The gamy scent of livestock drifted overhead. The Wild Eight wolves were headed toward a ranch at the bottom of the mountain. Wes saw them now, two of them up ahead. An old wooden ranch fence lay beyond.
They leaped over the fence, Wes close on their heels. Clearing the fence, he ran forward without hesitation until, with a loud metallic snap, pain shot through his front leg and paw. A yelp tore from his jaws. Uselessly, he tried to pull his paw back, only to find metal digging farther into his fur and flesh. The pain was hardly worse than the realization that the Wild Eight wolves’ scent now trailed in front of him, retreating, and he couldn’t follow.
A trap. The rancher had set a fucking trap. Damn it all to hell.
Blood poured from the wound. But it would heal. Wes could deal with the pain. It was how he was going to get the hell out of this trap that concerned him. His fellow Grey Wolves likely wouldn’t find him for hours. Their focus would be on the Wild Eight wolves, not keeping tabs on him, and it would take Black Jack at least an hour to track his scent. He snarled. The night was quickly taking a turn for the worst.
About thirty yards away, a porch light flicked on, blazing and searing his nocturnal retinas. As the sound of the Wild Eight’s paws against the ground faded away, the noise of a different challenge thudded in his ears. Approaching footsteps followed by the quiet click of shotgun shells being loaded into the barrel. Shit.
Adrenaline pulsed through him. Pack law forbade human knowledge of their kind. His choices were limited. Kill to save himself and preserve his kind as pack law allowed, or shift and risk them all for the sake of one human life. The hair on his haunches raised as his wolf prepared to fight.
Shame and regret immediately filled him. No, he couldn’t. Not again. He had already taken one innocent human life too many. Three years, and he still felt as if the blood were fresh on his hands…
As the footsteps drew closer, an internal war raged inside Wes. Teeth bared, he ignored the pain coursing through his paw and focused on the only real decision he had.
The only choice that ensured his survival.
* * *
Damn that idiot brother of hers.
Naomi Evans’s breath swirled in the cold autumn air as she fumed at her brother’s stupidity. The bulky weight of her father’s old breechloader pulled against the already-stressed tension in her shoulders. She loaded two buckshot shells. As soon as she’d heard that trap snap closed, she’d known Jacob hadn’t listened to her. She’d warned him that animal traps were not welcome on her ranch. That hadn’t sat well. Jacob was still sensitive that their father had left the ranch to her, the biologist, instead of him, the born-and-bred cowboy. She shook her head. Since the day their mother birthed him, Jacob had been determined to be a thorn in her side, but she hadn’t expected him to step over the line. She’d made her message clear: her ranch, her rules.
So much for that.
The sound of her shotgun’s barrel clicking into place resonated in the almost dead silence of the Montana mountainside as she walked out into the night. The summer crickets had long since left, leaving nothing but the occasional owl’s hoot or the rustle of the wind.
A deep sigh shook her. She didn’t want to do this. But there was no other choice now. She’d either have to call the Defenders of Wildlife to come collect it, or put that pesky beast out of its misery, depending on how bad its wounds were. Though now a rancher like her father before her, she had respect for the surrounding wildlife, something that the worldview of her Apsáalooke heritage and her interests as a former biologist had cultivated in her.
She’d tried everything. Extra fencing, chicken wire, a blow horn, warning shots, you name it. Everything the local environmental and animal protection groups suggested. But nothing had worked. She couldn’t afford to lose any more livestock, and the carnage left behind had been unlike any she’d ever seen. The thought made her shudder. From the dismembered carcasses, this one was some sort of alpha brute, or worse, a whole pack.
She stared out into the abyss of her ranch’s land with nothing but the swirls and bursts of twinkling stars and the stark white moonlight overhead to light her path, but the cold seeped into her skin at the thought of the wounded animal on her property.
