*Author's Playlist: Hurt, by Johnny Cash
*****
A sharp pang slices across my side as I push myself upright, my hand reflexively moving to the knife wound. But it's the pain in my chest that cuts the deepest.
Once, waking up meant being enveloped in the arms of my mate. The soft rhythm of her breath was a lullaby to my soul.
Now the bed is cold. The sheets untouched by her warmth. Her scent long gone.
She left three years ago. And all I see now is an empty space beside me. A hollow where she used to lie.
My head throbs, each pulse a hammer blow.
Damn, how much did I drink last night?
The room spins, nausea coils in my stomach. My mouth tastes like ash, the remnants of last night's whiskey clinging to my tongue.
Pressing my fingers to my forehead won't relieve the pressure—it's like trying to hold back a tidal wave barehanded.
Hangovers shouldn't bother me much. Hell, I should be immune to them by now. It's a self-punishment I inflict all too often. A way to numb the pain always simmering inside me.
Cold tiles beneath my feet send a shiver through me as I stagger into the bathroom. Hot water rains down, washing away the stench of whiskey.
My hand creeps over the wound on my side—it should have healed by now, but it's still fresh, a souvenir from yesterday's brutal fight.
Human hunters targeted my pack in a coordinated strike against supernatural creatures. After the battle, King Alixander's speech on TV was the usual political rhetoric, bringing little comfort. Supernatural creatures across the U.S. were brutally slaughtered. Werewokf packs and vampire clans decimated.
The President offered "thoughts and prayers." Bastard. If we slaughtered thousands of humans, he'd have the military hunting us down.
I gave my cowboys the night off, and unlocked the kegs of elvish beer. My best friend Phillip, his mate, and youngest son were killed in the attack on Big Sur. So, I drowned my grief in the fairy whiskey he gave me for my birthday.
Luke, my Gamma, brought me home. It's become a routine. His loyalty makes his disappointment sting more. Once again, I've let him down by getting drunk instead of taking care of the pack.
With a deep breath, I turn off the water and step out of the shower. The room tilts, then rights itself.
My worn reflection gazes back from the mirror, lifeless green eyes framed by disheveled dark hair.
The circles are from too many sleepless nights. Nights lying awake in bed haunted by memories of her. I push away the painful memories, skip shaving, and get dressed.
I pull on faded jeans and a T-shirt, tug on my black boots—every motion mechanical.
Downstairs, I pour myself a strong cup of coffee. The scalding liquid clears the fog in my head. The bitter aroma wafts up to greet me.
Three years ago, it would have mingled with the scent of frying bacon. Now the air is as empty as the silence filling the house.
Sunlight illuminates the chairs that once held my family's laughter. Those days feel like a million years ago.
I walk to the window and peer outside. Scrub brush and mesquite trees dot the rolling hills, sunlight softening their muted greens and browns.
I search for solace but I no matter how hard I try, I can't escape the memories that haunt my waking moments.
Slipping on my black Stetson Diamante hat, I step outside and find Luke leaning against my pickup truck.
"Alpha," he tips his hat in deference and respect before his eyes meet mine.
His slow headshake and disappointed eyes twist something inside me.
I've let him down—him and every wolf on this ranch.
Thousands depend on me. Getting drunk was foolish and reckless. As Alpha, every decision I make affects the pack's survival.
I need to get my shit together, but the pull of despair is too strong. I swallow my pain, burying it deep inside my chest before fixing a stern gaze on my Gamna.
"Luke, don't say it's a fine morning, or I'll rip your goddamn throat out." Bitter humor laces my words.
His lips twist and then he grumbles. Something about me wasting half the day. Ignoring him, I head to my truck.
He sighs, climbing into the passenger seat.
"Why don't ya let me drive?"
"Why should I?"
"You had a lot to drink last night, Alpha. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Watch it, Luke." A growl rumbles from my throat. "I'm not in the mood for any sass."
Luke's gaze holds concern and frustration. But, with one snarl from me, he looks away baring his neck in submission.
Pressing the start button, I shift into drive, leaving my empty house behind. My truck surges forward.
In the rearview mirror, the house fades into the distance, and once again, my thoughts drift to her — my mate, my Luna.
The ache in my chest intensifies, a constant companion since she walked out.
The memory is so vivid, as if it happened only yesterday. The night was unnaturally quiet, the kind of stillness that precedes a storm.
I came home to find her standing on the porch, her silhouette framed by the moonlight. She turned to face me, eyes glistening with unshed tears, a suitcase by her side.
"What are you doing Kitten?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, dread already seeping into my bones.
