Real Men Claim: Real Men Shift Read online

  Trina beamed at him, genuinely impressed with the progress he’d made. “I’m not questioning that or anything, but you were pretty hurt when that all went down. What’s changed?”

  Warren frowned at his plate thoughtfully and then shrugged. “I’ll admit, I had a few dark moments, but what really helped was that Chloe left. The physical distance between us has given me some emotional distance from the situation, and I see things a little more clearly now.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as…” His cheeks pinked up a bit. “I cared about Chloe. I truly did. Somehow, I twisted that into thinking I was her soul mate. Not fated mate, I recognize that much, but I thought I would be the only man to ever truly understand her and care for her the way she deserved. It’s embarrassing to say, but I used to think of myself as her knight in shining armor.”

  Trina winced.

  “Then one day after she and Drew left, it struck me that I’d not only been thinking of myself as the best mate she could get, but the only mate who would be willing to accept her and… you know… her issues. God, it sounds so shitty when I say it out loud, but in for a penny, I guess.”

  He took a deep bracing breath and scrubbed a hand along his stubbly jawline.

  “The bottom line is that I cared about Chloe in spite of her infertility, rather than caring for her regardless of it. It was such a backward way of thinking. I see now just how immature and arrogant it was of me to assume I was the best she could possibly get. She deserved better than that. She deserved exactly what she got—a man who loves her for all of her unique qualities. Even the ones some people might see as flaws.”

  Tears pricked the backs of Trina’s eyes. He’d not only moved on but somehow, he’d grown up a little bit during the process.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she finally said, sniffing back her emotions and giving him a teasing grin. “Glad to see you’re finally leaving all that childish bullshit behind you.”

  Warren scowled and gave her a threatening growl, but Trina saw the sparkle in his eyes and she just laughed, which made him laugh. Pretty soon they were busting a gut, as only siblings could do over something so minor. It felt good, freeing. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and consequently hers.

  “Speaking of moving on…” he said, giving her a pointed look.

  Oh god, not this again.

  She pretended to have no idea what he was talking about, despite suddenly feeling as stiff as the Tin Man. “Hmm?”

  “Come on, sis. When are you finally going to get back in the game?”

  Avoiding his gaze, Trina grabbed her glass of wine and took a long, slow gulp. Or three. Only when her buzzing nerves were sufficiently sedated did she set her glass back down and meet her brother’s gaze. “Warren, stop.”

  But of course, he didn’t.

  “Sis, you’ve been single for way too long. All you do is work, work, work. When you’re not in your clinic or making house calls, you spend the rest of your free time helping Zeke and his crew at Full Moon Construction. You must fall into bed exhausted every night.”

  Duh, she wanted to say. Working herself to the point of passing out was the only way she could manage a decent night’s sleep. Otherwise, the ghosts would linger, and she’d lie awake staring at the ceiling until dawn broke.

  “Warren, I don’t want to talk about it. You know I’m not ready.”

  “Not ready?” he scoffed, looking at her with an endearing mixture of concern and frustration. “Trina, it’s been nine years! How much longer do you need to play the grieving widow?”

  She ground her teeth together to keep from snapping at him. He knew exactly how long she would grieve her mate. Forever.

  “You know there’s no one else out there for me, Warren. We both know how it works. Right? I got my fated mate. I loved him well. And then I lost him. There are no second chances when it comes to fated mates. It’s just not possible. Not in this lifetime, anyway, and I don’t believe in reincarnation so…”

  “But how do you know for sure unless you put yourself out there?”

  Before she could answer, Warren’s phone started playing the theme to Rocky, his ringtone for the pack’s alpha.

  “Hey, Zeke,” he said, tapping the screen and setting it on the table between them. “I’m with Trina.”

  “Hi, Zeke,” she said at the phone, ignoring Warren’s smirk.

