She'd just barely managed to not drag him into her own den and have her way with him. Luckily for her, he'd started in again about how his pack's trained Guardians could defend her. Poor, lonesome, defenseless Claire. Well, of course he hadn't said it that way. He was much too much of a cowboy gentleman, and she honestly couldn't picture him ever being cruel or condescending. But she knew full well he thought she was defenseless out here by herself.
Funnily enough, she'd managed just fine without him for her entire life.
Even so, she couldn't put his long, lean body out of her mind.
Now, she paced her house with nervous energy. Too restless to write even though she really should, too annoyed to return Tate's scores of texts and voice messages, she didn't know what else to do with herself.
The one thing she did know was to think of Melle, often. Hoping with every fiber in her being her mother was still close enough to sense their unusually strong connection and return to see what was wrong, she filled her mind with images of Melle and a sense of worry. And a strong impression of rogues.
Bashar. Her ex. A—
rogue wolf.
Her mind still tripped over itself at that thought, stunned she hadn't realized it. All those months he'd courted her. All the times she'd let him into her house, into her own bed, simply thinking he was another pack wolf to enjoy while it lasted. He smelled like pack. He
was
pack. Tate had confirmed that for her, explaining how it was possible, but he also confirmed Bashar was a rogue. Which was confusing as hell.
“Oh, he's definitely a rogue wolf, darlin',” Tate had said during his lobby to get her to leave her little sanctuary for his. “Rogues have a certain scent. Rather, they have a lack of a scent—the pack scent. Once they go rogue, their pack bonds are severed.”
“But he still smells like pack,” she'd argued, mesmerized by Tate's long legs as he stepped them on either side of hers, by her front door. “How can he be a rogue?”
“Because,” Tate had said very gently, one muscled arm stretching out to the doorframe behind her, though the rest of his body stayed angled away from her so she could walk away at any moment if she wished, “rogues carry their original pack scent for a long time. It's just really muted. You would have realized that if—” He'd brought himself up short, but Claire had known what he was about to say.
If she'd been pack instead of a wild wolf. She'd always thought her senses were more honed than pack wolves, more attuned to potential danger, but she'd walked right into a trap set by a rogue wolf who had used her lack of training to manipulate her. She was fairly sure he wouldn't really hurt her, because he'd had plenty of chances to snatch her away. He always went on about his family's pack, how well she would fit in, how beautiful she was.
How well he could protect her from the world. Just the fact that Tate's words echoed those of her apparently evil ex had been enough for her to finally ask Tate to leave and stick to her guns on it, despite her wolf's distinct disapproval at her actions. Her own disapproval of her actions as well.
Frankly, it all was infuriating on all counts.
Her phone chirped at her again. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she reached for it, braced for another plea from Tate to reconsider his offer.
Her blood suddenly iced as
The Ex! No Good
flashed on her screen instead, but not simply because it was him. His words were what sent her heart rabbiting around in her ribcage in sudden nervousness.
Y
ou've been keeping company, Claire,
his text said. He'd never sounded so sickeningly nasty before.
Tsk tsk tsk. Very bad girl. You're meant for me, and no one else.
The only way he could know that was if—
If he'd been close enough to scent Tate on her.
When the knock sharply rapped at her door, her heart threatened to leap right out of her chest.
***
Tate had a conversation with Claire in his head the entire way back to her house. In his mind, it ended up with him kissing her every single time.
By the time he reached her little place, his hormones were as revved up as his questions and his worry. He sat in his truck for several long minutes, gathering his composure and tamping down his wolf's excited demands at being back at his mate's house. No, he wasn't going to burst in and claim her like so much sexy, gorgeous spoils of war. Tempting as that was. And, if he was truthful about his memories, he'd pretty much done just that when they were in Denver. So, check “claim mate by going into a mating frenzy” off the bucket list.
Of course, she sure hadn't complained then. But he had a sneaking suspicion she might not be too happy to see him right now. Especially since she'd rather testily asked him to leave the premises earlier in the day so she could think in peace, after she'd refused to come back to the den with him.
