Werewolf in Alaska: A Wild About You Novel (2 page)

Present day

Jake finished answering e-mai
l from members of the group he’d founded the previous year, Werewolves Against Random Mating (WARM). Shutting down the laptop, he headed for the kitchen and snagged a cold bottle of Spruce Tip ale from the refrigerator. Then he twisted off the cap and walked into the living room. As usual, his gaze drifted to the Rachel Miller carving displayed on his mantel.

The soot from the hearth fires of three consecutive winters had darkened the wood. Maybe he should clean and oil it, now that summer had arrived once again. Or not. The soot that had settled into the grooves added character, in his estimation. Reaching out, he traced the distinctive and familiar slant of the wolf’s wide-set eyes.

When he’d bought the piece, he’d had no clue that Rachel would become internationally famous. But he’d suspected that his impulse buy might come back to haunt him, especially after he’d walked up to the counter and she’d turned to look into his eyes.

Leaning against the mantel, he gazed across Polecat Lake toward her property. It was nearly nine in the evening, but it might as well have been midday. Sunlight continued to play on the water, and the metallic whine of her power saw drifted in through his open window. She must be starting another large project, one that required the saw and the extra space provided by the workshop she’d had built about ten yards from her cabin.

Now that she was bringing in the big bucks, he kept expecting her to tear down that cabin and build a McMansion in its place. So far she hadn’t, and he respected her for keeping her operation low-key. Understatement was a Polecat tradition, one of the reasons he loved it here.

She’d bought a new truck, but he couldn’t blame her for replacing the unreliable bucket of bolts she’d inherited from her grandfather. She’d also hired a local kid named Lionel, who was part Native American, to clean her workshop and wrestle the bigger pieces onto her truck. A new truck, a roomy workshop, and a part-time assistant seemed to be the only concessions she’d made to her success, and Ted Haggerty claimed that she was the same down-to-earth person she’d always been.

If so, then props to her, because she’d created quite a stir, the kind that could turn a person’s head. No telling what this hunk of driftwood was worth now that she had commissions coming in from wealthy collectors all over the world. He should probably have it insured and protected in a climate-controlled safe.

Rachel Miller’s first wolf carving, if it surfaced, would bring a pretty penny on the auction block. To her credit, she’d never identified him as the buyer of her initial effort, and neither had Ted. Apparently no one except the three of them knew this work existed.

She’d sent him a note a couple months after he’d made his purchase, though. He knew that note by heart.

Dear Mr. Hunter,

You bought my wolf carving from the Polecat General Store on July 14. You were my first sale. There have been others since then, but yours was the most significant. It inspired me to leave my veterinarian internship and try my luck as a full-time carver. I was in the store that day and we met, but I didn’t have the nerve to identify myself and thank you for making the purchase. I want to thank you now. You literally changed my life.

With gratitude,

Rachel Miller

He hadn’t needed the note to tell him that he’d met her that day. His acute hearing had picked up snatches of her conversation with Ted, and he’d pegged her as the granddaughter who’d inherited Ike’s cabin. Ike had been a carver, although not nearly as talented as Rachel.

Then Jake had met her gaze, and her nervous excitement had given her away. Although he wasn’t an artist, he could imagine that putting your stuff in front of the public would be scary, and having someone buy it might take some getting used to.

He’d debated for days whether to respond to that note, which was still tucked under the carving on his mantel. In the end he’d decided not to. If he’d replied, she might have thought they could be friends. But he’d known from the moment they’d met that friendship wasn’t going to cut it. He wanted her, and he couldn’t have her.

That made living across the lake from her cabin a difficult proposition. Closing his eyes, he pictured how she’d looked three years ago, her hair falling to her shoulders in shades ranging from dark walnut to warm cherry. Her gaze had locked with his for one electric moment, making him think of summer storms and silvery rain.

She’d worn jeans and a faded T-shirt, an unremarkable outfit intended simply to cover her tall, lithe body. She hadn’t tried to entice anyone with those clothes. Yet she’d enticed him without trying. He couldn’t explain why that was, except that it was somehow linked to the carving on his mantel.

