2. Cold Cuts

Chapter Two

COLD CUTS

Nash

H e’s got another one.

Setting down Thunder’s shoeless hoof, I slowly straighten up, push my glasses up my nose, and turn toward the direction of the shop.

I can smell the smoker as it fires up, the propane faint underneath the growing scent of hickory that’s filling the air while the big hunk of metal begins heating.

If Bram is using that in the middle of a fucking blizzard, he definitely got another one.

Or more.

That also means Zeke is leaving again if he hasn’t already, and Tus has probably started slinking back to his goddamn cave.

I shake my head and glance at the clock as I use my forearm to wipe the sweat from my brow.

Jesus, that was fast.

The brothers Ambrose left the day before yesterday, the three of them on their merry way to whatever location Zeke had pinned and we didn’t hear from Bramley until he climbed into bed with me and Clay sometime last night after 2a.m.

Not that it’s unheard of for him to go radio silent when they’re hunting, but I figured he’d touch base at some point since this seemed to be a bigger group than usual. I thought it meant he’d be gone a little longer than overnight.

Definitely didn’t expect him to already be doing his thing so fucking early but nothing should surprise me anymore when it comes to Bramley.

He’s nothing if not determined.

With a half grunt, half chuckle, I grab Thunder’s leg and pull it back between my knees, smoothing and filing his hoof so I can shoe this last one and be done with the grumpy stallion until I need to float his teeth.

Thunder woke up in a shit mood today, we both did, and when my horse acts like an ass, I tend to do the same. He’s gonna need the break in his spa treatment before I get to his teeth, though, because I’m not really looking to lose a finger during a routine exam.

Which has been hard to avoid already since Kaboom—Bram’s big ass mare—randomly went into heat, and the only thing my jackass of a horse wants to do is knock her up. We even had to move Clay’s mare, Sloth, and our other stallion, Tiny, because Thunder is so laser focused on Kaboom that he’s gunning to fight anything that gets between them. The last thing I’m trying to do is give him more reasons to want to kick the shit out of me for keeping him away from who he seems to view as his girl.

But my horse has proven to be a bigger distraction than I was hoping he’d be.

I purposely left early as hell to knock out what I needed to with the ornery dickhead, hoping it would calm me down and I’d be able to stop worrying about Bram but all it’s done is worsen my mood.

Maybe if I wasn’t surrounded by living things in bad moods I’d be in a better one. It’s not likely since I happened to find myself in a relationship with the king of shitty attitudes, but still.

My alpha is temperamental as fuck.

He’s moody.

A real crab ass , as his dads say but I’m used to that.

Honestly, one of the things that first drew me to Bramley was how much of an asshole he can be and still be so goddamn attractive. Generally, I clash with people like that because of my own winning personality but it was different with him. So much so that we started banging that same night and were living together about a week later. Clay moved to Obsidian Falls not long after that, maybe six months give or take, and it’s been the three of us ever since.

Eighteen years.

That’s a long fucking time to be with anyone, especially without ever having an omega but when it’s right, it’s right, and we all saw how important it is to hold tight to what you’ve got while you’ve got it.

Unfortunately for me, that means I’ve been worrying about Bramley fucking Ambrose every goddamn day for the last fifteen of those eighteen years because he’s got a vendetta the size of the galaxy, rightfully so, and has been like a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off the entire time. One neither Clay nor myself can diffuse and if he hadn’t gone hunting last night, I’m sure we’d be having another rough day.

There have been more of those lately.

With a frown, I grab the brush and start on Thunder’s mane.

I’m not sure if it’s because this year was some sort of milestone in Bram’s eyes, or if it’s more because he can’t get to the root of the problem despite his best efforts for the better part of the last decade and a half. Whatever it is, he’s been edgier lately, wound really tight, and I’m starting to worry that there’s more going on than I want to think there is.

Sometimes I’m convinced this place is getting to him.

Staying here, reliving the past every time he steps outside. It’s not good for him. It’s not good for anyone who still lives in Obsidian Falls, if I’m being honest, because all you have to do is walk down Main Street and you’ll know something isn’t right.

It’s not wrong, though.

It was a tragedy.

Mass murder.

Everything changed that day and I know for a fact Bramley unjustly blames himself and his family for not stopping it from happening. Because this town was founded on Ambrose blood, my alpha shoulders the brunt of the guilt.

That’s why he’s made it his mission to rectify the wrongs of fifteen years ago, and make sure nothing like that ever happens again.

And that’s why I worry about him the way I do, why I silently stress the fuck out over how this heavy, dark tension is growing inside him.

