Sherry's Wolf (3 page)

“It was good. I went to visit the Clan.”

She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. Sherry looked around, wondering when the food would be served. She wanted something to focus on besides the wolf at her side. It was hard, but she made herself keep the conversation going.

“Oh, good,” she said lamely. “How is everyone? Uh, your mom and dad …?”

She trailed off because she realized she knew nothing of his family. All the wolves called each other cousin and they all seemed to be related somehow, but she didn’t know his parents or whether he had brothers or sisters.

Stag flinched ever so slightly. “My mother was killed by men who tried to steal her about fifteen years ago, along with almost all the women in the Clan. My father died soon after.”

Ouch. “I’m sorry.”

He may have felt her discomfort because he smiled faintly as he shook his head. “Thank you. It was a long time ago. What about your parents? I suppose they’re gone now, but were they alive when you got on the plane?”

The subject of her parents was a painful one she avoided at all costs. She sure didn’t want to discuss them now. “My mom died when I was six,” she said curtly. “My dad and his wife would be almost one hundred years old now, so they’re probably dead too. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

“I had two older brothers. They’re dead too.”

Oh, God. Sherry had never been so glad to see platters of food coming out of the kitchen. The next few minutes were busy with scooping food onto their plates and filling their cups. Sherry felt the silence weighted by Stag’s eyes stretch so thin she decided she had to keep up some sort of conversation so it wouldn’t snap.

“This roast beef sure looks good. Stag, do you like beef or do you like venison better?”

“I like meat,” he replied, stabbing a thick bundle of the paper-thin slices with his knife.

He must need a lot of protein to maintain his awesome physique. She ignored her body’s interest in that awesome physique and focused on her food. If he wanted conversation he would have to start it himself this time. She was done.

Stag subsided, but his face showed his displeasure. What was it with the men in this place? They were constantly trying to make the women eat more. Sherry had always been slender, possibly a genetic gift from her mother. She barely remembered her mother, but she had one precious photograph of her parents and in it her beefy African American father had towered over her petite Korean mother. Sherry had some of her father in her, but she was built like her mother.

Sherry exchanged a mystified glance with Marissa. “I don’t know. I had an angora sweater that was buttery yellow. But yellow isn’t the best color for my skin tone.”

The memory of the life she’d had before the plane crash depressed her. “What’s your favorite color, Stag?”

“Don’t have one.”

Okay, that was a conversational dead end. She couldn’t ask him what bands he liked or what movie he’d seen most recently, or which television shows he watched. She couldn’t ask him about his job or what car he drove, or get his number. Did they have anything in common? Well, they both seemed to like apple crisp. That was tonight’s dessert. Stag took an enormous helping and drowned it in cream. Sherry took a small scoop and passed on the cream, even when Stag tried to give her some.

Sherry had decided weeks ago that she was going to honestly try to get to know Stag and see if she could love him. But it was hard to fall in love with a man who spoke little except to tell her what she should do. And she was damned sick of men trying to run her life. She ate her apple crisp in a silence that bordered on sullen.

After supper they helped to clear the tables, fold them up and stack them in a corner. Tonight was one of the nights the townsmen were allowed to come to the Plane Women’s House to court the women who had survived the plane crash. No matter how old or even ugly a woman was, she had her pick of men. The town of Kearney, Nebraska had fifteen hundred residents, and the surrounding communities, farms and ranches added another five hundred. Of those two thousand, only two hundred were women, and the majority of those were already married. The Plane Women would have been mobbed by men, but the mayor of Kearney had arranged for a fence to be erected around the apartment building and had assigned guards to be sure none of them were stolen. Since the wolves had come to live here, they had taken over security. Only twenty-five men were allowed in at a time on visitation nights. Sherry had heard that the townsmen sometimes decided amongst themselves who would come on which nights by fistfights.

Sherry had endured dozens of visitation nights, and though she was young and pretty, only a few men had ever dared to speak to her. The reason for that was the half-naked barbarian moving her chair closer to the warmth of a stove. Sherry was the chosen mate of a wolf warrior, and who would flirt with her while he hovered over her like a growling dog guarding a bone? This last month, while he’d been away, a few men tried to be friendly, but the other wolves had chased them off.
Thank you very much, Des
, she thought bitterly.

“I’m going to get my knitting,” she told Stag now. “Be right back.”

“Sit down,” Marissa said. “Rest your legs. I’m going to go upstairs for my crochet. I’ll grab your bag for you.”

“Thanks.” Sherry sank into the chair Stag had placed for her in front of one of the stoves. Five other chairs were arranged in a semi-circle in front of it, but for now it was only she and Stag there, with Red Wing lounging at the room’s entrance, waiting for Marissa to come back. Stag sat and pulled his chair so close his warm, bare arm pressed against her.

“Why do you like yellow?” he asked. “Why bright yellow, and not gold?”

His dogged tone made her want to roll her eyes. But at least it was a topic she could discuss. “I like clear, bright yellow because it’s bright like sunshine. It makes me feel more cheerful even if the weather is gloomy.”

He nodded at that, looking up as Marissa handed a canvas bag to her. She pulled out her attempt at a scarf. Knitting was new to her, but she was getting the hang of it. She pursed her mouth as she saw how wide it was in some areas and narrow in others. She didn’t know how it happened, but some rows had magically grown to 33 stitches instead of thirty stitches, and then shrunk to twenty eight stitches. Carla, who was teaching her to knit, said that it didn’t really matter, as long as it kept her neck warm. She should tell people it was a design element.

