Brand of the Pack Read online

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  The last of her kind

  As the last of the Silver Wolves, and the only female with the ability to produce werewolf offspring, Morgan Carter is a wanted woman. Male suitors from all packs vie for her, and threaten the safety of her young niece, Lana. But there is only one man Morgan wants . . .

  The last of his control

  Greyson Crawford has been through hell and back for Morgan. And he’d do it again. But until she learns to trust him, and lets him claim her as his own, he can’t fully protect her. When a force more powerful than either have known threatens to tear them apart, can Greyson convince Morgan to accept him as her mate once and for all, before it’s too late?

  Books by Tera Shanley

  Silver Wolf Clan Series

  Silver Wolf Clan

  Black Wolf’s Revenge

  Brand of the Pack

  An Unwilling Husband

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Brand of the Pak

  Silver Wolf Clan Series

  Tera Shanley

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Copyright

  Lyrical Press books are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2014 by Tera Shanley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund- raising, and educational or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager:

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  First Electronic Edition: June 2015

  eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-544-8

  eISBN-10: 1-61650-544-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For book lovers. You are the inspiration behind everything I write.

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to Corinne DeMaagd for her work on cleaning up this story. To my husband and children, who put up with my ever-shifting work hours. For my parents, Paul and Paula Muller who always support me in whatever crazy schemes I come up with. And finally, thank you to Lyrical Press and to Renee Rocco for giving this series a home.

  Chapter 1

  Pain rippled through Morgan Carter, and her hand slipped from his grasp. She stretched her fingertips toward his warmth, but the rest of her body had already hunched in on itself like a tiny grenade before the explosion. The tingling waves that washed over her skin said there was no turning back. She screamed.

  Greyson Crawford turned inhuman golden eyes on her. The color was so bright they looked yellow in the saturated afternoon light. He crouched, as if driven by instinct to prepare for some unseen danger.

  The only danger near his cabin was her.

  She thrashed as her bones snapped and stretched and burning tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

  He hovered, not quite touching her. To do so would mean blinding pain added to the agony. Plus, she would bite his hand clean off. “Do you want me to Change with you?” Worry laced his words.

  “No,” she growled out through a mouth that elongated with the popping sounds of a hundred tendons stretching. Her wolf wasn’t shy about her intentions, and she didn’t want him to see what she was about to do to his property.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be on the porch when you’re finished.”

  He left her to die in pieces alone. Bless that man.

  What started as a quick Change slowed and gradually stalled. She was at the dreaded in-between state that haunted her nightmares on a regular basis. She whined but couldn’t do much more. Her legs protruded at odd angles from her hips, and her chest had only half ripped through her nicest shirt, the bottom buttons still intact. She had specially picked out the cobalt-colored blouse when she’d decided to take a more proactive approach to winning her mate back. Sure, wearing his favorite color might not garner his forgiveness instantly, but it was a start. Damn the white-furred little beasty ripping out of her. Being Silver Wolf was hell on the wardrobe. It was hell on every part of her life.

  Her skin was hairless and the exposed muscle was misshapen and malformed. Panic washed over her like stormy ocean waves, and she tried to scream for help. She was going to die there in the yard by the bull nettle and bluebonnets.

  Against the debilitating sun, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. It hurt. How could a living soul survive a hurt so bad? The smell of her fear was bitter and metallic against the soft sensors that lined her nostrils. She couldn’t go out like this. She was Morgan Carter, the only living silver wolf. Survivor, fighter, werewolf—she’d been attacked, kidnapped, and had lost the man who meant everything to her. And dammit, she wasn’t leaving this earth until she had a chance to make things right with Grey.

  She ignored the blood that had started to water the plants beneath her and pushed the Change. Wicked slow, it started again, and she gritted out a groan through her clenched teeth. Grey would hear her struggle because he was the Demon Wolf, Beast, Bringer of Death. His heightened senses made him lethal—and also impossible to hide from.

  She lay spent and panting from the stress of the unexpected Change.

  No. The human part of her feebly protested but instinct and animal ruled now.

  Morgan stood on all fours and shook her head to try to rid herself of the uncomfortable buzzing that ran through every muscle fiber. It took a second to remember how this strange body worked. Oh geez, she was really going to do this.

  Please, please, please, please. Don’t let Grey see what she was about to do to his yard.

  She found the nearest tree to the house, sniffed once, then popped a squat. Spritzing the tree, she moved on to the next.

  Lovely, the irritated human side of her groused.

  Her wolf growled. Marking her territory felt right. Grey was hers. She wanted him even after everything they had been through: his Change, the murder of her sister at the teeth of his maker, finding each other again only for her to pull away from him when their bond became too intense. And Montana—her own personal hell. After all, it seemed he still wanted her too. This sprawling new land that her mate had set up for his growing pack didn’t smell like her home. Not yet.

