Alpha Bond: A Fated Mate Romance

(The Shadow Wolves Book 1) Be

Brouillard
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 AL P H A B O N D
Book 1 - The Shadow Wolves

BE Brouillard
 Copyright © 2024 BE Brouillard

All rights reserved

Cover design by: Enigma Designs

Developmental Edit by: Kate Kennedy
Beta Reader: KelseyGay

b.e.writes@authorbrouillard.com

“Alpha Bond" is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not
intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
 CONTENTS

Title Page
Copyright
A Note to the Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
About the Author
Stay Connected
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Other Books by BE BROUILLARD
 A NOTE TO THE READER

Trigger Warning
This story is for a mature audience and contains strong language, adult intimacy, and scenes in which nonconsensual sex is
hinted at. (It doesn't happen.)
 CHAPTER 1
Sierra

“S UBMIT,”I shrink
RACK GROWLS, the sound deep and guttural as it rumbles from him.
back against the bars, pressing myself into the far corner of the cage.
“Get away from me!” My lip curls to bare my teeth. The male in front of me hesitates. There’s wariness in his eyes,
although he hides it. I’m sure the lacerations on his forearm made by these same teeth I’m baring have given him a sense of
what I’m capable of. Of course, that bite was inflicted by my wolf during my last escape. The wolf who I can’t seem to
summon up now.
“Stop fighting me, Sierra.” He moves closer, ignoring my next warning growl. “You know you want it. You’re my
mate…your body is designed to take mine. Don’t waste your time resisting me.”
I shake my head. Though he’s right. Even as I fight down the revulsion, something in my belly is swirling, clenching…
needing.
This is all wrong!
How could my body be craving this male when everything about him disgusts me? It’s not that he’s bad-looking – tall,
muscular, powerful; pale gray eyes in strong, rugged features. He’s appealing in a primal sort of way, as most of our kind are.
But he’s had me locked in this cage for days now.
Ever since the raid on my village.
The horror I still can’t think about.
I’ve managed to escape this cage twice since my abduction, and each time, he’s tracked me down within a day.
Yesterday’s attempt left freedom so nearly within reach. I want to cry as I think about it. I’d made it past the outskirts of the
compound where I’m being held.
So close…
“Do it. Now!” he snarls again. I ignore him. In spite of the compulsion to give in, something about him makes me recoil.
There’s a stench about him that I can’t come to terms with. It doesn’t make sense; if he’s my mate – as he keeps telling me – the
scent of him should make my mouth water…and part of it does. At the same time, another part of me keeps fighting it.
Maybe it’s from when I ran off before. There’d been an industrial area not far off, and I’d found a building that seemed
to be some sort of chemical plant. I’d been sure the noxious stink would disguise my scent there. Yet, barely an hour later, I
heard the hunting party coming. I managed to shift, letting my wolf bolt from my hiding place, but he’d been upon me before I
could get far. That’s when I sank my teeth into his forearm. Ripping through flesh and sinew. He rewarded me with a blow to
the head that knocked me senseless.
When I woke, I’d been chained in silver.
Bastard.
“Submit, or I will force you.” He’s looming over me, and I’m surrounded by a wave of raw pheromones that leaves me
breathless. My nails bite into my palms as I fight back the surge of desire that floods me unexpectedly.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Do your best!” My bravado is forced, and he knows it. His dark chuckle mocks me as he drops onto his haunches
beside where I’m bound. I’m helpless. I barely had the strength to shift the first time. I have no chance of fighting him off now.
Between exhaustion and starvation, I know it would be useless even trying.
He doesn’t need to know that.
 I growl again, the sound feral. His eyes flicker, a silvery flare, and then he swoops in and buries his nose into my hair.
When I snap at him, his hand slides up to cup the other side of my head, fingers tangling cruelly into the dark waves, holding my
teeth away from him.
“You scent of lust, little wolf,” he murmurs into the shell of my ear. Then his tongue follows his words, running down
my neck and into the curve of my shoulder. I shudder, disgust mingling with desire as he pauses in that hollow. It’s the place he
would leave his mark if he were to claim me. I feel his teeth, and my body goes rigid.
If he bites me… If he bites me…
The mating bond will be sealed.
“Don’t!” I manage to get out.
“If not me, it will be another, Sierra.” His breath moves over my skin. “It’s why you’re here, after all. My breeding
bitch. If you won’t take my seed, I’ll let my males fill you with theirs. You’ll be grateful for my attention after that. Except then,
I won’t know whose pups will be filling your belly,” he says, confirming my darkest fear…that he knows what I’m capable of.
I can conceive young with any male.
It’s not unheard of, but it’s very rare outside the mate bond, and my entire bloodline carries the gift. Or curse,
depending on the circumstances. And right now, my circumstances suck.
I squeeze my eyes shut, horror building as I wait for the sharp tear of his fangs. But nothing comes. As if thinking better
of it, he stands, turning from me to face the guard.
“Release her,” he says, then turns back to me. “Make yourself presentable. You got fresh clothing on the bench. Water,
soap… You’re filthy.”
I scowl at him. As if I’ve had any control over the state I’m in. He’s the one who’s had me stuck in a cage for over a
week. The one who dragged me back through the dirt not once but twice to lock me in here. The tiny bowl of water in the
corner is barely enough for drinking, let alone washing. I haven’t seen a scrap of food since I arrived, which is probably why
I’m so weak. Although I’ve lasted longer without meals before.
Why am I so powerless?
“You will be brought to me tonight, female.” He’s leering as he says it. My stomach churns.
“I don’t want you!” I hiss.
“I don’t care.” He shrugs. “One way or another, that tight little furrow of yours will be plowed today. Whether it’s by
me or my males is up to you.”
I stare at him, enraged and disgusted in equal measure. It seems impossible that a male would pass his mate around the
way he’s threatening. But I say nothing. When he strides from the room, the guard approaches me carefully, unlocking the cuffs
around my ankles and wrists. He backs away quickly and moves to the door.
“A little privacy, please?” I say, rubbing my chafed skin. It’s not a request, though it’s brazen; I’m not really in a
position to give commands. He hesitates, then steps outside. I hear the door lock behind him. As I’m left alone, I feel the
defiance fade, and I sag.
I have to get out of here.
Have to!
But how? I roughly brush at my neck and shoulder, rubbing away the trail of spit Rack left on my skin. It makes me sick
to think of his mouth on me.
And yet it doesn’t.
This is all wrong.
The skin of my throat is sensitive, and my fingers explore the nicks and scratches that are taking too long to heal. It’s
been days since they were made. Since they took me. The raid on my village was swift and brutal. There’d barely been time to
heed the warning calls before I’d been grabbed by the scruff of my neck and hauled from my feet, a hand over my mouth. And
then the darkness descended. Since then, survival has been my primary thought, but pain throbs in my heart.
What happened to the others? My family…?
I drag my thoughts away, frowning as my fingertips run over a bump in my shoulder where his mouth had grazed. I’d
found a small wound in my neck when I’d first regained consciousness in this place. A wound that should have healed, yet
there’s a hard lump beneath my skin now. I press on it and flinch. It’s unpleasant…but there’s something more. I feel a tug
inside that tingles down my spine and then spreads deep into my belly. Into my core. It makes my thighs clench against the
emptiness in me.
This isn’t right.
I move to the pile of clothing beside the jug of water and the washrag. Rack has let a small mirror so I can “make
myself presentable.”
For him? I’d rather die!
But I use it now to check the lump beneath my skin. The tiny knot of scar tissue he’d run his tongue over. I press it again
and feel my thighs press together again.
No…not right. Definitely not right.
Sucking in a breath, I glance at the door, then slam the small mirror against the jug. It shatters easily, leaving a jagged
shard in my hand. Clenching my teeth, I hold it against the small bump, sawing through flesh as I try to reach for it. My
fingertips encounter something hard, not organic…an implant of some kind. I tug at it blindly. When I pull, there’s resistance, as
if it’s wired into me somehow. But now I know more than ever that this thing has to come out.
I tug again, gritting my teeth against the blinding pain that ripples through me. I can feel it dislodging, but it doesn’t want
to come free. I grip the object firmly and then wrench it loose, clamping a hand over my mouth to muffle the tiny scream I can’t
fight down. When I get my breath back, I stare at what’s in my palm. A small electronic chip attached to blood-slicked tendrils.
Tiny wires – maybe silver from the way they’re making my skin throb. This has to have been why I’ve been so weak these past
few days. When I see a flickering glow from the chip, it occurs to me that it’s quite likely it’s a tracking device.
Holy shit! They put a tracker in me!
Like livestock.
No wonder they found me so easily. I press my fingers to my neck, trying to stop the bleeding. Removing the device has
left my head a little clearer, but it’s left a hole in my flesh that’s strangely deep and ragged, considering the size of the device.
I look around the room quickly, reaching for a rag to hold over the gash I’ve left with the broken glass. Rack has left a
dress and shoes – heels too high to be of any use to me, so I ditch them; I’ll run barefoot if I must.
I pull the dress over my head and scowl at how revealing it is. Clingy scarlet satin with crisscrossing straps barely
hold up a neckline that plunges past my navel. The back isn’t much better. He’d planned to dress me like some kind of whore.
It’s all I have now, though. Along with the rag, which I wind scarf-like around my neck. I’m going to have to tend to the injury
at some point. But right now, I need to get out.
I move to the door, the shard of mirror in my hand, and stand beside it, tensing in anticipation.
“Hello?” I call out. “Hello! I need some help in here!”
“What is it?” The guard steps closer to the door.
“Uh…it’s personal…” I fumble for a reason to get him to come in. “I…um…have a need. Please…” I lace the word
with desperation.
He chuckles darkly. “Rack’s little box of tricks got you all in a froth to come play with us tonight, pretty?”
Box of tricks?
Keys jangle. I cringe, though his words confirm my suspicions about my unnatural response to the man. Something is
off. They’ve done something to me. Not drugs. It’s the tracker. It has to be.
Fucking pigs!
 The guard is still talking, though my mind is racing too fast for me to be paying much attention.
“Thinking of getting a sample of what you can expect from being a pack bitch?” he says now.
“Maybe…” I say because what I have in mind has nothing to do with any kind of pack activity. What I’m planning
involves some one-on-one action between my knee and his groin. I release a breath as I hear the key turning in the lock.
“You’ll need to keep this just between us, though, huh?” the guard says. “What Rack don’t know won’t hurt him.”
Yeah, but it’ll hurt you, dickhead!
I brace myself as the door opens, and the burly male steps through, his hand already working the top of his pants.
Thankfully, he’s completely underestimated me because when I leap on him, slashing at his face, he’s totally unprepared. I may
not be as big as he is, but I have adrenaline and desperation on my side.
“You bitch!” he snarls as realization dawns. Not the brightest bulb in the socket, but he’s finally realized he’s been
played. I feel a glancing pain as his fist connects with my jaw, but I forge forward anyway. I get a pang of satisfaction as I feel
the sharp glass connect with something soft and meaty. I hear him choke out a sound and then gurgle. Somehow, I’ve managed to
slash his throat. It could only be the hand of Fate on my side because I’d had no real plan when I’d called him in here.
Except to survive.
He clutches his neck, blood bubbling past his fingers. For a human, it would be a fatal injury, but a wolf… I’ve
probably got five minutes tops before he’s on his feet again. I leap over his writhing form and make my way into the corridor
beyond my prison cell.
From my previous escapes, I know they’ve been holding me in a warehouse of some kind. My cell was probably once a
storage area. I slide along the wall, snatching glances in both directions as I make my way to the entrance I managed to get to
on my last attempt.
There are voices from behind me. If I don’t get beyond that door, I’m screwed.
And then it occurs to me that I’m still holding the blood-covered chip.
Shit!
They’re going to know I’m on the move. I make a mad dash to the door to the world beyond, then pause and look
around. The yard outside is abandoned, but it won’t be for long. I raise my hand and fling the tracker as far as I can from the
doorway. Knowing that it’s coated in my own blood turns my stomach. But if I can get them searching in the opposite direction,
maybe I’ll have a chance to get free this time.
Free before my so-called mate reaches me…and turns me into a toy for his pack of animals.
 CHAPTER 2
Jagger

