by Anna Lowe
The only surprise was that his feet had brought him there, too. Didn’t they get the memo about keeping away from her? Straying too close held danger, he knew. Next time, it might be him pressing into her. And if he started, God knows how he’d find the willpower to stop.
Thwack!
His ears flicked at the dull, striking sound. Rae was at it again. He’d never met a shifter who practiced archery, let alone a female shifter who did. But there she was, standing tall and lean, drawing back an arrow like one of Robin Hood’s goddamn Merry Men transplanted to the desert. You’d have to have the eyes of a hawk to hit the distant target in this slanting light, but Rae nailed it every time.
She was all business: her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, long legs shoved into an earth-colored pair of overalls that couldn’t hide the lithe curves of an athlete. Every inch of her screamed, Expert! Stand back! as if she knew something no one else knew. Like she could do things no one could even imagine.
There was something different about her, without a doubt. He just couldn’t pinpoint what it was. It was more than just the trimmings: the bow, arrow, and wary attitude. There was something about the way her blue-gray eyes studied the sky, like she was waiting for some sign. A sign of what?
Thwack!
Another arrow, another perfect shot. He sidled a step closer. Watching from a distance would have been smarter, but his feet brought him right to the edge of the hollow.
Rae curved an arm up and over her shoulder, flipping the harvest gold ponytail aside to draw another arrow from the quiver strapped across her back. Her fingers tested the fletching the way a musician might test the strings of a guitar, and he couldn’t help but imagine those fingers brushing over his back. The first one would be coarse and callused, scrubbing his skin. The second smoother, the third a tease, and the fourth finger—the pinkie—would be a butterfly on the heels of the rest. He imagined her doing that over and over, slowly coaxing the tight knots of his back into blissful release.
Thwack!
He took another step forward, coaxed on by a hypnotic inner voice. Not his wolf half this time, but the coyote: the clever, scheming half of his soul.
Just a little closer, it whispered. Won’t do any harm. Just one more step. Just a little—
“Getting ready to kill someone?”
He heard the words before even realizing they were his own, murmured in her ear. Somehow, the last couple of steps had happened all on their own. And somehow, his voice was steady despite the blood hammering in his ears.
Rae tensed, though she casually brushed a lock of hair behind an ear as if she weren’t surprised to find a near-stranger at her side.
“Depends,” she muttered.
“Depends on what?”
“Depends how much someone pisses me off.”
Okay, so he’d snuck up on her. Stealing up unnoticed was one of his best tricks. Coyotes knew stealth—one of the few things about that part of his ancestry that did him any good.
Rae was playing it cool, but his coyote caught the flare of her nostrils, the pink flush on her cheeks. Either she was annoyed at being caught off guard or she liked having him so close.
Maybe a little of both. His coyote grinned and decided to push a little more.
Never mind that he was supposed to be keeping guys away from her.
Of course not, his coyote huffed. We’re just doing our job. Keeping a close eye on her.
Right. Not showing inappropriate interest. Not salivating over whatever it was about her that was so…so…irresistible.
Well, trying not to, anyway.
“And what does it take to piss you off?” the coyote made him say.
She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the target. “You don’t want to find out.”
Zip! The arrow’s flight sounded different from up close, but the effect was the same: another shaft nestled amongst the dozen bristling from the bull’s-eye. Part of him wouldn’t have minded if that arrow had gone wide of its mark, giving away her emotions. But Rae was cool, calm, collected.
He hid a smile. He’d been worried about other men getting too close to her, but clearly, this woman was not someone to mess with. And yet she let him this close. Why?
“Calling it open season on straw targets?”
“Archery season on pronghorn opens next week,” she murmured, lips against the string.
“You like to hunt?”
“I like to chase.”
So do I, his wolf nodded, licking his lips.
For a moment, he wondered if she’d somehow caught that. Because her lips parted and her shoulder dipped just enough to make him wonder if she felt it, too. This link. This pull. Like the two of them were a couple of wobbly magnets suspended in that moment of truth before the poles finally made up their minds on whether they’d line up or repel.
