Love of the Wild (8 page)

“You know how some things, like a consciousness, is more than the sum of its parts?”

Dak sounded puzzled. “Yes. Emergence.”

“Could you accept the possibility I can be more than what you think you see?” Jim held his breath as he waited for the answer, his back to the man.

“Yes. Most people are. Not all, but some. What’s your point?”

That was Jim’s cue to finally turn to face Dak. “What justifies you dismissing me so casually, without even trying to get to know me?”

Dak closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, they shone golden. Wolf eyes. “It’s not you. It’s me. That may sound to you like an awful cliché, but in my case it happens to be true.”

Jim shivered under the bright light of those golden eyes staring at him under Dak’s typical frown. “So… you’re going to live forever, but you never want anyone to share that time with you again?”

Dak’s features tightened. “Yes.” He blinked, and his eyes returned to hazel, back into human eyes. His expression softened slightly. “You came here in search of wolves—”

“Not to hurt you, I swear to God.”

Dak nodded slowly. “I believe you.”

Jim frowned because there was no warmth creeping in Dak’s tone as he said the words. “But… but that doesn’t make any difference to you.”

“If you had intended to hurt me or my kin, the officials would never have found your corpse to bury.”

Jim had zero doubt of the truth in that statement. “So, what you’re saying is, I should feel better because you’re rejecting me just like you’d reject anyone else?”

Dak sighed. “Jim. Do you even know, let alone understand, what it means to be a mate to a lycan? Of having to choose between one life and another? Either you will live as a mate, refuse the immortal bite, and grow old while I stay as I am. When you die, I will hurt when my heart breaks at the loss of you. Or… you will accept the bite, leave your old life behind to live here in the woods with me, and watch from afar as your family and friends grow old and die while you remain young. Tell me, Jim. Which of these options would please you more? Because if you were my mate, you would have to choose one or the other. There is nothing in between.”

Stunned, Jim stared at Dak, who remained adamant in his conviction. And worst of all, now he began to make sense to Jim too.

Dak stepped closer, his tone lower and more empathic than ever. “The romantic idea of eternal love…. It’s just a dream. I don’t want to bury any more lovers. And I don’t want to see the spark die in their eyes when they abandon the life they knew, their dreams—”

“No, I refuse to believe it’s that black-and-white!” Jim tried to rein in his frustration but with poor results. “Why should your mate have to let go of their dreams—”

“A wolf’s mate must stay in that wolf’s territory. As one of the progenitors, my territory comprises all of Wyoming and a bit beyond. But more than that, once I claim you, you would have to stay in close proximity to me at all times. Other progenitors would find you alluring. In the past, there were challenges to the death and abductions. Though bonded to me, you could still be mated to them as well once the mating mark wanes. And that would lead to two progenitors fighting to the death, the loss of one of our kind unimaginable. Two lineages of packs would start a war—”

“How come that doesn’t happen all the time if there are mates all over the place?”

“Because we progenitors are fiercely territorial. We stay on our own land. And that is why you could never leave.”

Jim saw a discrepancy. “What about Crow?”

Dak waved a dismissive hand about. “Crow is a public figure. He represents lycans in the public eye. He’s rich, powerful, and a figure few can resist. He has been granted permission by the rest of us to travel where he will on lycan business—under the condition of not trying to seduce our mates.”

Jim frowned. “Crow’s hot. But I don’t want him.”

“You would if he really tried.” Dak passed Jim on his way to the cabin. Jim followed in silence since he hadn’t been told to vacate the premises.

Once they got inside, Jim asked, “Why hasn’t he done that yet, then?”

Dak sauntered to the fireplace, looking into the flames. “I saved his life once, long ago in the Dark Ages. Maybe he’s repaying the favor.” Then he scoffed. “Though I don’t see why he should feel the need to do so.”

Jim closed the door, perhaps a bit more sharply than he’d intended, and he walked over to Dak. “Right. ’Cause you don’t want me under any circumstances.”

Dak’s shoulders tensed. “I no longer live for other people and their wishes of me.”

“I guess being friends is out, then, too.” Jim knew he sounded snarky, but the words and the tone slipped out on their own. He willed himself to calm down. “When was the last time you even met a possible mate? You’ve been out here for a long time, I hear. Before the Veil lifted.”

