by Terry Spear
“Ural,” she tried to say, but his name stuck in her throat.
He slunk close to her, licked her cheek—warm, wet, welcome. She wanted to hug his neck, but she couldn’t move.
“Larissa!” the male voice shouted, growing closer, his footsteps sending a sliver of a tremor through the ground, and another, not far away.
Lelandi, she corrected him silently. Even her parents, her brother, and the pack members constantly mixed up their names, to her utter annoyance. She swallowed hard, her throat sore, the pain in her chest radiating throughout her body, agonizing, punishing. Where was she?
Ural nudged her face, then backed away.
Was he behind her? Protecting her?
Cold numbed her joints, her skin, her bones. She couldn’t sit or lift her head. But the darkness was beginning to grow light.
“Larissa!”
She opened her mouth to speak, but the snake had stolen her voice. She squeaked out something inaudible. Taking a deep breath, she shut her gaping mouth, and stared in the direction of the footsteps.
Small rocks, twigs, and leaves slid down the hill in advance of the marauders, hurrying down the steep incline toward her, nearer and nearer. They’d found her! But the elation was overshadowed by what they’d want to do with her next.
“Over here!” Darien’s rich baritone voice sent shivers of expectation through her torn-up body.
His hair was tangled by the wind, his brown eyes nearly black, his mouth grim and set.
Then she remembered. Larissa—she was…was dead. And Tom—shot. Was he all right? And Ural! If the grays catch him…
“Over here!” Darien shouted again, and soon another man crashed through the thick brush. Darien jerked his leather coat off and wrapped her in it.
Jake appeared, yanked a phone off his belt, shouted coordinates into the phone, and gave orders to keep searching for the gunman. “Shit.” Jake paused as whoever he spoke to must have finally got a word in edgewise. “Sam was shot.”
Darien stopped unbuttoning his shirt. “Is he…”
“Hit in the arm. He’ll live.”
“What about Silva?” Darien removed his shirt and started to unbutton Lelandi’s jacket.
“She’s shook up, but fine. The gunman’s dead.”
Darien looked up at Jake. “Anyone question him?”
“He’s dead.”
“Hell, Jake, I know that. But did anyone question him before he died?”
Jake shook his head and hung up the phone, then he lifted his nose and sniffed. “Do you smell a hint of a red?”
“Can’t as much perfume as she’s wearing.” Darien pulled up her turtleneck.
The cold air chilled her already frozen skin. He muttered an ancient wolf curse, then tucked his body-warmed flannel shirt against her wounds—smelling of him—all hot and spicy male.
Her mind drifted until he spoke again. “Who killed him?”
She stared at his bare chest, lightly haired, muscled, bronzed, beautiful. Who said men’s bodies couldn’t be beautiful? Every inch of him looked incredibly lickable, kissable, real.
“Not sure who killed him, Darien.”
“Damn it. The gunman should have been questioned.” Darien pulled her shirt down with tenderness, warming her, and then he used the same gentleness to close her jacket. “First off, who the hell are you?”
So much for the tenderness.
Through clenched teeth, she tried to growl, “Lelandi, and you know who the hell I am,” but her voice was too hoarse. Her eyes were so heavily lidded, she could barely keep them open, except to stare at his magnificent chest.
But why was the rest of him dressed? Naked, that’s the way he appeared to her in the dreams, his corded muscles rippling as he moved, every part of his sculpted anatomy ready to pleasure her. And why was she dressed? When she was always bared to the skin, waiting for his hungry touch?
He cursed. “God of thunder! My mate’s dead, so what the hell do you think you’re trying to pull?”
She lifted her gaze from his chest. Darien’s stern face shook her loose of her fantasy. Unable to fathom what he was talking about, she knew his mate—Larissa—was dead. She choked on a sob.
He lifted her off the cold ground and the sight of his naked chest, square set jaw, darkened eyes—everything—faded away.
“Woman,” Darien called out to her from a million miles away, his steely voice cloaked in concern.
She heard him, but couldn’t focus, couldn’t open her eyes. Her body floated, jostled over the rough terrain while the big gray carried her.
