The noonday sun hung high overhead, warming the cool autumn breeze. The pack truck rattled to a stop, shuddering. Malcolm shifted the clutch to neutral, thankful it didn’t stick this time, before he threw the gear into park. He shoved open the driver’s side door, and the rusted, old hinges let out a moaning creak. The air smelled of the coming winter, like the dampness of a thawed morning freeze and the dried-out crunch of fall leaves.
Leaning out of the cab, he perched his feet on the edge of the truck’s floorboard, balanced between where he rested his elbows on the door and the truck’s tin-can roof as he shook his head. He could hardly wrap his mind around the sight of Trixie standing there at Wolf Pack Run’s perimeter. Internally, his wolf snarled, fierce and protective.
What the fuck was she doing here? This wasn’t any place for her, not with the threat of the vampires and the few remaining Volk drawing near.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want her here, but he hadn’t braced himself for it either, hadn’t mentally prepared in any way. He didn’t like surprises. Even he recognized he was too much of a grump for them. And the sight of her standing there, after he’d buried his face between her legs the last time he’d seen her, hit him harder than he cared to admit. A surprise if there ever was one.
She looked as out of place in the Montana foothills as he did.
At the sight of him, Trixie gave him a sultry little wave, her little four-door junker parked not far from where she stood. She’d clearly made it all of five feet before she’d been surrounded by half a dozen Grey Wolf guards, shifters in human form who were all nearly twice her size and armed to the teeth. Their weapons were poised in her direction, but that didn’t seem to faze her. Malcolm nodded to the guards and they lowered their guns.
Trixie’s blond hair was done up in her usual curls, not a stray hair out of place. A red handkerchief wrapped around her head reminded him of some rockabilly Rosie the Riveter. A pair of huge Hollywood sunglasses covered her eyes. The jean miniskirt she wore along with her fishnet stockings left little to the imagination and was paired with a strappy little pair of blue heels and a ruby-red blouse that matched her lipstick. The only evidence she had any awareness of the fact that winter was drawing closer by the day lay in the leather jacket with studded shoulders she’d slung across her car’s hood. Beside her, a massive male Rottweiler sat on the end of a bedazzled hot-pink leash.
Christ, the woman was as delicious as she was fucking insane.
He’d be lying if he said a small part of him didn’t like it.
Even Malcolm had to admit she was charming, standing there in her little getup that’d never last a day out in the pastures. Like a fish out of water, except instead of water, the fish belonged in a western bar full of overpriced beer. He made a mental note to get her a different pair of shoes. She’d fall and break her neck in those things.
No way would she get hurt on his watch.
A gust of autumn breeze blew downwind, taking Malcolm’s scent with it. The dog sniffed the air and growled, teeth bared. From the gnarled scars on its face, it’d seen one too many dogfights. Trixie smiled at the beast, then at him. All plump red lips and white teeth like a southern, punk Miss America. She patted the dog’s head affectionately.
“I thought you said you didn’t have a pet,” Malcolm growled over the wind.
If anyone could call that mangy, snarling thing a pet. It looked more like a dark omen she’d conjured than something cute and cuddly.
“Oh, you mean Dumplin’?” She smiled down at the dog again. “He’s new,” she called back. “If you’re worried, I’m going to put you on a leash, ain’t nothing to worry about, darlin.’ Don’t mean I won’t still yank your chain though.” She winked.
A few of the guards laughed, instantly charmed.
The chuckle that came from Malcolm’s chest caught him off guard. It felt rusty, worn. Fuck if he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt…relieved to see her. Pleased even. He’d checked in on the status of her safety with the wolf rangers at Yellowstone each day she’d stayed there, making certain they checked in on her, remained vigilant, but in the twenty-four hours since she’d left, giving her space had been hard. He hadn’t wanted to be impatient—moody and brooding, as she’d no doubt call it.
His laugh didn’t go unnoticed.
Trixie beamed. “So you gonna keep starin’ or you gonna invite me in, sugar?” she called out to him with a saucy little grin.
He did, in fact, invite her in, and so far, he didn’t regret it. Though he did regret not checking in on her sooner. The sound of the growl that tore from his throat as she finished describing the state of her apartment was nearly as harsh and feral as that of the mangy mutt now grumbling at him from beside her feet. It’d taken Dakota, the pack’s veterinarian, and a whole hell of a lot of coaxing from Trixie and Blaze to get the thing to stop snarling at him.
The fact that it liked Blaze and not him spoke volumes about the canine’s intelligence.
Dumplin’, his ass. Cujo was more appropriate.
Trixie stirred the cup of hot tea Blaze had made her in a mug Malcolm was fairly certain belonged to Sierra, Maverick’s mate and the pack’s first female elite warrior. It read, I make men cry. Trixie dumped far too much sugar into the steaming liquid, stirring before she took a dainty little sip. Her lips stained the mug rim red. “So I packed my things and I came here,” she said, finishing her story as though she’d been sharing her latest vacation plans.
All syrupy smiles like southern sweet tea.
