Unwilling Ch. 11

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Copyright by metajinx (under my real name, no, really). Please do not duplicate or copy without explicit permission, because I will hunt you down and pluck your pubes. This story is purely fictional. I recommend reading all the other parts first, because this is a continued story.

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~*Jared*~

Training with Hector was never consistent. On some days, Jared got home in the afternoon. On other days, he barely made it home for dinner. Unfortunately, his exhaustion always was the same, since training only ended when Jared couldn't go on. He always went straight home, trying not to fall asleep at the wheel, dragging himself into the house and all but dropping dead as soon as he reached the bed.

It put a strain on his relationship with Darwin, Jared knew that. The amount of social contact between them usually was limited to a tired 'hello' in the mornings and evenings, maybe some cuddling, given Jared woke long enough when Darwin joined him in bed, but nothing more. Still, Jared had thought Darwin understood how important this was. How essential it was to find a weapon against Carl, and not just for himself, or some trumped-up epic victory over an adversary. As he blearily watched Darwin trot towards the cabin through the darkness, Jared felt nothing but tired, helpless rage.

Darla was the first to reach the door, so he grabbed her by the collar of her blouse as soon as she stepped over the threshold. "What the fuck, Darla!" he bellowed, shaking her like a rag doll, happy she would take the brunt of his rage before he had to face Darwin. He would never use force like this on him, but he felt he had to do it to someone, lest there be dire consequences.

At first, her face was a mask of surprise, but it quickly twisted into an expression of barely contained anger. Jared felt a twitch in his cheek, just a split second before Darla made the first move to get him off of her. This would get ugly if he didn't get a grip on himself, and he didn't need to read her aura to realize that.

"Get off of me!" she barked, then started to struggle.

As soon as she began the motion to raise her hand in an attempt to grab his arm, he shoved her back and let her go, making her stumble and fight for balance. Jared could see in her eyes that she knew he could beat her in a fight, but there was also that ever-burning rage Darla couldn't seem to let go. If he didn't get a grip on himself, she would snap, and they would have to fight. And he would have to kill her at some point.

Responsibility sucked.

For a few labored breaths they both stood there, tense and ready to fight, eyes fixated at each other, waiting for that small sign of weakness that would give one or the other a chance to get the drop on their opponent. In that breathless, heavy moment, Darwin strode in through the door.

He froze as soon as he got a whiff of the tension between them, making a face like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Unfortunately, it also gave Jared's rage a new target.

"What's going on?" Darwin asked, his voice tight with sudden tension.

Jared turned abruptly, shoulders and arms coiled with the need to hit something. "Where the FUCK have you been?" he bellowed, loud enough to make the pipe framing of the clothes hanger next to Darwin vibrate and sing with the echo.

Darwin stumbled backward and out the way he had come, almost missing the stairs while backing away from the seething Alpha. His heart beat loud and hard enough to fill the night with its rhythm, enticing Jared to stalk after him. "C-Calling my dad, f-from the phone booth," Darwin stuttered, fighting to breathe, talk and look nonthreatening at the same time. It wasn't a very successful effort.

A mixture of surprise and cold dread washed over Jared's exhausted face. Darwin had called home? On a land line? "Please tell me you're joking," he croaked, coiling his hand around the banister next to the stairs with more force than necessary. The wood groaned beneath his fingers.

"My d-dad wouldn't rat us out, Jared," Darwin stuttered, unable to meet the Alpha's eyes. "He knows everything now, he's promised to help us! He's on our side!"

The world crumbled around Jared, pushing him out of balance and forcing him to lean on the cracking banister. He knew Darwin hadn't meant any harm by what he had done, but that didn't matter. Wouldn't matter, if the Banes Pack Alpha wasn't a total moron. Crazy people didn't get to the top of the food chain by being morons, they got there by being ingenious. The need to beat the shit out of Darwin for endangering himself and his pack buckled beneath the weight of fear for their lives, sending Jared in a confused tailspin. What should he do? What could he do? How long did they have?