“Y OU’RE UP, LAW.” Callum Carter’s voice always has a rough edge to it that makes whatever he’s saying sound like a
command. It generally is. Now, it barks out, interrupting the grunts, curses, and rumbled mutters of the team training
session. I drop the dumbbell I’ve been lifting. The sound crashes harshly around the small, cluttered room we use for working
out between shifts. I sit up, flex my wrists, and roll my shoulders.
“Jesus, Jagger! What the fuck? Why not just set it down like a regular person?” Casey grumbles from nearby. My patrol
mate is working her calf muscles on a bench behind me and scowling.
“I’m not a regular person.” I get to my feet and reach for a towel. She rolls her eyes at me as I wipe my wet face and
damp throat. I like working up a sweat before going out on patrol. Doesn’t help to get out there smelling of soap and
civilization. You never know what you’re going to run into.
“True,” she agrees with me, “you’re a dick.” She adds more weight to the calf press machine. “I don’t know why you
won’t let me come out today.”
“You know why, Stone,” I respond, not bothering to glance back over my shoulder as I head to the changing room,
where my fatigues are stowed in a locker. My teammate tore a rotator cuff during a drill a couple of days ago. Shifters heal
fast, but when it comes to joint injuries, we don’t mess around. They take time to mend properly, and the stubborn female who
normally backs me up is grinding her teeth in frustration. By the time I’ve splashed my face and finished changing, she’s moved
to a rowing machine, cranking out reps like she’s possessed.
“Look!” She flexes a muscle. “I’m practically good as new. Let me come out with you.” Even as she says the words, I
see her grasp slip and the rowing bar slide from her fist. It shoots away and hits the console with a clang that almost matches
my own commotion earlier.
“Yeah, right,” I mutter. “You’ll get us both killed out there. No can do, Stone. You need rest. I don’t even know why
you’re here now – it’s barely dawn. You should be getting some shuteye. You’ll never heal if you don’t take some downtime.”
“I’m just—!” she begins, about to get up from the machine. I can see she’s trying to hide the fact that her arm’s dangling
uselessly. I turn away, ignoring her attempts to call me back. It’s a pointless conversation that will only lead to her either trying
to coax me to change my mind or annoying me until I snap at her. Neither works for me.
“See you later,” I call back to her as I thread my way through the sweating, gyming shifters to get to the doorway.
“Are you joining us anytime soon, princess?” Callum is looming in the doorway. “Or should I send word out to the bad
guys that you need more time to get pretty for ‘em?”
“Ready, sir.” I bite back the snappy response that’s on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I run a hand over my head. The
brief movement is enough to dry my close-cropped hair, and it bristles beneath my palm.
“You sure you’re good to go out alone?” he asks. “We’re still getting reports of some unusual activity out there. I’m
going to suggest to Titer that we need to send out a full team if things don’t calm down.”
I nod briefly as the pair of us head onto the corridor that leads down to the courtyard that the barracks overlook. Even
at this hour, there’s a bustle of noise as the troops get into the activities of the day. I hear a sharply shouted roll call as another
of the units gathers. All big, strapping shifters like myself. All grim-faced and honed, too.
“Definitely, sir,” I respond. I prefer working alone anyhow. Or with Casey. We make a good team. We both know the
area around our settlement better than anyone. Probably why she’s so annoyed about not going. This is our duty: keeping the
pack territory safe. Making sure nothing gets past the perimeter that encloses the family units within the walls.
 It’s a duty she takes seriously. So do I. Without my pack, I’m nothing. Just a lone wolf scrounging for survival. A stray.
Like before.
I know loneliness better than anyone. It’s what I was when they took me in, after all. Just a pup back then. Mourning the
worst kind of loss. Mourning my family.
“I could send Gage or Tarkin with you?” Callum’s words pull my thoughts back to the present.
“No!” I snap the word more forcefully than I’d planned, and the older man blinks but doesn’t comment. He may be the
pack beta, but I’ve built a reputation for doing things my own way. Nobody argues the point – when it comes to getting the job
done, my track record is unbeaten. And I only work with Casey Stone.
“Western quadrant?” I ask as we stride toward the huge gates that lead to the outside world.
“Yep,” he confirms. “Titer sent word this morning. He’ll have a patrol out on the eastern side by midday.”
“You sure about that?” I feel my brows pull together. Greyson Titer has been a good alpha: fair, strong, tough. But
lately, things have been…slipping. It’s troubling to those of us who see the danger out there. To those of us who feel we might
be doing a better job than he is. It’s troubling to me.
“I’m certain.” Callum angles a hard stare my way. I’m sure he knows what’s on my mind. I’ve been pretty vocal about
my concerns these past few months. Who can blame me? This is a hard life we lead. No room for error…and our leader’s been
prone to them lately. Small oversights. Lapses. Nothing anyone would really pick up on…unless they’re oversights that might
cost you your life. It’s what got Stone in trouble – an unexpected encounter with a lone wolf that we shouldn’t have run into.
Titer’s intel was off.
Callum’s still looking at me. I give a brusque nod. “Good,” I say. I don’t take it further. It’ll only end up getting back to
Greyson and leading me into a world of shit. “I’ll be back after nightfall.”
“We’ll keep a watch for you. Take care near the chemical plant. That’s where we’ve noticed most of the activity.”
Callum glances upward. “Gate open!” he yells up to the figure standing sentry on a platform, looking out past the perimeter
wall. There’s an answering call and then a rattle of steel and chainlink as the huge roller door begins to slide upward. I step
through and stand outside for a moment, blinking as my eyes adjust to the dawn light.
It’s easy to forget the outside world when we’re in the safety of our little sanctuary. An abandoned town adjoining an
old steel mill. The human world has come to view it as an artists’ commune for crackpots and non-conformists. Which we are,
in a way. Wolf shifters could never conform to human society.
Of course, they’ll never know what we are if we can help it. And that means keeping other packs at bay. The security
teams who live within our outer walls are our insurance against the wolves who threaten our small community. The ones who
would betray what we are in order to take over what we’ve built out here. And what have we built? A home for our pack of
misfits, who’ve found safety with each other.
I’ll protect that any way I have to…because I know what the alternative is. The notion of a “lone wolf” is overrated.
We’re social creatures. We need each other.
I breathe in deeply and make my way out past the mesh that encircles the outer compound. Beyond the sheltering walls,
it’s cold. Gray. Uninviting. But although most would rather be back in the warmth of our pack home, this is a world I know.
One I understand. A place where I can be of use to my people.
Leading them as alpha would be better, but that’s not on the cards for me. I’d have to take a mate before they’d even
consider me. I’d have to be one of the lucky few who can prove that I’m stable enough to form a family unit and not be planning
to disrupt our unconventional – but content – band of outcasts.
Take a mate…
That’s never going to happen. Jagger Law isn’t the mating kind.
 CHAPTER 3
Sierra

T HE WOLF IN ME WHINES in protest as I force myself to get to my feet. I’ve been curled in a dark corner of a warehouse
for two days. Licking my wounds. Not that it helps. I’m cold. Hunger is gnawing at me like a rodent in my gut. Thirst has
joined it, and I know that’s going to be overwhelming soon. I need to eat, but thirst will kill me. Probably helped along by the
fever that’s begun to build within me.
I’m sick. The wound in my throat has become infected. Hardly surprising. The filth out here is everywhere. It seems this
was once an industrial park, but the stench of garbage nearby tells me that there’s a waste dump out here. Not surprising. It’s
the only area I can imagine urban wolves fitting in. They become scavengers once they leave the fertile wealth of nature, where
my own kind roams freely. We have all we need to survive as nature intended.
Those who move into the cities aren’t always so lucky. Either they form small pockets and integrate into human society.
Or they exist on the edges of civilization, creating their own packs. It’s something I know very little about. My people have
spent generations in an unspoiled mountain region.
This place is different. Very, very different.
I groan as I stand, wishing I could hide in my wolf form. At least I’d be warm instead of wearing this ridiculous dress I
had to escape in. But the wolf won’t come to me now, as hard as I try to release her.
I pad across the bare concrete floor, rubbing my arms as I reach the door to the warehouse. I pause a moment, straining
to catch the sounds of life beyond. Finally satisfied that I’m alone in this place, I slip through the door. Even though it seems
safe, I still stick to the shadows, moving along the edges of buildings and dashing from one clump of rubble to another to stay
out of sight.
My nose eventually leads me to the garbage dump I’d expected to find. To my heightened senses, the stench is
overwhelming, but hunger drives me. Soon, I’m picking through the heaps, scrounging for scraps of anything that might be
edible. I drag a torn windbreaker from an old box and tug it on, ignoring the musty odor. A half-empty bottle of water feels like
a gift from the gods. Though it’s stale and tepid, I gulp it thirstily, then keep the bottle.
Hydration gives me the strength to explore farther afield. Trying to get a lay of the land. It doesn’t help that this entire
landscape is foreign to me. No mountains. No trees. The only signs of life are the gulls overhead and rats that are so brazen
they barely scurry out of reach.
“I should be eating one of you! Filthy vermin,” I mutter under my breath. Then I freeze as a shout carries on the wind
toward me.
“Any sign?”
“Nothing here,” someone responds.
My breath seizes in my lungs.
“It’s where I’d come if I was hungry,” the first voice says.
The other one laughs. “That little princess? She never had her paws off clean earth until we brought her out here.”
“I can think of a few places to put her paws when we get her.”
“Quit screwing around! She has to be here somewhere. We picked up her trail barely an hour ago,” a new voice
interrupts him. A voice that has my blood running cold.
It’s Rack!
How have they tracked me again? Maybe I was wrong about the device I found in my neck. But then again, the last time
they caught me, it was sudden and brutal. They’d homed in on me immediately as if they knew exactly where I was. Now it’s as
if they’re searching.
“Sorry, boss!” the first male responds. His voice has grown so loud that I have no doubt that he’s moving closer toward
me.
“Keep your nose to the ground,” Rack instructs. “You’ll pick up her scent if you shut your trap and focus on tracking!”
I swallow hard. Wolf sense might be almost as good as a damn tracking device if I don’t cover my trail. I back up until I
reach an area where the trash has seeped sticky fluids into the mud. The stink of it is enough to make me gag. I hold my breath
as I drop and slide myself through it, then burrow into the mounds of garbage nearby, clapping a hand over my mouth to keep
the bile down.
Any thought of vomiting leaves my head as the sound of heavy boots draws nearer.
“Where you goin’, boss?” I hear one of the men call.
“Gotta piss,” Rack replies. He’s so close I can hear the squelch of his boots in the muck I just slid through. But I can’t
smell him. Which means he can’t smell me. Thank God.
Metal grates as he unzips his fly, and then there is a steady splash as he relieves himself. He gives a satisfied sigh, then
zips up again. I keep my eyes screwed shut the whole time, still buried in the muck, not allowing myself to breathe until I hear
him turn and trudge away again.
“Fuck it. There’s nothing out here,” he calls to the others. “Bitch must’ve just passed through. I can pick up the scent in
the air every few minutes. We’d better move fast if we plan to catch up with her.”
The others respond, their conversation fading as they move off until only silence remains. But I don’t emerge from my
hiding place until half an hour later. The garbage clings to me and makes me gag, but I just can’t take any chances. Finally
shaking myself free, the smell of Rack’s pheromone-laden body fluids has me shrinking from the pool of water he’d urinated in.
My instinct is to back away from it, but as the smell surrounds me, an idea begins to form.
Nobody would come snooping around here if they thought he’d marked out the place as his own. Whatever the male
may be, he’s clearly a powerful alpha and aggressive along with it. His own males won’t waste time looking for me here again,
and anyone else who might pass by would give the place a wide berth. It’ll buy me time to rest up and hopefully regain some
strength. I scamper quickly to the pool, uncap the bottle I’d scavenged, and use it to scoop up as much of the foul water as I can.
An hour later, I’ve sprinkled the stuff around the perimeter of the dump and the warehouse I’ve been hiding in. I splash
some on myself for good measure, though it makes my stomach churn.
“You’re going to survive, girl!” I say under my breath. “You do what you must. There’ll be a long, hot bath waiting
when you get out of this place.”
If I get out of this place…
I fight to keep my spirits up. Because right now, I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where my pack is. And I have
no idea what chance I have of ever getting out of here safely.
 CHAPTER 4
Jagger

