by Kate Douglas
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank you. I feel so stupid, but one time when a young male rogue showed up in my old pack’s territory they didn’t give him a chance to ask for asylum. The alpha led a couple of other guys against him and they just tore the boy to pieces in front of all of us. It was a long time ago, but I still hear his screams, still have nightmares.”
There were no words. Trak stood there, trying to figure out what kind of hell this poor woman had lived through. Finally, he cleared his throat, took a deep breath. Let it out. “I honestly don’t know how to respond, except to say that would never, never,” he emphasized, “happen here. I may be the alpha, but we’re a team more than a pack. I’m captain of that team, but I’m not omnipotent and these guys always let me know if I’ve screwed up.”
He winked and smiled at her, hoping to help her relax. “Of course, that never happens.”
She nodded, and he felt it like a punch to the gut when she smiled and said, “Obviously.”
He tugged and they started walking again. “Well, it sounds good in theory, don’t you think?”
She was actually laughing when he shoved open the door to Growl and the two of them stepped into the dark little bar. This had been their gathering place for almost a hundred years, updated now with electricity and a decent refrigerator, though the wood-burning stove in the corner still provided heat in the winter.
It was home, as far as Trak was concerned. This was where they’d always handled pack business, a place where they could relax and forget who was the alpha, which one of them was the pack enforcer, a job Cain had held without any problem at all for almost seventy years. Trak’s mind kept going back to Cain, to the guy he’d treated badly for so long, and he hated to admit that Cain had been the better man, not merely the stronger wolf.
Trak owed him. A lot of the nature of the Trinity Alps pack was due to Cain’s even hand whenever things got dicey. Which they did, on occasion, though now, with most of the guys mated, Trak had noticed a definite sense of calm that hadn’t been here before.
“Hey, Chelo.” Elle was standing behind the bar with the blender on the counter and a bottle of tequila beside it. “You want coffee or a margarita? Tuck’s the caffeine addict, but those drinks the girls were having sure looked good.”
Chelo glanced at Trak. He squeezed her hand. “You don’t need my permission. I’m guessing you’re at least twenty-one.”
She giggled and slapped a hand over her mouth. “I was born in 1903. Guess that makes me old enough.” She turned to Elle. “I would love a margarita. I’ve never had one before.”
Elle just shook her head. “Every time one of you old-timers mentions your birth date, it purely blows my mind, but not nearly as much as hearing you’ve never had a margarita.”
The whir of the blender crunching up ice drowned out everything for a few seconds.
“Trak?” Tuck walked out of the tiny kitchen in back with a plate filled with sandwiches. “I’ve got a pot of coffee on, but I hear a beer calling your name.”
“Good hearing. That sounds better than coffee. I don’t know how you drink that stuff all day. I’d still be wide awake at three in the morning.” He pulled a chair out for Chelo and she sat at the round table, but he’d been fully aware of her watching them, the way they interacted. As if they were all some breed of exotic creatures. Feeling overly protective, he took the seat beside her. Tuck set the sandwiches on the table, grabbed the beer Elle handed across the bar to him, and gave it to Trak.
Elle brought over two margaritas and placed one in front of Chelo with a flourish and then grabbed the coffee she’d poured for Tuck.
“I know it’s late for lunch,” Tuck said, “but Brad left these here for us in case we went into the dinner hour. And you know me. I’m always hungry.”
Elle patted his hand. “S’okay. You’re a big boy.” She kissed his cheek and Tuck blushed. Trak glanced at Chelo and wanted to take her hand again. She looked so terribly sad, he almost hated to ask her why she’d left her pack.
He honestly wasn’t sure he was strong enough to ask her to relive what must have been a horrible experience.
She took a sip of the margarita, though, and her eyes lit up. “That’s really good.” She took another big swallow.
Smiling broadly, Elle put her hand on Chelo’s wrist. “Take it slow. If you’ve never had one, they pack a punch.”
“Yeah,” Trak said. “Elle’s sneaky. She puts a slice of lime in it and salt around the rim to make you think you’re drinking something good for you, but we all know better.”
This time Chelo sipped. “Thank you for the warning. Passing out in your bar probably isn’t the way to make a good first impression.”
Trak handed half a turkey sandwich to her. “Eat this. It’ll soak up the alcohol.”
Nodding sagely, she took a bite of the sandwich and a much smaller sip of her drink.
* * *
Darnell covered her mouth to hide the third yawn in the past ten minutes. They’d been sitting out here on the deck for a couple of hours, the sun was still high in the sky, but she’d had a long drive, a lot of exhausting emotions bubbling in her bod, and at least one too many margaritas. She definitely didn’t want to pass out—again—on this, her first real night with Evan.
Leaning against his shoulder, she looked up at him, at the strong jaw shaded with a healthy five o’clock shadow and the dark tuft under his full lower lip. His dark blond hair was always tousled, his gray eyes surprisingly intense despite his laid-back mannerisms.
He hid a surprising intelligence and a wry sense of humor beneath that “aw shucks” persona he played to the hilt. She wondered why. Hoped she’d have enough time with him to find out. Wondered what he’d say if she told him she wanted a lifetime with him.
