“I’ll move first. Stay where you are until it’s clear.” Slowly, her mother released Sierra from her arms, leaving her feeling more naked and afraid than she had only moments before. She gripped her mother’s hand, silently urging her to be careful. Tentatively, her mother eased from their hiding place. There were no bloodsuckers in sight, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t watching, that they wouldn’t scent Sierra and her mother’s movement from nearby.
With careful steps, her mother eased out into the open clearing, eyes scanning, ears pricked for any sound, any movement. Sierra’s heart pounded in her chest. If they could get beyond here, it would be a mad dash for the bunker. Nearly a kilometer, but if they shifted into wolf form, they would make it. Her mother turned toward her, silently mouthing and beckoning her forward. Sierra started to rise to her feet, and that was when she saw the pair of glowing red eyes hovering in the darkness. “Mom!” she shouted. Her mother turned just in time.
“Run!” she shouted back, shifting into her wolf as she dove out of the way.
Rounding back, she lunged at the vampire, meeting its attacks with teeth and claw. Sierra froze. In her head, she was screaming, urging her feet to move yet not wanting to abandon her mother. To leave her alone. Stay where you are. Her mother’s earlier words etched in her head, contradicting every instinct until it paralyzed her. She watched in horror as blow after blow weakened her mother. Her mother was fierce but she was no trained warrior, no match for the vampire’s fangs and silver blade.
No match for its strength.
Frozen in fear, Sierra felt tears pour down her cheeks.
There was blood in the snow.
A sharp yelp.
Keening.
Sierra closed her eyes, trembling. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t. Then silence. She stayed there, eyes closed, trembling, for what felt like an eternity, waiting for the vampire to find her, waiting for death to come. But it didn’t. Finally, a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around hers, but not her mother’s. Never again her mother’s.
“You’re safe now, Sierra.” The voice was familiar yet foreign.
Maverick. Unlike her mother, he was a trained warrior. Maybe he’d reached them in time. Her mother was likely injured, but she’d be fine. She’d… Safe in his arms, Sierra started to open her eyes.
Maverick pushed a warm hand over her eyelids. “Sierra, don’t. Don’t look. You don’t need to see—”
But he didn’t understand.
She had to see. Had to see that her mother was okay. That she…
Sierra inhaled a sharp breath, steeling herself against the thought. She’d never forget the sight, but she didn’t need to go back there. Not ever again. Because she didn’t intend to remember her mother in the way she’d looked when her blood had painted the mountain snow.
As the memory faded from her mind, giving her little relief, she couldn’t help the tears that began to fall. She lifted her gaze toward Maverick. He was watching her with soft, caring eyes, this man who’d saved her, who’d tried so hard to save those she loved time and time again.
Even when he sometimes didn’t…
He’d risked himself for her so many times, for all of them over the years, and what had it cost him?
Pain. Anger. Grief.
Feeling as if he had to shoulder it all alone lest he stumble or make an error out of love.
Love is a price I can’t afford.
When he’d spoken the words before, it’d angered her, but now they only caused her chest to ache. She trailed a finger over the side of his cheek, through the rough stubble of his beard. He stirred, leaning into her touch. She only had a few days left with him. Only a few days before she feared this soft, tender wolf would return to the dark, angry man she’d come to know, a man who isolated himself, whose quiet rage and fearsome cruelty to their enemies was little more than a shield to protect the softer parts of him.
For once, this man before her, who’d taught her to be strong and brave, wasn’t here to save her. For once, she feared she needed to save him, lest she lose him to the darkness again.
He seemed to understand the emotions gripping her, and he chose that moment to gesture to his tux once more as a reprieve. “Well?”
She stood and crossed the room to where he stood. “You look handsome but not yourself.” She reached over to where a Stetson hung on a nearby peg. Reaching upward, she placed one hand on his chest. With the other, she tipped the weathered hat onto his head. “I think I’ve had enough of the human world for now,” she whispered. “Take me home, cowboy.”
