Tropical Wounded Wolf: BBW Wolf Shifter Paranormal Romance (Shifting Sands Resort Book 2)

by Zoe Chant

  He needn’t have worried: if Travis’ eagle eyes had not spotted them from the little boat, Bastian suddenly swooping from overhead would not have missed them.

  “Shirking your jobs again, are you?” the dragon teased, shifting into human form within a few steps of his neat landing. He was a clothing shifter, and so he remained neatly attired in his lifeguard uniform, a first aid kit strapped to his waist.

  Neal folded his arms and offered a smile in greeting as Mary came up to hand him what remained of his tattered clothing.

  Travis looked alarmed at her blood-stained shirt, but Mary quickly waved him off. “I’m fine, really. Neal was the one who was hurt.”

  That earned him a head-to-toe look from Travis.

  “I’m fine now,” Neal said blithely.

  “You should still be looked at,” Mary said firmly.

  Bastian and Travis exchanged amused looks that would have had Neal gnashing his teeth in irritation just a few days earlier. Now he only shrugged, with a tolerant half-smile.

  “Partially collapsed lung,” he said off-handedly. “It’s better now.”

  Mary stared at him. “I thought it was just some broken ribs,” she said in outrage.

  “I didn’t want you to worry,” Neal said seriously. “There was nothing either of us could do about it.”

  Mary’s eyes were flinty. “I would have appreciated being in the loop anyway.”

  Neal squirmed under her scrutiny. “How about I put on my clothes and we go back to the resort for a good meal before you read me the riot act.”

  Travis and Bastian smothered snickers.

  “I’ve got some energy bars,” Bastian offered peaceably.

  “I’ve got spare pants,” Travis added.

  Neal suspected that the boat ride back would have been more uncomfortable if Mary had not been immediately enraptured with the whole affair.

  Mindful of her previous fear of boats, he offered her a seat in the middle, but she quickly gravitated towards the edge, looking over the edge at the rippling sea bed below them and squeaking and holding on to him every time that they bounced over a particularly large wave. The resort boat was not the most modern vessel, but it made short work of the journey back to Shifting Sands, and was too loud to allow easy conversation at its top speed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mary climbed out of the boat onto the dock with a grin. “I want to do that again sometime,” she told Neal, as he climbed out behind her and took her hand. She wasn’t sure why she had ever been afraid of it. “But maybe a shower first?”

  “Then you want to go straight back out on the boat?”

  “Then the buffet,” she laughed. “For a few hours.”

  “Yes,” Neal agreed merrily.

  “Maybe not,” Travis cautioned as they walked up the dock to the beach.

  Neal sobered with alarming speed, eyes narrow. “What’s up?”

  Travis glanced at Mary, who tried to look serious and trustworthy back at him. “Beehag’s heir Benedict is still here. He brought an… investor.”

  “Investor?” Neal blinked.

  “The investor isn’t exactly the savory type, and he’s interested in buying the island and ending the lease with the resort. Renegotiating, they’re calling it.”

  Neal whistled. “Scarlet can’t be happy about that.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Travis agreed. “And that would be tense enough…”

  “Do they know about the shifters?” Neal guessed.

  “No one is sure,” Travis explained. “But these guys are bad news.”

  “Beehag’s seed didn’t fall far from the asshole tree,” Neal growled.

  “There you go with the understatements again.”

  Travis paused at the bottom of the steps up from the beach. “It’s not an easy time,” he cautioned. “Everyone is on edge, and there are a lot of… bodyguards that came with the investors. Armed bodyguards. Creepy, well-armed bodyguards who are not exactly acting respectful of the guests.” Travis nodded at Mary. “Especially the female guests,” he added apologetically.

  Mary felt Neal’s hand tense in hers.

  “Probably mercenaries,” Neal guessed from the description. “Have there been any incidents?”

  “Nothing worse than leering,” Travis said, to Mary’s relief. “But it could get awkward if they said the wrong thing to Magnolia and she took offense. On the upside, Virginia finally put on clothes and stopped draping herself over the furniture like meat.”

