Lone Wolf

by Shelley Munro

  Dedication

  For Paul.

  Chapter One

  “R.J., keep an eye on Corey Wilson while he’s here at Yellowstone. He’s older than the rest of the kids and I don’t want him leading them astray. You’ve read his file?”

  “Yes, sir.” Hiding a grin from his boss, R.J. snapped a salute and turned his attention back to the arrivals section of the airport. He’d read Corey’s file, along with those of the other teens in this intake for the Yellowstone National Park program.

  A loud snort emerged from Hal. “Smart-ass. I don’t want anything to go wrong with this kid. His father runs the L.A. pack.”

  “You worry too much. The kid isn’t any different from the others. He’s here to learn and enjoy himself. They want to experience the forbidden and shift to wolf. Break a few rules.”

  Officially, he and Hal were here to pick up the recruits for the summer season at the park. In reality, they intended to collect the latest group of city werewolves who paid big bucks to gain experience in the wild, their park holding the sole license to provide an exclusive few with exposure to their wolves. R.J. grinned with anticipation and the glint in Hal’s eyes suggested the same enthusiasm filled him. The raw and gritty knowledge of their werewolf heritage never failed to change the kids, usually for the better.

  “I forgot to tell you. We managed one scholarship kid this intake,” Hal said. “A late addition. I’ll give you his file once we return to camp.”

  “Good.” R.J. concentrated on the arrivals area, a sense of pride filling him. His small contribution to the scholarship was a way of showing his thanks to Hal. Not every kid managed to grow up with a mentor like him. Most wolves didn’t lead the same unfettered life as him either or comprehend the savage joy of running free. A hundred years ago, maybe, but times changed.

  Current werewolf law forbade unregulated shifting.

  Passengers started to exit, and they sprang to attention. R.J. displayed his sign while Hal readied his clipboard, although it was easy to spot the city kids among the other passengers. For once, the entire group was arriving on the same plane, the kids flying in from Los Angeles to spend the summer in Yellowstone.

  Their group drifted out in ones and twos, attracted by R.J.’s sign. Hal checked them off while R.J. directed them outside to the bus with their luggage.

  Half an hour later, they’d accounted for everyone apart from Corey Wilson.

  Hal scanned the new arrivals. “Did any of you meet Corey during the flight?”

  “There was one other guy,” a girl offered. “He stopped to chat up the flight attendant when we deplaned.”

  R.J. groaned. The worst part of his job was avoiding cross-pollination, as Hal jokingly referred to it, of male and female students. He needed an extra set of eyes and the energy to keep three steps ahead of the horny teenagers. Thanks to some forward planning by the committee who remembered their younger days, anti-pregnancy drugs were mandatory, but R.J. still hated the chaperone part of the job.

  “Damn,” Hal muttered. “They don’t usually focus on sex until the novelty of Yellowstone wears off.”

  A derisive snort erupted from R.J. “This kid is older.”

  “More advanced. That’s all we need,” Hal said in an undertone.

  The double doors slid open and a young male sauntered through.

  “Fuck.”

  R.J. blinked, totally in charity with his boss. With a bemused shake of his head, he strode over to the male. “Corey Wilson?”

  “Yeah.” The kid’s tone resonated with swagger and attitude.

  R.J. struggled to maintain a neutral expression. Corey Wilson wore black—everything from the tight T-shirt to the leather jacket, jeans and biker boots. His long hair hung in lank strands, unnaturally black and harsh against his pale cheeks. Black eyeliner outlined his brown eyes. And…R.J. thought the kid wore mascara. There was no doubt about the black lipstick. The knowing smile on those painted lips finally jerked R.J. back to professional.

  It took him a second or two longer to realize Corey returned his scrutiny with equal intensity and to register the interest flaring in the kid’s face.

  Sexual curiosity.

  R.J. took in Corey’s muscular thighs and broad chest. Not such a kid, despite the air of city softness. Corey Wilson was an adult and his face bore frank awareness of R.J. He offered his hand and R.J. stared, off balance and at a disadvantage. No one—man or woman—ever surveyed him with such blatant lust.

