Charmed by the Wolf

by Kristal Hollis

  “Don’t you need shoes?” She handed him his hiking boots. “They’re still damp.”

  He stuffed his feet into them, foregoing his socks.

  “Got somewhere to be?” She turned to lock the door as he bounded down the steps.

  “My aunt has a doctor’s appointment at eight. I need to shower and shave before I pick her up so I can go to work when she’s done.” Instead of racing to the truck, he waited at the bottom of the steps. When Penelope reached the last step, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “I put my number in your phone,” Tristan said, low and soft. His gaze lingered on her lips. The air between them charged and he leaned into her as if he wanted to kiss her. “Use it,” he whispered in her ear.

  She couldn’t imagine why she would call him, except the obvious. A tingly excitement buzzed cheeringly along every feminine cell in her body.

  Regardless of the high-intensity attraction toward him and the body-splintering orgasm he’d given her, Nel knew better than to get further involved with him. His attention was fleeting and she wouldn’t risk her heart on a disaster waiting to happen.

  “Goodbye, Tristan,” she said, with a firm mind to mean it.

  Chapter 12

  Someone had slaughtered Mary-Jane McAllister’s pet pig.

  No, not slaughtered. Butchered. Mauled. Mutilated. There was barely enough left of Cybil to recognize.

  No cleansing breeze penetrated the woods, so the sharp, coppery smell of blood and the putrid smell of bowel clung to the air. Tristan considered shifting to his human form to use his hands to cover his sensitive nose.

  Damn! This wasn’t expected on a midweek security drill.

  “We need to tell the others.” Shane nudged him telepathically.

  To do that, one of them needed to howl. Shane’s thin, wolf lips were pressed as tight and flat as Tristan’s were. Neither wanted to open their mouths and have that stench imprinted on their tongues.

  “You’re the lead sentinel,” Shane prodded.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Tristan trotted several yards away before throwing his head back and howling a call specific to the Alpha-in-waiting. Brice answered. No one would advance on Tristan’s location without specific orders from Brice.

  Of course, Rafe Wyatt never paid much heed to protocol, and being the fastest wolf in the Walker’s Run pack he appeared on-site within minutes.

  “What the hell happened?” Rafe padded around the eviscerated remains, his nose wrinkling from the god-awful smell.

  “Found her like this.” Shane had backed far away and turned to avoid looking at poor Cybil.

  The official cause would be listed as a wild boar attack. Truthfully, there were no wild boar within the sanctuary. Only a wolfan could’ve done this. Of course, Tristan couldn’t help wondering if Jaxen was responsible.

  Brice arrived, took one look at the scene and ordered Rafe to get Gavin and Doc, the pack’s physician. Then Brice issued a call restricting Cooter from the area. Cooter was too close to Mary-Jane McAllister, Cybil’s owner, to witness the carnage.

  Other sentinels arrived. Tristan divided them into teams and sent them out to search specific quadrants for tracks or other signs that might lead them to the perpetrator. He and Brice remained with Cybil. The outrageous hog had long been considered family to their wolf pack and it seemed wrong to leave her remains unattended.

  Doc, a human pack member and Rafe’s adoptive father, arrived with Gavin on an ATV. Brice and Tristan shifted into their human forms. Gavin opened the storage box and tossed each a pair of coveralls.

  “Cooter?” Tristan’s voice cracked with emotion. He couldn’t imagine how hard the news had hit their chief sentinel.

  “He’s with Mary-Jane,” Gavin said gravely. “Rafe stayed with them.”

  Doc examined Cybil’s remains. “I believe she was already dead when the attack happened.”

  “Are you sure?” Tristan’s heart squeezed. It wouldn’t make the mutilation act any less horrific, but it would be a relief to know that Cybil had died peacefully and not in the throes of terror.

  “There would’ve been more blood loss.” Doc sighed.

  The spot looked pretty damn bloody to Tristan.

  “Even postmortem, this was a vicious attack,” Gavin said. “What would cause a wolfan to do this?”

  “Rabies.” Brice limped to the ATV and leaned against the seat, taking weight off his bad leg. “I saw something similar when I was in Romania. Except the animal wasn’t dead before it was slaughtered and there was a lot more blood.”

  “In feral packs, that would be a problem.” Doc laid a cloth over Cybil’s remains. “Even starvation would be a possibility, but not in Walker’s Run.”

  “Were Jaxen’s vaccination records verified?”

  All eyes targeted Tristan.

  “Before Jaxen arrived, I called the medical director at Woelfesguarde myself,” Doc said. “She gave him a clean bill of health.”

  “Have you noticed something in Jaxen’s behavior that might suggest he could be responsible?” Brice asked.

  Other than past experience? “No. I’m considering the timing and he does have a history of violence. I don’t want him overlooked because he’s my blood-kin.”

  “And I don’t want to swing the spotlight on him unless we find something that warrants looking in his direction.” Gavin narrowed his gaze at Tristan, his jaw set, signaling the matter was closed. “Doc, this morning you mentioned a viral outbreak?”

