Terry Spear’s Wolf Bundle

by Terry Spear

  Sam joined Lelandi and handed her the cash. “Joe Kelly paid for your drink, miss. He works at the silver mine, which explains his slightly rough appearance. But he cleans up good.” Sam gave her a wink, and returned to the bar.

  Should she turn down Joe’s offer? On the other hand, if he was interested in her, maybe she could discover the truth quicker.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed to Joe Kelly and his chest swelled.

  The other guys started ribbing him in low voices. The tips of Joe’s ears turned crimson.

  Her stomach clenched with the notion that Larissa had had the audacity to mate with a gray, especially when she had a mate already. She’d said she wanted to find herself, and she did. Six feet under. Yet, Lelandi couldn’t help feeling it was her own fault, that if she’d taken Larissa’s place back home, or even run away with her, she might have kept her safe. But what about their parents? She couldn’t have left them behind—not with her dad so incapacitated—but hell, she hadn’t been able to protect them either. They had been murdered anyway.

  She tamped down a shudder, hating that she hadn’t stopped any of it. But once she learned what had happened to Larissa and put the murderer in his grave, Lelandi was going to locate her brother and their uncle—damn both of them for leaving the family behind.

  The barkeep clinked some glasses, his gaze taking her in like a crafty old wolf’s. He probably was on the younger side of middle age but due to the beard, he seemed older. The smile still percolated on his lips. Trying to figure her out? Or did he realize what a phony she was? Hunting in the wild was nothing new, but hunting like this…

  She twisted the top off her bottled water and glanced down at her watch again. Only four twenty-five.

  “Waiting for someone?” Sam asked, one dark brow cocked.

  She shook her head. Her hat jiggled, her glasses slipped, and the annoying earrings danced.

  Two men appeared in front of one of the dingy tavern windows and then the door jerked open. Her heart skittered.

  “Hey, Sam! Bring us a pitcher of beer,” one of them called.

  About six-foot—as tall as her brother—with windswept shoulder-length dark hair and a newly started beard, his amber eyes hinted at cheerfulness and good-humor rang in his words. Both men wore leather jackets, plaid shirts, denims, cowboy hats, and boots, and they appeared to be twins. Multiple births abounded among lupus garous, so no surprise there. They looked like they were mid- to late-twenties and walked into the place like they owned the joint.

  “Jake, Tom.” Sam glanced in her direction, alerting them to the presence of a stranger.

  She stiffened her back and gripped her glass tighter.

  Tom—his hair the lighter of the two, longer, curling around his broad shoulders, his face smooth as silk—fastened his gaze on her and raised his brows, tipped back his Stetson, and grinned.

  Self-conscious, her whole body heated and alarm bells rang. Keep a low profile!

  Tom took a deep breath as if he were love-struck. “The place looks a might better tonight, Sam. Done some nice redecorating.”

  The bearded one furrowed his dark brows. “Didn’t you tell her it’s a private club and no matter what, that table is reserved?”

  “Bending the rules today. First come, first served.” Sam grinned and winked at Lelandi.

  Damn. Was this where Darien normally sat? She thought he’d sit in the center, so everyone could see their leader. That’s the way Bruin did it back home.

  Now what? Move? To where? If she moved to the table across from Darien’s, she feared she’d draw too much attention. Not that she expected anyone to hurt her here, but she had thought she’d be able to keep a low profile. The tables situated on the other side of the bar sat in front of the restrooms. Anywhere else was too near the front door or in the middle of the floor, and no matter what, she wanted to have her back to the wall. She wasn’t leaving until she’d had a chance to observe the leader and as many of his pack members as she could, any one of whom might have murdered Larissa.

  Tom grabbed the pitcher of beer and a glass. “Come on, Jake. Change is good for the soul.” He stalked over to the table opposite her and sat where he could see both the front door and, most of all, her.

  Immersed in a goldfish bowl, she wondered what had made her think she could enter the wolves’ lair without arousing suspicion.

  Jake sat with his back to the wall to have a better view of the door. If he wanted to look her over, he’d have to turn his head and be pretty obvious about it. He did. The expression on his face was dark and foreboding. Gone was the humor his features had held when he first walked into the place.

