Running With Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 1)

by Dakota West

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “I’m just sorry you’re crying and your nose is running on our first date,” he said.

  “Not that it would be the first time,” Greta said. She took another sip of her cocktail, and could practically feel her filter fall a little further away.

  “Once, my mom set me up on a date with this pair who were so awful that I pinched myself under the table until my eyes started watering, and then I said I had a stomachache and had to leave.”

  Elliott laughed. “You couldn’t just tell them you were having an awful time and you didn’t want to continue the date?”

  Greta made a face. “I hate it, but it’s easier to lie,” she admitted. “The few times I’ve been honest, the guys have... not taken it well. And then half the time, they tell my mom, and she asks me why I won’t be serious about trying to settle down, and so we have to have a fight about that.”

  There was a tap on the window, and they both turned their heads to see Shane on the other side. He pointed at Elliott, then crooked his finger.

  “I’m being summoned,” Elliott said. “Scuse me.”

  Greta watched them through the window, as they talked for a moment. Elliott said something that she couldn’t quite hear, and then Shane laughed, jerking his head toward the back of the room. Elliott disappeared from the window, and a minute later, he appeared with plates, napkins, and silverware at the door.

  “We’re eating out here,” he said, setting her place. “Food should be up in a jiff, and I might even know where we’ve got some candles.”

  Greta was impressed. She couldn’t have found candles in her own house, that was for damn sure. Not that she needed them; after all, she did spend most of her waking hours at the Tooth & Claw. She’d never slept there, but she wasn’t above it if she thought it was necessary.

  She took another sip of her drink, leaving the tumbler only half-full. Shane and Elliott emerged from the house, carrying a platter of lamb chops, mushrooms, and asparagus, along with two different gravy boats filled with sauce.

  “You knew where the gravy boats were,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

  Shane laughed, and started setting the plates down on the table. Everything smelled astonishing, the roasted, browned scent of the lamb combining perfectly with the slightly sharp smell of the red wine sauce, not to mention the earthy tones of the mushrooms balanced out with the lemon notes floating her way from the asparagus.

  It was just about all Greta could do not to just stick her face into the plates and eat, not even bothering to use her hands. Her stomach growled, and she tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, but Elliott looked over at her.

  “I know, right?” he said.

  In the middle of the table, he put down a camping lantern.

  “I couldn’t find the candles,” he admitted. “I’m not quite that good at labeling boxes. Dig in.”

  He didn’t have to tell Greta twice, and she helped herself to everything on the table, heaping mushrooms and asparagus and lamb onto her plate, chowing down immediately. She did manage to use her knife and fork, and she remembered to put her napkin on her lap.

  Mom would be so proud, she thought. Oh, my God, this is amazing.

  “Thish ish so good,” she said, her mouth half-full. “You made this?”

  “You watched me,” said Shane.

  The three of them fell silent, all totally preoccupied with eating.

  After dinner, the kitchen was finally smoke-free, so Shane and Greta went to sit on the couch by the fireplace again as Elliott cleared the dishes and got dessert.

  “Was high school as bad as Elliott says?” Shane asked, keeping his voice low.

  “Lord, yes,” said Greta. “Not to get all philosophical, but does anyone ever really enjoy high school?”

  “I bet someone does,” Shane said. “It wasn’t any of us, sounds like, though.”

  “I thought you said you were on the football team.”

  Shane smiled a little sadly, then drained his tumbler and set it on a box next to the couch. “I was,” he said. “I also got suspended so much that they almost expelled me.”

  “What for?” Greta asked.

  In front of the couch were two boxes, stacked side-by-side and covered with a cloth, and Greta slipped her shoes off and put her feet on one box, only millimeters away from Shane’s.

  He turned his head and looked down at her. The scar next to his eyes almost seemed to move on its own in the firelight, and Greta felt like his blue eyes looked straight through her body and into her soul.

  You’re drunk, she thought. Who the hell thinks things like that?

