After the Moon Rises

by Karilyn Bentley

  Rambling. He was rambling. Vonda smiled to herself. If a man rambles, well, that means he cares. And Tom caring enough about her to ramble made her heart sing.

  I’m very happy. Ever since I met you, since I shook your hand, I’ve wanted you. And not just the sex thing. It’s you. I’ve never felt about a man like I do you. I’m more than happy with this arrangement.

  He walked over to her and licked her face.

  It’s a little hard to do what I want in this body. But once the sun comes up, don’t run off. He waggled the hair sticking out above his eyes.

  She licked him back. Don’t worry, I won’t. Are you ready for the hunt?

  As long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.

  Anything? Her eyebrows waggled back at him.

  Anything with you. Forever and always.

  With Tom at her side and in her heart, the loneliness she experienced her entire life vanished, leaving only peace.

  Wolf Mates

  by

  Karilyn Bentley

  Dedication

  To Lill:

  This one's for you.

  If not for our conversation that day at Starbucks, there would be no vegetarian werewolf.

  Chapter One

  A vegetarian werewolf was an oxymoron on a number of different levels. Could she even call herself a vegetarian if she took down that grazing deer? The usual monthly guilt slapped her like a twig on the snout. Her wolf instincts insisted she eat the deer. After all, she was a wolf and wolves preyed on deer, right? Right.

  Everyone knew wolves needed meat. Just because her two-legged self thought otherwise didn’t mean her four-legged one couldn’t eat it.

  So much for the guilt. If she crammed it under a dark corner of her being, it couldn’t bother her, now could it?

  Nope, no bothering allowed from that dark place. At least not until after dinner. With her guilt temporarily buried, Margie focused on the grazing deer. Her pack spread out, slinking through the trees to surround the herd. Tails wagging, they paused, waiting for her signal.

  Margie scented the air, drawing the ripeness of earth and animals deep into her lungs. Upwind of the deer, she watched their ears twitch, their muscles tighten as they looked around the stream where they stopped to drink. The poor beasts knew they were dinner, they just didn’t know the time or location.

  Her lip curled. A couple of minutes and here, my yummies.

  Margie looked at her pack—the males and females and a few of their young on their first hunt—that belonged to her. As alpha, it was her responsibility to care for them, to provide food. Good thing elk and deer were plentiful. She picked out two for dinner.

  The young male on the right with the cut on its leg and the old one on the left. Is everyone in position?

  Ready, alpha! Voices chorused through her mind.

  Go!

  As one, they sprang forward, legs churning, a few of the younger wolves on their first hunt yipping with obvious joy. The deer ran, crashing through the underbrush, releasing scents of grass and dry wood. Hunting was a thrill ride, a high-paced, adrenaline charged run. Her blood thrummed through her veins, her breath sawed in and out, as she jumped over logs, twigs catching in her fur.

  The young male fell first, neck snapped from a pack enforcer’s leap. Within seconds, the older stag joined the first, legs thrashing against the ground in a futile attempt to ward off death, before it too lay still. The rest of the herd continued their frantic flight, leaving their fallen comrades as the main meal on werewolf-night-at-the-ranch.

  Margie trotted toward the young male. Alphas ate first so she might as well get dinner started. Guilt came back with a vengeance, hammering in her mind, telling her to run away, to avoid eating meat. Once again she ignored it. It was wrong, the wolf was right, dinner was served.

  Take that, guilt.

  Her teeth tore into the belly of the deer, pulling out the entrails. The best part, in her opinion. Not everyone agreed, as a good deal of her pack started in on the rumps. To each his own.

  When she finished eating, she lay down in a bed of leaves and watched her pack. Wolves, including those of the were variety, finished off the entire deer, leaving very little behind. Some of her pack had eaten the meat away from the leg, and deer bones glistened bright white under the full moon. What she wouldn’t give for one of those bones. She loved the marrow.

  Yet another thing for the guilt to notice.

