Cowboy Wolf Trouble

by Kait Ballenger

  Metal rattled off in the distance, coming from the direction of where they’d been. Someone removing the air vent.

  Wes squeezed Naomi’s hand. “Let’s go.” He led her through the darkness.

  Before her meeting with Quinn, they had gone to check Wes into a hotel room on the other side of the city. Wes had thought he would need somewhere close to Coyote’s to lie low after the run-in with the Wild Eight and once the Execution Underground had taken Naomi under their protection. They made their way from the tunnel to the hotel. Wes didn’t release her hand until the dead bolt on their room was safely locked behind them. They couldn’t go back to her ranch. The Execution Underground might follow them there and find him.

  “I told you to hightail it out of there. You could have been killed.” He spoke the words toward the closed door in front of him. He couldn’t turn and look at her. Not now. Not when he was so full of anger and simultaneous relief. He’d thought he would never see her again, hoped he wouldn’t. It was the darker side of him that wished otherwise, that wanted to keep her here for himself, that willed him to slam her onto the bed and claim her as if she was his, consequences be damned.

  But he’d played this game before, and he knew how it ended.

  She wasn’t having any of it. “What was I supposed to do? Just sit there? They were storming in early. I knew you’d still be in inside. I kept thinking if I didn’t get there in time, then…” The fighting spirit in her voice that he’d grown so accustomed to melted away.

  Instinctively, he moved toward her. That was his first mistake.

  She stood before him, tears running down her cheeks as she wrung her delicate hands together. The sassy, stubborn cowgirl he’d come to know disappeared, her guard falling completely. “…t-then I would lose you,” she finished. She drew her eyes up to him. Thick, dark lashes sparkled with the evidence of her tears in the dim light of the hotel room. Her irises were such a deep shade of warm brown that they were nearly black. He wanted to fall into their deep abyss and lose himself. But the pain he saw there tore his heart open, the pain as acute and fierce as if it were his own.

  She wasn’t crying because of him. She was crying for him.

  For the fear of losing him. Him. Wes Calhoun. Monstrous brute of a man that he was.

  No. No. She shouldn’t care for him, couldn’t care for him. He didn’t deserve her tears, her tenderness. He’d made a grave mistake in bedding her. He should have realized he wasn’t the only one whose emotions could be wrapped up in the senseless passion between them. It was past time he ended this. For both their sakes.

  “Save your tears, Miss Kitty. They’re wasted on me.” He moved to push past her, but she caught his hand in hers.

  * * *

  Naomi wasn’t letting him off that easily. Not this time.

  Not when she’d been forced to watch him nearly killed, all to save and protect her. He could try to push her away all he wanted, but she knew the truth. Dark past or not, he didn’t keep putting his life on the line for her because of some ridiculous sense of duty or care for humanity. No, he cared for her. He might have been a reckless, stubborn, wild wolf of a man, but she wouldn’t allow him to deny there was something growing between them. The initial spark she’d felt the first night he’d held her in his arms had stoked into steadily burning embers. Given time, she knew those embers would rise into a roaring, burning flame, and she’d be damned if she’d allow him to stomp out those fragile embers before they even truly began to grow.

  “You could have stayed with the Execution Underground, protected yourself, your ranch from all this, but instead you—”

  Risked everything for you, she thought, finishing his sentence.

  She gripped his hand, refusing to let go. “You can’t tell me how to feel, Wes. It’s my heart. I get to choose who’s a part of it.”

  “If it’s me you choose, then you’re a fool,” he said.

  His words stung. But there was a softness, a tenderness under his hard exterior. She’d seen it. Let him growl. Let him snarl and bare his teeth as he fought against her. She’d come to this fight prepared to tame the beast in him with an arsenal of her own.

  “I’d rather be a fool than a coward.”

  A snarl tore through him, feral and terrifying. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” he warned.

  Instead of drawing back, she stepped closer, challenging him. “Then show me. You want to scare me and drive me away, then so be it. But we’ve been together for days, and I’ve yet to see this monster of a man you speak of.”

