Wild Wolf: Black Mesa Wolves #4 (2 page)

“I am not shy,” she said out loud, trying to force a certainty into the words. Her voice thunked into the deep, peaceful quiet of her little adobe house. It sounded false. She really wasn't shy, and in fact she enjoyed a little bit of big city time now and then. She just strongly preferred her quiet life out here in the desert canyons to the bustling movement of people in the big metro areas.

Straightening her shoulders, Claire took a deep breath through her nose. Her wolf senses brought the crush of sage and the tang of juniper to her. An overall crispness touched the air coming through her cracked window, promising a chill would settle in this evening. She loved autumn.

Run?
Her wolf danced in her mind, sounding beyond hopeful.

Of course,
Claire thought, firm and certain. She needed a run in her wolf form before leaving for Denver—the sprawling metropolis of the Rockies. A slight shudder rippled through her. Before she could head out, though, her phone jingled at her. Hurriedly, she checked the screen.

The Ex! No Good,
it read. The ringing suddenly sounded baleful. She'd replaced his name with this message to remind herself not to fall for his charms again. They'd been broken up for months now, and it had been a short relationship anyway. She was stronger in her resolve to ignore him, but during the past few weeks, he'd begun calling her again. She liked to think she was attractive, but his behavior was beginning to get slightly obsessive.

Claire narrowed her eyes at the offending instrument still loudly insisting she answer it. Some guys couldn't take no for an answer. She'd been saying it to him over and over. Somehow, he wasn't getting the message. Or maybe she wasn't being firm enough.

She almost ignored the call yet again, then decided action was the better part of valor. Maybe this time she could convince him to just leave her be. Bringing the phone up to her ear, she swiped it to answer. “Yeah?” she barked. Barking wasn't in Claire's nature—she was a wolf, after all; she definitely preferred a good, long howl over silly barking any day—but this situation called for it.

“Hello, beautiful,” said the deep voice of
The Ex! No Good.

The sound of it used to slay her until she figured out he wanted nothing more than to own her, to claim her as a possession. As a
packmate.
Just the thought made her want to flee. Claire was a solo wild wolf, and she enjoyed her life that way just fine.

“What are you doing, Claire?”

Claire impatiently tapped her bitten-to-the-quick nails against her hip. “You have to stop calling me. I told you no a thousand times before. It's over. Remember?”

He laughed. The sound of it traveled through her bones. Once, it had made her weak in the knees and idiotic in the head. Now, though, her wolf gave a low growl. Part disdain, part warning, the message was clear. Claire was a free woman, and she intended to stay that way. Even if there was the promise of some tension-relieving actions she could share with her ex, who admittedly had always been good in that department.

“If this had been over, you would long ago have stopped answering me.” His almost courtly way of speaking had been part of the initial draw. Now, though, it tended to bug her. “Delete my number. Block it if you must.” He laughed again, softly. “You're not done with me and we both know it, Claire. My beautiful white wolf. You and I are made for each other.”

Satisfaction and something a little darker laced his tone. Claire shivered abruptly as a cold chill zinged down her spine. Before she could draw breath to answer him, though, he went on.

“I'll be in town early next month. I want to see you.”

“What? No,” she said, almost stuttering as her thoughts jumbled up. To be honest, one of the main things that had kept her from semi-crumbling under his insistence on getting back together was the fact he didn't live in Colorado. They'd only met originally when he'd traveled here on family business. She could keep her distance from him on the phone, but in person the physical temptation might be too much. She hadn't had sex with anyone since him, a fact of which her wolf lately had been reminding her she needed to remedy very soon. A low, distant whine in her head signaled dismayed agreement.

Even so, the distasteful knowledge that he wanted her as a possession helped steel her voice. “I keep answering because you're not hearing me. We're over. It was fun, but you want something I don't. You can't have me like I'm some toy.”

“You're not a plaything to me, Claire,” he shot back. His voice became almost deadly serious. “You're much more important than you can understand.”

“B—” she started, but he cut her off again.