  “My father informed me I’d find things different out here, but I’m sure he told me this was the place to learn manners.” Silent laughter trembled in the words, yanking R.J. from his trance. He extended his hand, his callused palm meeting snow-white skin. He grasped the kid’s hand and shook it, tempering his strength.

  The firm grip dragged his glance to Corey’s fingers. “You’re wearing nail polish.”

  “There’s a law against painted nails?” Corey’s quizzical smile offered a glimpse of startling white teeth.

  R.J.’s eyes narrowed. Not only did the kid dress like a Goth, but he bore a smart attitude, which didn’t bode well for the next three months. “Come and help me load your luggage. We’re keeping everyone waiting.”

  “Can’t have that.” Corey’s lips curved into a genuine smile, the expression taking him from smart-ass, weird Goth to another beast entirely.

  R.J. jolted from his sensual haze. Fuck! Hal was right. This kid spelled trouble and unfortunately he’d scored the job of babysitter for the next three months.

  “Here’s my luggage.” Corey indicated a man pushing a trolley laden with bags.

  R.J. studied the four matching black bags. Expensive designer luggage. “All of it?”

  “Yeah, I wanted to make sure I came prepared for every eventuality.”

  R.J. gave a clipped nod, starting to gain an inkling of why Corey Wilson’s family wanted to ship him here for the summer. The kid—man—was trouble waiting to happen. An ache sprang to life at his temples, its nagging presence hovering like a stormy cloud.

  “Can you grab two and I’ll take the others?”

  Corey waggled his painted nails in front of R.J. “I’d hate to chip my nail polish. Is that our bus? I’ll wait with the others.” He sauntered away without a backward glance, leaving R.J. to tip the porter and load the bags. Realizing his mouth hung open, R.J. growled under his breath and wrestled with the oversized bags, trying to cram them into the luggage compartment. No problem. He’d have his subtle revenge and soon. Like the rest of the group, Corey Wilson would share a cabin and, with space at a premium, he’d have to pare down his belongings or sleep outdoors. None of the city kids took well to living rough at first. R.J. couldn’t envision the bags filling up cabin space for long.

  One glimpse of the stern man wearing the Yellowstone polo shirt and faded jeans and Corey’s heart, the traitorous organ, jerked into a pitter-patter jig of excitement. Oh, he’d imagined himself in lust before but never like this—a punch to the gut and breath-stealing desire tracking straight to his cock. Despite his stern face and the quickly veiled shock, the guy rated extra hot on the hawt scale.

  Tall and muscular. His short dark hair showed off the strong planes of his face. Intense gray eyes flashed a sexy glare each time they focused on him. His mouth…well, a set of full lips like his weren’t for mere kissing. They’d stretch perfectly around a cock. Without warning, Corey craved a sight of R.J. on his knees, mouth wrapped around his dick.

  Yeah, in the near future he’d make his fantasies real.

  Somehow.

  After all, a challenge provided a fun way of spicing up life.

  He glanced away, intuition telling him the sexy man stared after him. The temptation to twitch his butt pulled at him. He resisted, not wanting to overplay his hand
. The anticipation of the chase was part of the fun. There’d be plenty of time for seduction since his parents’ wishes put him in this no-town dump for the next three months.

  A scowl burst to life at the reminder. Who the hell wanted to run around in a fur coat anyway? The memory of the pain and sheer savagery of shifting to wolf form brought a shudder of horror. Shoving the past away, he boarded the yellow bus and took possession of an empty seat. He’d noticed the others on the plane. They’d taken one peek at him and judged by appearance, deeming his Goth makeup and apparel weird. A couple of the girls had treated him as if he carried cooties. A huff of contempt layered with humor escaped. Little did they know they were safe from his lecherous ways.

  The males—now that was another matter entirely.

  Park Ranger Cutie stowed the last of the bags in the compartment at the rear of the bus. From where he sat, Corey watched him surreptitiously, appreciating the smooth flex and bulge of biceps each time he hefted a bag from the luggage trolley. Giggling from two of the girls told Corey he wasn’t the sole audience of this show. The girls were out of luck, however, because judging by the flicker of awareness he’d witnessed earlier, he stood a better chance of scoring. If he wasn’t mistaken, Park Ranger Cutie preferred men, which suited Corey fine.