  “That’s a sign of dire times,” Neal observed dryly.

  The walk up the numerous steps from the beach to the pool deck that had Mary blushing with memories took very little time, and they abruptly came to the top of the stairs to find a collection of people having a heated discussion.

  Beehag’s heir, Benedict, Mary guessed, was the greasy, scrawny youth—he looked barely old enough to be admitted to the resort, and he was scowling defensively.

  Scarlet was looking at him like he was some kind of small worm, and lesser men than he would have squirmed the way he was.

  “We have a contract,” Scarlet was hissing, and Mary guessed by her fists that she was keeping herself tightly in control. “It has clauses for breach.”

  “My lawyer assures me that everything about this transaction is completely legal,” Benedict whined. “There’s a more than generous severance fee.”

  Scarlet was clearly unimpressed by the figure they were offering her, though Benedict seemed to think it ought to assuage her ire.

  She turned her icy attention to the investor. “There are other resorts for sale. More accessible locations.”

  “There are no other resorts like this one,” the investor replied with a chuckle. “Shifting Sands has several unique properties that appeal to me particularly.”

  The mercenaries, who, true to the warnings, were looming figures, each of them easily the size of Neal, and armed with wicked-looking guns. Mary glanced at Scarlet, and back at them. She didn’t think that Scarlet was actually afraid of any of them, but considered herself unpleasantly bound by the contract.

  The investor was wearing a suit, and standing with his back to the party coming up the stairs, and he turned to glance at them with an unconcerned, sleazy smile.

  In an instant, everything shifted.

  Neal’s hand in Mary’s became an anchor, wrapping around her fingers even more tightly than before, as he hissed, “Lewis…”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Neal did an automatic assessment of the situation as they crested the stairs, taking stock of the bodyguards—six bruisers—and the other figures standing there. The bodyguards looked bored, but professional; Neal knew at once that he had been correct about guessing they were mercenaries by the way they were subtly assessing each other as well as the newcomers, fingers lazy on their weapons. He dismissed Benedict as a useless youth with too high an estimation of himself and no physical skills. He knew better than to discount Scarlet, though he had to lump her into a total unknown category.

  The figure with his back to them was the most intriguing. The suit was clearly fine quality and perfectly tailored, and the body beneath was unexpectedly large and powerful. From the expense of his dress, Neal guessed he had to be one of the investors.

  Then, he turned, and Neal saw his face.

  Lewis recognized Neal in the same moment that Neal realized who was standing at the top of the stairs, and with a gesture, directed all of the mercenary attention on him. Weapons that had been held loosely were at ready. The men that had looked the laziest were suddenly sharp-eyed and alert.

  “Mr. Byrne,” the drug lord said in oily tones, turning all of his attention from Scarlet to Neal. “How… pleasant to see you again.”

  Neal forced a smile onto his face. “I wish I could say that that was mutual, Lewis.”

  Scarlet glanced from one to the other, frowning thoughtfully, but said nothing.

  Mary’s hand in his tightened, and Neal wished her anywhere else
as Lewis’ glance turned from him to her.

  As polite as could be, Lewis offered his hand to Mary. “My dear,” he said slickly. “How lovely to meet you. Mr. Byrne is an… old friend.”

  “I, uh, I’m Mary North,” Mary said in a quavering voice. She had to reluctantly let go of Neal and very tentatively shook his hand. It didn’t escape anyone’s notice that he held onto it a little longer than she wanted him to.

  “I wouldn’t say friend,” Neal ground out, holding his anger tightly in check.

  Lewis gave a toothy smile. “No need to be pedantic. Business associates, if you’d prefer?”

  “My mission was to kill you,” Neal said flatly.

  Mary’s breath hissed in alarm, and Neal could feel the air around Scarlet chill. Behind him, at the top of the steps, Travis shuffled his feet, and Bastian flexed his hands. Benedict sweated in the muggy air.

