Mae nearly choked on her own inhalation of breath. It was the one question she didn’t want the Canadian packmaster to ask, because if the truth was ever revealed to her brother, to Alexander, to anyone here at this reception, their chances of ever claiming more allies would be shot. The consequences for her pack would be deadly.
“That’s a good question,” she said.
While she struggled to formulate an explanation for Alexander—one that hid the dark truth—the alpha wolf twirled her around again. But as she faced away from him, she let go of his hand, stopping midspin, because at that moment, any hope she had of an explanation was lost.
Mae froze. Slowly, she blinked, standing there like a deer in the headlights. She couldn’t possibly be seeing straight.
It was him. The answer to Alexander’s question and one of her darkest secrets was standing right there on the other side of the dance floor. As if it were normal, as if he were normal.
Nothing about this moment—nothing about him—was normal.
Her heart began to pound.
The Rogue. The Dark Devil. The King of the Misfit Wolves. She’d heard the nicknames more than once. And yet he lingered there in the shadows, toasting her with a champagne flute as he cast her an amused smirk. Then he drew a long sip from the glass. Mae blinked, hoping, praying the wolf before her was only a memory, a figment of her imagination, caused by the stress of Alexander’s questioning and that would suddenly disappear.
But he didn’t.
She gaped. The Rogue was one of their most wanted enemies, a criminal wolf who was foe to all and friend to none. He was considered a leader among the packless rogues of their kind, a violent vigilante. His true identity was known to none, and even now, few had seen his face and lived to tell about it. Mae wasn’t certain how the leaders of the Seven Range Pact didn’t notice him.
From the heels of his leather cowboy boots all the way to the smirk across his face, this devil with a too-charming grin was a man not to be crossed.
And yet she’d struck a bargain with him when she’d been trapped in the vampires’ cells, still bleeding from where they’d drawn her blood for the serum. Her freedom and safe release from the cell in exchange for the tool he’d used to make their escape—along with her silence about him and his identity.
In her mind, she was back there again. Inside the vampires’ cell as he peered at her from the shadows of the next cell over. She could still hear the deep rumble of his voice as it wrapped around her.
Even from the corner of the dance floor, he commanded the room, towering over the Pact members in both height and hard-earned muscle. Only a handful of the Grey Wolf’s elite warriors compared, and yet he was watching her. His ice-blue eyes met hers, and a devious grin curled his lips. He was taunting her, daring her to out his identity.
But she couldn’t.
Not unless she wanted to negate the deal they’d made, and not unless she wanted to ruin the Grey Wolves’ chances with Alexander. If anyone knew she’d partnered with an infamous criminal to escape the vampires, they’d never believe a word she said about the serum. Any chance of them gaining more allies would fly out the window. It would be a death sentence for her pack.
Whatever the Rogue was here for, she needed him to leave.
Now.
The feeling of Alexander’s hand squeezing her shoulder in concern wrenched her back into the moment. “Maeve?”
Mae blinked several times, glancing to where Maverick sat at the head table, then over her shoulder to Alexander and then back to where the Rogue had stood. Already, he was gone, the racing thrum of her pulse the only trace he’d been there in the first place.
“Maeve, are you all right?” Alexander asked.
“Y-yes,” she stuttered as she tried to recover. “I’m not sure what came over me.”
* * *
The pink summer sunset had long since faded to nightfall by the time Mae returned to her cottage on the other side of the Grey Wolf compound. As she approached home, she cringed at the thought of the poor excuse she’d given Alexander. There was no way he’d bought her lie. Sure, she and Maverick had scheduled Alexander for a meeting with the Pact, which was a small step forward, but if they didn’t get him on board and fast, their prospects were limited.
But Mae was determined. She would find a way to save her pack. She had to.
