Mae fled from the room without so much as a backward glance. She didn’t need to be told twice. As she did, tears poured down her face, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t until she reached the safety of her room that she allowed herself to admit what she was crying for.
Not the Rogue. Never for him. It was the gentle wolf who’d held her in his arms tonight. The man behind the mask. That glimpse of him had been its own kind of terrible cruelty.
Because if she knew anything about the Rogue, it was that he’d never allow her to see that wolf again.
Chapter 9
That night, once Mae returned to the guest suite, she fell into a deep, restful sleep where she dreamed of a pair of piercing blue eyes staring at her from the darkness. She was in human form, standing at the edge of the Custer-Gallatin National Forest, just outside Wolf Pack Run, and from beneath the pines, a pair of glowing eyes watched her. She glanced up as the wind whistled through the trees. The rolling gray clouds and thunder overhead cast an ominous threat. A storm was coming.
As she looked back toward the trees again, all sound ceased save for the rustling of the leaves in the wind. The eyes that had once been an icy cerulean blue had shifted, transitioning into the gold of a wolf’s eyes. Familiar eyes.
Jared, a sharp voice whispered.
Suddenly, Jared darted deeper into the trees, disappearing among the foliage. Mae ran after him, shifting into wolf form. She chased him for what felt like miles, years. Yet instinct told her she was supposed to follow, to find him. She had to reach him, had to catch him.
Come home, the voice called.
She ran until she reached the edge of Grey Wolf territory. Their spot on the rocks by the river, where she’d found him that day so many years ago, the day they’d become friends. Ripples of movement disturbed the water’s surface as if he’d run until he was fully submerged in its depths. But as she neared the edge, he never resurfaced and she found herself alone.
Mae, a familiar voice whispered on the breeze.
She turned away from the riverbank to meet the gaze of the wolf behind her, but Jared’s eyes weren’t what she found. Instead, a dark wolf with midnight fur and its face half-gnarled with scars stared back at her. A sharp ringing filled her ears as flashes of memory flooded over her like a tidal wave. The river. The aloe plant. The battle blade on her bed…until she was left with the singular image of a handsome scarred face beckoning her from behind cell bars.
An accusing voice inside her head hissed.
Dead.
Your fault.
“No!” she shrieked at it.
Mae startled awake to the feeling of a pair of eyes watching her—or more accurately, three pairs of eyes. Slowly, she blinked, the dark-cerulean gaze from her dream all but forgotten as she tried to discern if the three children peeking at her from the footboard—two young boys and a little girl—were real or if she was seeing things. She swiped a sleepy hand over her eyes and looked again.
No, they were still very much there.
She cleared her throat. “Hello?”
The heads suddenly disappeared beneath the footboard, and a harsh whisper followed—from the elder boy, if her guess was correct. “I told you both she would wake up.”
Mae sat up, still working away sleep and confusion and trying to discern what on earth would cause three small children to be lingering at the foot of her bed, until a low, guttural grunt gave her a hint. She should have suspected as much.
Shaking away her remaining drowsiness, Mae crawled to the foot of the mattress and leaned over the edge. The children stared up at her from their seats on the floor, eyes wide as if they’d just been caught with both hands inside the cookie jar—or feeding said cookies to a teacup pig, which considering the crumbs on the floor and the melted bits of chocolate all over their hands, appeared to be what was happening.
“Hello,” Mae said.
Tucker, who was cradled in the older boy’s arms, looked up at her and oinked again. From the looks of it, he was more than enjoying the food and attention.
Her eyes darted to him and then the children. They continued to stare at her.
Mae cleared her throat. “Am I…uh…interrupting something?” she asked.
The eldest one, a boy of maybe eight, puffed out his chest with confidence, the edges of his lips pulling down into a slight scowl. “Yes, you are actually.”
“Oh, my apologies then.” Mae smiled.
“We’re sneaking food to the piggy!” The youngest cast Mae a toothy grin before promptly popping a chocolate-smeared finger into his mouth. He couldn’t be more than four, and the idea of doing something secretive seemed to please him—greatly.
The middle child, a girl of likely five or six, shook her head. “We’re not sneaking, Noah. We’re experimenting. This is important scientific work. Our hypothesis is that pigs will eat anything.” She turned her eyes toward Tucker’s chocolate-covered snout. “Including chocolate chip cookies.”
Mae raised a brow. “Hypothesis,” she repeated. “That’s quite an impressive word for a little girl.”
“I like science and I’m not little. I’m five,” the girl corrected. She held up five chocolate-chip-covered fingers. “And I’ll learn to shift any day now.”
A smile crept over Mae’s face. “You don’t say.” She remembered all too well telling Maverick something similar when they’d been children. Since he was older, he’d reached shifting age first and had lorded it over her as any annoyingly affectionate older brother would.
“That’s factual information,” the girl added. She grinned. From the large hole in her smile, she’d recently lost her first tooth. “Murtagh says I have an expansive vocabulary.”
“I’d say Murtagh’s right,” Mae noted.
The girl beamed.
