What a Wolf Wants (Black Hills Wolves Book 2) Read online

  No. Without the right equipment and time, her vehicle was going nowhere. She wouldn’t even have the engine to run to keep her warm. Freezing to death wasn’t a bad way to go. She’d fall asleep. Taking care of her wasn’t his problem.

  He sighed.

  “Yeah, it’s bad. Sorry.” The apology caught him off guard. In a world where very little did, it made it worth examining.

  Sparing a look toward her, he rose to his feet. He’d allowed her not only to approach him, but to loom over him in a position more suited to a dominant.

  Odder still.

  She barely came up to his shoulder. “It’s okay if nowhere is close. There are two of us, so we can figure this out together. You put on the jacket while I grab one for me.” While she spoke, she’d actually started to shiver, the blue tinge to her lips deepening.

  After closing the hood, he followed her around the vehicle to the trunk. She’d dug out another jacket, slipping it on. But even the soft leather wouldn’t keep the wind out as the force of gusts increased.

  After eyeing the contents, he picked up the only bag looking like a suitcase. “Come,” he ordered as he closed the trunk. No one would disturb the car out here. Most travelers would avoid the long distances between stops in winter. As for the locals, they would catch his scent on the car.

  They knew better than to touch what was his.

  Instead of following him, however, the female remained where she was and stared. “Wow. Do you live close?”

  Nodding once, he then pointed to the woods. It would still take time to get to his cabin, and the snow accumulated at a rapid rate. “Come,” he said again, unaccustomed to having to repeat himself.

  His order had the desired effect. She moved, but instead of joining him, she headed back to the car. “I need to get my purse. Oh, and my phone charger.” Based on a list of two items, her packing should have been quick, but she stuffed more things into the bag in her front seat, all the while her shivers continuing.

  “Enough.” He reached past her, scooped up the bag then tugged her out of the car before shutting the door. She fit under his arm perfectly, and he gave her a gentle push to get moving. “That way.”

  “You don’t have to be so grumpy,” she muttered, but at least she walked where he wanted her to go. “My name is Saja, by the way. Saja Lyons.”

  Saja. The name fit her. He nodded. “Ryker.”

  Five more steps. “Just Ryker? Kind of like Madonna?” She mock-lowered her voice, making a grumbly sound. “Ryker. The name says it all.”

  Seeing no reason to respond to the tease, he merely lifted his brows. “Grey.”

  “Ryker Grey.” No longer mocking, she rolled the name around. He liked the way she said it. “Fits. Sort of mysterious, kind of moody. Though you look Native American to me. Yes, I am aware it’s rude to point it out, but I don’t think people need to pretend to not be who they are.”

  Fair enough. He shortened his pace as the snow deepened. Her jeans soaked through, as did his. The cold crusted up against his skin, while the fabric stiffened. But not once did she complain. Once they were under the cover of the trees, the density of the snowpack lightened. But the storm was fully upon them, and not even the woods would keep it off them for long.

  With a bounce, Saja banged her red, chapped hands together. A reddish hue had hit her cheeks, as well. It was too cold to travel this slowly. He’d buried his fair share of foolish hikers who’d tempted nature’s fury, thinking the cold wouldn’t hurt them if they kept walking.

  Shifting his grip on her bags, he plucked the gun out of her waistband and stuffed it into the open top of her purse. Before she could react to that, he picked her up, swinging her over his shoulder. Her yelp of surprise turned into a grunt.

  “Hold on.” He ran, flying through the snow as he’d longed to earlier. She let out another cry then fisted the back of his shirt, burying her face against him. His body would block most of the wind, and they would be at his cabin in less than a third of the time her walking would have taken.

  Inside, his Wolf let out a howl, and he ran faster.

  Chapter Two

  He-Man didn’t slow down, although what should have been a violently uncomfortable position—sack of potatoes over his shoulder—wasn’t. Which, in her lexicon of weird, deserved a capital W. Saja clung to his shirt. The wild heat rolling off him did more to chase away the chill than she thought possible. At first, she’d objected, but he’d told her to hold on in that gruff, panty-wetting growl, and she’d obeyed.

