What a Wolf Wants (Black Hills Wolves Book 2) (2 page)

Metal slammed against metal ahead of him.

“Now. You’ll work….” Low and husky, the feminine voice added a lilt of conjuring to her statement. Keys rattled. Clicking snapped in the intervening silence. “Son of a futher mucker.” Flesh slapped a surface. A door slammed. “Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold.”

More metal banging off metal.

“Work you piece of crap. I just spent my last five hundred dollars on you. Work.”
Bang. Slam. Bang
.

Slowing as the woods gave way to a long stretch of field ending at the blacktopped old highway, he studied the vehicle parked askew on the side of the road. Askew was a generous description. The four-door sedan sat at a nearly ninety-degree angle to the road with the back tires parked in grass.

“Okay. So, count to ten,” the feminine voice continued. The sound of her shoes slapping the pavement came in time to the numbers. When she reached ten, metal crashed against metal, the
clang
loud and sharp enough to hurt his ears. “Work!”

A slender figure popped out from behind the raised hood to dart to the driver’s side door. He paused mid-step as she squinted her eyes closed then whispered, “You will work. You will work. You will work.”

With a twist of the key, the only thing he heard working was some rapid-fire clicks of the ignition switch trying to fire. Then, even that ceased when what remained of her power leached away.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” The woman flung back against the seat, bashing her closed fists on the steering wheel. “‘Woman dies in freak snowstorm perfectly preserving her remains’ should make a sharable story on
Huffington Post
sometime next spring.” Even with the defeatist words, the fight in her tone continued to boil.

Fascinated, despite himself, he watched as she tapped her head against the back of the seat then bounced out of the car in a surge of energy. She raced around the vehicle, jerked the trunk open, and began to rummage through….

A wild assortment of scents raced across his nose—older scents, sweat, metal, books, chalk, dust, burned paper, sulfur—underscoring it all was a distinctly feminine musk, exotic and heady, but not too sweet. It carried more of a bite, one not altogether unpleasant. His distracted quarry whirled to face his direction, a small black gun braced in both of her hands.

Good. She wasn’t utterly defenseless. He approved.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people on the side of the road,” she called out in lieu of a greeting. Nothing in her stance betrayed the chill overtaking her fragile form, but a blue tinge touched the edges of her lips, while her face was a shade too pale. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. “Who are you?”

If she were a Wolf, she would have snapped at him.

Of course, if she were a Wolf, she’d probably have tucked tail with her attitude by now. Only the insane challenged him openly, and he tasted no illness in her musk. Odd. Most women had a fruit or floral scent—some like Tasha smelled of spices. He couldn’t quite identify this one’s scent, no matter how attractive.

Intriguing, but he couldn’t afford the puzzle. Humans were not welcome in Los Lobos—not that they were anywhere near town.

“I suppose you don’t look dangerous.” Which went to show how questionable her judgment was. Her gun lowered a fraction. “I hope you live close and aren’t stranded like me—not that I’m stranded. I’ll have the car fixed in a minute. You can keep your distance.” She didn’t take a breath or to give him a chance to answer. Two steps later, she paused, glancing at him again. The gun was still in her hand, but she didn’t bother pointing it at him. “Aren’t you cold? Of course you’re cold. You don’t have a jacket on. Though I hardly think this is T-shirt weather.”

Leave her to die or fix her car
. She posed no threat, yet he didn’t walk away. The cold felt good to him, but he hardly needed to tell her the truth. Returning to her trunk, she rifled through the contents.

“Aha. Here.” She held up a jacket, waving it in the air. A foreign scent—masculine in origin—wafted toward him. “This should be big enough for you. Not like old Denny will mind. He doesn’t even know he left it with me. Well? Aren’t you going to take it?” Another pause when she glanced at the gun in her hand. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about the weapon. I’ve been traveling for a while, and you don’t know who you’ll run into. I carry this strictly for security.” After tucking the weapon into the waistband of her jeans, giving Ryker an eyeful of smooth stomach, she took a half-dozen steps in his direction. “I won’t bite. Seriously. It’s freezing out here.”