He glanced at her and smiled, leaned close, and kissed her very gently. “You look ready to fold. Want to go to the cabin, get settled?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I can promise clean sheets on the bed.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Pictured him naked and had to shut her eyes or moan out loud. “Sounds perfect, but I definitely need a shower. I probably stink.”
He nuzzled her hair. “Actually, no. You don’t stink at all. You smell like limes.”
Laughing, she stood and pulled him to his feet. “That’s the lime in my margarita, big guy. C’mon, before you have to carry me.”
He let her tug him to his feet. “Been there, done that. You weren’t much fun, but you sure sleep cute.”
Smiling, she waved to the rest of the group but turned away, ignoring Evan, and stomped down the stairs. When he caught up to her, she turned and glared at him. It was hard not to laugh. “Would you consider never reminding me of that again? My most humiliating night ever?”
He scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder. She squeaked but managed not to scream. “Maybe. If you give me another visual to replace that one.”
Darnell planted her hands on his back and raised her head. “Isn’t anyone gonna rescue me?”
“You?” Cain stood at the railing, laughing. “And here I was worried about Evan.”
Chapter 4
Chelo finished her sandwich and carefully wiped her lips. She took another small sip of the drink Elle had fixed for her. She’d been careful not to drink too much of it too fast, but she appreciated the calming effect of just a little alcohol.
She wasn’t holding Trak’s hand any longer, but her hands had stopped shaking. She glanced at him, tilting her head, catching his profile in her peripheral vision. He was talking to Elle, something about a wolf cub one of the men had raised when the mother was killed, how she was now a mother herself.
It was like Chelo had moved to another planet. One where people were good to one another, where no one was afraid.
She’d forgotten what it felt like, to live without fear.
“Chelo?”
She sucked in a quick breath. Trak was looking at her. Smiling, though. At least he was smiling. “What?”
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“What’s your story? Why is a lovely young woman like yourself a rogue? Can you tell us?”
She nodded. “I can. I told Elle earlier and she said I would need to tell you why I’m here. Why I’m never going back to the Rainy Lake pack.”
“No one is going to make you go anywhere. I know it’s not easy, but please. Trust us.”
“I do, but it’s a strange feeling. I haven’t felt as if I could trust anyone since I was taken. I was born in 1903 in a little village on the Canadian side of the border. My father had emigrated from Spain; my mother was mostly Minnesota Chippewa. She was raised in a farming community and moved to Canada when she married my father. She didn’t speak about her childhood much, but she and my father were good parents. I met a Frenchman when I was in my mid-twenties; we fell in love and we were married in 1929. I had just turned twenty-six.” She smiled at Elle. “I was already considered an old maid, but I was picky, and Henri Fournier was very handsome.”
She glanced away when she felt her eyes prickling with tears. After a moment she took a deep breath and gathered what composure she could. This was so hard to tell. The telling brought it back, made it hurt as if it happened yesterday. “I was pregnant with our first child, not very far along, when the wolves came. There were two of them. They attacked Henri in the yard and he was dead before I knew we were even in danger. They broke into the house and I ran for the loft. I figured they couldn’t come up the ladder, but they turned into men and caught me. I thought they were monsters. I was right. They were.”
Trak handed her a clean handkerchief. She hadn’t realized the tears were already flowing, but she wiped her eyes. Barely whispering now, so caught up in those horrific memories, she went on. She spoke in a monotone. That was the only way to get the words out. It was almost as painful as when Jorge was beating her—telling these nice people just how awful it had been.
“They took me away. The bigger one threw me over his shoulder and ran into the forest. They never seemed to grow tired, but the pain was horrible and I knew I was losing the baby. I screamed at them. I screamed at God. They laughed.”
She paused, took a deep breath, and whispered, “I think God wept.” Pausing again, she gathered her thoughts and moved forward. She had to tell her story. It was time. Maybe now she would finally find help.
“I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember was waking up in a cave. There was a fire burning and the men were arguing. They were drunk and I remember the stench of their unwashed bodies. There was so much blood. I knew then my baby had died. When the men realized I was awake, they took turns raping me. By then it didn’t matter. I only wanted to die.”
Elle’s arms wrapped around her, pulled her close, and snuggled her against her big breasts as if she were nothing more than a babe. Chelo hadn’t even been aware of Elle getting up and walking around the table, of taking the chair beside her. Trak had hold of her hand once again, and Tuck? Big, strong Tuck sat across from her, openly weeping.
For whatever reason, his tears made her strong. She sat up. “Thank you. I can do this,” she said. Elle smiled and nodded encouragement when Chelo moved away from her embrace, but Chelo didn’t let go of Trak’s hand. “I passed out at some point, and the men must have fought again, because the one who became my brother-in-law was laying against a wall of the cave, his arm broken. His name is Rube. The one who mated me, Jorge, turned into a wolf again and I thought he was going to kill me. He bit me and the pain was excruciating. Once again I fell unconscious. When I awoke, I was like you. I could become a wolf. My injuries had healed, and I felt strong, healthier than I could remember.
