Also by Kait Ballenger
Seven Range Shifters
Cowboy Wolf Trouble
Cowboy in Wolf’s Clothing
Wicked Cowboy Wolf
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2021 by Kait Ballenger
Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Stephanie Gafron/Sourcebooks
Cover art by Kris Keller
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Excerpt from Wild Cowboy Wolf
About the Author
Back Cover
For all the fierce females who pave the way
Chapter 1
Sierra Cavanaugh’s fist collided with her opponent’s cheekbone. A sting raked her knuckles despite the cloth sparring gear that padded her hands. Two more punches, a kick, and a sweep of her leg. Within seconds, her opponent was laid flat, panting for breath in the mountain dirt beside Sierra’s cowgirl boots. Sierra smiled in satisfaction. Tonight was her night, and she intended to claim her victory.
Dakota raised up onto her elbows from where Sierra had annihilated her. “You’re unstoppable,” the other she-wolf slurred around her mouth guard. “You’ve got this.” Dakota ripped the guard from between her lips, sending an unladylike spray of spit into the dirt.
Sierra didn’t so much as blink. None of them did. Ladylike be damned. They didn’t owe a thing to anyone. Sierra extended a hand, helping Dakota to her feet. The other she-wolf let out a soft groan muffled by the thrum of feminine voices around them and the crackle of the roaring fire. The Grey Wolf female warriors had taken over the pack firepit tonight, driving out their male counterparts by sheer force of will, and okay…maybe a bit of friendly intimidation.
“You pack a hard wallop.” Dakota pawed at her jaw.
She was barely half Sierra’s size, but her stature made her formidably fast on her feet. Sierra had won by brute force.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but you know I’m not.” Sierra grinned.
Fierce and fiery, Dakota playfully punched her in the arm, muttering a few teasing, choice words.
They were all there with her, every one of the pack’s females. A swell of pride grew in Sierra’s chest. She couldn’t believe how lucky she was to call these strong women her sisters, not by blood but by choice.
“You’re so good the elders can’t ignore you.” The praise came from Naomi Calhoun, their second-in-command’s human mate, a former biologist turned rancher, as she pushed a cold bottle of Coors into Sierra’s hand. “Cheers.” She clinked the neck of her beer bottle with Sierra’s. “You’ll make an excellent elite warrior.”
Elite warrior. Sierra smiled. She intended to claim the title for herself tonight. Which of the current elite warriors had nominated her for the council’s consideration was confidential, but that failed to matter. She would be the first female of their kind to hold the title. Tonight, she was their fearless leader.
Sierra cast Naomi a teasing smile. “You’re only impressed because you’re a human.”
“Who you callin’ human?” Dakota’s eyes flashed to her wolf as she cast Sierra an impish grin. She tipped her Stetson back on her head to cover her mussed, dark hair. “Now when are you going to open the letter? I’m dying for you to open it.”
“Me too.” Cheyenne grabbed a Coors from the cooler, wiping the moisture that remained on the bottle across her track pants. Sierra shook her head. Cheyenne was always ready for a run. The other she-wolf’s endurance and drive were unstoppable.
Sierra wouldn’t have reached this moment without their support, without every time strong, fierce little Dakota reassured her, or every morning energetic Cheyenne woke her up at the ass crack of dawn and forced her to run all the way out past the stables. The other she-wolves raised their drinks as another round of howling ensued. Cowgirls didn’t take no for an answer.
“Okay, okay.” Sierra removed the letter from her back pocket. She’d been itching to open it, but she’d wanted to wait until they were all together.
The envelope had arrived in her ranch mailbox this morning, only two days after the Elder Council meeting, which meant their decision had been a quick one. Tentatively, she stared down at the cream-colored paper glowing orange in the firelight. Silence fell over the warriors as the air buzzed with quiet anticipation.
With a deep breath, Sierra ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning over the block of text. She’d known from the start she had to be stronger, faster, better than all the males for the pack to even have her name put forth to the elders for consideration.
And she had been.
But still, it wasn’t enough.
Her stomach churned as the message sank in. Desperately, she fought to keep her hands from shaking as she forced herself to look up at her fellow females. Her eyes scanned over the crowd of women around her. She’d been their best chance, the leader upon whom they’d hung their collective hopes.
And she’d failed them.
