by Terry Spear
She ought to let them deal with this on their own, but it was all about her, and she didn’t want them fighting each other over nothing. Especially since she knew neither was interested in settling down with a mate. And she was afraid that this time Bjornolf would be quite angry if Finn hit him again.
She sighed and set her teacup on the dresser, then headed back down the hall. She intended to get them both ice packs to help reduce the bruising and swelling that she sure would have resulted. Finn’s hand had to hurt, and Bjornolf’s face, too.
But what she found surprised her. Both men were sitting in lounge chairs on the back deck, watching the ocean and drinking mugs of coffee, neither talking, just enjoying the view. Well, she guessed they didn’t need her to help them sort out their differences.
Good. It was best she stay out of it.
She was about to return to the bedroom to get her teacup and fix some more tea when she heard someone in the garage. Before she could warn Finn or Bjornolf to check it out, the door flung open, and she let out a squawk.
Finn was the first one barging into the kitchen from the deck with gun drawn to protect her. Bjornolf raced in on Finn’s heels, armed in the same manner.
“Paul, hell,” Finn exclaimed. “You should have warned me you were on your way over here from Anna’s hotel.”
“Sorry, Paul,” Meara said, studying the blond-bearded man, whose brown eyes were focused on her. He was as tall as Bjornolf and Finn, but he was thinner, wirier, less muscled. “I didn’t recognize you wearing a beard, and you scared me when you, barged in so suddenly.”
Paul shook his head. “Sorry, Meara. I hadn’t meant to frighten you.”
Heart still palpitating, Meara sat on a kitchen bar stool and hid her shaking hands in her lap. She had been sure the man was another assassin out to get her and Finn. “No problem.”
Paul turned to scowl at Finn. “Hunter said hands off, damn it, Finn. You can watch Anna’s back in the future. I’ll stay with Meara and watch hers from now on.”
Meara’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d thought Paul had word that an assassin’s attack was imminent. But she’d never have thought he’d be worried about Finn’s intentions toward her.
“You don’t have to worry about Finn,” she said soberly. “Hunter’s got him shaking in his combat boots. He won’t take advantage of me.” At least not if she didn’t approve first. But as far as wanting a mating, no chance at that. She cast a glance in Bjornolf’s direction.
He held his hands up in surrender, his eye and jaw discoloring. “I’m keeping out of this one. Finn’s all yours, Paul.”
Finn was looking amused about Meara’s comment, though. She was sure no one had ever described him as shaking in his combat boots.
Finn shook his head at Paul. “What did Anna say to get you all riled up?”
“Enough.” Paul’s eyes turned stormy, and his lips thinned with anger as he regarded Finn with hostility. He was wearing blue jeans and a Hawaiian shirt with eye-hurting pink palm trees and green flamingoes, which didn’t make him look as lethal as she knew he could be.
She wondered where he’d been staying before he’d arrived on the coast. She didn’t want to ask him what Anna had said about her and Finn in case Anna had seen what they had been doing on the beach before she’d joined them.
But what she really wanted to know was why Anna was watching out for Meara’s welfare. Trying to make brownie points with Hunter? Or was Anna more interested in Finn than Meara had thought and wanted to get everyone worked up? Whatever her reasoning, she’d stirred up a hornet’s nest.
It also made her wonder about Paul’s motivation. Was he truly jealous that Finn had gone beyond the call of duty when Paul himself hadn’t had a chance? Or was Paul more concerned that he hadn’t stepped in soon enough on Hunter’s behalf?
“Hunter called me and said you’d left his sister alone, and then this guy…” Paul jerked his thumb at Bjornolf, “…could have taken advantage of her. But Anna said you’ve also been overstepping your boundaries with Meara and that needs to be stopped, or she’ll tell Hunter.”
Meara frowned, not liking that Anna had threatened such a thing. That made her think Anna secretly did have a fondness for Finn that he might not even be aware of.
At that, Finn gave Paul a disgruntled look. “For everyone’s information, Meara’s a big girl and can make her own decisions.”
“Hallelujah,” Meara said. “Someone finally recognizes that.”
“Did you ask Hunter for permission?” Paul persisted as if he hadn’t heard what Finn had said.
“I don’t need permission,” Finn continued. “Only Meara’s.”
“That’s not what Hunter says.”
“He’s changed his mind.”
Ha! When the hell had that happened? Finn ought to know he’d get caught in the lie.
Paul’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re mating her?”
Meara could have laughed at the shocked expression on Finn’s face. She gave him a moment to allow him to backpedal, but when he still didn’t respond, she figured she’d put him out of his misery and take control of the situation. Like an alpha female would. “No, he’s not mating me. I wouldn’t have him. Or you, or Bjornolf, either. Allan, now he’s a different story.”
Not Allan either, but since he had been wounded, wasn’t here, and couldn’t defend himself, he sounded like the perfect scapegoat.