“How many times did he shoot you?”
Too, too many.
“What did he look like?”
Who? Her eyes fluttered open briefly, then slammed shut.
“Speak to me. At the tavern when you went to the restroom, what did the ladies do to upset you?”
Crowded me. Not since she had martial arts training had anyone messed with her. Took a near human rape to convince her she needed a way to protect herself as a human. Too bad she couldn’t have used it to disarm the gunman. But he hadn’t been close enough. If only she’d had her gun.
With a ragged sigh, she soaked in the heat of Darien’s body, the strength of his arms wrapped securely around her, the smell of his masculinity, the smell of his sex. No matter how harshly he acted toward her, no matter how disinterested he pretended to be, he couldn’t restrain that part of himself. He couldn’t hide the telltale signals that he wanted her, like any alpha male lupus garou craved a female. The sexual chemistry between them sizzled, sending a volley of heat sliding through her. She moaned and he tightened his grip on her. Larissa must have delighted in mating with such a rugged figure of a man, much, much bigger than a red.
“Larissa,” he said, commanding her to respond.
She frowned and opened her eyes. Jake gave her a look as grave as Darien’s as they climbed up the side of the ridge.
“Lelandi,” she said on edge, with barely the breath to breathe.
Darien’s grim lips scowled further.
She wrinkled her brows in concentration. “Three.”
Darien stared at her. “Three what?”
“Maybe she’s answering your previous question, how many times had she been shot?”
She nodded her head limply.
Jake ran his hand over his scruffy whiskers. “She’s pretty out of it.”
“That’s why I’m trying to keep her talking. Ask her something.”
“Where are your parents?” Jake’s voice was as demanding as his brother’s.
She swallowed hard, tamped down the pain in her heart, in her brain. Dead.
“We need to send her to her own people, let them take care of this,” Jake said.
“Whoever tried to kill her came into our territory. It’s our jurisdiction, our matter to handle.”
“But what if this had nothing to do with Lelandi?” Jake asked.
“Larissa,” she said, correcting him, this time angry. Couldn’t they get their names straight?
Darien ducked with her underneath the branch of an oak. “What if this does have to do with Lelandi?”
“Larissa,” she said again, her voice becoming unduly agitated.
Hugging her closer, Darien climbed over a fallen log. “She’s sure not following the gist of our conversation.”
The aroma of bacon, sausage, and ham cooking in houses at the edge of town wafted in the air, and a rush of voices and footsteps headed her way. A hawk glided on the wind in search of its own breakfast that morning, and clouds were building. A hint of an early snow on the breeze added to the chill in her bones, while the pain in her chest and back spiraled out of control.
Coveting the heat of the gray, she wanted to lean further into him, but she felt as limp as a rag doll, unable to control her destiny. Taking another deep breath, she tried to smell his sex again. Every man’s was different and most she never paid much attention to, but his was driving her mad. Virile, strong, musky, hot as a heated
oven in summer, tantalizing. Had his special scent caught Larissa’s attention?
Lelandi never figured she’d be drawn to the same male as Larissa. Must be the gunshot wounds screwing up her sense of smell.
“Hold on, Larissa,” Darien said, his voice darkly soothing. “Doc will fix you up.”
The look he shared with his brother cast doubt on his words.
“Get Doctor Weber,” she managed to croak out.
The silent glance that passed between Darien and Jake meant they had other plans. But Doctor Weber was one of the reds. He’d know what to do. He’d removed bullets from her flank when hunters had shot her as a wolf, resuscitated her when she’d nearly drowned.
“They’re bringing Sam in,” a guy said, crowding in with several others, hurrying to join Darien.
Sam? Oh, the bartender, devious smile, rugged, mountain-man type.
“Is he wounded badly?” Darien sounded gloomy.
“Not as bad as the little lady appears to be.” The man’s beer breath made her wince when he squeezed in close to get a look.
“Sam was shot in the arm, nothing vital struck,” another said. “But you know him, he’ll be serving drinks by this evening, boss.”
