His Wolf (Wolf of My Heart) Read online

  His Wolf

  by

  Linda Palmer

  Wolf of My Heart Book 5

  His Wolf copyright 2013 by Linda Palmer

  Cover art copyright 2013 by Linda Palmer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events described herein are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  About the author:

  Linda Palmer a.k.a. Linda Varner and Linda V. Palmer has been writing for many years, ranging in genre from Silhouette romances to YA paranormal romances, as well as many short stories, novellas, and anthology contributions. She was a Romance Writers of America Rita finalist twice and won the 2011 and 2012 Electronic Publishing Industry Coalition (EPIC) awards in the YA category. She is a finalist for the 2013 award. Her website is www.lvpalmer.com.

  Other YA titles available in print and/or e-format:

  Jaguar Moon

  Storm Swept

  My Wolf

  Wolf Run

  Wolf Way

  Wolf Crazy

  Operation: Normal

  Nightmare, Interrupted

  The Cinderella Swap

  Calling Cupid

  The Jingle Bell Jinx

  Yule be Haunted

  Midsummer Mayhem

  The Problem with Pumpkins

  Sidekicks

  The Curse of Willow Lane

  Mistletoe Magyk

  S’nat Wars (Co-written with Julie Kimbrell)

  Double Vision (Co-written with Julie Kimbrell)

  Prologue

  I was pretty sure I was Steven Yarbrough’s best keep secret. Oh, his south Texas pack knew I existed, all right, but to them, I was just a female voice on the phone. No one had a clue that I’d been bitten, too, and was actually more than the personal assistant of a sadistic Alpha who turned kidnapped teens into werewolves. I was actually a member of their pack. Was I scared to be so alone in a man’s world? Of course. Yarbrough could’ve done anything to me without repercussion and actually tried, if I was honest about it. But he never succeeded beyond that one life-changing bite. I was simply too smart and fast for him.

  So for the past eighteen months, I’d been a prisoner in his lake house, forced to take care of the endless details required to manage a pack of lawless Weres. Why didn’t I make a run for it? Logistically speaking, maybe I could’ve. Yarbrough left me alone sometimes. But there were always guards outside and after trying and failing a few times in the first weeks, I was told that my dad would die if I did it again. I’d seen way too much evidence of the gang’s brutal handiwork to doubt that. So I began living one day at a time, surviving because I was strong, sharp, and sensible. My quirky sense of humor kept me going, too, especially after The Big Bite four months ago. From that moment on, everything was simply too surreal to freak about.

  But that was then.

  One week ago to the day, January 8th, my life had abruptly changed. Two men from a supernatural organization called the Corteggio dropped out of the blue, I suspected literally, and arrested Yarbrough. As a result, he was already rotting in a deep dark dungeon somewhere. And then just yesterday, the same guys loaded the teens in his Houston pack onto a chartered bus headed to Birmingham, where a witch named Andee Rivera supposedly waited to cure them of their canis lupus affliction.

  Why wasn’t I with them? Yet another bizarre twist. Though I definitely wasn’t a secret from these all-knowing men in black, there was still a problem. Apparently I was one of the Tuatha de Danaan or “Children of Danu,” which meant witch Andee’s healing magic wouldn’t work on me just as it didn’t work on Native Americans or other mystical groups. Naturally I Googled the term. I found out that it referred to descendants of the Irish Goddess Danu, the most ancient of all Celtic deities.

  Who knew, right?

  For that reason the Corteggio reps asked me sign a contract stating I’d broken all ties with Yarbrough’s organization, le bras du loup, and would never shift to commit a crime, never reveal the secret of my duality, and never compromise the other mysteries of the preternatural world. Did I sign on the dotted line? Hell, yeah. Was I now headed home? That would be a no.

  Though my dad believed in the devil, a holy ghost, and angels, I suspected that Weres would still be too big a stretch for him. Besides, according to the Missouri State University newspaper, which I frequently accessed online, he’d just remarried. And while I didn’t hold that against him—he’d been a widower for ten years, after all—I didn’t want to rock his newfound happiness with my preternatural issues. Dad thought I was dead. There’d even been a memorial service. He was right to move on, and it was right for me to, as well, only in a different direction.