  Laughing and boisterous, three more men barged into the tavern, glanced to where Jake and Tom sat, then shifted their attention to Lelandi. Which meant what? That Jake and Tom normally sat with Darien at the table where she was now sitting?

  Terrific!

  “Howdy, boys,” the older bearded man of the group said, nodding a greeting. The other two were nearly as old, gray streaking their brown beards, their gazes pinned on her. “Bring us the usual, Sam.” He turned to Jake and pointed his head at her. “He know about this?”

  “Still giving orders at the factory, Mason,” Tom said.

  The bearded man grumbled, “Fourth of July’s coming for a second time this year.”

  Figuring she’d be better off sitting next to the restrooms to lessen the chance of creating fireworks, Lelandi grabbed her purse.

  The door banged open again. The chatter died.

  As soon as she saw him, she knew it was him—not only because silence instantly cloaked the room and every eye in the place watched Darien Silver’s reaction. His sable hair curled at the top edge of his collar. Brooding dark eyes, grim lips, features handsomely rugged, but definitely hard, defined him. Wearing a leather jacket, western shirt, jeans, and boots, everything was as black as his somber mood. He looked so much like Tom and Jake, she figured they must be triplets, and he was the leader of the gray lupus garou in the area. Had to be, the way everyone watched him, waiting for the fireworks.

  Something about him stirred her blood, something akin to recognition, yet she’d never seen him before in her life. It wasn’t his face, or clothes, or body that stimulated some deep memory—but the way he moved—commanding, powerful, with an effortless grace.

  He glanced at the barkeep and gave a nod of greeting—sullen, silent, still in mourning for his mate? If he discovered why Lelandi was here, he’d be pissed.

  A shiver trickled down her spine. She released her purse and kept her seat, for the moment. Everyone was acting so oddly, she imagined that was the reason he quickly surveyed the current seating arrangement. When his eyes lit on her, incredulity registered.

  Crap! He recognized her; she just knew it. Didn’t matter that she had dyed her hair this horrible color that didn’t do anything for her fair skin, or that her eyes were now blue. Didn’t matter that the heavy padded leather jacket gave her broader shoulders and made her appear heavier, or that she wore her hair straight as blades of uncut grass, compliments of a hair straightening iron, when her sister’s and hers was naturally curly. She couldn’t hide the shape of her face or eyes or mouth. All of them mirrored her sister’s looks.

  Then again, his look was puzzled. The hat and glasses appeared to confuse him. Maybe the fact that she wore the faux pierced earrings that looked like the real thing did too.

  She broke eye contact first, her skin sweaty, her hands trembling. God, he was more wolf than she was used to dealing with—broader-shouldered and taller. His eyes locked onto hers with sinful determination, no backing down, no compromise. No wonder Larissa had fallen for the attention-grabbing gray. Lelandi couldn’t help wondering how a romp with a virile wolf like him would feel. But damn if it hadn’t gotten Larissa killed. Stick with your own kind, that’s what her father would have said. No humans, lupus garou only…the red variety.

  Everyone remained deathly quiet—no one lifted a mug to take a sip of a dri
nk, no one moved a muscle. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look at Darien, to see what he was doing now.

  Still staring at her. She wanted to sink into the floor like mop water on a hot day. She gritted her teeth, lifted her glass of water, and took another swig, hoping she wouldn’t inadvertently choke on the icy drink out of nervousness. But she wasn’t leaving Silver Town until she avenged Larissa’s death.

  Darien glanced at Sam, who shrugged a shoulder and handed him an empty glass. If Darien wanted her out of his chair, he would have to move her.

  Macho gang leaders had to show they were in charge, particularly when it came to their territory, and no one, especially women, upstaged them. There were none more notorious for this than lupus garous. No one challenged them and got away with it, unless another lupus garou was trying to take over the pack, and won.

  She wasn’t part of his pack. She wasn’t a male. And she wasn’t a gray. What’s worse, she looked like his dead mate. On the other hand, it appeared he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing.

