“Wow, she doesn’t know about that whole commitment thing, Coya?” Ashley piped up innocently. “Did you tell her he made you coya of the packs?”
Sofia might have paled. “You little brat.” She swung around to Ashley again. “You always were a very practiced liar.”
Ashley popped her gum and frowned. “She doesn’t know?”
“I didn’t tell her,” Anya drawled. “It appears you have though.”
Anya straightened from the bar as Sofia’s face flushed with fury.
“Sorry, Sofia, I am his coya. I am coya of this entire base. What I say goes. And be very careful, because trust me, if I tell Del-Rey to kick your ass to the curb, the curb is where you’ll go.”
“He wouldn’t dare!” Sofia was shaking now. “He may have made you coya for now, but you won’t hold that title for long, you little bitch. Remember, it takes more than wanting it. He has to give it to you. Officially.”
Anya smiled slowly. “Sorry, Sofia. I’ll hold that title forever. Bet on it. And maybe I’ll send you an invitation to that ceremony.”
Mating heat didn’t go away. It was forever. And as soon as her mate was healed, she’d ensure it. Then they’d see about that little ceremony.
Del-Rey walked into the narrow access tunnel, paying close attention to the soldiers that stood on alert, their gazes sharp, their hands ready on their weapons as he limped through the passageway. Normally they were lucky if a single guard wasn’t dozing. Red alert secured the inner base, the soldiers outside rarely had problems, and if they did there was always advanced warning, so they normally weren’t at their sharpest here. Until now.
Passing the access tunnel, he waited as the reinforced doors leading into Base unlocked and slid open. On the other side waited a four-man detail, at the head of which was a younger soldier, Dorian.
“Alpha, med tech is waiting in your quarters. Coya asks that after you’ve rested you have your enforcer inform her when you’re ready to see her. We have communications reports and security details.” The electronic pads were pushed into his hands as he glanced at Brim in confusion.
Since when had Brim gotten the additional time needed to kick ass? Base was secure, but general work ethic hadn’t been at its best in recent months when he had been here.
“We also have the heli-jet lowering into the bay with diagnostics being prepared. I need your signature on that if you don’t mind, so the techs will get cracking. And we have all-terrains being pulled in for repair. Sign there too.” The soldier pointed to the X’s made on the electronic file.
Del-Rey scrawled his name and continued to limp toward his quarters. His people were moving at a quick pace through the corridors, and the community room was empty. No one at the billiards table or in front of the television screens.
“Meetings with our pack leaders have been scheduled for a time after you’ve healed. They send their greetings and request that you let them know if they’re needed.”
Pack leaders, besides Brim, were normally waiting in the corridor for him harping about everything from funds for their teams to the cost of parts for their equipment. Where the hell had the insanity gone? Hell, he’d been dealing with it for over a week now.
“Are you looking for a raise, Brim?” he muttered as they neared his rooms. “How the hell did you manage this?”
“I didn’t manage this,” Brim grunted. “I don’t know what the hell has happened here. Should we have Dr. Armani check them for a virus?”
“Or something,” Del-Rey said as he opened the door to his quarters and stepped inside.
Sure enough, medical technicians were waiting for him with all their little vials, scopes and various torture devices. He endured it but paid close attention to the somber expression of the techs who performed the checkup. They were intent, serious, as though their own lives hinged on his health. The best he’d gotten the last time he returned wounded was a perfunctory call to make certain if he felt he needed anything.
“You’re healing well. That Wolf doctor doesn’t seem to have done you much harm.” The tech chuckled as he stored his vials in his little case. “We do need a Coyote specialist though, the coya’s right about that. I hope she’s willing to consider additional equipment. She wasn’t happy when we didn’t have the sedatives for Sharone. You know how she cusses and throws things when she’s been shot.”
Del-Rey lifted his gaze to stare at the tech. “She’s been known to do that,” he said carefully.
The tech nodded his sandy-colored head. “We ran out of sedatives several weeks ago when team three was flown in with so many injuries. Coya hit the roof then and radioed Haven for extras at the time, but their supply was low as well. I’m waiting on a new batch. We should have the new analysis machines in soon as well.”
Del-Rey turned to Brim, giving him a speaking look. The other man gave a quick nod and moved to the adjacent office to begin making calls. Was Anya somehow responsible for all this? In a matter of months had she managed to whip fierce Coyote Breeds into the measure of discipline they had somehow lost since Del-Rey had signed out for mission status rather than overseeing the base and other pack leaders himself? They slacked when he was there because it was something he had a tendency to do himself in order to rest and prepare for the next mission.
“Glad you approve, Harding,” Del-Rey finally answered as the tech rose to his feet.
Regan Harding hadn’t been trained just for killing and bloodshed. He was a trained Coyote med tech. Not a surgeon or specialist, but as close as Coyotes were going to get to one.
“Good to see you back, Alpha.” Harding nodded his shaggy head before collecting his supplies and heading to the door.
Del-Rey moved from the chair to his bed and lay back with a weary groan. Damn. Armani was right, he was bruised clear to the bone and it always took longer for the bruises to heal. As though his body considered them unworthy of the effort of a quick healing.
He was running low on sleep, food and sex. Hell, the sex part he hadn’t had in two years until he took Anya eight months ago. He’d have been damned if he was going to f**k a woman with the image of Anya in his head. And since the day she’d turned twenty, that was where she had stayed.
The mating hormone had his tongue swollen despite the kiss he’d shared with Anya earlier that night. His c**k wasn’t as hard as normal, but he had had significant blood loss, he thought. Give it time; it always managed full mast at little more than the thought of his mate.