“You more than deserved it.”
Until now, she hadn’t realized how angry with him she’d been. Hurt? Yes. But angry? No. At the sight of him, it was as if all that hurt somehow pierced through her heart anew, like throwing salt on an already open wound—and damn it, she didn’t like it one single bit. How could he ever have believed she was involved with the Wild Eight? Ever thought she would betray him?
“I shouldn’t have been so rough with you last time. I—”
She cut him off, though the thought of their last near encounter sent heat blazing through her cheeks. “That’s not what this is about. The slap was for not killing Donnie when you had the chance and nearly getting yourself killed.”
Wes’s eyebrows shot up toward the rim of his Stetson. “You wanted me to kill him?”
She shook her head. “Of course I wanted him dead! When you’re a rancher, you come to terms with the fact that some animals simply need to be put down. Donnie was one of them.” She pushed away from him. “Not that it matters now.”
Wes looked as if she’d just told him the grass was blue and the sky a perfect shade of emerald green. “I thought you wanted me to spare him, to be the better man?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. “I never said I wanted you to be anything but you, Wes Calhoun. You were the one who thought otherwise.” Turning back toward him, she met his eyes. “I know who and what you are. I’ve seen it in you from day one, lest you forget you knocked me out with the butt of my own gun and dragged me up a damn mountainside the very first night we met.”
“Well, I have handsome reparations to pay if that would help make up for it.” He nodded to a large bag settled in one of her porch rocking chairs. She looked inside and then up at him incredulously.
“Did you rob a—?”
He shook his head. “It was the Wild Eight’s remaining money. Maverick thought I should have it since I’m the only living Calhoun. I have no need for it, and I could think of no better use than to give it to you.”
She could save the ranch, complete the renovations she desired, hire extra hands to help. Her father’s legacy would be preserved. And she would be free…
Her heart swelled with gratitude.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand, silencing him.
A slow smile curved her lips. “Wes Calhoun, I know that you’re a stubborn, wild, rule-bending, pompous ass, but despite all that, I also know you’re loyal to a fault, a fierce friend, and an even fiercer lover.”
If and when you ever allow yourself to love…
She chose her next words with care. “You’re a good man, Wes,” she said. “I just wish you were able to see it.”
Wes swallowed, the Adam’s apple in his throat moving in a slow, rhythmic bob, before he reached up and adjusted the rim of his Stetson. He leaned against one of the rail posts of her porch and raked his eyes over her. Even without touching her, he could make her skin burn hot.
“I hurt you,” he said. “I never should have believed you were Wild Eight, at least not once you swore to me it was a misunderstanding. I was living in the past. But I meant what I said in the clearing when Donnie had you. The past is the past, and you’ve taught me better than anyone that I need to let it go. The pain, the guilt I’ve been living with over the years don’t erase my sins, and they certainly don’t make me a better man now.” He met her gaze. “But you do.”
Pushing off the porch railing, he stepped toward her, eyes burning both fire and ice beneath the rim of his cowboy hat. “You make me a better man, a better wolf, Naomi Evans, and I’ve never told as big a lie as when I said I couldn’t love you.”
Her breath caught. He sauntered toward her, all blue eyes and smooth, lean hips. She backed into the porch door, but still he kept coming, that damn smirk curling over his soft, smooth lips. Every inch of her came alive, ready and wanting.
“I love you, Naomi. Sure, as the sun sets and rises every day, and I’ll never stop loving you. You make me a better man, and I intend to spend every day of the rest of my life living up to the honor of your love. I hope you’ll forgive me again, because I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you.” His hands pressed against the door, caging her in place. He cupped her chin, the rough pad of his thumb tracing over her bottom lip in a promise that reminded her far too much of other, less proper things he could do with his hands.
“I love you, Naomi,” he whispered again.
She could hear his graveled voice whisper it a thousand times, and still she’d never tire of hearing it.
