Spirit of the Wolf (5 page)

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Authors: Vonna Harper

Tags: #Man-Woman Relationships, #Ranchers, #Paranormal, #General, #Romance, #Erotic Fiction, #Erotica, #Fiction, #Love Stories

BOOK: Spirit of the Wolf
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She’d never match his strength, she admitted, and threw the horses another pile. If he wanted to rape her, she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
 
Could it come to that?
she pondered when she stepped into the shower a half hour later. Despite their sex’s frenzied quality, until today she’d believed she had nothing to fear from the man. Now she didn’t know.
Lukewarm water slid over her hair and back, freeing her thoughts. Today aside, her relationship with Matt had been everything she’d ever wanted from a man physically. His body was hot; he was hot. A look, a touch from him and she was off and running.
Shampooing her long hair was no one-minute task. Sometimes she wondered why she didn’t simply chop it off. But her folks had insisted on keeping her hair short and stylish throughout her childhood, and hardheaded or not, she’d be damned if she’d follow the path they’d tried to lay down.
Enough with my parents,
she ordered as she began rinsing. They were—where were they now anyway?—doing their selfabsorbed thing. They certainly weren’t worrying about her.
So if any worry was needed, it was up to her to do it.
Matt. Body carved from an unforgiving land and never-ending work. Eyes that hinted of things unsaid. A cock made for wrapping more than just her pussy around.
Straightening, she backed away a little so the spray struck her breasts. Lifting one and then the other, she watched the water attack them. Matt wasn’t gentle with her, never had been. No kid gloves. Crazy determined to match his frenzy, she approached his body as if it were a prairie-wild bronc. She clung to his cock. Sometimes she planted it in her mouth and raked her teeth over sweet steel and satin.
Mostly she took it into her starving, impatient core.
Groaning, she braced her back against the small shower stall and slipped a hand between her legs. He hadn’t worn a condom today. For the first time, it had been skin against skin between them. Wonderful. Memorable.
Breaking the rules.
Damn him.
Her eyes closed. The sound of running water became everything, that and the fingers gliding over flesh that jumped and wept with every touch and thought.
Decision time. She could either set out a list of rules of behavior for Matt to adhere to from this moment on or leap into the unknown and embrace whatever happened next. Maybe die happy.
What about the wolves? Where did they fit into all this?
Wolves. Sex doggy style. Mating simply to reproduce, unlike humans who came together for pleasure and sometimes a sense of belonging.
Bombarded by the reality of how little she and Matt shared, she didn’t fight her tears. Lonely and a little scared, she splayed her legs, tilted her pelvis upward, and worked two fingers deep inside. Her thumb unerringly found her clit, stimulating it and turning her stupid. Surrounding her in pressure followed by the harsh, wonderful climb to the top.
Her nerves twanged, her sex muscles gripped, and as her hard climax rocked her, more tears fell.
 
