Wolf Rock Shifters Books 1-5: Five BBW Paranormal Romance Standalone Novels (41 page)

He ran inside and shifted, grabbing a fire extinguisher and a pile of wool blankets which he brought outside. In the freezing air he managed to put out the fire before much damage was done; only the corner plank of the structure was scalded. The weasel hadn’t intended to meet up with a lion, clearly.

It wasn’t long before Nash’s father came out and found him. Nash had already wrapped one of the clean blankets around his waist but his father threw a parka over his shoulders and handed him a pair of boots, which he gratefully pulled on.

“So they mean business,” Mr. Richardson said as he scratched his chin.

“Yeah, they do. Though I have a funny feeling they won’t be back. I think they’re just trying to intimidate us and by extension the whole town.”

“Well, we’ve got to stop this immediately. It’s arrogance to think you can bully anyone into submission in this way, but a town of shifters?”

“The problem is, dad, some shifters are stronger than others. These guys know it. We’re not part of a pack and we’re isolated out here, so they know we’re vulnerable. Those are the ones they’ll go after—the ones they can hurt.”

“Well, for the time being we ought to consider a watchdog. You can’t be out here every night like this.”

“No, I can’t,” said Nash, thinking of how much he would have preferred spending the night with a certain sexy tiger lady he knew.

I
n the morning
, Nash drove into town, seeking answers. In his years away he’d lost touch with the social loop in Wolf Rock, but having grown up in the area, he’d known some of the locals all his life and wanted to ask them what they knew about what had been going on.

He knew by now that trusting anyone was a poor idea; even Cecile seemed to be hiding, or at least holding back, information. Only Zoe, the woman he’d met at the wolf pack’s cabin, seemed invested in getting to the bottom of things.

Nash’s first stop was a local diner. The man who ran it was Jack, a fifty-something year old coyote shifter who’d managed to look like he was seventy-five since about the age of forty. He was thin and grizzled, with deep-set laugh lines around his eyes and a closely-shaved head of white hair. Nash had known him since he was a small boy and knew that Jack’s entire life had been spent in and around Wolf Rock. If anyone was out to protect it, it was him.

“Is Jack around today?” asked Nash as the waitress showed him to his booth.

“He’s out back. I’ll grab him for you. And some coffee. You look like you could use it, honey.”

Nash found himself running a rough finger over his stubble, which was especially thick that morning. His lack of sleep had meant that grooming had been the last thing on his priority list that day.

Jack came out a moment later, a white apron tied over his t-shirt and jeans.

“Hey Nash, what do you know? A lion all grown up,” he said, his usual friendly smile displaying well-maintained teeth against his too-wrinkled face.

“Hi, Jack. Haven’t seen you in ages. How are things around town?”

Jack slid into the booth and sat opposite Nash. His expression changed immediately, taking on the look that shifters so often had; instinct kicking in and wisdom coming to the forefront of his mind.

“Not great. I’m sure you’ve heard what’s been happening.”

“I have. I’ve seen it, too. I was hoping you could tell me what you know. They tried to ignite our barn last night.”

“Jesus, that’s the worst I’ve heard yet.”

“Yeah, well,” said Nash, smiling now. “I think I pissed them off, so that’s something at least.”

“Pretty sure I have an attack to look forward to as well. I had a guy by yesterday who wanted to know if I wanted ‘protection’ for the diner. Mean-lookin’ fella. Big guy. I told him Hell no and sent him on his damn way.”

“Good for you. But watch it. They mean business.”

“Well, so do I, and I still have all my teeth. Here’s my question, though: who are ‘they?’ I don’t know these guys.”

“That’s what I’m trying to work out. There’s a number of possibilities but I don’t like any of them.” Nash leaned in and spoke quietly. “The temp alpha is a suspect. But so is Conrad Malcolm, that mogul who moved up recently.”

“I can’t imagine that Dascha is behind any of this. He’s just confused these days. I heard he’s in heat.”

“I suppose. If males can go into heat.”

“Well, he’s as close as they come. You probably know by now that it ain’t possible to focus on much when your whole body’s telling you that you need a woman. Imagine that, times a hundred. That’s what he’s going through. He’s not a powerful alpha like Tristan, but he’s not a cruel guy, and usually not an irresponsible one. I suspect that they’re using Tristan’s absence and Dascha’s temporary insanity to frame the pack.”

“If that’s the case, who’s this wolf shifter who’s been attacking livestock?” asked Nash. “The only man I’ve run across who seems involved in the racket is no wolf, and his sidekick isn’t either, though I don’t know what he is. He smells…different. I can’t place his scent. And I’ve only seen his human form. I haven’t figured him out.”