  “Fun times,” Lewis laughed. “But come now, you aren't even considered alive by your old unit. Surely we can put a failed mission behind us.”

  “Not when the failed mission was to take down a turncoat drug lord who hid behind school children.” Neal's wolf growled from his throat.

  “There’s no reason to escalate this,” Lewis said smoothly, turning away from Neal to address Scarlet. “We simply need to finalize the paperwork”

  “What am I supposed to tell the guests?” Scarlet asked. Neal immediately found the calmness of her voice deeply suspicious.

  “That they should have purchased travel insurance,” Benedict suggested with a snigger.

  Lewis shot Benedict a squelching look that silenced the laugh mid-breath. “The resort is simply changing ownership. The staff has their jobs, if they want them, and the guests are welcome to stay for the remainder of their reservation. I’m sure you’ll understand why I will insist having you escorted off the island, Ms. Stanson.”

  “Of course,” Scarlet said, ice in her voice.

  Neal wondered what Lewis knew about Scarlet that the rest of them didn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “And you, Ms. North,” Lewis said, turning back to her.

  Mary startled, and clung to Neal’s hand.

  “I’m sure you understand our desire to keep things from escalating.”

  Mary, keenly aware of everyone’s attention, squeaked, “Yes. Of course.”

  Lewis smiled at her. “Than I’m sure you won’t mind coming with us. As assurance of peaceful resolution.”

  Neal’s hand threatened to cut off circulation in Mary’s fingers and Mary’s world went white with terror. Go with these frightful men and their gigantic guns?

  Lewis continued, talking directly to Neal now. “I know that you are debating whether or not to shift, and trying to decide whether or not you could get to my throat before bullets could get to her.” He glanced over their shoulders. “And you, you’re trying to decide if being in dragon form would intimidate my men. I assure you, it would not. I’ve generously offered you your jobs. But unemployment doesn’t need to be the worst of your problems.”

  Mary heard Bastian shift his weight on his feet behind them.

  “We can draw up the necessary paperwork in my office,” Scarlet said coldly. “And I’m sure you won’t mind if I pack a few of my things.”

  Lewis nodded. “I appreciate keeping things… civilized.” He put a hand imperiously out to Mary and snapped his fingers.

  Mary felt Neal’s growl rather than heard it.

  No, Neal! Mary said wordlessly at him.

  She wasn’t sure if the speech would work in human form, but he stilled, and let her step away from him.

  He won’t hurt me if we all do as he says, she tried to reassure him, not entirely convinced herself.

  A wordless wave of deep skepticism and reluctant acceptance was the only thing returned to her.

  Trembling, Mary put her hand in Lewis’ and he tucked it into his elbow as he turned away, pulling her forward.

  She had time to give Neal one quick goodbye glance, hoping she looked brave rather than simply terrified, and then they were climbing the resort steps past the bar towards Scarlet’s hilltop office.

  Benedict looked between the mercenaries who dropped behind at Lewis’ gesture and the party making the climb, then dashed to catch up with Lewis.

  Chapter Thirty

  Watching Mary walk away with Scarlet on one side and Lewis capturing her hand on the other was one of the hardest things Neal had ever done. His wolf snarled helplessly inside him and for once, they were in reluctant harmony.

  “Well,” Travis said, coming up on one side. “That answers the question of whether they know we’re shifters or not.

  Two of Lewis’ hard-faced men had been left behind, assault rifles at hand. They clearly expected to be feared, and that gave Neal an idea.

  “You don’t mind if I sit, do you?” he asked casually, and he sank down into one of the lounge chairs without waiting for their answer.

  He smiled, delighting in the way the mercenaries shifted on their feet and kept their faces carefully stony. It was never comfortable knowing that your enemy wasn't taking you seriously.

  “Lewis always had one fatal flaw,” he said cheerfully, leaning back into a deck chair, looking for all the world as if he had nothing better to do than lounge in the sun overlooking the pool while his mate was hauled off as a hostage.

  Travis and Bastian exchanged brief, mystified looks, but played along willingly, pulling up their own chairs.

