Cowboy Wolf Trouble

by Kait Ballenger

  “You know the drill.” Austin pushed the first stitch through Wes’s skin.

  Wes winced as he swore.

  “Many more stitches, and you’ll be one large scar.” Austin pulled the needle through.

  Wes felt the stitching cord wiggle beneath the surface of his skin, like a snake slithering through thick grass. He frowned at Austin, though he knew the medic was right. Scars covered his torso, rough evidence of the life he’d lived.

  His eyes darted to his closed bedroom door. How had he gotten himself into this mess?

  “What drew you out in that neck of the woods anyway? You weren’t on land patrol or vamp-huntin’ duty.” Austin broke his concentration and met Wes’s gaze. The question had clearly been burning on the tip of the medic’s tongue.

  Wes released a long sigh through his nose. “I told you. Hunting.”

  “You’re expecting me to believe you happened to be out in the woods huntin’ on a night when Wild Eight members show up? You reached ’em before patrol.” Austin broke eye contact and returned to his work. He positioned the needle over Wes’s chest for the next stitch. “Don’t lie to a man with a sharp object poised over yer heart.”

  Wes answered with silence. He wouldn’t be lectured. He was already sure to get that from Maverick. As Austin worked, the quietness of Wes’s apartment pressed down on them. In the silence that stretched between them, Wes heard her. In the next room. The faint sound of her breathing as her chest rose and fell. And her scent still invaded his nose, alluring and disturbing and oddly…soothing. Getting himself into this situation when Maverick would already be red with rage had been a piss-poor choice, but if Kyle’s information proved true, they had a lot bigger problems, and the exsanguination of Naomi’s flock meant she was somehow connected.

  The pack was screwed on all sides.

  By the time they were several stitches in, Wes had downed a fifth of the bottle. As another stitch went through, the door to his apartment burst open with a resounding bang. Colt strode in as if his feet were being held to a fire pit.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he roared. “Going against Maverick’s orders. Are you trying to get us all killed?” His steely-grey eyes blazed with fiery anger, the same color as the revolvers of the gun manufacturer for which he was named.

  Wes frowned. “By who?” He gestured around the room with the hand that held the whiskey bottle. “No one followed us here. Wild Eight, vamps, or otherwise.”

  Austin cleared his throat before he muttered under his breath, “I reckon he means Maverick’s ’bout to lose his shit over this.” And it wasn’t only Wes who was likely to get reamed. The consequences would likely flow all the way down the chain of command, with Colt being the top target.

  Colt paced the room, shaking his head like a madman. “Where’s your sense of duty to this pack?” Whenever the Grey Wolf high commander let loose and yelled, there were always questions of duty and honor and service to one’s pack.

  Wes growled. Screw Colt’s sense of duty. Of course Colt was the perfect soldier. He’d been nursing from the pack’s teat since he was a pup. The differences between them were like those between a wild mustang and a thoroughbred show horse.

  Wes had had to be broken in the hard way. Colt had been groomed for this. He was loyal, brave, and obedient to a damn fault.

  “Don’t blame me because Maverick was wrong.” Wes brandished the whiskey bottle in Colt’s direction. “I told you all the Wild Eight would resurface, and not a damn one of you listened, Maverick included.”

  Colt froze. Austin stopped fiddling inside his medical kit and turned a wide-eyed look at Wes.

  “The Wild Eight are back. They’ve recruited new members. They’re organized, and they want my life for my betrayal.” Wes took another swig of whiskey as he allowed the weight of his words to sink in. “And I have news of what they’re planning, but Maverick hears this first.”

  Colt’s jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides. He knew firsthand what that meant. This shit was serious. Despite the angry, jerking tic of his temple, Colt nodded calmly. “And the human?”

  “I was chasing the Wild Eight off our packlands. They ran onto her ranch.” Wes flashed him a cheeky grin and swallowed another swig of whiskey. “Wolf trap.”

