Wicked Cowboy Wolf Page 7

  Mae sighed. “I suppose I have no choice but to wait here for Rogue then.”

  She stepped inside. He made to follow her, but she pushed the door back against him, barring him from entering.

  “Alone.” Her eyes flashed to her wolf’s.

  The Scot grumbled, but she was too used to dealing with the Grey Wolf alphas to be scared immobile. She slammed the door in his face, locking it behind her. He likely had a key, but that didn’t stop her. Some muttered Gaelic curses were muffled by the door, followed by a few colorful expletives in English, but the swearing soon quieted. Whoever he was, the Rogue’s watchman must have decided she wasn’t worth the fight, because a few moments later, Mae heard his weighted footsteps padding back down the hall.

  Mae sat by the window, lost in thought, as the sun finally dipped low into the western sky. An hour later, her head was still throbbing occasionally from the nearly healed wound, but she would manage. If Rogue wasn’t back yet, he was sure to be soon, and she wasn’t about to sit here waiting on him any longer. She was more than eager for word about her packmates.

  Tentatively, she peeked out into the hall. Empty. No sign of Rogue, his Scottish watchdog, or anyone else. Slipping from her room, she ventured down the corridor. When she reached the staircase overlooking the first floor, she found it equally empty.

  “Hello?” she called.

  No one answered.

  She let out a frustrated huff.

  Using her wolf senses, she homed in on the sounds of the house. There were muffled voices, somewhere the next floor up.

  “Hello?” she called out again. “Is anyone there?”

  Still no answer.

  The voices grew louder as she ascended the staircase to the third floor. She glanced down one of the halls. A door at the end was open, barely cracked, as though someone had tried to close it and it hadn’t latched. The voices became more distinct, coupled with a harsh static sound crackling through a heavy speaker—perhaps an intercom—that had apparently drowned out her approach. The unnatural noise was even harsher to her wolf senses.

  The crack between the door and the frame revealed a large control room. Mae peeked inside. Rogue and the Scottish wolf from earlier stood in front of the adjacent wall, both their backs facing her as Rogue fiddled with the intercom’s dial. The wall they watched sported a large map of the United States. Small multicolored lights were scattered across the map’s surface, some lit, others not.

  But the two rogue wolves seemed to be focused on one particular unlit bulb in Montana. Not far from Wolf Pack Run.

  The bulb flickered on.

  The Scot tapped it with his finger. “Electricity’s on in the rogue house. He’ll ’ave reached it then.” He raised his voice over the intercom’s static.

  “Good.” Rogue nodded. “Use the underground call-out system to get ahold of him. The sooner we have the intel, the better.”

  Intel.

  Adrenaline coursed through Mae.

  Silently she slipped back out into the hall, lingering just outside the door. She was out of their view but close enough to hear their exchange. She knew it was sneaky, but if Rogue intended to keep her locked away like a prisoner in the name of their protection agreement, he might not be as forthcoming with information as she wished. She might learn more if she kept her presence hidden—for now.

  A brief lull of quiet passed, followed by the sound of the intercom connecting, then rasping static.

  “Are ye there, lad?” she heard the Scot ask.

  “I am,” an unidentified voice answered back. “But there’s not much time. They expect me within minutes.”

  Mae quirked a brow. The voice was strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Who was on the other end of the line? It couldn’t possibly be…

  Mae’s eyes widened. No, she wouldn’t even allow herself to speculate. Rogue couldn’t have a mole inside her pack…

  Could he?

  “Get on with it then,” the Scot ordered over the intercom. “When’s the next vampire attack?”

  “Wolf Pack Run. Four moons from now,” the unidentified voice answered.

  No.

  Her family. Her friends. They’d all be at risk. They would barely have time to recover from the first attack, let alone prepare for a second.

  “Should I warn them?” the static-filled voice asked.

  Mae’s heart pounded as she waited for the response.

