Wolf Kiss (Warrior Wolves Book 1)

by Christine DePetrillo

  Do something worthy. Flidae’s words echoed in his head. He only had to do something worthy and he could go back home to Ireland. He could go back home and… and what? Clearly killing for money in wolf form was not something Flidae approved of, and he had no guarantee the other four men would do something worthy as quickly as he did. He also had doubts they would pledge any kind of allegiance to him considering what had happened. What good was a leader without men to lead? He’d also have to face the anger the men were throwing his way as Flidae chastised them. They probably wouldn’t follow his command anymore.

  Why should they? He’d done the unforgivable to men who had only showed him loyalty. He’d disregarded their will. He’d made life-altering decisions for them that were not his to make.

  He’d been greedy. Just as Flidae had said.

  Sitting, Reardon rested his elbows on his bent knees and held his head in his hands. That empty feeling in his chest nearly overwhelmed him. He’d fought alongside his men for so long, shared quarters with them, dined with them. They were his brothers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly alone.

  But he was alone now. No link to his men, his new wolves, his beloved Ireland.

  With a growl, he shifted to wolf form and took off at a run through the unfamiliar woods, weaving between trees as dirt and leaves churned up under his large paws. The warm air—so different from the cool rain he’d shivered under only moments ago—settled in his fur as he streaked through the forest, the scent of earth filling his nose. It didn’t smell like Ireland.

  He came to an abrupt stop at the base of a huge pine tree, his lungs heaving. Although his senses were still sharpened, that connection to nature he’d always had when in wolf form was gone. Severed. Flidae had meant what she said about him not being under her protection. He felt separate and the sensation disoriented him.

  He ran for a few more minutes, the night sky barely visible through the dense canopy of maple, birch, and beech trees. Running was the only thing that made sense right now. The only thing he could be successful at after being banished from the only home he’d ever known. He lived a brutal existence, but it was the existence he’d chosen… or the one that had chosen him. Either way, he was made to lead, to fight, to win. The defeat he’d experienced today at Flidae’s hands destroyed him. The guilt over turning his men without their consent tore out his heart.

  Reardon McAlator officially had no one. This shouldn’t have been a big deal. He’d made a life out of ripping apart men in battle, of counting his rewards, of searching for his next contract. Now he had to do something worthy.

  What does that even mean?

  Worthy work to him was leading his army to victory. He had no army, no opponents, no battle, no king ready to pay him and his men handsomely for their skills.

  He was just a wolf running in the dark woods. Woods he didn’t know. Where was he going?

  And where are all the people?

  Did no humans exist in this time and place Flidae had banished him to? Had his men ended up in more populated places? More dangerous places?

  How could he have brought this on his most trusted men? How could he ever hope to make it up to them should they be reunited?

  Reardon pushed his wolf form harder until the woods streaked by in a blur around him. His only plan right now was to run. Run fast. Run until he couldn’t run anymore. He appeared to still have his strength, so running forever was a distinct possibility. Maybe he could outrun this horrible situation Flidae had put him in.

  No. I put myself here.

  He had no one to blame but himself. The burden rested on his shoulders alone.

  After sloshing through a shallow stream, he stopped for a moment to take a drink, then picked up his former gallop until a sudden, excruciating pain bit at his back right leg. A howl tore from his throat as he fell, his nose digging into the dirt and leaves. He panted, twisting in agony for a few moments, trying desperately to stay conscious. It felt as if someone had set his back leg on fire and soon that fire would consume him.

  Get up. I’m stronger than this.

  Hell, he’d been stabbed and sliced with swords and spears for most of his adult life. Whatever had just happened to his leg should be nothing in comparison.

  Only it felt much, much worse.

  Inhaling, he attempted to raise his head and look at his leg. An iron set of teeth had a crushing grip on him. Blood ran through his fur, warm and slick, and was that bone jutting out? A wave of nausea rolled over him and he looked away, not usually so squeamish. Maybe Flidae had taken more from him than he’d realized.