“I ran away. Jorge caught me and beat me, but he didn’t kill me. I ran away again, and again, but each time he was able to find me. Each time he beat me. He knew just how many bones he could break, how much he could hurt me without killing me. That went on until a little over ten years ago when he was killed in a bar fight in Minnesota. His brother was badly hurt, and that time when I ran no one came after me. I ended up in Washington State, where I opened a flower shop, but I was stupid and used my maiden name.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Rube found me. I barely got away.”
“Rube? Your dead mate’s brother?” Trak held her hand in both of his and his gaze was hypnotic. She wanted to fall into those dark eyes, into depths filled with compassion.
“He said that I was supposed to be his mate the night they took me, that Jorge changed his mind and beat him up when he was sleeping off the booze, but now that his brother was dead, Rube wanted me. He wants to breed me. I told him I don’t think I can have babies anymore. After my baby died, I didn’t get pregnant again.” She shrugged. “Maybe I did, but if so, the constant beatings must have ended the pregnancies. Rube is even worse than Jorge. I will kill myself before I let him take me.”
“If he comes for you, I will kill him myself.” Trak stood, still holding on to Chelo’s hand. “Tuck? Elle? Will you bear witness?”
“Damn right.” Tuck was on his feet immediately.
“Of course.”
Confused, Chelo watched as both of them stood beside her.
“Kentucky Jones, Elle Marcel? As members in good standing of the Trinity Alps pack, will you act as sponsors for one Consuela de los Lobos, rogue wolf, once a member of the Rainy Lakes pack, now offered provisional entrance into the Trinity Alps pack?”
Elle and Tuck glanced at each other and together said, “We will.”
Wide-eyed, Chelo stared at Trak.
“Do you, Consuela de los Lobos, accept provisional membership into the Trinity Alps pack? Full membership to come with the vote of all members in good standing?”
“I do.”
“With the power vested in me by virtue of my status as alpha of the Trinity Alps pack, I offer you provisional membership into this pack, with a full vote to come as soon as the members have had a chance to get to know you.”
He pulled her close and hugged her. “The vote is merely a formality, Chelo. Welcome. I think you’re going to love it here.”
* * *
Darnell walked out of the shower wrapped in a towel that was obviously designed with a man Evan’s size in mind. She was practically lost in its soft, absorbent folds, one hand clasping the thick terry close above her breasts. She stood in the doorway to the small bathroom, watching Evan. Lying stretched out on the bed with his nose buried in a book, he wore a clean but ragged-looking pair of sweatpants and nothing else. His chest was bare, showing off the glorious tattoo, a full sleeve design on his left arm that spread across his upper back and shoulders and all the way around to his right side.
She’d first seen it when she stayed at Feral Passions as a guest. He’d been working in the garden beside the lodge wearing faded cutoffs and hiking boots, the muscles on his back rippling beneath all that color as he turned the damp earth. She’d thought then it was absolutely beautiful, a twisting, swirling design of leaves and vines with birds and lizards, even a tiny frog peeking out of the intricately worked ink. It was the perfect accent to Evan’s powerful body; almost whimsical, it told her there was more to the man than most people knew. Now, after four months of fantasizing about Evan and his tattoo, her fingers practically itched to touch it. To touch him.
He carefully marked his place between the pages, set the book aside, and only then did he raise his head and look her way. “All clean?” he said, and winked. Then he rolled smoothly to his feet and walked across the room almost as if he were a predator and she was a tasty-looking rabbit. She loved the way he walked, all smooth sexual power hidden beneath a truly sweet and kind nature. There was nothing cocky about him, none of the arrogance she’d long associated with men his size. Men who looked as if they’d stepped off the cover of a magazine.
He locked his gray-eyed gaze to hers and focused on her until he stopped directly in front of her. Raising his big hands to her shoulders, he took a deep breath, glanced from her face to her toes and back again. Then he wrapped his powerful arms around her
, nuzzled close against the sensitive dip where her throat and collarbones met, and inhaled deeply.
Shivers raced across her entire body, puckered her nipples, and left her a quivering, needy statue unable to move with Evan so close. He surrounded her, blanketed her in his warmth and strength, in the steady tempo of his heartbeat. His scent.
“I never realized how sexy this would be,” he whispered, his breath teasing her jaw, his lips taking quick little nips along her throat. “I love smelling my favorite soap on your body.”
She held her breath as he ran a fingertip along the side of her throat, across her shoulder, down her arm. “Do you really think you need the towel?” he asked. “It’s such a warm night.”
Darnell didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her words had lodged somewhere in her chest, held captive by the pounding thunder of her heart. She was so not accustomed to this, to a sexy man watching her through half-lidded eyes, the way his simple touch left her heart racing and her entire body yearning for more.
“We hardly kissed when you were here before. Do you have any idea how many nights I lay awake in this room, imagining your kisses? The way your lips would feel, how you would taste?”
He swallowed, audibly, and the sound made her smile. He wasn’t nearly as calm as his steady voice indicated. No, not at all. That sense of vulnerability, the fact that he wasn’t totally in control of his feelings, gave her the strength to release her frantic grip on the towel.
