by Renee Rose
Yes. Yes.
A growl filled the storeroom. The thump of music from Cody’s dance floor faded. My vision narrowed to myopic level. Nothing mattered except pounding into this sweet, willing human I had nailed to the wall with my dick.
Especially when she started making little noises of agreement. Uhn. Uhn. Clint.
Oh, damn. She felt so good. So perfect. So right.
Why hadn’t I let off some steam with humans more often? It was definitely worth it. I buried my cock in her sweet heat up to the hilt, eased back, shoved in deep again. I watched her closely, ensuring I was giving it to her how she needed it. I didn’t let myself pound as hard as I wanted to for fear I’d hurt her. It didn't matter. Fucking her still felt like heaven. Every time I filled her, I lost a little more control until I was pushing fast and hard, holding my hips close to hers, so I wouldn’t slam her against the wall.
Her nails dug into my shoulders, her legs wrapped tight behind my back, the heels of those cowboy boots digging into my ass. She kept making those sounds that drove me fucking crazy.
Holy shit, it had never been this good. This wild, as if I were almost… savage for her.
“I’m gonna come, sugar. Are you close?” No way was I leaving her behind.
“Now, cowboy,” she commanded, like she’d been waiting to say it.
I sped up, jackhammering in and out, while her cries filled my ears. I came with a snarl—the kind of sound I should never let a human hear, but it didn’t matter because I was banging the thoughts right out of her head. Her cries matched mine, and I had no doubt anyone in the hall would know what was going on in here. Her tight pussy squeezed my dick like a glove, pulsing and milking it for its cum. And there was a lot of it to fill the condom. I gave her all I had and didn’t let up until my balls were fucking empty.
“Oh fates, that was good,” I managed to say as my vision began to clear. I could barely catch my breath as I set her back on her feet.
The little human smiled up at me. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes all hazy, and my dick started to harden all over again knowing I’d made her look that way. “It sure was.”
I eased out, tossed the condom into the trash then tucked myself away and pulled up my pants as she fixed her panties and slid her skirt back down. I’d barely seen any of her, and I wanted another round, but the next time I’d have her naked. She adjusted her top, smoothed her hair down. She might look put back together, but anyone out there would know she’d just been well satisfied.
That made me feel like a million, very cocky, bucks. I wanted to give her that glow again. And again, which had me suddenly remembered why I didn’t make a habit of randomly screwing humans.
They had feelings. I couldn’t exactly enter a relationship with one when I was holding out for my true mate. No matter how hot a fuck that had been, she wasn’t my mate. And I may never have one.
Shit.
I sure as hell hoped Becky didn’t get hurt by this.
“You need a ride home?” I asked. “A bottle of water?”
Things suddenly got awkward.
“No.” Becky breezed past me and unlocked the door. “I came in the limo, remember?” She glanced over her shoulder and offered me a smile. She was reassuring me. “Don’t get weird about this, okay? We hooked up. We both enjoyed it. End of story.”
“Right.” I caught up and dropped a hand to her hip to escort her out. “I definitely enjoyed it.” The top of my head had pretty much blown off. I opened the door, the sounds of reality crashing around us again.
I enjoyed it way more than I should have. My dick wanted more of that hot pussy, that was for damn sure. Which meant I definitely needed to steer clear of Becky and the temptation she presented. Because my mom raised me better than to toy with the emotions of random females, even if she sure seemed fine with a hot quickie.
2
CLINT
Four months later
I sat on the edge of the motel bed to clean my gun and place the silver bullets in the chamber. There weren’t many Shifter Council enforcers, and we varied as much as the geography of the packs we were from. There were some enforcers who killed in shifter form. I preferred remaining in human form, the silver bullet from a gun my method of pack justice. I had no idea why—it just felt more civilized.
That didn’t mean I hadn’t killed with my bare hands. Or teeth.
I had.
But I hoped today I’d be able to use the bullet and keep justice as swift and painless as possible.