Shame built in her chest, a sinking feeling that pulled at her stomach as she felt hot tears catch in her throat, too large for her to swallow, but she would hold them in anyway. She refused to cry, because Sierra Cavanaugh did not cry. She hadn’t shed a single tear in years. Not since the last time she’d allowed her emot
ions, her fear and weakness, to get the best of her.
When she finally managed to speak, she was distant, calm, measured, not showing any of the tumultuous feelings raging inside her. “They denied my application.”
A murmur of righteous outrage broke out among the women.
“For what reason?” Dakota snarled.
Sierra knew her next words would only spark their anger further because as far as she was concerned, as far as they all were concerned, there was no adequate explanation.
“Because I don’t have a mate.”
The silence was deafening.
The collective disappointment mixed with fury in her packmates’ expressions cut her worse than a thousand knives, worse than the words or decisions of any group of sexist elders ever could.
They’d all known the pack’s unspoken expectation of alpha females of pure bloodline: to mate with an alpha male and further the pack’s longevity. It was a narrative born of evolutionary necessity as old as the true wolves from which they’d descended, and yet, they’d thought they had moved beyond that. They thought if they played by every one of the pack’s ridiculous rules to prove themselves, and if they forced the elders to speak those archaic expectations aloud, the pack’s ancient ways would bend to the will of progress.
But they hadn’t.
Without another word, Sierra ripped the letter in two and threw the remnants into the firepit. The paper burned and blackened, quickly turning to ash. “Where is he?” She didn’t need to specify which he for her fellow warriors to instantly know who she meant.
“He was in his office when Wes—” Naomi answered.
Sierra didn’t pay attention to the rest of the statement. She was too focused on her goal to care. She was already striding toward the compound, the epicenter of the ranch.
“What are you going to do?” Dakota called after her.
For a moment, Sierra paused. Slowly, she inhaled a deep breath before she turned back toward them, looking from face to face of each woman around her who’d put their faith in her, trusted her with their dream. She’d never forget their righteous anger—and she would use it as fuel. “I’m going to do what I always do. I’m going to fight, and I’m going to win.”
And she knew exactly the alpha upon whom she planned to lay siege.
* * *
“Packmaster or not, it’s unheard of.”
Maverick Grey tipped his Stetson low over his brow, fighting to mask the look of disgust in his eyes. One would think after nearly two hundred years of existence, the Council of Grey Wolf Elders, whose membership changed every several decades, would have become more progressive in their policy. Unfortunately, that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“First, you expect us to approve when you choose to keep company with outlaws, and now we’re considering a female as an elite warrior?”
Maverick didn’t fight the growl that escaped his throat. As if the candidacy of a highly qualified female alpha wolf was anything as controversial as when he’d named his former enemy turned packmate Wes Calhoun to second-in-command. He’d never once regretted that decision, despite the council’s disapproval.
The company he kept was of no concern, so long as the pack remained safe.
He met the gaze of Rex Johnson, the council’s leader, head-on. “That female could rip out any alpha wolf’s organs and tie their intestines into knots with little more than her teeth.”
The statement sounded as threatening as he intended it.
Because at the moment, he would have welcomed Sierra Cavanaugh, the female in question, doing exactly that to the council wolves before him. The Grey Wolf elite warriors were the best the pack had to offer, and as the first female appointed, Sierra would set a precedent that would resonate for generations to follow.
“Be that as it may, it’s not in the best interest of the pack,” Rex announced as if his word were the final decision.
Maverick scowled. A retired alpha warrior from one of the western subpacks, Rex and the council he represented served the sole purpose of upholding the Grey Wolf pack’s ancient traditions by acting as a counterbalance to Maverick’s power as packmaster. As the elder members of the pack, many of them former elite warriors themselves, the council ensured that Maverick always kept the pack’s best interests at heart. Perhaps two decades ago, when Rex and his peers had still been out on the front lines of battle, Maverick would have said that they knew what was best for the pack.
Now, the tables had obviously turned—considerably.
Rex shuffled the stack of papers in front of him. From where he sat at the conference-room table, beneath the large mounted skull of a long-horned bull that one of Maverick’s great-grandfathers had placed on the wall, the frown on his lips made Rex look more like an angry bullfrog than a retired alpha wolf.
What about retirement made former fierce warriors into old curmudgeonly bastards?
