Desert Fate (The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch Book 3)
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Authors: Anna Lowe
Desert Fate
The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch
Book Three
by Anna Lowe
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Desert Wolf
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Desert Wolf
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Lana Dixon may have won her destined mate’s heart, but that was in Arizona. Now, she’s bringing her desert wolf home to meet her family — the sworn enemies of his pack. How far will they push her mate to prove himself worthy? And is their relationship ready for the test?
Desert Fate
Copyright 2015 by Anna Lowe
www.annalowebooks.com
Cover art by Fiona Jayde Media
www.FionaJaydeMedia.com
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.
Other books in this series
Desert Moon
(Book 1)
Desert Wolf
1
and
2
(short stories)
Desert Blood
(Book 2)
Desert Fate (Book 3)
Desert Heart
(Book 4)
Desert Hunt
(the Prequel)
Desert Fate
Kyle Williams is just a lone wolf trying to settle in to a new skin. But when the brown-eyed girl from his past turns up, bloodied by a rival male, the instinct to protect overrides everything else—including duty to his pack.
Stefanie Alt is a woman on the run, and fate is hot on her heels. The only one who can help her is the neighborhood bad boy she once knew. But even after one hot night under the desert moon, Stefanie isn’t sure she can trust him—or herself.
There’s more than meets the eye on Twin Moon Ranch, home to a pack of shapeshifting wolves willing to battle for life and love.
CHAPTER ONE
Stefanie lay belly down in the dirt, vaguely aware of the first tap of sunlight upon her back. The wound on her neck throbbed, a reminder of the madman who set off this nightmare. The nightmare that had brought her to this place.
When she cracked one eye open, the red rock landscape was glowing orange-pink with dawn. She sucked in a long, unsteady breath, and it seemed like half of Arizona was squeezed into that lungful of air because her head spun. The place was like old leather: dry, worn, and rugged, yet rich and textured at the same time. Gritty and alive.
A little like her. Gritty. Alive, if only just.
She was going mad now, too, imagining all kinds of crazy things, like sprouting fur and claws and howling at the moon. Driving at breakneck speeds across two states hadn’t helped outrun those crazy thoughts, nor had it shaken the feeling of being pursued.
Going to the police wasn’t an option, much as she was tempted to try. If they heard the truth, they’d check her in to a mental ward. She could play it all out in her mind already.
What seems to be the problem, miss?
I was attacked.
The cop would nod, reach for a report, and wait for more.
I was attacked by a man with two-inch fangs who growled and grabbed me and—
That’s when the officer would tear up his report, pick up the phone, and ask for the psych ward.
No, going to the cops was not an option.
She licked her lips, trying to assemble her scattered thoughts, but they all kept coming back to two words.
Skinwalker. Wolf.
Two words aimed at her not far past the Colorado-Arizona state line. She’d pulled over at a trading post after driving like a banshee for hours, desperately thirsty and bone tired. When had that been? Yesterday? The day before? She couldn’t remember. Only that she’d made straight for the water fountain, hoping the shadows hid the mess she had become. Her hair, her clothes—all of them a mess. At least she’d had a shirt to change into. One that wasn’t covered in blood.
She still wasn’t sure how she’d survived after losing that much blood, but all that had mattered at that moment was the feel of cool water sliding down her throat. She barely caught the nod of greeting from the old Navajo woman who sat hunched over some beadwork in the shade—but she couldn’t miss it when the woman suddenly jolted off her stool and backed away, her eyes wide in horror.
“Skinwalker…” The ancient voice rasped with fear.
Stefanie snapped away from the fountain and put her hands up in protest.
“Wolf…” the old woman murmured, clutching at her robe.
Stef stammered and stumbled until she was back in her car. Then she peeled out of the parking lot and sped away. But even as she drove—going sixty-five, seventy-five, pushing eighty—the words kept echoing in her mind.
Skinwalker. Wolf.
It was sunset—a few hours and several hundred miles later—before she’d calmed down enough to pull over. She’d stared at her knuckles, locked white around the wheel, then tilted her chin up to study the stars. That, she remembered exactly. The sky, blood red around the horizon, deep indigo overhead. The cool evening air. The rattle and whoosh of cars racing by. Where was she going? What would she do when she got there?
