Desert Wolf

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  What if it hadn’t been willpower that ended their near-miss lust fest? What if he had been messing with her?

  Maybe Grant supposed he could chase her away by combining the fine arts of shame and seduction. Maybe he planned to have sex with her and then talk her into caving on her requests. Kiss her into giving him what he wanted. Corner her into pursuing new negotiations by proving himself the better negotiator.

  What if he had somehow planted that bear on the road to Desperado, hoping she would turn around and head back to town?

  He had, after all, been out there. He had found her on the road.

  Then what? He planned to take advantage of the situation and play at being a white knight for a damsel in distress?

  Paxton sagged against the wall. If any of those things proved to be true, Grant Wade would be a devil in disguise. A monster.

  “Unfair tactics hidden behind such a pretty face?” Paxton grumbled as she stared at the empty space where the blue truck had been parked.

  “So you know, Mr. Cowboy, I’ve always been stubborn, so I will take up this challenge and be here in the morning. Just you wait and see. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  If Grant had somehow manipulated the whole second half of this long day for his own benefit—the ride in his truck, the meal at the café, chasing her in the desert in the dark, the kiss and what else had almost happened in this room…

  “If that’s what you think, then you have another thing coming,” she declared. “I might not have known my father well, but I carry something of his strength inside me. Enough to get what I want in the end.”

  Putting a finger to her mouth, to the residual imprint of Grant’s talented lips, Paxton was even fairly sure most of that last statement was true.

  Chapter 10

  Would she stay? Grant wondered as he drove out of the city for a second time that night.

  The story about her encounter with a bear bothered him, since there hadn’t been bears in the area for as long as he could remember.

  No. Paxton had not seen a bear. And she had been extremely lucky to have survived a run-in with whatever kind of creature she had encountered. He knew it had been a beast scary enough for Paxton to have telepathically broadcast her fear.

  As far as clues to Paxton’s hidden possibilities went, that kind of broadcasting was a big one and more proof of what lay nestled inside her. The fact that he had heard her without her having transitioned was disconcerting, though, as was the growl she had let escape in the damn motel room.

  Had he caused that?

  He wanted to flat-out refuse to believe those imprinting chains were being fastened to his own ankle by a stranger. Grant thanked his lucky stars he had left Paxton in the nick of time. The growl had to mean that she was responding to his wolf when she wasn’t supposed to. Going to bed with her might have made things worse. He’d had to let her go, had to escape from the exotic feel of the heat in that motel room.

  Paxton was…

  Well, she was…

  Hot. In more ways than one.

  “A fine mess,” he muttered, slinging his hat on the seat so he could rub his forehead. An ache was building there. Each mile he traveled made that ache worse and took him farther from Paxton. Grant slowed the truck.

  He turned his head.

  Through the open window came a peculiar scent that raised the hair on his arms. Almost instantly, a different, more familiar scent piggybacked on the first one.

  He stopped the truck and got out, leaving the engine running and the headlights on as he scanned the surrounding darkness.

  “Ben?” he called to the familiar presence.

  “I thought you might come this way.” His lanky, thirtysomething packmate stepped into the headlights. “I’ve been waiting.”

  Grant looked beyond him. “Our rogue is nearby. I can smell him.”

  Ben nodded. “I tracked him to this point and then the sucker disappeared as if he’d been swallowed by a black hole. The creep isn’t afraid of cars, which speaks to the point that he must either be used to them or he’s human at least some of the time.”

  “Where are the others?” Grant asked.

  “Half the pack is at Desperado doing the cleanup you requested. The rest of us are taking a look around out here. Our freak should be in human form tonight, right? If it’s a shifter we’re after?”

  “Paxton said he looked like a bear.”

  “Paxton?”

  Grant explained about Andrew Hall’s daughter, leaving out the part about Paxton’s wolf and the bed in the motel room. He added, “You assessed the bones found near that campfire, Ben?”

