Desert Moon (The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch Book 1) (3 page)

She turned instinctively and took him in, that mountain of a man. His hair looked just long enough for her fingers to skim through for a short ride. She imagined how close she’d have to be to do that. Close enough to feel the scrape of his stubble. To taste those lips. Close enough to nuzzle him until the edge had gone out of his taut body. Close enough to let their bodies brush, mesh, intertwine—

“It’s open.” His voice was gruff.

She forced herself to pull it together. God, her wolf was out of control today. The screen door gave a rusty squeal as she stepped inside and forced her attention there. The heavy beams overhead smelled of wood oil and time. The walls were white, the ceiling high. A painting of a rose hung over the bed, whispering of reckless possibility.

Ty set down her bag, and when their eyes locked as he straightened, the whisper became a roar. She got lost in his deep, dark gaze as the chiseled line of his jaw pulsed with unspoken words. She was frozen, yet burning up at the same time. The moment stretched to infinity as the air throbbed and hummed in her ears. Was her heart barely pulsing or was it thumping like a rabbit’s? There was some secret communication between them—a question asked and answered—though her mind couldn’t register what that might be. They were mere puppets, bystanders to some greater reckoning.

Then Ty’s eyes dropped to the floor and the earth stilled. Her mind took a moment to catch up, and by the time it did, the screen door had slammed. He was gone.

She slumped to the bed, her heart hammering, her ears vaguely registering the bang of the screen door. A bead of sweat dropped in slow motion from her brow. She’d survived a brush with a tornado and was still reeling, wondering how close it had come to whirling her away.

For the first time in a long while, she wanted to believe in the wolfpack myths. That there was love at first sight. That she would find her destined mate and the air would shimmer and rush. That her heat would reach out and intertwine with his and they’d slam together in a living storm of passion and never ever part.

But this man might as well have barbed wire coiled around his torso and a danger sign around his neck.
Warning! Death by hundreds of thousands of volts.
She wondered if Ty had rigged the defense system himself or some outside force had done it for him.

Her breathing slowly settled as her mind jerked on the reins. Maybe Ty had that effect on everyone. A powerful alpha could do that—melt everyone and everything in his path. Either you’d self-incinerate or he’d kill you the slow way: death by broken heart.

Best to avoid him. The man was bossy, busy, and seriously wounded. A man like that needed a lot of fixing—and hell, she was no mechanic.

And anyway, a myth was a myth. There was no such thing as a destined mate, not these days anyway. Shifters who found mates did it the clumsy human way: trial by error. Guessing, trying, compromising. And even that took time, patience, and hope—three things she just didn’t possess. This crazy stirring inside her soul was just her wolf hearing the call of the desert, and that could be explained by the half of her DNA that came from her Arizona-born mother.

Either way, it didn’t matter. She could damn well control her urges. A woman had to have some pride, after all. She shook the image of Ty out of her brain and promised herself she’d concentrate on what she came for, then get the hell out of Arizona.

And never come back.

CHAPTER THREE

Ty strode away from the adobe cabin, sucking in the breath he’d forgotten to draw back there. He’d only barely broken away and his wolf was still scratching madly to escape.

Take her
, it growled.
You know you want her.

He did. Badly. And she felt the same way. One touch and she’d be his. He could feel it.

Take her now!

He wanted—needed—her like a drunk needed a drink. She could set him free. Maybe set them both free.

Take her!

Jesus, his hands were shaking. Not from proximity to danger or a foe, but from her. Only one other woman had ever had this effect on him.

The phantom.

It happened years ago, after he’d been away from the ranch on business. The minute he got back, it hit like a heat wave in the height of summer. A scent. A female scent carried on the wind touched him—no, kneed him right in the gut—then vanished. Overcome by the need to claim, he’d roamed all over the desert. He spent weeks searching, every keen wolf sense tuned in to tracking the source. But she was gone—or she never existed, except as a hint on the wind that teased him to ruin. He’d never love, never want anyone again.

The itch, the longing never really faded. It came and went in unpredictable waves, like seasons gone wrong.