  What had possessed her to become a vegetarian? She remembered the day she had informed her parents of her decision. At seventeen, she thought she knew everything. And that everything meant she knew, just knew, eliminating meat from her diet was for the best. And it might very well have been if she had been fully human and didn’t turn furry once a month. As it was, her parents laughed so hard it made her determined to stick to her decision. No matter what happened.

  Stupid teenager stubbornness.

  Even in human form, staying vegetarian was hard. If she saw raw meat, she salivated no matter which form she was in. Her pack didn’t understand her odd choice, not that it mattered. All that mattered was they followed her, and follow her they did, some more eagerly than others.

  Not many packs had only an alpha female. Most packs had either an alpha pair or a male alpha. So she was an oddity all around.

  Plenty of lone wolves visited or joined her pack, most just to get a glimpse of how she ran things. They returned home once they realized no difference existed between her and a male alpha. Except for her lack of a huge-ass pair of balls dangling between her legs. At first it bothered her, the curiosity and stares, but now she was so used to it she barely paid attention.

  The new members were another matter.

  Take Landa, for instance. Landa’s name barely finished flitting across her mind when the white wolf grabbed a bone and trotted to Margie, ears back, tail down.

  Now that was freaky. Maybe Landa read minds. When Landa came within five feet of Margie, she dropped into a prone position and crawled, bone in mouth, to Margie’s feet, where she dropped the bone.

  I thought you might want this, alpha.

  Thank you, Landa. That was very thoughtful and insightful of you.

  Margie swore if Landa had been in human form she would have blushed.

  Thank you, alpha.

  Landa slunk back several feet before walking back to the pack and her dinner.

  That was ... odd. But no use wasting the bone.

  Margie grabbed the bone, gnawing on it as she watched Landa. Long white fur, tipped with black on the ends, covered what appeared to be an omega.

  And yet, some whisper of strength laced the female’s spirit and shone through her cornflower blue eyes. Margie took a cue from the military and ran a don’t-ask-don’t-tell pack. A policy she’d been close to breaking in Landa’s case. Even after four months of living among her pack, Landa’s neck still bore a bare spot in her fur. In her human body, the area formed a mass of red scar tissue encircling her neck. It looked like the descriptions she’d read of scars left by slave bands. But what kind of person could put slave bands on a werewolf?

  Even the most omega of her pack would fight and kill a human that tried to put them in chains, which left a werewolf as the culprit. But what kind of werewolf would put a band on a pack member?

  None that she knew of, and as alpha she knew most of the pack leaders in America and some from other countries. Even those she didn’t know personally, she had heard of, and no one anywhere had mentioned placing bands on their members.

  Yep, she needed to change her policy. It was pretty obvious Landa wasn’t going to chat about her former life, so she needed to be a leader and discover the details.

  Which was much easier said than carried through.

  Given enough time, she was certain Landa would tell all, or at least some. Starting with how that scar got on her neck. Margie crunched the bone. Ah, bliss. Bones were heaven on earth, clichéd but true. And they gave her time to think about things. Unfortunately, thi
nking on things did not bring any answers. And in Landa’s case, she needed answers.

  Something about the wolf was off. What was it? Two crunches later and she hit the marrow. Yummy. Oh, yeah, Landa’s odd behavior. Granted, her pack gave her the respect due as alpha, but they didn’t grovel around and flinch if she looked sideways at them. So why—

  Alpha! Big George, one of her enforcers and the only tattooed wolf she knew, darted through the pack, sliding to a stop before her. As a human, George, or Big G as the pack called him, was six-foot nine-inches of tattooed hardness. As a wolf he was the size of a pony with sinewy muscles covered by gray-and-black fur.

  Damn shame he had the IQ of Forest Gump on a bad day. Not that it mattered, he was the best enforcer she’d ever met.

  What’s the matter, Big G?

  Shots! Hunters are closing in.

  Bullshit! This is my property. What the hell do they think they’re doing trespassing on my property? Margie stood, hackles raised. How dare hunters interrupt her bone-chewing bliss?

