temporary relief. The minute she stopped moving and shifted back to her human form, she would lie in bed burning from her own heat. Using her fingers on herself provided only the slightest bit of the release she craved. It worked if she imagined Ty’s hands gliding over her body and sliding into her core, imagined that it was his weight pressing down on her instead of emptiness. But afterwards, she was just as heated and empty as before.
“How are you doing, sweetie?” Nan asked, pulling her attention back to the house.
“Fine, fine,” Lana lied between hammer blows to a nail on the wall where her grandmother wanted a picture.
“Enjoying the ranch?”
Lana pinched the next nail between her lips and made as neutral a sound as she could, then gave the first nail another couple of murderous hits. She’d be enjoying the ranch a hell of a lot more if Ty would stop avoiding her.
She tried to shake the feeling off, but it was as deeply rooted as the porcupine quills she’d seen lodged in the muzzle of a miserable-looking ranch dog. That was her: a stupid mutt. If only someone would come along with a pair of pliers and yank the heartache out of her.
Surely her happiness didn’t depend on one man, let alone a bossy alpha. You can damn well function without a man.
Her wolf snarled. Not without this one!
The beast was getting more and more difficult to control. Lana didn’t want to think what would happen when the waxing moon filled. Would she chase Ty to the ends of the Earth or do the smart thing: run the hell away?
She paced, muttered, and endured for three aching days and two torturous nights, until the night of the full moon.
# # #
The moon wasn’t just full; it was painfully full. Bloated, even. Lana slipped out of the suffocating adobe bungalow and shifted, wondering what the night would bring.
Her wolf was eager to get out and run. Too eager, maybe, but the beast wouldn’t be denied. So she loped out past the circle of light that defined the inner ranch and into the pale black-and-white world that was the desert at night. She sniffed in the direction of Ty’s hill, but there was no fresh trail pulling her that way. Instead, she ranged south and west and found herself heading toward the corner where pack land met Seymour Ranch property. When a truck rattled past on the dirt road below, she ducked behind a spindly bush and tucked in her tail. Who was in such a hurry at this time of night?
She followed in a crouched run for a good mile before the truck came to stop beside two others. One vehicle on these roads was normal. Two might be called a conference. But three? Something was definitely wrong. She squinted into the crescent of headlights. Her breath hitched when she spotted Ty stepping out of the truck. Cody seemed to have arrived first, and the brothers locked gazes just long enough to mentally communicate some urgent message.
Three other men stood to the side, spitting angry looks. They converged with Ty and Cody and created one seething huddle. Even from a distance, she could tell Cody was trying to keep things calm. Ty, on the other hand, was a picture of barely controlled fury. The other three were rifle-toting humans who looked all too itchy to shoot.
She crept forward, keeping to the shadows. Her nose wrinkled, catching the unmistakable scent of coagulated blood and bloated flesh. A morbid kind of curiosity drew her onward. What—or who—had died here?
Another careful step, and she had the answer. Dead sheep. She could make out the carcasses now, three or four of them tossed about a slope. They’d been shredded alive by some animal bent on destruction. She crept closer and sniffed again, then pulled her head back at the tell-tale acid scent of rogues.
They must have come and gone hours ago, but they were sure to strike again. Somewhere, sometime. Soon.
Except the smell was too overpowering to come from just a couple of sheep. She crouched lower, letting the fur of her belly brush the
“How are you doing, sweetie?” Nan asked, pulling her attention back to the house.
“Fine, fine,” Lana lied between hammer blows to a nail on the wall where her grandmother wanted a picture.
“Enjoying the ranch?”
Lana pinched the next nail between her lips and made as neutral a sound as she could, then gave the first nail another couple of murderous hits. She’d be enjoying the ranch a hell of a lot more if Ty would stop avoiding her.
She tried to shake the feeling off, but it was as deeply rooted as the porcupine quills she’d seen lodged in the muzzle of a miserable-looking ranch dog. That was her: a stupid mutt. If only someone would come along with a pair of pliers and yank the heartache out of her.
Surely her happiness didn’t depend on one man, let alone a bossy alpha. You can damn well function without a man.
Her wolf snarled. Not without this one!
The beast was getting more and more difficult to control. Lana didn’t want to think what would happen when the waxing moon filled. Would she chase Ty to the ends of the Earth or do the smart thing: run the hell away?
She paced, muttered, and endured for three aching days and two torturous nights, until the night of the full moon.
# # #
The moon wasn’t just full; it was painfully full. Bloated, even. Lana slipped out of the suffocating adobe bungalow and shifted, wondering what the night would bring.
Her wolf was eager to get out and run. Too eager, maybe, but the beast wouldn’t be denied. So she loped out past the circle of light that defined the inner ranch and into the pale black-and-white world that was the desert at night. She sniffed in the direction of Ty’s hill, but there was no fresh trail pulling her that way. Instead, she ranged south and west and found herself heading toward the corner where pack land met Seymour Ranch property. When a truck rattled past on the dirt road below, she ducked behind a spindly bush and tucked in her tail. Who was in such a hurry at this time of night?
She followed in a crouched run for a good mile before the truck came to stop beside two others. One vehicle on these roads was normal. Two might be called a conference. But three? Something was definitely wrong. She squinted into the crescent of headlights. Her breath hitched when she spotted Ty stepping out of the truck. Cody seemed to have arrived first, and the brothers locked gazes just long enough to mentally communicate some urgent message.
Three other men stood to the side, spitting angry looks. They converged with Ty and Cody and created one seething huddle. Even from a distance, she could tell Cody was trying to keep things calm. Ty, on the other hand, was a picture of barely controlled fury. The other three were rifle-toting humans who looked all too itchy to shoot.
She crept forward, keeping to the shadows. Her nose wrinkled, catching the unmistakable scent of coagulated blood and bloated flesh. A morbid kind of curiosity drew her onward. What—or who—had died here?
Another careful step, and she had the answer. Dead sheep. She could make out the carcasses now, three or four of them tossed about a slope. They’d been shredded alive by some animal bent on destruction. She crept closer and sniffed again, then pulled her head back at the tell-tale acid scent of rogues.
They must have come and gone hours ago, but they were sure to strike again. Somewhere, sometime. Soon.
Except the smell was too overpowering to come from just a couple of sheep. She crouched lower, letting the fur of her belly brush the
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