  Was that the coward’s way out? Too right. But at the moment I just didn’t have the courage or energy to deal with my father. So I now headed north in an old black pickup truck I’d stolen from Yarbrough because I had no idea what had happened to my car. In the passenger seat lay a bag that held my gear plus some things I’d taken from my ex-Alpha’s house. Did I feel guilty for stealing from the jerk? Not one bit. Yarbrough hadn’t kidnapped just any old girl. He’d kidnapped me, Bronte Hannigan, the girl who’d just completed a year of computer classes at Missouri State with a 4.0. In other words, I’d had skills, and he’d shamelessly misused them.

  To my way of thinking, he owed me big time.

  And he didn’t need his stuff where he was now anyway.

  Chapter One

  The Ozark Mountains were so gorgeous in winter. What I could still see of the hills and dales, the woods, and even the snowflakes in my headlights looked a little too perfect to be real. Almost like a Christmas card, in fact. And though it was getting dark early because of the blizzard, I definitely enjoyed the scenery, which reminded me of my parents.

  It had long been a Hannigan tradition to rent a cabin on Tablerock Lake after Christmas when the tourists went home. I’d liked it best when the weather surprised us. There was nothing as cozy as being iced in. Mom, Dad and I spent hours in front of the fireplace reading to each other or maybe eating cookies we’d baked. Once Mom died, Dad and I kept up the tradition. Just thinking of those days made my eyes fill, but I didn’t cry even though it would’ve been easy to. I loathed self-pity and couldn’t abide a victim mentality. That meant I had to keep my chin up and have faith in my recent choices, some of which might be questionable, all of which had been made out of necessity.

  Though my wipers swished in time, I still strained to see what lay ahead. I’d been on the road since 4:00 that Saturday morning and really needed a break. But I was only fifteen or so miles from Branson now; I wanted to push through before it got completely dark. Why head to Missouri when I should’ve gone anywhere else? I loved my home state. In fact, I’d have reenrolled at MSU if my Dad hadn’t taught world literature there. But I couldn’t risk a chance encounter with him, which was why I’d decided to settle somewhere close by, instead.

  I planned to check into a motel well off the busy Branson strip and take a little vacay while I figured out what to do for the rest of my days. The petty cash I’d stolen from Yarbrough wouldn’t last long; I’d need a job pretty quick. I figured if I wasn’t too picky, I’d be able to find something. I also needed to replace my driver’s license and Social Security card since Yarbrough had left behind more than just my car when he kidnapped me.

  What a joy it was to be free again. My whole life stretched before me, as empty as the two-lane I now maneuvered with a white-knuckled grip���and no wonder. Instead of shoulders, this stretch of highway had bottomless ravines I had no wish to explore. So my gaze
constantly darted from side to side and from windshield to rearview mirror. I saw distant lights to my right every now and then. Houses in the wooded valleys, I guessed, but no other cars until headlights suddenly lit up the mirror. I saw a vehicle, coming up fast behind me. The driver was nothing but nuts or maybe drunk to be speeding in such conditions.

  Lights in the driver’s side mirror blinded me seconds later. The man driving that car—no woman was that stupid—was actually going to pass me on a double yellow with a curve ahead. I held my breath for that fool of a driver, certain he was about to have a head-on crash with a vehicle we couldn’t see yet. But instead of zipping around as he should’ve done, the idiot kept pace. Did the guy have a death wish? I risked a peek, but couldn’t see who was at the wheel of that dark SUV. Between the falling snow and the ice caked on my window it was simply impossible.

  Somehow we both survived the curve without incident. Breathless and terrified, I again waited for him to speed up and pass me, but he still didn’t. Oncoming headlights abruptly popped into view. Definitely a big rig that would kill us both if we met it on that curve. Naturally I did what any sane person would do—brake so the maniac to my left could cut in front of me. He waited until the last minute, just missing a head-on collision with the truck as he changed lanes and solidly clipped my left front fender.

