The ride east was neither quick nor easy. Trixie shivered against the cold night air, drawing close to the radiating warmth of the cowboy in the motorcycle’s saddle seat at her front. The mountain air was steeped with the moisture of impending snow. The wind whipped around them as the last of the highway’s blacktop changed into a lonely, single-entry road. Despite the leather jacket she’d pulled on at her place, she was chilled to the bone, her legs still baby-bottom bare. Of course tonight had been the night she hadn’t opted for pantyhose. Over a decade living in these mountains, but they still proved too damn cold for her southern blood.
She only stopped shivering long enough to recognize the entry road as the west entrance to Yellowstone when they finally slowed for the unmanned gate. The short stop, with signs that warned to drive slowly and watch for wildlife, was their last encounter with any sign of humanity. As they ventured further into the park, the darkness closed in around them, the moonlight and the bike’s single headlight serving as the only light on their path.
Against the cold wind, Trixie eased closer to Malcolm’s warmth again. Despite the rumble of the bike beneath them and the open road, the bare forest trees and the eerie quiet of the distant mountains gave way to the startling awareness that humanity didn’t belong here—that this untouched landscape was as old as it was vast, transcending time and outside influence.
Trixie wrapped her arms tighter around Malcolm’s wide frame, another shiver raking through her, this time not from the cold. For once, she felt incredibly small. Like maybe in the scheme of the universe, she and her problems, no matter how big they’d felt when she’d first mounted the back of Malcolm’s bike, were nothing more than a speck of dust. The thought stirred a natural awareness inside her, the feeling both terrifying and yet oddly…comforting. There were larger forces at play, things more important than her conflict with Stan. Her problems weren’t permanent. Nothing in her life ever was. Though it wasn’t every day she had a horde of Triple S assholes who’d gladly have her for dead breathing down her neck.
It wasn’t until miles later that they pulled off at the side of the road and Malcolm turned off the bike, the brightness of the headlight instantly giving way to total darkness. She truly felt as if she’d been transported to another world, one unmarred by human hands. The trees and the darkness of the sky whispered subtle sounds around them as the landscape beckoned them back to a simpler time, one wilder and more natural than she’d ever experienced before.
“Where are we?” she breathed into the quiet. The heat of Trixie’s breath swirled around her face before quickly dissipating.
Malcolm pushed down the kickstand of the bike as he allowed her to dismount. Trixie swung her leg over and stood beside where the bike had stopped. The darkness and pale moonlight engulfed them both, making it difficult for her to see. Instinctually, she gripped the arm of Malcolm’s leather jacket for reassurance, keeping him close. Though the first bits of winter hadn’t made themselves known yet outside the park, nearby a bit of freshly fallen snow sparkled beneath the trees, creating a pale glow. It wasn’t enough light for her to see. But it was enough for a wolf. For a creature that belonged to these lands.
“Terra firma, our homeland,” Malcolm answered, the deep grumble of his voice thrumming through her. Somehow, he seemed at ease here in a way she couldn’t be. In spite of his leather and the harsh lines of his tattooed hands, he belonged here among the forest and the trees. He followed her lead and dismounted, drawing to his full height beside her and the bike. He didn’t bother to lock it. There wasn’t another soul for miles.
Malcolm nodded toward the forest trees. “Follow me.”
Trixie glanced down, but in the darkness she could barely see her own heels. “I would have worn different shoes had I known.”
“There’s a trail.” Malcolm stepped forward, taking her hand as he led her into the darkness. “If it gets too rough, I’ll carry you,” he whispered.
For a moment, Trixie’s breath caught. She tried not to read too much into those words but failed. She quickly swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, any protest about her footwear forgotten. There wasn’t anything more to that sentence, to that graveled whisper that said so little yet made her feel so much. There couldn’t be.
She shook her head, pushing away the tumult of feelings Malcolm and this place inspired in her as he led her toward the darkened trail. The sounds of the forest wrapped around them, the rustle of fallen leaves or small animals in the underbrush enclosing them within the forest’s bosom. She glanced up at the moon and the starry sky overhead. The inky blackness stretched onward and infinite, and she breathed out a long sigh. She couldn’t let herself get caught up like that, convince herself he cared, however briefly. Not after he’d nearly left her to Stan and his goons in the bar. In danger or not, even she wasn’t that desperate. She wasn’t exactly pleased about the way he’d nearly ghosted her, and he damned well knew it.
But he had killed for her, saved her and protected her when it counted. Out here in the stillness, that truth seemed all the more important.
Malcolm didn’t speak again until a while later, the dark outline of a small log cabin finally came into view, the structure tucked away in the shadows of the trees. Trixie didn’t see it until they were nearly on top of it, only steps from climbing its wooden porch.
