“It’s natural. All of the animals do it. At least the clean ones who enjoy getting laid. When was the last time for you?” Asher pretended to think for a second before exclaiming, “A long time. Now explained by your refusal to tongue your genitals.”

Before it could devolve into a fight, Amarok—current owner of said raspberry patch and the three hundred plus acres around it—frowned. “If you’re gonna fight, take it somewhere there’s no plants. Astra said she’d skin the next person who trampled any of them.”

A warning meted out while she sharpened her knife. Only an idiot would peeve the very pregnant and hormonal Astra.

“Is she watching?” Asher turned a fearful gaze behind him. Having had his hair shorn for trimming a bush because its branches were tickling his car, he knew better than to touch a single leaf on any of her plants.

“She’s always watching,” Amarok grumbled. But good-naturedly.

Astra was like a sister to them. As were Poppy and Nova, despite the fact they shared no blood. At the ranch, family was the people you trusted.

“Back to the piss. Any ideas who did it?” Amarok asked. Not one of them, and not only because they knew each other’s scent. No one living at White Wolf Ranch—the name his uncle gave it when Amarok moved in as a teen—would do such a dick thing.

“Odd spot for a hiker to get lost,” Asher remarked.

The ranch was so far off the beaten track that no one ever came out here. The rumors of wolves in these parts helped, too.

“Whatever pissed contaminated the scent with asparagus,” Amarok growled.

Asher gagged. “Oh, gross.” Everyone knew its pungent effect on urine.

It indicated planning, which raised Darian’s brows. “Are the bears testing our borders again?” They’d had a problem last year with a few wild ursine looking to expand their territory.

They learned their lesson quickly when the wolves that kept hikers away chased them well past their boundaries.

“Could be,” Amarok conceded. “Although the asparagus would indicate they’re raiding someone’s garden. I don’t know of any in the area other than ours, and we don’t grow that nasty shit.” Because none of them could stand the smell of their pee after.

“What about tracks?”

“It’s the weirdest fucking thing.” Darian shook his head. “Whoever pissed somehow covered their tracks into the patch and out.”

Which meant the marking was a message. A warning, perhaps, but from whom?

Standing by the bay window in the living room, Asher randomly remarked, “Did Big Betty give birth?” Big Betty being the name for their diesel Ford truck painted a bright cherry red with one fat white stripe slashed horizontally across its middle.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Amarok glanced out the window. A modern hybrid car was parked in his driveway. It was a small two-door, the same hue as his work truck, and so silent he had not heard it pulling up the road to the house.

“Who the fuck is crazy enough to drive one of those out here?” Darian gaped. With good reason. They didn’t live in a civilized area of Northern Alberta. “That thing meets a bison or a moose and it’s scrap metal.”

No shit. Then again, pretty much nothing could survive impact with any of the wild animals roaming this area.

“How many hamsters do you think it has running under the hood?” Asher never took shit seriously.

“Not many, considering the driver is tiny.”

Indeed, the woman exiting the car couldn’t have been more than five feet, maybe a few inches over. Shapely, though. Her jeans hugged rounded hips, and her T-shirt clung to her tits. Nice tits, Amarok should add. He’d know. At thirty-three, he’d stared at his fair share. Bitten and licked more than a few, too.

“Anyone know who she is?” Darian asked.

They didn’t get visitors often at the ranch. Lonely country road in the middle of fucking nowhere—just the way they liked it. Forty minutes from the nearest town, if you could call Fort Mackay a town. Since oil went bust in Alberta, shattering the economy in the north, there were more shuttered businesses than open.

“She’s cute.” Asher finger combed his hair.

“She’s a stranger,” grumbled Amarok.

She carried a binder, leading Darian to say, “Think she’s one of them Jehovah’s?”

“Oh, hell yeah. I’ll take care of her.” Asher’s expression brightened. He began tugging at his shirt. His idea of dealing with religious doorknockers was to strip naked and ask them if they wanted to commune with him in nature.

