Wild Wolf: Black Mesa Wolves #4 (5 page)

Tate let his silence answer. Another few beats went by before Rafe continued. “We're facing an unprecedented threat at the moment. Just like Alpha said at the meeting the other night.”

Tate nodded even though his brother couldn't see him. The pack meeting a few nights back had revolved around reviewing the current pack safety measures and stressing the fact that even though no rogues had been spotted in the area for months now, there'd been reports of increased violent activity stemming from the Upper North Woods Pack in Canada, which was spiraling down throughout the Western U.S. as well. In a private meeting with only the Pack Guardians after the main meeting, Alpha had let them know there was also a very disturbing pattern of those activities meshing with reports of rogue activity throughout the entire country. There was no question the rogues were not all really rogues, but somehow working in tandem with a dysfunctional pack bent on exerting more power over all shifters.

“Getting our new pack up and running is essential for the safety of all wolves in the Western region right now,” Rafe said. “Just as it is with Luke's new pack here.”

“Yeah. I still wish him good luck with that,” Tate returned. Luke Rawlins had until recently had been a runaway rogue originally from the Upper North Woods Pack. His entry into the Black Mesa Pack had been filled with drama underscored by his own edgy, angry presence. Even so, everyone had to admit the man carried the natural leadership tendencies of a born alpha. The decision of the Black Mesa Alpha to make Luke the alpha of his own affiliate pack, to be located very nearby, was a masterful move, but one still greeted with concern by some pack members. Trying to run a pack on his own was going to be an uphill battle from the very start for the former rogue wolf.

Very quietly, Rafe said, “Luke is committed. Of that I'm certain. But what about you?”

Tate stopped completely, ignoring a muttered comment as a few guys dodged around him. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the side of the building. His usually laid-back attitude took a dive into sudden defensiveness. “I'm a member of our Pack and I always will be,” he said. His wolf paced in his mind, confusion and doubt pulsing from every ruffed-out tip of his pelt. “What exactly do you want to know, Rafe?” Tension made his words short.

A long beat on the other end. Tate let the sounds of the street wash over him, uncharacteristically struggling to maintain his composure. He wasn't even certain what had triggered him to feel so attacked. Rafe knew how much his horse training business meant to him, and his question was valid.

It just felt really damn personal, and that suddenly chafed him.

Finally, Rafe said, “I want to know you'll choose defending your pack with every bit of your strength and life after I leave and take Caleb with me. I want to know your loyalties lie with our native pack, even though I know at heart, you're not truly a Guardian.”

Tate felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Reeling, he put a hand on the brick wall to steady himself. His wolf half-growled, half-whined, the sound burbling up in Tate's throat until he was afraid he'd actually growl out loud.

Before he could respond, Rafe said, “I'm sorry to have to be so blunt, but it's a fair question. You don't have to answer me right now. We'll talk when you're home.” There was another short pause before he softly added, “Tate, you actually were my first choice to come with us. But your natural ability to smooth over tense situations is needed by the Black Mesa Pack more right now. And Caleb's tremendous strength as a fighter will be needed by my new pack more. However. I just wanted you to know I value you just as much for either pack.” Quietly, he disconnected the call.

Tate stayed by the wall for a few more moments, collecting himself. His thoughts whirled with the sudden overload of information. Equally conflicted, his wolf paced his mind, fur still ruffed up. Tate finally sighed and pushed it all away for the moment. He didn't usually get upset at much. Just the feeling of it was unusual enough to bother him. His wolf pressed up against his mind now, trying to offer comfort. Taking a deep breath, then another, he blew out hard to dispel the aggravation. He'd worry about it tomorrow. Time to move on for now.

With a shake of his head, he looked up the busy sidewalk. Just steps ahead, he saw the bookstore's awning and well-lit display of books in its expansive front windows. It was a much bigger place than he'd thought, although it was an independent store rather than a chain. They must be doing better than dire news reports about the demise of bookstores everywhere would have him believe.

