Slade, Book 1 in Team Greywolf Series Read online

  Cricket had overheard his conversation with Dr. Warner. He blamed himself for the death of the young wolves. No wonder he suffered from morphopsychosis. If anyone could have prevented the massacre of his pack and the unchanged young ones, it might have been Slade.

  Suddenly, Spitfire spooked, perked her ears and snorted.

  Cricket sniffed. “Oh, shit.” Her emotions were so tied up thinking about Slade, she let her guard down. She held onto the reins and patted the mare’s sweaty neck. “Easy, girl, it’s just Old Miner.” An old grizzly nearly thirty years old that roamed the area. His stench permeated the air. She spotted his big golden brown body lumbering closer. Instead of being fat and ready for a long winter sleep, he looked too bony, malnourished. Every year his hunting skills had gotten worse. No way would he survive hibernation.

  Old Miner stood. His tongue lolling out, his lower jaw broken. No wonder, he was starving. Desperation made him far more dangerous to humans and cattle than ever.

  Spitfire reared.

  “Easy.”

  The mare calmed, but not by much, as she pawed her front right hoof on the ground.

  Old Miner grunted.

  The mare sidestepped in panic, but Cricket tightened her grip on the reins to stop the horse from bolting. Cricket sniffed and wrinkled her nose at the smell of his rotting mouth. An infection. She understood. Despite his pain, the starving bear wanted her horse. Her fangs extended, and she growled. Don’t even think about it, Old Miner.

  The bear roared, fell back on all fours and charged. For a malnourished bear, he moved fast, pounding the earth to reach his prey.

  Cricket slapped Spitfire on the rump. “Git!”

  The mare bolted in the direction of the ranch. Cricket shifted, not caring that her favorite blue jeans ripped.

  The bear chased after Spitfire, but not before Cricket charged and bit into his flank.

  Old Miner roared in pain and twisted to maul the small wolf.

  Chapter 4

  Slade dashed out the cavern exit and into the forest. He needed to escape Rylee’s men before he ended up killing them. Harming them was the last thing he wanted to do, but his beast had no qualms about ripping their throats out. His wolf no longer cared to be human. It needed fresh air, the feel of rich earth as his paws raked the ground and the taste of game blood. And her.

  The howls echoed through the valley. Alerting all werewolves at LIA headquarters the mad prince had escaped. Fools.

  Slade growled. Let them come after him. If they were lucky, they’d knock him out, but not before heads rolled and blood painted the ground. He must leave their territory, far enough so they would lose his scent. Enter human territory. But he couldn’t. Not without her.

  There was no reasoning with the beast. He wanted Cricket, his little pack submissive. Not sure why the runt mattered, but she did.

  Slade stopped and twisted toward the building where he’d left her and whimpered. He sniffed and caught a whiff of her alluring scent, and that of horse. Yes. Not inside the building, but in the open air. His tail wagged.

  Slade followed her aroma, a beacon of sweet honey and subtle fresh-cut roses, toward the direction of a meadow.

  A rider-less horse stampeded toward him.

  He gave the spooked horse a wide berth, and she galloped faster, heading back to the barn.

  The mare’s wet coat reeked of panic and terror. The saddle embedded with Cricket’s scent. Rose blossoms and warm honey.

  No. Had Cricket fallen and broken her neck? Fuck.

  Guilt and rage drove him, and he took off at a dead run, not caring the pack gained on him. The closer he got to her, the more he caught the scent of a grizzly. Against a bear, his little wolf wouldn’t have a chance. Mauled.

  Cricket.

  Slade dashed to the meadow. Save. Protect. Slaughter.

  Slade jolted to a stop. He froze and stared in disbelief.

  The brown body of the largest bear he’d seen this far south of his home in Alaska laid prone on its side. Dead. He cocked his head.

  The coyote-size wolf sat on her haunches. Her tongue lolled out of her blood-stained mouth. Cricket had made the kill.

  Slade howled. Pride for the little wolf filled his heart with joy. Who gives a shit if the entire pack heard him? She lived.

  Possibly harmed.

  He raced down to her and gently shoved her to the ground. Sniffing and pawing every inch of her. Confirming the blood was the bear’s, not hers. No broken bones or inflamed bruises.