  The eyes that latched onto her again were cold, yet sorrow was reflected in them, too. He jerked the glass off the counter and headed to where Jake and Tom sat. He forced Tom to move to the chair with his back to the door, giving Darien a better view of both her and the entrance.

  How could she observe the pack members if the leader kept an eye on her? Even now, she was certain he could smell her fear. She told herself she wasn’t afraid of him, but any lupus garou who was worth his pelt would take heed when confronting a pack leader.

  Frozen with indecision, she remained seated. What the hell, let him think she was too afraid to move from her chair—his chair, whatever.

  The first woman she’d seen tonight entered the tavern dressed in short shorts and a turtleneck shirt, with leather boots mid-thigh, her sable hair piled on top of her head in whirls of dark curls.

  “Hey, Silva,” one of the four men seated at the bar said and whistled. “Looking hot.”

  She gave him a flashy bright red-lipped grin, then glanced in Lelandi’s direction. Astonishment was reflected in her expression. Silva’s gaze shifted and she spied Darien nearby. Bending over the bar to give the guys a better look at her ass, she whispered something to Sam. He looked over at Lelandi. Yep, she was sure to be the topic of conversation tonight.

  Sam shrugged. “Drawing a real crowd tonight, Silva. Why don’t you see if the boss needs some more beer?”

  Tom lifted the empty pitcher. “Need a refill. Looks like the lady could use another drink.”

  Desperately wanting out of the limelight, Lelandi melted into her seat.

  Silva gave her a simpering smile. “Well, well, looks like the word has gotten out to some far-reaching places. Guess it won’t be long before the place will be crawling with—”

  Sam slammed a pitcher of beer on the counter. “Take care of the customers, Silva, and play nice.”

  She sneered at him, then grabbed the pitcher. “Yes siree, boss, that’s what you pay me for.” Swinging her hips, she carried the beer to Darien’s table, and then gave him a big smile. “Here ya go, boss. Just whistle if you need more.”

  Darien didn’t say a word, just leaned back in his chair and looked over at Lelandi.

  Silva made a face and headed for Lelandi’s table. “Need another…bottled water?”

  Time for a drink. “Got margaritas?” Lelandi spoke low, only it wasn’t low enough.

  Tom choked on his beer. A couple of the men at the bar chuckled. Sam smiled and poured whiskey for one of the men.

  “I don’t know, sugar.” Silva turned to Sam. “Hey, Sam, we got fancy drinks for an out-of-towner? Like a margarita?” She said the word as if she was speaking of a woman’s cute name.

  More chuckles ensued.

  “I can whip up anything the little lady would like.”

  Little. That described her all right. Five-four, and the size of a red lupus garou female. She sat taller.

  “Is that what you would like, Miss…?” Silva asked, drawing it out, searching for a name.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Tough, damn it. Lelandi wanted to present a tougher image in front of the grays. She’d practiced and practiced and so what did she do? Acted like a squeaky damned mouse. Used to being around her own kind, she’d never felt intimidated—much. Having earned double black belts in jujitsu and kung fu helped boost her confidence around human brutes. But these people were neither human nor her own kind, and a whole pack of them could devour her alive if she gave them the opportunity.

  The woman leaned closer and Lelandi was again sure she was about to be found out. Silva breathed in the air, and her brown eyes narrowed. Despite wearing a ton of fancy human perfumes, and of course the stench from the fresh dye job—although Lelandi had washed her hair in strawberry shampoo trying to cover up that odor—she hoped no one could smell that she was a lupus garou, and not one of their own kind, either. Looked like it didn’t work.

  “Well, well, well.” Silva straightened her back. “Make the lady a margarita, Sam.”

  “Put the first on my tab,” Tom piped up. “Wouldn’t want the lady to think we’re a bunch of unfriendly old coots.”

  “The second one’s on me,” Silva said.

  The miner, Joe Kelly, looked disappointed that he hadn’t spoken up first, but as much of a beta wolf as he appeared, he probably wouldn’t say anything to tick Darien off. Darien’s brothers would be the exceptions, and Silva seemed able to do as she pleased.

