Black Wolf's Revenge (15 page)

When she came through the clearing, her eyes widened in wonder. She leaned forward to take in the full expanse of his log cabin. No, his log mansion. Definitely not what she had expected to find when she went sniffing around his old apartment looking for him. He’d been living just across Dallas pack borders the entire time. She had been Changing and hunting with the other wolves right next door to him and hadn’t even been aware.

The house was beautifully built but blended in with the landscape so harmoniously it was as if it had been there for a hundred years and stamped its image permanently on the woods in ways beautifully inoffensive to nature. The size of the house was overwhelming. Or maybe she was just used to living in her cramped matchbox house in the city. A huge front porch led up to the door and the railings had animal motifs in the same style as the box Grey had given her when he’d proposed. Back when everything was simple and easy. He must have carved these as well.

Huge windows stretched across the main front wall and the logs on the exterior of the home had been stained dark. The house was two stories and had to have at least five bedrooms. On the second story, another balcony came off one of the bedrooms, probably the master, and two other bedroom windows had small balconies as well. A home designed to bring the outdoors inside. It was perfect.

She clenched the wheel in a white-knuckled grip and checked the mirror. Light violet eyes reflected back at her with uncertainty. At least her face had healed from her recent kidnapping and abuse. So there was that. “Here goes nothing,” she mumbled.

She shut the door gently behind her. Werewolf hearing was so sensitive she was learning to take advantage of the quiet. Grey approached with long, confident strides that told of his imposing height. That man belonged on a runway.

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you in this place?” he asked. “None of them can touch the real thing.” He dropped the ax and walked slowly closer.

Okay, so maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as she had imagined. Frivolous little hope. It fluttered in her chest and she tried to stifle it, not wanting to let it get too high or too confident.

“I went to your apartment. An elderly lady lives there now, so that was a surprise. I had to call Rachel and ask her where you lived. You were so near to me this whole time and I didn’t even know. Now I guess it makes sense that night in the woods, when you were over the property line. I didn’t know this was yours.” She gestured at the expanse of it.

She lowered her gaze to the long, uneven scar snaking down his torso. The scar he’d willingly received protecting her. She closed her eyes. She had to be brave and tell him how she felt. “I have something to say, but I’m not good with this kind of thing, so please, let me finish before you tell me to leave.”

Grey nodded. Waited.

“I needed time, from Montana to now, to look at things clearly. To figure things out. I didn’t want to talk to you until I knew what I wanted, so I could stop hurting us both.” She searched his gaze and was met with blue in his eyes. A rarity. “I’m having trouble dealing with what happened, and the only person I think about talking it over with is you. I know this is my fault. I made bad decisions, but for what I thought were good reasons for me, and for Lana. I can’t change anything that has happened. I wish I could, but I can’t. All I can do is tell you how sorry I am, and try to make it up to you. I know we have so much to work out, but I want to come home, Grey. I want my family back. All of it.”

His eyebrows, always so animated, drew down, contrasting sharply with the smile in his eyes. “Home. You mean here, home?”

She scanned the house towering above them, overwhelmed. “Well, I imagined it would be in your crummy little apartment, but yeah,” she admitted with a grin. “Home is where you are. I want you and me and Lana to all be together, in the same place. I know it will be a lot of work, but I want to try. If you’ll have us,” she added.

“You have to promise not to leave me again. To stay and fight for us. I don’t want to turn around always half expecting you and the kid to be gone again. If you are coming back to me, it’s for good.”

A slow smile spread across her face. It was the easiest oath she’d ever take. “I promise.”

The intensity of his gold-flecked gaze bored down on her, and he picked her up so fast she didn’t see it coming. He pulled her up and against the house with his strong, able hands, and his body fit to hers like it was made to be there. He growled, long and low in the deepest part of his throat, and it sent a delicious tremor down her spine. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his sternum until she was burrowed so tightly against him, his warmth seeped into her. Dropping his head to her neck, he inhaled deeply. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, the words rumbling against her throat.

