Cowboy Wolf Trouble

by Kait Ballenger

  He ground against her, the aching bead of her clit hardening with each delicious, torturous movement. She whimpered and moaned in pleasure, the sounds stifled only by his kiss. That unforgiving, relentless, unstoppable kiss. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when a kiss had ever felt anything close to this.

  The pressure built. Her nipples tightened and her breasts grew heavy as she continued to melt into him. Just when she felt certain she would shatter to pieces in his arms, suddenly, he froze, his lips lingering in a gentle brush against hers.

  Her heart stopped. She heard it, too.

  A rustling near the clearing. A jolt of fear shot through her, drowning out her arousal.

  Then a voice. “The horse’s scent goes that way. Let’s go.”

  The sound of the voice, no matter how human, chilled her to the bone. Thank goodness. He’d sent the horse away to lead the others off their trail.

  More rustling, followed by the sound of several sets of paws hitting the ground. Then the forest fell silent again. Yet still they waited. With the heat between them deadened by fear, the minutes dragged on at a snail’s pace.

  Finally, he released her. “They’re gone,” he whispered. “I’ll get Black Jack. He’ll have rounded back to throw them off his scent by now. Stay here.” He shifted to wolf form, his blue jeans dropping to the ground, before she could tell him there was no way in hell he was leaving her alone in the trunk of this tree. Quickly, he slunk off into the darkness. She remained where she stood, still as a statue and feeling every bit the sitting duck.

  Finally, when she felt certain he wasn’t returning at any moment, she inched out of hiding. If she climbed the tree, she’d be safer than tucked away in the rotted-out part of the oak’s trunk. She retrieved her father’s old shotgun from the bushes where it had fallen and propped it against the tree base. Just as Naomi began to feel her way around the edge of the trunk for a place to grip onto, a menacing growl sounded at her back.

  She twisted toward the sound, grabbing and lifting the shotgun to her shoulder. Her heart stopped, and she struggled to breathe. A wolf equal in size and stature to her captor emerged from the darkness. She knew immediately it wasn’t him from the ferocious look on its face and the lack of the distinctive black markings around its neck. Sharp fangs dripping with saliva glinted in the moonlight.

  Slowly, she inched away into the shadows, gun braced in challenge.

  The wolf prowled closer, refusing to retreat. Shit. She had no choice.

  The shotgun kicked against her shoulder as she fired a warning shot at its paws. Dust flew everywhere. The buckshot hitting the ground clouded the air with dirt. But the wolf didn’t retreat as she’d anticipated.

  It lunged.

  A pair of heavy paws hit Naomi’s shoulders. The wind flew from her lungs. She slumped backward into the base of the tree trunk. Pain seared through her as the animal’s claws ripped into her skin like tissue paper. Holding the shotgun in front of her like a shield, she struggled against the wolf. It thrashed and snarled above her, fighting to push past the gun at its throat.

  Blood trickled down her shoulder. Spittle from the beast’s snapping jaws dripped into her face. It was only inches away from her.

  If only she could reach her knife…

  She screamed, though she knew no one heard her. Shit. She couldn’t hold on much longer. Her muscles burned with exertion as her strength wavered.

  Just as her arms gave, the weight of the wolf on her chest lifted with a sudden jolt. Renewed sounds of fighting followed. Flesh tearing. Jaws snapping. Naomi scrambled over the cold ground into a sitting position, aiming her shotgun in front of her.

  But she didn’t need it.

  Her captor had returned. Faced against the wolf that had been on her chest only moments earlier, he stood directly in front of her. He held a protective stance—tail raised and bristled with legs spread wide, teeth bared in warning—as if he were guarding a mate.

  Each time the attacking wolf moved closer, her guardian advanced. Slowly, the beasts squared off in a careful killing dance. Step for step. Until finally, her guardian lunged.

  The two wolves collided in an all-out brawl. Teeth tore into fur and bone. Within seconds, her guardian had the other wolf pinned. He ripped into the furry flesh of his opponent’s throat, striking the final blow. His back heaved with the weight of his kill. The fog of his heated breath in the cold night air twisted in a murky cloud around his face. Blood dripped from his muzzle.