She traced the hook of the Big Dipper then the W of Cassiopeia with her eyes. For all that had gone wrong in the past few days, the stars looked exactly right tonight.
Then she did a double take. Wait. Hadn’t they looked better from about a mile back?
I am definitely losing my mind.
No one could sense that small a change. But there was a hush in the air that stopped her from shaking the idea away. Like the desert had whispered something and was waiting for her response.
Something like,
That is the way you must go.
So, okay, she made the U-turn. If instinct told her to follow the stars, she’d follow the stars, no matter how crazy it seemed. What else did she have to lose?
A mile later, an unmarked road split away from the highway and an upward glance told her that the stars really did look better from here, if still not exactly right. So she bumped down the dirt road, checking the stars every few minutes.
They did look better from this angle, part of her insisted, and for a little while, that part took over. Every mile she drove took her closer to…
To where?
To wherever it was that felt right. It was like a blindfolded childhood game where you honed in on something: warmer, warmer…
Then the right front tire blew out and hissed its anger into the night. She groaned, dropped her forehead to the steering wheel, and stayed there a long time.
No one could help her, not even the cops. And now, she was stranded in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. How could she have thought there was anything right about this?
A coyote yipped in the distance then broke into a long, warbling howl. For a minute, it sounded vaguely…familiar. So much that she was almost tempted to sing along. Tempted to toss her head back and let out all the frustration, the pain, the fear. To disappear into the desert and hide in a den.
When the coyote trailed off, loneliness came crushing in along with the crazy images that had started plaguing her at night. Images of running into the night like a wild thing. Of howling her sorrow to the moon through a long, pointed snout. Of tearing something fleshy apart and tasting warm, sweet blood…
She fumbled with the door handle and jumped out of the car as if that were the seat of her madness, and then rushed into the shadows of the desert. Faster and faster until all she heard were her own hurried breaths, her own desperate footfalls.
It all became a blur until dawn, when she found herself belly down in the dirt, the sun tapping on her back. There was a rattle, and she glanced up in time to see the diamond pattern of a snake slithering by. Had he too, spent a frigid night on this mesa?
She was still flopped there, vaguely aware of the intensifying heat of morning, when an engine grumbled in the distance—the first vehicle to pass since last night.
Maybe they can help!
Part of her wanted to believe that impossibility.
No one can help,
the other part cried.
No one can understand.
A good thing she was far enough into the bush that the driver wouldn’t see her. She’d be left in peace, hopefully to die.
I don’t want to die!
But some things were worse than death, so she lay still. If she was lucky, the sun would take care of what the snake failed to do. All she had to do was lie there and let her mind drift.
She should have known not to step foot on that Colorado ranch alone. Should have listened to the creeping doubts that had warned her away…
The cool earth under her cheek carried a vibration. Something was moving nearby.
A shadow fell over her, too tall for a snake or coyote, and she tensed. The touch on her shoulder was warm and broad. A human hand. With it came a human voice.
“Are you okay?”
The voice was deep and warm, and she wouldn’t have minded listening to it all day.
But the cynic in her wanted to snort. Okay? She’d nearly had her throat ripped out by a maniac. Her dreams were nightmares full of canine sights and sounds. She’d been on the run for days. Okay?
I’ve never been further from okay.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins as the instinct to flee kicked in. With a lunge and a twist, she was up and running, crashing through the bush.
“Hey! Wait!” the man’s voice, so soft a moment ago, shouted in surprise.
Like hell, she was waiting. She squinted as she ran, trying to adjust to the bright sunlight. Despite the stranger on her heels, running gave her a thrill, like that of a captive animal set free. She darted around a cactus, hammered up a slope, then skidded down the other side in huge leaps. But the air rushed behind her, and with it came the jolt of a flying tackle. Then she was tumbling and tangling with her attacker, both of them bashing into the hillside until they ground out against a rock.
“Ooof.” The man groaned, then cursed. “Lady…” he started, then suddenly stopped.
He had her pinned on her back under his sheer weight. All she could see against the glare of the sun was his outline. It didn’t take much for her imagination to fill in the features of a different attacker, a different man.