by Sarra Cannon
“Yes, we have met,” she echoed in a wobbly voice.
Most intimately, her wolf added with a satisfied yowl.
Chapter 7
Ten days. Zack had been counting. Ten days since the day she’d pressed him into the fence, and damn it, he still couldn’t let the feeling go. What started as a tingle turned to an itch and then a burning need that was spilling over from the fantasies of nighttime to the broad light of day.
Of course, his blame-it-on-the-moon theory was getting stretched a bit thin as the full globe trimmed down to a waning three-quarter silhouette and an ever-slimmer crescent, but he liked it better than the alternative.
What fool doesn’t know his destined mate? his wolf growled. The beast had been clawing at his inner cage for days now.
Zack shoved the suggestion down every time.
Mate? Hell, no.
Destiny didn’t work that way. Not for him, it didn’t. Destiny was a bitter old spinster who showered rewards on a select few while pushing mudslides at everyone else. That was the way it was. He’d been born unlucky; he’d live his life unlucky.
He told every part of his body and soul this, drilled it into the furthest reaches of his mind. His duty was to the pack, and the pack—in the form of its second-in-command, Ty—wanted him to protect Rae. To keep the others away.
So he prowled, snarled, and hurled murderous looks at any male over the age of twelve who dared glance her way. He’d guard her, all right.
In no time, he’d succeeded in creating a no-go zone around the newest member of the pack. Even Cody, who chased skirts like a dog chases a ball, steered clear of Rae—almost suspiciously so. The best he could figure was that Rae must be some distant relative of the ruling alpha’s family. Why else would she be labeled off-limits? Whatever the cause, he didn’t care. The fewer men around his woman—he cleared his throat and corrected himself—this woman, the better.
Rae, meanwhile, seemed to go about her work unconcerned—unless he ventured too near. Then he sensed it again; the tremble of uncertainty, the hitch in her step. The same thing that happened to him if he got too close. So they tiptoed around each other, day after day.
She’d been sticking to herself, going about her work quietly and efficiently, taking meals apart from the others. Twin Moon pack didn’t get many visitors, but those who did either settled in quickly or got the hell out. Rae hadn’t done either—not yet. The woman consistently sought out the edge.
A little like him.
So it was no surprise to find her alone on the tenth evening, out in a forgotten little hollow at the foot of the hills where the desert smelled greener, the sage sweeter. The place where she had set up an impromptu archery range and practiced every evening. Twilight seemed to draw her here like a doe to a secret watering hole.
The only surprise was that his feet had brought him there, too. Didn’t they get the memo—the one about keeping away? Because coming too close held danger, he knew. Next time, it might be him pressing into her. And if he started, God knows how he’d find the willpower to stop.
Thwack!
His ears flicked at the dull, striking sound. She was at it again. He’d never met a shifter who practiced archery, let alone a female shifter who did. But there she was, standing tall and lean, every cord of muscle tightening as she drew back an arrow like one of Robin Hood’s goddamn Merry Men transplanted to the desert. You’d have to have the eyes of a hawk to hit the distant target in this slanting light, but she did it every time.
She was all business: her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, long legs shoved into an earth-colored pair of overalls that couldn’t hide the lithe curves of an athlete. Every inch of her screamed, Expert! Stand back! Like she knew something no one else knew. Like she could do things no one could even imagine.
There was something different about her, without a doubt. He just couldn’t pinpoint what it was. It was more than just the trimmings: the bow, arrow, and wary attitude. There was something about the way her blue-gray eyes studied the sky, like she was waiting for some sign. A sign of what?
Thwack!
Another arrow, another perfect shot. He sidled a step closer. Watching from a distance would have been smarter, but damned if his feet brought him right to the edge of the hollow.
