Writing the Wolf: A wolf shifter paranormal romance (Wolves of Crookshollow Book 2) Read online

  He jiggled the box in his hand, which upon closer inspection did indeed look like a toolbox. Certainly not big enough to carry a body around in. That was some positive news.

  I still wasn’t buying it. “Do you just randomly walk around the forest in the dark, looking for plumbing disasters? You still haven’t told me your name.”

  The guy set down the box, and held up both hands in a gesture of supplication. “My name’s Caleb. Caleb Lowe. Margaret hired me to do some carpentry work around the place. I’m staying in the cabin just over there.” He jerked his thumb at the trees behind us. “She asked me to come out and check on you, offer my services for whatever you need.” Caleb grinned again. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

  My shoulders relaxed a little. Margaret had mentioned something about a handyman. But that gorgeous, white face and the thrumming energy surging through my body still left me feeling off-guard. “How do I know you’re not just some crazy dude pretending to be the handyman? I’ve seen a lot of horror films that started with conversations just like this, and they always end up with the heroine slashed across the throat and being dragged into some kind of dungeon torture chamber.”

  “You watch horror films that regularly begin with the protagonist and the serial killer discussing plumbing?” He raised an eyebrow. “Where are you getting your film recommendations, the National Plumbing Association Film Festival?”

  “So you admit you’re a serial killer.”

  Caleb grinned again, then leaned into the closet and tapped the pipe on the wall. “Let me guess, you don’t have any water, right? But the pipe’s making a gurgling noise?”

  “Yeah, that’s about the size of it.”

  “Too easy,” he grinned.

  A flush crept across my cheeks. Thankfully he wouldn’t be able to see it in the dark. “Yeah, well, it’s been a long day. If I’d known I’d be swapping double entendres with an itinerant fix-it serial killer, I would have taken the time to bone up a bit.”

  I wondered if he got that that one was deliberate, but he burst out laughing, and I found my unease melting away. It didn’t help that the strange energy was still flowing through my veins, and my hands were itching to run through his hair.

  “Funny as well as gorgeous, you might be my new favourite neighbour.” Caleb held up his toolbox like a peace offering. “I know what’s wrong because the exact same thing happened to me the first day I moved in. I can fix this in a few seconds for you, if you like.”

  I was still a bit apprehensive, but the energy in my body screamed at me to accept his offer. Besides, I needed to have running water, and all I knew about toolboxes was that they provided a great surface for stacking books. I waved an arm dismissively at the toilet, as if the whole thing really wasn’t that big a deal. “Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out.”

  Caleb set down his toolbox, and took out a couple of strange-shaped tools. He bent down beside the toilet, giving me an excellent view of his tight, muscular ass swinging in the air. A few moments later, his head popped back up again. He leaned in and turned the tap on. Water gushed freely into the sink.

  I flinched a bit, sorry I’d been so suspicious. “Thanks so much.”

  That grin again. Damn, it made my knees weak. “Don’t mention it. It was worth it for the excuse to come over here and meet you. It’s been fun.”

  It’s been fun. Oh, screw Idris, Caleb was the most attractive man I’d ever seen. Clearly, my body screamed for him. It had been so long since Sam Seymour, and there hadn’t been anyone else since. I desperately wanted to be touched, and a guy like Caleb would know his way around a woman’s body, of that I had no doubt.

  I toyed with the idea of asking Caleb in to finish off the wine. As I opened my mouth, a hard thought stopped me.

  Caleb was white.

  I couldn’t overlook that key fact. I wasn’t normally attracted to white men. It probably had something to do with the fact that white men had been a source of much of the misery that had invaded my life, especially in recent years. The police never caught the arsonists who burned down my house, but I knew they were white. It was pretty obvious when you thought about it.

  Sam Seymour, the biggest mistake of my life, had been white, too. After him, I’d sworn I’d never go there again.

  And yet here was the most beautiful man I’d seen, and instead of staring at me with disgust, or calling out some kind of slur, he was friendly, and dare I hope … even a little flirtatious?