Pushing open the door, he entered, boots smacking the wooden floor. Hmm. Bit loud. He mellowed his steps and took a look around the shop, wondering what the heck to get his ridiculously well-read mother for her birthday. Focused and somewhat overwhelmed by the aisles of bookshelves lining the store with thousands of pages of words, he distractedly filtered out the scents of wood, furniture polish, paper pulp, and the faint remnants of ink on the pages.

Two strides later, everything changed in the blink of an eye.

Her
scent hit him so hard he almost staggered. The unknown female wolf. A light skiff of snow, bright cedar, and the promise of something feral and free all crowded his senses at once. He lost all recognition of any other scents but hers, all thoughts of anything else, as he snapped his head up to look.

She's
here,
right here,
he thought, even though he still didn't know who she was
. All he knew was that he had to get to her, now.

Where?
his wolf demanded, instantly leaping to the front of his mind and peering
out Tate's eyes, scenting through Tate's nose.
Where is she?

Tate's mind still boggled. His beautiful, enticing mystery wolf was
here,
in Denver. He took another quiet step forward before he realized that while the bookstore was hushed as bookstores tended to be, there was a speaking voice at one end that seemed to be holding space. His sharp nose followed the sweet tang of her scent in that direction. Forcing his wolf back again, he took another step toward the back of the store.

“Did you come for the reading?” A bookseller behind a long sales counter pitched her voice low as he passed by. As he looked over at her, she motioned toward the back of the store. “She's started already, but you should be able to slip right in. I think there might even be a chair left.”

“Uh-huh,” Tate said. He felt dazed. His wolf prowled through his mind so restlessly he thought he might burst out of his own skin. “Thank you.”

The bookseller smiled, her glance lingering on him with slight puzzlement as he touched his fingers to his hat and started to make his way down the aisles. He needed to avoid close up eye contact with people, because his wolf must be staring out very hard though him right now, making his eyes begin to glow.

The scent of the unknown wolf pulled at him, tugging him forward while it teased and whispered through hi
s mind. Her scent mixed with his, almost stroking him with its intense beauty and indefinable importance. Images slammed through his mind: smooth, naked skin sliding against his. The whiff of pure snow tinged with sweet, fresh citrus covering him. That indescribably wild desire, mixed between running and mating, restless freedom with tangled sweatiness, suffused him again. He almost gasped from the sudden, sheer intensity of his reaction.

His very aroused reaction. The other day it had been the shock of recognition. Today, it was a much more primal response. One of a physical longing so sharp it almost hurt.

She is here,
his wolf said again.
Mate.
The words sounded so softly in Tate's mind, so carefully. Afraid of frightening her away. Of spooking her like a skittish horse. Right. Slow approach. Don't frighten her again.

The voice, female, got slightly louder as he neared the back of the store. A small crowd of people filled chairs facing a small podium. The woman at the podium was reading into a microphone from a book. Her rich voice carried through the listeners, reaching Tate and doing something very strange to his whole system. He felt hot, then shaky, then electrified. His wolf danced in his head.

Heart suddenly thudding out of whack, he pinpointed on the female wolf. Thick, long blonde hair so light it almost seemed silvery white, an instantly captivating face filled with deliberation, one graceful yet determined hand that gestured every now and then to punctuate her words. She commanded the area with a presence both assured and wary at the same time.

Alert,
his wolf softly rumbled.
She watches all.

In other words, she was a predator acutely aware of her surroundings, somewhat uncomfortable in large groups, and probably not really in favor of feeling trapped at the back of this store.

Here. Finally,
his wolf said. Satisfaction, awe, and deep knowing filled his tone.

At that moment, she looked up at her audience, surveying everyone in a sweeping glance as she finished her sentence. Then her eyes snagged on Tate's. Mid-speech, she paused and stared back at him. As he kept looking at her, the world constricted. Nothing else existed except him, the unknown female wolf who smelled like the deep canyons and sage-tumbled deserts near his home, and his own breath sounding loud in his ears as his head filled with a distant roaring noise.

