This she-wolf has sworn off love...

But a true mate trumps all

Ever since her heart was shattered, wolf shifter Angeline O’Brien has guarded her emotions. And her new neighbor, paramilitary operative Lincoln Adams, irritates her nerves like none other. He’s the last man she should trust, but the only one she can’t resist. As sparks fly, Angeline and Lincoln can’t deny that what’s between them is more than passion; it just might be love...

Southern born and bred, KRISTAL HOLLIS holds a psychology degree and has spent her adulthood helping people and animals. When a family medical situation resulted in a work sabbatical, she began penning deliciously dark paranormal romances as an escape from the real-life drama. But when the crisis passed, her passion for writing love stories continued. A 2015 Golden Heart® Award finalist, Kristal lives with her husband and two rescued dogs at the edge of the enchanted forest that inspires her stories.

Also by Kristal Hollis

Awakened by the Wolf

Rescued by the Wolf

Charmed by the Wolf

Captivated by the She-Wolf

Tamed by the She-Wolf

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Tamed by the She-Wolf

Kristal Hollis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08221-1

TAMED BY THE SHE-WOLF

© 2018 Kristal Hollis

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To everyone on the Supernatural team, thank you

for not only making my dreams come true,

but also making them shine.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

“Dayax!”

Having shifted into his wolf form under cover of night, Lincoln Adams eased farther into the dilapidated two-story building, shot-up and abandoned long before he and his team had arrived in Taifa, a war-torn village in southern Somalia and home to the Yeeyi pack.

Wahyas, an ancient species of wolf shifters who were caught in the middle of escalating human conflicts, faced a greater likelihood of unintentional exposure. To minimize the risk, the Woelfesenat, the secretive international wolf council, developed elite Special Forces teams called Dogmen. Their primary function: safeguarding Wahyas in harm’s way while aiding human allies in their worldwide peacekeeping endeavors.

Since their arrival in Taifa six months ago, Lincoln’s Dogman team had been providing support to UN forces defending the area against militant insurgents and administering humanitarian aid.

Dayax, an orphaned wolfling who’d made himself somewhat of a daily pest at their base of operation, had disappeared from his village during the guerillas’ morning raid.

Tonight, Lincoln’s mission, though not officially sanctioned, nonetheless fell within the scope of his sworn duties. Still, he’d chosen to conduct the search and rescue alone.

Sensing movement behind him, Lincoln spun around, baring his teeth, and issued a low, threatening growl. Five dark, stealthy figures covertly closed in on the building.

Damn ass-wipes.

Affection flooded his wolfan body while he watched his team, in their human forms, fall into position as they had done on countless missions. Handgun drawn, Lila Raycen quietly and quickly entered the building, snapped a quick look around and then gave a hand signal to her teammates. Her gaze sweeping the street, she whispered, “Sorry, Cap’n. All for one and all that jazz.”

Lincoln couldn’t speak the words floating through his mind. Wahyas could only telepathically communicate with other Wahyas if both were in their wolfan forms. Unless, of course, they were mated, which he and Lila were not. Nor would they ever be.

Although grateful at the show of Lila’s support, he growled to officially express displeasure at her disregard of his direct order for the team to remain on-base.

“You can thank me later—” she smirked “—with a fat, juicy steak.”

She had a long wait. On deployment, Dogmen’s diets consisted of water and rations—canned and freeze-dried. Lincoln couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a real meal. But once this assignment ended and they returned to HQ, his first home-cooked meal would be fried, shredded beef empanadas. His weren’t as good as the ones his mom made but she had the actual family recipe handed down from her bisabuela, while he had to make them from memory, since Dogmen weren’t allowed contact with family or friends while in the Program.

One more team member entered the building; the remaining three set up watch outside.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Damien Marquez asked. A member of Lincoln’s team for less than a year and a royal pain in the ass, but the fresh-faced Dogman made a damn good soldier.

Lincoln nodded. Dayax had lived in the abandoned building ever since his parents died. On his first patrol of the village, Lincoln had discovered the wolfling scavenging in the streets. And Lincoln had been feeding him ever since.

He’d also notified his superiors of Dayax’s plight, requesting an extraction and transport to a new pack. Their negative response didn’t stop him from keeping an eye on Dayax or from planning to take the boy with him once the deployment ended. Screw HQ.

“All right,” Lila said quietly. “Let’s find the wolfling and get the hell out of here.”

Using his snout, Lincoln motioned for Damien to stand watch at the entrance. Since he’d already searched the bottom floor, Lincoln signaled Lila to follow him upstairs. Remaining in his wolf form, he hoped the wolfling would either hear his telepathic calls or see his wolf and come out of hiding.

Lincoln bounded up the mostly intact stairwell. The bulletproof vest he wore, specially fitted for his wolf, chaffed despite a thick coat of fur.

Following close on his heels, Lila, his second-in-command, obeyed orders as well as she gave them. Except for tonight’s excursion, she’d never disobeyed a direct command. But he wouldn’t fault her for this one. Loyalty sometimes outweighed a crappy order.

Together for the last five years, he would miss her support and friendship when she got her own team. He knew she would because he had been the one to recommend her for promotion.

Lincoln continued reaching out telepathically to Dayax. Silence answered, time and time again.

The worry gnawing Lincoln’s gut spread into his chest. As they carefully cleared the second floor, the probability that the wolfling had been injured in the earlier firefight or had been taken by the rebels became a clear and present concern.

“Más rápido!” Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Damien waved for them to hurry. “There’s movement down the street and it isn’t the Red Cross handing out lollipops and blankets.”

Room by room they searched. The gnawing in Lincoln’s stomach would eat through his chest before long. After seeing the cruel and evil side of man and wolf for so long, Lincoln had nearly lost hope in everything. Then Dayax came along. With his inquisitive mind, generous smile and trusting eyes, despite all he’d suffered, Dayax had renewed Lincoln’s faith. If he lost the boy now, the last threads of his humanity would snap.

“Se acabó el tiempo!” Damien yelled.

“Almost done,” Lila replied.

Lincoln exited the last room to the left of the stairs and returned to the corridor, shaking his head. He gazed out the large window into the empty alley below.

“Dayax, wherever you are, I will find you!” He sent the question telepathically in English and Somali, hoping the wolfling would receive the message and understand that Lincoln would not give up on him.

“Last one, Linc. Then we gotta scram.” Lila stopped in front of the last door to the right of the stairs.

“All right, kid. Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she said, turning the doorknob. “Hmm. Must be stuck.”

Lincoln’s stomach knotted and a horrible foreboding drove an icy knife into his gut. “Lila, wait!”

Unable to hear Lincoln’s telepathic warning in her human form, she shoved her shoulder against the door. It swung innocently open and she darted into the room.

The breath stalled in Lincoln’s chest continued on its path, though his heart still thundered.

“Vámonos!” Damien shouted, stomping up the stairs two at a time. “Vámonos!”

A flash of light accompanied a resounding boom. The percussive force slammed Lincoln against the window. Deafened from the explosion, he never heard the glass break. But the air swooshed around him and his stomach looped as he plunged downward.

He would be okay; his team would be okay. Dayax would be okay. The beautiful angel inside the thin silver case tucked in the pocket of his protective vest would make sure they were. She always did.

Nine weeks later

“I’m gonna wring his freaking neck!”

Angeline O’Brien glared at the man passed out on her brand-new leather couch, thrashing and yelling in his sleep.

She slammed the apartment door, envisioning her long fingers curling around Tristan Durrance’s throat for giving his subletter the wrong key.

Friends since they were tweens, neighbors for nearly all of their adult lives, and both relationshipphobes, Tristan and Angeline had traded apartment keys with the understanding that they would look out for each other. Angeline had expected the arrangement to continue into their elder years.

Unfortunately for her, last summer Tristan had accidentally claimed a mate and subsequently fallen in love, breaking up their platonic cohesiveness. Angeline didn’t begrudge Tristan’s happiness, but she had felt a little lonely since he’d moved out of his apartment.

But not lonely enough to play nice with a Dogman who had found his way into the wrong apartment. Everyone in the Walker’s Run pack had been anticipating the wolfan paramilitary man’s arrival for weeks. Everyone except Angeline.

Turbulent emotions rose inside her. When her first and only love, Tanner Phillips, had chosen life as a Dogman over a mateship with her, Angeline had never wanted to hear the word Dogman again. Neither did she ever want to come face-to-face with one.

So instead of welcoming this Dogman like a hero, she had a mind to toss his ass outside into the cold and slam the door in his face. Next to the two empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter, she dropped her purse and the carry-out bag from Taylor’s Roadhouse, her uncle’s restaurant where she worked part-time.

“Hey!” she snapped. After being on her feet all night, Angeline wanted a hot shower to wash away the food odors from her body and to relax in the utter quiet and comfort of her home. Alone. The sooner she got the Dogman into the right apartment, the better. “Wake up!”

Curled on his side, face pressed against the duffel bag he used as a pillow, the man gave no indication that he’d heard her. Every muscle in his body remained tightly coiled. A muscle spasmed along his clenched jaw and the deep furrows creased his brow.

Angeline’s irritation level dropped a few notches. “Are you all right?” She touched him. An unexpected electric current caused her fingers to tighten on his bare shoulder when she should’ve let go.

His large hand cuffed her wrist as he sat up. “Who are you?” he snarled. His glaring silvery-green gaze appeared to be clouded and unfocused.

“The person who owns the couch you’re sleeping on.” Angeline yanked her captive arm against his hold. Instead of freeing herself, she became more entangled with him as he rolled off the couch and stood, leaning heavily on her.

“Where’s my team?” A shag of black hair curtained his forehead, dark brows slashed angrily over his eyes and his naturally brown skin lightly glistened with sweat. “Where’s Dayax?”

