Silver Wolf Clan

by Shanley, Tera

  The attacker ran, and her rescuer tensed to follow. He stopped and glanced to the side, as if he couldn’t leave. His barely offered profile could never hide all of who he was. Not from her.

  She was hallucinating. She had to be! He’d died in the woods. Search parties had looked for his body for weeks, and found nothing. They’d thought she was crazy. Said she’d made him up, but here he was in a dark alleyway, the man who had saved her all those hours and days and weeks of mourning ago.

  Her voice caught. “Greyson?” she whispered. Why wouldn’t he look at her?

  His hair was the same, sandy blond and chin length, but he was skinnier than she remembered, and his face had morphed into something fearsome. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but even facing the ground, an unnatural sliver of color exuded from them. He was a beautifully dangerous hellion come to earth.

  He spun and took off at a clipped pace, and she ran after him, holding a hand to her throat as if it would make her crushed neck better. “Greyson, is that you?”

  He plucked the keys from the puddle and opened the door to her truck without a word. She had to see his eyes. For her continued existence, she needed to know without a shadow of a doubt it was him, alive and well and not just some sick figment she’d created to ease her guilt. That she wasn’t just imagining him. “Please, look at me.”

  “Best if I don’t,” he murmured in a voice rich and deep, like velvet. His nostrils flared slightly. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m okay, please—”

  “Get in!” he yelled. “Can’t you see I need you to get in?” His voice tapered into a low, rumbling noise that sent a chill up her spine.

  Fear an overwhelming motivator, she scrambled into the cab of her truck. Her heart galloped like a runaway horse, and he jerked his head to the side.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured before he slammed the door. And then into the shadowed parking lot, he disappeared like he’d never existed at all.

  A sob escaped, and she wiped unshed tears from her eyes with the back of her shaking hand. With the truck in drive, she peeled out of the parking lot. The tires screeched as she slammed on the brakes at a pile-up on the main road. Her attacker lay lifeless in the middle of the street, near the front tire of a car, and a crowd slowly gathered around the scene of the accident. Should she stop? What would she tell the police? The man was probably dead already. Did she file a report about his attack and the manimal who saved her? She’d been down that road before and no one had believed her. Hysterical, they’d called her. Jaw clenched, she pulled around the scene.

  Lesson learned the first time.

  * * * *

  Seeing her again was out of the question. He was too dangerous and she hated him anyway. He’d given her a second glimpse of the monster. And what if she had called the cops and they were waiting for him? There were a hundred reasons he couldn’t see her again and all of them were imperative to his continuing survival.

  An everlasting week passed, and this early Tuesday morning brought a rainstorm which pelted down unyieldingly. It suited his mood, and he went for a run in it, regardless. Tiny, painful raindrop grenades motivated him to run faster than his usual pace. Then he showered and grabbed breakfast to go so he could take it home and eat it there. The apartment was a nice far walk from the gym. He’d eat inside today and skip the stalk.

  Keys jangled in his shaking hands as he unlocked the door to his apartment and went inside. His seating options were limited to the worn couch or one of the mismatched chairs scooted under the small, scuffed up kitchen table. Reckless, he pulled one of the dining chairs and it screeched against the tile. He slumped into it, then ran his hands through his hair and watched a beetle’s slow progress across the grout near his shoe. Only the most self-indulgent creature would go back after scaring her that badly. Fear had wafted from her skin in waves, and he was the reason. What right did he have to flaunt what he was in front of someone who’d lost so much to his kind? He stabbed a bite of scrambled eggs and closed his eyes against the repressed pain.

  His weekly Morgan stalking was the one thing he looked forward to in this life. Every single thing had fallen apart, but for that hour a week, he was happy. He got to see her. Now, there would be no happiness. No break from the suck. Rain came down harder on the window, encouraging him to stay inside, and he threw an angry glance at it.

  Who was he kidding? Wolf was already talking him into going down there. It was only a matter of time. Her classes started in three minutes, and he would miss it if he didn’t shake a leg. He grabbed a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses, locked the door behind him and started off at a run. By the time he was even close, his clothes were soaked clean through.

