Present

Dallas moved her head from side to side, the cold metal of the collar biting against her flesh. Instead of leaving her, he returned frequently at odd intervals. Most of the time, he simply paced around her. More often, he sat in his chair and stared at her. If he was trying to bore her to death, he was succeeding.

Unfortunately, he never left her long enough for her to shift. She was fast, but it would be harder with the jeans she wore and the shackles holding her captive. The time spent in the shift between human and wolf was an especially vulnerable one. As often as he returned at intervals too varied for her to predict made her wonder if that was what he wanted.

A wolf trapped in mid-shift was especially easy to cripple or kill. The drugs had finally worked their way out of her system, but the pain from the head blow remained as did the cramps in her legs from staying in the same position. Monty didn’t want to let her sleep. When she closed her eyes to ignore him, he would kick her.

Letting her eyes drift shut again, she waited for him. At least this part of him was predictable. The rustle of his steps across the floor warned her, and she lashed out to meet his foot, wrapping her chain around his ankle then yanking forward. Off balance, he went down hard. She wrenched his foot to the side. If she broke his leg…then he kicked his free leg at her. The fine leather shoe caught her in the jaw.

Snarling, he sat and began to rain blows on her. She fought to disentangle the chains around his ankle, managing land minor blows of her own. Free of her, he stumbled to his feet. The hate in his eyes promised furious retribution. Blood oozed from his nose, and his fine suit was filthy and rumpled.

“You don’t get to die yet,” he told her. “No matter how tempting you make it.” He stormed from the room, but left the door open. Rotating her lower jaw, Dallas tested it to make sure it wasn’t broken. A moment later a door slammed, and she concentrated—listening.

Since she’d woken from her drugged stupor, she hadn’t heard another voice in the house or seen another person. To her ears, it sounded as though Monty had exited their little cabin. Rolling to her knees, she grasped the wall and used it for balance to get to her feet.

Muscles screaming from lack of use, she gritted her teeth at the sudden rush of tingles in her extremities. She’d been sitting on the dirty ass floor too long. In addition to keeping her shackled, her asshole host hadn’t offered her anything to drink or eat. Of course, she hadn’t had to piss either—so, small mercies.

As soon as she felt steady, she listened again. He hadn’t returned. Shuffling as fast as her abused limbs would let her, she made her way to the window. A film of dirt and dust obscured her view, but what she could make out made her heart sink.

They were in the middle of nowhere. Nothing was visible from the window but mountains and open territory. It was empty and vast.

Think positive. We could be on the edge of a town. Just looking away from it. But her ears told her another story. No sounds of civilization reached her. Electric appliances gave off a low hum at all times. If you knew what to listen for, you couldn’t miss them.

No vehicles.

No people.

A movement outside had her easing to the side to hide her presence. Monty paced into view, his fancy suit so out of place against the wilds. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear any words. Squinting, she leaned forward to watch his frenetic motions.

The man hired, blackmailed, and assassinated a disparate people to commit heinous acts of terrorism and murder across the U.S. just to lure her out? Or had he thought she was hidden in the packs themselves?

Studying his jerky motions, she frowned. How the hell had he found out about Chrystal?

Three Rivers.

Turning to lean against the wall, she steadied her breathing. Before Three Rivers, Chrystal had been off the grid with other wolves. Dallas used everything Julian had taught her to avoid Lone Wolves. After she’d recovered from giving birth, she’d packed her baby, her supplies, and accepted Diesel’s insisted loan before she disappeared with her.

When Julian found her, he made sure Chrystal finished school and kept an eye on her. But he’d also kept her away from other Lone Wolves and isolated. Maybe not as isolated as Dallas had done, but enough to protect her.

Then Chrystal stumbled over Luciana Barrows and her mate Rayne, or maybe it was the other way around. They tripped over her. They offered her a chance to be pack.

Pack with wolves from all over the country, with relationships and histories of their own. Hell, it could have just as easily have been Luciana who outed her, even if inadvertently. The Italian wolf had connections across the pond.

Breathe. She brought her respiration under control, then checked the window. Her host was still roaming in circles. His pretty shoes were going to get beat to hell out there.

The first attack came what? Two or three months after Chrystal left Three Rivers for Willow Bend. So, Luciana had an Omega, then lost her to Willow Bend. She’d already been struggling with the other pack’s acceptance or non-acceptance. What does she do? Talk to a friend? Maybe looking for an ally. She complains.

She mentions a name, and maybe that person mentions it to someone else… A warped whisper game but absolutely believable.

That would explain his knowing she had a daughter—wait, he wanted me before then, years ago. That doesn’t explain it…

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to push the pain in her head aside. Between the slaps, the drug hangover, the lack of water, and getting kicked in the face—her focus was all over the place.

Monty went out of his way to hire her, lure her to Mexico for a meeting. The wolf had come looking for her specifically. Why?

Outside, Monty stopped pacing and zeroed in on her at the window. She didn’t duck out of sight. If he spotted her, he spotted her. Stripping off his jacket, he headed toward the front of the cabin.