  Silence hung between them as his eyes flashed to his wolf’s and his grip on her hand tightened. When he stepped toward her, golden wolf eyes ablaze with hunger, a rush of heat flooded her core.

  “Wes,” she breathed.

  And then his mouth was on her. His tongue parted her mouth as she melted into his kiss. Her nipples tightened. As she drew her hands up the length of his chest to wrap her arms around him, his hands were on her waist. Before she realized what he was doing, he stood behind her, nudging her down until she was bent over the hotel bed as he unclasped her jeans. His movements were firm and commanding.

  She bit her lower lip in anticipation. “What are you doing?” she murmured. Did he plan to take her from behind?

  Tugging open the fly of her pants, he ripped her jeans down and over her hips, exposing the lacy purple material of her panties. Her ass spread wide in offering before him, and her underwear was gone moments later, the rough pad of his thumb teasing over her clit. She moaned in response. Yes, his intentions were clear.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” He bent over her. The weight of his muscled torso pinned her to the bed. The hand between her legs trailed down the length of her slit, and he drove his fingers into her as he growled in her ear, “Claiming what’s mine.”

  She was instantly wet for him.

  The sound of his belt dropping to the floor was followed by his pants soon after. “Naomi.”

  The use of her given name startled her. She’d become so accustomed to that awful nickname that a wave of desire burned her skin. The length of him pressed between her ass cheeks, rubbing across the wet opening of her pussy with teasing, calculated movements. Her head was so clouded with the feel of his cock massaging over that sweet bead between her legs that she failed to think straight.

  “What if I told you I was once Wild Eight?” he confessed. His large hand gripped her ass. His palm drew circles over the bare skin, gentle but filled with a dark promise. At any moment, he could spank her, if he so chose, leaving her skin glowing pink. The thought both thrilled her and intimidated her.

  She struggled to speak. “I’d say the past is behind you.”

  He chuckled darkly. “It’s me who’s behind you.” Leaning over her again, he ran his free hand up her side until it cupped the plump weight of her breast, squeezing and kneading until her nipples tingled. “Do you want me, Naomi?”

  When she didn’t immediately respond, he pushed against her, the tip of his head parting her wet folds until she was aching, throbbing with need and want for him. “Answer me, Naomi.”

  “Yes.” It was as much a plea for him to be inside her as it was an admission.

  At that one word, he thrust inside her, causing her to brace her weight across the mattress with her elbows as her hands balled into fists among the sheets. She cried out in pleasure. In fast, fierce strokes, he drove into her, stretching her to the max as he pushed deeper and deeper.

  Pressure built inside her with every thrust. By the time they both reached their climax, Wes spilling himself inside her as she came apart beneath him, they both glistened. Beads of sweat rolled down their bodies, and they both shook with the intensity of their connection. Collapsing on top of her, Wes rolled onto his back and pulled her into his arms, tucking her against him as the last waves of her orgasm continued to pulse through her. She fol
ded into him, burying her cheek in the crook of his neck.

  Despite the gritty intensity of their lovemaking and his confession, she felt safe here, protected. Slowly, her eyes fluttered closed, and she would have drifted into a peaceful sleep had his next confession not torn her to pieces.

  “I’m a monster, Miss Kitty,” he whispered against the crown of her hair, “and I don’t deserve you.”

  She felt the weight of his pain in her chest, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal.

  “I wasn’t just one of them,” he whispered. “I am them. Their hate is born of me, of my leadership, of my family bloodline. If it weren’t for the Calhouns, for me and my family, they’d never be able to kill as indiscriminately as they do. They would be nothing, no one without us.” His confession came hot and searing against her ear. “I was their packmaster, their leader.”

