Mated for Keeps Boxed Set: a BBW Werewolf Shifter Romance (The Lost River Pack) (6 page)

There it was. He raised an eyebrow. “Yet, huh?”

Jackson grumbled something under his breath, too guttural to make out.

“Something you want to say to me?”

“Fuck you.” There was heat in the retort, but not the kind Ben felt obligated to address. Temper came with the blood—werewolves ran hot.

Especially when a female was around. Heat just made everything that much more complicated.

Ben was old enough, strong enough, that he didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “I get the impression it’s not me you want to be fucking.”

Jackson’s low growl trickled between his teeth.

There
was
a limit. Ben shot him a long, hard stare. “What’s the issue, King?” Not that he couldn’t guess half of it. It was pretty damn clear that Jackson had all but wrapped her noose around his neck and jumped headlong into possession—a dangerous ride when the mating hadn’t taken hold.

There wasn’t much ritual to it, not in the sense that humans understood ritual. Ben had only seen a mating once, and it hadn’t
looked
like anything special, but the pack had known. Maybe the scent changed, maybe something about the pair had altered, he couldn’t be sure. They’d simply…
known.

The feelings that had gripped him then—lust, jealousy,
relief
—still echoed somewhere in his soul.

Jackson scrubbed at his face. The rasp of his fingers over his close-cropped whiskers whispered as much aggravation as the lines drawn into his scowl. “I’ve been thinking about her situation. Does she belong to the Yellow Canyon Pack?” They spoke in low tones, mindful of the sleeping woman behind them.

She deserved whatever rest she could get.

“I don’t know.” Ben hadn’t been given all the data yet, but Nico had promised it’d come. “That’s going to be part of the negotiations.”

“So we’re negotiating?”

“Damn right, we’re negotiating,” Ben replied grimly. “Nico’s pissed.”

In the passenger seat, Jackson’s shoulders eased. A fraction, but it was enough for Ben.

The man had worried.

He shot Jackson a frown. “You thought he wouldn’t be.”

“I wasn’t sure he’d put her over our reputation,” Jackson confessed. He closed his eyes, lacing both hands over his chest, but he didn’t feign sleep. Jackson wasn’t much of a feigner—he meant what he said. And usually said when he meant. A dangerous disposition in a weak werewolf.

Fortunately for Nico’s troubleshooters, young werewolves didn’t always stay weak. Nico had a damn good eye for people—Jackson was a hell of a lot stronger than anyone else had expected he’d become. Maybe it was Nico’s influence that pushed him.

Did Jackson know how strong he was?

He hid a smile. “You should trust him.”

“I trust him.”

“More,” Ben emphasized dryly. “You put together yet why we’re taking her to the Lost River cabin?”

The other man cracked open an eye. “She’s a female.”

“Yeah.” Ben glanced into the rear view mirror, and the still mound of blankets that covered Natalie Baker. “And if she chooses us, Jackson, you know what that’ll make us?”

The question hung in the air between them, undercut by the hum of the engine and the friction of the wheels on the road.

Both of Jackson’s eyes opened, green hollows glinting in the faint light. His voice thrummed with the same energy that whispered through Ben. “A pack.”

“A pack,” Ben repeated slowly, and didn’t have to add anything to it. The implications of it, the meaning, swallowed anything else Jackson worried at.

Nico and his troubleshooters had made the best of a bad situation. Scraping together a bunch of young wolves with a collective chip on their shoulders might have looked like a shit idea to anyone else, but Nico had whipped them into the kind of shape that turned their anger and lacerated pride into a tool—even a weapon. They were mercenaries, hired out to the established packs for anything that needed travel, transportation, escorts, blood. They were useful. Reliable.

Trustworthy.

But no matter what they’d managed to accomplish already, they weren’t anything more than a bunch of strays.

Nico understood that. He knew better than anyone the limitations of their strength. Natalie Baker could change all that. All she had to do was stay—bond with the Lost River werewolves, and choose one as her mate.

They could finally be family in every sense of the word.

Ben knew Nico. He’d grown up with the man, he remembered what it was like to be run off the territory because they hadn’t made the cut. How it’d felt to be torn away from everything and left to sink or swim in a world that didn’t understand how to deal with werewolf teenagers.

