Desert Moon (The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch Book 1) (5 page)

Her eyes jumped over a gap of darkness to an outlying house, an L-shaped adobe with wide windows and long, narrow skylights. Strips of tungsten light radiated between thick roof beams, glowing yellow against the indigo of the night. The way the house was perched at the far edge of the property suggested it might pick up and run clear into the desert if not for the split-log fence that surrounded it. She wondered who lived there, so far apart from the rest.

Then something stirred inside and
—click—
the lights went out. The house collapsed into brooding shadow as an owl hooted nearby. She cocked her head at the house. Who, who indeed?

She took off again, listening to her four paws scrape over the rocky ground in a steady tempo with the beating of her heart. On the next hilltop, she stopped, swung her head west and sniffed. There was something familiar out there in the wild. Something forbidden and oh-so tempting. She sniffed again, but just couldn’t capture why this particular place, this rocky outcrop beside a spiky patch of cliffrose called to her. She turned a slow pirouette, taking in the princely view. She was flooded by the scent, the place, the memories.

The prickly tickle of sage, the smoky taste of mesquite, the fragrance of sycamore. Wrapping it all together like the curtain of night was a subtler scent that was unique and individual. Something piney, almost masculine.

She stopped short, then sniffed again, letting her nose peel back the layers in the air, one by one, until she’d dissected them right down to its essence—and froze in realization. Could it really be?

She swayed on her feet. The scent that drove her wild, that had stayed with her all these years—it wasn’t the scent of the desert. It was Ty.

It was him, driving her crazy. Him, stirring her passion.

But how could that be? She searched her memories of her first visit to Arizona, years back. Somehow, she’d missed meeting Ty. Had he been away? One way or another, she’d caught his lingering scent. At that time, she’d put the intoxicating scent down to a trick of the desert and not an individual. But she’d been wrong. It was Ty.

For some reason, fate hadn’t seen fit to deliver on that promise, all those years ago. All she’d been given then was a tiny hint, but it had been enough. In all the dark moments in the past twelve years, she’d cheered herself by imagining the desert: the space, the freedom, the sense of possibility. That crazy feeling of belonging.

Ty had been with her all along. No wonder her dreams were filled with red-rock mesas and vast, open spaces instead of the deep green woods of her home. No wonder the dry desert air soothed rather than scoured her throat. No wonder she’d never met a man who’d stirred her interest before. She’d been waiting for Ty without realizing it.

Ty, her destined mate.

The more she breathed in the view from this mesa high above the ranch, the more it made sense. As a shifter matured, so too did his scent. But that didn’t mean the essence of it changed. It was like looking at a baby picture; the connection seemed so obvious once you linked the smooth features of the baby with the rugged adult.

That’s what her instincts had been trying to tell her all along. He was her destined mate!

Far in the recesses of her mind, a voice warned that this was all much more complicated than it seemed. But she was in wolf form, and wolves had a way of simplifying things. He was hers, she was his.

Lana touched her nose to the cool earth and sniffed, delighted to find more traces of Ty. He’d spent time here, lots of it. His scent was everywhere, and it worked on her like a drug. She rolled on her back and wiggled, insisting it keep her company. Once, years ago, she’d had a similar feeling of something wonderful hanging just out of reach. Now it was just her and the stars and the same enchanted place, and for one moment, she let herself give in to it all and hope.

Hope?
The human part of her mind wondered if she really dared.

# # #

Ty flipped off the lights in his house, stepped outside, and shifted. When his body needed it most, the process was smooth, more thrilling than painful. When it was forced, shifting could be agony as cartilage stretched and bones realigned. Tonight the change from one body to the other was so seamless he barely noticed it. A moment later, his wolf gave a settling-in shake and took off at a hammering run.

By day, the desert slumbered, but at night, it pulsed with life. Cacti breathing, cereus blooming from the tips of their leaves. Birds and jackrabbits flitted from cover to cover; even the hills seemed awake. He inhaled it with every weary breath. He knew every tussock and every stone, yet the desert’s mood was different every night. There was always something hidden, unexpected.

