by J. K Harper
Roaring seemed to fill Tate's ears, and he felt dizzy for a split second. Checking the breeze again, he took another long inhale. Rogues, definitely rogues, at least as far as he'd always been trained. Rogues had a scent that was unaffiliated with any pack. It was subtle, but any wolf should know the difference between pack and rogue.
Except a wild wolf like Claire, who might be easily tricked because of her lack of knowledge about her own kind.
And there were indeed rogues out there right now who were straddling the line between pack and rogue, as part of some unsettling, still cloudy design to gain control over much larger territory than they now held. Tate's entire body alternated between freezing shock and burning fear.
Not taking his gaze from hers, gently rubbing her cold hands in his, he asked the question he suddenly didn't want an answer to. “What's his name? And what pack is he from?”
Unsteadily, Claire answered. “He goes by Bash, but his name is Bashar. He said his pack is a bit old-fashioned,” she whispered slowly, watching him with growing alarm as Tate felt the color leave his face. “He told me he's from Minnesota, but I heard him on the phone once talking about his home pack in Canada,” she finished, eyes wide at Tate's expression. “What? What's wrong?”
All he could do was stare at her as their worlds suddenly crashed together in a horrifying way he never could have predicted.
16
Stalking around the Alpha's office in such a fury he seemed to trail a black cloud, Caleb was making Tate's head spin from his frantic pacing and circles.
“We can't go now,” he said for about the tenth time in as many minutes, rage punching through his voice. Tate hadn't see his brother this riled in his several months under his mate Rielle's calming influence. “We'd be leaving the Pack vulnerable to an attack!”
“Well, we have to go, so buck up!” snapped Sara, Rafe's mate. She was just as upset about it as Caleb, though. Tate could tell every wolf in the room was agitated. His father sat silent at his desk, face unreadable as always as he observed the reactions of the Pack's best fighters and protectors responding to the unwelcome but inevitable news about the rogues being back.
As the ceaseless arguments went on, Tate leaned back on the windowsill, looking outside with unseeing eyes at the trees scattered around the den property, the deciduous ones dropping their leaves from the afternoon's kicked-up wind. Drumming his fingers on his crossed arms, he felt an unusual frown creasing his forehead and drawing down his mouth. Not only was agitation high in the room and tight in his own chest, he was still aching from kissing Claire again, then not being able to follow up on the delicious possibilities of that.
He ached far more from the fact he'd been unable to bring her back here to the den, where she'd be safe.
“Absolutely not,” she'd said in a firm voice when he'd announced his intentions to do just that. “I'm not pack, and I don't want to be. Your alpha wouldn't allow it, anyway. Pack protections don't extend to wild wolves.”
“You're my mate!” Tate had said. They'd stood in front of her house for nearly an hour while he tried to convince her. “My pack will accept you because of that. Pack protections extend to you for that reason, regardless of any other status you hold.”
Clear green eyes clouded and smoky from her resistance, Claire had shaken her head. “No. I won't let him in.” Tate knew she meant her ex, Bashar. Bashar Rawlins, brutal killer—and also brother to Luke. Tate's blood still curdled at the thought of how the sly, calculating bastard must have strung Claire along. “He can't hurt me.”
“Claire, he's a rogue from a sick pack!” Tate's fear for her had snaked through him, cold and shaky. “He can hurt you if he wants.”
“Then why hasn't he already?” She'd stalked back and forth along her porch, her boots stamping out a loud protest, her sexy figure calling to his baser needs. “If he really is a rogue, why didn't he drag me off to his rogue cave or wherever the hell he lives? Why has he been so polite since the breakup?”
He'd never felt fear like this before, nor anger. Fear for his newly-discovered mate, and anger at the rogues. Also impatience for Claire's seeming inability to recognize the danger she was in. “I don't know. We're not really sure what they're planning. But Bashar is a rogue wolf, darlin'. That, I'm damn well sure of.” His uncharacteristic swearing was said in a tone much calmer than he felt. His wolf had tried to claw out of him, desperate to protect his mate from her own stubbornness.
