by Kate Douglas
Baylor straightened up and planted his feet on the ground. “I’m not real crazy about leaving you guys either, but it wouldn’t be for long. It makes sense. I’ll take over Jake’s position in San Francisco while he gets things set up here. From what I know of Lucien Stone and Ulrich Mason, it shouldn’t take long for them to figure out how to get me cleared. Plus, it’ll give you two some time alone together.”
“Such a concept.” Jake’s dry comment made Shannon smile. They really hadn’t had any time alone together. “We won’t be alone for long. I need to take Shannon to San Francisco to meet everyone. I imagine Tia’s anxious to fill her in on all my bad points.”
“Darling, you have no bad points.” Shannon smiled sweetly while the other three groaned.
AJ draped his arm over Mik’s knee. “Besides, how’re you guys gonna go anywhere if Baylor stays? I can’t see three adults on that sweet little bike Jake managed to snag on this trip. We really do have to take Bay with us.”
“Ah. The bike.” Mik laughed. “You should have seen Luc’s face when Ulrich told him the pack had just bought you a new BMW. You’ve certainly redeemed yourself in our eyes!”
“Yeah,” said AJ. “Why did you get a motorcycle? It’s hardly practical transportation in Maine in the winter. You plan to run it with chains on the tires? I mean, that one’s really sweet, but why not a sleek little sports car? If you’re planning to stick it to Luc…”
Jake laughed and shook his head. “I had no desire to stick it to Luc. In fact, I’ve got every intention of paying him back. I didn’t have enough cash and wasn’t about to use a credit card that could be traced.”
Mik frowned. “Okay. Now I am curious. Why did you buy it? Why now?”
Jake turned to Shannon and brushed her hair back from her forehead. His eyes sparkled and she felt his smile all the way to her heart.
“To get Shannon in leathers. Why else? It was worth every penny to get her perfect behind in a pair of tight, leather pants.” He turned to the guys and held out one hand, imploring.
Shannon giggled. She’d had no idea, but she had to admit, it was sweet…and very Jake.
Mik nodded solemnly. “You’ve made your point. I’d have bought the bike, too.”
They ran together late that night, one last race through the dark Maine woods before Mik, AJ and Baylor headed west. A light snow was falling by the time they dragged themselves up the steps and into the house.
Jake would have fallen into bed alone with Shannon, but she pulled him into the shower with her, scrubbed his back, kissed him hard and insisted they join Bay.
“I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?” Yawning, Jake let Shannon tug his hand and lead him down the hall. Mik and AJ were in Bay’s room already, though the three of them were merely talking.
That didn’t last long.
When Jake finally awoke hours later, it was to the smell of bacon frying and freshly brewed coffee.
He was the only one left in the bed.
Jake wandered out and stood in the doorway, watching as Shannon flipped pancakes like a master, a cup of coffee in her left hand, the spatula in her right. AJ and Mik sipped cups of coffee and it looked like they’d already eaten. Baylor was merely waiting for seconds. The perfect domesticity of the scene stole Jake’s breath.
He’d come out here filled with resentment, taking the assignment to protect Shannon because he felt he had no other choice. He’d been an outcast. Wondered if he’d ever be accepted back into the pack or if he’d spend the rest of his life alone.
So much had changed in just a few short days.
It’s been one hell of a week.
Shannon looked up and smiled. Didn’t I say just about the same thing yesterday?
Yeah. You did. He leaned over and kissed Shannon. Traced her lips with his tongue, found his way inside. Deepened the kiss until she moaned softly against his mouth.
Then she dropped the spatula.
Jake leaned over and picked it up, rinsed it off and handed it back to Shannon. Her lips, still parted, were moist from his kiss. She blinked and turned back to the stove, just in time to keep the pancakes from burning.
Grinning like a damned Cheshire cat, Jake poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. The guys greeted him. Bay only grumbled a little when Shannon put the pancakes meant for Bay on a plate in front of Jake.
He could get used to this real fast.