  “No,” Rogue finally answered. “Don’t warn them. We’ll be in touch soon.”

  At those words, Mae’s stomach churned.

  A click sounded, followed by disconnected static. The line had gone dead.

  The gravity of exactly how mistaken she’d been hit her.

  Rogue wasn’t going to warn them, to do the noble thing.

  Of course he wasn’t. He was her brother’s sworn enemy.

  It didn’t matter that he’d saved her or offered to help her and her packmates; he had no intention of being a hero. He was a criminal after all. He’d said as much, yet deep down, she hadn’t believed him.

  Until now.

  The weight of her mistakes hit her with enough force that her breath caught. It all made sense now. Why a criminal like the Rogue would offer to help her, why he hadn’t taken this deal to Maverick instead, all of it. He’d been lying to her from the start. It didn’t matter that she’d agreed to come here. She wasn’t simply being treated like a prisoner.

  She was a prisoner.

  And her pack was in danger…

  She had to warn them.

  Fleeing down the hall, Mae rushed back to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. She needed to get out of here, to find a way to tell Maverick about the attack. Forget Rogue and his plan for the antidote. Now that she knew he’d let her packmates be attacked in cold blood, she wasn’t even certain his offer for the antidote was legitimate. He’d likely been misleading her all along. She needed to find a way to escape, to warn her packmates. If she told Maverick everything, he’d find a way. Her brother was the most capable warrior she knew.

  An hour later, she’d paced the length of the bedroom floor so many times, Mae was surprised she hadn’t worn a hole in the marble. She needed to find a way out of here. With a defeated snarl, she flopped onto the bed, gripping the linens and pulling them over her head until she was tangled beneath them. But the feel of the sheets clenched in her hand did the trick. Immediately, a memory of when she was a child gripped her. Jared had been grounded for fighting, even though he’d only been defending himself from the other boys again. His father had locked him in his room, telling him he couldn’t come out for the evening, but that hadn’t stopped him.

  “How did you escape?” she’d whispered to him when he’d shown up outside her windowsill.

  Pushing herself to her feet, Mae crossed the room to the massive paneled window and looked out over the ranchlands. She was only two stories up. It was too high to jump, even for a wolf, unless she wanted to break a leg, but she had another idea. Carefully, she flipped the latch, testing it. When an alarm didn’t sound, she grinned, her eyes darting back to the four-poster bed and the knotted sheets that lay atop the mattress.

  Jared’s voice, no more than thirteen at the time, echoed in her head.

  “There’s always a way to escape, Mae-day. Always.”

  Mae smiled wide. The only person she’d ever gifted with her heart might be long since dead, but that didn’t mean his memory had to be.

  Chapter 6

  Rogue tipped off his Stetson and swiped the sweat from his brow. Damn, it was hotter than Hades. It was dusk, and the summer sun had long since begun to set. Bright tinges of pink and orange clouded the western sky over the blue-ridged Idaho mountains in the distance. Normally, he and the crew would have turned in by now, but they’d lengthened their work hours during the summer, using the extra daylight to
their advantage, and even though it had been close to day’s end after his and Murtagh’s security meeting, he’d come back out to the pasture.

  He never felt right turning in before his ranch hands did.

  “You headed in?” Boone, his young work companion for the day, asked as he sauntered out of the barn and toward the waiting truck.

  Frenchie would already have dinner ready, and since the classically trained chef had joined their ragtag band of misfits, Boone, a young rogue who wasn’t a day over nineteen, never missed dinner while it was hot. But there was still daylight, which meant there was still time to work.

  With the start of June and the days growing hotter, they’d already run the hay tedder over the pastures, but tomorrow would be Rogue’s first day hooking the square baler up to the tractor. He needed to check both pieces of machinery over to ensure they were well oiled and in good repair so he wouldn’t find himself stuck out in the middle of the pasture tomorrow. There was nothing that wasted a workday faster than a piece of broken equipment.