  He loved rain, but new instincts howled for him to be more cautious. Rain muffled the scents and sounds of his surroundings. Everything smelled like ozone, water, and moist earth. With the gym only a couple blocks away, he slowed to a walk. If she’d called the cops, a charging man would look suspicious.

  Chapter 5

  Morgan didn’t even bother dressing in gym clothes. What was the point? She wasn’t there for the workout this time. Greyson had been watching her for a while, of that she was certain. She just had to figure out which way he’d be coming from. That man was a ghost. If he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. Unless she was clever about it.

  Rain barreled down on her position in the doorway of a small market. From that vantage point, she could see the boxing gym and down both side streets. Afraid she’d miss him, she hadn’t sought shelter of an overhanging doorway that would limit her view. She had to know he existed, that all those police officers, detectives, and friends who’d successfully convinced her she was crazy had been wrong.

  Upon further thought, a white t-shirt hadn’t been the wisest choice when dressing this morning. The black lacy bra underneath was an even bigger regret. Rain drops dripped from her hair and eyelashes as she squinted at people rushing by.

  There. Her heart beat in rhythm with the steady pounding rain. His long strides were hard to miss. He wore jeans that sagged just a little on his tapered waist, and a hoodie hid his downturned face, but it had to be him. Who else would be wearing sunglasses in the middle of a rare torrential Texas downpour?

  She launched at him as soon as he was close enough. She’d imagined a reunion with the man she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, dreaming about, obsessing about for the past year. He was the only anchor to the life she’d known. He’d tried his best to stop the horrors from eating her alive and had done it at the risk of his own well-being. He’d sacrificed his humanity for her. Oh, she knew what he was.

  Memories, hurt, and anger overwhelmed her at the sight of him. She pounded against his chest over and over again, her fists making wet sounds against the thin cotton of his sweatshirt. She’d meant to talk to him in a calm, collected manner, introduce herself to the secondary player in her nightmares.

  It had to be him. The vision of his face had been forever burned into her memory along with everything else that night in the woods. When the happy Morgan had died and sadness had been born. She’d never forget the sharp angles of his jaw. It was him, it just had to be!

  He hesitated, glanced around, and led her by the hand toward an alleyway. A shopkeeper gave them the wonky eye from a nearby window, but no one called the cops in that part of town. The touch of his hand against hers was electric. Could he feel the zinging, pulsing currents washing between them? She stared, surprised sparks weren’t flying from their clasped palms. Around the corner and into a dark alley he pulled her, and when they’d reached a dead end, he finally turned. She searched his face with a wanting that bordered on desperation. Then pushed him against the solid planes of a brick wall, and he let her.

  Why was she crying?

  Maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell with all the rain, but a traitorous hitch in her breathing threatened to give her away entirely. Giving into the rawness his reappearance had created in her soul, she s
obbed and threw her fists against his chest. Broken. She was utterly broken.

  He wrapped his fingers around her clenched hands and held them there as if he didn’t want to lose the touch.

  “Why did you leave like that?” she asked, looking up at his sunglass-covered eyes. “It’s you. Tell me it’s you! Tell me you’re Greyson.”

  A slight tremor sounded through the rich, deep tones of his voice. “It’s me. I’m Grey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave. I thought you hated me.”

  What was he talking about? Of course she didn’t hate him! She barely knew him. He’d saved her and then left her. She didn’t know how she felt about the almost stranger but it wasn’t hate. “You saved us, and then you left me and Lana there with my sister’s body, thinking that thing was going to come back to finish us off.”

  His expression cooled behind the sunglasses as soon as she uttered the words. Because of her, he was that thing now. She instantly regretted her thoughtless tongue.

  He looked as if he wanted to say something but pursed his lips against it. Would he lie about what he was, try to convince her she was insane, just like everybody else?

