by Eve Langlais
The Wolf’s Secret Vegas Bride
A HOWLS Romance
Eve Langlais
Copyright © August 2017, Eve Langlais
Cover Art by Yocla Designs © August 2017
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
http://www.EveLanglais.com
E-ISBN-13: 978 1988 328 96 6
Print ISBN: 978 1988 328 97 3
All Rights Reserved
The Wolf’s Secret Vegas Bride is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental. If you think you might be a shapeshifting moose, please consider seeing a mental health professional.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Also by Eve Langlais
Introduction
This lone wolf gets the shock of his life when he gets a bill for his wedding in Vegas.
After a soap opera of a week where Rory meets his real father, attempts a hostile business takeover, torches the family business, and almost gets arrested for attempted murder, he decides a relaxing weekend is just what he needs.
Vegas has a way of making a man—even one who’s part wolf—forget his troubles. Rory does such a good job of wiping his mind he doesn’t even remember the wedding he receives an invoice for.
Did he do the unthinkable?
Rory sets out to find his blushing bride, only to discover the one thing he never expected. Love. But can a wolf have a happily ever after with a mate who is on the run from danger?
Chapter 1
Danita learned how to escape by watching movies. It made for fascinating study, the many ways a bolt for freedom could go wrong. She took mental notes on how to accomplish the feat. Only an idiot would write anything down. She left nothing he could find.
A prisoner to his whims, she smiled and pretended while she plotted her breakout. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Any kind of misstep and he’d find her.
He always found her because she lacked the kind of courage needed to put a permanent end to his reign of terror. One day maybe he’d push her far enough and she’d do the unthinkable.
Do I have the strength to deliver the killing blow?
Best to just flee instead of finding out.
It was the movie Sleeping with the Enemy that gave her an idea of how to accomplish her grand exit. Except Danita was smart and learned from that heroine’s mistake. She didn’t flush the ring—that heavy monstrosity that was meant to signify she belonged to him. Dani—which she preferred over the more formal Danita—tossed the symbol of her oppression into the lake while she kayaked.
Plop. The metal band barely made a noise or ripple as it hit the water and sank. No one saw her toss it because, not only had she paddled far enough out from the remote cabin, a light mist on the water, the kind fall mornings were famous for, shrouded her.
The water she stroked through appeared dark, cold, and unforgiving. Scary, too. What lurked in the depths? She’d seen some of the fish pulled from it. Large, with big mouths that flexed, filled with rows of tiny teeth. Everyone claimed they didn’t bite people. She wondered if those they bit simply never lived to tell.
That thought plagued her as she drew close to the second part of the plan, which involved entering the water. Perhaps she should find another route of escape.
She peered back over her shoulder. The cabin—momentarily appearing, a hazy shape in the white fog—her prison. A reminder of what awaited if she chickened out.
Suck it up, buttercup. It was what her dad used to say.
But he was gone. Just me, myself, and I.
“Danita, where are you?”
The voice, deep and hard, echoed over the water, sounding closer than it was. A strange feature of most still bodies of water. The way sound traveled could play tricks on the mind.
She knew he was on shore. But he could have been in arm’s reach, given how his voice curled around her.
What is he doing at the cabin already? He was not supposed to have started looking yet.
I’ll have to abort. Only she didn’t want to. She couldn’t go back.
Wouldn’t.
“Danita?” A terse note entered his voice. A note that meant he was about to lose his temper. Her cheek throbbed, a hint of a bruise still yellowing the skin.
“Are you out here?” The query held a note of doubt. He remained unsure where she was. She’d done the job of hiding her tracks well. Inside the house, she had kept the windows closed as she ran a self-clean on the oven, filling the place with an acrid stench of burning debris. Outside, the geraniums she’d asked for and gotten, perfumed the air, further masking her scent.
Would it be enough?
She held her breath, wondering if he’d guess she’d gone for a row. He shouldn’t. The kayaks were put away for the season. She’d had to sneak one down to the shore from the shed.
“Danita, if you’re out here, you’d better not be hiding. Answer me!” His voice lost volume as he moved away, seeking her. It wouldn’t be the first time he searched. She’d developed a naughty habit of disappearing but remaining nearby.
She’d been conditioning him the past few weeks. Purposely not answering. Sometimes even moving room to room ahead of him to avoid detection. Making sure he found her before he completely snapped. Then she’d casually stroll in to wherever he was, wearing earphones each time. Classical music he discovered when he ripped the buds from her ears. Each time she’d smiled falsely and said, “I’m sorry, were you calling for me? I didn’t hear you.” She did this over and over. Each time his search effort took a little longer. The last time he’d given up for over an hour before truly setting out to find her.