The frown on the older boy’s face deepened. “Murtagh only says that so she’ll practice her spelling words.”
His sister’s face immediately flushed red. “He does not. Take it back, Will.” She growled. The sound was pure wolf pup, barely threatening, but Tucker squealed anyway.
“I won’t,” Will challenged. He glared at his sister, despite still holding Tucker, clearly for her and his younger brother’s amusement.
His sister scowled. Though as she turned toward Mae, her expression softened again. She cast Mae a conspiratorial look. “Rogue says education is important.” The way she said Rogue was filled with more than a bit of admiration.
Will made a fake vomiting noise.
His sister turned red again and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “You didn’t do your math problems last night and I’m going to tell Murtagh and he’ll tell Rogue!”
The youngest, Noah, as the girl had called him, nodded in unison.
“I don’t see Rogue doing long division every day,” Will grumbled.
His sister produced another cookie from inside her pocket and extended it toward Tucker. “You wouldn’t have to do it every day if you practiced what Murtagh taught you.”
Tucker gobbled the cookie down within seconds, only to attempt to wiggle away after, but Will wrangled him tighter against his small chest. In response, Tucker cast Mae a pleading look and let out a huffy grunt.
“You and your stomach got yourself into this mess,” she mumbled to him.
The children paid little attention to them.
Will hoisted Tucker further into his lap by the pig’s overfull belly. Tucker’s beady black eyes bulged slightly.
Serves you right, Mae mouthed silently to the pig.
She turned her attention back toward the heated debate.
“I’ll be one of Rogue’s men,” Will said to his sister. “I’ll fight vampires and work the ranch. Who needs long division for that?”
“Actually, long division is pretty important to ranch work,” Mae said.
Immediately, the
conversation came to a screeching halt. The two older children stared at Mae, eyes wide as if she’d just announced she intended to make Tucker into breakfast, while their little brother started to screech “Sit, piggy!” repeatedly as if Tucker were a trained dog instead of a pig. A beat of silence passed between them as Mae took in all three of their faces… Well, as silent as a room with three children would likely get anyway.
Rogue, she’d noted as Will had spoken. Not Dad, yet there’d been so much admiration in the girl’s voice.
Will’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “What would you need long division for on a ranch?”
Mae crossed her legs, perching at the foot of the bed. Luckily, she’d changed the night before, so she was fully clothed. “Math is one of the most important skills needed to run a ranch.”
“You’re lying,” Will accused. “Did Murtagh put you up to this?”
“I’m not lying. Promise.”
“See!” The girl stuck out her tongue at her brother.
“How would you know?” Will glanced over at Mae.
“Hold that thought.” Mae quickly ducked into the restroom, changing into a fresh pair of clothes and quickly brushing her teeth before she returned to her perch on the bed.
“So?” Will prompted again at the sight of her. “How would you know? You’re not a rancher.” He said this as if he were certain of that truth.
“You’re right. I could be a rancher, but I’m not. But I do work and live on a ranch, and I know math is important to a strong ranching business, because that’s what I do. A ranch needs to make a profit—or at least break even. You need math to keep track of expenses and return on investment. I’m in charge of bookkeeping.” Along with every other secretarial task that her brother and the elite warriors threw her way. It might not have been the life she wanted, but she’d always been good with numbers, and she took pride in her abilities. The Grey Wolves’ business books were flawless.
“That’s what calculators are for,” Will grumbled.
“Do you not have calculators on the Grey Wolf ranch?” his sister asked.
This time, it was Mae’s turn to be surprised. Bringing up pack status seemed like something untoward to do, but from the curious looks on their faces, the children didn’t feel the same. She supposed to a child—rogue wolf or not—no subject was taboo.
“Well, we do, but—” Mae started.
“Are you surprised we know you’re a Grey Wolf?”
The question caught Mae off guard. “‘Surprised’ isn’t really the word I was looking for.”
Confused was more like it. She was still trying to figure out who these children belonged to, why there were vulnerable children here of all places, and how they managed to know more about her than she did about them.
“You look surprised,” the girl said matter-of-factly.
Mae shrugged. “You’re very perceptive.”
“So are you surprised?” The children stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate more.
Mae floundered. “I-I’m only surprised since we haven’t been introduced.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” the girl answered. “That’s Will.” She pointed to the eldest. “That’s Noah.” She pointed to the younger boy. “And I’m Hope.”
“Nice to meet you all. I’m Maeve Grey.”
Will mumbled a begrudging hello as Noah cast Mae a chocolaty-toothed grin.
Hope giggled. “We know who you are, silly. You’re a princess. Rogue said so.”
Mae shook her head. “Not really. I’m actually not—” She was about to say that being sister to the Grey Wolf packmaster wasn’t very glamorous and the princess moniker wasn’t legitimate—not to mention the word grated on her, thanks to a certain alpha-hole cowboy wolf—but Hope quickly cut her off.
“You should come to Martha and Ollie’s wedding,” she announced.
“Martha and Ollie?” Mae raised a brow.