  “Guess,” he said, his eyes crinkling with a half-smile.

  “Fighting,” Greta said.

  “You got it,” he said, then turned back toward the fire. He re-crossed his feet on the makeshift coffee table, and now their big toes were touching.

  Greta’s heart skipped a beat, but she tried to play it cool.

  “Believe it or not, I’ve actually mellowed out since then,” he went on. “Don’t tell any of the folks around here, but I saw a therapist for years for my anger management issues.”

  Greta’s eyes widened. She was aware that humans thought therapy was pretty normal — and as far as she could tell, other shifters, too — but that sort of thing was nearly verboten with wolves. In wolf society, if you had a problem that was less serious than a broken bone, you sucked it up and got on with your life.

  If you had a psychological problem, you were basically screwed. Greta had long suspected that if more wolves were in therapy, her bar would be a lot emptier.

  “It helped?” she asked.

  “It did,” answered Elliott, walking into the room balancing three dessert plates. His deep, beautiful voice made Greta’s bones hum. “That was the first bar fight he’d gotten into in almost three years. Nearly since we met.”

  Elliott started to hand her the plate with the cheesecake on it, then hesitated, the plate halfway to her.

  “Wait,” he said. “Close your eyes.”

  Greta looked at him and bit her lip, letting her gaze travel from his head to his feet and back up.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I like to see what’s coming.

  “Just cheesecake, I promise,” he said. He sat down on the hearth in front of the fireplace and cut a sliver of cheesecake off of his slice, scooping it onto his fork. “Come on,” he said with half a grin.

  Greta sat forward on the couch, no longer leaning back.

  “Why are you so gung-ho to feed me?” she asked. “I can feed myself just fine.”

  “It’s better if you’re not looking,” Elliott said, his voice half-serious, half-teasing. “That way you can only focus on what’s happening to your tongue.”

  Greta raised her eyebrows, and even though Elliott was backlit, she could have sworn he’d blushed. For her part, she felt warm all over, her core heating to near-molten levels.

  Who’d have thought that Elliott Whiting would get me so hot and bothered someday? She wondered. He used to tuck his t-shirts into his jeans that he wore practically around his armpits.

  To her right, she heard the sound of a fork against a plate, and looked over to see Shane already chowing down on cheesecake.

  “I’m not waiting for you two,” he said. “This thing has been calling my name from the fridge all day.”

  Greta felt her lips tugged into a smile.

  “All right, fine,” she said, and closed her eyes, then opened her mouth.

  Moments later, she felt the cool, creamy dessert slide between her lips, she closed her mouth around the fork before Elliott drew it back out.

  “Was that so bad?” Elliott teased.

  “Nnnggghh,” Greta said. For a moment, she couldn’t think about anything but the cheesecake in her mouth. It was perfectly creamy, with a texture that slid along her tongue, lighting up the taste buds all the way to the back of her mouth. The crust was crumbly in exactly the right way, and added a hint
of spice and sweetness to the tart, tangy deliciousness of the cheesecake itself.

  “This is amazing,” Greta said when she finally swallowed the mouthful. She didn’t open her eyes again, but savored the flavors, the feeling of the warmth from the fire on her skin, the light beyond her eyelids.

  “Want another bite?” Elliott asked.

  “Are you going to feed me the whole thing?”

  “I can,” he offered.

  There was the slight clink of a fork on a plate, and this time the sound sent shivers of anticipation up Greta’s spine, and she leaned forward.

  As Elliott pushed the fork into her mouth, landing the delicious dessert on her tongue, she felt Shane put one hand, casually, on her lower back. It almost burned, he was so warm, and the sensation sent a bolt of heat straight through her.

  She took another bite, and another, letting Elliott feed her the whole slice of Shane’s cheesecake, bit by bit, savoring it slowly. Shane’s hand made its way up her back, spreading his warmth through her, until she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “That’s all the cake,” Elliott said at last.