“Will you forgive me?” He leaned in to kiss her, but she stopped him with a gentle push of her hand.
“I love you, too, Wes, but I have one condition.”
He quirked a brow, clearly curious, despite the way his mouth grazed over her chin, wandering to nibble on her neck and ear in a promise of what was to come. “What’s that?”
“In your quest to be a better man, don’t completely get rid of Wes Calhoun, former packmaster of the Wild Eight.”
Wes released her, pulling back far enough to meet her gaze. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re trying to be a better man and all, but it’s just…” Heat flooded her face at her impending confession. “I kinda like the whole rough, angry, unrestricted wolf thing you had going when you…”
Wes’s eyes flickered from the blue of his irises to the gold of his wolf’s in an instant. From the eager growl that rumbled from his chest, she didn’t need to ask twice. He’d cupped her ass and lifted her into his arms within seconds, releasing his hand from her only long enough to push open the door as they stumbled into her house.
Between the rough bristle of his whiskered kisses, his hands gripping her behind, and the hard length pressed between her legs, she was more than ready for him. Each touch, each kiss dampened the lacy black underwear she’d worn today in desperate hope that some mangy wolf might show up at her door and tear them off.
“Wes,” she panted in between kisses.
A feral grumble in acknowledgment sent a thrill of excitement through her as he continued to run his teeth over the sensitive skin of her collarbone.
“I have one more condition.” He left her so breathless that she could barely get the words out.
He paused momentarily, glancing up at her from where he made his descent toward the sensitive skin of her breasts. “Anything.”
This time, it was her turn to smirk. “Don’t ever call me Miss Kitty again.”
If she’d thought Wes’s devilish smirk made her go soft in the knees, the wide, genuine smile he gave her in that moment would leave her wanting for days. Still as dangerous and intimidating as he was with his wolf eyes ablaze and canine teeth prominent and plain to see, his smile delivered a dark, playful promise she knew he intended to deliver, and for the first time since she’d met him, the werewolf didn’t chuckle. He threw back his head and gifted her with a deep, wholehearted laugh.
Order Kait Ballenger’s next book
in the Seven Range Shifters series
Cowboy in Wolf’s Clothing
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Keep reading for a sneak peek of the next book in the Seven Range Shifters series from Kait Ballenger
COWBOY IN WOLF’S CLOTHING
Chapter 1
Colt Cavanaugh strode across the pasture, holding the rim of his Stetson against the wind. The heels of his brown leather cowboy boots dug into the frozen ground, each step punctuated with murderous intent. He’d read the note scrawled in his packmaster’s hand an hour ago, yet still his anger seethed.
He’d never contemplated disobeying a direct order before, but there was a first time for everything.
The scent of snow and pine seared through his chest as he continued across the Missoula subpack ranch toward the stables. The grunts and groans of his men training their fellow Grey Wolf cowb
oys and ranch hands to be soldiers grew louder as he passed. Each clash of steeled weapon served as a brutal reminder of his current situation.
Not unless provoked, Maverick’s orders had read. During active wartime, no less. What a load of horseshit.
Colt reached the stables and tore open the doors. He spied Silver in the third stall down. The white Arabian stood out among the rows of tamed mustangs. In the glowing orange of the heat lamps, the threads of his coat shimmered and befit his name.
At the sight of Colt, the horse’s tail lifted high and proud. The beast shook out his mane with a haughty huff. Silver was a horse more fit for a purebred high commander than the cowboy Colt was at heart, and the animal damn well knew it.
Colt unlocked the wrought iron gate, and Silver trotted forward with show-horse elegance as Colt grabbed an available saddle.
The attention whorse wrinkled his nose in distaste at the old, worn leather. Colt ignored him. He needed to reach the location, scope out the perimeter, and strategize his men’s placement before their enemies arrived. Thanks to Maverick and the Seven Range Pact’s orders, they wouldn’t be running headfirst into battle tonight, but Colt and his men would be armed to the teeth all the same.
