Cry of the Wolf Read online

  CRY OF THE WOLF

  KAREN WHIDDON

  To my daughter, Stephanie, who realizes what kind of life she doesn’t want to have. For her work with children and her constant goal of self-improvement, I want her to know how proud I am of her and how much I love her.

  To my editor, Natashya Wilson, whose brilliant editing made my last book much better and who cheers me on and is always positive.

  And lastly, to my husband, Lonnie, for being all a man should be.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Coming Next Month

  Chapter 1

  Jewel Smith slipped from her dark rental house and padded across the dewy lawn. Dawn crept across the velvet sky, tinting the night with subtle trailers of rose and amethyst. Soon, the awakening sun would blaze over the horizon, shooting flashes of light off the unruffled surface of the lake.

  Tranquil. Quiet. A perfect time for a new beginning. If she could manage to slow her heart rate and still the fine tremors that shook her.

  Even though she’d escaped, even though she had her freedom, she was still trapped. Trapped inside a body being torn apart, a body where one half warred with the other.

  Though her new life had begun the moment she’d fled, she wouldn’t consider herself truly living until she could once again change. Her other self, residing inside her always, howled restlessly, insistently, for release. The wolf needed out. Shifting from human to wolf was such an integral part of her that she’d die if she couldn’t do it ever again.

  She could no more stop trying than she could stop breathing.

  Slipping through the trees, avoiding an intricate spiderweb glistening with morning dew, she came to the edge of the still water. Out on the main body of the lake, the bass boats were already gathering, the fishermen intent on their lines. None had entered her sheltered cove. Perhaps the fishing was bad in the water near her cabin.

  To make certain she would have privacy, she’d spent the past two mornings out here, hiding in the trees, observing, watching for intruders. Paranoid, because Leo had made her that way. Alone, because she’d be dead if she trusted anyone from her old town. And damaged, knowing she had to get up the nerve to try to shift, to become her other self, the sleek and deadly ivory-coated wolf.

  Fingering her long silver wolf necklace, she trembled, remembering. The last several times she’d attempted to change, the war raging within her body had become worse, as had the pain. So far, she’d survived, though the raging urges that shook her could find no release. She wasn’t sure how much longer this would hold true. Changing was absolutely vital to her continued survival.

  Somehow, though she wasn’t sure what he’d done to her, or how, she knew Leo, her ex-husband, was responsible. Hadn’t he told her often enough he wished her dead?

  But he’d taken such pleasure in her suffering; she’d known he’d keep her around until she went stark raving mad. And beyond.

  At least now, she didn’t have to endure the violent rapes when she was too weak to defend herself.

  Or the beatings. Or the…

  She shuddered, stopping her thoughts. She was free now, finally clear of a man she recognized as inherently evil.

  But his evil still tainted her, lingering on her skin, in her blood. She was a shifter who could not shift, a broken woman who refused to give up. Truthfully, she had no choice.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. The air’s heavy humidity promised the day would be a scorcher. Dipping her toe in the tepid lake water, Jewel squared her shoulders and lifted her face, letting the breeze caress her skin. She smelled nothing but lake water and fish, humidity and freshly mowed grass.

  Now. Heart pounding, she took a deep, calming breath. Then, slipping back into the concealing thicket of the trees, she stepped out of her sundress, dropped to the ground on all fours and uttered a quick prayer.

  Now, she would change. She began the process tentatively, hoping for the best.

  Instead of the stretch and pull of her bones lengthening, sharp pain lanced through her. Awful hurt, killing damage, as though her entire body had been caught in a rusty bear trap. No!

  Gasping, she attempted to stand, to reverse what she’d begun, but couldn’t make her own body obey. Desperate, she fought herself, jackknifing as agony knifed through her stomach. Where claws should have sprung from her fingers, bright red blood oozed instead.

  Inside, she felt her body tearing, something deep within ripping her apart. The pain was a slow and vicious torture. She could only hope her death would be swift and soon.

  She made a small cry, knowing no one could hear her. One last shuddering breath was all shemanaged before the edges of her vision grayed and blackness claimed her.

  The quiet moments before dawn were Colton Reynolds’s favorite time of the day. The full heat of a July afternoon was still hours away, and in the faux cool, the hungry sand bass would be schooling, breaking the surface of the water in search of food. Ripe for the right lure, cast by an experienced fisherman.

  A Thermos of hot coffee next to him, he eased his Skeeter bass boat from the slip of his boat dock, heading for his favorite cove at the north end of the lake.

  Three days had passed since he’d been able to get out on the water; three long, miserable days spent down in Austin reporting on the latest political session.

  But now, finally he was home again in Anniversary, and this was the perfect morning to catch a big, fat bass before heading off to work.

  Fishing brought him the only peace he was able to find these days.

  Rounding the turn to the secluded cove, he searched for the white whooping crane that had made the muddy shore its private fishing grounds. He found the bird on the other side of the bank, serene and motionless as the boat chugged toward it.

  The scents and smells of the water teased his nose. He lifted his face to the breeze and took in a lungful of early morning air.

