Her heart thumped upward into her throat like a jackrabbit. Her captor’s face hovered inches over hers, those wolf eyes staring at her with such intensity that it paralyzed her. Every inch of her burned with awareness at how close he was, that if he turned into a wolf again, he could kill her with ease with one bite of his powerful jaws.
This was one fight Naomi knew she wouldn’t win.
* * *
“You killed my sheep.” The sharp words bit through the night air.
Wes stared down at the human woman beneath him. Their noses were close to touching, and his body pinned her to the ground, yet the accusation fell from her lips without so much as an ounce of fear in her voice. He had no idea what she was talking about.
Focusing on the words proved difficult. Hard as he tried, his thoughts gravitated to the feel of her. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman beneath him? Small, taut breasts pushed tight against his chest, leading to a soft, feminine stomach that tapered into full hips.
As if the curves of her against him weren’t doing enough funny things to his head, he breathed in the deep scent of her as his eyes scanned the black coils of hair across her shoulders. His head clouded with the way her delicious smell tantalized his nose. Fresh-cut grass, baled hay, the open air, and the subtle smell of bitterroot flowers. They grew wild across the mountain plains in these parts.
His cock had immediately responded. He’d been ignoring the blood flowing further south in his body all evening, an unfortunate male side effect of adrenaline and battle. Or fortunate, depending on how he looked at it. But up this close and personal to her, the ache in his dick couldn’t be ignored.
What was wrong with him? She’d pointed a gun at his head. Had that shotgun not been nearly as big as she was, she’d have blown his arm off. And now his body responded to her like this?
He knew he was one sick bastard, but it was still jacked up.
Until her words interrupted, he’d been so focused on the plump curve of her lips that he’d almost lost himself and kissed her.
“You slaughtered my livestock.” Her voice was feminine but deep in a way that stirred low in his belly. To his ears, the noise sounded incredibly human and unintimidating, yet it raised his hackles. For a woman whose life he’d spared, then saved from the hands of the Wild Eight soon to be prowling her lands, her thanks had been shooting at him and now blaming him for petty ranch theft.
“I didn’t kill your livestock.” Slowly, he pushed into a plank position above her, then stood. He’d take his chance with her running again if it meant escaping the hazy fog her scent flooded over his brain. He tried not to notice the sudden chill down his front or the way his cock ached for the return of her sweet body heat against him.
She scrambled to her feet with some difficulty, considering her hands remained bound. Her full lips pulled into a scowl. “Evidence says otherwise. After all, you were the one in the trap not far from the sheep’s pen. Not to mention I smelled it on you just now.”
“Trust me, sweetheart, if I wanted a mutton steak, I’d take a chomp out of my pack’s flock.” He didn’t know which made him bristle more: the accusation that he’d murdered her flock, or her implication that he smelled like the inside of a damn barn. Which he likely did at the moment, considering he’d spent the morning herding a couple hundred of the Grey Wolf calves into the barn so his packmembers could begin preparing to take them to market soon, but that was beside the point. “If it’s the blood you’re referring to, that’s the blood of my enemies. Not your precious lambs.”
She struggled with the bindings at her wrists, attempting to remove them but with no luck. “I won’t take your word for it.”
“You’re a feisty one, huh?” He shook his head. What the hell had he gotten himself into? She was a pistol, and he liked irritating her. Every time those gorgeous brown eyes blazed in challenge, his head filled with naughty thoughts. He’d always had far too much appreciation for feisty women.
“If you wanted cooperation, maybe you shouldn’t have abducted me from my pasture.”
“You had a gun to my head,” he said.
“You ate Lambie,” she countered.
When the frustration on his face made it clear that he had no clue what she was blabbering on about, she sighed. “My sheep,” she elaborated. “A wolf has been killing them. I can tell from the tracks left behind. My guess is that’s why I caught you in the trap my idiot brother set.”
