Real Men Hunt: Real Men Shift Page 3

  Warren pushed past Trina, his hands starting to reach for her but then quickly pulling back. His fingers curled into fists, as if he was holding himself back from something, while Trina continued her exam.

  “The original settlers of our, uh, village homesteaded the land this side of Wolf Woods. For generations, we’ve used those woods as an extension of our property, a sort of buffer between the town and us. It’s not that we’re antisocial and don’t want neighbors or anything. It’s more that the woods are a local landmark. There’s a lot of historical and cultural significance there. Losing the woods would hurt the town as a whole, not just for a bit of public greenspace, but tourists come from all around to search the woods for werewolves.”

  Persia snorted. She’d researched Wolf Woods and Tremble thoroughly before dragging her caravan there to protest another McNish development. Loonies from around the country flocked to the tiny Georgia town in search of cryptids—chupacabra, Big Foot, and werewolves. The town had cleverly capitalized on the fascination with Wolf Woods, which had turned Tremble into something of a tourist trap. If she’d had the money, she would have loved to spend the night in one of the Lupine Inn’s werewolf-themed rooms. As it was, working at The Wolf’s Lair Bar & Grille gave her enough of a supernatural vibe, what with all the silly werewolf tchotchkes decorating the place.

  “I really can’t believe people still believe in all that nonsense.” She smiled up at Warren. It felt good, natural. Smiling at him seemed to be what she’d been born to do.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught Trina shooting a funny look at her brother, but Persia was too mesmerized by his stormy blue eyes. So mesmerized, she barely noticed another man walking into the clinic from an adjoining room. The man had shaggy, light brown hair and matching hazel eyes with a physique that wouldn’t quit. It seemed this village produced a lot of gorgeous people.

  “Even so,” Trina spoke again, “if Dick McNish gets his way, we’ll all suffer from the loss of Wolf Woods.”

  The man sidled up to Trina and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “McNish is an asshole. He needs to be brought to justice.”

  “I totally agree,” Persia’s excitement over finding like-minded people dimmed her pain a little. “You know, if more locals joined our protest, we’d have more footing. Things always go much better when townspeople get involved instead of just looking at us outsiders like we’re lunatics. Besides, the more people who protest, the more exposure the issue gets. Strength in numbers and all that.”

  The trio shared a look that spoke volumes, but Persia didn’t have the translation guide. If she had to guess, she would have said they looked intrigued. Better than irritated, so she pushed on.

  “Our first step was to set up our base camp and draw some attention with our signs and chants.”

  “I particularly like ‘Down with Dick,’” the man holding onto Trina chimed in. “Name’s Max, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Max. And thanks. That one’s mine. Came up with it ages ago.”

  “So what’s your next step?” Warren asked, inching just a little closer to her, which didn’t bother her a bit.

  Persia grinned up at him, partly from excitement over her plans and partly because she couldn’t seem to do anything except smile at him. “Building platforms in the trees so they can’t be torn down. It’s called tree-sitting. We use mountain climbing gear to get way up in the trees to build the platforms, and then we just camp out there to stall development.”

  Warren’s eyes glittered. “Treehouses?” he breathed, clearly excited by the idea.

  “Not exactly,” Persia laughed at his enthusiasm. “But close enough.”

  “Count me in. I have access to lumber, tools, and plenty of skilled workmen who’d be thrilled to support the cause.”

  Persia’s heart nearly stuttered to stop, giving new meaning to the quip “Be still my beating heart.” Not only was this Warren guy drop-dead gorgeous, but he was eager to join their effort in stopping the development. Taking a beat, she gave him a deep-down assessment. Sandy blond hair, a little darker than his sister’s, eyes so blue they pierced her to the core, a lean-yet-muscular swimmer’s build, and a desire to save the environment. Or at least stop McNish, anyway. What more could a girl want?

