Captivated by the She-Wolf

by Kristal Hollis

  She laughed at the absurdity.

  The delicate chime of bells jingled from the front of the store.

  “That you, Elliott?” Ronni rolled her chair away from the sewing table and stood, arching her back and stretching her arms above her head. The bunched muscles relaxed.

  “Yep.” Without fail, postal employee and fellow packmate Elliott Dubois delivered Ronni’s mail at ten fifty-five every morning.

  She walked into the front where slanted teak shelves were loaded with bolts of every imaginable color of fabric. More for show than actual use, the rainbow effect reminded her that this store, this pack, this life was her pot of gold.

  “You have to sign for this one.” In his late fifties, Elliott had dark springy hair clipped close to his head, smooth brown skin, sepia-colored eyes teeming with intelligence and a tightly trimmed beard framing a generous mouth that usually dazzled her with a flash of straight white teeth. Today, Elliott clenched his jaw hard enough to flatten his lips until they whitened around the edges.

  “Well, it can’t be an eviction letter.” The Co-op owned her building and she paid a portion of her profits to the Co-op, as all members did.

  Ronni stepped behind the sales counter and picked up a pen from the cup beside the register.

  “It’s from the Woelfesenat.” He handed her an overnight, certified letter.

  Ronni’s heart stopped. As did time itself.

  The air inside The Stitchery stilled. Neither she nor Elliott breathed. The ticking of the pendulum clock on the wall behind her ceased to tock in her ears.

  Although all Wahyan packs were independently governed by their respective Alphas, the Woelfesenat was the international wolf council that ensured their species continued to live peaceably among the unsuspecting human populace. They held the ultimate ruling power over all wolf shifters, world-wide. A communique from them was either really good news or it wasn’t. There was no middle ground with them.

  Since Ronni preferred to stay off their radar, she doubted they were awarding her a commendation.

  Nervously, she signed for the document.

  “Maybe it’s not too serious.” Elliott offered her a hopeful smile.

  “Probably paperwork involving my mate’s death,” she said, even though Zeke had died over a year ago. “It all happened so fast, Alex and I just packed up and left.”

  “I’m sure that’s all it is.” Relief eased Elliott’s worry. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Ronni kept her smile in place until Elliott walked out of The Stitchery and across the street. Hands shaking, she tore into the letter.

  It wasn’t about her deceased husband, Ezekiel. It was about his brutal older brother, Jebediah.

  Ronni’s heart dropped into her stomach with such velocity it could have passed right through her pelvis to make a crater on the concrete floor.

  Jeb wasn’t dead like everyone had believed. And despite the many prayers and supplications Ronni had made to never lay eyes on that man again, the Woelfesenat was officially informing her that Jeb had petitioned for the assertion of his blood-kin rights and would be contacting her shortly regarding visitation with her son, Alexander.

  The letter slipped from her fingers. Her knees gave out. She sank to the floor. Her heart climbed back into her chest and beat in a furious attempt to make up for lost time. A sudden deluge of adrenaline made her head spin. Her breaths grew short from the tightening of her chest and the closing of her throat. Even her nose seemed unable to draw in air.

  As her mate’s brother, Jeb had a stronger blood-kin relation to Alex than Rafe Wyatt, Ronni’s distant cousin, who had given them refuge after Zeke’s death, providing a home and helping to establish them in the Walker’s Run pack.

  Zeke had risked his life to protect her from Jeb, who had begun obsessively stalking her with a mind to forcibly claim her if she resisted. And later, in hopes of giving his family a better life, Zeke had been coordinating with Rafe on their transference to Walker’s Run when he was killed by rebel packmates.

  If allowed to go unchecked, Jeb would undo everything Zeke had sacrificed to give them.

  Under no circumstance would Ronni allow that to happen. Taking a calming breath, she forced down her panic.

  The clock on the wall behind her chimed and she jumped.