“You name your livestock?” His gaze swept over her. From her faded jeans, cowgirl boots, and worn, overlaid suede jacket, she looked as if she knew her way around the ranchlands. Her dark hair and skin suggested she was Native American. Thanks to the language she’d muttered earlier, and considering their proximity to the reservation, he guessed Crow tribe. Crow Agency was only a short drive from here.
“Just one: the sheep that you slaughtered two weeks ago. His name was Lambie, and he was a sweet, gentle ram. My father gave him to me when I was ten. The only thing worse would’ve been if you killed our family ranch dog, Blue. You’re lucky he’s with my brother right now, or he would have taken a good chunk out of one of your back legs.”
Wes stared openmouthed at the woman before him. He wasn’t even sure where to begin. Who the hell did she think she was, Little Bo-Peep? Call him ignorant, but as far as he knew, no rancher in their right mind named their flock like they were house pets.
When he’d been stuck in her trap in wolf form and she’d stared down at him, apologizing for holding her gun on him, he’d imagined the Wild Eight wolves turning around in search of him but instead finding her, and something inside him had snapped. In that moment, he’d been back there again. The memory shook him as he imagined himself in that godforsaken bedroom, blood dripping from him and an innocent woman…
He closed his eyes and released a long exhale. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought.
So he’d shifted in front of her. Pack law be damned. He’d done it both because he had no other way to escape the trap he’d been locked in—not without opposable thumbs—and also to warn her. The Wild Eight were bound to circle back looking for him, and with their blood pulsing from the night’s battles, if she managed to get in their way, an innocent human female like her would serve as nothing more than a bloody diversion to them. He knew he and the woman weren’t safe. Not even now that they were hidden in the forests of the Grey Wolves’ territory again.
She was a stranger to him, but he’d be damned if he’d allow those monsters to kill another innocent. Though he should have taken her life as pack law dictated when she’d lain passed out in front of him, he couldn’t bring himself to kill an innocent. Not again.
If he’d thought he’d had his ass in a sling before this, Maverick was going to lose his shit when he brought this woman back to Wolf Pack Run with him. But he wasn’t allowing her to walk free. Not by a long shot.
Finally, he managed to find his words. “What’s your name?”
She watched him with wary eyes, sinking into the shadow of a towering pine as if that would shield her from him. “Naomi K. Evans.”
“What’s the K stand for?” He couldn’t help but ask. She’d offered the initial after all.
“It stands for Kitty.” She shrugged a pair of slender shoulders. “My parents were Gunsmoke fans.”
Naomi Kitty Evans? He lifted an eyebrow.
“Well, Miss Kitty,” he chuckled. “I didn’t kill your damn sheep.”
“You try having several of your livestock maimed and exsanguinated, then find some freak wolf-man in your pasture and see if you believe he’s innocent.”
Wes froze. He ignored the freak wolf-man remark in favor of more pressing issues. “Exsanguinated? You mean bled dry?”
“That’s what exsanguinated means,” she quipped.
He grumbled. He knew damn well what it meant. “I didn’t kill your sheep,” he repeated.
Though he had a sudden suspicion of who, or more accurately what, might have. Tonight was getting worse by the second. If they expected to live through the night, they needed to hunker down—and fast.
“Sure.” Her voice was doubtful. “And what else were you doing on my land?”
“Chasing other wolves.”
At this, she eyed the tree line as if they would spring forth from the branches at any moment. It was a very real possibility. She inched farther toward the pines. The moonlight cast shadows on her face. A faint spark of hope glimmered on her pretty features.
“If that’s the case, you can give me back my blade and let me go. I need to get back to my ranch. You haven’t wronged me, and I haven’t wronged you…” Her eyes fell to the wound on his shoulder and arm. “At least not intentionally. We can call this a truce.”
Black Jack let out a flustered huff, and Naomi jumped at the sudden noise. Wes watched her with careful eyes. Despite her outward bravado, she was more terrified than she was letting on, which meant this little human woman wasn’t reckless and strange—she was brave.
