Wild Wolf: Black Mesa Wolves #4

by J. K Harper

  “Augh! Men.” She tossed the phone onto her bed next to the overnight bag.

  Suddenly fuming, she headed toward the door, already stripping off her clothes in anticipation of a relaxing lope as her wolf. She would shrug off the call, as well as every other little thing bothering her at the moment. Dancing in her mind, her wolf pattered at her with eager paws to be let loose.

  Bright midday sun and the sharp air that was not quite yet tipped with frost greeted her as she leaped off her little covered porch. Shaking with pure delight at the prospect of being in her freest form, she bounded out into the desert. She shifted mid-leap, luxuriating in the stretch and play of her muscles. Her creamy white coat, so unusual in the wolf shifter world outside of the few Arctic packs in Alaska, northern Europe, and the farthest northern reaches of Canada, wasn't the best camouflage in the soft coral and light saddle-colored cliffs and mesas of her desert home. This canyon, however, boasted very few human residents. Her property backed right up to a protected wilderness area that offered almost immediate cover from any spectators, and her nearest neighbor was a half mile down the canyon, around a curve in the road and not visible from her place.

  Then again, the only viewers around were usually lizards, crows, and the occasional jackrabbit. She wasn't very worried about them seeing her romping around in the desert as a wolf. Besides, the occasional snack of a cottontail was a tasty little treat. She huffed in laughter as her human made a disagreeable noise in the back of her head.

  Stretching out into a lope, Claire felt the touch of the sun's rays on her back as she kicked dirt and pebbles out from under her paws with each landing step. Running like this always calmed her, as both wolf and human. Stretching out, she felt her muscles strain and play. She was in excellent shape. Her carefully-kept fitness soothed her physically, mentally, emotionally. Running, moving, jumping—everything to do with using her body kept Claire loose and comfortable in her own pelt.

  Or skin, her human whispered. Chuffing with amusement, Claire leapt to the top of a pale yellow sandstone boulder and paused to take in the view. The landscape stretched out, seemingly enormous and empty. Immediately to the south, the sacred slumbering mountain rose in soft curves, guarding its ancient secrets. To the north, wild canyon lands jumbled together in alcoves and buttes and jagged falls of rock that beckoned the adventurous but repelled the fearful. Which, thankfully, meant the majority of humankind.

  Few other shifters ever came here, either. This was free, lawless territory: free of pack restrictions, free of rules, free of the strictures of a life Claire had barely ever known and never wanted to live. She was a wild wolf, which meant she was free of the politics and regulations of the rest of the shifter world. Their rules didn't apply here, and she was not bound by them.

  Leaping off the rock to land with a soft thud on the ground, she easily loped northward, deeper into the canyons. Being a wild wolf meant she could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Frankly, that suited her just fine.

  Deep inside, her human uttered a resounding, Yes. Tongue lolling out in a fierce grin, Claire raced on. She had miles to run before she relaxed enough to head into Cortez for some last-minute errands before her flight out this evening. The desert welcomed her easy strides with all the soft yet fierce wildness in it that she loved with all her heart.

  ***

  Tate settled into the driver's seat of his truck as Caleb slid over the passenger's side. A large, shiny pink bag carefully nestled in the back seat raised Tate's eyebrows, but he refused to mention it. The gruesome details earlier of Caleb's gift for his mate were enough to mess with Tate's appetite, and at the moment he was hungrier than any horse. Breakfast had been a long seven hours ago. Shifters always needed food, and plenty of it.

  Caleb grumbled at stopping in Cortez for some lunch instead of heading straight home. Tate playfully swung at his brother, who easily countered it without even looking. Guardian to the core.

  “I'll have to shift and hunt down a deer otherwise,” Tate said. “Won't make it to Durango.” When a shifter needed to eat, he needed to eat now. The pack den north of Durango was an hour from Cortez. By the time they reached it, Tate would eat his own arm if he didn't grab some lunch first.