  “Hope you two haven’t eaten yet,” Zeke said, his tense voice echoing throughout the small cabin. “Levi just got back from scat patrol in Wolf Woods and reported a bloody mess out there. Wolf’s blood apparently, but he also smelled a bunch of humans who had been there recently. The place stank of gunpowder too. By the time he stumbled on the scene, there was no other sign of a wolf or any humans.”

  “Oh my god,” Trina gasped. “Who was it? Did he recognize the wolf?”

  “No,” Zeke said, his voice turning hard. “Warren, you’re my best tracker and I want you out there yesterday while there’s still a little light left in the day.”

  “On it,” Warren said, wiping his mouth and pushing back from the table.

  “What about me?” Trina asked the air, worried about the mysterious injured wolf. “Should I come along? A wolf has clearly been shot.”

  “Absolutely not,” Warren answered before Zeke could. “You shouldn’t step foot outside this cabin. You’re far too valuable to the pack to put you at risk. I’ll call if we find the wolf… if he’s even alive.”

  Trina frowned but nodded at the wisdom of the decision. “Okay, but you be careful, big brother.”

  “Always, little sis.”

  He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then took the call off speaker and pressed the phone to his ear as he hurried out into the fading light of the day.

  Trina remained at the table, vacantly staring at the dirty dishes while worrying about Warren’s safety. He’d been in more dangerous situations before, but each time brought a fresh wave of anxiety for her. Shaking her head to clear the intrusive thoughts, she clucked at herself for being such a worrywart.

  Quickly clearing their dinner dishes, Trina made herself a cup of chamomile tea to settle her nerves. Watching the sunset with a hot cup of tea was just what the healer ordered, and soon she was settled into her rocking chair, fighting to keep the bad thoughts out of her mind.

  A sense of peace slowly settled over her as the sky’s reds and golds faded into purples and blues. Crickets chirped rhythmically in the grass while a flukishly warm breeze swept across her skin, carrying the last of her concerns with it. Warren would be fine. Whatever had happened in Wolf Woods was over and done with. He’d probably text her later that Levi had gotten it wrong, which would surprise no one. The blood would be from a deer or something, and the scent from that pesky lone wolf.

  Closing her eyes, she recalled what she could from the scent that had lingered on Little Hux that morning. Spicy, she thought, like cinnamon or nutmeg, not cayenne. It was hard to nail down anything else. The whiff had been so fleeting.

  Concentrating as hard as she could, she remembered more. Apples, maybe? Apple pie? No, that wasn’t quite right. Now that she was in the zone, the memory of the scent strengthened in her mind. Not apple pie, more like spiced cider. It reminded her of Christmas and home and family.

  The breeze switched directions, brushing the other side of her face like a caress as she took a deep, relaxed breath. The more she thought about the lone wolf’s scent, the stronger it became, waking the wolf within her.

  The sharp crack of a dry twig brought her out of her meditative state. Her eyes fluttered open and she squinted in the direction of the sound. Then two things happened in such quick succession her brain couldn’t process them rapidly enough.

  First, she realized with a start that she wasn’t remembering the lone wolf’s scent. She was smelling it! Fresh and piping hot, just like a mug of cider.

  The second realization smacked her like a wrecking ball. She nearly fell backward out of her rocking chair from th
e force of it. The lone wolf who’d been stalking Wolf Woods for the last month, the lone wolf who’d terrorized poor Little Hux, the lone wolf Zeke just said had been shot by human hunters…

  …was her mate.

  Before she could so much as wonder how one female could possibly be graced with two fated mates in one lifetime, the bushes and small trees at the edge of the forest shook, rattled, and spit out an absolutely huge and incredibly bloody wolf. The beast crawled out into the open, on the verge of death. Just enough light remained in the sky for her to see his wild, feral eyes searching for something.

  Then they latched on to her, and her wolf howled inside her in response. What she saw in those eyes wasn’t insanity, but rather… yearning and defeat. Air rushed from the beast’s lungs in what was either a big sigh or his dying breath, and then he collapsed.