Amarok—who his friends called Rok—had thought them done with pushy evangelists and others. What part about no soliciting did they not grasp? He lived in the middle of nowhere. It was ridiculous.

“I’ll handle this,” he stated as the petite woman climbed the steps to the sprawling ranch house. Originally owned by his uncle, Rok had inherited the place as the only remaining family.

Rok flung open the door before she could knock and almost slammed it shut as her scent hit him like a slug to the gut.

Mine.

Chapter Two

Such a nice, sunny morning. Meadow got to see it in all its glory on the drive to White Wolf Ranch, a gorgeous place set in the woods. The air was fragrant the moment she stepped out of her car. Pine and green stuff growing. Which her mom said wasn’t a description and yet it summed it up perfectly for Meadow.

Bees hummed. Branches creaked. The noises of nature. She felt utterly at peace and couldn’t help but smile with happiness as the door to the house opened before she could even knock.

Startled, she clung tight to her binder and chirped, “Hi. How are you? Me, I’m feeling pretty darned good. This place is absolutely marvelous.”

“What do you want?” snarled a beautiful man with eyes the most stunning color of amber, which she saw only because she craned. He towered over her, which wasn’t hard to do. He scowled, quite formidably, not that it detracted from his attractiveness.

She’d never truly grasped the term dumbstruck until now, which led to her babbling. “Are you psychic?”

He blinked. Sinfully long dark lashes as silky looking as his hair, which was pulled back from a face with sharp features. “What?”

“You must be psychic. You opened the door as if you just knew I’d be there.” She beamed. Could this meeting be karma?

His displeasure deepened. “It’s called a fucking window. I saw you getting out of your car. If you can call that thing a car.” His disparagement was clear.

But Meadow had been fielding that attitude since she bought it. “Isn’t it adorable? That’s part of the reason I bought it, but it’s got more than just cuteness going for it. I never have trouble parking, and you wouldn’t believe how cheap it is to run!”

“Because you tuck it in your purse and carry it?” he drawled.

She laughed. “You’re funny.”

That only had him grimacing more fiercely. “I’m not funny, nor are cars supposed to be adorable.”

“You must be a truck guy.” She bobbed her head. One thing she’d learned since leaving the familiar confines of the city was just how many people owned big gas guzzlers.

He leaned against the doorjamb. “Yup. Big fucking V8 that could fit two of your toy cars in the back.”

“Guess a truck would be a little more practical given this is a real ranch.”

“As opposed to?”

“A fake one.”

“I don’t even want to know. Are you ever going to get to the point? What do you want?”

“I would love to have a word with the owner of the property, please.” According to her research, it used to be Tomas Silla, but when he passed, he left it to his nephew, Amarok Fleetfoot, who had absolutely no online presence.

“Why?”

“I have something of great importance to discuss with him.” She clung to the edges of her binder and rolled on the balls of her feet. She’d taken a big risk driving out here when she couldn’t find a phone number or email contact.

“Did one of the ranch hands knock you up?”

Her mouth rounded in surprise. “No.” But the mere fact he asked? “Does that happen often?”

Rather than reply, he had a new question. “Are you selling farm equipment or supplies?”

“No, I—”

“Then we have nothing to talk about.” He went to close the door, but she’d not driven this far to give up that easily.

“Please, hear me out.”

“I’m not interested in your sales pitch.”

“No sale pitch, more like a request. And a harmless one, I swear. Won’t cost you a thing.”

“Not interested.”

“But you haven’t even heard me out.” She didn’t mean to pout, but her lower lip did jut, and his gaze flicked to it.

“Doesn’t matter what you want. The answer is no.”

Spoken in a firm tone that indicated he meant it, but Meadow was determined. “I swear I won’t interfere with you or your ranch. I just need access to the creek running through your property.” She finally drew his full attention.

“Why?”

