“The cryptic warnings didn’t begin to describe this. You might have been more specific.”
Expecting a response was ludicrous, Grant decided. After all this time eluding capture, the Lycan facing him wasn’t apt to give anything away.
“We acknowledge your help, offer our thanks and will repeat the offer to accompany you to town. If you accept our hospitality, it will come with questions and a possible quarantine,” Grant added.
The Lycan didn’t nod or return the favor of changing into human form. Instead, he turned casually, without a sound, and disappeared into what was left of the longest night that Grant could recall.
Instantly, Grant was at Paxton’s side. Controlling the need to touch her, in case she was already hurting, he said, “It’s not safe here. We have to go.”
The sun hadn’t yet risen, but dawn wasn’t far off. Grant felt this in his bones. Glancing past Paxton, he wondered if novels were right about vampires being unable to move around in daylight, and if the so-called children of the night spent their daylight hours snoozing in dark, dank places, like…caves.
“Shit,” Ben muttered from someplace behind him, having come to a similar conclusion. “This might explain a lot. It also leads me to wonder if this big guy wasn’t the one killing cattle, and those fanged freaks were responsible.”
Grant was in complete agreement with Ben’s analysis. Problem was, given the new light just shed on what kind of other creatures currently called the desert home, plus the swift disappearance of the rogue, there was no way to classify that lone wolf now as either ally or just an enemy with benefits.
There was no justification for a rogue werewolf helping them if he was the one causing trouble.
And what was his interest, and the vamps’ interest, in Paxton, whose attention was fixed on the spot where the big Were had stood? Grant had no idea what Paxton was thinking. Either she had again found a way to hide her thoughts from him or her mind was blank.
“Come on,” he said to her, waving to include Ben and the others. “The sun isn’t actually up, so who knows what those fang-bearing bastards might do next?”
He did know one thing, though. Paxton had chosen the word dead to describe what had been coming, and she had been right. While he didn’t want to press her after what she had already been through, who wouldn’t have had a whole bunch of questions on that score?
Paxton appeared to be assimilating her transition from human to Were. She was in pain and dealing with it. In her wolf form, she was just as untrusting as she had been as a human, and she growled when he got close.
Grant saw how tired she was. He felt the burn of the deep-seated anger that flushed her skin. Too many secrets had been revealed to her tonight. Any lesser, more fragile female would not have been able to cope. But Paxton Hall was special.
“It would be enough to drive a weaker person insane,” Grant cajoled with a calmness he didn’t really feel. Her pain added to his own. He could tell Paxton wanted to bend, yet stood tall.
If I could touch you…
He couldn’t lay a hand on her because Paxton wasn’t going to allow it.
The air near the gates remained as odorous as if vampires had tainted it and left their mark on the night. It stank of decomposed bodies and the damn gray ash they became after being dealt a final death blow.
Grant figured they had sent at least one vampire to its final resting place—wherever the hell that was. He contemplated whether the other vampires would be angry to lose one of their number and seek revenge. Heaven only knew if the undead had brains or feelings outside of the hunger that ruled them.
There was an hour at most before a new day arrived. For Grant, sunrise could not come too soon.
“Don’t think about anything now, except getting to Desperado,” he said to Paxton, losing precious minutes by giving her the time to recover. “You need shelter, a comfortable bed and a hot meal.”
He would have given all ten claws to be able to crawl into bed beside her and sink his hard length into her lush, waiting depths. He ached to waken her each morning with a kiss, and had never wished for anything so badly. But he wasn’t sure any of that would happen now that she knew about werewolves. About herself, and about him.
“Paxton, let’s move,” he said, nodding to the others, butting up against his she-wolf with his hip and one bare shoulder.
When she took a step, he could have kissed her right then and there. She had heard him. She was going to comply and would be all right once they reached shelter.
“I am not to blame for this,” he whispered to her. “Please believe me.”
Urged into action by his silent additions to the things he voiced aloud, Paxton began to walk. He saw no evidence of her fatigue in the way she carried herself. Paxton the she-wolf was the epitome of grace and courage, in spite of being new to the gig.
There was a lot more than shape-shifting in her future, Grant wanted to tell her. Chief among those things was the fact that they had imprinted. She might not want him to touch her at the moment, but she wouldn’t be able to leave him, any more than he could abandon her. The first meeting of their eyes had sealed their fate as lovers and mates. Making love so blissfully had finalized the deal.
Thinking about hot, sweaty sex with Paxton, now that she knew nearly everything, made Grant hard all over. Made him ache in places that weren’t already aching. Ahead of him on the road, Paxton growled again, and what he heard in that sound was, “Over my dead body.”
*
Uneasy, sick and tired beyond belief, Paxton turned toward Desperado. She had kissed her old self goodbye and there was nothing she could do about it.
There was no going back.
So, all right. There were now three Lycans in the area, and she was one of them, according to Grant and her ability to shift shape without a full moon’s help. The wolf they called a rogue was the third Lycan to show up, and when his eyes had found her, a strange emotion had stirred her insides. Those pale eyes seemed familiar. Then again, for all she knew, all wolf-to-wolf contact might feel that way.
