by J. K Harper
Tate couldn't keep still as he, too, searched again for the beguiling scent and couldn't find it. “Calm down,” he said, as much to himself as to Caleb. “It was a female wolf. Definitely not a rogue. I've never smelled her before.” He glanced back out the window as if he would see whoever she was just loping down the sidewalk.
His wolf whined, then growled, straining against the hold Tate had over his more feral side. Crazy as it seemed, his wolf was about to win this round if he didn't take charge right now. Between one breath and the next, he made up his mind.
“Pay and drive,” he said as he opened the door and tumbled out, barely remembering to put the truck into park. The clerk at the window drew back in surprise at the lanky cowboy suddenly departing his vehicle. “I've got to find her.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Caleb demanded. “Tate!”
But Tate was gone, hurrying around the fast food joint and sprinting to the main street. Inhaling deeply as he desperately kept his highly agitated wolf from forcing a shift, he headed south down the sidewalk, easily dodging a few passersby with his long strides and focused determination to find her.
Whoever she was. For whatever unknown but undeniable reason he needed to find her.
There. He caught it again, just another slight whiff, but it was definitely her. Fresh, clean, wild and pure. She seemed oddly untouched, although he wasn't quite sure what that meant. His wolf carried him along, lending speed to his gait. A light wind gusted through, swirling down a few leaves from the trees planted here and there in little patches along the sidewalk.
Rounding a corner almost at a run, he stopped so suddenly he almost fell over his own feet. There. She was right before him, walking down the sidewalk, her scent washing over him with a sweet strength he would have let knock him down without resistance. Slim, her posture relaxed and loose as she moved, eyes hidden behind huge sunglasses, body clad in form-fitting yet not revealing clothing. Everything about her electrified him, from the nearly white-blond hair flowing over her shoulders down to the dark jeans she wore that beautifully outlined her sexy legs.
Her scent and something else raced over him, shivering into his bones, settling deep within him into something he'd never felt before but recognized with such surety there was no denying it.
His mate. This female wolf was his mate. He had no idea how he knew that, but the truth of that awareness emanated from his every molecule. And he'd never seen her before now.
She came to a sudden halt, having apparently recognized his own shifter scent as well. Mouth suddenly opening, body rigid with surprise and possibly fear—fear? Why did he sense that from her?—she inhaled sharp and quick. She stood completely still as she scented the air for danger from him. Her entire body was tensed, ready to flee. Even so, Tate could tell her own wolf was just beneath her skin, itching to claw out just as his was, as desperate to get to him as he was to her.
Which was completely insane. His wolf was never this close to being out of control. And he'd never had a female wolf so eager to get to him she clearly fought against her human side, wanting to be loosed right on the side of a busy street in front of countless human eyes.
Then again, he'd never before met his mate.
“Who are you?” he asked, wonder and confusion marking his voice. He took a step toward her. “Please. I've never…. I mean, I don't know.... Dammit,” he muttered, at a total loss for what to say or even think. What a way to sound like an idiot.
Swallowing visibly, the beguiling woman retreated one step, then another. Her hair drifted soft and silky smooth around her face and shoulders as she moved away from him. Her wolf was so close to the surface Tate could sense her very essence: a tight bundle of wariness, wildness, and an easy freedom that oddly set him to feeling constricted and lost.
“Wait!” he said as she took another step back. She paused, her entire body framed for escape. “Just tell me your name. Please. What pack are you from?
A disdainful snort blew out of her nose, although even that was feminine and strangely attractive.
“My own pack,” she finally said. The gossamer lightness of her voice smoothed itself all over Tate, making his already sizzling nerve endings even more raw with some undefinable need. “And that's all you need to know about me.”
With the speed and grace of a natural predator, she spun on one heel and practically ran down the sidewalk, away from him.
“Wait!” he said again, going after her. “I just want to talk to you.”
Her only answer was to actually begin to jog, flicking one glance at him over her shoulder. Even behind her sunglasses he could tell she leveled a glare at him. One that said, Back off, buddy. Not welcome here.
A mother walking by with her child gave Tate a highly suspicious look, pulling her kid in closer to her as she made an exaggerated path around him. Right. He probably looked like some lunatic stalker. Forcing himself to stop moving, clamping down so hard on his wildly upset wolf he thought he might explode from the effort of it, he watched the beautiful, unknown female wolf run away from him. Despite his instinct to give chase, he forced himself to stand still. He'd never threatened a woman before, and he wasn't about to start now. Especially not with this most unbearably alluring one.
His mate. Someone he didn't know, had never thought he would meet, and who already seemed to distrust him because he'd ruined the moment like an overeager fool. She was leaving, and he could do nothing about it but watch her go.
4
Claire gave herself a critical once over before she stepped out of her hotel room. Her clothes armored her. Dark jeans tucked into tall brown boots, a fitted white shirt, and a deep green cowl-necked sweater that flowed around her in a way that managed to be neither baggy nor clingy. She felt protected, strong, and ready to face the masses. Okay, they weren't exactly masses. Still, more and more people came to her readings with each new book she released. Her fiction apparently touched a core deep within many people. Her personal style and in-depth research added cachet to her books, according to her agent.