A small rustling noise sounded. Immediately, she hoisted the gun to her shoulder. Adrenaline pumped through her. She should turn back now. Something inside her screamed this with pure certainty. There was little she could do for the animal at this point. Unless she wanted to get herself mauled, she couldn’t free it from the trap, and she didn’t need to see the extent of its injuries to report it to the Defenders of Wildlife. But she wanted to look this beast in the eye. As gruesome as the remains it left behind had been, the biologist in her marveled at a predatory animal that could hold such power, and the size of its tracks indicated this wolf to be some sort of anomaly—way larger than typical for the kinds that roamed this mountain range.
“You couldn’t stay away, could you?” she whispered into the darkness, the question as much for herself as for the animal.
A snarl answered back. She crept toward the noise, eyes glued to the rustling animal just out of reach of the porch light. Only movement and a vague outline to her eyes, but she knew it was him.
As she reached the edge of the darkness, her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The grey wolf lay hunkered down in the dirt. Canis lupus irremotus, her mind instantly cataloged. A Northern Rocky Mountain grey wolf. Yet much larger than what would be typical for the species, especially since their reintroduction to the wild. They’d been almost extinct barely twenty years earlier. The trap anchored the wolf’s front paw. Around the wound, blood pooled black in the moonlit mountain dirt. From the looks of him, the Defenders of Wildlife would be able to patch this beast up and then hopefully release him back into the wild. Maybe by then, he wouldn’t be as fierce and brazen about slipping fences to eat livestock.
She stepped forward. At the sight of her gun, the wolf snarled again.
But she held the gun steady for her protection. She may not want to kill the creature, but if it came down to his life or hers, she’d pull the trigger, no matter how it would break her heart. As she examined the large, majestic beast before her, a heavy weight pulled on her conscience. Animals like this withered in captivity if not treated right. “Sorry, bud. I didn’t want to do this,” she mumbled.
The wolf’s golden eyes held her gaze for a prolonged moment. It examined her with equal curiosity. When it finally broke eye contact, the air surrounding the wolf suddenly shifted and bent. Fur retracted and limbs shifted.
Naomi’s breath caught in her throat. Two seconds ago, she’d been face-to-face with a large, angry grey wolf. Now, a man crouched before her. Before she questioned her own sanity and whether she’d accidentally mixed the glass of cabernet she’d drunk at dinner with medication she’d somehow forgotten she’d taken, she lifted her gun again, clinging to her only means of protection.
His deep, gravelly voice rumbled through her chest. “Don’t shoot.” He lifted a hand in surrender.
Gun at the ready, she stepped backward. “Get up.” She said it because she wasn’t entirely sure what else to say.
He remained on the ground.
She brandished the gun. “I said, get up.” She fought to keep the terror and shock from her voice, though her heart pounded against her chest.
Slowly, he extended to his full height. Instantly, she regretted her demand. Now, at the end of her gun’s barrel stood a man—a very large, very naked man.
“I’m not going to harm you.” His gaze followed hers to his bloodied arm. “We’re at an impasse.”
Funny, considering he was the one in her animal trap. “I’m the one holding the gun, asshole,” she retorted.
Slowly, he nodded. “Fair enough.”
She stood there, gun poised on him, unmoving. Her breath swirled around her face in the cold night air.
She’d barely been prepared to kill a wolf, let alone a man. As she calculated her next move, he stood naked before her, both hands lifted in surrender. The trap clamped onto his forearm failed to faze him, despite the blood running down his arm. The expression on his face remained unaffected, distant, rather than panicked or aggressive.
She needed to subdue him. Right?
Briefly, she considered calling the police, but she quickly reconsidered. Predominantly white law enforcement had never been kind to her people. And a young Apsáalooke woman reporting a naked, unarmed Caucasian man caught in a wolf trap seemed like a recipe for harassment. Her idiot brother was out of town for the week—so there’d be no help there. She could call someone from the Nation, she supposed, but the nearest tribal police on the res were an hour away, and they didn’t hold sovereign authority outside their lands. Not to mention she’d be damned if she needed a man to save her. This far into the mountains, it was just her and her father’s shotgun on this one.
