What a Wolf Wants (Black Hills Wolves Book 2)

by Long, Heather

  So was Ryker.

  Whether in the big city or isolated in a dark part of the country, people observed rituals. His making tea and offering her food—the manner in which he’d looked after her—suggested some kind of importance. Fuck it. She was a trained anthropologist, but one thing her education had shown her repeatedly was that no matter what she knew or learned, the best judge of character she possessed was her gut.

  Her gut said Ryker could be believed.

  With a remarkably steady hand, she took the mug this time then looked at the cookie. Her other hand was a little busy keeping the blanket fisted closed. “Um….”

  As if sensing where her thoughts went, he held the cookie up to her lips. She took a bite. It was a snickerdoodle. Oh, my God. It tasted as good as it looked. She closed her eyes in bliss. Vanilla mixed with cinnamon. Perfect. Washing it down with a sip of what turned out to be regular black-orange pekoe tea, she sighed. She glanced over at him, and her heart stuttered.

  His fierce, implacable expression had softened with a smile.

  Holy hell on a Triscuit…. The man was beautiful when he smiled.

  Chapter Three

  After eating four cookies as well as drinking all of the tea, his guest settled into the chair with a sigh. “I should really call someone about the car,” she mumbled.

  The only time she didn’t speak was when she ate, drank, or he caught her staring at him. Curiosity flared in her eyes, an emotion she would abruptly try to disguise whenever he met the open questions in her gaze. What she couldn’t hide was the scent of her arousal—the invitation to his senses had grown steadily since they’d arrived at his cabin.

  Outside, the howling wind redoubled in force. He didn’t need to glance through a window to know the full weight of the storm had arrived. The first of the winter season, it would blanket everything in a heavy pelt of snow. No traffic, no movement—no outsiders.

  Except the one already here. Fortunately, his cabin was nowhere near the ragged remains of Los Lobos. Full moon was still more than a week away. The pack would button down inside their homes. By the time the snow cleared, Ryker would be able to get the woman on her way.

  Her silence gathered his attention. He turned from checking the fire to find her sound asleep. She’d burrowed into the blanket, curled her bare legs up under her, and pillowed her head against one of the thick arm cushions. Taking advantage of her stillness, he studied the dark sweep of her lashes and the tumble of nearly blue-black hair. He’d thought it was short until he’d tugged the jacket and shirt off her.

  Most of her hair had been gathered back into a single band at the nape of her neck. Tendrils escaped to curl against her skin. The contrast told him how pale she truly was, but at least the ruddiness of the cold chapping her cheeks had begun to fade. Padding closer, he touched a finger to the curve of her jaw.

  Warm.

  Sleeping, she didn’t exude so much nervous energy. Following her jawline, he traced a finger up to the shell of her ear then to the silky smoothness of her hair. It was thick and soft. Saja shifted, letting out a soft sigh. He stilled. Even asleep, the musk of her arousal lingered. This close he’d have to be dead not to notice.

  The last time a female had shown any kind of interest in him had been…. He frowned. He couldn’t remember when—years not worth counting. Not that he could blame them. The females in the pack had a rough time under Magnum. After his mate died, something had broken in the Alpha. It had taken some too long to notice. Longer still to be able to do anything about it.

  “Shh.” Saja thrust a hand out from the blanket then stroked his thigh.

  It took him a moment to realize he’d growled. A smile touched her lips before she burrowed back into the blanket, taking her hand with her.

  Ryker scowled—not because she’d touched him, but because he missed the contact when she took it away. Releasing her hair, he stood. She needed more food than cookies, which meant hunting. He wouldn’t find much in the storm, but it was safer for everyone involved if he took care of things while she slept.

  He half considered carrying her to his bed. If he tucked her in there, she would be too far from the hearth. She’d be cold. Checking the flames once more, and satisfied the logs would burn steadily for the next hour, he headed for the door. He wouldn’t hunt far afield—outside the wind cut at him. The snow fell thick, near blinding. Leaving the door secure, he waded away from the cabin at an angle.

