by J. K Harper
Tate stayed in the room as the others left. Lily gave him a distraught look, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder as she passed by. He managed a smile for her, then faced his Alpha as the door shut behind everyone else.
His father lifted an eyebrow at Tate. Patiently, sitting relaxed in his comfortable chair, he waited for his son to speak first.
Sighing, Tate shrugged. “She won't come here. I tried. Believe me, I tried.”
Channing Bardou eyed his son for a moment before a wry smile lightened his face. “Women aren't like horses. They don't respond very well to being trained.”
Despite himself, Tate managed a laugh. “So I've been told. She thinks she'll be safe out there. And she doesn't trust the Pack. Any pack. She told me she can handle herself.”
“And I'm certain she can. Wild wolves generally do.” Alpha's voice was smooth and unruffled, just as it had been when Tate had called in to the den earlier, stumbling over his own words as he briefly reported in clipped Guardian fashion the fact of the rogues being back, Claire's existence, and the reality of her being his mate.
Nothing ever seemed to surprise Alpha Channing Bardou. Tate had expected to be plied with questions about Claire, but his Alpha had merely told him to come back to the den with or without whomever chose to accompany him. Telling his father had been a bit of a relief, actually. Now the entire pack could know, which ultimately meant the entire pack would have to accept that Claire was his mate. They all had to protect her as one of theirs now, wild wolf or not.
Tate began to pace around the room, his worry moving his feet along as his thoughts tumbled over one another. “Why can't she understand she'd be safer here, at least for now?”
Though he meant it rhetorically, his father actually answered. “Because that's not how she was raised. Wild wolves are very independent, very resourceful, and very wary of packs as a rule. Just because she learned something extremely upsetting doesn't mean she is ready to jump at safe harbor.” Alpha leaned back in his chair, watching Tate while steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “She does not trust that this is safe harbor.”
“She's my mate!” Tate said. It had been his refrain for the past few hours. “I am her safe harbor.” His wolf whined in agitation, pacing around his mind as Tate paced the office.
Alpha blew out a sigh as a wry smile settled on his face. “She may have additional reasons for not wishing to accept our protection at this time.”
Tate stopped dead, swinging his head around to look at his alpha. His father's face was enigmatic, but Tate sensed an explanation behind his words. “What sort of other reasons could she possibly have?”
Ever the shrewd Cheshire cat, his father countered with another question. “What reasons would you have to not abandon your pack?”
Staring at his alpha, totally lost, Tate said, “But she doesn't have a pack. That's the whole point.”
His father remained silent, waiting for his response. Growling under his breath, frustrated by thoughts of Claire alone at her house while rogues who knew exactly where she lived roamed the area, Tate tried again. “Because it's my pack.”
His father waited. Tate ran a hand through his short hair, which was already standing on end from countless hand runnings during the past tense hours. “Because it's my duty.”
His father cocked his head the slightest bit, still waiting.
“Because I care about everyone in this pack.” Tate began to pace again as he spoke. The room's luxurious, heavy carpet muffled his restless steps. He felt certain his father could hear his wolf whining in his head, though.
His father stayed silent, although he did raise one eyebrow.
“Because it's my family, dammit!” Tate half shouted. “This is my family, and I will not abandon anyone here.”
Finally, the Black Mesa Alpha smiled. Tate had the strong suspicion the smile was for multiple reasons, but he firmly set aside that thought for later.
“If you would not abandon your family,” his father said, looking carefully at Tate, “why would you expect Claire to do so?”
“Why would I—what—” Tate stuttered to a halt in both steps and words. “Wait a minute. She's a wild wolf. She doesn't have a pack to abandon or not.”
Gently, Alpha shook his head. “Claire is a wild wolf, correct. She has no affiliation with any pack. That does not mean, however, she does not have a family. Or that she is not as worried about her family as you are about yours.”
Feeling his heart slam against his chest, Tate stared at his alpha as the words sank in to the bone. “Claire has family.” His mind flashed to a picture he thought he'd seen in her house. He'd been too wrapped up in her presence at that moment however, to pay closer attention to the small framed photo he'd vaguely registered sitting on the fireplace mantel. “Who?”
His alpha shrugged, although Tate suddenly was beyond certain the cunning older wolf probably knew everything there was to know about Claire and any kin she claimed. “I think it best her mate go and find out. Don't you?”
***
Yet again, Claire found herself by the large window on the south side of the house. Low clouds scudded over the slumbering mountain's soft peaks, hiding any sunset light, draping it in gauzy shadows and offering up the feeling of descending cold. She desperately wanted to run up there, leaping off into the twilight in wolf form, able to rid herself of all the craziness in the wider world. But she couldn't. The unsettled feelings of the morning's events stay with her, whirling around in an ever-tightening noose around her thoughts.
She'd dated a rogue wolf and hadn't even known it. He'd lied to her, manipulated her, and killed a pack wolf mere months ago. And she'd let him touch her. Let him into her house. Into her private life.
Her skin crawled even as her wolf huffed in distaste and reflected anger.