  An older man boarded the bus, clipboard in hand. Park Ranger Cutie took possession of the driver’s seat.

  “Welcome to Yellowstone. I’m Hal Price-Jones, the director of the summer program. R.J. Blake here is our driver. He’s my second-in-command and the person you’ll come into contact with most on a day-to-day basis. We’ll have a meeting tonight after dinner where R.J. and I will go through the rules and schedule. Our program will start officially tomorrow.”

  R.J. Blake lifted a hand in acknowledgment and turned away to start the bus. Corey pulled his sunglasses from his shirt pocket, placed them on and sprawled back in his seat. Most people would assume him asleep and leave him alone.

  His thoughts drifted. Nine months ago his parents had informed him he’d spend his summer in Yellowstone. They expected him to ignore his art and learn to turn furry, enabling them to concentrate on consolidation with a neighboring pack. He’d tried objecting, promising to keep a low profile. His father said he was a smart-ass and he didn’t trust him to behave in a manner befitting a pack leader’s son. The consolidation was important and nothing could derail the talks. Nothing.

  When calm reasoning failed, Corey had rebelled worse than usual. During full moon, when the call to shift pulled stronger than normal, his rage at his father’s edicts fucked with his control. The infallible suppression drugs failed to hold him to human form and he’d partially shifted.

  Corey fidgeted on the hard seat. Sweat beaded on his brow as his mind skittered through the terror again. The scrunching sounds. The musky scent of wolf. The agony when his bones and muscles warred with his mind. His gut roiled, the memories pounding him like a giant metal mallet. No wonder he lacked enthusiasm for this Yellowstone experience. Each nightmare replayed the shitload of pain.

  Bad enough hiding in the gay closet, but having a resident wolf writhing inside him sucked great big donkey’s balls.

  Someone tapped him on the back. Corey ignored the interruption until the person grasped his shoulder and yanked insistently.

  “What do you want?” Corey demanded.

  “Aren’t you looking forward to the next three months?” a breathless feminine voice asked.

  Great. Just great. “I didn’t want to come. My father decided to send me here in punishment.” Corey opened his eyes, part of him curious. His appearance normally put off people.

  “Ooh, what did you do?” The breathless voice belonged to a vivacious blonde. Her clothes screamed popular cheerleader. Perkiness seeped out of her pores in puke-inducing waves.

  “Did you break a pack law? Why is your father punishing you? All my friends applied to attend. They were pissed when they missed out.” Her redhead friend sat beside her like a matching bookend, apart from the hair color.

  Corey inspected his fingernails for chipped polish before deigning to reply. Not too bad. The nail polish cost heaps but possessed great staying power. “According to my father, I’m an embarrassment.”

  The two cheerleaders leaned forward, their blue eyes rounding in fascination. “Why? What did you do?”

  “I like art. My father thinks it’s sissy.” Luckily none of the pack was aware of his preference for the male sex. The discovery would likely get him kicked out of the pack. The two teens craned forward even farther. Most guys would have taken the opportunity to peer down their blouses. Corey wasn’t that guy. “Also I don’t play nice.” He peeled back his lips to display sharp teeth. “I eat little girls like you for dinner.”

  They giggled.

  “That’s what we thought,” the blonde whispered, glancing over her shoulder to learn if any of the others were eavesdropping.

  Corey rolled his eyes. The drugs didn’t kill their senses, merely muted them and stole their ability to shift. They were frickin’ werewolves. Of course they were listening.

  “We’re best friends.” She lowered her voice. “We do everything together. Everything.” She blew him a kiss while her redhead friend winked at him.

  Christ in a camper van. They wanted a threesome. With him. His wolf stirred. Oh hell. Not now! He sucked in a breath through his mouth and concentrated on his current painting, recreating each brushstroke in his mind.

  “Are you okay?” one of the girls asked.

  “Yeah. I…ah…get motion sickness sometimes.”

  “I’ll open the window,” one of the girls said. “The fresh air always helps me.”