  Once certain he was out of sight, he called up his Wolf and changed. The world shimmered, and then he was on four legs. One gift of the magic binding him to his other half was the fact that when he needed to change back, his clothes would reappear—it didn’t matter what he wore, whatever he had on when he went wolf returned when he resumed his humanity.

  His already keen senses sharpened further. Scenting the storm, he searched beneath it—caught the trace of a rabbit. One of those would do. It wouldn’t be much for him, but humans didn’t need as much as a Wolf did. He’d gotten by on less before, but feeding Saja was important.

  It took him time to stalk the rabbit, but he managed to flush two along with a grouse, who’d not found a good place to hide for the storm. Killing all three had been swift. He’d taken care only to break their necks, not the skin. He’d caught the scent of a deer, but stalked the female for only a short time before he caught the scent of a fawn as well.

  No, he wouldn’t leave the young without its mother. The discovery sent him back after the rabbits. He carried all three carcasses with him, careful to keep the damage to their bodies minimal.

  He didn’t shift to his human form until he had the cabin in sight—then only after he’d verified no other scents had disturbed the area. He wouldn’t pick up tracks—even his own had been washed away in the rapidly falling snow.

  Picking up all three animals, he headed for the cabin. He’d have to skin them before he could roast them on the fire, but his guest would have plenty of food. Balancing his gift while opening the door, he hurried inside, trying not to let in too much of the wind. A jerk of motion pulled his attention from the chair—where Saja wasn’t—to find the woman bent over her suitcase. She spun around with a start of surprise then landed on her ass.

  “Oh, crap. Warn a girl before you do that.” Her heart raced. Her breathing went shallow. She jerked her gaze from him to his hand before backing up. “Ewww. You went out hunting in this? Without a coat? Are you insane?” Bouncing to her feet, she padded over to him then retreated. “Wow, cold. Um…and oh, they’re bunnies.” Sympathy creased her face.

  He shrugged. “Dinner.”

  Bypassing her, he headed into the kitchen. He had knives. While it had been a while since he’d needed to skin something, he certainly knew how to do it. Saja trailed after him. The appealing musk of her undiluted arousal wrapped around him. He wanted to roll around in the scent until it coated him.

  Ignoring the violently attractive notion, he made short work of the skinning.

  “Can I do anything to help?” The strained quality in her voice snagged his attention, and Ryker turned slightly. Saja watched him with too-large eyes. Her face had gone a shade paler, but beyond that, her scent carried distress. Skinning and gutting the animals wasn’t pretty work.

  “No, go rest in front of the fire.” He gentled his tone as much as he was able, but instead of doing as he’d told her, she hesitated.

  “I looked around for you when I woke, and you weren’t here.” Reproach, but also a hint of fear. “You were gone. I got worried.” More fear.

  Scowling, Ryker set aside the organs to make a stew. He would scrape the skins first then set them to cure before washing up. Behind him, the sour scent of her anxiety continued to increase.

  “I would have called someone about the car. But you don’t have a phone. Or a TV. Or power.” Her tone wobbled. She shifted from foot to foot. Folding her arms, she hugged herself then shuddered. When he’d returned, he’d let in a lot of cold air, so the kitchen wasn’t warm.

  Leavin
g the meat on the counter, he turned, scooping her up from her uneasy position. Carrying her back to the fireplace, he settled her back in the chair then wrapped the blanket around her once more. Eyes rounded, she scooted toward the edge of the seat.

  “Stay.” He planted a hand on either arm of the chair, boxing her in. “You’re cold. Stubborn is admirable. Stupid isn’t.”

  Her mouth opened then snapped shut—a state she managed for less than thirty seconds. Defiance filled her eyes as she pushed toward him, fighting her own unease to meet him nose-to-nose. “You can’t hold me prisoner.”

  Pure challenge.

  She’s human.