She didn’t give anyone the chance to respond to her statement, figuring they were all too surprised. Allan was the least likely to catch her attention because he reminded her of a gruff bear at times, rather than a wolf. But if they told him that she thought he was an acceptable mate, he might show up unexpectedly on her doorstep looking to date her. That wouldn’t do. Before anyone could say anything, she turned on her heel and stalked toward the back door leading out to the deck. Once outside, she ran down the wooden stairs and then walked across the warming sand, her toes squishing through the soft sifting grains.
A couple of boats motored past, and she had the greatest urge to swim. Well, actually, shift.
She really wanted to shift, which made her feel so attuned to nature, to the wilderness, to her wild side. She glanced at the woods surrounding the cliff and made the decision right then and there. If she ran into any assassin, she’d take care of the menace on her own.
She could hear Paul still arguing with Finn inside the house, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Bjornolf had turned to watch her out the window. The way his eyes widened and he reached for the door handle, she knew he realized she was up to something. And he planned to stop her. Tired of everyone controlling her movements, she stalked up the hillside to where the terrain and trees hid her from the bay window’s view.
Then she stripped out of her clothes—feeling free and natural and gloriously naked—and left her clothes in a pile under a tree. With heat filling every cell, a nice quick stretch, and a quick blurring of forms, she shifted.
The door opened, slamming against the wall, and then frantic footfalls raced down the steps. They were too late.
***
“Hell, Meara!” Finn shouted, ahead of the pack as he raced down the stairs.
“She’s shifting,” Bjornolf said. “I saw the way she looked back at the house to make sure none of us was observing her. When she saw me watching her, she headed for the hill north of the house and out of sight.”
“There!” Finn pointed at her clothes next to a pine and began stripping off his clothes. When Paul began to yank off his shirt, Finn shook his head. “Just me. We can’t have a whole pack of wolves running through the area.”
“Then I’ll go after her,” Paul said brusquely.
Ignoring him, Finn shifted, welcoming the warmth of the fur covering his bare skin and the length
of the four legs that would propel him through the forest and take him to her. He sniffed the air with his long snout and breathed in her scent, adrenaline racing through his blood as the urge to hunt compelled him to climb the steep hill and bolt into the woods.
“You were saying?” Bjornolf said to Paul, sarcasm in his voice.
“Damn it, Finn,” Paul said. “You bring her straight back here!”
“Are you going to tell Hunter what Finn said?” Bjornolf asked.
Finn wondered what Paul would do.
Paul growled. “Why don’t you just crawl back under the rock where you came from?”
Bjornolf laughed, and in his wolf form, Finn smiled.
***
Meara wanted to run miles away—just for the fun of it. Not because she wanted to run away from the men or cause trouble. Running was in their wolf blood. She loved stretching her legs, exercising, smelling the smells, and collecting them in her wolf fur and taking them back to the den, so to speak, to relive the memories when she returned to the human-built home. The freedom she felt was so part of being a wolf.
She often ran when she felt like it, but especially when she felt stressed, tense, or confined. She really hated all this spy stuff and having to stay out of an assassin’s sights, although she wondered if the assassins they had already killed had been enough of a warning to the others that she and Finn weren’t easy targets and no one else would bother them.
At least that’s what she hoped.
But then she heard him—a wolf tracking her. No, two. One to her flank and one from behind. She’d never seen Hunter’s team members in their wolf coats, except for Finn back at her house, and not Bjornolf either, so she wouldn’t recognize them on sight unless one was Finn. And she wasn’t facing the wind the right way to catch their scents, but they would be getting a fill of hers.
She halfway assumed they would be Paul and Finn. Bjornolf was too cocky to stoop so low as to chase her down.
But when the first of the wolves suddenly shot out from behind some trees, she darted away to avoid being tackled. He was larger than she thought any of the men might be, a dark gray with barely any markings. Just a little bit of black fur over his eyes to make him appear as though he were frowning. Maybe he was.
Probably he was.
But he wasn’t Finn. The worst of it was that his legs were much longer than hers, and he ran faster so that even though she had dodged out of his path, he was now following her and quickly catching up. And then he lunged. She sensed, rather than saw, that he would jump to catch her from behind, and he did. The weight of his body and the violent impact effectively brought her down, and she yipped in surprise.
But the way he growled at her in a sinister manner that made her suspect he wasn’t one of the good guys.
She tried to get out from under the wolf, but she couldn’t move an inch with his weight pressing her to the pine-needle floor.
She feared he’d bite her in the spine to kill her, but a growling from behind them warned that another wolf was approaching in a hurry. Before the one on her back could move, the other jumped. She felt the impact of his mass striking the wolf pinning her down and causing the additional body weight to crash into her, too. Buried under the two wolves, she yelped again.
The newly arrived wolf’s teeth clashed with those of the wolf on top of her as he lay on his side, squishing her. But he couldn’t move away, either, as the newcomer viciously attacked, tooth enamel clashing against tooth enamel, throats growling, and the heavy smell of testosterone in the air as the two wolves tangled.
The term “top dog” came to mind, even though that was an insult to their wolf kind. The one on top did have the advantage, and he wasn’t giving it up. The one beneath him struggled to get free, all the while fighting for his life, his mouth wide open, teeth bared as he fought the one on top. Attempting to keep the attacking wolf’s teeth from sinking into his neck, he was effectively keeping Meara pinned in place. His struggles and massive weight pressed against her painfully bruised her, and she could barely suck in air.