  But he had won…

  Naomi scrambled to her feet, gun lowered at her side. Her guardian—not her captor now—was a terrifying, beautiful sight to behold. Bathed in the moonlight, his grey fur reflected silver with tufts of black surrounding his face and haunches. Through the darkness, the blood on his muzzle appeared near black as well. The large beast loomed over the carcass of his opponent with a fierce, predatory grace. He was breathtaking.

  And he had saved her life…

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her words releasing on an exhale.

  The wolf’s golden eyes held her gaze for a prolonged moment. He trotted into the shadows. When he returned, human, his jeans hung low on his waist, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward his horse.

  “We need to get out of here now,” he warned.

  This time, without hesitation, she got on the damn horse.

  * * *

  “For tonight, this is camp.”

  Black Jack’s silky mane whipped about in the breeze as Wes led him into the Grey Wolf quartering stable. He closed the door shut behind them, sealing out the whistling autumn wind. He patted the large steed on its hindquarters. Tucked away in the mountainside, the stable was a far cry from the state-of-the-art buildings of their ranch at Wolf Pack Run, but it would do for now. The massive cow-calf operation at Wolf Pack Run spread over more than 125 acres and boasted more than its fair share of modern amenities, but there was no way he and Naomi could safely reach the main compound tonight.

  He’d need to treat her wounds—and his own—but first, he’d secure their lodgings for the night. It was doubtful, highly doubtful, a member of the Wild Eight would be so brazen as to track this far onto Grey Wolf lands, and Wes had purposely taken Black Jack into the knee-high waters of the Shield River to better eradicate their trail, but he wouldn’t take any chances.

  Making quick work of securing the place, Wes barred the stable door, then retrieved his revolver, her rifle, and her knife from his saddlebag. He trusted they would know if the Wild Eight approached. Black Jack was as good a watchdog as any. Wes placed the weapons within arm’s length of where he intended to curl up on the floor and sleep once he’d tended to her injuries. No matter how minor, they’d need to be cleaned to prevent infection. Humans, he knew, were fragile.

  Clicking on a row of nearby heat lamps to give some light and warmth, he turned and surveyed the sight before him. The ambient light cast a soft, fireside glow upon the stone floor and iron stall gates. The scent of manure and saddle polish hung heavy in the air.

  Black Jack trotted to the far end of the small five-stall row. Sniffing each pen, Black Jack took his time picking out his favorite space, since he was the only horse currently putting the stalls to use. When he’d made his selection, he nudged the gate open, moving past the terrified human woman shivering in the center of the stall block.

  Damn, if this night hadn’t gone straight to hell in a handbasket…

  Wes had attempted to assess Naomi’s injuries as he’d ridden hell-for-leather. The scent of her blood had been sharp in his sinuses, but none of her wounds had appeared critical. She’d been scratched across her left shoulder, and there was one gash in particular that made him want to resurrect that Wild Eight scum just to tear out his throat all over again. But overall, she seemed okay.

  Though he’d gone and kissed her. He’d lost himself in the moment and had been drawn in by th
eir closeness. She’d leaned in to him, melting against him in a way that had nearly undone him. That kiss alone had sparked some sort of fire in his chest that he couldn’t even begin to address. Not now.

  He watched as her eyes darted around the stable with a confused, hazy gaze. Wes had seen that distant look before in many men post-battle. Their eyes glazed like someone had placed a dark filter over the world around them, obscuring reality from their reach until all they saw was a world haunted with the worst of their ghosts. Traumatic shock.

  Wes didn’t blame her. That Wild Eight member had aimed to kill her. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he’d not circled back to her when he did. Her wounds were superficial but likely painful nonetheless. He should have known better than to leave her alone, even armed with the shotgun.

