Kristal Hollis - Tamed By The She-Wolf

Again, she blamed Tristan. His migration from her staunchest bachelor friend to happily mated had left her feeling off-kilter. A feeling magnified by her unusual reaction to Lincoln. Also, Tristan’s fault. If he hadn’t left Lincoln the wrong key, she wouldn’t have his scent imprinted in her nose and lingering in the living room.

Obviously, she found the wolfan sexually appealing. Tall, broad-shouldered, with chiseled abs and sculpted pecs, and muscled limbs that proclaimed his strength without being ridiculously pretentious. The way he moved and carried himself proved he’d earned those muscles on the job rather than in the gym. But she was accustomed to physically fit wolfan males. Generally, they didn’t stay on her mind.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Lincoln, whose commanding presence had not been diminished by the loss of his leg. The injury appeared to be fairly recent, considering the freshness of the scars on his stump and on the left side of his body.

However, it was the lost and lonely look in Lincoln’s eyes that had haunted her all night and greatly interfered with her creativity today.

Sympathy infected her heart, causing it to ache for the Dogman. It shouldn’t. Her heart should be cold and unfeeling toward them. They’d made their choices and should live with them. Why should anyone be sympathetic? Especially those they’d abandoned to pursue glory.

Growling, Angeline strummed the strings in frustration and set aside the guitar. She slipped off the bed, stretched and then padded out of the bedroom. The pounding at her front door halted her trip to the kitchen.

She opened the door to Tristan’s famous grin.

“Hey there, Sassy.”

“Hey there, Slick. Bite me.”

Before she could close the door, Tristan thrust his arm through the opening, gripping a white paper bag. The scent of apples and cinnamon and sugar caused her nose to twitch. He nudged the door open a little wider and showed her the large coffee in his other hand. “I come bearing gifts,” he said lightheartedly.

“Once upon a time that didn’t work out so well for the Trojans.” Regardless, Angeline lifted the coffee cup and bag of pastries from Tristan’s hands. Ignoring him as he entered the apartment, she sat cross-legged on the couch and fished a bear claw with an apple filling from the bag.

Tristan closed the door and made himself at home in the overstuffed chair. “I’m not exactly sure what this means.” He showed her the angry, emoji-filled text message she’d sent last night.

“Just delete it.” Angeline wiped away the sugar sticking to her lips. “We’re good now.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a heads-up about Lincoln.” Tristan paused and suddenly the exhaustion he’d been hiding surfaced. “Nel and I were at the hospital most of the night.”

“Is Nel all right? Did she have the baby?”

“False alarm. She’s had Braxton Hicks pain on and off, but last night she got so uncomfortable, I took her in to be checked.” Running his hand through his tousled blond hair, Tristan yawned.

Angeline did, too. Seemed they’d both had a long night.

“Lincoln called right as the nurse took Nel to an exam room. I meant to text you—”

“Forget it.” She waved off Tristan’s worry and he began to relax. “You’re dealing with a lot. Seems to be your calling.”

“I’m hoping to build a team to shoulder that burden.” Everyone’s problem solver, Tristan—a former sheriff deputy, had recently been named the Walker’s Run Co-op’s chief of security. A huge undertaking considering the pack now had its own police force.

“Don’t look at me. I like my life the way it is.” In defiance of Tristan’s pointed, disbelieving look, she shoved another pastry into her mouth.

“I’m talking about Lincoln,” Tristan said. “Brice wants him to remain in Walker’s Run.”

Not surprisingly, the Alpha’s son had a habit of keeping his friends close. “Good luck to him. Lincoln doesn’t seem the type to walk away from the Program, even if he could.”

“Apparently, he’s being forced into a medical retirement.”

“Whoa.” The only utterable word able to form on Angeline’s lips. A Dogman losing his career, much like a wolfan losing a mate, hurt to the soul.

She would not sympathize with Lincoln, though. Not about that.

“I have a favor to ask,” Tristan said quietly.

Over the rim of her coffee cup, Angeline watched him squirm in his seat. The hot liquid heated her mouth and the warmth traveled all the way to her starting-to-clench stomach. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

“I need you to keep an eye on him.”

“No.” Angeline cut her eyes at her oldest, dearest friend. He should know better than to ask such a thing. “I’m not spying on a Dogman.”

“Just be neighborly.” Tristan leaned forward, his elbows planted on his knees with his fingers laced. “Brice trusts him, but I don’t know this guy. Dogmen are just this side of feral. I need to know sooner than later if he’s on the verge of crossing the line. The pack has been through enough violence.”

“Why me and not Shane? He’s only a few doors down.” And a legitimate pack sentinel.

“Shane doesn’t have your assets,” Tristan said good-naturedly. “Lincoln isn’t likely to let his guard down around a male. But you?” Tristan’s expression turned serious. “You could make a wolf lie down at your feet, roll over and purr, if you wanted him to.”

“You know why I can’t do this.” Angeline swallowed another mouthful of coffee but the kinks in her stomach tightened rather than relaxed.

“Lincoln isn’t Tanner. Don’t judge him for Tanner’s mistake.” Tristan stood. “If Lincoln is the man Brice believes, when the realty of his medical retirement sets in, he’s going to need help coping. It can be you or someone else, but I strongly feel you’re the best person he could have in his corner because you know how it feels to lose the life you thought you were meant to have.”

Quietly, Tristan closed the door as he left.

“Dammit!” Angeline slung a throw pillow after him. Harmlessly, it glanced off the door. She snatched it up and punched it. “Damn you, too, Tanner.” She smacked the pillow again, then hugged it to her chest and schlepped to the couch, knowing she’d do just what Tristan had asked. Because she did know exactly how it felt to watch the future crumble. No one, not even a Dogman, deserved to face it alone.

Bracing against the cold, Lincoln knocked on the door to Brice Walker’s residence, two miles up the mountain from the family-owned Walker’s Run Resort. Used to the heat in Somalia, the lower temperatures in Northeast Georgia would be a welcomed change if his stump didn’t ache.

The heavy wooden door opened to reveal a petite, human redhead. A smile warmed the porcelain tone of her skin and her cinnamon eyes shimmered.

“Hello, Cassie.” Though they had never met, he knew her from the late-night chats he’d had with her mate during a mission in Romania several years ago.

“Lincoln! Please come in.” She stepped aside, welcoming him into her home.

Gratefully, he shook off the cold.

“Thank you for keeping Brice safe so he could come back to me,” she said, closing the door. “If you need anything, let me know. I’ll make sure you get it.”

“I appreciate your kindness.” But what he wanted she couldn’t give. Her husband, however, could be the Ace that Lincoln needed. After all, he had saved Brice’s life. “I was just doing my job.”

“You went beyond your job. You were a friend when Brice needed one the most.”

Uh-oh.

Reading her body language and seeing the intent on her face, Lincoln leaned down so that her arms reached his neck in the full-on hug rather than banding around his middle, which would’ve appeared quite odd and a bit too personal to her mate. Lincoln didn’t have a visual on Brice Walker yet, but his ears honed in on the slight thump of the man’s limping gait inside the house.