Alban
The mother wolf was so weak her daughter had to help her to the toilet. Yet, she insisted they would be leaving soon as she started eating. Tentative as a kicked dog.
However, she did not finish the bowl of stew as agreed upon.
She passed out before she'd even made it to the bottom of the dish. Her daughter only just managed to grab the crockery from her hands before she slumped over into a doze.
Dorie cast me a suspicious look and sniffed at the bowl.
"What did you put in this stew?" she demanded.
I eyed her back. Somewhat impressed. The girl might be gunfhaclan. But she had one hell of a nose. Those military-grade drugs I mixed into her mother's food should have been right undetectable.
I thought of lying. But I hated lies and the people who told them.
So, I answered her straight. "Bit of sleeping powder, so she didn't start on again about trying to leave before she'd gotten enough rest."
Dorie gaped at me.
Then her face split into a huge smile, the two empty spots where her fangs should have been on full display.
“You did that for her? Made sure she got her rest?” Her voice was full of wonder. As if my drugging her mother was the equivalent of St. Nicholas hanging the moon in the sky.
It wasn’t, though. And, I still didn't understand how I'd gotten to the point of drugging a she-wolf to make her stay in my private sanctuary.
I'd woken up in the snow yesterday morning. Still dressed in my kilt and tee.
Also, curled up around the she-wolf who tried to tear out my throat.
What in the feck?
After letting Dorie out of the stable, I'd carried her passed-out mother wolf into the house. Then I'd brought out my military knife to cut her out of her still-wet dress.
Basic decency, I'd told myself. But then Dorie had asked about putting her back on the bed and covering her up, so she wouldn't wake up naked on the floor.
"She'd be really embarrassed. That's so immodest," the little girl told me as if I should give two fecks about her mother's modesty. Did she not understand that the two of them were unwelcome visitors in my home?
But, aye, okay. After hauling the wolf up on the bed, I covered her up with a couple of blankets.
I wasn't trying to make her more comfortable. But she was a wolf that could wake up at any moment. Covering her with something that would create a rustle when she moved would prevent her beast from springing at me again when she woke up.
So, I left her there, nestled in blankets. Then I brought out my tranq gun and took a seat in the wing-back chair while I waited for the wolf to wake up.
And waited. And waited some more.
The day passed. Then another night and all of the next morning.
Most of my wounds from the desert were above the neck. The kind of stuff even a wolf couldn't fix. But apparently, it took some time to knit bone.
Late the next afternoon, I'd been standing at the stove, wondering if I should try to spoon some of the boar stew broth into her mouth when I finally heard the rustle behind me.
I'd turned around with a mind to grab for my tranq gun, only to stop cold.
The most beautiful female I'd ever seen now lay in my bed. In human form. In completely naked human form.
She had light brown skin covered in dark brown freckles, a round face with a wide nose, and a large mouth with full lips. Her hair was a curly waterfall of browns. Dark brown, auburn brown, blond brown—every brown you'd ever heard of in life could be found in her hair.
My wolf went off like a rocket. Mine, it insisted with one mere look.
And now, instead of throwing her out of my sanctuary, I'd drugged her into staying put.
I snatched the bowl from Dorie without answering her questions. Maybe if I didn't respond, she’d finally take the hint that this cottage was meant to be a conversation-free zone.
But alas, she did not.
“Are we going to eat now, too?” she asked, trailing me to the sink. I'd plumbed it myself, along with turning the outhouse into an enclosed bathroom. Earlier in the fall, back when I thought I was creating a bastion of peace and solitude.
“It's not dinner time yet." I didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of my voice.
A disappointed beat. Then: “Can I have a snack?”
I gritted my teeth. “I don’t have any snacks.”
She persisted. “Can I have an apple?”
I set the bowl aside to dry with a sigh, “Aye, fine.”
“Can I have two? One for me and one for Queen Elizabeth?”
Despite our differing metric systems, I suddenly understood what Americans meant when they said, "give him an inch, and he'll take a mile."
I pointed out to the girl, “You’ve already given her near a full bag.”
Dorie darted to the counter and began rooting around. Like a raccoon. “How about this? Can I give her one of these?”
She pulled up the last two carrots leftover after she chopped them up for the stew last night. Like any mountain man worth his salt, I'd been planning to use them for another dish at a later date.
But now, I was also beginning to understand the meaning of “eat me out of house and home.” And I was exhausted from all this back and forth.
