Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(27)

Too much wine? But she’d only had a couple glasses and that had been a while ago. Plus she’d eaten well and had all that exercise…

Still, the thought that she might be driving impaired knocked the edge off her impatience. It would be terrible if Diesel was off risking his life to save his friends while she was off killing herself or someone else drunk driving.

At a wide spot in the road, she steered the van carefully to the shoulder.

She clicked on the interior light and pulled down the visor mirror. Did her eyes look a little glassy? Certainly her cheeks seemed flushed, almost feverish. She put her palms against her face and was startled at the warmth. The van was always a little drafty; had she turned up the cabin heat too high?

Maybe a quick nap was in order. She just needed a safer place to pull over. There’d been that sign behind her. Maybe it was a county park or something. Back in the day, the band had spent plenty of nights parked in dubious locations.

Checking again for oncoming lights and seeing nada, she spun the van and headed back the way she’d come.

At the dull reflection of the sign, she pulled into a rough gravel turnaround. The headlights beamed on a triple row of barbed wire blocking the path that continued out into the scrub.

But her gaze was fixed on the sign. Well, hell. That was kind of unnerving. She recognized the symbols for hazardous materials. Out here? Why? Seemed weird.

But it looked old, with shotgun pockmarks edged in rust. Plus, obviously no one was going to come at her through that barbed wire. At least this was better than sitting right on the side of the road while she sobered up.

She leaned over to pull a map from the glove compartment. There was pretty much nothing between Angels Rest and Vegas. Probably not even a speed trap. She sucked on her lower lip. Maybe she should just keep driving.

But once she’d thought of hurting somebody with a stupid choice like driving under the influence, she knew she wasn’t going anywhere until she felt better. She’d just have to wait it out.

Except she didn’t feel drunk. The woozy sleepiness that always had the guys laughing about how she was a cheap date wasn’t bothering her. If anything, she felt too good. Her muscles twitched with urge to move, like when the DJ was spinning really good tunes and she just wanted to dance. Sitting cooped in the van for even another minute was going to make her crawl out of her skin. Some fresh air was what she needed.

She was almost gasping for air when she tumbled out the passenger side door and took a few steps away from the van. Phew. Had the van sprung a leak somewhere? The smell of exhaust seemed almost choking. Would carbon monoxide poisoning explain why she felt so odd?

Shit. And her phone wasn’t working. She’d have to wait for someone to drive by who could send a tow truck back for her.

Or maybe she could just go hop up on the hill and catch a cell signal herself. It wasn’t far and now that she was out of the car, she felt fine, although maybe still a little feverish. Wasn’t the treatment for CO poisoning to get lots of fresh air?

She held her breath while she retrieved her phone and dug out a flashlight from the gear box in back. Then she clambered over the barbed wire—remembering Diesel’s scraped hands gently cradling her bloody knees—and headed for the hills.





Chapter 10

He shouldn’t have left her.

As Diesel drove up the switchbacks to the mesa top, it took all his strength not to launch the SUV over the cliff, as if he could fly back to her.

He’d tell her everything this time. Not just about werewolves. But about how he felt. How he didn’t want to ever lose her again.

But he thought of the Kingdom Guard, the shifters suffering in their mutant prison, and his hands stayed steady on the wheel.

The volunteers had been gathering all day, and the Villalobos house was overflowing. Thunder and Betsy were manning a huge barbecue but only about half the meat was making it to the coals. Wolves paced between the trunks of the ponderosas, almost invisible in the gathering darkness. Everyone would know their place by morning. They would rest through the day and be in position by the following nightfall. When the shadows that were their allies peaked, they would launch their assault under the harvest moon.

The killing moon.

As Diesel stalked through the volunteers—brave, no doubt, and predator born, but so amateur when it came to actual war—he caught Malachi’s eye. His battle brother looked away, scowling. He had objected to Diesel going back to town. Well, not town itself, obviously, but going back to Willow. He hadn’t explained why he objected, of course, just said, “Stupid f*cker,” which Diesel took as an objection.

So he bypassed the other male and tracked down Maddie. Kane’s mate had broken the Mesa Diablo wolves’ mateless dry spell and made the transformation to join the pack. But she’d been a human female who knew nothing of her small town’s secret other life until she’d had to save Kane from an attacking werewolf hunter. Who’d also ended up joining the pack, but that was another story they told in the Villalobos house that Diesel found hard to believe.

A mechanic by trade and predilection, Maddie was futzing with an ATV in the big shop behind the house. Her scowl was even mightier than Malachi’s.

Diesel paused in the doorway. “Glad you’re not giving me that look.”

She gave the ATV a hard kick then stood back, her hands on her hips. “That’s what Kane said. Except his exact words were ‘Don’t give me that look.’”