  “No!” Trina screamed, leaping off the porch and sprinting toward the too-still pile of fur. Falling to her knees, she gathered the heavy body in her arms in a panic. Drawing on her innate healer skills, she forced herself to calm down and detach—as much as she could, anyway.

  She nearly cried out with relief when she saw the beast’s chest rising and falling. His breathing was shallow and labored, but he was breathing! He was also bleeding. Profusely.

  Trina’s body started vibrating, which quickly turned to shudders, and finally violent shaking. Against all odds and beyond any form of reason, she’d somehow miraculously found her fated mate. Her second fated mate.

  But this time?

  This time she would absolutely, positively not let this one die!

  Chapter Four

  Max drifted somewhere between a dream state and consciousness, or maybe death. The pain scorching through his body left a trail of red-hot embers that set his nerves aflame. They screamed until his senses dulled. If he cracked his eyes open, all he saw was gray with flashes of bright red pain. Even the normal scents of the forest had vanished, leaving only the sour stench of blood.

  No, there was something else. Something sweeter than blood and gore and death. His nose twitched as he took a deeper breath, and for a second, he was stunned by the fact he could breathe at all. Then he smelled it again, and memories flickered against the red-gray curtain of his mind.

  Memories of dragging his broken body out of a clearing to find a private place to die. Of crawling into the prickly heart of a bush with the last of his strength and curling into a ball to await his fate. Of catching a scent that drew him out from the bush and kept him moving, each tread hard-fought against the life ebbing from his wound. With each step, he’d somehow found just enough strength to take the next, despite his body screaming for him to give up already. But he wouldn’t… couldn’t.

  The scent had wrapped around him like a bubble, lifting him and carrying him along in spite of his injuries. An overwhelming sense of lightness brought him more joy than he’d felt in two years. No, his entire life, really. He hadn’t known what it was or what it meant. All he’d known was that if he could find its source, he’d die happy. And what more could he have asked for, under the circumstances?

  The moment he’d broken through the tree line and spotted the tiny cabin with warm light glowing from its windows, he’d known he found what his instincts had been searching for.

  Safety.

  Sanctuary.

  Serenity.

  The last thing he remembered before the world went black was lying in the arms of the most beautiful woman ever born. She’d been the beacon his nose had followed. He’d found home.

  A fresh wave of pain startled Max and his eyes popped open. The gray had evaporated into blinding white light. Blinking rapidly, he realized the light came from a bright examination lamp blazing down onto his human body. The room reeked of antiseptic, and judging by the cabinets filled with small white bottles, he was in some kind of hospital or doctor’s office.

  Then the scent that had saved his life settled on him like a warm, heavy blanket. She was near, the woman who felt like home. This was her space, where she spent much of her time. His heart thundered and adrenaline pumped through his veins, easing some of his pain and making his body yearn for her. When he turned his head to look for her, a shot of agony blasted along his side, pulling a groan from his lips—half from the pain, half from his need for her.

  Then her face appeared directly over his, and they stared at each other. He had no idea for how long and he didn’t care. He wanted to drink her in, memorize the high ridge of her cheekbones, the lushness of her lips, and the soft line of her jaw ending in a shallow dimple on her chin. Her clear blue eyes were full of concern and confusion, and if he’d had the strength, he would have kissed away both emotions until all that remained was bliss.

  A lock of long, blonde hair fell free from a loose, messy bun, and her long fingers tucked it behind her ear absently. His own fingers itched to clasp her hand and press it to his lips, to show her that even though they didn’t know each other’s names, he would treat her like a princess and be the best damned mate she could ever hope for.

  Every instinct in his body roared for him to claim her, right there on the gurney. What blood remained in his body headed straight for his cock, tenting the sheet that covered his naked form. Her gaze darted down, and then her eyes widened, her cheeks pinking up prettily. A fresh wave of her scent hit him again, but this time it was mixed with hot desire, the kind that would rattle the windows and shake their souls.

