Chapter Eight
She was easy to trail. Rory was a seasoned hunter after all. Even if she’d been attempting to cover her tracks, he had her scent. She could run from him, and it turned him on that she was running, but she could never hide from him.
He followed her tire tracks out of town. The cluster of businesses and domiciles gave way to rolling pastures and wide open spaces. The sky brightened from the fluorescent lights of civilization to the pure sunlight of the wild.
It had been awhile since Rory had been this far out in nature. His wolf wanted to stop the truck, shift, and prowl around the underbrush. Rory hadn’t shifted in years. He couldn’t bear to see his wolf crippled. The beast inside him didn’t understand that it was wounded. It didn’t know there was a problem.
Rory tamped down on his natural instincts and refocused on his new mission in life; Rhetta. Even though his leg ached from being cramped in the car, he tapped his toe restlessly. He was eager and alert. It had been so long since he’d felt so alive, and it was all because of her.
When she’d slapped him, it was as though she’d shaken the will to live back into him. Hard or soft, cracking his lip open or nuzzling the corners of his mouth, Rory needed Rhetta’s hands on him. And so he stuck his nose out of the truck’s window and inhaled.
Her scent was a tendril in the fresh air. It grew thicker and stronger the farther he ventured into the valley. Excitement kicked in his gut and made his pants uncomfortable. He’d have her in his grasp in mere moments.
Wolves were naturally collaborative hunters, working together to corral and trap their prey. They would trail their game for hours, sometimes days, before making a move. The highly intelligent and calculating animals would seek out weaknesses in the herd. They’d take note of the weather and the terrain, looking for the best advantage to make their kill.
Having the element of surprise on their side was always a welcome tactic. But wolves were also known for their endurance. They would chase prey over long distances.
Rory’s wolf was a large beast, but he was also fast and light on his feet. While the rest of his old pack had run behind and alongside their large quarry of elk or caribou, Rory had excelled at darting out in front of fleeing prey, causing confusion, and forcing the wild beasts to make mistakes. Once the animal made a misstep, Rory was there to take it down quickly and aggressively.
Rhetta would be the biggest prize he’d ever had to subdue.
Her scent led him to a sheep farm. Rory parked his truck and got out of the cab. Again, his wolf tugged at his attention. His gaze fell upon the easy prey fenced into pens.
Rory went up to the gate that held the sheep. He looked at the shearing job on the animals. It was impressive, clean, and precise. He’d like to meet the man who did such fine knife work.
He sensed he wouldn’t have to wait long. Although he didn’t hear a sound, Rory knew that someone had come up behind him. It smelled like an alpha with the faint tint of Rhetta. A grin spread across Rory’s face. This must be Rhetta’s father.
Excellent. Part of his plan was to win the male over. The leader of this pack would want to have his daughter with a real wolf instead of that pansy, half-blood excuse for a brother that dared to ask for her hand.
Rory turned, keeping his chin up but his eyes on the ground. What he saw on the ground made both man and wolf cock his head to the side.
Painted toenails?
Rory’s gaze rose to find a nude woman standing before him with her arms crossed beneath full, perky breasts. It was clear she was older, not by any wrinkles in her face or gray in her hair. She had the countenance that the older generation exuded.
She unfolded her arms and cocked a hand on her hip, daring him to lower his gaze.
Rory felt no need to. His heart and his groin were owned by the woman he knew wasn’t too far away; a woman who closely resembled the one standing before him.
Was this Rhetta’s mother?
Was she the alpha of this pack?
Rory had heard of such things. Female alphas were rare. But they existed.
Rory lowered his gaze again in deference to the woman and grinned. “I knew Rhetta was from strong stock.”
The alpha came close, sniffing audibly. Rory held still under her perusal.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice more primal than feminine.
“My name is Rory.”
“What are you doing on my land?”
“I’ve come for Rhetta.”
“Why?”
Rory looked up so that she would see the seriousness in the next words he uttered. “Because she’s mine.”
The alpha narrowed her eyes. A grin spread across her face. “Rhetta’s spoken for.”
It was a challenge, not a fact. Rory didn’t believe for a second that this woman put any stock in those words.
“If that half-bred brother of mine thinks he can handle a woman like Rhetta then he’s more delusional than I thought.”
The alpha’s grin spread so wide that Rory felt a momentary twinge of danger like he was the prey and her teeth were the trap. “Why don’t you come in for first meal, Rory.”
She held out her hand for him to precede her. Rory tried to minimize his limp, but he’d already overtaxed himself from his carnal activities last night, his chase this morning, and the cramped drive he’d just taken.
He felt her eyes on him, but he beat her to the punch before she could ask.
“It was a hunting accident,” he said. “Everything else works fine.”