  “What else have you got?” Greta asked, her voice dusky and low with anticipation. She didn’t open her eyes yet. She was almost afraid that if she did, the magic of the moment would be ruined. Right now, she felt like any second anything could happen: a caress on her skin, a kiss on her neck, or more. If she opened her eyes, that might all go away.

  “I can think of something,” said Elliott, his own voice lowering.

  She could hear him move off of the hearth, and Greta thought that her heart might explode.

  I can’t believe the high school class nerd is seducing me like this, she thought. This is crazy.

  Then she felt his lips on hers, warm and gentle as he crouched in front of her, slowly pressing her back against the couch. Greta kissed back, worried because she hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, as she opened her mouth to him, already desperate for him to plunge deeper.

  Then Elliott’s tongue was there, sliding across her lower lip, almost tentative until Greta met it with her own. She wanted him to push her down on the couch, to wrap her legs around him, feel his bulk between her thighs. Instead she wrapped one hand around the back of his head, her entire body simply filled with want.

  First date, she reminded herself.

  Elliott pulled back, gasping, and then Greta realized that Shane had taken her hand in his. She turned her head and watched him spread her fingers and kiss her palm, then her wrist, then her elbow, until he nipped at her neck and she turned her head to kiss him on the lips as well.

  Where Elliott had been slow and seductive, Shane was powerful and hungry. His lips pressed down on hers as he opened his mouth, not bothering to ask permission to plunder her, even as Greta tangled her tongue with his, determined not to give an inch.

  Then Elliott licked at her neck, and Greta sighed, her chest heaving.

  “What was in that cheesecake?” she whispered, teasing.

  Shane grinned.

  “I’ll tell you, for a price.”

  Greta slid her finger down his neck from his chin until it landed underneath the very first button of his shirt.

  “How about I guess,” she said. “And for every right answer, I undo a button.”

  “You’ll never figure out the secret one,” he taunted.

  Greta turned her head toward Elliott, who was now sitting on her other side, in the couch, both hands around her waist.

  “You’ll help me, right?”

  “We’ll see,” he said.

  “All right,” Greta said. “Cream cheese.”

  Shane unbuttoned.

  “Sugar, salt, eggs,” she went on, her eyes glued to his chest.

  Three more buttons.

  “One more,” he said.

  “I think it’s two,” Greta said.

  She looked pointedly at the button on his jeans.

  “We never said it was just your shirt,” she pointed out.

  “Vanilla,” Elliott whispered into her ear, the soft tickle of his lips against that delicate shell making the hairs stand on the back of her neck. “And whipping cream.”

  “Vanilla and whipping cream,” Greta said.

  Shane undid the final button on his shirt and the only button on his pants, and Greta almost felt lightheaded with pure desire.

  In her pocket, her phone rang. A wolf howl.

  “Ignore it,” she said. After three more howls, it went silent, and Shane tossed his shirt across the room, sliding back down onto the couch and nuzzling Greta’s neck.

  She squealed, and then giggled in delight.

  What’s wrong with me? She wondered. I don’t giggle.

  Shane moved his warm hand under her shirt, and she giggled again.

  A wolf howled from her pocket, but she still didn’t care.

  “You still haven’t guessed my secret,” Shane said, his hot breath against her jaw.

  “Help me out here,” she said to Elliott.

  He moved a strand of hair off of her neck, then let his hand move down to her bosom, his finger just barely brushing over her nipple, outside her shirt.

  Greta gasped, and Elliott grinned.

  “Dunno,” he said. “I never cook.”

  The wolf howled again in her pocket, for the third time, and Greta shut her eyes in irritation.

  “That’s the bar,” she said. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  Elliott’s lips slid lower on her neck as she put the phone to her ear.

  “I’m busy,” she said.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” said Annika, the new bartender who was keeping the shop tonight.

  Elliott’s lips slid lower, and he pulled the neck of her shirt down a little. Greta bit her lip.

