Brotherhood Protectors: Montana Moon (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  He blinked, knowing the wolf was bleeding out through his eyes. The damn thing clawed at him, wanting out, wanting the feel of Lauren’s hands in his fur. No! The order was sharp, meant to be obeyed even as it was a plea. Ours. The wolf pushed back. Mate! Shit. There it was again, hanging in the mental spaces he’s sealed off since his last mission in Afghanistan. The M word. This was the worst possible time for him to become moonstruck. Jeez, he’d seen Wolves go apeshit crazy when the mating urge hit. He’d heard it described as getting hit by a freight train. He’d laughed then, but he wasn’t laughing now.

  Tait gripped Lauren’s arms and set her back. He literally picked her up and set her down an arm’s length away. What was going on? He’d just given her the most incredibly hot kiss of her life and now he was running cold? His lips were still wet from the kiss. So were hers, and they felt swollen, raw. She reached up, touched them, then gently wiped off the taste of him. He growled again but kept his lids lowered so she couldn’t see what was going on behind his eyes.

  He gestured toward the bed farthest from the door. “Get some sleep. We’ll leave out in a couple of hours.”

  Feeling chastised, like a child sent to bed without her supper and not knowing why she was in trouble, Lauren avoided his gaze. She gathered up her backpack and hugged it as she settled on the far side of the bed. She didn’t get under the covers, not trusting the sheets. Instead, she grabbed the other side of the bedspread and pulled it over her. Rolling onto her side, she gave the frustrating man her back. His rejection didn’t just sting, it hurt in a visceral way that made no logical sense. Shooter was a stranger. She didn’t even know his real name. She didn’t trust him. Not at all. But. Some part of her yearned to trust him, was positive she could. He would keep her safe. He would take care of her.

  She pulled the covers tighter. She was a modern woman. She didn’t need a man to keep her safe or take care of her. She could stand on her own two feet. Except she was out of her league with the thugs Black Root sent after her. She didn’t know how to get off the grid, how to hide. She’d gotten rid of her phone and her car. She’d emptied her checking and savings account so there was that. But she didn’t know how to get a new identity that would actually pass muster. Her feeble attempts would work in a pinch, but they wouldn’t give her a safe life under an assumed name. She didn’t know much of anything about starting a new life. Was it so wrong to want someone to look after her?

  Tait clicked off the light between the beds and the room fell into shadowed gloom. He could hear Lauren breathing, could hear her heart beat. And he could still smell her arousal. Dammit. He dropped onto the second bed. She wasn’t asleep which meant her brain had jumped on a hamster wheel and was spinning around and around. Yeah, he knew that feeling. His brain was doing the same damn thing.

  After an hour, her breathing smoothed out. She was asleep, finally. He relaxed, reaching for the combat sleep that allowed him to get rest but remain alert to danger. His fucking dick was still hard and aching. He popped the buttons, crammed his hand inside his briefs and started pumping. If he didn’t get some relief, he wouldn’t be able to walk when they headed out again. Lauren’s scent, the remembered feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth sent him over the edge in embarrassingly quick time. He jerked off his T-shirt and used it to mop up the mess he’d made on his stomach when he came. Wadding it up, he tossed it toward his duffel. Fingers laced behind his head, he stared at the ceiling and listened to the little noises Lauren made in her sleep. He drifted off, his breathing matching hers.

  ****

  Staring at the passing scenery, Lauren sighed. Deeply. She leveled her gaze on Shooter. Time to shatter the brittle silence stretching between them. “Come on, smile.” She added a teasing tone to her voice.

  Shooter scowled but didn’t speak, nor did his expression change.

  “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like your face will break or something.”

  Did he just growl at her? Fine. If Mister Shooter McSterious persisted in acting like a grouchy old bear, she’d just get a big stick and poke him. Lauren considered herself a little—okay, a lot—crazy for wanting to needle him. She also wanted to figure out the meaning of his nickname. Truth be told, she burned with the need to know the story behind said name. Curiosity had always been one of her weaknesses—as was often noted on her yearly performance evaluations. For a historian and archivist, this was a good trait, usually. That same curiosity had prompted her to dig into those files before sending them to be shredded. As an archivist, it was her job to preserve information and those particular files had been scrubbed from the data base.