I holstered the gun under my arm and pulled a down jacket over my t-shirt to cover it. The moment I stepped outside the wind howled in my ears. Wyoming was fucking windy in November. Hell, Wyoming was fucking windy all the time, in my experience. November might still technically be fall, but it was cold as fuck and would stay that way until at least March.
This wasn’t my favorite place to be. I’d been tracking Jarod Jameson, the rogue shifter who was the infamous convenience store killer, across the state for twelve days now.
Unfortunately, I failed to stop him before he’d struck again last night in Gillette. Another convenience store worker had had his throat ripped out. The register had been emptied. The FBI were involved because the spree had crossed state lines, and I needed to put a lid on this thing ASAP.
The agency didn’t know shit about shifters, and Jameson needed to be punished by shifter means. To be put down, so he wasn’t a threat to the shifter way. To humans.
Late last night, I’d slipped into the scene of the crime in wolf form to scent the place. I pushed past the bleach cleaner used on the floor and the fatty aroma of rotating hot dogs and picked up his scent. I knew it now and would know him when I found him. I didn’t need video surveillance or mug shots to identify the guy.
He was a wolf shifter, like me. Fucker. I hated when our species screwed things up in the shifter world. But it made him easier to find and execute. A wolf knew a wolf.
As an enforcer, I knew how to hunt a rogue one.
I’d seen no paw prints in the snow around the building, so I believed he traveled by car. I already knew from the security footage released to the public that he attacked in human form. He must partially shift to maul the workers. No human ripped out another’s throat.
Whatever the story, he had to be put down.
Today.
Before he hurt any more humans and exposed our kind to their law enforcement.
My theory was that he was into drugs. That’s why the wild, haphazard robberies and random killings, all at convenience stores. Whatever cocktail of narcotics he’d taken had made him crazed. Savage enough to kill innocent people trying hard to make a living.
Whatever his reasoning, it didn’t matter. The council had sent me to end him. We didn’t allow rogue shifters or human killing.
He might still be alive, but his life was forfeit.
I entered a diner and immediately caught the fucker’s scent. Luck was with me. Trouble was, he’d scent me, too. Know a shifter was close. After him. Getting away with a number of killings and staying off the radar of the FBI meant he wasn’t just rogue, he was smart.
I turned around and left. It was better to catch him outside and have the element of surprise on my hands. A bunch of diners as witnesses wouldn’t be good, either.
In the Wolf pack, only Rob knew I was an enforcer. Sure, the others knew of the role within the pack system, but our identities were secret. While everyone wanted to ensure pack safety and security, no one wanted to know they had an executioner in their pack.
Boyd and Colton had no idea. Neither did my brother, Rand, my parents or anyone else. To them, I worked the ranch. Handled the horses. Was our pack’s chosen delegate to the council. A simple cowboy living a simple rural life.
As fucking if.
I walked through the dirt parking lot until I caught the faint scent again around an old Honda Civic. Great, now I had his car. I went back to my truck, parked facing the lot and diner but near the street and climbed in to wa
it.
Twenty minutes later, a guy moved toward the door, setting a toothpick between his teeth. Just because I’d scented him didn’t mean I didn’t have his photo. I did my job and did it well. Skipping something like being able to identify the rogue shifter by more than scent was plain stupid. My mind drifted back to that night months ago when I’d fucked the hot little number, Becky, in the storage room. I thought of that often, especially with my dick in hand. I hadn’t been able to scent her then, and that had been a fucking shame. I could only imagine what it would have been like if I’d had that sense at the time.
As the guy stopped in the middle of the parking lot to adjust his pants, I put a silencer on the pistol. The place was remote enough that if I could haul him around back, I could be done with this damn assignment.
I jogged toward the guy, his pasty face smudged with bacon grease.
“Jarod Jameson?” I asked, even as I got a whiff of him. I prodded him in the ribs with the muzzle of the gun through my coat pocket.
He started to snarl but then must’ve caught my shifter scent because he stiffened, and the metallic smell of fear issued from his body.