  “What's that?” Travis asked, swinging his feet up on the lounge and settling his sunglasses over his eyes.

  Bastian picked up a magazine, hamming it up even further.

  “He always underestimated shifters,” Neal said merrily. “Like, he didn't know about the other things we can do.”

  It was the mercenaries’ turn to exchange looks, and Travis immediately caught Neal's intentions.

  “He doesn't know we can turn invisible?”

  “He doesn't know a thing about that,” Neal agreed. “I bet he even thinks the silver bullet thing is a myth and thinks that those standard bullets would stop us.” He nodded at the gun the nearest mercenary was holding in what were now white-knuckled hands.

  The second mercenary made a skeptical noise, and when the shifters looked at him, broke his cold facade to scoff, “You wouldn't be saying those things with us listening if it were true.”

  Bastian laughed lightly. “We'll just use a forget-me field on you… if we let you leave at all.”

  “Because really,” Travis added swiftly. “How do you think shifters have stayed a secret this long without those extra tricks?”

  The first mercenary scowled at his partner. “Quit talking to them, Jake.”

  Out of the corner of Neal’s eyes, a flash of movement caught his attention. The gazelle was browsing on the lawn by the deck—suspiciously close, for her.

  Jake, defying the other’s suggestion, mockingly said, “You wouldn’t have let Lewis walk off with your girlfriend if you could have stopped him.”

  Touché, Neal thought, scrambling for a cool response through the flare of anger at the memory of Mary’s last fearful glance.

  “Didn’t have to stop them,” Travis said, before Neal could think of anything. “They’re walking right into Scarlet’s trap, after all. Mary’s safe as houses with her.”

  How safe are houses? Neal had to wonder, and he would have shot Travis a grateful look if he hadn’t been concentrating on appearing cool and in control of the situation.

  Jake’s partner hooked him by the elbow and pulled him out of easy earshot, toward the lawn where the gazelle was still pretending to graze so they could exchange whispers.

  Neal kept a practiced eye on their weapons, judging how they were held.

  Bastian nudged a shoulder towards them and raised his eyebrows, subtly asking Neal if they should try to take them by surprise. Neal concealed his head shake by raking fingers through his hair lazily. Whatever else these soldiers were, they were profession
als, and their attention was complete enough that their weapons could be brought to bear before the shifters could take them down. They looked rattled, but not entirely distracted, glancing around often.

  At a moment when they weren't watching him, Neal gave a wave to the gazelle, who was still grazing in earshot. He wasn't quite sure what she could do to help them, but another source of distraction would give them more options.

  The gazelle lifted her head and with slow, cautious steps, walked to where the men stood with their guns.

  At her first deliberate steps, the guards were at full attention, discussion over whether to call Lewis and warn him about the supposed trap at a standstill. Jake lifted the muzzle of his gun to point at her, while the other had his rifle down, but a finger at the trigger, swapping his attention between the gazelle and the shifters lounging on the pool deck.

  She scented the air as she walked forward, one slow hoof after another. Jake lowered his gun, for some reason dismissing her as a threat despite the long, spiraled horns, but she riveted all of their attention—and Neal’s as well—as she rippled and shifted.

  A woman knelt there, shrouded in waves of waist-length hair in mixed black and white. At first glance, she was an old woman, the white in her hair and the gauntness of her limbs giving an impression of age. But her face, though haunted, was free of wrinkles, and her eyes were wide and full of youthful innocence as she looked up through her hair at them.

  “You are bad men,” she said chidingly.

  She had all of their attention, much more than she ought to, and it took Neal a moment to shake off her spell himself and realize that the soldiers’ hands had gone slack on their guns.

  He rose to his feet, waiting for either of the bodyguards’ attention to snap back to him at the sound of the lounge chair creaking underneath him. He poked Travis, who blinked stupidly at him for a moment before turning to put an elbow in Bastian’s side.

  Bastian actually pinched himself to complete his release from the gazelle’s hypnotic spell.