Now Lana’s scent was calling to him in exactly the same way. He had been on the verge of reaching for her in the guest house and only barely managed to stop himself. Men like him—like his father—were dangerous. Their intensity drained anyone they let too near. If he took Lana as his mate, he would suck the life out of her, bit by bit. Like his father had done to all his women. One after another, they had all wilted under that intensity. Ty’s mother was stronger than the others, and she’d left before it was too late, abandoning her kids for Aunt Jean to raise. Whenever he dropped one bedmate, his father would move on to a new woman, and then another one. Shifters could live two to three hundred years but pureblooded weres had a notoriously hard time conceiving. Which was good, in a way; Ty figured he might have had dozens of half-siblings if that weren’t the case. His father never found the one woman who could balance him and make him whole.

They said the more powerful the alpha, the harder it was to find a mate, and he believed it. If Lana wasn’t his destined mate—and how could she be, if she wasn’t the phantom?—she’d eventually wilt away, too. Oh, she would put up a good fight. She had met his eyes and actually held his gaze. Very few people could do that. His own siblings had trouble looking at him when he was fired up. Everyone else stared at some point on his forehead or shoulder, or simply looked away.

Power was a curse. He’d always stand alone.

But what if? A tantalizing array of images flitted through his mind. What if Lana could withstand that force? She would give him a life outside of work and duty. A life worth living.

If only her scent matched that of the phantom! Then he could throw all doubt aside and take her as he’d nearly done in the guest house. He’d pull her close, find that spot on her neck. His teeth would slip right in and barely draw a drop of blood as he held on, letting their life essences intertwine. That would claim her and mark her as his forever. She wanted it, too; he could feel it.

But the scents didn’t match. Not exactly. And if the stories were true, a wolf recognized his destined mate on first sight. So if he was unsure, it meant he could be wrong about both Lana and the phantom. Maybe there was no destined mate for him. Aunt Jean had never found one; neither had his father, and any number of other wolves. Some eventually settled for mating with whoever they decided was good enough and did their best to make it work. An ordinary mate; an ordinary relationship. No fireworks, no bonding of souls, no perfect match. Nothing like destined mates.

He kicked a rut into the dirt road. The hand he ran through his hair came out damp with sweat, and he huffed at his own helplessness. The big bad alpha, floored by a woman he hadn’t even touched.

He fought off the memory of having her close and stepped to the Jeep, reaching down to close the tailgate. He had to get to that meeting. But instead of lifting, his arms leaned down to prop up his stiff frame. Hell, he was the one who was drained. Even breathing took a conscious effort.

Tick, said one second.
Everyone is waiting.

Tock, said the next.
She could change your life.

Tick.

Tock.

Someone across the way coughed quietly. Ty’s ear twitched, and the moment was over. Duty called. He’d never failed his pack, and never would. No matter what it cost him.

He slammed the tailgate closed and strode across the square.

# # #

Cody met him with a wicked look only he would pull at a time like this. He shot a rueful laugh into Ty’s mind, as all packmates could, along with a clear message.
Who was that cute chick? Maybe I’ll show her around after—

Ty thumped Cody on the chest by way of greeting, hard enough to knock his brother back a step.

Cody’s eyes went wide.
She’s all yours, bro.

Ty’s wolf snarled back before he could leash it.
Yes. Yes she is.

Christ, that set it all off again. His blood volume seemed to double at the very thought of Lana. It was the worst possible time to get distracted. He had pressing business—very pressing, from the looks of those waiting outside the council house.

Ty nodded to their visitor: Atsa, alpha of the neighboring coyote pack. In human form, Atsa had the wiry stature and distinctive features of his Navajo people, plus the keen eyes of his namesake, the eagle. In coyote form, the man was quick and wily despite his years. Ty held the door for the coyote elder, then followed him inside the council house, leading the way for the other coyote and wolf shifters gathered there.

The wooden building stood a few feet above ground level to let cool air circulate underneath. A low, sloping roof kept out both the sun and prying eyes. Benches lined both sides of the interior, while the middle was left open. He glanced around the uncluttered space, wishing everything in his life could be that way.