Feeling more than a little defeated, she shuffled up to her door, scanning the other nearby pack cabins. Hers was one of many adjacent to the dining hall and the main compound building, which housed the elite warriors and the main pack offices. She grabbed her keys from her purse. As she did so, she glanced over her shoulder, as if she might find the Rogue lingering there in the darkness. But she didn’t. He’d disappeared without a trace.
She released a long sigh. From what she knew of his dangerous reputation, it was just like the arrogant bastard to trod right into a pack of alphas that would just as soon see him torn apart. He really was a rogue with a devil-may-care attitude to match his title. She gripped her keys tighter in her hand.
After unlocking her front door, she slipped inside. Immediately, the sound of tiny hooves clopping against tile sounded from the darkness. She flicked on the dim entryway light. Tucker, her teacup pig, stared up at her from the white tiled floor, his beady black eyes sparkling with pleasure at her arrival. He let out a pleased oink. Mae grinned.
Bending down, she scooped him into her arms, coddling him like a baby as she cooed at him. Still a piglet, Tucker was no bigger than a small dog, and according to the breeder, he’d been the runt of the teacup litter and would likely stay small.
With Tucker cradled against her, Mae made quick work of feeding him a bottle of milk replacer before snuggling him into his fluffy, pink dog bed in her living room. Once the piglet was rocked to sleep, she showered before she changed into her nightgown and settled into the comfort of her bedsheets. The day had left her worn out, but her mind refused to calm.
Had she really seen the Rogue, or had it all been in her head?
That question still plagued her. She wasn’t sure how he would have gotten onto the ranch without detection, especially considering the heightened security for the reception.
She shook her head. It must have been her imagination, a memory triggered by the stress of Alexander’s questions. The Rogue couldn’t possibly have shown up at Wolf Pack Run only to disappear again.
Though it had felt so real…
She sighed, sinking deeper into her mattress. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d thought of him since their encounter in the vampire coven.
Heat rose in her cheeks. She’d dreamed of him almost every night since—and not in the way she should have. The memory of the night when her life had been threatened by bloodsuckers was a dark one, but when she dreamed of that night, of him, her dream often took a completely different course from reality. Instead of dreaming of the danger she’d faced, she’d woken more than once to the thought of his uncharacteristic heroism as he whisked her from the vampires’ cells, only to find her own hand exploring between her legs.
It was sick. She knew it. She shouldn’t be attracted to a dangerous criminal like him. Despite that, he stirred something primitive inside her. She knew what sort of dark circles he traveled in, yet she couldn’t seem to help it. A wolf like the Rogue was everything forbidden to her: a non–Grey Wolf, a vigilante.
Not to mention one of her brother’s enemies, and the antithesis of every criterion she should consider for a mate.
Somehow, that only made him more appealing.
By her birthright, she was destined for a Grey Wolf alpha warrior. She shuddered at the thought. The Grey Wolf warriors were all fine men, handsome cowboys, but they were practically her brothers.
Mae tossed and turned in her bed as she tried to put the Rogue from her mind, but still his face taunted her. Eventually, her hand trailed
beneath her nightgown. Maybe if she eased this ache, the desire would go away. Maybe then, sleep would claim her. Slowly, her fingers probed the folds between her legs, locating her own clit. She knew her body, what she liked.
Gently, she massaged and probed as she remembered how it had felt when the warmth of his breath had brushed against her ear, the deep timbre of his voice thrumming through her.
You won’t regret this, he’d whispered.
She imagined his lips trailing downward.
What would it be like to be with a criminal like him? Something told her every touch, every caress would be more powerful, more sinful…just more. Soon, she was moaning in climax, the walls of her core tightening in a delicious wave that sent a rush of moisture straight to her center. She cried out, arching her back against the pillows.
As the last throes of her orgasm shook her, she relaxed into her sheets, sated, though it was little more than a fantasy. At that thought, a pang of sorrow thrummed through her. That was all her dreams would ever be—fantasy. Not just him, but all her heart’s desires. She wanted more than she could have. She always had. She loved her pack, but the duties that bound her to them had never been her choice. She may have been a Grey by birth, but if she were braver, she’d live her own life. She’d make her own choices.