“What’s the bow for, if you’re just going to chase?”
She fingered the barbed tip. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
He watched Rae’s eyes close on some ugly memory and regretted the question immediately. Wary fingers stroked the shaft like a talisman, and just like that, her easygoing veneer vanished, revealing something hard and angry beneath.
“In case I find the right kind of prey.”
Zack sniffed and found the peppery scent of fear intertwined with the ammonia odor of hate. Or was that shame? His mood shifted in a heartbeat. Had Rae been mistreated by some shit of a man once upon a time? Had she been hurt?
His mind replayed what the ranch rumor mill had been saying about her. Where was she from — Nevada? Or was it Colorado? There was a pack up there rumored to have a brutal alpha. One who rode supreme over the minds and bodies of his pack. The kind who liked to break his pack in and ride them hard.
Literally.
The kind of alpha who would snuff out a soul just to show he could.
He could picture why an alpha would be drawn to a woman like Rae. She had that inner spark, that flame. A woman who could bring out the best—or the worst—in a wolf. But Rae was too restless and independent to ever settle for being an alpha’s mate.
He didn’t even realize she’d released the next arrow until he heard the furious smack of it. Bull’s-eye.
In one smooth move, she pulled another arrow from her quiver, notched it, and took aim. The woman was a wall of ice, her gray eyes thunderous as they narrowed on the target.
Zip! The arrow flew, sending a clear message. I am not a woman to fuck with. I will chase the past away.
Zack shifted his weight back, even as the coyote inside ran his tongue over his lips. The more she pushed him away, the more he wanted her.
The coyote wanted her, he told himself. Only the coyote. The man knew where to draw the line.
But there was a wolf in there, too. And Rae was so irresistibly untamed. Wild and free, unfettered by the expectations of society.
At the moment, though, she was tenser than her recurve bow. Time to ease off.
“You got a hunting tag for that pronghorn, miss?” he teased, dropping his voice in his best sheriff’s imitation.
“Don’t need one,” she huffed, feigning annoyance though her voice was laced with relief. He’d hit the right tone, at last. “Not for the kind of hunting I do.”
His pulse jumped, wondering what kind of hunting that was.
“And wolf?” he ventured. “Got a tag for that?” God, when had he become so…so forward?
Rae gave an exaggerated sigh. “You haven’t figured out yet that I’m not interested?”
That’s what she said, but everything about her screamed the opposite. The catch in her voice, the sharp intake of each breath, the sweet scent of arousal enveloping her like perfume.
“I think you are,” his coyote made him whisper, much too close to her ear.
She let out an exasperated huff, like he’d been hounding her for a week instead of a minute. Why he was doing it, he didn’t know. Only that the coyote was to blame. Oh, and the moon, too,
no matter what phase it was in.
“I figure a guy like you must have plenty of women to mess around with.”
That barb went right to his gut. “Think I’m messing around?”
“You’re missing the point,” she murmured out of the side of her mouth, sending his eyes down the arrow’s shaft until they found the steel tip. “I don’t mess around.” On that, she sealed her lips, took aim, and released.
Thwack!
Zack didn’t have to look to know it was another perfect shot.
“Neither do I,” he insisted, though he knew he should back off. But it was true: he wasn’t messing around. This was sheer need. Instinct. Whatever it might be called, he couldn’t fight it away. And suddenly, he didn’t want to any more.
So when her eyes fell to his lips and lingered there long enough for him to be sure, he acted on impulse. The next thing he knew, his hand was on her shoulder and his lips reaching for hers. When they connected, the surprise in her eyes was replaced by something soft, willing, and lonely enough for him not to break away. A look like the one he sometimes found in the mirror, the few times he bothered to check.