He shook his head. “I can’t let you do that. We need to get to the nearest shelter, and fast. If you value your life, you’ll come with me.” When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “We’ll get you back to your ranch as soon as possible, but there are other wolves prowling all over these mountains tonight. Soon enough, they’ll be at your ranch, too, and believe me when I say they won’t show you so much kindness.”
“I wouldn’t call it kind—”
“Get on the damn horse, woman!” he ordered.
She was impossible.
When she still didn’t move, he allowed his eyes to flash to his wolf’s. He hoped a little reminder of his true nature would force her to think about the threat the other wolves had posed to her. He meant to keep her safe from them, protected.
In response, she trudged toward Black Jack. That was more like it.
Stepping toward her, Wes unknotted the rope he’d used to tie her wrists, but touching her forced him to pause. She quivered beneath his hands. Shit.
When she moved to pull away, he captured her hands in his, cradling them. He rubbed his thumb in a gentle circle over her skin to soothe her, the same movement that had served him behind the ears of many a scared, skittish horse.
“For tonight, you’re safe as long as you’re with me.” He aimed for a whisper, but it was more of a growl.
An emotion he couldn’t recognize flared behind her dark-brown irises. The color was so dark, they were almost obsidian in the moonlight. She snatched her hands away as if he’d wounded her. But the pain was his. He felt the pain of her fear, her blatant rejection of his attempt at kindness, in his chest. She thought he was a monster, and the reminder of his true identity seared through him. He would never escape the truth of his past.
Wes Calhoun, nefarious supernatural outlaw and former packmaster of the Wild Eight. He’d been their leader. The worst monster of them all. For years, he’d shed blood without remorse, killed without consequence, and hadn’t regretted it for a second.
He’d do well to remember that.
With one last reluctant look in his direction, she turned to climb onto Black Jack, trembling. She still put on a brave face, but there was no missing her terror.
Better terrified than dead. Even if she was somehow entangled with the Wild Eight and the vampires. He pushed the feeling aside and breathed in the deep scent of Naomi’s hair. Without a doubt, she was scared of him. He licked his chapped lips as he offered her a leg up in place of the absent stirrup.
No more than he was of her.
Chapter 3
A strong hand gripped Naomi and pulled her back. She found herself facing her captor. She’d been about to climb on the “damn horse” with his aid when suddenly, he’d yanked her back again. He signaled the horse with a hand gesture, and immediately, the beast reared up. Her shotgun fell from its perch on the horse’s back and into a nearby bush. The dark horse galloped at full speed into the forest, leaving them stranded on the mountainside.
“What are you—?”
Her captor clapped a hand over her mouth. Something dangerous flared in those golden wolf eyes. She started to swat away his hand, but then she heard it.
A chilling howl echoed throughout the forest, confirming her worst fear.
Wolves. And from the warning gleam in his eye…more wolves like him.
Before she could wriggle free, he scooped both arms around her, one bracing her back and the other beneath her behind. Sweeping her into his arms with ease, within seconds, he’d carried her several feet toward an oak and pressed her back roughly against a large, hollowed-out depression in the bark. His movements were swift and gentle but belied by his firm and unyielding strength. He hoisted her leg around his waist, one large hand cupping her ass as he pressed ever closer, both stopping her from running and pinning her with the muscled weight of his body. Pushed this flat against the inside of the hollowed tree and shaded from moonlight by its tremendous shadow, they were hidden from view.
He pulled her knife from his belt. She stiffened, but immediately, he pressed the hilt of the Ka-Bar into her hand. Her fingers eagerly tightened around the grip. But he must have felt her tense, because he chose that moment to meet her gaze head-on again. She wasn’t sure what she saw in the depths of his golden wolf eyes, but it spoke volumes, in the way only the eyes of an animal seemed to be able to communicate straight to the soul. He held her gaze with such a sure, steady confidence, it was as if he’d whispered: I’ll protect you. You have my word.
