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Authors: Afton Locke

Tags: #Black Hills Wolves

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BOOK: Rebel's Claw
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“But it’s the only way I can make things right.” Her index finger shook as it hovered over the keypad. “I deserve to go to jail and a whole lot more for what I’ve done.”

“You can’t.” The phone was so slick with her sweat it almost slipped from his hand when he grabbed it.

“It’s just a ranch,” she argued, sounding hoarser by the second. “A small price to pay.”

“There’s more at stake here than a piece of land.”

She frowned. “What?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, needing to unload his secrets as she’d done. But not under the influence of fresh shock.

“I can’t say right now.” He squeezed her arm. “Promise me you won’t call anyone. It would make things much worse.”

She stepped away from the phone. “Then what—?”

“Show me where he is.”

“A-all right,” she said through trembling lips.

He followed her outside into blinding shafts of sunshine, struggling to picture a rifle and a wolf on a dark, rainy night. Studying her jeans—loose enough to be practical and tight enough to be sexy—was easier.

Because he finally knew what had happened, he viewed the scene through Jared’s eyes. Why had his friend trespassed here? What had it been like to stare at the end of Carrie’s rifle? That one was easy to figure out. Hadn’t she threatened to shoot his balls off, too? If he’d been in wolf form, would he have suffered the same fate?

When they passed the front of the barn, the heavy tang of recent paint hit him. Holy buffalo crap. The whole side was brick red, covering the lucky-green horseshoe and words.

He palmed the wood. “Did you repaint this?”

“Yes. Daddy’s gone.”

Come to think of it, the big boots had been gone from the kitchen, too. “Why now?”

“I suppose you changed me.”

She’d changed him, too. Every time he saw her put him through a blender. If she could move on after suffering a loss, maybe he could as well.

His legs dragged so heavily he could hardly walk. The need to shift and process the emotional shock clawed at him. As a result, she got ahead of him, but the breeze still carried her fresh scent straight to his brain.

At last, she stopped in the middle of the field. His breath clogged in his throat at the sight of her. How could she look so innocent standing there with the sunlight glowing around her pale hair? She resembled a freaking angel.

Angel of death?

A chill washed over his arms. Would she kill him, too, especially if she found out what he was? Luckily, he’d always been able to control his shifts. If he had problems with it like Lara’s mate used to, he might be in trouble. Still, his bones ached from the effort of suppressing his nature.

“Here?” he asked, pointing to the ground at her feet.

The tough grass and gravel didn’t look any different from the rest of the land. No one would ever suspect what lay underneath.

“Yes.” She knelt and touched a pretty pink rock with marbled veins running through it. “I put it there, figuring he ought to have something nice. I said a prayer, too.”

He looked away as hot tears erupted from his eyes. Which was sadder? His friend’s grave, or the fact she’d cared enough to give him a headstone? “Leave me.”

“I-I’ll be in the kitchen.”

While her booted footsteps retreated, he stared at the open land opposite of the house. After checking to make sure she was out of sight, he dropped to his knees in the gravelly soil.

“Shit, Jared.” He slid a shaky palm across the ground. “Why the hell did you come here?”

Nothing answered except a haunting breeze, jiggling the barn’s front door in its hinges. He glared at the sky and yelled—the closest thing to a howl in human form. Rough sobs grated through his chest and throat, and tears dripped onto the ground, leaving round dots of mud. He stretched out and laid his face on the rough surface until they stopped.

“Get this, man,” he said, sitting up to wipe his face. “The chick who deep-sixed you is my fucking mate. Is that messed up or what?”

At least Carrie’s confession had given him some closure. After three years of searching, he’d finally learned the truth. He stared at Wyoming’s brown, stony mountains in the distance—a sight as familiar as his own cock.

After he transported the last of the families to South Dakota, the Lamar Canyon pack would be gone. He still couldn’t believe he’d done the blood oath, making him a Tao.

“I wish you could meet Ryker and Gee, dude,” he told Jared. “Talk about a couple of bad-asses. They threw me over an embankment.”

Time to say good-bye to everything—Jared, home, and his fucked-up little mate.