“Because of Weaver.” She hurried to explain. “Weaver is a very rare albino beaver I’ve been studying and documenting since his birth inside a sanctuary. He was recently fitted with a tracker and released into the wild, which was terrifying. He was raised in captivity. He’s not like other beavers.”

“Does he chew wood?”

“He did when he was in our care, but now that he’s free, we have no idea what he’s doing. Not to mention, his coloring makes him stand out. Given how special he is, I’d like to document his progress, which I can only do with your permission since his tracker shows him having chosen your land as his home.”

“If he made it here, then it sounds as if he’s doing just fine.”

“If it is him. Could be something ate his tracker.” She hated saying it, but she had to know.

“He’s not dead.”

“You’ve seen him?”

He didn’t reply, but she could tell.

She clapped her hands. “That’s amazing. If could just have a few days to look? Maybe—”

“No.”

“But—”

“N. O.”

The door slammed in her face.

Chapter Three

Asher, who’d been standing to the side listening the entire time, burst out laughing. “Dude, I can’t believe that just happened.”

Him either. Who the fuck showed up unannounced to ask if they could spy on his land? Document his ass. Even if the little lady spoke true, like fuck. The ranch was a safe place for his kind. Weres. Not one for humans. Although the beaver could stay.

“She’s still here,” Asher whispered suddenly.

Rok already knew. He could feel her on the other side. Didn’t like it one bit. The moment he’d opened that door he’d been hyper aware of her—practically drooled at her scent, orange citrus shampoo and motel soap. She was pretty up close. Mid to late twenties. Hair wild with natural curl. Finger bare. But that didn’t mean shit these days.

“Why isn’t she leaving?” Asher continued to whisper.

They got their answer a moment later as a scrap of paper slid under the door. They all stood there staring at it as if it might explode if they touched it.

All fucking dumbasses. Scared of a little human woman. Amarok snared it from the floor and read the message.

In case you change your mind. She’d included a website address along with a phone number. But the thing that had him balling it up and tossing it into the fireplace? The fucking happy face she drew.

He glanced out the window to see her getting back into her clown car. Since the road only went one place, she’d end up back in town. Good.

She didn’t know what she asked. Letting a human, even a cute and tiny one, poke her nose around his woods wasn’t a good idea. He owned this ranch for a reason, and it wasn’t because it made good money. It didn’t. Or because he liked farming. He fucking hated it. But he loved this place. The only place he’d ever lived and been happy. He had his uncle to thank for that.

Tossed out of his pack at sixteen, he’d been homeless. A lone wolf was rarely welcomed by other groups, especially a boy with Alpha tendencies. The rejection didn’t really bother him since he had no interest in following anyone’s rules but his own.

But living on the streets quickly lost its allure. Desperate, he remembered a letter he’d gotten as a boy. From his mother’s brother. Inviting him to visit anytime. His father refused. A sixteen-year-old on the streets had nothing to lose. It turned out to be the best thing he ever did.

“I’m going for a walk.” Rok remained in is two-legged shape for it, his long, easy stride taking him to the creek and the recently constructed beaver dam. Spotting it brought her to mind, and he growled.

Why couldn’t he get her out of his head? He stripped and ran. A good hard panting sprint that eased some of the tension. Until he got home. The moment he hit his porch, he’d have sworn he scented her still.

Fuck.

He eschewed the front door for the back and stalked inside and snared some clothes out of a basket kept there for just that reason. The mudroom with laundry led to the kitchen, where Poppy, Darian’s sister, cooked at the stove.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” she asked, stirring the giant pot of soup. The twelve-burner stove held two giant cauldrons, and the oven was roasting meat and potatoes judging by the smell. Almost dinnertime.

“Actually, it was Darian’s raspberries that got peed on.” He didn’t yell at Poppy. No one did. She’d come to the ranch along with her brother a few years ago, the pair of them shadow eyed and serious. Like him, they’d had nowhere to go.

