When he finally spotted her through a break in the crowd, his eyes narrowed as he stopped to observe.
Sara was not alone.
Two women flanked her at a table, looking ready for a girl’s night out in their skinny jeans and fashionable T-shirts. He scowled. What kind of wolf would send his women out to negotiate? The girl sitting to Sara’s right had caramel brown hair and dark eyes—she was pretty, with a sort of sun-kissed glow about her that implied she was accustomed to spending time outdoors. He could tell from her movements that she was wolf. She looked strong and self-assured, if a little young. Looks could be deceiving, but he’d put her at no more than thirty years old. Practically a pup. He huffed in disgust.
The other woman had long white hair, but he couldn’t see her face from where he stood. An elder of the pack, perhaps? Her figure appeared to be that of a young woman, but again, looks could be deceiving with wolves. He huffed again. What the hell kind of pack was this? To send two females—an old woman and a pup—out with a shifter to negotiate with a leader from another pack? He was utterly disgusted.
“Careful, big boy. You puff like that one more time, and you might blow the whole house down,” a rough feminine voice whispered from the vicinity of his elbow.
Startled, he looked down at a tiny red-headed wolf at his side. Small and freckled and cute as a button, she was clearly not much more than a pup. By human standards, she was an adult, but he doubted she’d been old enough to buy her own beer for long. But what really got his goat was how he hadn’t noticed a fellow wolf approaching until she was at his side—that was unforgivable.
“Oh, don’t be petulant. I’m sneaky.” She grinned up at him, her freckled nose wrinkling in mirth. “I’m Kathy, Jack. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my sisters.” She hooked an arm through his and towed him with startling exuberance toward the table where Sara sat between the two other wolves.
As one, the two wolves looked at him. The brunette appeared wary, but calm. He saw as he approached that she was older than he originally thought. When the white haired woman’s eyes met his, her chin lifted defiantly, and his breath stopped. Albina. The word was an impossibility—one that stirred up myth, prophecy, religious zealotry. Albino wolves were rare and almost always were killed in infancy by superstitious packs. The brutality would shock most humans if they knew, but wolves were long lived, and it wasn’t something he’d even heard of in decades. He had never heard of an albino in North America before, but there she sat, staring him down. Her hair hung down around her shoulders in floating waves like white cotton candy. Her white eyebrows and lashes had been darkened with cosmetics, and the pinkish tinge to her eyes made them appear a pale lavender-gray. Her skin was as pale as her white hair, her face shining with a haughty fury. She was hauntingly lovely and terrifying all at once. He knew his astonishment must show on his face. His wolf prowled inside him, agitated and on alert. This woman was in danger; her very existence made her vulnerable. He felt a strong urge to go to her, spirit her away, and hide her from everyone else in the room. His protective instincts were in full force. He knew he was being rude, staring so blatantly, but he couldn’t help himself. Sara met his eyes and glared at him before tucking an arm around the Albina, whispering something in her ear. The Albina rolled her eyes and turned back to her drink as he approached.
“That’s him,” Sara murmured. “Figures Kathy would go reel him in.”
All three women looked at Jack, watching their bubbly little friend walking toward them, towing a masterpiece of male wolf toward them. Bianca couldn’t help but notice that he was nearly seven feet tall and seemed to be perfectly formed. Kathy’s diminutive height brought her just about to his elbow. The little wolf chattered at him, but he didn’t seem to hear a word. His eyes met Bianca’s, and his perfectly-cleft chin and rugged jaw actually dropped. She felt her own chin lift in stubborn challenge. She knew what other wolves called her. Albina. An abomination, a creature so horribly useless, it must be destroyed so that it couldn’t pass on the defective gene—the one that made her eyes more sensitive and her skin burn more easily in the sun. But that was in her human form. As wolf, she was as ruthless and powerful as any other, and she’d proven it many times. As a woman, she couldn’t help but feel an attraction to a big bad wolf like this Jack that Sara had brought to them. In jeans and a T-shirt with a leather jacket tossed over it, he could have been every bad biker-wolf cliché, but on him, it worked. Black hair flowed back from his face, just a little too long, just messy enough to look rakish, not so much as to look unkempt. Dark brown eyes seemed to burn right through her, in anger or surprise or even attraction, she couldn’t say. His jeans clung to muscular legs in all the right spots, and she just knew that the jacket would hide powerfully-built shoulders. Under her appraisal, his purposeful stride faltered a bit.