What was worse, now that she knew the truth, Tate had gone all macho caveman on her and wanted to haul her off to his pack's den, exactly as she'd thought he eventually would. You'll be safe with us, Claire. You're part of my pack now, he'd said. She knew he meant it. Those gorgeous brown eyes, worried and dark with anger, had entreated her and almost sent her into his arms.
Almost. She'd suddenly felt so violated, so—possessed—that she wanted him gone. Just gone. So she'd finally ordered him away.
Not, of course, that he'd left at her majestic command. No, he'd stayed and argued with her some more, using his unfairly seductive cowboy wiles to soften her defenses. His scent, that spectacularly delicious mingling of chocolate and cayenne and ginger that would now forever be sealed in her mind with impressions of Tate, wafted over her and threatened to flood her into senselessness.
She'd just barely managed to not drag him into her own den and have her way with him. Luckily for her, he'd started in again about how his pack's trained Guardians could defend her. Poor, lonesome, defenseless Claire. Well, of course he hadn't said it that way. He was much too much of a cowboy gentleman, and she honestly couldn't picture him ever being cruel or condescending. But she knew full well he thought she was defenseless out here by herself.
Funnily enough, she'd managed just fine without him for her entire life.
Even so, she couldn't put his long, lean body out of her mind.
Now, she paced her house with nervous energy. Too restless to write even though she really should, too annoyed to return Tate's scores of texts and voice messages, she didn't know what else to do with herself.
The one thing she did know was to think of Melle, often. Hoping with every fiber in her being her mother was still close enough to sense their unusually strong connection and return to see what was wrong, she filled her mind with images of Melle and a sense of worry. And a strong impression of rogues.
Bashar. Her ex. A—rogue wolf. Her mind still tripped over itself at that thought, stunned she hadn't realized it. All those months he'd courted her. All the times she'd let him into her house, into her own bed, simply thinking he was another pack wolf to enjoy while it lasted. He smelled like pack.
He was pack. Tate had confirmed that for her, explaining how it was possible, but he also confirmed Bashar was a rogue. Which was confusing as hell.
“Oh, he's definitely a rogue wolf, darlin',” Tate had said during his lobby to get her to leave her little sanctuary for his. “Rogues have a certain scent. Rather, they have a lack of a scent—the pack scent. Once they go rogue, their pack bonds are severed.”
“But he still smells like pack,” she'd argued, mesmerized by Tate's long legs as he stepped them on either side of hers, by her front door. “How can he be a rogue?”
“Because,” Tate had said very gently, one muscled arm stretching out to the doorframe behind her, though the rest of his body stayed angled away from her so she could walk away at any moment if she wished, “rogues carry their original pack scent for a long time. It's just really muted. You would have realized that if—” He'd brought himself up short, but Claire had known what he was about to say.
If she'd been pack instead of a wild wolf. She'd always thought her senses were more honed than pack wolves, more attuned to potential danger, but she'd walked right into a trap set by a rogue wolf who had used her lack of training to manipulate her. She was fairly sure he wouldn't really hurt her, because he'd had plenty of chances to snatch her away. He always went on about his family's pack, how well she would fit in, how beautiful she was.
How well he could protect her from the world. Just the fact that Tate's words echoed those of her apparently evil ex had been enough for her to finally ask Tate to leave and stick to her guns on it, despite her wolf's distinct disapproval at her actions. Her own disapproval of her actions as well.
Frankly, it all was infuriating on all counts.
Her phone chirped at her again. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she reached for it, braced for another plea from Tate to reconsider his offer.
Her blood suddenly iced as The Ex! No Good flashed on her screen instead, but not simply because it was him. His words were what sent her heart rabbiting around in her ribcage in sudden nervousness.
You've been keeping company, Claire, his text said. He'd never sounded so sickeningly nasty before. Tsk tsk tsk. Very bad girl. You're meant for me, and no one else.
The only way he could know that was if—
If he'd been close enough to scent Tate on her.
When the knock sharply rapped at her door, her heart threatened to leap right out of her chest.
***
Tate had a conversation with Claire in his head the entire way back to her house. In his mind, it ended up with him kissing her every single time.
By the time he reached her little place, his hormones were as revved up as his questions and his worry. He sat in his truck for several long minutes, gathering his composure and tamping down his wolf's excited demands at being back at his mate's house. No, he wasn't going to burst in and claim her like so much sexy, gorgeous spoils of war. Tempting as that was. And, if he was truthful about his memories, he'd pretty much done just that when they were in Denver. So, check “claim mate by going into a mating frenzy” off the bucket list.
Of course, she sure hadn't complained then. But he had a sneaking suspicion she might not be too happy to see him right now. Especially since she'd rather testily asked him to leave the premises earlier in the day so she could think in peace, after she'd refused to come back to the den with him.
His alpha had to be right. Claire was protecting someone other than just herself. Tate wanted to find out who.
He also wanted a chance to do it right this time so he could get another taste of her luscious lips. Because despite all the tension of the entire situation, he was still feeling very deprived every second he was away from her stunning, welcoming body.