  Stomach muscles clenching, she tried to watch their route, but the landscape passed so swiftly nausea threatened. She pressed her face to his shirt. Holy crap, he smelled good—crushed pine, wood smoke, and something else—like Christmas if Santa were a six-foot-tall Native American god. The completely ridiculous thought didn’t stop her from relaxing. At least slung over his shoulder, she had no choice but to bury her face into his shirt.

  Of course, the fact she wanted to pull the T-shirt out of her away so she could rub her cheek against the powerful muscles rippling under the fabric was a perfectly reasonable response to his caveman tactic. Peeking from beneath her lashes, she glanced along the length of him to his ass—the man wore his jeans like they’d been molded to him.

  Was he hard-packed everywhere?

  While I’m admiring his ass, he’s racing into the woods. I can’t see where we’re going. Fear punched through the wild cascade of thoughts tumbling through her mind. She stopped playing victim and began to struggle.

  A hand slapped down on her ass with enough stinging force to bring tears to her eyes. She forgot to breathe for a moment.

  “You’re safe. Stop fighting.” The curt order relaxed her.

  What the fuck?

  Every lungful of air she drew tasted of winter, wilderness, and wild man. Choking on a giggle at the alliteration in her thoughts, she wasn’t prepared for the abrupt end to their mad dash through the trees. Wood appeared beneath his feet, but he moved so silently she couldn’t hear his steps over the howling of the wind. A door creaked open then they were inside, the door closing out nature’s fury.

  Before she could process the sudden change in temperature, Ryker set her on her feet. The rush of blood from her head made her woozy. To her horror, she swayed, stumbled, and would have landed on her ass if he hadn’t caught her with one arm. He guided her into a heavily-cushioned wooden chair parked in front of a cold hearth.

  Concentrating on breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth while her equilibrium sorted itself out, she heard her bags hit the floor with a thump next to the chair. The big man knelt in front of the fireplace where he struck a flint. The spark leaped and, in no time, caught the kindling beneath the wood. The crackling sounded positively cheery in the thick silence filling the room.

  Bit by bit, her pulse settled. She glanced around the…log cabin. Good Lord, it was like something out of Little House on the Prairie. The walls seemed constructed from whole trees, cut to fit into each other. The rough-hewn bark was unfinished or unpolished, a throwback to another time. By contrast, the floor was sanded timber and gleamed where it peeked out from heavy, hand-thatched rugs.

  They were hand-thatched. She’d seen similar weaves on a reservation in New York during her doctoral studies. Like those, this one appeared ancient. Heavy bearskin blankets covered what she supposed would be windows—the placement seemed right—and while they added to the primitive atmosphere, they were probably practical.

  Keeps the cold out.

  No sooner did her thought form than Saja’s teeth began to clack together. Either she was in shock or the warmth of the room was enough to make her body realize how cold it was. At the first snap of her teeth, Ryker spun around to look at her. Dark, dark eyes gleaming in the growing firelight arrested her attention.

  Facts, Lyons. Just the facts. We’re in the middle of freaking nowhere, so either he’s a gruff Grizzly Adams kind of hermit or a Unabomber lunatic.

  “You’re cold.” Th
e low, baritone growl sliding along the underside of the words was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard. Hell, if he’d dipped the words in chocolate and fed them to her while lounging naked together in a sunny glade, she couldn’t have found them sexier.

  Dipped his words in chocolate? “What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t think in porn-filled metaphors.”

  Ryker raked her with another look, leaving her panties even damper and her nipples stiffening so hard, they could probably crack ice themselves. That’s the cold. Kneeling down in front of her, he grabbed one of her legs then reached for her shoes.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” She tried to jerk her foot out of his grasp but went nowhere. His large, broad hand shackled her ankle, keeping it exactly where it had been before.

  Digging her hands into the arms of the chair, she grunted, pulling and pulling…nothing. Scowling, she jerked back her other leg in an attempt to kick him only to have her other ankle shackled as well.