  I was all alone here in the middle of the woods, in a forest known for strange occurrences. Only six months ago, Crookshollow had hit the national news after a reporter was found dead, torn apart by some kind of wild animal. There were some mysterious goings-on at an archaeological site, too, and before that, a dead rockstar showing up in perfect health, and some kind of altercation at an art gallery … Clearly, this place attracted weirdos and freaks of the first order.

  Maybe it would be good to have someone looking out for me.

  I couldn’t have a lover, much as I might want one, but maybe … maybe, it would be good to have a friend. Especially a friend who knew his way around a toolbox.

  Just friends, that’s all. It’s okay to be friends with a white guy, if you don’t get involved. What’s the harm, right?

  Right?

  I plastered a smile on my face. “While you’re here, would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

  Oh girl, my brain berated me as I walked up the steps ahead of Caleb, trying not to let my hips sashay too much. You are in for a world of hurt.

  2

  Caleb

  Whoah.

  My whole body shuddered with hot lust. My feet shuffled forward of their own accord, inching me closer to the delicious beauty standing before me.

  When Margaret browbeat me into agreeing to visit the new resident, I had no idea I’d be walking in on the girl I was destined to be with. Literally.

  As soon as my skin touched hers, I knew. The knowledge surged through my veins like an electrical current, turning all my sense on high alert. The smell of her wafted all around me, spicy and rich and feisty, which from our short meeting seemed a perfect description for her. She was the one, my destined mate, the woman who would complete me.

  Damn if the universe didn’t know how to pick them. This woman – my mate – was exactly my type. Shapely legs that never seemed to end, bouncing breasts, one hell of a fine ass, and a smile that lit up the whole sky. Plus, she gave as good as she got. I could tell right away how much fun she’d be, in and out of bed.

  Judging by the look of shock on her face when she slammed into me, she felt it too – the energy thrumming through her veins, the tug of the cord of destiny, winding us together. She looked surprised as she asked me in for tea.

  There was no way in hell I’d refuse.

  I followed her up the steps of the porch, sneaking a long perve at that gorgeous ass wiggling in her tight jeans. My cock was already pressing against my own pants, so while her gaze was turned away, I did a quick little adjustment, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  Her cabin had the same layout as mine, except instead of the battered chair beside the fire, mine had a bright pink vinyl chaise lounge. “You take the armchair,” she said, setting the kettle to boil, and moving the small desk chair over to the other side of the fire. “Sorry for the state of the place. I haven’t had much time to customise it to my taste.”

  “The place looks great. Hey, nice cat.” I picked up the frame on the windowsill and admired the wise little black-and-white face staring back at me. “Why didn’t he come along, too?”

  “He died,” the woman said, her voice flat. Damn, that was the wrong question. Hurriedly, I replaced the picture. Way to kill the mood, Caleb.

  “You still haven’t told me your name,” I said as I quit my circuit of the room and lowered myself into the chair. It sagged in the middle with a giant sigh, sucking my ass right down into it.

  “It’s Rosa. Rosa Parker,” she said. “And before you laugh ab
out it, yes, I was named for Rosa Parks, and no, my parents aren’t immigrants. I’m third generation British, born and bred.” Her tone had turned sharp.

  “I wasn’t going to ask that,” I said, even though I was. “I was going to ask you what made a smart, sassy woman such as yourself choose to rent a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere?”

  “I’m writing a book.”

  I should have guessed. The laptop on the desk by the window. The smashed ereader I’d picked up outside, and the teetering stack of paperback books beside the bed. “Oh yeah. What’s it about?”

  “Huh?” Rosa handed me a steaming mug of tea, and settled herself into the desk chair opposite me, clutching her own cup and crossing her legs to reveal more of her shapely thigh.

  “The book. What’s the story about?” I stared at her intently. “I don’t know many writers, but I’d assume you have some idea about the plot?”

