“Just a little farther, sweetheart,” Wayne murmured quietly to the pied mare as he led her by the reins toward the corral. There was a small area to the side of the temporary ring where some of the Cavalierites kept their tack and the cowboy liked to keep grooming tools as well. It made it easier to care for the horses quickly, and once he reached where the saddles and bridles were hung, Tupelo seemed to understand that this was the end of their jaunt.

The pregnant mare wasn’t getting much slack despite the burden ever growing in her belly, but Wayne knew it’d be a few more months yet and some females were safe to ride up until they foaled. He wanted to make sure she stayed exercised, too, especially with the current festival situation and their inability to wander around the entirety of Casa di Cavalieri territory.

“All right,” the wolfdog said, reaching up to remove the bridle from the long white and brown head. Tupelo spat the bit out into his palm, and he went to hang it on the post before going through the rest of the routine of taking off the saddle and blankets and rubbing down the sweaty, dirty patches with a sponge.

After he’d dried her off and checked her hooves, Wayne led the mare into the actual ring and turned her loose. The others of the Casa herd greeted her, and she gave her old comrade Buckeye a nip on the shoulder that sent him cantering off around the outer edge of the pen. Laughing, the Labrador mix watched them for a moment then noticed a luperci leaning on a tree on the other side of the fencing. Head slightly tilted, the brawny male wandered over and rested his arms on the fence, taking his hat off with a smooth motion and calling out to the stranger.

“Howdy there! Ain’t seen you around before.”

His greeting was unconventional—normally he didn’t go out of his way to say hello to anyone, but if this was a newcomer to the pack, it was his responsibility as one of the higher-ranked members to make sure they were settled in and used to Casa. Of course, seeing that the other male had been watching the horses brightened him up a bit. He grinned when Fern wandered over and rested her chestnut head on his shoulder, whickering.

The greyish-brown stranger leaning against the tree glanced toward him before freezing suddenly, muscles tensing as he curled his large body as close as possible to the tree. The sudden stink of fear permeated the air, and Wayne blinked in confusion before leaping over the fence, glancing around to make sure that nothing else had set off the reaction of fear in the man. He wouldn’t have come to investigate the horses if he’d been wary of them like Sebastian had been afraid of the pied mare, so all the cowboy could think was that he was the reason.

“Pal—it’s all right,” the dirty-blonde wolfdog said uncertainly, lowering his ears as he came a little closer. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the scars tearing across the other hybrid’s body, painful-looking ones, some that could only have healed a month or so past. His jaw loosened, hanging open in horror, and he found himself at a loss for what to do.

“Hey, man—are you okay?” The statement came out lamely, his deep and gruff voice softened by concern. Hell, he didn’t think he could deal with this. “What hap—what’s wrong?” He knew enough not to bring up whatever had caused the scars; the present was of importance right now, not undoubtedly bad memories. He needed to know how to calm the new guy down now, to let him know that Wayne wouldn’t think of hurting him.

The brownish wolfdog seemed to relax slightly, even though not all of the tension and fear left his submissive posture. At least he seemed to understand that Wayne didn’t have a mind to beat him or anything. It troubled the young man greatly that one of the pack members would ever feel that way—whether about him or about comrades in general. A worried or frightened member was something he would have to discuss with one of the leaders.

The other man’s brown eyes roamed over the Labrador mix, who held his arms out slightly to show that he was unarmed; he didn’t even have the need to carry one of his knives on him while inside the fort. He spoke then, stating that he was fine and ready for work.

Wayne scowled in confusion, but he knew that an offering for work wasn’t something he was going to pass up. He took such claims seriously and often grew annoyed when someone wasn’t doing the duty they’d sworn to do; it came from his own work ethic. Shrugging his shoulders, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he called to the newcomer indifferently: “You wanna work, come with me.” He turned around then and headed back toward the fence—having an idea that would probably put this wolfdog more at ease, if his open gazing at the horses was any indication. Until then, he would speak as little as he needed to, falling back into his old ways of talking to strangers only for a purpose rather than chatter. He’d bridge the gap when they rode up to it, but until now, he angled in the direction of some of the old houses.

“You can help me carry water back for the horses,” Wayne explained, glancing back at the stranger expressionlessly. “We keep it in this building after we gather it from the river—keeps it from gettin’ cold, so the horses have t’ use less energy warmin’ it up once it’s inside ’em.”

Walking toward the house, he hoped that the prospect of helping with the horses would draw the man out of his shell a bit. It was still strange, his reaction and subsequent offer to work, but it was a labor of love as far as the cowboy was concerned. Enjoyable work often loosened tongues, too.

He grunted. “What’s yer name, bud?”

Wayne was not the most outgoing or friendly guy, but he was making an effort when it came to the pack. He certainly didn’t want one of his comrades, whether they were newcomers or not, to be feeling threatened and uncomfortable in the home. After all, Casa di Cavalieri was a pack set on keeping the peace and coming to the aid of those who required it, those who could not fight for themselves. It would be to spit upon the customs of the pack to not try to help this poor fellow.