If she were free…
Mae lay there, the weight of the things she’d never have pressing down on her, constraining her chest so much that she struggled to breathe.
If only…
At least she could dream. Her dreams and desires were hers alone. She released a long sigh, switching on the light of her bedside table as she reached for a book to read. Until the sound of a familiar voice came from the darkness.
“Evenin’, Princess.”
Chapter 2
The dim light of a table lamp cut through the shadows. Rogue leaned against the bedroom doorway, his Stetson hiding the scarred half of his face as he raked his gaze over her. As soon as Maeve Grey had flicked the light on, she’d scrambled to her feet. She stood at her bedside, wearing little more than a thin, pink nightgown and clutching a large hardcover book from her nightstand like a weapon.
He shook his head.
Despite her pure Grey Wolf bloodline, by both wolf and human standards she was petite, which meant physically armed with knowledge or not, she wouldn’t hold her own in a fight against an alpha like him.
But if looks could kill…
She snarled at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
As if he hadn’t made a habit of sneaking into her room hundreds of times before. He shook his head. He’d known when they’d met in the vampires’ cells that she didn’t recognize him. Twenty years and a half-deformed face changed a man, but still, that didn’t make her lack of recognition sting any less.
He crossed his arms, leaning harder against the doorframe as he took in the sight of her.
She gaped at him as if she’d seen a ghost. She had, though she was none the wiser.
“You’re in my bedroom,” she snapped.
He shrugged a single shoulder. “I gave you fair warning.”
She blinked. “I didn’t expect you to show up in my bedroom.”
“And where else do you suggest I find you alone? I couldn’t have announced my plans in the middle of that fancy soiree of yours. It would have scandalized the Pact, and then where would that have left you?”
Her lips tightened into an enraged pucker, and she glared at him.
He grinned. Even when they were kids, he’d always had an appreciation for her hot temper. Some things didn’t change.
He shoved off the doorframe, straightening to his full height. “You were never taught to check the shadows of your apartment? Seems like something that beast you call your brother wouldn’t overlook.”
“I must have missed that lesson,” she said.
“Pity.”
Maverick had been remiss in his brotherly duties then. Hence, the reason she was here, unprotected and alone with him, one of the most dangerous wolves in North America. His eyes narrowed as he watched her. Clearly, she didn’t recognize the danger he posed.
That was a mistake.
He didn’t intend to harm her, but she didn’t know that.
She’d made his plans easy for him, far too easy for his liking. The spare key to her apartment had been hidden directly under the sunflower doormat. Not that he couldn’t have picked the lock, but that trusting inclination of hers would make his job more difficult, get her into trouble. At the very least, if the fire blazing in her green eyes was any indication, he could lead a she-wolf to water, but he couldn’t make her drink.
Good girl, Mae-day.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“At the moment?” He grinned. “Observing.”
Her eyes widened in realization. From the way her shoulders tensed, she was painfully aware of exactly what he’d just observed.
That made two of them.
“How long have you been there?” She sounded breathless, throaty. All too similar to the noises she’d made.
“Long enough.” A smirk crossed his lips as he raked his gaze over her. “Don’t worry, Princess. I only arrived during the grand finale.”
She blushed, and his cock gave an eager jerk. No. Maeve Grey was no longer meant for the likes of him, but after that little display, he was still as hard as a damn diamond. Old habits died hard, he supposed. At fifteen, he’d been so crazy in love with her that he could scarcely see straight. But that had been when he was young, naive, before he’d learned the hard way that love was for fools who enjoyed tragedy and that she’d never be his. They lived in different worlds now, universes apart, and it’d been so long since he’d cared for anyone that Rogue wasn’t even sure his black heart remembered how.
Even if he wanted to love her, he’d never be worthy of her.