While a Rottweiler slept at her feet.
The woman would be the death of him. The mere thought of her fear, the state of her apartment, and those damn plants she’d loved smashed to bits made him want to smash something. Namely Stan, and also Boss for failing to protect her. Malcolm’s wolf stirred inside him uncomfortably. They’d been together exactly once, and already his feelings for her had gone too deep. Enough to give her the power to hurt him.
He’d come to regret that. He was certain of it.
But he couldn’t seem to control it.
“And that was it? Your apartment was trashed? No note? No warning? Anything?” Maverick watched Trixie skeptically.
She lifted a sculpted blond brow. “The trashed apartment isn’t warning enough?”
She wasn’t wrong. It sent a clear message all its own.
Trixie drew another sip of her tea, seemingly unaware of how closely every wolf crammed into Maverick’s office watched her. Malcolm, Blaze, Dean, even the Grey Wolf packmaster himself… They were all hanging on her every word. She may not be a shifter, but witch or not, she had her own power all the same.
“Clearly the Triple S is looking for me,” Trixie said when she’d finished sipping. “I know you’re real important, Maverick Grey, being leader of this pack and all, and a little witch of a bartender like me ain’t even a blip on your radar most days, but as far as I’m concerned, you owe me.” She held Maverick’s gaze from over the top of her tea mug, refusing to look away.
To a wolf, it was a sign of challenge, and considering how many shifters she’d dated and served at the bar, Malcolm was confident Trixie knew that. For a woman whose heels barely made her over five feet tall, she had balls bigger than most for challenging the Grey Wolf packmaster. He’d give her that.
Not to mention a pussy he’d kill a man to taste again.
Malcolm swore under his breath. He was fighting hard to ignore that, but his wolf and his cock weren’t having it. She was like a siren to him. The moment she’d climbed into the pack truck’s cab and the smell of gardenias and honeysuckle in her hair hit him, he’d been done for.
Maybe he had been from the very start.
Trixie broke Maverick’s gaze first, ending their standoff as she grabbed a carved wooden coaster from the side table next to her. She placed her tea on top of it. “I saved your second-in-command’s life and his human mate’s. A dead human in the Midnight Coyote in connection with a member of your pack would have caused a real mess for you with the Execution Underground. I didn’t have to do what I did, but I saved both of them out of the kindness of my heart.” She looked to Maverick again. “Now I’m asking you to kindly save me.”
Maverick shook his head. “That was several years ago, and he wasn’t my second-in-command then. Nor were they mated yet.”
“Only by a handful of days.” Trixie waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s not split hairs, Packmaster.” Not sugar. Not darlin’. Not when this clever woman was doing business.
Trixie knew how to get her way.
Malcolm might have found it impressive if it wasn’t so damn manipulative.
“I’m normally one to offer sanctuary to the pack’s—” Maverick’s eyes darted toward Malcolm. Blaze had likely filled the packmaster in on the gossip of the tension he’d witnessed between Malcolm and Trixie. The pack was worse at keeping secrets among one another than a knitting circle of old women.
“Friends,” Maverick continued, choosing his words carefully. “But the pack is facing extenuating circumstances right now. All our resources are maxed.”
“I swear I won’t be a bother. I eat like a pigeon and I ain’t above crashing on a sofa, and if by circumstances, you mean that the Triple S is partnering with the vamps and the Volk and all three of ’em are gunnin’ for you, I can help with that.” She folded her hands in her lap prettily. “I already have, as I understand it.”
As sweet as sugar but as poisonous as venom.
Malcolm was starting to respect the hustle in that.
Maverick frowned. “Unless you have any further information about the Triple S, we can take it from here.” The packmaster was using his I’m-about-to-lose-my-patience voice, which was Blaze’s cue to swoop in and lighten the mood.
Blaze thumped Malcolm hard on the back, flinging an arm over his shoulder like they were good pals as he pointed to Malcolm. “Shaking down vamps is Mac’s specialty.”
Malcolm scowled. “I’ve told you not to fucking call me that.”
Trixie didn’t miss a beat. “That’s your plan then? To grab one of Cillian’s lower-level guys and rough ’em up a bit?” She blinked up at them with those wide amber eyes, thick, dark lashes fluttering.
The room fell silent. Trixie knew far more than any nonpackmember should, simply by the nature of her truth-telling abilities, the manner in which the Midnight Coyote operated, and more than a pinch of quick wits. If Maverick didn’t trust her, at least in part, he would have been remiss in even allowing her in the same room as them.
“I can help with that,” she said, breaking the tension. The sleeping canine at her feet stirred. She gave it a pat, then took another dainty sip. “I’m willing to earn my keep.”
“No.” Maverick’s word was final. He stood as if he’d heard enough of this.
“It’d be too dangerous. You wouldn’t be able to wear a wire,” Blaze explained.
“I don’t need one. I know how to handle powerful men in a bar, sugar. Whether they’re shifters or vamps.” She shrugged a saucy little shoulder and dared a glance toward Malcolm. “That’s kind of my thing, innit?”