  The engine rumbled as he kicked an awesome amount of horsepower down the road. His sister said he was ruining the environment in his monstrously huge diesel truck. Well, that was tough. Cowboys pulled horse trailers, and wimpy little “clean” cars weren't exactly up the job. To be honest, deep down Tate always felt a little bad about adding more pollution to the environment. Not, however, bad enough to give up his truck. One day, when he could afford it, he would upgrade to a more environmentally friendly eco-diesel truck. He needed more horses to train first, though, so he could pad that bank account. His wolf chuffed in agreement. Even in his wolf form, Tate appreciated equines and everything that came with a lifetime of being fascinated by them.

  No one else in the family truly understood his love for horses. Most shifters didn't relate well to prey animals, because those creatures could often sense the wild predator lurking somewhere deep inside shifters. Some shifters, though, had a special touch that didn't bother most prey animals. Tate didn't feel particularly special. He just knew horses responded to his approach, and he liked working with them more than anything else on earth. He was a true cowboy, and his life was complete. That was all he needed to know.

  “Can you at least grab it to go?” Caleb was texting as he spoke. “I really want to get back soon. Gotta pack before we have that meeting.”

  Tate had nearly forgotten about the pack meeting scheduled for that evening. Since all the rogue wolf madness began happening earlier in the year, his head had been in the game less and less. He was there for his Pack, no question. He would fight to the death, if absolutely necessary. He would defend the weaker Pack members with his life as trained to do. The realities of the lunatic rogues had just made him begin to question certain things more and more. Such as how long he could be an effective Guardian for his Pack when being a Guardian wasn't in his bones as deeply as it was in someone like Caleb.

  His wolf whined in mild alarm at Tate's swirling thoughts. Forcefully, he made himself lose them. “Sure,” he said in response to Caleb. He remembered passing a tiny strip mall that sported a fast food joint on the way out to the clients' place. Pressing down on the gas pedal, he aimed the truck toward a few juicy burgers and some fries. The late lunch of champions.

  A line of cars spoked out from the drive-through lane. Tate groaned as his stomach growled. Inching through the line of cars and hoping he wouldn't actually gnaw off his own arm before they got their food, trying desperately to ignore Caleb's intensely broadcasted interest in whatever texts his mate was sending him, and wondering if he needed to wash anything before he packed for his trip, Tate almost missed the scent.

  A whiff of pure snow, the kind that filled the air with its crisp newness. Fresh ponderosa pine, a wild and whipping wind. Something so compelling, so perfect, zinged right through his entire body and brought him sitting bolt upright.

  A wolf. A female wolf, one Tate had never smelled before. His own wolf stirred and sprang into the foreground of his mind, eagerly sniffing through Tate's human nose, enhancing its abilities. Yes. An unknown female wolf walked through this little town southwest of Durango, where as far as Tate knew no wolves lived. And for some reason, she was totally, utterly fascinating to him.

  “Hello and welcome to the Best Little Burgerhouse in Colorado,” a disembodied voice came through the box. “May I take your order please?”

  Tate automatically smiled and said, “Sure, just give me a minute, please.” Inside, though, his wolf paced in a sudden, wild restlessness. He longed to leap out of the truck and bound through the streets, seeking out owner of that incredible smell. Taking in a long, deep sniff again, he committed her scent to memory. It was filled with a sort of primitive, unsettled longing. Just a tickle to begin with, the alluring scent started to fade even as his n
ostrils flared to search it. Dammit! Whoever she was, she was getting away.

  Well, hell. Tate hadn't been with a female wolf shifter in years. No one in their pack had ever interested him, and there were enough sweet human women in the area to grab his attention when he felt the need for their companionship. He wanted simple, and human women gave him that since none of them could never be his mate. But in the meantime, he'd forgotten how enticing a female wolf could smell. At least, the kind of female wolf who interested him so much he felt ready to shift into wolf form right here and run through the streets looking for her.

  “Whenever you're ready.” The voice grated out from the hidden speaker.

  “Yeah. Sorry,” Tate said back to it. He ordered with hardly a clue about what he said, drumming his fingers against his denim-covered thigh as Caleb leaned over him and shouted his own order into the speaker. As they slowly crept up to the take-out window, Tate turned to his brother.