But fuck, if he didn’t still want her.
He gave her another once-over. Despite her large green eyes and spritely features, many a Montana cowboy would overlook her. With her thin frame and dark-brown hair so short, a lesser man would have said she wasn’t feminine enough—boyish even. But only a blind man could miss the plumpness of her pink mouth, the delicate curve of her hips, and the perky breasts hidden beneath her nightgown. They were no more than a handful, but enough to taste, to lick, to tease, and that was all before the scent of her sex had filled his nose. Now that he knew the delicious sounds she made when she came…
That was even more dangerous.
He stepped toward her, and she growled, raising the book higher.
He nearly chuckled. “If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done so while you were…”
“I thought I was alone.” Beneath his gaze, the crimson on her cheeks grew deeper by the second until there wasn’t an inch of pink in sight. “S-sometimes I need help sleeping,” she stammered.
He quirked a brow in amusement. As if she needed an excuse to want pleasure…
Slowly, he prowled toward her, closing the distance between them. She shouldn’t feel ashamed. She was fucking beautiful. He plucked the book from her hands, disarming her. “And what keeps you up at night, Maeve Grey?” He leaned in close, his breath a whisper against her ear. “Whose face do you think of as you pleasure yourself? Some valiant Grey Wolf Prince Charming?”
Perhaps the clean-cut packmaster she’d danced with all evening.
Her eyes flashed to the golden color of her wolf, and she snarled at him.
Confirmation enough, as far as he was concerned. The predictability in that annoyed him.
Immediately, she changed the subject. “If it’s my brother you’re here for, your timing couldn’t be worse,” she said.
Of course she’d think he was here for her beast of a brother. Her whole life would have centered around living in his shadow.
Mave
rick Grey was a massive warrior-sized thorn in Rogue’s side. Bloodshed between the rogue wolves and the packmasters who treated them as second-class citizens wasn’t Rogue’s goal, particularly when it came to Maverick Grey. The Grey Wolf packmaster was one of Rogue’s fiercer and more formidable opponents, rivaled on the battlefield by only a select few, himself included. In that regard, he had a healthy respect for the self-righteous bastard. He and Maverick had squared off indirectly more than once, battling like a heated game of chess. Rogue was more a thief than a murderer, procuring resources and securing backroom deals for his kind, but if he could screw the Grey Wolves over in the process, all the better.
Not that there wasn’t a fair share of blood on his hands.
“It’s not your brother I’m interested in, Princess.”
Had she been in wolf form, Rogue had no doubt her fur would have bristled. “I’m no princess,” she growled.
Clearly, he’d struck a nerve.
“You aren’t going to hurt me,” he said.
“You say that as if you know me.”
“I do know you, Mae.” Those words were truer than she’d realize. “I knew you the moment you made a deal with me in the vampires’ cells. The only thing I didn’t know was how soon we’d meet again.” He retreated on that enigmatic statement and sank into a nearby recliner, draping his legs across the arm, his old, black leather cowboy boots crossed at the ankles. “Are you not Maeve, daughter of Thomas and Sharla Grey? Younger sister to Maverick, the current packmaster of the Grey Wolves?”
She didn’t respond. They both knew the answer to that.
“Have you not lived a life full of privilege and leisure, sitting atop your pedestal in the Versailles that is Wolf Pack Run? Protected, cared for, safe…”
He’d given everything, nearly lost his own life to ensure she had those comforts and yet…
“All while you turned down your nose at the rest of us.”
At all rogues, the packless wolves among their kind.
Wolves like him.
The benefits of pack life were plentiful: a built-in support network, a safe home base, a guaranteed income, bountiful monetary and educational resources, and most importantly, protection from outsiders. Whether they were threatened by other shifter clans, vampires, the hunters of the Execution Underground, or even human law enforcement, pack wolves held a distinct advantage in survival.
Wicked Cowboy Wolf Page 2