  “Several other packs have reported summer epidemics of the wolfan flu. I hadn’t seen it here until Jimmy Young came into the clinic a couple of weeks ago. Seems his family may have caught the virus while on a family vacation and brought it home.” Doc removed his glasses and wiped away the beads of sweat beneath the rims. “Fever, chills, nausea, headache, nasty stuff. But I doubt anyone infected would have the energy to get out of bed, come into the sanctuary and do this.”

  “What if someone got sick while inside the sanctuary?” Brice asked.

  “With a high fever, some disorientation or delusions...” Doc shrugged. “It is possible.”

  Anything was possible, even a snowball in hell. But Tristan wouldn’t bet on the odds of that happening.

  “I’ll talk with the sentinels to find out who was in the sanctuary last night,” Tristan said.

  “I’m going to let Reed and Shane handle this.” Gavin held Tristan’s gaze. “You’re overscheduled as it is. I want you to step back from some of your responsibilities.”

  “I did, last year.” Tristan swallowed his rising temper. “You went ballistic.”

  “We were reaching a crisis point with Locke. I needed you in the sheriff’s department.”

  “Now you don’t?” Tristan folded his arms over his chest, his fingers digging into the muscles of his upper arms. “Or are you suggesting I’m not needed as a sentinel anymore?”

  “Tristan.” Brice gave him a gentle warning with a slow head shake.

  Gavin didn’t always make decisions Tristan agreed with, but as the Alpha, Gavin did garner his respect because in the end it was Gavin’s job to do what was best for the entire pack. It was a privilege and an obligation that had been passed down the Walker bloodline for generations. Brice would inherit the Alphaship from his father, and eventually, Brenna would inherit from Brice.

  The weighty responsibility wasn’t one many wanted to shoulder, which was why the line of succession had been established generations ago and continued to be endorsed by the pack.

  “You’re running on raw nerves, Tristan,” Doc said. “I think Gavin is simply suggesting that you relax. Do something fun. Give yourself time to recharge before you burn out.”

  Unfortunately for Tristan, time was a commodity he couldn’t afford.

  * * *

  H
idden from prying resort guests’ eyes, Tristan changed into the clothes he’d stashed in the Walker’s private gazebo. The weight of the morning’s events leaded his feet as he entered the resort through the security entrance. He slid his Co-op ID through the card reader to unlock the interior door to the lobby. A conglomerate of smells emanated from the kitchen, turning his tumultuous stomach.

  Restless to the point of nearly crawling out of his skin, Tristan needed something to settle his nerves. Usually, he ran in the wolf sanctuary when out of sorts. Considering what he’d left behind there, he wasn’t in any hurry to return.

  Crossing the lobby, he instinctively looked for Nel. Coming or going, he’d grown used to catching a glimpse of her. After Monday night, he shouldn’t want to see her again.

  Still, he wouldn’t say he regretted spending the night with her. And since he was in a rebellious mood, he cut past the dark lounge and headed for the spiral stairs, taking two steps at a time to the second floor and heading to the activities room, breaking another cardinal rule: never seek out a woman he’d recently bedded.

  Unnoticed, he leaned against the door frame. A few long honey strands had slipped from the ribbon tying her hair and curled around her face. Padding around in her bare feet, she wore black leggings with a dark green V-neck top that gave a modest peek at her beautiful cleavage.

  Longing broke in his chest.

  Popsicle sticks and glue bottles scattered across the big round table. All hands were busy, faces scrunched in concentration as Nel bobbed from one child to the other, offering words of instruction, encouragement and praise in the same breath. Her movements were natural, unpretentious and captivatingly beautiful. She was in her element. And Tristan loved that she was.

  “Do you like my basket?” A little girl tugged his arm.

  “Madison,” Nel called out. “You didn’t ask permission to get up. Please return to your seat.”

  “I wanted to show him my basket,” the child protested. “See?” She held it up to Tristan.

  “It’s lovely.” He squatted next to her.

  “Madison.” Nel shot Tristan a glance that signaled he was encroaching on her territory.

  “Uh-oh,” Tristan said. “I think you should listen to your teacher before we both end up in the corner for a time-out.”

  The little girl’s giggles filled the room as she trotted back to her seat.

  Nel moved toward him and he stood, tucking his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her.

  Her gaze roamed the length and breadth of him before settling on his face. Worry darkened her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he lied.

  “Something must’ve happened. You’re pale and tense. Are you okay?” She touched his arm.

  “Yeah, I...” The dam broke inside him, and all the tumultuous emotions from the morning rushed him like a tidal wave. Barely able to catch his breath from the deluge, Tristan pulled Nel close and buried his face in the curve of her neck, allowing her scent to cleanse his senses. His coiled muscles relaxed. The tension thumping his brain eased.

  “Miss Nel? Is he your boyfriend?” Madison called out.

  Nel turned her head toward the class. “No.” She wiggled free of Tristan’s embrace, but took his hand. “I want all of you to put the finishing touches on your baskets. I’ll be back in a moment and we’ll start cleaning up.”

  A collective chant filled the room. “Miss Nel has a boyfriend. Miss Nel has a boyfriend.”

