“I understand exactly what this means. Perhaps better than you do. You will leave this to me. That is a direct order.” Maverick’s eyes narrowed. “And if you disobey me again, I will show no mercy.” His eyes darted in the direction of the doorway. “What about the human? How does she play into this?”
Wes ran a hand through his hair, gripping it at the base of his skull. “After the Wild Eight attacked me, I followed them onto her property. I got stuck in a wolf trap in the process. She had a gun on me.”
“And then you chose her life over the safety of our pack? Bringing a human back to Wolf Pack Run?” Maverick clenched his fist as if to hold in his rage.
“She’s proof of what the Wild Eight have been up to. Vampires have been draining her flock, and the Wild Eight knew their way around her land. And when have they ever gone after livestock before? She’s connected.”
Maverick’s lips drew into a scowl. “You brought her here so I could clean up your mess?” He shook his head, reaching up to massage his temple as if he were a parent dealing with a rebellious teenager. “You only listen to my orders when it’s convenient for you. You have no idea if this woman is innocent. Wild Eight running through her land and vampires exsanguinating her flock, yet you think she’s not involved? What if they’re targeting her because she’s an accomplice? A weak link that needs taking care of?”
Wes hesitated. He’d been too focused on saving her, trusting her, to consider that maybe she wasn’t so innocent. A seed of doubt planted in his mind. No, he wouldn’t show it to Maverick, even if the packmaster’s words gave him pause. His instincts said otherwise. Nevertheless, it served as the reminder he needed to keep his distance from Naomi, tempting as she may be. “I know she’s not involved. Not directly, but her connection with the Wild Eight and the vampires, why they’re targeting her, could give us valuable information.”
“You know pack law.”
“You can’t kill her.” Wes stepped forward, forcing Maverick to meet his eyes again. He needed to see the darkness that lay just beneath the surface, the darkness that as his former enemy, Maverick knew better than anyone. Wes lowered his voice to a near whisper. It was the closest Maverick would ever hear him come to pleading. “Maverick, I can’t have any more innocent blood on my hands.”
Maverick tore his gaze away and rounded his desk. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you brought her here. We may have sworn ourselves to protect humanity, but not at the risk of exposing the entire pack.”
“You can’t kill her,” Wes repeated.
“I can, and I w—”
“Then I offer myself in her place.”
Maverick fell silent. He scrutinized Wes carefully. “Why does she mean so much to you?”
Over the past twenty-four hours, Wes had asked himself that question countless times. He didn’t know her. But all it took was the thought of how terrified she’d looked holding that shotgun on him. Hell if he knew why, but he wanted, needed to protect this woman’s life, even if it meant giving up his own. “I told you. I don’t want any more innocent blood on my hands.” It was the best answer he had to give.
Maverick circled around to the front of his desk again, standing inches away from Wes, forcing him to stare eye to eye. “You’ve really changed that much? In the old days, you wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her.”
Wes held Maverick’s gaze, refusing to look away, though he wasn’t sure he knew the answer to that question himself. If he was truthful, he hadn’t changed. Sure, he didn’t want to kill Naomi, but his reasons for offering his life in place of hers were purely selfish, because he didn’t think she should have to pay for his defiance of Maverick’s orders, because he really was certain he could never live with himself if innocent blood was spilled on his hands again. It was his own twisted way of saving himself.
Slowly, Maverick stepped back. “Three moons. She’s your responsibility. We’ll monitor her ranchland, send patrols to stake out the terrain, and evaluate if the threat the Wild Eight and the vampires pose to her is true. If she’s innocent, I’ll let her go, should she swear never to speak of our pack again. For your sake, Wes, I hope you’re right, because if I find out you’ve brought a traitor into our pack, it will be both your blood feeding these lands.”