“What does he look like?”

“Thick, muscular, silent type. His eyes seem to be a few different colours.”

“Yeah, that’s the one I met. I don’t know his animal either. I generally don’t have a great instinct for that sort of thing.”

“All I know,” said Nash, “is that I saw a wolf, and he was a shifter. But it was the thin man—I’m pretty sure he’s a weasel—who tried to set fire to the barn. And there’s no way he’s the godfather behind all this bullshit. He’s not smart enough or disciplined enough, for that matter.”

“So you think maybe this billionaire businessman, this Malcolm, huh? Do you know anything about him?”

“Not really. I’m getting to know his daughter a little,” said Nash, his mind beginning to race at the thought. “Maybe I should pay them a surprise visit today.”

“What’s his daughter like?”

The left corner of Nash’s lip twitched. “Interesting,” he said.

Jack let out a low whistle. “I’ve met some
interesting
girls in my life,” he said. “I think maybe I know what that word means. You watch it, young lion. Interesting girls can be deadly. You know what Dascha’s going through? That could be you.”

“Yeah, well, I can look after myself. I’m not a cub anymore. Besides, he’s a wolf and I’m a lion. I like to think I have more self-control.”

“Even as a cub you were a tough guy. But self-control isn’t something I’ve ever associated with you, Nash.” Jack let out a low laugh. “Anyhow, good luck. I’m going to stick around this place tonight and make sure no one tries to burn it down. If they do, they’re in for some bleeding.”

“Okay. I’d offer to help but I have the ranch to look after. Though I suspect that they won’t be back.”

“I reckon you’re right. Not a lot of shifters are stupid enough to fuck with a young lion. Good luck to you,” said Jack as he stood. “I’ve got to get back to bacon fat and toast. I’ll send some food out to ya.”

As Nash ate his breakfast he contemplated his next move. He knew about Cecile’s father’s chalet and would make the drive out to meet the man, to see what he was all about. Cecile might not be too pleased about it, but then he wasn’t out to visit her; in fact, none of this had anything to do with her. He hoped that he’d find her out of the house so that he wouldn’t be distracted. Something in his attraction to her weakened him and ate into his determination to perform his duty. He supposed that this was a little of what Jack had referred to when he spoke of Dascha being in heat; an inability to focus. But Nash was unwilling to let even a woman as worthy as Cecile trump his plans to help his hometown residents.

It was her father who really interested him as a suspect. A billionaire tiger. Nash pictured a Donald Trump hairstyle and an arrogance that might be difficult to take. But Nash wasn’t a man who was easily intimidated, so he was ready for whatever might come.

H
e arrived
at the chalet a little after eleven a.m. He’d heard about the house from other people around town, including his father who referred to it as a “monstrosity.” Nash attributed this assessment to his father’s snobbery about such things; their own ranch was, after all,
properly
rustic and looked like it belonged in the mountains.

But when he arrived, he began to understand the evaluation. The chalet was enormous. It looked a little like the house that had been built a few years earlier, when the reality show hooking up women with the wolf pack’s alpha had been filmed. That place had been built over the course of a couple of weeks and had been intended to look like a Hollywood mansion; something owned by a person with so much money that they didn’t know what to do with it.

Only,
that
one had been cheap. Conrad Malcolm’s chalet was, by contrast, made of giant beams of wood; trees that had no doubt been ancient and beautiful. It was tucked behind a security gate and a stone wall, and sat atop a hill which had been clear-cut, as though the surrounding forest were somehow offensive to its owner. All told, the house and its property had to have been worth at least several million dollars.

Nash pulled his vehicle up at one end of the stone wall and got out, knowing that buzzing in at the gate would not likely gain him entrance. Instead, he climbed the wall, easily throwing himself over and onto the grass below. He waited for the sound of hounds running across the lawn, barking—didn’t all billionaires have hounds? Then he remembered that of course, the man in question was a shifter himself. A tiger: fast, intelligent, strong, and with the heightened senses that he’d come to know as a feline.

Nash strolled slowly towards the house, seeing no evidence of activity, other than an SUV parked outside which appeared empty, and a few cars parked in the distance.

As he approached the front door, he prepared himself for the ensuing meeting. What would he say? How was he to assess whether this powerful man was behind the problems his town was now facing? Clearly, he hadn’t thought this through. He was no trained cop out to interrogate a suspect. At best he was a recent graduate of university who thought that maybe being half-lion was enough to sort the mess that now infected Wolf Rock.

But his train of thought was cut short when the door opened and Cecile walked out.

