This close up and in the glowing light of the heat lamps, she could see a pale rim of greenish-grey around the blue of his irises. There was something wild and untamable in that deep color.
“You saved my life from those other wolves,” she whispered. “At least tell me your name.”
For a long beat, his deep, blue gaze held hers as if he were gauging her reaction to what he would say next. Finally, he replied, “Wes Calhoun.” He brushed a gentle hand over her shoulder, sweeping the dark tendrils of her hair away. “Sleep now, Miss Kitty.” The deep grumble of his voice wrapped around her, melting her into his heat.
Wes Calhoun: gorgeous, infuriating, deliciously warm.
She should have been terrified—of him, of the threat of the other wolves still out in the forest. Yet somehow, she wasn’t. She felt safe, protected in his arms. He hadn’t hurt her, though he’d had plenty of opportunity in the past several hours. In fact, he’d saved her life. That had to count for something. Didn’t it? The part of her that wished he’d kiss her again thought so.
She pondered all this as she finally allowed herself to drift slowly to sleep.
* * *
Wes couldn’t sleep. He lay there for hours, listening for the sounds of the Wild Eight as he memorized the sharp lines and smooth curves of Naomi’s face as she slept. This slip of a woman felt far too good in his arms for his liking, and the scent of her hair and skin this close was pure, unadulterated torture—and Wes knew torture. But he couldn’t very well allow her to shiver all night. It was just below thirty degrees Fahrenheit outside the stable, cold enough that a human could freeze, given enough time. And he hadn’t risked shifting in front of her just to let her die in the cold.
How had he gotten himself here?
When dawn finally broke and the temperature slowly started to rise, he couldn’t stand it any longer. Laying her down on the cobblestones, he quickly stood and covered her with the extra saddle blanket, hoping she didn’t wake. She stirred, wiggling and snuggling into the blankets where she’d been in his arms only a moment earlier. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and her eyelids fluttered. For several long moments, he continued to stare down at her from a safer distance. Then he managed to tear his gaze away and head out of the stable.
The first light of the morning peeked over the horizon. Vivid swirls of orange, pink, and purple with occasional hints of gold washed over the autumn browns. The fiery colors of the skyline contrasted with the blue mountain ranges in the distance.
Wes gathered a few spare logs he kept near the stables for nights and mornings like this and built a small fire. Finding himself a soft patch of dead grass, he sat beside the smoking embers and watched the sun rise. He breathed in a deep draw of mountain air. The cool moisture filled his lungs and mixed with the peaty smoke from the embers.
For all intents and purposes, the pastures where he managed the Grey Wolves’ wild-horse contract and the stables at Wolf Pack Run where he served most of his relegated pack duties were more his home than his apartment inside the main compound would ever be. He spent his days tending to the horses in the pastures or the main stable and running wild through the mountains. Inside Wolf Pack Run, he still felt chained down by the weight of decisions. Out here, he was free. Most days, the colors of these mountains allowed him to forget the blood that still lingered on his hands and boots.
But today, the mountain terrain didn’t provide him shelter.
The image of those lifeless grey eyes from years past still haunted him, burning behind his retinas until that was all he could see.
He tore his gaze from the sunrise and glanced over his shoulder to where Naomi lay sleeping on the stable floor. When he’d encountered her the night before, she’d been rightly terrified of him. She’d barely had the wherewithal to fire that shotgun when they’d first met. He shook his head.
The past is the past. Maverick’s words played in his head.
Except when it wasn’t.
In search of a distraction, Wes examined the wound where a single pellet was still embedded in his shoulder and the marks on his forearm. The blood had coagulated, but his arm and shoulder still hurt like a son of a bitch.
He deserved as much.
A gust of wind swept over the grass and circled into the stable. Naomi stirred, and her scent carried to him on the breeze. The smell was intoxicating, enough to make him hard instantly, but that hadn’t been why he’d allowed her to live. No, her scent hadn’t saved her. It’d been his own twisted form of redemption. Because as he’d stared into her terrified eyes last night, he’d found himself at a crossroads—and he’d surprised even himself with the decision he’d made. Maverick would tell him it was the right thing to do, despite his initial fury. Wes supposed Maverick’s moral compass had always worked better than his own, but he wasn’t so sure. Because as he’d held her all night, he’d recollected how everything he ever touched spilled blood.
Was he protecting her or damning her to a darker fate?
He stoked the fire and watched the embers crackle with heat.
The road to hell was paved with blood from his good intentions.
* * *
Naomi woke to rays of sun shining directly into her face. She sat up with a start, shielding her sensitive eyes. Her tired bones ached, and everything in her called out for more sleep. After allowing a moment for her eyes to adjust, she lowered her hands and squinted into the light. She was sitting on the floor of the stable with the saddle blanket still over her. The door was wide open, allowing the sun to stream in.
So it hadn’t been a dream…
She glanced beside her. Wes was gone.
