River Wolf (14 page)

Debating the message from the number she didn’t recognize, she hit play just so she could delete the damn thing.

“Ms. Jensen, my apologies for the message here. When you came to the school on Sunday, you spoke to one of my TA’s about enrolling in the RN program. I’ve had a chance to review the transcripts you authorized and reviewed your work at the Alba Hospital. I have some questions for you, and I’d like to set up an appointment so we can discuss your options.”
He left his number and the instructions to call him but not his name. She talked to a crapton of people with Gillian when they went to SUNY.

Excitement curled in her belly. Despite all her protestations, the idea of someone overlooking her mistakes or at least accepting she’d done while allowing her to finish her degree and eventual certification…

Tears pricked in her eyes. As awful a job as being a nurse could be, she also got to help people. Her community service as a nurse’s assistant at the Alba Hospital demonstrated more than anything else, she wanted to help them. She liked to make the lonely patients smile and give the cheerful ones someone to chatter to. Hell, she even liked the grumpy ones because it meant she had to work a little harder to soften the edginess and make them happy.

Luc definitely qualified for the latter category, and she’d managed him. Hope flared and her finger hovered over the call back button. If she did call him back, he could tell her everything she wanted to hear.

Or he could tell me sorry, I wish I could do more, but character is a vital part of the commitment to service.
The judge had said those words to her in his admonishment prior to approving the community service for time served. What if he did say yes? She’d be committing to staying in the area, and she’d barely been able to promise Brett a week.

God, her thoughts kept racing in circles. Impatient with the nail chewing, she reclaimed her mug and Brett’s. Instead of worrying at the edge of an indecisive bone, she could do something. Every day since she’d arrived, Brett or his family had cooked for her. Baking would give her something to do in return and keep her hands and mind occupied.

In his kitchen, it took her a couple of minutes to locate what he had in the way of baking supplies. Surveying the ingredients she lined on the counter, she considered what she could make. Brett didn’t eat a lot in the way desserts that she’d noticed. He favored high protein meals, a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Apple cinnamon oatmeal cookies sounded good.

By the time she had the ingredients together and the oven pre-heated, the loosey goosey anxiety eating away at her insides abated. Activity always helped. She went for medium size cookies and, after the third cookie sheet was full, she laughed at the damage she’d done to the kitchen. It took her the same length of time for the cookies to bake to clear away her mess. One minute from the timer going off, she wiped down the center island and glanced out the window to the front yard. No sign of Brett returning and the house phone hadn’t rung. Maybe when the cookies were done she’d go raid his library for a book and curl up on the stone porch to read.

Positively enchanted with the hedonistic idea, she nearly missed the movement at the edge of the woods angled toward the bottom of the hill. Two large canines raced out. Wiping her hands, she walked closer to the window. It was the country, so not impossible someone had their dogs out wandering, but in the five days she’d only seen the one dog at the picnic. The canines slowed and one stopped entirely, nose raised toward the sky.

It wasn’t just large, it was huge—easily six feet in length and three feet tall. It was ginormous. Paused next to the oak tree, she had some basis of the comparison. The second canine—
wolf,
they had to be wolves—was nearly the same size. It lunged away then returned and tackled the one which had stopped. They tumbled into the woods and she rubbed her eyes.

The oven beeped.

Staring at the spot the wolves vanished into, she squinted. Movement flickered at the edge of the shadows, but it was too indistinct. Backing away, she turned off the oven then retrieved her cookies. Once they were cooling on the stovetop, she returned to the window.

The first wolf was back. The deep gray coat had a scattering of darker color beneath and a hint of red intermingled. A man followed the wolf, buck ass naked and tall with sandy brown hair and…

Holy shit.

She knew the man. He’d been at the barbecue. He strode away with the wolf at his side. Hurrying to the window, she pressed her hands against the glass. The pair angled down the hill, skirting the edge and headed toward Gillian’s house.

Man and wolf.

Two wolves.

Now man and wolf.

Impossible.

Her vision narrowed, and her heart thudded noisily in her ears. She could have sworn she could hear the distant sound of the man’s voice. Her imagination powered into overdrive.