She looked back at a desert that would have appeared normal to most people, and in reality was anything but. In her mind, behind the clash of leftover pain and the wish that none of this was real, the rogue Lycan’s eyes continued to haunt her.
Grant was silent now. So were the others. Night birds and bugs had resumed their songs to herald a dawn that would soon light the mountain range.
And yet…
She knew the rogue was out there, and that he was watching her just like the invisible eyes she’d felt as a kid. Here, in real time, the idea was as vague as it was frightening. Older now, and wiser, she wasn’t about to let that memory go, because after meeting the rogue, memories and ideas in a world full of questions suddenly began to connect. Perceptions marched into focus.
Yes, damn it. She had met werewolves before. There was no doubt about it, or the fact that she had first encountered them here in Arizona.
The surprise of that realization made her hesitate. In following the path of that memory, surely the presence of werewolves in and around Desperado was part of the reason she’d been sent away.
Beside her, Grant had stopped and was eyeing her curiously. She had forgotten about his ability to share her thoughts and hadn’t protected them. Grant, however, had not been here when she was young, and therefore hadn’t been privy to all the years of self-doubt between then and now. The years of believing she’d been unwanted, unloved and dispensed with by the father she had, since then, continued to yearn for in secret.
Now, Grant’s shining allure was like a welcoming beacon backed by a promise of danger. She would find comfort, of a sort, in his arms and should have allowed that to happen. But those other eyes, the rogue Lycan’s eyes, kept her turning to Grant.
She was learning too fast, feeling too much, when she had only begun this unbelievable journey. Her world was never going to be the same. Not even remotely close.
Shut up and deal, she to
ld herself.
The back of her neck ached. Her stomach was in knots. So far, her reasoning seemed right, but didn’t address the reasons for a rogue Lycan’s presence disturbing her.
“Don’t go there,” Grant whispered to her, concern weighing heavily on his princely features. “Now isn’t the time to consider what is or isn’t. Safety comes first.”
Grant’s right cheek was bloody. His shoulders were crisscrossed with red scratch marks beginning to welt. Her werewolf lover had fought to protect her, was continuing to do so, and what she was about to do might appear ungrateful.
She spoke to Grant from her heart. “Forgive me, but I have to.”
Spinning in place, Paxton uttered a growl that got stuck in her throat…and took off for the desert behind them, hoping this time Grant couldn’t catch her.
Chapter 29
“Bloody hell!”
Grant’s packmates were equally surprised by Paxton’s sudden, incredibly dangerous and ill-timed rebelliousness. Grant was actually afraid of what might happen next.
“Go on ahead,” he barked to the others as he started after Paxton. “Warn them about the vampires,” he added over his shoulder.
He ran as if he was in possession of all of his strength and he cursed the night for taking so long to end. With the weak wind in his face and his connection to Paxton foremost in his mind, Grant raced back to the wash where he had met with the rogue Lycan.
Paxton wasn’t there. There was no sign of vampires or rogues in the area.
He dared to call, “Please wait,” listening to how those words fell flat. His mind rushed ahead of him at a frantic pace to test the wind, the ground and various theories as to why Paxton would believe this was a good idea.
Each avenue he mentally tried led to a dead end. He just did not get it. Frustrated, Grant ran as fast as he could, skimming the ground on human feet he willed to take him where he wanted to go without faltering.
“You’re smarter than this,” he muttered to Paxton, silently adding to himself, At least I would have thought so.
The only thing he could come up with as an excuse for her behavior was that somehow, and in some way, the rogue Lycan had issued an invitation Paxton couldn’t refuse. She was going after him. The other werewolf. If being scared for her wasn’t enough, jealousy was like a huge dark mouth that threatened to swallow him whole.
Once he’d have been sure Paxton would have no feelings for the bastard out here after hearing about the things that rogue had done. But Grant no longer believed the Lycan had done any of the deeds attributed to him. Vampires had stolen that honor.
So, if the big Lycan was cleared of the atrocities formerly assigned to him, Grant had to find out who that guy was. For the hundredth time, there remained the unanswered question of what he wanted here.
Any time now, you’ll start to make sense, Paxton had said to him early on.
“How wrong you were,” he grumbled.
As if he had demanded that Paxton’s scent take a form he could see, Grant suddenly became aware of the imprint on the atmosphere she had created. Her image wavered, going in and out of focus before solidifying into the visible shape of a she-wolf slowing her pace.
His relief was instantaneous and temporary. Paxton was there, all right, and surrounded by the same black mist they had encountered less than half an hour before.
The same damn mist that also clung to the vampires.
*
“I have to,” she had said to the man she ached for. “Forgive me,” she had whispered to him when the sentiments behind her hasty exit had seemed valid. Now, foolishness was going to be her downfall.
The black mist encased her as if she was trapped in an ice-cold pool of water. Already she was shivering and trying to think of a way to get out of the mess she had gotten herself into, but she couldn’t see how that was possible.