“Alright,” I agreed, just to end the conversation.
“Yay! Thank you!” she cheered. Then she ran out before I could tell her Queen Elizabeth wouldn’t be getting any more treats this day. Or to put back the second carrot she'd conveniently forgotten to return to the counter.
I swore my horse would be wider than the cottage by the time this business was done. And so much for my alone time.
Or my sanity.
Even with my back turned, I could feel the she-wolf’s presence in the bed.
Pulsing ominously. Like an explosive device. You weren't supposed to go near those, we'd been told in Wolf Force. They were deadly enough to hurt shifters in ways even their inner beasts couldn't heal.
Yet here I was now. Alone with the bomb.
And, ironically, with Dorie gone, there was even less quiet. Less peace. No one to stop me from staring my fill. But nae …
Don’t look. I gripped the side of the counter. So hard my knuckles turned white. Stay in control.
That's what my brain was telling me. But my wolf …
With the child gone, it reared up inside of me. Flooded my mind with bad thoughts.
She’s ours. Climb in bed with her. Claim her. Cover her with our scent.
I no longer took any interest in other people.
That had been Gail's first stated cross when she wrote me that letter.
She didn't like that I could no longer be bothered to reply to most of her gossip.
That I didn't have more questions for her about her life in Glasgow, where she'd gone to pursue a teaching diploma.
But now, a thousand questions swirled around my mind, worse than a blizzard.
Why didn’t the mother wolf carry a male scent? Why had they come here all the way from Canada without even enough money to afford taxi fare from Edinburgh airport? Where was the child’s father?
Who was Joshua?
Dorie’s father, perhaps? Her mate?
The thought of the female in my bed belonging to another made my wolf growl inside of me. Low and dangerous.
And, suddenly, I found myself standing over her bed. Breathing hard.
Don’t look.
I had to look, though. Ensure she was safe. Comfortable.
She wasn't. She'd fallen asleep in an awkward slump, her head hanging heavily over her chest.
Stay in control. I fisted and unfisted my hands. Then, with a big breath, I risked touching her.
My cock turned to concrete in an instant.
She’d been a wolf the last time I touched her to place her in my bed.
She was all female now. My bulky shirt made no difference. The memory of her generous curves flashed through my head as I put her into a more comfortable sleeping position on her back.
I also couldn’t help but remember the large brown eyes beneath those closed eyelids. They’d held no cunning. Only fear.
Another memory floated unbidden across my mind. Her almost crying the previous night after I called her daft. If it had been a choice of who to stab, I’m not sure who would’ve won. Me for upsetting her or that Joshua her daughter had mentioned. The one she promised her mother I wasn’t like.
Was Joshua her male, then?
She didn’t have the scent of a mate bond about her, and those lasted up to five years. But obviously, Dorie had come from somewhere. Was she a widow, then? Free to be claimed by another?
I jabbed my tongue into the side of my mouth to stop the questions I had no business even thinking to myself.
But there was nothing to stop her smell from filling up my nose. I’d hoped giving her my shirt would cut down her lovely scent. But if anything, it made the situation worse.
She didn’t smell like the other New St. Ailbe she-wolves. Or her sister even.
She had a bit of the ocean in her scent, along with trees I couldn’t name and a kind of rain I didn’t recognize. Not quite sleet. More like a snow shower …
Aye, she smelled of snow showers. And a wee bit of me, thanks to the shirt.
A wee bit wasn’t enough. My cock pulsed painfully underneath my kilt, and my wolf whispered. Get in bed with her. Get in bed with her now. She is yours. Yours to claim. Yours to cover with your scent. Yours to protect.
As if a braw she-wolf like this would ever have me.
I rushed to get her covered up with the blanket. Huge mistake.
My shirt hitched up over her hips, revealing the space between her legs.
Holy. Feck.
My cock didn’t just pulse this time. It threatened to spill. And my wolf stopped whispering.
YOURS! The wolf inside of me howled. TAKE HER. CLAIM HER. COVER HER WITH YOUR SCENT.
I took several steps back from the bed, Afraid of her.
And even more afraid of myself.
She wasn't truly a bomb. But she felt just as dangerous. I grabbed my Wolf Force jacket and rushed out of the cottage.
It took me an hour to calm my wolf down. Also, a certain part of my anatomy underneath my kilt.