If Bramley fucking cracks, it’s lights out for all of us.

We’ll be going to war with a different kind of beast, and I’m not sure even The Butcher of Obsidian Falls can handle himself at full, fucked up power.

With a huff, I pull my collar higher, bunching my shoulders up to my ears while I squint against the wall of white raining down in front of me.

My boots slip and slide over the sidewalk, the fresh snow and slush mixing in just the right way to make my normal ten- minute walk from my place to Bram’s nothing short of some stupid miracle mile.

Doesn’t help that I’m walking uphill.

So much for military grade snow boots.

Same for the fucking jacket, for that matter.

I’m going to be soaked to the bone by the time I get to the shop if I don’t hurry my ass up, but every time I try to, I slide backward a few inches or basically run in place.

I’ll never get used to this.

After a couple of decades, I should be, but I’m not, and I’ll cry about the damn snow all I want. Right up until the first day of spring.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

“Am I that predictable?” I grunt as I try to peel my coat off. “Bram starts cooking and you figure I’ll come running?”

Clay nods as he flips through the magazine in his hands. “Yes. You always want the details about his hunts and if he’s cooking ”—he visibly shudders— “you know that means he’s usually willing to give them to you.”

Stomping the snow from my boots, I hang my coat on the hook then walk over to the fireplace so I can thaw. “Hunting helps.”

“I know.”

“His mind is clearer.”

“It is.”

I hold my hands close to the flames, turning them over before I rub them together. “He’s calmer.”

“I know that, too,” Clayton says as he lifts his head. “Maybe you should start going with him again.”

My head swings in his direction with a scowl, my glasses still foggy from walking into the shop after being out in the cold so I take them off and narrow my eyes. “You know why I don’t go anymore.”

“Mhm,” he says with a smirk. “Because the two men I love more than anything in the entire world treat me like I’m their omega even though I’m their beta. Not that I’m complaining too much.”

I roll my eyes and go back to the fire.

Clayton has a little bit of a point; one he’s made before and will no doubt make again but it’s not really like Bramley and I treat him like an omega. Neither of us has the slightest fucking clue how to do that, not without an actual omega to kick our instincts into gear, but we are pretty damn protective of our beta, and nothing is going to change that.

And no, Clayton didn’t really get a vote when Bram decided he can’t go hunting with us anymore, just like I didn’t when he decided I should stay to keep Clay safe. We both accepted it, though. We accepted, adjusted, and now I wait for Bramley to get home from hunting so I can pump him for the details since I have to miss out on things.

Which makes me sound like a dickhead.

It’s not so much that I’m missing out, and Clayton is by no means a burden or anything else negative, but we had a great system for a long time and regardless of what we were doing, the weekends away from Obsidian Falls were a welcome change of pace. Getting out of this town for a few days made a big difference and while it still does for our alpha, the two of us are left to worry.

Correction.

I’m left to worry while Clay continues living as the physical embodiment of positive energy and happy thoughts. If I didn’t love him, I’d be fucking annoyed by that.

“Damn straight.”

“Pardon?” I frown as I turn to face him again.

He nods, his feet swinging back and forth in front of the counter he’s perched on. “You had a teeny tiny little smile crack your grumpy face. I know what that means, Nash.”

“Yeah?”

“You were thinking about how positive I always am. It’s one of the only times you smile like that.”

“Like what?” I ask as I walk toward him.

Clay shrugs one shoulder. “Like you’re genuinely happy and not stressed for a few seconds.”

Because he’s right, and because I want to go find the source of my stress so I can put some of it at ease for a few minutes, I reach out and hook my fingers in the collar of my beta’s t-shirt and tug him toward me for a kiss.

One Clayton immediately reciprocates and smiles into.

“I haven’t been back to see him yet.”

“No?” I ask against his lips before a quick peck. “I thought you would have wandered back there already.”

He shakes his head as I release him. “He was still outside when I got here and it’s way too cold for me. Bram came in about five seconds before you walked through the door, so I figured I’d just wait.”

I take a step back and clasp my hands together behind my back as I watch Clay set the magazine to the side then carefully hop down off the counter. He wobbles a little, gingerly placing his weight on his right leg while getting his footing with his left.

It’s so goddamn hard not to help him. I try not to; we both do but we have to fight the urge to pick him up and move him around like a rag doll because it makes Clayton mad if we even think he might need a hand. We learned pretty quickly that our ray of sunshine is a stubborn little shit with a death stare that would make any living thing tuck tail and run from him, so we stopped trying to help shortly after he started needing it. I had no idea how scary he was until then.