Reaching the house, he made sure the door would stay open for the brown wolfdog then turned to look at him when he offered his name: Hadley. He nodded and filed this away before reaching for one of the buckets that Dixie and he had gathered from their trip to the river. They were good-sized, but he managed to grab one in each hand and gestured lightly for Hadley to do the same.

“I’m Wayne McCoy,” the Rispetto said, dipping his head in lieu of tipping his hat. A name for a name was only fair, after all, and he wanted to be called on if Hadley had any questions about what they were doing. “Four should be good enough fer now. Got a coupla buckets out already.”

He shouldered the door open again and began heading back toward the corral, breaching the silence only to ask: “So where ya from, Hadley?” His tone was brisk but conversational as he attempted the small talk, though it was less than casual for him. He did truly want to know what the guy’s story was, even though he wouldn’t delve in too deep. Mainly, he wanted to know a bit of background information to see how he could help Hadley fit in around Casa; it certainly hadn’t been easy for the cowboy, and he didn’t think he would’ve been as enthusiastic about the place if he hadn’t had his duties with the horses.

Hadley grabbed the buckets; despite the scarring that might have weakened him, he was large and strong enough to carry them anyway. He followed the cowboy silently, and Wayne did not press him other than the simple question, one that the other canine answered without obvious complaint.

The Labrador mix had been ready to nod along and trade the story of his own past for the new Cavalierite’s, but the last phrase made him stop in his tracks and turn to stare at the dark brown luperci. “Captured,” the young man said, his gruff voice weighing the word with the unspoken questions behind it. There was so much he wanted to confront Hadley about—who had captured him, why, what had happened? However, he was conflicted, not wanting to cause him pain if he wasn’t going to be willing to tell the story.

Shaking his head, Wayne reached the gate to the temporary corral and held it open, ushering Hadley in first before following. Fern immediately trotted up to the mutt with a friendly nicker, but he only nudged her pointedly in the direction of the other man. The chestnut mare gazed at him then moved to Hadley, pressing her nose against one of his shoulders, her flaxen tail flicking behind her as Wayne went to hang some of the buckets on the fence and fill the trough with the rest.

A couple of the other horses came to check the cowboy out as he hung the bucket up on the fence. Bark neighed shrilly at him then whirled around, kicking and prancing, trying to engage the wolfdog in a game of play. Wayne only grinned and shook his head before the chestnut colt was nipped by Tupelo, already practicing for the foal growing in her brown and white belly. The antics continued anyway, but the young man was able to ignore them as his gaze turned back to Hadley, who was interacting sweetly with the large mare.

All of a sudden, however, the new member jerked toward the trough to fill it up, casting a decidedly nervous look at the Rispetto as if expecting to be beaten for not carrying out the task more quickly. Once again, he was troubled by this, conflicted as to whether Hadley was intimidated by him in particular or if he was just easily intimidated. He frowned as he stepped toward him, but he halted at Fern’s shoulder and ran his fingers through her flaxen mane.

“Would you want to tell me who captured you and why?” Wayne asked, speaking softly and carefully. He wanted to get to the bottom of the other’s actions, and he supposed that letting the man speak on his own time wasn’t going to work—at least, he wouldn’t be sharing this information anytime soon without a little prompting. But the cowboy still didn’t want to cause him pain, and he wouldn’t press if the subject was especially hard to talk about. He simply wanted to know.

“Listen,” he said after a moment, his hand falling from the horse’s mane. She burred and stepped toward Hadley again, her eyes fond. Seeing her gentle temperament made him feel guilty all over again. “You ain’t gotta worry about me. You can—you can do whatever ya want here. Thought you might get a kick outta helpin’ with the horses.” He grunted and folded his arms, averting his gaze somewhat awkwardly as he revealed the ulterior motive. “You can leave now, if ya want,” he added, not that he especially wanted to drive him off. He simply wanted Hadley to know that he was free to do what he wished, whether it was to help here or somewhere else or just relax and enjoy the winter scenery.

Wayne watched the larger hybrid with a frown, albeit a patient and not very harsh one. His eyes drifted past him toward the tree that stood outside of the temporary horse corral. It was a knotted, burled thing now—but he could only imagine what it would be like in the summer. A luperci could rest against it, shaded by its thick green leaves, watching the horses without a care. That calming picture and the sight of Hadley’s obvious discomfort were at odds, and the cowboy wanted nothing more than to correct the image even if he wasn’t really qualified to do so.


The name that came at last from the wolfdog’s jaws made him blink; his muscles seized briefly, the tension visible especially in his jaw. That Hadley had been an actual slave disturbed him greatly, but that name—no, it couldn’t be. He pushed the image of the blonde dog out of her mind, the dog who’d only wanted to find a new place for herself in Nova Scotia.


“Ain’t any slaves in Casa,” the Labrador mutt said firmly, but his words were accompanied by a hopefully gentle look. “You’re an equal to everyone else here, Hadley, all right? You’re free now.” He could only imagine that was the case, considering the ideals that Casa di Cavalieri fought for. He knew nothing about the arrangement that had brought Hadley into the pack, only that he was another member that would prove himself in time.