T HE PLACE REEKS. Even though I should be used to the city smells by now, I’ve never been good with the places humans
use to dispose of their waste. I move quietly through the old buildings that flank the area, grateful for the thick jacket I’ve
brought along. Between the wind and the rain, it’s not fit for man or beast out here. Even my own beast agrees with it.
And it’s probably the bad weather that has my senses dulled out here. Almost too dull to pick it up.
Alpha spoor.
The scent is weak but unmistakable. Big alpha male. Virile, too. He’s been on the hunt for something – and from the
levels of testosterone I’m detecting, that something would be trouble.
I stop, letting my nostrils flare, then moving back into the shadows. It’s an unnecessary evasive tactic. If the fucker was
still here, he’d be on me by now. But from the faintness of the smell, it’s been a while since he was around. A day, at best.
Probably longer.
That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t let my guard down. In fact, if Casey was here, she’d be telling me to call for backup.
I run a hand over the comms device that’s attached to my webbing belt.
Should I?
Nah.
It’ll take so long for them to reach me that it would be pointless anyhow. If Titer’s team were scheduled to leave hours
after me, I’m way ahead of them. And that’s if they even came in the same direction as me. Besides, the scent is telling me this
male is no longer near. I’m pretty sure I can protect myself from whatever I encounter – that’s if there’s even anything left out
here.
I keep my steps smooth and easy, moving silently through the shadows. The buildings here were once warehouses
similar to the ones we converted into our own homes. Except these are long abandoned. Windows have been shattered, leaving
gaping frames with just the remnants of jagged glass. Most of the siding is rusted and pitted with corrosion. Several doors
dangle open, some of them creaking eerily in the gusting wind.
It’s a far cry from my own home. Our small haven has been lovingly tended. Here, the paving is cracked and dotted
with struggling weeds. Back home, we have small gardens created in the spaces between buildings. Even those who live on the
upper levels have decorated their housing units with bright colors and window boxes filled with plants. Most of what we grow
is edible. The less often we have to go into the human settlements for food or provisions, the better.
My pack is resilient and resourceful. And I’ll defend that with my life to protect the family they are to me – the family
who took me in when every other pack around here rejected me. Even though Greyson Titer doesn’t understand the anxiety I
feel when he doesn’t take that responsibility seriously. It makes my blood boil.
That anger pulls my attention back into focus, and soon, I’m following a clear spoor into one of the nearby buildings.
The door swings open smoothly as if it’s been used recently. My hackles rise, and I prowl in, my wolf instincts switching to
high alert. Under different circumstances, I might shift and trot in, but somehow, that feels like the wrong thing to do right now.
I continue to move silently, sucking in air, letting it roll over my tongue as I try to make sense of it.
It’s alpha wolf, I’m certain of it. Nobody I recognize, which means there’s been a strange pack moving through our
territories. But there’s something more. Something…something I can’t put my finger on. Something that has my gut clenching
strangely. I have to find it. The compulsion is unfamiliar and unsettling. I can only imagine that it’s my urge to defend my pack
from whatever threat lies out here because something electric is tingling beneath my skin. Something—
 Bam!
A huge chunk of metal swings from a heavy chain overhead, and before I know it, I’ve been smashed in the side of the
head by what feels like a fucking anvil. Though it’s more than likely an old engine block, from the looks of the space I’m in. I
drop to one knee, clapping a hand to my temple, just as a figure shoots out past me. Whoever it is doesn’t stop to attack. Thank
fuck because they rang my bell pretty good.
Rookie mistake, Law!
Lucky for me, there doesn’t appear to be an immediate threat. The shape is small, not the looming male I’d expected.
Watery moonlight trickles through the smashed windows and lights the room just enough for me to make it out. Slight shoulders,
rounded hips, curves hugged by clinging scarlet.
Female.
I get a vague sense of dark hair and pale features, along with that foul stench. Then she bolts across the wide expanse of
empty warehouse and shoots out the door, thighs pumping, calf muscles flexing. She kicks the door closed behind her, probably
in the hopes of slowing me down.
I’m on my feet and surging after her before I can take a moment to think it through. I feel my claws begin to extend, my
teeth sharpening as I give chase.
Run…
I have to catch her! Whatever’s going on here, she can’t get away. That clenching sensation happens in my gut again,
and I feel an unfamiliar wave of excitement. The thrill of the chase. My veins feel like my blood is steaming as I put on a turn
of speed that I’m pretty sure she’ll never match. The door is no match for me – one powerful kick takes it off its hinges, and I’m
through. Though it’s dark outside, I scarcely have to scent the air to know the direction she’s taken. I see a flash of pale skin
and dark hair in the moonlight, and then I’m bounding after her.
Catch her!
My skin practically burns as I feel myself gaining on her. She’s barely moving fast enough to make me breathe hard, yet
I’m panting as I pull closer, heart pounding in my ears. She shoots a glance over her shoulder, and I stare straight into huge,
terrified eyes just a moment before I pounce. She goes down fast, breath rushing out as we both land hard.
“No!” she screams and tries to claw back at me as I pin her to the ground.
“Stay still,” I snarl in her ear. Though part of me wants her to struggle. To twist and writhe against me. Without thinking,
I bury my face in her hair and inhale deeply. There’s the smell of the male. And more… She-wolf. She’s definitely a shifter.
Though why isn’t she shifting to defend herself?
Maybe she’s waiting for a moment of weakness. I tighten my grip and feel something in me tighten, too. I fight a low
growl as that same surge of excitement wells up again. In spite of my weight and my tight hold, she scrambles loose, crawling
away from me. Still not shifting.
Why the fuck isn’t she shifting?
I don’t care. She’s barely out of reach, and I grasp her by the hips, hauling her back against me. Soft…so damn soft. I
want to growl again. Something in me almost wants her to run…so I can give chase again.
What the fuck, Law?
“Please!” Her face is ashen with terror. Under a torn man’s jacket, she’s dressed in something smooth and slick beneath
my palms as I run my hands down her sides and pat her down, checking for a weapon. I don’t feel anything that might cause
harm to me…although those curves are definitely hazardous. In fact, as she keeps wriggling, I feel myself pressing between the
swell of her ass cheeks. And I realize that my cock is rock hard.
“Don’t…” she moans. “Please.”
Fuck…
Not only am I hard, I’m grinding against her, humping like a horny pup. No wonder she sounds so terrified. I pull away
quickly, clambering awkwardly to my feet. Compelling my erection to disappear. She curls on her side, hugging herself.
“Don’t hurt me!” she pleads.
Jeez, I’m such a dick!
“Don’t fucking run!” I bark. The wolf lurks too close for comfort, and my instruction is as much for me as it is for her.
Because if she makes me hunt her down again, there’s no telling what I might do. Which is something I don’t understand. I’ve
never harmed a female. Though hurting her is the furthest thing from my mind.
“I…I promise…I won’t.” Her voice is tiny. She’s still huddled submissively. Though there’s no hint that she would
bare her belly to me, and she’s clasped her hands to her neck, protecting her throat. She has a torn swatch of fabric wrapped
around it, though I doubt it provides much warmth.
Where the hell are her clothes?
She’ll die of cold in this weather.
“You’re a wolf,” I say, and she nods, probably because she knows there’s no sense in denying it. “What are you doing
here?” When the words come out, my voice is guttural. I can feel how my limbs have roped and grown taut with barely
restrained muscle. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to shifting in the presence of any she-wolf. Aside from Casey…but she barely
qualifies, there’s more chance of my partner slipping into rut mode herself under the right circumstances. To a strange female, I
must look like some kind of nightmare.
“I’m…I’m lost.” Her words are a whisper, and I’m sure they’re partially true. But there’s a lot more to this story. I can
sense it.
“How the fuck did you get lost out here?” It’s hard for me to keep my voice gentle. Though why should I? She’s
intruding on pack territory, and she stinks of alpha male. Except, when I got a closer whiff of her, there hadn’t been any scent
that indicated she’s been claimed at all. She’s just laden with the smell of…
Piss.
What the actual fuck?
“I’m not here to do anything wrong, I swear it!” Her words are placatory, but her eyes have fixed on me with a
combination of fear and suspicion. Huge hazel eyes that seem to lighten as I look into them. I get the sense that she’ll run at the
first chance she gets – perhaps try to crack my skull again, too. The little wolf might be afraid, but she’s not helpless by any
means.
Running would be a mistake, though. A big one. I clench my fists, inhaling deeply as I fight to bring the beast within me
under control. I reach for her again, and she flinches away, her body recoiling. And now I feel like the biggest jerk in the world
once more. But I keep a hand firmly around her wrist, not trusting her not to bolt.
“I’m sorry,” I say as soothingly as I can under the circumstances. Circumstances which have brought my wolf from his
cave, sniffing out a fertile female.
Dammit, that’s not it!
Something’s wrong with her. And she’s terrified. But still ready to come up fighting. I can feel the urge to defend herself
warring beneath the surface. She’s simply chosen the smart route, being compliant because clearly, she’s outmatched.
Clever.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I add. “We’ve had…some trouble out here.”
She nods slowly, getting to her feet, eyes fixed on my hand, where my fingers encircle her forearm. As she stands in
front of me, I get another long whiff of her. It’s a struggle to filter past the alpha, but her own scent soon takes hold. It makes me
tilt my head.
Not just unmated and fertile, but… What? Not omega. That would be a disaster. An omega out here would have every
male for miles in a rut-lust. Me included. Of course, I wasn’t far from it, if I’m honest with myself. I steel myself, then release
her arm and step back. Not far enough to give her room to run again but enough to show her I don’t mean her harm.
 “Why are you hiding?” I ask because it’s obvious that she is.
She looks around nervously. “I was on my way home…some guys grabbed me, threw me into their car and drove off. I
got away, jumped out, and ran.” She sweeps a hand around us. “I didn’t know where they’d brought me, so I hid out. I was
afraid if I tried to find help, I’d run into them again.”
My brow furrows, and I run an eye over her. The tattered jacket is clearly not hers, and the clingy red dress doesn’t
look like something to be wandering around in at night. Sexy as fuck. But it’s hanging too loosely from a frame that looks like
she’s missed too many meals. And why come all the way out here? It’s at least a couple of hours from the nearest human urban
area. That’s how we stay under the radar. Living on the far reaches of civilization. The places left behind.
She’s lying. No doubt about that.
“Human?” I ask. “The guys who took you?”
She shakes her head. “Rogue wolves. I think.” She gnaws her lip.
That explains the smell. And the activity we’ve been hearing about. But I doubt I’m going to get much more from her.
“What’s your name?” I ask, hoping this basic question will give her less to worry about.
“Sierra,” she says after a pause. “Sierra Barr.”
“Where’s home, Sierra Barr?” I ask, knowing she’s going to flounder now. She gives another panicked look around.
“Your people. Your pack. Where are they?”
Her shoulders sag. And then she shrugs.
“I can’t talk about it.” Her voice is small, low. I mull this over for a moment. There’s no point in forcing the issue.
She’ll talk when she’s ready. Right now, I need to get her to safety. Whatever she’s afraid of has got her running scared. And I
suspect they’ll be back.
“I think you’d better come with me. Back to the den.” I turn in the direction of the compound. I sense her hang back for a
moment. She’s deliberating. Weighing up her choices. “You’ll be safer there,” I throw over my shoulder. “Good people. You’ll
be taken care of.” I hear a footfall as she takes a step, then stops. I keep walking as if I’d leave her behind if she didn’t come
with me.
Huh. Now there’s a joke.
I may fool her, but I’m not fooling myself. There’s no way I’d abandon her here. Not after looking into those terrified
eyes.
“But…but I don’t even know who you are.”
“Jagger,” I say. “I’m Jagger Law.”
I’m a hundred feet away by the time I hear her jogging to catch up. I don’t turn to see if she’s near. I can taste her scent
on my tongue.
It’s going to be a long walk home.
 CHAPTER 5
Sierra

J AGGER LAW. What kind of name is that, anyhow? I watch his broad shoulders move beneath the taut, dark fabric of his
jacket. Shoulders that are receding into the distance as he walks away.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit!
I look around me, rubbing my arms as I shudder. Even through the torn jacket, I can feel that it’s getting colder.
Gooseflesh rises on my skin, and my teeth are beginning to chatter. Who am I kidding? They’ve been chattering all along. Aside
from those brief moments when I thought I was running for my life. Or from something.
I have no doubt he was aroused by me. I felt it.
Jagger Law…
He’s still moving. The strong column of his neck leads up to cropped dark hair that I can only see the back of. He’s not
turning to look my way. Not giving any indication that he’s upset about leaving me behind.
Leaving me behind!
My wolf whines somewhere in the back of my mind. The male’s nice to look at, that’s for sure. Certainly a thousand
times better than that bastard Rack. If I go with him now, would it be so bad, even if his intentions aren’t…pure?
I feel another pitiful whine swirling within. Something stirs.
“Cut it out!” I mutter to myself. It’s irrational that the animal side of me should be responding to some strange male in
the middle of a garbage dump. I’ve just spent over a week in captivity, being beaten and starved to force me to accept my life
as a breeding machine. I’m not about to let yet another hyper-macho alpha take control of me.
But maybe my wolf knows what’s good for me better than I do. God knows I haven’t had much feedback from her lately.
I should trust her instincts.
I’m weakening. Not just from hunger. The fever is beginning to rage. I lick dry lips and remember how he felt pressed
against me. Big, strong, hard. So darn male.
He’ll protect me.
Not forever. Just until I’m back on my feet. Then I’ll be able to get away. Get back home. Or what’s left of it.
My next whine is audible. A low sound that’s barely a breath away from a pitiful howl. I take a step forward. Then
another. And then my wolf has me jogging.
“Jagger! Jagger Law!” Strangely, I like the way it sounds on my lips. He falters but doesn’t stop. “Wait up!” He comes
to a halt and then glances back.
Thank fuck!
I think…
Oh God, this is a mistake. Like a lamb handing itself to the wolves. Literally. But if it’s a mistake, it’s too late to turn
back now. I barely have the strength left to run up to him. My chest is heaving with exertion by the time I reach his side. I flatten
a hand over my diaphragm, willing it to settle as I catch my breath. He looks at me strangely, and I try harder to look normal.
“What’s in it for me if I go with you?” I ask brazenly. I need to know what I’m getting myself into here. His people
might be just as bad as Rack’s. He raises a dark eyebrow over an equally dark-lashed eye. That shouldn’t be right. Big,
muscled guys don’t get to have long lashes.
“What’s in it for you?” His chuckle makes my hackles rise. “Well, I’m guessing survival would be high on the list.”
“Survival? And…?” I’m not about to ask if any sort of service will be expected in return. I’ll earn my keep, obviously.
But for females like me, that generally only means one thing.
“And what?” He seems confused. “We’ll feed you. Get you cleaned up.” His lip curls slightly, and I’m suddenly aware
of how bad I must smell. I back up a step, though I doubt it helps much. “You need a healer,” he adds.
I feel my heart stutter. He can smell the sickness on me. I’d been working so hard to hide it. The last thing any wild
creature wants is for its vulnerability to be known. The sick and the weak are prey.
“I don’t need a healer!” I snap.
He chuckles again, the sound rich and rolling.
Bastard.
“Suit yourself. We have a good one if you change your mind. Though I’m pretty sure you won’t say no to a hot meal.”
My mouth already waters at the words. He runs his eyes over me appraisingly, though this time, there’s nothing sexual
about it. He’s probably trying to decide if I’ll manage the trip. I still haven’t caught my breath. My knees are weak.
God, I must look a mess. I tug at the hem of the ridiculous dress, wishing the move didn’t end up pulling the already low
neckline even further down my chest. His eyes flare slightly, then return to his original neutral stare. Yet something flickers in
his jaw. He’s clenched his teeth.
It’s my turn to look at him now. Taller than I am by at least a head, he’s lean and muscular. A working body that’s been
honed. Beneath the bulky jacket, he’s wearing a snug khaki t-shirt and combat pants tucked into boots. The shorn hair fits right
in with the overall “soldier boy” vibe he’s giving off. Although, there’s a day’s worth of stubble that mars the image.
Where I come from, men don’t look like this. They work the land. Tanned and strong but…gentler. This Jagger person
looks like he has too many hard edges to be safe.
But he hasn’t hurt me. He’s still standing silently now. A slight twitch at the corner of his mouth makes me realize that
he’s entirely aware of my scrutiny. I clear my throat. It’s not easy when my mouth is dry.
“Where are we headed?”
“Steel Lakes. Few miles that way.” He points beyond the outskirts of the derelict buildings I’ve been hiding out in these
past days. “Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours.”
Hours? Oh, God.
I don’t know if I’ll last minutes, let alone hours.
“You don’t have a vehicle?” I look around. We don’t use cars much back home, but there’s seldom cause to travel.
Here, though…everything seems so far apart.
“Got perfectly good legs.” He pats a hard thigh. It’s perfectly good alright. “Why waste gas?”
I stay silent. A cold sweat is forming on my brow and upper lip. Now that the excitement is over, I realize that my legs
are shaking.
“You good?” he asks. Perhaps I’ve been silent too long.
“Sure.” I nod, falling into step beside him as he sets off again.
“So where are your pack lands, Sierra Barr?” He slants a look my way. His strides are long and purposeful. It’s all I
can do to keep pace. Especially since I’m still barefoot and the road is pitted. I’d had to pick more than one shard of glass from
my feet while I’d been hiding out in that stinking heap.
“Upland.” I use the term our people have always applied to our territory in the hills.
“Upland?” He falters, frowning down at me. “You mean the mountains?”
I nod. “The humans call it the Appalachians.”
He stops completely now. “You’re wild?”
“What do you mean ‘wild’?” I frown back at him.
“Wild. Not urban. Not a city wolf.”
“Well, sure…isn’t that the way we live?” I’m really wishing he wouldn’t keep asking these things. I’m finding it harder
and harder to walk and talk at the same time.
“No,” he scoffs. “Not that I’ve ever known. I mean…I’ve heard of it. Just… What the hell are you doing all the way out
in the Rust Belt?”
I can’t answer that. Not without revealing more than I wish to. Without telling him about how Rack’s men descended on
us. Just the way they do every decade or so, taking all of our mate-ready females. Who knows what’s left of Wildview? If there
are still others there, there’s no way I’m telling this stranger about it. Nobody would be safe.
“I’m…lost.”
“No kidding. How did you come to be lost?” He’s walking steadily once more, and try as I might, I’m falling behind.
Though considering how badly I want this conversation to be over, that’s not a bad thing.
“I told you. Some guys picked me up. I escaped.” It’s a shaky story. But he could be cutting me some slack. I’m a victim
here, after all. I just wish I could tell him the extent of it. Maybe then he’d be less suspicious. Less inclined to doubt what I’m
telling him. I jog a few steps to pull up alongside him again.
“Some guys, huh?” He gives me another one of those slant-eyed glances.
Tell him about Rack…
I feel the throbbing in my neck and tug the filthy cloth more firmly around my throat. This wound should be healing. I’m
a wolf. It should have closed up overnight. But though the skin has puckered and drawn together, it still feels as if something is
gnawing into me. I shudder again. My teeth chatter. It’s not the cold. It’s the damn fever. My wolf isn’t fighting it…she’s too far
from the surface. I can’t shift. Can’t fend for myself out here. I don’t know why.
I’m weak.
What if I tell him about Rack, and he turns me over to him? Maybe there’s a reward. Why was he out in that place
anyhow?
“Why were you here today?” I narrow my eyes on him.
“Patrol. Team got a report of strange activity. I’m guessing that was you.” He gives a deep sniff. That beautiful lip curls
again. Alphas aren’t partial to each other’s scent. And there’s no doubt he’s alpha. “Can’t be too careful, though. Those guys of
yours might be back.”
“They’re not my guys,” I mutter. If only he knew how totally not my guys they were.
“Whatever. We don’t want them on our tail.” His jaw sets as he looks ahead. It occurs to me that he’s as reluctant to
have a group of strange males heading to his home as I would be. Though maybe I have a better reason.
Mama…Pops.
I swallow down a lump in my throat. “You’re right.” My voice is hoarse. For more than one reason. Emotion chokes me
as surely exhaustion does. When he doesn’t press for more information, I’m relieved. I need to save my breath if I’m going to
get to wherever we’re going.
And I can only pray that it’s safer than where I’ve just come from.
 CHAPTER 6
Jagger

