Tristan's Despair (2019 Reissue)

by Lavinia Lewis

He didn’t intend to give up until he found it.

  No, sir.

  The strangest thing was that no one in town wanted to talk about the fires. Usually, people were tripping over themselves to tell reporters what little they knew, either because they hoped to get paid for the story or because they wanted their fifteen minutes of fame and the idea of seeing their name in print was almost as big a prize as seeing it in neon lights.

  But in Wolf Creek people were keeping it zipped.

  It was weird.

  Joey wasn’t a fan of conspiracy theories, but he was convinced that there was something sinister going on in town. It was as if people were afraid to talk, but afraid of what—or who?

  He was determined to find out.

  The small police scanner he’d brought with him hummed quietly in the background. Joey had been listening to it constantly since he’d arrived, but nothing interesting had happened so far. There had been a few domestic disputes and a couple of people had been picked up for being drunk and disorderly. They were crimes one would expect in a small town like Wolf Creek. If anything, there had been less trouble than he’d anticipated.

  There had been no burglaries, no car thefts, no destruction of property. It seemed that the majority of folks in town were law-abiding citizens. There had been no more arson attacks since Pete Johnson’s house had been torched.

  Whoever had started the fires had just…stopped.

  Why?

  After taking off his reading glasses, Joey rubbed his sore and tired eyes.

  He was getting a headache.

  He’d been staring at his notes and listening to that damn scanner all day long. The only time he’d left his room had been when he went to talk to the sheriff and that had been a complete waste of time.

  He needed a break before he lost his mind.

  Yep.

  A hot shower was in order then maybe a walk around the block to get some air and clear his head. He did his best thinking at night. He wasn’t used to the peace and quiet of small towns. Wolf Creek was a far cry from the busy streets in Dallas where Joey had moved to a couple of years ago to try to make it as a reporter. But as much as he loved the city and his job, Joey was bored—he longed for some excitement. And even though he hadn’t found it yet in Wolf Creek, he had a feeling that he hadn’t scratched the surface of what was really going on in town.

  But he would.

  It was only a matter of time.

  Chapter Three

  “You might want to slow down if you’re planning on driving that truck of yours home,” Brandon said, with a nod to Tristan’s beer.

  Tristan turned to the wolf and scowled. “It’s only my second. Jeez.”

  “Uh, make that third. And I’m only trying to look out for you.”

  He couldn’t have explained why, but that pissed Tristan off more.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t need anyone to look out for me, but thanks anyway.”

  Christ, why did everyone treat him like he was a kid? First his brother, then Nate. Pete always seemed to think he knew what was best for Tristan too, and now he had Brandon on his case—a complete fricking stranger.

  He was sick of it.

  Trying to live up to everyone’s expectations was exhausting.

  For the first time in months, Tristan wanted to get absolutely blind filthy drunk. It was tempting—really tempting. But when it came down to it, Brandon was right, even though Tristan hated to admit it. He needed to drive his truck back to Wolf Creek. Jackson’s bar was located in the ass-end of nowhere. Wolf Creek was the nearest town, but it was miles away. Tristan might be able to get a lift back with Brandon, but Jared and Nate would play holy hell if they found out he’d been out here drinking up a storm. He could do without the hassle.

  The sound of glass smashing made Tristan flinch. Jesus, he was jumpy tonight. What the hell was wrong with him? When he turned, two beefy-looking bikers were facing off. They traded insults then one of them threw a punch, an uppercut that caught the other guy’s jaw, causing him to fall back into another man, who promptly turned and threw a punch of his own.

  “We’d better get out of here,” Brandon said in an aside. “This is about to get ugly.”

  Tristan couldn’t have agreed more.

  Fists began to fly freely and glasses smashed all over the bar, the fight having gone from naught to ninety in five seconds flat. He left the rest of his beer and got up off the stool, following Brandon to the exit. They’d only made it halfway across the room before Tristan managed to get caught up in the trouble through no fault of his own.

  The short guy with the ZZ Top styled beard was shoved back into his path. On instinct, Tristan held his hands out to protect himself and to steady the man, but as soon as they made contact with the guy’s back, he turned and threw a punch.

  Tristan was usually quick on his feet, but it happened so fast, he didn’t have time to move out of the way. When a meaty fist made contact with Tristan’s eye, a burst of white-hot pain seared across his cheekbone. His anger rose to the surface, his wolf howling and desperate to be set free—to retaliate.

  Tristan had to fight with himself to stop his eyes shifting to their wolf form and to stop his incisors from tearing out of his gums. The dude that had socked him might be a wolf, but there were plenty of humans in the bar.

  He needed to be careful.

  Straightening his back, Tristan rose to his full height and glared at the man. As they stared at each other, it suddenly occurred to Tristan where he’d seen the guy before. Both he and his friend were members of a motorbike gang that often passed by Bob’s garage where Tristan worked.

  They all rode Harleys. Bob had mentioned them a time or two and he hadn’t had a good thing to say about them. Bob seemed to think that when there was trouble, they were always in the thick of it. When the guy snarled at Tristan, a low growl escaped his own throat. Fortunately, Brandon grabbed hold of Tristan’s arm and dragged him away before he got into something that he knew he’d regret.