And that was after years of watching our beta gut and skin his kills like he was born doing it.

“No Lucy today?” I ask, distracting myself from the way he limps toward the doorway to the back. He should have his fucking cane.

Clay shakes his head, his shaggy blonde hair fanning out a little at his neck. “Too cold for me and her. She’s curled up in a ball right where you left us at the ass crack of dawn.”

He keeps talking, telling me about the huge calico main coon cat currently warming our bed, how she refused to budge when he got ready to go to work but I hardly hear him. I can barely focus on anything when his leg is bad like this, when it’s almost painfully obvious the cold is getting to him in more than one way.

Watching him like this… It tears me up.

Bram carries the entire fucking town of Obsidian Falls on his shoulders, and I carry what happened to our beta.

Rex wasn’t too far off when he said we were one hell of a match.

A match made in hell.

Shifting my stare, I finally get to cleaning my glasses and manage to shove them back on my face as we walk through the packaging room toward the cooler. My eyes refocus in time to see the sharp edge of a cleaver lift through the air, the light glinting off the razor edge quickly before it comes down with a loud, metallic crack.

Bramley doesn’t notice us as we stop a couple of feet from his table.

His brow is furrowed in concentration, lines forming between his brows while those dark eyes stay locked in on the task at hand.

Meticulous.

Careful.

Every movement executed with practiced ease.

The metal slices through flesh and bone as if it were warm butter, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each tiny movement.

He’s beautiful like this.

A true man of his craft, Bram’s attention doesn’t stray or wander. He keeps butchering his latest kill as if he’s in a completely separate plane of existence, lifting the knife again and bringing it down with a thwack that’s followed by a sharp scrape and thud before repeating the action.

Most importantly, he’s calm.

Bramley Butch Ambrose, the alpha of our tiny little oddball pack, is fucking calm, and he’s clear headed for the first time since Zeke said he had a new lead.

The tension has eased from his entire body, I can physically see it, and as he throws another hunk of meat on the table, I finally see why.

“Three?” I blurt as I look around the cooler. “You got three this time?”

“Mhm,” he grunts, finally acknowledging the two of us gawking at him. “Three big ones.”

I nod blankly as my stare moves from one carcass to the next, three new ones already hanging on hooks, not quite frozen but definitely stiff as they dangle with the cuts of beef and racks of lamb.

“You can say that again,” Clay says, his smile audible. “Does this mean we’re going to get laid tonight?”

My head snaps toward our beta, who is now cracking up at himself, then quickly swings in Bram’s direction.

I would absolutely love to get laid tonight, for the three of us to reconnect after almost three weeks of being at each other’s throats—mostly me and Bram—but I’m wound so tight I might pop and last I knew, our alpha was so fucking angry he couldn’t pop a boner to save his life so I doubt that kind of comment is going to go over well right now.

Except… It actually does.

One dark brow arches as he sets the cleaver to the side, our alpha staring at us with a long dormant hunger even as he reaches into the basket for the next cut to be butchered, then the most beautiful thing happens.

A smile forms behind his mask, the lower half of a skull lifting on his cheeks before a deep, though brief, chuckle rumbles from Bramley’s chest.

“You know what?” He asks as he tosses the leg on his table. “You just might. Hell, I’ll even take you two to dinner first.”

My jaw drops a little while our beta nudges me with his elbow. “Wine, dine, double sixty-nine. See, Nashy. I told you this was gonna be a different hunt.”

My mouth snaps shut, and I immediately frown as I watch Bram cut through another ankle and slide the toeless foot into the bucket on the floor.

He did.

Clayton definitely said this hunt wasn’t going to be like the last few, and he was right.

Not because I can actually see where the tension has released from Bramley.

Not because of the three new carcasses hanging in the cooler.

It’s not even because I can see the Harden family crest tattooed on the body he’s currently chopping up, which means he got a nephew or a cousin this time.

Sure, that helps. Killing a fucker with that name attached to him always puts a pep in The Butcher’s step, especially since he’s clearly prepping him to be deli cuts that’ll get sent up to the Ranch itself, but that’s not it either.

This was a different kind of hunt, one we needed, one we haven’t had in a while, and what’s scary is the fact that it feels like the beginning of something a hell of a lot bigger than wiping out anyone who had anything to do with the tragedy that changed this town.

Something big is definitely coming our way and it might have these two feeling at ease, but my guts are telling me it’s going to change our entire world as we know it one way or another.

Mark my fucking words.