Growl (15 page)

And post pictures. The last thing the pack needed was a video on social media of one of them shifting from human to wolf. Cain shuddered at the mere thought. “I like the accepted ‘werewolf lore,' that we each have a true mate waiting for us. It would make this all a lot easier, but we're on our own. My biggest fear is that women are so different now. They're independent and well educated, and they expect to have an equal say in their lives. They're more fun than they used to be, but they're not chattel, guys. We have to remember that.”

“Well, we're going to have to figure out something, and do it soon,” Trak said. “None of us is getting any younger, and it's been too long since any of the pack has had young. Brad, you're the youngest and you were born … when was that? Nineteen-thirty?”

“Nineteen-thirty-one.” Brad shook his head. “I'm only eighty-five. Still a pup, Trak. Not nearly as old as you.” He tilted his head, stared at Trak's head. “Hmm … is that a bit of gray I see?”

Brad might be laughing, but Cain felt the desperation behind the humor. Even though they all looked and felt like they were in their thirties and they each had many hundred more years left in them, the pack was dying. Some of them had been around since long before the Declaration of Independence—they'd come over on the first sailing ships to colonize North America not long after the Pilgrims; a few even fought in the Revolutionary War. Most of those old ones were showing their age now, not participating as much in pack life.

Some stayed in wolf form all the time, spending their days basking in the sun, waiting for the time when that afternoon nap never ended. Trak had been born during the Civil War, which made him over a hundred and fifty years old, and he wasn't even considered middle-aged, but if they didn't do something about it now while they still had time to find mates and have young, time to teach their pups about their amazing heritage, the Trinity Alps pack was going to go the way of the passenger pigeon. Cain had never seen one of those—he'd been whelped around 1910—but Trak remembered them. He'd seen them by the millions when he was a kid, flocks so big they filled the sky.

Then they were gone.

Exactly what was going to happen to the Trinity Alps pack, if this experiment with Feral Passions failed.

 

CHAPTER 2

Sunday

It was almost five when Cherry parked the car in front of a sprawling log building nestled in a large clearing with forest all around. Towering pines and dark green fir trees shadowed part of the area, and the tangy scent of cedar filled the air. The lodge was surrounded by a beautiful deck, and it was all absolutely breathtaking—even better than the pictures online.

“Okay, ladies. Rise and shine.” She turned and poked Stephanie, who slept soundly in the backseat.

Grunting, Steph slowly pivoted and sat upright. Sort of.

Christa stretched her arms overhead and arched her back. She'd ridden shotgun the last seventy miles or so. The sound of popping vertebrae made Cherry wince. She hated to think what her own back was going to sound like. “I'm surprised neither of you ladies thought to mention that the last eleven miles were nothing but a dirt road.” It was well marked, so she hadn't been afraid of getting lost, but the forest was so thick and impenetrable looking, it was scary when you didn't know your way.

Then, at a wide spot in the road not a quarter mile from here, there'd been a professional-looking sign pointing toward Feral Passions Resort. Of course, on the opposite side of the road was a cute little bar that really fit the surroundings, though she wondered who the customers were, since they were on the preserve and there hadn't been any houses along the way. There'd been a couple of beat-up trucks parked in front and a hand-painted sign that said “Growl” nailed over the door.

Seemed apropos. She'd looked for wolves. She might have caught a glimpse of one shortly after they'd come through the electric gate marking the entrance to the fenced wolf preserve. That was back where the paved road ended. A long way back.

She still felt as if Christa and Steph had pushed her into this trip, and Cherry wasn't quite able to give up the feeling of resentment, the sense the elusive Gina didn't exist and she'd been manipulated. At the same time, it was hard to stay grumpy in a setting this peaceful. Craggy mountains cut into a brilliant blue sky and a thick forest grew below with trees in all shades of green.

There was even wild dogwood blooming among the tall evergreens. She'd seen a few deer and wondered if she'd really spotted that wolf a couple of miles back, but the best part was the smell. Air so fresh it made her want to breathe deeply and just hold that clean air deep inside her lungs.

