Wild Wolf (Shifters Unbound, #6)(17)

Dougal walked to the front door, the swagger returning to his step. Graham hid his chuckle until Dougal had breezed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He’d be all right.

Graham’s laughter died as he made his way to the kitchen, thirst kicking him. He’d known the water was foul as soon as he’d smelled it, but his thirst had won over his common sense. And now he was thirsty again. He clenched his fists. If he gave in to a Fae curse, he might as well summon the Guardian and fall on the sword.

Misty hadn’t seemed affected by the spelled water. Graham had looked into her face and hadn’t seen anything but her clear, brown eyes, framed with thick, dark lashes. Lashes he’d love to feel fluttering over his skin.

Don’t call me again, she’d said.

She hadn’t meant that, right? So hard to tell with humans. Misty had gone through trauma today, been threatened, terrorized, and hurt, poor thing. When she felt better, she’d call Graham and ask if they could talk. Misty liked to talk. On the phone, in person, over e-mail. Graham had never talked much with his other females, but then, his previous relationships had been all sex and not much else.

Even with his mate, Rita, they’d spent most of the time in bed. They’d never really talked. Graham had never taken the opportunity to truly get to know Rita, and then she’d been gone, dead, the Guardian turning her to dust. Her death and his baby son’s had left him stunned, barely able to think beyond his grief.

Brooding about Rita and Misty wasn’t going to help Graham with his problems now. A Shifter had to push away grief and relationship worries and concentrate on immediate problems. That was the only way to survive. Right?

Graham walked into his kitchen, deep in thought . . . and stopped. Something was very wrong. He’d left the place trashed, yes, with his stupid fight with that Lupine, but not this trashed.

Someone had opened every single door of every single cabinet, and had yanked out every single drawer. Graham’s pots, pans, and dishes, and cans and boxes of food were all over the floor, porcelain smashed, glasses broken, boxes opened, powder and grains spewed everywhere. The refrigerator door was ajar, and bottles and cans had burst open on the floor outside it, rendering the tiles a mess of ketchup, mustard, pickles, and beer. The refrigerator was shaking now too, as though it had taken on a life of its own.

No Fae spell was doing this. Graham roared as he yanked open the door.

Two fuzzy faces turned toward him, two pairs of eyes widened under two pairs of ears that managed to be pricked and flopping at the same time. Two little muzzles opened in identical, high-pitched howls, and two tails started moving rapidly, dumping over a half gallon of milk between them.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Graham bellowed.

Matt and Kyle, the three-year-old wolves, yipped with joy, and launched themselves out of the refrigerator. They had a frenzied fight over who would reach Graham first, Kyle winning by a whisker. Both cubs scrambled up Graham’s legs to his bare arms, wriggling with joy as though they hadn’t seen him in weeks instead of about twenty-four hours.


Graham’s back door opened, and a Shifter woman came in—Brenda Roberts, the cubs’ foster mother. She ducked her head, as all Graham’s wolves did when they faced their alpha, but her eyes held defiance.

“I can’t do it anymore, Graham,” she said. “I can’t take care of them. I have my own cubs to look after, and I. Just. Can’t. Do. It.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Graham asked, something like panic rising. “You’re taking care of them fine.”

Brenda shook her head and kept on shaking it. “No I’m not. I’m not sleeping, or eating, or doing anything but running around after those two little shits. I can’t even go to the bathroom without them coming in and tearing down the shower curtain and eating the toilet paper. They need a firm hand, Graham, and mine’s not firm enough.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Graham said loudly. Kyle and Matt clung to him, small claws digging into his arms. “If you don’t want to take care of them, fine. But they stay with you until I can find another foster.”

Brenda was already shaking her head again. “I can’t. When they had space to run around up in Elko, they were fine. Sort of. Now that they’re more restricted, they’re going insane and taking me with them. I’ve gone through eight months of hell, and I can’t do it anymore. Punish me if you want to, but I’m not keeping those cubs another day.”

Brenda still wouldn’t look at Graham directly, but she had determination on her face. Lower dominance wolves never disobeyed their alpha—unless driven beyond normal endurance into something that would break them. Brenda had stood strong behind Graham and given a lot to the Lupines. And now this loyal wolf was being defeated by two adorable cubs who looked up at Graham with innocent eyes.

Graham could shove the cubs back at her and tell her to suck it up; he had that right. She could obey, or she could die.

But Graham wasn’t leader because he was the loudest-voiced * in the pack, no matter what anyone else thought. He’d seen how worn down Brenda was, and it was true—she had four cubs of her own. She’d taken Kyle and Matt because of her soft heart, and Graham knew he’d taken advantage of her. So had Matt and Kyle.

“All right, all right,” Graham said. “Just go.”