  She drummed her fingers on her thigh, pursing her lips then pulling the bottom one between her teeth. She felt Shooter shift beside her. Cutting her eyes his direction, she studied his profile for a few minutes. His hair was brown. Which sounded boring, had she been describing the color to someone. But the brown was…more. Wavy but not too long, his thick hair shaded between sun-kissed highlights and a deeper, richer color that reminded her of the diet cola she lived on. In between, if the light was just right, she caught hints of russet. Fur, she thought. Yes, his hair was like an animal’s pelt.

  Lauren didn’t care much for people. She was far more comfortable in her stacks of historic material and her computer. That didn’t mean she didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time observing them. People fascinated her, even if she didn’t want to interact with them. She was geeky. Gawky. And a total klutz. Unless she was immersed in her job. She was aces at her job. She was not aces at running for her life. How had she not remembered she could be tracked by her cell phone? Her skin pebbled as a spurt of adrenaline shot through her at the memory of bullets shattering the window of her car. She’d been lucky the next exit held a giant truck stop.

  Closing her eyes, she shoved those thoughts out of her mind. She’d found her way to Iowa, where Shooter had stepped in. She almost laughed, despite the dark memories. He hadn’t stepped in. He’d stomped in wearing a pair of worn cowboy boots, faded jeans, plaid shirt, and an implacable demeanor. When she opened her eyes, her gaze drifted back to him.

  Shooter had a strong profile. The fine lines at the corner of his eyes and the deeper ones on his forehead and above the bridge of his nose spoke of age and experience, so yeah, he was likely in his forties. Still, he was hard-bodied and fit. He had to be to scoop her off the floor, toss her over his shoulder and make off with her like she was some pirate’s booty. No, she decided, her fingers itching to touch the scruff covering the lower half of his face. He would have been a Viking, or a Highlander maybe. She could definitely see him ravaging and pillaging, and why did her heart rate kick up a notch with that thought?

  Heat flooded her cheeks and she turned to watch out the window again. “I’m not going to hurt you. People call me Shooter,” he’d said after cornering her in that roadhouse. She had not been reassured. What sort of nickname was Shooter anyway?

  She blurted out, “So…do you shoot people? Or just bore them to death with your stoic refusal to speak?” Yes, that was definitely a growl. She revised her animal comparison. Not a bear. Something more feral, and to her, far more dangerous. Wolf. And her heart stopped. He knew about Black Root. Which implied he knew what Black Root had been doing. Which meant he might be working for them. Which meant she needed to get out of this truck right this instant.

  “Yeah, I’ve shot people.”

  She froze in her seat, eyes widening as the cold words washed over her, leaving her terrified.

  “Breathe, Lauren.” His green eyes glinted briefly in the dash light as he flicked them her way. “I was a Navy SEAL.”

  Well. That certainly explained a lot of things. She managed to inhale and when she exhaled, her chest loosened enough she relaxed against the leather seat, but she was still wary. “Were you like a sniper or something? Is that why people call you Shooter?”

  A smile threatened the corner of his mouth but the lines between his brows deepened. “I’m called Sh
ooter because the guys in my BUD/S class challenged me to a drinking contest after graduation. The challenge involved shots of tequila. I won.” He glanced at her. “Aren’t you going to ask how many?” She shook her head and he turned his head to watch her. “I’m not one of the bad guys, Lauren. I will keep you safe.”

  Lauren attempted to believe him. Her life depended on it.

  Chapter 6

  Lauren swore she’d seen every back road, mountain trail, and country-crossroad town in four states by the time the truck rolled over something Shooter called a cattle guard. It looked like a bunch of pipes laid across a concrete box set in the middle of a fence. There was no sign announcing where they were and empty land rolled away as far as the eye could see.

  “We aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto,” she muttered under her breath. She caught quick movement in the corner of her eye. Shooter, tossing her an amused look.