  “Yes. They’re human, as far as I could tell. Male. Young. No sign of that human being a wolf.”

  “Hell.”

  “Probably was hell for whoever that poor guy was,” Ben agreed. “The bastard we’re chasing gnawed on some of those bones.”

  Disgusted by that news, Grant swore under his breath. “You found bite marks? Teeth imprints can tell a lot about the animal doing the biting, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “That’s the odd thing,” Ben replied. “I couldn’t tell anything about what kind of creature made those marks. They were more like scrapes of teeth. Long vertical drag lines.”

  Grant looked up. “Christ, could it have been a bear?”

  Ben shrugged. “Have you ever come across one out here?”

  “Not personally.”

  “Me, either. But I tend to think it couldn’t have been a bear because of the width of the drag lines. I’m thinking a bear’s teeth would have made larger grooves in the bone or ground up those bones.”

  Grant sidestepped the headlights. “I wonder what we have, then? What that leaves?”

  “The Paxton woman said the thing that jumped on her car was big?” Ben asked.

  “I saw the dents it made. Not much exaggeration there.”

  “Wolf?” Ben suggested, steeping closer to Grant.

  “Not possible tonight, since our rogue couldn’t have been furred-up.”

  Ben was serious. “Unless this guy is more like you than like the rest of us?”

  That suggestion made Grant uneasy. Ben meant it could have been a Were able to shift without a full moon present, making the rogue not just any werewolf, but a full-blooded Lycan version with a long Were lineage. So far, Grant had never heard of another Were this side of the Mississippi, other than himself, able to perform that trick. The possibility couldn’t be ruled out, though. And if that was possible, things would be twice as hazardous for everyone involved, including the neighboring ranchers.

  “Bad scene, if true?” Ben noted.

  “If this guy is a full-blooded Lycan, he would be far stronger than most of our Weres chasing him, and deadly in a showdown with the neighbors.”

  However, Grant thought, it also might explain what Paxton had encountered out here. Werewolf. Not just any Were, but one with fancy DNA.

  “That kind of ability might explain a lot,” Ben went on. “Like how it’s able to outrun us and why its scent is hard to define. Also of note is that a Lycan can probably hear everything we’re saying, even if we whisper. Am I right?”

  “Partially right,” Grant had to admit. “If he is within close range, yes, he might hear us talking. Otherwise we’d have to channel our thoughts the way we do when we’re furred-up and on the move.”

  “But perhaps,” Ben countered, “if this is a special type of Lycan, he can tune into you, Grant, easily avoiding us each time we make a plan to catch him.”

  Grant didn’t utter the oath that came to mind regarding that possibility. He didn’t like the sound of this at all. Worse yet, if the rogue they sought could shift without the moon and tune into Grant’s thoughts, that beast might know about Paxton being a she-wolf and about Grant’s budding feelings for her. Would that mean something to a rogue Lycan? Could hunger be passed along from one Lycan to another over the same silent channels?

  Was a she-wolf fair game to all males of the Were spe
cies?

  “Grant?” Ben said.

  Grant turned his head.

  Ben said, “I’ll follow this road and see what I can find. You do whatever you have to do.”

  But could he, Grant wondered, in all good conscience, continue to send the pack out if this intruder turned out to be what they now suspected—an unconscionably strong beast with a taste for blood?

  “I’ll take care,” Ben said, reading the worried look on Grant’s face.

  Grant couldn’t demean Ben by mentioning again his doubts about Ben or the others facing off with a monster like that. He threw up a mental block so he wouldn’t communicate his sudden fear about Ben potentially being right about what kind of beast they were chasing.

  “Okay,” he said. “Connect with the others now that we have a good guess as to what might be out here. Let them know.”

  He wondered again about how Paxton had escaped with her life. Supposing that her encounter had been with such a monster, why weren’t they looking for her bones?