  “I didn’t know what I was doing,” he said. “I was in so much pain, and I don’t remember much. I don’t remember getting up or leaving you. I remember seeing your sister’s face and your lips and then nothing. Flashes of running through the woods come back every now and then, but I can’t tell you why I left. I woke up… I don’t even know where I woke up. It took me two days to get ahold of myself and find help. I’m still messed up from it, Morgan. I’m still really messed up.”

  She had to see the face behind the glasses. All of it. Irrationally, she wanted to see every inch of his skin to assure herself she wasn’t imagining him. “Take off your glasses.”

  A long, low rumble sounded from his chest and vibrated against her fists. It wasn’t thunder. The bone chilling sound, the haunting melody to her nightmares, reached for her from under the impossibly hard planes of his chest. A warning, but her fear stayed cowered in the dark corners where she’d shoved it all these long months. “Why’d you do that?”

  Sternly, he shook his head. “I can’t answer all the questions you have.”

  She reached up and pulled the glasses from his face. He kept his grip on her wrists but made no attempt to stop her. His eyes were closed tightly under the hood he wore. The angles of his face were sharper than she remembered, more fearsome somehow, and he hadn’t shaved this morning. She ran a finger across the sandy blond scruff that decorated his strong jaw, as if touch made him more real. “Open your eyes,” she whispered.

  His muscles quivered under her hand but it likely had nothing to do with the cool rain. He opened his eyes slowly and the brilliance of the golden color pooled there was almost too dazzling to look directly at. Like staring at the sun. No one would mistake those for human eyes.

  If she’d had any doubt before about the brand of monster he’d become, those liquid amber eyes put them to rest. He pulled his hood back and the chin-length dark blond hair from her memory fell forward into his face. She moved a strand to the side. He’d lost weight in the past year. He hadn’t had an ounce to lose in the first place, but it looked as if he’d struggled to stay healthy. His eyebrows, just a shade darker than his hair, were furrowed but he let her drink him in. He was playing fair. For all she knew, he’d been watching her the entire year. It was her turn now.

  His nose was straight and his jaw line masculine. From the brief moments she’d known him out in those woods, she’d seen how intoxicating he was. He’d been a fearless warrior bent on that murdering wolf’s destruction, no matter the cost. Here, in the dirty alley under the relentless clouds, with those glorious feral eyes and a snarl in his chest, Greyson Crawford was utterly consuming.

  Softly, she said, “You’re beautiful.”

  His shaky whisper tore at her. “I’m a monster.”

  “You aren’t. I thought…I hoped that this is what happened. I was afraid you died. When the police searched the woods, do you know what they found?” she asked. “They found a man’s body. He died of knife wounds. Your knife wounds. I know what I saw. He was a wolf, but he turned into a man to die. He bit you, and I thought you died trying to protect us. Like Marianna did.”

  She pulled away, and he released her. Gooseflesh rippled across her skin at the absence of his touch, and she frowned. She’d have to get ahold of herself. She barely knew the man and already his effect on her was alarming.

  His hands hung open at his sides, as if he didn’t know what to do with them now they were empty. “How’s your kid? Is she okay?”

  She gave him a ghost of a smile. “Lana was Marianna’s daughter. My niece. She’s fine, thanks to you.” She crossed her arms over the soaking white shirt and looked around for anything to block the rain. “Do you have a place around here we could dry off?”

  Without a word, he took her hand and pulled her down the sidewalk the direction from which he’d come. Her hand was so small nestled in his, and though bold and out of line, she intertwined her fingers with his to better feel the warmth of his skin against hers. He didn’t pull away or look at her oddly so she pursed her lips against a victorious smile. She’d never felt so connected to anyone she’d ever met, and her heart had latched onto a haunter of children’s nightmares. What did that say about her?

  Rain poured relentlessly and their shoes made splashing sounds as they ran. Greyson had long, easy strides and supernatural grace, so her clumsy jog seemed like a peg legged hobble next to his. She stifled a smirk at how mismatched they must look to observers. He was tall and belonged on the cover of some exotic magazine, while she was like a tiny, sopping kitten wearing the wrong lingerie. Maybe she should bolt now, while he still found her alluring.

