Tropical Wounded Wolf (Shifting Sands Resort 2)

“I'll do the pool,” Neal volunteered. The last time he had tried to help Graham with the gardening, he'd pulled up a domesticated vine, and he actually thought for several moments that the lion shifter was going to deck him over the mistake. He could probably hold his own against the groundskeeper, but he didn't want to find out.

After eating half of Breck's plate of food and listening the resort gossip, Neal stood up.

“I want to get the pool done before it gets too hot,” he said.

“Catch you this afternoon,” Breck said cheerfully.

Graham grunted.

The gazelle gave him a long soulful look from across the lawn, then wandered away through the brush.

Neal shed his resort shirt at the supply shed, and exchanged it for the long-handed algae scraper and net he would need for the pool job. It wasn't glamorous labor, but it was physically intense, and the sun on the pool deck would be brutal later in the day. It was good work, requiring attention, and Neal tackled it with all of the frustration and bitterness that boiled in his blood.

He was about halfway down the first side of the enormous pool, sweating profusely and enjoying the burn in his muscles, when he felt his red maned wolf stir suddenly, deep inside.

“No,” he said ferociously out loud, and he scraped at the tile more vigorously, the thin velvet of algae dissolving before his assault.

To his surprise, his wolf growled back, the urgency of his message too keen to back down.

Without wanting to, Neal looked up, and found his head swiveling to the deck by the bar.

A figure stood looking out over the bar deck, and Neal was grateful that she hadn't noticed him yet, because he had to stare for a long moment.

She was the kind of pale that only very new visitors to the resort could be, with mousy blonde hair and big, terrified eyes under a wide-brimmed hat. She had a bag clutched to her chest, and one sandal-clad foot was tucked behind the other, rubbing nervously at the opposite heel.

She had the timid, diffident body posture that usually made Neal want to roll his eyes and avoid, but there was something about her – something more than the incredibly sexy curves that she seemed be trying to hide. Something that inflamed his senses and made him acutely aware of every pore of her perfect skin.

She's ours, his wolf told him firmly, and the conviction was so deep and determined that Neal had to turn away to fight it back down.

The worst part was, Neal knew it was right. That woman – that gorgeous, petrified woman – was his mate. He unexpectedly knew the iron core of her soul, and could imagine the gentle sweetness of her mouth. He wanted to know how it tasted, more than any urge he'd ever had, and was already fantasizing the feel of her pale skin under his calloused fingers.

He drew himself up short.

There was no way in hell he was going to subject her to himself. He was too broken from his years of captivity, his control of himself was too tenuous. It would be best for everyone just to keep his distance.

He shouldered the pool tools and headed the long way around the water, to the service entrance where he would be able to avoid looking back at her. Don't meet her eyes, he told himself. Don't let her see you.

No matter how much he longed to.

Chapter Three

Mary had never felt so alone.

The owner of the resort, Scarlet Stanson, had been outwardly welcoming, but Mary couldn't help but feel like a grubby child in her tidy office. A grubby child who didn't quite measure up to the incredibly high standards of Shifting Sands Resort.

She had never been somewhere so polished and gorgeous. Even the walkways and steps were beautifully tiled, every plant groomed into the perfect shape. The buildings were all meticulous, even the ones clearly under renovation were well-contained and neater than a construction site had any business being.

Alice would have loved it here, Mary kept thinking, and she longed for her friend's boisterous company. Alice would never have felt intimidated by Scarlet's flawless hair.

But Alice had gotten chicken pox, of all the ridiculous things, and been forced to stay home. After everything she’d done to convince Mary that this would be the holiday she needed, Alice hadn’t even been able to go. Getting on the plane by herself had been the bravest thing that Mary had ever done. At first, she’d considered refusing, but Alice had been adamant. At least one of us is getting some enjoyment out of the cottage I booked, so you’d better go, or I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your days!

Even pointing out chicken pox was rarely fatal hadn’t put a dent in Alice's fervor, and in the end Mary had reluctantly decided she didn’t have a choice.

Clutching her map and her bag, already regretting her decision to come alone, Mary decided to go to the pool first, to familiarize herself with the layout and see if it was really as impressive as the photographs had made it out to be. The closest access was through the bar, but when she stepped out onto the deck, the ocean view arrested her before she even noticed the pool.

Even as far away as it was, she could feel the magnetic power of water, and hear the waves crashing on the reef that protected the bay. There was a scent and a quality to the air that she'd never experienced before, salty and metallic and alive.

She couldn't even imagine swimming in such a thing. It was full of power and secrets and strength. Her shifter-self felt strangely stronger here, more alive than it had ever been in the sleepy little town of Lakefield.