“Move it,”
the man hissed.
“If Brett catches us here, we’re dead.”

B
rett forced
himself to obey the speed limit. The rules existed for a reason, and if a random state trooper spotted him and gave him a ticket… No, he wasn’t in the mood to be civil. So the speed limit it was. Everyone else could lose their shit, do stupid crap, get arrested, tear up a lawn or have a dominance fight in the middle of the fucking state park where a ranger could see. The traumatized human had opened fire—rightly so—on a pair of rabid, ferocious wolves. The idiots were lucky to be alive.
The ranger…
He flexed his hand around the steering wheel. His wolf practically vibrated with suppressed rage.

Talking to the ranger had done little good. His mind seemed to snap under the pressure of the whole experience. Whether it was the battling wolves, seeing them shift, or the arrival of the Hunters to clean up the mess, Brett had taken him to an isolated clinic with an allied human doctor. The physician sedated the ranger immediately. It helped, but only in that the man wasn’t freaking out. Instead, he stared sightlessly at a wall and occasionally mumbled
wolf
.

Doctor Salinas promised to call him with any updates. Brett had no desire to arrange an accident for the ranger if he couldn’t be persuaded to protect their anonymity or worse—if he couldn’t keep it because trauma destroyed his reason.
Fucking idiots.
The two wolves in question would be held with the Hunters till Gillian was sent for. Brett dug the bullets out for them with his fingers, then forced them both to shift in order to answer his questions. They weren’t the only morons out there. He wanted the names of the others involved.

Unfortunately the two wolves in custody passed out after he forced their shifts. He fisted one hand and tapped it against the steering wheel. Too weakened from blood loss and pain to stay conscious, the first of the pair slumped over and slammed into his buddy. Now both were down.

Maybe he’d let them bleed and hurt a while longer before he sent Gillian. They wouldn’t
die
, at least not from their injuries. They might if he broke their damn necks.

Hopefully the ranger would snap out of his shock, calm down and either let himself be convinced he imagined the whole episode or to keep their secret. The killing of humans was prohibited by ancient pack agreements dating back to long before Brett had been born. The rule stood for all wolves, save a handful who were tasked with the ultimate protection of the pack. An Alpha could—and Brett had, when no other recourse was left to him—kill a human to protect the pack.

If he truly did not want to do the act, if any Alpha didn’t, they could call Julian. The Chief Enforcer would take care of the matter. The wolf was a powerful man unto his own right, and the only reason he did not lead a pack was because he hadn’t chosen to. No Alpha, save perhaps Diesel, was as old as Julian and none as cunning. Better to not involve him. The other Alphas believed Brett to have weaknesses already. What they thought didn’t matter. He couldn’t afford to prove the point to them or for them.

Alphas answered to no one save to the next challenger. They owed no explanations and the wisest ones gave none. In the last few months of his grandfather’s life, the former Alpha sat him down and told him some hard truths.

To be Alpha was to be alone, save for a chosen handful—friends, family and mate. Only his mate would ever truly walk the path with him, for a mate was an equal and Alphas had no other equals within their pack. A mate was not one who would answer to him but whom could hold him accountable. After all, no wolf be he Alpha or the lowest of the submissives wanted an unhappy mate.

As Alpha
, his grandfather whispered in a papery thin voice, his aging seeming to accelerate with every moon passing since he surrendered to Brett’s leadership,
you will want to make friends. But you cannot be their judge, jury and executioner as well as their friend. They have to respect you and yes, you want them to care, but beyond all, you must have them obey. It is for their safety, the safety of the pack and no one—not even the Alpha
—
is more important than the pack.

The advice sustained him in the early years. Empowered him as he coped with all the challenges associated with leading Hudson River. In so many ways, his grandfather had been right. He would have once considered his Hunters as friends, but they had to be his Hunters first and his friends second.

Mason Clayborne, Gillian and her mate Owen—they were his friends and they didn’t answer to him. The tether tying Gillian to him was nascent, and a gift, but he was
not
her Alpha, which meant he could be her friend and she his. The longer his thoughts lingered, the more maudlin he grew. Mason had come to Hudson River an angry teenager, a Lone Wolf, and grieving child. Brett allowed him to stay, letting him be a guest in his house. For a few months, he’d taken him under his wing, trained him, advised him and cautioned his temper. Then one morning, he recognized the dependency the young man had begun to form and more—that Brett had formed.