  Warren was a true manly man, a far cry from the hacky-sack-loving, pot-smoking hippie guys she tended to hang out with, but the image of him swinging a hammer, shirtless and sweaty with hard work, made her feel tingly in all of her happy places. Meeting his gaze felt a bit like taking a shot of really good tequila, slowly warming every inch of her skin and then soaking through the rest of her.

  “How can I turn down an offer like that?” she swung her legs over the side of the gurney and attempted to stand.

  As soon as her feet touched the floor, the warmth oozing through her was replaced by a harsh wave of dizziness and she had to press her butt to the gurney to brace herself. Persia was almost certain it was caused by the bump to her head and not the intoxicating scent rolling off Warren.

  Almost.

  “Whoa,” Trina lunged for her patient, but Warren reached Persia first.

  His warm hands gently helped her back onto the gurney, and one remained on her shoulder, even after she no longer needed the help. Not that she was complaining.

  Trina clucked her tongue. “You probably want to get back to your camp, but it’s pretty late and I’d feel a whole lot better if you stayed the night so I can monitor you.”

  “Good idea,” Max dropped a quick kiss on his lady’s cheek. “In fact, I made a nice stew for dinner, and there’s plenty for a guest.”

  “Or two,” Warren gave his sister a meaningful look.

  Trina smirked at him. “Only if you sing for us.”

  “Uh, no one wants to hear that,” he replied, scowling at her and giving her a not-so-subtle head shake.

  “Come on, big brother. It’s always a such a treat.” Trina gave Persia a mischievous smile. “He’s got a helluva singing voice, when he isn’t being greedy with it.”

  “No,” Warren insisted, “she’s already got enough of a headache. Last thing she needs is to listen to my caterwauling.”

  Trina rolled her eyes at her brother’s stubbornness and huffed, “Fine.”

  The back and forth between the siblings warmed Persia’s heart. As an only child, she’d never had that bond with another person. She’d had to suffer through her childhood alone. Someone to share the burden might have been nice, but then again, she wouldn’t have wished it on her worst enemy.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I really do need to get back to work. This might come as a shock but being a professional protestor doesn’t pay as much as you’d think.”

  Warren seemed too concerned to catch her joke. “No, not tonight. Hux feels terrible about what happened and gave you the rest of the night off. With pay.”

  She’d liked Hux the moment she’d interviewed for the barmaid job, and this little nugget only confirmed her belief he was a good man. That didn’t mean she was going to overstay her welcome with her new friends, though.

  “That’s really nice of him, but I still need to get my Westfalia. It’s my home and I’m a little protective of it.”

  Warren caught her gaze again and any worries she had fled from her mind.

  Westfalia? What’s that?

  Concussion? Who cares?

  “No need to worry about your van. It couldn’t be anywhere safer than in Hux’s parking lot. Trust me on that. I’ll drive you down there first thing in the morning. Deal?”

  For the first time in her life, Persia had nothing left to protest.

  Chapter Four

  Warren stretched his hind legs and shook his furry head as the sun peeked over the treetops the next morning. Despite her protests, he’d promised Persia he’d be at the clinic bright and early. Mainly because he knew he’d be sleeping on the steps leading to Trina’s clinic. No way was he going to leave his mate alone, not as long as people like McNish were
out to destroy their pack. Hell, he’d stay by her side twenty-four-seven, if she’d let him, regardless of what was happening in the world.

  It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Max and Trina to be in the next room. Well, in truth, he trusted Trina and gave Max the benefit of the doubt since Trina trusted him. She’d probably slice off very important parts of Max if he so much as sniffed in Persia’s direction. But he felt more protective of Persia than anything else in his entire life and hadn’t been able to force himself away. Even so, a pang of jealousy stabbed his heart when he caught Max’s scent surrounding the cabin. It was only natural for a male wolf to want to keep his mate safe, but he no longer wanted jealousy to be part of his life.

  Your first reaction is how you were taught to feel, and your second reaction is your true self’s response.