She'd given him another troubled look. “Explain to me again how his brother is part of your pack. I still don't understand that.” Suspicion wasn't quite in her tone, but the promise of it certainly was.
Huffing out an anxious breath, trying to calm his wolf's red-eyed fury, Tate had closed his eyes and actively sought the patience that usually came so naturally to him. After a moment gathering himself, he opened his eyes and tried to explain it her as well as himself. “Luke Rawlins was a rogue wolf who'd left his pack because it was sick, unhealthy. He wanted a different life. Being a rogue is not the right way to go about that, but he didn't think he had a choice.”
Claire had watched him, unmoving except for her breathing. Which did, he had to admit even in his frustrated state, make her enticing chest rise and fall very nicely.
“He didn't realize his brother also left after he did, but that was a more complicated situation. Seems like Bashar did become a rogue, but he actually maintained his ties to his pack, although we're not quite sure how that's possible, technically speaking.” Rogues broke pack bonds, thus lessening their connection to as well as scent of their native pack. “However, we are sure there's some sort of insurrection that's going to be happening. Luke has fully broken his ties with that pack, and is trusted enough by our alpha to begin his own pack nearby. He....” Tate hesitated. He wasn't a particular fan of Luke's, but neither was he an enemy. “He's fully broken ties with his brother as well. I get the feeling they never were very close anyway.
“Bashar and Licas,” Claire murmured, shaking her head. “You don't hear those kinds of names much anymore.” Those were old-fashioned wolf names. Little wonder the area's newest alpha-to-be went by Luke instead.
“It means the Upper North Woods Pack is held back by its refusal to move into the modern world,” Tate pointed out, certain he'd found a toehold to get her to realize the sort of danger she was in.
“It seems to me your pack is similar,” Claire promptly responded, folding her arms and hiding her beautiful bosom, to Tate's regret. “Take me back to protect me? Women live alone just fine, thank you very much.”
Tate groaned, torn by his need to stay and indeed protect his mate, and his mandate to return to the den for a meeting. After they went around for another twenty minutes, Claire had finally said the one thing he couldn't contest. “Tate. I fully, one hundred accept the fact you're my mate. I don't understand how it's possible, but here it is.” Her eyes had softened for a moment, and he saw a lick of that strong desire in them as she watched him. “Can you please also accept the fact that I'm a wild wolf? Please.” He was already beginning to recognize the small tilt to her chin when she was firm in her stance. “I don't know how to do this. I can tell you, though,” and her eyes narrowed a little bit again, “that trying to drag me off to your pack cave won't work any more than him trying to drag me off to his.”
Tate certainly hoped if presented with a choice, Claire would far prefer going to his “pack cave” over any kind of rogue situation. His wolf howled in agreement, tail snapping at the ground. But what she'd said made sense. He had no idea how to handle this situation either. Despite barely knowing the woman, she was his mate, and part of him felt like he'd known her for a lifetime already. On the other hand, he knew trying to force his hand in the situation wouldn't go over well at all.
Eventually, he'd left. Only after making sure her doors were bolted—even the back one she said she never locked—her windows shut tight, and that she had a means of protecting herself if the rogues did come to her door.
Guns didn't hurt shifters, silver bullets or no. That was another silly myth the human world had invented for their own entertainment.
“Tate,” she'd said. “If he wanted to really hurt me, he could have long ago. He just wants another chance with me. That's not going to happen,” she'd said in a low tone, looking at Tate with her wolf's presence clearly visible in her eyes. “I'm only for you. Just not in your den,” she added quickly, lifting her chin in the tilt that signaled her own brand of defiance.
He'd finally left, growling to himself all the way back to his pack and trying his damnedest to believe her.
Now, in the Alpha's office, the pack leader's quiet voice finally carried over the din. “Enough. Rafe, Sara, Caleb, you all leave tomorrow with the others.” Five other Black Mesa pack members had elected to join the new pack as well. “That's final. Go make sure you have everything ready.” He waved them off, ignoring Caleb's thunderous expression. Rafe firmly took hold of Caleb's shoulder and steered him out of the room. “Tate, a word if you please,” Alpha added.
