Lone Wolf's Surrender Read online

  Table of Contents

  Lone Wolf’s

  Publication Information

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Also Read

  Thank You

  Lone Wolf’s Surrender

  by

  Bliss Brant

  Monster Ball

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Lone Wolf’s Surrender

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Bliss Brant

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2017

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1809-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Darah Lace, who makes me laugh, cry, and cuss, and doesn’t complain when I drag her to a rustic cabin in the Texas wilderness, complete with wasps and spiders, to write…and drink wine.

  Chapter One

  The barest hint of rain floated on the already warm early-morning breeze. Quinn Messala skidded to a stop. His paws scrambled for footing on a sandstone boulder, the jack rabbit he’d given chase suddenly forgotten. The wind ruffled his thick fur and sent his snout lifting to the sky. The faint scent of bacon frying had him letting loose an exuberant howl, fracturing the peace of the coming day. Breakfast. His stomach growled.

  Springing from the rocks, he ran, stretching out as his powerful haunches ate up the miles, sailing over cactus and rocks, taking the most direct route to the sprawling ranch house situated sixteen miles from Crooked Creek, Texas.

  Quinn shifted midair, his legs lengthening and muzzle flattening, as he leapt onto the porch and entered the front door, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor of the long room that served as a combination living and dining room.

  “One day we’re liable to have a visitor, like the local parson, and you’ll scare her to death waltzing around here naked, with your eyes yellow instead of brown.” Buck Thomas, the foreman who’d lived on and worked this land since his early thirties, shook his head full of mostly salt with some pepper hair and transferred a jaw full of tobacco from one side to the other. With arthritic hands, he placed a platter piled high with biscuits, eggs, and bacon in the center of the scarred, wooden table. “The back door is better suited to your nocturnal comings and goings.”

  Quinn growled low and stepped into the pair of jeans he’d earlier left on the spine of the couch. “It’s my house. I’ll come through whatever door I damned well pleased.”

  “I get that. I do. But if someone else who isn’t as easy going as me sees you naked, or worse, witnesses your transformation, it could have the sheriff snooping around. I don’t think you want that.”

  Dammit. It rankled that Buck was right. “I’ll use the back door from now on.” His words came out a snarl, barely recognizable, and he concentrated on buttoning his fly.

  It was a conversation they had every time Quinn came home without clothes, which was most every day since the time Buck had caught him in wolf form running amongst the cattle. It was either shift into his human self or get an ass full of buckshot. Seeing Quinn transform from wolf to man, Buck had merely lowered his shotgun and said, “Well, I’ll be.”

  Quinn’s background couldn’t stand up against much scrutiny. Best to do whatever he could to keep from raising any suspicion, even if it meant using the back door. “If that rain passes us over again, the tank in the east pasture will be dry by week’s end. I thought we’d ride out to check and decide whether to move the cattle today.”

  “Forget moving the herd. If it doesn’t rain soon, you’ll have to start selling them.” Buck disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, it was minus the big lump in his jaw and with a pot of steaming coffee.

  “I won’t do that.” Quinn circled the brown leather couch and sat to tug on his socks and boots. Standing, he caught the T-shirt he’d abandoned earlier on the arm of the recliner and slipped it over his head.

  Buck filled both mugs, placed the dented metal pot on a hot pad, and took a seat. “It’s like I told you, boy, when you bought this place, Texas weather is a brutal bitch. I’ve seen her break stronger men than you.”

  “I’m not most men.” Lifting the coffee mug, Quinn took a sip before sitting. He tore open three biscuits and filled them with crispy bacon.

  “You don’t have to tell me. Still, it’s something you’ll have to consider if it doesn’t rain soon.”

  Quinn nudged the chipped platter of food toward the older man. “Eat. It’s going to be a long day.”

  After sliding eggs onto his plate, Buck used his fork to motion toward a small side table by the front door. “An overnight letter came for you yesterday. I completely forgot about it.”

  Shifting in his chair, Quinn returned an untouched bacon-filled biscuit to his plate. Other than utility and credit card bills, ninety-five percent of his mail was addressed to resident. He’d bought the ranch eight years ago to stop running and isolate himself. He had done a fine job of letting folks know he didn’t want or need their company. And the people from his past in Jasper, well, he had wiped his memory of their existence.

  At least he’d tried. For the most part, he’d succeeded. Except for one.

  “Aren’t you even curious about it?” Buck asked, getting to his feet to retrieve the large envelope. He dropped it on the table beside Quinn. “That’s some pretty fancy handwriting. Best as I can make out, it’s from Priscilla Tegula.”

  Quinn’s breath hitched. Priss.

  Twelve years, nine months, ten days, six hours, and forty-three minutes.

  That’s how long it had been since Priss accepted his marriage proposal and sealed the sacred promise with a kiss. Four hours later, she’d turned her back on him and walked away without a backward glance.