A run was just what he needed after a hell of a day. Once he’d wrapped up business—to the extent that it could be wrapped up for the night—he had cleaned out the Jeep and discovered a torn luggage tag. Lana’s. He’d sniffed the scrap, turned it over in his hands, and sniffed again. Even that little hint of her was intoxicating. Then he read the full name and address and froze.

Dixon. Lana Dixon. From the Berkshires, he remembered Aunt Jean saying.

Half the desert seemed to lodge in his throat at that moment of realization. Aunt Jean couldn’t have been so bold as to invite one of
those
Dixons here, could she? He remembered his father cursing the name. If a Dixon ever tries to step foot here,
I’ll kill him—or her.
His voice had been shaking as he said it, finger stabbing every word.

Lana was a Dixon? Here? It was pure insanity; his father wouldn’t stand for it.

Except, of course, that his father wasn’t home…yet. He’d be back in a week. Something in Ty’s jaw twitched at the thought. Why would Jean act against his father’s orders? And did Lana even know about the history between their families?

No, he decided; if she did, she would never have stepped foot on the ranch with that innocent, oblivious air.

He needed to run, to think. There were too many volcanoes rumbling, all of them threatening to erupt at once. The rogues. Lana and the shattering effect she had on him. The danger she had unknowingly wandered into. The mincemeat his father would make of him when he returned.

He gave his muzzle a vicious shake. A Dixon, back after all these years. Was it really possible?

He made a long, punishing loop to the west, then eased into a lope and turned north, making straight for his special place. The moon wasn’t yet up, the stars all the brighter for its absence. Problems looked smaller from his hill. He knew it was an illusion, but hell, he needed a break like never before.

He pounded onto higher ground, past the last stands of thistle and the rambling barberry that marked his own private turf where no one dared disturb him. There, on the highest point of land, he looked east, beyond the slumbering valley. Any second now…

There. The rising moon. The globe was a few days short of full, but plump and heavy all the same. He could feel it singing through the earth even before the upper curve stole its first furtive glance over the ridge line. When the body followed, its pale light flipped a switch inside him. His rump hit the ground, his muzzle pointed up, and a low, rumbling cry left his muzzle. It rose, fell, then climbed again, bouncing off each undulation of the landscape. The desert was made for howling, lifting and amplifying the sound the way no other place could. He could howl all night, lose himself in the bittersweet ballad.

Lana—Lana Dixon—was here on the ranch. So near, so impossibly far. She was forbidden fruit, the Capulet to his Montague. The thought of what he would be denied gave him all the more reason to howl. He tipped his head back more and spilled his soul into the night. Hope, despair, and yearning, all tumbled together in his heart song.

Alone. He’d always be alone.

# # #

Lana sensed the other wolf as a vague feeling even before she heard the measured breath of an athlete, the confident step of one at home. A shiver ran through the landscape at his approach, and everything hushed in anticipation. Then one of the shadows wavered and a wolf emerged from the darkness, heading to the highest outcrop a stone’s throw away. She crouched, watching. The wind was with her; he hadn’t caught her scent.

It was the most magnificent wolf she’d ever seen. Big. Taller than her by a head. His coat was a midnight shade of brown, like the strongest, most bitter coffee—no cream, no sugar, concentrated into a syrup you’d be crazy to sip, let alone swallow.

Ty, as bold and brooding in canine form as on two feet. A shudder of anticipation rolled through her.

The soft texture of his coat was framed by the harsh landscape, and power rolled off him like a heat wave. Frustration, too—mountains of it. When Ty tilted his head and howled, her heart stuttered. That bass was the voice of a prisoner, yearning to break free. Low and sorrowful, it swelled and modulated but never broke. She leaned into the night air, wanting to brush up against him, wanting to ease the unbearable loneliness.

In the next slow heartbeats, his voice seemed to grow louder, nearer. With a blink, she realized her wolf had taken up the cry too, and was pouring her soul into the night with him. The moon just yanked it out of her.

She pounded every aching minute of the past years into her howl and let the vast space multiply it a dozen times over. Ty’s voice wavered as hers rose, and then broke off altogether. She wanted so badly for him to acknowledge the force that seemed to lasso them together, again and again. Destiny was at work here. Couldn’t he tell?