Claire felt jarred so sharply she thought she might fall onto the floor. He was here. The sexy, strange male wolf from the other day was right here, in this Denver bookstore. Listening to her. Looking at her with such intensity from beneath his cowboy hat brim she thought he might laser holes through her. And this time, she couldn't run away.

Dark haired, compact yet easy in his skin, he stood staring with the same element of shock she felt whipping through her, although something else framed his countenance as well. Pure cowboy through and through, he looked completely at home in the jeans that hugged his legs and skimmed his thighs and waist, in the rich mahogany boots encasing his feet, in the dark brown cowboy hat that shadowed his face just enough to leave his wolf-enhanced eyes nearly glowing. Starting, she felt her own wolf staring back out her eyes, eager with the crazed desire to leap across the room to him.

Here, here, he is here,
her wolf chanted in her head. She twirled in ecstatic little whirls, almost panting with the desire to be loosed. It sent warmth straight to the suddenly heavy, full-feeling spot between Claire's legs that hadn't seen any action in months. She clenched there, just a little, and felt her breath hitch.

But who is he?
Claire wondered for the thousandth time since she'd first encountered him.
And simmer down,
she ordered her wolf.
Can't be like the other day. Not with all these people staring at me.
Burningly aware of the rows of people before her, sitting in polite silence while she had some sort of mini nervous breakdown right before their eyes, she forced her usual wary caution to drive her motions.
Keep reading,
she thought hard at herself.

She forced her eyes back down to the page. With a quick, “Sorry,” she cleared her throat, took a sip of water from the full glass provided by the bookstore, and began the sentence again.

Somehow, she made it through the next five minutes of reading her work without losing her composure despite the sweetly alluring scent of the male wolf who stood at the back of the space, watching her. Somehow, she gracefully concluded and smiled while the audience clapped. Somehow, she answered questions in a steady voice, managing to sound knowledgeable and confident in her responses despite both her general aversion to this part of her life as a writer and her shivering awareness of the gorgeous male wolf eating her up with his mere presence.

Somehow, she managed to not pass out from some bizarre sort of hormonal reaction to him—a guy who was by all standards sexier than any wolf had a right to be—as he stood rock still the entire time, never taking his gaze from her face. Not that she slipped any glances at him, of course.

Maybe just five dozen or so. Give or take.

Somehow, she managed to not have a heart attack when he joined the line of people afterward who wanted her autograph in their purchased copies of her book, getting closer to her with every signature of her name she made with an only slightly shaking hand.

She even managed to not dissolve into some sort of puddle of senselessness when he finally reached her, the very last person in line. She could make a break for it now, she supposed. But that would look and be crazy by anyone's standards. And why exactly she wanted to flee him was a bit of mystery, too. She couldn't figure out what on earth was going on with her. Her wolf seemed also to explode into sheer emotion as the male shifter approached, just like the other day, although this time there was some deeper awareness at play. Claire could only pick up on some sort of euphoria from her wolf, who danced and strained inside her mind, shakingly desperate to leap out and greet him. He looked like some kind of delicacy, one that would taste like mocha and cream and espresso, with spicy cayenne shot through.

I don't even know him,
Claire thought in a befuddled daze as he eased to a stop right before her.

He'd somehow maneuvered himself to be the very last person in the line. Velvet brown eyes shot with sparks of gold from his wolf also peering out drank her in as he silently looked at her with what seemed like the thirst of a man long parched.

She, on the other hand, must look like a deer in the headlights.

Hormones, she thought wildly, although her wolf trembled with some sort of deeper emotion. This must be her recently unsated hormones reacting powerfully to a very attractive male wolf who broadcasted clear interest in her. It had been months since her body felt this aflame, alive, sexual.

Never,
her wolf instantly disagreed.
Never felt like this.

She watched as a slow, gentle smile curved up his lips and made his entire face open and warm. Without question, he was the kind of man who laughed often, smiled in automatic, genuine reflex to the world, and kept kindness at the forefront of all his interactions. She felt oddly comfortable in his presence, as if she'd known him her whole life. Dark, close-cropped hair teased from beneath the brim of his brown hat. Bare laugh lines etched his eyes and mouth, which still captured a smile.