A door slammed. He’d gone inside. It was time. She placed the oar on the kayak and slipped into the water, the buoyant life vest she wore old, but serviceable. The one she usually used would be found, stashed on the kayak, because sometimes she preferred the ease of movement. He let her kayak on sunny days while he watched so he knew her habits.
She held tight to the waterproof satchel she’d been preparing the past few weeks. Hidden behind the toilet paper and tampons in her bathroom. It held the money she’d squirreled away. More than expected since she’d found a secret stash of bills inside a hollowed book. It lacked the crispness of new money, but at least it was still usable. Inside the bag, a change of clothes. She didn’t dare bring much since her plan hinged on him thinking she drowned.
If he thinks I’m dead, then he won’t come after me. She’d be free.
He’ll find me.
The pessimism whispered. The fear of failure made her shiver in the chill water. Her stroke remained steady.
She had to stick to the plan. Make it appear as an accident. The lake was deep, and farther down, there was a current that fed a small river that rapidly grew rough. The rapids passed through s
ome rocky terrain and then an abrupt waterfall that pooled into a basin that would make any search attempt difficult.
But he will still go looking. He had plans for her. Plans she kept denying. Her one saving grace? His ego demanded that she beg him to sleep with her. It would never happen. But he refused to believe her when she said, “Never in a million years.”
“You’ll want me.” His confident reply.
Want a man that made her stomach clench in fear? Who repulsed her on every level?
She stroked faster through the water. No amount of threat by him would ever make her that desperate.
She kept angling, feeling the weight of the satchel dragging at her. The vest helped, letting her float, but she’d not counted on how quickly her arms would feel leaden. The chill water sapped at her strength.
Perhaps she should have kept the kayak and ridden it all the way to the other side of the lake. Too late to change her mind now. Tense with fear, she sluiced through the water, listening intently for sound, ignoring the dark morass below her, certain her harsh breaths of exertion and panic carried across the water.
How long before he realized she was well and truly gone?
She heard no more yelling, but there was no mistaking the sudden roar of a motor.
Was he leaving? The luck would be incredible. It might be hours before he returned and knew she’d slipped her leash.
She sliced through the water, hoping she moved in the right direction. The waterproof compass she’d sewn to the satchel pointed for her. She swam for days. At least it seemed forever in the timeless mist.
And she’d obviously missed her direction because the gentle tug of a current took her by surprise. She kicked harder, working away from it, and eventually hit the shore on the northwest side. She was probably two miles from the house. Not far enough.
The shoreline proved rocky, and her water shoes did little to protect her from the bite. The chill air pimpled what was exposed of her skin. She didn’t dare take a moment to strip. She needed to move fast. Except wouldn’t she do that better not laden down by a heavy bag?
It pulled against her upper body, what seemed like little supplies a heavy weight. The shivering and chattering teeth decided her.
This would be for naught if she died of hypothermia or because she got tired too quick.
She stripped off her wetsuit before rolling it into a tight ball. She held it and looked around. Stuffing it in her satchel was unnecessary weight.
That suit is your ring. The one thing that doesn’t flush. She knew that, and yet weighing her options, she chose to shove it in the crevice of a downed tree trunk. Hopefully it would be shredded by animals and the weather before it was found.
The important part was escaping. The longer he thought her drowned the better. If Dani could just break free…then it wouldn’t matter. She grabbed the track suit from her bag, pulling on the thicker fleece with relief. The water shoes she swapped for her runners. Old ones she used for gardening and usually kept stored in the shed. She tucked her water shoes with the wetsuit in the trunk. Dead leaves shoved over them added more camouflage.
Sucking in a deep breath—Holy crap, I am really doing this—she set off. There was no trail to follow, just a memorized map of the area and a compass with condensation inside its glass face. She followed the bobbing needle northwest, hoping her navigational skills were up to par. In the city, she’d never had to learn more than the transit route. There were signs and people to ask if she was uncertain of her location. Out here in the wilderness, she was alone—and hunted.
How she missed the city with its hustle and bustle and the people all around. People meant safety. How long since she’d talked to anyone other than him and his loyal crew?
The mist persisted on land. It hung even thicker than on the water in some spots. It curled around the trees, giving them strange shapes, the gray tendrils living smoky limbs.
The worse part, though? The panic. She kept imagining movement, causing more than one mini heart attack. Is that someone standing over there? Her head would sharply turn to peek. Her breath hitched before gushing out in relief at the false alarm. Thus far, it was just the mist swirling and teasing the shadows. Mocking her fear.
