Cowboy in Wolf's Clothing

by Kait Ballenger

  “Just take me to your commander,” she snapped.

  “It’s your lucky day. You’ll get to meet more than the high commander; you’ll meet the packmaster himself.” One of the guards pushing her forward growled low near her ear, “When he orders your execution.”

  Chapter 11

  Feral, male, and unforgiving, Maverick Grey was every bit as formidable as legend and legacy painted him to be. Belle knew this from the moment the massive wolf stepped into his office. Her breath staggered at the power that rolled off him, filling the room with such thick masculine virility, she could have choked on it. But it was his eyes that were truly haunting, giving a glimpse of unspeakable violence, both seen and lived. The eyes of a warrior.

  Only one other pair of eyes had ever chilled her so before.

  His gaze fell to where Belle knelt on the floor, or really, where she’d been tossed by his guards. A small scar slashed through his left eyebrow, drawing attention to the pale green of the iris. From a knife wound, she guessed from the smooth nature of the scarring. A claw, talon, or other lethal instrument would have left something more jagged.

  The guard who’d handcuffed her spoke first. “Packmaster, she drove onto the ranch without clearance. She nearly mowed down several of our men with her tru—”

  “If they hadn’t swarmed my vehicle, I wouldn’t have needed to slam on the brakes,” she said. Despite the fear in her gut, she lifted her eyes to meet Maverick’s. “Please,” she pleaded.

  That smooth scar drew lower as those intimidating eyes narrowed. The voice that followed was so deep and graveled, it seemed to vibrate through her. James Earl Jones had nothing on this guy.

  “Leave us,” he ordered.

  Without another word, the guards retreated. As the door shut behind them, Belle regretted wishing for their hasty exit. She was alone with the most powerful werewolf packmaster in America, arguably the most powerful in the world, and she was handcuffed.

  “What’s to stop me from killing you?”

  I’m pregnant with your friend’s baby.

  “Basic decency.” Her response came out far more defiant than she’d intended.

  Those pale-green eyes narrowed further.

  She scrambled to explain herself. “I haven’t hurt anyone. I may have caused a ruckus, but only because of your guards’ behavior. It was foolish, but I need to speak with Colt.”

  “Colt?” He raised a brow.

  She fought down a groan. This was not going well. “The high commander,” she corrected.

  “And how do you know the Grey Wolf High commander, Miss Beautane?”

  “I…” Hell. She hadn’t thought this through.

  He took me captive, then let me go, and then we had a hot one-night stand that resulted in me being pregnant. Crap. Crap. Crap.

  “He…he saved my life,” she finally managed. Vague was likely her best bet at this point.

  Maverick examined her with careful eyes. “You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly reckless to come storming in here—though, by my estimation, I think you’re both.” Slowly, he began to circle the room, waiting to listen to her plea. “You have two minutes. Say your piece.”

  What piece?

  “Umm…a month ago, I was attacked by vampires in the northern Grey Wolf territory.”

  If she didn’t have Maverick’s attention before, she held it now.

  “The Missoula Massacre?”

  Massacre. What a fitting title. She’d been far too isolated from all other supernaturals since then—waiting for the clearance Colt had promised her to go through—to have heard it termed such, but she knew they spoke of the same event. It had been one of the darkest, most terrifying nights of her life. She’d done as Colt had told her and run without looking back, knowing that he’d been taken, thinking that he’d died for her. She’d never felt such pain.

  It had felt as if her heart had been sucked inside a black hole.

  To make matters worse, she’d also known there was a chance the clearance wouldn’t go through when he’d been captured, that she would spend her life on the run, but when news of his subsequent return several days later had made its way through the Rogue circuits, she’d felt such a keen sense of relief that he was alive and well, and that she would have her freedom after all, that she’d cried for days.

  He may have been a known ladies’ man and a warrior with an established reputation for violence, but he was a man of his word. She knew that much.

  A month was merely a drop in the sea of time, and in the constant adrenaline of not knowing his fate or her own, time had blurred. It felt like yesterday that she had been there. In the forest. Hearing the distant sounds of screams and fighting, and then running, running away as they…

  She shuddered at the thought.

  “We believed there to be no civilian survivors. Only our most elite warriors and a handful of soldiers lived. We probed the whole territory. I prowled every inch of that goddamn forest myself, looking for…” Maverick’s voice trailed off.

  “I fled and went into hiding.”

  “A wise choice. Vampires don’t leave survivors. Not unless it’s to their advantage.” As Maverick spoke the words, a faraway look glossed over his eyes. It was clear his mind remained elsewhere.

  He glanced up at her. “Why not come here? To Wolf Pack Run?”

  She wasn’t sure how to answer that.

  Sensing her unease, Maverick crouched down in front of her, meeting her at eye level. If she’d thought he’d been intimidating as he loomed over her before, it was nothing compared to being this close. She saw every sharp line and fierce hollow of his face, those green eyes drilling into her with staggering intensity.

  “I…” She stuttered over her words.

  The door to his office creaked open. She didn’t bother to glance over her shoulder and see who had stepped inside. Until a familiar, smooth baritone cut through her stammering.

