Fierce Cowboy Wolf Page 3

  And yet she did.

  Perhaps more than she’d ever wanted anything.

  He was her alpha, and he’d addressed her directly. She had to look up. She couldn’t not look at him. When she did, the severity of his harsh, handsome features coupled with that delicious voice and those piercing green eyes shook her. The puckered scar that severed the hair of his left eyebrow drew low. From the harsh look in his dark features, the Grey Wolf packmaster was serious.

  Her breath caught.

  No. No.

  Her heart thumped hard against her chest. He couldn’t be serious.

  She knew that without a doubt—because ten years earlier, he’d chosen another. So he couldn’t want to marry her, at least not for the reasons her younger self would have hoped, which meant this long-dreamed-of moment she’d built up in her head as a girl was about to go horribly, terribly wrong…

  On a night in which she’d already been gutted by disappointment.

  Maverick cleared his throat. “It would be to our mutual benefit.”

  Mutual benefit.

  A business deal…

  That was all she needed to hear for the moment to go instantly south.

  “We need a full team of elite warriors to protect the pack, not to mention the council has been blocking me from renegotiating with the Execution Underground at every turn. Each passing day is a danger to all of us. I need to throw them a bone, or they’ll continue to oppose me, and they’ve been begging me to take a mate again for years…” His deep voice trailed off.

  A sharp intake of breath caught in Sierra’s throat. He was asking her out of obligation, a drive to protect the pack and little more.

  The packmaster of the Grey Wolves had found a way to accomplish all he wanted in one swift, daring move. It was so quintessential to his leadership style that she almost laughed at the sheer, cruel irony of it. Maverick destroyed their enemies with such ease even his predecessors failed to compare. He would sacrifice anything in the name of protecting the pack.

  Even her heart.

  “It won’t be an easy position, but you’ll do.” He spoke the words with such gruff disinterest that any excitement she would have once felt at his proposal dissipated.

  “For the position of elite warrior or your wife?” she snapped.

  He held her gaze, refusing to look away. “Both,” he offered. “I don’t see how that matters.”

  Of course the distinction mattered. It mattered to her.

  Sierra scowled, fighting the snarl that threatened to rip from her throat.

  Nothing in that moment would have satisfied her, short of shifting into her wolf and tearing out his cold, distant heart. He’d already shamed her once. The hurt of his rejection when he’d chosen Rose instead of her had haunted her for years. And now, he was the one wolf who stood in the way of everything she wanted. And still, he had the nerve to ask her to marry him?

  No. Not ask. Demand. Marry me wasn’t exactly a request, was it?

  He cleared his throat. “I need a wife of convenience. Love is a price I can’t afford, so who better than a woman who…” He raked his gaze over her, assessing.

  A prickle of heat coursed through her, and she hated it.

  “Loathes you?” she finished for him. She’d worked hard over the years to make him think that was her opinion of him because the truth that she’d once, long ago, been madly in love with him would have made her look weak, and she couldn’t allow that. She’d only allowed Maverick Grey to see her at her weakest once before, and she would never allow it again.

  If love was a price he couldn’t afford, then she wasn’t a pawn for sale. She wouldn’t let him use her in his ridiculous game with the council.

  She squared her shoulders, summoning what remaining pride she could muster as she held her head high. “No.” She said the word with every ounce of venom she felt for him in that moment.

  “No?” He raised a brow.

  “No,” she repeated. This time, louder.

  Maverick eased away from the old maple upon which he’d been leaning. With pale green-yellow eyes the color of a true wolf’s, skin a dark, tanned brown from all the hours he spent working on the ranch, and long, untamable hair pulled into a ponytail at his nape, the packmaster of the Grey Wolves was a large, dark, hairy brute of a man with canine teeth so sharp that he looked part beast even when he was in human form. He uncrossed his large arms from over top his chest. In the moonlit shadows of the forest, the movement highlighted the sheer massive size of him. Sierra was taller and more muscular than most of the females in the pack, yet his presence dwarfed her. She may have been lethal in her own right, but even she was no match. Not for him.