  A dilapidated apartment building that looked to only have two stories and a handful of rooms loomed before them. He held open the door and waited as she shook the excess water from her shoes and clothes and stepped inside. A row of metal mailboxes lined the wall under cracked plaster stairs, and one of the fluorescent lights above them pulsed like it needed replacing. He turned while climbing the stairs in front of her with a worried look. “I don’t have visitors very often, so my place might be a little messy.”

  What he considered messy, to her looked spring cleaned. She was no slob, but since Lana had come to live with her, keeping the house tidy was definitely a full time job. His apartment had one main room with a Murphy bed that folded into the wall. A cozy kitchen with a lopsided table, propped to steadiness with a worn paperback book perched under one of the legs, took up the back wall. The space was clean, organized, and simple, but maybe his life required that.

  He released his hold on her hand, and staggering disappointment washed over her. She really had to get a grip or she’d send send him running for the hills. Or mountains? Wherever wolves ran away to.

  “Here.” A dry pair of comfortable looking clothes lay in his hands. “I can throw yours in the dryer if you want me to.” He pointed her to the bathroom and she thanked him.

  The mirror shared the horror of what she looked like, and her heart sank into the puddle forming on the linoleum floor. Her dark hair was plastered to her face like it needed a hug and the black bra screamed happily she was one notch shy of scandalous. At least she hadn’t worn makeup that morning, so no runny mascara, but on the other hand—she hadn’t worn makeup that morning.

  Should she let him dry the bra and flop freely around for a while under his shirt, or risk the sopping thing making booby-shaped water stains against his borrowed garment? This was about to get embarrassing.

  The door stuck on her way out, and she had to rough it up a little, throw her shoulder against it. It made a sticky-paint sound at her escape. Grey stood before her, half naked and fully delectable-looking. She froze.

  He made no move to hurry and cover himself. Dry jeans hung loosely around his waist and the hard muscles of his defined chest delved into t
he flat planes of his abdomen. The skin covering his arms looked smooth and taut over the defined musculature. She clacked her mouth closed with an audible click, and he graced her with a devilish, crooked smile that nearly melted her into a rain puddle to match the one she’d thoughtfully left on his bathroom floor. Was this what it felt like to spontaneously ovulate?

  As he slid a forest green cotton shirt over his head and pulled it down, he covered thin red scars crisscrossing his torso. Perhaps his lover’s marks. The thought of another’s nails on his skin made her stomach queasy. She was being unreasonable. She didn’t have any claim on him so why did the thought of him with another affect her so? “Where did you get your scars?” Her mouth had a mind of its own but the fire in his eyes said he liked it.

  “I have a pack, sort of, and we all play rough when we run. The scars will go away. I only got them yesterday, so they’re still fresh.”

  Okay, that didn’t answer her question as thoroughly as she’d hoped.

  “You look upset,” he said. “What’s wrong? I can stop talking about this stuff. I know it’s a lot to take in, and I’m sorry.”

  “No, stop apologizing. I was wondering…well, it’s kind of personal and embarrassing and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but are there women in your pack? Can girls be werewolves, or just men?” Heat scorched up her neck, landed in her cheeks. He couldn’t seem to take his dancing eyes from what was likely an epic blush. The curse of the pasty skinned.

  “There’re three females in our pack. Women can be werewolves, but they’re rare. Three in the Dallas pack is a big deal. Rachel is the mate of the alpha, one is a thirteen-year-old girl named Marissa, and the other is named Alexis.”

  “And this Alexis, is she pretty? Does she like you? Did she make those marks on your back?” Oh good grief, she could teach a class in awkward.

  “Yes, yes, and no. I don’t let her touch me because I can’t stand her. All of my scars are from roughhousing with the other males of the pack. Alexis makes advances, but my mind has been preoccupied with another girl since I’ve been Turned.”