A BOUT AN HOUR DOWN the track, I hear a strange sighing sound and turn just in time to see her knees buckle. I spin
around and grab her a moment before she hits the ground.
Well, fuck.
I’d sensed she was flagging, but when I’d checked in on her, she’d been adamant she was fine. She obviously wasn’t.
I’d heard her breath rasping barely minutes after we set out. She stumbled too often, too. Barefoot out here? Just stupid. I
realize it’s probably not her fault. What was I to do, though? Give her my boots? She’d already flatly turned down my offer to
wear my jacket. A glance at her face had shown eyes that glittered too brightly. A sheen on her skin that was visible even in the
night.
Fever.
No doubt about that. Though why, I don’t know. She’s not obviously sick, and our kind seldom suffers from ailments.
Some sort of infection, most likely. But I haven’t been able to spot an injury of any kind. I guess it’ll be up to the healer to
figure out – which will make a change from the usual birthings and battle injuries she’s used to tending to.
Right now, the woman’s out cold.
Great. Just great.
I swing her up over one shoulder, then ease her around the back of my neck in a fireman’s carry – crooking an elbow
through her thighs to hook her knee and clasping her upper arm over my other shoulder. Her head lolls onto my bicep, hair
trailing down my arm. It’s probably not the most comfortable position, but she’s in no condition to complain. Besides, it’s
better than being lugged with her face dangling down my back for the next mile.
I settle back into a steady rhythm, picking up the pace now that she’s not trailing behind. Even hauling her dead weight,
I can move faster without worrying about her. Probably should have carried her from the start.
“Yeah, right, Law.” I chuckle at myself. She’d have taken a chunk out of me for sure. She’d made the decision to come
with me, but I knew she wasn’t happy about it. And aside from some one-word answers to my attempts at questions, she’d
stayed silent. Reluctant to talk. But struggling to breathe, too.
“Goddammit. Just my fucking luck,” I mutter. Other crews go out and come back with bounty. Me? I get this.
I huff out a breath and pick up a jog, inhaling and exhaling through my mouth to avoid the smell of her. Fucking alpha
stink. What did she do, anyhow? Roll in a damn urinal? Though, I have to give her credit for survival savvy. Not a lot of
wolves would go actively seeking out an aggressive alpha. By posing as one, she kept herself hidden.
She moves against me slightly, giving a low groan.
“Easy there,” I say under my breath. “Not long now.” I can see the lights of Steel Lakes up ahead like a homing beacon.
The outer walls of the steel mill loom high overhead, a barrier that guards the town beyond. The whole area was abandoned
during an economic downturn that left the small town derelict. Old folks moved to the sunshine. Kids headed to the cities. And
then the wolves moved in. We’re not completely invisible to the world. That’s impossible these days. But nobody knows what
we are.
I stop at the huge gate. The metal roller door was designed to fit on a four-car garage for haulers, but now it’s the
entrance to our pack quarters. Fortified and guarded 24/7, it’s our first line of defense against anyone out there. Uninvited
wolves, mainly. Humans don’t bother us. I reach out and pound the giant knocker against the metal. An intercom would do the
trick, but our leader has a flair for the dramatic. A moment later, I hear boots clattering on the steel platform overhead.
 “Halt! Who goes there?” a male voice booms out.
“Cut it out, Cruise, you know it’s me.” I roll my eyes. The same boots clatter closer and stop above me. The guard on
night duty is a kid I’ve worked with a couple of times. Wet behind the ears and inclined to fool around, but competent at basic
assignments.
“Whatcha got there, Law?” Cruise calls out. I see the pale shimmer of his face as he peers down at me.
“None of your business,” I call back, half messing with him, half hoping to keep this to myself. As if that’s possible.
“Sure it is,” he replies. “I’m on guard duty. I won’t let you in if you don’t tell me.”
“What does it look like, Cruise?” I respond sarcastically, though I know I’m being an ass. The male’s just doing his job,
after all.
“Uh…looks like a female,” he says.
“Then that’s what it is,” I reply. The gate grates as it begins to roll up and then there’s a loud clanging as Cruise
clambers down from his sentry post. In moments, he’s beside me, sniffing at the unmoving form of the she-wolf over my
shoulder. He grimaces.
“Whatcha gonna do with her?” he asks.
“Taking her to the boss,” I tell him.
“Can I have her when you’re done?” He cocks his head.
For fuck’s sake!
He’d better be joking. When he keeps sniffing, I get the feeling he isn’t. This might become a problem. Even past the
stink, her scent is drawing him.
“Of course not, you ass. She’s injured. Titer will know what to do,” I snap. The male’s definitely not leadership
material. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s mentally equipped for guard duty, either.
“Well, go on through, then,” Cruise says, as if I was asking permission. I’m already striding down the paved walkway
that runs through the garrison toward our alpha’s headquarters. The walk feels longer than usual as I sense countless eyes
following me closely. We’re a small community. Newcomers are viewed with interest at best. But often with suspicion. A new
female, though? This spells trouble.
Greyson Titer is already on his feet as I make my way into his office. No doubt Cruise has called ahead to warn him. At
least there’s one thing the kid got right. However, I’m not pleased with the expression on my alpha’s face as he stares at the
woman I deposit on the couch that extends along one wall of the room.
“What the hell?” He glares at me as if I have some control over this situation. “Where’d she come from?”
“Found her over at the dumps in the lower west quadrant.”
He comes up beside me, and the pair of us look down at Sierra’s motionless form.
“So, why’d you bring her back here, Law?” Titer rubs his bearded jaw.
“Injured she-wolf,” I say, though her scent makes that unmistakable. “She was in trouble, sir.” Does he really need to be
told this? We don’t turn away vulnerable wolves. Especially not females. “Says her name’s Sierra Barr. I’ve never heard of her
line. From up country, she says. Mountains.”
“The Uplands?” Titer’s brow furrows. “And now she’s here? We’ll need to dig a little deeper.” He steps back when
she groans and puts a hand to her face. Sierra’s eyelids flutter, then snap open. She jerks into a sitting position, pulling the
jacket closer. I suspect she’d back up against the corner of the sofa if she could.
“Who…? What…?” She stares around, clearly trying to get her bearings.
“Easy, darlin’,” Greyson reverts to the fatherly manner he uses when dealing with the rest of our pack. “You’re safe
here. Rest easy.”
“What happened?” She looks at me, tugging her skirt down where it’s ridden up her thighs. I glance away as she does it.
“You passed out. I carried you back.” I meet her eyes and see her swallow hard. She’s not pleased with how vulnerable
her position had been. “You’re safe now,” I echo Titer’s previous words. “This is Greyson Titer. He’s our alpha. He’ll see that
you’re all right.” I turn smartly to face him. “Will that be all, sir?” Our pack structure doesn’t dictate that I defer to him in this
way, but I like the formality of it. The reminder that he’s my superior. It’s good on days when my reckless instincts urge me to
challenge him. That would be foolish.
“The girl could use a meal, Law.” He raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you rustle something up for her?”
Great. My work here’s not done. Now I’m playing butler to the woman. I’d hoped to put distance between us. Having
her almost sitting on my head was altogether too close.
“I’ll call down to the canteen, sir.” I turn to go to the door.
“Wait!” It’s her. I look back over my shoulder. “Are you…? Will you come back?” Her voice is hesitant.
Both of Titer’s brows are raised now.
“Sure,” I reply. Fuck. I liked it better when she was shoving me away. Or maybe I’m kidding myself. Because in the
warm light of Titer’s office, her face is sweet and haunting. And now I’m finding myself wondering what she’d look like after a
bath and with a few meals under her belt.
Oh, hell no, Law!
I reach for the door and slam it behind me as I step through.
Hell to the fucking no!
 CHAPTER 7
Sierra

