by J. K Harper
When she flew past them several yards to their left, an infuriated bark followed by frenzied howls greeted her. Spurred on by sheer terror and rage, she left them in her dust, even if just barely.
In great leaping bounds, she reached Rafe's body moments before they did. A quick nuzzle assured her he still breathed. The fact he hadn't yet regained consciousness only served to alarm her more.
A mindless wave of bloodlust dropped over her. In a snapping, biting whirl, she met her attackers head on.
They dove, went for her legs, grabbed at her tail with their lunging mouths. Taunting her, calling her vile names, they circled and pounced. Sara stood over her mate, striking and twisting and snapping at every feint and blow from them. She parried back with everything she had, funneling all her fear and blind rage into the fight.
One of the smaller wolves raked his claws over Rafe's back leg, drawing blood dangerously close to the artery. Sara let loose a banshee howl. Sheer reflex sent her vaulting straight up into the air. She dropped down directly onto the other wolf's back and closed her jaws over the back of his shoulders and neck. He screeched and flung himself from side to side, trying to shake her off. Her jaws slipped and she tumbled off backward, but not before she saw dark blood dripping from his ruff.
“Take that.” She laughed with a wild, cracking edge. The other wolves paused for a split second, the injured one a step or two behind the others. Good. She'd thrown them off balance by her half-crazed strength and attitude.
She took the brief window of opportunity to plunge toward the large wolf, snapping her teeth at him. He reared back before crashing forward again, jaws open and snarling. She leapt away, nimble on her feet and driven by pure, frenetic energy.
Leap, snap, thrust, parry, spring back. Over and over, Sara danced and whirled and slashed and bit at them. They landed a few stinging swipes on her she knew drew blood, but she was so fast they couldn't pin her down. She sensed, too, they didn't really want to hurt her. They wanted to keep her alive and take her.
Rafe, however, they would kill if given half a chance.
Despite the burn in her lungs and the strain just starting to be felt in her legs, she refused to back down. These nasty, ugly rogues would not take her mate away from her. Not when she'd just realized she'd already claimed him and had just been too scared to admit it.
“Never,” she snarled at the big wolf just before charging him again. Over and over, she slammed into him and flipped away, her paws seeming lighter than air. The advantage of her remarkable flexibility and speed served her well now. These wolves had never met another wolf so swift. Nor one so desperately motivated to keep the advantage.
Despite the adrenaline pumping through her, she eventually flagged. Three large male wolves against one small female one was no true match for long.
I'll die before I let them kill him, her human snarled with distinctly inhuman wrath. She struggled on, pushing past the growing exhaustion and occasional fumbles.
Then, in the distance, a chorus of outraged howls spiraled up. Sara's hope surged.
The Black Mesa Pack members had arrived.
The rogue wolves paused, ears pricked. The smaller ones looked to the dark, white-flecked one. He shook his massive head and fell into a crouch, bright sulphur-yellow eyes locked on Sara's. The others mimicked him. They all sprang toward her at once.
Goaded on by renewed energy and the certainty of having the pack behind her, she threw herself into lunging, leaping, growling, and landing as many vicious bites and devastating kicks with her hind legs as she could. She spun and circled, staying as close to Rafe as she could.
The longest moments of her life passed in a blur of rage-filled shrieks and growls. When she missed a step and landed awkwardly after a stumbling twist away from snapping jaws, the large one leaped again and finally managed to pin her down, heaving his foul breath into her face. She snarled up at him.
The oncoming Black Mesa wolves howled again, close enough Sara knew they would be there within seconds. The large wolf flicked his ears back, glared down at her, and rumbled out a nasty promise.
“This isn't finished yet. Give Licas our regards.”
With that bizarre message, he jumped off and charged away at a dead run. Confused, the other wolves swung anxious heads between his disappearing tail and Sara's fearsome growl as she staggered back up again.