  He’d intended to take her to the safety of Wolf Pack Run, but after their fight with the Wild Eight wolf in the clearing, he hadn’t wanted to gamble his chances on her life. With so many Wild Eight running loose in the Grey Wolf packlands tonight and Black Jack burdened by two riders—thus making Wolf Pack Run another several hours’ ride—he’d thought it best they hunker down until morning. The Grey Wolves maintained several spare quartering stables throughout their lands, this being the closest to Naomi’s ranchland and their previous location. It was a far cry from safe with the Wild Eight still roaming the forest, but it was a preferable alternative to continuing on through the woods and risking further assault.

  Crossing the stable to Black Jack’s pen, Wes retrieved a flask of whiskey and a spare clean shirt he kept there. Hardly antiseptic and gauze, but for now, it would have to do. He exited Black Jack’s stall, coming to stand before her. As she stared up at him with those wide brown eyes, he watched her struggle with her words, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally pointing toward him, then the stable door. “So you are a… And that other wolf was a.…” She stammered until her voice trailed off.

  “Werewolf,” he offered. And yes, she was clearly in shock, because they had covered this already. He crouched beside her, eyes darting to her shoulder to indicate the scratches there. “May I?”

  Slowly, she nodded. She stared off into the ether, her eyes still glassy. “Werewolves…are…real.” She spoke each word with careful precision, testing the weight of them on her tongue.

  “We are. Pretty much any supernatural critter you can think of is real. But all you need to worry about up in these mountains are shifters.” Ride northeast into Billings, and that was a whole different matter. But he decided he wouldn’t spring that on her, at least not tonight. He poured some of the whiskey onto the clean T-shirt. “This’ll hurt,” he warned.

  “Shifters?”

  Moving with careful precision so as not to scare her, he eased the material onto the cuts. She released a sharp hiss. He hated to hurt her. Though the wounds were superficial and would heal within a week or two at most, he didn’t want to cause her discomfort.

  “Like me,” he answered. He made a circle with his finger to indicate the surrounding mountain ranges. “There are seven legitimate shifter packs throughout the state. The foothills of the Beartooth Mountains, where our ranch begins, is the entry into Grey Wolf territory. Our land is here in the foothills, throughout the Custer Gallatin National Forest and the Absarokas, and extends outward all the way to various parts of western Montana. Out west, there are dozens of other subpacks among those lands, both Grey Wolf subpacks and the other shifter packs…grizzlies, black bears, bobcats, lynx, mountain lions, and coyotes.” He dabbed the drying blood away from her skin, leaving the surrounding skin a blushed shade of pink.

  She released a long, shaky breath. It shouldn’t have, but the sound tugged at his loins. He wondered if she’d make the same sound when she…

  “You mean to tell me all the wildlife in Montana are actually part human?” She looked down the row at Black Jack with growing horror spreading across her features.

  Wes chuckled. “No. But there’s a fair few of us. Mostly apex predators.” He nodded to the now-cleaned wound on her shoulder. “Probably best to let that heal in the open air. Covering it will only prolong the process.”

  She continued to watch Black Jack, who paced around in his stall as if the space thoroughly displeased him. Nothing but a fresh mucked stall with brand-new hay every day would do for the mustang. Spoiled bastard that he was.

  Pocketing the flask and tucking an edge of the shirt so it hung from the back pocket of his jeans, Wes sauntered over to Black Jack’s pen. Snatching a brush off a nearby storage shelf, he tossed it about in his hands. “Black Jack here ain’t nothin’ but a wild mustang. I’d say I broke him myself, but that’d be a bold-faced lie. He may allow me to ride him, but he has a mind of his own and only listens when he damn well chooses. He’s hardly obedient.” He clicked his tongue, urging Black Jack over to the edge of the stall gate.

  In response, the horse snapped at Wes’s fingers, clearly fuming about his less-than-desirable sleeping arrangement. Wes tore his hand away and frowned at the beast before he glanced back toward Naomi. She watched the exchange with intrigued eyes, the shock of battle beginning to dissipate.

  “He’d likely be nicer to you.” Wes extended a hand toward her. “It might calm you both.” And at this rate, he needed to find some way to help calm her enough so they both managed some sleep. Otherwise, he and this slight little human were in for one long night.

