A Wolf of Her Own

by Susanna Shore

  Her friend’s wolf had resembled a natural wolf in colour, black and grey, though he had been sturdier than a natural wolf. Most shifter animals were like that—this man’s wolf was too, though it was otherwise lean like him. It had feline grace in his structure, like that of a leopard maybe, and its reddish fur more resembled fox than wolf.

  The aura stretched out of his host’s chest, its front paws pushing against the man’s lower abdomen as if for a better purchase, which was silly, since the aura was translucent and went through all obstacles. Not its host’s body though, apparently. Its ears were up alertly and it was scenting the air.

  A gust of wind brought the stench of the carnage to Gemma’s nose—blood, intestines and excrement—easily overriding the smell of pig clinging to her. Her Rider found the concoction enticing, but it was all she could do not to gag. She closed her nose and mouth with her hand and turned her face away from the wind.

  When she was able to turn her attention back to the tracker, he had rounded the carnage and was now studying the ground. He followed something he saw there for a few steps and then crouched for a closer look. He kept repeating the same, going deeper into the woods, away from her.

  He straightened and Gemma prepared to follow him. But he didn’t move. To her astonishment, he peeled off his t-shirt in one swift pull, revealing a nicely-muscled wide back that narrowed sharply to his buttocks. Before she had recovered from the sudden appearance of his beautiful back, he had hung the tee on a nearby tree branch and proceeded to kick off his boots and jeans.

  He dropped the jeans down to his ankles and stepped out of them, offering her an excellent view of his bare buttocks and legs. Loosely as the jeans had hung on him, she had expected his legs to be skinny, but far from it. Well-formed with incredibly tight, long muscles, they were like sculptures. And his buttocks…

  She had never had such an urge before to press her hands on a man’s buttocks, cup the pert pillows and squeeze.

  Turn around.

  But he didn’t. He hung the jeans on the same branch as the shirt and then kneeled gracefully on the forest floor. A heartbeat later, his wolf aura began to grow. Still translucent, it covered his body and beyond, looking impossibly large for a wolf. Faster than she could discern, it began to solidify, taking over the human form. It didn’t look like it hurt; the two simply switched places and the man disappeared.

  A wolf stood where the man had been, a red beast larger than a natural wolf, but utterly graceful. He turned his head where Gemma was hiding, indicating he had known she was there all along, and snarled a warning. Then he took off in the opposite direction, leaving her to stare after him.

  The wolf wanted to growl at the vampire for disobeying them, but settled for a snarl. She stayed put, so they were satisfied she wouldn’t follow them. They didn’t have time for her anyway; they had killers to track.

  The carnage excited them, unlike in human form, the scents mouth-watering. But it made their host angry, and the human side ruled over them even in this form, so they couldn’t feast. They moved away from the dead sheep to get a better scent of the tracks they had found.

  Strange pack!

  They growled, the sound deep, almost inaudible.

  Let’s go.

  The scent trail was weak, the wet ground diluting it more. But they weren’t only a wolf, they were two-natured, and their human half was able to point at signs the wolf would have missed: a paw print here, a broken twig there, the scent stronger in those places.

  Over the stone fence with a graceful leap and through some more woods. A field that wasn’t terribly wet so the scent was stronger. Across a lane.

  No, not across it.

  The scent trail disappeared, but they wouldn’t give up. They walked up and down the dirt lane for many heartbeats, sniffing, looking for clues. And they found the trail again. On the lane, until it left it again.

  Through another small patch of woods, thin, an easy trail. It ended at a smaller lane almost forgotten. The smell was more human than wolf now, the prints different. They had shifted.

  It didn’t matter. They could track anything. But then a pungent smell of petrol and metal made them sneeze. A car.

  Kieran shifted back to human to take a look around, unheeding of his nakedness. It took him a while to get his bearings, but he knew every inch within miles from the clan’s estate, so he soon recognised the place—for what good it did. The old lane led to larger roads at both ends, a shortcut through private land that should only be known to the clan. From those larger roads, his prey had access everywhere.