  My truck fishtailed on some black ice. I shrieked. The right front wheel dropped off the road with the left one after it. Though I stomped the brakes, it did no good. The nose of the truck dove straight down the ravine, setting off a hood-over-tailgate tumble that leveled trees and took out boulders. God, what a racket. Crack! Boom! Crunch! Face up; face down. Each landing jarred me to the bone. Screaming at the top of my lungs, I pressed my hands to the ceiling and braced for final impact.

  Dad, I love you. Mom, see you soon.

  The truck suddenly shuddered to a stop. In the deafening silence that followed, I had just enough wits to kill the struggling engine before everything went black.

  ****

  Bronte, wake up.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

  I dragged my eyes open and saw nothing that made sense. It took a sec to remember everything, but I did.

  “I’m alive.”

  That had to be a miracle. Realizing that something was digging into the front of my neck, just one of a dozen aches and pains coming to life with a vengeance, I checked it out. The seatbelt—cutting into my body everywhere it touched. I fumbled for the lock and released it only to drop face-first onto���what? I felt around. The ceiling. The truck had landed upside down. No wonder the seatbelt was killing me.

  I couldn���t see my hand in front of my face. Why was it so freakin’ dark? A glance at my watch gave me the answer: 8:00 p.m. I’d been out for a couple of hours. Another why. I hadn’t hit my head. I couldn’t have. The seatbelt had clearly done what it was supposed to do. I mean, I was still breathing, wasn’t I? Had I fainted or something? That would be a first.

  I fumbled for the glove box, hoping Yarbrough kept a flashlight in there. He didn’t. I next felt around the cab of the truck, which seemed oddly tiny to me. I belatedly realized that it had been squashed flat, which meant I might’ve hit my head after all. Suddenly I needed fresh air and wiggle room. I slid my fingers over what used to be windows. All of them were shattered but still intact thanks to their safety coating. I repositioned my body, held onto the steering wheel, and kicked out the one on the driver’s side.

  A rush of frigid air took my breath as I crawled outside. Carefully standing on my wobbly legs, I let my gaze rake my surroundings. A woods. I heard the trickle of water to my left. A stream, maybe? Something feather soft brushed my cheek. I flinched and then stuck out my tongue. A snowflake touched it a second later.

  “If I don’t get help, I’ll freeze to death.”

  Though I knew I could always climb back into the truck, which might protect me from the elements, my claustrophobia wouldn’t let me. If I was going to die frozen, I’d rather do it outdoors. Should I shift? With eyes better adjusted to the lack of light, I made out the density of the trees all around me. As a she-wolf, I’d be able to see better and maybe find cover, but if I took that form I’d be stuck in it for hours. That was the trouble with non-full-moon shifts. Besides, I’d only transformed four times since I’d been bitten and didn’t know all the ins and outs of lupine life. Too bad the full moon wouldn’t rise until Wednesday, 2:48 a.m., three days away. Yeah, I kept up with moon phases now. Like my period, they were a monthly event I planned around.

  Shivering, I made a snap decision to get my borrowed backpack from the truck and start walking. Just locating the dang thing took forever. Nothing was where I expected it to be. Then I had to crawfish backwards through the window to get back out, dragging it with me. Stuffed to the zipper, it weighed a ton, and I dreaded carrying it. I stood and slowly turned, trying to engage my normal sense of direction. But the crash had done a job on me. I’d never felt so disoriented.

  “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo���”

  I slipped my arms into the straps of the bag and took off through the trees, carefully making my way across ankle-deep snow that hid fallen limbs and tangled undergrowth. In no time, my teeth chattered so hard they hurt and my fingers and nose went numb. Then my toes began to sting. I stumbled to a halt, knowing it was time to make a difficult decision. Inexperienced or not, I had to shift. Bronte-wolf would have a lot better chance of surviving in the wild than Bronte-girl. I looked around for a place to stash the backpack, finally spotting a bush a couple of yards ahead. I figured I’d stuff the thing under it. But when I got there, I found something even better. A hollow log. Hoping it wasn’t already home to something with claws and sharp teeth, I took off my shoes, socks, hoodie, sweater, jeans, and undies.

