River Wolf(62)

In his kitchen, it took her a couple of minutes to locate what he had in the way of baking supplies. Surveying the ingredients she lined on the counter, she considered what she could make. Brett didn’t eat a lot in the way desserts that she’d noticed. He favored high protein meals, a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Apple cinnamon oatmeal cookies sounded good.

By the time she had the ingredients together and the oven pre-heated, the loosey goosey anxiety eating away at her insides abated. Activity always helped. She went for medium size cookies and, after the third cookie sheet was full, she laughed at the damage she’d done to the kitchen. It took her the same length of time for the cookies to bake to clear away her mess. One minute from the timer going off, she wiped down the center island and glanced out the window to the front yard. No sign of Brett returning and the house phone hadn’t rung. Maybe when the cookies were done she’d go raid his library for a book and curl up on the stone porch to read.

Positively enchanted with the hedonistic idea, she nearly missed the movement at the edge of the woods angled toward the bottom of the hill. Two large canines raced out. Wiping her hands, she walked closer to the window. It was the country, so not impossible someone had their dogs out wandering, but in the five days she’d only seen the one dog at the picnic. The canines slowed and one stopped entirely, nose raised toward the sky.

It wasn’t just large, it was huge—easily six feet in length and three feet tall. It was ginormous. Paused next to the oak tree, she had some basis of the comparison. The second canine—wolf, they had to be wolves—was nearly the same size. It lunged away then returned and tackled the one which had stopped. They tumbled into the woods and she rubbed her eyes.

The oven beeped.

Staring at the spot the wolves vanished into, she squinted. Movement flickered at the edge of the shadows, but it was too indistinct. Backing away, she turned off the oven then retrieved her cookies. Once they were cooling on the stovetop, she returned to the window.

The first wolf was back. The deep gray coat had a scattering of darker color beneath and a hint of red intermingled. A man followed the wolf, buck ass naked and tall with sandy brown hair and…

Holy shit.

She knew the man. He’d been at the barbecue. He strode away with the wolf at his side. Hurrying to the window, she pressed her hands against the glass. The pair angled down the hill, skirting the edge and headed toward Gillian’s house.

Man and wolf.

Two wolves.

Now man and wolf.

Impossible.

Her vision narrowed, and her heart thudded noisily in her ears. She could have sworn she could hear the distant sound of the man’s voice. Her imagination powered into overdrive.

“Move it,” the man hissed. “If Brett catches us here, we’re dead.”





Chapter Eleven





Brett forced himself to obey the speed limit. The rules existed for a reason, and if a random state trooper spotted him and gave him a ticket… No, he wasn’t in the mood to be civil. So the speed limit it was. Everyone else could lose their shit, do stupid crap, get arrested, tear up a lawn or have a dominance fight in the middle of the fucking state park where a ranger could see. The traumatized human had opened fire—rightly so—on a pair of rabid, ferocious wolves. The idiots were lucky to be alive. The ranger… He flexed his hand around the steering wheel. His wolf practically vibrated with suppressed rage.

Talking to the ranger had done little good. His mind seemed to snap under the pressure of the whole experience. Whether it was the battling wolves, seeing them shift, or the arrival of the Hunters to clean up the mess, Brett had taken him to an isolated clinic with an allied human doctor. The physician sedated the ranger immediately. It helped, but only in that the man wasn’t freaking out. Instead, he stared sightlessly at a wall and occasionally mumbled wolf.

Doctor Salinas promised to call him with any updates. Brett had no desire to arrange an accident for the ranger if he couldn’t be persuaded to protect their anonymity or worse—if he couldn’t keep it because trauma destroyed his reason. Fucking idiots. The two wolves in question would be held with the Hunters till Gillian was sent for. Brett dug the bullets out for them with his fingers, then forced them both to shift in order to answer his questions. They weren’t the only morons out there. He wanted the names of the others involved.

Unfortunately the two wolves in custody passed out after he forced their shifts. He fisted one hand and tapped it against the steering wheel. Too weakened from blood loss and pain to stay conscious, the first of the pair slumped over and slammed into his buddy. Now both were down.