Werewolves in Love 2: Yours, Mine and Howls (41 page)

“What would you like?” the waitress asked.

“Um.” Oh yeah, she’d do well to look at the menu posted on the chalkboard. She seized upon the first appealing item listed. “Tuna melt, please, and a coffee. Thanks very much.”

“Coming up.” The waitress didn’t soften exactly, but Mala had the impression politeness had gone some way to ease the wariness in the restaurant. Which had Mala wondering if people here got tourists who came in saying rude things and asking stupid questions.

That said, she had
her
question to ask. But the waitress made it easy. As she delivered Mala’s plate, she said, “Visiting someone in town?”

Shaking her head, Mala watched the waitress’s mouth tighten. She was about to withdraw from Mala, and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity.
Go for it. Take the plunge.
“But I am looking for a Caleb. A teenage boy.”

She could feel her face burn. She knew what her blush looked like, a deep, unattractive red. It made her look awkward. In her embarrassment, it took Mala a moment to realize that although the waitress’s eyes had narrowed, she hadn’t answered, hadn’t said something to the effect that she didn’t know any such Caleb.

Good God, could the boy in her dreams somehow be real?

The waitress glanced sideways, meeting the gaze of a tall, dark woman who had risen from her table.

Grim-faced, the woman swept past Mala and out the glass door. Mala glanced from the door back to the waitress, unsure what was going on.

“Want some dessert with that?” the woman asked, her tone frosty. Her pale eyes held a flat expression.

“Um, no thanks.” Mala was having trouble interpreting what had just happened. It wasn’t that awful a question, surely? But the atmosphere had turned creepy, with the waitress looking at her like she was something to wipe off the bottom of her shoe and the customers who remained burning holes in her back. Or so she imagined. Mala’s imagination liked to go into overdrive. The source of all her problems, her father used to tell her with some regularity.

She went with a perky, vacant tone. “I’ll pay up now.” She handed over her credit card.

“Why thank you,” said the waitress with an excess of sarcasm, and took the card, leaving for the kitchen instead of going to the cash register.

Mala snuck a glance at the customers who all suddenly found something to talk about. She really wanted to leave, right away. There’d been stories, of course, stories she’d disregarded, where people claimed Wolf Town was a dangerous place to visit with out-of-control wolves ready to attack at any moment.

She hadn’t been able to believe the government would sanction such a place. Maybe she’d been naïve. She leaned forward on the counter and called out, “Excuse me?”

Though she could see the waitress’s back, the older woman didn’t respond or turn around. In fact, she picked up her cell and began talking. Mala felt trapped and she didn’t think it was an accident. Perhaps she should take her losses and leave without her credit card. Except money was a bit of an issue for her.

The door slammed open then, and she spun on her seat to face a large, broad-shouldered man who strode towards her with purpose. She wanted to pull her own fear together, shape it into a weapon and strike him down—except this wasn’t a dream. So she rose to standing and braced herself, though for what, she couldn’t imagine.

He pulled up short and leaned down to inhale deeply. He held that breath and while he did, his eyes, a vivid blue, changed from angry to…bemused. He blinked once before he exhaled.

“Can I help you?” she asked as coolly as possible. She didn’t like gazing up at him as he stood above her, too close, and she was
not
used to strange men sniffing her. She didn’t care if that was the norm in this town—along with stealing credit cards.

“I hope so.” His mouth curved up on one side, an attractive warm expression at total odds with the determined, flat look he’d worn as he’d first entered the restaurant, and she found herself overwhelmed by his mere presence. “But first, let me welcome you to Wolf Town.”

She stood at such attention that Angus almost expected a salute. He’d come in here a tad angry, yes. Jancis announcing that someone was after Caleb hadn’t put Angus in the most welcoming frame of mind. But this young woman was a) not a werewolf, b) frightened and c) smelled good.

Okay, she did smell good to him in an appealing she-attracts-me way. Not that it mattered since she was human. But he meant to focus on the fact his nose told him she was on the side of good. His most famed characteristic in the world of shifters was his nose, which managed to suss out when someone was essentially a decent person. Or not.

