Fierce Cowboy Wolf Read online

  And now they called him the Monster of Montana.

  Along with his demand that the pack provide protection for the rogue wolves, the recent reappearance of a former Grey Wolf named Jared Black had revealed that Maverick’s father had committed crimes against the young wolf to ensure Jared never had the opportunity to challenge the Grey family line for packmaster. His father’s illegal actions had ended talks of another founding family taking over the pack before they ‘d even truly began.

  Since then, despite the fact that Maverick had been young and as manipulated by his father’s lies as the rest of the pack and that he had always been next in line for the throne even before his father’s crime had been committed, his father’s sins had become his own. Now, every past decision he’d ever made was being drawn into question, every time he’d ever gone around the council vilified. The greater pack was scrutinizing his every move.

  He scowled. He didn’t need to be liked. Hell, he’d never expected the pack’s thanks, let alone their appreciation. He fulfilled his role because it was his duty to protect them. He lived for little more. But now, the whispers of his critics were no longer whispers. Never mind the legitimacy of his birthright, the loyalty he inspired among his warriors, his years of dedicated service, and every sacrifice he’d ever made on behalf of his pack. All that was forgotten in the face of a council who’d been eager to oppose him from day one, who planned to force him to behave. They thought he was a rebel, a renegade, an outlaw.

  Monster. The memory of the harsh accusation ripped through him.

  If only they knew the truth…

  “My father’s sins are of no concern in this consideration,” Maverick growled.

  At the blunt mention of the previous packmaster’s crimes, the council members bristled.

  Rex grabbed the stack of papers in front of him and shuffled them pointedly. “Be that as it may, the vote remains.”

  Maverick shoved back his chair and stood. Supporting the weight of his torso with his hands, he leaned over the tabletop, his eyes flashing to his wolf. “The treaty will be renegotiated. I won’t deny a wolf of her caliber based on a hope of furthering the pack’s young.”

  Rex grinned, like the viper he truly was. “Fortunately for you, Packmaster, you don’t have to. We already notified the candidate on your behalf.”

  Son of a bitch.

  Maverick growled. “You’re undermining my authority?”

  They had challenged him in the past, delayed him considerably, but this would be the first time they’d ever outright gone against him.

  Rex shook his head as he rose from the table. “Don’t consider it undermining. We’re guiding you in the direction of your ancestors. The original vote remains.”

  Which meant they were undermining him, and as far as the old bastards were concerned, the meeting was over.

  But Maverick wasn’t done yet.

  Collectively, the other elders followed Rex’s lead, rising from their seats, and filtered out of the conference room, but Maverick prowled straight toward Rex. The few who lingered in his path scattered out of his way, rushing and bumping into one another like scared newborn calves first weaned from their mothers in the cattle chute. Maverick snarled. They truly believed their own hype. That he was a beast, a monster that needed to be tamed. Like his father.

  If it was a monster they wanted, then that was what they’d get.

  To Rex’s credit, he didn’t back down as Maverick approached. Instead, a smirk curled the old wolf’s lips. “The days of you sidestepping the council are done. You’ll thank me when your legacy as packmaster is long and fruitful.”

  Maverick drew so close to the old wolf that he towered over him. He lowered his voice to a threatening growl. “This isn’t over.”

  Leaving on that final warning, Maverick tore out of the compound. He wasn’t his father and he never would be. He could give two flying fucks about his legacy. All he cared about was what was best for the pack: protecting those he cared for most. Naming Sierra to the role of elite warrior before they renegotiated with the Execution Underground was best. No one could convince him otherwise.

  When he reached the stables, he brushed past the stall housing his temporary steed and headed straight toward Trigger. He’d recently been forced to retire the old horse from regular work, but every time he rode another, it was no replacement. He hadn’t broken the others, trained them. Not in the way he had Trigger.

  Saddling up the mare, Maverick led her from the stables, hooking his foot into the stirrup and swinging into seat before they galloped across the mountainside. He rode hard and fast, pushing the beast to her limit. As the wind whipped past him, the clouds overcast the mountainside with a gray hue, highlighting the bright orange, red, and yellow autumn leaves in stark contrast. Maverick inhaled a deep breath of chilled mountain air.

  Monster or not, he was their packmaster, their king.

  And he refused to be denied.

  Chapter 2

  The abandoned stable on the fringes of the Grey Wolves’ ranch had seen better days. Moonlight streamed through the open stable doors, highlighting the age of the old wooden planks and the dust-covered stone floor on which Maverick stood. The metal of a rusty stall gate creaked as a howl of autumn wind whipped through. He often came here when he needed to think, to clear his head, and by all expectation, he should have been alone.

  But he wasn’t.

  Off in the distance, Trigger nickered.

  Maverick stiffened, his muscles coiled and prepared to fight. He sensed it, too. The mountain air around them crackled with silent tension, and the elongated shadows of the pines shivered with awareness. He’d hoped the promise of violence lingering in the night air would disappear once the heady feeling of rage at the council’s defiance subsided, yet still it remained. A sharp whinny pierced through the night.