  Irritated with herself, Ronni stood and shook off her momentary weakness and flattened her hands on the counter. She couldn’t stop Jeb from coming to get them, but she would make damn certain he left Walker’s Run empty-handed.

  * * *

  “Who are you again?” Mary Jane McAllister, an elderly woman with short, gray curly hair and wearing overalls, squinted at Bodie from behind her screen door.

  “Sergeant Gryffon.” The wooden porch squeaked as he shifted his weight. He’d been interviewing tight-lipped Co-op residents all morning about the gunshots he’d heard inside the wolf sanctuary last night. “I’m with Georgia DNR.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Department of Natural Resources,” he answered, for the third time. Noting the hearing aids in her ears, he swallowed his impatience.

  Again, she inspected him head to toe. “Are you a game warden or something?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Though as a DNR conservation ranger in the law enforcement division, Bodie had the same investigative and arrest powers entrusted to all local, state or federal law enforcement officers.

  “Well, whatcha doin’ here?” She crossed her arms over her full chest.

  That was a loaded question.

  In recent years, there had been a number of fatal wild boar attacks in and around Maico. DNR’s growing concern with the feral hog situation was, in part, responsible for Bodie’s reassignment here. And since his arrival, he had combed the entire area, on foot or in the air. And there wasn’t a single boar to be found, wild or otherwise.

  There were, however, wolf shifters who in all likelihood did not take kindly to trespassers or interlopers.

  “A witness reported shots were fired inside the Walker’s Run wolf sanctuary last night.” Bodie didn’t elaborate that he’d been the one to hear the shotgun blasts while perched in a tree at the she-wolf’s house.

  After following her home from the sanctuary a few nights ago, he couldn’t seem to stay away, returning nightly to watch over her as she sat on the back porch swing. During the day, wherever his job led, he searched the faces of every woman, hoping to find her and introduce himself.

  This morning as he began to interview residents living near the wolf sanctuary, Bodie had thought he would finally meet her. But when he knocked on her door, no one answered. Somehow, he had to find a way to meet this woman while in his human form. Maybe then, visions of her would stop invading his dreams.

  “Did you hear gunshots last night, Ms. McAllister?”

  “What if I did? It’s hunting season.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but it’s illegal to hunt inside a protected wildlife refuge.”

  “You ain’t got nothing to worry about,” she said. “The Co-op will take care of any poachers caught on their land.”

  The thought had crossed Bodie’s mind more than once. In the sanctuary, the she-wolf-turned-beautiful-woman had said sentinels would hunt down anyone who harmed an animal on Co-op lands.

  “I’m trying to do my job, ma’am.” Before someone gets hurt.

  “Well, go do it somewhere else.” Ms. McAllister stepped back and gripped the hardwood door. “I ain’t got nothing to say.”

  The door closed hard enough to rattle the metal screen. Definitely not the first one slammed in his face this morning, but since this was the last house bordering the Co-op’s wolf sanctuary, it would be the final interview for today.

  He descended the porch steps, walked to his state-supplied, double cab truck and climbed inside. Shaking off the autumn chill, he studied the McAllister homestead. It wa
s different from the other homes bordering the Co-op’s wolf sanctuary in that she had a dozen or so chickens running around her yard and an empty pig sty. There had been no indication of pets or farm animals at the other residences.

  The house appeared more weathered than the others he had seen, but still in good repair. In the front window, one slat in the blinds parted. His intent when questioning the residents wasn’t to antagonize them, but to offer help.

  Help that no one seemed to want or appreciate. If indeed they were wolf shifters, as he suspected, perhaps the Co-op residents believed they were safe living among their own kind. Estranged from his clan and under constant scrutiny, Bodie could only imagine how comforting that feeling must be.

  He turned the key in the ignition and waved to the woman in the window. The blind snapped closed.

  In the rearview mirror, he saw a white pickup truck pull in behind him. An older man got out, his movements stealthy and predatory.