  Not to mention, he was trying to avoid a certain she-wolf.

  Mae wouldn’t be pleased to hear about the impending vampire attack on Wolf Pack Run, even if he intended to warn the Grey Wolves directly beforehand. She’d want him to warn them straightaway, but he needed time to get his man on the inside out of there, or else their intel surrounding the vampires’ movements—and thus their leads in securing the antidote—would be compromised. She was bound to be angry with him.

  But it wasn’t her anger he feared. That he could withstand.

  It was the hurt he would cause her. Not now, but in due time. He tried to push the thought aside as his shoulders tensed, but he couldn’t. The kiss they’d shared haunted him. The look of longing in her emerald-green eyes when his lips pulled away from hers had torn him to shreds, more than he cared to admit. He didn’t want to consider what that meant for his end goal.

  His role was to protect her, then betray her. Nothing more.

  She’s not for you, he reminded himself.

  Rogue nodded toward Bee before he crouched next to the hay baler again. “You go ahead, Boone. I’ll ride back soon. We have security measures to discuss.”

  Regardless of his conflicted feelings, with Mae under their protection and the vampires after her—and potentially her packmates as well—he and his men needed to be prepared, even though no one likely knew her location. Already, he’d put his men working detail duty on high alert, but they’d need to go further. Discuss their plans, strategize their next steps to find the vanished bloodsucker who’d created the antidote.

  He’d only be a half hour behind Boone, but if he didn’t get this done before nightfall and any afternoon rain set in tomorrow, the square bales would act like sponges to the moisture. Come morning, he’d need to cover a good amount of ground, so the tractor had to be ready before he ran out of light.

  And Mae was safe from the vampire, from her pack, from him—for now.

  “Yes, sir,” Boone mumbled. He climbed into the truck, closing the door behind him before the engine roared to life.

  As Boone rode off in the pickup, Rogue grabbed his toolbox and set to work.

  A half hour later, the last rays of sun hid in a thin line over the mountains, casting the ranch in darkened twilight. Rogue was fixing to pack up his tools and call it a night, when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement on the other side of the pasture. He froze. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose in alert.

  Carefully, his wolf eyes scanned the darkness, finding nothing. But he knew better than to deny his instincts. His property might be guarded by a small army of rogue wolves whom he compensated well for their loyalty, but his men weren’t infallible.

  Still, this close to the house, if they had an intruder, he usually would have been alerted by now. Maybe an animal? If it was an animal, from the size, it was likely a bear. Slowly, he eased from where he crouched, coming to stand as he cleaned off one of his wrenches with a handkerchief. With tentative movements, he returned it to the toolbox and headed toward Bee. He gave the horse a firm, alerting pat as he surveyed the darkness.

  He’d seen movement near the trees. He was certain.

  He mounted Bee within seconds.

  Gripping the reins, he gave the mustang a hearty kick. Bee reared up with a sharp whinny before they shot into the dusk. The summer wind whipped across Rogue’s face, and the sound of the crickets chorused against the clopping of Bee’s hooves. He rode until he reached the forest, scanning through the trees for any sign of life, but only the ghostly shadows of the trees followed him.

  He was alone.

  By the time Rogue returned to the house, night had fallen over the pasture. He headed straight to the dining room, his thoughts swirling with concerns about Maeve, their kiss, and all that had passed between them, but when he arrived, all thoughts of her were lost. As Rogue entered the dining room, he wasn’t certain he was seeing straight. The hall-length table, which normally boasted a handful of modest dishes, was covered from end to end with an elaborate feast. Several plates of beef tenderloin and prime rib roast sat at the center, surrounded by bone-marrow gravies and a cornucopia of side dishes—the best the ranch had to offer. Everything from homegrown Idaho potatoes to fresh seasonal vegetables and fruit.

  Four of his most senior warriors already appeared to be sitting down to the feast, with more of his men quickly filtering in.

