Fierce Cowboy Wolf

by Kait Ballenger

  A moment later, Dakota exited the passenger’s side. She was never far behind where Blaze was concerned.

  “Blaze, care to try your hand at taming the Beast?” Dean hollered from across the paddock. He knew full damn well that if anyone tried to get in the pen again today, they’d likely be on the wrong end of that mustang’s powerful hooves.

  Blaze barely cast a glance in the horse’s direction. “No, thanks. I tame the beast several times a day and always before bed. The pack psychiatrist says it’s good for my self-esteem.”

  Dean let out a bark of a laugh, and Dakota shook her head as they walked toward the stables. “We’re looking for Peaches,” she offered in explanation. “She needs her insulin shot.”

  No surprise there. Blaze’s decrepit and surly cat had had one foot in the grave for a number of years. Maverick could hardly believe the thing was still happily breathing.

  Dakota followed Blaze toward the stables. “Brace yourself, Packmaster,” she called over her shoulder before she and Blaze disappeared into the barn.

  Before Dakota could elaborate, the passenger’s side door to the truck swung open again as Sierra emerged from the truck.

  “You could have at least put the seat forward for me,” she yelled after Dakota before muttering something under her breath about best friends her ass.

  Then she turned toward him. The full sight of her hit him like a punch to the gut.

  He’d seen her hundreds, thousands of times before, and the attraction between them had always been present, but this was different, because now he’d memorized every soft curve, every delicate slope of her skin. He knew what she looked like when she came, knew the sounds she made when she moaned. He could practically taste her on his tongue, and fuck, if that wasn’t more dangerous than any enemy he’d ever faced.

  She headed straight toward him, her braid a flyaway mess from the whistling Montana wind, but all he could think about, all he could focus on, was how he wished he could untie it. He’d set all those blond locks free for his fingers to explore and caress.

  “I have a bone to pick with you.” She marched up to him before planting her hands on her hips in that defiant way that made him equal parts frustrated and hungry…for her. “We need to talk.” Sierra drew closer, lowering her voice so that beneath the wind, only he could hear her.

  His cock stiffened in response. He nearly swore as it did. Fuck. She smelled of him. Not simply as if she’d been near him, but she smelled of him. Like a mate.

  “You agreed we were going to be friends.”

  He shook his head. “I agreed to no such thing, warrior.”

  She bristled. “You may as well have. Then I wake up this morning to find you announced our wedding date without me, and you’ve given Maeve free rein to plan everything? Do you know how much tulle will be involved?”

  He quirked a brow. He wasn’t even certain what tulle was. “You wanted to plan it?”

  “Hell no,” she swore. “I could care less about any of it,” she sniffed.

  He had a feeling that wasn’t the full truth.

  “But I didn’t appreciate spending several hours with Maeve forcing me into dresses.”

  He’d never seen Sierra wear a dress a day in her life.

  “I should have been consulted.”

  “It was strategic.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “We had to announce the date for the council anyway, and an event of this size presents a unique opportunity. With all our allies present on the ranch as wedding attendants, we’ll be able to discern which of them…” His voice trailed off, leaving the implication evident.

  “Which of them wants you dead,” she finished.

  He gave a curt nod.

  “Be that as it may, I want a small wedding.”

  At that, he did laugh. “I’m packmaster, Sierra. There’s no such thing as a small wedding.”

  She gaped at him. “So I have no say in this?”

  He grunted in mild acknowledgment, which only seemed to ignite her.

  “This is what you call being friends?” She jabbed a finger into his chest twice until unexpectedly, her palm flattened. She blinked at the hand resting on his pectoral as if she wasn’t certain how it had ended up there, then quickly removed it. But the brief feel of her touch was enough. For once, he didn’t have to care that they had an audience. She was his fiancée after all.

