Ruthless (Wolf Ranch 6)

I looked around, finally understanding where they were taking me. Up to the mountaintop to shift and run. I felt like I was coming out of my skin. Now I could really do that.

I released Nash and rolled off him. I would’ve said thanks, but I was still too fucking grumpy. Instead, I dropped to my back and crossed my arms over my eyes until the truck rolled to a stop in front of the pack lodge.

“Get him out,” I heard Rob command.

“I’m coming.” It felt like I was wading through mud just to move, but I climbed out of the truck. All on my own.

“Come on, let’s run it off,” Rob said, stripping off his own clothes. We didn’t need to open up the building. We’d leave our things by the truck. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and no one was going to come up here and steal our shit.

All the guys were there—Clint, Nash, Rob, Boyd, Colton, Levi, and Johnny. They all kicked off their boots and stripped. My pack brothers, here for me in my pain.

They understood.

I swallowed hard and took off my clothes, shifting and running. The group flanked me. It wasn’t a playful run, but it wasn’t aggressive, either. We just ran fast and hard all the way to the top of the mountain and around the back side. When we looped around to the Wolf Ranch side I skidded to a stop, the gravel sliding under my paws. I stared down at Natalie’s property.

The other wolves circled up around me, as if to keep me from going down there and doing something stupid.

I sat on my haunches, lifted my muzzle to the sky and howled.

The voices of my brothers answered me, filling the sky with the mournful sound of a wolf who’d lost his love.

24

NATALIE

I woke up hoping it would be tomorrow, but it wasn’t.

It was only eight, and the light was mostly faded in the sky. Night was falling fast. I’d slept three hours, that was all. My skin was covered in goosebumps, but I wasn’t sure why.

And then I heard it—a wolf’s howl.

Every hair on my arms stood up, and my face instantly felt tight and hot, tears burning in my eyes. Because I knew without a shadow of a doubt—that howl belonged to Rand.

His heart hurt as much as mine did.

Choking back a sob, I climbed out of the bed and threw back the curtain. The howl sounded far away, but I still found myself looking for him anyway.

Like he’d be here as he always promised he would.

But he wasn’t. And he wasn’t coming. I’d told him not to follow, and he’d honored my wishes.

I slipped my flip flops on and went down the stairs. I walked an aimless circle around the ground floor. Everything reminded me of Rand. The newly patched wall where he’d pulled fresh wiring through, the table where he’d sat eating a sandwich, the blanket from our time at the swimming hole that I’d left by the cellar door to put in the laundry.

I picked it up and carried it down the stairs. Rand had already repaired the broken stair and made sure all the rest of the boards were solid. I tossed the blanket in the washing machine and started it then looked around at the shelves of stuff Uncle Adam had stored down here.

What was even in these boxes? I pulled one down. Anything was better than thinking about Rand.

I pulled the lid off and stared down. Inside was an old black and white photo, curled at the edges. A high school prom picture.

I flipped it over to look at the back. Written in a female’s clean script were the words, “Adam and Maggie, Prom 1950” and a heart. My pulse picked up speed. I turned the photo back over and studied both their faces. The youthful exuberance there. Uncle Adam looked proud of the teen on his arm. Maggie was young and vibrant and looked bright and happy. She wore a strapless dress with a full skirt and had dark hair that fell in waves above her bare shoulders.

My heart squeezed painfully. They looked so content, but their love had been doomed. Was it a Sheffield thing? Were we meant to fail at love? Were me and Rand just as doomed?

I set the photo aside and looked back in the box. There were movie stubs. A man’s class ring on a chain. Letters. Should I read them?

On one hand, it felt like an invasion of privacy. Uncle Adam never stopped loving this woman, the story he’d shared as fresh in my mind as when he’d first told me. He’d saved this box of memories of her until the day he died. On the other hand, maybe my witnessing their love would be an honor to those memories?