The wool yarn was surprisingly soft, and the color was beautiful, that bright, cheerful yellow she loved. They sat in silence, she making careful stitches and Stag staring at her longingly, while Marissa and Red Wing put their heads together to whisper to each other in the two chairs on the opposite end of the semi-circle. That left two chairs between she and Stag and Red Wing and Marissa. Sherry doubted anyone else would sit there, since Marissa and Red Wing were practically making out. Marissa was happy with her wolf husband. Renee and Hawk in Flight were older, more sedate, but Renee acted very content with him. In public they sat side by side, chastely holding hands. It was kind of cute to see them behave like that, as if they were kids instead of thirty-somethings. Connie and Des seemed sometimes to circle each other as if they were still working out who was running the show, but there was never any anger or violence in their words or actions. Des wasn’t shy about petting her in public. He frequently touched her arm or ran a hand through her blond bob as if he couldn’t keep himself from connecting with his mate every chance he got. In fact, all the wolves seemed to need to touch their mates constantly. Sherry envied that. Sort of. Sometimes she wished she had someone to pet her. She slanted a glance at Stag under her lashes, wondering what it would be like to hold his hand or have him run his fingers through her hair.

His blue eyes fixed on her face with a hunger that almost frightened her. No, it was her own response that frightened her. Her nipples tightened with embarrassing need beneath her blessedly baggy sweater. With a single word she could have this wolf in bed. And part of her wanted that. What would he be like as a lover? In the beginning of their marriage, LeRoi had been careful and tender with her. She’d sometimes wished he would move faster, thrust harder. He hadn’t received her hints well, turning rough and angry. She hadn’t liked rough and angry. It made her feel trapped, afraid of the violence that simmered in him. Her fear that he would hurt her had come horribly true. What she wanted was a man who could be wild and forceful without ever losing control or forgetting about her pleasure.

Was Stag that man? He was an overbearing wolf. But he hadn’t ever hurt her. Yet. Was it wrong for her to want to sleep with him? He was part animal. The other women who had married wolves weren’t turned off by that. But if she went to bed with Stag, she would truly belong to him. Marissa had explained that Stag had claimed her, but until she made love with him, they weren’t mated. She could still refuse him.

She had tried to refuse him several times already, but Stag just wouldn‘t accept it. Carla, Taye Wolfe’s mate, who had also been on the plane, told her about Taye’s parents, who had taken three years to be fully mated. His father had stolen his mother and resolutely courted her for three years before she accepted him. Poor woman.

Sherry made a careful stitch and slid it to the other needle, shooting a quick glance at Stag. What did werewolf courtship consist of? Kisses? Heavy petting? Day-yam, he was tempting. His hair was thick and straight in a ponytail that went halfway down his back. It gleamed like raw silk in the light of the fire in the stove. She wanted to stroke it, but that would probably give him the wrong signal. She shot another quick glance at him. He was still watching her.

Why wasn’t he talking
? she wondered peevishly. He should be telling her about himself. He should be asking her questions. How could they get to know one another if they didn’t talk?

The yarn she’d looped over her fingers bit into her skin when she clenched her hand. “Stag,” she began, then hesitated, groping for the tones she had used a lifetime ago. Her timid little girl self was a thing of the past, right? “Listen up, boy.” She winced at her aggressive tone and back-pedaled quickly. “Sorry. Look, I’m trying to get to know you, but it’s hard when you don’t speak more than three words at a time. I don’t know what to say. You’re not exactly chatty Cathy, are you?”

***

Stag echoed his mate’s wince. Conversation wasn’t his strong point. Being so close to the woman his wolf had chosen to be his mate was a hellish heaven. Or a heavenly hell. He wasn’t sure which. Her scent was wonderful, warm and sweet with just a hint of arousal. He forced himself to keep his hands to himself. Talk. She wanted to talk. There were things he wanted to know about her, things he overheard this afternoon that he wanted to know more about. Most importantly, he wanted to know where he stood with her. “What do you feel for me?”

Sherry’s mouth dropped open. “Wow. Way to get down to business, Stag,” she said.

Stag could still hear nerves buried in the pitch of her voice, but she was bolder now. It made him glad to have her stand up to him. Her fears and tears tore him up. “Tell me what you feel,” he insisted. He waited with masked anxiety for her answer. Would she be utterly honest with him? “You said you hated me when I found you at the plane.”

“The first time I saw you, I was barely conscious. The plane crashed and LeRoi was dead. I hurt so bad from my legs, I wished I could die, too. Then I heard people saying that help had come. I thought it would be ambulances and EMTs. But you know what?” She looked up from her hands to stare into his eyes challengingly. “Instead, this really big dog came leaping up to me. I was on the ground, sitting propped up against one of the seats that had broken free of the plane with my broken legs out in front of me. I thought the dog –you!— would jump on me and that would hurt like hell. He didn’t, though. You turned into a human. You were naked, and the look on your face scared me spitless.”

“You fainted,” he remembered. “I was confused. My wolf had never felt so wild. He wanted me to claim you, and he wanted me to heal you. He wanted to curl up next to you and protect you. And when you woke up, you screamed at me and called me a monster.”

She blushed, looking down at the yarn in her hands. “Well, I was pretty out of it.” Her eyes flashed back up with a hint of defiance. “And what did you expect? My husband was dead and this naked crazy guy who was a wolf said I
belonged
to him.”