  Cricket whimpered and submissively lay on her back, letting him lick the bear’s blood off her throat and mouth. Her rich essence revitalized him. Thoughts of rage dissipated, the beast satisfied. Relieved on seeing her unharmed, reality bit him in the ass.

  His wolfish smile wavered. How dare she place herself in such danger? Many werewolves had lost the battle when fighting a fierce bear.

  Slade gently bit her nose, disciplining her for putting herself in danger.

  Cricket yelped. “Hey, that hurts, sir.”

  He released her, but stood over her, towering over her small form, glaring at his little wolf. “What were you thinking fighting a giant bear?”

  “I was protecting my horse. Besides, Old Miner had to be put down. He was starving to death.”

  Slade glanced at the old skeletal beast. He caught the whiff of rotting teeth and noticed his broken jaw. Cricket had killed out of mercy. He couldn’t help but admire her. Still, as her pack master he should have made the kill. Not her. A wounded bear was the most dangerous beast to battle. He turned and growled at her for good measure. “Never do that again!”

  “Prince Slade, step back,” said a grey wolf, an alpha shadowed by six betas.

  He’d been so focused on finding Cricket he’d forgotten to remain alert for his pursuers. At least in wolf form, they didn’t carry tranquilizers. Were they all willing to fight him? Slade turned and growled, his beast returning to protect her. He’d never surrender. Spitting drool, he snarled. “Stay back.”

  Cricket wiggled to a sitting position and began licking Slade’s nose, calming him.

  The alpha wolf in charge lowered his head and sniffed. “Cricket, are you okay?”

  “Hey, Trevor. I’m okay, but obviously the bear I just killed isn’t.”

  The alpha in charge cocked his head. “I thought the prince…”

  She stood. “Come on, Trevor. Quit treating me like a helpless runt. Of course, I killed him.”

  Trevor, as his right as alpha, stepped in to discipline her. “You need to learn to quit being a smart ass.”

  Cricket lowered her head. “Sorry, sir.”

  Slade growled at the alpha. “Come any closer, and I’ll make you my bitch.”

  Trevor a smaller alpha than Slade backed down, but threw her a quick glare.

  Cricket crawled beneath Slade’s body, acting the submissive, seeking his protection. He suppressed a grin. Now she understands. “If there’s any discipline needed for my little wolf, I shall mete it out, understood?”

  Trevor bowed. “Yes, of course, my liege.”

  Slade snarled. “Return to base.”

  “You must come with us, Prince Slade.”

  His hackles rose, and he stared Trevor down. “No more drugs.”

  “I promise, as long as you don’t threaten the pack, and especially Dr. Warner.”

  Odd. His beast's desire to go rogue and leave humanity had left. “I apologize. It wasn’t my intention to cause harm.”

  Cricket moved away and turned toward headquarters. He snapped at her. “Where the fuck are you going?”

  She stopped, tucked her tail between her legs and turned. “I need to make sure my mare is okay.”

  Slade turned to Trevor. “I’ll go with her, then join you and Dr. Warner in his office.”

  “Very well, but allow me to send two betas with you.”

  “Yes, of course.” As if they could stop him from doing whatever he pleased.

  Cricket turned on the hot shower, and sponge
d herself, allowing the water and soap to wash off the scent of bear blood. Remembering her victory. The bear had twisted to maul her, then fell on his bad hip and moaned in agony. She moved in for the kill. The bear had been so weak ripping his carotid had not been difficult. The famished bear almost didn’t protest. Rylee would have approved of putting Old Miner out of his misery. Though, not her method. Better if she’d used a rifle.

  Then Slade showed up.

  Cricket shook her head. As if. Go find a real princess to rescue. She didn’t need heroes and bossy alphas to tell her what to do. After earning beta status, did he and Rylee think she would be happy to go back to the lowest status possible?

  He bit my nose! If Slade had known the old bear wouldn't survive more than another day or two, he might not have been so fast at disciplining her. I’m not a cub!