Good, let the man shake a bit, she thought.
Sara’s arm wrapped around Bianca’s shoulder.
“Lovely, he won’t hurt you. He gave me his word,” Sara whispered. “But he certainly looks like he’d like to toss you over his shoulder caveman-style and carry you out of here.”
Bianca rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her drink. Men like Jack Murphy had never cared to sweep women like Bianca Stone off their feet. Sara might think her lovely, but Sara was neither a man nor a wolf. How many times had she seen the look of revulsion when a wolf realized she wasn’t just fair-haired and pale, but albino? One look in those lavender eyes of hers, and the challenge was as good as offered; it was always just a matter of time. They’d try to hide it, out of fear or out of respect to Monica, their Alpha and her friend, but in the end, prejudice and fear found its out, and she had the scars to prove it. No one had proven her inferior yet; this man wouldn’t, either.
“Well, sisters, look who I found, being extra punctual and stuff,” Kathy bubbled as they approached. Tiny Kathy pushed Jack firmly into a chair next to Bianca and sat down on the other side next to the dark-haired, sun-kissed wolf, Ellen, with a satisfied, lupine grin. “Isn’t he something, boss?” Kathy’s touch against Bianca’s brain felt like bubbles bursting, like Bianca had taken a deep drink of carbonated water and it had fizzed against her nose.
“My name is Jack Murphy,” the man said in a gruff voice, still staring at Bianca.
Bianca turned her head and looked Jack directly in the eye, catching a whiff of his scent. Holy hell, he smelled amazing. Wolves had an earthy, woodsy smell to them, and his personal scent was saltwater and sunshine, like he’d lived by the ocean his entire life. The contrast of woods and ocean rolled across her nose, and it seemed somehow so vitally appealing, she felt herself imagining that scent all over her, mixing with her own.
Reining in her thoughts, she introduced herself. “My name is Bianca. If you want to live, you won’t make any jokes.”
In spite of her inner turmoil, her voice was clear, unwavering. She was accustomed to being teased about her name, which meant “white.” Her chin lifted again, and she felt an overwhelming urge to lift it higher and roll it back to expose her throat to this man. She steeled herself against that impulse. She absolutely could not make herself vulnerable to him, no matter how good he smelled. And oh, did he ever smell good. She felt her wolf stirring, taking interest. Down girl, she scolded her other half wryly.
“Ellen.” Her brunette friend nodded to him, holding out her hand for a shake.
He took it and then turned to shake Bianca’s. Unable to leave him sitting there, hand extended, Bianca grasped it and gave it a firm pump. His hand was warm and dry and rough, like the callused pads of a wolf’s foot. Attraction sparked swiftly and furiously between them, like an electric current seeking a conduit.
“Pleased to meet you,” he murmured.
She could hear her friends talking around them, but Jack kept his eyes glued to hers, as if his world, too, had narrowed down to that handshake.
“L-Likewise,” Bianca stammered. She felt the flush rise in her cheeks, lamenting that her blood couldn
’t be as pale as the rest of her.
Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. Bianca was blushing. The beguiling pink color spread from her beautifully-displayed cleavage, perfection in a V-neck T-shirt, up her neck to her cheeks, where it gathered like strawberries floating in cream. He felt his body stir to treacherous life, his jeans growing tight. No. He shook himself like a wet dog. But his erection still taunted him. He leaned in and breathed her scent, that same lavender soap smell as Sara…but then something else, something uniquely her, delicate and spicy, full of the woods and mountain air, but not the windy cold of Sara. Jack’s lip curled as a wave of longing swept through him, drawing his senses tight. He wasn’t sure if his wolf wanted to kiss her throat or tear it out, but this primal urge to put his teeth on her was undeniable. He quickly drew his head back before he could act on either.
“Well, if you are done sniffing each other’s butts…” Sara’s teasing voice snapped the tension like a guitar string breaking mid-song.