His alpha had to be right. Claire was protecting someone other than just herself. Tate wanted to find out who.
He also wanted a chance to do it right this time so he could get another taste of her luscious lips. Because despite all the tension of the entire situation, he was still feeling very deprived every second he was away from her stunning, welcoming body.
When he finally mustered some calm and strode up to her door, he knocked gently but firmly. After a moment of unanswered silence, he raised his hand to knock again, but the door opened before he could. Standing there with his knuckles in the air, he felt pretty darn foolish as Claire's beautiful face peered around the door. Preparing for arguments again, he took a breath, ready to launch into his prepared spiel. Before he could, though, she stepped around the entire door, relief written huge on her face.
“Thank god,” she said, and reached out to grab his arm and haul him inside.
Right. Women weren't like horses at all. Horses were easy to understand. He thought he'd known women fairly well, but now and then they jumbled up everything he thought he'd understood. Like this very moment.
“I'm so glad you're here,” she said, eyes darting to the gathering darkness behind him as she pulled him inside and tightly shut the door. Immediately picking up on her nervousness, Tate went into full Guardian mode.
“What's wrong? Have they been here? Are you okay?” He trembled with the need to crush her to him and hold her in the safety of his arms. Forcing himself to stand still, although his eyes darted around her small house, he let her dictate how this would go.
“No. Yes. No,” she said, voice slightly unsteady. “I didn't think they would come here, and they haven't. But they know about you. I mean,
he
does.”
Tate immediately knew which “he” she meant. He set his mouth against sudden invective. From casual, relaxed, happy-go-lucky guy to pretty much frothing-at-the-mouth Guardian-with-a-mate, all in the space of a few weeks. Fascinating, if not very conducive to clear thinking. Taking a deep breath, then another, he forced himself to coolly assess the situation.
“Okay, darlin',” he said, moving closer to her and lightly touching her arm. When she didn't resist that, he gently slipped an arm around her. God, she fit into him perfectly. Just that thought sent a sudden surge of interest straight to his cock. His balls tightened. Sucking in another breath to steady himself, Tate said, “Tell me.”
Claire showed him the text. “He's never spoken to me like that before.” Tate could tell it made her nervous.
Much as he hated for her to be fearful, he felt a slight stirring of grim hope that she was taking the situation more seriously now.
“But I still don't understand why he's never said anything weird before.” Claire's face showed her mingled tension and confusion. “Or ever tried to harm me. Was it some sort of crazy game to him?”
With his head slightly clearer, Tate knew it was best to let her mull this over on her just for the moment. He nodded at her to continue with her thoughts. Gently dropping a kiss on the top of her sweet-smelling hair, he forced himself away so he could wander the room. Surreptitiously casting his gaze at the mantel above her cozily lit fireplace, he saw the photo he thought he'd spied the other day. Strolling over for a closer look, he smiled to himself. Aha. Claire did have family. Now, he just needed her to tell him about it.
***
Strong, gentle hands clasped behind his back, Tate leaned forward at her fireplace mantel to examine the small framed photo of Claire and her mother. They both looked into the lens in their wolf forms, thanks to the power of a camera's long self-timer clicked just before Claire easily shifted into her four-legged shape.
“Who is that wolf with you?” Simple, genuine curiosity. In profile to her, he tipped his head in that unconscious manner he had when asking a question or waiting for a reply, though he remained focused on the photo. A few small strands of dark hair wisped down and clung to an eyebrow, giving him a slightly rakish look. Claire felt a bolt of desire zing straight to her most sensitive spot in response to it. It took her a deep breath to settle enough to answer him.
“That's Melle. My mother.”
Soft surprise whuffed out of him, though he nodded almost immediately. “Yes, I can see that, actually. You look like her, even though her coat's darker. She's closer to gray. But her eyes aren't like yours.” Her mother had darker brown eyes than the clear amber ones Claire's wolf had. “Was your father an arctic wolf as well?”