  The point looked different. As he drew closer he realized the unkempt weeds and grass leading down to the lake had been freshly mowed the day before.

  Something else was different, too—the old Pryor place. The run-down cabin had apparently been rented. A beat-up car, maybe an old Buick or Pontiac, was parked crookedly in the gravel driveway.

  The car matched the house. Colton shook his head. He hoped whoever was living there would fix up the structure. The cabin had looked on the verge of collapse for years. He wondered how it was even livable.

  Whistling softly, he cut his motor and dropped anchor. The rope played out to about fifteen feet—not bad for sand bass. He chose a brightly colored spinner lure, attached it to his line and cast, admiring the flash of orange as the lure arched across the water and dropped with a soft plop.

  Contentment—or as close to that particular state of mind as he got these days—kept him still, motionless and waiting. Any moment, the sun would burst over the horizon, welcoming the day in a blaze of scarlet.

  A group of ducks swam past in a loose V-formation, quacking cheerfully. He watched them while he reeled slowly, feeling the resistance the lure made as it spun a few feet below the water. The ducks went ashore in the trees near the Pryor cabin, some settling in the mud at the edge of the water, others heading into the woods to forage.

  As he pulled his lure out of the water and prepared to cast again, the wild ducks erupted in a flurry of noise, taking to the water as though a saber-toothed tiger pursued them.
Colton grinned, straining to see if he could catch a glimpse of what had caused such alarm. Most likely it was some half-starved cat on the prowl.

  There, at the edge of the trees. Instead of an animal, he could have sworn he saw a glimpse of pale human skin shining through the unruly underbrush.

  Puzzled, he set his rod and reel on the deck and pulled anchor. Starting his motor, he eased the boat closer to the shore, running aground in the soft mud. Jumping out, he tied the anchor rope around a sturdy tree and went to investigate.

  Definitely a person.

  Blanching, he swallowed. Took a deep draft of air, trying not to gag. Though it wasn’t the same, couldn’t be the same, he couldn’t help but remember Angela, his daughter. He’d found her, dead and facedown in the dirt, and the image of her crumpled body would forever be burned in his mind.

  This. Was. Not. The. Same. Hell, no.

  He blinked, dragging his shaking hand across his unshaven chin. Not Angela. He hoped like hell he wasn’t about to stumble over the bloated body of some hapless drowning victim, just now washed up on shore. If he did, he wasn’t sure his sanity would survive it.

  Get a grip. He took another deep, shuddering breath. If this was a human body, he’d have to find a way to deal with it. He hadn’t heard of any recent drownings or boating accidents. And as a reporter for the Anniversary Beacon, he should know. But what he’d seen had definitely looked like a body. What else could it be?

  Pushing through the underbrush, he saw in a moment. Facedown in the dried and dead leaves, long blond hair spread around her in a tangled mess of twigs and dirt, lay a woman.

  Young. Shapely. And stark naked.

  He staggered. Nausea again filled his throat. Straightening, he cast his gaze skyward, not praying, not exactly. He could do this, he could. He had to—no way could he leave this woman lying here, alone and unprotected. Especially after what had happened to Angela.

  This wasn’t Angela. His daughter was two years gone, practically the only thing remaining to show she’d ever lived a simple granite marker over her grave. His ex-wife had destroyed everything except the few photo albums he’d managed to save.

  He took a step forward, pushing the past away and focusing on the present, on this woman. Was she dead? He grabbed her wrist, finding an erratic heartbeat. Alive. So far, so good.

  Unconscious though. A slow trickle of blood oozed from under her fingernails, though he saw no wounds. Forcing himself to inspect her body, he saw nothing else. The woman didn’t appear to be hurt in any other way.

  Drunk? Drugged? Or had she been the victim of an attack?

  The sight of her lying reminded him of his ex-wife’s many excesses. Okay. He tried for a charitable thought, knowing not everyone was an addict or a boozer. Was it possible this woman was seriously ill? Or had she been abused or raped? The blood on her fingers could be from her attacker.

  Either way, she was in trouble and needed help. Since he wasn’t a doctor or paramedic, he flipped open his cell phone to call 911.

  “Don’t,” the woman croaked, rolling over and pushing herself up on one elbow. Dried leaves clung to her tangled hair and he fought the surprising urge to brush them away. Instead, he focused on her face. Her startling green eyes, though full of pain, appeared clear and drug free.

  “I don’t know. You were unconscious and—”

  “Please. I’ll be all right.” She blinked rapidly, several times. “Other than my contacts hurting. Don’t call anyone.”

  Slowly, he closed the phone. Something about her…She looked vaguely familiar, though he was certain he hadn’t seen her around town. No one could forget a woman who looked like her. “What happened to you? Are you ill? Were you attacked?”

  “Yes. No.” She shook her head, sending twigs flying from her hair. “I don’t know.” Licking her lips, she regarded him, curiously unself-conscious about her nakedness.