From loner to friend in the space of half a year… As much as he’d hated it, he’d been honest with the kid. He needed to go or join Hudson River. The angry dominance in the boy had given away to wary leadership in the young man. Mason repaid his honesty with like, saying he could not join Hudson River because he didn’t want to follow anyone. Providing him with funds, a reference and help in finding a construction job where he could learn the trade outside of his territory had been Brett’s next action.

He could help a friend.

The raw rage ebbed by the time he turned onto the road leading to his house. Though his plans for a hike had been completely destroyed by the wolves’ shenanigans, he still had Colby at home. They could still do something together. Not telling her the truth was a choice. Like the ranger, she posed an unknown, unquantifiable threat.

Rather than put her in harm’s way, he had to identify what she was and whether she could handle the certainty of what they were. No matter how ready he was to be done with even the facsimile of deception, he wouldn’t rush to a choice, which could endanger her.

Leashing his temper took considerable effort, but then he was Alpha. Needs managed and in his case, he needed his calm. Thinking about Colby had an ameliorating effect on his temper. She’d taken his refusal to answer with a lie exceptionally well. Or, she had before he’d gotten the 9-1-1 call to get to the state park. Pack came first, no matter how attractive his distraction was.

Hitting the garage remote as he pulled around the house, he tapped the brakes. The door opening for his car wasn’t alone, the third slot stood wide open and Colby met his gaze like a startled deer. Panic welled in those amber eyes. Slamming the gear into park, he shut off the engine and abandoned the car before the thought fully processed.

The acrid stink of her fear burned his nostrils. The raw fury he’d caged earlier roared through his system, and his wolf went predator still. The faint scents of other wolves were too weak to be recent and most likely were left over from the party. No scent that didn’t belong touched his nose, save for the terror crawling over Colby.

Zeroing in on her wide eyes and the sick pallor beneath her honeyed skin tone, he frowned. “What’s wrong?” It came out a snarl, but his wolf roused to a near killing rage and they needed a target.

“I have to go.” Trepidation shivered in every word. Her suitcases were in her hands, and they trembled as she stared at him.

“What’s. Wrong?” Stalking forward, he reached for one of her cases. At his approach, she jerked backward and hit the side of her car. The flinch raked like fire through his gut. Something or someone had upset her—check that—terrified her. When he got his hands on whomever or whatever, he’d kill it. Until then…he embraced calm, quieting his wolf. They needed the subject of the hunt if they wanted to take out the target, and adding to Colby’s fear wouldn’t accomplish anything. “Colby,” he kept his voice low, soothing. Her pupils dilated a fraction from their constricted state. “Let me help you. What happened?”

She licked her lips then shook her head slowly. “I was wrong to try and stay. I know I said a week, but I was wrong. I just need to go. I’m sorry.” Lies. Every single word except the last part.

Closing the distance between them, he tugged the cases from her hands. Where his fingers brushed hers, electricity seemed to singe him. The burn had her jerking away again, only she had nowhere to go and slammed into the side of her car. The bruising force of the hit worried him. Setting the cases aside, he held his hands out to the sides. “Colby…focus on me.”

Her eyes changed—one moment human and the next very much not. Her scent vanished and she struck, slamming her hands against his chest to shove him away. Fight or flight was a powerful instinct in all creatures. Whatever triggered Colby, she ceased all reason and, though the blow carried weight, it was hardly strong enough to make him move. The change in her eyes, the loss of her scent and low keening noise galvanized him.

Wrapping his arms around her, he twisted her so her back hit his chest and he could contain her hands without hurting her. Shackling her wrists, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Stop,” he ordered her, and relied on the full weight of all he was and possessed. Her struggle ceased. He’d avoided influencing her or using his power—because reasons.
Reasons that apparently don’t fucking matter anymore.

Holding her against him, he detected nothing of Colby at all, no sweet vanilla or honeysuckle. Nothing that made Colby, Colby.