  He quirked a brow in confusion as he joined them. Usually Frenchie used their resources more appropriately, saving spreads like this for celebrations only, but apparently, the chef had decided to go all out tonight.

  Rogue sat down across from the warriors, only reaching for his silverware as an indication that his men should go ahead and eat their fill. He had little appetite.

  “What’s the status report on the initial attack at Wolf Pack Run?” he asked. He’d need to know in order to take necessary measures to protect his man on the inside and get him out, if needed, before he found a way to send word of the forthcoming attack to the Grey Wolves.

  The door to the dining hall swung open as one of Frenchie’s kitchen hands delivered more plates.

  “A handful of casualties. Mostly lower-level warriors. Foot soldiers,” Sterling answered.

  “That’s not good enough. I want names. I don’t care what tier they are.”

  She’ll want to know.

  He shook his head. He shouldn’t be considering what Mae would want. Not considering his long-term plans for her. Rogue hesitated before he asked his next question. “And her brother?” He couldn’t even bring himself to utter his enemy’s name.

  It didn’t matter how he felt about Mae, how the feel of her lips and lithe body pressed against him haunted him, her brother would always remain his enemy. He respected Maverick as a warrior and knew that he was the only man on this green earth whose feelings for Mae would ever rival his own, but there had been too much blood spilled between them. So much it had once stained the mountain snow red.

  It’d been mostly his and barely any of Maverick’s, only because they’d both restrained themselves for her.

  Always for her. Everything Rogue did was for her. It always had been.

  He pushed the memories aside.

  Sterling frowned with disappointment. “Unscathed,” he answered.

  A small favor for Maeve, Rogue supposed. “Good. We need him alive. At least for now.” Rogue reached for his napkin. “And the vampires’ entry point?” He had more than a passing curiosity about how the vampires had managed to penetrate Wolf Pack Run.

  The door to the dining hall swung open again. Rogue quirked a brow in that kitchen hand’s direction but quickly refocused as Yuri gave his report.

  The Japanese cowboy removed his Stetson. “A traitor, like you suspected. Our source says it was a member of the other shifter packs. The vampires stormed when the cougar
s took their turn on patrol after the gala.”

  Rogue nodded. “Not surprising. We’ve known for some time that the Grey Wolves’ alliance with that particular branch of the Seven Range Pact has been tenuous at best.”

  Which meant there would likely be further discord between them. No matter. It didn’t affect their kind. Rogue opened his mouth to give the warriors the rundown on his heightened security plans and request a status update on their intel about the vanished bloodsucking scientist’s whereabouts when the door swung open again, interrupting him to reveal yet another elaborate dish.

  Rogue growled. “What in the blazing hell is going on with all the damn food?”

  The group of men in front of him exchanged nervous glances. When none of the four most senior responded, Rogue stood, leaning over the table, resting the weight of his torso on his hands as he scanned the faces of the handful of others who’d joined them.

  “Well…?” he prompted.

  Finally, Boone’s eyes fell to the empty seat beside him, where the table had been set for one extra. “Murtagh just—”

  Rogue growled, cutting Boone short. Damn it all to hell. That Scottish bastard had sworn to stop treating their prisoners as house guests.

  The door to the dining room opened again, and this time, Murtagh and Frenchie shuffled in, working together to carry a very large tray of… Was that a whole Iberico ham?

  Rogue stabbed an accusing finger toward Murtagh. “We had an agreement. You swore there would be no more taking in every stray wolf off the street, especially not her.” He could tell by the smug look on the Scot’s face that Murtagh had never had any intention of keeping his word. “You’re a goddamn liar.”

  Murtagh nodded, not an ounce of shame in his eyes. “Aye, guilty as charged, but you’re one to talk.” Without missing a beat, he turned toward Frenchie. “Best bring in the champagne now.”

  Rogue snarled. “There will be no champagne. Not on my watch.”