Past My Defenses (Taming the Pack series) (Entangled Ignite)

by Wendy Sparrow

  Plus, he didn’t look evil. As far as she could tell. She blinked rapidly, hoping to focus on him through the wash of tears. It was no good. Even though her hormones, from being in heat, were telling her that he was a warm-bodied possessor of the XY chromosomes and a virile specimen at that, he remained a watercolor painting. Brown hair, tan skin, lean, tall…and coming back toward her with the flannel held out and his cloud-gray eyes averted.

  A gentleman.

  Weird.

  But also a big checkmark in the “he’s not pure evil” category. Even if he had that cat.

  She unfolded from the cage slowly, unaccustomed to fitting through a door the size of a small window.

  “So, you like to keep cages around?” she asked as she stood. There. That had sounded casual. Well, as casual as she could be with this swollen, itchy-as-hell throat.

  Please let him not be a poacher.

  “I’m the new park ranger. I moved in a few months ago. Cages go with the territory. Typically I’m just holding animals for animal control or until they heal, not because they felt like a stroll on four feet instead of two.”

  Ah, huh, well, this blew. She’d managed to keep what she was from the previous park ranger for the four years she’d lived under the protection of this pack. She’d blown their cover in just months now. Who knew what the hell her Alpha would make of a two-legged knowing he’d caught a Lycan? Jordan didn’t tend to take a light stance on things like that. Damn. Just damn.

  Maybe if she left town, this park ranger would think she was a mutant of some kind.

  But hell, she liked it here. Jordan was pissy sometimes, but there wasn’t the constant battle within the pack as Lycans jockeyed for position.

  This was her mistake, though, and if she had to leave, she had to leave. Running off was something she did well anyway.

  She snatched the warm flannel shirt from his hand, irritation making her feel stabby. Before putting it on, she held it to her nose and inhaled, wishing she had any of her heightened senses. It probably smelled amazing. Warm cotton. Warm man.

  “I swear it’s clean.”

  She looked over the collar to see his gray eyes focused on her. Apparently, he was done being a gentleman. His gaze traveled up to take in her messy blond curls and then back down. They lingered on her too-wide mouth before slipping lower—much lower, and his mouth looked inclined to smile, not drool from lust-induced awe.

  Normally not shy, Vanessa raised her eyebrows and cleared her throat. The movement caused a tickle in her chest that turned into a full-blown cough, doubling her over, hacking and choking. Sexy. Real sexy.

  When she straightened, her captor had retrieved a first aid kit and opened it on the large island in the middle of the room. While he shuffled through the contents, she pulled on the shirt that drowned her winter-pale skin in yards and yards of red flannel. She’d gone from indecent to practically modest with a shirt that probably fit his lean torso snugly. There were perks to being scrawny.

  “Hah!” He held up a packet containing two pink pills.

  “I love you,” she said, holding out her hand and suppressing the urge to kiss him. He was a lifesaver, and a little tongue wouldn’t have been amiss. Then again, she could barely breathe and her tongue felt swollen. She should restrain herself. For both their sakes.

  He placed the pills in her palm, his hand brushing hers and sending shock waves across her skin. It was nothing. He was the right age and the right chromosomes. She’d be hot for anyone at this point in her cycle. Her mail carrier had received an overly long hug just yesterday when he’d delivered the filter for her air purifier, and Ernie was eighty if he was a day.

  Eagerly tearing into the package, Vanessa chewed the caplets, wincing at the foul taste. Desperation helped her tolerate the numbing sensation and vile tang. Almost immediately, the raging inferno of pain in her throat began to ease a little. She closed her eyes in a prayer of thanksgiving and a wince against the tingling acrid taste that lingered.

  He cleared his throat. “The wolf-dog hybrid I brought in tangled with my cat. My cat won.”

  “Hellish beast,” Vanessa muttered, keeping her eyes closed. He’d saved her life so she could almost forgive him for owning a cat—almost.

  “Actually, his name is Lucifer.”

  “It fits.” All cats were evil incarnate, but that cat…that cat had it in for her. If cats ever gathered to form a wicked army of demonic malevolence, that cat would lead them. For sure.