  “Like I said, you’re a city mouse.”

  She fumed. “Where are we?”

  “I told you I was taking you to my place. We’re here.”

  They passed into a copse of trees and skirted a hill. She gasped as the vista opened up—a stream ran beside the road, cutting grasslands in half, all against a backdrop of magnificent mountains. Dark shapes dotted the pasture—cattle and…buffalo? The man had buffalo? She had to squint to see the outbuildings—they were weathered and blended into the background. The house was…rustic and rugged, and as Shooter stopped the truck and climbed out, she knew he belonged here.

  Ignoring Lauren’s open-mouthed stare, Tait climbed out and reached into the back seat to grab their bags. He whistled sharply but no welcoming bark greeted him in return. Chewy was likely off hunting. He checked the small herd of black Angus cattle he kept and noted that a few more wild buffalo had joined. They’d likely wander off eventually. As the sun was about to sink behind distant mountains to the west, he led the way onto his front porch. The house would never be featured in some decorating magazine. Made of logs, it was solid, if plain. Inside, the main room sported a floor-to-ceiling river-rock fireplace, open beams, and lots of windows. Basically one room, it served as living, dining, and kitchen space. There was a loft area upstairs that he used mostly for storage. Off the main room, a short hall led to two bedrooms, facing each other, and both had their own bath. Not that he had visitors often.

  He pushed the door to the guest room open with one shoulder and tossed Lauren’s backpack onto the double bed. Like the rest of his house, the furniture was made to last and for comfort, not high design. He stepped back so she could enter. “Make yourself at home. Bathroom’s through that door. My room’s across the way. I have a few phone calls to make and then I’ll fix us something to eat.”

  Lauren blinked in surprise. “You cook?”

  Tait flashed her a grumpy look. “Don’t sound so shocked. In case you didn’t notice the nearest fast food is about an hour’s drive away.”

  “Huh,” she huffed. “A man of many talents.”

  “Sweetheart, you have no idea.” He leered at her and was perverse enough to enjoy the four quick backwards steps she took, coming up hard against the pine foot board of the bed. He reached in, grabbed the door, and pulled it shut. Crap. At this rate, he’d need a cold shower before he could call Mac and Hank. Hoping a hot steak and a cold beer would get his mind off the woman whose blueberry muffin scent filled his house, he headed to the freezer. He’d have to do some major tenderizing since he was flash-thawing the meat. He started the process with a sink of hot water while he sipped his beer and grabbed his landline.

  The sooner Mac got Lauren out of here, the happier Tait would be. He didn’t care what she might mean to him. His wolf growled. He growled back. Two conversations later—neither which made him a happy camper, he took a mallet to the steaks with some tenderizer sprinkled on top. As the meat sizzled in the cast-iron frying pan, he planned a necessary come-to-Jesus meeting with his wild half. He didn’t have room in his life for a woman, not even their mate. Especially their mate. Which she wasn’t.

  Soft footsteps alerted him to Lauren’s presence a moment before she spoke. “That smells good.”

  “How do you like your steak cooked?”

  She hitched that very fine ass of hers onto a barstool at the kitchen island, her nostrils still flaring in appreciation. “If it’s not too late, medium rare?”

  At least she knew how to eat meat, though he preferred his rare and bloody. “Not too late. You’ll have to settle for a baked potato. I don’t have any vegetables. I’d just gotten back from a job when Mac called about you. Took me awhile to track you down so I haven’t exactly had time to lay in groceries. We’ll go into Helena tomorrow.” He looked at the worn jeans and long-sleeved tee she’d changed into. “And we’ll buy you some clothes.”

  The microwave dinged. Tait grabbed a plate, and rolled a potato onto it from the appliance, then plated the steak in the pan. He slid it over to Lauren. Tossing his own steak into the skillet, he nodded toward the fridge. “Drinks in there, along with butter. Don’t have any fancy fixings for the potato either.”

  “No worries. Silverware?”