  Wahya! The term the she-wolf had used when referring to her species pierced his mind. Whereas her spirit had been kind and gentle, the aura emanating from the man stalking toward Bodie’s vehicle caused his feathers to ruffle.

  Bodie rolled down his window. “Good morning, sir. I’m Sergeant Gryffon with DNR.”

  “I know who you are.” The man’s dark eyes narrowed. “Appreciate your interest in the shots fired last night, but it’s a Co-op matter. Best you stay out of it.”

  “If it involves poaching or any other illegal activity, I’m inclined to disagree.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Then you know who discharged the firearms?”

  The man sucked his teeth and his gaze flickered right. “A couple of the Co-op’s teenagers were horsing around. Won’t happen again.”

  It was an outright lie. In his raven form, Bodie had seen the shotgun casings on the ground and the cut fence. He’d also followed several wolves tracking the perpetrators’ trail, which stopped abruptly at the tire tracks that disappeared at the asphalt road. Since he couldn’t very well admit to it, he was at a dead end, too.

  Bodie picked up the notepad and pen on the seat next to him. “Do you mind telling me your name, sir?”

  The man’s wizened face darkened. “Don’t see why I should.”

  “For the record,” Bodie said. “If I’m going to close out the incident report, I need to know who provided the information.”

  “Henry Coots.” The man exhaled heavily. “Most people call me Cooter.”

  Bodie jotted down the name. “Who are the juveniles involved?”

  “I don’t think their names are necessary. They got a good scolding from the sentinels. It won’t happen again.”

  “The sentinels?” The she-wolf had mentioned them, too.

  “The Co-op’s security force.” Cooter nodded. “Put down in your book that they handled the situation. There’s nothing more to it.”

  Oh, there was a hell of a lot more to it. “Thank you for your time, Cooter.”

  “Next time, before you stick your nose into the Co-op’s matters, you should talk to Tristan Durrance. He’s been in charge of security since I retired.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bodie had left a message for Tristan but hadn’t received a call back yet. Having first met while working the fires in the Chattahoochee National Forest a few years ago, they had reconnected when Bodie moved to Maico.

  Cooter returned to his truck and drove around Bodie’s vehicle toward the house. Bodie checked the rearview mirror.

  At least no more Co-opers were driving up to tell him not to stick his beak where it didn’t belong.

  Thankfully Willow was having a better time integrating with the locals than her father. She loved her new classmates. Had to be a first. Quiet and heartbreakingly shy, Willow had hated every school she’d attended. Bodie suspected bullying though she never admitted it.

  But on her first day at Maico High, she had come home all smiles and talking more than she had the entire summer before they’d moved. Coming out of her shell, she had made friends and was growing more confident in herself every day. Perhaps it had something to do with the nearing of her first transformation, but he hoped that it was because she was happy.

  The gnawing in his belly turned into an obnoxious rumble. He’d missed lunch and now his stomach was trying to devour itself. He lifted the phone from its holder on the dashboard and called the local diner.

  “Mabel’s,” a woman answered.

  “I need to place an order.”

  “Bodie?” She drew out his name with her Southern drawl. “Is that you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, hey, cutie pie. I wondered if you were comin’ by today to see me.”

  Bodie had no idea which server was talking to him.

  Being a new face in a small town always made one stand out. Being a new single face was like wearing a neon sign. But after Willow and Bodie’s mother had joined him in Maico, the neon sign went nova.

  “I’m running late and need to pick up something to go.”

  “Want the usual?”

  “That’ll be fine.” Bodie glanced at the clock. “I might not get there until after the diner closes.”

  “I’ll keep it warming in the window. You drive safe, now. See you soon.”

  Bodie backed out of the driveway onto the road. Heading into town, he passed the KOA campground and the weight on his shoulders increased. Living in the camper had been a temporary plan when he’d arrived in Maico, alone. He’d expected to have time to find a place before bringing up his daughter and mother.