Be afraid, fucker.
I lifted my chin. “Walk around back.”
His movements were jerky as he obeyed, stepping around behind the diner. I prodded him to keep moving until we were all the way behind the dumpster. Glancing around, I confirmed we were alone.
“Jarod Jameson, you have violated shifter law, and the shifter council has deemed your life forfeited,” I recited.
Even though I held a gun to his back, he whirled and slashed me with a dagger, far faster than should have been possible, even for a shifter.
Holy fuck. I lurched back, but not before the tip skimmed across my ribs, cutting through my jacket, shirt and flesh. It shouldn’t have hurt all that much because it was a shallow graze across my ribs, but the gash immediately began to sizzle and pop, like the tip had been poisoned. Probably with silver.
Shit. It wasn’t going to kill me, but it was going to hurt like fuck. And slow me down. My body had to work hard to fight the poison, and that meant less healing properties and less focus.
I ignored the searing pain, trying to keep my vision clear.
This asshole had to die. And now. I swept my foot out and took him by surprise. Most shifters didn’t know martial arts—why would we need it when we can sprout fangs and rip someone’s throat out?
Jarod fell forward onto his hands, and I aimed carefully. One shot behind the left ear, and he dropped the rest of the way to the ground, dead.
I tucked the gun back in my pocket and walked around the far side of the diner—opposite of the way we’d arrived—to my truck.
It was for the safety of all shifters, I reminded myself, as I had every time I took a life. There were no shifter prisons. There was no other form of justice besides the council ruling and the enforcers meting out the appropriate punishment. Human justice was for just that: humans. If Jameson had been captured by the FBI, it wouldn’t have gone well. A shifter in prison? It wouldn’t hold him. He was a danger to the peacekeepers as much as the criminals. On top of that, it would result in our species being revealed.
I acted for all shifters only because someone had to. There were eight enforcers in all of North America. When there was a vacancy, it was filled. When I was nineteen, Rob had approached me, took me to the Shifter Council meeting and offered me the job.
Job. It was more of a role. Council enforcer. There were rules with the task. Secrecy. At the time, I’d been honored. My best friend had been alpha for three years and had authority. His brother had joined the Green Berets to fight for human lives. I’d been young and restless. Eager to prove my worth. I hadn’t even imagined the burden ending someone’s life would have. The secrecy of it. I did it because it had to be done. Jarod Jameson wouldn’t have stopped. And I’d rather it be me than some shifter with a taste for blood. Or someone like my younger brother, who couldn’t live with a tainted soul like mine.
I might come across as the quiet one. The peacemaker at the ranch. The calm cowboy.
Little did they fucking know.
In the truck, I poured water over the wound, trying to wash away the silver dust or whatever the tip of the knife had been poisoned with.
The edges of the gash were already pulling away, angry and red, the opposite of how a shifter wound normally behaved.
Fuck.
It would heal, but it would take time. I’d have to hide it from my brother and the rest of the ranch hands. My parents. Even if I got gored by a fucking bull like Boyd had, the wound would heal quickly. I couldn’t explain this one away.
Sighing, I started the truck and took off. My job was done. Five hours and I’d be back in Cooper Valley. I could report to Rob and glue the edges of the cut back together with superglue. Colton had said that was something humans did when in a situation where they couldn’t stitch a wound although I was sure no shifter had ever tried it. Or had need.
We had a doctor—Audrey—living right on the ranch, but I couldn’t even ask her for help. She might be able to stitch me up since the wound was behaving more like I was human than shifter, but she’d know something was up. Boyd’s wound from the bull goring had healed before her eyes. She’d seen a teenaged shifter get shot by that fucker Markle. She’d even helped a child at her own wedding reception to know shifters healed differently. She’d question this. Not even her mate knew my role with the council. Hell, I doubted she even knew there was something called an enforcer.
Thinking of the human doctor brought back thoughts of her friend, Becky, the lovely nurse I’d hooked up with at the bachelorette party.