“Hey!” said Nash, smiling at her as though their meeting was the most casual imaginable. “I hope it’s okay that I just dropped by. I’ve come to see your father.”

Cecile looked at him, her eyes going wide. She said nothing, but she nodded and began to jog towards the SUV which was parked in front of the house. Nash attempted to cut her off, puzzled by her silence.

“What’s going on?” he asked as she opened the door.

“Nothing,” she replied. “I need to go.”

With that, she opened the door and climbed in, slamming it behind her and starting the engine.

“What the hell was that?” Nash muttered under his breath. Cecile was a bit unusual, but it wasn’t like her to behave in a way that was completely baffling. Maybe, he thought, he’d pissed her off in some way. Maybe his mere presence in this place was an irritation to her. He found himself feeling worried, even a little vulnerable, and this bothered him. It was time to focus on the task at hand; anything going on in his heart or his pants could and would have to be delayed until later.

He steeled himself as she drove off, preparing for the meeting to come. For the moment he’d have to forget Cecile.

The front door, he realized, was slightly ajar, but nevertheless Nash knocked. It was only a few seconds before he heard footsteps heading in his direction.

A dignified-looking woman in a well-tailored dress opened the door. Nash wondered for a moment who she was. She had the face and body of a shifter, but the air of an employee rather than a resident of the chalet.

“May I help you?” asked the woman, whose face was serious though she seemed to be fighting a desire to grin.

“I’m looking for Mr. Malcolm,” said Nash.

“Mr. Malcolm is in a meeting currently.” The woman was eyeing him, sizing him up like an art object. Nash felt uncomfortable and yet something in her amused him. “I’m his Jill-of-all-trades, mistress of none, Susannah,” she added.

“Nice to meet you, Susannah. I’m Nash.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “I knew the moment I saw you who you were. You’re that young lion shifter who lives on the ranch that my girl likes so much.”

“The ranch, or me?”

“I’ll never say.”

That’s very loyal of you,” said Nash, though he knew perfectly well what Susannah meant. “Do you know when Mr. Malcolm might be finished?”

“I don’t. But if you’d like, you may wait in the drawing room,” she replied, offering with her right hand to guide Nash towards the mysterious chamber.

“Sure, that’d be great,” said Nash.

He was ushered into a dark room whose walls were coated in bookshelves, displaying leather-bound tomes. One large window displayed the back yard of the house, which was more like a football field, and though its curtains were mostly closed, Nash could see just how far back the property sprawled.

“Have a seat,” said Susannah. “I’ll send Mr. Malcolm your way when he’s through. And don’t you worry about a thing, darlin’. That man’s all growl and no bite. Big ol’ toothless tiger.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Nash smiled uneasily. He wasn’t so sure that Conrad Malcolm would treat him with the same gentleness as one of his employees. Something in the lion told him to be extremely wary of the tiger shifter.

He sat down on an elegant-looking leather couch and waited, his fingers rapping gently against the upholstery. After several minutes of restlessness, Nash rose and began to walk around the room, looking at the books that lined the walls. Many of them had to do with politics and history, which were of interest to the young man, but Nash needed something more. He was looking for some sort of insight into Malcolm’s character.

Eventually he came upon a photo of what looked like Cecile and her father on a ski trip. He realized as he leaned in that it wasn’t her at all, but her mother, as they stood with a small girl between them. Malcolm’s wife had been as beautiful as her daughter.

Why had Cecile behaved so oddly? Was it something Nash had done? Surely not. Then again, women were a mystery. And a tiger shifter was a plain enigma. Nash had never encountered a tiger, let alone tried to begin a relationship with one. He knew that they were supposed to be unpredictable, occasionally flighty and aggressive, but Cecile’s behaviour was more like that of two different people. It made no sense.

“What can I do for you?” asked a deep, round voice from behind Nash as he continued to study pictures on the shelf. He hadn’t heard the man in the doorway cross the hall. He turned and saw that other men were filing past, behind the imposing figure who stood between Nash and the procession of businessmen.

“Mr. Malcolm,” said the young man. “I’m Nash Richardson. I’m a friend of Cecile’s.”

“You’re the ranch hand.”

“I’m the son of the man who owns the ranch, if that’s what you mean. Most recently I was a university student.” Nash felt himself stiffening, resisting the desire to be argumentative with this man.

“No matter. In this house, you are a ranch hand. What is it that you want? You’ve missed my daughter; she’s in town.”

“Right. I saw her take off in the SUV,” said Nash. Malcolm looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face. “Anyhow,” continued the lion shifter, “I’m here to see you.”