  “It’s not worth it!” Brandon shouted over the din. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Tristan took a deep, calming breath and nodded, turning to follow Brandon out of the bar, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man pull back his arm, and this time he was able to block the punch before it made contact with the side of his head. He snarled and hit out, catching the guy in the face and sending him stumbling backward.

  Tristan thought that would be the end of it and was about to turn to follow Brandon, but the man’s friend, the dude with the goatee, decided to get in on the action.

  When he lunged at Tristan, Brandon stepped in.

  Crap.

  It looked as if they weren’t getting out of the bar any time soon, after all. When Tristan chanced a look around, complete and utter chaos surrounded him.

  The fight soon found its way out into the parking lot. Tristan took a few punches to the face, but he gave as good as he got. The two bikers eventually started fighting with some other men. The brawl started to wind down when the sound of sirens filled the air.

  Tristan groaned.

  If Jared found out he’d been involved, there was going to be hell to pay.

  And wouldn’t that be his damn luck?

  Brandon caught Tristan’s gaze and nodded towards the other side of the lot. Tristan began to head on over, but he didn’t make it five feet before the first cruiser pulled up outside the bar.

  Jared got out of the driver’s side door.

  Tristan heaved a sigh.

  Putting on his Stetson, Jared surveyed the scene before making his way into the thinning crowd with a deputy at his heels. What the hell were the odds on Tristan’s brother showing up? As if by instinct, Jared’s gaze zeroed in on him. His brother’s eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened.

  Then his anger set in.

  The glower on Jared’s face was so pronounced it stopped Tristan in his tracks. He mentally prepared himself for the coming lecture and strode across the lot. Jared’s glare intensi
fied as Tristan approached then a wave of fury and disappointment burst from his brother, nearly knocking Tristan on his ass.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Jared roared.

  Tristan knew this wasn’t the time to be flippant, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

  “Enjoying the scenery,” he shot back.

  Jared’s expression darkened further. “You think this is funny?”

  Tristan sighed. “What do you want me to say, Jared? I came here for a drink. I’m an adult. Deal with it.”

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Jared promised. He turned to leave then paused. “I’m really disappointed in you.”

  Although his brother’s words stung more than he cared to acknowledge, Tristan shrugged, not wanting to show just how much they hurt.

  “Whatever. I’m going home.”

  Jared got right up in his face and leaned in close, his nostrils flaring. He was scenting Tristan’s breath and when his eyes flashed amber, it was quite obvious that he didn’t like what he’d discovered.

  “You’ve been drinking,” he deduced. “You can forget about driving the truck home.”

  “What? I only had a couple of beers!”

  “Then that’s two beers too many.”

  Jared pinned Tristan in place with a glacial stare, daring him to argue.

  “I can give you a lift,” Brandon interjected.

  When Tristan turned, he was surprised to see Brandon standing next to them. Had the wolf been there the entire time?

  Damn.

  Well, that was embarrassing. Tristan sighed, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “And just who the hell are you?”

  Jared turned his frosty glare on Brandon and waited for a reply.

  Pulling off his cowboy hat, Brandon flashed his million-dollar grin and gave a little bow. His movements appeared too sophisticated for a cowboy who had been brought up to work the land.

  “Howdy. Name’s Brandon Delaney. And you are…?”

  Jared’s gaze shifted from Tristan to Brandon’s. His lips were pressed tightly together and the creases on his forehead proved that he was less than happy. What a surprise.

  “Sheriff Ambrose,” he replied stonily, placing extra emphasis on the word sheriff. “What are you doing with my brother?”

  “Hey!” Tristan shouted, taking offense to being treated like he was fifteen. “That’s none of your damn business!”

  “Oh, really? It is while you’re still living under my roof.”

  Tristan snorted. “We live in a guesthouse and I pay my own damn rent!”

  “Only for another week! And stop your damn cussing!” Jared scrubbed a hand over his face and replaced his cowboy hat. “I’ve got work to do, Tristan. We’ll discuss this later. Get in the cruiser. You’re coming home with me.”

  Tristan snarled.

  He’d had just about all he could take of his brother’s over-protectiveness.

  “No, I’m not. I’m going home with my friend. If you want to talk to me later, you know where to find me.”

  Tristan turned on his heel then stormed off.

  He didn’t bother checking to see if Brandon was following him even though he had no idea where his car was parked. He had to get away from his brother before he said something that he wouldn’t be able to take back.

  Although he was grateful to Jared for looking out for him since their pop had died, Tristan wasn’t a kid anymore. Jared was too overprotective.

  It had to stop.

  Tristan might have made a few errors when he was younger but didn’t everyone? Wasn’t part of being an adult learning from your mistakes? Jared wouldn’t give him a chance to prove himself and that rankled.

  Logically, he knew his brother was more worried than usual because Evelyn Armstrong was still on the loose and she’d nearly succeeded in taking their lives once before. No one knew if she’d given up on her vendetta or was biding her time before she struck again.