“Wherever you think you are, you aren’t!” She grappled against his effort to restrain her. “This is my apartment, not Tristan’s, and I want you to leave.”

Angeline’s heart pounded with a healthy dose of adrenaline, but not outright fear. She’d had to contend with two older brothers growing up. Wrestling over one thing or another had been a daily sport and they hadn’t given her any slack just because of her gender.

She wiggled one arm free, sharpened her elbow and jammed it into his solar plexus. An audible gasp filled her ear. His hold loosened. Falling away, he snatched the tails of her sweater.

With a resounding oomph, he hit the carpeted floor, flat on his back with Angeline sprawling on top of him. Immediately, his meaty arms caged her, then rolling her beneath him, he pinned her with his weight.

“I can’t breathe!” At least not all that well.

Hands flat against his muscled chest, damp from sweat, Angeline shoved hard but nothing happened. Pushing over a concrete wall might’ve been easier than getting the wolfan male to budge.

“Who are you?” Though he allowed her some wiggle room, the timbre of his growl gave grave warning.

“The woman who will unman you if you don’t get the hell off me!” Angeline scraped her nails down his taut abdomen to the waistband of his boxers. Odd, considering wolfan males didn’t care to wear men’s underwear. But it was winter and she was grateful that his bare ass hadn’t christened her new couch.

The undergarment, however, didn’t prevent her from gripping his heavy sack in a manner any man would recognize as anything but playful.

A painful snarl parted his lips. Each time she squeezed, his lids shuttered and his gaze became more focused and alert. She knew the moment his brain recognized that he was crouched intimately above a female whose body was perfectly aligned with his.

“Think carefully about your next move, Dogman.”

“Oh, I’m not moving, Angel,” he said calmly. Clearly. Seductively. “Not until you let go of my balls.”

“Good,” she said, ignoring the flutter in her stomach that his deep, quiet Texas drawl had started to stir. “Now that you’re awake, do you know where you are?”

A whisper of a smile curved his mouth. “In heaven.” Eyes drifting closed, he lowered his face to hers and rubbed his check against her jaw, snuffling her hair. “God, you smell divine.”

Despite the awkward circumstance, Angeline didn’t sense any threat in his manner. The reverent way he breathed in her scent seemed almost like an act of worship.

His clean male musk invaded her senses, sparking a primal interest better left dormant.

“All right. The sniff feast is over.” She squeezed his sack.

Once she had his full attention again, Angeline let go.

He eased off her and she sat up, watching him hoist himself onto the couch. Only then did she realize that most of his left leg was missing. She also noticed the scattered scars on his arms and torso. Some new, others quite old.

Her heart pinched but she wouldn’t allow sympathy to fester. She had no business feeling anything for a Dogman.

Leaning down, he picked up the blanket that had slid to the floor during their struggle and folded it. “Apologies for the intrusion, Angel.”

“My name isn’t Angel. It’s Angeline.” She sank into the oversize chair. “That was some nightmare you were having when I came home. Have those often?”

“Every time I fall asleep.”

No wonder his eyes looked weary, and wary and sad.

“And why are you sleeping on my couch, Dogman?”

“I prefer Lincoln,” he said quietly. “Tristan left the wrong key beneath the doormat. When I called, he said you wouldn’t mind if I crashed here. Clearly, he made a mistake.” He removed a nude-colored stocking from the oversize duffel bag. Grimacing, he began stretching it over his naturally bronze stump.

Angeline folded her arms over her chest, hoping he didn’t notice her weakness, a traitorous heart that tweaked because of the traumatic loss he had suffered. “Tristan should’ve warned me.”

If he had, she might’ve refused.

Watching Lincoln pull the state-of-the-art prosthetic leg from his duffel, guilt stabbed at her conscience. He would only be in town a few weeks. She could grit her teeth and be neighborly for that long, couldn’t she?

Chapter 2

Half naked and legless wasn’t how Lincoln had imagined meeting his guardian angel in the flesh. Angeline’s long auburn hair framed a face Lincoln would have recognized even if he were a blind man with only his hands to feel the shape of her feminine brow, her high, angular cheeks and soft, full lips. God only knew how often he had traced every angle and plane of the woman in the worn photograph he’d carried with him for the better part of the last fifteen years. Now that he’d encountered the she-wolf in the flesh, his heart wouldn’t stop fluttering and the tingly sensation in his stomach would make him sick if it didn’t stop soon.

Attaching the prosthetic to his stump, Lincoln didn’t dare take his gaze off Angeline, fearing she would disappear like she had so often in his dreams.

The old picture entrusted to him by the dying Dogman on Lincoln’s first mission hadn’t done Angeline justice because it had failed to capture her fire and strength of will. Unlike the fragile, ethereal female he’d envisioned, the real woman—strong, sassy, sexy—took him utterly by surprise.

“When is the last time you ate?” Despite the gentleness in her voice, Angeline’s hard, no-nonsense gaze didn’t soften.

“On the plane, somewhere over the ocean,” he said over the loud rumblings of his stomach. Grabbing his camo pants, he stuffed his good leg into the pant leg and then slid the other pant leg over his prosthetic without embarrassment over his nearly nude state. For Wahyas, nudity was as natural as eating and breathing.

“I’m coming off a ten-hour flight from Munich. I got stuck in customs for over two hours in the Atlanta airport because the TSA agents had never seen the bionics used in my leg. Then I had a nearly three-hour drive to get here and all of the drive-throughs in town were closed.”

He wouldn’t starve, though. Inside his duffel were the rations he’d consumed for so long that he no longer remembered the taste of real food.

Wordlessly, Angeline stood and strolled into the kitchen. Lincoln quickly wiggled the pants over his boxers. He didn’t particularly like the undergarments but had learned to tolerate them during his recovery when the friction from long pants made his stump feel as if it were on fire.

“Bon appetite,” Angeline said, returning with a large foam box in her hands.

She opened the lid. The spicy scent of a mountain of buffalo chicken wings made his mouth water. His eyes might’ve, too, because she had offered him food. Actual everyday, take-for-granted, comfort food. Not canned or freeze-dried rations. Not bland, pasty mess hall slop or the airline’s processed micro meals. Real, honest-to-goodness food, only mere inches from his face.

But, remembering the near-empty refrigerator and pantry, he waved away her offering. “Thanks. But no.”

Times were tough and he didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness.

Her nostrils flared slightly and her full, luscious lips flattened.

“I meant no offense,” he said, pulling on a black sweatshirt. Wolfans took food seriously. Refusing food insulted the one offering it. “But I don’t need your supper.”

His stomach protested. Loudly.

“I’m not the one whose stomach is about to eat itself.” She jabbed the box toward him. “Take them, they’re yours.”

“I saw the fridge.” He gently pushed back the tempting container. “You need to eat those more than I do. I have rations that will hold me over. And I’ll pay you for the beer.” He dug a wallet from the duffel and held out a fifty-dollar bill.

Mouth open and shock rippling through her gaze, she stared at his hand. Suddenly, full-bellied feminine laughter shook her body.

Before the explosion, Lincoln had found a woman’s laugh sexy. In his current circumstance, scarred and crippled, he felt belittled and hurt. He’d built up a fantasy about this woman. One where her kindness and gentleness had soothed and safe-guarded him. In reality, Angeline mocked him the same way the Program’s bureaucrats had when Lincoln had insisted that he could still perform his sworn duties.

The money slipped through his fingers and drifted to the floor. Whether she used it or not, Lincoln didn’t care.

He stood, steady and effortlessly. After a month of endless practice, he could stand, walk, run, jump and climb stairs with ease. Kneeling could be a bit tricky, but he managed. Shifting into his wolf form had proven to be the most challenging. No longer could he simply strip down and crouch before turning into his wolf. Now he had to carefully remove the artificial leg, otherwise it would turn to ash during the transformation.

As life changing as the loss had been, he was grateful to be alive. If he’d died instead of Lila, no one would go to the lengths Lincoln would to find his missing wolfling.

He slung the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder then trudged toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To sleep in my truck until I can straighten this out with Tristan,” he snapped, too exhausted to keep the frustration and anger from his voice.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, Lincoln.”

His hand froze on the doorknob.

“It’s sweet of you to overpay for the beer to help me out with groceries, but I don’t need it. The fridge is empty because I don’t like to cook, not because I can’t afford to buy food. That’s why I laughed.”

She eased behind him. “You see, I can take care of myself. And if I ever needed anything, my family and my pack would step up. That’s how the Walker’s Run Co-operative works.”

A few years ago, while in Romania and assigned to a protective detail for the Woelfesenat’s negotiator, Brice Walker, Lincoln had learned of the Walker’s Run pack’s co-operative. Consisting of wolfans and a handful of humans aware of the existence of Wahyas, the Co-op gave the Walker’s Run pack a public, human face and a clever way to hide in plain sight among the unsuspecting townsfolk in Maico, a small Appalachian community in northeast Georgia where the pack resided.

Pivoting toward Angeline, Lincoln noticed the genuine concern etched on her face. Clearly, she hadn’t meant to upset him and he felt like an idiot to have allowed a trivial misunderstanding to bruise his pride.

Nine weeks in the infirmary at Headquarters had turned him soft. Lincoln had hoped time away from HQ might help him regain his bearings. Now, he might need to reassess that decision.

How could he stay focused on increasing his stamina and sharpening his combat skills so he could return to Somalia and find Dayax when his guardian angel had escaped his dreams and lived only a few door down from where he would be staying?

“You can have this back.” Slowly, her long, tapered fingers slid into his hip pocket to deposit the fifty. The ensuing jolt to his system rendered his entire body flaccid, except for his shaft, which instantly hardened.

“As I said before, bon appétit!” Moving her other hand from behind her back, Angeline presented him with the box of chicken wings. “And no there’s no need to sleep in your truck. I have a key to Tristan’s apartment.”