  Darien didn’t say a word. He exuded control with just a look—dangerous, not the kind of man to rile. His actions, or lack thereof, spoke louder than any words. Bruin would have blustered all over the tavern in Darien’s place. Proving he was the pack leader and no one would disobey him, Bruin would have taken her to task immediately, belittled her, thrown her out of the joint bodily if she’d taken his seat. But just a glower from Darien conveyed a world of threat, and she’d do well to heed it.

  Everyone seemed fascinated with the reason Silva had taken an interest in Lelandi. They had to figure Silva had discovered something about her. Silva seemed amused Lelandi was a red lupus garou masquerading as a human. At least Lelandi assumed the woman had found her out.

  “Where ya staying, darlin’?” Silva’s tone was much more appeasing, the sweetness faked.

  Lelandi cleared the sudden frog in her throat. “Just passing through.”

  Silence. The woman’s eyes darkened, and she quickly glanced at Darien. His eyes had widened, and he was staring at Lelandi. Shit. Her voice must have sounded similar to Larissa’s this time, the way she spoke, the inflection, something.

  Low conversation took place at the table next to Darien’s and among the grays at the bar while Sam whipped up Lelandi’s margarita, but no one at Darien’s table spoke a word.

  More patrons entered the tavern, all looking to greet their leader, then, finding a dead ringer for his dead mate sitting at his regular table, turned to see Darien, and the scenario repeated itself until the place was crowded and noisy. But no one dared sit at her table. Thank god. The more important conversations were conducted low so she couldn’t hear the gist of them, but she only had to guess what was being said. Dead sister’s clone arrives at grays’ hangout, seeking revenge. They’d all be shaking in their boots. Right.

  After finishing her margarita, Lelandi was dying to go to the bathroom, and the place had grown so warm, she shrugged out of her jacket. Big mistake. As soon as they saw how petite she was, the whole room grew quiet again.

  Silva hurried over with another margarita for Lelandi, although she intended to get another bottle of water.

  “On me, sweetie,” the woman said, this time with real affection. Standing nearly five-foot-ten, in her four-inch heels, she was small for a female gray.

  “Thanks.” Lelandi stood, and the woman’s face dropped, probably thinking Lelandi meant to leave, snubbing her for the drink. “Got to use the little girls’ room.”

  “Oh.” Silva’s lips tu
rned up slightly. “Back that way.” She motioned with her hand.

  “Thanks.” Lelandi hadn’t considered what it would feel like to walk through the tavern to the ladies’ room, until everyone acted so interested in her. With her shoulders straight back, her chin tilted up, and her body ten degrees hotter than normal, she made her way to the restroom.

  Several men nodded their heads in greeting. Respectfully, a couple of them took their cowboy hats off. None smiled though, not even Joe this time, which would be typical. Until their pack leader made her welcome, most would look her over, but wouldn’t make any move to be overtly friendly. Darien would probably take Joe to task if Sam told him the miner had paid for her first drink.

  Sitting with some men at one of the larger tables, three women glowered at her as if they wished her dead. Had any of them wanted Larissa eliminated and carried out the threat?

  Ignoring them, Lelandi walked into the restroom, but after entering a stall, she heard the outer door squeak open. Her skin chilled. Too late to circumvent the trouble headed her way.

  When she exited the stall, the three women were waiting for her, their expressions slightly amused in a sinister manner. All brown-haired, around mid-twenties like her—probably each vying to be Darien’s new mate and fearing she was new competition.

  When she’d come up with this scheme of looking for her Larissa’s murderer, Lelandi had never considered anyone would think she’d be interested in pursuing the pack’s leader. The idea of mating with a bigger gray for real…She mentally shook her head.

  “What’s your name?” the woman in denims and a cowl-neck sweater asked, her voice softly threatening, her western boot tapping on the tile floor. Her amber eyes narrowed, she took in a deep breath—trying to smell who or what Lelandi was—and curled her orange-painted lips up in a nasty way. The notion her face could hideously freeze that way briefly crossed Lelandi’s mind. “You’re not from around here, and you’re not one of us.”