  He eased closer to her, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her against him. She let out a small eep in surprise, bracing both hands against his chest, but didn’t protest. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers as he whispered. “I warned you being with me wouldn’t be easy. As packmaster, there’re rules, expectations, pack needs.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about who’s out to kill you. Sure, it will serve that purpose, too, whatever ridiculous plan you’ve devised, but this is about keeping me at arm’s length, pushing me away.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to answer.

  She’d dove straight to the heart of it.

  “I should have consulted you. Forgive me?”

  For a brief moment, her features softened. As they did, he swooped in for the final blow. He claimed her lips, reveling in the way she melted against him, despite the other packmembers around them. A few catcalls from Dakota and a low wolf whistle from Dean brought him back to himself. He broke the kiss between them, and that wouldn’t escape her notice. Slowly, Sierra opened her eyes, blinking up at him with a dazed stare and swollen, just-kissed lips. He couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that tugged at his lips. Like it or not, he knew how to disarm this particular warrior instantly.

  Coming back to herself, she blinked a few times before those plump, delicious lips of hers pulled into a scowl at his little display. “Friends don’t fight dirty,” she accused.

  “No, they don’t.” He held her gaze for a long beat.

  They would never be only friends, even though they couldn’t be anything more.

  Gently, he released her.

  “Kissing is against the rules of a fair fight,” she said.

  “Good thing I don’t fight fair, warrior.”

  “You did before.”

  Before.

  Back when they’d been young. “You forget that even back then, we were always trying to one-up each other.”

  Her fingers fluttered to her lips, lingering there as if she could still feel the brush of his kiss. As she started to walk away, a frustrated glare sharpened the lines of her face. “This is war.”

  Chapter 19

  Maverick had known Sierra’s revenge would be swift, but what he hadn’t anticipated was that it would be early. Ungodly early. Before sunrise to be exact.

  The sharp sound of a rooster crowing pierced his ears, jolting him upright in his bed. What in the blazing fuck?

  He swiped the sleep from his eyes, flopping back into the sheets with a growl as another shrill crow bounced off the walls of his bedroom. Eyes still shut, he winced. The noise was too close to his head to be from outside.

  Daring to crack one eye open, he glanced at the clock. 4:00 a.m. Too early for even the most incessant of the ranch’s fowl to be urging them all awake, which meant…

  Another earsplitting crow followed by a pair of snapping fingers two inches from his face forced him eyes to open.

  “Rise and shine, Packmaster.” The sound of Sierra’s voice proceeded the third—and what he would ensure would be final—crow, considering he had every intent of butchering the bird, as he took in the sight before him.

  Sierra stood over him, dressed and ready for the day, that damn rooster perched on her upper arm. From the bright, doe-eyed look she gave him, she was well rested and almost…chipper? As if most of the pack hadn’t just gone to sleep only hours before.

  Their kind still tended toward being nocturnal like the true wolves they came fro
m. Thus, they kept a fluctuating schedule on the ranch of who worked which sunrise hours. It was at night when the pack truly came to life.

  Angry Sierra he could handle, but chipper?

  She was up to something obviously, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to know what was making his bride-to-be chipper at this goddamn hour, but he had an unfortunate feeling he was going to learn—and soon.

  She snapped her fingers in his face again. “Come on. Out of bed.” Snap. Snap. “Chop, chop. This wedding isn’t going to plan itself.”

  When he grumbled, she lifted her arm, where that damn pigeon of hers was perched. He knew it was a rooster, but from the way the thing was perched, it could have been a fucking parrot for all he cared. All he knew was that the crowing was going to stop.

  Now.

  Sierra lifted a finger, threatening to prod the bird again, but Maverick let out a low, feral growl. “Make that damn bird crow one more time, and I’ll eat him and all his cousins for breakfast.”

  Sierra grinned, satisfied she’d provoked a response from him. “Look at you, pretending to be the Big Bad Wolf like you’re not one of the biggest softies on this ranch,” she teased. “You’re like a big, grumpy cat when you wake up. It’d almost be cute if you weren’t so snarly.”

