Dark Wolf: Wolf Shifter Romance (Wild Lake Wolves Book 2)

by Kimber White

  Dark Wolf

  Wild Lake Wolves Series

  Book Two

  By

  Kimber White

  Copyright © 2016 by Kimber White

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law or for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For all the latest on my new releases and an EXCLUSIVE FREE EBOOK AS A WELCOME GIFT, sign up for my newsletter. http://eepurl.com/byh9Br

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  A Note from Kimber White

  Books by Kimber White

  Author’s Note

  The Wild Lake Wolves books have all been written so you can enjoy them as standalones. While they can be read in any order, the events within them do occur chronologically. For a full list of published books in the series and their recommended reading order, visit the series page at http://www.kimberwhite.com/wild-lake-wolves.

  Happy Reading!

  Kimber

  Chapter One

  Most people grow up listening to their parents croon “Rock-a-bye Baby” or “Twinkle Little Star” as they lay them down to sleep. For most of my childhood, I got “Half Breed” by Cher. I knew the lyrics by heart by the time I was two. I used to love the way my mother’s eyes would shine with tears of laughter when I stood in front of the fireplace and sang it for her. My father’s would too. That’s what I remember most about that time. Laughter. Dancing. Lots of food. Warmth. Love. Their deep love for each other and for me.

  Then, one day on my birthday or some other holiday, I sang that song in front of my grandfather. I’ll never forget the stony look that came into his creased eyes. All color drained from his face and he murmured something to my mother in a language I didn’t understand. The one he spoke in hushed whispers to her when he was talking about me and didn’t want me to know it. Whatever he said to her made her voice quake with rage when she answered him in English.

  “I’m as much my mother’s daughter as I am yours,” she said. “If you ever say that to me again, you won’t have a daughter anymore.”

  He didn’t come over much after that, my grandfather. He lived high on a hill at the edge of town in a white farmhouse surrounded by dense woods. Come to think of it, he didn’t come to town much after that either. My mother and I, sometimes my father, would bring groceries to him, going up his long, winding driveway to his hidden fortress on that hill.

  Mom told me once he hadn’t always been like that. Shut in. Always angry. She said he’d been the life of the town when she was a little girl. But, after my grandmother died, Grandpa stopped wanting to be in the world. The few Odawa words he muttered I did understand were all about how his curse had finally taken her. He said it was all his fault for marrying her instead of someone like himself. If he’d followed the old ways, if he hadn’t brought her to this town, she might still be alive. His family. His curse. And he said he knew we weren’t done paying. My parents told me to ignore the ramblings of a grief-stricken, sad old man. But then, a look would pass between them as if they couldn’t ignore it.

  My mother told me other stories of the man my grandpa used to be before Grandma died. Alive. Vibrant. Charming. Always with a twinkle in his eye and a pocketful of lollipops for the children he met on the street. He’d even served as our town’s mayor. Our town was Oodena, Michigan, located on the pad of your fourth finger if you hold up your right hand palm-up like a map the way we Michiganders do. Established in 1866, Oodena had a thriving population of 992 when I was eight years, eleven months, and 24 days old. It dipped to 990 the next day. I lost both my parents in a car accident on some back country road. No one would ever tell me the details. A drunk driver? A patch of black ice on a dark, wintry night? I don’t know. I wasn’t with them. In other towns, people might have said that was a blessing. In Oodena though, they said maybe my grandfather had been right all along.

  So, when I was eight years, eleven months, and twenty-six days old, I was told I’d have to go live with my grandfather forever. There was no one else to take me. No family on either side except for him. One week later, right after my ninth birthday, he sent me away. That was ten years and three days ago. I spent the rest of my childhood with old college friends of my father’s down in Florida. Four different families in ten years. All of them kind. All of them decent. But, none of them family.

  Six months and sixteen days ago, after I graduated from high school, I came back to Oodena. Because now, Grandpa had no one left.

  I pulled my hood closed, trying to block out the blistering wind as I made my way through the center of town. Mid-January in northern Michigan isn’t for sissies. After ten years in southern Florida, I’d almost forgotten what the hell a snow belt even was. I got a stinging reminder as the wind kicked up and sprayed snow straight at my face off the rooftop of the local dry cleaner’s shop.

  I spit frost away from my lips as I opened the door to Crow’s General Store. Lloyd Crow carried basic household goods at ridiculous prices, but unless you wanted to brave US-31 in a blizzard and try to make it to Petoskey, you paid Lloyd’s prices for your loaf of bread and diet pop.

  “Hey, Tamryn!” Lloyd’s voice boomed from some back corner of the store. I didn’t know how he did that. He had no security cameras. No two-way mirrors. But, the minute anyone walked through the front door, even if a wall separated them, Lloyd always knew who it was. I asked him about it once and he just wagged his thick, black eyebrows at me and told me it was an ancient Odawa secret.