  The thought made him sick. He wondered if her eyes and the beast’s eyes had connected through that thin sheet of glass, and if the beast, a possible rogue Lycan, had let her go for some other ungodly reason, such as the recognition of another wolf.

  Grant glanced warily to the west. Across the distance, he felt Paxton thinking about him. She wasn’t scared at the moment. For the time being, she was safe in that motel. He found that something of a comfort.

  There had to be a new plan. Given that this beast might indeed be a Lycan with special abilities, Paxton would either have to leave Arizona or be taken to Desperado, where she’d be safely surrounded by his pack. No human in this world could stand against such a beast, especially one with a nose for female pheromones.

  “Dangerous rogues, whether of special lineage or not, have never dared to set foot or claw in a place governed by other wolves,” he said. “There are strict rules about marked pack territories.”

  Another thought occurred to Grant. He spoke out loud to hear the idea voiced.

  “Since Desperado is notorious among many Were communities, possibly that’s the reason this werewolf has come, if it is a Were. So why then hasn’t he shown himself?”

  “I can’t even make an educated guess about that,” Ben returned, moving into the darkness before calling back, “See you in a few.”

  “I’m headed to Desperado now,” Grant said.

  Yes, he had to get going, but he was still torn. Ahead lay the hideout he had created for werewolves, which was also the home of his pack. Behind him was Paxton, who might be in significant danger if that beast on the loose sought a further connection to her. Paxton’s moon mark, that white ring on her arm, could mean she was Lycan bait for more Weres than just Grant.

  “Damn it. You shouldn’t have come here,” he said to the woman who was miles away at the moment, feeling right then as though he might be the only thing standing between Paxton and an unforeseeable doom.

  Pack.

  His pack came first. Had to come first. Paxton Hall wasn’t his responsibility. Others depended on him.

  Back in the truck, Grant drove, wishing he could join Ben and the others in their search. For now, though, he needed more than ever to make sure Paxton found nothing out of the ordinary at Desperado in the morning.

  As for sending her away for her own safety and away from a raging beast…well, that wasn’t a viable option. Even if imprinting chains could be stretched, Paxton might have an unexpected surprise the next night. An agonizing surprise that often killed some Weres going through their first transition. There was a slim possibility that since Paxton hadn’t shape-shifted in all this time, when that was long overdue, distance from other wolves might postpone her wolf’s appearance for a few more years.

  Then what?

  Who, in her fancy East Coast cities, would help her?

  Hell, she couldn’t leave here, especially on the day of a full moon, after showing the first sign of her wolf’s awareness by issuing that growl. He had to see that she stayed.

  “Holy mother of…” he sputtered, wincing as he glanced out the window at the dark desert tableau.

  Instinct promised him that postponing Paxton’s fate wasn’t going to happen. Somehow he sensed that her wolf was about make its debut. Now. Here.

  Tomorrow night.

  The truth was that both he and Paxton owed Andrew Hall’s ghost a swift kick for keeping some secrets too damn well.

  *

  Paxton paced back and forth across the worn carpet. Sleep was a nonissue. She felt antsy, like she had downed too many cups of coffee when she hadn’t had one. She kept looking out the window at the parking lot.

  At ten in the evening the motel was quiet. There were only two cars in that lot. She supposed the lobby lights would be on all night. With her curtains open, those lights vied with the moon’s opalescent glow.

  She wanted to go out and also wanted to stay where she was. She thought about telling Grant all of the excuses she had come up with for not staying here after their negotiations were over. Closure was what she needed, damn it. Couldn’t Grant empathize with how necessary it was for her to end her association with Arizona? It was just like her father to stick it to her again, this time from the grave.

  She’d have to wait for Grant to pick her up in order to get to Desperado, since she had ruined the rented car. It was either that or go back on her pledge to remain here and ask her dad’s lawyer to turn everything over to the cowboy without having to see him again. Closure, the easy way, seemed an attractive option for about five seconds before the rapid beating in her chest returned at the mere thought of Grant Wade.

