My Secret Werewolf Lover (My Secret Lover) by J. Rose Allister Page A

beast half-limp, half-run into my campsite. It was a wolf, as black and fierce and menacing as anything I had ever laid eyes on. It was also injured.
    It saw me and stumbled over something, hitting the ground on its side. The animal contorted its body, whimpering in pain. Its rib cage heaved wildly from exertion as thick, red blood flowed freely from a wound near its shoulder.
    There was no denying the swell of pity I felt for the poor creature, but there was no force on earth that was going to convince me to move toward it. Not until I heard the men out in the woods.
    “Over here!” one shouted.
    There was more rustling sounds headed my way, and I saw the wolf grimacing as it tried to get to its feet. Getting near a wild, injured animal would be suicide, I knew. Yet as the sounds of the wolf’s imminent demise drew nearer, I flew into action without thought.
    “Come on,” I said in a quiet, urgent tone as I raced to the wolf’s side. “You have to get up.”
    I leaned over the animal, whose muzzle lifted in surprise. Those fangs were close to my throat at this angle, and I jerked out of range, wondering when the hell I’d gone completely mental.
    “Get up,” I said insistently, as though it could understand me. “You have to hide before they get here.”
    A growl rumbled through its throat, but it hefted itself upright. I started forward and slapped my hand on my thigh, calling it forward.
    “Come on,” I said like it was a pet dog. “This way.”
    I disappeared into the opening of my tent, and when it followed me in with some difficulty, part of me was relieved. The rest was terrified. The sounds of the approaching men were clearly headed my way, however. I had to hurry.
    “In here,” I said, parting the zippered flap to the bedroom section of the tent. The animal limped inside and, to my dismay, weakly hopped onto my nice, fluffy air mattress. Ugh.
    “Now stay quiet,” I whispered, fully aware that I’d lost my mind for not only rescuing a deadly wolf, but talking to it. I zipped the bedroom flap shut and dashed out of the tent. I could see flashlights waving wildly in the trees not far off. My plan had been to sit in my chair like nothing had happened. Then I glanced at the spot where the wolf had fallen.
    “Shit,” I muttered, and I snatched the hot dog branch from the ground. I rushed over and erased the wolf tracks from the dirt with the branch, effectively trashing my two remaining weenies. I kicked dirt over the small pool of blood the injured animal had left behind, too. I got back to my chair and stuck the ruined dogs into the flames in time to see a trio of great white hunters burst into the campsite.
    They were typical sportsman types, right down to the camouflage suits, orange vests, and lethal-looking rifles. Guess I hadn’t been the only one burning a hole in my credit card over at Bass Pro Shop.
    The men had the good grace to stop short and appear at least mildly remorseful that they’d trampled over my perfectly peaceful weekend.
    “Where did it go, ma’am?” a tall, gangly man asked.
    “Where did what go?” I asked innocently, pulling my now well-charred dogs out of the fire and stabbing the branch back into the dirt.
    “The wolf.” This guy was so round and red-faced from the chase that I was shocked he’d managed to stay on his feet. “It must have come straight at you.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I folded my arms. “Are you even supposed to be hunting animals out here?”
    The third man was the scariest of the three. He had silver hair and sharp, narrow eyes. “This ain’t your normal animal we’re huntin’. Who’ve you got with you?”
    My eyes flew wide for a moment, thinking at first that he’d heard something from inside the tent. Then I realized he was asking in general. And as the three men stared at me with their various-sized chests rising and falling in staggered, raspy breaths, I really didn’t feel like admitting I was out there