“I’m sorry, Sara.” Jack looked up and met her eyes, smiling sheepishly and willing to admit he was behaving like an animal. He was sitting at a booth in a bar surrounded by four beautiful women, and to his dismay, his wolf was strutting like a pup after its first kill. He pushed the animal down deep. He was here to speak, not to strut.
“Thank you, for arranging this…introduction.” He chose the word carefully. The word “parley” would have endowed the meeting with the full weight an official meeting between two packs, whereas it seemed more likely that Sara was simply introducing him to her friends…all female.
With Bianca still looking stunned, Ellen, the sun-kissed one, snorted a laugh and then turned to Sara. “You should go, Sara. We can take it from here. Thank you for arranging this meeting.”
Jack noticed that Sara looked relieved, and instinctively, his Guardian mind churned with suspicion. Why might Sara have been nervous?
He watched as Sara turned and whispered something to Bianca, so quietly, even Jack’s wolf couldn’t pick up on the words. Bianca curled one white hand behind Sara’s head, and their lips met in an amorous kiss, tongues colliding and a soft whimper coming from Sara’s throat. Heat filled Jack’s face, but he couldn’t look away from the two women. Bianca’s hand tightened in Sara’s hair in a possessive caress. It was astoundingly sensual, sending ripples of arousal down Jack’s body as he watched, a sudden undercurrent of jealousy turning his thoughts toward wanting those hands in his own hair.
Jack’s body roared to life as if begging someone, anyone, to notice him. He felt both turned on and left out. A low growl emerged from his throat before he could stop it, and he winced at his loss of control.
“I’ll see you later, lovely,” Sara whispered to Bianca as she pulled away.
While Jack stared in shock at Bianca and Sara, Ellen and Kathy moved aside to let Sara pass. She moved quietly to stand, murmured something in Ellen’s ear, and then turned to Jack.
“I have arranged this meeting at your request. I would not guide a wolf to danger. You are safe here and until you return to the inn.” Sara’s voice sounded full of ceremony.
He cocked an eyebrow and then grinned.
“Thanks, little one. I appreciate your…reassurance,” he said, puzzled by her choice of words. Clearly, he was the strongest shifter present. He was Guardian of a strong pack, second-in-command to one of the strongest wolves in North America. What made her think he needed her protection?
“I’ll see you soon, Jack Murphy.” She smiled her dimpled smile at him and then disappeared into the crowd.
What a maddening little thing she was—but he’d be lying if his wolf wasn’t satisfied that she was leaving him with her lovely friend.
“Shall we get down to it, then?” Ellen inquired. Jack looked into her deep brown eyes. She was a beautiful wolf, strong and self-assured, one dark eyebrow arched questioningly at him.
“Ah, well, as I said, I’m Jack Murphy. I’m Guardian of Mid-Atlantic.” He nodded at each of the female wolves in turn, addressing Ellen and trying to keep his eyes off Bianca, who was watching him carefully over her drink. “I’ve come to speak to your Alpha, if you have one, in regards to territory. Our outliers may hunt in this territory. We felt it important to establish boundaries. After all, New England’s own Robert Frost said, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’” He produced his most charming grin, even as his wolf chafed at the idea of negotiating with females.
“I see,” Ellen said softly. “Bianca, perhaps you should explain a little more about who you are.” She smiled at the other woman in an almost deferential manner. Warmth rolled between the two females, a genuine trust and affection.
Bianca cleared her throat. “Mr. Murphy—”
“Jack,” he corrected.
“Jack—you know we have no officially recognized territory here. As I said earlier, my name is Bianca. My surname is Stone, and I am Guardian of Amazon Pack.”
His jaw dropped again. This beautiful, vulnerable, rare female creature was a Guardian? His hand stroked absently at a scar on his face as he pondered what she had said. Guardian of Amazon Pack? He racked his brain, but he had never heard of such a pack. Amazon—rainforest? Were they traveling from somewhere in South America? No, surely a pack would have notified his Alpha before traveling across their territory. And last he’d checked, Mid-Atlantic still lay between South America and New England. As realization dawned over him, the three females began to giggle. Amazon. A pack of females. His wolf rebelled at the idea; he himself rebelled at the idea. How did they procreate? Why would they select an albino as a Guardian? Who was Alpha?