  Cricket wiggled her sore nose. Not broken. Yet, when he lovingly licked the blood off her mouth and nudged her body as if to feel for injuries, she’d been shamelessly turned on. As if sex was even remotely on his mind. Just his alpha need to protect. He’d gone insane and just her luck found her in the meadow. Why had he not escaped? What was the mysterious bond that kept him near her? Not a bond, just another symptom of his morphopsychosis. Or what Warner preferred to call morphogenesis, or the non-serial killer condition.

  At least while they ran back to the stables in wolf form, he’d not pestered her about her defiance. Cricket played the scene at the stables over and over in her mind.

  When she reached the barn, she shifted, but he remained a wolf and gazed at her naked body. The heat of his hungry stare hinted at longing. One moment she felt like the kid sister he must protect, and the next a woman he desired. How confusing. She had grabbed an old large shirt in the barn and donned it.

  Her nipples hardened as he watched her. Betraying little nubs. Part of her was humiliated at his gaze and other parts begged for his attention. Royal ass probably laughed at the scent of her arousal. Of course, she found him attractive. So what! He’s just eye candy. A toy to look at! Unattainable. With all those lovely she-wolves filling his inbox, he’d soon forget about the runt fawning over the hot forbidden alpha.

  Cricket dabbed shampoo on her palm and scrubbed her scalp. Wishing she could scrub away thoughts of the arrogant conceited alpha.

  A knock on the door made her growl. “What?” She sighed. “Sir?”

  “How much longer?” asked Slade.

  Cricket rolled her eyes. Alphas had no patience. “I’ll be out soon.” Everyone had agreed Slade should stay with her since her presence, unfortunately for her, kept his inner beast in check.

  Ruining my life.

  “Very well.”

  Cricket stuck her head under the shower faucet and rinsed off the shampoo. She turned the water off and like a wolf, shook her hair then scrunched it. Her natural curls cascaded down her neck. She grabbed her red silk robe and peeked out the door.

  His royal ass, perfect muscular ass, sat on her couch. Slade’s bulk made her one bedroom apartment, what she once thought as roomy living quarters, look like a tiny studio. He was having a beer and watching a hockey game on her wall TV. She closed the door and sighed, her heart tap-danced in glee. For a fleeting moment, she imagined him as her mate, resting after hot sex.

  Snap out of it, Cricket. Don’t go there. She should go back in and take a cold shower.

  Fortunately, he wore clothes. One of the betas had brought Slade his suitcase. Otherwise, she might have gone horny wolf on him. Not a good idea, not while he was back to normal.

  She stepped forward. “I’ll dress and then we can go check in with Dr. Warner.”

  “He texted to meet him and Rylee for dinner at the LIA dining hall.”

  “So he’s not pissed you forced him into the observation cell?”

  He laughed. “Nah, he’s a shrink, remember? Goes with the territory.”

  Cricket wished she wore a gunnysack instead of the thin red robe, which tickled her nipples into greedy stiffness. His glance honed in on their impish mischief. She folded her arms. “Well, I better hurry, since Dr. Warner plans to fly out today.”

  Slade continued to stare at her now hidden nipples. “Unfortunately, due to my temporary setback, he’s staying a few more days.” He smiled at her obvious discomfort. “Dr. Warner hopes to convince Rylee his clinic would better serve me.”

  She twisted her mouth. “I agree.” It bothered her Slade might be drugged at the shrink’s clinic. However, it bothered her more to give up one more day of her life for an overbearing pompous royal prick. A drop dead gorgeous royal prick!

  Slade scowled. “You would love that wouldn’t you?”

  “I’ll be honest. I’m anxious to get back to work. Anyway, morphopsychosis or rather morphogenesis is hardly my specialty. An omega with a background in it would serve you better.”

  Slade leaned back, forming his hands into a steeple, and gazed at her with steely green eyes. Her breath quickened. Mesmerizing her into wanting to please him. “I prefer your company, Little Wolf.”

  The magic of his alpha possession broke on mention of “Little Wolf,” the name that irked her as much as “runt.” Call me that again, and I’ll quit being your guardian. “Cricket,” she corrected.

  Slade scoffed. “Runt or not you deserved a better name.”

  She had one, but she’d never tell him. “Why?” Cricket shrugged. “I was supposed to die anyway.”