Her arm curved up and over her shoulder, flipping the harvest gold ponytail aside to draw another arrow from the quiver strapped across her back. Her fingers tested the fletching the way a musician might test the strings of a guitar, and he couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to have those fingers brush over his back. The first one would be coarse and callused, scrubbing his skin. The second smoother, the third a tease, and the fourth finger—the pinkie—would be a butterfly on the heels of the rest. He imagined her doing that over and over, slowly coaxing the tight knots of his back into blissful release. Imagined the two of them intertwined in bed, coming down from another pulsing high—
Thwack!
He took another step forward, coaxed on by a hypnotic inner voice. Not his wolf half this time, but the coyote: the clever, scheming half of his soul.
Just a little closer, it whispered. Won’t do any harm. Just one more step. Just a little—
“Getting ready to kill someone?”
He heard the words before even realizing they were his own, murmured in her ear. Somehow, the last couple of steps had happened all on their own. And somehow, his voice was steady despite the blood hammering in his ears.
Rae tensed, though she casually brushed a lock of hair behind an ear as if she weren’t surprised to find a near-stranger right at her side.
“Depends,” she muttered.
“Depends on what?”
“Depends on how much someone pisses me off.”
Okay, so he’d snuck up on her. Stealing up unnoticed was one of his best tricks. Coyotes knew stealth—one of the few things about that part of his ancestry that did him any good.
She was playing it cool, but his coyote caught the flare of her nostrils, the pink flush on her cheeks. Either she was annoyed at being caught off guard or she liked having him this close.
Maybe a little of both. His coyote grinned and decided to push a little more.
Never mind that he was supposed to be keeping guys away from her.
Of course not, his coyote huffed. We’re just doing our job. Keeping a close eye on her.
Right. Not showing inappropriate interest. Not salivating over whatever it was about her that was so…so…irresistible.
Well, trying not to, anyway.
“And what does it take to piss you off?” the coyote made him say.
She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the target. “You don’t want to find out.”
Zip! The arrow’s flight sounded different from up close, but the effect was the same: another shaft nestled amongst the dozen bristling from the bull’s-eye. Part of him wouldn’t have minded if that arrow had gone wide of its mark, giving away her emotions. But she was cool, calm, collected.
He hid a smile. He’d been worried about other men getting too close to Rae, but clearly, this woman was not someone to mess with. And yet she let him this close. Why?
“Calling it open season on straw targets?”
“Archery season on pronghorn opens next week,” she murmured, lips against the string.
“You like to hunt?”
“I like to chase.”
So do I, his wolf nodded, licking his lips.
For a moment, he wondered if she’d somehow caught that. Because her lips parted and her shoulder dipped ever so slightly—just enough to make him wonder if she felt it, too. This link. This pull. Like the two of them were a couple of wobbly magnets suspended in that moment of truth before the poles finally made up their minds on whether they’d line up or repel.
“So what’s the bow for, if you’re just going to chase?”
She fingered the barbed tip. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
He watched Rae’s eyes cl
ose on some ugly memory and regretted the question immediately. Wary fingers stroked the shaft like a talisman, and just like that, her easygoing veneer had vanished, revealing something hard and angry beneath.
“In case I find the right kind of prey.”
Zack sniffed and found the peppery scent of fear intertwined with the ammonia odor of hate. Or was that shame? His mood shifted in a heartbeat. Had Rae been mistreated by some shit of a man once upon a time? Had she been hurt?
His mind replayed what the ranch rumor mill had been saying about her. Where was she from? Nevada? Or was it Colorado? There was a pack up there rumored to have a brutal alpha. One who rode supreme over the minds and bodies of his pack. The kind who liked to break his pack in and ride them hard.
Literally.
The kind of alpha who would snuff out a soul just to show he could.
He could picture why an alpha would be drawn to a woman like her. She had that inner spark, that flame. A woman like Rae could bring out the best—or the worst—in a wolf. But she was too restless, too independent to ever settle for being an alpha’s mate.
He didn’t even realize she’d released the next arrow until he heard the furious smack of it. Bull’s-eye.