The outburst caught him off guard, but he only laughed and watched Fern as she nipped at the male’s hair gently. “All right, what do you want to help with?” He smirked and kept his arms crossed, though his challenging posture was playful. “What else do ya think we can do here?” He definitely wouldn’t say no to having someone to do some labor around the horses, but he didn’t feel like his was taking advantage of Hadley since he seemed to like the beasts. He’d just let the male make the suggestions as to what to do, even if it was something that had already been done.

The reek of fear rolled in waves from the tensed wolfdog, and Wayne found himself frustrated and at a loss of what to do once more. He was sure that his girl, sweet and friendly as she was, could comfort whoever she set her mind to; she would do a lot better with Hadley than he, the big intimidating lug, was doing. Physical comfort, a reassuring touch or a hug, would probably only spook the guy more even if the cowboy would do something like that. He had too few words to help, had nothing really other than empty gestures and distraction. He was completely pathetic at this kind of thing, only able to comfort those he was intimate with—but something told him that pulling Hadley close would not be an appropriate idea for either one of the muscular men.


Sighing, he lifted his hat and pushed his fingers through his messy blonde hair once more before frowning at the expression on the scarred fellow’s face. Even Fern, as gentle as she was, might as well not have been standing there.


But finally Hadley mentioned a task—food—and Wayne forced an easygoing smile. “Sure thing,” he said, even though he would have agreed to any task the Prova came up with. He wandered across the corral with a gesture for the man to follow, heading toward where the sacks of gathered grasses and grains were kept. In addition, there were more snacky items, and from that smaller bag he grabbed some leaves.


“Fern likes fern leaves,” he explained, smirking and nodding his head at the large chestnut mare Hadley had been petting. “If you’d like, you can feed ’em by hand—just watch your fingers.” He grabbed a cluster of grasses from the sack, leaning over the fence, then held the meal to the light bay that came near. It would be more relaxing, so long as the horses didn’t start jostling their new temporary caregiver.


He blew playfully at Buckeye’s nose and sent the stallion away so that one of the others could have a turn. With young Bark nibbling at his palm, he glanced quickly at the new Cavalierite and remarked, “I might need your help again sometime, if’n you don’t mind.” He flashed a light grin. “Dixie and I take care of the horses ourselves, mostly, but a helpin’ hand every once in a while would be great.”

Wayne was unaware of how his slave-statement had affected the timid wolfdog. He’d heard stories of slavery from old southern hounds, some of which whose lineage could be traced back to human hunting dogs. He was unfamiliar with it in particular, but in general, he knew that Casa di Cavalieri would not tolerate such a thing with their policy of offering a safe haven and defending the defenseless. His own morals opposed it, as he’d been brought up with the ideals that everyone should work for their own ends. He’d toiled under the hot sun to get what needed to be done done; he couldn’t imagine forcing someone else to do it for him, or forcing them to do anything at all.



He did not see the horses as slaves, either. After all, if a friend offered to help him in his duties, he would be thankful. Other luperci might have such violent mastery over the horses that they could force them to do what was required of them—but Wayne, although he was able to wrangle just about any beast and force it into captivity if needed, would not force an animal to do something it didn’t want to. Those animals under his care thought well of him for his gentle hand, and they completed the tasks asked of them because they didn’t mind.



The Labrador mutt yipped teasingly at Bark, who whinnied at him and turned tail suddenly, prancing around the ring on growing legs. Smirking, the cowboy returned his attention to Hadley once more and acknowledged his nod with a kind look. His agreement was not that of a slave beaten into obeying orders, but—to the wolfdog’s eyes, at least—someone who simply was willing to help in an area he cared about.



“D’you know how to ride?” Wayne asked conversationally as he fed the horses. “We could go ridin’ around the territory sometime. I reckon there’re places we ain’t explored yet—even me, though I’ve been here since the pack was founded.” He’d done little more than take care of the horses and shadow Dixie around even then, though he was proud of himself for changing that antisocial image.

Tupelo had found the new food-sack-holder, the cowboy noted, and he grinned as the paint munched the grasses and grain. She was rather moody in her pregnancy, and although she wasn’t an overly dominant horse, she had the tendency for mischief. Sebastian might have exaggerated in calling her a demon, but Wayne could see the resemblance to one as she refused to budge for Hadley—not that the former slave did very much to shove her back. He contemplated giving her a good swat to see how she would react, but it was then that the darker-colored wolfdog responded to his question with a shake of his head.


“Would you wanna try?” the Labrador mutt asked, a bit surprised. Hadley seemed to do very well around the horses, and so he’d only assumed that the male could ride the beasts he knew how to feed. Frowning softly, he added in a warmer tone, “We could use Fern; she’s good for beginners, ’n’ big enough to carry most riders. I wouldn’t let anythin’ happen to ya.” He wouldn’t push Hadley, of course, but if the man could at least sit a horse, that could lead up to actual mastery.