  Maverick drew his blade. The horse had been grazing in the forest brush just beyond the abandoned stable. With lethal stealth, Maverick prowled toward the source of the noise, his wolf senses primed with awareness. But as he drew closer, it soon became evident that the old mare wasn’t in imminent distress as he’d anticipated.

  As he stepped into the adjacent clearing, a large stallion came into view. The newly arrived Appaloosa sidled up behind the mare, while Trigger cast Maverick a familiar look that said Not this fool again. Maverick scowled and let out a frustrated curse under his breath. He recognized the other horse instantly.

  A hard-working ranch horse who’d been recently made into a gelding, Randy, was appropriately named, considering when he was left to his own devices, he was an uncontrollably horny beast who’d run off with the nearest willing mare as soon as look at her, and he belonged to none other than…

  A feminine voice growled at Maverick from behind. “You pompous, arrogant bastard.”

  Maverick turned to find Sierra Cavanaugh, the horse owner in question, charging through the underbrush toward him with all the force of a raging bull, and from the spark of angry fire in her eyes, she was as dangerous as one to boot. Her gaze locked on him, boring straight through him with such intense focus that she didn’t appear to notice her gelding was using his teeth to repeatedly nudge at his mare’s tether with a mischievous look in his eyes that meant intended escape.

  Or maybe she did notice, and she simply didn’t care.

  Another feral growl ripped from her throat. “How dare you?” She stabbed an accusatory finger toward Maverick as if it were a sword. From the fiery look in her eye, that single finger might have been lethal. Even for a wolf as dangerous as him.

  “You’ve been harder on me than every other warrior since day one,” she accused, “and to what end—to let the council reject me on the grounds of not having a goddamn mate?” She snarled the last words as if they were the most abhorrent phrase she’d ever spoken.

  He battled the urge to point out that her horse was c
urrently about to make a goddamn mate of his if the two beasts managed to elope together. His mare’s suddenly intrigued huffs and Randy’s pleasured grunting as he pranced around her, trying to chew her free from the rope she was tied with, were getting downright noisy.

  Maverick remained silent, welcoming Sierra’s rage. He’d gladly serve as her target. He understood the depths of her need to serve the pack, her internal drive to protect their own. In that way, he and Sierra Cavanaugh had always been more alike than he cared to admit. But despite their similarities and the fact that he had been the one who put forth her candidacy to the council, he’d never expected her thanks.

  Hell, he not only welcomed her rage, he’d anticipated it. She might have been his best friend’s little sister since as far back as he could remember, but ever since he’d assumed his role as packmaster, Sierra Cavanaugh had hated him with a passionate fury rivaled only by some of his worst enemies.

  And he needed it to stay that way.

  Because the feeling had never been mutual.

  He drank in the raw energy she put into every word, every gesture and movement as if he were a starving man in the middle of the desert and she was his only drink of water. She and her fiery temper were unbridled passion compared to his every cold, calculated move. He envied that fire as much as he both disliked and craved it. He always had.

  Sierra was a problem, that was for certain. The havoc she wreaked on his day-to-day was never-ending, and he disliked every ounce of chaos she and her challenging nature stood for. But he didn’t dislike her. Not like he should.

  And that was precisely the heart of the issue, wasn’t it?

  Still ranting, she stomped through the underbrush toward him, her long, blond braid swinging about behind her like a whip. “You pushed me to be stronger, faster, better than all the others.”

  “I did.” He grumbled the words, low and feral, despite the equal rage he felt inside, because her anger was warranted—and it matched his own. He wouldn’t deny it. He had been harder on her because he had to be. He and her brother had warned her of that from the start when she’d first declared her intent to earn the position. Though admittedly over time, he’d taken pleasure in pushing her to her limits. Hell, if he hadn’t wanted…fuck, no, needed to see that look of fiery defiance in her eyes every time he’d demanded more of her.

  He’d damn near ached for it.

  “It’s not right. It isn’t fair.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “I earned that position.” She growled the words with confidence. She stomped one of her cowgirl boots hard into the mountain dirt. “I deserve it, damn it.”

  “Then we’re in agreement.” Maverick crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against a nearby tree with a smirk. She seemed completely unaware of the increasingly loud sounds of their horses attempting to escape a mere ten feet away or of the fact that he was affirming every statement she made.

  Chaos followed her like the damn plague.

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. “And even if I wanted to appease those old, decrepit assholes, where the hell would I find a mate on this godforsaken ranch?”

  Despite his better judgment, his body had a few ideas about that, considering the growing pressure against the fly of his jeans. Every time that braid of hers whipped about, he smelled the warm scent of cinnamon and clove in her hair. She’d always smelled like the warmer elements of autumn, and it made his wolf come alive, like he was prowling through the forest, the cold wind prickling at his back. She made him want to nibble his human canines across the skin of her neck as he claimed her like the animal he truly was…

  He hadn’t felt so awake in years.

  In an instant, the solution to their mutual problem barreled through him.

  She needed a mate, and he needed to appease the Elder Council.