“Our kind considers this our homeland,” he said softly, as if speaking too loudly, too sharply might disturb the natural beauty around them. “Some of the rangers are shifters, friends of the pack. They protect the true wolves, our ancestors, and these lands that were once our home.”
Another lump formed in Trixie’s throat. There was an inherent sadness and loss in those words that instantly shook her, but Malcolm didn’t elaborate further.
Bending down, he dug a key out from beneath the cabin’s old welcome mat. “I called in a favor. The park’s entering off-season, so this is safer, more remote than even Wolf Pack Run,” he explained. “No one will look for you here.” A rustle of key in lock was followed by the sound of Malcolm’s boots padding across the wooden floor.
A moment later, a small lamp flickered to life inside the cabin.
Trixie stood in the doorway, taking in the small, enclosed space. The ranger who lived here during the in-season had tastes that were rustic at best, with a single wool-blanketed bed, a rickety wooden table, and an old firewood stove for a kitchen centered around an unlit fireplace. It was far from modern but somehow cozy and charming. A paneled window that looked out over the dark forest covered part of one wall, and a cabin bed that looked nearly as hard and cot-like as the one in her motel room sat adjacent. At least she’d get decent sleep in it. There’d be no way in hell she’d have managed if it’d been anything soft and comfortable, too unfamiliar compared to what she was accustomed to. Rustic and sparse she could work with.
Malcolm threw a few precut logs from near the hearth into the fireplace, kindling a fire with little more than the bare logs and a spare lighter from his back pocket, the way that only a practiced cowboy could. When he was finished, he stood beside the firelight, finally looking back toward her as he leaned against the mantel. The leather of his biker jacket and shitkicker boots looked odd and out of place here.
She cleared her throat. She was grateful to him for all he’d done for her, but savior or not, it was time for him to be on his way. He’d done more than enough for her already. She wasn’t used to kindness, from him especially. “Stan and the other bear shifters who were at the Coyote tonight are Triple S,” she said, finally disclosing the information she had for him. “South Side Shifter Outfit. You familiar, sugar?”
Malcolm nodded. “I grew up in Chicago.”
Where the Triple S reigned supreme. Trixie quirked a brow. A Grey Wolf who hadn’t grown up at Wolf Pack Run? She leveled a look at him, showing clear interest. Years slinging drinks at the Coyote meant she was always up for a good story. A girl needed amusement, but when he didn’t elaborate, she didn’t press. The man had his secrets, but so did she.
Trixie sighed. “Then you know what they’re capable of.” She tried not to think of exactly how those capabilities would play out if they got their hands on her, considering all the hate focused in her direction thanks to all the money she’d lost them. Boss would be angry with her, but he’d cool off in a few days. He always did.
Stepping farther inside, she pushed the cabin door shut behind her but didn’t latch it. A less-than-subtle hint that she expected him to walk out it soon. “Stan and his Triple S goons have been coming to the fights the past several weeks, meeting with Boss. But tonight, I overheard them talking, and from the sound of it, they’re partnering with the vamps on something. Your pack was mentioned as their public enemy number one and Stan was not so subtly asking about you and Blaze, so whatever it is, it concerns y’all.”
She didn’t bother to elaborate that his pack hadn’t been mentioned directly. Her magic didn’t lie. It may not have served as much protection for her in moments like this, but she had her own talents. They all did.
Malcolm’s cold eyes scanned her, considering. “What’s their end goal?”
She shrugged. “Hell if I know. You figure it out.” She moved closer to the fireside, to the flicker of warmth it was starting to provide. A moment later, she stepped away again, feeling the urge to place some distance between them, but Malcolm blocked her path.
Wrapping one large hand on the mantel’s rim, he caged her in place. The large muscles beneath his leather flexed, straining against the material. Inches from her face, the harsh lettering of his knuckle tattoos glared at her. The ink there seemed ever darker in the warm glow of the firelight. “That’s it?” he snarled. “I drag you all the way out here on the promise of information, I call in favors to ensure your safety, and that’s it?” he growled.
Trixie bristled. Enough was enough. She was over him, this night, and every problem it’d brought with it. “I didn’t promise a deluge of details. It’s information. That’s all I have and now I’ve delivered it. Do whatever with it you wish, darlin’, but it ain’t my concern.”
She pushed past him again. Thankfully, this time he let her go. If he didn’t, she couldn’t be held liable for what she and the little bit of magic she had left over after saving Jackie would do. She’d need to rest in order to recharge. She trudged near the cabin’s bed before depositing the duffel bag she’d brought with her. Crossing the room to the window, she stared out into the night as she listened for the sound of him closing the door on his way out. She tugged the dusty drapes closed. The door latched with a quick snick, but she didn’t hear the sounds of his boots descending the few cabin steps as she’d anticipated.
