Wolf's Fall (Alpha Pack #6)(6)
“So why is what you’ve been through with Darrow any different?” Hammer pressed. “You lost your whole family and it didn’t destroy you. You’ve survived a hell of a lot.”
“Yeah. We all have. But I’m the commander of this unit. All the suffering the Pack has endured is my responsibility, and I don’t know how much more I can stand. It’s an accumulation of everything, to be honest. I got Selene back, and I’m beyond grateful we’re mending things between us; don’t get me wrong. But after Darrow . . .”
His friend remained silent, and Nick put it as simply as he could.
“I’m just tired, John,” he said quietly.
It was several moments before the other man spoke. “I get that. Hell, I’ve been there, too. But you can’t quit.”
Turning, he faced Hammer again, taking in the worry on his face. “I’m so damned tired, all I want is for the world to wake up tomorrow without me in it.”
Hammer shook his head. “Tough shit. Not going to happen. So, now’s a good time to think of Plan B.”
Nick laughed softly in spite of himself. “Maybe.”
“Definitely.” He held out a hand. “Give me the gun tucked in the back of your jeans.”
“What if I run into a grizzly?”
“He’ll run if he knows what’s good for him. In fact, I’m positive you’ll be the most dangerous predator out there. Gun. Now.”
The man wasn’t going to budge. Anger surged as he tugged the weapon from his waistband and placed it in his friend’s hand, butt first. He tamped it down, though. Hammer—John—had always looked out for him. He wasn’t going to stop, especially now that Nick was in a crisis.
Hammer’s gaze softened. “Thanks. See you when you get back.”
“Sure.”
They both understood that if Nick was truly done, no force on earth could make him stay. Many immortals—vampires and born shifters included—met their demise by their own hands sooner or later. Forever wasn’t all it was imagined to be.
But as Nick stripped off his clothing and shifted, then took off through the forest, he knew his friend was right—Nick did care. Maybe too much.
Whether that would prove to be his downfall or his salvation remained to be seen.
Two
Calla Shaw swept through the corridors, fuming.
Gods! What the hell has that high-handed, arrogant brother of mine gotten me into now? Who does he think he is?
Just because Tarron Romanoff was the leader of their coven—as well as prince of all the vampires in North America—didn’t mean he had the right to tamper with her life. To destroy her hard-won peace.
Even their toughest guards had the good sense to move out of her way as they took in her murderous glare. She usually considered herself a calm, pleasant person, but that flew out the window with the phone call she’d received. Eviscerating her brother with a rusty spike sounded like a pretty good idea.
When she barged in, Tarron was seated behind his desk in his office, reading some papers, head down, shoulder-length dark brown hair falling around his face. The door banged into the wall and his head snapped up, expression startled.
“Calla! What’s wrong?” He stood.
“What’s wrong?” She stared at him incredulously. “Are you serious? I get a phone call from the Russian vampire prince himself thanking me very enthusiastically for inviting him to our party, saying he’s looking forward to seeing me, and you ask what’s wrong?”
“Calm down and have a seat, would you?”
“I’ll calm down when you tell me you aren’t playing matchmaker.” When he shifted in his chair, surprise turning to guilt, she marched up to his desk. “Way to throw me face-first under the bus, big brother.”
“Rolan Stanislav is a great catch,” he said defensively.
“That old fogie is nine hundred years old!”
“So what? We’re over four hundred, which doesn’t exactly make us spring chickens,” he said evenly. “You know very well he’s quite attractive, and any number of female vamps would kill to mate with him.”
That, at least, was the truth. Rolan was tall, powerful, with long white blond hair and jade green eyes. She didn’t know him very well personally, but he was widely considered kind and honorable. Admirable.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t Stefano. The thought of replacing her dead mate made her sick with guilt, though it had been decades since he was killed.
She shook herself from taking that nightmare trip down memory lane. “Then they’re welcome to him.”
“Just one problem with that—he wants you. Has for ages, Calla, ever since he recovered from his mate’s death. How long are you going to avoid him? Hell, not just him but the entire male population?”
“I don’t care what he or anyone else wants! European vampires are stuck in the Middle Ages when it comes to just about everything, including their views on women.” That wasn’t necessarily true anymore, and it felt like the lame excuse it was. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not mating with him and that’s final.”
“I’m not asking you to mate with him. Just meet with him, socialize a bit. Give him a chance, for me? He’s a suitable match who would bring two vampire covens together as one unbeatable force. Nobody would mess with us then.”