  “You’re a good man,” she whispered back. Despite his past, she believed it. She had to, needed to believe it. There was no alternative. She’d struggled to find the truth in the question of his goodness since the moment she’d met him and only tried harder since she’d learned the truth. The man she’d experienced these past few days was good, pure of heart, but did she really know him? Did she dare trust her heart to him despite the horrifying reality of his past? Was she glossing over his misdeeds in favor of his kindnesses out of truth or mere delusion because she wasn’t sure if she could handle the alternative?

  As if he heard the questions racing through her mind, he chose that moment to say, “Every good deed I’ve done since I’ve been with you hasn’t been out of the kindness of my heart. It’s been in penance.” Wes’s gaze seared into hers. “And you expect me to believe you’re okay with that?”

  “I want you,” she whispered as she leaned in to him. “All of you.”

  Wes’s pain hurt because it was all too real, and because in caring for him, she’d realized it wasn’t true. He might believe he was a monster, but she saw the real him. She could see that love was now Wes’s guiding principle. She’d seen it in every sacrifice he’d made. Her only hope for him, as she lay there wrapped in his arms, was that someday, he would see it for himself.

  Chapter 14

  An incessant jingling rang through the motel room like wind chimes, sharp and staccato. Wes was stretched across the bed, half-asleep with his limbs twisted in the sheets. He and Naomi had taken their pleasure multiple times since his confession. He couldn’t seem to get enough, and from the sounds she’d been making, neither could she. The door to the hotel bathroom opening and the sound of the hot shower running had filled the room only moments earlier. Wes had been contemplating whether to unlock the door and sneak into the steamy heat after her or to finally succumb to the dreamy haze of after-sex sleep when the electronic dinging had started.

  Leaning over the edge of the bed, he removed the device from the pocket of Naomi’s discarded jeans and glanced at the screen. As he stared at the unidentified number flashing across the screen, the fine hairs on the nape of his neck raised on end. Something wasn’t right.

  Wes realized his error as he stared at the cell phone as if it were a ticking time bomb. She had spent several hours with the Execution Underground, and amid the chaos of escaping the Midnight Coyote, he’d neglected to check her over for bugs. The clandestine human organization was into Area 51–level security bullshit, extreme hacking, wiretapping, whatever the hell it took, as long as they killed a monster like him…

  And to them, he was a wanted man.

  Wes swiped the screen and pressed the receiver to his ear. His instincts never failed him.

  “There are three things you should know. I’ve killed before. I won’t hesitate to do it again, and I have nothing to lose. If I decide to hunt you down, I’ll find you. Make no mistake.” He pushed to standing and crossed the room to the window, peering through the curtains and down into the empty parking lot. “Give me one reason not to start right now.”

  A ragged intake of breath crackled from the other end of the line. It was rare anything intimidated Wes, but the response that followed the long pause chilled him to the bone.

  “You may not value your life, but you value hers.” A gruff male voice sounded from the other end of the receiver, garbled through the sound of a voice distorter as if the speaker had swallowed burning-hot coals. “Meet me in an hour. Both of you. I’ll send the location.”

  The phone beeped, indicating the caller had hung up, and the ominous silence rang in Wes’s ear with all the force of a gunshot.

  An hour later, Wes and Naomi approached the designated intersection. Wes was already armed to the teeth from his stint at the Midnight Coyote, and though Naomi still had her knife and the handgun she’d stolen. Wes slipped into the alley, Naomi following, closely mirroring his every step. His heart pumped with adrenaline, and his muscles were primed for a fight.

  He’d hated bringing her with him like this, putting her in danger, but considering the caller’s instructions and knowledge of their whereabouts, and Naomi’s bad habit of falling constantly into trouble—no doubt due to keeping company with a man like him—he wasn’t certain if the hotel room was safe either. Now that he’d brought her with him, he was so painfully aware of her presence, so hyperfocused on protecting her that he didn’t hear their cryptic caller sneak up behind them.

  “You couldn’t have listened to me, could you?” The deep, gravelly voice that came from the darkness needed no distorter to intimidate.

  Wes spun toward the deep voice behind him as Naomi let out a terrified and not-so-stealthy shriek. A pair of steely-grey eyes stared back at him.