“I needed you to know that.” A muffled voice in the background caught Claire's sensitive hearing, although she couldn't quite distinguish the words. “I have to go now. I'll call you again soon. And I very much look forward to seeing you.”

He hung up, leaving her with her mouth open to answer empty air.

“Augh! Men.” She tossed the phone onto her bed next to the overnight bag.

Suddenly fuming, she headed toward the door, already stripping off her clothes in anticipation of a relaxing lope as her wolf. She would shrug off the call, as well as every other little thing bothering her at the moment. Dancing in her mind, her wolf pattered at her with eager paws to be let loose.

Bright midday sun and the sharp air that was not quite yet tipped with frost greeted her as she leaped off her little covered porch. Shaking with pure delight at the prospect of being in her freest form, she bounded out into the desert. She shifted mid-leap, luxuriating in the stretch and play of her muscles. Her creamy white coat, so unusual in the wolf shifter world outside of the few Arctic packs in Alaska, northern Europe, and the farthest northern reaches of Canada, wasn't the best camouflage in the soft coral and light saddle-colored cliffs and mesas of her desert home. This canyon, however, boasted very few human residents. Her property backed right up to a protected wilderness area that offered almost immediate cover from any spectators, and her nearest neighbor was a half mile down the canyon, around a curve in the road and not visible from her place.

Then again, the only viewers around were usually lizards, crows, and the occasional jackrabbit. She wasn't very worried about them seeing her romping around in the desert as a wolf. Besides, the occasional snack of a cottontail was a tasty little treat. She huffed in laughter as her human made a disagreeable noise in the back of her head.

Stretching out into a lope, Claire felt the touch of the sun's rays on her back as she kicked dirt and pebbles out from under her paws with each landing step. Running like this always calmed her, as both wolf and human. Stretching out, she felt her muscles strain and play. She was in excellent shape. Her carefully-kept fitness soothed her physically, mentally, emotionally. Running, moving, jumping—everything to do with using her body kept Claire loose and comfortable in her own pelt.

Or skin,
her human whispered. Chuffing with amusement, Claire leapt to the top of a pale yellow sandstone boulder and paused to take in the view. The landscape stretched out, seemingly enormous and empty. Immediately to the south, the sacred slumbering mountain rose in soft curves, guarding its ancient secrets. To the north, wild canyon lands jumbled together in alcoves and buttes and jagged falls of rock that beckoned the adventurous but repelled the fearful. Which, thankfully, meant the majority of humankind.

Few other shifters ever came here, either. This was free, lawless territory: free of pack restrictions, free of rules, free of the strictures of a life Claire had barely ever known and never wanted to live. She was a wild wolf, which meant she was free of the politics and regulations of the rest of the shifter world. Their rules didn't apply here, and she was not bound by them.

Leaping off the rock to land with a soft thud on the ground, she easily loped northward, deeper into the canyons. Being a wild wolf meant she could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Frankly, that suited her just fine.

Deep inside, her human uttered a resounding,
Yes.
Tongue lolling out in a fierce grin, Claire raced on. She had miles to run before she relaxed enough to head into Cortez for some last-minute errands before her flight out this evening. The desert welcomed her easy strides with all the soft yet fierce wildness in it that she loved with all her heart.

***

Tate settled into the driver's seat of his truck as Caleb slid over the passenger's side. A large, shiny pink bag carefully nestled in the back seat raised Tate's eyebrows, but he refused to mention it. The gruesome details earlier of Caleb's gift for his mate were enough to mess with Tate's appetite, and at the moment he was hungrier than any horse. Breakfast had been a long seven hours ago. Shifters always needed food, and plenty of it.

Caleb grumbled at stopping in Cortez for some lunch instead of heading straight home. Tate playfully swung at his brother, who easily countered it without even looking. Guardian to the core.

“I'll have to shift and hunt down a deer otherwise,” Tate said. “Won't make it to Durango.” When a shifter needed to eat, he needed to eat
now.
The pack den north of Durango was an hour from Cortez. By the time they reached it, Tate would eat his own arm if he didn't grab some lunch first.