Maverick had stood against the worst of the pack’s enemies and still maintained a level head, yet if he managed to make it through this conversation without strangling someone, he might deserve an award. “What exactly about naming one of Wolf Pack Run’s most formidable warriors to the elite ranks, where we’ve had an open position, is not in the best interest of the pack?” He didn’t hide the bite of cynicism in his tone.
Rex bristled. “I think you know.”
Maverick crossed his arms over his chest. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have hidden his disapproval of the council’s opposition. It didn’t help matters that most days he had little taste for anything, or anyone for that matter—the council in particular. He lived to protect the pack and little more, and the old bastards were constantly getting in his way.
His lip twitched with a barely contained snarl. “No, I don’t,” he challenged.
If the council was going to play that card, he was going to make them say it.
On the record.
Anderson, one of the other retired warriors, cleared his throat. “I think Rex has a fair point that a female elite warrior is unprecedented, and considering the current condition of your cousin…”
Maverick’s jaw clenched. Yes, because ignoring the true threats against them in favor of being highly concerned with the inner goings-on of all the packmembers’ bedrooms was clearly the best course of action. His cousin and her pregnancy were irrelevant to this.
Birth rates were typically low among their kind, serving as built-in population control, but since his cousin Belle had announced that she and Sierra’s older brother, Colt Cavanaugh, the Grey Wolf high commander and Maverick’s closest friend, were expecting a pup of their own, there had barely been a moment where one of the pack wasn’t fussing over Belle’s growing bump. The pack tended to produce young in waves, with many pairs of mates giving birth within a few years’ time. To the pack, if Belle successfully carried to term, that meant many more births would follow.
Maverick’s frown only deepened. “The tentative state of the treaty is a far greater threat. The renegotiation with the rogue wolves nullified our immunity from the Execution Underground. We needed to renegotiate the terms with the human hunters yesterday. Hell, last week,” he growled, “not waste valuable time with useless pack politics.”
Several of the council members mumbled their disapproval.
“Renegotiation will be safest for the pack if all our elite warrior positions are filled. Sierra Cavanaugh is an unrivaled candidate. She’s supremely and uniquely qualified, and there are other pure-blooded alpha females who will choose to mate,” Maverick said, reminding them of the facts. Let the bastards think what they like of him, but he refused to beat around the bush. He glowered at the council, daring any one of the members to suggest otherwise. “I speak from experience when I say her lack of a mate has no bearing on her abilities as a warrior.”
Maverick had complicated feelings when it came to Sierra Cavanaugh, bu
t doubt in her abilities wasn’t one of them.
Anderson cleared his throat. “We’re aware that being a widower hasn’t impeded you on the battlefield, Packmaster, but you’d do well to be more concerned about the current situation. If birth rates continue at this stagnated rate, the pack is one good war from being extinct within a hundred years. Now’s not the time to be renegotiating with long-standing enemies.” The old wolf hesitated before he finally added, “It’s been six years, Maverick. You could take a mate yourself. Set an example.”
Maverick grunted. He couldn’t think of Rose. Not now. Not with everything that was at stake.
Six years and still the wound felt fresh, open, as if it would bleed him.
He forced the dark memories aside. They only stayed at bay for so long.
“I’m aware of the projections.” He emphasized the word.
And they were exactly that—projections. Not true threats like the broken treaty was. The birth rates would rise again when the pack needed them to, and it would happen without any meddling as it had for thousands of years before. He refused to allow speculation to get in the way of renegotiating the treaty and appointing a warrior who was more than worthy of the open position, regardless of her gender.
“There will be a revote.” Like it or not, the council would get on board. He’d make sure of it. Entertaining anything else would be a waste of time and a threat to them all.
Rex readjusted his position in his chair. “All things considered, now is not the time to be making any radical decisions, especially since you’ve developed a certain reputation as of late.”
Maverick released a feral snarl.
So that was what this was about? Not Sierra’s gender, though the council would use that to their advantage to deny his requests. This was about him. The council had never been fond of his tendency to break tradition and circumvent their restrictions when necessary, yet their negative opinions had never held any legitimacy.
Until now.
Until the sins of the father had become the sins of the son.
Maverick had earned many names over his years as packmaster. At first, they’d been the whispers of his enemies, meant to denote the terror he wrought when he came for them. He’d destroyed every one of the pack’s opponents with a cold ferocity the likes of which the pack had never known. But considering the revelations that had been made about his father in the past few months, the once harmless rumors about him had taken on a new meaning.
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