I ’M STRANGELY UNSETTLED as the tall male leaves the room, leaving me alone with the other. Although, it should be a
relief. The alpha looking down at me radiates a benign strength that, ordinarily, would set my mind at ease.
“Where d’ya hail from, honey?” he asks, his accent softer than the clipped city speak Jagger had used. He takes a step
back when I eye him cautiously, as if giving me space. Barrel-chested and weathered, his head is shaved, with a thick stubble
of silver. A grizzled beard frames his jawline and mouth. A mouth that looks like it smiles easily. He reminds me of the older
mated wolves from my pack back home. Safe. Protective. I should be gravitating to him like a moth. Yet I keep finding my eyes
flicking to the door that remains closed.
“The mountains,” I murmur, then press my lips together when he nods for me to continue. I’m still not comfortable
dishing out information to these people, though it seems they’ve formed a strong community here. The room I’m in is warm and
comfortable; a converted shipping container that now holds well-worn office furniture. I’m seated on a sofa upholstered in
leather that must have seen years of wear because it’s soft and faded.
“You got folks looking for ya?” he asks when it’s clear I’m not going to say more about where I’ve come from. His
question gives me pause.
Folks looking for me…
I feel myself swallow.
Who’s left after the attack? Did they take all of them? I know there have been raids in the past – whenever our young
come of age. The fertile females are always the target. Males end up as collateral damage, and I feel panic rise as I wonder
what might have happened to Pops and my brother. When I see Greyson still watching me, I shrug and bow my head.
“No,” I finally say, though part of me is praying that I’m wrong. The raiders aren’t stupid. They know if they wipe out
our entire pack, there’ll be none left for the next onslaught. And females like us are pure gold in the rapidly thinning population
we come from.
“Not even a mate?” I hear Greyson asking. He’s dipped his head slightly, his nostrils flaring. He’s trying to tell if I’ve
been claimed, and I’m almost tempted to tell him I am. An unmated female is always vulnerable out alone. But I think I’d be
safe in this place. Besides, as much as these questions are probing into dangerous territory, I know he’s just looking out for the
interest of his pack. I’m going to make waves.
“No mate.” I finally shake my head because there’s no point denying it. They’ll sniff it out as soon as I’ve rinsed Rack’s
smell off me. I don’t carry a mate scent. My first fertile cycle will have every available male howling to test for a bond. That’s
if they even wait that long.
He gives a curt nod, leaving me wondering if this is good news to him or an unwanted complication. Either would be
understandable. I know the urban packs are always in need of more females. If I stay here, they’ll expect me to go through their
ranks, seeking out a bond, a male to have pups with.
That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to stick around long enough. Certainly not long enough to seek a male. And,
more importantly, not long enough for them to find out my secret. I don’t need a bond to conceive pups. That’s the trouble with
my kind. And our gift.
Before the conversation can continue, the door swings open, and Jagger fills the space. Relief floods me, though I can’t
explain why. Maybe because he’s already proved he won’t hurt me. He strides into the room carrying a tray that has my mouth
watering. There’s a tall glass of orange juice alongside a plate piled with steaming vegetables and a mound of meat, cooked
bloody, just as I like it. He sets the tray on the desk, and I abandon propriety and bolt toward it.
Filthy fingers are ignored as I snatch up a hunk of beef and shove it into my mouth. Nearby me, I sense the pair looking
on in surprise, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m ravenous.
God…when last did I eat?
Long seconds pass, with the silence broken only by the desperate sounds I’m making as I cram food into my face. I still
don’t give a damn. I reach for the glass, greasy fingers leaving dark smudges on the surface as I gulp frantically, almost gagging
in my eagerness to quench the thirst that consumes me. When I glance down again, half the plate has been devoured.
I slant a look at the two, who are staring at me as I eat.
“Good?” Greyson asks, humor creasing the lines around his eyes. I nod mutely, too busy chewing to answer with
words. He turns to Jagger. “Law, I need you to make our guest comfortable. “
I see the younger male’s jaw tighten. I’m guessing this wasn’t in the game plan.
“But, sir—” Jagger begins but is cut off by his alpha.
“We have no more accommodations in the family sector,” Greyson says firmly. “Your unit is spacious enough. You’ll
have room for Sierra to be comfortable until I can make more suitable arrangements.”
He glances at me. I’m staring at the alpha. Is he suggesting I should be bunking down with this male? He’s clearly
unmated, and so am I. That’s a recipe for disaster.
“You’ll be fine, girl,” Greyson says. “Law here is celibate.”
My mouth drops open as I stare at the dark-haired shifter. He doesn’t meet my eye. Probably aware that I’m
remembering how he’d pressed up against me, hot and hard, back in the wastelands. That was not the behavior of a sterile
male. Has he taken a vow? Is it something religious? I’ve heard of it, but it’s rare. Our kind are too primal, driven by our nature
to procreate. Still, the revelation surprises me, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I hadn’t meant to make assumptions
about his intentions, but given our current situation… Well, it’s only natural that I’d feel vulnerable.
“Make the arrangements,” Greyson is saying to Jagger, who nods. He doesn’t appear happy. I can’t blame him. I’m
about to turn his life upside down.
He looks at me now, then at my plate. I realize I’ve cleaned it, though I’m still scraping up the last drops of animal fat
and juice with my fingertips, licking them. His eyes move to my mouth, then back to my eyes. I give a tight nod, rising quickly,
then sway. The room spins for a second, and Greyson reaches out a hand to steady me.
“I think a trip to the medic bay first,” he says firmly. “Beatrice should still be there.”
Jagger snaps a nod, reaching for my arm. I almost pull it away, but an unsteady step changes my mind. I’ve eaten too
quickly, and nausea joins the mix.
Oh God, please don’t let me puke!
They’re staring at me again as I realize I’ve gone still and quiet.
“Can you walk?” Jagger asks.
“Definitely,” I say through gritted teeth. Celibate or not, I’m not comfortable with him offering to carry me again.
Greyson moves to open the door, and as it swings open, I see half a dozen pairs of eyes glowing in from the dark.
“Clear out!” Greyson barks, then turns back to us. “Make it quick, Law. I’ll make the announcement of her arrival in the
morning, but till then, you’re going to be fending off questions.”
I feel Jagger’s hand on the small of my back as he guides me to the door. I pause on my way out.
“Thank you, Alpha Titer,” I say meekly. “I appreciate your sanctuary.” It’s not lost on me that these people are saving
me. My defenses are flaring, but I sense that I’m safe…for now. His silver head dips, and he smiles before glancing over at
Jagger.
“Try to keep it tidy, Law,” he says. Jagger says nothing, and I get that sense of tension from him again. He respects the
other male, but there’s something uneasy between them. However, as we leave the office, I forget these thoughts when I realize
the eyes are still out there. And along with them comes scrutiny. Scrutiny that takes physical form as footsteps ring out, then
stop, and I’m staring into the eyes of a grim-faced female.
“What the fuck you got yourself into now, Law?” The woman runs cold eyes up and down me before turning back to him
without actually acknowledging me. I find myself bristling, though without realizing it, I’ve taken a step away, putting Jagger
between me and her.
Holy shit.
Alpha bitch. I’ve never seen one before. This place is crawling with anomalies. Though I guess I’m one to talk. There
are probably more of her kind than there are of mine. Still, it’s unsettling to be so close to the aggressive female.
“Orders from Titer,” Jagger says. He hasn’t stopped me from hiding out behind him, but I realize he’s stiffened when I
curl my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.
Dammit, pull yourself together, Sierra.
“Orders for what?” the woman says. She’s taller than I am, with rich auburn hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail
above catlike eyes that take me in. There’s such guarded animosity in them that I wonder if she shares a connection with the
male I’m half-clinging to. I put distance between us, not wanting to risk provoking an attack. I’m just here till I can rest up and
get strong enough to make it out on my own, for God’s sake. I’m no threat to any connections that have formed.
“Orders to take her to the medic bay, Casey,” Jagger explains. “She’s…not well,” he adds. The female called Casey
eyes me with flared nostrils.
“I can see that. But why’s she here?” She’s still talking as if I don’t have a voice of my own. Her nostrils flare again,
and I try not to flinch. There’s no point in fighting this. We’re wolves, after all. My arrival will be met with a flurry of
posturing and scenting until they’re comfortable that I’m not a threat. Though if this woman tries to sniff my butt, alpha or not,
I’m going to crack her in the head.
“I found her while I was out on patrol. She needs help.” Jagger shrugs.
“So, what…now you’re a nursemaid?”
“Guess so,” he responds, making me bristle some more.
I don’t need a freaking nursemaid!
I’m just about to state this sharply when we’re joined by yet another towering shifter. Once again, I shrink back behind
Jagger. I’ve never been in a pack with so many dominant wolves. How the hell do they avoid constant conflict?
“I heard the news,” the newcomer says, subjecting me to the same scrutiny the female had just delivered. His head dips
forward as he sniffs me openly. Jagger flexes, and I don’t bother hiding the fact that I’m hanging onto his clothes now. This new
male makes visions of Rack swirl in my head.
“I’m taking her to the medic bay.” Jagger’s voice is little more than a growl. The other male backs away, and I feel my
breath ease out. Jagger turns to glare around at the others. “Back off,” he grits out. “The female needs care. And rest. You’ll get
the answers you’re looking for from Titer come morning.”
Without a sound, the other wolves melt away until just the female remains.
“I don’t like this, Law.” Her jaw works as she continues to eye me. “We don’t have room for strangers here.”
“I don’t like this any more than you do.” His words leave me feeling strangely hollow. “But we were all strangers once;
that’s what Steel Lakes is about. She needs our help. We’ll figure the details out later. Leave me be.”
“This isn’t over. We’ll discuss this in the morning.” Cold eyes travel over me once more, and then she turns and stalks
away.
What the hell?
I have no doubt that this is no ordinary pack, and part of me wants to know more. Makes sense since I’m right in the
middle of all of it. My mind races with questions about their hierarchy, their customs, and what Jagger’s role might be within it
all. At first, I’d simply assumed he was their leader, but meeting the older male put an end to that. I can’t help but wonder if
he’s not their leader, why?
As we walk through the pack’s territory, I find myself stealing glances at Jagger. What kind of man chooses to abstain
from physical intimacy? And how does he resist the urge?
“Stop staring,” Jagger says suddenly, startling me out of my thoughts.
“Sorry,” I mumble, averting my eyes. It’s clear he wants to keep his distance, but curiosity burns within me, making it
difficult to let go of the questions that plague my mind.
As we continue our journey, the other pack members seem to be keeping busy even though it’s late at night. Despite my
curiosity about Jagger’s past and the pack’s dynamics, I can’t help but feel a certain warmth from the energy around me. These
people have made a home here. It’s not like my own – or what’s left of it – but there’s something special in this place. A sense
of community. I can feel it.
“Here we are,” Jagger announces, stopping in front of a modest building clad in sheet metal. Like the others in the area,
it seems to be some sort of industrial shed. The scent of herbs and medication fills the air as we enter.
Inside, Jagger leads me through the various rooms, each well-appointed, considering how unassuming the place
seemed. Shifters aren’t susceptible to illness, but these ones have made sure they have medical care. It makes me wonder why.
But then again, I’m grateful for it now. At least I think I am.
“Wait here,” Jagger says, leaving me in a small examination room. The walls are lined with shelves full of neatly
labeled bottles and jars.
I take a moment to gather my thoughts. My determination to heal and protect myself keeps me steady, even as I wonder
how much I can trust these strangers.
When Jagger returns, his expression is unreadable, and I brace myself for whatever comes next. I know my eyes are
wide as I continue to stare around me.
“Curious?” Jagger comments, watching me take in my surroundings.
“Can you blame me?” I retort, not wanting to seem weak or vulnerable. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with
information.”
“True.” He shrugs. “But you know enough for now.”
His words draw out a swirl of resentment. These people are guarded. Nothing like those I left behind me. If I left any at
all. I swallow down the lump in my throat. I have to focus on my own healing and survival.
“Fine.” I feign disinterest even as my mind swirls with unanswered questions. “I’ll just have to figure it all out on my
own.”
“Good luck with that.” Jagger’s tone is laced with a hint of amusement and challenge.
God, he’s a dick!
Before we can continue, a woman steps into the room and I breathe a sigh of relief. For the first time since I got here,
I’m not in the presence of a dominant wolf.
“Sierra?” Warm brown eyes run over me from beneath a mop of graying brown hair. “I’m Beatrice Skye. They call me
Doctor Bea.” Her smile is sincere, and I find myself responding to it.
“Hi,” I manage to say, wondering how she knew my name. Although it seems to me that these wolves are comfortable
with human technology. Mr. Titer probably called ahead. “Thanks for taking the time to see me, ma’am.” She seems kind, and I
work to suppress the defensive instincts that have been overwhelming me.
“Of course, honey. Greyson told me about your…ordeal. You were captured by rogues but escaped?” Doctor Bea’s
gentle voice soothes me more than I care to admit. I respond with a silent nod. She gestures at an examination table, and I
hesitantly sit on it. “Let’s have a look at you,” she says. She starts by taking blood samples and then begins a physical exam. As
her hands probe around my arms, legs, and torso, I tense, waiting for her to reach the sensitive area near my neck. The place
where that damned implant had been.
 “Your body is fighting something,” Doctor Bea observes, concern etching her kind face. “Fever, perspiration, glazed
eyes. I’ll bet your blood tests indicate white blood cell activity. Aside from malnutrition and dehydration, there’s an infection
in your system that shouldn’t be possible for one of us.”
My heart races as I try to keep my expression neutral. If she finds out about the implant, she’ll know I’m vulnerable and
that someone has gone to great lengths to keep tabs on me. Who knows what they’ll do with that information. I still have no way
of knowing if these people share a connection with Rack. He wouldn’t be above paying for my return. And from our humble
surroundings, I’m guessing these people would welcome the money.
“I’d like to keep you under observation and do a more thorough examination,” she continues, fingertips coming up to
probe along my jawline. With a burst of defiance, I push her hands away.
“Enough,” I snap, glaring at Jagger when he takes a step toward us. “I don’t need to be fussed over. Just give me
something to fight the infection, and let me rest.”
“Sierra—” Doctor Bea starts to protest, but I cut her off.
“Please.” I soften my tone. “I’m tired, but I’ll be fine. I just need to heal on my own terms.”
She hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Very well. I’ll get you some antibiotics. Plus, electrolytes for dehydration. But I
want you back here if there’s no improvement. In fact, I want you back here in a day or two, regardless. Whatever is in your
system is not normal. I need to be sure the treatment is taking effect.”
“Deal,” I agree, knowing that even if there’s no improvement, I’ll have no intention of letting her examine my neck. It
might compromise me to keep fighting this thing alone, but it’s a risk I’ll have to take. All I need is enough strength to get
myself back home.
Home… Oh God, let it still be there.
Reluctantly, she nods, scrutinizing me for a moment, then turns away. She bustles around a small cabinet nearby,
extracts several bottles from inside, and approaches Jagger.
“Be sure she takes these.” She looks at him and then back at me. “Instructions are on the labels. Take care to follow
them.”
“I’m not a child.” I scowl, realizing I probably sound like one. “I’m perfectly capable of administering my own damned
medication.” Jagger doesn’t look thrilled with this new responsibility either.
“You won’t let me take a good look at you, honey.” Doctor Bea gives a wry smile. “I have to assume the worst. You
might be hallucinating before the day is out.”
“Unlikely,” I grumble, sliding off the uncomfortable table. I wish I didn’t seem so ungrateful, but nothing in my world
has felt like it’s been in my control since that horrible day they took me. Jagger eyes me silently, and I find myself drawn
toward him. So far, he’s been the one constantly stable person in this whole damn mess. He glances into the bag.
“Looks like a lot.” He looks over at Doctor Bea, who gives another shrug.
“Like I said, she won’t let me examine her properly. I have to hit her with everything in my arsenal to try to cover
everything.”
“Goddamn woman.” The words are muttered under his breath, but I doubt he’s trying to hide them from me. I move to
his side, then hurry after him as he raises a hand at the healer and strides out the door.
After leaving the medic bay, Jagger leads me in a direction that I assume will take us to his quarters. Again, I’m
scampering behind him through a maze of corridors and hallways. I hardly get a moment to take it all in, aside from being
aware of the countless curious eyes that follow our movements.
“Here we are,” Jagger announces, stopping in front of a plain door that’s just one of many along the bare hallway. It’s
modest, but I can sense the safety it provides.
“This is your place?” I ask nervously, unsure of what to expect from this man who has made it clear he wants nothing to
do with me.
 “Yes.” Pushing the door open, he steps inside, and I follow. The room is small, cramped even, and sparsely furnished –
there’s barely a hint of personality in it. Minimalistic furnishings, no personal belongings. A narrow bed takes up most of the
space, with a small table and chair shoved into one corner.
“I’d give you the grand tour, but this is it,” Jagger says gruffly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You can rest
here until you’re better.”
“Thanks,” I reply awkwardly, not quite sure how else to respond. Even if this place isn’t exactly inviting, it’s still
shelter from the unknown dangers that lurk beyond these walls. And for now, that will have to be enough.
He hovers for a moment as if about to say something, then seems to think better of it.
“I’ll leave your meds here.” He drops the bag on the lone table. “I have to make a report to my commander, so you’ll
have a couple of hours of privacy. You can clean up in there.” He points toward an open door to one side; I can see a small
bathroom beyond it. Moving to a rack of clothing, he pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt and hands them to
me. “I doubt they’ll fit, but they’re clean.”
“I… thanks,” I repeat, holding the clothing in front of me.
“Get some sleep. I’ll be back later.” He nods at the bed and then leaves the room without another word. I stare after
him. In just a couple of weeks, my whole world has been turned on its head, and my only life raft is this oddly aloof male who
seems determined to put distance between himself and what is clearly an available female. He’s an enigma.
Be grateful, Sierra!
At least he’s not pawing at me. Still, I wait for his footsteps to fade to silence down the hall before stepping into the
cubicle and stripping quickly. A burst of icy water hits me, taking my breath away before I realize there’s a hot water faucet. It
seems like the ultimate luxury to be able to scrub away the reminders of my ordeal beneath the warm stream.
I’m sure that a lifetime passes before I feel clean enough to step out, towel off and dress again. Reaching for the fabric
I’ve had wrapped around my neck, I rinse it out carefully, then wring it out before winding it around my neck again. It’s damp
against my skin, but at least it’s clean. With any luck, I’ll be able to explain it away as some sort of traditional garment. But
now, exhaustion overwhelms me, and I find myself drawn to the narrow bed that carries his scent. A scent that’s oddly
comforting, but I don’t question that now.
As I sink into the firm mattress, my mind races with questions – about Jagger, about the pack, and about what the future
holds in a world that seems hell-bent on breaking me. But as sleep begins to claim me, one thought floats above all the others:
I will survive this. No matter what it takes.
Another random document with
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messes, — une chaque matin, très souvent deux le dimanche et les
jours de fête, — je faisais avec lui mon abbé Bichelonne, frappant du
pied quand il se trompait, tâchant de rouler de gros yeux. J’aurais
été heureux de le faire pleurer : je n’y réussissais pas. Il me
regardait et me disait :
— Ce n’est pas ça ? Je vais recommencer.
Je lui répondis plus d’une fois :
— Non, ce n’est pas la peine. Tu ne sais rien. Va-t’en et tâche de
mieux apprendre pour après-demain.
Il tournait sur lui-même et autour de moi avant de partir. Je suis
sûr qu’il avait envie de me demander :
— Au moins, tu n’es pas fâché ? Je fais tellement ce que je peux !
Je le savais bien, et j’en étais touché, mais je feignais de
l’ignorer. Qu’il pût être enfant de chœur — à l’église nous nous
faisions chacun une centaine de francs par an, — c’était une bonne
aubaine pour sa mère qui ne gagnait pas grand’chose.
Enfin, plus vite que je n’aurais pensé, le jour arriva où il fut en
état de servir la messe. Il n’avait pas de respect humain. Moi aussi
bien que les autres enfants de chœur, — nous étions six y compris
Berlâne, — nous affections de n’être point émus par le sens
mystérieux des cérémonies. Chez moi, qui apprenais le latin, il
pouvait y avoir en apparence quelque contradiction. Je le sentais
parfaitement, mais j’aurais voulu que tout le monde se rendît compte
que vraiment je n’avais pas cette vocation que l’on avait cru devoir
me découvrir. Tout le temps que durait la messe, nous regardions à
droite, à gauche ; en récitant le Confiteor, nous battions sans
conviction notre coulpe ; en passant devant le tabernacle, nous
escamotions les génuflexions.
Mais Berlâne ne s’était pas en vain progressivement rapproché
du chœur. Des bancs placés au fond de l’église, où se tenaient les
élèves de l’école communale, il était venu s’asseoir sur ceux des
frères, dans la chapelle de la Vierge, qu’enfin il avait quittée pour
pénétrer dans le Saint des Saints. Pour lui quelle joie spirituelle !
Modestement il baissait les yeux. Non content de ployer le genou, il
inclinait la tête. Il se frappait la poitrine comme peur prendre à
témoin de sa confusion tous les saints du Paradis, la vierge Marie et
Dieu. Le groupe des femmes pieuses l’admirait, disant :
— C’est un petit saint.
Les quatre autres, Mignard, Fèvre, Chicard et Philizot, se
moquaient de lui : il n’y faisait pas attention.
Je ne pouvais prendre ouvertement parti pour eux, encore moins
pour lui. Je les laissais dire et faire, les approuvant de clins d’yeux et
de sourires discrets. Peu m’importait que ma position fût fausse.