  “Did you smell that?”

  “Mm-hmm,” his brother said, fingers flying over his phone screen again as some sickeningly pleased grin pulled up his mouth.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Burgers and fries. Smells great as usual.”

  Tate frowned, his anxiousness increasing every second. “No. Did you scent that wolf?” He let the car roll up to the pay window.

  Caleb's head snapped up so quickly Tate thought it might hit the ceiling of the truck cab. “What wolf?” he demanded, voice suddenly a growl. He took a long sniff of the air, searching. Glaring, he said, “I don't smell anyone. You sure?”

  Tate couldn't keep still as he, too, searched again for the beguiling scent and couldn't find it. “Calm down,” he said, as much to himself as to Caleb. “It was a female wolf. Definitely not a rogue. I've never smelled her before.” He glanced back out the window as if he would see whoever she was just loping down the sidewalk.

  His wolf whined, then growled, straining against the hold Tate had over his more feral side. Crazy as it seemed, his wolf was about to win this round if he didn't take charge right now. Between one breath and the next, he made up his mind.

  “Pay and drive,” he said as he opened the door and tumbled out, barely remembering to put the truck into park. The clerk at the window drew back in surprise at the lanky cowboy suddenly departing his vehicle. “I've got to find her.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Caleb demanded. “Tate!”

  But Tate was gone, hurrying around the fast food joint and sprinting to the main street. Inhaling deeply as he desperately kept his highly agitated wolf from forcing a shift, he headed south down the sidewalk, easily dodging a few passersby with his long strides and focused determination to find her.

  Whoever she was. For whatever unknown but undeniable reason he needed to find her.

  There. He caught it again, just another slight whiff, but it was definitely her. Fresh, clean, wild and pure. She seemed oddly untouched, although he wasn't quite sure what that meant. His wolf carried him along, lending speed to his gait. A light wind gusted through, swirling down a few leaves from the trees planted here and there in little patches along the sidewalk.

  Rounding a corner almost at a run, he stopped so suddenly he almost fell over his own feet. There. She was right before him, walking down the sidewalk, her scent washing over him with a sweet strength he would have let knock him down without resistance. Slim, her posture relaxed and loose as she moved, eyes hidden behind huge sunglasses, body clad in form-fitting yet not revealing clothing. Everything about her electrified him, from the nearly white-blond hair flowing over her shoulders down to the dark jeans she wore that beautifully outlined her sexy legs.

  Her scent and something else raced over him, shivering into his bones, settling deep within him into something he'd never felt before but recognized with such surety there was no denying it.

  His mate. This female wolf was his mate. He had no idea how he knew that, but the truth of that awareness emanated from his every molecule. And he'd never seen her before now.

  She came to a sudden halt, having apparently recognized his own shifter scent as well. Mouth suddenly opening, body rigid with surprise and possibly fear—fear? Why did he sense that from her?—she inhaled sharp and quick. She stood completely still as she scented the air for danger from him. Her entire body was tensed, ready to flee. Even so, Tate could tell her own wolf was just beneath her skin, itching to claw out just as his was, as desperate to get to him as he was to her.

  Which was completely insane. His wolf was never this close to being out of control. And he'd never had a female wolf so eager to get to him she clearly fought against her human side, wanting to be loosed right on the side of a busy street in front of countless human eyes.

  Then again, he'd never before met his mate.

  “Who are you?” he asked, wonder and confusion marking his voice. He took a step toward her. “Please. I've never...I mean, I don't know.... Dammit,” he muttered, at a total loss for what to say or even think. What a way to sound like an idiot.

  Swallowing visibly, the beguiling woman retreated one step, then another. Her hair drifted soft and silky smooth around her face and shoulders as she moved away from him. Her wolf was so close to the surface Tate could sense her very essence: a tight bundle of wariness, wildness, and an easy freedom that oddly set him to feeling constricted and lost.

  “Wait!” he said as she took another step back. She paused, her entire body framed for escape. “Just tell me your name. Please. What pack are you from?