It hit Jake like a fist to the solar plexus. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he looked forward to tomorrow. They had so much to do. There was that insidious breeding farm that might or might not exist. Bay’s two sisters out there, somewhere, probably carrying the Chanku genes.
A mate he wanted to get to know a whole lot better.
Maybe, some day, a family to raise.
Jake realized he was sitting at the table grinning like a damned fool. No one seemed to mind.
Still smiling, Jake dug into his breakfast.
For a sneak peek at more delicious erotic romance, turn
the page for an excerpt of KISS OF THE WOLF, by
Morgan Hawke, on sale from Aphrodisia in February!
1
November 1876
The Fairwind, American Line steamship
En route to Constantza, Romania
Thorn gasped and jerked upright, knocking the pillows off the small brass bed and onto the floor. Her entire body shook. She pressed one palm over her slamming heart. “A dream…just a dream.” She shoved the long pale brown strands of hair from her damp cheeks. It was long since over and done.
She jerked the white cotton sheets from her naked, sweat-soaked body and slid from the cot to stand. The waxed hardwood deck of the steamship’s tiny iron-walled cabin was cool and rocked gently under her feet. She turned to stare out the cabin’s porthole. The moon floated among rags of cloud, and the sound of the sea rushed in her ears.
Once upon a time, she had been Kerry Fiddler, an ordinary girl, with an ordinary paper route, who had found an extraordinary white dog. And then the Doctor had found them.
But that was years ago.
She couldn’t stop shaking. She moved to the corner and the small washstand. “It’s over and done, over and done, damnit!” She had long since become used to being someone else, something else, something wilder, something fiercer, something feral. She splashed water on her face.
The moon’s light silvered the mirror’s glass. Beneath her dark slashing brows, her dark gold eyes caught the light, and the hearts caught fire, glowing like two green-gold coins—wolf eyes.
The night shadows within the ship’s small cabin seemed to close in on her. Her sweat-slicked skin chilled in the cool air of the cabin. She shivered and gasped for breath. She couldn’t get enough air. She shook her head and forced herself to take deep, slow breaths. It was over, it was done, and she had escaped. It was nothing but a memory.
Thorn turned to look back at the moon floating outside her small window. The damned nightmare came whenever she spent too much time in too small a space. She needed to get out of this tiny iron box. She needed to run.
She took three long steps to the cabin door and jerked it open. The wind from the ocean caressed her naked skin and swept through her waist-length hair. Moonlight tinted the fine straight strands with silver. She lifted her face to the moon and let her wolf rise from her soul in a tide of fur and joy. She dropped to four paws and shook her silvery fur into place. Ears forward and long tail lifted, she trotted down the deck, her black claws clicking on the slick wooden surface.
“A large white dog was seen running loose on the ship last night.” Seated behind his elegant golden oak desk, carried onboard for his express use, Agent Hackett, fine, upstanding representative of the United States Secret Service, wrote with a hasty hand. His Parker fountain pen scratched busily across the very fine parchment. “What do you have to say for yourself?” He did not look up.
Thorn Ferrell’s hand tightened on the brim of her charcoal-gray leather hat. “I
needed some air.”
Agent Hackett scowled at his writing while working the top back onto his fountain pen. “So you ran around the deck on four legs? You couldn’t do it on two like a normal human?”
Thorn didn’t bother to answer him. He wouldn’t have liked the reply. Why should she act like something she wasn’t?
In complete contrast to her farmboy appearance, he was fashionably dressed in the attire of most governmental associates. His restrained frock coat of midnight green was buttoned over a severely understated waistcoat of black damask, and a floridly knotted cravat of black silk was tied around the high collar of his white shirt. With his blond hair combed back into a ruthless wave, and neat mustache, he was considered handsome by many.
Thorn considered him a self-righteous prig.
Agent Hackett tucked the fountain pen inside his jacket’s breast pocket. “This makes four times you’ve exposed yourself.” He gently blew across the damp ink.
Thorn rolled her eyes. “They saw only a dog….”