  As immovable as his grip seemed, he wasn’t hurting her. The weight of his stare held her as captive as the hands on her ankles, leaving her with no choice but to ask, “What are you doing?”

  Instead of answering, he released the leg she’d tried to kick him with and stripped off her tennis shoe and, after it, the soaking-wet sock. Then he removed the other. Puzzled at the lack of feeling in her feet, she leaned forward, worrying less about the chipped condition of the nail polish, her utter lack of a recent pedicure, and more about the fact her skin was mottled and red.

  Ryker squeezed her foot, but if she hadn’t seen his hands flexing, she wouldn’t have felt it.

  “Um, I can’t really—” She choked off the rest as pins and needles the size of daggers thrust at her skin. “Ow. Ow. Ow!”

  Yeah, she didn’t even bother to disguise the hurt. But he was relentless as he worked both her feet over until tears spilled down her face. When he finally released her, the respite was short-lived because he reached for the waistband of her jeans.

  She slapped his hands. “Don’t you dare.”

  The sniffling threat had little to no effect.

  With an almost harried sigh, he gave her a long look. “You’re freezing and wet.”

  “I’m also locked up in the crazy man’s cabin, thank you, Captain Obvious.” No sooner did she hurl the comment than she regretted it. Really, he hadn’t done anything threatening. “I’m sorry. I’d rather change my own clothes, though. So, if you’ll point me to your bathroom, I can do that.” Of course, he’d have to move because he took up all the space in front of her—unless he expected her to climb out of the chair.

  “Warmer here.” He jerked a thumb toward the fire, which continued to burn merrily.

  Once he’d mentioned the warmth, she realized she was leaning toward the fireplace because the rest of the place seemed almost as chilly as outside. It was also the only source of illumination in the room. Unlike her, Ryker wasn’t squinting.

  “Fair enough, but you can excuse yourself. I’ll change without an audience. Then I’ll be a far more gracious guest.” If he’d give her five minutes, she’d call the state highway patrol to see if they could come get her. No need to wear out her welcome after all.

  With a graceful shrug, Ryker rose. Once again, she was struck by his size. He circled the chair. She twisted to follow his progress. Instead of leaving the room, he merely walked into what looked like a kitchen, though the appliances were another anachronism. They looked like they belonged in the 1950s. He filled a kettle with water from a hand pump.

  Hand pump.

  Correction, maybe the appliances were a lot older.

  Don’t be a judgmental bitch, Saja. Maybe he’s one of those preppers. Living exactly within his means. During her masters studies, she’d lived in an underground bunker for three months with a family who only “surfaced” every six months or so to add to their stock. They and several other families had developed a network of resources. They used the Internet to keep tabs on the “real world” while also educating their children, maintaining social interactions, and more. It had fascinated her—the social demands enforced by such isolation.

  A cabin in the woods was hardly an underground bunker, but from what she could see, he lived with very little excess. Tools hung on a wall near the door. The living area had only two chairs—the one she sat in and another one across from it. In fact, most of the room seemed to be an extension of the hearth, which was effectively half of the outer wall. The fireplace construction had to be solid because the room was warming rapidly as the stone heated.

  “You’re not changing.” Ryker stood over her again.

  She had to swallow a startled scream. How the hell had he moved so quietly? So fast?

  “You didn’t leave the room,” she defended her lack of action. She’d actually missed his presence, which was another item for the weird list. “I’m not really the exhibitionist type, though I did spend some time with South American tribe where the women were topless regularly. I also spent six months working as a stripper to compare the nature of nurturing among women in a field where their value is strictly based on their sexual prowess. But those were controlled research situations. Okay, well, not all that controlled, but the point is, they were strangers—which you are, too—but I wasn’t locked in some cabin with them, and really, you haven’t been anything but nice except for the part where you slapped my ass. That wasn’t especially nice.”