“Why?” Lincoln wondered about the relationship between the two and why Tristan had failed to mention that tidbit during their brief call earlier.

“Neighbors look out for each other.” She picked up a keyring from the kitchen counter, worked off a key and handed it to Lincoln. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Lincoln.”

A key in one hand and food in the other, he should be happy to finally be getting into his temporary apartment. “I wouldn’t mind some company for a while.”

Her gaze slid down his torso to the erection his pants couldn’t hide. Food and sex. A wolfan male’s priorities.

“I gave you food. Now you need to take care of the rest on your own.” She reached past him and opened the door. The biting February air gusted into the apartment and nipped his skin beneath the sweatshirt.

“Good night, Lincoln.” Angeline patted his chest, urging him to leave.

He’d barely stepped outside when the door closed behind him and locked.

“Whew! That was close.” Angeline’s voice reached his ears despite the barrier.

Turning, he strolled down the open corridor to the corner apartment, a smile budding on his face even as a weight settled in his heart. He had a mission to complete. Until he found Dayax, Lincoln would do well to resist the devilish diversion of his angelic neighbor.

Heart thumping and holding her breath, Angeline leaned against the door. The jumble of feelings knotting inside her were a fluke. Lincoln was a Dogman. Period. She could be neighborly but absolutely nothing else.

She squinched her eyes to banish the vision of him watching her beneath long, dark lashes as his silvery-green gaze caressed her face with reverence and awe. The effort merely branded the image into her brain.

Inheriting her mother’s model looks, Angeline had grown numb to people’s ogles, waggles and even jealousy-filled glares.

But the way Lincoln looked at her when she’d laughed and he’d misunderstood had felt like an iron fist slamming into her stomach, hard and painful.

Pushing away from the door, she trudged to the couch, slouched against the leather cushions and pulled off her boots. Next she peeled out of the thick sweater she wore over the long-sleeved T-shirt and tossed it in the chair. Picking up the afghan Lincoln had carefully folded, she inhaled his earthy male musk. Instead of trotting outside to hang the afghan on the balcony in the cold night air to remove his scent, she shook it out and laid it across her lap. After all, she couldn’t leave her favorite blanket out in the elements.

Too keyed up to sleep, Angeline visually searched for the television remote and didn’t see it on either end table or the entertainment center. Slipping her hand between the cushions, she not only found the remote but also Lincoln’s wallet.

At the thought of returning it to him, her heart picked up speed. The sudden acceleration caused her body to tingle and anticipation coiled low in her belly.

Perhaps a brisk walk would cool things down.

Tossing aside the blanket, she didn’t bother with a sweater or shoes. It would only take a minute to return the wallet. She walked outside and scurried down the corridor overlooking the parking lot to the corner apartment.

“Lincoln, it’s Angeline.” Knocking on the door, her fingers were as cold as ice cubes.

Tristan had disconnected the doorbell years ago. Too many people pulling him in too many directions. Once he turned off his phone to sleep, he didn’t want to be disturbed by someone showing up at his door and pressing the bell until he got up.

Sure would’ve been nice for him to have reconnected the bell before subletting his place.

Still holding Lincoln’s wallet, she tucked her hands beneath her arms to warm them. “Hurry up! I’m freezing.”

“What are you doing out here, Angel?”

Angeline spun around, doing a little jig that could either be described as a startled jump or a stealthy self-defense move.

She preferred the latter.

“Whoa!” Lincoln’s hands lifted in surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.” Angeline stood tall.

“Uh-huh.” Lincoln’s disbelieving grin raised her ire and suddenly she no longer felt cold.

“Why didn’t I hear you coming up behind me?” Wahyas had excellent hearing.

“You’re not supposed to.”

“Right. Because you’re a Dogman.”

Silent as a ninja, as deadly as one, too. Or so the rumors went. No one outside the Woelfesenat’s militarized security force knew exactly what the Dogmen did, other than the generic job description of peacekeeping.

Considering the numerous scars on his body, whatever Lincoln had been doing, it wasn’t so peaceable.

“You’re right about one thing.” Lincoln pivoted to block the gust of wind that caused her teeth to chatter and then reached around her to open the door. “You are freezing.”

His broad hand heated the small of her back and he nudged her forward. Her mind mounted a protest but her feet didn’t get the memo in time to keep her from crossing the threshold.

“What were you doing outside?”

“Cooling off.” He tossed an odd-looking cell phone next to the take-out box on the asymmetrical coffee table. If he’d had the device in her apartment, she hadn’t noticed it.

“Change your mind about sharing a snack?” Lincoln sat on the couch and opened the box of chicken wings.

“No.” As a restaurant employee, she’d learned to eat only when truly hungry, otherwise she’d eat constantly and no amount of running in the woods would compensate for the extra calories. Ignoring the delicious scent taunting her stomach, Angeline held out Lincoln’s wallet. “I found it between the couch cushions.”

Mouth full of food, he gave a hand signal for her to leave it on the coffee table.

Angeline strolled around the living room. “This place is probably a culture shock for you. The furnishings are too modern for my taste. Tristan didn’t like it much, either, but his mother is an interior designer and she loves this stuff.”

Still eating, Lincoln watched her with the same quiet curiosity as he had in her apartment. And when she walked into the kitchen, his inquisitive gaze followed.

“You’re in luck,” she said, peeking into the refrigerator. “It’s stocked with a few basics. At least you won’t have to go grocery shopping on Sunday.” Closing the refrigerator, she added, “Which technically is today, since it’s after midnight, you know...in case your days are mixed up from traveling.”

A chuckle accompanied Lincoln’s slight head shake.

“You would think Sundays are good days to go to the grocery store.” She sat on a stool at the bar rather than leaving. She and Tristan had their fair share of late-night chats. Being back in his apartment, it seemed natural to carry on tradition. Even though Lincoln was a Dogman, she could still be neighborly.

“Because everyone is either going to church or sleeping off Saturday night’s good time. But actually, the early risers are buzzing around to get their shopping done to have the rest of the day free. Late-goers are trying to grab something on their way to wherever. And the rest are trying to find something to fix their hangovers.”

“Good to know.” Not one speck of sauce marred his mouth and very little dotted his fingers. An amazing feat considering most people who ate her uncle’s wings required a plastic bib and a double stack of napkins.

And while looking at his mouth, Angeline couldn’t help but notice the perfect shape of his masculine lips or how his straight nose balanced the angles of his cheeks. His black hair didn’t conform to a human military’s regulation cut but rather fell to his collar in soft waves. The muscles in his strong jaw, darkened by a shadow of stubble, worked in tandem as he chewed. When he swallowed, she watched the slow descent of his Adam’s apple along his throat. The silver chain around the thick column of his neck held the dog tags hidden beneath his sweatshirt.

The thick dark slashes above his pale green eyes drew together as the curiosity in his gaze transitioned to something primal. “Angeline.” He softly growled her name and it whispered across her skin, heightening her own awareness of him.

She shouldn’t study him so intently. Wahyas’ senses were acutely sharp and staring too long usually signaled a threat or sexual interest. Obviously, Lincoln wouldn’t consider her a threat. He stood over six feet tall, while she only pushed upward of five-seven, and he out-massed her by at least seventy pounds.

However, underestimating her would be a mistake. Her brothers might not be quite as imposing as Lincoln, but they weren’t pushovers. They’d never taken it easy on her and the skills she’d learned tangling with them had come in handy a few years ago when a hook-up had turned sour and she’d needed to escape the situation.

Like most wolfan males, Lincoln would misinterpret her interest as...well...interest. Which, of course, it wasn’t. If she and a Dogman were the last Wahyas on Earth, she wouldn’t be interested. Even if it meant the salvation of their race, it simply would not happen.

Too bad, thanks to a treacherous brain, her body had no troubling recalling the intimate heat of him crouched above her, while his fierce gaze mapped every inch of her soul. His light-colored eyes had presented a striking contrast to the rich brownness of his nearly naked body and thick black waves of hair. Unbidden desire curled inside her like wisps of steam rising from a cup of hot chocolate.

“Tuesdays,” she said, throwing the brakes on primal instincts. Despite the close friendship with her former neighbor, Angeline had never experienced a sexual attraction toward Tristan. Considering her body’s unexpected and wholly unappreciated reaction to Lincoln, she would not make a habit of being overly neighborly.

“Tuesdays?” Confusion clouded Lincoln’s gaze.

“About midmorning.” Angeline slid off the bar stool. “Trust me. It’s the best time to go grocery shopping at Anne’s Market.”

“Appreciate the tip.” From his neutral expression, Angeline couldn’t discern if he truthfully did, or if he merely humored her.

“I should go.”

Lincoln met her at the door. “Here.” He tugged off his sweatshirt.

“Thanks.” She kept focused on the faint scar below his eye rather than the short, dark hairs spread across the broad, chiseled expanse of his chest. “But I don’t need it.”

He slipped the sweatshirt over her head and onto her shoulders anyway. His clean, crisp, masculine scent immediately invaded her senses, and she obediently slid her arms into the sleeves.

The fabric still held his warmth, and she remained nice and toasty all the way to her apartment.

Standing watch from his doorway, bare-chested and unflinching against the icy wind winding through the corridor, Lincoln presented a striking image of a proud warrior. He reeked of confidence, but not the arrogance she had imagined to have infected all Dogmen.

Once inside, Angeline sighed against the locked door. Hugging Lincoln’s sweatshirt to her body, she held the collar over her nose, breathing his scent and absorbing his warmth like a she-wolf showing more than a casual interest in a male—

Like cold water to the face, the realization shocked her senses and she couldn’t get out of his clothes fast enough.

This was all Tristan’s fault!

Leaving the sweatshirt in a puddle on the floor, she stomped to the kitchen bar, snatched open her purse, whipped out her cell phone and began furiously typing.

