Linda O. Johnston - Alaskan Wolf

Had wanted to claim her, take her to a secluded place and make love to her all night.

It was a good thing she had fled inside—wasn’t it?

Somehow, fortunately, he made it to the ranch without swerving off the road. He pulled into the parking area behind the main house. The Daweses’ car was there, and so was Shaun’s crossover. Lights were on in both the house and the large building behind it where the hands’ small apartments were located—his destination.

Inside, Patrick ran up the steps to his second-floor unit without seeing any of the other guys. Not surprising. It was late. And most of the time, if he saw them at all here, it was when they gathered downstairs in the small kitchen for coffee or a beer.

He felt too wired to sleep. To even stay in one place.

Good thing Duke would require a short walk before bed.

Patrick used a key to open the door to his apartment. Duke was waiting right inside the door, having obviously heard his arrival.

“Hi, boy,” Patrick said, stooping to give his large, gray friend a rough hug. “How ya doing?” He considered Duke much more than a friend. The dog was part of his cover, so that if anyone happened to see Patrick in wolf form he could laugh and say they must have spotted Duke. But Duke was also his companion, apartment mate and buddy. Not to mention a trained canine military partner.

Now, Duke didn’t hold still long enough for Patrick to do more than touch his thick fur. He ran into the hall and barked.

“Hush!” Patrick said. He didn’t want the dog to wake the other guys this late, or he’d never hear the end of it.

Duke stopped outside Shaun’s unit, woofing softly and leaping against the door.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Patrick knocked on Shaun’s door. Hearing nothing from inside, he turned the knob.

The door opened. Odd. Though guys around here often failed to lock up during the day or night, that didn’t include Shaun.

Not with his valuable, government-issue computer equipment.

The sharp, ugly smells assaulted Patrick immediately. “Hey, Shaun,” he called warily into the darkness, even as Duke sped by and started making strange, keening noises.

With an eerie, sick sensation crawling up his back, Patrick turned on the light.

Shaun was at the small table at the side of the compact room that passed as multipurpose kitchenette, office and living room. Slumped over. Head on the table.

Blood pooled around him on the floor. Duke sat, howling softly nearby.

“Hell!” Patrick exclaimed. “Shaun?” He crossed the room, touched the neck of his friend and backup, hunting for a pulse. There was none. Shaun was dead.

And Patrick realized that the laptop computer that Shaun always worked on at that table was missing.

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