The wolf inside them made humans uneasy. Human jobs were little more than a ticking time bomb. Young wolves were expected to die—either from exposure or at the claws of their own kind, savaged for encroaching on other territories.

The troubleshooters had beaten those odds.
Together
. Like Nico, Ben would risk everything they’d built, everything they’d accomplished, for a chance to become a real pack. The Lost River Pack.

Only catch was
her
. Would Natalie want them?

Or was Ben going to have to figure out how to keep the Yellow Canyon Pack from demanding their right in blood?

N
atalie wasn’t
sure what she expected after hearing Jackson call the place a “cabin”, but it wasn’t
this
. The sprawling ranch house had obviously been designed to spec, with an unusual layout that let it take advantage of the heavily wooded, rocky terrain without encroaching on the natural environment. Half had been built into mountainous border making up the valley’s walls, leaving her with the overwhelming impression of a lair instead of a home.

An impression that faded when Ben and Jackson escorted her through the front door.

Warmth soaked into her skin the instant she stepped over the threshold, carrying with it a fragrance that she couldn’t identify—a light, nostalgic scent that curled into her exhausted, fraying senses and soothed the edges. She gasped softly, taking in the large foyer, the open floor concept that let light stream through. Wooden floors, sturdy furniture that could handle the kind of toss-ups werewolf packs were known to get into with each other, and floor to ceiling windows made it feel more welcoming than any hotel room she’d ever been in.

And a thousand times more safe.

Jackson’s hand cradled the side of her neck. His eyes searched hers, a furrow between his eyebrows. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“That’s the best news I’ve had in a long time.” The unfamiliar voice surprised her. She stiffened, half-turning, but Jackson didn’t. His hand at her neck remained gentle, that dark forest stare of his lifting to the newcomer.

The man across the den wasn’t as tall as either wolf flanking her, or as wide. Even so, she’d be an idiot to think that made him less a threat. In his dark denim and cotton shirt, sleeves shoved up on his golden forearms, every line of his body was packed with muscle. Even the way he lounged, shoulder braced against the frame and fingers loosely tucked into his jeans pockets, said he was one breath away from kinetic energy. If he came for her, she somehow knew that she wouldn’t even see it before he was on her.

She hadn’t sensed him, hadn’t even smelled him until he’d opened his mouth. His eyes were gray, incredibly pale against his darker skin—and across the wide room, she could easily see the thick ring of black rimming his irises.

A wolf’s eyes in a man’s face. Exotic, alien.

“Welcome, Natalie,” he said, his tenor light and warm. He didn’t move from his spot. “You’re safe here.”

“Nico,” Ben said in greeting. “Natalie. Natalie, our boss.” He passed her, slanting her a look Natalie thought was encouragement. She couldn’t read him so well, but she wasn’t quite as afraid of him anymore.

And her wolf didn’t bristle quite so much in his presence.

She’d gotten a taste of those deep waters, and they’d quenched her thirst for the time being, but it wouldn’t last. She was just glad she’d kept enough of her wits about her that she didn’t have to be carried inside the cabin.

Instead, she kept a tight grip on her crossed arms as she followed Ben. Sank into the sofa with a relief bordering on hysteria. She’d slept in the van, had even managed to wake up enough to wolf down the take-out hamburgers they’d ordered on the way, but exhaustion dogged her steps. A few hours hadn’t been enough to salve her weary body. Even the searing ache of her mating heat had throttled back under the weight of fatigue.

It was all she could do not to turn her face to the cushions and drop where she was.

Jackson made to follow her. She heard his footsteps behind her, and the man across the den stirred. A shift of his weight, that was all he did, but Natalie frowned as Jackson went still in the foyer.

“Jackson,” Nico said mildly, “go help Damien with the eastern surveillance system.”

“But I—”

“You wanted to show Natalie personally to her room,” he cut in. His lips curved. “I’m sure you had about a thousand ways to get her comfortable, but you’re going to go help Damien.”

Jackson took a step forward.

Nico’s brown eyebrows lifted in slow, calm inquiry. He didn’t bare his teeth, he didn’t even take a breath to sharpen his voice or growl or anything Victor would have done. His eyes gleamed like diamond and smoke, and something visceral uncurled in Natalie’s stomach. In her primitive mind.
Fear
.