  “Not so well that he should have had the upper hand against a full-grown wolf.”

  She shrugged and opened her eyes. She wasn’t such a coward that she wouldn’t meet his eyes when he asked her the impossible questions. She dimly remembered being tackled by a cat. Her brain had been a symphony of swearing until her immune system gave up the fight.

  “You were the wolf. I don’t know how, but that was you.”

  She shrugged again.

  Okay, so she’d meet his eyes, but she wasn’t stupid enough to answer his questions. If she let him stumble around through the murky mire of her shifted state, eventually he’d doubt what he’d seen. Pretty soon, she’d be able to walk out of here with a wave and a raised eyebrow and, if she was really lucky, an admonition that he lay off the booze.

  “Have you been drinking?” she asked. Please, oh please.

  “Not a drop.”

  Rats. That was too bad.

  “Maybe some recreational drug use?” It was worth a shot.

  He raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat again. “The wolf was struggling to breathe, and I thought it was dying. I was going to call the vet and have it put out of its misery.”

  Vanessa sniffed and then inhaled deeply as her sinuses unplugged. Oh, wow, that was nice. She had been in misery. Misery was the only word for it when her allergies were this bad. Hell, she might have thanked him for making that call. This blasted allergy season was going to be the death of her anyway, and it had just started. “I skipped my allergy meds in favor of a clear head.”

  “A clear head as a wolf?”

  She shrugged again.

  He snorted, a sound of disgust, and glared at her. “I know what I saw.”

  “Sounds good.” She was being purposefully obstinate, but the longer they went with her in the human state, the more implausible his memory would seem. “Hey, tiger, do you have a room with a bed where your evil cat hasn’t been?”

  If only she could bolt out of here. Formulate a plan to deal with this. If she had to leave town for the good of the pack, she would, but her brain was already getting bogged down from the meds and too many hours teasing anaphylaxis.

  “It’s Dane. Dane Hansen, and, yeah, my bedroom. I don’t let him in my bedroom.”

  She sighed in relief. “Fantastic. Where is that?”

  “My room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Hopefully, Dane would stay a gentleman, but she was only going to be conscious for a couple of minutes.

  “I’m about to drop from those pills, and I don’t like the idea of wandering home barefoot in this state even if I wasn’t about to join the living dead. I’m going to need to borrow your bed for a couple of hours.”

  Dane blinked at her, gray eyes reflecting his confusion. He looked so good up close—only a little blurry. Then, gentleman that he was, he pointed at the stairs at the far end of the long white room.

  “Thanks. It’s Vanessa, by the way.” He should know that. He’d seen her naked. Most men knew her name before they saw her naked. Also, if she had a name, he’d really start doubting the whole wolf thing—probably, but she couldn’t worry about that, couldn’t think about that.

  Sleep. Bed. Now.

  Her brain wasn’t doing any calculus anytime soon.

  Damn, he’s hot.

  Okay, that couldn’t be helped.

  She backed away from him with a grateful smile, but when she turned to climb the stairs…she felt his gaze on her, hot and intense. Her senses might be in m
ucus overload, but her instinct for danger was intact. She glanced over her shoulder. He might be a Monet painting of watery vision, but there was no mistaking the raging desire in his features. She paused, a fawn in front of a predator…and then medicinal exhaustion brushed all vestiges of clarity from her brain, and she swung away and stumbled up the stairs.

  She vaguely noticed a barely furnished great room with an attached kitchen, but the hallway the stairs had opened onto led her toward several doors. The first was a study, the second a bathroom, and the third was a room with a massive four-poster bed. Massive. Tall oak spires at each corner of the gigantic bed extended like jousting poles toward the ceiling. Dark, masculine plaid bedding looked soft and cushy. Heaven. Sweet, sweet heaven. Everything about this room proclaimed it the master bedroom—in so many ways. She’d never been in a bed that big. Was there anything larger than a California king size? This was like Alaskan king, her brain mumbled blearily. Vanessa snickered to herself before crawling under the flannel covers that tugged at her flannel shirt. It was like trying to get between two pieces of Velcro, but she managed—and then she dropped into oblivion.