The engine rumbled as he kicked an awesome amount of horsepower down the road. His sister said he was ruining the environment in his monstrously huge diesel truck. Well, that was tough. Cowboys pulled horse trailers, and wimpy little “clean” cars weren't exactly up the job. To be honest, deep down Tate always felt a little bad about adding more pollution to the environment. Not, however, bad enough to give up his truck. One day, when he could afford it, he would upgrade to a more environmentally friendly eco-diesel truck. He needed more horses to train first, though, so he could pad that bank account. His wolf chuffed in agreement. Even in his wolf form, Tate appreciated equines and everything that came with a lifetime of being fascinated by them.

No one else in the family truly understood his love for horses. Most shifters didn't relate well to prey animals, because those creatures could often sense the wild predator lurking somewhere deep inside shifters. Some shifters, though, had a special touch that didn't bother most prey animals. Tate didn't feel particularly special. He just knew horses responded to his approach, and he liked working with them more than anything else on earth. He was a true cowboy, and his life was complete. That was all he needed to know.

“Can you at least grab it to go?” Caleb was texting as he spoke. “I really want to get back soon. Gotta pack before we have that meeting.”

Tate had nearly forgotten about the pack meeting scheduled for that evening. Since all the rogue wolf madness began happening earlier in the year, his head had been in the game less and less. He was there for his Pack, no question. He would fight to the death, if absolutely necessary. He would defend the weaker Pack members with his life as trained to do. The realities of the lunatic rogues had just made him begin to question certain things more and more. Such as how long he could be an effective Guardian for his Pack when being a Guardian wasn't in his bones as deeply as it was in someone like Caleb.

His wolf whined in mild alarm at Tate's swirling thoughts. Forcefully, he made himself lose them. “Sure,” he said in response to Caleb. He remembered passing a tiny strip mall that sported a fast food joint on the way out to the clients' place. Pressing down on the gas pedal, he aimed the truck toward a few juicy burgers and some fries. The late lunch of champions.

A line of cars spoked out from the drive-through lane. Tate groaned as his stomach growled. Inching through the line of cars and hoping he wouldn't actually gnaw off his own arm before they got their food, trying desperately to ignore Caleb's intensely broadcasted interest in whatever texts his mate was sending him, and wondering if he needed to wash anything before he packed for his trip, Tate almost missed the scent.

A whiff of pure snow, the kind that filled the air with its crisp newness. Fresh ponderosa pine, a wild and whipping wind. Something so compelling, so perfect, zinged right through his entire body and brought him sitting bolt upright.

A wolf.
A female wolf, one Tate had never smelled before. His own wolf stirred and sprang into the foreground of his mind, eagerly sniffing through Tate's human nose, enhancing its abilities. Yes. An unknown female wolf walked through this little town southwest of Durango, where as far as Tate knew no wolves lived. And for some reason, she was totally, utterly fascinating to him.

“Hello and welcome to the Best Little Burgerhouse in Colorado,” a disembodied voice came through the box. “May I take your order please?”

Tate automatically smiled and said, “Sure, just give me a minute, please.” Inside, though, his wolf paced in a sudden, wild restlessness. He longed to leap out of the truck and bound through the streets, seeking out owner of that incredible smell. Taking in a long, deep sniff again, he committed her scent to memory. It was filled with a sort of primitive, unsettled longing. Just a tickle to begin with, the alluring scent started to fade even as his nostrils flared to search it. Dammit! Whoever she was, she was getting away.

Well, hell. Tate hadn't been with a female wolf shifter in years. No one in their pack had ever interested him, and there were enough sweet human women in the area to grab his attention when he felt the need for their companionship. He wanted simple, and human women gave him that since none of them could never be his mate. But in the meantime, he'd forgotten how enticing a female wolf could smell. At least, the kind of female wolf who interested him so much he felt ready to shift into wolf form right here and run through the streets looking for her.

“Whenever you're ready.” The voice grated out from the hidden speaker.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Tate said back to it. He ordered with hardly a clue about what he said, drumming his fingers against his denim-covered thigh as Caleb leaned over him and shouted his own order into the speaker. As they slowly crept up to the take-out window, Tate turned to his brother.