They rode in the truck back to Wolf Pack Run in silence.
They’d barely reached the entry road gate before Sierra threw open her door and shifted into her wolf. Fur bristled and paws emerged as she hopped onto the ground, feeling an immediate sense of relief with the wild, beautiful earth at her feet.
The packmaster wasn’t far behind her. He tossed his keys to one of the guards, muttering a few brief instructions about what to do with the truck, and then he was beside her. Shifted into wolf form, he nipped at her muzzle, urging her to come along.
To run with him again.
And she did.
She stayed by him as they raced into the woods, and though he was sick to his stomach several times throughout the evening, she still didn’t leave his side. Instead, she groomed his fur with gentle licks, keeping him company all through the moonlit night.
Chapter 21
Beneath him, the gentle sway of Trigger slowly navigating the mountainside did little to ease Maverick’s worry. The old mare’s bones seemed to grow weary. It was only a few hours till morning, and after spending several days in a flurry of wedding plans interspersed with several lessons with Sierra, tomorrow was his wedding day after all.
Second wedding day.
Adjusting his weight in the saddle, he pulled Trigger to a halt and dismounted. He’d give the old horse a break and make the rest of the way on foot. Releasing a hefty sigh, he made quick work of tying Trigger to a nearby tree. As he did, the old mare let out a concerned whinny, nudging at the back of Maverick’s hand as he removed the horse’s bit from her mouth.
Be careful, the horse’s dark eyes seemed to say. Whether in response to the enemy he was about to face or the turmoil in his own mind, he couldn’t be certain. All the same, he gave the beast a silent pat of reassurance before he slipped deeper into the darkness.
Away from his stead, he navigated the rest of the path to his destination. The wind picked up, whistling through the mountain pines as the wooden boards of the church that emerged from the shadows in front of him creaked. The old wooden spire swayed along with the treetops, tipping slightly with each gust of wind. He was several miles off the edges of the Grey Wolves’ lands, and the old building felt like an icon to eras past—to train heists and gun smoke and outlaws who claimed each other’s lives with the single pull of their revolver’s trigger.
A grim grin crossed his lips. Perhaps a past not so distant.
He eased closer. One of the church doors was swinging open in the night air, alerting him to another’s presence. Inside the old building, the leftover pews were cloaked in a layer of dust like a thinly veiled shroud. The floorboards creaked beneath the human intruder’s feet as Maverick watched the man standing beside the front pew. From behind, if Maverick hadn’t recognized him, the impressive size difference alone would have tipped him off. Thanks to the Execution Underground’s training facilities and transformative serum injections, the organization’s human hunters rivaled the Grey Wolves’ elite alpha warriors in both size and strength.
With quiet, lethal stealth, Maverick approached his enemy. Once he stood directly behind the man, he drew his gun from his holster, only the click of the gun’s safety and a creak of the floorboards beneath his feet signaling his presence.
The human stiffened as he let out a long exhale
of breath through his nose. “I forgot how thoroughly you live up to legend.”
Maverick lowered his Stetson over his brow as the barrel of his gun dug harder into his enemy’s spine. The metal scraped against bone. Had he not agreed to peace tonight, the hunter would have never stood a chance.
“Quinn,” Maverick growled back in greeting.
His enemy didn’t dare move. But that was all too like him, of course. Quinn Harper, wolf hunter and leader of the Billings division of the Execution Underground, was never one to move to rash decisions. The human was careful, calculated, which made him just the kind of opponent worthy of Maverick’s attention.
The kind that would strike a wolf in the back before he could blink.
“We had an agreement, Packmaster,” Quinn said. There was a healthy dose of respect coupled with a hint of amusement in his voice.
Maverick stifled the feral snarl that threatened to escape his throat. Killing Quinn would be easy. Easier than taking a life ever should be. He’d killed fiercer opponents with only his teeth, and considering the tenuous state of their treaty…
But tonight, as always, he would do what was necessary to protect the pack, which meant the hunter would live.
