Feral

ROB

My best friend and ranch hand Clint
slapped me on the shoulder as we made our way up the walk to the front porch of
our neighbor’s ranch. “Maybe she’s cute.”

I hadn’t been to the Shefield house
since the old man passed away. The concrete heaved in spots, and weeds sprouted
from the cracks. The place needed tending, and hopefully, the niece, Natalie,
would tackle it. It was the second week in August, and snow was known to fall
in early September. That seemed downright impossible with the ninety-degree
weather we were having. At least the hard storms from last month seemed to have
ended.

I gave Clint a look that as his boss
and alpha should have made him cower, but he only grinned. “What?”

“Cute? Seriously? Are we back in
middle school?” I took off my hat, wiped my brow with the back of my hand, then
stuck it back on.

“You thought Brittany Simms was cute.
Remember that hard-on you got in the cafeteria? Your eyes glowed so bright it
was a wonder the humans didn’t notice.”

I swore under my breath at the
embarrassing memory as I climbed the porch steps.

“I have to wonder if your dick ever
got hard again.”

I gave him another look. Most of my
pack members, especially the guys who lived and worked on the ranch, didn’t
push their luck with me. Clint and I, though, had been friends since birth,
raised in the pack together. Still, I was fucking sick of anyone thinking my dick’s
prerogatives were their business. If I had to go to one more pack’s mating
games and deal with the heavy expectations that I leave with one of their
she-wolves permanently claimed as mine, I was going to shoot myself.

Especially after what happened last
time.

“I don’t see a mating bite on any
female you’ve dated, asshole,” I grumbled.

“I’m playing the field,” he replied,
offering a small shrug of his broad shoulder.

“More like playing with yourself,” I
muttered.

He snorted a laugh. “The difference
is I’m not alpha. Much less chance of moon madness hitting me. Plus, no one
gives a shit if it does, and they have to put me down when I go feral.”

“Being alpha’s one thing, but
everyone keeping track of where my dick’s been and where it needs to go is
annoying as fuck.”

He studied me, then nodded once. “All
we know about Natalie Shefield is that she’s in a masters program for music
somewhere in California. If she can take care of your problem, then what’s the
hang up?”

“You know what the problem is. She’s
human.”

My brothers might have been able to
mate humans, but I couldn’t. I was the alpha of the Cooper Valley pack. My pups
had to shift, had to be pure. I, personally, didn’t give a shit about this, but
I knew others did. The grumbling had begun a few years ago when I crossed age
thirty without mating and became high risk for moon madness. As time passed and
I had yet to find a mate, the muttering got louder, the concerns grew. My pack
respected me, and they didn’t want to lose me. I had to ensure the line
continued. Find a mate—a wolf mate—and
breed her.

“That makes her off limits,” I
countered. “If you think she’s cute, then you can have a go.”

As he opened his mouth to say
something, most likely stupid, a female cry cut through the quiet.

I tensed and looked to Clint. Clint
looked at me. His blue eyes widened in surprise then concern. A female in
trouble raised every one of a shifter male’s instincts to help. To protect. To
destroy whoever was a threat.

My hand shot out to try the front
door. Unlocked. That made it easy, but I wasn’t past kicking it down if needed.

Throwing it open, we stepped into the
entry. It looked exactly as it had the last time I’d been in, as if my old
friend was still around. Old Man Shefield had handed down his house, furnishings
and all.

To the right was a family room with a
stone fireplace. To the left, a dining room with an antique table and chairs.
Directly in front of us was a central hallway that led back to the kitchen and
also a staircase that led to the second floor. It turned to the right at a
landing halfway up. I’d never been on the second floor, but based on the size
of the house, I had to assume there were four or five bedrooms.

“Take this floor,” I told Clint.
“I’ll head upstairs.” Another cry bounced off the walls. I went up the steps
two at a time as my friend headed toward the kitchen.

At the top, I looked left and right.
Six doors, all closed. I stilled to use my wolf hearing. I picked up ragged
breathing from the right.

Shit. She was hurt, perhaps panicked,
judging by the pace of her inhales and exhales.

I stopped in front of the first door.
Listened. No.

The second. Again, no.

A whimper came from behind the third
door, and I threw it open.

Uh… well.

A bedroom. Tan walls. Two windows
with cream curtains, wide open to try and cool off the room. A rag rug on the
floor beneath a brass bed. None of that caught my attention for more than a
quick glance.

No.

It was the woman lying on top of the unmade bed who
had my attention.