Tate stayed in the room as the others left. Lily gave him a distraught look, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder as she passed by. He managed a smile for her, then faced his Alpha as the door shut behind everyone else.
His father lifted an eyebrow at Tate. Patiently, sitting relaxed in his comfortable chair, he waited for his son to speak first.
Sighing, Tate shrugged. “She won't come here. I tried. Believe me, I tried.”
Channing Bardou eyed his son for a moment before a wry smile lightened his face. “Women aren't like horses. They don't respond very well to being trained.”
Despite himself, Tate managed a laugh. “So I've been told. She thinks she'll be safe out there. And she doesn't trust the Pack. Any pack. She told me she can handle herself.”
“And I'm certain she can. Wild wolves generally do.” Alpha's voice was smooth and unruffled, just as it had been when Tate had called in to the den earlier, stumbling over his own words as he briefly reported in clipped Guardian fashion the fact of the rogues being back, Claire's existence, and the reality of her being his mate.
Nothing ever seemed to surprise Alpha Channing Bardou. Tate had expected to be plied with questions about Claire, but his Alpha had merely told him to come back to the den with or without whomever chose to accompany him. Telling his father had been a bit of a relief, actually. Now the entire pack could know, which ultimately meant the entire pack would have to accept that Claire was his mate. They all had to protect her as one of theirs now, wild wolf or not.
Tate began to pace around the room, his worry moving his feet along as his thoughts tumbled over one another. “Why can't she understand she'd be safer here, at least for now?”
Though he meant it rhetorically, his father actually answered. “Because that's not how she was raised. Wild wolves are very independent, very resourceful, and very wary of packs as a rule. Just because she learned something extremely upsetting doesn't mean she is ready to jump at safe harbor.” Alpha leaned back in his chair, watching Tate while steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “She does not trust that this is safe harbor.”
“She's my mate!” Tate said. It had been his refrain for the past few hours. “I am her safe harbor.” His wolf whined in agitation, pacing around his mind as Tate paced the office.
Alpha sighed. “She may have additional reasons for not wishing to accept our protection at this time.”
Tate stopped dead, swinging his head around to look at his alpha. His father's face was enigmatic, but Tate sensed an explanation behind his words. “What sort of other reasons could she possibly have?”
Ever the shrewd Cheshire cat, his father countered with another question. “What reasons would you have to not abandon your pack?”
Staring at his alpha, totally lost, Tate said, “But she doesn't have a pack. That's the whole point.”
His father remained silent, waiting for his response. Growling under his breath, frustrated by thoughts of Claire alone at her house while rogues who knew exactly where she lived roamed the area, Tate tried again. “Because it's my pack.”
His father waited. Tate ran a hand through his short hair, which was already standing on end from countless hand runnings during the past tense hours. “Because it's my duty.”
His father cocked his head the slightest bit, still waiting.
“Because I care about everyone in this pack.” Tate began to pace again as he spoke. The room's luxurious, heavy carpet muffled his restless steps. He felt certain his father could hear his wolf whining in his head, though.
His father stayed silent, although he did raise one eyebrow.
“Because it's my family, dammit!” Tate half shouted. “This is my family, and I will not abandon anyone here.”
Finally, the Black Mesa Alpha smiled. Tate had the strong suspicion the smile was for multiple reasons, but he firmly set aside that thought for later.
“If you would not abandon your family,” his father said, looking carefully at Tate, “why would you expect Claire to do so?”
“Why would I—what—” Tate stuttered to a halt in both steps and words. “Wait a minute. She's a wild wolf. She doesn't have a pack to abandon or not.”
Gently, Alpha shook his head. “Claire is a wild wolf, correct. She has no affiliation with any pack. That does not mean, however, she does not have a family. Or that she is not as worried about her family as you are about yours.”