Chapter 6
She’d known this was coming, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. After Wes had allowed her to catch up on some sleep, to shower and see to her assorted scrapes and cuts, he’d announced it was high time for them to eat and for her to meet the pack. They’d walked the short distance to the mess hall, but Naomi had stopped in her tracks as they’d neared the large doors.
Isolated with Wes on the mountainside, her companion had, at times, almost seemed human. But inside the mess hall with dozens of other creatures, male and female alike, there would be no escape. Based on the wolf that had attacked her in the woods, her impression of them, save for Wes, wasn’t one of friendly welcome.
“You’re scared.” The early-evening shadows darkened his features. He caught the trepidation in her. Those icy eyes seared straight through her. Every time he looked at her, she felt exposed, naked, raw.
She frowned, wishing she could deny it.
“I can smell your fear, and they will, too.”
Wes’s words sent a chill down her spine.
“You can do this,” he urged.
“Of course I can. If I wasn’t afraid of creatures stronger, faster, and harder to kill than me, I’d be an evolutionary failure.” She picked up her gait in order to keep up with his strides as they walked. “Is this the part where you tell me I have nothing to be scared of?”
Wes shook his head. “No, you have plenty to be frightened of, but I want you to use it. Walk in there like you own the place. The Grey Wolves value bravery.” He pegged her with that penetrating stare of his. “We all do.”
A deep blush rose on her cheeks. He thought she was brave. She almost laughed. No one had ever described her that way. Reckless, yes. But never brave.
When they reached the doors, Wes glanced down at her. “Just lie low and you’ll be fine.” His hand was positioned on the door handle to the mess hall. “You ready?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but he abruptly tugged her toward him. Stumbling forward, she would have collided into his chest had he not caught her by the small of her back. He leaned in next to her ear. The heat of his breath brushed over her, sending a chill down her spine. “If you’re brave enough to spend a night in my arms, you can handle this.”
Heat flooded her face. She had wanted their closeness, once she’d been in his arms. But that was a different matter entirely.
When she pulled away, there was darkness in his gaze, mixed with a hint of humor. He winked, stepped away from her. “Ready or not.”
He pushed the door open, and they stepped inside, where five long, wooden tables stretched the length of a western banquet-style room. Hanging lights in the style of old oil lamps lit the space. Old cast-iron wheels hung from the walls. Along with the curved wooden ceilings, the furnishings harked back to old mining times, to pioneers and cowboys long since passed. But Naomi had little time to appreciate the decor.
As she and Wes stepped farther in, a swift silence rushed through the hall. The room was lined to the brim with bodies, and every eye turned toward them. She’d thought Wes’s gaze made her feel as bare as the day she was born, but it was nothing compared to this. She moved forward, eyes defiant, following Wes. He prowled through the hall, oblivious to the stares, or unconcerned. Silence invaded the room, making it so quiet, she could have heard a piece of hay stuck to the side of her boot hit the floor.
Wes took an empty seat near another dark-haired wolf. The other wolf was younger, seemingly by several years. Closer to her brother’s age—old enough to be a man with some experience, but still young enough to be too reckless for his own good. The black strands of his ha
ir formed handsome curls.
Unlike Wes’s, Curly’s eyes were a warm, honeyed shade of brown when they met hers, not much darker than the light-brown shade of his skin. But his boyishly handsome features were pulled into a look of caution. More than half the other wolves were staring at her. Their expressions ran the gamut from shock to horror, from curiosity to downright gawking, and from mild annoyance to blatant aggression, the latter mostly from the males of the species.
The males of the species are always more aggressive to assert dominance, she reminded herself. Though in nature, a person was far more likely to be mauled by a female protecting her young than by an alpha male. Unfortunately, that offered little comfort. Naomi’s eyes darted to a group of women sitting farther down the length of the table. Their outward appearance was normal, not as large and menacing as their male counterparts, but the occasional flashes of gold in their eyes told a different story. They were just as dangerous.