Jared turned around, exhaustedly trying to sort through his muddled thoughts. "Darla, assemble the others, we gotta leave," he growled, walking back into the cabin. They would have to take the food, pack their clothes and leave as quickly as possible, maybe go to Canada and find a safe place there until Jared finished his training with Hector. But was that even an option anymore? Hector needed to be warned about Carl and the force of dominants on their way to Renton right this minute, and Hector wouldn't be pleased. A whole other pack with no submissives, invading the territory of an already established pack and all but inviting Hector's Alpha pack to join the fight definitely broke the truce Jared had negotiated, especially if he ran instead of fighting back. But fighting back with only two dominants by his side would be suicide. No, running was the only choice left.

"Rayne, tell Harry to pack all the food and drinks and stuff everything else useful into the car. Carl has been warned and is on his way," Jared barked as soon as he was inside the cabin.

In the chaos erupting after that order, nobody noticed the lone figure outside turning and walking into the dark woods.

~*George*~

They came at night, long after Mary had gone to sleep. Three figures in dark clothing crept out of the surrounding woods, circling the house just as careful as they would have been with any other pack member, trying to find a good spot to enter unnoticed. George was almost proud to be treated this way, like a real person, like a dangerous person. Almost. Killing pack members, even those who were intent on doing the same to him, certainly didn't count as a happy occasion.

Carmen had never shown for their secret meeting, but she had called Mary and explained that she had been ordered to guard the pack house and would come by the next day. It had been what had tipped George off. There was no reason to have a teenage girl guard the pack house, except if they had found out about Darwin, his whereabouts, and the contact he had made with George.

Now George sat in the shadow next to the stairs, his hunting rifle slung awkwardly over his shoulders, the left hand trifling with all the little bumps and ridges along the shaft and muzzle, waiting. He didn't know what exactly he was waiting for- to see who was ready to kill a cripple, or to pull one over their heads-, but the decision had been made. If he was to die, he would go down shooting, fighting, with bared teeth and claws, like the enforcer he was. Had been. Had never stopped being.

It took them a good while to find the window in the kitchen, the one George had left unlocked just in case someone came to kill him, but they took the bait. The soft crunch of sugar grains beneath hard boots wouldn't be heard upstairs, not even with werewolf hearing, but it echoed well enough for George to hear from his hiding spot. He carefully cocked the rifle, feeling clumsier than usual with just his left arm in working order, but the intruders were slow, careful, unhurried. They didn't want him and Mary to hear them coming, kill them in their sleep and be done with the whole affair.

It was a good plan, in theory.

George wasn't mobile enough to use the viewfinder to its full extent, but the years of hunting had left him with enough knowledge to forgo the proper targeting and still hit what he wanted to hit. He softly set the lower half of the barrel onto the banister, put his finger on the trigger and waited, listening to the muted, all but inaudible sounds of movement from the kitchen.

Whiffs of all those familiar scents wafted into the stair well, tugging at his heart and lungs with all those memories he associated with them. Greta and Dennis were the ones George could identify, which didn't surprise him. Those two had always been more unhinged than the others, easier to rile up, more ready to go overboard and cross lines. Had George been the one planning the assassination attempt, he would have gone with those two, too. The third one wasn't as easy. Before the phone call with Darwin, George would have put his money on Rayne as the balancing force to Greta's and Dennis' anger issues, but Rayne had proven loyal and wasn't anywhere near Banes. This left George with too many choices, and too little chances to find out who he was dealing with.

Whoever it was, he'd die just as easily as Greta and Dennis. Silver bullets would see to that.

One of the three crept towards the living room, away from the door frame George was targeting and into an area that would sooner or later put him at George's right side. It was the one thing he had hoped to avoid, since he didn't see any chance to point the rifle in that direction without the use of his right arm. The other two were more accommodating, walking towards the area George was actually pointing the muzzle at, but one of them stopped right in the door, his back turned towards George, blocking the line of sight on the third person.

"Gotcha," George hissed. The first shot thundered through the house before Dennis could turn around completely, spraying the wooden door frame with dark blood and sending him to the floor gasping.