  He prowled toward her, his gait smooth and predatory. In the moonlight, the onyx tribal tattoos across his forearms, which marked him as packmaster while in human form, looked like gnarled shadows cast from the tall mountain pines above them. The gold of his wolf eyes glowed beneath the brim of his Stetson, and coupled with the scar over his brow, he looked as terrifying and dangerous as he did handsome.

  Until he grinned.

  The slightest hint of a smirk curled his lips as if he were amused by her and the fact that she would dare challenge him, and suddenly, despite the cowboy’s more alarming features, he was so ruggedly handsome and masculine, it was damn near unreasonable.

  Sierra inhaled another sharp breath.

  She was certain she hadn’t seen the packmaster look amused since he’d been a boy, back when their constant banter had made him feel about as unbrotherly to her as possible, despite everyone thinking he was like a sibling to her. When they’d been young, their families had always been close, often leaving them alone together. Back then, he’d been adventurous, playful even, just…different. These days, he wore a permanent scowl, but now a hint of a smirk quirked his lips all the same.

  “Are you rejecting me?” His low, husky voice hummed through her again.

  When he grinned like that, reminding her of everything he’d once been to her, she wished he were growling at her—horribly dirty, naughty things preferred.

  “Yes.” She placed her hands on her hips to fortify herself. “Yes, I am rejecting you.” She sounded uncertain. Try as she might, she never had an iron will when it came to him.

  That amused grin of his widened ever so slightly, and that single look coupled with the deep thrum of his voice still buzzing through her nearly did her in. He was the most powerful wolf to have ever lived, and her packmaster to boot. Any woman who didn’t want him would have been a fool. She was being a fool.

  And he damn well knew it.

  But she refused to back down now.

  “I won’t marry you.” She held her head high with every ounce of pride she felt. “You may be packmaster, Maverick Grey, but you forget that I knew you before you became king of these godforsaken mountains, and handsome or not, while other she-wolves may swoon at your feet, I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last alpha on earth.” She sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.

  He quirked a brow like he didn’t believe her. “Are you sure?”

  The question caught her off guard. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  That damn amused smirk widened. “You just called me handsome, warrior.”

  Warrior. When he said it like that, it didn’t make her ready for battle. Instead, it made her nipples tighten and a rush of heat flood between her legs.

  Damn him.

  When had she—? Her brow furrowed, retracing her words. Damn. Damn. Double damn. She had just called him handsome. It had been an unintentional slip, but of course, he noticed. He noticed everything.

  “That was the part you heard?” She let out an exasperated sigh.

  He adjusted his Stetson, his eyes darting toward the horses. “Among other things.”

  Color filled her cheeks. “It was a statement of fact, not aff
ect. Anyone with eyes can see it.” She waved a hand in dismissal.

  He sauntered closer with every bit of swagger he’d earned being her packmaster. “And you’re certain of this?”

  “Why is that so hard to believe?”

  He drew nearer, close enough that in the dark like this, with her wolf senses on high alert, she could smell the woodsy scent of his aftershave. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but there was a time in which you would have welcomed my attention.”

  “That time has passed.” He wasn’t wrong, but she would never admit it. Not to him.

  “Is that so?”

  He was challenging her, and she didn’t like it.

  Not one damn bit.

  “It is. And I’ll prove it to you.”

  Before Sierra could think twice about what she was doing, she grabbed the packmaster by the lapel of his shirt and kissed him.

  * * *

  Maverick was certain Sierra Cavanaugh was the only woman who’d ever rejected him. And yet, she was kissing him.

  Christ, yes.

  He’d seen the spark of challenge and intrigue in her eyes, but fortunately, despite his better judgment, he’d been too late to stop her. In an instant, Sierra’s lips were on his, soft and gentle, as she pulled him in toward her. Her lithe, muscled body pressed against his, the curve of her breasts brushing against the wide expanse of his chest. She braced one of her hands against his pectorals, and in response, his cock gave a heady throb.