Tina, his sister, was already there, wearing her trademark no-nonsense look. She sat in her usual spot to the right of their father’s heavy oak chair. Ty stood stiffly in front of the empty chair while Cody filed into the room, followed by several of their senior packmates.

Ty nodded to Atsa to start, and their visitor came right to the point.

“You’ve heard the reports.”

Oh, he’d heard the reports, all right. He reminded himself not to growl in frustration. Atsa’s coyote pack were good neighbors. Although the wolves were relative newcomers to this region, having only staked their claim two centuries ago, the packs had learned to coexist. Keeping humans ignorant of their true nature was one common interest; controlling any incursions by rogue shifters was another.

“Yes, I’ve heard.”

Over the past two weeks, reports of rogue activity had been trickling in: a few dead sheep here, a human murdered there. Ty knew as well as Atsa did that most shifters were peaceable and law-abiding souls who lived by a strict code of honor—one that many humans could stand to emulate. Rogues, however, recognized no laws, pack or human.

“You remember Yas?” The name thudded off Atsa’s tongue.

He nodded. The white coyote—hence his name: Yas, or Snow. Yas had always stirred up trouble.
White men invaded our land
, he’d rant.
They must be driven away. Wolves are arrogant bastards who don’t deserve to share our ancestral lands.
Yas had even struck out at his own kind within the coyote pack. Eventually, things went too far and a fellow shifter was killed. As great-grandson of the coyote alpha, Yas received the relatively light sentence of banishment. Death would have been the wiser choice.

“I remember,” Ty grumbled, grinding his teeth over every word.

Atsa sighed, and every line on his ancient face deepened. “It is he who stirs up trouble. Scouts believe they have caught his scent to the west. Yas, and others who are…unclean.”

“Rogues,” Ty corrected, and all eyes jumped to him. Why dance around the point? Rogues were rogues, and the danger was real. He returned each look with his own burning stare until each and every man dropped his eyes in submission. Then he glanced back at Atsa, tempering his stare for the old man. An elder was an elder, to be respected and revered even if the old man didn’t keep his pack as tightly disciplined as Ty would have liked. “Where are they now?”

Tina folded and re-folded her hands at the periphery of his vision, signaling for him to stay cool. His sister, the diplomat.

Atsa’s expression conveyed the weariness of a man betrayed. “They cover their tracks well and move quickly…”

If it had been a man of lesser standing beating around the bush, Ty would have snapped. He settled for a pointed stare, feeling his packmates’ scrutiny. It had become so familiar, this sense of a collectively held breath, of an audience leaning forward, hoping to see the trapeze artist fall. Would Ty prove himself a worthy successor to his father?

“And?” His prompt came out as a bark, aimed more at his packmates than Atsa.

“And…” The senior coyote shook his head. “I fear he plans to come home. And not alone.”

“Home.” He made it a statement, not a question. Yas hadn’t been seen or heard from in years. And coming back… That shouldn’t be possible. Yas could never come home. If he tried, there’d be more trouble, more bloodshed. Then again, that might be just what Yas was after.

If the threat had come from any other rogue, he wouldn’t be as concerned. But Yas was ambitious. Clever. Pure evil and only half sane. Oh yes, Ty remembered him well.

He let Atsa’s silence say the rest. The coyotes had no idea where or when the rogues might strike. Coyotes were notoriously hard to track—harder even than the cleverest wolf.

He turned to Cody. “When are Zack and Rae due back?” Surely the pack’s best tracker and his skilled huntress of a mate could root out the rogues—if they got back from Wyoming in time.

Cody gave an apologetic shake of his head, side to side. “Not for another week. And we haven’t been able to get in touch.”

He bit back a curse. Just when the pack needed their expertise most…and he could use Zack’s steady presence just about now. Hell, he could use a trip of his own sometime, and a mate to go with him.

He jutted his chin left, then right. No use wishing for what he couldn’t have. An alpha led, and led alone.