  “But there’s this guy trying to set your place on fire? And one of the regulars said I should call you instead of the police, first.”

  Greta stiffened on the couch, frowning, and Elliott and Shane looked at her.

  “Someone is trying to set the bar on fire? Call the fire department!” she said, her voice getting tense and high. “Don’t call me!”

  “It’s not that bad!” said Annika.

  Greta thought she might pop a blood vessel.

  “He’s really drunk, and he’s just got a pack of matches and keeps holding one to a leg of a pool table. They just burn out. The table’s not even scorched. He just keeps talking about how he’s gonna burn this place down if you don’t come talk to him.”

  “Who is it?” Greta asked.

  On the other end, she could hear the new girl ask someone at the bar was the drunk’s name was.

  “Ezekiel?” Annika said.

  Just call the cops, Greta wanted to say. The problem was, if the wolf cops came, they wouldn’t do anything. Zeke’s older brother was a well-loved officer. If the human cops came, they’d manage to find ten more minor violations, and then Greta would be paying fines for the rest of the month. The bar did well, but not that well, and she had bills to pay.

  “Send someone to come get me, I am going to KILL HIM!” she shouted into the phone, and then hung up, throwing her phone into the corner of the couch.

  “What is it?” asked Shane.

  “Remember that asshole you got into a fight with?” Greta asked.

  He nodded.

  “He’s ineffectively trying to burn my bar down and won’t stop if I don’t come talk to him.”

  “Call the fire department,” Shane said. “Or the cops.”

  Greta gave then the rundown of why that wouldn’t work, and watched as Shane’s nostrils flared and his temples pulsed.

  “Let us go with you,” he said.

  “No way,” she said. She stood from the couch, not wanting to still be sitting there between two men when whoever Annika sent showed up. “I can deal with my own problem, and Zeke is definitely my problem.”

  The two of them exchanged a glance that Greta couldn’t quite read, but that she was definitely suspicious of. />
  “What?” she asked, starting to pace the room.

  “He said you were his the night that Shane and him got into it,” Elliott admitted.

  “His what?” Greta asked. She cracked her knuckles, the pop making her feel ready for a fight.

  “Just his,” said Shane, still glowering on the couch. “That we had better leave because you belonged to him, like you were just a thing.”

  A car pulled up in the driveway, and Greta stomped toward the door.

  She reached it, opened it, took a deep breath, and then turned around, trying to smile.

  “Dinner was amazing,” she said. “I’m really, really sorry.”

  “We’ll see you at the pack meeting,” Elliott said. “Now go kick that drunk asshole out of your bar.”

  Greta and the barback, Jim, hardly spoke during the whole ten-minute drive back to her bar.

  “I’m really sorry,” Jim said. He was about twenty-two and had the exact look of a wide-eyed farm boy. “Were you busy?”

  Greta grit her teeth together. It’s not Jim’s fault, she reminded herself. Don’t take this out on him.

  “Kind of,” she said.

  One of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen was feeding me cheesecake while his mate kissed my neck, she thought sarcastically. Nothing I’d rather do than go kick this jerk out of my bar.

  She shoved her car door open before Jim even stopped completely, and stomped through the door and into the main room before he even had the engine off. A few regulars sitting at the bar glanced up at her, saw her face, and glanced away again.

  Annika just pointed at the two pool tables. Zeke was sitting on the floor, leaning his entire body against one of them, his face mashed up against the heavy wooden table. The air smelled like match smoke, and as Greta approached him, he unsteadily lit another one, then held the tiny flame to the thick wooden leg of the pool table.

  Nothing happened. The table leg was just beginning to turn dark brown where Zeke had been trying to light it on fire, but it was obvious that he could light a thousand matches without causing any actual damage.

  “Get the fuck out of my bar,” she said, standing with her hands on her hips.

  Zeke looked up at her. His eyes seemed like marbles in their sockets, rolling around loosely.