  He considered his options for getting free and, unfortunately, he could only come up with one doable course of action—shift back to human form so he could use his hands to pry open the jaws. Shifting back to human was normally not a monumental task because he was used to the metamorphosis at this point, but what he didn’t look forward to was the increase in pain he would feel. The human body was not as tolerant of pain as his wolf form was, but he could see no other way of releasing himself. In his hybrid wolfman form, his clawed hands would be as useless as his paws would be. Only human hands would work.

  And I’ll die if I stay like this.

  For a long moment, he contemplated dying, pondered letting himself go, but it wasn’t in his nature to surrender. Ever. Clearly he was willing to do whatever it took to win… even betray his brothers in battle and anger goddesses.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he channeled his energy into shifting, but a snap of a twig nearby made him stop. Shuffling sounded and a circle of light bounced around amidst the dark trees. Voices traveled to him on the humid breeze.

  He was not alone in these strange woods.

  ****

  “It’s over this way I think.” Brandy led Parker through the woods on the sanctuary. They’d been in her driveway after The Blind Date from Hell when a pained howl echoed in the darkness. She’d immediately grabbed the flashlight and medical kit she kept by the door of her cabin, and Parker hadn’t hesitated to follow her.

  “That howl didn’t sound like one of our furry friends.” Parker held a tranquilizer gun in his hands, ready to point it in any direction Brandy needed him to.

  She smiled over Parker having her back just as he had tonight. Chella’s cousin, Marshall, was… was… what was he? Shit, she didn’t have the right words to describe him. At 5’6”, he was shorter than she was and skinny as a rail. With light brown hair and large brown eyes magnified a little by thick glasses, he reminded Brandy of a deer. Tentative, skittish, apt to bound accidentally in front of a logging truck. She’d taken one look at Marshall then slid her gaze to Parker, an apology already radiating from his facial expression. She then narrowed her eyes at Chella who was draped alongside Parker with a smug grin on her bright red lips.

  What the hell was she hoping to accomplish by setting Brandy up with Marshall? No matter how nice a guy Chella’s cousin may have been, Brandy lived a rugged life intricately tied to the woods and the wolves. She spent most of her time working outside no matter the weather and her leisure activities included mountain and rock climbing, skiing, snowboarding, ATVing, snowmobiling… all things Marshall did not look interested in at all. Hell, a case of chapped lips would most likely crush him.

  Give him a try.

  She’d reminded herself of what Meredith was always telling her. “Love comes in all sorts of packages, Brandy. You’ve got to be willing to peel off the layers of wrapping paper and be open to the surprise waiting inside.”

  Brandy’s parents had met in an airport in Colorado when their flights were cancelled and they were both waiting around at the mercy of the airlines and the weather. Fletcher Wendon was in no way the man Meredith had expected to steal her heart. He was a redhead. She never liked redheads. He had a beard. She hated beards. He had the gunk of a mechanic caked under his fingernails. She despised gunk and didn’t know shit about cars.

  All that slipped by the wayside as they shared a meal at a tiny din
er near the airport. Fletcher had charmed Meredith, obliterating her predetermined qualifications for a potential spouse. The two were married about six months after their initial encounter and had enjoyed their marriage on a daily basis right up until Fletcher passed away from a heart attack a few years ago. Brandy could only hope to find a love like her parents had shared.

  But she definitely was not finding that love with Marshall.

  He’d asked a hundred questions about food on the menu where they’d dined, causing the waiter to send her sympathetic glances. He’d spilled his wine in her lap then made no move to help clean it. His laugh was akin to the squawking of an agitated crow. Actually, no. That wasn’t fair to crows. He also didn’t want to order dessert after dinner. Now, as eager as Brandy was to end the date, she still had dessert in mind. What kind of guy didn’t want dessert? No kind of guy for her.

  The killing blow, however, was when Parker and Brandy had a conversation about the wolves at the sanctuary and Marshall said, “Wolves are portrayed as big and bad in literature for a reason.”