  She stared down at her teacup. All traces of that sassy, sexy woman disappeared from her face. Her eyes betrayed a sadness so deep that I wondered if she even registered my presence any longer. After a moment, she shook her head and spoke, her voice hard. “It’s a tale of revenge. A black woman suffers a great tragedy because of the ignorance and racism of others, and so she sets out on a mission to get back at the people who hurt her.”

  “Sounds brutal,” I said, not sure what to say to that. Fuck, someone had hurt her real bad. This could be tricky. I didn’t do drama. I didn’t do commitment. I fucked and forgot – that was the way it had to be, for everyone’s safety. My cousin Luke had the luxury of being free to marry his mate, but until our family pack was re-established, and our territories recognised, I couldn’t do the same.

  Although … having a mate would have some definite advantages, especially when it came time for Luke and I to decide who was alpha …

  Watching Rosa’s eyes harden, I couldn’t help but wish I could find a way to help her, to sink my teeth into the person who hurt her, and tear out their throat. I rubbed the tingling palm of my hand. I’d had no idea finding my mate would feel like this. No wonder my cousin Luke was so much less grumpy whenever Anna was around.

  Rosa squared her shoulders and sucked in a breath. After a moment, she turned to me, and the sadness in her eyes was gone, replaced by that same sparkling woman I’d been flirting with earlier. But it was too late. I’d seen it, and she knew it.

  You’re hiding something, Rosa Parker. You’re hiding a hurt, way deep inside.

  But now wasn’t the time to call her up on it. Instead, I cleared my throat, wanting to say something to bring us both back into the moment. “How long are you here for?”

  “Until the book is finished,” she said. “I’ve booked the cabin for the whole year, but that was before I’d seen the place. I might go nuts and shoot myself in the head before then.”

  “Don’t do that,” I said. “You’ll totally ruin Margaret’s marketing spiel. Did you know JK Rowling stayed here?”

  Rosa laughed. She threw her whole body into it, tossing her head back, the chuckle beginning deep in her belly and shaking her glorious tits as it rumbled right up through her chest. That was the sexiest fucking laugh I’d ever heard.

  I crossed my teacup over my crotch, hoping like hell Rosa hadn’t seen that hard-on pressing against my thigh. My little rearrangement earlier hadn’t made much difference.

  So Rosa Parker was going to be in Crookshollow for the next year. With Luke away in the US with his new wife Anna, I hadn’t exactly been looking forward to staying in Crookshollow by myself. There was a lot of work to do re-establishing our old pack territory, and when the working day is done, I liked to have fun. “Fun” in Crookshollow meant winning the pie-eating contest at the village church fete. Not exactly what I had in mind.

  But if Rosa Parker was going to be here, that was an entirely different story.

  “I’ve been in Crookshollow for a few months now,” I said. “I have some family business here. I’d be happy to show you all the crazy nightlife.”

  “Oh, yes? What crazy nightlife would that be?”

  “Well, there’s Tir Na Nog, the pub in town. And there’s … absolutely nothing else.”

  Rosa laughed again. “I got that vibe as I drove through today.”

  “The vibe of, ‘Why the hell did I come here?’”

  “Exactly.” Rosa grinned. “I came from an even smaller village near Leeds. I know what small towns are like. I’m really not too interested in getting to know people. I just want a quiet place to write.”

  “You’ve definitely found it.”

  “Yeah.” She grinned again, a warm grin that made my heart beat a little faster. “I think I have.”

  We lapsed into a few moments of silence. I searched around for a new topic to discuss. Odd, I was usually so confident around women, but the sudden appearance of my mate had blown all my usual lines clean out of my head. “Hey, you should add some witches to your book, and a couple of goblins. This would be the perfect setting for it. You know Crookshollow is apparently the most haunted town in England?”

  “That was in the brochure. I don’t write fantasy. At least, not that kind of fantasy. What are you really doing here, Caleb?” Rosa asked, her fingers fiddling with the handle of her cup. “From your accent, I’d say you weren’t born around here, and ‘Family Business’ sounds like a fake excuse if ever I heard one.”

  Baby, you have no idea.