  “Hey Lloyd!” The bell above the door clanged as I pressed it shut behind me. I wasn’t quite fast enough, and a drift of snow blew in at my feet. I muttered a four-letter word under my breath and shot Lloyd a sheepish grin.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lloyd said as he came around the long counter filled with tobacco products, shot glasses for the tourists, and lotto tickets. “My nephew Benny’s working today. He’s out back shoveling the walk.”

  “Thanks,” I said, dusting the snow off my jacket and peeling back the hood of my parka. My hair stuck to my face and I pushed it back. Lloyd’s eyes went to the fiery strands between my fingers and he gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  I got that a lot around here. People like me don’t look like they belong in
Oodena. It’s silly, I know. They’re good people. Strong families. Kind hearts. Any one of them would give me the shirt off their backs or lay down their lives for each other. Including me. But even in the twenty-first century, they couldn’t quite get past my red hair and my fair skin. I was a living reminder of the path my grandfather chose, and his daughter after that.

  You see, half-breed isn’t exactly true. I’m a quarter-breed. Maybe if my grandmother and parents hadn’t died when they did, it wouldn’t have mattered so much. Now, though, they take it as objective fact that bad luck follows me wherever I go.

  I gave Lloyd a bright smile and grabbed a shopping basket from the wall. “Bread, eggs, milk, and that awful orange powdery stuff he likes to put in his tea.”

  Lloyd raised a brow as he followed behind me down the first aisle. I pulled a loaf of bread off the shelf and turned back toward him. He stood with his hands on his hips and his head cocked to the side.

  “Honey, you sure you need all that?”

  My turn to cock my head back at him. “Every Wednesday.”

  Lloyd nodded. “I know. It’s just, uh, honey, Wyatt was in here about an hour ago picking up the same stuff.”

  I dropped my shoulders and turned to face him. “Are you kidding?”

  “No, hon. Ya know, I’m sorry. I should have tried to call you. My nephew told me I should.”

  My heart raced. My grandfather had been fast asleep when I left him two hours ago. Just like every day right after lunch. I had spent that last two hours in the Oodena Public Library looking over college admissions applications. We didn’t have internet up at the house and the cell reception was for shit.

  Just then, the bell clanged over Lloyd’s door and Beau Karrow walked in. He cut a tall, hulking figure in the doorway with his black nylon jacket with a fur collar, his shiny sheriff’s badge catching the light.

  “Hey, Beau,” Lloyd called out. His lips parted, and I knew he was about to tell Beau about the possible issue with my grandpa. I put a hand up to stop him. Lloyd looked from me to Beau but clamped his jaw shut and gave me a slight nod. I didn’t know if this was a crisis yet, and Beau never seemed to miss a chance to get me alone.

  He walked over to me, holding his black campaign hat with its pinched Montana crease and gold band around the center. Beau put a hand on my shoulder and leaned down as if he were going to kiss me. Startled, I took a step back. He had a habit of invading my personal space. His dark eyes flicked over me and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. I caught Lloyd’s face from the corner of my eye. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and chewed the side of his lip.

  “Good to see you, Tamryn,” Beau said. “It’s getting cold out there. A storm’s coming. You need a ride back up the hill?” He wore his coal dark hair clubbed in the back. His dark brows cut straight across his forehead, lending him a fierce expression even when his lips curled back in a smile.

  I shook my head. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  I set the loaf of bread I was carrying back on the shelf and looked out the window. The sky had darkened in the short time since I’d entered the store.

  “Maybe he’s home again already,” Lloyd said, trying to convince himself more than me, I think. “Why don’t I just call up to the house right now?”

  Dammit. Now, there was no way I could easily get rid of Beau’s questions.

  “Wyatt take off again?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

  Beau raised a thick eyebrow, but the half smirk didn’t leave his face. I said a silent prayer, and for now, he seemed to let me drop the issue.

  I nodded slowly at Lloyd, crossed my arms, and walked to the front window, pressing my forehead against the cold glass. Lloyd grabbed a cordless phone from the counter and dialed my grandfather’s number. He only had one phone in the house, a clunky black rotary dial with a receiver heavy enough to brain someone with. But, the thing was deafeningly loud and he could hear it no matter where he was in the house. Hell, when it rang it chased squirrels out of the trees.

  I looked back and Lloyd gave me a smile and a shrug as he listened to the phone ringing on the other end. With a sigh, he set the receiver down. “I’m sorry, honey. I really am,” he whispered as Beau had wandered off to the back of the store near the soft drink cooler.

  I pulled my hood back over my ears and plastered on a smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your job to watch him. And even if you had called me, I couldn’t have stopped him from leaving.”

  Lloyd nodded, and his shoulders sagged with the relief of knowing I didn’t blame him. “Tamryn, old Wyatt Redbird knows those woods better than anyone. If he isn’t back up that hill by now, he will be by the time you get there.”