  Slivers of fractured memories pricked his skin. Priss in his embrace, his chin resting atop silken, blonde curls that hung down her slender back. The combination of love and fear in her hazel eyes when he took her that first time. His gut twisted until he winced. He wanted to shift and outrun the mental and physical barrage. She’d made him want to change, to be better than the boy who’d had to fight to survive, to be someone she could be proud of, then like everyone else in his life, she decided he wasn’t worth the effort.

  Her rejection rose up to choke up him all over again, as familiar as his favorite boots, as excruciating as a snake bite.

  Dammit.

  Quinn bolted from the chair, needing to run away…again. Coffee splashed from his cup onto the table. The past he thought he’d buried deep tightened around his neck, making it impossible to breathe. He snagged the cowboy hat off the side table, and jammed it on his head. “I’ll be back.”

  “When?”

  His boot heels marked each step toward the door. “Later.”

  “What about this here letter?”

  Quinn yanked open the front door and
barely forced the words past the constriction in his throat. “Burn it.”

  ****

  Priscilla Tegula paced in the bedroom of the hotel suite. “Damn Quinn for not having a phone. I should have known better than to expect anything concerning him to be easy.”

  Her friend, Darcy, lay on her stomach across Priscilla’s bed, her slim upper body braced on both elbows, the heels of her hands perched under her chin. “It’s going to be okay. Really.”

  Looking in the mirror as she passed it, Priscilla winced at how pale she was. “It would’ve been so much easier to call and arrange a meeting where we’d have privacy. There’s going to be hundreds of people at the ball tonight, certainly not a place to share secrets.”

  “Trying to find a quiet place to talk will be challenging but not impossible. Besides, the sheer volume of attendees will provide cover for your uninvited guest,” Darcy said, rolling onto her back.

  Priscilla took the tuxedo jacket off the hanger and folded it carefully, then did the same with the slacks, shirt, cummerbund, and bowtie. Placing each item inside a duffel bag containing a pair of dress shoes and socks, she glanced around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

  When Darcy worked as secretary for her husband, who worried about everything, the young woman’s persistent optimistic viewpoint drove him nuts. After his death, Darcy had agreed to stay on as Priscilla’s secretary. Since that time, Darcy had become more friend than employee.

  Chewing on a fingernail, Priscilla envisioned the secluded area at MacIntosh Castle where she planned to meet Quinn. She’d paid a lot of money to have his ticket altered so he’d arrive in the gardens, well away from the ball and its attendees.

  “If you keep that up, you’re going to destroy your manicure,” Darcy said.

  Priscilla yanked the finger from her mouth and began to pace. “What if the clothes don’t fit Quinn? What if I get caught sneaking the tux inside MacIntosh Castle? There are so many things that could go wrong if he comes. But if he doesn’t come…oh, god, I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Would you stop worrying? You’ll make yourself crazy. If the clothes don’t fit, then you leave. Madame LaDeaux’s voodoo magic on the exit visas will bring you both back to the hotel. Once here, you order him something to wear, assuming you wouldn’t rather undress him.” Darcy’s lips split into a wide grin as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Look, you stood beside me when I checked with the overnight company online. It confirmed delivery to the address the private investigator gave you. Quinn will come. So, stop freaking.”

  “Getting the envelope doesn’t mean he opened it. He probably still hates me and threw it in the trash. Why would he even care about anything I have to say?” Priscilla could only hope he saw her letter before pulling out the ticket, so he’d know what to expect. She should have given him a specific arrival time. If he appeared at the castle before the ball got underway, it could be disastrous.

  Shaking her head, she zipped up the bag and set it on the dresser next to her ticket to the ball and the exit visas for when she and Quinn were ready to leave. As Darcy said, it did no good to fret. She’d just have to take a leap of faith and hope she didn’t land in a pile of wolf poop.

  “So, how am I supposed to help you look for Quinn if I don’t know what he looks like?” Darcy asked.

  Priscilla rubbed her forehead. The last thing she needed this evening was a headache. She opened her jewelry box and lifted the satin lining at the bottom right corner. Underneath lay a cracked and faded picture of Quinn and her, the only one she had. She lifted the photo and ran her finger over his face. Memories rushed at her. Heat collected low in her belly.

  Darcy left the bed and stood beside her, lifting the snapshot from her fingers. “Wow. He’s like smokin’ hot.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “I can’t believe you broke off with him.”

  “I’ve wished a thousand times that I hadn’t.” Not that she’d had any choice. There was every possibility that he still hadn’t forgiven her and would not show up tonight. She couldn’t blame him.

  Darcy placed the photograph on the dresser. “I’ll do everything I can to help you locate him.”

  “Thank you. I hope he gets here early enough that you can go off and have a good time.”

  “I’m so excited.” Her friend hugged her. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I asked Mr. Tegula to take me to the ball a number of times after I started working for him, but he never would.”