Easing back, she cupped the sloping angles of his jaw, brushed them with the pads of her thumbs, and searched his eyes. The pain there reflected the loneliness she’d felt these past months without him. She’d do everything in her power to make him happy again. It had taken her almost losing him to realize how important he was in her life. Her future could only be happy if he was there, looking at her with the overwhelming devotion that swam in his gaze right now.

“I’ve missed you too,” she said, moisture blurring her vision. God, she’d missed him so much, the pain had been a weight across her shoulders, lifting now under the slow smile that crooked his lips.

It was that one small, answering gesture that sealed it. He was hers and she his. No more running or making excuses. No matter what came their way, she’d face it standing beside her mate--the man with the power to wield Wolf, and the devotion to protect her heart.

The breeze lifted a strand of her dark hair and he tucked it behind her ear and traced a line down her neck. His gaze never left her, like he’d never tire of watching her, and her heart thrummed against her chest with how right it felt to be in his arms again.

He was a magnet--strong, consuming, unavoidable. She couldn’t keep herself away from his warmth if she tried. He lifted her chin and kissed her gently. When he pulled back, he had a school-boy smile on his face that made her laugh.

“Come on, I have to show you something,” he said.

Her hand fit into his, small and encompassed by the strength of his steadfast grip and right where it was supposed to be.

He led her into his new house. Into his new life. Into hers.

She was home.

Tera Shanley writes in sub-genres that stretch from Paranormal Romance, to Historic Western Romance, to Apocalyptic (zombie) Romance. The common theme? She loves love! A self-proclaimed bookworm, she was raised in small town Texas and could often be found decorating a table at the local library. She currently lives in Dallas with her husband and two young children and when she isn’t busy running around after her family, she’s writing a new story or devouring a good book. Any spare time is dedicated to chocolate licking, rifle slinging, friend hugging, and the great outdoors. For more information about Tera and her work, visit www.terashanley.com.

This series was supposed to be my secret adventure, but I’m so glad it didn’t remain so. Many wonderful people supported this story coming to life. A huge thank you to my husband, Anthony, for all of the mushy feelings he always gives me, inspiring me to write romance. To his family, and by marriage and sheer luck, my family, Reggie, Marcy, and Bryan Shanley for always, always being so supportive and caring. To Mary Murray for her patient work to polish this series, and to Ellen Chan, my publicist, for working so hard to connect readers and books. And last but not least, a huge thank you to Renee Rocco and Lyrical Press/Kensington Publishing Corp. for giving this series a home.

Turn the page for a special excerpt of Tera Shanley’s

An Unwilling Husband

Will a child of Society have the backbone to love a tough, wild west cowboy?

For adventurous Margaret Flemming, arrived from Boston to be with her father, the Old West town of her childhood is a far cry from the drawing rooms and balls of the high society life she’s used to. Her fancy gowns and proper manners have no place in the dusty, cruel land inhabited by Indians and rough cowboys. And her fiercely independent streak constantly gets her in trouble. When tragedy strikes, there’s only one person she can turn to--her childhood friend, Garret Shaw--but he’s disgusted with her Society ways.

With his ranch under attack from the land-grabbing Jennings, the last thing Garret needs is to be saddled with a high-falutin’ lady. Even if she is his friend’s daughter and her kind ways tug at his hardened heart. Duty to her father forces them to wed, but he knows sure as anything, when the chance comes along, she’ll go back to Boston. No matter how much he wants her, loving her is not a risk he can take.

Will Maggie choose a life of luxury and ease over struggle and hardship with an ill-mannered cowboy? Only her heart can answer.