  “And why exactly are you waking me up at four o’clock in the fucking morning?” He’d been up late finalizing the plans to flush out the traitor in the pack, alongside Colt, Austin, and Blaze. He’d thought it strange when Sierra had ducked out of the meeting early. He should have realized then she was up to something.

  Sierra crossed her arms over her chest, the rooster shifting its perch from her arm to her shoulder. “Thanks to you, we have less than a week to plan this wedding, which means there’s work to do.”

  Maverick groaned, rolling over and attempting to shield his eyes from the overhead light with his arm. “Didn’t I put Maeve in charge of that?”

  Wedding planning was decidedly not on his to-do list. He had more important things.

  Meeting with the council. Running intel. Strategizing the staged attack at the reception. Brooding.

  “You did put Maeve in charge,” she said, interrupting his internal to-do list, “and according to her, we have things to do.”

  What sort of things did one plan for a wedding? He’d never participated in planning his own. When he and Rose had married, everything had been planned for them. “Getting your dress?” he asked.

  This time, it was her turn to growl. “Hell no. I’m not wearing a dress.”

  “Like hell you’re not.” He sat up in bed, the twisted sheets placed precariously over his bare hips. “If I have to wear a tux, you have to wear a dress.”

  Truth be told, it was less about fairness and more about the fact that he’d been looking forward to the novelty of seeing her in one.

  “It doesn’t matter. According to Maeve, today we’re going cake tasting.”

  He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Cake tasting?”

  She placed her hands on her hips. Somehow, she seemed to be growing exasperated with him. “Yes, cake tasting, and you know how I feel about you repeating everything I say.”

  He ignored that last comment. “Unfortunately, warrior, you’ll have to taste cakes without me. Today I’m supposed to meet with—”

  “Don’t try to wiggle your way out of this one, cowboy. I already had Maeve clear your schedule.” She pulled his Stetson off the end of the bedpost where he’d hung the hat and tossed it at him.

  He ducked out of the way of the wayward hat, catching it with one hand. Even half-awake, his reflexes were sharp. “My sister isn’t in charge of my schedule.”

  Okay. This time, he heard it. He did sound grumpy, even to his own ears.

  “She is now that you put her in charge of the wedding.”

  He released a short huff of a sigh. He was starting to recognize what a ludicrous idea that’d been. His sister had never listened to him, even before she’d run off with that criminal bastard she now called her husband. Let alone when she was in cahoots with the other females of the pack, Sierra included.

  Sierra clapped her hands. “Now, you heard the King, Packmaster,” she said, her tone giving the more exulted of those two titles to the chicken. She grinned with clear pleasure to be ordering Maverick around for once. “It’s time to get up. The ranch chores won’t do themselves, and we need to be at the bakery by 8:00 a.m. sharp.”

  He growled.

  “Off you go now, Elvis.” Still ignoring Maverick’s protests, she bent forward, brushing at Elvis’s spindly legs and urging him to hop from her shoulder to the floor. As she did, the bend and wiggle move treated Maverick to an ample view of her cleavage not too far from his face.

  Despite the weather, she was wearing a fitted black tank top underneath her open jacket. Considering the matching yoga pants she sported, she’d clearly just come from her morning workout. The tight black material, so unlike her usual wardrobe, had to have been a gift from his sister. The word bride was emblazoned in looping cursive rhinestones across the curve of her breasts. He knew her better than to think Sierra had chosen rhinestones for herself, though the woman did dot her i’s with hearts.

  He thought of that damn list burning a hole in the pocket of his work jeans. He still hadn’t had the courage to open it. He wasn’t certain he could handle the knowledge it entailed.

  Finally, Elvis hopped off her shoulder with a flap that sent several feathers scattering onto Maverick’s bed. As Sierra straightened, her eyes grew wide, fixating on the sight of his erection now tenting the sheets. “Apparently Elvis isn’t the only cock demanding attention this morning.”