Shuffling to face the open door, she waited for him to re-enter. Rather than the bang he’d used when he exited, it opened calmly. Entering, he whistled as he strolled inside with an ax on resting against his shoulder.

Walking the door separating them, he gestured with the ax. “You Americans, you always have the nicest toys. Won’t be a minute, just need to sharpen this.”

Then he closed the door.

Fantastic, either he was going to hack her to death or leave her to stew on the possibility that a gruesome death was coming for her.

Her day just kept getting better and better.

The last time Julian made the journey overland to William’s hideaway, it had been while wrestling about confessing his relationship with Dallas. What began as a dalliance had grown, and he would have been an idiot not to have noticed. Yet, he’d argued the finer points all the way to the cabin.

They did not live together. He only saw her occasionally. Yes, while he visited her more often than he did his other Lone Wolves, it was more because of her relationship to the alpha of Hudson River. That had been his excuse. A rational, reasonable argument for why he valued her.

Lovers were not forbidden. They were wolves. Tactile creatures who needed contact with others. The taking of a lover could curb wilder impulses and calm tempers. Also rational in the world within which he existed. He’d hardly been a monk, though in truth, before Dallas he’d always been far more circumspect about the wolves he took to his bed.

He rarely went back for seconds, much less thirds. Wolves who spent too much time together developed alliances. Yet, no matter how much time he spent with Dallas, she asked him for nothing. He tried to do more for her than she would accept.

Yet, he returned time and again. He surprised her with gifts, little things, and he took her on adventures. The trip to the Sierra Nevada sealed it for him.

They were more than occasional lovers. He never looked at other wolves or women, and while he took great care to wash away her scent after he left—he always kept something of hers with him. Even then as he’d made that climb, it had been with one of her scarves in his backpack, sealed away to preserve her fragrance. Yet, she had her life and he had his.

Julian did not shirk his duties. If anything, he served them more diligently. The line he walked as it concerned Dallas had been so very fine. By the time he reached William, he’d almost convinced himself he could have both. Then William told him he wouldn’t be leaving that cabin. He’d roamed for well over a century, and had done his duty. It was Julian’s time. He would continue to be his advisor, and his sounding board, but he would be Chief Enforcer in name only.

Pulling himself up the rock face, Julian paused on the edge to scan the horizon. The cabin was a mile away, and he’d come up the hard path. The last time he’d come this way, he’d made the decision that would eventually drive her away from him.

Dallas had surrendered herself to save Chrystal. She’d surrendered their life together because he’d valued his duty above her. As much as he hated to admit it, they’d hurtled down that path because he’d surrendered Dallas to serve the Enforcers. He’d wanted both, and tried to balance his needs and his wants with his service.

Not again.

Standing, he dusted his hands off. Seeing no movement, jogged for the tree line. The clearing where William’s cabin stood would afford him no cover, but he could get a look at what waited for him.

Moving with care, he reached the edge of the wooded field then studied the cabin. No movement outside indicated guards or sentries. He’d discovered none in the woods. Was Montague so certain of his hiding spot? A small satellite dish sat atop the cabin—that was new. Yet, he detected no hum of a generator. How long had Montague been here?

When had he found it?

Julian hadn’t returned since William passed. Thirty years had passed in the interim. Crouching, he freed his backpack and pulled out the binoculars. Adjusting them, he studied the cabin. The windows were caked with dirt and dust. Shockingly, they were still intact. The cabin still standing didn’t surprise him. It had been built of sturdy trees, handcrafted by William himself. The lack of high grass in the clearing suggested someone had been keeping it cut.

To the left of the cabin was a helicopter, which explained how Montague got to and from the cabin. Julian had left his phone with his plane. If the bastard tracked him somehow through the encryptions they’d added, then he’d know Julian was in the state but not exactly where.

The lack of movement left him restless. It had been nearly three days since the assault on Willow Bend. Three days too long Dallas had spent as a prisoner.

Dropping the binoculars into the backpack, he stripped off the jacket he’d worn. He hadn’t bothered with gloves. His hands would heal on their own. The climbing boots were sufficient.

Striding into the clearing, he called out, “Montague Stafford, stand and present yourself. You are trespassing on U.S. territory, and you do not have the leave of an alpha to be here.”

The front door opened and Montague appeared, hauling Dallas by her hair. She was still in chains and looked like hell. Flinging her in front of him, she tumbled down the stairs and into the dirt. Montague switched the ax he’d carried from his left hand to his right.

“I wondered if you’d ever figure it out.” The clipped British voice offered an element of civility to a brutal confrontation. “You are as difficult to track as your bird here…but I did it.”

“Yes, you and a hired arm of thugs successfully did enough damage to get our attention. Bravo, you insignificant piece of shit.” Dallas was alive. His heart leapt to hear her snarl. Montague strode forward then kicked her.

“This isn’t about you anymore, luv.” He kicked her a second time.

Julian had enough and rushed forward, then Montague switched his stance and brought the ax to her throat. Growling, Julian slowed.