  A disdainful snort blew out of her nose, although even that was feminine and strangely attractive.

  “My own pack,” she finally said. The gossamer lightness of her voice smoothed itself all over Tate, making his already sizzling nerve endings even more raw with some undefinable need. “And that's all you need to know about me.”

  With the speed and grace of a natural predator, she spun on one heel and practically ran down the sidewalk, away from him.

  “Wait!” he said again, going after her. “I just want to talk to you.”

  Her only answer was to actually begin to jog, flicking one glance at him over her shoulder. Even behind her sunglasses he could tell she leveled a glare at him. One that said, Back off, buddy. Not welcome here.

  A mother walking by with her child gave Tate a highly suspicious look, pulling her kid in closer to her as she made an exaggerated path around him. Right. He probably looked like some lunatic stalker. Forcing himself to stop moving, clamping down so hard on his wildly upset wolf he thought he might explode from the effort of it, he watched the beautiful, unknown female wolf run away from him. Despite his instinct to give chase, he forced himself to stand still. He'd never threatened a woman before, and he wasn't about to start now. Especially not with this most unbearably alluring one.

  His mate. Someone he didn't know, had never thought he would meet, and who already seemed to distrust him because he'd ruined the moment like an overeager fool. She was leaving, and he could do nothing about it but watch her go.

  Chapter Two

  Claire gave herself a critical once over before she stepped out of her hotel room. Her clothes armored her. Dark jeans tucked into tall brown boots, a fitted white shirt, and a deep green cowl-necked sweater that flowed around her in a way that managed to be neither baggy nor clingy. She felt protected, strong, and ready to face the masses. Okay, they weren't exactly masses. Still, more and more people came to her readings with each new book she released. Her fiction apparently touched a core deep within many people. Her personal style and in-depth research added cachet to her books, according to her agent.

  It also helped that she was a “looker,” or so her agent had insisted. Claire would prefer not to have her author photo on each of her books. That, however, was something her publisher had strongly argued for, and won. Claire at least always appeared wearing either a hat or sunglasses, like a movie star trying to hide from fans. Not that she had rabid fans or anything like that, but as a wild wolf, she s
imply wanted privacy from the pack wolf world.

  The one battle Claire really won with her publisher was that her place of residence was secret. All anyone could ever find out about her was that she lived in Colorado. She valued her privacy almost as much as her freedom. It was the one battle line she'd drawn so firmly in the sand no one could successfully challenge it. She also used a plain last name on her books as a pseudonym. No sense advertising her true self more than strictly necessary.

  Shrugging into a fitted black coat she wore for looks rather than necessity thanks to her always heated shifter metabolism, she left the hotel and went outside into the brisk fall night air. The crispness of the air delighted her senses as much as the leaves that crunched beneath her feet each time she passed the striking red- and gold-leafed trees planted every several strides along the sidewalk.

  Best season, her wolf whispered. Yes. Fall was her favorite by far.

  As she walked to the bookstore a few long city blocks away, she took a deep breath, inhaling all the fascinating scents of the city. And finally, finally, she allowed her thoughts to drift to the life-altering encounter a few days ago with that gorgeous, strange male wolf. The one who'd shocked a bolt of sudden recognition through her, as if she not only knew him, but that he was important to her. Essential, even.

  Yes, her wolf said again, although this time it was not a whisper. This time, it was strong and certain. Claire had almost had to sit on her wolf the other day when that man had come barreling into her senses, as if he'd been chasing her. Her suddenly excited wolf had nearly leapt through Claire's control to force a shift, which was something she'd never experienced before.

  Over the years, from her few interactions with other shifters and from what her mother, Melle, had told her, Claire had come to understand that her human side and her wolf side shared a much more symbiotic relationship than most shifters. The flow between her selves was smooth and easy. She was just Claire, and sometimes she viewed the world from a more human angle, and sometimes from a more wolf angle. She never had to work hard to “control” her wolf, nor when she was a wolf did she have to work to keep from letting her human side dictate her actions more than necessary. She simply—was.