A heartbeat later, his eyes locked away the world, focusing entirely on the kiss. Rae’s lips were sweet and soft and tangy, a secret elixir brewed just to stir his soul. That was what a hummingbird must feel when it closed in on nectar: a world bursting with color, texture, flavor. And the taste of her! Sweet and shy and unexpected, like wild blackberries that only cropped up in good years. The ones you were lucky to get a handful of before they’d gone, quick as they’d come.
Rae’s scent was like all of spring concentrated into a single day, a single moment. His lips moved with unspoken words, while hers curved and bent in echo. Rae leaned into him, her lithe frame fitting perfectly alongside his.
Perfect. Home. Mine. Thoughts bounced like tumbleweeds through the uneven landscape of his mind.
The bow went limp at her side and her hand slid around his ribs, tugging him closer. Zack had the vague feeling he might be running out of air.
“Rae,” he whispered, and even those three letters tasted sweet.
Her eyes flicked open, the gray warm and soft as a fair weather cloud at sunrise.
But the very next instant, she tensed. Her eyes jumped, and she pulled away. His wolf let out a whine, wanting to explain that he would never hurt her. He would hold her, love her, protect her. Forever.
But Rae was scuttling backward, her face on the rise behind them. Someone was coming.
Zack swung quickly to the woodpile while she pulled another arrow and faced the target as if nothing had happened. The two of them were perfect conspirators already, though they’d shared nothing more than a kiss.
A twig snapped and a voice cursed, breaking the peace of the hollow. Zack spun around, every muscle primed to defend his mate.
“You,” came a curt, accusing call.
Zack’s spine stiffened as Tyrone stepped into view. What the hell was the old man doing out here?
The alpha approached, power radiating off him like a living, breathing thing.
“You.”
He stuck an accusing finger at Rae, and Zack immediately stepped into the man’s path. Alpha or no alpha, no man was coming near Rae.
Tyrone shot him a look that was pure malice then turned his sights to Rae. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”
She’s not alone, Zack wanted to point out. She’s got me.
The old alpha reached out, fingers aimed for their usual spot on the back of his neck. Every time the alpha did it, Zack let him. He had to; it was the way of the pack.
But this time, the coyote dug in its hind feet and refused to be swayed. Whether the beast was trying to impress Rae or just plain crazy, he couldn’t tell. Only that he’d had enough. Taking a tiny side step, he let the alpha’s hand land on his shoulder, short of its mark. Tyrone’s eyes widened and flashed.
Test me, old man, Zack’s coyote nearly said. Try it.
The alpha’s eyes flicked from Zack to Rae and back again, lips curling down.
“Time to do what you do best, boy,” Tyrone spat, turning every word into an insult. He pulled Zack aside, fingernails biting into his flesh. And if I find you anywhere near this woman again, his glare added, I’ll skin your no-good coyote alive.
Before Zack could compose a reply, the old man went on. “We’ve gotten word of a possible trespasser.”
At that, the old man gave Zack a shove toward the ranch. And in the old days, Zack might have stumbled along on command. Now, he took a single, stiff step—the shortest possible movement that wouldn’t ignite a battle. He didn’t need one, not with an inner battle already raging over Rae. The effect she had on him. The reaction his inner wolf and coyote—in agreement, for a change—both had to her.
Mine. Mate!
The words flicked like fireflies through his mind. Much as he wanted to watch them glow and play, he knew he had to snuff them out. It couldn’t be. There was no mate for him, no peace. Just a trespasser to track. That was his duty; the ruling alpha said so.
Duty, his wolf nodded.
Mate, the coyote cried.
Tyrone broke the impasse with a second, angry shove. “Go! Get on it. You understand me, boy?”
Oh, he got it all right. When the old man said trespasser, he meant the shapeshifter kind. The kind looking for trouble. Straying onto pack territory without permission was more than an insult: it was a crime. And a danger to his pack was a danger to Rae. Any trespasser who intruded on pack territory—and into this crazy something between him and Rae—was dead meat.
Rae’s gray eyes found his and hung on for all they were worth. Her face was hard, but her gaze softened just enough to make his ribs tighten.