Too late. The rest of the pack had arrived. The tiny battleground filled with wolves, at least twenty-five of them pouring in. Energy and anger crackled through the air as they descended.
Within a few chaotic seconds, it was over. The two rogue wolves were easily subdued and each held down by several pack members. Alpha stalked among them all, his stark expression boding no tolerance for any more bloodshed.
Sara saw Caleb take a swipe at one of the rogues, his lethal claw tip stopping just short of taking out an eyeball. Like a coward, the rogue wolf yelped and tried to duck his head rather than fight back, now that he was totally outnumbered and his pseudo leader had fled.
She turned her back, knowing Caleb wouldn't dare do anything more brutal, not with his father there. She vaguely sensed a small contingent head out after the speckled rogue wolf who'd escaped, but she no longer cared. The only thing still holding her attention lay motionless on the ground.
She flung herself beside Rafe, nosing him, licking at the small wounds he seemed to have everywhere despite her efforts to protect him. Sand and dirt coated some of them. Crushed sage flooded her sensitive nose, along with the alarming coppery scent of his blood. Nudging his face very gently, she whined.
“Get up, Rafe. Get up, I love you, don't you dare do this to me now.” Her scratchy wolf voice half-howled, half-whined, setting other pack members to howling along with her in distress.
She barely heard Alpha issuing terse commands to the rest of the Guardians. Curling her body around Rafe's, she aligned her heartbeat with his, drew her breaths with his, sent every damn ounce of healing strength into him she could.
A woman with dark reddish-brown hair pushed through the wolves, who immediately parted for her. Otsana Bardou knelt beside by her son and ran quick, practiced hands over his body, checking his wounds. Face grim, she gently felt his limbs for breaks. She paused at the lump on his head. Using the lightest touch, she grazed it with her fingertips.
Rafe groaned.
Another chorus of howls and yips ricocheted around, this time encouraging and excited. Sara pushed herself into Rafe's body.
Slowly, his eyes opened. Glassy with pain, they blinked. He groaned again, panting a bit and flexing one paw. Carefully, he reached out and touched his mother's human hand with it.
Otsana smiled.
Sara cried and whined and wrapped herself around her mate as tightly as she dared. He leaned back into her, weak but sure.
Her heart expanded to overflowing, she cried over his head from sheer relief, soaking her mate with a rush of grateful tears.
Epilogue
One Week Later
“Ow! That still hurts.” Accompanied by a smile, Rafe's complaint dissolved into a tease.
Sara giggled at him and proceeded to keep gently pulling away the bandage on his upper thigh. Seven days of enforced bed rest at the den, mostly in his faster-healing wolf form, had brought Rafe back to fighting shape. Almost. He still felt a wincing pull in his left leg where one of the rogues had nearly ended his life by slicing him deeply about a centimeter from his femoral artery. The wound had mostly healed, as had the concussion from getting solidly knocked on his head.
Most importantly, something inside had healed in an staggering rush. Rafe wasn't one to dwell on emotions. But he was pretty sure this was a damn big emotion rippling through him every day whenever he looked at Sara, thought about her, talked to her, heard her voice, felt her tender yet very promising kiss on his lips.
Better yet, his mate was at peace. Something had changed in her after the fight. Calm, centered, and sure of herself, Sara now carried herself with the assura
nce he'd already believed in. It made her even more stunning in his eyes.
Still angry at himself for being careless enough to get jumped and knocked out by the rogues, leaving her to handle them on her own, he also kicked himself for missing Sara in action. Apparently she'd been at the top of a game no one else had thought her capable of.
“Thing of beauty, bro,” Caleb had told him with enthusiastic admiration, after Rafe had been with it enough to receive visitors and hear stories. “We came charging in to save the day, and I was so sure she'd be dead or at least ripped to pieces by those bastards.” Rafe's mouth tightened into a thin line at the thought, but Caleb hadn't noticed, engrossed as he was in recreating the scene. “But there she was, and I swear, for a second I actually didn't recognize her. You wouldn't have either, man. She was this fierce she-devil thing. Totally possessed. I have never seen a wolf just sort of—float—over the ground the way she was. She was fighting like some sort of ninja! I might have been scared of her if I had to go up against her myself.
