Growl (14 page)

The warm welcome to the family almost brought a tear to the eye—probably because Grandma stamped a few toes with her pointy-heeled shoes.

Later on that night, alone in the honeymoon suite, her skin dewy from passion, Megan traced the line of his jaw. “Say it again.”

“I love you, little rabbit.”

Just like she loved him. And to think it was murder that had brought them together.

Beat that, Cousin Kit.

 

EPILOGUE

Back east, in an office tucked at the back of a strip club …

Having nine lives was well and good in theory, but when a woman straddled a man, held a gun to his head, and said, “What are you doing in my drawers?” it probably wasn't a smart thing to say, “Hoping to lick some delicious cream.”

Broderick could blame his stupid statement only on the fact that his mother claimed he'd landed on his head instead of four paws more than was healthy for a kitten.

He could also blame hormones, as it took only one look and scent to realize the goddess threatening his life was his mate.

Meow.
And he meant
ow!
as she dug the barrel into his skin, not at all impressed by his compliment. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot.”

Apparently, “Because I'm pretty sure we're soulmates,” wasn't the right answer.

 

FERAL PASSIONS

Kate Douglas

 

This tale is dedicated with much love to Margaret Riley, owner and publisher of Changeling Press, who convinced me many, many years ago that yes, I really could write stories about shapeshifters and werewolves. Thank you, M! I guess you were right.
☺

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks as always to my beta readers, Ann Jacobs, Rose Toubbeh, Jan Takane, Lynne Thomas, Karen Woods, and Kerry Parker—six women with busy lives who always manage to find time to read for me. Thanks also to my editor, Eileen Rothschild, who has given me a chance to play once again in the world of make-believe.

 

CHAPTER 1

Thursday

“Aw, c'mon, Cherry. It'll be so much fun. Please?”

“Cissy, I…” Cherry turned away. She hated to disappoint Christa, but there was just no way. No way at all.

Her sister's BFF, Stephanie, chimed in. “If you don't come with us, that fully paid reservation is just going to go to waste. We bought the package for three because Gina said she wanted to go, and then she bailed on us.”

Cherry ran her fingertip through the salt on the rim of her margarita glass and stuck her salty finger in her mouth. Damn. Did she or didn't she? She stared at Stephanie. “There has to be someone else who can fill a third spot. Especially since it's paid for.”

Christa chimed in. “Gina bailed an hour ago. We leave Sunday morning, so we don't have time to hunt for anyone. I know you have time off coming. Talk to your boss tomorrow and let her know you'll be gone all next week. Please?”

“C'mon, Cherry.”

Cherry glanced from her sister to Steph and pulled back feelings that were more about envy than irritation. She'd never had a close friend other than Christa, aka Cissy, not the way Steph and Christa had each other. They'd been inseparable since they'd been, quite literally, in diapers. Two adorable little girls in day care together when they were toddlers, two stunning and perfectly slim, trim twenty-five-year-olds.

On top of that, each of them was smart and successful, and they were almost too nice to be true.

When she was with them, Cherry felt like a toad. A very fat toad. The idea of spending a week at a luxury resort with her gorgeous dark-haired baby sister and Christa's equally beautiful blond best friend—each girl perfectly sleek and toned while Cherry had to lie on her back on the bed to get her fat pants zipped—was beyond depressing.

Except she really loved her little sister, and Steph had never been anything but nice, and Cherry did have vacation time she had to use or lose …

“Think about it, Cherry.” Christa touched Cherry's chin with her fingertips and gently forced her to make eye contact. Damn. She was definitely bringing out the big guns.

“I already…”

“No. You haven't even listened to us. It's not your typical Club Med kind of place. This is a rural setting up in the north part of the state, almost to Oregon. Men run the place and do all the cooking and everything, but there're only women as guests. And not even a lot of women. Only six guests—all women, I remind you—at the club at one time. We will be three of them.”