  He had saved her because he couldn’t live with the guilt of more innocent blood on his hands. Leaving her there vulnerable to the Wild Eight—or worse—had been the only other option, and condemning her to death that way would have been the same as if he’d killed her himself. The dark mixture of guilt and pain Wes carried in his chest flared at the thought of the past.

  Colt shook his head. “If you had listened to me in the first place, you wouldn’t have been in that situation.”

  Wes set the whiskey bottle down on the countertop with a thud. “I’m free to come and go as I wish. Last I checked, I don’t take orders from you, Colt. You’re not Maverick’s second.”

  Colt tensed at Wes’s words. Colt not being second was a matter of technicality, and they all knew it. It was only a matter of time before Maverick made it official.

  Austin snatched the gauze tape from his medical kit and ripped off a piece with his teeth. “Colt’s right, Wes. Not yer brightest moment. Not with Maverick gone. It leaves us open, vulnerable.” Austin placed a square of gauze over the gunshot wound and ran the tape over one edge.

  Wes gave him a look that said Whose side are you on?

  In response, Austin pushed ever so slightly on the wound until Wes let out another hiss. Colt’s side. Clearly. Yeah, probably best not to piss off the guy with access to all the good pills and who carried the sharp medical supplies.

  Wes released a long sigh. “Nobody said my record was full of bright moments.”

  A snarky laugh sounded from the open doorway. Blaze stood in the hall outside Wes’s apartment door with a smug grin on his face. He was wearing one of those flamboyant Hawaiian shirts, a bad habit he’d picked up while spending several years working in Silicon Valley. The SoCal wolf liked to remind them frequently that Silicon Valley was farther west than any part of Montana, but that didn’t make his ways stick out any less among the Grey Wolves, a pack of tried-and-true cowboys. Blaze was a damn tropical peacock. This particular shirt was near-fluorescent orange with an array of awful blue seahorses patterned across it.

  “Maverick is going to flip when he gets back.” The Grey Wolf techie’s grin widened. His teeth were blindingly white against that California tan.

  Wes snarled in response. “Stay out of this, Blaze.” Annoying shit that he was, Blaze had been on a mission to piss Wes off as much as possible since the first day Wes had stepped into the compound.

  Colt was still shaking his head. “I’m calling Maverick now. This needs to be addressed. We need a strategy.”

  Blaze threw his hands up in surrender and laughed. “This is way above my pay grade. I’m out.” He wandered farther down the hall, muttering under his breath about them being total pussies.

  Colt immediately rounded on Wes again. “I’ll alert Maverick to the situation, but until Maverick returns, she is your responsibility.” Colt stalked toward the door. He paused in the doorway, his mouth cinched tight and his nostrils flaring with barely suppressed rage. He left without another word, but Wes knew Colt would take care of contacting Maverick.

  He might have been kissing Maverick’s ass to earn second, but he was a good man, a good soldier, a fierce wolf.

  Austin ripped another piece of tape, and his eyes darted toward the closed bedroom door with a look of concern.

  She’d likely be passed out asleep for a while. Her body needed to recover from everything it’d been through in the past twenty-four hours.

  Wes shrugged with his good shoulder. “You heard Colt. I brought her here. Until Maverick says otherwise, she’s my responsibility.”

  Austin nodded slowly. His face we
nt from serious to somber.

  Wes frowned. “What?”

  “Nothin’.” Austin shook his head.

  Wes quirked an eyebrow.

  “So assumin’ for a moment that she’s innocent…” Austin released a long sigh as he taped the last piece of gauze in place. “Just remember you’re one of the good guys now.”

  Wes almost laughed. It was more of a morbid chuckle. If Austin only knew the half of it. “Everybody thinks they’re the good guys, Austin.” Wes knew that firsthand. He’d always thought himself the hero, until he’d realized he wasn’t.

  Austin pulled off his gloves. “Know-what-I-mean?” The phrase rolled together in that smooth Texan drawl.

  In other words, Play nice with the fragile human. Don’t hurt her, you brute. Austin was too nice to say it in those terms, but Wes got the message loud and clear. Austin had always had the biggest heart among them. It’s what made him a damn good medic and an intense but fair fighter.