In one smooth move, she pulled another arrow from her quiver, notched it, and took aim. The woman was a wall of ice, her gray eyes clouded with thunder as they narrowed on the target.
Zip! The arrow flew, sending a clear message. I am not a woman to fuck with. I will chase the past away.
Zack shifted his weight back, even as the coyote inside ran his tongue over his lips. The more she pushed him away, the more he wanted her.
The coyote wanted her, he kept telling himself. It was only the coyote. The man knew where to draw the line.
But there was a wolf in there, too. And she was so irresistibly untamed. Wild and free, unfettered by the expectations of society.
At the moment, though, she was tenser than her recurve bow. Time to ease off.
“You got a tag for that pronghorn, miss?” he teased, dropping his voice in his best sheriff’s imitation.
“Don’t need one,” she huffed, feigning annoyance though her voice was laced with relief. He’d hit the right tone, at last. “Not for the kind of hunting I do.”
His pulse jumped, wondering what kind of hunting that was.
“And wolf?” he ventured. “Got a tag for that?” God, when had he become so…so forward?
Rae gave an exaggerated sigh. “You haven’t figured out yet that I’m not interested?”
That’s what she said, but everything about her screamed the opposite. The catch in her voice, the sharp intake of each breath, the sweet scent of arousal enveloping her like perfume.
“I think you are,” his coyote made him whisper, much too close to her ear.
She let out an exasperated huff, like he’d been hounding her for a week instead of a minute. Why he was doing it, he didn’t know. Only that the coyote was to blame. Oh, and the moon, too, no matter what phase it was in.
“I figure a guy like you must have plenty of women to mess around with.”
That barb went right to his gut. “Think I’m messing around?”
“You’re missing the point,” she murmured out of the side of her mouth, sending his eyes down the arrow’s shaft until they found the steel tip. “I don’t mess around.” On that, she sealed her lips, took aim, and released.
Thwack! He didn’t have to look to know it was another perfect shot.
“Neither do I,” he insisted, though he knew he should back off. But it was true: he wasn’t messing around. This was sheer need. Instinct. Whatever it might be called, he couldn’t fight it away. And suddenly, he didn’t want to any more.
So when her eyes fell to his lips and caught there long enough for him to be sure, he acted on impulse. The next thing he knew, his hand was on her shoulder and his lips reaching for hers, and when they got there, the surprise in her eyes was replaced by something soft and willing and just lonely enough for him not to break away. A look like the one he sometimes found in the mirror, the few times he bothered to check.
A heartbeat later, his eyes closed the world out, focusing entirely on her. On the kiss. Her lips were sweet and soft and tangy, a secret elixir brewed just to stir his soul. That was what a hummingbird must feel when it closed in on nectar: his world burst with color, texture, flavor. The saturated orange-pink of a hyssop or the violet of silene, along with the smooth silk of a leaf, the light tickle of a petal. And the taste of her! Sweet and shy and unexpected, like wild blackberries that only cropped up in good years. The ones you were lucky to get a handful of before they’d gone, quick as they’d come.
The scent of her, this close, was like all of spring concentrated into a single day, a single moment, just for him. His lips moved with unspoken words he was afraid to try to recognize, while hers curved and bent in echo. He put everything into that kiss, everything he’d neglected to put into any kiss in his past. Judging by the twitch in her lips, it awakened something in Rae, too. She leaned into him, her lithe frame fitting perfectly alongside his.
Perfect. Home. His. Thoughts bounced like tumbleweeds through the uneven landscape of his mind.
The bow went limp at her side and her hand slid around his ribs, tugging him closer. He had the vague feeling he might be running out of air. Even though he didn’t much care, instinct had him pull back just enough to suck in a breath.
“Rae,” he whispered, and even those three letters tasted sweet.
Her eyes flicked open, the gray warm and soft as a fair weather cloud at sunrise.