The eyes though? Those were wolf eyes. The tingling in his hands spread along his arms and through his chest, everywhere he touched her, he felt it. She sagged, the fight leaving her.

“I have you,” he promised. “I have you and we’ll make this better. Trust me, sweetheart. I’ll fix this.” A silent tear slid down her cheek, and his heart wrenched. “Tell me what happened,” he ordered, stroking the inside of one wrist with his thumb. The mad race of her heart betrayed her continued anxiety.

“You won’t believe me.” She didn’t leave him hanging on that single aggravating whisper. He’d believed her earlier, so why the hell would she think… “I don’t know if I believed me until I saw them do it again.”

“Who did what?” Though his gut clenched.

“Two wolves came out of the woods,” her voice was wooden. “Then they went back in and out came a man and a wolf.”

Fuck.

“Then they went to Gillian’s place. I tried to talk myself out of what I saw because I didn’t really see anything. Maybe it wasn’t a wolf, maybe it was just a big dog. Kind of like the dog at the picnic on Sunday.”

Brett warned the pack not to shift near the house, not while Colby was there.

“But the guy was naked.” Her voice wobbled.

Rubbing his cheek against her hair, he continued to stroke the inside of her wrists. His wolf gave up the predatory rage and writhed against the inside of his skin as eager to soothe her as Brett was. Her pulse slowed from rabbiting speed and then suddenly her sweet fragrance filled his nostrils. Gone was the bitter bite of terror, to be replaced by embarrassment.

“Brett?” Sass with a side helping of disbelief populated her voice.

“Right here, pretty girl. Better?” Keeping his tone gentle, he let her turn when she pulled away. Her amber eyes narrowed on him, then she glanced around the garage and finally back to him.

“When did you get home?” No deception echoed in her tone or her scent. She seemed truly mystified and he was at a loss to explain it.

“A couple of minutes ago. Everything okay?”

“I…” She blinked, then looked around them again. The question in her eyes told him so much. She didn’t know the answer. “I made cookies.”

“Cool. I like cookies.” Not drawing her attention to the bags, he nudged her toward the door. “Do they come with milk or coffee?”

A hint of laughter trembled on her lips. “What would you like them with?”

The only response that worked was the one he couldn’t take advantage of, not after what he’d witnessed. “I’d like to have them with you,” he said, keeping the sexual innuendo to a minimum. “But I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”

“Deal. I’ll go make it—after I wash my face.” After another faintly bemused look around the garage, she abandoned him for the door only to pause when she reached it. “Did everything go all right with your emergency?”

Not even close.
“It’s been dealt with. I’m all yours for the rest of the day.”

“Great. I’ll see you inside.”

The door closed behind her and Brett glanced at her bags, then her car. Whatever she was, whatever was going on, she didn’t need a friend.

She needed an alpha.

S
omething had changed
. Colby couldn’t put her finger on it, but restlessness seemed to accompany her no matter what she and Brett were doing. Frankly, it amounted to a whole lot of nothing. Oh, they talked, but instead of the intimacy he kept them on neutral topics—where did she grow up? What did she study in school? Why nursing? Whenever she turned the topic to him, he answered in the vaguest notes and always turned the line of inquiry around to her.

“The cookies are excellent.” They carried their coffee and dessert to the stone porch. Darkness settled, but Brett lit a couple of torches and the strength of citronella oil made her nose itch. He’d also lit a fire in the fire pit. Sweat slicked his face when he worked with the flame, but his movements remained steady and calm. Fire bugged the ever-loving crap out of him, yet he didn’t hesitate to work with it.

Some people were strong, refusing to let their fears get to them. That same refusal, while a definite strength, could also lead to a violent suppression and explosion later. Instead of joining her on the loveseat, he took a chair by himself. More distance.

Had she suddenly become a leper?

When he stilled and focused on her, the weight of his regard closed in around her like the embrace she’d experienced in the garage. The effect caged her, but it lacked the claustrophobia she was used to when put on the spot. Why was he staring at her though? He held one of the apple cinnamon oatmeal cookies in his hand. He liked them. “I’m glad you’re enjoying them. I thought I should do something because you’ve been feeding me since I got here.”