  They’re not on your property, they’re right to the east of it.

  Whew. She glanced at the discarded bone. Okay. So what’s the problem?

  They have a werewolf in their sights.

  What! Why didn’t he mention that first? Starting out the conversation with that little tidbit of info would have been nice.

  They have a werewolf—

  Where?

  To the east.

  Lead the way.

  Two quick shout-outs, one to the pack’s remaining five enforcers to follow and the second for the others to stay, and they ran, heading toward the last location of the hunters. Wind rushed across her face, catching her whiskers, bringing with it the scent of gunpowder and sweat.

  Damn hunters. Ever since the law relaxed, hunters were allowed to kill wolves even if the wolf hadn’t attacked their livestock. As a consequence, wolves were dying and werewolves needed to watch where they turned and where they ran. Her pack ran on her territory, The Flying Fur Dude Ranch, which meant they never ran afoul of hunters.

  But judging by the scent of were blood, someone hadn’t been so lucky.

  A barbed-wire fence stopped their flight, a barrier stretching the perimeter of her property to keep out unwanted guests. Margie pulled up short along with everyone else. Everyone except for Big G, who leapt the fence as if it was only two-feet high. As soon as all four feet landed, he pivoted, teeth gleaming white. Show off.

  Climb through it.

  Holding down the bottom strand of the fence with her left front foot, she stuck her muzzle and right front foot over the wire, while ducking under the middle strand. She stepped her rear legs over and ta-da, she was through. Nothing like having a human brain in a wolf’s body. A full-blooded wolf would never have thought to crawl through the fence.

  Once gathered on the other side of the fence, Margie turned to her crew. Tread lightly. The hunters are still out there. We need to get the were and bring him or her back. Do you understand?

  Yes, alpha.

  Taking a deep breath, pulling scent deeply into her lungs, she turned toward the direction where the injured werewolf lay. Her body tingled from the deep inhalation, tingled like she’d heard it would in the presence of an available alpha. How the hell could she have suggested to her enforcers that the injured wolf was female? Had her sniffer lost its scenting ability?

  She quickened her pace and the others fell away, disappearing in her single-minded obsession to get to the downed alpha male. No male she had ever encountered caused this type of reaction, a crazed mixture of hormones and heat surging through her blood.

  Oh shit. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what the sudden rush of crazed hormones meant. Just what she needed—a mate.

  Although, she had to admit, the grumbling bunch of elders in her pack would be happy. All those, “why-haven’t-you-found-a-mate,” comments would vanish like ice on a hot day. The only good that came from all those forced meetings with other single alphas is that she found comrades-in-arms, a band of alphas perfectly happy to be single. The difference being that the male alphas weren’t being forced to find a mate with the same strong-arm effort her elders took with her. No “the-balance-of-the-pack-is-off,” comments for single male alphas. Their elders might think it, but didn’t dare say it. Ah, the joys of having a swinging set. If she had been born male, she wouldn’t have to accuse her elders of being behind the times.

  She might want a mate and a family, but not at the loss of her independence. Male alphas always wanted control and she enjoyed being self-reliant. Besides, despite the grumblings of her elders, her pack prospered. They had money, pack members got along, and the number of new pack members had doubled since she became alpha. Some of that was due to the oddity of a single female alpha, but they did join the pack. What would happen to her pack if she mated a strange male and he took over?

  He’d foul it all up. No thank you, she did not want a male all up in her business. She wanted to remain as she was, single.

  Unfortunately it looked like fate had other plans.

  Drat, drat and double drat. The alpha they rushed toward smelled like her mate.

  She was so screwed.

  A crack of a branch sounded to her right. She stopped, eyes squinting, nose quivering. Hunters.

  Alpha, there’re four of them bastards. May I eat one?

  Get real, Big G. No.

  Dumbass, Jace joined in. If you eat one, it will only cause more of ’em to come kill off the wolves.