“I heard. He is so pissed.” She seasoned a pot before turning to eye him. “Heard we had another visitor today.”

“You don’t have to worry,” he soothed.

“I wasn’t.” She claimed it, and yet she sometimes flinched if someone knocked at the door or the lights flickered. Poppy might deny it, but in her head, the nightmare hadn’t ended.

“You missed the city chick wanting to take selfies with our new resident beaver,” he told her, taking a spot at the counter and reaching for a cookie under the dome. Poppy always had something fresh for them to nibble on.

“The white one?”

“You’ve seen it?”

She nodded. “He’s been busy.”

Meaning the critter was doing well for the moment, but that could change. These woods were wild. Untamed. Dangerous. Like the people living here. They all had their stories. Their very grimness bound them together.

Dinner proved to be a raucous affair, as it always was every night in the massive dining room. The ranch didn’t just come with land and a house. It also had people his uncle had gathered. People like Rok who didn’t fit anywhere else.

After the cleanup, Asher said, “Anyone in the mood to line dance and drink shitty beer?”

No and no, but there was one more thing Amarok could get in town. “I’m in. Just let me shower first.” Freshly showered men tended to have better prospects with the ladies than the scruffy, drunk ones. It wasn’t long before Amarok piled into Big Betty with Asher and Hammer.

Asher had been kicked out of his pack for the sole crime of being a single male, and while he didn’t have alpha tendencies, he was popular with the ladies. Too popular. Hammer came to them because he let his fists do the talking one time too many. In his defense, he had a low tolerance for bullshit. So did most of the people at his ranch.

The drive to town was a long one, but sometimes a man needed to get out of his space and blow off some steam. A bar provided the perfect respite. He already knew Asher wouldn’t be drinking. The man, for all his light-hearted nature, never did. No booze. No drugs. No one knew why, and they respected his privacy enough to not ask.

The closest bar, and the one of choice given their limited options, was across the highway from a lodge that could get busy depending on what hunting season it was. Even in the off times the tavern hopped at night. Unemployment checks didn’t just pay rent and buy food for the men left behind when the jobs ran dry. Not to mention, there wasn’t much else to do.

Seeing the parking lot full of trucks and ATVS, it occurred to Rok he wasn’t feeling particularly social. Maybe he should have stayed home. Then again, the tension in him needed release, the kind found between a pair of willing thighs. There weren’t many options in a town where men outnumbered women by a ridiculous amount. But in good news, a guy like Rok never had problems getting someone to ease his needs. Maybe Patsy would be working the bar tonight. She was always up for a quick pounding in the backroom.

Upon entering the bar, the noise hit him in a wave. Country music. Loud voices that would get louder the more the beer flowed. The thwack of pool cues against balls. The televisions playing constant sports were the only things muted.

Norman was manning the bar. Seeing Rok, the big bald man nodded and filled a mug from the tap.

While Asher went looking for newbies to fleece at billiards, Rok and Hammer found a table in the back. Since facing the room would lead to people either thinking they could chat, or braggarts wanting to challenge, he made a statement by sitting with his back to the door. It wasn’t as if anyone could sneak up on him.

He nursed a beer. Checked out the room. Saw a few women he’d slept with before, even a pair of out-of-towners that would do. None of them really appealed, though. He’d need more beer. Or a different woman…

Unbidden—and unwanted—he couldn’t help picturing the little lady from earlier. Perfectly shaped. But her scent…it screamed danger.

He knew it the moment she entered. Almost choked on his sip of beer as his whole body jolted to attention. It was more than scent. More than being aware of his surroundings and those in it.

Within, something primal—and terrifying—unfurled.

A certainty.

Mine.

Go to her.

Like fuck. He chugged his mug and choked when Asher slapped his back with a drawled, “Don’t look now, but hamster girl is here.”

“Hamster girl?” The name caused Hammer to chuckle.