A heady rush of adrenaline shoved away any remaining sleepiness. Because now was her chance…
Wes might have had the one-up on her at night, but daytime was her turf. A fresh wave of fear at what she was about to do washed over her. Pushing herself up from the hard cobblestone floor, she slowly inched toward the stable doors. She prayed on all that was holy and spiritual that her footsteps didn’t make a sound.
When she’d slipped through the stable doors unaccosted, the burst of fresh mountain air rushing into her lungs felt like the first regained breath of a drowning woman. A handful of trails surrounded her, leading to steeper hills or back down the mountainside. Judging from where the sun sat slightly to the west, it seemed to be past noon. She had never slept this late before. She’d always woken up with the sun’s first rays to begin working on her ranch chores.
With shuffled steps, she eased farther out onto the mountainside, scanning her surroundings. The last smoking logs of a campfire sizzled nearby, as if they had recently been stomped out. She was alone. Unguarded. Her heart swelled. Wolves were nocturnal creatures by nature, and Wes had said they’d be safer come morning. With her knife returned to her, she could hold her own if she ran into any other wolves—or so she hoped.
She steeled herself. She could do this. She could escape, find her way home.
With as much agility as she could muster, she darted down the mountainside.
She made a break for the trees, running faster than she’d ever run in her life. Her heart thumped like a jackrabbit’s inside her chest, and she gasped for breath as the brisk mountain air seared her lungs. If she could just make it to the tree line. Then, even if he found her missing, she’d have a head start.
When she reached the forest, she nearly collapsed with relief against a nearby maple. Black Jack let out a frenzied whinny in the distance. She turned her head toward the noise. She was almost in the clear.
A large hand slammed into the tree bark above her head, stopping her in her tracks. She let out a terrified shriek. Wes stood over her. With one arm resting overtop her head and the other beside her as he leaned over her, she was caged between him and the tree trunk at her back.
He wore a Stetson. The hat brim tipped over his brow and cast his face in shadow a
s his eyes raked over her from head to toe. She’d thought he was impressive in the darkness, but that was nothing compared to the light of day. Scars from his life’s battles—as well as the healing wounds he’d sustained at her hands and in defense of her—marred the surface of his smooth skin and made her want to draw closer with aroused interest for the powerful muscles underneath.
The sunlight breaking through the treetops overhead caught the light undertones of his hair. The golden hues matched those of the mountain light. The color was barely darker than the pale material of his Stetson but somehow lit from within with gold. It matched the coarse, closely trimmed hair of his beard. She imagined the bristle against her sensitive skin. Her nipples tightened.
“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy on you, did ya?”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she sighed.
“Now that you’re awake, we’d better get a move on.” Retreating an inch or two, he gestured to where Black Jack stood several feet away. The horse trotted up beside them, then resumed grazing on the short grass.
Naomi glanced over her shoulder toward the woods. Wes had already proved once that running wasn’t an option. She’d barely made it several feet last time. Could she manage to get away on his horse?
He seemed to realize she was weighing her escape plans, and a grim chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You come get on the horse willingly, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and haul you the whole way myself.”
She shook her head again. “No, not unless you’re taking me home.” One night under his protection. That’s what they’d agreed, which meant it was high time she headed back to the ranch.
“Suit yourself.”
The next thing she knew, one muscled arm wrapped around her waist, and her feet lifted from the ground. He slung her over his shoulder as if she weighed little more than a bale of hay.
Naomi let out an involuntary shriek. She kicked her legs, her boots repeatedly pounding against his stomach, but the blows didn’t seem to faze him. “Put me down!” she hissed.
Slowly, he climbed the mountainside, his horse following. “Not until you agree to behave.” He didn’t even sound winded from carrying her.
Before she could give further protest, he slapped her on the ass hard enough that her breath caught. Not enough to seriously hurt her, but enough to leave a burning red mark on the skin beneath her jeans. A rush of desire flooded between her legs.
Renewed vigor drove her. She kicked and pounded her fists against his back. For several minutes, they continued like that. She shrieked and cursed, using the most creative profanities in her vocabulary, until finally, he dropped her onto her feet again.
“You really want to leave?” He crossed his large, bare arms over his chest.
“Of course I want to leave.”
“Then go.”
She blinked several times. What? Just like that? Then why had he…? For a moment, she thought he was mocking her, but his face held nothing but seriousness. “Is this some sort of a trap?”
He let out a low, throaty laugh that both pissed her off and did unimaginable things to her lady parts. Damn him. Her instincts were going haywire and betraying her. He may have saved her last night, but now he was nothing more than a psychopathic freak of nature holding her captive.
“No trap. If you really want to go, go on.” He gestured for her to make her exit.
Slowly, she stepped away from him. When he didn’t immediately charge her or rip her to shreds, she took a larger step. She was several feet away before she picked up the pace. Though her feet moved forward, she could scarcely believe it. This was really happening. He was really letting her go.
“Just don’t come crying when the vampires keep bleeding your livestock dry,” he called after her. “Or when they decide to drain you, too.”
She stopped dead in her tracks and spun to face him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” A slight smirk curled over his lips.
She’d never wanted to punch anyone more in her life.