Chapter 3

“Dammit!” Angeline swiped the pick down the guitar strings, abruptly halting the sappy tune she’d been composing for the last hour.

Sitting in the middle of her unmade bed, she stared into her open closet at the numerous prestigious awards her love songs had won. Hidden away from all eyes but hers because no strong, self-respecting she-wolf would ever pine over a man who didn’t want her. Neither would she write songs about the devastating experience. Especially not a she-wolf raised by Patrick O’Brien. He’d be appalled to learn that his daughter had been reduced to inconsolable tears by the man who’d broken her young heart.

However, Angeline had turned the heartbreak from Tanner’s rejection and the heartache from his death into writing love-lost songs that country and pop recording artists fought over to record.

Of course, she had long moved past the actual events. But to write the music and lyrics people wanted, she had to tap into those old feelings, putting herself back into the maelstrom of all that pain. Lately, though, she had grown weary of the process.

Again, she blamed Tristan. His migration from her staunchest bachelor friend to happily mated had left her feeling off-kilter. A feeling magnified by her unusual reaction to Lincoln. Also, Tristan’s fault. If he hadn’t left Lincoln the wrong key, she wouldn’t have his scent imprinted in her nose and lingering in the living room.

Obviously, she found the wolfan sexually appealing. Tall, broad-shouldered, with chiseled abs and sculpted pecs, and muscled limbs that proclaimed his strength without being ridiculously pretentious. The way he moved and carried himself proved he’d earned those muscles on the job rather than in the gym. But she was accustomed to physically fit wolfan males. Generally, they didn’t stay on her mind.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Lincoln, whose commanding presence had not been diminished by the loss of his leg. The injury appeared to be fairly recent, considering the freshness of the scars on his stump and on the left side of his body.

However, it was the lost and lonely look in Lincoln’s eyes that had haunted her all night and greatly interfered with her creativity today.

Sympathy infected her heart, causing it to ache for the Dogman. It shouldn’t. Her heart should be cold and unfeeling toward them. They’d made their choices and should live with them. Why should anyone be sympathetic? Especially those they’d abandoned to pursue glory.

Growling, Angeline strummed the strings in frustration and set aside the guitar. She slipped off the bed, stretched and then padded out of the bedroom. The pounding at her front door halted her trip to the kitchen.

She opened the door to Tristan’s famous grin.

“Hey there, Sassy.”

“Hey there, Slick. Bite me.”

Before she could close the door, Tristan thrust his arm through the opening, gripping a white paper bag. The scent of apples and cinnamon and sugar caused her nose to twitch. He nudged the door open a little wider and showed her the large coffee in his other hand. “I come bearing gifts,” he said lightheartedly.

“Once upon a time that didn’t work out so well for the Trojans.” Regardless, Angeline lifted the coffee cup and bag of pastries from Tristan’s hands. Ignoring him as he entered the apartment, she sat cross-legged on the couch and fished a bear claw with an apple filling from the bag.

Tristan closed the door and made himself at home in the overstuffed chair. “I’m not exactly sure what this means.” He showed her the angry, emoji-filled text message she’d sent last night.

“Just delete it.” Angeline wiped away the sugar sticking to her lips. “We’re good now.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a heads-up about Lincoln.” Tristan paused and suddenly the exhaustion he’d been hiding surfaced. “Nel and I were at the hospital most of the night.”

“Is Nel all right? Did she have the baby?”

“False alarm. She’s had Braxton Hicks pain on and off, but last night she got so uncomfortable, I took her in to be checked.” Running his hand through his tousled blond hair, Tristan yawned.

Angeline did, too. Seemed they’d both had a long night.

“Lincoln called right as the nurse took Nel to an exam room. I meant to text you—”

“Forget it.” She waved off Tristan’s worry and he began to relax. “You’re dealing with a lot. Seems to be your calling.”

“I’m hoping to build a team to shoulder that burden.” Everyone’s problem solver, Tristan—a former sheriff deputy, had recently been named the Walker’s Run Co-op’s chief of security. A huge undertaking considering the pack now had its own police force.

“Don’t look at me. I like my life the way it is.” In defiance of Tristan’s pointed, disbelieving look, she shoved another pastry into her mouth.

“I’m talking about Lincoln,” Tristan said. “Brice wants him to remain in Walker’s Run.”

Not surprisingly, the Alpha’s son had a habit of keeping his friends close. “Good luck to him. Lincoln doesn’t seem the type to walk away from the Program, even if he could.”

“Apparently, he’s being forced into a medical retirement.”

“Whoa.” The only utterable word able to form on Angeline’s lips. A Dogman losing his career, much like a wolfan losing a mate, hurt to the soul.

She would not sympathize with Lincoln, though. Not about that.

“I have a favor to ask,” Tristan said quietly.

Over the rim of her coffee cup, Angeline watched him squirm in his seat. The hot liquid heated her mouth and the warmth traveled all the way to her starting-to-clench stomach. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

“I need you to keep an eye on him.”

“No.” Angeline cut her eyes at her oldest, dearest friend. He should know better than to ask such a thing. “I’m not spying on a Dogman.”

“Just be neighborly.” Tristan leaned forward, his elbows planted on his knees with his fingers laced. “Brice trusts him, but I don’t know this guy. Dogmen are just this side of feral. I need to know sooner than later if he’s on the verge of crossing the line. The pack has been through enough violence.”

“Why me and not Shane? He’s only a few doors down.” And a legitimate pack sentinel.

“Shane doesn’t have your assets,” Tristan said good-naturedly. “Lincoln isn’t likely to let his guard down around a male. But you?” Tristan’s expression turned serious. “You could make a wolf lie down at your feet, roll over and purr, if you wanted him to.”

“You know why I can’t do this.” Angeline swallowed another mouthful of coffee but the kinks in her stomach tightened rather than relaxed.

“Lincoln isn’t Tanner. Don’t judge him for Tanner’s mistake.” Tristan stood. “If Lincoln is the man Brice believes, when the realty of his medical retirement sets in, he’s going to need help coping. It can be you or someone else, but I strongly feel you’re the best person he could have in his corner because you know how it feels to lose the life you thought you were meant to have.”

Quietly, Tristan closed the door as he left.

“Dammit!” Angeline slung a throw pillow after him. Harmlessly, it glanced off the door. She snatched it up and punched it. “Damn you, too, Tanner.” She smacked the pillow again, then hugged it to her chest and schlepped to the couch, knowing she’d do just what Tristan had asked. Because she did know exactly how it felt to watch the future crumble. No one, not even a Dogman, deserved to face it alone.

Bracing against the cold, Lincoln knocked on the door to Brice Walker’s residence, two miles up the mountain from the family-owned Walker’s Run Resort. Used to the heat in Somalia, the lower temperatures in Northeast Georgia would be a welcomed change if his stump didn’t ache.

The heavy wooden door opened to reveal a petite, human redhead. A smile warmed the porcelain tone of her skin and her cinnamon eyes shimmered.

“Hello, Cassie.” Though they had never met, he knew her from the late-night chats he’d had with her mate during a mission in Romania several years ago.

“Lincoln! Please come in.” She stepped aside, welcoming him into her home.

Gratefully, he shook off the cold.

“Thank you for keeping Brice safe so he could come back to me,” she said, closing the door. “If you need anything, let me know. I’ll make sure you get it.”

“I appreciate your kindness.” But what he wanted she couldn’t give. Her husband, however, could be the Ace that Lincoln needed. After all, he had saved Brice’s life. “I was just doing my job.”

“You went beyond your job. You were a friend when Brice needed one the most.”

Uh-oh.

Reading her body language and seeing the intent on her face, Lincoln leaned down so that her arms reached his neck in the full-on hug rather than banding around his middle, which would’ve appeared quite odd and a bit too personal to her mate. Lincoln didn’t have a visual on Brice Walker yet, but his ears honed in on the slight thump of the man’s limping gait inside the house.

A tawny-headed wolfan, not quite midtwenties, stepped into the hallway. On his shoulders sat a toddler.

“Shane—” Cassie grinned at the young man “—this is Lincoln Adams, Brice’s friend from his time in Romania.”

Lincoln hid his smile. Humans often identified a personal connection when introducing people. Wolfans pointed out their rank or benefit to the pack.

“Lincoln, this is Shane MacQuarrie. He’s a close friend of ours.”

Neither he nor Shane made an effort to observe the human custom of shaking hands. Instead, they greeted each other with a curt nod.

“I hear we’re neighbors at the Chatuge View Apartments.” Shane’s wintry gaze didn’t warm. Close to the age Lincoln had been when recruited for the Dogman program, the young wolf reeked of confidence, piss and vinegar. Lincoln liked him immediately.

“Good to know.”

“And this is my daughter, Brenna,” Cassie said.

The little girl’s bright blue eyes targeted him with the same intensity Lincoln had seen in her father’s gaze years ago. And although her hair wasn’t red like her mother’s curls, the blond ringlets held a tinge of fire.

Cassie held up her hands and Brenna practically launched into her mother’s arms. “More monkey than wolf, I think.”

Although the little girl’s mother was human, her father was Wahya and wolfan genes were dominant. All Wahyan offspring were born with wolf-shifting abilities.

“Just brave and confident.” Lincoln extended his hand in a nonthreatening greeting. “Nice to meet you, Brenna.”

“Mmm...five!” Grinning, she smacked her palm against his open hand.

“That’s not how we greet guests.” Despite Cassie’s frown, no true reprimand sharpened her voice. She turned to Lincoln. “Come. The others are in the family room.”

Others?

Brice hadn’t mentioned others when he’d invited Lincoln to Sunday supper.

Shane took a step back, allowing Lincoln to follow Cassie, but remained close enough to respond to any threat, should Lincoln become one.