Rok poured more beer from the pitcher into his glass. It was home brewed and stronger than the stuff bought in a can or bottle. To get really drunk he’d need hard liquor, but he preferred the nicer buzz as opposed to the ugly that came from swigging whiskey.

His dad drank the amber devil, and Rok still remembered the aftermath. His teachers thought he was the clumsiest kid growing up because of course he lied about the bruises. Everyone knew foster care was worst, especially for mixed kids like Rok.

“Is it true? She wanted to study a beaver?” Hammer’s query held a note of incredulity.

“I’d study her beaver.” A comment Asher had made thousands of times before, and yet, in this instance, Rok took offense.

“Watch your mouth,” he snapped.

Asher lifted a brow. “I didn’t realize she was spoken for.”

“She’s not. Just stay away from her. She’s trouble.” His gut said so, and he always trusted it. It had saved him more times than he could count.

“If by trouble you mean the kind of woman to make a man think of settling down. I don’t think she’s the casual type,” Hammer opined.

“Meaning not our type at all, eh, boys!” Asher slapped his hand on the table. “I’m gonna go and see if those city slickers brought anything fun with them.” Asher loved sharking those who came here with their expensive gear to go hunting and fishing in the wilds. Rok might have interfered except for the fact Asher never fleeced them too much. Nor was he a dick about it. Won a hundred dollars playing pool? He bought a round. Score a bag of weed? The joint went around.

When Hammer left to play darts, Rok almost switched seats, which would have given him a direct line on hamster girl. A horrible nickname for someone so delicate. Someone who really shouldn’t be in this type of bar. Then again, what did he know? He’d spoken to her for a minute. Could be he got her all wrong and she was here to party.

It took more will power than it should have to resist the temptation to look, but eventually, when nature called, his head swiveled as he rose. Right away his gaze zoned in on her tucked at the end of the bar, munching on some fries and a burger, a clear fizzy drink by her side.

For a second her gaze met his, as if she’d known when to look. Their eyes locked. Hers widened as her lips parted and then curved into a smile that hit him below the belt.

He replied with a grimace. The urge within that wanted him to go to her could fuck right off.

Not his type. Too happy for one. Too short for two. And he was sure he could think of more reasons. He broke off their staring match and headed for the bathroom to break the seal. It was easy to forget about a woman when standing at a urinal trough that stank, the walls scrawled with missives.

For a good time call…

Joe’s mom is a whore.

Fuck solar.

And then one that caused him to freeze mid-shake.

Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf? Then in a violent scrawl. I’m coming for your pack.

Probably nothing. Amarok and his ranch crew weren’t an official pack, just a bunch of misfit wolves who happened to live in the same place. No legal status with the Lykosium, the group that monitored all things Were. A group he avoided because he knew they wouldn’t be pleased about the number of loners gathered in one place.

Was he being watched?

Most likely he was overthinking shit. Probably some hunter, drunk and excited about a planned expedition. After all, it was legal to shoot wolves, which was why during that part of the season they all knew to stick to their grounds and only go out on four feet at night.

Rok washed his hand and dried them on his pants, grimacing at the wet marks on the denim. Fucking bar could at least install blowers given they weren’t good about refilling the paper towels. Too many fucktards using them to clog toilets and the urinal.

Exiting the bathroom, he thought about calling it a night. Asher and Hammer could keep the truck. He’d stuff his shit inside and head home on four feet. It wouldn’t be the first time.

A glance that was less than casual showed the beaver lady flanked by Wes and Bowie, good-looking local boys, or so the women claimed. But that was on the outside. Inside, they were pure trash. The kind he’d punched out before when they got handsy with Nova. Not that Nova couldn’t handle herself. She’d taken care of one while Rok beat the shit of the other. Only when they were crawling away, crying for their mommas, did he warn them, “Touch any of my friends and next time they won’t find your body ‘til spring.”

The little lady wasn’t his friend.

She was nobody.

Explain why, then, his stride took him to the end of the bar in time to hear her politely but firmly decline their invite to go somewhere private.