Noah jumped to his feet with excitement. “The…the…they’re…” he stuttered. “They’re—”
“They’re horses,” Hope interjected, finishing his sentence for him.
Immediately, Noah’s excitement deflated. He clearly didn’t appreciate having his thunder stolen from him.
Mae turned her attention toward the small four-year-old. “You know, when I was your age, I used to stutter sometimes too.”
Noah glanced up at her, a spark of intrigue in his large brown eyes.
“My mind was moving faster than my mouth could. I bet that’s the same for you. Your mouth will catch up someday. At least that’s what my mother used to—”
“We don’t have a mother,” Will snapped.
Mae stiffened. An immediate tension filled the room.
Hope’s face became beet red again. “We do too! She’s just…” Hope’s voice trailed off. Noah’s eyes filled with tears, and his chin began to quiver.
No one needed to finish Hope’s sentence for Mae to understand. Whoever these children were, their mother was no longer living, and from the looks of pain on their grief-stricken faces, her death had been recent.
An empathetic lump formed in Mae’s throat. It’d been years since her own mother had passed, and she’d been an adult at the time, much better able to handle the pain of losing a parent than a child was, but she knew all too well how crushing grief could feel for someone so small. She knew firsthand how it felt to lose someone she loved at a young age. She still felt that grief as acutely as she had then. It hadn’t lessened with time. It’d only grown to be a part of her day-to-day.
“Our mother’s dead,” Will said as if he were challenging his siblings to say otherwise. “And why would anyone want to go to your stupid wedding, Hope? Horses can’t get married. Not really.” Will finally released Tucker, who let out a startled squeal before darting from the room. The sound of his tiny hooves against the dark marble flooring disappeared down the hallway.
Hope’s small fists tightened, and her cheeks flushed red again. “They can!” she wailed at Will as she fought back tears.
Mae’s eyes darted between where Tucker had just escaped from her room and the teary-eyed little girl. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know these children; they were just that: children. Children who were grieving and in desperate need of love and affection, and she could be the one to give it to them.
Escaped or not, Tucker could wait.
Mae reached out and clasped Hope’s hand. “I’d love to come,” she announced.
It would give her a chance to roam about and search for a certain rogue wolf to whom she had more than a few things to say. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do than continue to keep her head down as he’d instructed—except maybe find Tucker before Rogue’s men made him into bacon. Murtagh had eyed Tucker a little too wolfishly for her liking, and if she didn’t act fast, she might find her pet on a roasting spit.
“Our mother loved weddings.” Hope sniffled. “She would have loved my ceremonies.” She said this last part with just a hint of rage as she cast a glance toward her older brother.
“I’m sure she would have,” Mae whispered. “Why don’t you take me to meet Martha and Ollie? I’ve never been to a horse’s wedding.” She rounded the bed and extended her hand toward the girl.
No one moved and Mae thought maybe she’d misjudged until finally, with some reluctance, Hope took her hand. A moment later, Noah did the same. With tentative steps, Mae led them toward the door.
When they reached the hall, Mae glanced back at Will, who remained by the bedside, his arms crossed over his chest. The mix of pain and anger on his small face was all too familiar. She’d seen the same anger at the world on the face of another small boy. She knew the deep hurt it masked.
A hint of tears stung at the edges of her eyes. Oh, Jared.
Mae cleared her throat. “Will you join us, Will?” she asked.
; Will hesitated, glaring at her as if she were the last person on earth he wanted to spend another moment with. She likely was, considering she’d drawn attention to his and his siblings’ grief.
He let out an annoyed huff. “Who wants to go to a stupid horse’s wedding anyway?”
Mae nodded. “If you want to be alone, I understand.” She and the two other children turned to head toward the stables, but they were only a few feet down the hallway when she heard the sound of Will’s footsteps trailing behind them.
Chapter 10
It was a long walk to the stables, and by the time they’d found Tucker and made their journey out to the pasture, Mae was certain she’d been asked more questions than if she’d been interrogated by Rogue’s men themselves. The latest in the line of questioning was about the merits of strawberry versus raspberry jelly, because as Hope put it, she was firmly in the nothing-is-better-than-strawberry camp, while Will and Noah preferred raspberry. Hope was convinced she could get the cook to make strawberry jelly, if only Mae sided with her, since as a “guest,” Mae’s word would carry more weight.
Guest wasn’t exactly what Mae would call it, but all things considered, the situation was complicated.
As they reached the stable, after much reluctance to pick sides, Mae finally admitted, “Actually, I prefer raspberry jelly, because it’s more ta…” Her voice trailed off as they stepped inside.
She’d expected the stable to be empty. Instead, amid the scent of hay and freshly mucked stalls, Rogue waited for them. The sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting the dust that danced through the air and reflecting the polished sheen on the brown leather of Rogue’s Stetson and chaps. He stood with his back facing them, rubbing polish into a rough patch on Bee’s saddle.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned toward them. “You’re late. I—” His words were cut short as his eyes fell on Mae. His gaze flicked between her and the children.
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