  “Colt?” Wes lowered his knife, staring at his friend and packmate in alarm. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Naomi seemed as surprised as Wes.

  “All that work to be a Grey Wolf, and you throw it away at the drop of a hat.” The massive Grey Wolf commander stepped forward, crossing his arms over the expanse of his chest. “If you had listened to me that night with Kyle, you wouldn’t be in this position. If you had listened to Maverick this last time…and one of a hundred times.”

  Wes understood the implication in the tight line of Colt’s jaw. He’d stepped over the line Maverick had drawn in the sand one too many times, and if he returned to Wolf Pack Run, he’d need to pay the price. He’d figured as much.

  “He’s not very good at listening,” Naomi chimed in from beside him.

  Wes frowned. “Neither are you,” he shot back.

  Colt nodded, the warrior’s stare seeming to see straight through both of them. “I’m aware.”

  “You’re here to drag me back?”

  “No.” The answer caught Wes off guard. Colt didn’t do anything without Maverick’s approval. It was common knowledge among the Grey Wolves. He was the perfect soldier. Loyal to a fault.

  If Colt noticed Wes’s surprise, he didn’t show it. “While you were off gallivanting with the Wild Eight, I was doing the real work to get you back into Maverick’s good graces. Maverick is a reasonable packmaster, but his sense of reason is selective when it comes you. While he was keeping you busy watching Naomi, we were using our contacts to gather intel on the Wild Eight and their partnering with the vamps. Maverick’s already seen this, but we need proof before we can act…” He shot Wes a pointed look. “You’re a hard man to track. It took me all night, and I only found you because I know your habits.”

  Wes grumbled. “There’s a reason for that.”

  “I’m aware,” Colt repeated. He retrieved something from the shadows and extended it toward Wes, revealing a tablet. A video waited to be played on the screen.

  Wes took the device and pressed Play without question. If Colt was risking himself for this, whatever it was, it was worth watching. Instantly, the blue light from the screen illuminated the alley. Wes’s eyes fell to the video before him. Naomi peeked around his shoulder. The camera used to film
the video shook with an unsteady hand. That, coupled with the low resolution, made clear the scene had been recorded on a cell phone or some similar device.

  The camera faced a brick wall. Through the speakers, the cameraman’s heavy breathing sounded ragged and rushed. Slowly, the shaking camera extended around a corner, revealing an alleyway much like the one they were in. At the mouth of the alley lay two men, seemingly in a lover’s embrace.

  “What is this?” Wes asked.

  “Keep watching,” Colt urged.

  Wes returned his eyes to the screen, and his pulse quickened. The bent figure lurched backward. The man wasn’t a lover at all, nor was he a man.

  The vampire slowly rose to its feet, revealing its victim.

  “Shit,” Wes swore. Naomi covered her eyes and looked away.

  This was no normal vampire bite. The vampire had mauled its victim’s throat. Then the video ended, and Wes could only hope that the cameraman had gotten away.

  In all his years, he’d never seen a vampire tear into its victim that way. The vamp had taken a chunk out of that human as if it were some kind of undead cannibal.

  Wes passed the tablet back to Colt. “Damn bloodsuckers,” he swore again. He loathed all vampires, but something about the one in the video, its eyes, its mannerisms… “What the hell was wrong with that thing?”

  “It’s half-turned,” Colt replied.

  Wes raised a brow. “Half-turned?”

  “They’re not like other vampires. It’s some kind of deformity in their initial transformation. It leaves them still half-human, so they become deranged. They’re savage, unpredictable, and insanely strong. They’re slaves to their bloodthirst, only their master vampire can control them, and they turn all their victims.”

  Wes’s eyes widened. “What did you say?” Wes felt certain he’d heard Colt correctly, but the reality was ludicrous at best, terrifying at worst.

  “If they don’t drain their victim entirely, the change happens within minutes, creating another half-turned, deranged bloodsucker.”