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

alone.
    “My boyfriend’s here,” I lied. “He just went out to take a leak and grab more firewood. He’s got a gun with him.” I added that last part just because it seemed like the thing to do.
    “Shouldn’t be out here all alone,” the skinny one said. “Not with what hunts in these woods.”
    I eyed the men pointedly and folded my arms. “So I see.”
    “You’re sure you didn’t see that wolf come through here?” the fat one asked.
    I lifted my arms. “Do I look like I just saw a wolf?”
    The smart one nodded to the ground near my feet. “What happened to your beer?”
    I glanced at the bottle lying in a puddle. Thankfully, a lie came quickly. “Some idiots ran in here waving their guns and made me drop it. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with enjoying another—and nature.”
    I could see the sharp-eyed one scanning the ground for tracks. Thank God I’d had the sense to cover them up.
    “Be careful now, you hear?” the skinny one said.
    “Try not to send any stray bullets my way,” I snapped as they crossed through the camp. Rude bastards, cutting through my space without asking. As they passed the tent, I clenched my teeth and prayed the wolf wouldn’t make any sounds that would give it away. When the asshole hunters pushed through the woods on the far side, I waited a few beats while I contemplated my next brilliant move, eyeing the tent warily all the while.
    What now? Maybe it had been too late to save the wolf, and it was lying dead on my mattress. Lovely. Or now that the hunters were gone, it would realize how hungry it was—right about the time I tried poking my head inside the tent.
    What had I been thinking? The wolf had a bullet in it and was probably bleeding to death all over my sleeping bag. It was in pain, and I could do nothing for it. It would have been more humane of me to just let the hunters finish it off.
    I heaved a sigh and wiped a hand over the beer-soaked thigh of my jeans. The front of my flannel shirt was wet, too, right through to the tank top clinging to my skin. If nothing else, I needed to change so I wouldn’t smell like a brewery. But that would involve going inside the tent. Maybe I could shuck off my wet things where I stood, scurry inside quickly, and return outdoors with my clothing duffel. The wolf was zippered into the bedroom compartment, so it wouldn’t be able to stroll right out—at least, not the normal way. Nylon wasn’t exactly a major obstacle for sharp teeth.
    I kicked off my hiking boots and then wriggled out of my jeans. There was just enough chill in the air that peeling off my clothes would have been unpleasant if not for the crackling fire. Soon, I stood there in just my pale blue panties, ready to make a mad dash for the tent. Knowing what lurked inside froze me in place, though. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hasty about stripping down while there were hunters running around. What if they came back while I stood there, afraid to sneak into my own tent?
    That thought prodded me forward. I crept over to the opening, stopping for a moment to listen for any sounds. Nothing. I stepped in as silently as I could, and I had to stifle another curse when I glanced at the vacant spot where I had dropped the clothes duffel upon first putting up the tent. I forgot that I’d moved it into the sleeping compartment when I’d dug out the plaid shirt.
    “Damn it,” I whispered, folding my arms over my bare breasts.
    Now I had no choice. I either had to go outside and hope no one stumbled over me while I put my wet, smelly things back on, or I needed to get into the wolf-occupied section of the tent. I knew I probably should check on the creature, anyway. The silence was ominous, and chances were damn good that I now had a rapidly stiffening canine corpse to deal with. What a fucking idiot I’d been, practically dragging that thing into my tent!
    By the time I reached for the zipper with shaking hands, I wasn’t sure which would be