Malcolm refused to meet her gaze. This wasn’t his decision to make.
He might have never felt like he was a part of the crowd when it came to the Grey Wolf Pack, but he was more loyal, more indebted to Maverick than most. Outlaw or not, he’d never dare undermine his packmaster.
Maverick glanced toward him, meeting Malcolm’s gaze for a moment. For a long beat, the gold of his wolf eyes seared through Malcolm, seeming to ask, What does this woman mean to you? Malcolm stared back, letting the answer flow through him.
Nothing. Everything.
He didn’t know the answer yet.
Malcolm lowered his gaze in deference. The subtle nod Maverick gave was nearly imperceptible before his gaze turned back toward Trixie. “You’re really prepared to go into the Blood Rose unarmed, without a wire, and risk your life, all to be protected by the pack?”
The vampire bar hidden in downtown Billings filled a space that had once been held by the Midnight Coyote. Trixie’d be familiar with its layout, its passageways.
“Yes,” she answered readily. “Though one correction, honey.” She twirled a glowing pink finger through the air. “I’m never unarmed. Not completely.”
“I thought you couldn’t see a witch’s magic?” Blaze asked. “Isn’t it invisible?”
Trixie shrugged again. “The pink is just for show.”
Malcolm shook his head. Of course it was.
Maverick frowned. “Either you’re more desperate for protection than you’re letting on or you’re addicted to adrenaline, Trixie. I haven’t decided where to place my bet yet.” He let out a long sigh. “You can stay, but let that poor thing off its leash.” Maverick glanced at Dumplin’s collar and scowled.
“That ‘poor thing’ tried to bite me,” Malcolm grumbled.
Maverick lifted a brow in confusion. “So bite him back?”
It was moments like this when Malcolm remembered he was one of the few among them who hadn’t grown up surrounded by other shifters at Wolf Pack Run.
Dumplin’ let out a loud snore. Finally, relaxed enough to stop growling at him. “Poor baby. He’s stressed.” Trixie patted the dog’s head. “But nobody’s bitin’ my dog.”
“Human canine pets don’t work like that, Packmaster,” Dean corrected.
“I’m not human,” Trixie shot back defensively.
“Close enough,” Maverick said, “which is why the only reason I’m allowing you to stay is because half the women in this pack would wring my neck if I didn’t.”
How Trixie managed to endear herself to all the males of the Grey Wolf Pack and their females, Malcolm would never know.
As if she sensed the same question beneath Maverick’s comment, Trixie said, “They like to keep me on their good side, since they’re all afraid I’ll steal their boyfriends.”
Blaze let out a harsh bark of a laugh.
Malcolm raked a hand over his face.
“But I have no interest in used goods,” Trixie said, as if they were talking tractors instead of many of the Grey Wolves’ warriors.
Malcolm didn’t want to consider exactly how many Grey Wolves, though he wasn’t one to judge. He had his own history.
“I’d never steal another woman’s man. I’m no Jolene.”
The venom that dripped from Trixie’s words gave Malcolm more than a passing sense that they held a deeper meaning.
“Fine,” Maverick answered, stepping away from his desk. This time, the word truly was final. “It’s settled then.”
Trixie lifted a single finger at him, wagging it as if he were a small child instead of the most powerful wolf shifter in North America. “Hold your horses, cowboy.” She smiled sweetly. “I’m not staying unless Malcolm says yes.”
For perhaps the first time in his life, all eyes turned toward Malcolm, and not because they expected he was about to break someone’s neck. The idea that his word held more weight than Maverick’s wasn’t only wrong, it broke all the pack’s customs. But Trixie didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about that. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, and even Blaze had the wherewithal to look not only confused but stricken. Only Maverick seemed to take it in stride.
The Grey Wolf packmaster had always seen the value in Malcolm. Even when Malcolm himself didn’t.
“Malcolm decides then,” Maverick said, ceding the decision to him as if it were nothing.
Malcolm knew without a doubt it wasn’t.
The Grey Wolf packmaster moved toward the office door, nodding for Blaze and Dean to follow him. The other two wolves snapped to attention, obedient—at least when they needed to be. The unspoken rule among the elite warriors that Malcolm had never adhered to was simple: Defy the packmaster if needed, but don’t get caught.
It spoke to Maverick’s sense that no other wolf in the pack was more important to him, no packmember more valued than another. Even him. Being packmaster didn’t make him infallible, simply important, and he appointed the elite warriors in his charge accordingly. Malcolm being one of them.
In that moment, he felt the packmaster’s trust more than he had in nearly a decade.
“We’ll leave you to it then,” Maverick said with a hint of a suddenly amused grin, like he knew a secret Malcolm wasn’t catching on to. The next look he gave them was calm, serious, as searing in its intensity as the cowboy himself.
Malcolm didn’t need Trixie’s truth-telling abilities to read the unspoken subtext.
I trust you. Maverick closed the door behind him. Don’t make me regret it.
There was a lot of that going around of late.