She strained for some sign, but Ty didn’t answer. She howled until her voice cracked on a last, echoing note, then let her head sink to the ground as silence crushed in around her. Maybe fate was playing an ever crueler trick this time, giving her a man who didn’t love her back. She counted one hollow heartbeat, then another, feeling hope drain away. A tumbleweed hurried past; perhaps it, too, was chasing a reluctant mate.

That’s when Ty started up again. She could have wept at the sound, half in joy, half in sorrow. She joined in on his next refrain, swelling with hope as their voices merged. The sound formed a bridge, and she could swear she felt his heart beat in her chest as their voices carried high and far. Their duet was a serenade, an incantation, urging the moon higher so that it might brighten the darkness and show them the way.

Every living thing stopped, listening in a reverent hush. Even the moon seemed to bend an ear. They struck their most perfect chord, and Lana hung on to it so long, so breathlessly, that she didn’t notice when Ty stopped. Only that the night was still, except for his footfalls, drawing near.

She pulled in a sharp breath and trembled, fighting every instinct to drop her head in submission. Tonight, he wasn’t the pack alpha. He was her mate.

Yes, her mate. Her wolf knew it and made damn sure any hesitation from her human side was firmly locked away.

God, he was big. Imposing. Proud. His eyes were bright and full of surprise at the female who refused to back away. She forced her tail to stay straight as a flag instead of letting it droop between her hind legs. If they were to be mates, they would do it on equal terms. She lifted her chin when he stopped, half a step away, the soft huff of his breath the only moving thing in the crisp night air.

When his muzzle went left, sniffing her space, hers mirrored the motion. When he swung right, she stayed in the middle. Let him look all he wanted. Let him come closer. Let him touch.

As if bidden, Ty stepped forward and did a slow lap of her body, his nose tracing an invisible boundary above her back, then breaking through it until he was brushing along her side. A spark crackled on her coat at his first contact, and her pulse started throbbing in her veins.

Mine! Mate!

Surely he knew it now, too?

Her heart thumped wildly as she leaned closer, pushing past the outer tips of his fur to feel the warmth beneath. He pulled slowly along the length of her left side and up to her face, then ran the underside of his chin over the nape of her neck in the ultimate wolf sign of trust. Much as she was tempted to roll and offer him her belly, she stood firmly on four feet. The daughter of an alpha could damn well hold her own, even if it meant hiding an inner tremble.

She started her own slow dance, running her muzzle up his neck and over his shoulder until they were intertwined, slow-wrestling for closer contact. She’d never felt warmth like this before—warmth that had her imagining the surrounding landscape lit with a thousand flickering candles set in irregular rows that turned the night into a place of worship. In a place like that, even the most jaded soul could find faith.

As Ty circled again, the inner throbbing grew more insistent. He paused at her rump, and this time, she dropped her haunches in a thinly veiled hint. She was ready for her mate. Burning for him, in fact. Instinct chanted within her, wanting him to mount, to slide inside, to give her pleasure like no lover ever before. Want became spoken need as she let out a low whine. Ty gave off an answering call, a rumble from deep within his chest that grew as he circled yet again and nuzzled her, face to face. He did it over and over, a gesture fit for a caring lover, not a mighty wolf who took what he wanted, as hard and fast as he wanted. It was she who was rushing, insisting. She couldn’t help a little yowl, an insistent nudge of her hips.

Ty’s rumble went deeper and she could sense a shiver of anticipation sweep through his body. His uneven breath and slow, almost reverent movements told her that this was different than the hundred ordinary conquests of a much-sought-after alpha.

Faith. She had to have faith. Even if he didn’t recognize her as his mate yet, the time would come.

She only intended to let out an encouraging yip, but she found herself in another heartfelt howl that begged the moon to shine the truth into Ty’s eyes. A weight squeezed in beside her—Ty—and he howled too, underpinning her voice with his deeper harmony. She could picture a thousand moonlit nights spent in exactly this way. They’d let their voices wrap around each other, then let their bodies follow suit.