Dak threaded his fingers through his long mane, his frustrated snort loud in the silence. “I came to live here long before the world wars. I have very few needs that can’t be taken care of in the wilderness.” A dry chuckle escaped him, the first Jim had ever heard from him. “And no, I don’t mean those kinds of needs.”

The mere allusion to Dak’s sexuality caused Jim’s breath to catch. His heart beat faster, and he trembled a bit, heat coursing through his veins toward his hardening cock. He was sweating, and his muscles twitched with the impulse to wrap himself around Dak and to touch him with his hands, his lips, his tongue.

Then Dak sniffed the air, straightened his back, and whipped his head in Jim’s direction, fast as lightning. His nostrils flared as he seemed able to take in Jim’s growing arousal. His hazel eyes morphed into golden wolf eyes as Jim watched with wide eyes, unable to look away.

A low purr escaped Dak’s throat, a deep rumbling sound that made Jim gasp, his dick hard as a diamond, demanding swift release. He doubted he’d ever been so turned on, even when he’d been a teenager with a near permanent boner.

Dak closed the gap between them, hunger blazing in his eyes. Jim felt naked in front of that intense gaze, and he wanted to rip his clothes off and melt into Dak’s embrace.

Dak raised his shaking hand, as if craving the touch more than anything. Swallowing hard and licking his lips, Dak edged closer. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Jim saw the man’s eyes darken to amber in lust, and whimpering, he leaned into the impending touch.

“Get out.”

Jim snapped out of his delightful reverie with a start.

Dak grimaced, baring his teeth, and snarled viciously. “Get the hell out of here! I don’t want you here!”

Jim was speechless, frozen in place, moved too fast from sexual tension to threat of bodily harm.

Apparently unwilling to wait, Dak growled furiously, grabbed Jim’s neck, and dragged him to the door. He yanked the door open and threw Jim out. He must have used his wolf strength because Jim landed nearly twenty feet away, hitting the rocky ground hard enough to bruise.

Grunting in pain, Jim turned to Dak, far more afraid than outraged.

“If I ever see or even smell you on my property again,” Dak yelled from the doorway, his hands balled up in fists. “I will fucking kill you.” Then he slammed the door.

Shocked by the sudden act of violence, Jim scrambled to sit up. He used the nearest tree trunk to inch himself to his shaky feet, trying hard to catch his breath, feeling the wind knocked out of his lungs. He felt battered to the bone and knew he’d be bruised all over by the end of the day.

Limping, Jim started his trek back to the truck. He felt tears prickling hot in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He was not going to cry. The truth was he didn’t know the first thing about Dak. What had just happened proved it. Jim hadn’t seen the possibility of actual use of force. Dak had been so extremely angry. It seemed he took his solitary life way more seriously than anyone had thought.

Stumbling over rocks and tree roots, Jim put distance between him and the man he now knew would never be his—friend, mate, whatever.

“Holy shit, he hurt you?”

Jim started when Crow spoke out sharply as he came up the path. First concern, then fury colored his expressive face.

Jim shook his head. “My fault. I tried to kiss him. Guess he’d rather be alone. I know I’m not a catch—”

“No.” Crow reached him and rested his hands on Jim’s hips, steadying him. “You’re beautiful, Jim: full of light, life, and energy. Dak doesn’t know what he’s missing. The dumbass.” He put his arm around Jim’s shoulders, sheltering him from further hurt. Jim was touched by the gesture. “Come. I’ll take you back to the ranch.”

Nodding, Jim allowed himself to be led away. He realized he no longer gave a damn about the story he had come here to write. He didn’t want Dak’s hate. He didn’t want any part of this world where he was expected to give up his loved ones, his career—such as it was—his dreams.

As far as epiphanies went, the one that overcame Jim then was crystal clear.

I want to go home
.

“D
AMMIT
.”

This was hardly the first time Jim had cursed at the white computer screen before him, a blank page waiting to be filled with words—and he had none to give. Even if there was a story in his encounter with werewolves, he didn’t wish to relive those days.

