by T. S. Joyce
PROTECT MINE
(BECOMING THE WOLF, BOOK 3)
By T. S. JOYCE
Other Books in this Series
Behind the Beginning (Book 1)
Hold Steady (Book 2)
It Begins With Her (Book 4)
Protect Mine
Copyright © 2015 by Tera Shanley/T. S. Joyce
Copyright © 2015, Tera Shanley/T. S. Joyce
First electronic publication: June 2015 as Brand of the Pack
Rights reverted back to Author February 10, 2019
T. S. Joyce
www.tsjoyce.com
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Published in the United States of America.
Contents
Other Books in this Series
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Ten
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Up Next in this Series
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About the Author
Chapter One
Let’s pee on everything.
Morgan Carter scrunched up her face at the gross thing her wolf had just whispered into her mind. Pee on stuff? Why would she pee on—
Pain rippled through her, and her hand slipped from Greyson Crawford’s grasp.
No, no, no, hell no. She was having a romantic moment with the man she loved! “Don’t ruin this for me,” she growled.
“What?” Greyson asked, his gold eyes full of confusion. His chin-length dirty blond hair fell forward into his face, and his lips were pursed into a thin line of question. Even baffled, he was the hottest man in the universe, and she’d seen Tom Hardy in movies. Grey was even hott—
“I was talking to the wolf,” she groaned, doubling over with another wave of pain.
The tingling waves that washed over her skin said there was no turning back. And then she did something mortifying. Her body went still like she’d grabbed an electric fence, and she plopped over like a sack of beans. In front of Hot Greyson.
“Maybe you don’t have to watch this,” she forced out the corner of her mouth.
“Do you want me to Change with you?” Worry laced his words.
“No,” she growled out through a mouth that elongated with the popping sounds of a hundred tendons stretching.
Let him see me, her wolf uttered in her head.
“Piss off,” she choked out.
“Okay,” Greyson murmured, holding his hands up in surrender.
“Not. You! You’re hot. Gak!” Her body hunched in on itself. “You have great ankles,” she said deliriously.
Grey snorted and looked down at his boots. “Woman, you can’t even see my ankles.”
“Owwwwww,” she groaned as she convulsed again. “Grey, go away! I want you to still be attracted to me!” Nope, she definitely didn’t want him to see what she was about to do to his property.
“Okay,” he said. His smile was irritating. “I’ll be on the porch when you’re finished.” And then he left her to die alone. Bless that man.
The Change ripped up her new clothes. She had picked out the cobalt-colored, spaghetti-strap blouse when she’d decided to take a more proactive approach to winning her mate back. Blue was his favorite color, and she’d spent twenty-nine dollars and thirty-seven cents on it! Expensive brat, she accused the wolf inside her.
Clothes are pointless and dumb, she retorted. Let. Me. Out!
Damn the white-furred little beasty ripping out of her. Being a werewolf was hell on the wardrobe. It was hell on every part of her life.
Her skin was hairless and the exposed muscle was misshapen and malformed. So cute. So attractive. Well, at least she was dying somewhere pretty. There were bluebonnets in the yard. Also bull nettle, but she was a positive kinda gal now, and would ignore that.
I like bull nettle better than bluebonnets, her wolf said. It’s prickly.
Of course she liked something that hurt anyone who stepped on it. Monster. She should’ve been a porcupine shifter.
Against the debilitating sun, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. It hurt. How could a living soul survive a hurt so bad? She was dying, right? The smell of her fear was bitter and metallic against the soft sensors that lined her nostrils. She couldn’t go out like this. She was Morgan Carter, the only living Silver Wolf. Survivor, fighter, werewolf—she’d been attacked, kidnapped, and had lost the man who meant everything to her. And dammit, she wasn’t leaving this earth until she boned Grey again.
It felt like the Change took an hour, but she survived.
Stop being so dramatic, her wolf said.
If Morgan could stab her from inside her mind, she would do it. With bull nettle.
She lay spent and panting from the stress of the unexpected Change.
Pee-pee time, her wolf said. Out loud, the animal yipped excitedly.
Please don’t, Morgan pleaded, but she was just a little shadow in the mind now. The animal had the body.
She stood on all fours and shook her head to try to rid herself of the uncomfortable buzzing that ran through every muscle fiber. It took a second to remember how this strange body worked. Oh geez, she was really going to do this.
Please, please, please, please. Don’t let Grey see what she was about to do to his yard.
She found the nearest tree to the house, sniffed once, and then she really did it. She popped a squat. She spritzed the tree, and then moved on to the next.
Lovely, she muttered.
Her wolf growled. Marking her territory felt right. Grey was hers. She wanted him even after everything they had been through: his Change, the murder of her sister at the teeth of his maker, finding each other again only for her to pull away from him when she was Turned. And then Montana—her own personal hell. After all that, he still wanted her. This sprawling new land that her mate had set up for his growing pack didn’t smell like her home…yet.