  She lolled her tongue out of the side of her mouth in a wolfish grin and sprinted for the woods. She’d have to change that.

  Thorny mesquite brush and feathery grass taller than her ears doused the land in a dangerous beauty. Cottonwood seeds floated the wind like snow, and sunlight, as gold as her mate’s eyes, permeated the thick canopy of oak. This place was magic.

  Birds called back and forth from the gnarly branches above. Squirrels flung themselves with reckless abandon through the trees, and the erratic heartbeats of bunnies, hiding in their underground homes, sounded and faded as she trotted past. Deer trails snaked through the woods, like roads on a map, and she followed one to a creek.

  And everywhere, everything smelled like Greyson.

  She’d missed his scent more than anything else. That tiny, unco
nscious reminder that he was around, and she was safe. The months without his smell had done something terrible to her heart.

  Cool water lapped against her mouth as she drank from the creek. As she sat on the bank, tadpoles and minnows swam in tiny sanctuaries made by reeds and felled branches, and somewhere nearby, a bullfrog croaked.

  Her timing wasn’t awesome. She’d visited the apartment in the city to beg his forgiveness, but an elderly lady with neon blue hair had answered instead. She’d never heard of Greyson, and when she called Rachel, first lady werewolf of the Dallas pack, to figure out where Grey was living, she never would’ve guessed he would be so close.

  And how in molasses did Grey have the means to buy land and a giant log cabin like this? The man had some major ’splaining to do.

  She loved him. God, she loved him so much it hurt to be away from him, but the damage done by the Montana pack that had kidnapped her was as wide as a canyon. Such trauma had a cost, and the price had been her soul. He would see how broken she was now, but wasn’t that what love was all about? Sharing your life completely with someone. Displaying your flaws and asking them to accept all of you, and in return, doing the same for them.

  She didn’t know. Maybe this was all too soon and she’d break them both by coming back in her weakened state. It wasn’t just Grey she had to apologize to either. He had Wolf. Or maybe Wolf had him. Wolf, that stoic, scary beast of a creature who loved her differently than any human ever could, but who also scared the ever-loving dookie out of her on a biweekly basis. What if she pressed a relationship, and her tainted heart brought out his dominant instincts?

  Visions of Grey snapping her kidnapper’s leg with a rabid smile on his face flashed across her mind and sank her heart like a river rock thrown in the babbling creek before her. No, he’d never turn that churning darkness he possessed onto her, no matter how broken she was.

  Grey loved her. Wolf had chosen her as his mate. She had to stop running from fate and get on with her life already. And if she wanted a shot at happiness, it was going to be with him.

  A fat fly buzzed lazily around her, and she snapped at it. Missed.

  Ugh, what if I’d actually caught that?

  Being a werewolf was gross.

  The breeze picked up, laced with Grey’s scent. She perked up and followed it to a deer trail he must’ve frequented. She snaked through the woods on the path and tried to see it through his eyes. He was building a pack, and first in it would be Marissa, the young werewolf he’d taken under his care. He had needed land to hold a pack and secured it somehow. Ducking low-lying limbs and jumping felled logs, she wove through the land he so obviously loved. His smell drifted this way and that, sometimes sticking to the trail, but more often weaving through the trees like something had caught his attention. Prey perhaps.

  Mushrooms and moss, plum trees, day lilies, and Indian paintbrush dotted the land with color. Grey must have planted the acres of alfalfa and corn that stretched across open fields. Morgan sat and cocked her head. Clever black wolf. He was bringing in an active population of deer to his land.

  His scent marked the edges of his territory as if there were an invisible wall and she ghosted the outskirts, familiarizing herself with the creeks and crags, rock faces, ledges, animal trails, and water sources. She marked as much as she could with her own scent, rubbing against tree trunks and squatting wherever the feeling took her. She was a right proper little animal.

  A long and dehydrating couple of hours later, she returned to Grey’s log mansion. From the shadows of blackberry brambles hidden away from the house, she lay down and waited. Her Change back hurt but not like before. She expected the transition this time and didn’t fight the pain. Even if it was excruciatingly slow, her fears the Change would stall again went unwarranted.

  On the sprawling front porch, Grey waited with a small stack of clothes that smelled like laundry detergent, mixed with his intoxicating scent, and a glass of ice water. Even in her human form, her sense of smell stayed heightened. His eyes were steady upon her, glinting with worry, and she smiled as the last of the soreness left her body.