  He pointed to a drawer. She grabbed two forks and two wicked looking steak knives and dropped them on the island as she passed it on the way to the fridge. She noted the empty bottle next to the stove so she grabbed another. She ducked her head inside looking for a bottle of water. All she found was a large filtered pitcher. Good enough. More environmentally friendly. “Glass?”

  Tait inclined his head toward an upper cabinet as he flipped his steak. By the time she poured her water and opened a beer for him, he’d plated his own potato and steak. They ate in silence, but he noticed everything about her—the lackluster shine to her hair, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her skin sagged a little like she’d lost weight in a hurry. She was not cut out for living on the run, and he had to give her props for managing to stay ahead of Black Root’s operatives for as long as she had. She cut dainty bites and chewed them. He wolfed down his food. Too different, he reminded his wolf. She was all book learning and city lights. His education came from the school of staying alive. Crowds made his skin itch and the only lights he needed was the sweep of stars filling the night sky.

  Lauren was all but asleep when her plate disappeared. She stared, slightly confused at Shooter. “I’ll do the dishes. You cooked. It’s the least I can do.”

  “I got it covered. You need sleep. Get to bed. We’ll be up and out early in the morning.”

  She glanced around, not even trying to stifle the yawn stretching her face. “What time is it anyway?”

  “Almost nine. Go to bed.” And lock your door. Not that it would do any good. He could either pick the lock or kick in the damn thing, which is what his wolf wanted. No, that was wrong. His wolf wanted him to scoop her up and carry her to his bed. The damn critter wanted her scent smeared all over his sheets. Tait turned his back, a deliberate attempt to ignore her.

  “Oh, okay.” Her voice sounded unsure, but he didn’t turn around. “G’night then.”

  “Sleep well, Lauren.”

  Five minutes later, he set a plate of scraps on the back deck. Chewy still hadn’t come home. If he didn’t return soon, the raccoons or some other nocturnal critter would get to the food first. His wolf was restless and Tait considered stripping down, shifting, and letting the wild half of him out to play. They needed a good run and a hunt, something to distract them from the woman inside his house. The woman who teased him and taunted him with her intelligence and her body and her city mouse ways. Giving into his base instincts, he stripped and changed, muscles and bones twisting, stretching, reshaping from man to wolf. Fur sprouted. Fangs dropped from his elongating muzzle. He leapt off the deck and plunged into the trees, following his nose. A small herd of elk had passed through not long ago. They’d lead him on a good chase.

  Lauren rolled over and pounded on the pillow. Desperate for sleep, she couldn’t make her mind get off the darn hamster wheel of “what
if’s?” She couldn’t go back and change things. One, time travel was a physical impossibility, Einstein’s theories to the contrary, and two, if she’d done things differently, she would never have met Shooter. Who was still Mr. McSterious. That would end tomorrow. She’d find out who he was and why he’d gotten involved. And she’d do it pretending that he didn’t put naughty thoughts in her head because doing all the things she imagined doing with him weren’t naughty because she was doing them with him. And such was the darn hamster wheel. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. In and out, slow and easy. In that final moment before sleep took her under, she thought she heard a lone wolf howling, and she decided that was the loneliest sound she’d ever heard.

  ****

  Growls. Chewy. A scream. Lauren. Tait bolted out of bed. Chewy. Lauren. His brain went to a dark and bloody place. Shit. He raced through the house, following the sounds. Chewy had been noticeably absent when he and Lauren arrived last night, and he hadn’t appeared when Tait took his midnight run. Damn wolfdog. And what the hell was Lauren doing up and out of bed? He’d left her asleep in the guest room. To be nice. To keep her safe. From him. But now Chewy! Who ate strangers. He should have tied her to the bed. He should have shot the damn wolfdog ages ago.

  The heavy door banged against the rough-hewn logs of the house as he charged out onto the front porch. Lauren was on the ground, Chewy straddling her body, his muzzle buried at her throat. Oh. Fuck. His wolf clawed to get out, desperate to get to Lauren, to their mate, to save her. His wolf wanted to challenge the other male, to taste his blood, no longer recognizing the fur brother who ran with him under the moon.