Colt mounted and gave the beast a commanding kick. In response, Silver shot out through the open stable doors. They rushed through the camp and into the nearby forest at breakneck speed, rushing past the darkened pines and navigating the underbrush with ease. He’d give Silver that much. He wasn’t the most obedient working horse for rounding up cattle on the main Grey Wolf ranch back home at Wolf Pack Run, but his speed was rivaled by none.
As they rode, the setting sun above them painted the skyline over the Montana mountains in shades of vibrant pink and orange sprinkled with violet-blue clouds. The shadows elongated, chasing him like dark, snarling demons as the forest descended into evening, until he reached his destination.
Tugging Silver to a halt, Colt dismounted and scanned his surroundings. The forest was deadly quiet. The remaining late-spring snow blanketed the sounds of even the most dangerous scenarios. He led Silver to a nearby bush, allowing him to graze the frozen grass beneath.
With his horse content, Colt searched for the moon. The white crescent cast a dim glow over the pines. His wolf stirred inside him, eager to be released. His eyes flashed to their wolf gold before he threw back his head and released a long howl.
The sound reverberated off the trees, and his men answered, providing him with a keen sense of his soldiers’ positions, and acting as a warning to their enemies. Though Colt was the only wolf in the clearing, he was far from alone.
Maverick hadn’t said anything against intimidation.
As his howl ended, Colt inhaled a sharp breath. Three vampires several meters upwind. A low growl grumbled in his chest as the scent drew nearer. They’d agreed to one representative only. He’d known they’d never play by the rules. But they’d made a grave mistake to cross him from the start.
“You failed to follow protocol,” he called out in the tone he reserved for those in his charge who failed to follow an order to the letter.
One of the vampires emerged from the trees. He appeared human, but was far from it.
“Given all that keening, I could say the same.” The bloodsucker smiled, the moonlight revealing a sinister, sharp-toothed grin.
Colt recognized the vampire instantly. As Grey Wolf high commander, he made it a point to know his enemies. Lucas was a crony of Cillian, the ancient bloodsucking coven leader of the Billings vampire coven. Lucas, neither the most powerful nor eldest of bloodsuckers, was hungry for power and a force to be reckoned with. But what the fuck he was doing all the way out here near Missoula in one of the Grey Wolves’ subpack territories, requesting a meeting to negotiate during wartime, Colt hadn’t the slightest clue.
“You said one representative.”
“You have exactly that, Commander. One representative…and my two guards. We also requested the packmaster, so promises were broken on both sides.” That sinister smile flashed again.
A vein pulsed at Colt’s temple, but he held his features steady. Colt had learned long ago to hold his cards close, never to betray his emotions.
“Maverick made no such promise. State your purpose or leave,” he said.
Lucas broke a piece of peeling bark off a nearby tree, grinding the wood to dust in his palm. “My coven thought we might offer a deal.”
Lucas broke eye contact, turning toward the trees in a way that raised the fine hairs at the nape of Colt’s neck. The bloodsucker was anticipating something. Colt sensed it.
“We’ll cease all war efforts immediately for the span of one year. It will give you time to prepare, rally, and train your subpack troops, and get the other animals in that Pact of yours on board,” Lucas said.
Throughout Montana, the seven shifter clans that called Big Sky Country home formed the Seven Range Shifter Pact. They agreed to band together as allies in the face of their common enemies and for the greater interest of all shifters. If one of their packs went to war, all went to war.
Lucas’s proposition was meant to appeal to a commander like Colt. Strategic, but unfortunately it lacked long-term logistical thinking. This early in the battle they weren’t going to strike any deals with the enemy. Furthermore, the very suggestion from the enemy to take a year to prepare? Yeah. That raised all types of flags. And what would be coming down the pipeline that they would need a year to prepare?
Colt wasn’t keen to hear what came next. He’d rather call bullshit now and rip this bloodsucker’s heart out. But there must be a reason the vamps wanted a delay…
“Name your price.”