“Actually, no. But she is, even though she's not white. She's a carrier of the gene. The coloring can skip generations. I'm somewhat unusual because of it.”
Tate swung his head around and smiled at her. Another slow burn began, seeming to light each of her limbs.
“You definitely are unusual, Claire. Not just because you're a white wolf here in the desert, though.” He glanced back at the photo, then to her again. “Why didn't you both pose as human for this?”
His forehead wrinkled a bit as he took in the hesitation she must have written on her face. He held up his hands. “Sorry, it's none of my—”
“No, that's not it,” she cut in quickly. “I'm just so used to not talking about her it's kind of ingrained to say nothing.”
The fire crackled and popped in the hearth.
Watching him carefully, she weighed her next words. Yes, he was pack and wanted to protect her. But he was also her mate, and he'd come back for her. Also, he was giving her space even while he was right here in her own home.
She needed to entrust him with her own truths the same way he entrusted her with his. Taking a breath, she went on. “When we first left our native pack, we were kind of on the run for a long time.”
She saw his shoulders twitch in surprise, but he simply nodded, still looking at the photo. She covered the distance between them and moved into his side. His arm automatically wrapped around her for a quick hug before he gently moved them to the large couch facing the hearth. Letting him carefully pull her down onto it, she waited a moment so she could settle against him and his warm, welcoming self.
“You smell so good,” he murmured as he nuzzled her hair. She started to lift her face to his, but he shook his head. “I want to hear your history. I really do want to know everything about you, Claire. If you want to tell me.” His open expression did some sort of delicious liquefying thing to her heart. Her wolf twirled in approving circles.
Acutely aware of a gathering need between her suddenly damp thighs, Claire nodded. His curiosity was genuine, and it touched her emotionally as well as physically.
“Okay,” she said. She settled her head against his chest and gazed into the ebb and flow of the flames as they moved along the cute logs in the fireplace. She fit into him so perfectly, it was uncanny. This must be how it always felt between mates. “We moved from place to place, all over the country. We stayed as wolves almost the entire time.”
Tate stroked her arm, encouraging her to continue as she faltered a bit, his fingers heightening the building arousal she felt. “So you did come from a pack and didn't just spring from the head of Zeus.”
She couldn't help the bubble of laughter that escaped, then another. Even with the tension still in the room from the recent events, he could still tease her. And she still loved it.
“Yes,” she said, nestling deeper into his side, her earlier bristling at him mostly forgotten. She had to admit it was much nicer to be close to him. On all levels. “We left when I was three. I really don't remember much specifically, but I do remember always feeling a little sad and lonely. And scared sometimes. It was not a very happy pack. I....” She let her voice trail off and nibbled at her lower lip. Hearing his sudden inhale when she did that, she gave him a sideways look. He was staring right at her lips. The fascinated intensity in his eyes sent more warmth zinging straight between her legs.
With a tiny smile, she continued. “To be honest, my impression was that all packs are like that.”
“Unhappy,” he said, nuzzling at her neck.
“Mmm. Yes,” she murmured back. This was heading in a direction she'd been thinking about since, oh, two or so weeks ago when she'd left him behind in Denver. Her irritation completely fled, replaced by the rising desire flooding her limbs with sweet languor. So there was a dangerous rogue out there somewhere. And her gorgeous, sexy mate wanted to assimilate her into his pack. Basically, her entire life had gone topsy-turvy in the matter of mere weeks.
At the moment, though, all she really cared about was Tate. Touching him, stroking him, kissing him, being kissed by him. Her instincts told her he was safe.
Not to mention sexy as hell, and already beyond proven that he could send her into a state of bliss. Bliss which seemed to be a most excellent response right now to everything crazy happening in her life.
“So your mother,” he prompted, although his hand was playing with her hair. Gently tugging, then releasing, then tugging again. The sensation whipped through her body in a distinctly pleasurable way.
“Um,” she said gracefully. “Oh, yes. Well, we lived mostly as wolves for a long time. When it was time for me to go to school, though, she made me live as human more often. She said it was important for me to understand both worlds.”