  “I’ll take it from here, Maverick.” Colt strode into the room as if he owned the place. Maverick stood, and Colt clapped the packmaster on the shoulder as if they were old friends. He didn’t so much as glance in her direction.

  “This woman claims to know you.” Maverick posed it as more of a statement than a question.

  “She does?” Colt’s cold, steeled gaze fell on her for a beat, only long enough to acknowledge her presence. “Yes, I’m familiar with Miss…” His gaze shot to her again, clearly prompting her to supply further information.

  “Beautane,” she offered. “You might not remember me, Commander, but you saved me during the Missoula Massacre. I wanted to come and…uh…formally…thank you.” It sounded like a horrible excuse, even to her own ears, but she couldn’t very well announce the truth in front of the Grey Wolf packmaster himself.

  Both Maverick and Colt looked at her as if she were insane.

  “Helluva way to make an entrance.” Maverick’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “And for only a thank-you…”

  Colt lingered slightly behind him, out of the packmaster’s line of sight. He glared at Belle as if screaming This is your mess!

  Belle scrambled for an adequate explanation. Man, she was going to butcher this. She was a terrible actress and an even worse liar. “I was…uh…just so overcome with…uh…feminine emotion…”

  Feminine emotion, Belle? Really?

  But she was committed at this point. She couldn’t stop now.

  “…at the thought of not being able to thank him for saving me,” she continued, “that I sort of…lost it.”

  “Feminine emotion?” Maverick looked every bit as suspicious as she sounded. She might as well have been Lucille Ball on I Love Lucy. She used to watch old reruns on late-night television with her mother, laughing at Lucy giving ridiculous excuses to Ricky for the millionth time. Except that Maverick Grey was no gullible Ricky Ricardo, and there wa
s no way in hell he believed a word of this. She saw it clear as day on his face.

  Colt’s mouth drew into a flat, unamused line. “Lost it,” Colt repeated. “Right.” From the look he was giving her, he too seemed to think that she’d lost it.

  A deep, embarrassed blush filled her cheeks.

  Maverick’s gaze darted back and forth between the two of them for a long moment. She knew without a doubt both she and Colt looked guilty as hell. She’d made the high commander her unwilling partner in crime, the Ricky to her Lucy. Maverick’s gaze raked over Belle one last time, lingering however briefly on her curves as he quirked a brow.

  It was as if his eyes said You’re not his usual type.

  The red in her cheeks deepened.

  “Right.” Maverick cleared his throat. “I’m late for a meeting.” The packmaster made his way toward the door, then paused, turning around. His attention settled on her. “But there’s one thing I still don’t understand. You told the guards you didn’t have a pack, yet you were attacked on Grey Wolf territory?”

  A lump formed in her throat. No, don’t do it. Don’t ask.

  “What were you doing there?”

  She gaped at him.

  “She meant she lost her pack in the Massacre,” Colt interjected. He answered without missing a beat, supplying the lie for her as if he’d rehearsed it a hundred times before. “Miss Beautane is a subpack Grey Wolf,” he clarified.

  “Really?” Maverick quirked a brow, assessing Belle’s reaction.

  She hung her head, hiding her face as if in grief over the loss of her packmembers. She was going to hell for this. She was certain.

  “My apologies for your loss, Miss Beautane.” The phrase was tentative, testing. “Any Grey Wolf always has a home here. Though it’s standard protocol, given your little…entrance, that you pass a security clearance before you’re free to come and go as you please.” She heard the rattle of the handle as he gripped it. “Welcome to Wolf Pack Run.”

  The door closed behind the packmaster a moment later, and Belle breathed a sigh of relief. Lifting her head, she stared at Colt for a long moment, taking in the sight of him here before her and, more importantly, alive. He was exactly as she remembered. She suspected his face had been full of boyish charm in his childhood, but life had twisted him into something far harder, from the stubbled beard that lined his jaw to those haunting gray eyes.

  It was as if he saw right through her to all her fears, her mistakes, her lies. They were the eyes of a drill sergeant who’d trained all his life to see through every inch of his soldiers’ bullshit.

  It didn’t help matters that he knew what she looked like naked.

  “Thank God for meetings?” It was the only thing she could think to say.

  “Maverick may be packmaster, but he knows when to let me handle my own mess.” The tight line of his jaw showcased his annoyance. “There was no meeting, Belle.” Pausing, he raked his gaze over her. “Or should I call you Elizabeth Beautane now?” He smirked. “Next time you pick an alias, sweetheart, choose something a little further from Elizabeth Beaumont, don’t you think?”

  Instantly, she prickled. She’d forgotten how much he ruffled her feathers. That smirk of his was infuriating. “I didn’t figure it mattered. As you know, Belle Beaumont died while in Grey Wolf custody during the Missoula Massacre.”

  It was the story he’d concocted. Thankfully, she wasn’t well enough known among the Wild Eight that many would recognize her picture. Even if someone noticed a resemblance, few would likely question the validity of her death since it had come directly from the Grey Wolves.

  “Did you really have to kill me off?” she asked.