“Lincoln!” Brice stepped forward as they entered the family room. “Good to see you, man.”

Fairly equal in height, Lincoln didn’t need to crouch for Brice’s brotherly embrace and friendly pat on the back.

“Thanks for the invite.”

“My parents.” Brice waved his hand toward the more than middle-aged couple sitting in the love seat near the fireplace. “Gavin and Abby Walker.”

The Alpha and Alphena of Walker’s Run. Lincoln had expected to meet them eventually. Just not on his first venture out.

After a handshake from Gavin and a hug from Abby, Cassie hustled them into the dining room. Brenna insisted Lincoln sit next to her and he complied, despite Shane’s obvious annoyance.

Throughout the delicious meal, Lincoln politely answered questions and listened to their security concerns. Although what they’d experienced over the last few years alarmed the quiet Appalachian pack, it couldn’t compare to the violence Lincoln dealt with daily on deployment.

When finished with supper, everyone returned to the family room. Lincoln sat in an overstuffed rocking chair, leaving the couch and love seat to the mated pairs while Shane claimed the recliner. Conversation shifted to planning a spring gathering for the pack. For fifteen years, Lincoln had been isolated from first-world normalcy and he found the sudden reentrance jarring.

Brenna climbed into his lap with a book. Glad for the distraction, he read and reread the story until she fell asleep. Only then did he notice all the adults in the room silently watching him.

Thank you, Cassie mouthed, easing the child from his arms.

“I wouldn’t have expected a Dogman to know how to handle children.” In spite of Gavin’s stony expression, his sharp blue eyes twinkled.

“Wherever I’m deployed, I see children impacted by the conflict around them. I do what I can to help them retain their childhood, in spite of the circumstance.” The ache in Lincoln’s heart grew stronger. Dayax had no one but him, and Lincoln was thousands of miles away. Safe, warm and well-fed. The lost little wolfling likely was none of those things.

“Sounds like you will be a great father one day,” Abby said.

“Dogmen can’t take mates,” Lincoln replied gently. “We aren’t meant to be fathers.” Or mothers, or sons, daughters, brothers or sisters. The Program required absolute devotion. All ties with family and friends were severed upon joining.

“Aren’t you ready to retire?” Shane’s gaze dropped to Lincoln’s left leg.

“Not anytime soon.” Lincoln shifted his attention to Brice, who stood.

“I’ve got something to show you.” Brice motioned for Lincoln to follow.

After closing the French doors to the home office, Brice sat behind a messy wooden desk, pulled a photo from the drawer and handed it to Lincoln.

He fingered the snapshot of them sitting by a campfire, laughing.

“Remember that night?” With one blue eye and one green, Brice’s direct gaze could intimidate lesser men.

“Hard to forget.” Especially since Lincoln still bore the scar from the bullet he’d caught protecting Brice less than an hour after the picture had been taken.

“When I talked to you a couple of weeks ago, I thought you were on board with the medical retirement.”

“I only said that so the doctors would stop harping about adjustment issues. Yeah, I lost a leg, but I have more important things to worry about, which is why I need your help with something.”

“Name it.” Brice planted his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.

“I want to go back to Somalia.”

To his credit, Brice didn’t balk, blink or bat an eyelash.

“I was looking for a wolfling in an abandoned building when an explosion blasted me out of a two-story window.” Lincoln fished out his wallet, removed a photo of him and Dayax and tossed it on the desk in front of Brice. “Insurgents took him. I want him back.”

“I’m not a soldier, Lincoln. How do you think I can help?”

“Ask your friends at the Woelfesenat to grant me clearance to go back in.” As the secretive international wolf council, the Woelfesenat not only had ruling authority over the packs but had executive power over the Dogman Program.

“I’m Dayax’s only hope, Brice. I have to find him or die trying.” Invisible fingers fisted around Lincoln’s heart. His mission to rescue Dayax would be over before it began if Brice declined to help.

Brice glanced at the framed picture of his daughter on his desk. “I’ll do what I can.”

Lincoln managed to breathe again. “Thank you.” Though grateful, he didn’t allow himself even the smallest celebration. More than two months had passed since Dayax’s disappearance. Finding him would take a miracle.

Chapter 4

“Have you met him yet?” Madelyn O’Brien, sister-in-law number one, nudged Angeline.

“Who?” She shoveled another spoonful of creamed corn into her mouth. The once-a-month family supper at her father’s house provided Angeline with her only full-course home-cooked meal. Her brothers supplied the meat, their mates provided the sides, and Angeline always showed up with a healthy appetite and plastic containers to take home leftovers.

“The Dogman.” Isobel O’Brien, sister-in-law number two and affectionately known as Izzie, flashed a conspiratorial grin. “Haven’t you been listening?”

No. She’d tuned out at the first mention of “Dogman.” Her brain needed the break.

“He was supposed to arrive yesterday,” Garret, Angeline’s oldest brother, said. “Did he meet up with anyone for dinner and drinks at Taylor’s Roadhouse last night?”

“Nope,” Angeline answered between bites.

“I bet he’s handsome.” Izzie grinned. “But not as good-looking as you.” She kissed Connor—her mate and Angeline’s other brother—on the cheek and his soft, disgruntled growl ceased.

So cute. Mated thirteen years and the father of two kids, Connor still got a little jealous when Izzie mentioned other men. He had nothing to worry about. Izzie loved him to the moon and back. Stinky feet and all.

“Angeline, what have you heard about this Dogman?” Patrick O’Brien clasped his hands over the dinner plate. Angeline’s father might not like the idea of his daughter waiting tables for a living, but he certainly liked pumping her for the tidbits of gossip she frequently overheard.

“His name is Lincoln,” she said. “He got in late last night, he’s friends with Brice, and that’s all I know.” Not really, but it covered the basics.

“Have you actually met him?” Connor asked.

“He’s subletting Tristan’s apartment.” Angeline speared the green bean bundle wrapped in bacon on her plate and chomped down so she wouldn’t have to answer the barrage of her family’s questions.

“Dogmen don’t just come for a visit.” Patrick O’Brien’s statement quieted the table. “Why is he really here?”

All eyes turned on Angeline.

“How should I know?”

“You’re tight with Tristan,” Garret said.

“So?” She never disclosed the things Tristan revealed in confidence.

“Are you going to talk to him again?” Her father’s narrowed gaze forced Angeline to swallow the food she’d just stuck in her mouth.

“Tristan? I talk to him a couple of times a week.” Texts mostly, that way he could reply when he had the time.

“The Dogman,” her dad growled. “Why are you being so evasive? Do you know more than you’re telling us?”

“Actually, Dad, I don’t.” Angeline put down the food-laden fork in her hand. “Why is everyone so concerned about his business? He’s just a guy that traveled a long way to get here. He arrived exhausted and hungry. I gave him the food I’d brought home from the restaurant and the key to Tristan’s apartment, and then I sent him on his merry way.”

“Are you going to see him again?” Connor asked.

“He’s staying a few doors down from me. And I work at Taylor’s.” Most wolfans couldn’t resist her uncle’s fire-grilled steaks. “What do you think?”

Connor squinted, and she knew he wanted to stick his tongue out at her, like when they were kids, but they’d grown past that childish expression—in the presence of others.

“You only work part-time,” her father said, always ready to seize an opportunity to hassle Angeline about her employment choice. “When are you going to get a real job?”

“You may not like than I’m a server, but it is a real job. And in three nights, what I make in tips is more than some people earn in a week.”

“Your mother and I wanted you to be more than a waitress.”

“Mom would’ve wanted me to pursue music. But when she died, you sold the piano and wouldn’t allow me to bring any instruments home.”

Her father’s jaw tightened. “Someone had to teach you to be realistic about your future.”

“Shouldn’t my wants determine the reality of my future?” Angeline’s chest tightened and with every beat of her heart she felt a sharp pain stab her eye.

“Not if your head is in the clouds,” was what her father said. However, every time they had this argument, all Angeline heard was that her dad didn’t want her—he merely wanted a version of her that she could never be.

“Dad, let it go,” Garret said.

Angeline inhaled a few calming breaths, hoping to prevent a migraine.

Grumbling, their father stabbed his mashed potatoes and jabbed the fork into his mouth. Everyone else resumed eating in awkward silence, so everything had returned to normal.

After supper, Angeline collected the dishes and began loading the dishwasher.

Izzie leaned against the counter. “Your dad is worried about you.”

“Worried that I might have a stroke from the spike in my blood pressure? Because that’s what worries me.”

“He’s worried about what will happen to you—” Izzie lowered her voice “—after he’s gone. You don’t have a mate. Or a career. He thinks he failed you.”

“No, not failed me,” Angeline corrected. “Failed in raising me. I didn’t turn out to be the daughter he wanted.”

“Your dad loves you.” Madelyn quietly joined them.

“I know.” Angeline dropped the silverware into the utensils tray and closed the dishwasher. “But he doesn’t understand me. All he wants is for me to fall in line with what he wants.”

“Couldn’t you give in, just a little?” Madelyn gave her a little shrug. “Maybe put your business degree to good use and help out your dad on one of your days off.”

“No. He didn’t teach me how to give in.” Nor did she have a business degree, having chosen to secretly study music instead. Angeline dried her hands on the dish towel. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to say good-night to the kids.”

“Don’t forget they’re out of school for a teacher’s workday on Thursday,” Madelyn said.

“I have everything planned.” Breakfast, sledding, watching a superhero movie on DVD while overloading on popcorn and hot chocolate.

“You haven’t changed your mind about Sierra’s birthday party, have you?” Mischief twinkled in Izzie’s eyes.

“I’ll be the one loaded with all the surprises.” And Angeline couldn’t wait to see the disapproving look on Patrick O’Brien’s face when forced to wear one of the fringed pastel foil party hats she’d bought specially for the occasion.