“No thank you. It’s really nice of you to offer, but I need to get to bed early for work.”

“We can go to bed,” cajoled Wes.

“We just won’t sleep,” Bowie added, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “We’ll tag team you all night long.”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m not into that kind of thing.”

“Only because you haven’t tried. You’ll have fun. Promise.” Wes wouldn’t let up and hemmed her in close enough that Rok could see the discomfort on her face.

They took away her smile, which really bothered him for some reason.

Leave it alone. Norman would handle it. The barkeep wasn’t one to let women be harassed. But the guy was at the far end, and no one was listening to her polite refusal.

Once more, Rok had no control over himself. “You heard the lady, she said no. So fuck off.” His voice was low. Firm. And despite the music, they heard.

Their heads swiveled. Wes snapped, “You fuck off!”

Amarok grinned. “Hello, boys, remember me?”

Judging by their blanched expressions, they did. Bowie backed away first. “We didn’t know she was from the ranch.”

“She’s not.” A dumb thing to admit given his interference.

“I’m afraid Mr. Fleetfoot won’t let me study his beaver.” A guileless reply that almost had him rolling his eyes, especially since it led to Wes and Bowie snickering.

“His beaver, eh? Always thought he looked girly with that long hair.” Wes snorted. His own pate was shaved down to hide the signs of balding.

Just one slap. One. His fingers itched.

But his rescue came from elsewhere with a pert, “Only the ruggedly handsome can carry it off.” She eyed Bowie with his shaggy waves of hair. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

It was elegantly done. She took a sip of her drink while Bowie turned red.

While her head was bent, Rok mouthed, Fuck off.

The two dicks, who really should think about relocating before their bodies were discovered after a snow melt—tragic accident—moved away to harass someone else. Before Rok could leave as well, she turned a smile on him that sucker-punched his dick.

“Thanks for helping me out there. They really were persistent.”

“We don’t often get new folks around. Especially pretty female ones.”

“Thank you.” She blushed.

He scowled. He shouldn’t have said pretty. He wasn’t trying to flirt. “You should be careful. Some of these guys don’t take no for an answer.”

“And some know how to use it all too well.”

For some reason, the smartass reply made him grin. “Never was a yes man.”

“I take it your sudden interest in my presence isn’t about changing your mind?”

“No.”

“I don’t suppose you could explain why? I really wouldn’t get in the way. A few weeks of me studying Weaver, taking pictures, and I’d be gone. I promise you wouldn’t even know I was there.”

He highly doubted that. “It’s not safe in the woods.”

“Because of the bears. I know. I have a bell.”

He blinked. “What’s a fucking bell supposed to do?”

“You ring it, and it scares them off.”

His jaw just about hit the floor—and almost didn’t recover given the filth. “What fucking moron told you that?”

She gnawed her lower lip, tempting him something fierce. “The guy at the sporting goods store assured me it was the thing to have. And I saw a few videos.”

“A tiny bell ain’t scaring off a grizzly. Even if it could, it won’t do shit for wolves.”

More sucking on that lower lip had him almost growling. Did she realize what kind of invitation that sent?

“Are they active in these parts? Have you had attacks?”

“Yes.” Mostly because the ranch raised animals they could safely hunt. Being a shifter meant enjoying a fresh kill from time to time. “The woods are dangerous.”

“Oh.” Such a small sound.

He felt like the biggest cur for wiping her smile. Still, it had to be done. He didn’t need a cute little human poking her nose where she shouldn’t.

He threw her a bone. “Tell you what. If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep an eye on your albino beaver.”

“Will he be safe with all those wolves and bears around? He doesn’t have the same camouflage as others. How will he hide?” She sounded genuinely worried.

With good reason. “Only the strong survive.”

He didn’t realize he said it aloud until she stood, barely reaching his chin, and frostily said, “I see. I’m sorry to have wasted your time. Good evening, sir.”

And then she walked out.