  Wes slid down from the countertop, his bare feet landing with a smack on the marble flooring. “I didn’t hurt her when she had a gun to my head. I have no intention of starting now.”

  Austin nodded. “If you say so.” He closed his medical kit. He seemed to realize he was fighting a losing battle and headed toward the door, kit in hand.

  When Wes heard the door latch shut behind Austin, he padded to the bedroom door. Slowly, he inched the door open, just far enough that he could see Naomi still unconscious on top of his bed. The small difference that opening the door made caused her scent to flood his apartment. He should have known better than to bring a human back to Wolf Pack Run. If he’d learned anything from his past, it was that humans caused nothing but trouble.

  And now he was lusting after a human female he should have killed…and he was stuck with her by his side until further notice, all because he’d chosen to save her rather than to allow fate to take its course. Apparently, he was a glutton for punishment.

  In his Wild Eight days, nothing would have stopped him from bedding a woman like her. But if there was one other thing his brief stints with humanity had taught him, it was that he ruined everything he touched. He had spent too long spilling the blood of enemies and friends alike for it to be any other way. What was the point of saving her just to destroy her?

  He breathed in the deep scent of her. Scanning the black tendrils of her hair lying across his pillowcase, he chugged another drink of whiskey. He had worked hard to abandon that life. He had no intention of going back now.

  * * *

  Not even an hour later, the door to Wes’s apartment burst open. He didn’t bother to sit up to see who it was. From the rigid rhythm of the footfalls as the steps approached, Wes could tell it was Colt. Only Colt’s footsteps sounded like they were timed, as if he were a damn soldier marching in formation.

  His packmate’s voice rang from the open doorway. “He’s ready for you.”

  Wes stretched out on his sofa where he’d been lying before he pushed himself to his feet. He’d been trying to catch some shut-eye, but that task had proven impossible. Not with Naomi’s scent invading his apartment and his confrontation with Maverick imminent. His mind refused to settle.

  He scratched at the five-o’clock shadow covering his cheeks. “That was fast.”

  Colt folded his arms over his chest. “He rented a car. He said he’d send for Trigger tomorrow.”

  Wes’s eyes widened. Shit.

  Never once had Wes seen Maverick get near anything with an engine. Chalk it up to force of old habits or paranoia over his movements being tracked, but the tried-and-true cowboy took his horse wherever he went. Speed and efficiency be damned. He even rode that ornery beast all the way to the bottom of the northern coyote packlands in Wyoming twice a year.

  If Maverick rented a car just to get back to Wolf Pack Run, he was fit to be tied…

  …and Wes may as well be a dead man walking.

  At least, the Wild Eight or the vamps wouldn’t get to him if Maverick did first.

  Wes released a long sigh through his nose. “Let’s get this over with then.”

  When they stepped out into the hall, Colt turned to the left, though his personal quarters were to the right, as if he were about to lead Wes to Maverick’s office. He stopped midstride, catching his mistake. From the dark look in Colt’s eyes, they were both back there again. The night when Colt had hauled Wes in at Maverick’s request. Wes’s hands had been bound behind his back with rope and chains.

  “I know the way.” Wes nodded over his shoulder to indicate the human woman still asleep in his bedroom. Someone would need to guard her during his brief absence. “I’m not Maverick’s prisoner.” Wes clapped a hand on Colt’s shoulder and gave him a dark smile. “Not this time.”

  Wes left Colt waiting outside his apartment, dutifully guarding Naomi until Wes returned. Colt wouldn’t dare trust even a harmless human woman among his precious pack, perfect soldier that he was.

  When Wes reached the door to Maverick’s private chambers, he didn’t hesitate. He’d take his punishment like a man. He threw open the doors and stepped inside.

  Maverick’s private chambers sat directly in the center of Wolf Pack Run. The alphas’ mansion was at the center of the complex and Maverick’s room in the center of that. Should Wolf Pack Run ever be under surprise attack, their packmaster would be guarded by more than one hundred lesser wolves.