She lolled her tongue out of the side of her mouth in a wolfish grin and sprinted for the woods. Thorny mesquite brush and feathery grass taller than her ears doused the land in a dangerous beauty. Cottonwood seeds floated the wind like snow, and sunlight, as gold as her mate’s eyes, permeated the thick canopy of oak. God, this place was stunning.
Birds called back and forth from the gnarly branches above. Squirrels flung themselves with reckless abandon through the trees, and the erratic heartbeats of bunnies, hiding in their underground homes, sounded and faded as she trotted past. Deer trails snaked through the woods, like roads on a map,
and she followed one to a creek.
And everywhere, everything smelled like Grey.
She’d missed his scent more than anything else. That tiny, unconscious reminder that he was around, and she was safe. The months without his smell had done something terrible to her heart, but with each moment since Montana, every minute she’d spent with Grey, he’d put her broken pieces back together, one-by-one.
Cool water lapped against her mouth as she drank from the creek. When she sat on a grassy patch on the bank, tadpoles and minnows swam in tiny sanctuaries made by reeds and felled branches. Somewhere nearby, a bullfrog croaked.
The timing of her Change wasn’t awesome. She’d visited Grey’s apartment in the city to tell him she was ready to build them again, but an elderly lady with neon blue hair and her grandson had answered instead. She’d never heard of Greyson, and when Morgan called Rachel, first lady werewolf of the Dallas pack, to figure out where Grey was living, she told her right away. Morgan never would’ve guessed he was living so close to Dallas pack territory all this time.
And how in sweet-molasses did Grey have the means to buy land and a giant log cabin like this? That man had some major ’splaining to do.
She loved him. God, she loved him so much it hurt to be away from him, but the damage done by the Montana pack that had kidnapped her was still something she was coping with. Such trauma had a cost. He would see how broken she was now, but wasn’t that what love was all about? Sharing your life completely with someone. Exposing your flaws and asking them to accept all of you, and in return, doing the same for them?
She wasn’t a professional at love, but it did feel easier with Grey now. And also Wolf. Because now that she had her own animal inside of her, she could understand Wolf better. There was the bright side to being Turned. And sitting here on the edge of this creek, she made a promise to herself. She was going to find every bright side there was about her new life, and embrace it. Grey deserved for her to be strong and settled and confident. Grey loved her. That much she knew without a doubt. She’d figured it out when he’d saved her in Montana. She had to stop running from fate and get on with her life already. If she wanted a shot at happiness, it was going to be with him.
It was always him.
A fat fly buzzed lazily around her, and she snapped at it. Missed.
Ugh, what if you actually caught that? she asked.
Then it would’ve been extra protein, her wolf muttered in a disappointed tone. Being a werewolf was gross.
Whatever you say, SW. Get it? SW? For Silver Wolf?
Don’t call me that. Call me something cool like Super Wolf.
Morgan sighed. The initials are still the same. Dumb animal.
SW is acceptable then, the wolf uttered magnanimously. But it stands for Super Wolf.
The breeze picked up, laced with Grey’s scent, and also a young werewolf named Marissa. She perked up and followed it to a deer trail they must’ve frequented. She snaked through the woods on the path and tried to see it through his eyes. He was building a pack, and first in it would probably be Marissa. He had needed territory to hold a pack and secured it somehow. Ducking low-lying limbs and jumping felled logs, she wove through the land he so obviously loved. His smell drifted this way and that, sometimes sticking to the trail, but more often weaving through the trees like something had caught his attention. Prey perhaps.
Mushrooms and moss, plum trees, day lilies, and Indian paintbrush dotted the land with color. Across open fields were acres of newly sprouting corn and wheat. Morgan sat and cocked her head. Had Grey planted those? Clever black wolf. He was drawing in the deer.
His scent marked the edges of his territory as if there were an invisible wall and she ghosted the outskirts, familiarizing herself with the creeks and crags, rock faces, ledges, animal trails, and water sources. She marked as much as she could with her own scent, rubbing against tree trunks and squatting wherever the feeling took her. She was a right proper little animal now.
A long and dehydrating couple of hours later, she returned to Grey’s log mansion. From the shadows of blackberry brambles hidden away from the house, she lay down and waited. Her Change back hurt but not like before. She expected the transition this time and didn’t fight the pain.
On the sprawling front porch, Grey waited with a small stack of clothes that smelled like laundry detergent, mixed with his intoxicating scent, and a glass of ice water. Even in her human form, her sense of smell stayed heightened. His eyes were steady upon her, glinting with humor, and she smiled as the last of the soreness left her body.