As I drove north on the two-lane road, I imagined Becky’s nimble fingers sewing up my wound. Forget about the damn wound, I’d like to see those nimble fingers wrapped around my dick again, tugging hard, asking for a hard fuck. But that wasn’t going to happen, and there were several good reasons why.
I sighed, wiping my face, then wincing as lifting my arm tugged on the oozing wound.
A male like me couldn’t mate. Not with the role of council enforcer. My job was my life, even if it was a secret. If anyone ever found out, I’d have assholes out for revenge climbing out of the woodwork. I’d heard enough about enforcers and how they were hated for serving justice so ruthlessly. And anonymously. My role was needed—and hated—among all species of shifters. Because of that, any mate of mine would never be safe.
Becky wasn’t mine. She never had been. My wolf didn’t recognize her as my mate. She was just a gorgeous human who’d gotten under my skin just as much as this poison in my side. It was taking a long time to heal from a quick encounter in a storage room.
3
BECKY
I pushed the cart through the produce section and stopped in front of the avocados. I gave one a gentle squeeze, then another, finding some that weren’t too firm or soft. I added a bunch to my cart. I never used to like avocados, even avoiding guacamole at Mexican restaurants as if it were some kind of green slime.
Now? I couldn’t get enough of the things, which wasn’t helping my bank account. November in Montana wasn’t the best time to get them, but my body wanted the dang things, and they stayed down. At least it was healthy, unlike my ridiculous craving for cocktail wieners.
I’d only thrown up once today, which was a miracle in itself. I worked on the labor and delivery floor at the hospital. I knew all about pregnancy. Well, I thought I had, until I was pregnant myself. My OB assured me that while having morning sickness into my second trimester was perfectly normal, it wasn’t fun.
No shit, Sherlock.
It wasn’t too severe that I worried about nourishment or being dehydrated. My little peanut gave me a reprieve for most of the day to get food down. And keep it down. The rest of the time? People needed to watch out.
It just seemed like a long time since the nausea began. Since I found out. Even longer since that night. That night.
The night
that Clint the Hot Cowboy and his super sperm got past a condom and knocked me up. Not only had the wild ride he’d given me in the storage room been a surprise—I’d never had a quickie before in my life—so were the two blue stripes on the pregnancy test I took a few weeks later.
I’d worked at a clinic telling people the importance of using condoms, that they weren’t a foolproof method of birth control.
Again, no shit, Sherlock.
The fateful July party was supposed to have been fun. A little wild. Something for Audrey to remember as a crazy bachelorette party before she tied the knot with her hot rodeo champ, Boyd. She wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t forget it.
I knew Boyd and Audrey went at it like rabbits. Even back then. Especially back then. But they hadn’t been the ones to get all hot and heavy in the storage room.
I had. With Clint Tucker. While I’d never met him face-to-face before that night, I’d seen him in passing, and I’d liked what I’d seen a whole hell of a lot. I’d been friends with Audrey since she first moved to town, and we began working together at the hospital. After she met Boyd, I’d gone to the ranch and seen Clint in the corral with the horses. That was when I realized I had a thing for cowboys.
He looked like the Marlboro man without the cigarette. Dark hair, muscular. Big. Well, over a foot taller than me. He had the square jawline and rugged appearance of a manly-man, but there were smile lines around his eyes that made him seem trustworthy.
There had been other guys around, but I’d been snared watching him. Only him. There’d been a calmness about him that was a draw, as if he knew who he was and didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought. At the ranch and at the bar that night.
It was a complete one-eighty from my ex.
If there was a photo of a dick in the dictionary, it wouldn’t be of a penis—it would be my soon-to-be ex-husband’s face. Todd was a dick. Clint wasn’t one, but definitely had one, and look where that got me. Pregnant. I should have learned from Todd and steered clear of men. I had, until Clint and my need to save a horse and ride a cowboy. I had a trusty vibrator, and I should have blown out the motor.