This dark-eyed young lady with hacked-off hair—was it the style these days?—did not deliberately do people harm.

So perhaps she’d been coerced or manipulated into this. Or perhaps she was being followed unawares. Maybe Caleb knew her. Angus didn’t believe in coincidence.

He realized he’d been circling her and she was trembling, her heart rate not only increasing but accelerating. Obviously his words of welcome couldn’t be taken quite at face value. And his actions were too wolf-like to be comfortable for a normal.

He backed off to sit on a stool two over from where she’d been seated. Then he cut to the chase. “I’m Angus MacIntyre. I’d like to know why you’re visiting us here in Wolf Town.”

Her eyes widened. Recognition of his name, he assumed, given that newspaper articles and such tended to mention him as the one in charge. Some even called him a mayor.

She glanced behind her where, yes, everyone was staring, all five of them. Could be she expected to be attacked. While he disliked some of the assumptions normals made about wolves, he also didn’t intend to bait this woman. He wanted to know about her connection to Caleb.

He could see what it was like for her. She wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake, if she’d stumbled into some kind of trouble she didn’t know how to get out of.

She also didn’t know how to lie, because whatever she was trying to say didn’t come out. Finally the stiff set of her shoulders relaxed in a kind of surrender, though she remained standing.

To the customers and Eden watching, he called out, “I’m trying to have a private conversation here.” They turned away, not that they wouldn’t hear everything anyway, but a semblance of privacy had its uses. To the strange woman, he said, “No one is going to cause you harm in this town. But you’ve shown an interest in one of my people and
that
interests me.”

Her mouth dropped open and the surprise, almost shock, was real. “Caleb is here?”

“Caleb who?”

“Yes.” She appeared to forget she’d been frightened moments earlier, her intense interest in Caleb surpassing everything else. And it wasn’t malevolent interest, he was sure of it. Maybe she’d been sent by Caleb’s mother? Though Shanna hadn’t tried very hard to reach out to Caleb since they’d decided to separate to survive Caleb’s father. Angus disapproved of her lack of effort, though he didn’t intend to disparage Caleb’s one non-psychotic parent in front of the boy.

“Yes,” the strange woman repeated. “There are many Calebs in the world.” A line formed between her eyes and she asked the question like so much was riding on it. “He’s not a young boy, is he? A teenager, I mean. He’s not…” her voice dropped to a whisper, as if she could barely believe she was saying the words aloud, “…a skinny black wolf?”

He stared at her. Because of course Caleb was a skinny black wolf, and wouldn’t she be sure of that if she was searching for him? Why would she be looking for someone she didn’t know? He let the silence build, waiting to see if she’d say more. But when he didn’t answer, she seemed to come to a conclusion and covered her mouth with her fist. Her next words made even less sense.

“Oh my God, he’s
real
?” she said, aghast.

Think a vampire-hunting bloodhound is dangerous? Try threatening his woman.

Wilder’s Mate

© 2011 Moira Rogers

Bloodhounds, Book 1

Wilder Harding is a bloodhound, created by the Guild to hunt down and kill vampires on America’s frontier. His enhanced abilities come with a high price: on the full moon, he becomes capable of savagery beyond telling, while the new moon brings a sexual hunger that borders on madness.

Rescuing a weapons inventor from undead kidnappers is just another assignment, though one with an added complication—keeping his hands off the man’s pretty young apprentice, who insists on tagging along.

At odds with polite society, Satira’s only constant has been the aging weapons inventor who treats her like a daughter. She isn’t going to trust Wilder with Nathaniel’s life, not when the Guild might decide the old man isn’t worth saving. Besides, if there's one thing she's learned, it's that brains are more important than brawn.

As the search stretches far longer than Wilder planned, he finds himself fighting against time. If Satira is still at his side when the new moon comes, nothing will stop him from claiming her. Worse, she seems all too willing. If their passion unlocks the beast inside, no one will be safe. Not even the man they’re fighting to save.