  The vast two-room space was divided between a regular office and the technical room, which contained all the high-powered computer equipment and technologies the pack possessed. A short adjoining hallway led back into the packmaster’s private suite. They were the most luxurious quarters inside Wolf Pack Run, allowing no one to forget exactly who gave the orders within its walls. Though most of the time, the room simply served as Maverick’s quiet personal office, during times of war, these two rooms became central command.

  Maverick stood behind his one-of-a-kind executive desk, his palms splayed across the desktop, supporting his muscled weight. The handcrafted, stained maple gave the legs of the desk the appearance of small tree trunks. The solid piece of furniture fit well with the dark coffered wooden ceiling. During the daylight, the dark colors of the room made it warm, comforting. Now, the dark-shadowed beams and low lighting promised no mercy.

  He didn’t bother to look up as Wes entered. Wes stood before him in silence.

  “I’m not even going to ask what you were thinking, because clearly, you weren’t.” Maverick’s biceps flexed with barely contained rage as if he were fighting to keep from destroying the desk beneath his hands. “You disobeyed me. I told you to forget the tip from Kyle. I forbade you to have any contact with the Wild Eight and their associates. And now…” The growl that escaped from Maverick’s lips was feral.

  “I gave you your life.” Slowly, Maverick lifted his gaze. His wolf eyes blazed with unchecked aggression. It was the same look he’d given Wes all those moons ago, back when they’d been enemies—which from the looks of it, they might have become once again. Had he been in full wolf form, Maverick’s teeth would have been bared. His lips were one twitch away from snarling. “What’s to stop me from taking it now?”

  Wes didn’t answer. Instead, he picked a spot at the edge of the desk and stared at it, refusing to meet Maverick’s gaze. He had broken his promise to obey the packmaster’s orders. With his history, he knew Maverick would never take that lightly. Had he been in Maverick’s place, the consequences would have been deadly.

  Maverick slammed his fist onto his desk with a resounding bang. “Answer me.”

  Wes lifted his head, meeting Maverick’s stare head-on. “I wasn’t thinking. I was acting, and I was right.”

  Maverick straightened to his full height. Slowly, he rounded his desk to stand before Wes. When he stopped, they were nearly nose to nose. Mirror images in size, in build, in strength, but opposed in all the wa
ys that mattered. They were built to be enemies.

  “The Wild Eight are back,” Wes hissed. “Just as I warned you. I told you they would never remain dormant, and now not only have they gained strength, new packmembers, and greater numbers, but they’ve aligned themselves with the vampires.”

  If the news caught Maverick by surprise, he didn’t show it. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched tight as he inhaled a deep breath. “I don’t care what you think you know. How dare you question my judgment? Disobey my orders?”

  “I have followed your orders faithfully for three years, Packmaster”—the words spilled like vitriol from Wes’s lips—“but I will not stand by as my life, as this pack, is threatened.”

  The burning rage in Maverick’s eyes flamed. “That same leadership spared your life.” He stepped even closer. For a moment, Wes expected him to clutch him by the throat. “I could have bled you dry, and I still can. Don’t you dare forget it.”

  It was a half-hearted threat, and Wes knew it. If Maverick had wanted him dead, he’d had the chance—countless chances. They both knew that though Wes now called Maverick packmaster, in a fight, only Wes was Maverick’s equal, and who would win would be the luck of the draw.

  Maverick stepped away, turning toward his desk. The tension between them decreased to a low simmer. Maverick still wanted that fight, the ultimate battle of alpha males. Wes smelled it. But Maverick would never risk it. He was too level-headed for that. “As punishment, you will have no further involvement in this. Do you understand?”

  Wes gritted his teeth. Short of death, it was the worst thing Maverick could to do him, and Maverick knew that. Worse than any physical torture. Wes was part of what the Wild Eight was after. This was personal. To be sidelined, frozen out without so much as a say or even an indication of future plans was nothing short of total emasculation.

  “Maverick, they’ve partnered with the vampires. For the Seven Range Pact, this’ll mean war. I know the Wild Eight’s tactics better than anyone. Do you understand what this means?”