  “All right! Enough goofing.” She pointed at them. “Everyone needs to be on their best behavior. I don’t want to be disappointed when I come back.” Nel nudged Tristan into the hallway and closed the door behind them, leaving it slightly ajar. “I don’t know what this is about. But in the future, please refrain from hugging me like that in front of the children. It’s distracting to them.”

  Her words lacked true anger.

  “So, I can do this as long as the kids aren’t looking?” Tristan’s hands slid over her curves as he pulled her close and touched his nose to the sweet spot behind her ear and inhaled.

  Damn, he could get drunk off her scent.

  “Ummm...that’s not what I meant.” Cheeks pink, Nel pushed away from him and checked her watch. “I have a half hour before I’m done. If you aren’t busy, we could have lunch in the dining room.”

  “I can’t,” he said truthfully. “I have to change for work, got a ten-hour shift today.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “I’ll take a rain check.” He shouldn’t have said that, but her sweet smile alone made him forget why a rain check was such a bad idea.

  Chapter 13

  “Hungry?” Standing on the dark porch, Tristan’s heated gaze moved over Nel like slow-dripping molasses. “I called when I got off duty, but it went to voice mail. I gambled that you would still be up, painting.” He held up two take-out bags.

  Nel’s stomach answered for her. Loudly and undeniably.

  The brilliance of his self-assured smile nearly killed her, because her heart stopped beating and her lungs stopped processing air.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Chuckling, he stepped inside.

  Nel locked the door. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  The words were unnecessary. Tristan had already draped his uniform shirt over the back of the couch, his white undershirt was untucked and he was in the process of toeing off his work boots.

  “I need to bring in my canvas.”

  “Want help?”

  Tristan followed her to the back porch. She gathered the scattered supplies into a large tackle box.

  “You painted this?” He stood in front of the canvas of the MacGregor antebellum house. Surprise danced in his eyes.

  “Yes, but the sunlight isn’t quite right.” She showed him the photo on her phone.

  He held the device next to the painting. “There’s barely a resemblance.”

  Her heart sank. “I know. It’s terrible. I’ll probably whitewash it tomorrow and start over.”

  “Don’t you dare.” He lifted the easel, canvas and all, off the ground. “It’s beautiful.”

  “You said it didn’t look like the picture.”

  “It’s a hundred times better.” He carried the easel into the cabin. “The photo doesn’t capture the movement of the trees or the sunlight glinting off the leaves. The painting makes me feel like I’m there.”

  “Really?” She directed him to the kitchen nook, where a large round table was covered with a tarp and littered with art supplies.

  “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.” He sat the easel close to the bay window and studied the other canvases in various stages of development. “How long have you been painting?”

  “On and off since the accident. The shard of glass that cut my arm damaged some nerves and nearly severed a tendon. Art therapy helped me regain the use of my hand and provided a way for me to deal with the grief of losing my parents.”

  “Nel—” Tristan made a start toward her, and hesitated.

  “It was a long time ago.” She waved off the melancholy threatening to settle. “The food is getting cold. I’ll get the plates and utensils.”

  “There’s a couple of spoons and forks in the bag and I don’t mind eating from the containers.”

  “Something to drink?” Nel opened the refrigerator. “Which wine goes best, white or red?”

  “White works for me.” Tristan snagged two glasses from the cabinet. “Have you had any showings?”

  “I wish.” Bottle in hand, Nel followed him into the living room. “But I haven’t shown anyone my portfolio to be considered.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not talented enough for a gallery.”

  “Have you seen your paintings?” Tristan plopped onto the couch, his
long legs stretched beneath the coffee table. He unpacked half a dozen food containers from the bags he’d brought with him.

  “This will feed more than two people.”

  “You have seen me eat, right?” He winked and a flush spread over her skin.

  She peeked into the containers. “What is all this?”

  “This one—” Tristan pointed to the far left “—is the classic pepper steak.”

  He waited for her to sample the dish. The flavor was decent, but not spectacular.

  “This is the pad see ew with chicken.”

  “Um, this is good.”

  Next, she tried the shrimp fried rice, the pad thai, the duck noodle soup and the garlic pork.

  “Which is your favorite?”

  “I’m gonna pick—” Nel waved her hand over all the containers “—this one!” She grabbed the pad see ew.

  Tristan stared at the box in her hand, an indescribable look on his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That’s my favorite, too.”

  “You don’t want to share, do you?” She waggled the container at him.

  “Well, it is my favorite,” he said lightly, with no effort to retrieve the box from her.

  “What’s your second favorite?”

  “I’m not telling. You might swipe that one, too.”

  “I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.” She scooted close enough their hips touched.

  “Deal.” He stuck his spoon in the shrimp fried rice and scooped out a large bite.

  “Do you usually eat this late?”

  “Depends on my work schedule. On average, I put in four or five ten-to-twelve-hour shifts a week. We’re a small department, so our in and out times change to ensure twenty-four-hour coverage.”

  “I can’t imagine much happens around here. Maico seems pretty sedate.”

  He shrugged, finished chewing and placed the rice container on the coffee table. “I need to tell you something.”