Not the limited fear of injury or the easily overcome fear of nerves. This was ancient, primeval. The indescribable pressure of a predator stalking the shadows beyond the campfire, teeth and claws barely held at bay by ephemeral light. The air thickened, a power as old as the earth itself.

It slammed into her, stole her breath.

Jackson’s hands balled up into fists at his sides. A muscle ticked at his jaw.

“
Now
,” Nico said, and for all it came softly, the word seemed cut with knives.

Jackson swore savagely, turned and strode back out the open front door. Every footfall thundered, communicating his anger long after his boots thudded off the veranda and onto the ground beyond.

Ben’s sigh cut through the throbbing silence left in Jackson’s wake. “Jesus, Nico.”

“He’ll sweat it out.” The leader scratched at his nape, where tendrils fell from the loose bun he’d wound his hair into. His smile turned lazy. “Sorry about that,” he said to her.

She shook her head. “I’ve seen dominance games before,” she said, her throat drier than she wanted, but relief easing the sting. Nobody had bled. Or died. She clasped her arms around herself, looking down at her knees instead of risking this new wolf’s wrath.

Nico. Jackson had called the man as much an alpha as they could claim.

She couldn’t decide if that flare of power was the reason, or if it went deeper than that.

He came around the sofa, his bare feet soundless on the floorboards. Natalie expected him to stop in front of her, to loom over her in a show of possession, but to her shock, the denim-clad knees in her line of sight bent. Nico folded into a crouch, bending to peer up at her face from a lower vantage point.

Usually a sign of submission.

Her eyes widened.

His sparkled. His smile, framed by whiskers two days away from a beard, gentled. “You can relax.” His hand came to rest on the cushion by her thigh, bracing himself as he balanced on the balls of his feet. “The only dominance games that get played around here are the kind that have a safe word.”

Her lips wobbled, not quite a smile. “Werewolves without a dominance structure?”

“Not without. We’ll always work out what needs to be worked out,” he said easily, “but that’s not a
game
. We respect each other here in the Lost River Valley.” His head tipped, forcing her to meet his eyes directly. “That goes for you, too, Natalie. We’ll never do anything to make you feel unsafe.”

He had long, dark lashes, ridiculously thick. It made him look like he wore eyeliner, all the more exotic with his tawny skin and pale wolf eyes. The fact he let her look at him directly surprised Natalie—and made her bold. She licked her lips, which tingled when his gaze dropped to watch her do it. “So, what now?”

Ben stretched, reaching for the vaulted ceiling. “Now,” he said slowly, “we introduce you to a real bed.”

The wolf inside her skin tried to perk up, to take the words and roll them into something delicious and sexy, but all Natalie could manage was a throttled groan of sheer relief.

She was so tired, she wasn’t even sure she’d make it to the bed they promised.

Nico’s laughter was the exact opposite of whatever beast he’d called to bear in the face of Jackson’s pride. As if she’d only imagined it—a victim of her own exhausted mind. The sound of his voice smoothed over her skin, eased warm hands through her wolf’s fur and edged into the muscles she hadn’t realized had turned to iron somewhere along the way. Her body ached.

Her wolf indulged in the sound of Nico’s laughter, in his presence, in ways she’d never felt before.

The man wasn’t anything like Victor. She’d felt Victor’s power—been flattened by it.

Could Nico stand up to that?

Very gently, his hand curved over her cheek. “You’re exhausted,” he said, sympathy obvious—and delivered without a shred of judgment. Like it was okay to be tired. “I promise, Natalie. You’re
safe
here. Whatever you need, however you need it, we’re here for you. Okay?”

To her horror, tears pooled in the empty place behind her fatigue.

Nico stretched up on his toes, still crouched in front of her, and pressed his lips to her brow. They were warm, soft. When he stood, he did so with a fluidity that put her more in mind of a cat than a wolf.

Every instinct warned her not to test this man. What he may or may not lack in power, he’d more than make up for in lethal physicality. She’d have to be terminally stupid not to see it.

And yet? She trusted him.

Because he’d promised her she’d be safe?

God, she was too easy. So easy that her body had latched onto the concept of
bed
and started hungering for clean sheets, soft blankets.