Imprints (Dominant Wolves, Submissive Mates 1)

Prologue

“Get on up out of here!” Carla waved her hands in front of two wolves as they backed her into the barn. “Shoo! Go on now! Shoo!”

Joy, Carla’s aging loyal mare, stirred in a nearby stall, alerting her to a grave fact. She’d led two of nature’s most feared beasts to her most vulnerable and prized treasure.

The larger black wolf flattened his ears and lifted his nose high in the air as if he were sniffing out the possibility of present dangers. Turning his head to his flank, he seemingly transmitted messages to the grey-and-white animal at his side.

Slowly, they rotated their heads once more. Cold, fierce eyes watched her. Low, throaty growls demanded and kept her attention.

Judging their body language, Carla was scared to make another move. Silently, she prayed they’d find her more intimidating than she found them. Behind her, Joy pranced and neighed.

“I won’t let you have her,” Carla whispered, assuming they must’ve been more interested in four-legged prey rather than a thin woman with little meat on her bones.

The small grey wolf ducked his head and lifted his gaze. Baring his teeth, he snapped at the larger beast then darted out of the barn, disappearing into the high emerald-green grass behind the outhouse.

“One down. One to go.” Carla took a step backward. The intimidating creature stalked forward.

The wolf’s dark eyes appeared blacker and wider then. For a split second, she felt a smidgen of familiarity and she couldn’t help but wonder. Were rumors true? Were the wolves of Wyoming part animal, part human?

“You must be the Alpha of the pack,” she whispered, more to herself than to her uninvited guest.

Sniffing wildly, the wolf flung his head high in the air and released an ear-piercing howl. Doused in fear now, Carla threw herself to a pile of sawdust and grabbed an old board before facing her enemy once more. Clutching the lumber, she swung the wood behind her back, gripping her only limited means of defending herself.

Instead of tucking his tail between his legs and running for the hills, the wolf howled louder, leaving her to believe he was summoning the rest of his pack.

A tremor of fear shook through her body. After the grey wolf had fled, she’d celebrated a small mental victory. Now, as the black beast pursued her, she realized her luck hadn’t improved. In fact, the other animal’s unexpected departure symbolized something much darker.

She was doomed.

Chapter One

Grant Ford paced the small one-room cabin. His wild auburn-colored hair fanned around his shoulders as he took long strides, walking from wall to wall. “How long has she been out?”

Jock stroked his chin in deep thought. “A few hours.”

“Damn good thing you made it here when you did,” Grant said. “How’d ya know they were comin’ for her?”

“Too much activity in town,” Jock explained. “Then I heard that howl and something inside me just knew.”

“Bullshit, Jock Corrigan. You was a-spyin’ on her again. I know ya. I’ve seen ya makin’ yer way down to the river every day just a-waitin’ for her to mosey on down and dip her toes in the water.”

A smile tugged at Jock’s lips. Carla’s toes were the last thing on Jock’s mind when he darted through the thicket and loped toward the Laramie River.

“Ever consider waitin’ on a sidekick?”

>

No. He hadn’t given it a second thought then and he wouldn’t apologize for that fact now. If he hadn’t been waiting for Carla, he wouldn’t have heard her screams or another shifter’s terrifying cry, the undeniable and quite universal Alpha male wolf’s call to the wild.

Jock swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t help but blame himself. He’d marked his territory, but he hadn’t protected his mate. He’d staked a claim, but even Carla didn’t know she belonged to him. Why would he expect another wolf pack, especially another Alpha, to honor a commitment he’d yet to make public, let alone privately acknowledge?

Grant kept pacing, kicking up a few dust clouds as he marched across Carla’s packed dirt floor. “Yep, siree. I’ve been sorta wise to ya for a month of Sundays now. You’ve been a-goin’ down to the water on a scheduled base and—”

“Regular basis?”

“That, too, I reckon,” Grant said, nodding his head. “And while she’s been bathin’ the kitty, you’ve been duckin’ behind trees and bangin’ one out for her. I know. I’ve seen ya a time or two. It’s plumb embarassin’ if ya wanna know the truth.”

Jock set his jaw and thinned his lips. Motioning for Grant to follow him, Jock stomped out of the cabin. Carla would awaken soon. The last thing he wanted her to hear was Grant’s accusation that he’d been whipping the one-eyed trouser snake while watching her take a bath.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jock asked, about as furious as a bunch of hornets buzzing around their newly crushed nests.

Grant took a sudden step backward as if Jock’s words had struck him in the face. “I don’t reckon a thing, but thanks so much for askin’.”

Jock glared at Grant. They’d known one another all of their lives, but Jock still couldn’t tell when Grant was making jokes or teetering along the lines of the drunk and stupid.

“Have you been drinking today?”

“Yep,” Grant readily admitted.

“I thought we talked about this,” Jock said. “That woman in there is dead set against liquor. How do you think we can win her favor when one of us is always drunk?”

“Geez, Jock, you shoulda said somethin’. I had no idea you’d been drinkin’ so much of that devil’s juice.” Grant copped a crooked smile. “Well, you ain’t gotta worry ’bout the little lady. I’ll take care of her jest fine until you sober up. Why don’t ya run along back to the den? If she wakes up, I’ll yowl for ya.”

“I wasn’t talking about myself and you dang well know it. I’m not kidding around here, Grant. Carla is a good woman. If you keep drinking like you do, she won’t have a thing to do with us.”

“When it comes to women and whiskey, I don’t see where one would stand in the way of the other. In fact, if ya ask me, one could be closely related to the other.” He waggled his brows. “I mean when ya stop and think about it, men like two things on their breath—fine whiskey and the purest of pussy.”

“For the love of God, Grant,” Jock said, beginning to wonder why he even tried to reason with a man who always had his brains in a bottle. At one time Carla had enjoyed Grant’s humor and light personality. In recent months, however, she’d begun to back away from Jock because of Grant’s drinking and his crude comments, which only worsened with age.

“Alls I’m sayin’, friend, is that if Carla ain’t interested anymore, it ain’t for my lack of tryin’. I’ve had a few heart-to-hearts with her and I jest gather her dependable ticker ain’t keepin’ time with us anymore.”

“Are you sure it isn’t your heart we’re talking about here?”

“It ain’t me, friend,” Grant assured him.

“It’s the drinking, Grant. That’s all it is,” Jock said, walking to the cabin once again. Before he entered, he said, “I’m thirty-three years old. Since my poor momma died—God rest her soul—I haven’t felt anyone’s love for longer than a minute.”

“I know it.” Grant slowly nodded his head. “A few times we’ve come real close, but we ain’t got there yet.”

“Do you know why?”