“Where did the wolf go?” she asked.
The slightest lift of his eyebrow questioned her sanity. But not in the way she’d been hoping.
“That’s not humanly possible,” she breathed.
He smirked as if she amused him. “Good thing I’m not human.”
Suddenly, the eyes of a wolf stared back at her, though he was still a man. She stumbled back in fear. He lunged, and she pulled the trigger. The shot rang in her ears, echoing through her ranchland. A hard, heavy weight hit her square in the chest, and she felt herself falling. The starlight blurred before her eyes until everything faded into black.
Chapter 2
When Naomi was three years old, she had nearly drowned. Her parents had taken her into the mountains to explore and see the Yellowstone River. She remembered the way the white waves of water crashed against the rocks. Her mother’s voice had called out to her to stay away from the edge. She could still feel the slip beneath her small purple sneaker before she plunged into the water.
The river had engulfed her, and for a moment, all sound ceased to exist. The current had twisted and pulled her under. And then she had heard it. The sound of her mother’s screams on the surface. And though she didn’t know how to swim, she had kicked.
When she’d resurfaced from the water, the park rangers had said it was nothing short of a miracle. But Naomi knew the truth. She’d saved herself. In that moment, she had decided that she would be a fighter.
Even as she floated through the darkest confines of her subconscious mind, the will to break free moved through her, driving her like an invisible hand as she struggled to resurface from the darkness.
The beeping sounds of hospital machinery rang in her ears, the memory sharper and more piercing than a knife. The sun streaming through the nearby window beat down on her face, but it did nothing to warm her. Cold. She felt so incredibly cold. Cold enough that she shivered from head to toe. Staring at the empty hospital window frame, she knew what came next. She fought not to turn her eyes toward the bed, not to be reminded of the way his body had become crippled and withered.
But she lost.
Her gaze turned toward him, but not of her own accord. Her father lay in the hospital bed, half-lidded eyes staring up at her as the chorus of machines screeched their terrifying cry. The light inside those eyes began to fade. Terror gripped her. She heard it then. The sound of her voice screaming, howling like a madwoman for the nurses to come. But even then, she’d known it was too late. And that was when the weight of it had hit her.
The sounds of the hospital, of her screams, quieted, transitioning into a constant ringing in her ears as the final light faded from his eyes. Dead flat. Until they weren’t…
Yellow eyes, sharp and piercing. A wolf’s eyes.
Naomi came to on a jolt of energy and fear. Dreaming. She had been dreaming. Closing her eyes again, she slowed her breathing. A gentle sway moved beneath her as she lay on her stomach, her spine curved in an upside-down U. Where the hell was she? Her head throbbed, and her thoughts somehow felt fuzzy. Was she on a horse? The oily scent of coat polish permeated her nose, and from the gentle sway, it certainly felt like it. But she didn’t trust her disoriented head. Hadn’t she been at home just moments ago? As she attempted to push herself up, a soft tug pulled at her wrists. She shifted until her wrists were in front of her face. Loosely tied rope wrapped around her wrists. Panic flooded her. She scrambled in an attempt to sit up. Immediately, she slipped from where she’d been perched, and her back hit the cold mountain ground with a hard thud.
“Shit,” a nearby male voice cursed.
The moon above bathed the normally pitch-black forest in pale moonlight. A horse’s hooves leading up into thick, muscled legs stood less than a foot away from her; its coat was as dark as the night sky. Equus ferus caballus. A black American mustang, a typically free-roaming species. She scrambled to sitting despite the ache in her shoulders from the fall. It took her all of two seconds to ascertain she’d been riding passed out on the back of the horse. And this horse was decidedly not free-roaming.
She didn’t think. Jumping to her feet, Naomi darted into the trees. She had to escape. Had to get back to her ranch. Her feet flew over the hard mountain terrain as she ran downhill. Ten yards in, a rock caught the toe of her boot, and she toppled into the dry autumn leaves. She started to scramble to her feet again.
