He swallowed, hard as if he didn’t want to think about that particular option for too long. “That one is only valid if you sign it, if you so choose. Of course, I want to be married to you, I always have, but considering the whole marriage-of-convenience thing and you having to marry me to get your position, I didn’t want to assume…”
“Naturally.” She nodded. “Go on.” There were still more papers in his hand, though what they could represent, she couldn’t imagine.
He inhaled a deep breath, starting again. Another paper pushed into her palm. “This is the document reestablishing the council, but this time, not an Elder Council but a Peer Council with equal representation of all various genders and ethnic groups, including representatives from all the subpacks.”
Her head was swimming with so many emotions that she was starting to feel dizzy.
“And this,” he said, pressing the final piece of paper into her hand, that damn smirk on his lips setting a fire deep in her belly as he met her gaze, “is the letter detailing how that same council unanimously, of their own accord, voted for you to be named as an elite warrior with my full support and title backing the nomination.”
Sierra cradled the pile of papers in her hands, staring down at them in awe before she glanced back up at him, tears pouring down her face. He’d done it. He’d placed her wants, her needs and desires before all other duty and kept his promise.
He’d fulfilled every point on her list and more. She smiled. A small part of her had always known he’d eventually come through, as long as she could pull him from the darkness long enough for him to get used to the light.
“Please say something.”
She sifted through the papers, shuffling them until she removed the one about divorce and ripped it in two. “I don’t need this.”
A low grunt. An appreciative one. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“But there is one thing you’ve forgotten to do, Maverick.”
“Anything, everything you wish.”
Deep down, she knew that this time, he truly meant it. She tucked all the papers in her back pocket, adjusting his Stetson before she cupped her hand over the rough stubble of his cheek. “Tell me you love me, cowboy.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do more than that. I promise you, Sierra Cavanaugh, that not only will I love you for the rest of my long life, but I will learn from my mistakes. I’m stronger with you by my side.”
She loved the sound of those words on his lips. Deep, and throaty, and pure male. “Say it again.”
A low, aroused grumble vibrated from his throat. “I love you.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
Her cheek.
She didn’t need to continue with her demand.
“I love you.”
Her chin.
“I love you.”
The tender skin of her neck.
“I love you.”
Then her breasts, and yet still he drew lower.
Desire burned through her as he dropped to his knees, his head now level with her breasts as he continued to inch further downward. She knew exactly where that delicious, filthy mouth of his was headed. Skilled wolfish tongue included.
“I can’t wait for you to return home.”
From MAC-V-Alpha. She sighed. Neither of them would have to worry about that.
“Maverick,” she said, stopping him before he managed to lose him—and herself—to the pleasure that came whenever he was in between her legs.
“Mm-hmm.” Part grumble. Part purr.
“There is one more thing I have to ask for.”
He quirked his scarred brow as he gazed up at her.
She could get used to the idea of him staring at her with those gold wolf eyes from beneath her for the rest of her days. “I’m coming home sooner than expected, and the elite warriors, well, all the pack’s females for that matter need to be given long maternity leaves.”
His brow furrowed. Clearly that hadn’t been what he’d been anticipating. “Maternity leave?”
She nodded. “Yes, maternity leave. My reenlistment to MAC-V-Alpha isn’t happening after all. I told them I couldn’t, because I–I think I’m going to need it.” She placed a hand over her belly, where when he’d said she looked different, she was grateful he’d been too tactful to point out that instead of the flat abs of a warrior, she’d begun to sport a subtle, gentle curve.
He kissed her there, inhaling her scent, likely in search of the smell of the future pup beneath before he threw back his head and howled. To her surprise, the whole of the woods and mountains seemed to answer him, echoing back the sounds of the forest and the howls of their pack as if they recognized he was their king.
And she was his queen.
“Sierra Cavanaugh, packmastress of the Grey Wolves, I know you’ve already married me and I’ve asked you this more than once, but would you do me the honor of being my wife—truly—no caveats or restrictions?”
“You didn’t ask, you demanded. Though this time’s clearly different.” She smiled. “Yes, I will, with one small exception.” It may not have been a pun, but at the moment, it was as close as she could manage. “As long as you don’t lose that wicked, sinful grin and you’ll still be the Monster of Montana for me when we go to bed each night.”
And to her complete and utter joy, at that, Maverick threw back his head in a full-throated laugh.
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Wild Cowboy Wolf
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“You need to let this go, brother.” Maverick’s sharp command cut through him.
Blaze tipped his Stetson low on his forehead, fighting to mask the frustrated snarl which tugged at his lips. His eyes changed to his wolf’s. He couldn’t let it go. He’d tried. More than once.
Refusing to turn and look at the packmaster, he slowly straightened to his full height from where he’d been standing, stooped over his desk. The muscles of his biceps ached with tension. Blaze flexed, rolling his shoulders like a predatory animal as he tried to release the stiffness there. But it was no use. The want for violence still lingered.