 

***

 

Roark raced through Yellowstone National Park on four paws. He couldn’t stop running. The emotions spurting through his canine muscles and tendons fueled his energy. He snapped at the air and growled at the rocks. Even dug his teeth into a sapling, threatening to pull it out by the roots.

After a long stretch of time, he returned to the enclave of hot springs, where he’d left his clothes, and returned to man form. Even though shifting was usually easy for him, this one hurt like a bitch. Each popping bone hammered his skull with the force of a migraine. So did the harsh smell of all the angry crap erupting from the land around him.

He sat on a flat rock, still warm from the sun. The rubber band got lost during his shift, so he braided his hair. With the coiled tension in his muscles released, he could meditate. An image of two teenaged boys playing over the mud pots dropped into his mind’s eye. Jared took his pants off and jumped over a steaming fumarole.

“You crazy bastard,” Roark had yelled. “You’re going to burn your dick off!”

But Jared jumped over it and laughed. “Don’t be such a pussy, Roark. I dare you.”

So, Roark had done it. He’d also tried to knock a buffalo off its feet because his friend bet he couldn’t do it. Even in wolf form, the huge beast was too much for him. He’d downed it, all right, but barely avoided getting squashed.

A couple of them stood in the distance now, two brown humps obscured by the white steam rising from the ground.

His left pinkie claw had gotten caught in the buffalo’s matted hide. He had to rip it out to escape. Jared had laughed his ass off the whole time. Roark rubbed the bare spot on his left pinkie where his nail had been.

Jared had never taken off the claw necklace. Knowing a piece of him lay in the grave filled Roark’s chest with a sense of rightness. When his eyes watered, he blamed it on the acrid vapors filling the air.

Time to say good-bye, he reminded himself.

Carrie’s tear-stained face drifted through his mind. Damn it. He missed her already. Even though Jared’s death was a nightmare, they were in it together. Telling him the truth about what she’d done had taken guts and good character.

Nice of her to want to pay for her sin, too. She was even willing to lose the one thing that meant everything to her—the ranch. He hoped she’d obeyed his order not to call the police. Living with what she’d done for three years had probably been punishment enough. Not for someone hard hearted, but for a tender, caring woman like her, yes.

Did she sleep at night, wondering when or if her secret would be discovered someday? She probably had nightmares and no one to hold her sweet little body while she quivered in her flannel nightgown.

What was he saying? The bottom line said she’d killed his friend. He could never forget it. Sure as hell couldn’t ever love her.

Lara’s conversation in Gee’s Bar returned to him.
For all we know, his death was an accident
.

Not an accident, but what about self-defense? He replayed Carrie’s description of the encounter in his mind. Why had Jared growled and lunged at a woman? On a dark, rainy night, combined with the loose-fitting clothes she wore, she might resemble a young guy.

He gazed at the sky and let out a breath. It sure sounded like Jared meant to harm her…because she was a rancher. Sick guilt rolled through Roark’s stomach. Lamar wolves hated ranchers because they killed. So, the Lamar killed back. When would it end?

During their last year together, they hadn’t horsed around in the park. Instead, they’d prowled the countryside for revenge. Hate the enemy. Kill or be killed.

Truth settled into Roark’s gut. By filling his friend’s mind with hate, he’d driven him to the ranch to murder. As a result, he’d lost his own life. And what about Carrie’s life? Was her existence for the past three years really living?

And look at him, for fuck’s sake. Drinking himself stupid in a South Dakota bar because his own life didn’t mean more than crap to him anymore.

He jumped off the rock. Jared’s death couldn’t be undone, but it didn’t have to be in vain. Let it be an end to hatred.

What about Carrie? He had no idea what to do with his mate. But he did need to see her one more time.

 

***

 

Carrie sat at the kitchen table, feeling as numb as the wooden chair she sat on. She’d cleaned up the coffee spill but hadn’t bothered fixing dinner. It would be a long time before her appetite returned.

Roark had gone to Yellowstone, and she wouldn’t blame him if he never returned. How he must hate her! But she was glad she’d told him the truth. He deserved to know. Having finally shared her awful secret with someone made her shoulders feel lighter.