The chances of him putting on another man’s scent were slim to none. She’d be better off wearing it herself—then the other man’s scent would be on her. Ryker’s upper lip curled.
No
.

Instead of leaving her, he met her halfway. After taking the jacket out of her hands, he bypassed her to go to her vehicle. Glancing at the engine, he studied the faint hint of steam rising from the hoses. Two were cut nearly clean through. This close, he couldn’t miss the sweeter scent of ethylene glycol.

Antifreeze
.

Crouching, he glanced at the blacktop beneath the engine. Sure enough, a green, viscous fluid dripped steadily down. It would leave an oily-looking stain. A shadow blocked the snowfall. He spared a look at the waifish woman. Up close, she was even tinier and more fragile-looking than she had been at a distance. Hollows pulled at her cheekbones.

No one fed her well. Another black mark against the male whose coat he held. He’d seen enough starved under his watch to taste the acrid stink of failure. This Denny had apparently bathed in it regularly.

“It’s a mess,” she said. “I paid some scam artist three towns back to fix this, but apparently he didn’t. So, I’ll have to find a mechanic. I tried to call Triple A, but no signal. Though, if you’re here, I must be close to some town, right? Maybe you have a landline I could use?” With that, she canted her head back to look toward the sky. Los Lobos was the closest town—the last place he could take her. “Though, I imagine at the rate this is falling landlines will go down soon.”

The flakes caught on her cheeks. Another landed on her lashes. They glittered against her skin, offering an odd play to what light remained. The clouds darkened ominously overhead. The promise of winter’s kiss delivered in full. Even the dusting along the road had already obscured the blacktop. Any tracks he may have left on his way to her vehicle.

No. Without the right equipment and time, her vehicle was going nowhere. She wouldn’t even have the engine to run to keep her warm. Freezing to death wasn’t a bad way to go. She’d fall asleep. Taking care of her wasn’t his problem.

He sighed.

“Yeah, it’s bad. Sorry.” The apology caught him off guard. In a world where very little did, it made it worth examining.

Sparing a look toward her, he rose to his feet. He’d allowed her not only to approach him, but to loom over him in a position more suited to a dominant.

Odder still.

She barely came up to his shoulder. “It’s okay if nowhere is close. There are two of us, so we can figure this out together. You put on the jacket while I grab one for me.” While she spoke, she’d actually started to shiver, the blue tinge to her lips deepening.

After closing the hood, he followed her around the vehicle to the trunk. She’d dug out another jacket, slipping it on. But even the soft leather wouldn’t keep the wind out as the force of gusts increased.

After eyeing the contents, he picked up the only bag looking like a suitcase. “Come,” he ordered as he closed the trunk. No one would disturb the car out here. Most travelers would avoid the long distances between stops in winter. As for the locals, they would catch his scent on the car.

They knew better than to touch what was his.

Instead of following him, however, the female remained where she was and stared. “Wow. Do you live close?”

Nodding once, he then pointed to the woods. It would still take time to get to his cabin, and the snow accumulated at a rapid rate. “Come,” he said again, unaccustomed to having to repeat himself.

His order had the desired effect. She moved, but instead of joining him, she headed back to the car. “I need to get my purse. Oh, and my phone charger.” Based on a list of two items, her packing should have been quick, but she stuffed more things into the bag in her front seat, all the while her shivers continuing.

“Enough.” He reached past her, scooped up the bag then tugged her out of the car before shutting the door. She fit under his arm perfectly, and he gave her a gentle push to get moving. “That way.”

“You don’t have to be so grumpy,” she muttered, but at least she walked where he wanted her to go. “My name is Saja, by the way. Saja Lyons.”

Saja. The name fit her. He nodded. “Ryker.”

Five more steps. “Just Ryker? Kind of like Madonna?” She mock-lowered her voice, making a grumbly sound. “Ryker. The name says it all.”

Seeing no reason to respond to the tease, he merely lifted his brows. “Grey.”

“Ryker Grey.” No longer mocking, she rolled the name around. He liked the way she said it. “Fits. Sort of mysterious, kind of moody. Though you look Native American to me. Yes, I am aware it’s rude to point it out, but I don’t think people need to pretend to not be who they are.”