It also helped that she was a “looker,” or so her agent had insisted. Claire would prefer not to have her author photo on each of her books. That, however, was something her publisher had strongly argued for, and won. Claire at least always appeared wearing either a hat or sunglasses, like a movie star trying to hide from fans. Not that she had rabid fans or anything like that, but as a wild wolf, she simply wanted privacy from the pack wolf world.
The one battle Claire really won with her publisher was that her place of residence was secret. All anyone could ever find out about her was that she lived in Colorado. She valued her privacy almost as much as her freedom. It was the one battle line she'd drawn so firmly in the sand no one could successfully challenge it. She also used a plain last name on her books as a pseudonym. No sense advertising her true self more than strictly necessary.
Shrugging into a fitted black coat she wore for looks rather than necessity thanks to her always heated shifter metabolism, she left the hotel and went outside into the brisk fall night air. The crispness of the air delighted her senses as much as the leaves that crunched beneath her feet each time she passed the striking red- and gold-leafed trees planted every several strides along the sidewalk.
Best season, her wolf whispered. Yes. Fall was her favorite by far.
As she walked to the bookstore a few long city blocks away, she took a deep breath, inhaling all the fascinating scents of the city. And finally, finally, she allowed her thoughts to drift to the life-altering encounter a few days ago with that gorgeous, strange male wolf. The one who'd shocked a bolt of sudden recognition through her, as if she not only knew him, but that he was important to her. Essential, even.
Yes, her wolf said again, although this time it was not a whisper. This time, it was strong and certain. Claire had almost had to sit on her wolf the other day when that man had come barreling into her senses, as if he'd been chasing her. Her suddenly excited wolf had nearly leapt through Clair
e's control to force a shift, which was something she'd never experienced before.
Over the years, from her few interactions with other shifters and from what her mother, Melle, had told her, Claire had come to understand that her human side and her wolf side shared a much more symbiotic relationship than most shifters. The flow between her selves was smooth and easy. She was just Claire, and sometimes she viewed the world from a more human angle, and sometimes from a more wolf angle. She never had to work hard to “control” her wolf, nor when she was a wolf did she have to work to keep from letting her human side dictate her actions more than necessary. She simply—was.
Until yesterday. Her wolf had surged to the forefront so quickly and so hard Claire had literally feared for an instant that she would shift right there on the street. She might be a wild wolf who happily and successfully lived without a pack, but even she knew the basic rules of surviving as a shifter in this world. Letting humans know of her dual existence would be a death sentence. Or at least a quick trip to some sick Dr. Mengele-type lab, where she would never again see the light of day as she was poked and prodded by human scientists eager to discover what she was and how they could use her for their own ends.
Despite that bone-deep knowledge, shared by both woman and wolf, the presence and scent of that male wolf had nearly tipped her right into her most primal self, utterly driven by instinct alone and momentarily lacking all sense of self-preservation. It had been a nearly unbelievable experience, shocking for two main reasons: One, she'd never experienced such a lack of balance between her human and her wolf before. Two, she'd never encountered anyone who just seemed so undeniably entwined with her soul.
And she didn't even know the guy.
Letting out a long sigh, she gently let her wolf come to the front of her mind as she walked. Her instincts as a wild wolf were sharply honed after being raised by Melle, who was naturally a deeply suspicious wolf.
Always be aware of her surroundings.
Always be ready to flee.
Always be ready to fight if fleeing wasn't possible.
Always be aware of what wolves were in close proximity to her, who they were, and what sort of danger they threatened.
If she really admitted it to herself, she'd also been shocked when she suddenly ran into the strange wolf in Cortez because she thought she'd scented the area beforehand and hadn't noticed anything but old scents of shifters passing through the area. She knew about the existence of the nearby Black Mesa Pack, since they were the closest one to her, but they only rarely came to Cortez. Their pack boundary ended right about there, just before the substantial free zone Claire called home. If she were to be fully honest, though, she sometimes didn't do a complete area scenting before she went into town. So few shifters ever frequented the area, she'd let down her guard some.
Stupid.
The shock had eased a bit when he inevitably asked about her pack affiliation. Typical male wolf, just like her no-good ex. A male wanted to keep her all nicely contained within his pack, like she was a trophy or a prize. Absolutely not. Being free meant no encumbrances.
Even if his voice had smoothed itself over and through her like rich, dark honey, somehow tapping into her very nerves and enflaming them with intense physical awareness. Even if every inch of him, from his black cowboy hat shading a very attractive face, to his jeans draped over very sexy thighs, to his dusty, authentic boots had riveted her attention. Even if her wolf demanded to be let out so she could rub up against him like she was a cat in heat.
Shaking her head half in wonder, half to dispel the magnetic hold the strange wolf seemed to hold over her even several days and hundreds of miles removed, Claire reluctantly pushed aside thoughts of him and kept walking.