But the very next instant, she tensed. Her eyes jumped, and she pulled away. His wolf let out a whine, wanting to explain that he would never hurt her. He’d hold her, love her, and rip any dumb bastard who dared come between them limb from limb.
But she was already scuttling backward, her face lifted to the rise behind them. Someone was coming.
Zack swung quickly to the woodpile while she pulled another arrow and faced the target as if nothing had happened. The two of them were perfect conspirators already, though they’d shared nothing more than a kiss.
A kiss that had been a hell of a lot more than nothing.
A twig snapped and a voice cursed, breaking the peace of the hollow. Zack spun around, half a hair away from shifting into his wolf form, every sense primed to defend.
Defend what? a stubborn part of his mind yelped.
Our mate, the wolf and coyote snarled in unison.
“You,” came a curt, accusing call.
Zack’s spine stiffened as Tyrone stepped into view. What was hell was the old man doing out here?
The alpha approached, power radiating off him like a living, breathing thing.
“You.”
He stuck an accusing finger at Rae, and Zack immediately stepped into the man’s path. Alpha or no alpha, no man was coming near Rae.
Tyrone shot him a look that was pure malice then turned his sights over Zack’s shoulder to Rae. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”
She’s not alone, he wanted to point out. She’s got me.
The old alpha reached out, fingers aimed for their usual spot on the back of his neck. Every time the alpha did it, Zack let him. He had to; it was the way of the pack.
But this time, the coyote dug in its hind feet and refused to be swayed. Whether the beast was trying to impress Rae or just plain crazy, he couldn’t tell. Only that he’d had enough. He took a tiny side step, letting the old alpha’s hand land on his shoulder, short of its mark. The alpha’s eyes widened and flashed black on black.
Test me, old man, his coyote wanted to say. Try it.
The alpha’s eyes flicked from Zack to Rae and back again, lips curled down.
“Time to do what you do best, boy,” the alpha spit out, turning every word into an insult. He pulled Zack aside, fingernails biting into his flesh. And if I find you anywhere near this woman again, his glare added, I’ll skin your no-good coyote alive.
Before Zack could compose a reply, the old man went on. “Got a report on a possible trespasser,” he murmured, giving Zack a shove toward the ranch.
In the old days, Zack might have stumbled along on command. Now, he took a single, stiff step—the shortest step possible that wouldn’t ignite a battle. He didn’t need one, not with an inner battle already raging. Rae. The effect she had on him. The reaction his inner wolf and coyote—in agreement, for a change—both had to her.
The man, too.
Mine. Mate!
The words flicked like fireflies through his mind, and for that he wanted to watch them glow and play, he knew he had to snuff them out. It couldn’t be. There was no mate for him, no peace. Just a trespasser to track. That was his duty; the ruling alpha said so.
Duty, his wolf nodded.
Mate, the coyote cried.
Tyrone broke the impasse with a second, angry shove. “Go! Get on it. You understand me, boy?”
Oh, he got it all right. When the old man said trespasser, he meant the shapeshifter kind. The kind looking for trouble. Straying onto pack territory without permission was more than an insult: it was a crime. And a danger to his pack was a danger to Rae. Any trespasser who intruded on pack territory—and into this crazy something between him and Rae—was dead meat.
Rae’s gray eyes found his and hung on for all they were worth. Her face was hard, but her gaze softened just enough to make his ribs tighten.
Duty? Mate?
Zack tore himself away. If he kept thinking along those lines, he’d be the one who was dead meat.
Chapter 8
Two days passed in which Rae told herself the ranch didn’t feel any different with Zack gone, but it was impossible to kid herself. Something was missing, even if it was just his unmistakable presence. The man was like a mesa after dark: a brooding, lonely mass caught somewhere between the past and the future.
It doesn’t have to be that way, her wolf said. He can have better. He can have us.
Look who sounds all haughty, she shot back. Not like I’m such a prize.