  Human or not, the challenge spurred his Wolf. He flexed his hands, mindful of the fact she was no physical threat whatsoever. “You’re not a prisoner.” If she would simply cooperate, rest, eat, and stay warm, she would be on her way with another story to tell shortly.

  Her forehead wrinkled into a scowl. “Then, why does it feel like I am?”

  Giving her inquiry due consideration, Ryker studied the woman in front of him. Her ferocity wasn’t all façade. Fear edged her scent but faded the longer he stood there. The muskier notes of her arousal deepened. The best he could come up with was a question. “Do you really feel like one?”

  Wolves were easier to deal with.

  “Kind of.” But she hesitated, easing away slowly until she curled back in the chair. The retreat wasn’t fleeing but more adjusting her position. “I don’t know you. I’m more than a little stranded. With the storm out there…. God, this is going to sound so stupid.” She bit down on her lower lip, and her knuckles went white where he could see them.

  Anxiety along with fright continued to eddy beneath the rest, a darker miasma that he disliked intensely. It made him edgy, encouraging an urge to slaughter whatever was upsetting her grew with each passing moment.

  “I’m caged with a stranger. I get it. You’re trapped with the lady you were just trying to help. But try seeing it from my perspective….”

  Impossible. He wasn’t human—but she didn’t know what he was. If someone trapped him, he’d kill them to escape.

  Except Magnum. The single name carried with it all the years of being forced to act against his conscience—against his own will. He’d been a captive to a blood oath. While he’d done everything he could, he’d failed to free himself. Failed his pack.

  “Then you get all dark and broody. FYI not really making me feel better.” Her words penetrated the haze of fury conjured by the memory.

  “Saja.” He sighed then scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “Wow, you haven’t known me a whole day, and you already sound like one of my parents.” A hint of laughter took any sting out of the words.

  He wasn’t a father. A father wouldn’t be focused on the sharp notes in her arousal or how they kept growing despite her upset.

  “You’re not a prisoner.” Leaning to the side, he plucked her gun out of the purse then laid it in her lap. She blinked down at the weapon. Her stomach gurgled.

  Sparing a brief smile at the sound, he caught her hand while trying to ignore the zing of electricity racing over him. If he’d been in his Wolf form, all his hair would have stood on end. “You’re hungry. Stay and be warm. Let me take care of you.”

  Let me take care of you? Where the hell those words had come from, he had no idea, but her expression relaxed, and the more acrid taste of her upset faded.

  “Can I help?” She wasn’t looking at him but at his hand where he’d taken hers. Following her gaze, he curled his fingers instead of letting her go.

  “Stay. I’m going to cook here.” He nodded to the fire.

  “Okay.” She nodded then squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I’m such a pain in the ass.”

  He wasn’t sorry, of course, but he was also rusty on what he should say right now, so he settled for a simple, “Then stop.”

  Shock rippled across her face then she giggled. He smiled because the last traces of her fear vanished with the arrival of her amusement. Giving her a light squeeze, he rose and would have stepped around the chair, but paused to tap the seatback. “Stay.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.” The tart obedience was followed by another laugh, so he nodded. If she could behave, he could feed her then figure out what to do about the rest of their day.

  To his surprise, she did cooperate. It took him time to get the food set up on spits, add more wood into the fire, and finally get the food cooking. By then, the warmth was uncomfortable—but not for his little human. Her shivers finally ceased. After her third inquiry about helping him, he’d carried a cutting board, knife, along with a sack of vegetables over to her.

  “Chop.”

  The sack contained a fair share of one of the local crops, carrots, potatoes, and zucchinis. Tasha most likely brought it to him—he didn’t usually go looking for them. Still, he’d have to do something for the little Wolf to show his appreciation. The chopping, dicing, and cubing relaxed Saja further until her chatter filled the air.