  Colton, however, was only a man. He couldn’t help but glance at her full, high breasts, the sleek curve of her waist, her pale, creamy skin. Immediately, his body reacted. Of course it did. He’d been a long time without satisfying the most basic, human need.

  Damn. He tore his gaze off her, searching for her clothes. A flash of red caught his eye. Material, in a crumpled heap a few feet away. Clothing? He went over and retrieved what turned out to be a soft cotton sundress.

  “Here.” Voice gruff, he handed her the dress. “Put this on.”

  Rather than looking grateful, her brow creased in a frown. Then she nodded, pushing herself up to her knees and dropping the garment over her head. With her emerald gaze still focused on his face, she got shakily to her feet.

  “Thank you,” she said, louder and more firmly this time, her voice silk and smoke combined. “I appreciate your help.”

  Despite the plain dismissal, Colton made no move to go. He couldn’t help but notice that the simple dress, rather than disguising her lush body, enhanced her curves, making her appear even more alluring. Right. If he was young and stupid, which he wasn’t.

  This kind of trouble he didn’t need or want. He shook his head, his body wanting otherwise. Damn and double damn.

  He cleared his throat. “You still haven’t told me what happened to you.”

  “Oh.” Dragging her long fingers through her tangled locks, she continued to watch him, her look unsettling. She eyed him the way a mistreated puppy might watch an angry stranger, as though expecting a vicious kick at any moment. This woman watched him with fear. Why? What did she have to be afraid of?

  Had she been raped? Or was she high on drugs?

  “I—” she began, then shook her head. Her pupils dilated, she pushed herself up, padding over to him on bare feet.

  He opened his mouth to ask a question, freezing in shock when she stood up on her toes and covered his mouth with hers.

  First impulse—shove her away—quickly became raging desire. His body, so long without a woman, reacted instantly, even as his mind shouted out warnings.

  Obviously, the woman was under the influence of something.

  “No,” he snarled, pushing her away, unable to keep his gaze from her ample chest and engorged nipples. Breathing as hard as he, she stared at him. Her green eyes were dark, the color of deep water during a storm. A second later, her face contorted as if she was in pain.

  “I’m…sorry.” The words came in gasps. “Please, leave. Now, before I do something else I can’t control.”

  Fighting his own urges, his own raging lust, he kept his legs firmly planted. “What did you take?”

  Confusion flashed across her expression. “Take? Nothing. I…Please. I asked you to go.”

  Was she fighting the drug, whatever it was? How could he leave her alone, when her life could still be in danger? If she blacked out again, how much time would pass before someone found her?

  Short answer—he couldn’t leave until he was one hundred percent certain she’d be all right.

  When he didn’t move, she closed her eyes, lifting her chin so that her face would be bathed in sunlight.

  “I’m…burning,” she said, inexplicably. Then, as she took a step toward him, he realized she meant with need.

  Sexual need.

  Of course, what little control he’d been able to exert over his own arousal instantly vanished.

  She eyed the front of him, gaze lingering on his conspicuous bulge. “Last chance.” The throaty purr was back. “Go or sate my body’s hunger.”

  He must be insane. He actually considered taking her up on her offer. That was why they called it thinking with the wrong head. He’d gone so long without, and told himself he was used to celibacy, that he could live with that.

  Now, he realized he’d been lying to himself.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. Not wanting to, but knowing he could either retreat or capitulate, he took a step back.

  At his words, horror flashed across her face. “I don’t even know you.” Spinning around, she made a move for her cabin. But her legs appe
ared to give out, and she went down. Hard.

  Pure reflex had him moving toward her.

  “No,” she yelped. “Stop. If you touch me, I’ll completely lose control.”

  “And we don’t want that.” He heard himself say. Staring down at her, lithe and lovely and as sexy as hell, he couldn’t believe he was going to take a pass on what she so freely, blatantly offered. And apparently wanted, needed and couldn’t control.

  What red-blooded male would? He shook his head, wondering at himself, while his throbbing body urged him to touch her. Just once. To go for it and damn the consequences.

  After all, what did he have to lose?

  Only the lake noises broke the quiet as they stared at each other, a few feet separating them. He couldn’t seem to move, to think, or to slow his racing heartbeat.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, feeling like a fool the moment the inane statement left his mouth.

  “Go away.” Struggling to her feet, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I can barely control my own body.”

  “You don’t want this?” He had to ask, one last time to make sure. If she said yes, he knew he’d lose the battle, but if she said no, he’d be able to make himself leave.

  No matter what narcotic influenced her, if she said no, making love to her would be rape.

  “No,” she said, her full lips barely moving.

  He didn’t trust himself to speak. Jerking his chin in a quick nod, he turned to go.

  She didn’t try to stop him.

  Involuntarily, he glanced back over his shoulder at the woman. Motionless, she continued to watch him, the early morning sun sending shafts of fire through her long, golden hair.

  Gorgeous. Pushing the thought from his mind, he climbed in his boat, started the engine and shoved off in reverse, back into the water. There, he waited, watching until she half walked, half crawled into the cabin.