Ils lui jouèrent — nous lui jouâmes, devrais-je dire, — deux bons
tours.

Il y avait trois croix : l’une à manche de bois, la moins lourde ;

l’autre toute en métal nickelé, qui pesait davantage : la troisième en
bronze doré, que seuls les plus forts pouvaient porter. Nous ne la
prenions que lors des processions de la Fête-Dieu et des
enterrements de première classe. Berlâne était enfant de chœur
depuis neuf mois — il entrait dans sa dixième année et il était
toujours le même : petit, maigre et faible, — lorsqu’en juillet une
vieille dame mourut. Elle habitait, presque hors de la petite ville, une
grande maison bourgeoise entourée d’un vaste jardin, d’un parc et
de bois. Mignard, le plus ancien de nous six, n’attendait, eût-on dit,
que cette occasion. Berlâne avait trouvé moyen de ne pas porter la
croix de bronze pour la Fête-Dieu : cette fois il n’y « couperait pas ».
Mignard ne comprenait qu’une chose : puisque Berlâne gagnait
autant que nous, il devait fournir la même somme de travail, sinon il
n’avait qu’à céder sa place à un autre. A douze ans Mignard était
socialiste, mais brutalement et sans le savoir.
Nous allâmes chercher le cadavre de la vieille dame à l’autre
extrémité de la ville. La coutume était qu’au retour on s’arrêtât au
bas de la rue escarpée qui monte à l’église pour permettre aux
hommes qui portaient le cercueil de souffler et de s’éponger le front :
surtout au mois de juillet.
Certainement Berlâne devait s’y attendre ; à un geste que fit
Mignard, il s’approcha, obéissant. Mignard lui passa sur l’épaule la
courroie à godet de cuir, et de nouveau le cortège s’ébranla.
Comme entraîné par le poids de la croix qu’il avait légèrement
penchée, Berlâne oscilla, puis réussit à reprendre son équilibre, et il
me sembla que j’oscillais avec lui. Je ne respirai que quand je vis
qu’il n’était pas tombé. Il marchait, s’agrippant à la croix comme à
quelque chose de solide et de fixe qui lui servît de point d’appui
quand, au contraire, c’était elle qui comptait sur lui pour rester droite,
et il me semblait que je m’y cramponnais en même temps que lui.
Tout de suite il fut couvert de sueur, et mon front et mes joues se
mouillèrent d’angoisse. Il grimpait vraiment le long de la montée de
l’âpre calvaire. Il y allait de son honneur d’enfant et de la tranquillité
de sa mère. S’il était incapable de porter cette croix, sans doute
pensait-il qu’il serait rayé de la liste des enfants de chœur. Ses
talons martelaient le sol dur. Chaque pas qu’il faisait me torturait.
J’aurais voulu lui prendre son fardeau, mais le respect humain m’en
empêcha : les quatre autres se seraient moqués de moi.
Ils avaient du mal à contenir leur joie. Philizot me poussa du
coude.
— Regarde-le donc ! dit-il.
Je ne le regardais que trop. Mais j’étais leur complice.
C’était surtout à l’entrée de l’église qu’ils l’attendaient. Pour
passer sous le tympan de la grande porte, il faudrait qu’il inclinât la
croix, trop haute, et cette fois elle ne manquerait pas de l’entraîner
pour de bon. Il aurait beau essayer de résister : il fallait être assez
fort et en avoir l’habitude. En effet. Si Mignard, en pouffant de rire,
ne s’était pas précipité pour le retenir, elle se serait brisée sur les
dalles. En même temps — mais bien malgré lui, — il empêcha
Berlâne de tomber. Comme si j’avais buté contre quelque invisible
obstacle, je me penchai en avant et il me sembla que c’était moi que
retenait Mignard.
 Nous formions un groupe jaloux de son indépendance. Pour ne
point obéir à un code de lois spéciales, nous n’en avions pas moins
nos habitudes particulières, et nos manies de caste. C’est ainsi que,
je ne me rappelle plus pour quel méfait, Philizot fut mis en
quarantaine jusqu’à ce qu’il demandât grâce.
Nous nous racontions les hauts faits des précédentes
générations d’enfants de chœur, de ceux qui avaient douze ou treize
ans à l’époque où nous n’en avions que cinq ou six et que nous
considérions alors comme des géants. Notre plus profond désir était
d’arriver comme eux au jour de notre première communion pour
porter enfin, au lieu d’une culotte courte, un pantalon noir dont le bas
dépasserait notre soutane rouge.
Nous avions notre sacristie : il y avait « celle de M. le curé » et
« celle des enfants de chœur ». En vérité nous n’y jouissions que
d’un placard, tous les autres étant occupés par des chandeliers, par
des vases de fleurs, par différents ornements, par des chapes pliées
en deux sur de longues tringles en bois mobiles, par les habits du
suisse et de mon père qui avaient un placard pour eux deux. Mais
cette sacristie était vraiment la nôtre, tant nous l’emplissions de
notre turbulence, parfois de nos querelles. Dans le placard chacun
de nous avait, par rang d’ancienneté, sa place attitrée où accrocher
ses soutanes noire et rouge et ses surplis. Malheur à celui qui eût
prétendu empiéter sur le territoire de son voisin !
Tous n’étaient pas capables de porter le pain bénit : pour ne point
faire tomber les deux couronnes, il fallait avoir le tour d’épaules.
Mais ceux qui le portaient aidaient à le couper en petits morceaux
avant qu’il fût distribué, et non seulement ils en mangeaient à
satiété, mais ils en bourraient leurs poches. La plupart du temps ce
n’était que du pain très ordinaire, et pareil à celui que nos mères
nous envoyaient prendre chez le boulanger. Mais nous le
considérions comme infiniment meilleur. Aussi était-ce à qui
« porterait » le plus souvent le pain bénit. Et quand les deux plus
jeunes tentaient de faire valoir leurs droits, ils en entendaient de
belles !
 Les deux plus anciens étaient spécialement chargés le premier
de l’encensoir, le second de la navette d’encens. Les quatre autres
attendaient que leur tour vînt. Nous admettions généralement et
volontiers qu’il fallût être doué d’aptitudes exceptionnelles pour
encenser, les jours de grande fête, à Magnificat, monsieur le curé, le
vicaire et le peuple.
Aux enterrements, aussitôt prononcé sur le bord de la fosse le
dernier Requiescat in pace, nous rentrions dans l’église et nous
nous précipitions vers le chœur pour y éteindre nos cierges qui
avaient brûlé durant toute la cérémonie. Car chaque membre du
« clergé » avait droit à son cierge qu’il emportait chez lui. Nous
épargnions ainsi peut-être un millimètre de cire, mais nous pensions
réaliser d’importantes économies.
Mais nos grands jours étaient ceux des « rouloires ». Et ce fut à
cette occasion que nous jouâmes à Berlâne un autre bon tour.