  “Well, you’re going tonight,” Priscilla said, going to the closet to look at the assortment of dresses she’d brought with her. Slender and tall, Darcy had long black hair and startling green eyes. Pulling out a slinky gold number, Priscilla placed it on the bed. “Everybody who is anybody will be there. I predict you’ll meet a handsome young shifter who will sweep you off your feet. Now, try on this dress, so I can see if it will knock all the male monsters on their asses.”

  “Oh, my gosh, Priscilla. It’s gorgeous.” She ran her fingers over the intricate stitching and sighed. “What if I get something on it? Are you sure you want to let me wear it?”

  “I’m certain. Now, put it on.” That was all the encouragement Darcy needed to start undressing.

  Priscilla turned back to the dresser and lifted the picture of her and Quinn. She wondered how much the teen she’d once loved had changed over the last almost thirteen years. Closing her eyes, she couldn’t envision him as middle aged. Instead, the rebellious seventeen-year-old came to mind with too long brown hair, haunted eyes, and muscled arms that shielded her from conformity. He always dispelled her wariness with warm kisses and fevered caresses and made the rigid strictures of her life fall away. For whatever time they had together, she’d felt free.

  The years since then had taught her real life was about more than fleeting kisses or bodies writhing in the soft grass of spring. Regardless of that, she’d spent many sleepless nights longing for the stroke of Quinn’s hand against her breast and between her legs.

  Only she wasn’t bringing him here tonight for herself and damned well needed to remember that.

  ****

  Quinn jumped from his favorite stallion’s back before they’d come to a stop and tied the reins to the branch of a mesquite tree. The black beast sensed his owner’s dark mood and pawed at the ground, eager for another breakneck race across the once green grass covering the pasture floor. Now, the color ran a few shades lighter than the dirt beneath it, sprinkled here and there with struggling blades of green.

  He patted his horse’s neck and walked toward the drying up stock tank. The water barely covered a low place maybe twelve feet across and three feet deep, nowhere near enough to sustain four hundred head of cattle for a week without a torrential downpour.

  Removing his hat, he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. He glanced at the sky. What little chance of rain he’d smelled that morning had fled. The first cold snap of fall usually came around this time. But right now, the central Texas sun baked him and his land without apology or regret. Same as, at the age of fifteen, he’d killed his drunken father with his bare fists for nearly beating his mother to death. Human law enforcement never knew about the incident. His pack’s alpha had found him innocent of wrongdoing. But his life had never been the same. He’d become as worthless as his old man, with an attitude that was far worse.

  Two years later, he’d met Priss. Her father had been sent to the pack to assist with an investigation into why young shifters were disappearing before their first change. She’d looked at Quinn and smiled, and he’d fallen hard. She made him believe he could do anything he wanted, be anything he chose. In exchange, he snuck kisses and stole her virginity. Looking back, he agreed with her father’s declaration. Quinn was no good, a loser, same as his father.

  Slapping his hat against his leg in disgust, he returned it to his head and crossed the distance to his horse. He yanked the reins loose and mounted, barely getting his feet in the stirrups before the stallio
n leapt forward and broke into a gallop. They raced across the pasture land as if chased by a legion of demons, neither caring about the dangers of traveling at such a reckless speed.

  Back home, Quinn brushed his steed, then once the stallion had cooled down, gave him food and water. Latching the gate of the stall, he stripped off his clothes, shifted into his wolf form, and raced from the barn, the need to run still riding him hard.

  Without a care of which direction he ran, Quinn flew across the parched ground, barely conscious of the need to stay on his property. Humans, especially in Texas, saw wolves as predators and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

  He lost track of time and finally skidded to a stop when darkness lay like a blanket over his land. His stomach growled. Buck would be worried. He should go home but remained atop a grouping of rocks.

  Priss. What could she possibly want with him after all this time? After she’d shunned him, he left the pack and Jasper. He’d run, without care or direction, and roamed the country until he came to Crooked Creek. From what he’d heard, she married an extraordinarily wealthy older man with an abundance of political clout. Her father had taken advantage of that influence to become a high-ranking member of Monsters United, an organization of which Quinn had little knowledge and no hope of acceptance. Not back then or now. And he didn’t care…much, except sometimes he wondered if making something of himself would have made Priss stay.

  It made no sense. Why would Priss contact him? Why now? Was she still married? Had she left her husband? Hell…there was only one way to find out. And he’d told Buck to burn the damned envelope.

  Leaping forward with a burst of speed he shouldn’t have after such a long run, Quinn made it to the house in little time. All the lights were off, except on the porch. He shifted and opened the door. His heart thudded in his chest as he entered the living room. He was glad Buck wasn’t here to chastise him for coming in the front door again naked after promising to use the back. There, on the side table, sat the envelope. He should be mad at Buck for once again ignoring his orders, but this time, he wanted to pat the old man on the back in thanks.