Warning: This book contains a crude, gun-slinging, vampire-hunting hero who howls at the full moon and a smart, stubborn heroine who invents mad-scientist weapons. Also included: wild frontier adventures, brothels, danger, betrayal and a good dose of wicked loving in an alternate Wild West.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Wilder’s Mate:

He’d almost managed to get to sleep when a timid knock sounded on the door that led to Satira’s adjoining room. “Wilder?”

He fought the urge to slam a pillow over his face. “Yeah?”

She must have taken his reply as permission to enter, because the door inched open and she slipped through, a slight shadow wrapped in a blanket. The floorboards creaked as she took a step closer to the bed. “Do you mind…?”

She looked like she thought he’d growl at her until she ran screaming from the room. “Come on in.”

“I can’t sleep.” Her voice held more than a little shame at the confession. “If people are expecting you to bed me, it can’t hurt our disguise if we sleep in the same room, can it?”

Now he wanted to slam a pillow over his lap. “Can’t hurt our disguise.” It could only hurt
him
if he had to control himself around her. She grasped her blanket tight around her shoulders, but the gauzy fabric brushing the floor as she walked was sheer, flesh-colored silk.

She stopped next to the bed. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. I’ll understand.”

“Do you?”

“I think so.” She stared at the floor. “Men have needs, but you’re not interested in complicating our already difficult situation by giving in to them.”

If he was a snake… “Did you come over here for sex, or because you’d sleep better if you weren’t alone?”

“The latter.” She shivered and clutched at the blanket as it began to slip. “I know you could get to my room quickly enough if anything happened, but the way some of those men were watching me…”

She was scared, and he felt even worse about his lust as he patted the blanket beside him. “Climb up. You don’t have to be alone, and you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Thank you.” The blanket gaped open as she scrambled onto the bed, revealing that the damn flimsy nightgown Juliet had packed for her was transparent all over. She shivered and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

Wilder shook his head. “That scrap of nothing isn’t warm enough.”

Satira choked on a laugh, a little hysterical but genuine. “I know. If it gets much colder tonight you’ll have to kick me out of your bed to keep me from cuddling as close as I can.”

The laughter was better than the way she’d looked at him before, hesitant and wary and almost ashamed of her fear. “If you put your cold feet on me, I’ll scream like a little girl.”

Icy toes poked at his leg, and he laughed and shoved her away.

She squirmed right back, and this time he got an entire foot pressed against his knee. Her breathless laughter cut short on a little moan of pleasure. “You’re so
warm
.”

“Won’t be for long.” He affected a growl, one he ruined by laughing again. “Jesus, woman. What were you doing, hanging your legs out the window?”

Satira huffed, but it didn’t stop her from tucking her other foot against his shin. “My feet get cold.”

“You’re a walking icebox.”

She echoed his words back, laced with drowsy contentment. “Won’t be for long.”

Quick as a rattlesnake bite, his protective shell of humor faded, leaving him in bed with a sleepy, scantily clad woman whose body made his knees weak. “Then it’ll be my turn to freeze.”

One small hand crept back across the covers until her fingers brushed his. “I’d keep you warm.”

His balls ached. “Better watch what you promise, sweetheart. I’m not a noble man, no matter what you think.”

Satira twisted until she faced him, eyes wide but unafraid. “It’s been eleven months since a man took me to bed. I don’t want noble.”

His first thought was to turn her over his knee and spank her. That led directly to his second thought, a mental image of her bent over in front of him, her pale ass red from his hand, her cunt glistening and wet. “Satira.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and went still, her slightly ragged breaths and too-quick heartbeat the only sounds for long moments. Then she breathed out a tiny sigh. “You make me feel like such a fool, throwing myself at a man who doesn’t want to have me. Over and over again, and I’m supposed to be intelligent.”

He urged one of the thin straps of the nightgown from her shoulder. “You worry too much.”

“I know.” With her eyes still shut she missed his mouth the first time, her open-mouthed kiss landing on his cheek.

His cock jerked like she’d licked him, and he turned his head far enough to meet her second kiss head-on, opening his mouth under hers. He swallowed her tiny little moan, and for a moment she seemed shy. Her tongue darted along his lower lip, then returned to stroke deeper, teasing against his.