Depuis le vingt et un mars le printemps aurait dû être à son poste

avec ses dernières perce-neige et ses premières violettes. Mais il
venait sans doute de loin, à petites journées, car il y avait encore de
la neige dans les bois, le long des sentiers et des haies. Cependant
c’était le mercredi de la semaine sainte. Encore trois jours, et ce
serait Pâques. Qu’est-ce que le printemps faisait donc cette année ?
Cela ne nous empêcha point de partir vers huit heures du matin,
panier au bras, bâton à la main, comme nous avions fait la veille et
l’avant-veille. Mignard était notre chef : il allait avoir treize ans.
L’autorité qu’il avait sur nous, il la devait non seulement à son
ancienneté, mais aussi à ses yeux mauvais et à ses manières
brusques. Le plus jeune, c’était Berlâne. Pour la deuxième fois il
venait avec nous chercher des œufs dans les villages. C’est une
vieille habitude dans nos pays. Nous appelions cela : aller aux
rouloires.
Qui en avait fixé l’itinéraire ? Cela remontait peut-être à une
époque très lointaine. Le lundi nous parcourions les villages, les
hameaux et les fermes disséminés à l’ouest de la petite ville ; le
mardi nous allions dans la direction du nord, et le mercredi nous
cheminions vers l’est, nous enfonçant davantage, à chaque pas que
nous faisions, dans le Morvan.
La tournée du mercredi, la moins fructueuse, était aussi la plus
fatigante. Nous visitions des villages très éloignés les uns des
autres, et non plus groupés comme ceux du lundi et du mardi sur
des terrains fertiles, et nous avions dans les jambes, malgré le repos
de la nuit, les kilomètres des deux jours précédents. Déjà, le mardi
soir, Berlâne était rendu de lassitude. Nous pensions qu’il ne pourrait
pas venir le mercredi, mais il fut exact au rendez-vous. Il se dévouait
pour sa mère : les œufs qu’il lui rapportait, elle n’avait pas besoin de
les acheter.
Nous ne fûmes pas contents de le voir. Nous avions espéré que,
la fatigue l’obligeant à rester à la maison, nous pourrions entre nous
cinq nous partager sa part. Comme c’était son droit de venir, nous
ne le renvoyâmes point, mais Mignard nous dit :
— On va le faire trimer. Faudra qu’il reste en route.
Nous partîmes. Nous frappâmes en vain à certaines portes.
Celles-ci étaient closes parce qu’on travaillait dans les champs,
celles-là parce qu’on était pauvre et qu’il est inutile de donner des
œufs qui peuvent se vendre. Ici l’on nous demandait de chanter un
cantique, et cela semblait tout drôle, de chanter dans cette ferme, la
porte ouverte sur la cour boueuse où pataugeaient oies et canards.
Là une vieille nous disait, malicieuse sous sa coiffe noire :
— Tenez, mes petits : voilà dix œufs que j’ai mis de côté pour
vous ; mais il faudra venir me chercher le plus tard possible pour
m’emmener là-haut.
Elle désignait l’église dont on n’apercevait que la flèche lointaine
et le cimetière, invisible à cette distance, mais auquel on pense
quand même.
Nous nous arrêtâmes à midi pour « goûter » à l’abri d’une haie,
dans un champ où la neige avait fondu. Il pleuvait un peu. Le ciel
était tout gris. Nous allumâmes un feu de bois mort et de balai vert.
Nous avions tous du vin, sauf Berlâne qui ne buvait que de l’eau, le
vin lui donnant des maux de tête.
Puis nous continuâmes notre tournée. Il recommençait à traîner
la jambe, mais il faisait son possible pour ne pas rester en arrière.
L’après-midi passa. Le soleil s’était montré vers deux heures. Nous
n’avions pas besoin de lui : à marcher on a vite fait d’attraper chaud.
Mais, quand il fut cinq heures, nous sentîmes le froid.
En sortant du dernier village, nous nous arrêtâmes à la corne
d’un bois pour partager nos œufs. C’était tout de même une bonne
journée, puisque nous en eûmes chacun vingt-huit dans notre
panier. Cette année, les gens avaient été plus généreux.
Nous nous reposâmes dix minutes parce que nous avions encore
une bonne lieue à faire avant d’arriver à la petite ville. Puis Mignard
dit :
— A présent nous allons rire.
En effet. Nous mîmes les enjambées doubles en traversant le
bois qui n’en finissait plus. Berlâne réussit à nous suivre l’espace
d’un demi-kilomètre. Après, ce fut plus fort que lui : il ne pouvait plus
respirer. C’est qu’il ne s’agissait pas aujourd’hui de rejoindre Robert
et Georges qui s’étaient assis pour allumer une cigarette !
A un tournant nous disparûmes. Il restait tout seul dans le bois
envahi par le crépuscule. Il voulut courir, trébucha et tomba sur son
panier plein d’œufs.
Nous nous étions arrêtés pour écouter s’il appellerait au secours.
Nous n’entendîmes rien. Tout de même nous ne pouvions pas
revenir sans lui. Je proposai :
— Si nous retournions voir ?
Je le découvris pleurant à chaudes larmes ses œufs perdus. N’y
pouvant résister, je dis aux autres :
— Si nous lui en donnions chacun quatre ?
Ils ne m’écoutèrent pas.
 IX

Ce fut pour ainsi dire sa dernière faiblesse. Rien désormais ne

put avoir raison de sa sérénité. Nos vexations ne l’atteignaient plus.
Il se disait que, si nous agissions ainsi, ce ne devait être qu’après
avoir mûrement réfléchi. De mes silences ce n’était pas moi, mais lui
seul qu’il rendait responsable : pour lui si peu adresser la parole, à
quels impérieux motifs ne devais-je pas obéir ! Comme il était loin de
nous qu’il imaginait autres et meilleurs que nous n’étions ! Comme il
vivait dans un monde idéal ! Je ne pourrais pas affirmer que, lorsqu’il
m’adressait la parole, ce ne fût pas avec lui-même qu’il s’entretînt. Et
ce n’était plus pour me demander conseil au sujet de ses devoirs.
C’était pour me parler — peut-être pour se parler, — de l’histoire
sainte qu’il commençait à apprendre en français pour les jours de
catéchisme et à traduire du latin pour les jours de leçons. Mais pour
sa joie intérieure il l’avait lue déjà et relue de la première à la
dernière page.
Le Dieu terrible des armées, devant lequel il faut se voiler la face,
tantôt parlait aux hommes environné de fumée, d’éclairs et de
tonnerre, tantôt s’entretenait avec eux comme avec de petits
enfants. Il y avait des plaines fécondes où les patriarches plantaient
leurs tentes, et des déserts que les peuples se hâtaient de traverser.
Comme si ce n’était pas assez des flammes du soleil sur la morne
Arabie et de leur réverbération sur les sables, il faut qu’au sommet
de l’Horeb brûle en plein midi le mystérieux buisson qui ne se
consume pas. Les anges descendent souvent du ciel, porteurs des
conseils et des ordres de l’Éternel ; ils marchent sur la terre
absolument comme s’ils n’avaient pas d’ailes. Parce que les
desseins du Très-Haut sont sur Rébecca, les chameaux d’Éliezer se
couchent aux portes de la ville à l’heure où les jeunes filles viennent
puiser de l’eau à la fontaine. Partout la présence de Jéhovah qui
conduit son peuple par la main. Le merveilleux est la réalité de
chaque heure. Comme les captifs de Babylone songeaient en
pleurant à Sion disparue, Berlâne vivait là-bas, dans les plaines de
Judée.
Puis Dieu lui-même, en une de ses trois personnes, descendait
parmi nous. Et, depuis sa naissance dans une étable jusqu’au matin
triomphal de sa résurrection, l’Évangile n’était qu’un long tissu
d’enchantements. Par respect humain j’affectais de montrer que je
n’étais pas ému par le symbolisme des cérémonies religieuses. Lui
s’y abandonnait tout entier. Son visage, rayonnant pour Pâques,
pour la Pentecôte, pour Noël, était couvert de tristesse dès le
dimanche de la Passion, comme les statues d’un voile violet.
S’il ne lisait ni les livres de la Bibliothèque Rose, ni les œuvres de
Jules Verne, d’Henri Conscience et de Paul Féval, dont je faisais
mes délices, il trouvait le temps de se familiariser avec les vies des
saints. Il trouvait parmi eux des pontifes illustres et d’humbles
moines, des reines et des paysannes, de grands savants et des
ignorants qui ne pouvaient que réciter leur chapelet, des riches qui
pour obéir à Dieu n’avaient pas quitté leur palais, des pauvres dont
la vie s’était écoulée au fond des bois dans une grotte obscure et
froide : ils se rassasiaient de pain dur et buvaient de l’eau d’une
source voisine. Ils ne se seraient pas permis de cueillir les mûres
des ronciers ni les prunelles des haies. Mais leurs miracles
foisonnaient comme les épis d’une riche moisson. Ils commandaient
aux éléments et charmaient les bêtes féroces. Leur pouvoir
s’étendait même sur les anges du ciel et ils enchaînaient le démon.
C’était avec eux aussi que vivait Berlâne. Ces légendes dont je
ne voulais retenir que la naïveté poétique étaient pour lui des sujets
d’édification. Il croyait au loup soudain domestiqué, à la croix
apparue entre les bois du cerf.
A mesure qu’il se rendait compte de sa transformation, l’abbé
Bichelonne devenait plus doux pour lui. Souvent il nous emmenait
avec lui, surtout le dimanche après vêpres, dans les bois ou dans les
villages les plus proches.
L’été, nous prenions nos leçons dans le jardin du presbytère,
sous des marronniers dont les longues branches attachées au mur
formaient berceau : leurs dernières fleurs rouges tombaient sur les
pages de nos livres. C’était tout autour de nous l’habituelle torpeur
des chaudes après-midi. Je songeais que ceux de mon âge
s’amusaient près de l’étang du Goulot, barbotant dans l’eau tiède
sous les regards des jeunes filles, que Robert et Georges se
baignaient et qu’il y avait sur la chaussée, les surveillant, Mme
Labrosse et Mlle Gertrude, et d’autres demoiselles. Ici, dans ce
jardin, je me sentais à l’écart de la vie de la petite ville. Des envies
me prenaient de jeter ma grammaire latine sur le sable et de m’en
aller. D’ailleurs je n’aurais jamais osé me baigner avec tout ce
monde.
Je regardais Berlâne. Attentif aux paroles du vicaire, il ne
tressaillait pas comme moi d’impatience. Rien ne manquait à son
bonheur. Maintenant c’était sa tranquillité qui m’exaspérait.
Un an avant lui je fis ma première communion, au mois de mai.
Et en octobre je partis pour le petit séminaire où il devait me
rejoindre l’année suivante. Enfin j’allais donc être délivré de lui pour
quelque temps !
 X