For now.
Maverick slid his gun back into his holster as Quinn faced him. Thanks to Sierra’s addition to the elite warriors, the moment he’d known the pack would be secure should negotiations go south, he’d set up this meeting with all due haste. Moonlight streamed through the glass windowpanes clouded with age, and the spired roof above them gave a long moan.
Quinn leaned against the edge of the old church pew. “I’m surprised your pack allowed you to come. A little birdie tells me your Elder Council’s been advising against it.”
“I make my own rules,” Maverick growled.
“So I hear,” Quinn answered. His enemy raked an assessing gaze over him before he offered a handshake. “It’s been a long time, Maverick. My condolences about Rose.”
Maverick grunted in mild acknowledgment, ignoring the hunter’s outstretched hand. He would play nice, but that didn’t mean he was about to get friendly.
Quinn dropped his offered hand as his tone soured. “Long time or not, you intentionally violated the terms of our agreement.”
Maverick wouldn’t deny it. He leveled a hard stare at his enemy. “You would have done the same.” Of that, he was certain. Maverick’s eyes flashed to the gold of his wolf, a reminder of the difference between them. “But I have an offer for you.”
One of Quinn’s blond brows perked up. “I’m never one to refuse a good deal.”
“No, you’re not,” Maverick agreed, and it was that single truth that this whole meeting was banked on. “The Seven Range Pact with the Grey Wolves as their leaders will continue to hunt the vampires and protect your precious humans, so long as the treaty continues.”
A scowl twisted Quinn’s lips. “That’s not good enough. You violated the treaty, changed the terms. I need bodies. You know that.”
“I can’t allow you to continue hunting the rogue wolves freely, but many rogue shifters—”
“Are unruly dogs,” Quinn spat out.
“Live outside pack law,” Maverick snarled back. He wasn’t about to cede that point to Quinn, even though the innocent among the rogues were few and far between.
He knew better than most that even one innocent life lost was one too many. The recesses of his memory hissed in sharp response.
Maverick gritted his teeth and continued. “Should the Pact determine any wrongdoing among them, anything that harms your precious humans, Rogue and I will hand their punishment over to you.”
Quinn shook his head. “I still don’t like it. Why honor your agreement with the Rogue? Double-cross the bastard and call it a day. He’d do the same to you.”
Maverick wasn’t so certain that was true anymore. “I’m a man of my word.”
It was the single point that allowed him to look in the mirror each morning. He wasn’t about to destroy the one part of himself that still held some integrity. Not even for this.
Maverick leaned forward. Despite Quinn’s substantial size, Maverick was still larger than the other man. “We’ll both get what we want for our kind.”
A smirk quirked Quinn’s lips. “Will you? Get what you want for your kind?”
Maverick remained silent, watching Quinn with narrowed eyes.
Quinn traced a finger along the edge of the pew before examining the dust that now coated his fingertip. “I’ve heard that even if our treaty is reinstated, you have far bigger problems on your hands.” He brushed the dust from his fingers.
“What do you know?” Maverick’s hand drifted to his holster. He may have agreed to peace tonight, but with what Quinn was implying, that could change—quickly.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Quinn’s eyes fell to the hand that lingered above Maverick’s gun before flicking back to his face. “I know things, Packmaster. That’s how we’ve ended up here. The attempt on your life is no secret at Execution Underground Headquarters.”
“Did you orchestrate it?” Maverick challenged.
Quinn’s grin widened. “Not this time.”
Somehow, Maverick knew in his bones that his enemy spoke the truth.
Instinct had never failed him.
Quinn looked toward the church altar in front of them. A large wooden crucifix hung on the wall. Not as old as the church itself, but still dated in its own way. Christ stared up at the heavens above them in agony as Quinn cleared his throat. “If I came for you, I wouldn’t dare miss my target. I wouldn’t risk your retaliation.”