He’d been home for two weeks, but he still dreamed about Dak. Unfortunately, few of them were hot and delicious and sexy. Most were composed of furious growls, chases through the woods for his life, and violence of all sorts, even death. Jim often woke up with a start, cold sweat clinging to his skin, his frightened heart trying to beat its way out of his chest.

And in addition to his body and instincts succumbing to the fear, now his writer’s mind was failing him too. Portland, Oregon, was showing its rainy face today, as it had for the past four days, and Jim found himself staring numbly at the watery streaks on his apartment window.

Daniel had seemed almost stricken to see Jim leave, and Jim had felt sorry for him. Having a leader for his people who was a total recluse must be hard. Jim wondered if Dak had always been that way. Considering the way Daniel looked up to him, Jim doubted this had been the case.

Crow, on the other hand, had given Jim his contact information and advised him to get in touch with him about anything, day or night. Jim had appreciated the offer, but he was pretty sure he was going to be putting that world behind him. Crow had warned that now that Jim had come into direct contact with a progenitor, his pheromones would attract any and all of his kind. Jim had to be careful.

That counsel had led to Jim not leaving his apartment for over a week. He even bought groceries online and had them delivered. He knew he couldn’t live like this for long. It wasn’t just a matter of dwindling finances, but his job expected him to travel. If he didn’t, he’d have nothing to write about. Then he’d get fired. And being forty-four didn’t exactly guarantee him a new job, let alone a better one.

With his thoughts at once a mess and idle, he stared at the Columbia River, now awash with the rain, the surface foaming with droplets. Well, he was too high up to actually see it, but he had a lively imagination.

Only at the moment, that too failed him.

“Son of a bitch.” He cussed one last time, sighed in resignation, and closed the laptop. No point in torturing himself further. He had only two options. He’d write the werewolf story he had promised Albert Woodrow, the chief editor of the
National Travel Guide
he freelanced for, or he’d shelve the story and find a new one fast. Last week would have been great for that insight.

Sluggishly, he made his way to the kitchen to make some more coffee. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he was on his third cup already. It was an exotic Ethiopian blend, expensive but, oh, so delectable.

Just as he was pouring the steaming liquid into his cup, there was a knock on the door.

Taking a deep breath, Jim really hoped it wasn’t Albert. They weren’t friends, but they were friendly. Albert did have a hands-on approach to running his magazine, and he had a habit of making unscheduled visits to his telecommuting writers who were closing in on deadlines with nothing to show for it.

Already coming up with a list of possible excuses in a pinch, Jim smoothed out the wrinkles in his sweats and T-shirt as he walked to the door. “Yes?”

But outside in the hallway stood a man he had never met or even seen. Jim would have remembered this massive hunk of blond hair, bulging muscles, tight jeans, cowboy boots, denim coat, and a cowboy hat.

Swallowing hard, Jim realized he was staring or salivating or both, and he snapped his mouth shut. Then he smiled politely and asked, “Can I help you?”

The man smiled. Jim could have sworn he felt heat all the way down to his tippy-toes at that sexy gesture. And,
oh my God
, there were dimples.

“Jim Faulkner?”

“Uh, yes.”

The man extended his hand. “Hello. I’m Denver.” Jim shook his hand. Then he wished he hadn’t when the man added, “I’m the progenitor of the Colorado packs.”

“Oh.” Jim’s smile faded instantly, and he pulled on his hand. Denver released his hold immediately, looking apologetic.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jim was torn between practicing the politeness he had been raised with and slamming the door shut in the man’s face. “What do you want?”

Denver looked around at the empty hallway. “Might we discuss that inside?” Alarm made Jim panic. Denver quickly added, lowering his voice, “I can’t force you to mate with me—”

“That’s not what I heard,” Jim cut in, his instincts telling him to run.

“Oh, right.” Denver relaxed, smiling. “You mean the seduction bit? Well, yes, I could get you in the sack if I tried. But mating is about more than sex. That I could not make you do. It has to be voluntary.”

Jim bristled despite the cowboy’s amiable approach. “And what number would I have in your harem?”

Denver frowned in confusion, cocking his head. Then the furrow cleared, and he let out a charming chuckle. “Oh, I see. No, I don’t have any other mates. I’m all alone.” Then his attractive smile increased in wattage, making Jim’s knees buckle. “Hopefully not for long, though.”