  …

  She’d been a wolf—and her sweet naked human body now encased in his shirt and snuggling in his bed wasn’t going to change what he’d seen. Dane dragged a hand through his hair. Scratching on the outside door was followed by Lucifer’s angry yowl. With a sigh, he went to open the door.

  Lucifer wasn’t his cat. It’d been his sister’s but she’d moved into an apartment that didn’t allow pets so the cat was a temporary resident with him until she figured something out. The door was only two inches open when Lucifer shoved his way inside, glaring at him.

  “What? What was I supposed to do? You practically killed her.” Oh, great, now he was talking to cats. Then again… He crouched and petted him. “You are a cat, aren’t you? You’re not going to change into a man…?”

  Lucifer looked snide and, damn, but if he didn’t wink.

  Dane straightened. “This is why men don’t have cats—just on the off chance you’re not really a cat.” Then again, if Lucifer had transformed into the lithe little female upstairs, he wouldn’t have minded keeping her around—and maybe doing some petting.

  He was losing it.

  Shaking his head, Dane said, “If you change into a man, you’re not sleeping in my bed.”

  The cat looked bored and wandered toward the stairs—with new purpose. Dane didn’t doubt he was going to find the interesting-smelling female from earlier. The cat had never taken to anyone like he had to Vanessa. He’d found the wolf…or whatever…down for the count with Lucifer curled on top of her, claiming the kill. He’d thought the wolf was dead, until it had stirred and stared at him with watery brown eyes.

  Never in all his years of working in wildlife, had he considered picking up a large wild animal and carrying it home with him. He kept waiting for the split-second decision to bite him—literally. Instead the wolf had been limp and docile, and Dane had stayed awake the rest of the night, staring at it and willing it to improve. He’d been doing laundry in the mudroom to keep an eye on it. He’d even decided to stay at home rather than investigate that abandoned vehicle.

  One minute, he’d been staring at the beginning of dawn streaking through the tall fir trees all around his place. The next, he’d turned back when his wolf had softly said, “Oh, hell no,” in a deep, raspy, but undeniably female voice.

  This couldn’t be happening, but it was.

  Heading off Lucifer’s prowl, Dane brought him back to the corner of the room with the cages for rabid or unwell animals and stuck the angry, hissing black cat in one of the larger ones. “Quit! It’s just for a few hours until our werewolf guest leaves. You’ve already proven you’re in charge.”

  This almost seemed to mollify the cat for a few moments but then he renewed his loud, aggrieved protest to the cage.

  Dane dragged a hand through his hair before leaning against the counter in the center of the mudroom. He had a female werewolf upstairs in his room. For half a second, he considered calling someone—the police, animal control…a psychiatrist, but then tossed it aside. There was no way he was in any danger from the wolf or the woman. Hell, a ten-pound cat had taken her down. If he felt threatened, he could always rub Lucifer on her.

  But he didn’t feel threatened.

  At all.

  Interested, yes. Intrigued, definitely. Aroused? Hell yes. And she was upstairs sleeping in his bed. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, sounding like sandpaper due to the beginnings of a beard. He should be exhausted after watching over his she-wolf all night.

  His.

  It was probably a bad idea to think of her as his, but he wanted to keep her and take care of her like a stray. Even before she’d morphed into a human he’d wanted to keep the wolf—something illegal in Washington State. He’d been hoping she’d prove to be a wolf-dog hybrid so he could justify it. His superiors would’ve had fits, but Dane had already been building a case in his mind when he’d glanced out the window at the dawn.

  “It looks like I won’t be keeping her as a pet.”

  Lucifer had stopped yowling and was cleaning his leg with long strokes of his tongue—looking, to all intents, as if getting in the cage had been his idea from the beginning and that he would get out when he was good and ready. For how exasperating Lucifer was, he merited a certain amount of admiration for how obstinately arrogant his every movement proclaimed. When Dane had first seen the black monster on top of the wolf, he’d actually believed the house cat had taken down a wolf five times his size.

