Chapter One
he punk was out and in full stalker mode, yet T again.
Ranger ducked behind a tree as he watched the small figure sneaking up to the farmhouse. Going by the build, the stranger was a male. It was also painfully obvious he didn’t have any military training or street sense. Instead of gliding from hiding spot to hiding spot, he lumbered around like a toddler let loose in a china shop. The intruder even stumbled and tripped at one point, doing a grunt-inducing face plant.
That only further intrigued Ranger because he didn’t think this was just some normal human who’d turned Peeping Tom. Ranger felt pretty certain Sammy Stalker was a shifter. Ranger just couldn’t figure out what breed he was, which irritated the fuck out of him and made him one cranky Wolf.
All Ranger did know for certain was the stranger had taken an unhealthy interest in Riley, who happened to frequently visit the farmhouse.
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Since Riley was a good friend, Ranger decided that just wouldn’t do. He wasn’t going to sit idly by and let this perv ogle Riley. No, Ranger would find out who the jerk was and he’d eliminate the threat before Riley could be harmed. After all Riley had been through, he deserved to have a safe and happy future.
Ranger tilted his face up slightly, hoping his heightened Wolf shifter sense would pick up the stalker’s scent. When all he detected were the trees and the nearby horses, disappointment slapped him.
Damn, he was usually better than this.
Although, he may still be considered young and one of the few Wolves in the feline coalition, he’d yet to have his skills let him down. How some punk who barely knew how to hide properly, managed to conceal his scent perplexed and annoyed the hell out of Ranger.
Hoping to, at the very least, get a better look at the jerk, Ranger carefully moved in closer. He held back a growl of frustration when he noted the red baseball hat the man had pulled down. Not only did it cover his hair, but most of his identifying features.
He cursed himself for not bringing along one of the older members of the coalition. While Ranger might match them in battle skills, they still were better at certain shifter knowledge. Most of them 2
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could ID breed simply by looking at a shifter.
Ranger on the other hand always had to get a good whiff.
Ranger tried to placate his curiosity by taking in other information on the guy. Small by most shifter standards, he was practically too thin.
Almost like he missed meals on a regular basis.
His clothes had seen better days, too. The tattered jeans had tears in several places and his red, button-up shirt looked faded and at least six years out of date.
That still didn’t mean he couldn’t be a threat.
Ranger knew plenty of bad guys who were fashion victims. Just because the man dressed like he was still in the days of the Bush Administration, didn’t mean a damn thing.
Off in the distance, Riley and his mate left the farmhouse and made their way to a car. Ranger tensed, wondering if the stranger would attack.
Instead, he did something that struck Ranger as both strange and…sad?
The man let out a whimper as he curled his fingers around the tree trunk he’d taken refuge behind. His small body even appeared to sag a bit, taking on the posture of someone who was defeated.
The stranger’s gaze seemed to be devouring Riley as the Eagle kissed his mate, then climbed into the car. When the vehicle drove away, the 3
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stalker let out a sad sigh, his shoulders slumping in unmistakable disappointment.
Ranger wrapped his fingers around the butt of his holstered gun and stepped out into the open.
“You could always just go up and introduce yourself instead of sneaking around.” The stalker let out a loud gasp as he spun around, his back pressing against the bark of the tree.
While Ranger could still only see the man’s lower face, going by his gapped mouth, he hadn’t been expecting company.
“I didn’t mean…I just got lost and didn’t realize this was private property,” a soft, yet husky voice stammered.
Ranger moved forward a couple of steps. “You lost your way three times?”
He knew that he should have reported the incident to the head of the coalition sooner, but Ranger had wanted to make sure the threat was real. The last thing he wanted was to be labeled the Wolf who cried…well, wolf. That would be the very definition of irony.
He continued to prepare himself for an attack, but the stranger just shrank tighter against the tree. Emboldened, Ranger took the last few steps that separated them. Once he got in close enough, he reached out and flicked the bill of the hat up.
Startled green eyes blinked up at him as the 4
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