Maverick growled. “If you know anything, you’d be wise to tell me now.”
At that, Quinn laughed. “The rumors tell me enough. Monster of Montana now, I hear, and among your own packmates…” Quinn glanced toward the crucifix again. “We may be on the same side for now, but we both know that could change in an instant.” He made the sign of the cross over his body. A ritual Maverick had seen humans like him repeat before. “I’ll consider your offer.”
Quinn moved to step past Maverick, signaling an end to their meeting, but as he did, the hunter paused, lingering next to Maverick’s shoulder as Quinn’s hand fell to the gun tucked inside his hip holster. “But in the meantime, watch your back, Packmaster.”
* * *
Sierra trudged out to the stables on foot, tucking her hands up inside her jacket as she went. Her gloves were doing all of nothing to keep her fingertips from freezing, but she needed to get out to the stables all the same. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember whether she’d switched on Randy’s heat lamp, and she couldn’t stand the thought of him being chilled all night. Not to mention Elvis was running low on chicken feed. She’d need to snag some from the storage shed, and well, to be honest, considering it was the night before the wedding…
She couldn’t sleep.
She gripped her hands over her biceps, attempting to shield herself from the cold. She and Maverick had spent nearly every night of the past week together. The man was insatiable when it came to other things. She still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around the blunter language yet, even in her own head. But he was good. Amazing, really, with other things.
Things that involved his mouth and her moaning and that insanely skilled tongue of his flicking in that delicious way. He may not have been one for cake, but he never seemed to tire of eating…
Heat flushed her cheeks at the thought.
She’d warned him to stay away tonight under the guise that they couldn’t risk being caught together come morning. She’d told him Maeve and Dakota would never let her hear the end of it if her two maids of honor found them in bed together when they’d no doubt arrive at the crack of dawn ready to prepare her with their strange and unnecessary beauty regimens.
In truth, she’d needed the space to
think.
But now that she couldn’t seem to stop thinking and allow sleep to claim her, she regretted it. The winds whistled and howled through the pastures, ringing in her ears.
As she approached the stables, she glanced up toward the moon, but the gray clouds overhead obscured the view. Inside, her wolf stirred. She hadn’t spent much time in her true form the past few days between the wedding plans and her and Maverick’s lessons, and she was feeling it.
Slipping inside the stables, she made quick work of grabbing the chicken feed from the storage shed and pocketing it in the satchel she’d brought with her before heading toward Randy’s stall. The orange glow of the horses’ heat lamps cast the empty stables in a fiery hue, and the click of her boots seemed to echo among the quiet purrs of the sleeping horses.
When she reached Randy’s stall, she unlatched the gate. Immediately, Randy stirred from where he’d been asleep, curled up in the bed of hay in the bottom of his stall.
“Just turning on your heat lamp, buddy.” She clicked the lamp on, the orange glow instantly lighting the stall. Randy moseyed his way over to her, nudging at her coat and pockets with his nose in search of a treat. She reached in and removed a large carrot from her inside pocket that she’d pilfered from the kitchens.
“You don’t deserve it, you big lug.” She patted the horse on the cheeks as he wrapped his puckered lips around the carrot. He bit down with an audible crunch. “Wes tells me he caught you mounting Star again,” she admonished, referencing Naomi’s gentle mare. “I’m just glad we took care of things so there won’t be any baby Randies running around in a few months’ time, Mr. Hooved Lothario.”
Randy crunched away at the carrot in contented ignorance.
Giving the horse one last pat, Sierra palmed the stall gate, shooing Randy back as she started to pull it closed. But as she did, she stilled. Her wolf perked up in awareness, instinct telling her she wasn’t alone. A chill ran down her spine. Releasing the gate, her hand fell to her gun in its holster. She’d started carrying one now as the other elite warriors did. She pulled her gun in one swift movement, turning toward her approaching target as she did.
Fierce Cowboy Wolf Page 20