He stood at her approach, his gaze dipping to her bare hips and chest. A wicked smile spread across his face, and she paused at the top of the stairs. It should’ve felt strange to be vulnerable in front of him again after their time apart, but it didn’t.
Morgan gestured to the shredded blue shirt on the lawn. “I dressed up for you.”
“I know. It looked nice on you.” He twitched his fingers toward her tits. “I like this outfit better.”
She giggled and took his offering of clothes. She pulled on the oversized T-shirt, made for a Sasquatch-sized man who stood well over six feet tall with wide shoulders. It hung down past her knees like an ill-fitting dress. She probably looked like a twelve-year-old at a slumber party. Today wasn’t awesome for the ol’ self-esteem.
Ice cubes clinked against the sides as he handed her the water glass. “Thought you might need this,” he said with a knowing grin.
Heat crept up her neck and she looked away before it reached her cheeks. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “Sorry for—” She waved her hand toward his newly watered forest. “Well, you know.”
His golden eyes narrowed. “I’ve noticed something.”
“That my wolf is disgusting?”
He chuckled deep in his throat, the sound so delicious, it sent a tremble up her spine.
“She’s not disgusting. I actually like that she went and claimed her home like that. Nah, my theory is, I don’t think your wolf ever wanted you to leave me.”
Swallowing hard, she admitted, “Neither of us wanted to leave.”
He reached out and rested his strong hand against her hip. The cotton of her T-shirt bunched underneath his fingertips, and warmth radiated down her thighs as he ran his thumb in lazy circles over the cloth. Inhaling, her breath turned ragged at the intensity of his gaze.
His voice was so low, it was more vibration than sound. “I remember everything, Morgan. Wolf gives me this memory that makes everything so clear. Sometimes I think it’s good, but sometimes, when you were gone, it felt like a curse. I remembered touching you. I remember your body and the way you felt under my hands. I remembered exactly how I felt when you were mine, and all I wanted was to get back to this. Everything is okay. I don’t want to pay for the past anymore, I want to build our future. If we had it easy from day one? If we hadn’t been tested? We wouldn’t know how much we love each other.” He lifted his chin and gave her a cocky smile. “Now, I know you’re mine.”
“Why?” she asked, running her palms up his strong chest. “Because I can’t stay away?”
“No. Because we both can’t stay away. You’re the Silver Wolf. That sucks, but we will deal with the complications as they come.” He leaned in and kissed her lips gently. “Do you want to do hell with me?”
She giggled and hugged his neck, kissed him back. When she eased back, she told him, “There’s nobody else I would rather do hell with.”
Chapter Two
Grey’s cabin was like the entrance to another world.
It looked like a Colorado mountain retreat right here in the middle of Texas. To the right was a great room, and on her left were the kitchen, dining room, and living space. Nice and open, just like her wolf preferred.
He was holding her hand. He was holding her hand, eek! She had to settle down and focus on the home tour he was giving, but she kept looking at how perfectly his big strong hand fit around hers.
The place still smelled
new, like sawdust from building it, and leather from the new couches in the great room. The ceiling over the entryway was lower than the vaulted one in the great room, and she padded forward and tilted her head up. On the left, wide wooden stairs rose out of the floor and led to an open room above them, surrounded by wooden railings.
“It’s a loft,” he said. “I figured Lana could make a play area up there and have her own space where we could still watch her from the kitchen and living room.”
Lana was her niece. Morgan had taken over guardianship of the now-five-year-old when a werewolf had attacked her sister on a camping trip. Grey had been able to save Morgan and Lana, but was too late to protect Marianna, Lana’s mother. The monster had Turned Grey as its last revenge, but human or not, Grey had been wrapped around Lana’s little finger from first sight.
She would love the loft.
Across the great room, a beautifully rustic, curving wooden staircase led to a second floor. Grey’s hand was so warm as he pulled her toward it. He started taking the stairs two at a time in his haste, but slowed when she failed to rush. She was too busy looking around, amazed at the home he had built. He waited for her at the top, then led her down the hallway to a bedroom door. After he opened it, he stepped back and stared at her intently.
As she entered, the door creaked open to reveal a fairy princess bedroom. A white canopy bed loomed on the far wall, and a purple cartoon tree and bird drawings graced the wooden walls behind. In addition to the dresser and antique white nightstands beside the bed, there was a child-sized makeup mirror and chair and a toy kitchen perched on a thick white rug in the corner. A large white rocking chair sat next to a full bookshelf.
Sinking into the rocker, she pulled out the first book off the top shelf. She flipped through the worn pages of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Marissa had been reading it to Lana whenever she got the chance. She ran her finger along the folded corner of the page they had last read. A chandelier hung from the exposed rafters above, casting soft light across the page. There wasn’t a more magical place on earth for Lana to call her own.