“That's half. The only men are the guys who work there,” Steph said, “but the resort is set up to allow women to get in touch with nature without the hassle of guys and all that testosterone-driven need to hike farther, climb higher. You know, a relaxing and
fun
vacation?”

Christa interrupted with, “They don't plan every single minute of your day. You're encouraged to bring books, knitting, paints, whatever it is that makes you happy. In fact, I'm hoping you'll throw in some of those really sexy romances you like to read.”

“Me, too,” Steph said. “I never have time to read for fun and Christa says your books are … stimulating.” She poked Christa in the ribs. “We might actually learn something about men.”

“You're not kidding.” Christa poked Steph back. Then she once again focused that laser-eyed stare on Cherry. “What's really unique about it is that it's at a wolf preserve.”

Wolves?
Their enthusiasm must be contagious, since Cherry was actually thinking of doing this.
But wolves?

“You can interact with the wolves in their natural setting.” Laughing, Christa let go of Cherry and hugged herself. “Can you imagine? Being close enough to touch a wild wolf? Going swimming where there are only other women—no guys ogling your butt?”

“Or your boobs,” Steph added drily. She was much more generously endowed than Christa. “I'm off men for now, anyway. A week at a resort just for women sounds like the ideal vacation.”

Cherry spun her head to stare at Steph. “What about Mike? I thought you guys were…”

“That is a name not to be mentioned in my presence.”

Cherry glanced at Christa, who merely shrugged and said, “He was boinking the receptionist.”

Steph practically growled. “Not just boinking, but doing such a great job at it that she was absolutely starry-eyed.” She took a big swallow of her margarita. “I was most definitely not starry-eyed, but that's not what we're discussing, Cherry. You're going with us. No argument.”

“Wolves?” Cherry glanced at the painting over her faux-fireplace mantle. A pack of wolves racing across a meadow in the moonlight, teeth gleaming, eyes alight with the joy of the hunt. She'd always loved wolves, but she'd never seen a real-live wolf before. Only pictures. “They're actually tame enough to interact with people?”

“That's what it says.” Steph laughed. “I would think it's poor business practice to allow them to eat the guests.”

“Because it's a preserve,” Christa added, “the Web site says, a lot of them were rescued as pups, hand raised, and then returned to the wild, but that's why they're here—they aren't entirely wild, but they're not really tame, either. It's thousands of acres where they can roam like wild wolves and they still have to hunt to eat. And no, they don't hunt the guests.”

Christa was still smiling as she tapped away on her cell phone for a few seconds. Then she raised her head and grinned triumphantly at Cherry. Or was that a smug grin? Cherry grimaced. She'd lost this argument—losing was a given when Christa had her mind made up.

“There,” she said. “I just sent you the link to the resort. It's called Feral Passions, and it's up in the Trinity Alps. No arguments. You're coming with us. The wolf preserve is only open to guests of the resort, and if the pictures on the Web site are anywhere close to the real thing, the place looks rustic, but the lodge is all new and everything is set up for comfort and convenience. No!” Christa held up her hand when Cherry opened her mouth to argue, at this point, merely for the sake of not giving in too easily. “No argument. You're going. We're picking you up Sunday morning at seven. It's over five hours of driving, and we'll need to stop for lunch and potty breaks along the way. Pack comfortable clothes, good hiking boots, and a warm coat. There's a list of things on the Web site. It says the nights can be chilly. They provide all camping gear if we do any overnight trips. We'll come home the following Saturday. And bring your swimsuit. The pool's heated.”

Cherry shook her head. “No. No swimsuit.” She didn't even own one. Not since she was little, too young to realize how awful she looked when she wasn't covered up. She was fully aware of Steph and Christa exchanging glances. They just didn't get it, but neither of them carried fifty extra pounds around, either.

“Ladies, I've gotta go.” Steph grabbed her bag, leaned close and hugged Cherry, and then patted Christa on the head.

“Me, too.” Christa hugged Cherry. “Hon, we're gonna have such a great time. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself. No Wi-Fi or cell phone reception, so it really is a vacation. No one from your office can even text you. You'll love it.”