  I gave Lloyd a friendly salute and stacked my empty shopping basket back against the wall. “It’s okay. I’ve got the four-wheeler. Shouldn’t be too hard to track him. The snow has been blowing a little, but not falling fresh.”

  “Now you hang on, Tamryn.” He put a hand on my shoulder and shot a quick glance toward the back of the store. “Why don’t you let Beau help you out? I don’t like the thought of you going up that trail on your own. If Wyatt’s got hisself in some trouble, no need for you to get in it too.”

  God bless Lloyd and his sweet, if not slightly sexist, inclination to look out for me. I can’t deny it. Oodena was far from perfect. But, after spending half my childhood in Tallahassee away from anyone who knew that I’d played the Little Mermaid in my first-grade pageant, or that my mother had been a mostly self-taught opera singer who made every wedding and funeral in Oodena feel like an evening at the Met, the place felt like home. Quirky, pain-in-the-ass, backwoods home. A twinge of anger mixed with grief bubbled beneath my breast. What if I’d never left? What if I’d never come back at all?

  I shook my head and waved to Lloyd as I hurried out the front door. My grandfather had come down from the hill putting one obstinate foot after the other. He’d be no match for me on the four-wheeler. I heard Lloyd cluck something else after me, but I was already halfway down the street.

  I hopped on the ATV and hoped that the thing would fire up. It had been twitchy all week, and if I couldn’t get it started, I knew Lloyd would be two steps behind me offering up Beau or some other nice, Odawa boy of suitable marrying age to help me out. The other thing about Oodena: Everyone wanted to play matchmaker, whether I was cursed or not.

  Mercifully, the machine started up on the first try. I snapped the chin strap on my helmet and sped off in a cloud of snow. Once I got off Main Street and hit the trail toward home, I slowed down. Squinting against the blinding white, I tried to pick out my grandfather’s tall shape against the barren birch and maple trees. I scanned the ground for tracks in the snow but found only squirrel and maybe a hare. No footprints. The wind wasn’t blowing as hard up here either, so I knew if I kept on going, I’d have to find something.

  On a hunch, I veered off to the east. Grandpa liked to check his rabbit traps, and I just bet that’s where he’d been headed. Sure enough, as I slowed the four-wheeler, I saw a deep set of footprints cutting a zigzag path toward Miskwaa Creek. I parked the ATV and climbed off.

  “Grandpa!” I cupped my hands around my chin. The wind kicked up and whistled back, but he didn’t answer. My heart dropped. It was getting damn cold out here. In mid-January, it got dark by 4:30. I had maybe twenty more minutes of good light.

  I hated to leave the ATV behind, but there was no way I could ride it through the thicker part of the woods. Grandpa’s footprints were starting to blow over, but he couldn’t be that far ahead of me. I kept going. Some niggling part of the back of my brain told me I’d been stupid not to wait for Beau or somebody else to come with me.

  I called his name as I tromped through the woods. Low branches tangled in my hair where my hood had fallen back. About ten yards away from the vehicle, I hit a drift of snow that buried me up to my waist. I pulled myself free of it and stumbled forw
ard, nearly landing face first in the creek. Fed by a deep underground spring, Miskwaa Creek never quite froze over, but it was shallow here. I could see my grandfather’s faint boot prints on the other side.

  “What the hell?” I said to myself. He usually didn’t venture off that way. Well, he usually didn’t venture off much at all. He must have gotten some bug or another up his ass. I took a big leap and just made it to the other side of the creek without falling in. That was the good news. The bad news was that if I did find him and he wouldn’t come willingly, there was no way I could get the four-wheeler through here.

  Another twenty yards up the hill and Grandpa’s tracks disappeared. The wind started to howl and grainy snow like sugar blew straight at my face. I told myself I’d go another hundred yards or so then I’d have to turn back. I was getting to a part of the woods I didn’t know very well. Lloyd was right; there was no sense me getting myself into whatever trouble Grandpa had.

  I went another hundred yards, then maybe another hundred yards after that. Then, I saw him. My heart shot straight to my shoes. I recognized his red and black checkered wool hat. Thank God for it, or maybe I wouldn’t have seen him at all. The snow had covered him almost completely. He was lying face down and very still. I ran as fast as I could through the deepening snow and skidded to my knees at his side.

  “Grandpa?” I put my hand to his cheek. Thank God, he was still warm. He moaned a little as I nudged his shoulder. I couldn’t see a scratch on him. Was it his heart? A stroke? His eyelids fluttered as I got him to his side and he tried to look up at me. But they went in and out of focus. He tried to say something but erupted in a fit of wet coughing.

  I needed help. Now. Whatever had made him collapse was secondary to the fact his lips were turning blue. If I didn’t get him warm, I’d lose him.

  I tried to get my bearings. He’d come far east. Way off his property line. The house was probably a good two miles northwest and uphill. The ATV was maybe a half a mile back the way I’d come, but I couldn’t drive it up here.