  The appendage in question gave an eager twitch. He swore.

  Her and those damn puns.

  But if it was war she wanted, and this was clearly her first strategy, then two could play at that game.

  He leaned back onto his pillows in a long, languorous stretch, thrusting his hips forward, which only caused her eyes to grow wider. The sheet pulled taut across him. He let out a deep-throated groan as he released his stretch. He scratched a hand across the scruff of his beard before he ran his tongue over the length of his teeth.

  He knew she was acutely aware of everything his tongue did these days.

  “Well, warrior, if I’m at the mercy of your command today, then tell me”—he gestured to his erection beneath the sheets—“are you going to take care of that?”

  She sputtered. “I…” She gaped at him, seemingly unable to answer.

  He let out a harsh bark of a laugh, more amused than he’d felt in years as he threw back the sheets and stood. Their kind wasn’t shy when it came to nudity, but this close and with him erect…

  Sierra let out an adorable eep, both her hands flying to her mouth to stifle her gasp at the sight of him standing naked and aroused before her.

  He flashed her a grin, dropping his voice to a low, purring growl. “Why so quiet, warrior?”

  She stammered. “You…you sleep in the buff?” she finally managed to get out.

  Gripping the base of his length, he gave his dick a slow, steady stroke. “I find it makes taking care of my morning duties easier.”

  She inhaled a sharp breath, watching him with wide-eyed attention. There was desire and more than a hint of curiosity in her eyes alongside her obvious shock.

  Releasing himself, he eased closer, leaning down to lay a quick kiss on her cheek before he whispered in her ear. “Don’t worry, warrior. I’m more than confident that with a strong, independent woman like you as my wife, we’ll split those chores equally.”

  He stepped away from her, leaving her still sputtering as he headed toward his shower.

  When he reached the sink, he splashed some cold water on his face before her voice carried to him from the bedroom.

  “Maverick?” she called, more than a hint of fru
stration in her tone.

  “Mmm?” he responded.

  “How in the world is it going to fit?”

  The sounds of his deep chuckles echoed against the porcelain tile.

  * * *

  If Maverick had thought the arrival of Sierra and “the King,” which she insisted he call the damn bird, in his bedroom at the ass crack of dawn was the only weapon she had in her arsenal, he was sorely mistaken. After he’d showered and dressed, she’d forced him to traipse out to the cold of the truck and assist her in rounding up several strays that’d wandered away from the rest of the cattle herd before they rode to downtown Billings. The sun crested the horizon as the scenery sped by. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been off the packlands, let alone in the city, even one as small as Billings.

  According to Sierra, Maeve had set them up for a cake-tasting appointment at a local bakery, and while he could care less about what food was consumed at the wedding, if any, he went along with the plan. Mainly because Sierra wouldn’t hear a word of his complaining. Once he’d finally settled himself into the idea, he toned down his protests for Sierra’s sake. Despite her insistence that she didn’t care about the wedding, she seemed more than a bit enthused about the whole experience. No surprise there. When they’d been teens, she’d been equally pleased during her Den Freedom, a time in which the pack entrusted the secret of their existence to their young adults and sent them out into the human world to live for a handful of weeks. He hadn’t enjoyed his own experience. Period.

  He didn’t complain too much when the human baker spent the first ten minutes of their arrival openly gawking at the sheer size of him or commenting on how, in her unknowing words, “wolflike” his eyes and teeth were. He didn’t even swear too loudly when he accidentally broke one of the pieces of delicate china the hostess had placed in front of him. He’d barely squeezed the damn little handle between his thumb and forefinger, and the thing had quivered beneath his touch before promptly shattering in his hand. It was one of only hundreds of things that day that reminded him of exactly why he never left the ranch.

  There was no such thing as delicate china at Wolf Pack Run. When they were in human form, they ate with hearty metal forks and spoons, and that was when they ate in human form at all. He preferred his dinner fresh, in his jaws.