“Now she's probably the best Guardian we have, and you're stealing her away.” His brother had shaken his head. “Oh, well. Good thing, since she probably would have handed my ass to me if we sparred on the mat.” Caleb laughed.
The recent days of being healed enough to think and plan, if not yet be truly active, had allowed Rafe to make the final plans for his new pack. Plans that finally, joyfully included Sara. She sat with him as they discussed the future, offering her best ideas as well as firmly demonstrating to him that she was ready for this move. The indefinable something she'd needed to prove had been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt as she battled the rogues over's Rafe's unconscious body.
Sara Kenyon was one hell of a badass Guardian. She was also more than ready to be an alpha's mate as he began his new pack.
But it wasn't news to Rafe, of course. The important thing now was that Sara herself knew the truth of her own strength and worth with all her being. And that she would always wholeheartedly be at his side, no matter where they went or what happened.
As for the rogues, it was an ugly story that as yet had no ending. The large rogue wolf, the one Rafe intended someday to rip apart limb from limb, had managed to escape. His final warning message to Sara promised more darkness to come, which boded yet more battles in the future.
For right now, though, Rafe had only one very sexy thing on his mind.
He looked at his delicious mate, letting his frank appreciation and admiration show on his face. She noticed, despite keeping her hands busy removing the bandage, because that rosy flush he loved to see crept up from her delicate neck to her adorable little nose.
“What?” she asked, smiling. He reached out a hand to tuck a few golden strands behind her ear.
“Just thinking what an amazing mate you'll be. What a strong pack we're going to have. And how every single wolf in it would die for you, knowing how tough and fearless you are.”
She pulled the bandage off, face completely flushed now.
“It's all because of you,” she said. The crystal blue eyes finally looked up at him. She was so beautiful it snagged his breath.
“And I'm what I am all because of you,” he said back. The truth of that statement hammered in his chest. He leaned forward to pull her closer for a long, wet kiss that ignited his skin and sent a message straight down to his stirring cock.
Sara sighed into his mouth, then pulled back a bit. Her breathless laugh brushed sweetly over his lips.
“You're not healed all the way yet.” The murmur of her voice stroked his every nerve ending.
“I'm healed enough, my beautiful wolf. Besides,” he said as he ran a finger along her bare thigh and enjoyed her gasped breath and the way little goosebumps popped out on her skin. “It's about time I have my mate in an actual bed, isn't it?”
She laughed softly, although the ragged note in it promised a hot, panting tussle in his very near future.
“If you insist. Mate,” she said, drawing out the word long and firm.
“As your alpha wolf, I definitely insist.” He grinned at her. “I've got to make up for lost time.”
“I like the sound of that,” she said, and proceeded to prove she could kiss him senseless.
* * *
Turn the page to read Book 3, Hunting Wolf!
Hunting Wolf
For everyone who will fight for true love
1
Caleb slammed the empty shot glass down on the table, threw his head back, and howled.
An answering chorus howled back in a cacophony of hoarse, shaking, eager, or just plain stupid-drunk voices. Hands slapped the table and at least one glass missed the surface, crashing onto the floor.
Caleb sat back to enjoy the burn as it slid down his throat, watching the entertainment of nice but dumb guys about to lose their asses in one of the best poker nights of the summer. Humans. They couldn't hold their liquor to save their lives. Lucky for them he was one of the good guys. All he wanted was their money, fair and square. If they chose to play while drinking a bit too much, well, that was their choice.
As a Guardian for the Black Mesa Wolf Pack, he was sworn to never hurt humans. That is, as long as they didn't hurt him first. Besides, it wasn't like he couldn't hurt them. He just couldn't—seriously damage them. Or kill them. That was against the rules for sure.