  “Maybe I’ll keep her anyway.” The idea shouldn’t have any appeal to him, but it did.

  Lucifer stared at him as if conveying disbelief.

  “You’re right, taming either the wolf or the woman seems unlikely.”

  He was talking to a cat again.

  Rolling his eyes, Dane left the room and went upstairs.

  He grabbed his phone and called, asking to be patched through to Travis. Even if he wasn’t up for a search-and-rescue and he didn’t feel comfortable leaving Vanessa alone, he said he’d check in.

  “Any news?” Dane asked.

  “Nah, but no signs of foul play anywhere in the area. We’re hoping she got picked up by a motorist, and we’re contacting next of kin and so on.”

  “What’s her name?” He tipped backward and looked down the hall toward his bedroom.

  “Cheri Britton? You know her?”

  “Don’t think so. Blonde? Brunette?”

  “Brunette with shoulder-length hair. Brown eyes. Five foot eight. One hundred thirty pounds.”

  So, not his naked werewolf guest. “No. Don’t know her.”

  “We did a pretty good search, but we might want to pull in some of park service if she hasn’t turned up and a missing persons report is filed. You want in on that?”

  “Yeah. Not now though, right?”

  Travis laughed. “And here I thought I’d have to chase you off this morning.”

  There was a lot he could say. He had a guest. He hadn’t slept because of said guest. He’d seen said guest naked and also covered in fur at one point. Dane said nothing.

  Finally, Travis said, “Nah, I think we’re good.”

  “Good. That’s good.” It was hard to act normal after a brush with a fictional creature. “So, you mentioned wolves last night.”

  “Yup,” Travis said slowly.

  “Like…normal wolves?”

  “Are there any other kind?”

  “I don’t know.” Well, yes…but he’d sound like a crazy person if he volunteered what he now knew.

  “What about wolves?”

  Several moments of silence passed as Dane tried to manufacture some question that sounded reasonable.

  “Have you seen a wolf?” Travis finally asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “What color?”

  He looked down the hallway ag
ain. This was insane. This was getting further into a conversation about werewolves than he wanted to go. “You know what? Never mind. It was dark. Maybe it wasn’t even a wolf.” It definitely wasn’t a wolf some of the time anyway.

  “Dark or light-colored?” Travis asked.

  “Light.”

  “Oh, well, okay.”

  There was another lull in the conversation. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  “You said you weren’t sure if it was a wolf. There are plenty of light-colored dogs in the area that you might mistake for a wolf.” Another long round of silence. “Well, okay then, as I said, I’ll keep you in the loop if we need you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Get a hold of me if you come across any other wolves…or dogs that look like wolves…or shadows that look like dogs that look like wolves.”

  “Shut up.”

  Travis hung up laughing.

  Pocketing his phone, he stretched his neck as he yawned. Exhaustion was hitting him like a wall.

  A good host would check on a guest, and she’d been in bad shape all night. It wasn’t just the magnetic pull of her warranting this check. He’d never seen anyone that allergic to anything.

  He stopped at the doorframe to his room and peered in. He’d assumed her cheeks were round and her lips extra plump, but the allergy medicine had started working and her cheeks had thinned out. Her lips still looked more generous than most women’s, but she’d looked like a collagen injection gone wrong at first.

  And he’d still been attracted to her.

  He needed a girlfriend. It’d been far too long between dates. He blamed this small town in the shadow of Glacier Peak. Only idiots lived this close to a volcano—and he’d joined them. There weren’t enough single females in small towns, not enough that he came into regular contact with, and now that he had—apparently some of them came with furry baggage he really ought to steer clear of. He ought to.

  Her snoring sounded like a buzz saw had gotten loose, and she flipped in the bed so all he could see was the mop of blond curls on top of her head.

  He absently rubbed his chest where a heavy weight had settled. Either he was having a heart attack or he felt something for this strange little interloper. He stepped forward quietly for a closer look. He probably didn’t need to keep quiet; the odds were next to nil that she could hear him above the racket of her breathing. Vanessa was waking the dead in the nearest cemetery with the decibels of her snoring.