“Our Alpha has remained at her compound,” Ellen answered the question he didn’t ask. “Though the Guide can offer protection, we wouldn’t send our Alpha without knowing more about you. This was Bianca’s order.”
“I’m sorry?” He was taken aback. It was almost as if she had read his thoughts. Only Mid-Atlantic wolves could delve into his mind. Only his pack-mates.
“I am not officially a member of Amazon Pack,” Ellen said. “I’ll be joining them at the next full moon. I have lived among Amazon for several months, but I’ve not yet affiliated. I suppose I am still technically an outlier of your pack.”
His wolf roared. One of his own? How had he not known this? This pack of females was poaching women from his protection?
Ellen laughed. It was a short, bitter sound, lacking mirth. He looked at her curiously.
“No, Jack Murphy—” she threw his name in his face angrily “—I’m no longer under your protection. I’m a ghost-wolf, a mated widow. I’m under Bianca’s protection now.”
Ghost-wolf. A wolf could only survive the loss of a mate if she, or he, were the more powerful of the mated pair. The survivor would then be exiled from the pack, ostracized by superstition.
Ellen looked away from Jack. “I’m here at this table right now, not as Bee’s bodyguard, but because I can read you as a pack-mate, and you can do the same with me. My mate and I were outliers of your pack. Too far geographically to be part of the day-to-day pack operations, but technically, we were under your protection. When he died, I lost protection from the pack. I wanted to die, too, but the Goddess didn’t see fit to call me. Sara came to me, and she told me about Amazon Pack, that I could come here and grieve, and that there would be a place for me. These wolves have helped me when my own pack deserted me. When I shift with them at the next full moon, I’ll no longer be ghost-wolf, and my loyalty to Amazon will be complete.”
Jack felt her grief wash over him. He opened his mind to her, letting her feel his intentions, his empathy for her loss, while allowing his own wolf to mentally sniff at her.
As a ghost-wolf, only the barest tether still held Ellen to Mid-Atlantic Pack. The spirit of her dead mate was close to rest. He felt the other man’s name in her mind, felt her love for him. Jack could see Ellen’s husband lying in the bed they had shared, doctors unable to help him. He saw Ellen praying, begging the Goddess to make her mate strong again. But it ha
dn’t happened. One of the rare lycanthropic cancers had claimed him. The wrenching, hollow feeling in Ellen’s gut roared to life in Jack for the briefest of moments before Ellen tugged back on her memories, leaving him only the shadowy outline of her grief.
Ghost-wolf. He wanted to throw his head back and howl at what this woman had gone through. There were legends and stories about such creatures. The legends spoke of the wolf separating from the human body to guide the mate to rest. If the human survived the loss of the wolf, they were treated as dead. But there had been rumors of the wolf returning. When that happened, the wolf wasn’t a ghost anymore, and they could rejoin the pack at large. But as far back as Jack could recall, that had never happened, not to his pack. Mid-Atlantic Pack had failed this woman.
“Don’t you dare pity me, Murphy.” She smiled her defiance to him. “I’ll be Amazon soon, a member of Bianca’s staff. And my wolf will be happy here. Already, I feel her strutting and pushing to be let free. She’s only waiting for the moon.”
“I am so sorry, Ellen,” he said. “The loss of a mate is agony. Clearly, you are a strong wolf, if the Goddess is keeping you here to continue her work. I’ll see to it that your mate is remembered by Mid-Atlantic.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “That is really very sweet.” She turned to her friend. “Bianca, Jack bears us no ill-will; his intentions are as he says.”
Jack turned to Bianca, who was studying him with a look of both wonder and understanding upon her chiseled face.
“I understand that what I am, who I appear to be, is startling to you.” Bianca’s voice was quiet, her word choice succinct.
Jack knew he’d have to tread these waters very carefully.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. He scrubbed his hands across his face, a gesture growing all too familiar in the past few hours. “This is disconcerting. You’re Albina. You shouldn’t exist outside of a myth. Our childhood stories about the first of the Ushers. A great sacrifice will be made that will trigger changes for all wolves and free our Goddess from captivity. I don’t consider myself a superstitious or even particularly religious man.”
Amazon (The Ushers 1) Page 2