Malcolm’s deep, rumbled tenor sounded from the now-closed doorway. “Why are the Triple S partnering with the vamps? What’s their purpose?” His voice carried throughout the small cabin space like it could wrap around her, keep her warm and safe, if she’d let it.
Damn him.
“I already told you. I. Don’t. Know,” she said, exaggerating each word so it’d drill into that thick skull of his. “If I did, I’d tell you. Unlike you, I care about the lives of people I call my friends.” She hurled the word friend out without thought but then instantly regretted it.
Malcolm fell silent for a long beat, too long, as he watched her. “Is that what I am to you? A friend?” The question seemed to settle into the ether, into the silence of the cabin and the crackle of the fire around them, as much a part of the atmosphere as the quiet promise of soon-to-come snow.
“I meant Wes, Naomi, your other packmates.” She waved a dismissive hand.
They both knew she hadn’t, but she wasn’t about to get into this with him. Not tonight. Not with the sting of the evening’s events and all the ire he hurled at her burning like a brand into her heart, and her still like a small babe with sensitive skin. She’d have thought over the years her own hide would’ve toughened more. But she’d always had too many soft spots for her own good. For snarly, injured creatures like him in particular.
Stepping farther into the cabin again, Malcolm prowled through the tiny space as if it belonged to him. He moved like a stalking predator. Stealthy but also presumptuous. Like he’d catch whatever prey he set those golden wolf eyes to.
She was more than ready for him to leave. She needed time, space, to think and come up with a plan that didn’t include him. “What are you doing?”
“Checking the room. Ensuring you’re safe. That was part of our deal, wasn’t it?”
It was a poor excuse and they both knew it. He didn’t want to leave. Hell if she knew why.
She placed a haughty hand on her hip. “You don’t trust your ranger friend?”
“I don’t trust anyone,” Malcolm snarled. His eyes flashed golden. He made his way to the kitchen stove, followed by the closet, checking every space as if he really meant it though they both knew it was a ruse. A moment later, he moved the edge of a mirror that hung on the wall as if he might find something behind it but didn’t.
Trixie sighed. What was he playing at? He didn’t want this, her. Not really. He’d made that abundantly clear. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m fine, Malcolm. There’s no boogeyman in the closet that’s going to jump out and get me the moment you leave, and even if it did, why the hell would you care?”
His upper lip curled, almost as if he were hurt. “I made a promise to you.”
“So that’s the extent of it? You made a promise?” She was shaking her head. She didn’t know why it mattered. It didn’t make two licks of sense. She shouldn’t care about his motivation. He’d saved her. As long as it kept her from dead, his reasoning shouldn’t matter, but to her, it did. “Caring for me didn’t seem all that important when you were about to walk out of the Coyote and leave me to Stan and his goons.”
The statement hung in the charged air between them.
There, she’d said it. The accusation had been dancing on her tongue all evening, but she hadn’t wanted to do this with him. Not here. Not now. Not when it was certain to end in her heart in pieces on the floor. She knew how this song and dance went.
Last time had left her an indentured servant to a warlock who may have saved her but who’d also damned her to servitude in the process. Boss’s deals didn’t come with an escape clause. Even when a young girl was trying to save a man she thought she’d loved, even when she’d been too naive, too stupid and blind to see that man she’d been trying to save didn’t feel the same. Several embers crackled from the fireplace, settling into bits of ash on the wooden floor.
The sharp, searing gold of Malcolm’s wolf eyes turned toward her. “I wouldn’t have left you.”
“Could have fooled me,” she accused. She shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve made it pretty clear how you feel about me.”
“I don’t hate you, Trixie,” he whispered.
He said the words so softly that for a moment she almost believed them, almost trusted.
“Fine. ‘Dislike’ then.” She waved a hand. “Is that a more palatable word for you?”
He didn’t answer.
As silence stretched between them, something inside her toughened, creating an internal distance along with it—to guard and protect herself. She wanted him gone now. Hell, several minutes ago, and if there was one way to piss Malcolm off and get him the hell outta Dodge, she knew it. They’d been playing this same game for several months now. Ever since that damn kiss.
In an instant, Trixie dropped whatever frustration she’d been harboring for him from her face, a soft ease and pliability slipping into her features and loosening limbs. The long lashes lining her eyelids fluttered lower and she placed a little extra sway into her hips. She’d long since mastered her role as the seductress, as the kind of woman that kept men awake at night but who they’d never take home to their parents. She was a looker, a seducer, never the bride or even the bridesmaid. A lady of the night, although she served drinks instead of her body.
That was all there was to her.
Malcolm froze, dark eyes watching her.