“Lupus,” she whispered and Darien’s eyes grew wide.
Before she uttered another sound, he leaned down and kissed her, but the kiss didn’t stop at silencing her words. His lips pressed deeper, promising more, willing her to agree, and then his warm mouth tantalizing hers faded away.
“Larissa,” he called out, drawing her forth from the darkness.
Darien’s dark eyes gazed at her, pensive, pained.
Several of the men chuckled.
“The ladies will be clamoring for a kiss that would make ’em pass right out.” Silva’s voice was silky soft, dreamy, wistful.
Vehicle doors creaked open, and Lelandi closed her eyes, wanting to say something more to force the gray to kiss her again, but she couldn’t come up with anything, her mind focusing on the way his lips touched hers—hungry, desirous, feral.
“Sure they weren’t a bullet?” someone asked, his voice hushed. special kind of
“No. She’s lost a lot of blood. The cold’s taken a toll on her, too. Riding with her, brother?” Jake asked.
Darien released her and she reached out to him, wanting his warmth, his comfort, another of his mind-numbing kisses. He seemed torn about showing any further affection.
Lying on something long, flat, and hard, she felt the blankets covering her, but the bone-chilling cold renewed after losing the heat of the big gray’s body.
“Meet you over there.” Darien’s voice sounded gruff and unreal, like he was trying to put on a show for his pack, trying to distance himself from her. “Got to check out Silva and Sam’s story.”
Feeling rejected, she wanted more of his touch, scowling at her, paying attention to her, anything. Yet, on another level, she shouldn’t feel any of these things.
“I can give you a report,” Jake offered.
Again, there was a prolonged hesitation. “No, I’ll check on her later.”
Darien’s rejection cut deep, and she turned her misty gaze away so she couldn’t see the hardened look in his eyes.
“I’ll go with her, Doc.” Jake climbed in beside her and the vehicle rocked like a boat adrift in turbulent water. He smelled different, not as sexual as Darien. Maybe because he wasn’t attracted to her like she sensed Darien was.
Heaven forbid. A gray. Her dead sister’s mate. And torn emotionally because of losing her. Yet, Lelandi couldn’t stop craving his touch.
“Wait up!” Silva said. “I want to ride with her.”
Darien put a hand on her arm, stopping her. “I need to talk to you first, Silva.”
“Can’t it wait, boss? Sam saw everything anyway. Uhm, as much as there was to see.”
Again, there was a long pause before he responded.
“Got to take care of the little lady,” a white-haired man said.
“All right, Doc. But I want to hear what happened out there soonest, Silva.”
Pack business. Nothing else counted. Certainly not Lelandi. Only the shooter who killed the gunman mattered. She gritted her teeth against the pain in her heart.
“Yes, siree, boss,” Silva said, her voice like cotton candy.
The ambulance jiggled some more, and Silva’s slight feminine fragrance scented the air.
The doors slammed shut and the woman smiled at Lelandi, her expression wistful.
“You sure shook that big gray out of his doldrums, sugar.” Silva turned to Jake. “So what in the world happened out there?”
“I could ask you the same, Silva. Why the hell did the gunman have to die before he talked?”
Lelandi croaked out, “He had to die. No witnesses.”
Chapter 5
AS SOON AS LELANDI’S LOOK-ALIKE SISTER HAD INVADED his favorite Friday night getaway since the death of his mate, Darien knew there’d be trouble. His men were sure he wanted her to replace his dead mate. The women were already jealous he’d be interested in another red. Despite the fact he’d made every effort to show no interest in her.
Except for the kiss. Hell, he’d only done it to silence her words. Yet, the kiss hadn’t just stopped at prohibiting her from speaking, nor had he wanted it to, which was absolute madness. Worse, he made her pass out, not because of his passionate kiss either. She was severely injured for Odin’s sake. What the hell was the matter with him anyway?
Letting his breath out in exasperation, he stood in front of Hastings Bed and Breakfast and examined Sam’s flesh wound, seeing where the bullet had grazed his upper arm.