  He stood at her approach, his gaze dipping to her bare hips and chest. A wicked smile spread across his face, and she paused at the top of the stairs. It should’ve felt strange to be vulnerable in front of him again after their time apart, but it didn’t.

  Like an oncoming storm, his eyes darkened, and he dropped his head and cleared his throat. His hair, shoulder-length and the color of sand, fell forward, hiding his frown. He was probably reliving her awesome little panic attack she had when he kissed her earlier. “I brought this for you.” He handed her a shirt, and she cast a baleful look at her shredded blouse in the grass.

  “I dressed up for you.”

  He hadn’t shaved in a while, and the short, blond scruff on his jaw tempted her to touch it. Afraid of the rejection, she stilled her itching fingers.

  “I know.” His smile was back on a smaller scale. She’d take what she could get.

  She pulled on the oversized T-shirt, made for a Sasquatch-sized man who stood well over six feet tall with wider shoulders. It hung down past her knees like an ill-fitting dress. She probably looked like a twelve-year-old at a slumber party.

  Ice cubes clinked against the sides as he handed her the water glass. “Thought you might need this,” he said with a knowing grin.

  Heat crept up her neck and she looked away before it reached her cheeks. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “Sorry for—” She waved her hand toward his newly watered forest. “Well, you know.”

  His golden eyes narrowed. “I’ve noticed something.”

  “That my wolf is disgusting?”

  He chuckled deep in his throat, the sound so close it sent a tremble up her back.

  “No. I don’t think your wolf ever wanted you to leave me.” He looked over the clearing around the house, his land. His territory. “If she were okay with it, she wouldn’t have pushed for such an immediate show. She couldn’t even wait to mark this place up.”

  Swallowing hard, she admitted, “Neither of us wanted to leave. I was just so scared of what we were, I let it consume me.”

  He reached out and rested his strong hand against her hip. The cotton of her T-shirt bunched underneath his fingertips, and warmth radiated down her thighs as he ran his thumb in lazy circles over the cloth. Inhaling, her breath turned ragged at the intensity of his gaze.

  His voice was so low, it was more vibration than sound. “I remember. I didn’t at first, but now I remember the way I touched you after Montana. The night after I found you.”

  Clenching her hands against the shaking, she pursed her lips. If he even knew how many times she’d relived those moments, he’d run. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I thought it was just Wolf with me that night. I should’ve said something sooner.”

  “Hey, I’m not mad.” He stepped closer, his shadow encasing all of her. Fingers splayed, he brushed the top of her leg and leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear. “I’d never be mad at what you let me do to you.”

  He gripped the shirt and the first tendrils of panic spread through her, inky and suffocating.

  As if he could sense the change, he pulled away. “Come on,” he said with a jerk of his head as if he hadn’t almost seduced her into a lusty coma. “I have something to show you.”

  Chapter 2

  Grey opened the front door to his home and waited with a rakish smile while Morgan tried to remember how to use her legs. One touch and a few naughty words and that man turned her into a noodle.

  The interior of the log cabin was a different world. It looked like a Colorado mountain retreat right here in the middle of Texas. To the right was a great room, and on her left were the kitchen, dining room, and living space. Nice and open, just like her wolf preferred.

  Despite the large area, there were enough furnishings and home decor that it didn’t seem overstated or cold. The place still smelled new, like s
awdust and leather. The ceiling over the entryway was lower than the vaulted one in the great room, and she padded forward and tilted her head up. On the left, wide wooden stairs rose out of the floor and led to an open room above them, surrounded by wooden railings.

  “It’s a loft,” he said. “I figured Lana could make a play area up there and have her own space where we could still watch her from the kitchen and living room.”

  Lana was her niece and now her ward. She had taken over guardianship of the three-year-old when a werewolf had attacked her sister on a camping trip last year. Grey had been able to save her and Lana, but was too late to protect Marianna, Lana’s mother. The monster had Turned Grey as its last revenge, but human or no, Grey had been wrapped tightly around Lana’s little finger from first sight.

  She would love the loft.

  Across the great room, a beautifully rustic, curving wooden staircase led to a second floor. Grey’s hand was warm and steady as he pulled her toward it. He started taking them two at a time in his haste, but slowed when she failed to rush. She was too busy looking around, amazed at the home he had built. He waited for her at the top, then led her down the hallway to a bedroom door. After he opened it, he stepped back and stared at her intently.

  As she entered, the door creaked open to reveal a fairy princess bedroom. A white canopy bed loomed on the far wall, and a purple cartoon tree and bird drawings graced the wooden walls behind. In addition to the dresser and antique white nightstands beside the bed, there was a child-sized makeup mirror and chair and a toy kitchen perched on a thick white rug in the corner. A large white rocking chair sat next to a full bookshelf.