  Fuck.

  Despite the force with which she’d grabbed him, her kiss was tentative, inexperienced, almost…innocent. A growl rumbled in his throat. He wanted to take her innocent kisses and make them as filthy as everything he’d always longed to do to her, and nothing could have stopped him from doing as much…

  Short of an enemy’s dagger.

  He’d sensed the other wolf’s presence only moments earlier. Breaking their kiss, Maverick shoved Sierra out of the way, blocking her with his body as the blade sank into his side. Pain seared through him, the initial instinct to stiffen in defense nearly overwhelming him. But he fought to control it, forcing himself to fall limp into the attacker as if the dagger had pierced an internal organ…

  He’d taken so many blades in his life, he knew by now that it hadn’t.

  “For the Seven Range Pact,” the other wolf growled into his ear. The shifter’s scent was unfamiliar. Not a known enemy. But that didn’t matter.

  Whoever he was, when Maverick slumped against him, he felt the other wolf’s tension ease. For a brief beat, Maverick stared up into his attacker’s face, slowly watching his guard lower and his pride overtake his sense. How easy he must have thought it had been to bring down the almighty Maverick Grey, packmaster of the Grey Wolves, with no more than a single dagger.

  His hubris would be his fatal mistake.

  Maverick’s eyes flashed to his wolf. “My turn,” he snarled.

  Seizing the momentary advantage, he ripped his dagger from his belt, plunging it behind him into the other wolf’s thigh. With a howl of pain, the other wolf reared back, but Maverick twisted the blade, locking him in place and forcing the wound further open. He dragged the weapon downward with all his strength, flaying the length of his enemy’s thigh within seconds. His attacker dropped into a howling, incapacitated heap.

  Free of further threat, Maverick sank to his knees beside his wailing enemy. Hands trembling, he ripped the other wolf’s weapon from his side, dropping it to the ground before he shifted into his wolf. He’d survived worse before, and his wolf form would aid that. Bones shifted and cracked as his fur sprang forth. Despite his wounds, a sense of calm overtook him as he felt his four paws connect with the dirt and ground beneath him. He was still injured, but he’d live.

  Now in wolf form, he tried to ignore the sharp pitch of his enemy’s keening human cries, but it pounded against his wolf senses, seeming to thud in time with his weakening pulse. The keening would stop soon. He would ensure that. He didn’t allow his enemies to live. Not without a price.

  Maverick surged forward, using his teeth to finish his opponent off. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, as the iron-filled taste of his enemy’s blood coated his muzzle, he was faintly aware of the sound of Sierra shouting for the other warriors in the distance. Maverick watched as his enemy drew his final breath, but he couldn’t bring himself to savor the triumph. As his own blood pooled in the mountain dirt beneath him, one singular thought shook him.

  Someone wanted him dead.

  And it was one of his own.

  Chapter 4

  “Did you have to kill him?”

  Maverick glared at Blaze in response to the inane question. His patience was growing thin with each additional stitch being threaded through his side. Austin, the Grey Wolf medic stitching him, had a steady, sure hand. The Grey Wolf was able to save a life as easily as he could end it on the battlefield, but that didn’t mean having a needle shoved through an already bleeding knife wound didn’t hurt like a son-of-a—

  “What?” Blaze said in response to Maverick’s glaring, interrupting his thoughts. Blaze spoke around a mouthful of the barbecue chips he’d been snacking on throughout the entire discussion. “I’m just saying it would’ve made our job a helluva lot easier.”

  Maverick shook his head. At the moment, he couldn’t even begin to take Blaze seriously, despite knowing how truly lethal the wolf was. The elite warrior’s black ops tech savvy and fighting skills were nearly as incomparable as his poor taste in clothing. Tonight, his plain white T-shirt boasted the bright-red words SUSPICIOUS PACKAGE in the U.S. Mail emblem followed by a large arrow that pointed toward his belt.