“I’ll be back early next week,” Addie said. “Maybe as soon as Sunday.”
Now that the calls to Fish and Wildlife and his fellow ranchers were behind him, Matt had been looking forward to a cold beer and the evening news, which was something he seldom had time for. Although the beer was in his hand, Addie’s call had changed any hope he’d had of being able to put the day behind him. Sooner or later, Addie needed to know what had happened.
“You sound eager to get back,” he told the woman who’d slowly and lovingly shown a confused and angry teenager the meaning of trust. “The last time we talked, you were excited about all the places your sister was taking you.”
“Was I? Now I’m just exhausted and getting broke. Carole’s a shopaholic. I don’t get it. What’s the excitement in collecting stuff?”
Addie sounded like what she was, a farmwife accustomed to putting the land and the livestock’s needs before hers. To her way of thinking, buying for the sake of buying was flat-out insane. She’d told him that she and Carole had had several good conversations that helped bridge some of the gaps caused by lives that had gone in different directions since childhood. But Carole kept pushing her to hold back nothing about Santo’s death. According to Carole, the only way Addie was going to get over her husband’s death was by talking and then talking some more.
Addie didn’t want to talk about burying the man she’d loved more than she’d known it was possible to love. Her grief was hers and hers alone, part of the memories of a solid marriage.
“Carole didn’t know Santo more than superficially,” Addie said, her voice thick with tears. “You did. When and if I feel like letting down my hair, I want it to be with someone who doesn’t need a picture painted. So, anyway, if I show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night, you’ll know why.”
“It’s your doorstep more than it is mine,” he said. He stared out the kitchen window with its view of where he’d been today. He, Beale, Cat, a dead calf, and wolf prints.
“Let’s not get into that, Matt. There’s more of your blood and sweat in the land than mine.”
“I’m not sure about that.” Upending the can, he swallowed. “I figure it’s pretty equal.” He didn’t need to mention how much blood Santo had shed. “I’ve been taking care of your garden. The refrigerator’s full.”
“I’m sure it is. Matt, is there anything I should know about?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Have you forgotten we live under the same roof? Something’s going on, right?”
“We’ll talk when you get back.”
“I thought so. I can always tell when something’s on your mind.”
He couldn’t argue with that, he allowed as he hung up, but there was no way Addie could guess what he was thinking about tonight. Although he didn’t want to, he again stared out the window. From this distance, the hills he knew as well as the back of his hand and yet didn’t looked hazy. He’d never told anyone—hell, he’d barely admitted it to himself—but they’d always made him feel uneasy, not nearly as uncomfortable as the last time he’d gone to where his father was living.
He was a grown man, he reminded himself whenever unease about his surroundings caught him unawares. There was no such thing as a bogeyman, no evil spirits, nothing waiting to jump out at him from the shadows.
Opening the refrigerator, he reached for another beer, his limit because he never knew when he might have to make a decision or jump into action. Logic said his present tension was a result of thinking about where they’d found Santo’s body, a place not far from where the calf’s life had ended.
Santo and a calf were dead. He couldn’t do anything about that, so why the hell was he letting himself get tied into a knot? Better to think of something pleasant, something that spoke to the man in him.
Cat.
Who, after what he’d done to her, might want nothing to do with him.
5
 