  Brandy had blinked at him for a solid ten-count before signaling to the waiter to bring their check. She’d paid for her dinner after Marshall hadn’t offered and driven home, equal parts relieved the date was done and depressed the evening hadn’t turned up her soul mate.

  Soul mate. What a dumb notion.

  Parker had apparently dropped Chella and Marshall off at Chella’s house then zipped to Brandy’s place to check on her. Too bad she and Parker didn’t have the necessary chemistry. He could be such a knight in shining armor sometimes.

  Such a knight that he was willing to trudge through the dark woods to investigate an unfamiliar howl.

  “Listen, B,” Parker said as they climbed up a small hill. “I’m sorry I forced you into the Marshall situation.”

  She bumped shoulders with him. “No problem, buddy.”

  “Just don’t do it ever again?”

  “Never ever.”

  “Got it.” He puffed out a breath. “I figured he’d be like Chella.”

  Even more reason to never ever.

  “I think I see something over here.” She led Parker to the fence that ran along the perimeter of the sanctuary. Sure enough, when she swung the flashlight beam from the left to the right, a pair of eyes reflected back to them.

  “Hold the flashlight steady and I’ll hop the fence,” Parker said, looping the strap on the tranq gun over his shoulder.

  “Are you giving me the ‘I’ll handle this, little lady’ speech?” She directed the flashlight beam onto Parker’s face.

  He scrunched up his cheeks, his eyes becoming mere slits as his hands blocked the harsh light. “I’m guessing you don’t want to hear that speech.”

  “Good guess, genius.” She pushed the flashlight and medical kit into his hands and in a move Parker didn’t have time to stop, she’d scaled the chain-link fence, landing softly on the other side. “Give me that stuff and come over.” She squeezed her hand through the links and took the flashlight then reached for the gun and medical kit over the top of the fence.

  A few seconds later, Parker stood beside her and took the tranq gun back. “I think Marshall would have loved this portion of the evening.”

  “Yeah, if by ‘loved’ you mean hated.” Brandy shined the light in the direction where she’d seen the eyes and once again caught them in the beam. She moved the flashlight from side to side. “Wow. This guy is big.”

  “And very much caught in a trap.” Parker nudged Brandy’s hand down so the light shined on the wolf’s hindquarters.

  “Shit.” Brandy ground her teeth so hard she could hear them crunch together. “How many times do I have to beg Hank Swift to keep his goddamn traps away from us?”

  “At least once more it appears.” Parker took a few slow steps forward.

  Approaching a wounded wolf took a great deal of caution. The animal didn’t always recognize a helping human from a jackass bent on catching it in a trap for no good reason. Hank didn’t have livestock anymore for wolves to prey on. He’d gambled them all away about a year ago, but that hadn’t stopped him from being able to afford these metal jaws of death he kept leaving around.

  “I’m getting the sheriff involved this time. That poor wolf doesn’t deserve this.”

  “The trap isn’t technically on your land though, B.”

  “I know, but it’s still a safety risk for our wolves. What’s our point in doing all this rehabilitation when they could set one foot out of the sanctuary and end up like this unlucky fellow?”

  “Hey, I agree with you, but I’m not sure Sheriff Olsen can do anything.” Parker motioned her over with the light as he got closer to the injured wolf. “It’s still worth a shot though.”

  Brandy put calling the sheriff on the top of her to-do list for tomorrow. “Why isn’t this wolf whimpering or something? It’s as if he let out that one howl and that was all he had. He’s got to be in incredible pain.” She huddled behind Parker to get a better look. “Ah, shit. Is that bone?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Poor baby.”

  As soon as the words left her lips, the wolf—a giant black one—curled its lips back and let out a low warning growl. Its teeth were razor-sharp and quite ready to tear into any humans who were stupid enough to get close.

  “So yeah,” Parker said, “we tranqing this dude?”

  “He does appear to be less than friendly at the moment,” Brandy agreed. “But who can blame him? I’d be pissed if my leg got mangled in steel jaws.”