She looked away, her voice trembling. "I'm leaving GW. I can't do this anymore."
"What?"
She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'm tired, GW. The weight of the pack, the constant fear, and you're always off god knows where with your cowboys doing gid knows what. It's too much. I need to find myself. I need to breathe."
"Don't go" I pleaded, reaching out, but she stepped back, the distance between us growing. "Why? Why Kitten? Why are you doing this to us?"
Her shoulders tensed. She didn't answer my question. She only said, "It's over GW. I'm leaving."
The finality in her voice shattered something deep inside me. I watched helplessly as she walked past me to her car, the sound of the tires crunching on the gravel as she drove away, sealing my fate.
A sharp pain in my side pulls me back to the present. Grimacing, I clutch the wheel tighter.
"Maybe Doc should look at that?" Luke's eyes dart to me.
"I'll manage. He's got his hands full with the survivors."
Luke nods, gazing out the window. Our pack is reeling from yesterday's assault.
The hunters caught us by surprise, leaving us vulnerable. Despite being ambushed, we fought them off, but they left destruction and death in their wake. Military-grade stun batons, custom-made silver bullets in their AR-15s. By luck, I was sober. I'd just gotten off the phone with my friend Lip.
The battle was one of the toughest I've ever encountered, and I didn't emerge from it unscathed. One of the bastards shoved a silver knife in my side before I tore him to pieces.
"Has Doc given an update from the pack medical center this morning?"
"Yeah, two pups from the daycare died. Hunters used juiced-up wolfsbane gas. Nothing he could do but ease their pain."
Rage surges through me. "And their parents?"
"Mona is helping Doc tell them."
Fuck. That's Luna's job. Mona shouldn't bear this burden. But my Luna is too busy playing the socialite with all the humans in Austin.
"Tell Mona I appreciate her help. Let the parents know the Lonestar will cover all final arrangements. Call Joe at the funeral home. Make sure he sends all the bills to me."
Luke nods, eyes vacant as a silent conversation streams through the pack's mind-link.
"Alpha, we need to head to the oil field," he says tightly. "Owen's on the wire; he caught a group of hunters trying to torch the wells. He's calling for backup."
My foot slams against the brake, the truck skidding to a halt, sending a plume of dust skyward. I wrench the door open.
"Luke, take the truck. Meet me at the oil fields," I bark. "I'll get there ahead."
Without waiting, I strip off my human form, body contorting, bones reconfiguring with familiar agony and exhilaration.
Fur bristles from my skin as I shift into the Alpha wolf. I hit the ground running. The thunderous rhythm of my paws on the earth propel me through the underbrush. Each bound is a race against time.
The Lonestar oil fields come into view, a grim plume of smoke curling up. I charge towards the battle that beckons.
The acrid stench of flames and coppery smell of blood arouses my primal instincts.
I launch into the fight with lethal precision. My jaws find the hunters, each takedown a blur of motion—efficient, silent, deadly.
The silver-inflicted wound in my side screams in protest, but I bury the pain. My pack needs their Alpha now more than ever.
The rumble of my truck tears through the commotion. With the threat neutralized, I shift back to my human form.
I grab spare clothes from the truck's bed—jeans and a T-shirt—and dress. The mask of the unbreakable Alpha in place, I turn and meet Luke's gaze.
My oil field manager follows, chest heaving.
"What happened, Owen?" I growl.
"They came outta nowhere, Alpha," Owen says, wiping grime from his face. "Armed to the teeth. They bypassed our patrols. Almost reached the wells."
Luke's brow furrows. "The hunters must have known the shift rotations." He grips the back of his neck with his hand. "They targeted our oil fields? Without them, the pack's financial backbone..."
He trails off, signaling another mind-link. "
"Alpha, there's more trouble brewing..."
"For fuck's sake, now what?"
"One of the cowboys patrolling the northeast border reports incoming rogues—mostly women, pups, seniors. Looks like survivors from an Oklahoma pack."
"Well, it was bound to happen. There'll be a lot of refugees passing by over the next few weeks."
I turn to Owen. "Clean this mess up. And keep it quiet! The pack is still reeling from yesterday's attack. They don't need to fuss over this."
"Yes, Alpha. What about the hunters' bodies?" He gestures to the corpses.
"Throw them in the ravine with the others. Let the carrion take care of them."
Luke's eyebrows shoot up.
"Jimmy says old Alpha Tom and his son are pulling up. Looks like Tommy's spoilin for a fight. We better get over there."
I scrub my face and shake my head. "The fight with the hunters wasn't enough?"
Luke follows me to the truck.
"Tell him we're on our way," I bark as I wrench open the door.