Slowly, she nodded. She couldn’t help but trust him. In a single look, he’d confirmed what the more pragmatic part of her mind had already suspected—if he’d wanted to hurt her, he would have by now. He’d had more than ample opportunity. Granted, he had rushed her, which had caused her to fall, consequently knocking her out before he’d dragged her up the mountainside on the back of his horse, but she had drawn a shotgun on him.
Trusting her instincts, she relaxed into him. They were so close that they were pressed flush against each other. In the silence and darkness engulfing them, as she listened for the slightest noise with a heady mixture of adrenaline and fear, her senses came alive. Every touch, every sensation heightened. She could feel every slow breath he drew as the corded muscles of his chest moved against her breasts, the steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of his hips pinning her and creating a delicious pressure between her legs.
It’d been years since a man had held her in an embrace like this. Clouds shifted until a moonbeam streamed into their hidden cove within the tree. They were so close together in the gentle moonlight that she saw the planes of his bare chest clearly. All thick, rounded muscle and sinew. The thin, silvery scars of past battles, though initially alarming, served to make him all the more rugged and manly. One particular specimen marred the skin of his right pectoral in a jagged gash. With her hands braced upon his naked chest, her fingers itched to reach out and touch the puckered flesh, to feel the warm heat beneath her palms.
His skin was so warm that she felt as if she’d been wrapped in the blissful embrace of a heated blanket on a cold winter’s day, a cup of steaming cocoa in her hands. The wide breadth of his shoulders dwarfed her with their impressive size. She wasn’t a rail of a woman. She sported her fair share of healthy curves. Curves his large hands seemed more than capable of handling and holding with ease. With acute awareness, she felt his palm still bracing the curve of her bottom. She fit within his hand as if she’d been made for him.
He must have been aware of it, too. As the minutes stretched on, the rock-hard length of his erection grew and strained against the fabric of his jeans, rubbing against her center. The sweet, aching pressure softened her cleft until she felt herself slicken. His nostrils flared, and briefly, she found herself wondering if he smelled the wet heat between her legs with his wolf
like senses.
The feel of him pressed against her tantalized her, but it was the heat in his gaze that drew her in. Those golden wolf eyes, so animal in appearance, yet full of human knowing. They bored into her with stunning intensity as he drew closer. The tip of his nose brushed against hers. Their lips were so close, they breathed the same air between them, the heat of their breath swirling in the cold autumn air.
Slowly, he brought his palm up to cup her cheek. His fingers splayed open, and the rough pad of his thumb tugged gently at the skin of her lower lip.
Something flickered in his dark gaze, something raw, animal, hungry. It roped her in, making her forget all reservation and filling her with so much desire, it was near criminal. Instinctually, she leaned in.
And that was all the encouragement he needed.
His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was as brazen and unforgiving, as terrifying and tantalizing as the electricity between them. She fell into the destruction before her, into him and the carnal desire between them that she knew would tear her to pieces even as the pleasure put her back together again. He parted her lips, meeting not even a hint of resistance from her. He was inside her then, his tongue, his kiss, his taste consuming her until there was nothing but him. The woodsy scent of his skin filled her nose. The heavy, muscled weight of him pressed against her breasts and center, heavy and swollen with need…and the taste of him. Man, the taste of his kiss. He tasted like hot apple cider, tangy with a hint of masculine spice that warmed her from the inside out.
And she couldn’t get enough.
In an instant, something told her she couldn’t have stopped the electricity between them even if she wanted to. It was as if some gravitational force pulled them together, so strong and ruthless, she was helpless to fight against it. The ache between her legs grew, his erection still pressing against her center. Without thinking, she writhed beneath him. A purring growl rumbled deep in his throat. That noise alone would leave her wanting for days.
Cowboy Wolf Trouble Page 3