Inside, his wolf clawed at him.
For the past two hours, he’d been holed up here in the security office at the center of the Wolf Pack Run’s ranch compound, fingers pounding across his keyboard in a frenzied rage. He hadn’t been able to stop himself. Since the moment he’d seen movement in the darkness near the pack’s borders on his phone’s security stream, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Command. Protect. Serve.
Kill, if necessary.
De Oppresso Liber. He’d been trained for it.
Only to find himself at yet another dead end.
Blaze snarled. Fuck.
“It doesn’t work like that and you know it,” he growled over his shoulder at Maverick.
As if in answer, one of the wall monitors in front of him glared blue through the darkness, enough to sting against wolf retinas. Maverick let out a grumbled curse, but Blaze didn’t so much as blink. With a quick stroke of his finger on the keyboard, the screen went black before he turned toward the packmaster.
Closing the office door behind him, Maverick flicked on the dim overhead light and pegged Blaze with an all-too-knowing stare. From the dirt on his jeans, the Grey Wolf packmaster been out in the stables and now, standing amid all the pack’s security monitors, the fellow cowboy wolf warrior looked out of place. Maverick was the fiercest the pack had to offer, but as alpha, he was also a testament to their lineage, a legend born of their true nature. Like most of the pack, that meant that even in human form, he was still sensitive to blue light and not fond of human technology.
Blaze, on the other hand, had been forced to adapt, change, camouflage. Whatever it took. Years ago that was exactly what Maverick had asked him to train for—burying the truth.
He’d gotten a bit too good at it.
Blaze leaned against the edge of his desk.
“Where’s Kieran?” Maverick asked, referring to the young wolf who was supposed to be in the office tonight.
Blaze shrugged, as if he didn’t know.
Maverick growled.
Blaze rolled his eyes and released a short sigh. “I sent him home.”
“Call him, damn it.” Maverick pointed an accusatory finger at Blaze. “You’re supposed to be off duty.”
“We’re having a pissing contest because I’m doing extra work?” Blaze raised a smug brow.
Maverick frowned. “Don’t get cheeky with me, Blaze.”
Blaze cast him a wide, intentionally cheeky grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Maverick swore and shook his head with a frustrated grumble. “It’s been over nine months since the reception, since Amarok’s warning.”
“I know.”
“You’re not going to find anything.”
Blaze nodded. “I know.”
“Yet you’ve been poring over those damn screens every goddamn chance you get.”
“And?”
Maverick didn’t take the bait. Not this time. “And if they were going to attack by now, they would have.”
Blaze shook his head. “You don’t know that.”
The movement he’d seen on the forest cams tonight had turned out to be little more than a deer. But the thought of what could have been had still sent him prowling through the more unsavory corners of the Dark Web in search of information again.
For something. Anything. A lead.
Whatever it took to keep them all safe.
To keep his secrets hidden.
Maverick let out a disapproving grunt. “I understand your drive to protect the pack, but you can’t run yourself into the ground while doing it.”
“You’re lecturing me about work-life balance?” Blaze snorted. “That’s rich.”
Maverick growled again. “Cut the jokes, warrior. I say this as your alpha, not as your friend.” The packmaster purposefully held his gaze for a long beat. “Let it go.”
Blaze refused to look away. “I can’t.”
“You will.” Maverick placed his hand on the door handle.
To Blaze’s surprise, Maverick was the first to look away.
Blaze smiled an unamused grin. “You asked me to go to Russia, Mav, and I did. You don’t get to choose how I behave now that I’m back. Not as long as I’m doing my job.”
Maverick hadn’t been there. For all the experience, bloodshed, and battle the Grey Wolf packmaster had seen, Russia would always be worse.
Blaze knew because he’d relived it every goddamn night for the past four years.
“I know what you saw there was—”
“Don’t,” Blaze warned. The feral snarl in his voice was barely contained.
Maverick didn’t know the half of it.
Turning away, Blaze cleared his throat and sat down in his desk chair. The dozen monitors covering the wall offered multiple views of Wolf Pack Run, the Grey Wolves’ sprawling ranchlands, and the bordering Custer-Gallatin National Forest. This time of night, with most of the pack shifted and in true form, the woods were alive with their howling. The compound, on the other hand, proved quiet.
“If you start being too mushy instead of grunting all the time, hell might freeze over. Montana doesn’t need any more snow.” Blaze grinned over his shoulder.
Maverick didn’t so much as laugh.
Typical.
“There’re more important things on the table at the moment.” Maverick’s voice held more than a hint of concern.
Blaze rotated his chair back toward the packmaster.
“Josiah called today. One of the subpack members out in Bozeman hasn’t come home.”
Blaze shook his head and turned back toward the security monitors. “Big surprise. They shift, then disappear on a long hunt and lose all sense of time out there. Must be nice to have so few responsibilities. They always turn back up.”
“This one hasn’t. Not in over seventy-two hours.”