  “When I started this trip, everyone gave me a lot of grief. How could I pack my life into a few boxes—I hope they’re okay out there in the car—and some suitcases then drive cross-country? ‘Saja,’ they said, ‘you don’t know where you’re going. Why do it? In this economy?’ I had a job—well, sort of a job. It was more of an internship, really. But I don’t think I’m cut out to be a tenured-professor type. I like to be in the thick of it, meeting people, studying them, learning their rituals—what makes them tick.” She punctuated each sentence with another series of chops. “Take you, for example. You’re isolated. You don’t like others in your space. Whether your territory is these woods or this cabin, it’s yours. You don’t share the space willingly. I bet you know the landscape like the back of your hand. Now, whether the isolation is because you’re frustrated with the world, the government, or because you’ve embraced a simpler way of life—that’s interesting. I wouldn’t learn about you from a tenured position.”

  So she went, her insights—when she shared them—coming with a startling clarity. Fortunately, she left the subject of why he lived here alone. When the vegetables were done and the stew sat in a heavy iron pot at the edge of the fire where it would slowly heat, he ran out of tasks to keep her busy.

  Sometime during the work, she’d put the gun back in her purse, which she left on the floor next to her chair. When the rabbits finished cooking, he sliced the meat neatly and piled a far more generous portion on her plate. Under his watchful gaze, she ate it all then drank another mug of the tea. Her trepidation for the food vanished after her first bite. He enjoyed her obvious delight.

  She told him more about her studies intermingled with stories of her travels. The little human had been all over the world. Her passion for “learning about people” came when she’d decided to run away from home at the age of fifteen. She’d spent most of a summer going from one homeless shelter—if they had a shelter, he didn’t know why they were homeless—to another until she ended up at a halfway house—halfway to where, she wasn’t clear. Then she’d gone home.

  Her parents had been furious; they’d been looking for her for months. They’d grounded her—a punishment he understood—for the entirety of the next year. She’d frightened them, but she’d learned not everyone without a home chose their condition. Some were trapped far away from home and didn’t know how to make the journey back. She’d written a couple of papers on the subject then decided she wanted to study sociology and anthropology.

  The subjects meant nothing, but her keen insights into why humans isolated themselves from family—pack—did. So many of the Black Hills Wolves had left—either through choice or because Magnum and his cronies had driven them out.

  Did they not know how to come home?

  A comfortable silence settled—she’d begun to drift off again. The slow, regular breathing betrayed her descent into sleep.

  “Ryker?”

  Canting his head, he glanced at her. He’d settled on the floor
next to the chair, resting his back to it. His nearness seemed to have the same soothing effect as the fire or the work on her nerves—as long as she could see him and chattered at him, the smell of worry vanished. While he couldn’t quite place her scent into any one category—it reminded him of warm summer evenings, long lazy runs under a fat moon with a hint of spruce and the fire of the hearth—he liked it.

  He liked her.

  “I want to learn more about you. So tomorrow, it’s your turn to talk. Maybe show me how you live.” A smothered yawn elongated her words. She gave him a sleepy smile. His blood went cold at the thought of teaching her the truth of him.

  No, little human. The last things he could teach her were about him or the Black Hills.

  If he did, then he’d have to kill her—the pack came first. The sobering thought kept him awake and alert even as she finally drifted into a deep sleep. The idea of hurting her rubbed his fur the wrong way. Tension invaded his muscles as he listened to the storm.

  As long as it lingered, she was safe.

  He would make it so.

  Twice in the night, he roused to add wood to the fire and adjust the stew. Twice he returned to sit next to the chair, keeping himself between her and the door. The second time she shifted in the chair, her hand came down on his shoulder. Her fingers were light, but they curled into his shirt, her breathing deepening once more. He shifted to rest his chin against her hand. With her scent filling his lungs, he slept.

  The tug of her hand woke him. He opened his eyes to find her blinking at him sleepily. In the hearth, the fire crackled low. A part of his mind registered he needed to add more wood to it while another part focused on the drowsy, puzzled expression on her face.

  “Morning,” she managed in a soft voice. As a yawn stretched her mouth wide, he rubbed his chin against the hand he still held captive, enjoying the weight of her touch.