Moving Forward

Home Turf (35)

It'd begun to rain, lifting the scent of wet dog and damp earth into the air. Max frowned, wondering if Kyle's nose was picking up the same smells as they ran out into the light drizzle.

"This is no good," Kyle grunted, echoing Max's thoughts, kicking up grass as they went.

In the darkness, with the moon overhead, Max's eyes were fine, but being in jaguar form would have been better.

"This way." Kyle took off in a lope, trusting that Max would follow and Max was happy to let him lead.

Lara wasn't stupid. She'd keep away from the action, and as far from danger as she could possibly get. Max knew that. And all they had to do was let the cherries lead them.

That was fine with Max. Lara wasn't a massive threat, other than her mystical powers, but there was no doubt a way to counteract them. There had to be. In any case, Lara posed the least danger and that was for the best.

Kyle would be as safe as possible and wouldn't suspect that Max was keeping him out of the way.

And then the radio buzzed.

"Paws!" It was Manny's voice. "Found Amelia. She's unaffected but Finn's not with her. There's evidence of a struggle. Over."

Max growled. That was not good news. "Copy that. Over." He knew Kyle had heard it, so he didn't bother repeating the news.

But if Finn wasn't with his mother that could only mean one of two things. Either he was under the same influence as the other pack wolves, or he'd been taken.

By Lara? Or Gillespie.

Fuck. Anger curled in Max's gut, sharpening his claws and teeth, and his eye sight flickered between the shifted state and back - something he'd thought he'd gained control over when he was in Afghanistan. Apparently not.

But his anger didn't hold a candle to the darkness of Kyle's expression, despite the gold of the wolf shining in Kyle's eyes. The fire, Max now knew. It'd been ignited and anything in Kyle's path would be incinerated. This was not a side that Max had ever seen before, and while it was incredibly sexy, it worried him. Could Kyle think clearly in this state?

Oh god. Kyle was guaranteed to put himself directly in the path of whatever bullet would be thrown at him if it meant Finn would be safe. Max couldn't have that.

"Sitrep." Max ordered into the radio as he ran at Kyle's heels.

"Blake is safe, making our way to the office. Over." Lola reported.

"Carter is safe, found Andy with him. Already in the office. Over." White tacked on.

"Nearly at the office with Amelia. She is... distraught. Over." Duke said, and Max knew that he'd had to bodily carry her there.

The situation was already fucked, but it was turning into absolute shitstorm and there was nothing Max could do to fix any of it. But this was his speciality, right? He'd been trained and caught in shitstorms and lived. He'd done it a thousand times, and he could do again. And keep Kyle safe.

The scent was getting stronger, and leading them on a path that was distressingly familiar. Claw marks lined the trees, the garish white scarring the otherwise healthy bark and Max's frown could only deepen. The wind carried the scent of the nearby lake with it, undiluted by the steadily increasing rain, along with cherries.

Those goddamn cherries - Max almost wished he didn't know what that meant. That he wasn't involved. He wanted to scream.

This town was supposed to be a new beginning. He was supposed to be moving forward with his life. And true, he'd found a nice home, and the mate he'd be with for as long as fate would let him. But his home had been invaded and his mate was constantly in danger.

In essence, all this town had granted him was a new war - packs instead of armies, teeth and claws instead of knives, alphas rather than generals. But a war nonetheless.

Max could feel himself... tilting.

And then his back door was in sight. They stayed in the tree line, watching, but even from here Max saw his his blankets and cushions had been trampled. The furniture had been tossed around in a way that was just... so unnecessary and all Max could think was of how rude Lara was being. The wicker seats chairs were her idea in the first place.

Beside him, Kyle was a ball tension. Max resisted putting an arm over him, in fear that it'd be shrugged off or that it would set Kyle into motion. Max had seen marines like this before. So focused on the coming violence - of the vindication of all their suffering - that they couldn't see the people around them. Their brothers and sister became background noise, scenery that could be ignored.

Was that what Max was to Kyle? The idea was painful in his chest. So he pinched Kyle.

"Ow, what the hell? Now is not the time!"

Max caught Kyle's eyes and held the gaze. "I need you to hear me." It was imperative. Because Max didn't want to have to die as a result of Kyle's heroism. "Don't you fucking dare get yourself killed. Alright? I need you focused, not suicidal. Get your brother out and go. Fuck Lara, fuck Gillespie. You get to safety, and I'll sort the rest."

"What are you talking about? I'm not suicidal."

"No," Max hissed. "But you love Finn. You would gladly take a bullet for him, but I'm telling you now. If you die, there will be a massacre. And I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a jail cell. Understand?"

"Yeah," Kyle grunted.

Mac grabbed Kyle's shirt, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Do you understand?"

"I understand." Kyle smiled then. "You're kinda sexy when you're bossy."

"Now is not the time to get cute," Max grumbled, eyeing Kyle as he tugged his clothes off.

Max kept watch while Kyle shifted, checking his guns were loaded. He already knew, but it couldn't hurt. Lara and and Gillespie were dangerous. Finn was a hostage. This was a mess. And Max couldn't wait to pull a trigger.