Blaze hesitated from where he’d been about to start typing again. A chill ran through him. That long with no sign of a packmate was unusual, even in the subpacks.
His mind quickly scanned over the list of possible foul play. Their treaty with the human hunters of the Execution Underground had been recently restored, providing the Grey Wolves immunity while still keeping their agreement with the rogue wolves in place. The last of the Wild Eight had also recently been wiped out, the only remaining members having been incorporated into the Grey Wolf Pack. That left the bloodsuckers.
But the vampires hadn’t attacked the outer subpacks since the Missoula massacre nearly two years earlier, and it was only recently that they’d seen a resurgence of movement among them closer to Billings and here at Wolf Pack Run.
Could it be…?
“Don’t let paranoia rule your instincts, brother,” Maverick said, cutting the thought short. “I need you to look into it.”
Blaze nodded. “I’m smart enough to do both.” He powered up the monitor again and placed his hands on the keyboard.
Maverick crossed the room in two quick strides and clicked the monitor back off with a sharp grumble. “You’re smart enough to listen to your alpha. You won’t do both. That’s an order.”
Blaze lifted a brow in surprise and laughed. “Look at you. Since when have you learned to power off a computer?”
The Grey Wolf packmaster could kill a man as soon as look at him and never struggled to operate any of the ranch machinery, but when it came to computer technology, he was nearly illiterate.
Maverick crossed his large arms over his chest with a frown, the black-banded tattoos of his packmaster’s markings writhing along with the movement. Despite his usual grumpy demeanor, for a brief moment, he looked sheepish, if a bit embarrassed. “Sierra taught me.” Maverick cast Blaze a smirk.
His new mate.
Blaze smiled. “So you really are going soft?”
“I mean it, Blaze.” Maverick’s grin fell and his lip curled in warning again.
Blaze expected the frustration. It was the concern underneath that he couldn’t handle.
“Yeah, I know.” Blaze waved a hand, brushing him off. “I’ll take care of it. You have my word. But you’re late to a meeting.”
“There’s no keeping secrets from you.” Maverick shook his head. “Especially not when it has to do with Dakota.” Maverick cast him a pointed look.
Blaze grunted in acknowledgment. He didn’t want to have this conversation, even with Mav.
The packmaster’s brow only inched higher, waiting.
Blaze ran a hand through his hair and released a long sigh. “That obvious, huh?” He slumped lower in his desk chair, tilting his head back as he scrubbed a hand over his face.
“No one ever called you subtle, Blaze. The only one who doesn’t realize is her.”
“Good.” Blaze ran his tongue over his teeth.
“You could tell her, you know,” Maverick said.
Blaze shook his head. “It’s better this way.”
Maverick scoffed. “I don’t think even you believe that.”
“Would you have told Sierra on your own?” Blaze’s eyes flashed to his wolf, and he gave the packmaster a warning stare. “I don’t have anything to offer her.”
“You offer her yourself. That’s all you need, warrior.”
“I lost all sense of myself back in Russia.” Blaze twisted back toward the computer.
“Then rebuild, damn it.” Maverick fist’s thumped hard against t
he doorframe. “You can’t let your enemies win, Blaze.”
Blaze released a long breath. He hesitated for a long moment, choosing his words carefully. “You weren’t there, Mav… They go for families first, loved ones. There’re no survivors. Ever. I can’t put her in harm’s way like that. If they decided to target her because of me, I wouldn’t be able to protect her. If something happened to her…” He swallowed. “I wouldn’t—”
“Perhaps she should be the one to make that decision,” Maverick said, sparing him from the more gruesome details. “She’s a fierce warrior. You’re making excuses. She doesn’t need you to protect her and you know it.”
Blaze shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Sierra really is softening you.”
At that, Maverick smiled. “Consider it.” He turned to leave. “There’s been no movement since Amarok warned you. Let it go.”
The packmaster was already halfway out the door before Blaze managed to speak again. “Maverick.”
Maverick grunted in acknowledgment.
“Just…promise you’ll keep the extra patrols and drills in place like we talked about.”
For a long moment, Mav didn’t respond, until finally, he nodded. “If it’ll help you sleep at night, warrior, you have my word.”
Blaze cleared his throat again. “Nothing helps me sleep, Packmaster.”
“I know.” Maverick’s voice was grim as he started to close the door. “That’s what concerns me.”
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About the Author
Kait Ballenger hated reading when she was a child, because she was horrible at it. Then by chance she picked up the Harry Potter series, magically fell in love with reading, and never looked back. When she realized shortly after that she could tell her own stories, and they could be about falling in love, her fate was sealed.
She earned her BA in English from Stetson University—like the Stetson cowboy hat—followed by an MFA in writing from Spalding University. After stints working as a real vampire a.k.a. a phlebotomist, a bingo caller, a professional belly dancer, and an adjunct English professor, Kait finally decided that her eight-year-old self knew best: she’s meant to be a writer.
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