  Maybe part of her didn’t want to put Arizona behind her.

  Possibly a cowboy named Grant was the new sticking point.

  But he had not believed her about the bear.

  So, okay. She had never been weak, and going home was not going to reinforce that. ER nurses couldn’t afford to get weak-kneed when it came to facing trouble, and she’d seen her share in three long years in the ER.

  Swear to God, she wanted to shout. Although I don’t live in or anywhere near the Wild West, I’m pretty sure I’d know a bear when I saw one.

  Leaning back again, against the wall by the window, fatigue was a real physical strain. Even that couldn’t keep her from glancing out the window again.

  Everything beneath the balcony was illuminated by moonbeams so bright it was like a searchlight had been centered on this motel. She had never thought much about the moon, and this one made her uneasy. The thing was too big. Too something.

  The glass was cool to her touch, due to the humming air conditioner beneath it. The rest of her felt feverish. She blamed the fever on Grant. His kiss had kindled inner fires that his hasty departure hadn’t doused.

  “Damn cowboys.”

  Her forehead hit the glass. Nerves jangled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement in the parking lot. The fact that someone was between the two parked cars shouldn’t have been of concern since people were free to come and go as they pleased in motels. Yet the blur of movement down there caused a nerve spike that made her want to hide.

  Paxton purposefully regulated her breathing. She was being far too dramatic and allowing her brief encounter with the bear to upset her equilibrium.

  I’m better than this. Tougher than this.

  Inching sideways, determined to put a stop to her anxiousness, she peered out again. Finding nothing out there didn’t make her feel any better. Nerves kept firing. Her fingers were clenched. That damn bear and the fright it had given her had strung out her nervous system.

  A sudden crashing sound made her stiffen, though everything in the lot looked the same as it had minutes before. Had someone tried to break into a car? If that were the case, she expected the motel’s manager to take a closer look. Those cars weren’t parked far from the open lobby door.

  Paxton picked up the room phone and hit the key for the main desk. After several unanswered rin
gs, a machine picked up. Without listening to the canned information about the motel, Paxton slammed down the phone and reached for her jeans. She tugged on her shirt and opened the door, hearing nothing now but normal distant traffic sounds. No one was in the lot to investigate the noise she’d heard. She noticed no glint of broken glass on the asphalt from a shattered car window.

  She cautiously moved across the balcony, looking, listening, waiting to see if other motel guests had heard anything. As far as she could tell, no one had.

  Taking the stairs slowly, Paxton headed across the parking lot and toward the lobby, careful to scan for further signs of trouble. In the doorway, she stopped abruptly with her hands covering her mouth. The place looked like it had been ransacked. Like a storm had blown through. Tables were upturned. Papers littered the floor. The registration desk had been upended and no motel personnel were present.

  When she called out, there was no response. She picked up the desk phone and hit the posted three-digit code for Arizona emergencies.

  “Need help,” she said breathlessly to whoever had picked up.

  Chapter 11

  Special lanterns burned along the dirt road leading into Desperado, with small flickering lights that would be invisible to anyone not passing over in a low-flying plane.

  Dots of lights in some of the windows of a supposedly abandoned ghost town always produced feelings of wariness in Grant, given that the neighbors had no idea anyone was living there, let alone fourteen werewolves. However, a bit of cleanup was necessary, and that called for light in places the moon couldn’t reach.

  There hadn’t been much to do here these past few months. Shirleen had been right about that. It was damn lucky that no newbies had shown up needing to be locked in.

  A few more nails on the doors would make Desperado look the way it had when its gates had closed to tourists twenty years before, and Grant saw that things were already well in hand on that score. He also saw the flaw in all of this, as far as Paxton’s thinking would be concerned. What good was an abandoned ghost town that brought in no cash? She’d be wondering why he would be stubborn about either selling or buying her out.