Nightmarish faces appeared. Mentally Paxton took a count. Only two fang-bearing creatures snapped at her after hissing through the wide gaps in their hazardous teeth. Perhaps they were tentative about facing a werewolf after the last encounter, because neither of those creatures came close enough for her to spit in their ugly, undead faces.
She raised her hands, brandished her claws and widened her stance. Fighting these vampires was the only option left to her. If she was going to be cursed for her stupidity in leaving Grant and the pack, she’d make it difficult for these pricks to get at her.
Growls bubbled up from deep in her chest as one of the vamps floated toward her with a crooked grin hinting that dinnertime had arrived.
Her second wave of growls was louder, braver and like no other sound Paxton had ever heard. But a vampire had closed in and was inches away from the claws she had no real idea how to use.
She swiped at the air between herself and the freak in warning, and the vampire didn’t care. It was already dead, she remembered, so the danger she represented was probably small by comparison to the initial loss of their lives. Also against her was the fact that she hadn’t gotten a clear look at how Grant and the other Lycan had dispatched this guy’s friend.
Once, so long ago, she had seen this. She had been here, surrounded by fanged freaks in the middle of nowhere, all by herself.
That realization inspired another memory. She had been ringed by gaunt faces with snapping fangs while her pony lay lifeless at her feet.
Another memory…
Her pony had gotten loose from its tether at the gate and had trotted off without her, frightened by something Paxton’s young eyes hadn’t been able to see. She had gone after him. Her father was going to be mad that she had trespassed beyond the boundaries of their ranch at all, let alone without a chaperone and so close to sunset. Riding into the desert had been forbidden. Riding into the desert near or during the time of a full moon would have been punishable by grounding if her father had caught her.
Still, in all those times she had ignored his warnings, he never had caught her, and she had been emboldened by her forbidden freedom. Until that one dusk, when her pony had become a feast for vampires, and she had watched, horrified, as sharp canines tore into her beloved animal before Paxton was rescued by…
Yes. She had it now. Everything came back in one quick vision, as if a movie played in her mind.
She had been rescued by one of the watchers she had sensed in Desperado. Not just any watcher, Paxton’s mind now told her. The terrified little girl who had tried desperately to keep the snapping fangs away from her pony’s carcass with every means she could think of, had been saved by another creature. A werewolf.
Pale eyes in a wolfish face.
Big as a bear.
A fierce fighter that had come, not to harm her, but to help her escape her pony’s fate.
That werewolf had killed the freaks, picked her up, and taken her home, depositing her near the ranch, where everyone pretended nothing had happened and her father sent her away to make sure things like that never happened again.
Banished. Gone from Arizona and from her father after losing her mother mere months before. End of story. The rebel troublemaker got what was coming to her, and after months of promises from a child psychiatrist that she’d imagined the experience, the little girl had started to believe it.
Looking up and into the face of the vampire, Paxton’s anger burned with the fire of a shooting star. In her mind, the dead pony lay at her feet once again. She saw it there. Smelled its death. Now, she had run off again and was on her own, facing two freaks in need of their next meal.
But this time, I’m not that same helpless girl.
Now, gathering herself, energized by the discovery of a truth long hidden from her, Paxton charged at the vampire that was attacking her. The bloodsucker was fast, but so was she. Kicking out, her left foot connected with the moving bag of bones and it stumbled back before coming on again. She fought like a madwoman, slashing at the creep with her claws like an angry creature with nothing more to lose.
Though she did have something to
lose, her mind argued. Grant Wade.
As if dragged in by mist, Grant was suddenly beside her. Her guardian angel was as fierce as any vampire as he fought beside her in human form.
One vampire went down beneath the fury of two beings at war with the epitome of Evil. Minutes later, the second vampire succumbed to its final death when its neck was broken. But Paxton hadn’t killed that one, and neither had Grant.
Big as a bear, and with its unusual eyes on her, the Lycan rogue waited until the last of the funnel of gray vampire ash had settled. She finally got a good look at him.
Struck again by how unlike Grant this rogue was, she stared. This larger version of a werewolf seemed to be from another species altogether. Nothing in his appearance, other than his eyes, hinted at anything human or what he might look like as a man.
When he raised a clawed hand, Grant took a protective step closer to Paxton. But the rogue pointed at the mountain range beside them, where the sun would soon make its case against marauding vampires. The rumble in his chest sounded like the beat of a drum. Hearing it, Paxton began to feel stranger than she was already feeling.
If this guy butchered cattle, she couldn’t picture it. Scary, yes, but he had helped to save her ass twice. No maniac did things like that.
Paxton owed the rogue a round of thanks and had no way to say it. Instead, she sent a thought not fully realized until the sentiment came out. “I’m not afraid of you.”
The pale eyes blinked. The rogue’s elongated head tilted slightly, as though the Lycan might have been thinking about her little speech. There was no response from the beast. Not so much as a growl. Paxton waited for the big Lycan’s next move, and that move was to turn and disappear so quickly, Paxton was left wondering if he had been there in the first place.
“No,” Paxton growled stubbornly. “Not this time.”
She was after that Lycan in a flash, sensing the big Were hadn’t gone far. Fast on her feet, she seemed to fly over the ground, no longer bothered by fatigue.
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