  If only the pack had such a thing as a dress code.

  Following the attack, a handful of the Grey Wolf elite warriors had gathered in Maverick’s office as Austin had tried to halt Maverick’s bleeding. With his blood loss slowed and Austin now stitching the wound closed, the conversation had quickly turned to strategy. Austin threaded another stitch through the wound, and Maverick let out a pained hiss. If he’d had any sense, he’d would have sent them all away and milked the injury for all it was worth.

  Austin muttered something under his breath in Spanish. His slow Texas drawl as he chose his next words served as a mild distraction from the sutures wiggling beneath Maverick’s skin. “I think what Blaze is likely gettin’ at is that the short list of our enemies who want to kill you ain’t exactly…”

  “Short?” Wes offered. The former Wild Eight packmaster turned Grey Wolf second-in-command leaned against Maverick’s bookshelf. Though Wes was now as loyal as any to the Grey Wolves, that never stopped him from taking pleasure in provoking Maverick.

  Frequently.

  Maverick scowled. “I’m aware, considering you were once on it.”

  Wes grinned. “Who said I’m off it?”

  Maverick’s closest friend and Sierra’s brother, Colt Cavanaugh, the Grey Wolf high commander, jerked a thumb toward Wes from where he lounged in Maverick’s desk chair. “You know it’s not too late to reverse the decision to make him second, don’t you?”

  Maverick grumbled a vague response. His choice to make Wes his second had caused the council to nearly have a collective heart attack, but unfortunately, he didn’t regret the decision. Wes was the only wolf who’d ever proved a true challenge to Maverick in a fight. Fierce bastard that he was. Should Wes ever assume the role, he’d make a formidable packmaster, and as a previous leader himself, albeit a helluva misguided one, Maverick trusted that his former enemy understood the dark choices being packmaster would compel him to make, and more importantly, what the role would force him to sacrifice.

  Heavy hangs the crown…

  His father had once warned him of that, and now he lived the unfortunate truth of that statement with every borrowed breath he drew.

  Never one to parse words, Colt cleared his throat. “The q
uestion remains… Aside from the human hunters, which of our enemies has a stake in the Seven Range Pact?”

  “Our enemies wouldn’t. But our allies would,” Maverick growled, finally giving voice to what his elite warriors refused to say.

  One of their allies wanted him dead.

  Silence fell over the group, highlighting the unspoken tension in the room. The council, the treaty, and the attempt on his life, which by proxy, was an attack on the pack. The mess was related. He supposed he had his sister, Maeve, and her beau, Rogue, to thank for the pack’s current situation.

  Years ago, the Grey Wolves had formed a treaty with the Billings division of the Execution Underground, an enemy human organization hell-bent on hunting supernaturals under the guise of protecting humanity. Their arrangement with the pesky humans had been simple: led by the Grey Wolves, the Seven Range Pact, an alliance among the seven Montana shifter clans, would protect the human population throughout Big Sky Country by keeping their and the Execution Underground’s mutual enemy at bay: the vampires. In exchange, as long as the treaty continued, the Execution Underground would never hunt any of the Seven Range shifters.

  It had never pleased Maverick to partner with the self-righteous human bastards, but it’d been an ill-fated necessity. At best, the agreement had kept them safe for a time. But it had been contingent on the packless rogue shifters of their varied species serving as fodder for Execution Underground Headquarters, the governing branch of the vast human organization, which would never approve of the local division’s backroom deals with any shifter, let alone Maverick.

  Only recently, the rogue wolves had ensured a deal to put them under the Grey Wolves’ and the Seven Range Pact’s protection. Thus, the local division of the Execution Underground would need an alternative scapegoat, and like it or not, thanks to the blustering delays of the old fools on the Elder Council, Maverick was long overdue to renegotiate the treaty, lest the human organization declare open season on hunting the Seven Range Pact.