When he finally mustered some calm and strode up to her door, he knocked gently but firmly. After a moment of unanswered silence, he raised his hand to knock again, but the door opened before he could. Standing there with his knuckles in the air, he felt pretty darn foolish as Claire's beautiful face peered around the door. Preparing for arguments again, he took a breath, ready to launch into his prepared spiel. Before he could, though, she stepped around the entire door, relief written huge on her face.
“Thank god,” she said, and reached out to grab his arm and haul him inside.
Right. Women weren't like horses at all. Horses were easy to understand. He thought he'd known women fairly well, but now and then they jumbled up everything he thought he'd understood. Like this very moment.
“I'm so glad you're here,” she said, eyes darting to the gathering darkness behind him as she pulled him inside and tightly shut the door. Immediately picking up on her nervousness, Tate went into full Guardian mode.
“What's wrong? Have they been here? Are you okay?” He trembled with the need to crush her to him and hold her in the safety of his arms. Forcing himself to stand still, although his eyes darted around her small house, he let her dictate how this would go.
“No. Yes. No,” she said, voice slightly unsteady. “I didn't think they would come here, and they haven't. But they know about you. I mean, he does.”
Tate immediately knew which “he” she meant. He set his mouth against sudden invective. From casual, relaxed, happy-go-lucky guy to pretty much frothing-at-the-mouth Guardian-with-a-mate, all in the space of a few weeks. Fascinating, if not very conducive to clear thinking. Taking a deep breath, then another, he forced himself to coolly assess the situation.
“Okay, darlin',” he said, moving closer to her and lightly touching her arm. When she didn't resist that, he gently slipped an arm around her. God, she fit into him perfectly. Just that thought sent a sudden surge of interest straight to his cock. His balls tightened. Sucking in another breath to steady himself, Tate said, “Tell me.”
Claire showed him the text. “He's never spoken to me like that before.” Tate could tell it made her nervous.
Much as he hated for her to be fearful, he felt a slight stirring of grim hope that she was taking the situation more seriously now.
“But I still don't understand why he's never said anything weird before.” Claire's face showed her mingled tension and confusion. “Or ever tried to harm me. Was it some sort of crazy game to him?”
With his head slightly clearer, Tate knew it was best to let her mull this over on her just for the moment. He nodded at her to continue with her thoughts. Gently dropping a kiss on the top of her sweet-smelling hair, he forced himself away so he could wander the room. Surreptitiously casting his gaze at the mantel above her cozily lit fireplace, he saw the photo he thought he'd spied the other day. Strolling over for a closer look, he smiled to himself. Aha. Claire did have family. Now, he just needed her to tell him about it.
***
Strong, gentle hands clasped behind his back, Tate leaned forward at her fireplace mantel to examine the small framed photo of Claire and her mother. They both looked into the lens in their wolf forms, thanks to the power of a camera's long self-timer clicked just before Claire easily shifted into her four-legged shape.
“Who is that wolf with you?” Simple, genuine curiosity. In profile to her, he tipped his head in that unconscious manner he had when asking a question or waiting for a reply, though he remained focused on the photo. A few small strands of dark hair wisped down and clung to an eyebrow, giving him a slightly rakish look. Claire felt a bolt of desire zing straight to her most sensitive spot in response to it. It took her a deep breath to settle enough to answer him.
“That's Melle. My mother.”
Soft surprise whuffed out of him, though he nodded almost immediately. “Yes, I can see that, actually. You look like her, even though her coat's darker. She's closer to gray. But her eyes aren't like yours.” Her mother had darker brown eyes than the clear amber ones Claire's wolf had. “Was your father an arctic wolf as well?”
“Actually, no. But she is, even though she's not white. She's a carrier of the gene. The coloring can skip generations. I'm somewhat unusual because of it.”
&n
bsp; Tate swung his head around and smiled at her. Another slow burn began, seeming to light each of her limbs.
“You definitely are unusual, Claire. Not just because you're a white wolf here in the desert, though.” He glanced back at the photo, then to her again. “Why didn't you both pose as human for this?”
His forehead wrinkled a bit as he took in the hesitation she must have written on her face. He held up his hands. “Sorry, it's none of my—”
“No, that's not it,” she cut in quickly. “I'm just so used to not talking about her it's kind of ingrained to say nothing.”
The fire crackled and popped in the hearth.
Watching him carefully, she weighed her next words. Yes, he was pack and wanted to protect her. But he was also her mate, and he'd come back for her. Also, he was giving her space even while he was right here in her own home.
She needed to entrust him with her own truths the same way he entrusted her with his. Taking a breath, she went on. “When we first left our native pack, we were kind of on the run for a long time.”
She saw his shoulders twitch in surprise, but he simply nodded, still looking at the photo. She covered the distance between them and moved into his side. His arm automatically wrapped around her for a quick hug before he gently moved them to the large couch facing the hearth. Letting him carefully pull her down onto it, she waited a moment so she could settle against him and his warm, welcoming self.
“You smell so good,” he murmured as he nuzzled her hair. She started to lift her face to his, but he shook his head. “I want to hear your history. I really do want to know everything about you, Claire. If you want to tell me.” His open expression did some sort of delicious liquefying thing to her heart. Her wolf twirled in approving circles.