  “Thanks.” Finally his wolf subsided, and wrung out, Corey slumped lower on the seat.

  “Better?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” What the hell would happen once he stopped taking the drugs? The possible answers scared him.

  The unknown.

  His father really would disown him if he caused the pack embarrassment, and his problems would increase because the drugs didn’t stop wolves craving the company of like. No matter how much he fought the desire, eventually his inner wolf drove him crazy and he had to return to visit his parents and the rest of the pack. A sort of a recharge because his wolf only rested easy when he had frequent contact with other werewolves.

  “So what do you think?” Both girls beamed at him, fluttering their eyelashes in well rehearsed flirtation.

  “I’ll keep your offer in mind.” Heck no. Never. Corey wouldn’t touch them even if they paraded naked in front of him. The warning on the director’s face when he glowered over his shoulder at them proved unnecessary. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” He turned away and pretended to nap. Art. He needed to concentrate on his artwork because if he didn’t, his wolf would push him again, despite the suppression pills.

  Gah! How the heck was he gonna survive the next three months?

  No way, no how did he want to end up in between wolf and human again. His half state had intrigued the pack medical staff, but he could do without a repeat of the excruciating pain.

  He must have fallen asleep in truth because the bus stopped. Corey sat up and inhaled, employing the wolfish senses he loathed to determine their location. Through the open window he caught a whiff of dried grass, pine trees, and the rich aroma of earth tinged with manure. The strong stench of human threatened to overpower nature—sweat battling with the sweetness of floral perfumes and soaps. Corey’s nose twitched and a sneeze erupted.

  The door to the bus shuddered open and Hal stood, pausing to grab his clipboard. “Give me a minute to get organized and I’ll allocate your cabins as you exit the bus. R.J. will unload the luggage. Please collect your bags once you have your cabin number. Dinner is at six-thirty sharp. We’ll go through the rules and activities for the next week after we’ve finished our meal. Any questions?”

  No one uttered a word, Corey included. Oh, the temptation tugged at him to make a smart-ass comment bu
t, as Gerald, his art gallery boss, had reminded him during one of his many rants, this holiday gave him an opportunity to draw and record some of the flora and fauna. He hadn’t liked to ask Gerald how he’d lug his art supplies around Yellowstone while in wolf form. Despite his broad mind, Gerald wasn’t ready to learn of the beasts inhabiting the city.

  None of the humans were, hence the rabid need for secrecy and the suppression drugs. Humans would certainly descend into panic if they discovered their beloved president held a secret—the ability to shift into a werewolf.

  Corey waited his turn to alight from the bus. The two cheerleaders peeked at him over their shoulders, fluttered their eyelashes again and giggled. He muttered a soft curse.

  “Corey, you’re in cabin six,” Hal said.

  Corey nodded and went to collect the two of his bags containing art supplies. “I’m in cabin six. Bring my other two bags.” The glare from Park Ranger Cutie jump-started Corey’s pulse. He drew a sharp breath to settle his wolf again. There was no point in letting R.J. learn of his attraction too quickly. He’d prefer a subtle game. First off, he needed to discover if R.J. was one of his father’s friends. A friendship with his father, unfortunately, would make him out of bounds.

  “You want your bags, you come back and get them.” R.J’s harsh, growling tone slid across Corey’s nerve endings with delicious friction. Blood flowed to his dick, but Corey merely smirked and kept walking, following the directional signs to his cabin.

  The door stood wide open when he arrived. He clattered up the two wooden steps leading inside and came to a halt in the doorway. His three roommates had already chosen their beds and stowed their bags. He claimed the last remaining spot—the top bunk nearest the door.

  “Hey.” Corey scanned the storage area. There wasn’t much space for their bags.

  The three stared at him, scrutinizing his makeup and sniggering.

  “Do your parents let you go out like that?” one asked.

  Corey shrugged. “I’m over twenty-one. They can’t make me do anything.” Apart from withholding funds until he was forced to follow their instructions, and putting up obstacles to get in his way. Of course, he could tell them to go jump, and find a better job, but he loved the art gallery. He refused to do without art, which meant he followed his parents’ rules for the most part.