“Just like you see in the movies. Nasty fangs and all. Unfortunately for their prey”—he gave her a pointed look—“which would mean humans like you, they can hide their fangs. What the movies get wrong is that while they’re nocturnal, they can go out in the sun for limited periods. Blend in as well as you and me in a crowd, and the only thing that kills them is chopping or ripping their heads off.”
She gaped at him.
“Those bloodsuckers pick off their fair share of humans down in Billings once they tire of feeding from a willing host. When the opportunity presents itself, they can barely resist, well fed or not, and they’ll take men and women alike. Doesn’t matter. Humans don’t stand a chance against their strength. All it takes is one bite, and they can drain you dry, no chance of survival. Honestly, I’m surprised they’ve left you alone this long.”
Before she could stop herself, she took several steps toward him. “Vampires?” she repeated. She couldn’t manage to wrap her head around it.
He gave a single nod. “What else did you think was killing your sheep? A bear?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s a perfectly plausible assumption.” Her eyes narrowed, and she gave him an anger-filled once-over. “A mangy wolf is more like it.”
His smirk only deepened. “It wasn’t me that killed…” He snapped his fingers several times. “What was its name again?”
She scowled. He was mocking her. The heels of her boots dug into the grass beneath her feet. “Lambie,” she ground out. “His name was Lambie.”
“Right, Lambie.” That damn smirk of his returned. “I didn’t eat Lambie, or any of your livestock. And last I checked, bears don’t drink blood.” As if that settled it, he turned and climbed back up the mountainside, following where his horse had trotted off to, without so much as another glance over his shoulder.
She stood there, gaping. No. No. This can’t be true. Sure, she’d known all along that the carnage left behind from the attacks on her livestock was not that of a normal animal. Her livestock had been completely drained of blood. No normal predator did that—at least none native to these parts—but logic had told her the killer couldn’t be anything but. With the events of the last twenty-four hours, Wes’s explanation seemed better than any other. And if that were the case, what did that mean for her own safety? Vampires? In her pasture?
She shook her head. No, it wasn’t worth it. The ranch’s finances may have been at risk, but no livestock was worth dying for. So what if the creatures took a few of her flock? Even if they cut into her calves and hurt her income, they wouldn’t be able to get too many before the animals went to market soon.
For several long moments, she just stood there. An internal war of wills raged inside her.
Damn it.
Naomi marched back up the mountainside and followed Wes. When she found him among the trees, he was rubbing polish over a brown leather saddle, which Black Jack appeared beyond displeased to be wearing.
She took a step back. Until now, she had assured herself that Wes and the other shifters he’d mentioned were some sort of genetic anomaly. She’d hypothesized that the shifters were a cross-species of human and animal that biologists like herself hadn’t begun to predict or understand, or maybe even creatures genetically manipulated by scientists. But vampires? That kicked any chance she had of evolutionary explanation off a cliff.
Though the tales and spiritual beliefs of her mother’s people alluded to creatures beyond physical explanation, Naomi had never really taken such stories to heart. Much as with her father’s Christian religion, in her mind, those creatures were metaphorical and symbolic. Something she respected but didn’t subscribe to herself. The reality Wes proposed was too supernatural for her tastes. “And what makes you think vampires bled my flock?” she asked.
“I don’t think that’s the case. I know.
” He poured another drop of polish on the cloth and rubbed it over the saddle’s horn. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”
She laughed. “And why in my right mind should I trust you?”
“Aside from the fact that I saved your life?” He tossed the brush and polish into his saddlebag. “Wolves are the natural enemies of vampires. It’s the way of our world. Centuries ago, shifters were blamed for the human deaths caused by the vampires. It made our species vulnerable, hunted. We lost innocent men and women. Shifters and vamps have been enemies ever since. As a pack, we Grey Wolves have chosen to align ourselves with humans, as their protectors, in an attempt to clear our species’ name with the humans who hunt our kind.
“We patrol Billings and protect the humans there from the vamps and the Wild Eight when we can, and we also make sure the vampires don’t move into the western part of the state. Our subpacks out there don’t have as many trained warriors, so they and the local humans would be easy targets for the vampires to attack. We can’t let them do that. Population density is low enough there that human deaths would draw plenty of attention from the Execution Underground.”
“The human-run organization you mentioned?”
“The very one. Human deaths mean more sanctions from the Execution Underground for our pack and others, so we don’t want the vamps getting a foothold there.” He ducked underneath Black Jack and adjusted the underbelly straps of the saddle. The horse grunted and stomped his feet. From the angry gleam in its eye, Wes was lucky he wasn’t standing behind the beast.
“If anyone under our pack’s protection has issues with vampires, we’ll take care of them. If you’re willing to do what it takes, I can get you that protection.” He cleared his throat. “The way I see it, unless you want your whole flock to disappear, I’m your only chance to get those bloodsucking pests in check. Nobody wants those fuckers out of Billings more than I do.”
“You said only one night and then I’d be home.”
“No, I said you’d be safe with me for the night, which you were, and we’d get you home as soon as possible, which we will.”
Cowboy Wolf Trouble Page 6