Wes sat down a seat’s length from Curly and patted the bench for Naomi to sit between them. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the bench between the two werewolves. Her bottom connected with the seat, and she almost let out an audible sigh. At least she’d made it to her seat without being mauled.
The loud scrape of wood against varnished floor caused Naomi to jump. Three wolves across the table from them immediately stood, abandoning their plates and exiting the hall. Naomi’s heart dropped. Her eyes shot toward Wes in search of reassurance, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He picked up a nearby carving knife and sliced into the succulent-looking brisket sitting in front of him. Several other nearby platters were piled high with equally delicious-looking food. Mesquite corn on the cob, boatfuls of gravy, and biscuits nearly bigger than her fist. The smell wafted into her nose. The meal smelled divine. Her stomach grumbled with hunger, but she didn’t dare move. Everyone in the mess hall, save for Wes, still stared at her.
He speared a large piece of brisket with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. Slowly, he chewed. When he finally looked up from his plate to notice all eyes were still on them, he slammed down his fork with a loud clatter. A low growl rumbled from his chest. A clear challenge to everyone in the mess hall. From the angry look on his face, he might as well have bellowed What the fuck you lookin’ at?
Naomi’s heart stopped.
Immediately, talk and chatter filled the room as if someone had turned off the mute button on a television and the sound had been left on full blast. A sense of relief filled her. Wes turned back to his food, grabbing a biscuit and then smothering it with gravy.
To her left, Curly still eyed her skeptically as he slowly returned to his food.
Naomi leaned over toward Wes. She lowered her voice just enough for him to hear her over the roar of the hall. “How am I supposed to get them to trust me?” She nodded to where the three wolves had been only moments earlier.
“It’s not you. It’s me. Trust me.” He sliced more brisket and set it on the plate in front of her. “Eat.”
She looked down at her food but didn’t pick up her fork. Her stomach churned with nerves.
Wes nudged the plate again. “Don’t tell me you’re not hungry. I’ve never met a woman before whose stomach growls louder than mine.”
Her head snapped toward him, and her eyes narrowed into a glare. Warmth flushed her cheeks as a small smirk curved his lips. He was egging her on. Damn him.
She tore her gaze away from him and glanced down at the food again. It looked more than appetizing, but her stomach was both filled with hunger and in a state of nerve-induced revolt. She wanted the food, but with her nerves as on edge as they were, she didn’t rule out vomiting if anything went astray. “I’m not hungry at the moment.”
“You feelin’ nauseous, darlin’?” The voice, thick with Texas drawl, came from her left. Curly finally looked toward her, a half-eaten ear of corn in his hands.
She gave a tiny nod. “Sort of.”
He set his food down and wiped his fingers with his white linen napkin. He twisted toward her, reaching inside his pocket.
Naomi scrambled back, ending up halfway in Wes’s lap. She glanced toward the hand that had gone for Curly’s pocket. He held a penlight between his thumb and forefinger. From the looks she’d gotten since they first walked in, she had fully expected him to pull a knife.
Wes slapped his fork down with another loud clatter and pegged Curly with a glare. “And you told me not to scare her.” He shook his head. “Austin, Naomi. Naomi, meet Austin, our resident medic. He’s about as harmless as it gets around here.”
Austin lifted his free hand in a gentle sign of surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare ya. Did you get hit in the head while he was haulin’ you up here?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
The answers came in unison. Austin glanced back and forth between them.
Naomi rounded on Wes. “You jammed the butt of my own gun into my temple.”
“No. I didn’t need to. You’d already passed out from shock.”
Naomi shook her head. “I’ve never passed out from fright in my entire life. He’s lying,” she said to Austin.
“Don’t let her fool you. She just couldn’t handle the sight of me nude.” Wes lifted Naomi from his lap and set her on the bench beside him.
She scowled at him, and he shot her his infuriating smirk in return, only this time, a little softer than before. Despite his demeanor in the stables earlier, something in that teasing half smile made him every bit as tantalizing as when he’d held her against him. And damn if she didn’t find herself wanting to return the grin.