  Fuck.

  All was not lost though. He had a detailed scent of the strange shifters his wolf had given him, and he studied it in his mind. It was familiar. Not his clan, that was self-evident, but it didn’t belong to any clan in or around London either. But try as he might, he couldn’t place the scent.

  Cursing, he shifted back to wolf. The journey back would be faster on four legs than two, not to mention that he was naked. Decency aside, traipsing all over the woods and fields in the buff would be painful.

  When he reached the four-wheeler, fully clothed in human form, the vampire was sitting on it. She looked annoyed, either because he had caught her spying on him—she had made so much noise he had easily followed her progress from the get-go—or because of the long wait.

  "Well? Was it my mother?"

  Or because of that. He was sorry for accusing her mother—he should have guessed the connection—but she had provoked him. "You were right, they were wolves."

  She looked triumphant, so he continued before she could accuse them again. "But no, they weren’t our clan. I don’t know who they are, and they got away. They had a car at the Old Mill Road."

  "Fudge."

  He would have used a stronger word. The carnage and losing his prey was stinging. He had a notion she would rather have cursed properly too, the euphemism in contrast with her fierce looks and strong anger.

  She had opened her heavy jacket when the sun began to warm the day, but a loose t-shirt underneath effectively obscured her form. It was muddy too. Had she bathed in it? He still didn’t recognise her, even though she had to be at least as old as him to be able to operate in daylight—the strange restriction of vampires confining them to darkness for the first century or so. She had to be Tom’s sister so how come they hadn’t met before.

  "So where’s Tom?"

  She huffed. "On his honeymoon."

  Kieran blinked, slowly. Tom wasn’t exactly a sociable man, bordering on recluse, so much so that Kieran seldom saw him. "Who did he marry?"

  She frowned, the gesture comical because the mud prevented her face from moving properly. "I have no idea."

  "And you would be…?"

  "I’m his sister, Gemma Byrd."

  He had been right. "Gemma. I’m Kieran Garret."

  She wiped her hand to her jeans—for what good it did—and offered it to him. It was small, cool, and a bit rough from dried mud. But that wasn’t what made the handshake special. As their hands met, so did their Might energies, both unique according to their different natures, and began to mix. Her cool, quiet vampire energy mingled with his warm, vibrant shifter energy.

  A current of cool power pulsed through him. It quickened him, made the Might in his reserves surge up and out, and the hair on his wolf’s fur to stand on end. He deepened the hold, even as he wanted to release her hand. It felt wonderful and uncomfortable at the same time.

  She gasped and pulled her hand away hastily. "That was odd."

  "I’ll say. I guess there’s a reason why the likes of us don’t usually mix." He took a steadying breath and changed the topic, trying to quiet the still-pulsing energy inside him before it embarrassed him. He’d experienced arousals less … invigorating.

  "I’ve called Jamie. He should be here soon."

  She sighed, annoyed. "I’d better move the sheep to another meadow then."

  "You don’t think we can behave around your sheep?" His anger surface
d again, powered by the strange energy.

  She rolled her eyes, unfazed. "No. The sheep can’t handle that many wolves. The last thing I need is for them to start lambing prematurely."

  He frowned, embarrassed. "Well, hurry up then. I want to get our guys here before the trace disappears completely."

  "I have to fetch the dogs." With that, she started the four-wheeler and drove off, leaving Kieran with nothing else to do but wait for his alpha. He did not look forward to witnessing Jamie’s anger.

  Chapter Four

  Gemma didn’t waste time fetching Tom’s sheepdogs. She wanted this to be over as much as Kieran did. She couldn’t even feel triumphant that she had proven him wrong. The fact remained that the sheep were dead and wolf-shifters were to blame for it.