  She paused to take a breath. Ryker hung the kettle from a hook in the hearth she hadn’t noticed before. After, he added more wood to the already roaring fire. The firelight played across the broad planes of his face, giving his mahogany skin a burnished look. He really was the perfect specimen of alpha male, from the economy of movement to the powerful build to the sheer strength of his features.

  Nothing about him said “pretty,” but her hormones didn’t give a damn about pretty. Dangerous, provocative, and appealing—he probably had no problems getting other women out of their pants. Hell, she wanted to shuck hers right now.

  Which was exactly why she planned to keep them on. Water trickled down her leg, and she yelped at the freezing chill. Ryker pivoted. Her earlier comparison to danger had nothing on the near-predatory expression on his face.

  He scanned the room then zeroed in on her. “Change.”

  A whole wealth of information rang beneath the single command. Like, he probably wouldn’t bother saying it to her again. Since he’d had no trouble running flat out with her over his shoulder or keeping her legs captive when he’d stripped off her shoes, she believed him.

  Rising abruptly, she fumbled with the snap and zipper of her jeans. The denim clung to her clammy, cold skin. She struggled to roll them down. When she nearly toppled, the only thing to save her was Ryker’s grip on her arm. Her brain short-circuited at the raw need ripping through her—of course, he nudged her back into the chair and tugged her jeans off with casual ease.

  Curling her toes, she tried to drag her legs up before he got any more of a good look at the pink, lacy panties she wore—or the fact that, like her jeans, they were damp, and not from the snow. This is what I get for not shaving my legs this morning….

  The utterly inane thought crashed through her. She wasn’t prepared for the tug on her jacket or her shirt, but suddenly, she was sitting in nothing but her pink panties because her bra was in her purse. She’d pulled it off while driving.

  Oh, crap. Folding her arms, she hunched forward.

  A blanket enveloped her. It smelled just like him—winter pine, crushed leaves, and good.

  “Thank you,” she managed to eek out past her embarrassment. A brush of his knuckles down her cheek had her stealing a look up.

  “Warm then dress.” He nudged the whole chair closer to the fire before scooping up her damp clothes.

  “Thanks.” She snuggled deeper into the blanket. It took everything she had not to just press it to her nose and breathe in the scent. As potential backwoodsmen kidnappers went, Ryker wasn’t so bad. He’d not l
aid a finger on her other than to help—well, except for slapping her ass. He also hadn’t apologized for his stinging blow yet either.

  He returned a few moments later with a plate and some cups. Before she knew it, she held a steaming mug of hot tea in one hand while he held up a cookie to her.

  Seriously, tea and cookies? She was half-naked…okay, completely naked with a stranger. He thought she would eat or drink what he offered her? She’d seen that movie. She had no desire to wake up chained in some basement somewhere never to be seen or heard from again.

  When she made no move to eat or drink, he sighed so heavily she almost felt bad for being such trouble. Taking the mug from her hand, he took a long drink then ate the cookie—every bite—before picking up another. He offered the second to her.

  “Do you promise you’re not going to hurt me?” Because I’m sure you’re a man of honor, and your word is your bond. Really, Saja? Maybe he’s used to taking poison? Or it’s a trick. The first meal is free, the second has the sleeping drugs in it? Still, that didn’t feel right either.

  “No one will hurt you here.”

  Maybe it was the intensity in his gaze that seemed to see all the way to her soul, or maybe it was the emphasis he put on the words, or maybe she’d gone all Stockholm in under an hour, but damn if she didn’t believe him.

  “Ryker?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I believe you?”

  Honestly, she didn’t care about the cookie or the tea. If he’d wanted to rape her…. Well, hell, he’d already taken her gun and stripped her naked. It wasn’t like she could stop him. Still, dangerous wasn’t the vibe she got from him. Nothing in his actions said he meant her harm. Could he mean someone harm? Oh, yeah, that she had no trouble believing.

  His shrug surprised the hell out of her. “No one will hurt you whether you believe me or not. Eat. Drink. Warm up.” Setting the cookie back on the plate, he made a fresh mug of the tea while letting her watch each part of the process. The tea smelled like tea. The cookies were looking better by the moment.