Headlights briefly lit the dark stairwell. When they blinked off, Lincoln glanced toward the parking lot and stopped to watch Angeline slide out of her car.

Seeing him paused on the stairs, she waved but only a faint smile touched her lips.

He waited, his heartbeat falling into an unusual rhythm, pushing his blood more quickly through his veins.

“Hey,” she said, climbing the steps behind him. “How was your day?”

The question caused a little flutter in his chest. Other than the nurses at the infirmary, Lincoln couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked that question of him.

“Awkward,” Lincoln said.

“Why?”

He remained one step behind Angeline as they continued up the stairs.

“Brice invited me to his home for supper. Didn’t know his parents would be there.”

“Guess that would be awkward, especially not knowing them.”

“What about you?” He’d seen the rigidness of her stride walking to the stairs and could feel the tension radiating from her now.

“Monthly family dinner. My dad uses the opportunity to chide me about my life’s choices. He’s gravely disappointed that, at my age, I’m unmated and have no viable career.” Her entire body seemed to sigh. “If he only knew...”

“Knew what?”

They reached the third-floor landing.

“Doesn’t matter.” An artificial smile curved her tantalizing mouth.

Nearing his apartment, Lincoln bid Angeline good-night. He fiddled with his keys, listening to the rhythmic thump of her boots retreating down the corridor.

“Lincoln?”

“Yeah?” He turned.

“Wanna come in for a drink?”

“Sure.” Shoving the keys into his pocket, he walked down to her apartment.

She’d left the door partially open, so he entered and shut out the cold night air. Angeline had dropped her coat on the back of the couch and had headed straight for the kitchen.

“Beer, wine or Jack?”

“Your choice.” He sat on the couch rather than the chair, giving room for Angeline to join him, if she chose.

After living in tents and barracks, sleeping on the ground, in cots, hammocks or in trees, Lincoln appreciated the upgrade to Tristan’s modern-style apartment. But it lacked the cozy warmth of Angeline’s place. Walking inside felt like coming home.

Or rather, what he imagined coming home would feel like, if he had one.

Calm, comfortable and filled with the enticing scent of a sexy, spirited she-wolf.

A fantasy. Nothing more than a fleeting dream the mind called forth in times of extreme stress just so he could get through the ordeal.

Each Dogman had just such a dream. They’d go feral without one.

Handing him a bottle, she plopped next to him on the couch and kerplunked one furry-booted foot onto the coffee table, then the other.

“Cheers.” Her bottle clinked against his, then she tipped back her head, exposing the slender column of her smooth, creamy neck, and took a long swig. His mouth parched with want of the taste of her skin despite the cold liquid sloshing down his own throat.

In all the years he’d carried Angeline’s picture in his pocket, Lincoln never imagined he’d actually share a drink with his angel.

Oh, he’d tried to unravel the mystery of the woman in the photograph in the months following the death of the Dogman who’d entrusted him with the prized possession. But Lincoln had very little to go on. Only the name “Angel” had been written on the back of the picture and Tanner Phillip’s next of kin had not known her identity.

In the beginning, Lincoln had reached for the photo when hurt, indecisive or just plain lonely. Later he’d spoken to her upon waking and just before going to sleep. Probably not the healthiest of habits, but his second-in-command, Lila, had said the rosary. By nature, Wahyas weren’t religious. However, she had found comfort in the tradition and repetitiveness. And so had he.

They all needed something larger than themselves from which to seek guidance, absolution and everything else in between.

“What makes your family dinners stressful?” Lincoln asked, restarting the conversation they began on the stairs.

“Irreconcilable differences.” Angeline took another drink. “It’s insanity. My dad keeps picking the same fight, month after month, expecting that suddenly I’ll conform to his expectations of a daughter.” She snorted. “Not that he ever wanted one. After my mom died, he cut off my hair and dressed me in my brothers’ hand-me-downs.”

“You must’ve looked like your mother.”

“I did.” Angeline swirled her bottle. “Still do.”

Lincoln took another swig of beer, unable to imagine the long auburn strands that fell below her shoulders stunted in a short bob. He much preferred the vision of her in masculine clothes...in particular, his sweatshirt enveloping her much smaller frame.

His thoughts drifted to the way the softness of her body had cushioned his when he’d rolled her beneath him while disoriented from a nightmare.

The mere memory of how perfectly their bodied aligned electrified his nerves, tingling and tantalizing his already sensitized skin.

“Everybody’s curious about you,” she said. “We’ve never had a Dogman in town.” Her jaw tightened and her mouth pulled tight.

“Brice and I go back a few years. When he heard about my injury, he invited me here.”

“Then why aren’t you staying at his family’s resort?”

“Not my style.” Or in his comfort zone. He didn’t need to be pampered or coddled. Besides, a couples retreat had been scheduled for Valentine’s Day weekend and he definitely didn’t want to be in the midst of a lovefest, especially during a full moon.

Wahyas were wired for sex. It regulated their wolfan hormones, keeping the primitive monster that lived inside them dormant. A full moon was the most critical time for Wahyas to have sex, but Dogmen had little time and opportunity to find willing partners every month.

So, Program scientists developed the hormone suppressor implanted into every Dogman before deployment. Only those involved in the Program knew of the implant’s existence because of the known side effect of increased hostility.

Dogmen were highly trained to manage their aggressive impulses, whether naturally occurring or chemically induced. Unleashing the implant on the general Wahyan population could give rise to the very beasts that the drug had been created to suppress.

Removal of the implant proved just as challenging. After a wolfan’s sexual instinct had been stifled for so long, some Dogmen found the deluge of natural hormones overwhelming.

Lincoln’s implant had been removed after the last full moon. With less than a week until the next one, he needed to find a consenting sex partner. Soon.

He glanced sidelong at Angeline and his heart thudded all the way down to his groin. His wolf had declared his choice. Undeniably, Lincoln wanted to agree. But things could get oh, so complicated.

He liked simple.

And he knew one thing for sure. There was absolutely nothing simple about Angeline.

Chapter 5

“What is that god-awful noise?” It pounded in Angeline’s head like a woodpecker drilling a tree for food.

Slowly and painfully, she opened her eyes. The shirt Lincoln had worn last night obscured her field of vision. Suddenly, the pillow her head rested upon moved.

“Buenos días, Angel.” Lincoln’s deep Texas drawl sounded thunderously close but at least the beep grating her nerves stopped.

The sluggish thoughts in her brain, however, kept going. Unfurling her legs, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Were you speaking Spanish?”

“Yeah. I grew up in a bilingual household. My maternal grandparents emigrated from Mexico to Texas when my mom was a child. But I also speak German, Tagalog and some Somali.”

“Strange combo of languages.”

“I learn whatever the Program tells me to.” Lincoln began the process of putting on his prosthetic.

She remembered Lincoln asking if she was okay with him taking off his artificial leg because his stump hurt, but not much after he did.

“Um.” She glanced at the coffee table littered with a Jack Daniel’s decanter and likely every beer bottle she had in the fridge. All empty. “What happened last night?”

“You passed out and latched onto me in your sleep.” He wiggled into his pants.

“I did not!” The screech in her voice made Angeline cringe.

“Oh, so it was a ploy to keep me here?” He cracked a smile. “Aw, Angel, all you had to do was ask.”

She felt the weight of a frown on her jaw. “Tread lightly, I’m not a morning person.”

Despite her warning, he laughed. “You certainly aren’t. But you are quite adorable with your messy hair and grumpy face.”

“You’re not earning any brownie points, Dogman.”

“That’s not what you said last night.” He had the nerve to wink.

“They only count if I remembering doling them out. Which I don’t, so...” She massaged her temples.

“I’m not surprised.” Lincoln stood, and Angeline felt woozy looking up at him. He began gathering the discarded bottles. “Most of these are yours.”

“That can’t be right,” she said, trying to focus her fuzzy and somewhat incoherent memories. “I don’t normally drink that much.”

“Good to know,” Lincoln said. “But I think your family dinners are more upsetting than you allow yourself to believe.”

“Why? What did I say?” Angeline’s heartbeat sped up, despite the sludge a night of drinking had deposited in her veins.

“Nothing that bears repeating.” Lincoln dropped the bottles into the recycling bin underneath the sink.

“No, really. I need to know what I talked about.”

“Tell me where the coffee is.” Lincoln gave her an assessing look. “Then I’ll give you a play-by-play of all the beans you spilled.”

Angeline’s stomach churned and it wasn’t from the hangover. If her drunken self had told Lincoln about her music career...

“Check the pantry, third shelf. Coffee filters should be there, too.”

While Lincoln busied himself in the kitchen, seemingly making as much noise as possible, Angeline dragged herself into the bathroom, soaked a washcloth in cold water and buried her face in it. This—the morning-after hangover—is why she didn’t usually indulge in more than two drinks in one night.

Dampening the cloth, she glanced into the mirror and jumped back. Her bloodshot eyes were a little puffy, but her hair...yikes! What a tangled mess.

And Lincoln thought she looked adorable? Definitely, the man needed glasses.

At least nausea didn’t accompany the hangover, but if she didn’t take a painkiller for the pounding in her head, it might split open.

She fumbled through the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen and downed two caplets with a glass of water. After scrubbing her face and rinsing the funk from her mouth, she tackled combing her hair. Seriously, how did she get so many knots?

Emerging from the bathroom, Angeline looked much more presentable than when she’d gone in. Her nose twitched at the rich, robust aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, and she followed the scent all the way to the kitchen.

Lincoln handed her a big cup filled nearly to the rim.

“Thanks.” Holding the ceramic mug between both hands, she took her first sip. The heat sloshed down her throat ahead of the flavor. The more she drank, the more the tightness in her body began to ease.

“I would’ve made breakfast, but your fridge is nearly empty and so is mine.”