  Maybe the pregnancy hormones were causing her to be emotional, but something about that had irked her when she’d first heard it. She’d been eating dinner alone in a supernaturals-only bar, a relocation of the once-raided Midnight Coyote Saloon, when she’d heard several shifter patrons gossiping about the news. Even among Rogues and non–wolf shifters, the elite Grey Wolves and the details of their pack lives were akin to many Americans’ obsession with British royalty, nosy and gossip filled. As she’d sat there, sipping her cola and picking at a basket of french fries while she’d eavesdropped on the details from the next booth over, it had felt as if she hadn’t meant anything to him—which likely she hadn’t, considering his reputation. But she hadn’t wanted the reminder, especially not when, with each passing day, her period became later and later.

  He shrugged. “You wanted your freedom. I gave it to you. It was the most effective way.”

  Silence passed between them.

  He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here, Belle?”

  The tight line of his jaw indicated his annoyance. Not that she blamed him. She’d stormed the place, causing a commotion, but in her defense, his guards hadn’t left her much choice. This was nothing like how she’d planned to tell him. Some part of her had hoped he’d be happy to see her, to know she was safe, but he didn’t appear to be either of those things.

  She tried to find the words. No sharp retort or quick quip of their usual banter could make this level of communication easier. She inhaled a deep breath, trying to give herself strength, but it proved impossible with his steely eyes searing into her. Last time she’d seen this man, he’d been buried so deep inside her, she hadn’t known such pleasure existed. He’d heard sounds come from her she’d never made before.

  And now she was carrying his child. After only one night together.

  She’d been a fool, taking no precautions to protect herself—though he was equally responsible in that regard, even though sexual diseases weren’t a consideration among their kind.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this, but…I’m…I think I might be…” She swallowed down the lump in her throat, but as she did so, her face suddenly grew warm. Uncomfortable heat gathered in her cheeks. It felt like the sun itself had taken up residence inside her face as the weight of everything washed over her.

  Belle’s breath grew shallow as she struggled to draw air and anxiety gripped her. It was too much. Every bit of it. She struggled to breathe, and her knees buckled. In the distance, she thought she heard Colt curse as her eyes rolled back in her head, and then she was falling…

  * * *

  Colt carried his fair share of ghosts. Each night, the silence and darkness of his own mind broke down the careful barriers he’d erected, laying siege until each morning he awakened drenched in sweat. The reassurance that he would always wake, unharmed though haunted, kept him sane. Knowing his ghosts could only reach him in the vulnerability of his sleep provided him with a waking refuge. He held no such reassurance now. Because this ghost was all too real.

  And apparently, he’d be carrying this particular ghost literally, since she was crumpling to the floor before his eyes.

  Shit.

  Colt dove for Belle, catching her midfall. Sweeping her into his arms, he cradled her against him. As soon he did, she startled, grabbing on to him as she came to as quickly as she’d fallen.

  “I’m okay. I’m okay,” she rasped. Immediately, she tried to ease away from him. “I can stand on my own,” she protested.

  No way. She wasn’t lifting a finger. Not if he had anything to say about it. He lifted her with ease, ignoring her weak protests as he kicked the door to Maverick’s office open and headed down the hall.

  “Where are you taking me?” She sighed, giving up on fighting him, whether for lack of energy or resignation he wasn’t certain.

  “My apartment,” he answered.

  He carried her down a series of hallways until they reached his private rooms. His apartment decorations were sparse. Stark black and white. Modern. Clean. He may have been a cowboy, but that didn’t mean his decor had to be western, too. He laid her out on his black leather sofa, gently lowering her onto the cushions. Without a word, he retriev
ed a pillow and propped it behind her head, then promptly did the same with her feet. He fetched her a glass of water from the tap and passed the glass to her. She eased up slightly, enough to take a sip. She looked pale, a little green around the gills.

  Unlike her, he was no intelligent doctor, but he could at least make her comfortable. Sitting down on the edge of his coffee table across from her, he plucked the water glass from her when she was finished and set the empty glass on a nearby coaster.

  “First time I’ve ever given a woman the vapors, I’ll say that much,” he drawled. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?”

  She watched him with tired eyes. He remembered all too well the way her smile could light up the room. Whenever he’d made her grin, he remembered it feeling like a ray of sunshine in the middle of the cold, gray Montana weather. He would give anything to see her smile like that again, and that was too dangerous for his liking.

  “Nerves. We just lied to Maverick and…” Her voice trailed off.

  “What are you doing here, Belle?” he asked.

  He leaned his weight on his knees. Though it’d only been a month since he’d last seen her, a horrific lifetime had passed for him. How many nights had he spent longing for her, hoping that the outcome between them could have been different…

  And living with the harsh reality that it never would be.

  “I…I thought you had died…” she finally managed to whisper.

  His gaze captured hers. Whatever she saw there must have intimidated her, because she tore her gaze away.

  “I did,” he answered. “Twice. But they revived me. It was a game they played. My packmembers saved me.” He left it at that. He would never scar her with the dark details of what had happened to him. He knew the guilt it would bring her—though it was unwarranted. It was his duty to protect her, and he took pride in that service, in his position.

  Even if it suited him because he was a monster.