  That had become Warren’s mantra since he’d had a nice long talk a while back with the pack’s omega, Cassandra. He’d sought her out not long after his childhood crush, Chloe, had run off with another pack’s healer. He’d thought his heart was broken, but Cassandra helped him see it wasn’t. Mostly his ego had been bruised. Regardless, he reminded himself of his new mantra on a daily basis, and he found it helped him to be more mindful of the world.

  And that wasn’t a bad thing.

  Warren took his time shifting, still drowsy and stiff from sleeping on hard wood all night. The sun felt good on his bare skin, and he took a moment to bask in it, thanking the heavens for bringing Persia to Tremble. The irony of the situation struck him as he dressed. He really should be thanking Dick McNish. If the asshole hadn’t set his sights on Wolf Woods, Persia might never have stepped foot in Tremble and Warren would never have found her.

  Not wanting to wake everyone if they still slept, Warren softly rapped a couple of times on the clinic door. He’d learned the hard way not to just barge in anymore. Seeing his sister and her mate going at it twice had been enough to teach him that lesson. He was about to turn away when the door swung open. Persia stood there, staring up at him with warmth in her eyes, clearly happy to see him.

  Yes!

  “Early riser too, huh?” she stepped aside to let him pass.

  Trina and Max stood in the pass-through to their cabin, enjoying their morning Earl Grey.

  “You could say that,” he chuckled, ignoring his sister’s smirk.

  “Want some tea?” Max struggled to hide his smile at how smitten Warren was with Persia.

  “No,” Persia answered for him, “we need to get going. Don’t need my van getting booted for sitting in the parking lot all night.”

  Eager to leave the smug atmosphere filling his sister’s place, Warren readily agreed and ushered her out the door toward his truck. When he hurried to open the passenger door for her, she gave him a perplexed smile.

  “Old fashioned type, huh?”

  “Are you telling me you don’t like a little chivalry?” Warren quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “No way, I’m just not used to it.” She climbed into her seat.

  Warren knew he shouldn’t feel overly proud about making her feel special, but he did. Biting the inside of his cheek, he rounded the truck thinking of everything she’d unwittingly told him in the clearing the day before. If he wanted to woo this woman, he’d have to take his cues wherever he could.

  The cab was silent, other than the roar of the engine, as they bumped their way off the mountain and onto the main road leading into Tremble. Persia moved her legs as if to prop them on the dash but stopped short.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he told her. “If you haven’t noticed, this rattle trap isn’t very fancy.”

  Persia laughed, kicking back as if she owned the beast. Her loud, uninhibited laugh sounded like the daintiest wind chimes, though it was anything but dainty. It suited her so perfectly, and he could tell he’d spend the rest of his life smiling every time she so much as chuckled.

  And the fact she was already so comfortable in his presence gave him immense pleasure and a strange sort of joy. The view of her curvy calves when her flowing skirt fell away from them gave him other feelings. Feelings he wouldn’t be able to hide if he kept staring at her creamy skin.

  Clearing his throat and keeping his eyes trained on the road, he tried to find a safe topic. “Trina gave you the all-clear this morning, I assume.”

  “Yup, fit as a fiddle. I barely even have a smidge of a headache, just a tender lump.” Her fingers fluttered up to her head and gingerly prodded the spot that had come in contact with a table.

  “Good to hear. I just hate this was your first impression of Tremble. McNish has really caused a stir. We used to have such a peaceful and friendly community but now…”

  “If things hadn’t gotten stirred up, I wouldn’t be seeing it at all,” she pointed out.

  “True,” Warren chuckled, amused that he’d thought pretty much the same thing.

  “Besides, I’ve seen it happen before. I’ve followed McNish’s delightful path of destruction all over Georgia for… well over a year now. “Her sigh held more sadness than Warren would have expected.

  “Mind if I ask why you’ve been on his tail?”

  The mood inside the truck darkened as she shot him a sharp glance. “Because what he’s doing is beyond criminal. Running people off their ancestral lands? For what? Money? What kind of person does that?”

  “An awful one,” Warren grimaced.