She almost didn’t want him to come back because she couldn’t bear to see cold hatred in his eyes. Better to continue living as she had before, staying to herself and not calling the police.

The throb of his motorcycle outside accelerated her heart. Would he kill her to get even? Snap her in half as he’d threatened? She almost wanted him to, so it would help even out the huge debt she owed him.

When she opened the door, his face was streaked with dirt but calm.

“Are you all right?” she asked. What a silly question. How could he be?

He stepped inside. “Better. I meditated.”

“Good. Would you like something to eat?”

“No thanks. I’m not hungry.” He tweaked the bridge of his nose. “I need to show you something.”

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He was too quiet. Maybe he planned to avenge his friend’s death after all. Whatever he wanted to show her couldn’t be good.

“No guns around, though,” he added. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Upstairs, where he’d taken her virginity. Despite the uneasy fear moseying down her spine, his spicy-citrus scent called to her on a primal level. He’d switched from the ponytail to a single braid on each side of his face. How she longed to stroke the black plaits and comfort him.

When they reached the top of the stairs, he strode into the master bedroom.

“I cleaned it up.” Putting away Daddy’s things last week hadn’t been easy, but the room felt more cheerful as a result. She might even paint the dark green walls a lighter color someday.

“I see. If there are any guns in here, get them out.”

As usual, his voice struck the air with the precision of a whip. Relieved to have someone tell her what to do instead of figuring out her burdens all the time, she walked to the closet and pulled out the two hunting rifles.

“What should I do with them?”

“Put them in the hall and close the door,” he said.

Her skin prickled again with a mixture of excitement and fear as she did what he asked. He stood with his back against the door and tossed off his jacket and shirt, followed by his jeans and briefs. Heat swirled through her belly at the sight of his bare, powerful body.

Did he plan to punish her…in bed? Then why wasn’t his magnificent cock hard? Maybe she disgusted him.

“What are you fixing to do, Roark?”

“All you have to do is stand still and watch. Don’t be afraid. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Her last breath lodged in her throat, refusing to move in or out, as she stood with her arms at her sides. “Like this?”

“Perfect.” He dropped to all fours, and his frame bucked and quivered.

Good Lord. He seemed to be having an attack. Was it a seizure? She rushed forward to help him. Don’t let him die here, too!

“Stay back,” he uttered in a voice that was half human, half growl.

Popping sounds filled the room, echoing against the wood walls and floor like gunshots. Dizziness swept over her when she realized they were his bones. Black fur sprouted down the length of his arms and his fingers shortened. Long canines poked between his lips and something pointy sprouted from the base of his spine. A tail!

Carrie staggered backward into the tall bedpost, her throat too numb to scream. Before her stood a big, dark wolf, like the one she’d killed.

 

 

 

Chapter Six

 

 

“My God,” she whispered.

Here was the night from three years ago all over again. Her fingers wriggled, missing the protective rifle, but instead of growling and lunging, this wolf whined and swished his tail. He acted like a friendly dog.

Its black eyes, so similar to Roark’s, bored through her heart. The glossy black fur reminded her of his hair. A tangle of locks hung from its massive chest, reminding her of his braids.

Come closer
, it seemed to say.

Although her rubbery legs barely kept her upright, she stepped forward and held out her fist. The beast sniffed it and closed its eyes as if it got drunk off her scent. She gasped when a warm, pink tongue brushed the heel of her hand.

For some reason, she wasn’t afraid. She knew, deep in her bones, the animal wouldn’t hurt her. Biting her bottom lip, she extended her fingers to the top of its head. The fur was downy soft between two triangular ears. She petted it in slow, steady strokes.

When she stepped back, the wolf circled. Spasms swept through its massive body. Legs and arms extended. Fur disappeared. Within a minute, Roark slumped against the door, naked and panting.

She was so relieved to see him again, she dove into his arms. Staring into his dark eyes and grasping his disheveled braids told her everything she needed to know. Roark and the wolf were one and the same.

Which meant the animal that had frightened her and the man she’d shot were the same, too. The mystery plaguing her for three years was finally solved.

BOOK: Rebel's Claw
11.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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