Linda Thomas-Sundstrom - Desert Wolf

“It’s back,” she said with a hand on the truck’s door frame.

“Back?”

“I tried to tell you in the café, but you were busy,” she said.

“Tell me what, exactly?”

“That rogue bastard’s trail was found this afternoon in the hills.”

Grant knew that none of his pack would have fired the shots he had heard, which meant the ranchers were already onboard tonight, just as he’d feared.

“What kind of trail was found?” he asked.

“An old campfire. I don’t want to tell you what else was in that fire.”

“Bones,” Grant guessed, praying he was wrong.

“Yep. Bones,” Shirleen replied.

“Cattle?”

Shirleen’s face tensed. “Human.”

Grant was out of the truck before the meaning of that word fully sank in. He didn’t have to ask Shirleen to repeat what she’d said, or quiz her. She wouldn’t have said it if she wasn’t sure.

Part Native American, she’d been born and raised just twenty miles from Desperado, and she was their resident expert when it came to finding things in these hills. Being bitten by a werewolf in her eighteenth year had sent her Grant’s way just twelve months ago. What had been bad luck for her turned out to be the welcome addition of an expert tracker to this pack.

“How old is that campfire?” he asked, heading for the house with Shirleen in his wake.

“A month at least. We had missed it because the sucker used an old mine shaft and then sealed it up afterward.”

Over his shoulder, Grant said, “Those bones. Do you recall hearing about any disappearances? Has there been any mention of missing people at the café?”

Besides waitressing to pay the bills, Shirleen’s job at the café was to gather information that might be important to the pack. Like a missing hiker or two, the theft of horses or more about missing cattle. Lots of conversation went on in that diner, which was a hangout for regulars and local law enforcement. Waitresses weren’t usually given much notice during discussions like that.

“No disappearances were mentioned,” Shirleen said.

“Hell.” Grant headed for a box of battery-operated lanterns kept stored at the ranch in case Desperado’s streets needed illumination after dark. “We don’t have time to pursue that beast tonight. The priority is to shore up Desperado.”

“Why?”

“Andrew Hall’s daughter wants to see the place.”

Shirleen leaned against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest. “That’s the girl you were with?”

Paxton Hall is anything but a girl, Grant thought, remembering the sexy paleness of her skin. He kept that to himself.

“One and the same,” he said.

“Of course, she doesn’t know anything that goes on here? Right?” Shirleen pressed.

Grant gave her a wry look in response to that question.

She said, “There aren’t any new Weres coming in, so the cages will be empty when the full moon rolls around tomorrow night. There haven’t been any newbies for a few months now.”

Grant turned from the box of lanterns. “Yes, and all of a sudden I’m wondering why there haven’t been any newcomers needing our unique kind of hospitality.”

Shirleen pushed off the wall. “You don’t think...”

“It’s a viable theory, right? That rogue might be waylaying Weres before they can reach us.”

“You’re suggesting this rogue might be eating a werewolf or two for supper, as well as cattle, and that’s why the bones in that campfire belong to a human? Because a Were’s bones would look human if it wasn’t furred-up at the time of its death?” A look of utter disgust crossed Shirleen’s face.

“Either that, or our elusive bastard nabbed a hiker. I guess the bones will tell us if I’m right, if the right person looks at them. Did you move those bones?”

“Ben took them.”

“Good. Ben should be able confirm if my suspicions are viable. It’s handy to have a vet around.”

“What are you going to do, boss?”

Grant eyed Shirleen thoughtfully. “I’ll have to see to it that Hall’s daughter doesn’t stay too long or get too nosy.”

“I meant about tonight and cleaning up the town.”

Grant’s gaze moved to the truck, and he wished he could avoid Shirleen’s question. Strange sensations ruffled inside his chest. He’d felt this same kind of sensation only once before, and that was the first time he’d seen Paxton Hall.

What did those strange sensations mean now?

Hell. Could Paxton be in trouble?

Handing the box to Shirleen, Grant strode to the door. “Take these to Desperado for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Make sure things are closed up tight. Guard the place.”

He had smelled trouble the minute his boots hit the dirt. Trouble resonated in his bones, and he knew why. Christ, yes. He knew why.

Paxton Hall’s connection to him was strong enough to enable him to almost see her. That’s the way wolf to wolf communication went. Because of their attraction, a special bond had been forged. They seemed to be linked together by invisible chains that were proving to be stronger than the usual male-female kind of animal attraction. How else could he know what Paxton was feeling right that minute?

Bonds. Wolf to wolf chains binding us together...

Grant now began to fear he might have inadvertently imprinted with Paxton, settling into place an attachment that couldn’t be broken by either party, no matter how hard they might try. Imprinting brought a whole new meaning to the phrase until death do us part and upped the degree of attraction to full-on hunger. Mental and carnal hunger.

He hungered for her that minute.

Damn it all to hell, he wanted to shout. Through that connection to her, he knew that Paxton had not stayed at the motel. Contrary to his warnings, she was out there somewhere in the dark, along with a madman, a bad wolf with a taste for cattle, humans and maybe other Weres. A beast that hunted for sport and ate its prey.

Deep in his mind, the sound of Paxton’s startled cry echoed. His heart began to race, as if matching hers, beat for thrashing beat.

“Okay,” Shirleen called out as Grant jumped into his truck. “We’ll take care of things here.”

With blood pounding in his ears and the back of his neck chilling up, Grant was beyond caring about Desperado. He had to get to her. To Paxton. That’s the way imprinting worked. There was no other option. No way to avoid her call.

With his boot to the pedal and his lips moving with a litany of unuttered curses, Grant headed at breakneck speed back toward the city.

* * *

Paxton hit the highway with relief and with her heart hammering. Her knuckles were white from her grip on the steering wheel, and she kept repeating out loud how sorry she was that she had left the motel.

Though the highway was pretty much deserted, two cars heading in the opposite direction passed, and Paxton was finally able to take a deep breath. Cars meant the city wasn’t far off. But as their headlight beams bounced off the sizable dent in the hood of the station wagon, she rang up the cost of the repairs she was going to have to pay for. Worse yet, she’d have to try to explain what had caused it.

She had to be right about the bear.

Skin tingling with remnants of leftover adrenaline, Paxton kept her attention glued to the road as the speedometer inched upward. Lightheaded from lack of sleep and from being scared half out of her wits, she spoke again out loud to cover the sound of her heartbeats.

“If I didn’t actually want to think more of you, I might start to believe you set this up on purpose, Dad. So, what’s this deal you made with Grant Wade going to turn out to be?”

When a voice replied to her question, she nearly spun the car off the road. But the voice was inside her mind, and likely a remembered thought in one word. Stay.