  Oh. Didn’t think of that.

  As usual. But she loved the big brute. I’ll take care of them. Jace, circle around behind them. Wait for my signal to howl and then run like lightning to the ranch.

  Understood, alpha.

  She waited until Jace loped away into the darkness before following the scent of injured werewolf. Leaves crunched under her feet, a permanent carpet of detritus that littered the ground. The scent of blood grew stronger the farther she walked.

  “Hey, Joe,” one of the hunters yelled, “the blood trail leads this way.”

  Was it her sensitive ears or were these hunters incompetent? The crash of their boots through the underbrush echoed in her bones. She’d be damned if she let them get to the were before she did.

  Sticking nose to the ground, she picked up his blood trail as it led deeper into the woods. The soft padding of feet reassured that her enforcers walked close by, following her. Tree branches groaned, shifting against each other as the wind picked up strength. Margie sniffed the air, smelling ozone on the breeze.

  A storm?

  Shit.

  A flicker of white fur flashed as branches shifted, allowing a thin stream of moonlight through their leaves. Ah. There was her werewolf. But was he alive?

  Sticking her nose into his fur, she inhaled, searching for a breath, a heartbeat, some movement that meant he lived. Blood soaked his fur, but his chest expanded. Not good, but at least he lived.

  For now.

  “Well, well, there’s another one.”

  Margie’s head shot up as a snarl broke across her face. She might not be able to kill those hunters, but nothing said she couldn’t mess with their minds. Drawing her magic from its resting place deep inside her, she expanded it through her limbs. Magic thick as summer air before a storm flashed across her skin, danced through her pores, rejoiced at freedom.

  Alpha?

  She felt Big G’s confusion, felt the fear of the other enforcers as they drew closer.

  “Shee-it Joe, it’s a whole damn pack of them. And what’s with that bitch in front?”

  She’d show them what’s with the bitch. The bitch was pissed. And no one, but no one, messed with the bitch. Especially when said bitch had enough magic flowing through her veins to light up a small town.

  Alpha?

  No doubt she’d scared her enforcers with her magic display, they never saw her work magic other than the magic used by all alphas. Alpha magic meant she could cause a member of her pack to c
hange at her will, not theirs, or she could will a person into a restful sleep. That kind of magic was inherent within every alpha.

  Her kind of magic was one-step away from forbidden.

  In some packs, including the one her father ran and she grew up in, it was forbidden. That hadn’t stopped her from learning it.

  She exhaled a sharp breath, letting a visible puff of magic free, and then she blew on the white cloud of air. Expanding outward, the magic grew, becoming a fog, blocking her from the hunters’ view.

  “Where the hell did that fog come from?”

  “Don’t know. It wasn’t here just a minute ago.”

  Now, Jace!

  Jace howled, the sound slapping against the trees, spinning the hunters around. They might not see her, but she could see them.

  “Damn, these woods are full of wolves.”

  You want to go find the others and leave this one alone. You want to go find the others.

  “Let’s go get the other one. It’s not foggy in that direction.”

  Nothing like a little suggestion to nudge them on. Who said magic was wrong? One problem down, one to go. The wounded alpha wolf needed to be returned to her pack’s infirmary and the sooner the better. But how?

  They were in wolf form outside of her property and the wounded wolf was huge. Her gaze darted from the injured alpha and locked on a tattooed wolf the size of a pony. The alpha might be big, but not anywhere near the size of her enforcer.

  Big G shook his head. Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.

  Margie raised a shoulder and cocked her head in a wolfish shrug. What other choice did she have? Sorry.

  Chapter Two

  Zane woke to arms wrapped around him. Male arms. Male werewolf arms. Adrenaline kicked in, banging through his veins, fueling his anger, all resulting in a great big nothing. What the fuck? Why was he being carried?

  He sucked in a breath and a snap-kick of pain shot through his ribs. Oh, shit. Not good. Had he been shot in the side? Where was he?