  Damn, maybe he had died, and this was his version of heaven. He could live with that.

  Max ran his tongue over his parched lips, wondering what she would taste like, but the woman had yet to meet his gaze again. Instead, she held up a metal clipboard with trembling hands and pretended to read his chart. She opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a tight squeak. Clearing her throat, she tried again, this time transfixing him with her eyes.

  “Good morning,” she said, anxiety and desire wrestling in the tone of her voice. “I’m surprised you’re awake already, but I’m glad to see it. My name’s Trina Edgecomb. I’m the healer for the Soren pack. I know you’re probably overwhelmed right now, so I’d like to keep things simple for you. One thing at a time, okay?”

  Max simply stared at her, wondering what he’d done to deserve a mate like Trina.

  Trina Edgecomb.

  The loveliest name he’d ever heard.

  “You were badly injured when you were shifted,” she filled the silence when he didn’t reply. “Do you remember anything at all?”

  “Only your touch.” His voice came out thick and husky, and his words shook her. Good. He wanted her to know the effect she had on him. Her lips pressed into a hard line as she did everything. She could not to look directly at him.

  “I-I need to check your dressing,” her voice quavered as she set aside the chart and reached for the sheet. “Do you mind?”

  He remained silent, his hot gaze watching her intently and memorizing the way her body moved. She tried to grasp the edge of the sheet, but it fluttered free from her shaking fingers. Flexing her hands into tight balls, she took a deep breath that didn’t seem to help soothe her nerves and tried again. That time her fingers obeyed her command.

  For the first time since Trina came into view, Max let his eyes drop away from her breathtaking beauty to the swath of gauze wrapped many times around his torso. A bulge stuck out from his right side and the dressing there sported a small, bright red stain. Instead of wincing, as he might have before, he breathed a sigh of relief. His mate was there, and that was all the reassurance he needed. Instinct told him he was in the best possible hands.

  And he couldn’t wait to have them all over his body. As tempting as the thought was, he remained still while she examined the dressing. He sensed her all-consuming need to heal him, so he’d let her, even though every wasted second felt like torture. The sooner she finished up the task, the sooner he could lay her down on the gurney and claim her as his.

  “I don’t even have to change it ye
t,” she mumbled as she peered at the bandage. It wasn’t the only thing she peered at. Her gaze kept flitting to other parts of his body—his broad chest, the muscles in his abdomen, which had only become more pronounced during his time on his own, the growing tent just past where the sheet lay covering his bottom half. “Good. Very good.”

  She pulled herself to her full height slowly, as if she was unfurling herself. At six-foot-four, Max would still be taller than her by a large margin, but not as much as he might have expected. She had to be just an inch or two shy of six feet herself. At least he wouldn’t have to hunch to kiss her.

  “You were shot with a hunting rifle,” she explained calmly and oh-so-professionally, but that all-business tone wavered with her next words. “I’ve never been a big believer in miracles, but I think this is one of those times.”

  Her cool, soft hand touched the area around the dressing, sending an interesting combination of pain and desire coursing through Max’s body. No way would he show her the pain, but he couldn’t stop himself from showing his need for her. Not that he wanted to.

  “Honestly,” she continued, “I thought you were dead. Or would be by the time I could get you loaded onto the gurney and back into the clinic. You’re remarkably… resilient. And exceptionally lucky. I thought you’d suffered a gut shot, which would have been fatal, but the bullet passed through your body without hitting anything vital. You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you’re going to survive.”

  Trina swallowed hard, and Max could almost feel her distress. It smelled a bit like a bowl of fresh potpourri shoved under his nose—sickly sweet, pungent, overpowering. Despite that, she was holding up admirably well for a woman who’d just discovered her fated mate and almost lost him in the same moment.

  Damn, he loved a strong woman.

  But it was time for him to be strong for her, to show her she was no longer alone, that together they would be a force to be reckoned with. Once he was fully healed, anyway. In the meantime, there were more important things to discuss than his measly flesh wound.