Duty? Mate?
Zack tore himself away. If he kept thinking along those lines, he’d be the one who was dead meat.
Chapter Seven
Two days passed in which Rae told herself the ranch didn’t feel any different with Zack gone, but it was impossible to kid herself. Something was missing, even if it was just his unmistakable presence. The man was like a mesa after dark: a brooding, lonely mass caught somewhere between the past and the future.
It doesn’t have to be that way, her wolf said. He can have better. He can have us.
Look who sounds all haughty, she shot back. Not like I’m such a prize.
Ah, but I am, the wolf purred.
That part, at least, was true, and she nearly smiled at her secret.
Another part was true, too: Zack could do better than playing second fiddle to the alpha-in-waiting. A healthy pack needed more than a single leader, and Ty seemed man enough to recognize that. The problem, as far as she saw it, was that Ty and Zack were still the boys they’d once been, subservient to the old alpha. What would it take to shake up the old guard?
On the other hand, was it any of her business? No. For all she knew, Zack didn’t want better. Maybe he didn’t even know what better was.
We can show him, her wolf said, glowing at the memory of his kiss. A kiss that had been a gamble, a hope, and a promise, all wrapped together. Electrifying and soothing, assuring her there was a place on this Earth for her: a happy, safe, and serene place close to him.
She gave herself an inner shake. A kiss could be a brand, too, marking her as his. That was the danger: an alpha male deciding she belonged to him. She’d already fled that threat twice. She didn’t want to be anybody’s. She wanted—needed—to be her own.
So she did her best to pretend she didn’t miss Zack and concentrated on doing her job without drawing attention to herself. That was the key, especially now that the new moon was sneaking up.
She worked her way down the fence line on the southwest side of the ranch, checking every beam. The midday sun sucked all the life out of the air, and heat pressed down over the landscape like a sheet of lead. The buzz of honest activity that had so captivated her when she’d first arrived on the ranch seemed lackluster today.
Fu
nny the difference one lonely tracker could make.
That much about Zack, she’d gathered. He was a tracker, and not just any tracker, but the best in the Four Corners region. She’d learned as much from the sweet old woman everyone called Aunt Jean. Jean seemed to be the unofficial matron of the pack, given that the grizzled old alpha had never taken a mate.
“If it’s on two feet, our Zack can find it,” old Jean had said with pride.
Rae’s wolf ears perked at that. What about tracking something on four feet?
If her tail had been out, she’d have given it a lusty swipe.
She slapped a firm hand over her thigh, warning the beast to cool it. But even that couldn’t keep her from imagining a nocturnal chase. She, the quarry, he, the tracker. Now that would be a fun game.
Hunting isn’t a game, she reminded herself, hearing the echo of her grandmother’s words, spoken long ago in what seemed a different lifetime, a different place.
Love isn’t a game, either, her wolf replied.
In the distance, the lunch bell sounded, calling the ranch hands to the dining hall, but Rae kept working. Coming in at the tail end of a meal meant less time making polite small talk. Not that she didn’t like the others; it was just that the company she wanted wasn’t there today.
She bent down to test the lower beam of the fence, and that’s when she heard it: a step behind her, then another.
When she whirled, the approaching figure—all six-plus feet of him—threw his hands up like a guilty man expecting an accusation.
She cocked her head. It was Ty, the alpha’s son and heir apparent. She’d only ever seen him from a distance—and always, always exuding that nuclear-power aura that kept everyone at arm’s length. But right now, his eyes were on the ground, his demeanor hesitant.
“Hi,” he murmured, so low Rae could barely hear.
Her heart beat a little faster in the urge to flee.
“Hi,” she forced herself to say. It came out clipped and hurried. Cold.
Ty glanced back toward the ranch, and for a second Rae thought she saw the imposing figure of his father scowling from the shadows. But noon in the desert had a way of playing tricks on the eyes; it was probably just in her head.