Uncaging Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 4) (2 page)

Don’t be ridiculous
, she thought.
He did a nice thing. Not everything has to get your hackles up.

That meant she had tomorrow free, and then the weekend to get her life together, somehow, before starting work.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I got you a phone and a car too,” he said. “Well, I got you a phone. The car is Dad’s old Bronco. Me and Austin managed to get it running okay.”

He doesn’t have to be this nice to me
, Scarlet thought. The first time he’d visited, she’d snarled at him that he was never,
ever
to bring that bear to see her.
That bear
being Austin, of course.

Trevor parked and flipped the headlights off.

“Why’d you do this?” Scarlet asked, suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Take me in. Get me a job. Get me a phone, fix my car.”

She turned and looked at him, his gray eyes calm and relentlessly familiar.

“I know you didn’t have to,” she said, quietly. “You could have stopped visiting years ago.”

“Because you’re my little sister,” he said. “And because I thought you could still change.”

Did I, though?
thought Scarlet, her eyes searching his.
I don’t hate bears and lions and humans anymore, but I don’t think I’m a good person. Whatever that means.

“You did change,” he told her, as if he could read her mind.

“For the better?”

“Mostly,” he said. “Though you still jiggle your leg when you’re nervous and it drives me
up the fucking wall
.”

Scarlet forced herself to stop jiggling her leg.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Ready?” Trevor asked.

“Ready,” Scarlet said, and she got out of the car, crunched across the gravel driveway, and walked up the steps to the wooden porch.

She took a deep breath, then pushed the door open and walked into the dark hallway.

A brief flash of memory: standing around the dining room table with her father, then men in helmets and body armor breaking through the door. The last time she’d been in the house.

Then she walked into the dark living room and paused, letting her eyes adjust, and the lights flipped on.

“SURPRISE!!” everyone yelled.

Scarlet’s wolf jumped up and growled at the sudden noise and light. It didn’t matter to her wolf that she’d been expecting it. The animal had been on high alert for years now, and it went into attack mode at the slightest provocation.
 

She held her breath for a moment, forcing it down.

Then she smiled as wide as she could, nearly feeling like her face would crack from the sheer force of it.

“You guys!” she said.

“Lizzy and Tim baked you a cake,” said Sloane, pointing to a
clearly
homemade baked confection on the coffee table. The two teenagers smiled, both looking a little embarrassed.

“It’s chocolate-chocolate-chocolate,” said Lizzy, her dark hair falling over her gray eyes.

“My favorite,” said Scarlet.

For a moment, she thought,
I can’t believe they let that through
, but then she quickly corrected herself.

You’re home. In a house. Where cakes are normal and delicious and not for smuggling contraband
.

Not that anyone used cakes for that anymore, of course.

Then Sloane came up and hugged her, the other girl standing on tiptoe.

“Welcome home,” she said.

Chapter Two

Scarlet

Scarlet couldn’t sleep. It was too quiet and too dark. Her bed was too comfortable, the sheets and blankets too soft, her pillow too fluffy.

You should be comfortable
, she told herself.
You’ve literally had dreams about this, getting to sleep in your own bed, with a real comforter and a real mattress, in a room with a door that locks
.

It wasn’t making her any more tired, though, no matter how hard she tried.

At last, Scarlet rolled over and looked at her bedside clock.

It was 10:05.

Of course you’re not tired,
she thought.
Everyone here is on ranch time. They get up at five and go to bed by ten.

She swung her legs over the side of her bed, her toes finding the braided rug next to it, and she stood up and paced.

Scarlet had an unnamable, deep-down
itch
. It wasn’t the urge to shift, though she wished it was — that was something with an easy answer. No, she wanted to go
out
, do something, go somewhere, have some excitement.

Raise some hell
, she thought, half-grinning into the dark before she reprimanded herself.

No raising hell. The Scarlet who used to go out and raise hell wasn’t on parole
.

She wrinkled her nose and headed for her closet.

Maybe some
light
hell-raising, and not in Rustvale, where Trevor and Austin would be sure to hear about it. She could head over to Canyon City, just over the hill, which was considerably more populated and might actually have something to
do
on Wednesday night.

Before she could question herself, Scarlet tossed on a black t-shirt, jeans, ankle boots, and her worn black leather jacket.

As she left her room, she paused for a moment, looking over her shoulder. She paused.

Don’t
, she thought.
If you grab them, you’re just giving yourself permission, you know
.

Well, so what?

Scarlet sighed and re-entered her room, then opened a drawer in the dresser and pulled out a condom. Then she considered for a moment and grabbed another one, slipping them both into her jacket pocket.

In the bathroom, she covered her three-moon tattoo with an ace bandage, and rifled through the drawers until she found a stick of black eyeliner that likely belonged to Lizzie. Scarlet was pleased to find that her muscle memory still worked, and moments later, her gray eyes were ringed in smoky black.

Just like I was never gone
, she thought, looking at herself in the mirror.

Then she tiptoed down the stairs, took Trevor’s keys, and drove away as quietly as she could.

The Den hadn’t changed a bit. Scarlet knew it as soon as she parked the car and walked down the street. It still had the same weather-beaten ugly wooden sign that it always had, THE DEN in white Old English lettering.

Even from half a block away, Scarlet could hear some band playing a little too loud inside. The door muffled it, but it sounded like some classic rock cover band. Exactly the kind of thing that should be at an almost-dive bar on a Wednesday night.

“ID?” asked the bouncer, a bald guy with a beard. He had a tattoo of a paw print right on his throat, just below his beard.

Grizzly
, thought Scarlet, automatically. Most bouncers were; who could keep the peace better than a big, dangerous man who could turn into an even bigger, more dangerous bear?

She handed her license over, and the guy looked at it.