  Tristan had the same fears as his brother, but he couldn’t hide away forever. If Evelyn was going to show up, there wasn’t a lot that could be done about it. She’d already proven that she was more than capable of attacking people when they thought they were safe in their own homes. Even Alpha Morgan hadn’t been able to stop her from getting close to his house and family, so what could Tristan do?

  He had to get on with his life.

  He was tired of the nightmares—tired of always being afraid.

  “Hey, wait up!”

  Slowing his pace, Tristan waited until Brandon fell into step with him.

  “So, your brother’s the sheriff, eh? That sucks.”

  A grin tugged at Tristan’s lips. “Yeah, tell me about it. Is your car near here?”

  “It’s a bike and it’s this way.”

  They walked on in silence until they reached Brandon’s motorbike. It was a shiny, black and blue BMW with large black cases fixed on the sides and back. It was huge. Tristan didn’t know a lot about bikes, but he could tell it must have cost a lot of money.

  Looked like something a city cop would ride.

  Tristan whistled. “Wow, this is nice.”

  “You ride?”

  Tristan shook his head.

  “Naw, I never learned. I work at Bob’s garage in Wolf Creek so I can tell you just about anything there is to know about the engine in a Chevy, but Bob doesn’t work on bikes.

  “I’ve never been on one, actually.”

  “No kidding.” Brandon unlocked one of the boxes and pulled out a helmet, handing it over. “Put this on.”

  Tristan hesitated before sliding the helmet into place.

  “Listen, I’m sorry you got caught up in that crap between me and my brother. Don’t take his bad mood personally, he’s just…

  “He’s got a lot on his mind right now. And thanks for watching my back in the bar.”

  Brandon shrugged. “Don’t sweat it. ‘S no big deal. Trouble seems to follow me around anyhow. That back there was nothing compared to some of the scrapes I’ve been in.

  “And it sounded like your brother was just looking out for you.”

  “He was. I just wish he’d quit. I can take care of myself.”

  “So you say, but it doesn’t hurt to have someone fighting in your corner. You’re lucky, kid—aside from my pop, I never had anyone look out for me like that.

  “Come on, let’s get you home before your brother hunts me down and has me castrated. I happen to like my balls just where they are.”

  Tristan chuckled.

  When his gaze lowered to check out the position of said balls it was totally unintentional.

  Chapter Four

  Eyes closed, Joey let his head fall back and reveled in the cold spray from the shower as it rained down on his face. He’d hoped the cool temperature of the water would rejuvenate him, but he couldn’t shake the odd feeling that had been plaguing him since he’d arrived in Wolf Creek. He’d had the strangest feeling that something was about to happen, but he didn’t know what. He’d had it before he came to the town, too. Strange. It wasn’t a premonition exactly, just a weird instinct or sixth sense. It was like he was waiting for something to happen.

  And damn but he was horny.

  He hadn’t jacked off as much in his entire life as he had in the last couple of days. Maybe he just needed to get laid. It had been a while since the last time, over six months to be precise. He’d been so focused on his job in the past couple of years that he’d put his love life on the back burner and he’d never been into casual hook-ups. He’d been in a relationship with the couple of men he’d slept with. But now, sex was all he could think about.

  It was as if something had switched on inside him, bringing his libido back with a vengeance.

  He looked down at his dick and groaned. It was hard, standing to attention against his stomach and begging to be touched. What the hell was up with him? That was the third time already that day.

  H
e soaped up his hands and slid them down his stomach until he reached the thick, dark curls, then wrapped a fist around his cock. He hissed as he moved up and down his length. He didn’t bother taking his time—it didn’t matter how long he spent on it lately, the darn thing was always hard and ready for action. He worked his hand over himself roughly, until his orgasm built, the tingles beginning in his groin and traveling to the bottom of his spine. All too soon he squeezed his eyes shut and the fireworks went off behind his eyelids as his seed spurted out, hitting the cold, tiled wall.

  After he’d finished drying off and had changed into clean clothes, Joey grabbed his keys and headed out of the door. As he’d only been in town for a couple of days, he hadn’t had a chance to explore the area. Night-time was perfect because there was a chance he might run into some drunk who would be only too happy to shoot his mouth off.

  Joey could only hope.

  Marnie’s was quite large for a guesthouse in such a small town. The main building had around twenty rooms and there were units outside too, running parallel to one another with a small stretch of grass in between. Joey was staying in one of the rooms in the main guesthouse, but he’d yet to run into many other guests. Those he had met during his stay had been from out of town.

  No use to him at all.

  He jogged down the stairs and passed the reception desk, which was shut up for the night, then slipped out of the front door. The guesthouse couldn’t get a lot of passing trade because the guests were given a key to get into the building after it had closed.

  Outside, Joey took a moment to breathe in the cool evening air before striding through the parking lot, which led around to the main road. He was just passing his Ford Taurus when the loud roar of a motorbike cut through the quiet night air. When it pulled into the far side of the lot near the rows of units, his curiosity spiked, and Joey peered around his car to see if he recognized the visitor.

  It could have been someone from town that he could question about the fires.

  Two men were seated on the bike and the guy that was riding behind got off first. When he took off his helmet and shook out his hair, Joey nearly swallowed his tongue.