Unfastening her seat belt, she glanced at the front of the lodge. Three young women sat at a table on the deck with glasses in front of them.

Any kind of drink sounded really, really good about now.

“Holy shit.”

“Christa!” Cherry snapped around and gaped at her sister, who was staring out the passenger window.

At what could only be a male model. Maybe a god. Whatever. Cherry almost swallowed her tongue. The man walking toward their car was tall, dark, and sexy, and he walked with that loose-hipped swagger that hinted at all kinds of things he could do with those hips.

Hands shaking, she opened the door and got out. No way was she sitting in the front seat and staring up at a man that hot. She needed to plant her feet firmly on the ground.

“Welcome to Feral Passions.” He walked directly toward Cherry with his hand out. She shook hands with him, but hers totally disappeared in his. She bit back a nervous giggle as that old cliché popped into her head, about the size of a man's hands and feet correlating to his … No. She was not going there.

“You ladies must be Cheraza, Christa, and Stephanie. I'm Traker Jakes. We were getting worried about you. I hope the trip wasn't too difficult.”

He still held Cherry's hand. His palm was rough, his skin dry and warm. She knew hers was starting to sweat. “No. Just long,” she said, slipping her fingers free of his light grasp. “I'm Cheraza, but everyone calls me Cherry; that's my sister, Christa, and our friend Stephanie.”

Steph crawled out of the backseat, looking deliciously rumpled. Cherry just looked rumpled, but she'd learned not to let it bother her. Too much.

Steph grinned. “Hi, Traker. Nice to meet you.” Then she covered her mouth and yawned. “Oops. Just woke up.” Laughing, she turned away to grab her handbag from the backseat.

Christa got out of the car and slung her huge leather purse over her shoulder. She looked adorably messy with her ponytail hanging sideways and a sleep crease on one cheek. “Nice to meet you. Cherry, hon, thanks for driving the rest of the way. I thought we were going to switch off.”

Cherry merely shrugged. “Not a problem.” She flipped the lever inside to pop the trunk. Traker beat her to the back and laughed at the huge number of bags shoved into the tight space. Glancing toward the lodge, he called out, “Hey, Brad. Grab Cain and get your asses out here.” Turning to Cherry, he said, “We'll get you ladies settled in your cabins. As soon as you're unpacked, come on up to the lodge and Brad'll fix you a drink and let you take a look at the menu for tonight. That work for you?”

Cherry could only nod. The term “speechless” had never had more profound meaning than it did right now. That had to be Brad and Cain walking across the deck, now coming down the steps. She'd thought Traker was handsome. These two took her breath.

“Hey, ladies. Glad you're here. We were getting worried.” The dark-haired one stopped beside Christa and tugged his baseball cap off. Then he turned his full focus on Cherry. “I'm Brad. Why don't you show me which bags are yours.” It was the oddest thing—he looked as if he was sizing her up, but instead of giving her a dismissive glance, he continued looking right at her. His brown eyes actually twinkled, and then he winked.

Her knees turned to jelly. She pressed her hand to the side of the car, unobtrusively, she hoped, but it was that or fall on her butt. Men never looked at her for long. A quick glance to check out her oversized assets, and then they moved on.

Brad didn't. He grabbed her bags out of the trunk and lifted them with ease. She'd needed help from Christa to load the large one. Brad held it lightly in one hand.

“C'mon,” he said. “Your cabin's all ready, and I'll help you get settled.”

She had to swallow to speak and then decided merely nodding was easier. He smiled and nodded to Traker. “Trak, I'll be back behind the bar in a few minutes.”

For some reason, Trak looked like he was trying not to laugh. “No rush. Take your time. I'll cover for you.”

A cloud coasted right over the top of Cherry's sense of well-being. Of course, Trak was probably thinking of how he was going to tease Brad later, about getting stuck with the fat one.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. “Meet you two in the bar in about half an hour, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

Christa grabbed her overnight bag and followed Cain, while Trak led Steph in the same direction.