Lucas’s face turned businesslike. “Ten of your strongest warriors.”
“No deal.” Colt’s words were cold, distant, betraying none of the hatred he felt.
A smile curved Lucas’s lips. “Be logical, Commander. It’s only ten men. I’m offering you the lesser of two evils. Think of the lives lost in a year of war. Far more than ten.”
“No deal,” Colt repeated.
“You can’t walk away from this.” Lucas’s eyes flashed a deep crimson red. “You have an obligation to take this offer to your packmaster.”
Colt allowed his wolf eyes to glow through the darkness. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He advanced, forcing Lucas to ease back again. He would bleed this vampire dry for his vile suggestion. He may not have been born a true Grey Wolf, but he was loyal to the pack, to Maverick.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Lucas. These are my soldiers, and I’d never disgrace our packmaster with such a despicable offer. No deal,” Colt growled, low and forbidding.
He and the vampire stood nearly nose-to-nose now. The heat of their breath swirled together in a smoky dance.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Lucas said. “You see, Commander, I really was giving you my best offer, because if you failed to accept, our intent was to take what we need by force. You didn’t think I’d play by the rules, did you?” Lucas snapped his fingers and his two bloodsucking cronies emerged from the trees, their intent evident.
“On the contrary.” Colt lifted a hand and tipped the edge of his Stetson lower, signaling to his men watching through the underbrush. From beneath the rim of his Stetson, he glared at his enemy. “I counted on it.”
The Grey Wolf soldiers burst through the tree line just as Colt tore his blade from his ankle holster. The hilt disconnected to double as a stake, and he intended to use it.
Four of his men took Lucas’s cronies, which left Lucas to him. Despite his bravado, the bloodsucker fled. Colt bolted after him. With a quick whistle, he signaled Silver. Gripping the reins, he hooked his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle, leaning forward to urge the horse into a gallop.
As Colt rode after Lucas, a howl from one of his men echoed through the forest, cut short by a sha
rp, piercing yelp of pain and confirming his worst suspicions. He couldn’t fathom how the bloodsuckers had managed to get their numbers past his soldiers. But he’d known it would come to this. He should have ignored Maverick and the Seven Range Pact’s orders, gone with his instincts come hell or high water, and attacked first.
He would make their enemy pay for the mistake.
Colt steered Silver into the trees, maneuvering the beast into a quick turn, and moments later they burst through the bushes, cutting off Lucas at the pass. Colt dismounted into a drop-crouch with his blade in hand. But as he rose, another bloodsucker lunged from the nearby bushes, colliding with him in a tangle of snarls.
One of those damned half-turned vampires. The half-turned were deranged far beyond the master vampires who controlled them, twice as bloodthirsty and with twice the strength. But feral as they were, they lacked intelligence and fighting strategy. He’d thought they had all but eliminated them at the start of the war.
The half-turned vampire screeched and writhed on top of Colt as it lunged for his throat. It didn’t even see Colt dislodge the hilt of his blade, revealing the small stake on the other end. Holding the vampire by the throat, Colt managed to roll, driving his stake into the vampire’s pulsing undead heart as he did.
The vampire lurched. Colt shoved the now truly dead bloodsucker off him, stake in hand, but Lucas had escaped.
And whatever Lucas wanted Colt’s men for, he wouldn’t succeed, because Colt wouldn’t rest this night until he found him and bled his enemy dry…
* * *
Dr. Elizabeth “Belle” Beaumont had been waiting for this moment, and she’d be damned if she missed this chance. She leaned against the wall of her cell, feigning sleep, the tattered blanket they’d given her draped over her legs.
Tonight, she would set herself free…
The sounds of shouting above the dungeons rang overhead as she listened to the last of the guards abandoning their posts. Whatever had caused the emergency throughout the Missoula Grey Wolf pack had drawn the attention of every guard.
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