  Goosebumps danced over my nude body by the time I crammed my clothing into the bag and poked it inside the log. I stood straight, drawing in a deep, cold breath and closing my eyes as I deliberately blocked every external distraction and focused on the wolf inside me. I felt the change immediately—a warm tingle that began at my heart and spread throughout my body. In seconds, white hot energy consumed me and altered my point of view.

  The world looked different now and not just because I was lower to the ground. My night eyes saw in detail every snow-laden limb and bush. I realized there was a boulder ahead and to my right. Maybe I’d find cover there, and if I didn’t it would, at least, block the wind. I sniffed the chilly air, trying to catch the scent of other animals—prey or predator. All I smelled was falling snow and pine. I was truly alone and, for the first time since the crash, deliciously warm. I’d done the right thing.

  Time to locate shelter.

  I started off at a trot, my full attention on that huge rock.

  Snap!

  Down I went with a howl of agony. My right front leg, now cruelly shackled, had been broken for sure. I tried to ease my paw free of whatever had it, but that was sheer torture. Focus. I had to focus. Bronte reasoning shoved she-wolf instinct aside. What the heck had just happened?

  On my belly in the snow, I gingerly sniffed out the problem. A trap. A human-set coil spring trap that a she-wolf would never get out of. I’d have to shift again to save myself.

  My heart dropped straight into my churning gut.

  I couldn’t shift. Not for hours.

  Why hadn’t I stayed a girl? First instinct was always the best, and mine had been to remain human. What was I supposed to do now? The steel jaws of the trap seemed to cut deeper every time I moved. I wondered if I’d lose a paw that was really a hand. I worked on computers; I had to have my fingers.

  Deep breath, Bronte.

  I’d grown used to that little voice inside my head—a voice I first heard the night of my capture. I liked to think of it as the voice of reasoning since it had always calmed me down and did so now. I remembered traps were more humane than they used to be, thanks to strict laws. This one undoubtedly belonged to someone trying to catch a pesky coyote t
hat had been raiding a chicken house. Whoever had set it probably meant well.

  Or not. Traps didn’t discriminate. And the person who’d set this one obviously didn’t care that he might snare a fawn, someone’s lost pet, or even a human. I just hoped I got out of the thing before anyone returned to check it.

  Trying to distract myself from the searing pain, I thought about Yarbrough’s old truck. How could the driver of that passing car have been so stupid? He couldn’t have done a better job of wrecking me if he’d planned it. And for that matter, why wasn’t someone rappelling down the ravine to find and rescue me? Surely 911 had been called by now.

  All at once, I could barely breathe. Had that collision been orchestrated? The Arm, American name for the Were gang, was an international organization with far reaching influence. Had one of Yarbrough’s cohorts tracked me down with the intent to kill? Just the thought made me want to puke. But why would they? I wasn’t anything special, and they surely didn’t want that piece-of-crap truck I’d been driving. Who would? Especially now that it was totaled. As for the other stuff I’d stolen, even the money wasn’t worth the chances that had been taken to run me off the road. Things could so easily have gone south. That driver could be lying at the bottom of the ravine instead of me.

  Though no scenario made sense, I still felt spooked. For that reason, my gaze flicked from tree to tree, bush to bush, rock to rock. Was someone out to get me? Well, there wouldn’t be a better time or place.

  I’d never been more helpless.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Two

  I woke to the sound of someone singing. As I slowly reoriented to time and place—Sunday at the bottom of a ravine—I realized I was covered in a blanket of snow, which meant I’d actually fallen asleep at some point during the night.

  Unbelievable.

  Things looked lighter to me. Encroaching dawn? If so, I’d slept for hours. Or maybe my conking out was a result of the wreck, like a concussion or aftershock or something. I wondered briefly why I hadn’t automatically shifted into a girl the moment it was physically possible even though I’d slept. I’d seen movies where werewolves transformed into humans when they died. It seemed logical that sleep would produce the same result. But here I was with fangs, four legs, and silver fur.