And that’s when she saw him, looming in front of her. Her captor.
He sat on the back of the dark horse, hands clutched in the beast’s mane, those same yellow wolf eyes narrowed in her direction. Thankfully, he was clothed now. Or at least wearing pants and little more, as it were.
He rode before her as a man. But his eyes told the true story.
“Werewolf.” The word fell from her lips.
“Glad we’ve gotten that out of the way,” he said.
She jumped at the deep rumble of his voice. His voice was human, but those dangerous yellow eyes…
He dismounted the horse, and her eyes widened as she took in the full sight of him. Mangy blond hair brushed beneath his chin, wild and unkempt. He stood unnaturally still, wolf eyes ablaze through the darkness. Harsh, brutal features comprised his face. Jagged cheekbones, a bladed nose, an angry slash of a mouth, and a strong jaw lined with a thin layer of coarse blond stubble clenched tight. He watched her with relentless intent. Violent battle scars marred the skin of his chest, highlighting the bloody wound at his shoulder from where her shot had grazed him, and the deep slashes of the now-removed wolf trap in his forearm only served to make him appear all the deadlier.
Wild, fierce, virile.
Dangerous.
In her work as a biologist, she had developed a brief, flirting fascination with large apex predators. After she’d finished her degree, she’d accepted a brief summer internship at a large-cat rescue in northern Florida, where she’d worked with the rehabilitated predators up close. She’d been captivated by the languid way they moved, their ability to become so still in anticipation before they struck or lunged at prey, a trait common among predators across varying species. Being so close to such strength and power had filled her with both excitement and fear. She remembered once observing a cougar crouch in anticipation of catching a live rabbit that had been released into its cage. The intense, deadly look in its eyes had both thrilled and terrified her. Making her want to draw closer while also being thankful a cage had stood between them.
She had no such protection now.
It was the cold, ferocious intent in his golden wolf eyes that paralyzed her, that held her captive. Even in this form, he was lethal, standing well over six feet, his body unforgiving muscle and sinew that moved with predatory fluidness.
Few would have called him handsome. Terrifying seemed more accurate, yet she couldn’t pull her gaze away. She didn’t want to.
He wore nothing but a pair of loose jeans covered with riding chaps. The co
mbination hung low enough on his hips to serve as a reminder there was nothing underneath. Her eyes followed the trail of blond hair on his muscled abdomen. The material covering him seemed so precariously perched there that it sent a wave of embarrassed heat straight to her cheeks.
Slowly, she shifted her legs underneath herself until she crouched over the tree roots. Though she naturally loved the outdoors, having grown up on a ranch, she’d never been a very fast runner. But she had to fight, had to try. She knew these mountains. She could find her way to her ranch, even in the dark. Right? He took one step toward her, and even that small movement was predatory, not fully human.
And she was his prey.
She didn’t think.
She bolted again. She made it all of two strides before the large weight of him collided with her side. She toppled to the ground face-first, hands still bound, but she wasn’t going down without a fight. She tucked her bound hands under her chest and army crawled forward. One large hand locked around her ankle and wrenched her back toward him. She screamed, thrashing and kicking against his hold. She fought with every ounce of strength she had, but he subdued her with ease. She’d known the escape attempt would be futile, but she couldn’t have lived with herself if she hadn’t tried.
She kicked him again.
“Oh no, you don’t.” He prowled up the length of her body until he pushed flush against her, his arms pinning her chest to the ground.
She was skilled in a knife fight. Despite her bound wrists, she reached with both hands for her blade, the one her brother, a decorated veteran, had trained her so well with, only to find it wasn’t there.
Her opponent held one arm against her breastbone, and the other went to his belt. “Looking for this?” He held her knife up with a dark smirk.
Naomi froze. Adrenaline gripped her hard and fast. She immediately recognized the Ka-Bar her brother had given her. Jacob still held loyalty to the brand from when he’d been in the Marines. With it, she held her own, thanks to Jacob’s training, but without…
Cowboy Wolf Trouble Page 2