Some people feared an imaginary bogeyman. Dani actually had a real one. He was a monster. And the one thing about monsters was they didn’t like to be thwarted.
Given she couldn’t rely on her eyes, she didn’t know the land, and there were no convenient signs, she consulted her compass often, hoping she was getting close.
This area of the Muskokas didn’t have dense habitation because it served as a playground for those who liked to have acres between them and their neighbors. But what it lacked for in population, it made up for in toys. As in garages and sheds full of mechanical vehicles. Like the ATVs and dirt bikes he had complained about, ripping through the woods. Boy toys that would prove her salvation.
It took more time than she liked, the hike from water to her destination. She’d landed a little too early and had to pivot at one point when a sharp upturn in the land required skirting. But that turned out to be a good thing. She found a clearing where someone had chopped down some trees and begun removing them. The trail of crushed underbrush, and the occasional rut in the dirt from wheels, gave her a direction to follow. A clear path didn’t erase her fear. With the number of times her heart stopped, she was pretty sure she’d shaved a decade off her life. Her first genuine sigh of relief didn’t happen until she discerned the denser shape of the house in the swirling mist.
She’d found it. A small victory. Now the question was—anybody home?
The spacious yard around it made her feel exposed as she dashed across, the open pockets she could see moving constantly with the fog. Would someone lunge from the mist?
She heard no voice, naught but the frantic heave of her breaths.
The patio had three steps, and she raced up them, heading for the sliding glass door. She faced it, seeing a wild-eyed version of herself. Her blonde hair wisped in curls around her face where it had escaped from her bun. She slapped the door, the sound sharp in the quiet morning.
She paused, listening.
A gut instinct said the house was vacant.
You’re all alone out here.
She wanted to be wrong. Let someone be inside. Surely, they’d help her.
No one came to the sliding door for a glance outside.
She wasn’t truly surprised. He’d been cautious, only bringing her in late fall. A dead season for most folks. Those living in this playhouse for the rich—the thick, fat beams perfectly interlocked on this custom log home—only came during the summer and deep winter. No one wanted chilly, damp autumn, especially in the middle of the week.
Since the sliding glass door wouldn’t budge, the security bar firmly wedged, she skipped down off the porch and skirted around the house. Dani passed by the shed—and all its lovely engines—in favor of the front of the house. This was the part of the plan fraught with possible problems. It hinged on her getting into the house fairly easily.
The good news was they didn’t have an alarm system. He bitched about it all the time, that they were too remote for him to put something decent in place. A good thing or she would have had to learn to disarm it.
The knob didn’t yield when she gripped it. No surprise given the driveway was empty of vehicles. She peeked around the area in front of the door, noting the lack of adornment except for a single planter tucked tight to the wall. It proved easy to tip, and she smiled as she spotted the single key under it.
The click of the turning tumblers seemed gunshot-loud in the stillness. She froze, not daring to breathe or move as she waited to see if someone would suddenly appear. She could almost hear the scary music playing as she remembered every single horror movie she’d seen about girls in the woods with fog. It didn’t end well for them.
Nothing happened. For which her bladder said “thank you.” Her panties remained dry as she entered the house.
<
br /> I’m a criminal now. Breaking and entering. For a good reason, but still a taboo. But you know what they say about the forbidden. It seduces. There is something inherently adrenalizing and terrifying about entering someone’s home uninvited.
As soon as she stepped in, she was assailed by the scent of moth balls, a cottage must for those unused months. Everything was quiet and still except for the steady ticking of a clock on the wall. Was it really only eight-forty in the morning? No wonder fog still shrouded the land.
She stepped farther into the home, too scared to admire the wide plank floors and the woodwork that comprised this massive log home. She was more interested in other things, such as keys. Had the owners left the keys to the toys accessible? Wandering into the kitchen, with its massive farm sink and huge butcher block island, she immediately noticed a rack on the wall. Dangling from it was the object of her search, neatly labeled.
Dani ran her fingers over the metal treasures. ATV or bike? She had her choice. She snared both sets plus the one labeled “garage.” In no time she exited the house, entered the garage, and was eyeing the machines. The bike sat on a triangular stool balancing the weight. Nothing too aggressive. 250CCs, not exactly a super powerful machine, but enough to get her going. And no, it wasn’t odd she knew this. Her daddy taught her to ride at a young age. He taught her lots of things other daddies didn’t teach their daughters. He just never taught her to defend herself.
I’ll always keep you safe, baby girl, he’d said.
In order for that to work, he had to be around. However, Daddy hadn’t come home from his last business trip. And she needed him. Maybe he would have helped her spot the psycho from a mile away.