Take them in a friendly poker game? Not a problem.
“Caleb.” Mason, his favorite poker pal, the only one in the room sober enough to not wobble, jabbed him in the shoulder. “What you got going on later tonight?”
Caleb snorted as he scoped out his cards once more. “What makes you think we aren't playing till the wee hours of the morning here?”
“Aw, come on, man. You've got this table of fools about to fold like a bunch of napping kindergartners. Why don't you just give them some juice and crackers while you take their money, too?” Mason's laugh had a gleeful edge. He'd been watching and learning from Caleb since they started playing together. Okay, so maybe not the entire room was full of clueless drunk humans.
With another snort, Caleb tipped his chair back. Using his best card shark look, he regarded his poker buddy over his hand. “Can't help it if I'm just lucky, now, can I?”
“Right,” Mason drawled, giving Caleb one of those searching looks he sometimes got when he'd been on a winning streak. Some humans were a little more aware than others, though of course they'd never find out about the existence of shifters. Caleb didn't have any extra special powers, at least not in a poker game. His shifter genes just happened to ensure he had far superior senses than anyone else in the room, and he could use those to his advantage. Being able to smell the sweat of nervousness when a guy was holding all the wrong cards and the stakes were high had given him an edge many times. Not to mention the fact he'd always be able to hold his drink much better than anyone who lacked shifter DNA.
“Hell.” Caleb tucked his cards close in again and took a quick survey of the room filled with guys on their last legs. Poker night almost never ended up like this, but it was a midsummer holiday weekend in Durango. Everyone had cut loose to party earlier than usual, and the newbies were paying for it now. Easy money tonight. “I just like to play. Blow off some steam and all.”
“Still no girl, huh?” Mason's tone was grave, although a slight grin lifted his mouth. “If you had a regular girl, you wouldn't be here every damn week. Dude, you've got to find another hobby. This one is costing me too much money.”
Caleb laughed. “I hear girls aren't exactly cheap. That's why I only keep them around for one night at a time.” His words came out more callously than he meant, but he left them there. His once-a-week poker buddy could think Caleb was a bit of a heartless ladies' man.
“Harsh.”
“I just like to keep it simple.” Caleb raised his glass. “Here's to a simple life. All I need to do is beat your ass at poker and know that women everywhere find me irresistible—and impossible to catch.”
Still shaki
ng his head but genuinely laughing now, Mason leaned down to pull one guy off the floor where he'd landed after trying to rescue his spilled liquor. The scent of whiskey mingled with nasty carpet hit Caleb's nose. Curling his lip up, he concentrated on filtering out the smells.
One of the many benefits of being a wolf shifter was the ability to willfully ignore a sometimes conflicting palette of aromas. Having a great nose usually made life easy. It also, however, invited in a host of scents sometimes better left to stink up the garbage can. This cramped back room, shoved behind a bar, an upscale restaurant, and some sort of new age-y store, held plenty of happy, blurry memories for an endless stream of poker players over the years.
It also held all their stinking smells.
Filtering out smells was almost as easy as the rest of the game. He cleaned up less than an hour later, thanks to his skills and the progressive drinking of the guys. Caleb chalked it up not only to the summer night but the full moon as well. Humans reacted to its pull in weird ways. Shifters, though, just liked the extra light at night. A full moon did little more to affect them than help make the nighttime scenery more distinct.
The downtown street was still lively when he headed out the door. With a fat wad of bills tucked deep in his jeans pocket, he had nothing more complicated on his mind than heading down to his favorite bar, finding a local girl easy on the eyes, and proceeding to charm the pants off her. A warm summer breeze whispered through the air, smoothing across his bare arms and sending another multitude of scents to him. Some of them promised a feast of the flesh, and he moved more quickly along the sidewalk, dodging the occasional giggling couple or drunk tourists.
Fight? his wolf asked in a wistful tone. An image of brawling wolves, all snapping teeth and snarling play, surged into Caleb's mind.