“That’s more like it.” Perfectly pleasant despite his disheveled appearance—the effect was disturbing. “Seventy-five years,” he continued. “Seventy-five years I hunted for you, Corporal Carlyle. That was the only name I had…Corporal Carlyle. It took me a decade to learn your first name, but no one seemed to have heard of you.”

Julian didn’t move. His attention fixed on where the axe touched Dallas’s vulnerable flesh.

“Baffling, but I had no money and no real resources, so I had to live with what I could learn on the phone. Fascinating fact, as alpha I couldn’t ask anyone for help, as it would be a sign of weakness. So I went to school, I learned, and I invested. Eventually, I had more than two quid to my name. That’s when I made my first trip to the U.S. I knew Corporal Carlyle killed my brother. Did you know he was my brother? He was fifteen years my senior, and our alpha since our father passed during the blitz. He and our only footmen served. I was too young. I stayed home with our mother, but he marched off to war. He had an idea—we were a small pack, not much to us, but if he could snag us a wealthier city…say Rome. Then we’d be sitting quite fine.”

As he spoke, Montague poked at Dallas with the heavy end of the axe.

“But then they were butchered by an American wolf. Ambushed and cut down. You didn’t even want the city, yet you killed them without regard. You killed our alpha.” Montague looked at him, and the hate blazing in his eyes scorched away any evidence of civility. “You killed him, but you didn’t claim our pack. I was the embarrassment, the alpha by default. But I knew all I had to do was kill you, then I would have earned my position.”

Suddenly, he jerked the axe away from Dallas and swung it up.

“To kill you, I had to find you…and no pack I contacted in the U.S. even acknowledged you. Not even bloody Willow Bend. Their alpha had your last name, but he told me—to my face—Julian Carlyle doesn’t exist.”

Of course he did. Toman never could stomach competition.

Not even from family.

“I find out you Americans have Enforcers. So, I reported you to your Chief Enforcer. I thought if I made my case for your crime, he would do something about it.”

“William wouldn’t have punished me for anything that happened during the war,” Julian said, advancing a couple of steps while the axe was away from her. “It was war.”

“The British were your allies.” Spit flew from his lips.

“You don’t look much like an ally from my position.”

Dallas groaned, then rolled away when he would have stomped on her. Impeded by the shackles, she couldn’t get far, but she was out of arm’s reach.

“You slaughtered my pack, and your Chief Enforcer did nothing. He said he knew of no Carlyle.”

“He didn’t,” Julian told him. “I haven’t been Julian Carlyle since the war. Afterward, I left the name with the pack.” Easing forward, he judged the distance between them. Dallas rolled over to a crouch. Bleeding, but breathing and her eyes fierce.

“They all protected you. Hid you away. I had to confirm your death. Had to…so, I studied your packs and their alphas, how they interacted, and everything I could about your Enforcers.”

Dallas was still a little too close to him and his axe, but she didn’t glance at Julian. Her attention focused on the threat right in front of her. Her crouched position didn’t offer much defense, particularly with her shackles chained together.

“Whenever American wolves came to Britain, I found a way to entertain them. Imagine my surprise when I learned of the legend that was Dallas Dalton.”

“Legend? Troublemaker, definitely, but I think I’m a little young to be called a legend.” The quip from Dallas pulled Montague’s glare, and Julian took another two steps forward.

He only needed to get a little closer.

“You were unimportant other than the fact that they told me Julian wanted you. Julian hunted the Rogue Dallas Dalton, and she was a legend because the Chief Enforcer could not catch her.”

The last piece fell into place. Some idiot wolf with too much to drink brought up a story, and this idiot…

“So, I captured the Rogue you could not.” His grin turned triumphant. “I have bested you. I beat you.”

Shock held Julian rigid. “You slaughtered a whole family group, murdered my Enforcers, sent mercenaries to harass the packs and to turn innocents so you could beat me?”

“You brought this on yourself. You murdered my pack, so I murdered yours. You serve them all, so they all die.”

“And we’re done,” Dallas said as she snapped her wrists forward. Belatedly, Julian realized she’d freed the chain from her ankles and it lashed out, wrapping on the axe. She yanked the weapon from the Brit’s hands, and Julian pounced.

As much as the man deserved the beating of his lifetime, death would be a far swifter. Montague tried to strike, but Julian blocked the blows, then seized his throat. The snap of his neck filled the silence around the cabin.

“Oh, thank God,” Dallas groaned as she fell onto her back. Letting the corpse drop, Julian turned his attention to her. “I thought he was never going to shut up.”

Kneeling beside her, he cupped her battered cheek with one hand. “You are impossible.”

“You know,” she said, cracking one eye open. “I keep hearing that. Chrystal?”

“Is safe,” he assured her, caressing her cheek. She was alive. She’d survived. “Waiting for her mother, whom I promised I would bring home.”

“Awesome…can you get these things off?” She held up her wrists. “I really need to pee.”

Julian laughed.

Definitely impossible. Irrepressible. Wild.

And, if she consented…his.