“That is not the point.” Agent Hackett ruthlessly folded the paper and reached for his stick of sealing wax. “If you cannot be trusted to control your baser urges and at least act like a human, I do not see why you should be treated as one.” He struck a lucifer match against the side of his desk.
The stench of sulfur burned in her nose. She winced back. The bastard knew damned well she hated the smell of those things.
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps your return trip should be done at the end of a leash.” Melted wax dripped onto the folded paper. “Or better yet, in a cage.”
A leash? A cage? Thorn’s temper flared white-hot. Did he honestly think she would allow either to happen? She swallowed to hold back the growl that wanted to boil up from her chest. His attitude clearly begged for a reminder of whom, and what, he was dealing with, but a show of temper would only work against her. She needed something far more subtle.
She dropped her white canvas pack and dark gray, black fleeced, sheepskin coat on the expensive carpet. Casually she stepped slightly to one side, choosing a spot by the corner of his desk very carefully. She adjusted her position to allow the light from the small oil lamp to shine directly into her highly reflective and inhuman eyes. It had taken ages to figure out the exact angle, but the results were always worth the effort. Pleased, she jammed her thumbs into the pockets of her faded dungarees, relaxing into her pose.
“Now then, Courier Ferrell…” Agent Hackett looked up from his desk and froze, staring into her gaze. The pupils of his eyes widened, and the acrid scent of his sweat perfumed the air, betraying his instinctive alarm.
Perfect. Thorn smiled. Yes, my dear Agent Hackett, your brain may be dense, but your body knows very well that it’s in a small room with a dangerous predator.
Agent Hackett tore his gaze from her eyes and lunged to his feet. Scowling, he yanked opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small brown-paper-wrapped parcel with a white card. He came around the desk to tower head and shoulders over her and offered them. “This is the package. You already know the route. The card has the address you are to deliver it to. It is vital that you arrive as swiftly as possible.”
Thorn took the package and card from his hands and then knelt to tuck them into her small canvas pack. She knew the “preferred” route, all right. It hadn’t taken much to memorize the map they had provided and to deduce that she would cover the territory a hell of a lot faster if she didn’t bother with roads. But Agent Hackett didn’t need to know that.
He held out a second card. “When you return to Constantza, I will be at this address.” His blue eyes narrowed, and his painstakingly neat mustache twitched. “No delays on the return trip, either, you wanton little beast. I don’t want to remain in this godforsaken country any longer than necessary.”
Still kneeling, she looked up at him. He was standing so close her lips were but a kiss away from his crotch. Well aware of her suggestive position, she smiled. “Do I really look like a wanton to you?”
Agent Hackett’s eyes widened, and the perfume of lust rolled off him. She could smell the evidence of an erection growing under his knee-length midnight-green coat. He jammed the card into her hand and jerked back a step. “You look like a street urchin.” His voice dropped to a growl. “However, your reputation for shameless exploits precedes you.”
“Dungarees are better suited than skirts for what I do, Agent Hackett.” She rose to her feet and dragged on her fleeced coat. “And I’m not ashamed of my exploits.” She shouldered her pack and smiled. “I like sex.”
He jerked his chin up, refusing to look at her. “Why in God’s name did they saddle me with you?”
Thorn snorted. “My guess is you pissed off somebody upstairs.”
His cheeks flushed, and his jaw clenched. He pointed at the stateroom door. “Get out of my sight!”
Thorn headed for the door and jammed her hat on her head, chuckling softly. Agent Hackett simply could not accept his physical attraction to her. His morals wouldn’t let him. Too bad. He obviously was in dire need of a good fuck.
She stepped out onto the steamship’s crowded deck and blinked against the late-afternoon winter brightness. The icy wind from the dark Romanian port city smelled bitterly of coal smoke. The Black Sea, behind her, smelled just as strong, but far cleaner. Damp chill crept down past the collar of her sheepskin coat and up the legs of her faded dungarees. She’d thought to bring her good boots and flannel shirts, but she should have brought a heavy sweater, too.