Austin shook his head. He lifted the penlight and shined it into her left eye. “Don’t mind him. He has no filter.” He checked the right eye. “Your eyes are dilatin’ normal, and you’ve slept since then, so I’d reckon no concussion. Likely nerves.” He nudged her plate closer toward her. “A little somethin’ in your belly will help.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“Welcome, ma’am.” He pocketed the penlight and turned away from her again.
“Where’s your accent come from?” She asked the question before she could stop herself. It sounded pure Texas, but Wes had said the Grey Wolves stuck to Montana as their native lands. Austin didn’t seem so intimidating. Not nearly as much as Wes.
A slow smile curled across Austin’s lips. “Northern Texas.”
Within a matter of minutes, he launched into telling her how he had come to end up at Wolf Pack Run. He was half coyote from his mother’s pack in Mexico and half grey wolf from his father’s family, who were Mexican American wolves who’d immigrated to Texas several generations earlier, but Maverick had allowed him to join the Montana Grey Wolf pack because he shifted into a grey wolf, not a coyote, and had some fine medical skills to boot. Austin spoke of how he sometimes missed the Texas lowlands, but never the dry heat. As they talked, Naomi picked up her fork and knife and took a bite of the brisket. The smoky beef flavor melted in her mouth, more tender than any piece of beef she’d ever eaten that hadn’t come from her own pasture.
Brave. Wes’s previous reassurance echoed in her ears.
Werewolves and vampires looming or not, maybe she could do this after all.
* * *
By the time Wes finished eating his fill, Naomi and Austin were chatting like two best friends snuggled up at a slumber party. Occasionally, he tuned in to snippets of their conversation. He told himself it was hard not to since he was sitting right next to them. It wasn’t that he was in any way interested in this little human’s life. Not in the slightest.
Austin talked mostly about his early life in Texas, a frequent topic of discussion he sprang on anyone who would listen. In turn, Naomi shared about her brief stint working as a teacher on the Crow tribe res, the few months she’d spent in California, and her life prior to running her family’s ranch. Several times,
Wes found himself wanting to ask her questions and chime in on the conversation, but he didn’t dare allow himself the chance. As Maverick had highlighted, until they knew otherwise, there was still a distinct chance Naomi could be associated with the Wild Eight. His gut instinct said otherwise, but he wouldn’t find himself scorned by a woman’s betrayal. Not again. He needed to keep his distance.
To think he had questioned whether she could get the pack to trust her. Once they warmed to the idea, her looks alone would have half the alpha males in the pack fighting for her attention. Throw in the fact that relations with humans were forbidden fruit, and they’d be salivating like starving men.
Just as Wes was contemplating telling Austin to put his tongue back in his mouth and stop panting, the door to the mess hall burst open.
Wes’s head snapped toward the noise. Malcolm stood in the doorway, his wolf eyes blazing. His eyes scanned the room until they fell on Wes, then Naomi. Unchecked fury burned in his gaze at the sight of her. Shit.
The mess hall fell silent again.
“So it’s true.” Malcolm prowled toward them. “You thought you could bring a human here unchallenged?”
Wes stood, stepping between Naomi and Malcolm. He crossed his arms over his chest. Malcolm’s bone to pick was with him, not her. “You’ve got a problem? Take it up with Maverick. This doesn’t concern you.”
The wolf answered in a voice so deep, it gave James Earl Jones a run for his money. “You want to get involved with the Wild Eight again, fine. Be my guest. But don’t expect me to sit by while you bring one of those wolf killers into our pack. Not after Bo.”
Four months earlier, Bo, the Grey Wolf second-in-command and Malcolm’s closest friend, had been killed by a hunter from the Execution Underground. A human hunter. Bo’s death had left Malcolm grief-stricken, seething with unchecked rage and a burning hatred for all humans.
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