Fair enough. He shortened his pace as the snow deepened. Her jeans soaked through, as did his. The cold crusted up against his skin, while the fabric stiffened. But not once did she complain. Once they were under the cover of the trees, the density of the snowpack lightened. But the storm was fully upon them, and not even the woods would keep it off them for long.

With a bounce, Saja banged her red, chapped hands together. A reddish hue had hit her cheeks, as well. It was too cold to travel this slowly. He’d buried his fair share of foolish hikers who’d tempted nature’s fury, thinking the cold wouldn’t hurt them if they kept walking.

Shifting his grip on her bags, he plucked the gun out of her waistband and stuffed it into the open top of her purse. Before she could react to that, he picked her up, swinging her over his shoulder. Her yelp of surprise turned into a grunt.

“Hold on.” He ran, flying through the snow as he’d longed to earlier. She let out another cry then fisted the back of his shirt, burying her face against him. His body would block most of the wind, and they would be at his cabin in less than a third of the time her walking would have taken.

Inside, his Wolf let out a howl, and he ran faster.

He-Man didn’t slow down, although what should have been a violently uncomfortable position—sack of potatoes over his shoulder—wasn’t. Which, in her lexicon of weird, deserved a capital
W.
Saja clung to his shirt. The wild heat rolling off him did more to chase away the chill than she thought possible. At first, she’d objected, but he’d told her to hold on in that gruff, panty-wetting growl, and she’d obeyed.

Stomach muscles clenching, she tried to watch their route, but the landscape passed so swiftly nausea threatened. She pressed her face to his shirt. Holy crap, he smelled good—crushed pine, wood smoke, and something else—like Christmas if Santa were a six-foot-tall Native American god. The completely ridiculous thought didn’t stop her from relaxing. At least slung over his shoulder, she had no choice but to bury her face into his shirt.

Of course, the fact she wanted to pull the T-shirt out of her away so she could rub her cheek against the powerful muscles rippling under the fabric was a perfectly reasonable response to his caveman tactic. Peeking from beneath her lashes, she glanced along the length of him to his ass—the man wore his jeans like they’d been molded to him.

Was he hard-packed everywhere?

While I’m admiring his ass, he’s racing into the woods. I can’t see where we’re going
. Fear punched through the wild cascade of thoughts tumbling through her mind. She stopped playing victim and began to struggle.

A hand slapped down on her ass with enough stinging force to bring tears to her eyes. She forgot to breathe for a moment.

“You’re safe. Stop fighting.” The curt order relaxed her.

What the fuck?

Every lungful of air she drew tasted of winter, wilderness, and wild man. Choking on a giggle at the alliteration in her thoughts, she wasn’t prepared for the abrupt end to their mad dash through the trees. Wood appeared beneath his feet, but he moved so silently she couldn’t hear his steps over the howling of the wind. A door creaked open then they were inside, the door closing out nature’s fury.

Before she could process the sudden change in temperature, Ryker set her on her feet. The rush of blood from her head made her woozy. To her horror, she swayed, stumbled, and would have landed on her ass if he hadn’t caught her with one arm. He guided her into a heavily-cushioned wooden chair parked in front of a cold hearth.

Concentrating on breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth while her equilibrium sorted itself out, she heard her bags hit the floor with a
thump
next to the chair. The big man knelt in front of the fireplace where he struck a flint. The spark leaped and, in no time, caught the kindling beneath the wood. The crackling sounded positively cheery in the thick silence filling the room.

Bit by bit, her pulse settled. She glanced around the…log cabin. Good Lord, it was like something out of
Little House on the Prairie
. The walls seemed constructed from whole trees, cut to fit into each other. The rough-hewn bark was unfinished or unpolished, a throwback to another time. By contrast, the floor was sanded timber and gleamed where it peeked out from heavy, hand-thatched rugs.

They
were
hand-thatched. She’d seen similar weaves on a reservation in New York during her doctoral studies. Like those, this one appeared ancient. Heavy bearskin blankets covered what she supposed would be windows—the placement seemed right—and while they added to the primitive atmosphere, they were probably practical.

Keeps the cold out
.