  However, plans changed after two Tlanuhwas had unexpectedly approached Bodie, hoping to recruit him into a small faction wanting him to pick up the mantle of modernization among their kind that had gotten his forward-thinking father killed. Not knowing if they were sincere or informants for the Tribunal—the Tlanuhwas’ governing council—Bodie had adamantly declined.

  Still, if something was going on among his clansmen, he wanted his family close. Of course, his mother had squawked about the move. But she didn’t know about the incident and he wasn’t inclined to worry her over something that might not come to fruition.

  Clipped to the dashboard, his phone chirped. He tapped the speaker button. “Gryffon.”

  “Hey.” Tristan sounded like his usual friendly self. “Just got your message. Nel turned my phone off so I could get some sleep.”

  “Nel is in town?”

  “Yeah.” Tristan’s voice faded into a contented sigh. “This time, she’s staying.”

  “That’s great,” Bodie said, now making sense of how devastated his staunch bachelor friend had been by the break-up with his summer fling. Wolves mated for life; apparently wolf-shifters did, too, when they fell in love.

  Not that Bodie was looking for love, but maybe Tristan could help him connect with the she-wolf. Never far from his mind, she captivated him in a way no woman had. He needed to meet her in person, gauge her reaction to his human form. Find out if the strong attraction he felt was mutual.

  “About the gunshots last night,” Bodie began before his thoughts continued to lead him elsewhere.

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m calling.” Tristan paused. “Can you meet me at the Walker’s Run Resort? We need to discuss a few things.”

  Oh, yes, we do.

  Chapter 3

  The gray gloom in the early afternoon sky matched Ronni’s mood and she barely felt the nip in the light autumn breeze. Strolling past Wyatt’s Automotive Service, she gave a finger wave to Rafe inside the garage and then crossed the side street to Mabel’s Diner.

  After an explosion at Rafe’s business last year had caused damage to the diner, the aging owner, Mabel Whitcomb, had considered retiring instead of reopening. She—like most humans—was unaware of the existence of wolf shifters and was not a member of the Walker’s Run Cooperative. B
ut, because she was a pillar in the community and a friend to many Co-op members, Gavin Walker—the pack’s Alpha—had directed funds from the Co-op’s reserves to finance the diner’s remodeling project.

  On the outside, the town landmark still looked the same with its bright yellow walls and white trim. The interior, however, had been given a significant overhaul. Gone was the faded eighties decor, the stained and threadbare commercial carpet, the ripped vinyl booths, the wobbly aluminum tables and a lunch counter with a large, face-like coffee stain the servers had named Fred.

  Now the palette matched the cozy feel that Mabel’s always generated. The walls were creamy yellow with white accents, though some rich wood paneling kept customers from feeling like they’d been swallowed by a lemon meringue pie. Instead of carpet, the floor was now wood laminate. The worn and rickety booths, tables and chairs were replaced with solid, sturdy wooden ones. Red-and-white-checkered cloths decorated the tables, and lacy curtains hung over the windows.

  The menu was as Southern as ever. Just walking into the diner, one could hear the patrons’ arteries hardening. In an effort to not kill off all the customers with cholesterol-induced heart attacks, a few lighter and healthier menu options had been introduced.

  Mabel herself remained the most prominent fixture. Sporting her iconic red beehive hairdo and sky blue eyeshadow, she perched on her stool behind the cash register, ringing up the last customer in the restaurant.

  “Put your order in about five minutes ago, hon,” Mabel said. “Should be out any time.”

  “Thanks.” Ronni smiled as if she hadn’t received a letter announcing her entire world could come crashing down at any time.

  She continued on into the women’s restroom that wasn’t much bigger than a closet. After washing her hands, she splashed cold water on her face. The harried look her eyes had held after Zeke died was back. Fear, mostly, of what an uncertain future held.

  She stared at her reflection until the fear cowered beneath her determination. No man, no wolf, would take her son.