“I’m not usually up this early. On the occasion that I am, I grab a pastry from the bakery.”

“Sweets for the sweet,” Lincoln said. “I’ll remember that.”

“I’m not really sweet.” She tried to glare at him over the rim of her coffee cup, but his sleepy eyes and soft smile were just so cute.

“Difference of opinion then.” He poured a cup of coffee for himself and sat on the bar stool next to her.

“Okay,” she said, swiveling toward him. “You spill the beans. I want to know every word I said to you.”

“I don’t have that much time. You became quite chatty after that third beer.”

“Why did you let me keep drinking?”

“You have pretty, white teeth, Angel. And they looked very sharp when you snarled at me for trying to pry the bottle of Jack from your hand.”

She-wolves didn’t blush from embarrassment, but Angeline certainly felt mortified at her lack of self-control. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Clearly, you were upset. And drinking the way you did, I wasn’t going to leave you alone. Something could’ve happened to you.”

“Did anything happen?” They were both fully dressed when she woke up, but she really didn’t remember much about last night.

“No,” Lincoln said without hesitation and holding her gaze. “You drank, said a lot of nonsensical things, and then you fell asleep. I stayed in case you got sick.” He lifted the coffee cup to his mouth to drink.

“You’re a good guy, Lincoln. Thanks.” Angeline swallowed another mouthful of coffee, too. “So what sort of stuff did I talk about?”

“Your mom. You miss her a lot.”

True, Angeline did miss her mother. And she missed how differently her life would’ve been if her mother hadn’t been murdered during a mugging.

“You also kept saying if I were Tristan, you would tell me a lot more.” Curiosity edged around the uncertainty glimmering in his eyes. “Sounds like you and Tristan have been more than just friendly neighbors.”

A subtle tension crept into Lincoln’s body and his gaze left her face.

“No.” Angeline shook her head. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“It’s okay,” Lincoln said. “I don’t need an explanation.”

He might not, but Angeline’s instinct pushed her to clarify. “Tristan is like a brother, but closer than my own. He knows things about me that my family and other friends don’t.”

“Maybe you should’ve called him last night instead of inviting me in.” Lincoln carried his cup to the sink.

“Tristan has a mate now.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I don’t expect him to be my confidant anymore. It wouldn’t be right.”

Lincoln finished rinsing out his coffee cup. “I guess you’re in search of a new one and I didn’t cut the mustard.”

“I barely know you.” How could she trust him the way she trusted Tristan, who’d been there for her for most of their lives? “Is it true that you’re retiring from the Program?”

“That’s what people keep telling me.”

Not exactly the answer she wanted to hear.

“Well, who knows?” She shrugged. “If you stick around long enough—” They might eventually become friends...good friends...really good friends with full moon benefits.

“I’m not planning on it,” he said abruptly. “Neither should you.”

Well, if that wasn’t a door being slammed in her face...

“Thanks for playing watchdog last night.” She walked to her front door and opened it. “But I’m in control of all my faculties now. Time for you to leave.”

He dried his hands on the dish towel, walked to the door and stepped outside into the breaking dawn.

“Angeline.” He turned around. Of the myriad of emotions flickering across his face, confusion, regret, loneliness—those were the ones that tugged her heart strings.

Damn, she was too soft.

“I have a really busy day,” Angeline lied. She didn’t have to be at the restaurant until the afternoon. “See you around.”

Locking the door, she hoped her heart took notice. Lincoln was no different than Tanner. Dogmen lived for the Program. Nothing and no one else mattered. And she would never put herself through that turmoil ever again.

Lincoln stepped into the Walker’s Run Resort and shook off the cold. A large fireplace in the rustic seating area crackled with flames, and red roses and hearts decorated the main lobby. A Happy Valentine’s Day banner hung behind the guest services counter. Coming from a part of the world where conflict and violence had become commonplace, he found the commercialization of love off-putting.

Intentionally early for his meeting, Lincoln walked to a seating area near the fireplace and sat in a high-backed leather chair to watch everyone coming and going. Brice had invited him to meet the security team leaders and unofficially consult on the upgrade process of the pack’s well-being. He’d also given Lincoln access to the resort’s state-of-the-art gym, which he planned to use to continue his fitness training.

Two sentinels dressed as resort employees casually patrolled the lobby. Outside, Lincoln had noted at least three sentinels working valet and four handling bell service. Lincoln expected those numbers would increase, depending on the number of non-pack wolfans registered for rooms.

He turned his attention to the three offices with interior glass windows that faced the lobby. Two offices were dark, but the middle one had the blinds up and the light on. Cassie sat at a desk, her back straight and her fingers tapping on a computer keyboard.

Hands paused and she turned, looking directly at him.

He gave a slight nod as she waved.

A few minutes later, limping, Brice walked slowly out of the corridor. Cassie’s attention turned to him.

Brice gave her a wink, which broadened her smile. Nearly an entity in and of itself, the palpable love bouncing between them was a phenomenon Lincoln had never witnessed.

His parents loved each other and loved him, in their own way. But their mateship, and their family life, had been centered on being the best of the best. Life was a competition to win and affection merely distracted one from the ultimate end goal.

If Lincoln had remembered what his family had taught, he wouldn’t have allowed his emotions to lead him and his team into a trap. While in Walker’s Run, he needed to stay focused on his mission and not be led astray by indulging in errant emotions and human customs, or he would screw up his chance to get back on active duty and lose the only opportunity he had to find Dayax.

“Tristan’s office is on the third floor,” Brice said, approaching.

Lincoln matched Brice’s stride but remained a half step behind him. As progressive as some wolfan packs were, a natural pecking order remained. Brice, the Alpha-in-waiting and a direct descendant of the first Alpha of Walker’s Run, deserved his respect.

The Wahyas of Walker’s Run had done well in choosing an Alpha family who, through the generations, had remained committed to serving the pack rather than accumulating wealth and power.

Not that the Alpha family didn’t have both. The difference being that they shared the wealth and utilized the power for the benefit of the pack.

All able-bodied adult pack members were expected to work and contribute to the pack’s finances—a tithe of sorts to the Walker’s Run Co-operative that funded their health care, education, business start-ups and things for the pack’s overall enjoyment. The Co-op’s Family Park, for instance, included a baseball field, picnic pavilions and an entertainment stage. Unfortunately, the stage itself had been destroyed a few months back by a diversionary explosion in a domestic power struggle between a pack member and an outsider.

It might be easy for wolfan rogues to mistake the peace-loving Walker’s Run pack as being ripe for a takeover. However, Lincoln had seen enough of the world to recognize that wolfans and humans who fought to defend their families and their ideals could become the deadliest forces on the planet.

They stopped at the brass elevators rather than continuing to the wide, curved hardwood stairs.

“I can make it up the steps,” Lincoln said, trying to keep the strain from his voice. If he couldn’t convince Brice of his fitness, he’d have no chance swaying the medical review board.

“Be my guest,” Brice replied without censure. “But I can’t. Cold weather wreaks havoc on my bad leg. It’s a struggle to stand and walk today. Climbing the stairs will likely do me in.”

Ding! The doors slid open and Brice stepped inside the elevator. Lincoln joined him.

“I meant what I said last night before you left.” Brice held Lincoln’s gaze as the elevator began to climb. “Regardless of when you retire, I hope you’ll consider settling down in the Walker’s Run territory.”

“I appreciate the invitation,” Lincoln said. “It’s hard to look that far ahead when all I can think about is that scared wolfling waiting for me to keep my promise.” A new pack, a new home, a new family to keep him safe: That was what Lincoln had vowed to find for Dayax. Until Lincoln fulfilled that oath, he couldn’t begin to think of his own future.

The elevator doors opened. Instead of guest rooms, the third floor housed offices and conference rooms.

He followed Brice to an office with a large interior glass window looking into the corridor. No matter how civilized they became, wolfans didn’t like being boxed in.

The wolfan sitting behind the desk and the one leaning next to him with his palm flat on the desk blotter studying the computer screen looked up as he and Brice entered.

“Lincoln, this is Tristan Durrance, our chief sentinel.” Brice waved his hand toward the blond man behind the desk beginning to stand.

“Finally, a face to go with the voice.” Grinning, Tristan extended his hand in the customary greeting that Wahyas who worked closely with humans had adopted. “Sorry about the mix-up with the key.”

“No worries. Angeline got me oriented and I’ve settled in.” Lincoln pocketed the key Tristan handed to him.

“Great.” Tristan hiked his thumb toward the man beside him. “This is Reed Sumner, one of our lieutenants.”

Like Shane, Reed greeted him with an obligatory nod of acknowledgment rather than a handshake. After pleasantries were exchanged, they discussed the recent run-ins with illegal game poachers inside the pack’s protected forest and a series of unrelated attacks by revenge-seeking wolfans. In Lincoln’s experience, their concerns were generally consistent with what most first-world packs dealt with from time to time.

“It would be a great help if you ran through our security protocols and advised where and how to tighten our current measures,” Tristan said.

Reed cut his eyes at Lincoln.

He needed to be careful to avoid stepping on the lieutenant’s paws.

“Sounds like Reed has a good handle on things,” Lincoln told Tristan, then turned his attention back to Reed. “But I’d love to stretch my legs if you don’t mind a tagalong.”

“I’d appreciate the company,” Reed said, beginning to relax. “Is now too soon?”

“Not for me.” Lincoln admired how their recent adversities had brought the Walker’s Run pack closer together, making them stronger rather than tearing them apart. They were a united force working toward a common goal.

A team.

Something Lincoln no longer had.

His ribs seemed to fold in on his lungs. The immense sorrow he buried after realizing his team members had died because of their loyalty to him threatened to surface. If he gave in to the grief, it would simply consume him and their deaths would be in vain. He needed to keep a clear mind and a singular focus on finding Dayax.