She sauntered toward him, steps long and languid. She didn’t need to see the fire in his eye to know she looked damned good. Malcolm’s heated gaze seared through her—the one that on the surface said he hated the show, but deep down, it burned him sweet. Trixie didn’t stop her little strutting display until she stood directly in front of him.
She placed the palm of her hand against the center of his chest. “Is that what you want, sugar? For me to be real thankful and play along like you’re the hero?” The teasing whisper in her voice was made of dark secrets, hidden alcoves, and sexy noir heroines who’d been chain-smoking for one too many years. She traced one pink glowing finger over the hardened muscles of his pecs, allowing her magic to caress his skin in a way she knew would both rile and irk him, even as she felt the pleasure of it moving through him.
He tensed beneath the gentle scrape of her manicured nail.
“That’s why you followed me in here after all, isn’t it? A witch like me knows the truth.”
Malcolm inhaled a harsh breath, and she swore she felt the wolf hidden beneath his human form shiver along with it. Coiled, prepared, ready to strike or shift.
She called to both parts of him. Especially here in this abandoned place that was anything they needed it to be.
“I won’t pretend like it’s some kind of payment for saving me, but if it’s sex you want… With you, I’m always up for it.” She moved closer, her breasts brushing against him as she drew close. The scent of him was intoxicating, clean and fresh but also earthy, wild like the wolf inside him. “I know you’ve wanted it since that back-alley kiss.”
Malcolm’s heated stare fixed on her. “Is that what you think?”
She pressed even closer. “It’s the truth. Innit, sugar?”
She moved in to kiss him, crass and dirty. She expected the usual, of course, for him to turn his head, pull away and storm off, or at the very least that her lips would land on his cheek instead of mouth. It was his way of showing her she was a fool, making an ass of herself.
But he didn’t.
Instead, her mouth met his, a gentle brush of lips that was so soft and tender it sent a sudden shock through her. Alarmed, she pulled back abruptly, eyes wide. She’d been playing a game of chicken, and this time she’d lost—miserably. She blinked up at him.
There was something sad in his face along with that all-too-familiar heat, not the same as the grief she’d watched him feel for Bo for years, but something new, different. It instantly disarmed her.
“Tell me this is real, Trixie.” That gruff command shook her to her core.
He really wanted to know. The truth in his words rang clear.
Trixie struggled to respond, suddenly stricken. “Would it make a difference?”
“Try me,” he growled. A shadow from the fire flickered across his face.
She swallowed, hard, so caught off guard that she couldn’t bring herself to hide from him. Not at the moment. “I’m real,” she said, the words making her feel far more vulnerable than she’d expected. “I may not always show it, act like it, but I am, and I do want you,” she admitted. Her lips tightened, spread thin with embarrassment. She had no doubt he’d use the words against her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He’d won. Made her look like a fool, but she was tired. So tired of pretending when everyone else didn’t. “All the rest of it is bullshit.” She looked away from him.
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Without warning, Malcolm grabbed hold of her chin, his callused fingers and rough, cowboy-worn skin contrasting with the gentleness beneath. He forced her to look toward him. “Don’t make me regret this.”
His mouth was on hers in an instant, seeking, probing, claiming in a way that was so soft she wouldn’t have thought the big brute had it in him if she hadn’t experienced it herself once before. The warmth of his tongue mingled with hers. He tasted like basil or maybe mint—something fresh, and nice, and green. He used the canines of his teeth to gently nip at the edge of her lips.
At his prompting, she spread open for him, wide and vulnerable. She wasn’t thinking or pretending. She simply followed the race of her pulse, the heated beat of her heart, and the growing pressure building between her legs. She pressed closer against him, instinctually wrapping her arms around his neck.
The hardened length of him pushed against her stomach.
Unwillingly, she let out a little moan at the thought of him pushing inside her. Not the throaty, sexed-up kind she’d done in bed so many times before, but a soft, honest whimper as one of his large hands darted beneath her skirt and cupped her center. The sound was nothing like her. Or at least the part of her she showed the world. But it was honest, real, some unsung part of herself, and Malcolm must have known it. She felt herself slicken.
Against her lips, she could have sworn she felt something snap inside him. Some feral, wild part of himself she’d always known he’d held back from her unleashed. Malcolm hauled her into his arms, lowering her onto the bed, but instead of falling on top of her, suddenly those large, gentle hands were spreading her legs wide.
Stripping off his leather, he dropped to his knees. Moments later, he was hooking her legs over his shoulders. She sat up, moving to take off her stilettos, but he snarled at her angrily. “Keep the shoes.”
And then the next thing she knew, he ducked his head underneath her knees.
Trixie gasped, eyes darting down to where he grinned from between her thighs. The eyes of a wolf stared back.