Among good-natured farewell shouts and horrific blasts from the steamship’s horns, she eased in among the ship’s debarking third-class passengers and marched toward the narrow roped walkway leading down from the steamship to the dock. Setting her hand on top of her battered hat to keep the wind from blowing it away, she tromped down the gangplank into a maelstrom of humanity.
Keeping her head down, she jogged across the busy docks, dodging drays hauling freight and coaches with passengers. The occasional steam carriage chugged by, disturbing the horses with their whistling pops and loud, grumbling hisses. The train at the far end loosed a long, high whistle that raised the hair on her neck.
She entered the city proper and jogged swiftly through the wasteland of crumbling buildings, garbage heaps, and casual violence. She dodged gazes as she hurried by, just another kid in a battered sheepskin coat and faded dungarees. She snorted. The illusion would have been a lot more effective if she’d been a little more flat-chested and narrow-hipped.
Thorn reached the city’s limit just at nightfall. Farmland stretched before her, and, beyond that, clean forest. Strands of her hair escaped her braid and flitted around her cheeks. Snow scented the wind.
The next leg of her journey was the easy part. Run. A lot.
The snowstorm finally ended, and moonlight bathed the snow-covered mountains and forest, creating near-daylight brilliance.
The she-wolf ghosted out from under the snow-heavy, ground-sweeping conifer, her silvery winter coat blending perfectly with the fresh snow. The chill hadn’t been a problem, not with her thick arctic coat, and the long nap under the draping tree had given her a much needed rest. She gave herself a firm shake to settle the white pack strapped to her long slender back and then launched into a gliding lope.
Her long strides and wide paws carried her atop the snow and through the moon-bright forest with blinding haste. Her sensitive nose caught occasional traces of the far smaller, and darker, red-coated European wolves that lived in the small mountain range she was passing through. They weren’t too difficult to avoid. They stank from eating human garbage. She smelled them long before they could scent her.
A trace scent of human drifted on the breeze.
She stilled and lifted her nose to sift the wind. What the hell was a human doing all the way out here? Along with wool and sweat, there was something odd about the scent, something subtly wrong…. Her tail switched in annoyance. She figured out where the scent was coming fr
om and moved away, deeper into the trees. She preferred avoiding humans as much as possible. She had no interest in their noisy, cramped spaces, their stinking food, and their lies about what they wanted and didn’t want.
Her loping pace ate distance, and the moon drifted across the sky, marking the passage of hours. Her long strides carried her out of the forest and higher, into the mountains. The pass she was headed for was impassable for humans in winter but not for a wolf.
She moved swiftly upward over rock and snow. Her muscles burned with the effort. Her time on the ship had held far too much inactivity. She was going to need to rest again. Dawn was only a few hours away, so finding a safe place to sleep through the day was probably a good idea. She could start out again at sunset.
Halfway up the mountain, among the cliff heights, she found a small opening in the rocks. The opening proved to be the mouth of a small tunnel. She squeezed into it and wove her way into the back, where she found a rather roomy cave. There wasn’t one speck of light, but her nose told her that a tiny runnel of water slid down one wall and a crack offered a draft for a small fire.
Perfect.
She shivered into her human form. Her breath steamed out and chill bumps washed across her naked skin. It was way too cold to play human, even with a fire. She hastily dragged her pack off her back and pulled out her sheepskin coat. Throwing it on the rocky floor, she slid back into her wolf form. Warm and comfy in her thick fur, she curled up, nose to tail, on the black fleece lining of the gray coat and promptly drifted into sleep.
Scrabbling among the rocks at the mouth of the cave’s tunnel jolted her out of a sound sleep and onto her paws. The fur along her back rose, and she snarled loudly. Whatever was trying to enter needed to get the hell back out or she would kill it and eat it.
Shifting stones betrayed that whatever had entered was moving deeper into the tunnel.
Her tall ears flicked forward, and her tail switched in annoyance. Just how stupid was this creature? Other than a bear, she was the biggest predator on the mountain. Her snarl should have given that away. She snarled again and gave it some serious volume.