"Shit! Dennis!" he could hear Greta scream. George tightened his grip on the weapon, moving the barrel until it pointed down at the dying man, smiling a cold, lopsided smile against the wooden shoulder piece.

Greta came into view, trying to grab Dennis and pull him out of the killing zone, only to be hit by the second, deafening shot. She crumpled onto Dennis' body with nothing more than a gurgling sigh, instantly killed by the gaping hole through her head.

Then there was only silence, mixed with the heavy dripping of blood on the hardwood floor. George carefully moved the barrel up and to the right corner of the door frame, hoping for a glimpse of the third man when- if- he came to rescue his mates. Somewhere above, he could hear Mary get dressed as quickly and silently as possible.

A blade touched his throat, freezing him on the spot.

"They thought you were a drooling idiot, you know?" Graham whispered, looming over George's wheelchair like a vengeful shadow. "Thought the job was shameful, killing a cripple in his bed and all that, but that's what you get for being arrogant."

Graham was the one choice person George would have never guessed as the third killer. It was all but unthinkable, imagining the quiet, reclusive car mechanic as anything but a watchful spectator of the pack goings-on, but here he was, blade in hand, ready to do what Carl couldn't do: Kill him.

"So you're the one to finish me off? Are you not yet tired of doing the dirty work for a madman, Graham?" George said, careful to keep his voice even and low.

Graham laughed softly. It was the first time George had ever heard the man laugh at all, and even now it sounded sad and dry. "What else is there to do? What else is left? If I do it, I won't be able to look at myself ever again, but if I don't do it, I won't be able to look at anything ever again, being dead and all," he mused, pressing the blade tighter to George's throat, just tight enough to pull a little blood. "Carl has killed everyone who stood in his way, except for you and Darwin. And here I am, fixing half of that shortcoming. The only thing I'd get out of switching sides is my own death."

Somewhere outside, the wind rattled the window shutters. George allowed himself a small smile, choosing his words carefully. "You could find out if what Carl told you is the truth. You could ask why Carl is trying to kill me. You could even talk to Carmen, if you don't trust my words, but don't you butter me up with this fatalistic crap, Graham. There's always a choice, always."

Graham hesitated, the blade shivered away from George's throat. It wasn't much and George definitely wasn't out of danger, but the metal didn't cut into him anymore. "What truth, George? That Carl's idealistic dream of a pack without submissives won't work? I know that already. I'll be a cloud of dust on the horizon as soon as I see my opening, but right now, everyone disappearing or trying to run is marked a traitor and hunted down. I've got a wife and a kid on the way two towns over, I won't risk them."

The kitchen window creaked softly, just like it had when the three had broken into his house, but George had other things to worry about. There were no known werewolves living in the perimeter of Banes, which meant that Graham had married a human and not told anyone. A human wife, pregnant as it seemed, and therefor a good victim for Carl's blackmailing attempts. He had to think quickly now.

"So you don't ever wonder where all our submissives have gone? Do you really believe they just decided to leave their spouses, fathers, mothers, brothers, kids, just like that? All of them?" George pressed, trying to keep his eyes off the kitchen door as to not arouse any suspicions. "Don't you wonder what happened to Giselle? Or why Darwin rather left the pack than deal with Carl any longer?"

"Stop it with the riddles, old man, I'm getting tired of this conversation. Say your piece and let's end this," Graham snarled, and the pressure of the razor sharp blade to George's throat returned. What little time George had left, it was running out quickly.

Well, Graham had asked for it, hadn't he?

"Carl killed all the submissives, including his pregnant wife, my wife, my mother, Giselle and who knows how many others, and he tried to kill Darwin too. Darwin didn't just change loyalties to some stranger, that stranger saved him from Carl's attempted murder, and Carl was the one who left them no choice but to run. And now, Carl is starting to kill off dissidents, like me. Do you really think he'll stop when he's done with my family? Do you really believe he'll simmer down after this, this killing spree?-"

There were so many more things George would have liked to say, but couldn't, as Mary chose that exact moment to jump Graham from behind and wrestle his knife-bearing arm away from him.