  “You get pissed when someone drops wine in your lap, never mind legs caught in traps.”

  “Shut it, Parker. You wouldn’t have been comfortable wearing wine-soaked jeans either. Pull the trigger, will you?” She poked him in the shoulder.

  He let out a soft laugh and squeezed off a shot. The dart landed in the wolf’s rear flank which released another growl from the angry, injured beastie.

  “We’re not making friends with him so far.” Parker shouldered the tranq gun again while he and Brandy crouched together about twenty feet away from the wolf, waiting for it to pass out.

  “He’ll thank us when he’s all healed up.” Brandy had never had a wolf reject her help or turn on her. Meredith said it was because she knew how to connect with animals on a level most humans didn’t. Whatever the case may be, she valued the relationships she had with all her wolf tenants. She’d offer this new wolf the same level of care and hospitality she gave everyone at Silver Moon.

  “That break looks pretty bad,” Parker said, taking the flashlight and shining it directly on the wolf’s back leg as the creature’s head drooped.

  “Nothing like a little midnight surgery, right?” Brandy squeezed his shoulder.

  “And here I was hoping to get laid before bed, not set a wolf’s leg.” Parker sighed.

  Brandy cupped her hands over her ears. “La-la-la-la. Don’t want to hear about your sex life, Dr. Daniels.”

  “What? You weren’t hoping to get busy with Marshall?”

  “I’d probably crush him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man that skinny before.” Brandy wasn’t super picky about her dream guy, but a little bulk—something that told her he could hold his own in a street fight—would be nice. Not that many street fights broke out in the Vermont woods, but she needed a guy who was solid and could bring a pair of work boots to life. Cheap flip-flops would have been too much for Marshall to lift.

  They huddled in the darkness until the wolf’s head hit the ground and it stayed motionless for a few minutes.

  “Nighty-night, big boy.” Brandy approached first, going immediately to the trap and hitting the release mechanism on it. Fresh blood spurted out of the puncture wounds and she worked quickly to pack the leg and wrap it tightly with bandages from the medical kit.

  “He looks too heavy to carry,” Parker said. “One of us should run back for a vehicle. Evens or odds?” He held out his fist ready to shoot for staying or going. That was how
he and Brandy made most of their job delegation choices.

  “Odds… you know, to go with my night so far.” Brandy held out her fist too.

  “Once, twice, three times, shoot,” Parker said.

  He held out two fingers, while Brandy held out one.

  “Three. I win.” She did a little victory dance. “I choose staying here with this handsome guy. You go get the utility vehicle. It’s in the barn. You’ve got the key, right?”

  Parker headed back to the fence after handing the tranq gun to Brandy and taking the flashlight. “Yup. Right here.” He dug in his pocket then keys jingled in the darkness. “You’ll be all right without a light?”

  “Sure,” Brandy said. “I’ll tap into my wolf side.”

  “You spend enough time with them that you having a wolf side is almost not a joke anymore.” The light retreated with him. “Be right back.”

  Brandy heard him hop the fence, land on the other side, and take off at a run through the woods back toward the sanctuary’s barn. She took this opportunity to run her hand over the wolf’s fur. It was a little coarse, but still soft enough to make her want to snuggle with it. Did that make her a weirdo? Who wanted to snuggle with a wolf?

  Just crazy Dr. Brandy Wendon. She exhaled a loud breath. No wonder she was alone in the man department. She was too nuts about the wolves to give a man attention even if she could find one she wanted. Besides, she had Dylan to take care of. Her time was stretched tight. A relationship would only pull those strings tighter.

  And tight strings tended to snap.

  “But I always have time for a big beauty like you,” she whispered to the sleeping wolf and mentally composed a list of what she and Parker would need to operate tonight. Fortunately they kept the clinic well stocked and this guy would get exactly the right care.

  In the darkness, she couldn’t see too much, but something about having her hand on this wolf was… comforting. The gentle rise and fall of its side under her palm. The quiet hush of its inhales and exhales filling her ears. The musky scent of its warm body teasing her nose.