Non : je n’en menais pas large ! Abandonné à mes propres

ressources, pour faire le fanfaron je n’avais plus Berlâne auprès de
moi.
J’avais fini par m’illusionner sur moi-même. De le voir si
obéissant à tous, j’étais arrivé à me considérer comme un foudre de
guerre, de le voir si pieux, à me croire un cerveau d’homme libre.
Maintenant qu’il me manquait, je me retrouvais tel que je n’avais
jamais cessé d’être.
A l’entrée du petit séminaire, la voiture me déposa comme un
colis, sous les murs de la chapelle, au milieu d’une espèce de cour
dont aucune barrière n’interdisait l’accès. Des marronniers — j’en
retrouverais donc partout ? — laissaient tomber en même temps
leurs derniers fruits mûrs et leurs premières feuilles mortes. Je
n’étais pas de voiture descendu seul, mais déjà les autres
s’éparpillaient dans toutes les directions. J’en suivis quelques-uns au
hasard pour aboutir à une autre cour fermée, celle-ci, de tous côtés.
Je découvris le petit séminaire avec ses deux étages et ses toits
mansardés. Je voulus m’habituer aux visages et aux manières de
ceux que je voyais aller et venir autour de moi : j’y renonçai. J’en
aperçus qui devaient être comme moi des nouveaux et avec qui
j’aurais pu lier conversation : ils me paraissaient inabordables. Tous
formaient des groupes. Si j’avais eu Berlâne à mes côtés, pour la
première fois de ma vie j’aurais vraiment causé avec lui. Peut-être
même, dans le désarroi où n’eût pas manqué de le jeter lui aussi ce
brusque éloignement de notre pays, nous serions-nous juré une
éternelle amitié.
Je m’ennuyai longtemps. Mes pensées se suivaient avec cette
mélancolie monotone des lits alignés au dortoir sous leurs
couvertures grises, quand il pleut à trois heures de l’après-midi sur
les ardoises. Je n’avais pas l’habitude de la vie en commun. Par
timidité mélangée d’orgueil, dans mon pays je m’isolais.
Pareil à un mouton que le chien mord au jarret pour qu’il rejoigne
le troupeau, je me tenais à l’écart tout en étant obligé de me mêler
aux groupes de ceux qui jouaient de grand cœur. Divisés en deux
camps, ils se renvoyaient balle ou ballon à coups de galoches ou
d’échasses. Je me tenais toujours au dernier rang, non par peur de
recevoir des coups, mais parce que ces jeux bruyants me
semblaient sauvages : les plus impétueux, les chefs, avaient des
échasses bardées de fer.
Je me liai avec Autissier qui me paraissait être beaucoup plus
grand que moi, bien que nous fussions du même âge et qu’ayant
commencé très tard à apprendre le latin il vînt d’entrer en septième :
il y était avec des gamins dont le plus âgé avait trois ans de moins
que lui. Parmi eux il avait vraiment l’air d’un « grand » et moi qui
étais en quatrième je me considérais auprès de lui comme un élève
de septième : on aurait dit que, moi aussi, j’eusse trois ans de moins
que lui. La vocation à l’état ecclésiastique ne lui était venue qu’un
peu avant sa première communion. Tout de suite le vicaire de son
pays — Saint-Pierre-le-Moutier, — lui avait donné les premières
leçons. On le disait assez intelligent pour passer, en six mois, de
septième en cinquième.
En attendant, nous nous promenions ensemble, comme deux
philosophes, à la récréation du matin. Je l’écoutais me parler de la
ville où il était né.
Elle possédait une église du XIIe siècle, les restes d’un cloître et
de remparts du XVe et quelques vieilles maisons. La grande ligne de
Paris à Clermont la touchait en passant et, pour baigner ses murs,
l’Allier n’aurait eu qu’à légèrement détourner son cours.
Plusieurs fois Autissier était allé à Moulins. Il en connaissait la
cathédrale aux deux grandes flèches, qu’en voit de loin, la tour Mal
Coiffée, le Jacquemart et les vieilles maisons plus nombreuses qu’à
Saint-Pierre-le-Moutier. Il avait entendu sonner les trompettes du
régiment de chasseurs à cheval, et il me parlait avec enthousiasme
de leurs shakos, de leurs dolmans bleus et de leurs pantalons
rouges à basanes.
Il rêvait d’être lui-même un jour chasseur à cheval. Alors,
pourquoi donc était-il venu au séminaire ? Espérait-il pouvoir tenir
d’une main le bréviaire, et le sabre de l’autre ? Pour l’instant, cela ne
nous inquiétait ni lui, ni moi. Je pensais seulement que j’étais
beaucoup moins avancé que lui.
Il n’y avait chez nous qu’une église trop neuve, bâtie dix ans
avant ma naissance. J’en trouvais trop clairs les vitraux et les
fenêtres trop larges. Pas une de ces vieilles maisons pittoresques
que j’aimais pour les avoir vues en images. Pour la première fois, en
octobre, j’avais traversé une toute petite partie de Nevers, et je me
disais que Moulins, que je ne connaissais pas, devait être bien
mieux. Pour venir jusqu’ici, c’était la deuxième fois que je fusse
monté dans un train après avoir roulé une heure et demie en
diligence, et je m’étais senti pénétré d’admiration pour tous les
employés de chemins de fer, depuis le dernier homme d’équipe
jusqu’aux chefs de gare, sans oublier le mécanicien. Souvent j’avais
rêvé au bonheur de ceux qui n’ont que quelques pas à faire pour
venir s’accouder aux barrières des gares ; ils entendent arriver les
trains avant d’avoir vu d’eux autre chose que de la fumée. Puis la
locomotive apparaît avec son large poitrail et son long cou. On ne
voit pas ses pieds ; elle préfère se servir de roues. Mère imposante
des wagons qu’elle entraîne, ils la suivent, comme de petits veaux
leurs mamans vaches.
Ils défilent en bon ordre, ne s’arrêtent pas toujours et font
beaucoup de bruit en passant. On entre dans l’intimité des
employés, dont on finit par ne plus avoir peur. Le jour où l’on réussit
à donner au chef de gare une poignée de main doit être marqué d’un
caillou blanc. Et Autissier connaissait le chef de gare de Saint-
Pierre-le-Moutier.
Nous nous promenions donc ensemble à la récréation du matin.
Les autres nous regardaient tourner comme deux chevaux au
manège, deux chevaux des chasseurs de Moulins. Le reste du
temps, il n’hésitait pas à se lancer dans la mêlée, au premier rang,
parmi les plus enragés.
J’étais au supplice quand il me fallait traverser sous les regards
des autres l’étude ou la chapelle dans toute sa longueur. Mes bras
ballants m’embarrassaient. Il m’arriva de trébucher d’émotion.
J’attendais avec anxiété le mercredi, jour d’instruction religieuse à la
chapelle pour les classes réunies de quatrième, cinquième, sixième
et septième.
Je tremblais à l’idée que l’on pût m’interroger au milieu de cette
assemblée : même les petits de septième m’en imposaient. Le jour
où je dus me lever à l’appel de mon nom, mes dents
s’entrechoquèrent. En classe même, où nous n’étions qu’une
quinzaine, il me fallut plusieurs mois pour m’habituer à répondre en
public. J’en arrivais à bégayer comme Berlâne. Et l’on m’eut vite fait
une réputation d’ours, d’original, de pas-comme-les-autres, pour
parler comme ma mère.
Je pensais :
« Eh bien, qu’est-ce qu’ils diront de Berlâne ! »
Et j’attendais avec impatience la prochaine rentrée d’octobre.
Mais je le retrouvai avant, lors des vacances de Pâques. Je me
rattrapai sur lui de ma contrainte et de mes humiliations de six mois.
Non sans morgue, je lui parlai du froid qu’il fallait endurer, des jeux
terribles auxquels nous nous livrions corps et âme, des études
difficiles, de certains élèves redoutables et de professeurs pas
commodes. A m’en croire, j’avais eu raison de tout et de tous. Je lui
décrivis le dortoir comme une grande salle glaciale et sombre,
éclairée seulement par deux veilleuses et jamais chauffée, où les
plus hardis sortaient de leur lit à deux heures du matin pour tirer des
oreilles, pincer le nez de ceux qui ronflaient trop fort et même des
paisibles dormeurs. Il me demanda comment était construite la
chapelle !
Sa tranquillité m’irritant, je forçai encore la note, mais aller au
petit séminaire faisait partie de sa conception de la vie. Et je me
demandais si ce n’était pas là qu’il serait dans le seul milieu qui lui
convînt. Au fond, j’étais confus qu’il m’écoutât comme je faisais moi-
même d’Autissier : avec respect.
Trois autres mois passèrent après la rentrée. Nous pensions tous
au beau jour de la distribution des prix, qui serait celui du départ des
grandes vacances. Encore aujourd’hui je ne m’en souviens pas sans
fièvre, et souvent la nuit j’en rêve. Dans ma malle que je ferme et
ficelle, dans des caisses que je cloue maladroitement, je me revois
empilant mon linge, mes livres, tout ce qui m’appartient, courant de
la case aux chaussures à la chapelle, où j’ai oublié mon Graduel et
mon Vespéral. Nous nous bousculons dans les escaliers, mais déjà
nous ne nous connaissons plus : chacun de nous pense à son pays
qu’il va retrouver pour deux longs mois. Sur les ardoises et sur la
poussière que nous piétinons, il y a le grand soleil de juillet. Toutes
les fenêtres sont ouvertes, comme des portes de cages d’où les
oiseaux vont s’envoler.
La distribution des prix me laissait à peu près indifférent :
déséquilibré, j’avais mal travaillé. Je m’étais tenu dans une honnête
médiocrité. Ce ne fut pas sans étonnement que je m’entendis
appeler pour le premier prix d’instruction religieuse, — pourtant
avais-je assez tremblé lors des interrogations, et la piété n’était pas
mon fort, — et pour deux ou trois autres accessits. Puis, après un Te
Deum chanté à pleine gorge à la chapelle sans le secours de nos
antiphonaires emballés de la veille, en route sur la grand’route qui
conduit à Nevers.
 XI

Quelques mois auparavant je songeais, avec une joie ironique et

mauvaise, à la rentrée d’octobre. Mais quand ce ne fut plus qu’une
question de jours, quand la dernière nuit de septembre eut été
emportée par le vent qui soufflait avec rage et que le premier matin
d’octobre fut dénoncé par la gelée blanche sur l’herbe, je fus envahi
d’une grande mélancolie : que pouvait me faire, à présent, que
Berlâne partît en même temps que moi ? Je m’occupais bien de lui,
en vérité !
Je revis les deux mois que j’avais passés à courir partout, sauf
en ville, où je me montrais le moins possible et presque toujours
seul, tant il m’en coûtait de supporter la compagnie de Berlâne :
l’expérience que j’en avais faite aux vacances de Pâques me
suffisait.
J’étais tout de même obligé de le voir de temps en temps, soit
qu’il vînt me surprendre avant que je fusse parti pour la promenade,
soit que ma mère me dît :
— Va donc chez Albert. Ce n’est pas lui, pour sûr, qui te donnera
de mauvais conseils. Je me demande ce que tu trouves de si
intéressant à traîner toujours seul dans les bois.
Ces jours-là étaient pour moi marqués d’un caillou noir.
Je le voyais aussi le dimanche à la grand’messe et aux vêpres,
vêtu de sa soutane rouge d’enfant de chœur, plus pieux que jamais.
Au mois de mai dernier, il avait fait sa première communion.
Quelquefois enfin, il venait avec le vicaire me prendre. Tandis
qu’ensemble ils parlaient religion, j’écoutais les guêpes bourdonner
autour des grandes digitales qui poussent dans les clairières où les
charbonniers jadis ont tassé leurs meules. L’abbé Bichelonne me
disait :
— Sais-tu qu’Albert a fait beaucoup de progrès depuis ton
départ ? Je crois que maintenant il est aussi fort que toi.
J’essayais de sourire, tout en souffrant à penser que c’était peut-
être vrai. L’abbé trouvait-il que je n’avais pas eu assez de prix ? Eh
bien, dès la rentrée on allait voir !
Il s’en fallait pourtant que j’attendisse ce jour avec la même
impatience que Berlâne : au contraire. Lui, plus nous nous
rapprochions de la date et plus son visage s’illuminait. Tout étonnée,
sa mère me répétait :
— Je n’y comprends rien. On dirait qu’il est heureux de me
quitter.

Lorsque nous fûmes tous les deux dans la diligence, sa joie me

fit mal. Il n’avait donc pas de cœur ? Il ne voyait donc pas sa mère
agiter son mouchoir ? Il ne pensait donc pas qu’avant de le remettre
dans sa poche elle s’en essuierait les yeux ? Quand je me rappelais
mon premier départ, quand aujourd’hui encore, sentant la vie
inexorable tirer sur moi comme avec une corde le bûcheron sur un
arbre qui lui résiste, j’avais les larmes au bord des paupières, et que
je le regardais, lui, assis en face de moi, j’avais des envies de le
gifler, de le griffer, de le mordre. Et il eut l’audace de dire :
— Enfin, nous voici partis !
Les mains sur les genoux, sa grosse tête inclinée, il obéissait aux
cahots de la diligence. Nous croisions des troupeaux d’oies grises à
ventre blanc qu’effrayait le bruit des grelots sonnant aux colliers des
trois chevaux.
 A partir de la première gare où nous prîmes le train, à presque
chaque station je ne fis que retrouver des élèves, — je ne dis pas :
des camarades, — plus jeunes ou plus âgés que moi. Refrogné
dans un coin, avec Berlâne toujours en face de moi, je les laissais
causer, s’épanouir et rire. L’un d’eux me demanda :
— C’est un nouveau que tu amènes ?
Je fus sur le point de répondre :
— Oui. Et nous l’appelions Berlâne.
Je ne doutais point que le mot n’eût fait fortune. Mais, me
retenant, je me contentai de dire :
— Oui. Nous sommes du même pays.
Et je fus stupéfait de le voir, toute sa timidité d’autrefois disparue,
prendre contact et causer avec eux, au bout de quelques minutes,
comme s’il les avait connus depuis très longtemps. C’était moi qui
avais l’air d’être le nouveau.
J’affectai de me désintéresser de leur conversation et regardai
défiler ces paysages qui ressemblaient de moins en moins à mes
horizons familiers. Je sentais qu’à mesure que je m’éloignais de mon
véritable pays, Berlâne se rapprochait de celui qui deviendrait sa
terre d’élection.
Quand nous fûmes arrivés, je le laissai se dépêtrer tout seul,
mais en l’épiant du coin de l’œil et de loin, m’attendant à ce qu’il vînt
me demander indications et secours. Non. Il était déjà comme
poisson dans l’eau. Je regrettai de lui avoir donné, lors des
vacances de Pâques, trop de détails sur ma première installation : il
n’en avait pas oublié un seul !
Il parvint à me rejoindre avant que nous n’entrions au réfectoire
et me dit :
— Toutes mes affaires sont rangées.
Je ne le savais que trop. Mais croyait-il donc que cela pût
m’intéresser ? Il ajouta :
— Je t’aurais bien demandé de m’aider, mais je n’ai pas voulu te
déranger.
 Ainsi l’enfant qui, pour la première fois, marche seul, se retourne,
étonné, vers sa mère et s’excuserait, s’il pouvait parler, de n’avoir
pas eu besoin de son soutien. J’avais eu l’air très affairé, allant d’un
groupe à l’autre, affectant de serrer des mains d’élèves qui, toute
l’année précédente, m’avaient tenu à l’écart, et de leur parler comme
si nous avions été d’excellents amis ; ils n’en revenaient pas. Mais je
voyais bien que Berlâne, seul, trouvait cela tout naturel. Il m’avait
toujours considéré comme un puits de science, et pour lui je ne
pouvais point ne pas être, ici, au-dessus de tous. Il me fallait, bon
gré, mal gré, m’introduire dans la peau du nouveau personnage qu’il
allait, sans le savoir, me contraindre à jouer.
 XII

C’était avec satisfaction que j’entrais en troisième. Le Séminaire

comprenait seulement deux divisions : les petits, les grands. Dans
celle des grands, il y avait les élèves de seconde et de rhétorique ;
dans celle des petits, tous les autres, de la septième à la troisième ;
parmi ces derniers, pourtant, certains, que désignaient leur âge, leur
taille et les premiers poils qui leur poussaient sur les joues, faisaient
partie des grands. Ainsi, parmi mes condisciples de quatrième, deux
n’étaient pas dans l’étude des petits : Thomas et Doreau, que nous
appelions « le vieux Doreau » : il avait quinze ans ! Toujours le
dernier, d’ailleurs. Il avait plus de barbe au menton que de jugement,
mais, sachant que ce n’était point sa faute, il était fier d’être parmi
les grands : peu lui importait d’être le dernier en classe. Je ne le
valais pas et restai avec trois autres de mon cours chez les petits
pour une année encore : nous allions être, nous quatre, les plus
importants de la division.
J’occupai, à l’étude, la table du fond, comme il convient à
quelqu’un qui n’a plus besoin de surveillance immédiate. Berlâne
avait trouvé sa place marquée à la craie trois tables en avant de la
mienne : j’estimais que la distance entre lui et moi n’était pas
suffisante.
J’ai oublié de dire qu’à la rentrée de Pâques, Autissier avait sauté
de septième en cinquième ; de sorte qu’en quatrième Berlâne allait
être son condisciple. Il avait pris rapidement la tête de sa classe, et