Honor squirmed like a freshly caught eel and managed to swing her back end free, giving herself the advantage of leverage. She shook hard and fast, while her rear paws dug into the earth and provided her with something solid to work against. The shaking kept Maloni from getting a good grip on the back of her neck, and bracing her back end meant that the minute he drew back to change his angle of attack, she was able to thrust herself to the side, out of his grasp.
He didn’t let go easily, however. He lashed out with a large paw and caught her on the side of the head.
For a minute, her ear rang on that side, and she stumbled, temporarily off balance. Her eye stung, and when she shook her head, a drop of blood clouded her vision. Maloni’s claws had been out. Honor might as well have engraved an invitation to the others.
Scott sprang forward, growling and snapping, a blur of motion and showy threats. He darted in, then retreated; danced to the side, and leaped forward again. He was trying to herd her. Honor knew what that meant.
She gathered her legs beneath her and jumped, carrying herself over Scott’s head just as she felt the rush of energy attacking from the rear.
Darin missed, his howl of rage echoing through the clearing, but Honor had bigger things to worry about. She had reduced her number of attackers from four to three, which was good for her, but she’d been clumsy, and she’d let herself be injured. Neither the slash on her shoulder or the claw mark on the side of her face was serious, but every wound weakened her, something she couldn’t afford while she remained outnumbered.
She had to be careful.
She knew her chances of living through this weren’t great, but she’d be damned if she didn’t take at least one more of them with her.
Logan had known what that sound meant the instant he heard it. He’d slept the day away while his mate’s pack prepared to slaughter her. The Howl had begun.
He raced through the forest at top speed, ignoring the insistent pain in his left shoulder. He knew he couldn’t cover ground as fast as he normally did, but he also knew the wound would already have begun to heal the minute he shifted. Now, it just had to hold up and help him reach his mate.
The sounds drifting toward him from the direction of the stone yard only served to confirm what that first group of howls had told him; the males had called for an Alpha Mating Rite. Honor currently faced at least three males intent on beating her into submission, raping her, and holding her captive for the rest of her life.
Logan would burn down this entire forest before he allowed that to happen.
He didn’t know these woods as well as a native, but the sounds of the battle currently being waged in the stone yard allowed him to ignore the trails and paths he occasionally crossed and move through the trees straight toward the ruckus. He didn’t have to waste time trying to remember the way, because the sound of his mate fighting for her life guided him like a satellite readout exactly where he needed to go.
He knew he was getting close to the stone yard not just from the volume of the battle sounds, but because he could begin to see the glow of firelight illuminating the space between the tree trunks. When he could finally see into the clearing of the ceremonial meeting place, his instincts urged him not to hesitate. His wolf smelled blood, some of it his mate’s blood, and it wanted death.
The man inside him, however, hauled hard on the reins of his self-control and urged him to assess the situation. The scent of Honor’s blood nearly disappeared under a much larger volume belonging to someone else. His mate might be injured, but it didn’t smell like it was serious. Someone else smelled like he was dead.
A surge of pride rushed through him, and Logan paused, hidden in the underbrush, to catch his breath. He could see into the clearing from here, and while tree trunks and branches obscured some of the view, he could make out enough to know that the situation looked just as he’d feared. His mate was surrounded by three much larger males and was holding them off like a modern-day Boadicea.
Then she maneuvered to the side and he caught a glimpse of the bloody wound on her shoulder. His control nearly snapped like a cheap pencil. Only the sight of a bloody lump of fur and flesh lying still a few feet away from her kept him sane. He hoped that was the asshole who had dared to lay a finger on Logan’s mate. That made four initial challengers, and Honor had already killed one.
That’s my girl.
His girl circled her attackers warily. She tried to keep all of them in sight, but with three against one, it was too easy for them to split up and divide her focus. While he watched, the gray one began to harry her, like a terrier with a rat, distracting her from the blond wolf behind her, who was preparing to pounce.
Before he could move, Honor detected the trap and sprang forward, which the gray wolf had not been expecting. She soared over his head, evading the blond’s attack and making him howl with rage. He and a wolf with dark, sooty fur converged on her like buzzards.
Logan had seen enough.
Damn the rules and damn tradition and damn the male chauvinists who had made them. That was Logan’s mate, and he would not stand by and watch her be destroyed.
He burst through the trees in a dark blur of motion, headed straight toward the closest of Honor’s challengers, the gray male she’d left behind, confused. Logan had the element of surprise on his side, and within a fraction of a second, he also had the back of the gray wolf’s neck between his teeth. Biting down powerfully and shaking like a wet dog, he broke the male’s neck with a snap and an echoing growl.
There went the element of surprise.
Actually, it accomplished one more thing; it drew the attention of every single Lupine in the clearing, including Honor’s two attackers. She used their distraction to dodge their concerted attack and put some distance between them.
Logan moved immediately to her side and nuzzled her gently. She answered his whine with a quick swipe of her tongue. She had bled, but her wounds weren’t serious. She would be fine.
But the battle wasn’t over.
A few feet away, the blond wolf began to twitch and grunt, a prelude to him rising on his back legs, growing four and a half feet, and taking the shape of the wolf-man of Hollywood legend. He had shifted into his were form, one that provided him with the basic, guttural power of speech.
“Violator!” the werewolf roared, his voice broken and rasping and unnatural to all but a Lupine ear. “No one but a challenger may enter the battle. Who is this interloper?”
Behind the blond, the other male began to shift as well, taking on the towering seven-foot musculature of a mature werewolf. Logan responded to the threatening gesture in kind. The bullet wound in his shoulder protested loudly, but he ignored it.
“She is my mate,” he snarled, the words hard to form with his face still bearing a pointed muzzle not designed for speech. “Touch her again and die.”
The darker male leaned forward and sniffed. “Silverback! You are no part of this pack. You have no rights here. Leave, or you will be slaughtered like a common trespasser.”
At his side, Honor shifted as well. Maybe she had been feeling left out? Now they all wore their were forms.
“If you attempt to harm my mate, I will tear out your throat, just like I tore out little Greggie’s,” she growled, her lip curling in contempt. “What’s wrong, Richard? Are you not such a big, bad wolf when the odds even out?”
The four of them faced off for a long, tense moment, waiting to see who would make the first move, but it was Hamish’s voice that broke the silence.
“Richard Maloni is correct,” the elder called out from his place atop the oak stump platform. “Only a member of the pack may participate in the Alpha Mating Rite. You have no authority here, Logan Hunter. You must step aside and allow the Rite to continue.”