Wild Wolf

Graham had no one. Only Dougal, his out-of-control nephew. The few other members of his clan were distant relations, and several were equal in dominance with each other—no clear path to clan leadership. If Graham dropped dead, there would be a battle. The only way to prevent it was to take a strong Shifter mate and start putting out cubs. The more cubs the better.

Graham waited until the Lupines had faded into the darkness, their scents growing fainter. Only when he knew they were truly gone did he return to the house, wanting Misty.

He glanced up at the house and saw two small wolf faces peering down at him from the spare bedroom window. Little shits. They were supposed to be asleep.

But they watched him all the way in, and he knew they’d heard every word. When he opened the door of their bedroom upstairs, Kyle and Matt were curled up on the bed again, head to head, tail to tail, pretending to snore.

 • • •

Misty woke to early-morning sunshine pouring through the window, a stiffness in her body, and strange satisfaction. For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was, then she saw she still lay in Graham’s bed.

Of Graham, there was no sign. The bed bore only Misty’s imprint and rumpled covers. Graham must have slept elsewhere.

Misty climbed out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. She was completely naked and had no idea where her clothes were. Still downstairs in the kitchen?

No, they’d been hung over the back of a wooden chair near Graham’s bedroom door. Well, dropped haphazardly over the wooden chair. Graham wasn’t the kind of man who sent out his lady’s clothes to be cleaned and pressed then greeted her with breakfast in bed, including a rosebud in a vase.

Graham was himself. Misty had the feeling that, to him, romance was a word in an ancient, lost language.

The bathroom was clean though. New and nice. Misty showered, using plain bar soap and generic shampoo. No frills for the McNeils.

She dressed and went downstairs, hoping she could find utensils and ingredients for breakfast. The kitchen was as she’d left it, no change. The cubs weren’t here or frolicking in the yard. They weren’t in the house at all—they hadn’t been in bed, and no way were they in here and not making noise. No one was in the house but Misty.

No sign of Graham, cubs, or Dougal in the backyard or in the front. They’d left, going who-knew-where, without bothering to leave so much as a note.

Not Misty’s business, right? She should walk out, get into her borrowed car, and drive back home.

Disappearing without saying good-bye, though, especially after what she and Graham had done last night, felt wrong. She wanted to see Graham, to kiss him good morning, to see his smile and hear his rough-voiced teasing.

Matt and Kyle had confessed they’d gone to a basement of an unfinished house, and from there had somehow made it to Misty’s store. Had someone snatched them, drugged them, carried them off? And why dump them in a car outside Misty’s shop?

It was six o’clock, but the sun was up, the temperature already climbing. In the summer, desert dwellers did anything outdoorsy early, and then stayed inside with the AC for the hot afternoon. If Graham wanted to explore the scene of the crime in daylight, he’d have done it now.

Not her business, Misty repeated silently.

Oh, screw it. Misty wanted to know whatever it was they found. She cared about the cubs too, no denying it. She cared about Dougal and Graham, and her Shifter friends. Misty was in this now, no going back, no matter how much she and Graham danced back and forth on their relationship.

Misty put on her sandals and walked outside through the kitchen door. A step led down into a backyard with a patch of grass and a path connecting it to a common area between the houses.

Unlike many of the neighborhoods in Las Vegas, a block wall did not surround every yard in Shiftertown. Graham had told her Shifters didn’t need walls. Each Shifter knew where his territory ended and another Shifter’s began. If humans had as good a sense of smell as Shifters did, he said, they wouldn’t need walls either.

Misty stepped into the common area and headed toward the first unfinished house she saw down the way. Two seconds later, a woman was in front of her, one tall and gray-eyed, her dark hair a bit shaggy. A Lupine, Misty guessed.

She eyed Misty coldly, and Misty stopped.

“Stay away from Graham,” the woman said.

Misty hid a sigh. Facing jealous females was not something she liked to do. It always made her feel twelve years old, confronting a mean girl in the school cafeteria.

“That’s for me and Graham to decide,” Misty said.

“No, it isn’t.” The Lupine woman came close, invading Misty’s personal space. Shifters did that when they decided they were dominant to you. Graham did it all the time. “Graham mates for the good of his clan, for Shiftertown,” the woman said. “You’re not good for us. So go away.”

“He isn’t mating with me.”

The woman inhaled, her eyes narrowing. Misty knew she’d washed thoroughly with the deodorant soap, but Shifters had phenomenal senses of smell. They could strip scent down into layers and time, like archeologists uncovering civilizations.

“You reek of sex and his seed. Don’t lie with him again. A by-blow will help no one. Might even hurt you.”

Misty had also learned that when faced with a mean girl, she should look said girl straight in the eye and not back down. Sometimes this had led to Misty getting beaten up, but she’d always fought back with gusto, which had earned her a little respect.