Sam was telling his story again, probably for the fiftieth time, relishing every second of his moment of glory while the townsfolk crowded around, listening in. “The gunman was following us, but Silva was chattering as usual and must have distracted me. He fired before I could get a shot off. Whoever killed the man hid in the trees on a ridge. Have no idea why he hasn’t joined us to get a pat on the back.”
“Probably worried Darien would be pissed at him for not hitting the gunman somewhere less fatal.” Mason slanted Darien a look.
Humans, curious about what had happened, mingled with his people, so Sam and the rest of Darien’s people were cautious about what they revealed. Which made Darien think again about the kiss. Hell, he couldn’t have the little red wolf, half out of her head, talking about lupus garous.
“Let’s get you to the hospital,” Darien said, breaking up the show.
“I’ll take him.” Mervin still wore his old-time barber clothes, vest, red band around the arm of his white long-sleeved shirt, red bow tie, and the straw hat seated on his nearly black hair. “The sheriff’s cutting his vacation short and headed back here, Darien.”
“Good. I want a meeting at two this afternoon with my team.”
Once he’d seen the injured transported to the hospital, Darien returned to where the dead gunman lay. Two of his men rifled through the man’s clothes. His black eyes were lifeless, a scraggly two-day growth of black beard covered his face and his long hair was unkempt.
“No ID.” Mason removed his hand from the guy’s jacket pocket.
Not that Darien expected he’d have any. Not a local, but a human, and a good shot with a gun. A hired gun? Or his own job?
Mason jerked his thumb at the dead man. “The shooter killed him with one fatal shot to the head. Sure knew what he was doing. This guy used a 9-mm; powder residue on his hands and jacket, proving he fired the gun, silver bullets in his right side pocket.”
Darien shifted his perusal of the gunman to Mason, who shrugged. “The bullets in the chamber are regular. The ones in his pocket would have killed your brother and the little lady.”
“He didn’t believe.” Swamped with relief, Darien realized how lucky the woman and his brother had been.
Mason handed the bullets to Darien. “So a lupus garou killed him. How much you want to bet the silver’s from our mine?�
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“Might tie into the missing silver.” Darien’s attention shifted north where two of his men headed in his direction, John Hastings, owner of the hardware store and B&B and one of the founding fathers of the town, and Deputy Peter Jorgenson.
They both shook their heads, confirming they hadn’t located the other shooter.
Deputy Jorgenson’s amber eyes were nearly black, although he was never easily riled. “We found gunpowder residue and took pictures of where he’d stood and tramped down the grass.”
“Any trace of his scent?” Darien asked.
“So many of us were in the area, it’s hard to tell. Even Sam’s and Silva’s scents were drifting on the breeze up that way.”
Darien motioned to the gunman. “Take him to the morgue. I want Doc Featherston to conduct an autopsy and give me a report ASAP. Have a ballistic test run on the bullet and a comparison made on every lupus garou’s gun out here today.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Deputy Jorgenson said.
Mason walked back to town with Darien, his face scrunched up in thought. “You think the shooter was a red or a gray?”
“I think he was one of us or the shooter would have left a red scent. Easy to detect.”
“I smelled a red scent,” Hastings said, half of his gray hair, loosened from the leather strap, now whipping about his shoulders in the breeze. “Faint, but it was there.”
Darien glanced in the direction of the dead man and the deputy organizing a party to carry him. “Now that you mention it, Jake said he thought he smelled one near Lelandi. And we heard a couple of howls. Why didn’t Peter mention smelling any?”
“I was the only one who caught a whiff of it in the breeze. He discounted what I smelled. Said my sniffer wasn’t as keen as it used to be. I’ll give him that, but I know what I smelled.” Hastings shook his head. “Young whippersnappers.”
“Darien, wait up, boss!” Deputy Jorgenson shouted, chasing after him. “We’ve found evidence a red was in the area.”
Darien gave Hastings a knowing look.
Hastings snorted. “Yeah, my sniffer’s out of whack.”
Deputy Jorgenson handed a patch of red fur to Darien. “Found it stuck to some brambles and definitely smells like a red lupus garou.”