“It’s expired,” he said, looking unimpressed.

“It’s still me,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

He examined her license for another moment, then handed it back.

“Left hand,” he said, and stamped her with a star.

The Den even
smelled
like it always had, like stale beer and spilled Jack Daniels, with overtones of sweat and wet animal. It had the same tiny, crappy stage as always, a small crowd hanging around as some band shouted an Aerosmith cover slightly off-key.

Thank God this is the same
, Scarlet thought.
I don’t think I could deal with it if it had become some fancy brunch place.
 

Some things should never change
.

She walked to the bar, quickly catching the bartender’s eye.

Lion
, she thought automatically.

“What can I get you?” he asked, leaning toward her, pushing a lock of golden-brown hair behind his ear.

He was cute, but Scarlet didn’t think she could be interested in a cat.

“Jack on the rocks,” she heard herself say.

He nodded once, then reached below the bar.

I should have gotten soda or something
, she thought.
Oh well.

Drink in hand, she wandered closer to the stage and leaned against a wall. She wasn’t sure exactly what her plan was — there were condoms in her pocket, yeah, but those were just in case more than anything. After all, she hadn’t seen a man who wasn’t a prison guard or a relative in nearly four years, and she felt
antsy
, ready to go at the slightest provocation.

The Jack Daniels burned across her tongue and down her throat at the first sip, and Scarlet nearly coughed, then righted herself and took another sip, forcing herself not to react this time.

Already, her head felt a little fuzzy, just from one sip.

Take it easy for once
, she told herself.
Don’t go wild on your first night out of jail. You haven’t even met with your parole officer yet.

The song finished, and the lead singer looked at his guitar, messed with something, and then addressed the bar.

“I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for coming out tonight,” he said into the microphone. His hair was damp, and Scarlet could see beads of sweat sliding down his throat and under his collar.

Lion
, she thought, though she kept watching. He had that particular feline grace that the lion shifters had, that way of commanding a room. It wasn’t unattractive.

She took another sip of her drink.

You’re only looking at cats because you’re lonely and getting drunk and desperately need that itch scratched,
she thought.

Behind him, the guitarist and bass player were both looking down at their instruments, tuning or something, and the drummer messed with his cymbals.

Then the guitarist looked up, shaking wavy brown hair out of his eyes. He glanced around the room and smiled at someone at the bar. Then his eyes slid around the room until he looked directly at Scarlet.

He
was a wolf. She could tell from his eyes, the slightly lupine way he
looked
at her.

Her heart nearly stopped. Her hand froze halfway to her mouth with her glass in it, and for long seconds, they just stared at each other as Scarlet’s own wolf sat up and
howled.

All at once, Scarlet’s stomach flipped over, a jolt of adrenaline sizzling through her veins. She
blushed
, the heat creeping up her face, something that Scarlet hardly ever did.

He and Scarlet stared at each other, for long moments as the lead singer yammered on. A slow grin spread itself over the wolf’s face, and Scarlet felt like she couldn’t even move.

Stop it
, she told herself, her eyes anchored to the man.
Don’t get googly eyes over the first attractive wolf you see out of prison. This is ridiculous.

He was still looking right at her, though, and even across the half-filled bar, his eyes danced. They held promise of something she couldn’t quite name, but it was something illicit and satisfying, something like wrapping her legs around his muscled torso in the alley behind the bar.

Scarlet swallowed, wishing she could look away.

At last, the drummer counted off four beats.
 

Just before he started playing again, the guitarist winked at her, the simple movement full of lascivious promise. Scarlet’s insides felt like they’d liquefied, and she squeezed her eyes shut, glad that the spell was momentarily broken.

You haven’t seen a man in four years
, she reminded herself.
It’s okay to be a little bowled over by a very, very hot man winking at you
.
 

Besides, you’re overreacting. He’s just flirting with you because he’s a hot musician, and that’s what they do.

She took another sip of whiskey and opened her eyes, thankful that he wasn’t watching her anymore. She was mesmerized by his movements: the way he played the guitar, his fingers knowing
exactly
what to do; his forearms knotting and relaxing as he played. The way he thrust his hips against his guitar,
just
a little, when he played, tossing his head back.

Scarlet bit her lip, forcing herself not to growl in public, and just watched. She had no idea what the song was — it sounded like something from the 80’s — and she didn’t care. She just didn’t want him to stop
playing
.

Surreptitiously, she fingered the condoms in the pocket of her leather jacket.

If this works out, I’m glad I brought two
, she thought.
I have the feeling he can go for a couple of rounds
.

She drank again, feeling her body warm up.

You’re really getting ahead of yourself
, she thought.
Maybe try just interacting with new people first, before you decide you’re going to spend the night with one.

“Hey,” said a voice right behind her, only inches from her ear.

She jerked her glass away from her mouth and spun around, adrenaline surging through her veins.

Throw the glass and then kick him in the balls while he’s distracted
, she thought automatically.
Fucker thinks he can get me by sneaking up on me.

The man who’d spoken to her looked slightly surprised, but non-threatening.

Scarlet forced herself to take one second, her heart hammering wildly. Every fiber of her being told her
take him down before he can take you down
.

“Sorry,” he said.
 

“What the fuck?” she shouted, wiping at her mouth. She realized there was whiskey down her front, and her shirt was cold against her belly. “You just go around sneaking up on people at bars?”

“I said I was sorry,” the guy said. Scarlet shook the whiskey from her hands to hide that they were shaking, then glared at him though her bangs.

“That was my drink,” she said, taking a step back. Fury began to take the place of shock, and for a moment, she took stock of him.

Who the hell does something like that?
she thought.
Does he WANT to fight?
 

“I just said hello,” he said, standing up straighter. He obviously wasn’t about to back down. “You spilled your own drink.”