Cherry sighed. She hoped she'd love it, but she didn't expect to. Still, Christa never asked for favors. A week at an exclusive resort with real-live wolves shouldn't be too bad.

*   *   *

“Okay, gentlemen. What's your take on our first month of business? Is Feral Passions going to work, or did I just sink a shitload of money into a stupid idea?” Traker Jakes stared into his mug of draft beer as if it offered up the secrets of the universe.

“It's a great design.” Brad Martin wiped down the polished redwood bar with a damp rag and then threw it into a bin under the sink, but he turned and winked at his buddy.

Cain snorted. “Of course you think it's a great design—you designed it.” Laughing, he swiveled on his barstool and faced Trak. The guy might be a century and a half old, but like the rest of them, he didn't look a day over thirty.

None of them did. One of the upsides of werewolf genetics, though their long lives could be a downside, too. A lonely downside. “We've had four groups of women come through and they've all had a great time,” Cain said. “We've ended the month with a better financial picture than any of us expected, and you're not the only one with a shitload of money tied up in this, Trak. We've all invested. Give it time. I think it's going to pay off.”

“Financially, sure.” Trak shook his head, frustration evident. “Except making a profit isn't the point of this project. The point is not just to give a bunch of women a good time. The point is to find mates for the guys, you two and me included. So far, not a single pairing has come of this.”

“We've only been open a month, Trak. Cain's right. Give it time.” Brad glanced at Cain.

“Have you enjoyed meeting the women?” Cain forced eye contact with Trak, which was not an easy thing for a subordinate to do with his alpha, but the bastard could be so hardheaded sometimes, not to mention a die-hard pessimist. “Don't tell me you didn't have a good time with that absolutely sensational redhead last week.”

Trak grunted.

Brad poured himself a glass of iced tea, carefully squeezing lemon over the top. “C'mon, Cain. She was hot, but a little too aware of her own hotness. And she most certainly didn't like having wolves around.”

“What? She was afraid of the wolves?” Cain must have missed that part of the visit. He'd given her a massage and thought she was okay—a little too skinny for his taste, but …

Brad shook his head. “Afraid of the hair. It's spring. Wolves shed. She thought it was disgusting.”

Trak's sigh was a bit too dramatic. “She ran Brad and me out of the pool area. Threatened to complain to management. Said it was unsanitary having wolves shedding near the hot tub, not to mention the fact that we were all males and probably peed on everything. What a bitch.”

“Too bad you couldn't just shift right then, tell her you were management and, hey, what's the problem, sweetheart?” Cain took a swallow of his beer. “Well, we haven't had any trouble filling up the slots. We've got a new group coming in tomorrow. Three smart, young professional women from San Francisco. They're driving, should be here by three or four. Another group of three out of LA. They're coming in by private plane and plan to land in Weaverville. They have a rental car waiting, so they might show up earlier. They all work in the movie industry, but not as actors. Their reservation info said they're into the production end of things. We'll need to be careful around them. They might be more in tune with the weird and wonderful, and we can't risk them finding out what we are.”

“Which is why Feral Passions is the perfect venue for a lonely werewolf to find a mate.” Brad glanced at Trak but focused on Cain. “In a beautifully designed setting, of course. We get to see the women in our habitat, see if anyone is drawn to any of us in both our human and wolf forms. And if they are, if they really seem to go for anyone…”

“And don't mind a little shedding in the hot tub.” At least Trak was sort of smiling. A good sign.

“Then we bite, and voilà! Instant mate.” Brad's cocky grin was actually … wolfish.

“Or a really pissed-off female werewolf.” Cain didn't like that part at all. Yeah, it was important to keep their existence secret, but it wasn't like the old days when a guy could go out and kidnap a nice, uneducated woman out of a small, rural village, bring her back to the pack, let her choose which guy she liked best, and then the guy could bite her. Women didn't expect as much back in the old days. Now they had equal rights and cell phones, and Facebook, where they could blab about everything.