  “Are you a goblin hunter? Is that what brought you to Crookshollow?”

  I shrugged. “I came down from Aberdeen about eight months ago to visit my cousin. He’s in the US with his new wife now. I was going to wander around a bit, wherever I could find work, but this place has kind of grown on me. It’ll be more fun when my cousin comes back.”

  “A vagabond. No fixed abode, no ties, no rules or schedules.”

  “I like my schedules loose,” I said, barely able to keep the grin off my face. “Like my—”

  “If you finish that sentence, I’m going to tip this tea over your head.”

  “Interesting. I’ve never tried Earl Grey foreplay before.”

  There was that laugh again, rumbling through her whole body. My cock strained against my thigh. Restraint was clearly not my strong suit.

  We stayed by the fireplace, chatting for hours about stuff that didn’t really matter – books and movies and favourite sexual positions – long after we’d drained the kettle of water. I fought every muscle in my body not to jump her right there, especially after the words “doggie style” fell so easily from her gorgeous lips.

  But I couldn’t forget that shadow that had passed through her eyes earlier, the darkness in her voice when she’d spoken about her book. I had a feeling that if I pushed things too fast with this girl, she’d bolt so hard.

  The moon was high in the sky when I finally stepped outside and bid Rosa goodnight. She stood in the doorway, those dark eyes gazing into mine, daring me to make a move and, at the same time, begging me not to.

  My fingers grazed her cheek. The energy pulsed through my skin, dancing across the palm of my hand and right down my arm. Rosa jerked her head back, rubbing her cheek self-consciously.

  “Will I see you around, neighbour?” she asked, her voice a mixture of hope and accusation.

  “Don’t forget, I’m right over that ridge.” I pointed east from her cabin. “Just follow the path behind your loo, and you’ll find me, if you need me for anything, anything at all …”

  “I will. Thanks, Caleb.”

  “Seriously, if you need some help with your plumbing, I’ll be over in a flash—”

  “Goodnight, Caleb.”

  I flashed her one last grin, and she shut the door in my face.

  I rounded the side of her cabin and started back on the path toward mine. I drank in the moonlight, my veins buzzing with the electricity of my encounter with Rosa. Fuck, I was practically skipping. Rosa Parker had me skipping like a giddy schoolgirl.

  I passed an area on the path where t
he trees thinned out, and I got a glimpse of the moon. It was waxing, only six days until it was full. I was starting to feel the tug of my shift, the familiar beckoning of wild places and fresh meat that signalled my inner wolf’s desire to take over.

  Not yet, I admonished myself. I get to be human for a few days yet. I need to know more about Rosa. I need—

  A smell stopped me short. A scent trail wafted across the track, so strong even my human nose picked it up. Shit. Fear knotted my stomach, quickly turning to anger.

  I’d recognise that smell anywhere. But it shouldn’t be here.

  My inner wolf called to me, and this time, I obeyed, slipping into the transformation. I toppled forward, my hands hitting the damp, cold dirt. My nails curled over and gripped the earth, as the bones in my legs snapped backward. My ribcage cracked open, the sick churning in my stomach signalling my organs rearranging themselves. I gritted my teeth as my nose dislocated itself from my face, elongating and rebuilding into a completely new shape. Prickles ran along my arms and down my back as a thick pelt of hair burst out from my skin.

  When the transformation had finished, the world blazed before me in a bold new pattern. Colours were muted, the moonlight no longer twinged with cool blue, the green of the trees no longer registering. Scent trails wafted across my nostrils, as distinct as though I were smelling the lines of a master painter.

  Amidst the bird trails and rat pathways emerged two distinctly wolfish scents. Douglas’ two finest warriors, skulking around Crookshollow forest. They passed this spot on the path only a few hours ago, while I was inside talking to Rosa.

  Which meant they knew I’d return this way. They wanted me to know they were here.

  I had no idea what had provoked them after all this time, but the Maclean pack were coming for me.

  And that meant the beautiful Rosa Parker was in grave danger.

  3