  As quickly as the solution came, his protective instinct flared, reminding him of all that was at stake. Monster. The dark memory of the accusation pierced through him again.

  No, he couldn’t allow a woman close to him. Not again. Not even a woman as formidable and lethal as Sierra Cavanaugh. He’d always done what was best for the pack, even when it nearly destroyed him, and he’d sworn to himself never to take another wife. Period. Let alone a woman who, despite how she vexed him, was supposed to be like a little sister to him, even though there’d never been anything remotely sibling-like between them, save for their constant bickering, and…

  He quirked a brow. Was that a rooster pecking in the brush behind her?

  “Are you even listening anymore?” she snapped.

  He grunted. He was, but he wasn’t about to argue the point.

  Sierra let out one final angry snarl. She didn’t seem to care that he was her packmaster or that despite how impressive she was on the battlefield, he was considered by their kind to be the most dangerous wolf to have ever lived. Had she not been one of his pack, her disrespect of him would have gotten her killed. He’d seen her angry before, but never like this, never outright defiant. Petulant even.

  He liked it more than he should.

  Her hands clenched into fists as she drew closer to him, her long, blond braid still swinging behind her. He wanted to grip those strands of hair in his fist, use it to pull her even closer. They were practically nose to nose now. Close enough that he could smell the earthy scent of her wolf on her skin. Close enough that if he wanted to, which he did, he could have kissed the righteous anger straight off her perfectly plump lips.

  If that wouldn’t have made her a thousand times angrier…

  Somehow, that made him want to do it even more.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Packmaster?” she growled.

  And that alone sealed his decision.

  He needed a wife of convenience, with no attachments or love—and who better than a she-wolf who hated him?

  Maverick never backed down from a challenge.

  His eyes flashed to his wolf as he met Sierra’s gaze head-on. “Marry me.”

  Chapter 3

  Someone had taken all the wind out of her sails. Sierra blinked, trying to digest the moment. She was suddenly and acutely aware of the fact that she was standing in the middle of the forest, inches away from the face of the Grey Wolf packmaster himself, a man who held unprecedented power over her, and not only had he agreed with everything she’d said, but he had asked her to marry him. If there’d ever been a time she’d been caught off guard…

  This was it.

  Packmaster or not, inside she was ready to throttle him, but instead she only managed to gape, and as if she couldn’t have looked like any more of a fool, Randy chose that exact moment to let out an exceedingly pleased nicker, and it was then that she realized her gelding had managed to get the packmaster’s enthusiastic mare free from her hold—and he was leading her off into the darkness.

  She didn’t want to consider the act that might follow.

  “Are you going to take care of that?” Maverick grumbled, more than a hint of amusement in his voice.

  An embarrassed blush crept down her neck. “You damn horny bastard,” she swore at Randy. Sidestepping around Maverick, she grabbed onto her horse’s reins, hauling him away from Trigger with every ounce of her strength. It took more than a few tugs and a fair bit of grunting and growling—both from her and the now pissed-off, horny gelding—but finally with a flash of her wolf eyes, she managed to remind Randy who was in charge and wrangle him away from the old mare.

  Once she’d finished subduing her horse, she turned back toward the packmaster, a layer of sweat coating her brow despite the cold autumn wind. Maverick was still watching her, his cold, harsh eyes assessing as if he saw straight through her. Since he’d become packmaster, she’d always hated that about him, and for a moment, from the gruff, impenetrable coldness in his face, she could almost convince herself he hadn’t just proposed to he
r.

  Almost.

  “I guess Randy was a little Trigger-happy?” She wiped the sweat from her brow with a feeble, unamused laugh. “Trigger-happy. Get it?” Considering the embarrassed blush coloring her cheeks, the badly timed pun was the best attempt at levity she had to offer.

  The stone-faced packmaster didn’t so much as grin.

  Of course. He’d never been a fan of her jokes, no matter how clever. The blush in her cheeks deepened. Lord help her.

  When he didn’t respond, she swept back the stray strands of hair that had come loose from her braid, but they rebelled again before she chose to feign a deep interest in the color of her new boots. They were brown. Normal leather brown. Just like every other pair of cowgirl boots she’d owned. Ever.

  She cleared her throat. “So Wes finally decided to go back to the dark side and drugged your afternoon coffee. I can’t say I’m surprised.” The comment sounded as ridiculous and inane as she felt, but all things considered, he couldn’t possibly be serious.

  “Sierra.” The deep, biting thrum of his voice vibrated through her. Maverick’s voice was so low and graveled, it often sounded as if he were growling, even when he wasn’t.

  A shiver rolled down her spine.

  His voice always had a visceral effect on her. As their leader, Maverick was concise, only speaking when it was necessary. Especially since the death of his wife, Rose, he was anything but vocal unless he was addressing the pack, handing out orders. Even in private, he was grumbly, taciturn, an impenetrably cold wall of ice. But on the rare occasions Maverick spoke her name, his voice wrapped around her with a warm heat that took her thoughts to places she only dared venture to in her most private dreams. She couldn’t want her packmaster, a man who angered her nearly as much as she admired him.