When Stirling finds a lost wolf out in the woods of Southern Colorado, the last thing he expects to discover is old pack outcast Tanner. Tanner was the werewolf who never learned to shift, but it looks like he’s figured things out. Except that news reporters are all over the area, looking for a story in Tanner’s old hometown, and Stirling has a wolf pack to protect.
Can he juggle his duties with his dawning need for Tanner?
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~Excerpt~
The woods were too damned quiet. Normally Stirling would hear magpies and jays, chipmunks and squirrels. Today there was hardly a rustle of leaves, which meant someone was in the forest who didn’t really belong.
Lots of folks used the national forest land all the time for recreation or hunting or whatever. The animals got used to that and went about their business. The silence told Stirling that someone was either in trouble, or was doing something they really weren’t supposed to be doing. He checked his radio to make sure it was off, not wanting to alert anyone to his presence. Then he scented the wind, letting his second, and stronger, set of senses take over.
The scent that hit his nose was odd, familiar and not for the half-second he actually smelled it. He frowned. Weird.
Stirling headed west, following the scent, hand on his weapon.
He thought he heard a soft growl as he headed near a copse of pines, but the sound disappeared as he stopped. Still, he stopped and tilted his head, letting his good right ear do the hearing. His left had been perforated once, thanks to a bad fall while he was rock climbing. It had never been the same.
The growl sounded again, the noise heading to his left.
Stirling moved slowly, choosing his steps carefully. He didn’t want to break a stick or send a rock rolling.
He sniffed again, this time the wind brought him a definite scent. A wolf. A male.
Raising a brow, Stirling moved into the shadow of a big pine. The wolf was coming his way, and the wind wouldn’t betray Stirling’s presence, so he just settled in to wait.
The skinny creature came out into the sun, nostrils flaring, fur matted and rough.
Jesus. Stirling could count every rib, could see every frickin’ bone. Where the hell had this guy come from? They were having a good year for water and small game.
The wolf lifted his face toward the sun, chest heaving like bellows.
There was something there, something about the way the animal smelled, something about those weird, too-golden eyes. They were familiar. All of it was familiar, somehow, but this wasn’t one of the current pack. Stirling knew all of them, as far ranging as they were.
It surprised the hell out of him when the wolf just settled, sat right there in the middle of the clearing. That was crazy. Weak, starving, the fool thing needed to find cover. Stirling pulled a gun, but not his service revolver. He got his tranq out instead.
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