She made sure to scent the air every several strides. The local wolf pack in Denver was a friendly one that never gave her any qualms about being in their territory. She'd called the pack's alpha weeks before her planned visit to let him know she would be there for business. Every alpha in the entire country knew what she did for a living, even though she used a bland, pseudonymous last name on her books so as to keep a greater degree of privacy. In fact, every alpha in the country knew the general whereabouts of every wild wolf.
Wild American wolves were so few as to be counted only in the dozens. They kept to themselves and didn't bother the packs. For their part, the pack alphas never broadcasted the home grounds of any wild wolf, never overtly tried to force them to join a pack, and in fact never even mentioned the names of wild wolves to their packs. All wolf shifters regardless of pack rank knew about the existence of the free zones, of course, but few knew or probably even cared about the wild wolves who lived in them. In general, free zones simply meant areas that were not claimed by any pack. Neutral territory.
Of course, a few rules were observed by the wild wolves in turn: No joining forces with any rogue wolves. No trying to coerce any pack wolves into living as wild wolves. No sharing with any humans, ever, the existence of shifters.
For Claire, those rules were laughably easy to keep. Rogues were crazy wolves to be avoided, pack wolves never wanted to leave their packs, and she wasn't about to compromise her very life by telling humans she could shapeshift into a wolf. Unless, of course, her suddenly nearly uncontrollable wolf tried to force a shift because she'd encountered a sexy male wolf who was apparently so fascinating she couldn't help it.
Her wolf made a disparaging sound, batting away Claire's somewhat censorious thoughts with a careless paw. Yes. He is fascinating, was all she thought, the words and emotions connected to them so deep Claire couldn't really tell if it was her wolf or her human thinking them. Frowning a bit, she again pushed away the intriguing male wolf and tried to focus on the here and now.
Through her wolf, as she walked she picked up on the surrounding smells more strongly than even her unusually heightened human senses. A bakery café across the street sent enticing aromas of newly baked bread and yummy pastries. Smoky car exhaust, pavement wet from the light rain earlier, the smell of freshly-applied paint that whooshed out an opening door of the business she was just passing by, an autumnal snap to the air, the conflicting smells of thousands of people in varying states of cleanliness, all battered at her nose. Despite her general aversion to crowds, she actually did enjoy opening herself up to the full sensory experience, at least for a little while. It fueled her writer's brain, and it offered such a contrast to her mostly solitary life that she absorbed it all with a small yet real sense of fascination. She could only handle it for a few days, but during that time, she liked to collect the nuanced memories that would spill out in her writing.
Smells different here, her wolf thought, even more fascinated than Claire. Wolves?
No. The Pikes Peak Alpha had told her she would not encounter any of his wolves while she was in town these few days. They were being closely monitored and restricted in movement due to some looming rogue threat. He'd gently warned her to be careful herself. Rogues may not know about her existence, but they'd likely try to get her to join their cause if they found her. “And they wouldn't hesitate to use force if necessary,” he'd added in a stony tone. “Just keep yourself alert while you're here. Call me if you need any help, Claire.”
Instantly, she'd bristled at his paternalism, even though rationally she knew he meant well. She was certain all wolf packs would like to have all wild wolves under their control, even if they said they didn't. The Denver pack's alpha was a reasonable man, and since he was a distant cousin of her mother's she'd known him since she was little, when they'd stayed with his pack for a short time. But her mother had never wanted to join his pack, and neither did Claire. While she did shiver a bit from the depth of his concern about rogues, she mostly brushed it off. She traveled by herself often enough. Not once in her life had she encountered any rogue wolves.
They couldn't pursue what they didn't know existed.
Dodging a cute young couple pushing a baby warmly bundled into a fancy stroller, Claire igno
red her wolf's abrupt longing fixation on the child. Her wolf wanted cubs of her own. Claire, though, knew better. Her rational human mind very occasionally conflicted with the more immediate, emotional mind of her wolf. Cubs meant a mate, and a mate meant being tied to a pack. That was never going to happen, as far as Claire was concerned.
Not even if any wolf in the running was the sexiest, kindest-seeming pack wolf she'd ever met. Or the most fascinating. Ultimately, they all wanted one thing: to possess her, as was the way in all shifter packs. That was never going to happen.
No way.
The bookstore appeared two doors down. Her wolf whined just a bit at the sudden nervousness Claire felt in anticipation of her reading, then softly thumped her tail in a supportive gesture. Squaring her shoulders, Claire lifted her chin a bit and strode to the door. Opening it with determination, she stepped inside to her necessary fate for the evening.
5
Strolling along the crowded downtown Denver streets, leaves crunching beneath his boots, Tate felt like a wealthy man. He was pretty frugal about his money, investing it right back into his business. But this working weekend had netted him enough to be able to play a little tonight in the big city. He'd also gained enthusiastic new clients who wanted to fly him out here every weekend for several months to work with their horses. He'd have to talk to Alpha about that, but it would work out as long as those rogues didn't do anything stupid in the meantime. If they did, he'd have to talk to his clients about sending their horses to him instead so he could continue their training at the local barn he worked out of. One day, he'd have enough for a big spread of his own. In the meantime, he worked his butt off for clients like this, building his reputation, his training knowledge, and his bank account one horse at a time.