They tumbled towards the front door, snarling and growling at each other as both tried to gain the upper hand. Graham would have won, sooner or later, as superhuman strength ceased to matter and physical proportions came into play, but George didn't plan on letting this go that far. He pointed the rifle and shot, blasting a fist-sized hole into his front door, right above their heads. "That's enough!"

Shocked, frozen silence was the answer. Mary had Graham by the throat, kneeling on his back and ready to end his life with a single tug. George could feel a trickle of blood run down his throat where the knife had left its mark. This was heading towards a bad path.

"I don't want you dead, Graham, you're a good guy," George said, trying to ignore the increasing pain in his straining arm and the tickling of blood drops falling on his chest. "But I've got to help my boy and that means stopping Carl, whatever it takes. I can't trust you not to interfere, can I?"

By now, Graham face was turning half white with fear and half red with exertion. He tried to wiggle beneath Mary's much smaller bulk to find a position that made it easier to breathe, but her tightening grasp around his throat was enough to freeze him. George really didn't want to kill the man, or rather, have Mary kill him. Graham was lethargic and quiet, but when he decided to talk his words always had merit to them, a calm, objective view that most other werewolves in the Banes pack lacked. Losing him meant losing another voice of reason, something else the Banes pack didn't have much of.

But what other way was there?

"We could take him with us, hide somewhere," Mary offered tensely. She had to use her whole body to keep Graham down and even that wouldn't work forever. Time was running through their fingers.

"No! If I disappear, Carl will know something's off," Graham protested, bucking against her weight until she squeezed the will to fight out of him.

"And we should care why, exactly? You came here to kill us," Mary hissed.

George fought to keep the rifle pointed at Graham, but his strength was fading quickly. Mary was right, of course. He shouldn't care less what happened to Graham. It would be better to simply kill him and be done with it, to spare him the torture of seeing his wife and unborn child get killed and to keep him from blabbing where they were headed, but his finger just wouldn't pull the trigger.

"I really don't want to kill you, but we have limited choices right now," he finally said. "Mary could kill you right now so the others can find your body. Your wife would be safe until her child reaches puberty and rips her to shreds. We could tie you up and hope the pack won't come looking for you until we're far enough away, or we could simply come to an agreement. You hide the bodies of Dennis and Greta, go back and tell Carl that you finished us off, we disappear. And Carl will be dealt with on another day."

Mary loosened her grip on Graham's throat just enough to have him answer. Graham gasped for air, each breath a painful rattle. When he finally calmed down, he relaxed beneath Mary's grip, resting his cheek on the wooden floor.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" he croaked.

~*Darwin*~

It was better this way. At least that was what Darwin told himself as he stumbled through the underbrush surrounding their impromptu territory, away from the cabin and the fight he had caused. Darla had already told him her intentions to leave and Rayne and Harry would make a run for it, too, sooner or later. He had ruined all of their lives, ripped them out of their homes, taken their futures and dumped them in the deepest hinterlands, just to keep himself safe. And what had they gained in return? Nothing but heartbreak. Even Jared was losing his calm and that was something Darwin definitely couldn't deal with. Being hated by his mate woke a special kind of pain in him, one he would do almost anything to stop.

Darkness had all but swallowed the woods, making it hard to find a path through the trees and bushes. Darwin stumbled a few times, scratched his arms in a thorn thicket, bumped his shoulder against a fir tree and almost rolled down a steep incline that suddenly appeared in his way, but none of that could dampen his resolve to get as far away from his friends as possible. The cold air hurt his lungs and threatened to seep into his body, but Renton couldn't be that far anymore, and with it he'd find a way to keep warm and move faster.

Of course the others would try to find him, at first. They were good, loyal friends, after all. But they would get over it, over him. They'd see that life was better without him, without the burden he was, and they'd start living their own lives again.

A tree branch slapped his face, snapping back as if to chastise him and leaving a fiery trail burning across his cheek. The pain was enough to lose a few tears over, which in turn blinded Darwin even more and finally made him stumble and fall face-first into a ditch filled with fist-sized rocks and a generous, cushioning sheet of old leaves.