Her ability to capture the wolf’s spirit in her work had spoken to him on an unsettlingly deep level. Something wordless and intense had passed between them that day at the general store. He feared that she saw things about him that she shouldn’t see.

He’d also sensed she was attracted to him, and if he was right about that, any further contact would be unfair to her and irresponsible of him. Thinking about her still brought a surge of lust that should have weakened by now. Instead it grew stronger by the day. And that was damned inconvenient for a werewolf who despised the concept of Weres having sex with humans.

He’d dedicated himself to that cause for personal and family reasons, and he wasn’t about to stray because of his tempting neighbor. He had a duty to uphold Were tradition, partly because his mother, Daphne, had been a Wallace, a direct descendent of what had once been werewolf royalty in Alaska.

Under the leadership of the Wallaces, the Alaskan Were community had amassed a fortune following the gold rush in the late 1890s. As the pack had prospered, splinter groups had migrated throughout North America. No Wallace pack members lived in Alaska anymore. His mother had mated with Benjamin Hunter, whose pack was based in Idaho, and that’s where Jake had grown up.

Werewolves, including the Hunter pack, had created financial dynasties in all major North American cities, a fact unknown to the human population. The pack based in New York was the only one to continue the Wallace name.

Jake’s mother had settled in Idaho with her mate, but she remained proud of her Wallace heritage. Before Jake had reached puberty and developed the ability to shift, his mother had taken him to visit the historic Wallace lodge set deep in the forest near Sitka. It was now a private museum known only to Weres.

That trip had convinced Jake that he wanted to live in Alaska and dedicate himself to protecting the Were legacy. Because he believed that Were-human mating threatened that legacy, he had been opposed to it ever since.

Unfortunately, prominent werewolves had already mated with humans. Worse yet, two of them were from the historic Wallace pack. So far those humans had not revealed the existence of werewolves, but some Weres believed the time had come to end the secrecy. Jake viewed that as a recipe for disaster.

During last fall’s WereCon2012 in Denver, a newly formed governing body called the Worldwide Organization of Werewolves, or WOW, had tackled the issue. To Jake’s disappointment, they’d left it open to interpretation by individual Weres. Although Jake had been an elected WOW board member, the group’s liberal stance had forced him to resign. He’d founded WARM and had cut back on his wilderness guiding while he rallied support for his cause.

Meanwhile, Rachel Miller’s career had skyrocketed, and her trademark was the wolf. Not just any wolf, either. Her name had become synonymous with carvings of a particular wolf—one that looked just like his carving. One that looked almost exactly like Jake when he shifted.

Any Were who’d seen him in wolf form and also knew Rachel’s work had remarked on the similarities. She’d captured the shape of the eyes and the faint diamond pattern on his forehead created by a soft mixture of gray and black. Humans might think that all wolves looked alike, but Weres recognized even subtle distinctions. Rachel’s wolves all resembled Jake.

He’d seen the speculation in the eyes of his fellow Weres. No doubt they wondered if he’d been careless enough to accidentally let Rachel photograph him in wolf form, or, even more damning, if she knew him this well because he’d had a relationship with her. No one had accused him of anything . . . yet.

If and when they did, he could honestly say Rachel’s wolf wasn’t him. At first he’d thought it was, too. But after the initial shock, he’d examined the carving more closely. True, it looked very much like him, but it looked even more like his father.

No doubt Rachel had worked from a picture of Benjamin Hunter in wolf form. She wouldn’t have had to try very hard to get the photo, either. During his parents’ summer trips to Alaska from Idaho, his father had chafed against the midnight sun, which robbed him of concealing darkness. He’d taken his nightly runs in defiance of Jake’s warnings, gallivanting through the forest surrounding Polecat Lake as if discovery didn’t matter.

It mattered a lot. Alaska’s native wolves weren’t nearly as large and magnificent as those found in a Were pack. Sightings of unusually large wolves might arouse the interest of wildlife experts, and if they ever managed to capture and tag a werewolf . . . Jake didn’t even want to think about that. But Benjamin Hunter had been a headstrong Were determined to get his exercise.