H
e was naked with a jacket slung over his shoulder. Cold misted his breath and chilled his bare feet. It was night, moonless, and yet he could see. What he was doing here briefly concerned him. Then a wind kicked up, and he stopped thinking about anything except jamming his arms into the too-small jacket. When he shrugged, trying to make the jacket fit, the garment ripped down the back, but that was all right because he now wore boots.
Nothing but boots.
And a knife belted to his waist.
For a moment he thought the night had started breathing, then realized the sound was coming from just beyond what little he could see.
“Who is it?” He wasn’t sure whether he’d spoken aloud or had thought the question. “What are you doing here?”
No one answered, and he acknowledged that he hadn’t expected anything. Grateful for the weapon, he pulled it out of the sheath. It started out being heavy only to lose weight until it felt as if he were holding on to feathers.
Looking down, he saw blood dripping off the ends of his fingers. Fear bit at him, only to fade. Now he didn’t know what he was feeling, maybe nothing. Maybe impatience because he suspected something was going to happen and he, by damn, deserved to know what it was.
Why? It wasn’t as if he knew what to do.
Morning bloomed around him. The sunrise wasn’t perfect; it left shadows here and there, but he was in the hills at the east end of his property. No, that was wrong, because the ones he was looking at weren’t smooth and rolling with plenty of grass but liberally shot with sharp rocks and a steep peak only a mountain climber would attempt.
As he studied the peak, it melted a little so it no longer looked so formidable. At the same time, it gave birth to other mountains until they surrounded him. Interesting, he thought. A moment later, interest turned into tension and shivers down his naked back. Wiggling his toes reassured him that his boots hadn’t deserted him. He wasn’t sure about socks. Who needed a coat when it was so hot?
Hot? Hadn’t it just been cold?
Shrugging off weather concerns, he did what he’d been putting off since night deserted the scene. These weren’t morning shadows painting the sides of the mountains away from the sun after all. Instead, he was looking at cave after cave. Some were barely pinpricks. A few appeared perfect for a she-wolf looking for a place to give birth. The closest sported a narrow opening and beyond that a large, well-lit room complete with some of the furniture he’d seen at Cat’s place.
Cat. Was she part of whatever the hell this was?
As if answering his question, feminine fingers stroked his cock. A hand gathered up his balls and held them as if they were precious.
Was this Cat? The woman he’d once thought he knew had always grabbed his sex as if determined to wring every bit of cum out of him. Feeding off her, he did the same, lightly twisting her nipples and slapping her mons. Then he rammed a knee between her legs and lifted, forcing her to ride him.
“You can’t answer your question about who has hold of your cock and balls, can you?” Cat’s voice asked. “Wanna know why?”
“Yeah.”
“Because you don’t know me. Hell, you never asked where I came from or why I wound up here.”
Loving the feel of her hands on his most important organ, he prayed she’d keep the touch light. Otherwise, he’d go off.
“You’re not the only one with dark places in their background.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from, surely not his mind. “What the hell do you know about me?”
Releasing his cock and balls, she threw herself at him, nearly knocking him off his boots. Funny how he could feel arms, legs, breasts, and belly and yet not see her.
“Isn’t that a pisser,” she said. “Strangers fucking each other’s brains out. Going at it like rabbits.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and hauled on it until he was forced to bend toward her. Somehow her legs were around his waist with her damp, hot sex plastered to his middle.
We can’t fuck like this,
he wanted to tell her, but her mouth clamped onto his and he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
Seriously, couldn’t breathe.
His head began pounding, and his lungs burned. Something had plugged his nostrils. No matter how desperately he fought to wrench his head to the side so he could open his mouth, nothing happened.
Light-headed, he struggled to keep his legs under him, but her body was becoming heavier. They’d melted together, would go down together.
He swayed forward and back, forward again. Then just as his knees started to buckle, the weight was gone. Feminine arms no longer gripped his neck. Most telling, the sex moisture she’d smeared over his belly started to dry.
Gone. Lost. Nothing left behind except the few words she’d spoken.
She was right. They were strangers.
Thinking—if it could be called that—that the dream had come to an end, he ran his hands over his waist to discover that the knife no longer existed.
Cold returned. Alert and more alarmed than he wanted to admit, he looked around. His attention settled on the cave that had had Cat’s furniture in it. Now only her bed remained.
Thinking she might reappear and be on it if he touched it, he started toward the bed. Something sharp jabbed his right instep. What had happened to the boots?
Knowing there weren’t any answers, he looked up. A dark, four-legged form blocked the cave entrance.
“Damn it, not that.”
A long muzzle opened to reveal countless teeth. He wasn’t sure but thought the wolf—yeah, that’s what it was—had been normal size at first. Now it was massive. Not as large as a horse but nearly twice as big as a mortal wolf. Growling, it started toward him.
Terrified and fascinated, he held his ground.
“Welcome,” the wolf said.
 
