says, Don't worry baby, I've got this. It makes me want to slap him, and already I feel a hot sense of embarrassment burning in my throat at letting this man—this stranger—interfere on my behalf. But my senses have come back to me enough to realize that it would be politically unwise to fight with the hunters now, that it would be best to get them the deer and get them out of here as quickly as possible, before Tom or our actual guests arrive. "Meet us at the border? We'll bring the deer to you."

"You'll be able to find it?" The hunter is disarmed, and he looks again at his partner, who shrugs.

He smiles that easy smile again and points to the truck. "Better head out before the sheriff arrives. It'll look bad for us if you're caught on our territory." Our territory. The hunters nod, and without daring to look at me, climb back into their truck and throw it in reverse. I watch them drive off, trying to quell the sharp, shameful anger that's rising in me now. How fucking dare he?

"Long night?" He says finally, and I turn to stare at him. Reaching up, he wipes his thumb at some dirt on my cheek until I slap his hand away.

"What the hell was that? And who the hell are you?"

"I was diffusing the situation. You think brawling them was going to fix this?"

"You don't tell me how to fix this. You don't even know what needs fixing."

"Clearly some tension with the locals."

"If the constant threat of murder counts as tension to you, then yes."

"Fine, you think treating them like murderers will make them want to murder you less?"

"They need to know not to hunt near the border. We're not going to help them poach, and our priority is keeping our kids safe."

"Having some hunters as your allies could be a valuable thing."

"No. You're absolutely not going to interrupt a dispute, put your hands on me, and then lecture me on pack politics."

God I want to wipe that smile off his face. I can tell he's annoyed with me, but he doesn't show it easily. "I'm not lecturing you. I'm just saying."

"You're just saying. Who are you anyway?" I glance around to find that we're still alone. Seriously, where is everyone? How are these people getting in? A faint flutter of fear warns that the guards on the entrance road could be disabled somehow.

"Relax, your guards are at the border with the rest of my pack. They probably mistook the hunters' truck as one of ours."

"Your pack?"

"St. Croix."

"You're too young to be Dominick Courtland."

"I'm his son." He holds out his hand to me. "Jackson. You can call me Jack."

"You undermined me, Jackson. I don't care if you disagreed with how I was handling the situation, but you can't waltz into another pack and settle their disputes for them."

His hand slowly falls back to his side, and for the first time some of his irritation slips onto his face. He's prettier when he isn't pretending to be nice, dark eyes searching my face for some sign of levity or forgiveness he can latch onto. But I'm pissed and embarrassed and exhausted, and this stranger has just signed me up to drag a dead deer through our territory for some poachers wearing NHA paraphernalia.

I look at my wrist only to realize I don't have my watch on me. I'm still in a matching sweatsuit with dirty hair and skin, and now I've got poachers, guests, and a sheriff to deal with.

"It's 8:00," he says, glancing at his phone screen. "You've got time."

"We've got time. You offered to track the deer for them, remember?"

"I'll find the deer. You deal with the sheriff."

"No, I'm not letting you run around our territory alone. I don't trust you." And I'm not about to let Dominick Courtland's son get his foot smashed in a leg hold. But I'm still hoping he didn't hear that part of the conversation. The last thing we need is for rumors to spread that we can't secure our borders. "We'll take the ATV."

XX

I'm working on this story for NaNoWriMo this November so I'll be able to start posting regular chapters in December! So add to your reading list and give me a follow if you'd like to stay tuned!