  “But you weren’t born with six legs and wings.”

  She chuckled and opened the refrigerator. “Want another beer?”

  “No, but you may have one.”

  Really? It’s my apartment, my beer. The rule to wait until the alpha permitted one to eat or drink always annoyed the hell out of her. She grabbed a beer, opened it and theatrically bowed. “Thank you, master, sir.”

  He laughed rather than scolded her mocking sarcasm.

  Cricket drank the entire bottle to the last drop and then covered her mouth as she burped.

  “Someone so small should sip slowly.”

  “I don’t do anything slowly,” she smirked.

  “How long ago has it been since you endured the change?”

  “Three and half years.”

  “So young.”

  “What about you?”

  “Five years.”

  “In human years, not much of a difference.” She was twenty-four and he twenty-six. However, in wolf years, huge. Her memory of being a wolf was more recent than his. A wolf reached adult maturity at age three. The top alpha was bitten by his father, turned human, and then bit the rest of his pack. All werewolves, when turned, were age twenty-one years, but with selected knowledge acquired via the blood bite or what was known as Stallo’s blood, or the poison. She shuddered at the memory of the pain following the bite.

  “Now back to your name, why Cricket?”

  “Being the runt meant, being the last to get meat and the last to find room in the den. So I barked.” She laughed. “My barks sounded like a cricket’s chirp.”

  His tone remained serious while his gaze became unfocused. “One of our beta couples had a runt. They named him, Amarok, which is the name of a giant wolf in Inuit mythology. Perhaps they thought a powerful name might save him.” He shook his head. “Poor little cub didn’t last long.”

  Cricket’s hands clenched. Is that why he wanted to hang around her? Pity for the poor runt who needed the protection of an alpha? She kept her voice neutral. “It is the will of the gods which wolf survives and which one does not.”

  He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, studying her. Probably wondering, how an insignificant little runt could be part of the gods’ plans? “So it is.”

  “I better get dressed.” She stomped off to her bedroom.

  Slade heard the lock on the door as she closed it. Such rude manners. His fangs threatened to spring out, crash through the door and give her a nip, this time on her perky ass instead of her nose. Lower ranked wolves never locked their alphas out. Why did she
infuriate him so? Was she so miserable being his temporary companion? Did she really miss the adventure of Team Greywolf? Like hell would he let her leave him to investigate a potentially dangerous case, missing and possibly murdered werewolves.

  He sighed and walked over to her small kitchen. He snooped around and opened cabinets. Cereal. Boxes of cereals. Mostly the sugary variety human children favored. He chuckled and shook his head. Most werewolves never ate processed human food, especially carbs. Was she more human than wolf? At least in her refrigerator she stocked plenty of meat and poultry. And good Belgian beer. Something they agreed on.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  He turned and gaped. The little tart was dressed in a tight black dress that showed off her luscious curves. She wore high-heeled black boots to add height. Still too petite, but hot nonetheless.

  She smiled, her heart-shaped lips, tempted him to kiss her.

  Wrong. Very fucking wrong. He wanted to devour her mouth. Bite her honey-flavored lips. His cock rose to the occasion, startling him. There was no mistaking what he felt for her, not simple fondness, but raw carnal desire. “You look good.” He sounded like a juvenile. His wolf wanted to do more than compliment. Rake his fingers through her soft amber hair. The beast raged to fuck her. Hear her beg to keep her forever.

  “Thank you. On rare occasions, I like to dress like a girly girl.”

  If she were his, he’d buy her an entire wardrobe of girly girl clothing. He swallowed a threatening drool. “I suppose since you don’t date, it must be rare indeed.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, I date. Just because I’m a runt doesn’t make me a nun.”

  He stiffened. A flash of rage coursed through him. “But runts are not allowed to…have…date.”

  She leaned near him and whispered, “Little secret. Since we’re not a formal pack, those strict rules don’t apply.”

  He and his inner wolf tensed in possessiveness. The werewolves who joined the LIA were allowed a measure of freedom not common in normal packs, but it still bothered him. Actually, pissed him off. He grabbed his bottle of beer and took a deep swallow. “Naturally, despite the ease on rules no werewolf has slept with you.”