  “McNish is a real piece of work. You’d be shocked how good he is at covering up his activities. I simply can’t abide the thought of him destroying so many people’s lives and never facing the consequences of that choice.”

  Her passion intoxicated him. Of course, he wanted to experience a different, more intimate kind of passion with her, but her energy rubbed off on him, exciting him at the thought of stopping McNish.

  “And that’s why I’ve dedicated my life to stopping Dick McNish from ruining anyone else’s lives.”

  “Did you see the article about him the other day?”

  She shrugged her ambivalence. “It was well-written, but it was only the start of what needs to happen to break through his armor. He’s big league, and a measly regional news article won’t affect him too much. Now if it had been a national news outlet…”

  Warren spent the rest of the ride filling Persia in on the pack’s dealings with McNish—what he could, at least—including that Max had been the source for the exposé on McNish.

  Pulling into The Lair’s barren parking lot, Warren pulled up one spot over from a battered Volkswagen Westfalia van that looked even worse than his old pickup. As she reached for her door handle, he pointed at her.

  “Don’t move!”

  No mate of his would open her own car door, as long as she was okay with it. Judging by the amused smile that turned up the edges of her perfectly plump lips, she was.

  “You’re the real deal. Aren’t you?” She accepted his hand to help her down.

  “Not sure what you mean, but I’ll take it.”

  His grin faltered with the nearness of her. Underneath the antiseptic smell from spending the night in Trina’s clinic, her true dessert-like scent caught him in the back of the throat. He couldn’t even swallow for fear of losing that addictive tickle. Leaning in toward her, Warren couldn’t help noticing she didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in a tiny bit too, craning her neck to stare into his eyes and entrancing him like a siren, luring him in with her mismatched eyes and pure soul.

  Persia broke the spell, jerking back with a start and stepping away from the circle of their attraction. Coughing deliberately to buy some time, she flushed scarlet and quickly turned away so he couldn’t see. A good start, as far as he was concerned. Moving slowly when his mate was inches away nearly killed him, not to mention brought his wolf so close to the surface he worried he might have sprouted tufts of hair. Hopefully the courting process wouldn’t take too long because he wasn’t sure he could resist her charms much longer.

  “What do you think of Betty?” Pe
rsia asked as she pulled out her keys and opened the sliding door to her pale-yellow antiquity.

  Blowing out a breath of frustration, he smiled. “Betty? You named your van?”

  “Sure, doesn’t everyone?” she asked, looking at him like he was the weirdo.

  “Uh, no,” he chuckled as he peered inside.

  Threadbare wasn’t a strong enough term to describe the front seats. Chewed up and spit out would have been more like it. The original tan- and brown-striped tweed had worn down into strips, allowing the cushioning underneath to peek through. A badly cut hunk of orange shag carpet lay on the floor behind the seats where a built-in beige-and-brown cabinet served as a tiny kitchenette. Unlit twinkle lights hung along the ceiling, which had latches that allowed the whole thing to tilt up to offer some head room. A large faded flag reading Free Tibet! lay draped over the back seat. Persia pushed a foot stool-looking box with a matching seat cushion out of the way, grimacing an apology at him.

  “What?” he asked, clueless.

  “That’s the Portapotty. Sorry.”

  Warren’s home, a small cabin just inside the woods near the pack house, wasn’t overly large, but it was a mansion compared to Persia’s camper van. Camping for a few days in such a contraption would be one thing, but living out of one was something entirely different.

  “You… live in this? For real?”

  She must have caught his look of disbelief and snorted. “Lots of people have to live in their cars or worse these days, Warren. Way I see it, I’m living in the lap of luxury, compared to them. Besides, it doesn’t make sense to pay rent on an apartment when I travel so much.”

  He grunted noncommittally, unwilling to put words to the way he felt about her living in such an insecure space. She deserved to live in a mansion with all the luxurious trappings—not that he could give that to her, but compared to a van, his cabin might actually seem like one.

  “Looks like the perfect size for one person,” he did his best not to put any emphasis on “one.” The funny look she gave him said he failed.