  She did feel relieved that she had been wrong too. Once her anger had subsided, she had found the notion horrible that their closest neighbours would have done this to them. It was easier to believe in an unknown threat. What she couldn’t figure out was why the killers had chosen their farm.

  The two sheepdogs, Maura and Polly, had been born after she had moved away from the farm and she hadn’t worked with them much. She would have preferred to take the dog she knew best, Rissa, with her too to ease things out, but she was getting old and her hips were troubling her. The upset look on the old girl’s face when she realised she would be left behind made Gemma’s heart ache. It never got easier to see a trusted friend through old age.

  Maura and Polly were sitting on a trailer she had attached to the four-wheeler, looking excited for the prospect of working. Their noses pointed towards the wind so that their floppy ears turned upside down and their tongues were lolling out. They were Welsh Sheepdogs, mother and daughter, and both Rissa’s offspring. Maura looked like Rissa with her tan and white fur and golden eyes, but Polly took after her father with black, tan and white colours, and black eyes. They were excellent working dogs, and since they had been with the family since they were puppies, they weren’t fazed by vampires.

  Wolf-shifters, however, might be a different matter.

  Two of them were waiting for her outside the stone fence and she was grateful they hadn’t entered the meadow without her. The sheep were still at the other edge of it, out of sight, but there was no need to take risks.

  A very tall, powerfully-built man with short, flaxen hair and whisky-coloured eyes was standing next to Kieran. He looked about forty—unlike vampires, shifters showed some signs of aging—but Gemma knew he was at least as old as Tom, who was born in 1787. His clothing was casual, jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and his stance was relaxed, but he exuded such power that the dogs behind her lay low, whimpering. She had the urge to follow suit when she felt his impact and she shielded herself hastily.

  Jamie Green, the alpha of the Greenwood clan.

  She climbed off the vehicle and took a step towards the men. A wall of Might hit her shields. She had never felt anything like it, even in the company of old vampires. For them, hiding their power was one of their games. The raw, savage energy that sought to permeate her shields was awful, too hot and vibrant.

  "I would thank you, Mr Green, if you didn’t scare my dogs." She was proud that her voice didn’t quiver in fear. She couldn’t look him in the eyes though.

  Might flared briefly, bombarding her. Then it was gone. He had reined it in as easily as he had flexed it. "My apologies, Miss Byrd." His voice was cold with barely restrained anger. Gemma wished ardently it was directed at the killers and not her. Thank gods she hadn’t met the alpha when she was still angry. He would have minced her. Then he gave her a baffled look. "What the heck happened to you?"

  The drive to the farm and back had added yet another layer of mud on her, but at this point it couldn’t really make matters much worse. "My brother’s Clydesdale," she sighed. "She pushed me on my face in the mud." Both men smiled, amused, and the tension eased a little.

  "Mean beast, is she?"

  "A devil’s spawn, more like."

  Her dry remark made Kieran laugh aloud. "She’s probably just bored. It’s not like draught horses have much to do in modern farming."

  She accepted this with a nod. Then she pointed towards the trailer where Maura and Polly were beginning to recover from their earlier fright. "I’ll let the dogs down now. Will there be problems?"

  "No. Dogs love us, provided there aren’t too many of us around at the same time," Jamie said. She didn’t quite believe him, but she wasn’t about to contradict his words.

  She let the dogs off the trailer and they shot straight to the wolves, clearly excited. The men crouched and the dogs threw themselves down before the shifters, begging to be petted and enjoying immensely when the men obliged. They were working dogs, not pets, so they weren’t pampered much. As a child, she hadn’t been allowed to treat the sheepdogs as pets at all. No wonder she had been so happy with her wolf friend when he had played the part of her dog.

  "I’d best move the sheep now." She hadn’t thought about her wolf friend in ages, but today seemed to be a day for painful memories.

  Kieran grinned, the genuinely happy expression softening his stern face. "Left outside the pack, are you?"