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Margaret Flemming. What an intolerable name. The last name wouldn’t be so unbearable if it wasn’t directly preceded by the first. To be sure, Margaret is a fair name on other girls who are more suited to it, but for me it is a constant reminder of who I am named after. One Margaret Hall; the sole benefactor of the very wealthy William Hall and a hard soul with an acute and bitter dislike for me. She also happens to be my aunt. My mother thought naming me after her sister would increase my chances of that wealth trickling down to me, though she was absurdly wrong. What my kind and loving uncle ever saw in that woman, I fear I shall never know; but I digress. I have made a decision. Since no one will know me where I’m going, I think I shall call myself Maggie…

The slowing of the train pulled her against the seat, and she caught the small vial of ink that slid toward her. She plugged it up, wiped the pen, blew on her journal before closing it, and placed the writing materials into the side pocket of her luggage that was packed and waiting patiently beside the small table in the compartment. She stood and smoothed the soft material of her full dress. The wide hooped skirts and cream colored bombazine dress were completely inappropriate for the dusty Wild West cattle town of Rockdale, Texas.

The outfit wasn’t her choice. Dear Aunt Margaret had made it a last request that she wear a proper dress as she rode off to her new wanton life. And now she would undoubtedly stand out as the proverbial sore thumb in this small town. “An adventuress,” Aunt Margaret called her, though she’d used the term like a curse. Aunt Margaret’s bitterness and condemnation still stung.

The train let out a shrill whistle and the brakes screeched loudly. The force made her brace against the nearest wall in the tiny space. She picked up her luggage as the train came to a stop, and left through the trim door. Her skirts swished and folded unbecomingly as she moved through the small doorway. No doubt she looked like a bowl of gravy being poured from the compartment. A heavyset man gave her a wide eyed look and shook his head. Maggie stifled a laugh. She had never been good at first impressions, and Rockdale would have something and someone new to talk about for at least a week until the next gossip stole their attention.

The thought made her nervous all over again, and her smile faded as she stepped out of the train and onto the platform. Her bags were terribly heavy and she set them down beside her. All along the platform her recent train mates and their loved ones reunited with happy embraces, handshakes, and smiles. No such reunion was to be expected for her. The man she had traveled to see was unaware of her intentions to visit.

She needed to find a coach and quickly. The mid-day sun bore down relentlessly, and she already roasted in her full skirts. A drop of perspiration raced southward between her breasts, and she sighed as she hefted her baggage. Ignoring the open mouthed stares from the crowd, she headed through the small station and congratulated herself on only being slightly flustered at their attention.

She dropped the heavy bags with an embarrassing thud onto a wooden porch directly in front of a carriage. An older gentleman in a dusty waistcoat and full, gray beard perched on its seat. “May I bother you for a ride, sir? I can pay,” she said.

He studied her with a slight frown. “Where you headed, miss?”

“Roy Davis’s place. I’m a relative.” Well, close enough to a relative anyway.

“I know Roy Davis, and I reckon I can take you to his place. I ain’t no coach though. Those only come through a few times a week right now.”

“Oh.” How embarrassing. “Terribly sorry. I saw you waiting out here and just assumed.”

“Nope. I’m in town pickin’ up a few things. If you’d wait a minute, I can give you that ride. It’s not too far out of my way and Roy is an old friend.”

“Thank you. I would appreciate it.” Could she trust this man? He looked unassuming enough but one could never be too careful. Out of options, she nodded. He jumped out of the buggy and loaded her bags in the back. True to his word, the man returned shortly with two boxes of supplies. After they were off, he introduced himself as Bill Borland.

“Maggie Flemming,” she said, only hesitating a bit as her lips formed the name. “Pleased to meet you.”

“So you’re kin to Roy Davis?” Bill asked.

“I’m his daughter, sir.”

“His daughter? You don’t look nothin’ like him!”

Bill’s surprise was sincere, and her cheeks flushed with heat as he studied her face. She knew what he was thinking. How could dark-as-an-Injun Roy Davis have a daughter with auburn hair, bright green eyes and a smattering of freckles over her fair skin?

“I take after my mother’s side,” she lied.

“I thought you said your name was Flemming.”

“It is. I didn’t take Roy’s name. It’s a long story.”

“Well, good thing we got a few hours before we get there so you have plenty of time to tell that long story of yours.”