  Considering the heat that had passed between them in the clearing, he had an idea or two about what indulging his urges might entail. A good, honest roll in the hay. He smirked at the euphemism. He’d lay out a saddle blanket, then strip her of her clothes, using nothing but his body to keep her warm. He imagined spreading her legs wide before him and pleasuring her with his mouth until it wasn’t fear that made her tremble and cry out. He reckoned she’d taste as delicious as she smelled, and that would only be the beginning of his fun. That one flicker of her desire that he’d caught in the clearing wasn’t nearly enough. He would take his time and enjoy every second of savoring her…

  But beautiful and tempting as she was, and as much as his lower half protested otherwise, he wasn’t about to take advantage of her. That kiss had been a mistake. She was clearly still in shock. Further, Grey Wolf Pack law strictly forbid human-werewolf relationships, both for the pack’s protection and to maintain the purity of their shifter bloodlines. Not that he’d ever been one to listen to Maverick’s rules—tonight being clear evidence of that—but considering the mess he’d gotten himself into, that particular prospect would only make a bad situation even worse.

  A grim shroud of emotion settled over him at the thought.

  Distance was best for both their sakes.

  For a long moment, she eyed his extended hand, until finally, she reached out and took it. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through his skin, as if his arm were being charged by a live wire. He ignored the temptation of the feeling and led her in front of Black Jack’s stall, passing her the brush.

  “He’ll be more amiable to you, stubborn brute that he is. He still hasn’t gotten over having a wolf as a rider.” Wes shrugged. “He comes by it honestly. I’m just as stubborn.”

  At that, Naomi’s full lips curved into a small, Mona Lisa smile. She reached her hand out toward Black Jack, who sniffed and nibbled his wet lips over her knuckles, checking if she had any food, before he stepped forward, offering his large head and the side of his massive neck to her. Wes watched as she brushed her hands through the dark horse’s mane. With each brush stroke, they both visibly relaxed, the weight of the evening lifting from them.

  She was a tried-and-true cowgirl, alright, looking suddenly very much at home in the warm glow of the stable as she brushed through Black Jack’s mane. Wes leaned back against the next stall over and watched.

  She was trouble. Even his damn horse liked her.

  When Black Jack had fin
ally gotten his fill of attention, he flicked his dark tail and turned his large rump directly toward Naomi, preparing to do his business.

  “Have some manners,” Wes grumbled at the horse.

  “I’ve mucked up my fair share of manure. I’m no stranger to it.” Naomi smiled and handed the brush back to him. As she did, her eyes caught on the wounds at his shoulder, and then her gaze trailed to his forearm as if she were just remembering he’d been hurt, too. “Oh no. Your injuries are far worse! I shouldn’t have let you care for me when you were injured yourself. Here, let me—”

  He shook his head. “We heal quickly. You don’t have to—”

  She’d tugged the shirt from his back pocket before he finished his sentence. She extended her hand for the flask tucked in his other pocket. Reluctantly, he passed it over to her. From the intent look in her eyes, it was clear she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the risk of infection for werewolves was extremely low. Their bodies healed with what humans would consider miraculous ability, both inside and out.

  She pointed to where he’d set the weapons on the floor, indicating he should sit.

  He flashed her a smirk and touched his forehead to feign the tip of his cowboy hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She smiled, coy and sweet. Every bit the sweet, fragile human woman she was. It softened his hard heart far more than it should have.

  He took a seat where she’d indicated. Moments later, she sat down beside him, pouring the whiskey on a new, fresh section of the T-shirt.

  Her buckshot had mostly missed him, but one of the pellets had pierced the soft junction of tissue between his shoulder blade and his collarbone. That held little consequence, compared to how the jagged teeth of the wolf trap had pierced his forearm. But with the rate at which he healed, it was already beginning to scab over.

  She turned toward him. Bracing a hand on his bicep, she held herself steady as she dabbed the alcohol-soaked T-shirt over his skin. Her eyes darted to his face, searching for a hint of pain, but he didn’t show her any. Up this close, the scent of her overwhelmed him in the best of ways. He smelled, tasted nothing else. His eyes transitioned to his wolf’s without his consent.