  "We’ll see about that," she quipped. She took a whistle from her pocket and blew a couple of short commands. The dogs obeyed instantly and eagerly, and she shot him a superior look before entering the meadow, dogs at her heels.

  The carnage infuriated Jamie and he let it show. Kieran was having trouble standing next to him, his alpha’s power commanding the wolf in him. He wanted to press his head down and bare his neck to show obedience.

  He gave Jamie the details. "They were here sometime in the early hours of the morning. After it rained at midnight." The sheep had probably been sheltering in the grove, easy pickings for them. "The trail ended at the Old Mill Road."

  Jamie stared at the grotesque remains of the sheep, by all appearances not even hearing what Kieran said. "Did you know that they paid bounty for dead wolves as late as in the nineteenth century? Even though natural wolves had been extinct centuries before?"

  Kieran’s entire being froze. "Are you saying they paid a bounty for Colm?" he asked carefully, not really wanting to hear the answer.

  Jamie huffed. "Don’t be an idiot." Relief left Kieran’s body weak. Too soon. "But the lure of it got those humans to hunting wolves."

  And they had got his brother. Kieran had been ten, and the loss of an adored big brother had made a deep impact on him. "I fucking hate humans."

  "No you don’t. You’re a civilised man who works with humans every day. Save your anger to finding who’s behind this." Jamie shook his head, his anger not easing. "Who the fuck could do something this stupid?"

  "I have no idea, but their scent has familiarity to it, especially after they shifted to human." As if he had met them as humans, not as wolves.

  "Would you recognise it again?"

  "Absolutely."

  It was good enough for his alpha. Jamie controlled his anger, and they stood contemplating the carnage in silence. It didn’t look any better than the first time Kieran had seen it. He had hoped to the last that Gemma had been playing some vampire game with him—to what end he didn’t care. Anything would have been better than the reality.

  "I find it utterly incomprehensible that any clan we know would’ve done this," Jamie said after a while. "Rogues?"

  It wasn’t very common, but some wolves lived outside clans. Banishment from the clan had been used as a punishment in earlier times. Shifters were pack creatures and needed the company of their own kind and kin. It wasn’t done anymore, but modern lifestyle had affected shifters too, and some wolves preferred to live outside the clan structure. Mostly they left as families, but there were individuals who disliked the hierarchy of a clan.

  "They didn’t smell like family, but they did smell the same." Suggesting a clan. "Five of them. Four males and one female."

  "A gang? The young acting up?"

  Kieran shrugged. Jamie
’s guess was as good as any he could come up with. "Whoever they are, they picked the wrong fucking town for it."

  "I doubt they’d be so stupid they didn’t know that we live here." Their clan was one of the most powerful in the country.

  "You mean they’d deliberately come here to pick a fight?"

  Jamie nodded. "Could be. I’ll ask around with other clans if they know anyone holding a grudge against us. With any luck, this was a one-off and they won’t target human farms. The last thing we need is a lynch mob outside our gates. We’ll hunt the killers and we’ll punish them."

  "They’re my sheep. I will punish these wolves."

  Kieran had heard Gemma return—she really didn’t know how to walk silently—and her angry comment didn’t startle him. He turned to her and found her standing with her arms akimbo, the dried mud on her face adding to her furious look.

  "And you shall, as long as it’s the right wolves," Jamie said ruthlessly. It worked better than any mollifying words would have, and she calmed down. She stared at the sheep.

  "What the fudge am I supposed to do with these carcasses?"

  "Do you need help?" The offer wasn’t one Kieran would have made this morning, but now it felt natural. They were in this together.

  "Are you an expert on regulations concerning the disposing of farm animal carcasses?"

  He grinned. "No, but Greenwood estate is, among other things, a fully functioning farm." Their main income came from a successful development firm, but the farm was important too. "And I believe regulations state that you have to report deaths through official channels." All farm animals were tagged and a meticulous record was kept of them. If one died outside a butcher’s block, an enormous amount of paperwork had to be filed.