Feeling his heart slam against his chest, Tate stared at his alpha as the words sank in to the bone. “Claire has family.” His mind flashed to a picture he thought he'd seen in her house. He'd been too wrapped up in her presence at that moment however, to pay closer attention to the small framed photo he'd vaguely registered sitting on the fireplace mantel. “Who?”
His alpha shrugged, although Tate suddenly was beyond certain the cunning older wolf probably knew everything there was to know about Claire and any kin she claimed. “I think it best her mate go and find out. Don't you?”
17
Yet again, Claire found herself by the large window on the south side of the house. Low clouds scudded over the slumbering mountain's soft peaks, hiding any sunset light, draping it in gauzy shadows and offering up the feeling of descending cold. She desperately wanted to run up there, leaping off into the twilight in wolf form, able to rid herself of all the craziness in the wider world. But she couldn't. The unsettled feelings of the morning's events stay with her, whirling around in an ever-tightening noose around her thoughts.
She'd dated a rogue wolf and hadn't even known it. He'd lied to her, manipulated her, and killed a pack wolf mere months ago. And she'd let him touch her. Let him into her house. Into her private life.
Her skin crawled even as her wolf huffed in distaste and reflected anger.
What was worse, now that she knew the truth, Tate had gone all macho caveman on her and wanted to haul her off to his pack's den, exactly as she'd thought he eventually would. You'll be safe with us, Claire. You're part of my pack now, he'd said. She knew he meant it. Those gorgeous brown eyes, worried and dark with anger, had entreated her and almost sent her into his arms.
Almost. She'd suddenly felt so violated, so—possessed—that she wanted him gone. Just gone. So she'd finally ordered him away.
Not, of course, that he'd left at her majestic command. No, he'd stayed and argued with her some more, using his unfairly seductive cowboy wiles to soften her defenses. His scent, that spectacularly delicious mingling of chocolate and cayenne and ginger that would now forever be sealed in her mind with impressions of Tate, wafted over her and threatened to flood her into senselessness.
She'd just barely managed to not drag him into her own den and have her way with him. Luckily for her, he'd started in again about how his pack's trained Guardians could defend her. Poor, lonesome, defenseless Claire. Well, of course he hadn't sai
d it that way. He was much too much of a cowboy gentleman, and she honestly couldn't picture him ever being cruel or condescending. But she knew full well he thought she was defenseless out here by herself.
Funnily enough, she'd managed just fine without him for her entire life.
Even so, she couldn't put his long, lean body out of her mind.
Now, she paced her house with nervous energy. Too restless to write even though she really should, too annoyed to return Tate's scores of texts and voice messages, she didn't know what else to do with herself.
The one thing she did know was to think of Melle, often. Hoping with every fiber in her being her mother was still close enough to sense their unusually strong connection and return to see what was wrong, she filled her mind with images of Melle and a sense of worry. And a strong impression of rogues.
Bashar. Her ex. A—rogue wolf. Her mind still tripped over itself at that thought, stunned she hadn't realized it. All those months he'd courted her. All the times she'd let him into her house, into her own bed, simply thinking he was another pack wolf to enjoy while it lasted. He smelled like pack. He was pack. Tate had confirmed that for her, explaining how it was possible, but he also confirmed Bashar was a rogue. Which was confusing as hell.
“Oh, he's definitely a rogue wolf, darlin',” Tate had said during his lobby to get her to leave her little sanctuary for his. “Rogues have a certain scent. Rather, they have a lack of a scent—the pack scent. Once they go rogue, their pack bonds are severed.”
“But he still smells like pack,” she'd argued, mesmerized by Tate's long legs as he stepped them on either side of hers, by her front door. “How can he be a rogue?”
“Because,” Tate had said very gently, one muscled arm stretching out to the doorframe behind her, though the rest of his body stayed angled away from her so she could walk away at any moment if she wished, “rogues carry their original pack scent for a long time. It's just really muted. You would have realized that if—” He'd brought himself up short, but Claire had known what he was about to say.