On the day Jake had bought the carving, he hadn’t been able to lecture his father about his carelessness because Benjamin and Daphne had been killed in an avalanche during a skiing trip the previous winter. As their only offspring, Jake had inherited all their considerable wealth. He was prepared to spend most of it in support of WARM.

He’d hoped his dedication to that cause would sidetrack his interest in Rachel, and to some extent it had. Traveling to gather support kept him away from Polecat Lake for long stretches of time. It also brought him into contact with eligible Were females, and theoretically that should have helped, too. Instead he still yearned for Rachel.

Fortunately she was gone a lot, as well. Ted had mentioned that she preferred to meet with clients on their turf rather than bringing them to Polecat. Jake admired her desire to preserve her privacy and that of her neighbors. There wasn’t much he didn’t like about Rachel.

Summer nights like this, when they both happened to be home, severely tested his resolve to avoid her. The everlasting twilight meant he could easily see her place from any back window, and he could hear her working into the night, especially when she used the bench saw.

To keep himself from going crazy, he’d developed a routine. If the urge to be near her became overpowering, he’d shift into wolf form. Carefully navigating the perimeter of the lake, he’d creep close enough to breathe her intoxicating scent, a mix of almond lotion and human female. He’d count the visit a success if he caught a glimpse of her walking down the path connecting her cabin with her workshop.

When that happened, he’d melt into the shadows, mindful of how observant she was. Often she’d sing as she worked, and the happy sound only added to his desire and frustration. Then he’d vow to stop the visits once and for all. But after several nights, he’d find himself circling the lake again.

Standing by the mantel, he ran his hand over the driftwood, well aware that having it close by was part of the problem. In lovingly carving this wolf, she’d revealed a part of herself that wholly captivated him. He really should get rid of the thing, but he had to find a way that wouldn’t draw attention to him. Maybe he should give it to Ted and let him sell it to the highest bidder.

But not right now. Draining the last of his ale, he walked out on his deck, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Tonight, as he often did, he’d immerse himself in the cold water of the lake and swim until he was exhausted. Maybe this time he’d be too tired to pay her another late-hour visit. That would be a blessing.

•   •   •

Rachel cruised past the Polecat General Store at midmorning to check for vehicles. The parking lot was empty except for Ted’s battered truck, so she flipped a U-turn and pulled in. She needed a few things, but she no longer shopped when strangers were there.

If the store was busy and she was desperate for groceries, she sometimes sent Lionel, or occasionally she called Ted, who’d deliver what she needed after locking up for the day. Although she refused to be a hypocrite and complain about the price of fame, she missed the days when she’d been able to pop into the general store whenever she’d felt like it.

As Polecat’s most high-profile resident, she had to be more cautious now. Fortunately the town was off the beaten path, so only the most rabid collectors showed up looking for her. The residents of Polecat were extremely protective and pretended they’d never heard of her. She’d set up a simple alarm system in her cabin and workshop but usually forgot to activate it. She hadn’t felt the need for a privacy fence or locked gates. With luck she could keep from turning her cozy home into a fortress.

Ted beamed at her when she pushed open the screen door. He had a great smile, a fringe of gray hair that he kept threatening to shave off, and thick glasses. He was going soft in the middle and didn’t seem to care, especially after his wife ran off with a life insurance salesman from Spokane. Ted seemed fine living alone and tending the store, but he’d canceled the life policy he’d bought from the guy.

Rachel returned his smile. “I noticed the parking lot was empty, so I thought I’d chance it.”

“I figured you must be running low on coffee and eggs.”

“And candy bars.” She’d discovered that nothing solved a creative problem like dark chocolate. “Lionel refuses to buy them for me.”

Ted laughed. “I noticed. You could threaten to fire him for that.”

“I couldn’t, either.” The thought of firing Lionel, the most earnest nineteen-year-old she’d ever met, made her stomach hurt. “He honestly believes sugar is evil and I should give it up for my own good. But I don’t intend to.”

“Just got a shipment yesterday.”