As Brad led Cherry toward a trail that angled away from the big lodge and away from Christa and Steph, Cherry felt a moment of panic. She hadn't thought about the fact that they'd be in individual cabins—she'd pictured the lodge as a large hotel with separate rooms. Not only were they rooming by themselves, she didn't even know which cabins Steph and Christa would be staying in. She glanced over her shoulder as her sister and Steph disappeared into the woods, and then she turned and almost ran into Brad.

“Oh. I'm sorry.” Flustered, she realized she'd slapped her hand to her chest like an old lady with the vapors, which had her feeling like a fool. Heat raced over her chest and face and she knew he was thinking she was an idiot, a complete loser. Her eyes filled with tears.

“You okay?” He set the bags down on the hard-packed trail.

She dug through her handbag for a tissue, but she didn't look at him. “Fine,” she mumbled. This was all a mistake. She never should have come; it was—

“Hey, Cherry. Whatever it is, it's not worth tears.”

Arms wrapped around her. Strong, warm arms pulling her close against a broad chest, so close she heard his heart beating, felt the steady
thud, thud, thud
against her cheek. He smelled so good. She couldn't remember the last time a man had hugged her, and there'd never been one that smelled of pine forest and wood smoke. She should pull away, she really should, but he was holding her close and stroking her hair, and whispering stuff she couldn't really hear, and she was just so damned tired from the long drive, and so … she wasn't sure what to call it. Vulnerable? But somehow, even though he was a stranger, even though he was probably the most beautiful man she'd ever seen and that alone should scare her to death, it settled her.

He settled her.

She sniffed, drew in a shuddering breath, and sniffed again. He shoved a clean white handkerchief into her hand. “I'm a firm believer in the healing value of a good hug. You okay?”

When she nodded, he leaned over and grabbed her heavy suitcase in one hand and threw the strap to her second bag over his shoulder. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose and then didn't know what to do with the handkerchief.

He took it from her with his free hand, wiped a tear she'd missed, and then stuck the soggy thing into his pocket.

“I'll wash it—”

“Forget about it. I'll take care of it. You must be exhausted after that long drive. Let's get you to your cabin.”

They were only a short distance away, but with the trees all around and ferns lining the trail, it was as if they'd stepped into the deepest, darkest woods. Still rattled, Cherry followed him up the steps, across a small front porch and into the cutest little log cabin she'd ever seen. Surrounded by trees but with the front of the cabin in sunlight, it fit like a natural addition to the forest. Inside were a large bed at the back, a sitting area near the front window with four chairs, a bathroom with a huge shower, a tiny kitchenette with a coffeemaker and a microwave, small refrigerator, and a cupboard stuffed with chips and all kinds of other munchies.

Brad set her suitcase on a stand beside an old-fashioned Shaker-style armoire that was well over six feet tall. Her smaller bag went on the floor beside it. Inside, there was more than enough space to hang the clothes she needed to hang, and plenty of drawers along one side for all the little things.

“That's beautiful.” She ran her hands over the smooth wood, glanced around the small room, and realized all the furniture matched. Simple, solid, and very utilitarian, but also an incredible fit to the style of the rough-hewn log cabin. “Is it antique? It looks really old.”

“Some pieces might be, though I don't know which ones. Depends on whether Trak made it, or his father, or his grandfather. Their woodworking skills are a family trait.”

He turned to Cherry and lightly rubbed her shoulder. She automatically tensed, but his warm hand quickly had her feeling about as tense as sun-warmed honey.

“Relax, Cherry. You're wound too tight for this place. You need to let it all go, relax, and just put yourself in my hands. Or Cain's.” He slowly turned her to face him and rested his hands on her hips. She felt their heat through her yoga pants and almost sighed—but she didn't even think of pulling away.

“Cain's the resort's masseur, and I swear the man has magic fingers. I have to go back to the bar, now. The ladies on the deck are probably ready for a refill. Don't be too long.”

She loved the way his voice rumbled up out of his chest. Deep and sexy, to go with those soulful brown eyes and thick, dark hair. “Tonight's all about relaxing,” he said. “A drink, a good dinner, maybe a massage later, a walk in the moonlight, or time to sit by the fire in the main lodge with a glass of good port or a decadent dessert. We're all about helping you relax so you can enjoy the peace and quiet.”