Cat woke with a headache that two cups of coffee did nothing to alleviate. She had two students coming this afternoon, teenage girls looking to improve their roping skills so hopefully they could earn more ribbons at the periodically held local rodeos. She was looking forward to their enthusiasm and willingness to learn. As they’d told her, their parents didn’t have the patience or knowledge. Cat suspected some of the problem was the girls didn’t give their parents enough credit, but as long as they listened to her, which they did, she didn’t care.
She hadn’t heard from Matt. The local morning news had led with the wolf attack, proof that he’d spread the necessary news. She’d heard from several neighbors eager to rehash what little the reporter had said. Maybe she should have mentioned that she’d seen the dead calf, but that would lead to questions she wasn’t up to answering.
When she’d first gone outside, it had been cool enough that she’d regretted not wearing a jacket, but giving the horses their morning hay had warmed her. Instead of saddling her newest acquisition, a two-year-old quarter horse gelding with a tendency to shy every time he saw a lasso, she sat on a hay bale and stared at the rocky outcroppings to the north, which were on what had once been Paiute land.
Other than the occasional hiker, the rimrocks held little appeal, and her one attempt to take a horse there had taught her it wasn’t worth the risk. After the failed horseback ride when she’d discovered that the terrain was even steeper than it had looked from a distance, she’d argued with herself for months. She had no reason to go there. Her boots were hardly made for climbing, and she had more than enough to keep herself busy. Only lizards, spiders, and maybe snakes made their homes there.
But the former Paiute turf continued to call to her. Why had ancient Native Americans lived there? She could understand scouts staying there so they could keep an eye on strangers, but not building homes. However, the little she’d learned from the local historical society led her to believe the tribe had spent extended periods of time there.
One spring day last year, she’d gotten up, driven to the end of the road, and, armed with water, granola bars, binoculars, and her cell phone, she’d started up a narrow deer path. She’d climbed and explored for hours. Despite scratches, bug bites, and aching limbs, she’d followed curiosity or instinct or something from one intriguing spot to another. The whole time she was up there, she imagined she was a Paiute woman on a spirit quest. Modern life no longer had a hold on her. She’d become someone ancient and tied to the land, a primitive and trusting human being who believed everything the shaman said about mystical forces such as the sun and moon gods. They ruled Native American life by rewarding righteous behavior and punishing those who didn’t follow
The Way
.
She’d never told anyone what she’d found that day.
Shaken by memories of the eerie time she’d spent in the cave, she scrambled to her feet. Enough with getting hung up with what she didn’t understand and hadn’t shared with anyone. Action time had arrived.
Still fighting the hold the cave exerted over her whenever she thought about it, she headed toward the horse pasture. She’d lifted her hand to shield her eyes and was looking for the quarter horse gelding when she heard an approaching vehicle.
Ramming her hands into her back jeans’ pockets, she waited. Told herself it wasn’t Matt and even if it was, she didn’t want to see him.
Today Matt had on a Western shirt with pearl snaps that hugged his torso before disappearing into old, faded jeans. In deference to the heat—or maybe because he wanted to test her resolve—the shirt was open at the throat down to the fourth button. Dark, curling chest hair challenged her not to touch it. He’d rolled up the sleeves to just above his elbows. Damn those hard-as-hell forearms.
He held up a flash drive. “You wanted to see the pictures I took.”
Something about his tone said she’d regret this, but what was she going to do, chicken out when she already knew what she was going to see?
“You could have e-mailed them to me,” she said.
“No, I couldn’t. Do you have time?”
She’d make time. She just hoped she could keep her emotional equilibrium about her. Matt had parked his pickup next to hers in such as way that she’d have to do a lot of maneuvering in order to move her rig. Deliberate?
“I see you called Fish and Wildlife,” she said over her shoulder as she led the way to her house.
“And the police. Also some of my neighbors.”
“I know.” She laughed. “The rumor mill’s on overload today. Did any of the authorities say you shouldn’t have touched anything, give them a chance to look at the carcass?”
“Sheriff Wilton started to but stopped when I e-mailed him the pictures.”
Which he hadn’t done when it came to her. Feeling a tension she didn’t want to acknowledge, she opened the front door and stepped inside. In some ways, her place and Matt’s were clones. Both had been built in the 1950s with sitting porches, small living rooms, and kitchens at the rear. Her house’s former owners had done a pretty good job of keeping up the house; the outbuildings and pastures hadn’t much concerned them. In contrast, Santo and Addie had spread their attention equally throughout the property and had built a wing consisting of a bedroom, bath, and office for Matt. She envied him his modern sleeping/work quarters.
Careful not to look in the direction of the bedroom where she and Matt had sometimes torn at each other on her double bed, she went to the desk and filing cabinets she’d set up in a second bedroom. Her laptop was open on the desk.
“Good-sized screen,” Matt said, and sat in the office chair.
As he plugged the flash drive into the USB port, she contemplated planting her butt on the table next to the laptop; however, not only would it be hard to see the monitor from that angle, but also she wasn’t ready to commit to getting that close to him.
For the first time since their relationship began, he hadn’t touched or tried to touch her. In fact, he barely seemed aware of her, as if watching things load was the only thing on his mind. His fingers looked too big for their task, but she knew what they were capable of. The things he could make her feel.
Opting for standing behind him and slightly to the side, she looked over his shoulder as the first picture appeared. Even without the sounds and smells that had been part of yesterday, the close-up of the calf’s sightless eyes saddened her. It might help if she placed her hands on Matt’s shoulders, but chances were then she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what was obviously important to him.

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