As much as she hated being confined beneath a couple of roughhousing wolves with no way to help or retaliate or run, she tried to calm her panic and concentrate on any move between the two wolves that would indicate she had a little wiggle room to free herself.
The wolf on top of her made a momentous effort to ditch the attacking wolf, and the increased pressure of his massive body against her made her yelp again.
That made the one on top growl more deeply and tear into the other even more fiercely. Despite the noise they were making, she heard two more wolves racing across the ground. Her ear picked up the sound and vibration of their footfalls where her head was resting against the earth.
With a strangled bark, the one on top of her collapsed, and she knew the attacking wolf, her avenging wolf had killed the other one. Once she was able to lift her head and look, she saw that her protector was Finn. Teeth sinking into the massive wolf, Finn yanked him away. Then panting, he leaned over and licked Meara’s face as she struggled to sit up. So much for a nice wilderness run and the thought that she would kill any assassin that threatened her on her trek. She had never expected a wolf to come after her.
The other two wolves finally appeared, and from the way her savior looked at them, she knew they had to be Bjornolf and Paul. Finn shifted and stood before her, naked, sweaty, glorious. As a wolf, he was just as striking, but as a man, he was utterly gorgeous.
And from the scowl on his face, he was furious with her. She narrowed her eyes at him. She was sorry for the fight that had ensued, but she wasn’t sorry about taking a run to get out of the house for a while.
“Are you all right, Meara?” Finn asked, already crouching beside her, feeling her ribs with his fingertips, and touching gently to keep from hurting her.
But the bruises hurt, and where the wolves had pressed hard against her, her muscles were sore. She winced, and he quickly pulled his fingers away and said with genuine concern, “I’m sorry. The good news is you appear to have no broken ribs.” His gaze returned to hers. “He didn’t have time to bite you?”
She shook her head, and despite trying to justify her actions to herself, she felt unworthy of Finn’s kindness.
Still wearing their wolf coats, Bjornolf and Paul watched her, but then the one directed the other with a nod of his head toward the naked dead man—a heavyset blond with large bones, fair skin, and lifeless amber eyes. The two wolves took hold of his arms with their teeth and dragged him deeper into the woods.
She only hoped that however they disposed of him, their wolf kind wouldn’t be held accountable for the man’s untimely death.
“Are you ready to return to the beach house? Do you need for me to carry you?” Finn asked.
She stumbled to get to her feet, feeling sore and bruised, but unless she passed out, she wasn’t going to make Finn carry her all the way back to the house.
Finn’s dark expression was unreadable now, although she surmised he was upset with her. Trying not to look as sheepish as she felt, she headed back to the house, head held high, ears twisting back and forth, as she listened for sounds of the other wolves as they conducted their business with the dead man or of anyone else who might be prowling the woods.
Proudly, she held her tail high like an alpha wolf. She might feel badly for having alarmed everyone, but she wasn’t going to skulk back with her tail tucked between her legs like a beta over it. And as reluctant as she was to have to concede her recklessness—although she still felt that dealing with stress by running as a wolf was only natural—she would apologize to Finn and the other men.
She didn’t have to look back to see Finn following her. Having shape-shifted again, he quickly joined her, running close beside her as if he were her mate.
He had to know she wasn’t planning to tear off for parts unknown. Bu
t then again, maybe he was just trying to ensure she was protected in case another wolf showed up with deadly intent.
When they finally reached where they’d ditched their clothes, Finn offered to help Meara dress. At first, she was reluctant, but then feeling bad again about running off, she acquiesced. When she was dressed, she waited for him to dress, and then he took her by the hand as if they were on their first date and walked her across the sand to the stairs leading to the beach house’s deck.
“Are you all right, Meara?” Finn asked tenderly.
She nodded, and then he took her inside, making her wait in the kitchen where she took a seat on one of the bar stools. He hurried through the house, checking it, she surmised, for anyone who might have slipped in when they were all out running as wolves.
When he came back and stood before her, she looked up at his tender gaze and said, “I’m so sorry. I—”
“Don’t be, Meara.” He kissed the top of her head and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Why should you be sorry? Hell, Paul and I were fighting with each other like a couple of damned teens instead of watching the area for any sign of an assassin.”
“But—”
“You drew him out, distracting him, just so I could get the advantage.”
She rolled her eyes. “You can’t be serious. Hunter would have been furious with me.”
Finn touched her cheek with a gentle caress. “I’m not your brother.” He pulled her from the bar stool and, with his hand wrapped around hers, guided her to the master bedroom.
“What…?”
“A soak will do you a world of good for the sore muscles.” He smiled at her, and when he took her into the master bathroom with its whirlpool tub built for two, he stretched his arms above his head a little.
In that instant, she wondered if he planned on joining her in the bath. But what if Paul and Bjornolf learned about it? The word would definitely get back to Hunter, and she was certain he wouldn’t like it.