Chapter 6

Five o’clock, and a few early birds were seated inside Taylor’s Roadhouse. According to Reed, by eight the place would be packed and Lincoln wanted to be out before the crowd arrived.

Funny how masses of people had not bothered him while on active duty. However, a few days ago in the Munich airport surrounded by hundreds of people, he’d experienced the first panic attack in his life. Accelerated heart rate, shortness of breath, ringing in his ears, cold, clammy hands despite sweating profusely, had forced him to seek solace in the men’s room. What an unwelcomed start to his first venture back into the civilian world. A splash of cold water on his face and a harsh internal dialogue had gotten him through the episode. And he’d sincerely hoped it would be the last.

However when Reed had invited him to meet up with some of the security team tonight, the same odd creepy-crawly sensation had tightened Lincoln’s chest and he’d begged off with a rain check. Of course, that didn’t mean he would deprive himself of “the best steaks in three counties.” Nor did he want to miss a chance to talk to Angeline.

Last night, he’d made the right call not telling her about his connection to Tanner Phillips. But after the strained way they’d parted, she might not answer the door if he knocked. Clearly, he’d upset her, but the conversation was leading to a road he wasn’t allowed to explore, no matter how much he might want to do so.

Visually, he searched the restaurant for her, but only spotted one server. A blonde a few inches shorter than Angeline, and human. Wahyas had an eerie sense that allowed them to recognize their own kind. And she did not set off any signals, wolfan or otherwise.

An older woman approached the hostess station. Silver threads glinted in her hair, the rich, robust color of chestnuts but her eyes matched the exact shade of Angeline’s sapphire blues.

“Welcome to Taylor’s.” Her wide, genuine smile appeared all too human. “You must be Lincoln.”

A prickle scaled his spine. “Yes, ma’am. And you are?”

“Miriam Taylor, Angeline’s aunt,” she said. “She’s told me all about you.”

Lincoln hoped otherwise.

“I’m surprised to see you this early. Angeline mentioned you were getting acquainted with the sentinels today. They don’t usually come in until later.”

“Jet lag.” Lincoln used the same lie he’d given Reed. “I need to eat then crash for a while.”

“We’ll get your belly filled and then you’ll sleep like a lazy pup until morning.”

“Sounds nice, but I never sleep more than a few snatches at a time.”

“I imagine out of necessity, considering your line of work. But you’re in Walker’s Run, not a war zone. It’s okay to relax and enjoy yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lincoln smiled, although he doubted there would ever come a time when he could drop his guard. “Is anyone joining you for supper?”

Only in spirit. “No, ma’am.”

Miriam picked up one hard-bound menu. “Table or booth?”

Lincoln glanced around the cozy interior of the restaurant. The bar area had stools at the bar itself, booths along the wall and bistro tables of two and four. In the other section, booths were also along the wall with tables of four and six in the center. Larger parties probably used the huge round table in middle of the restaurant. A small stage sat in front of the dance floor and the kitchen had a long glass window in front of the grill so that patrons could watch their steaks being cooked. His mouth watered even though nothing had been placed on the grill.

“A small table in the bar is fine.” He hoped the steaks tasted as good as his new friends had insisted they would. The ones he’d eaten in the Program’s hospital in Germany had tasted like cardboard.

“It will be about twenty minutes before Jimmy starts putting steaks on the grill, so make sure to start with an appetizer, on the house.” Miriam seated Lincoln at a bistro table and handed him a menu. “Would you like something to drink while looking over the menu?”

“Water, for now,” he said, flipping through the three pages of alcoholic beverages listed at the back of the menu. It had been so long since he’d eaten in a restaurant like this, Lincoln had forgotten the variety of items to choose from.

“I’ll send over Tessa when she’s finished with them.”

Tessa, Lincoln assumed, was the blonde server delivering drinks to a table of elderly wolfans.

“Is Angeline here?” he asked Miriam, internally volleying between the desire to see her again and the dread of needing to fulfill a promise to a dead Dogman, which would likely draw her censure.

“She’s in the storeroom taking inventory.” Locked on Lincoln, Miriam’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly beneath the delicate arch of her brow. “I could ask her to come out.”

“No.” He pretended hunger caused the unpleasant tug in his gut. “I’ll talk to her later.”

“Angeline mentioned that you’re staying in Tristan’s apartment.”

“For the next few weeks.”

“Well, we’re glad to have you here.”

Once he told Angeline about Tanner Phillip’s last words and the photograph he’d entrusted to Lincoln, he doubted she would share her aunt’s sentiment.

At her departure, Lincoln closed the menu and pushed it aside. He didn’t much care about what he drank and the plethora of options made him antsy.

Unease coiled inside his chest and his body tingled from the hairs rising on his skin, despite not being on any covert mission about to face untold danger. In fact, since joining the Dogman program, Lincoln had never touched a paw in a more peaceful place than Maico, the quaint little town at the center of the Walker’s Run pack’s territory.

Definitely, nothing like Taifa.

Lincoln dug into his pocket for the Program-issued satphone, a mobile device that connected to private satellites rather than cell towers on the ground, and dialed into a secure message line.

Nothing.

During his recovery at the hospital, Lincoln had been in contact with Colonel Llewellyn, the commander of the human forces in Somalia. Of course the colonel had promised to do all he could to find Dayax.

But sixty-three days had passed and the boy had not been found. In his gut, Lincoln knew Dayax was alive and waiting. Waiting for Lincoln to bring him home.

“I’m Tessa.” The bubbly blonde appeared table side, holding a round tray with a glass of ice water balanced in the center. “You must be new in town. I haven’t seen you before, and everyone eventually makes their way into Taylor’s.” Her broad grin and sparkling green eyes didn’t stir his senses the way Angeline’s unamused frown and blue eyes darkened with irritation had.

“I rolled in Saturday night.”

“Staying or passing through?” Tessa placed the glass of water on the table.

From the dilation of her pupils and the subtle way she inched closer to him, Lincoln got the feeling her questions were more for personal interest rather than the friendly banter the owners would typically ask their servers to provide to customers.

“A little of both. I’m doing some consulting for the Co-op for a couple of weeks.” Unless Brice’s contact in the Woelfesenat managed to get Lincoln’s active duty status reinstated sooner.

“Well.” Tessa laughed lightly. “They have a sneaky habit of keeping those they hire, so I expect to see you in here for a good, long time.”

Lincoln didn’t share Tessa’s expectation.

“Ready to order?”

“A steak, rare.”

“The Co-op steak?” She pulled a pad from her apron and slapped it on the tray hooked in her arm. “It’s an eighteen-ounce porterhouse.”

Suddenly, Lincoln remembered Lila, smirking at him and saying that he could thank her one day with a big, juicy steak.

“Make it two orders.”

“You get two sides per platter.”

Lincoln look at her and shrugged.

“Baked potato, sweet potato, steak fries, potato salad, Caesar salad, mac-and-cheese, green bean amandine, grilled asparagus—” Her words rolled into an incessant buzz.

“Surprise me,” he said, swallowing the uncomfortable feeling scaling his throat.

Tessa jotted on her pad. “We have an extensive selection of domestic and imported beers.”

Lincoln rubbed his hand along his jaw, stubbled with a day’s worth of beard. “I’ll have whatever Reed usually orders and make it two.”

She stopped scribbling and slowly lifted her gaze. Her smile flat.

“You know him, right? He said he’s in here a lot.”

“Yeah, I know him,” Tessa huffed. “It’s a small town.”

Her reaction suggested more, but Lincoln didn’t care to ask.

“He drinks Little Red Cap.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s domestic with limited distribution. We order it and a few other ales from Grimm Brothers Brewhouse in Colorado.” She tapped her pen against the pad on the tray. “Is Reed joining you later?”

“Not tonight.”

“You ordered two meals.”

“I did.” But Lincoln only planned to eat and drink one. The other he owed to Lila.

“As much as I appreciate you doing this,” Jimmy Taylor said, accepting the weekly inventory sheets Angeline handed him, “I could get one of the full-timers to handle counting the supplies.”

“I’ve been doing inventory since I was sixteen,” Angeline replied. “It would be weird to hand over the job to someone else.”

Her uncle smiled, but his eyes were filled with worry. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I don’t,” Angeline assured him. “I like working for you and Aunt Miriam.” Mostly she liked having a routine that got her out of the apartment and gave her a chance to interact with people. Since she didn’t work with a partner, songwriting was a solitary endeavor.

As pack-oriented creatures, Wahyas thrived on socialization and there was no better place for it than Taylor’s Roadhouse. At least in their human forms.

The protected forest of the Co-op’s wolf sanctuary allowed pack members to fraternize as wolves, especially during full moons. Although, when temperatures dropped below forty degrees at night, she preferred to run in the woods behind the apartment building. Afterward, she could walk straight into her toasty apartment, rather than waiting for the heater to warm her car on the drive back from the sanctuary.

“Do you like it well enough to take over the business one day?” Jimmy’s gaze fell just shy of hers.

“What about Zach and Lucy?” Angeline’s much younger cousins were Jimmy’s true heirs.

“Zach has been talking to a Dogman recruiter again.”

Icy fingers twisted Angeline’s stomach. She certainly didn’t want her cousin to end up like Tanner or Lincoln. She and Zach would have a frank discussion about the very real possibility of death and dismemberment.

“Lucy is considering transferring to a bigger college out of state.” Jimmy sighed. “The more their mama and I try to keep them close, the more they can’t want to scramble away.”

“They need time to see that the world outside Walker’s Run isn’t all they think it is.” Angeline hugged her uncle. “They’ll come home, just like I did.”

“Still.” He squeezed her tight before letting go. “You’re the one who’s put time into this place. Miriam and I would like for you to take over the restaurant when we retire.”

“I’ll consider it,” Angeline said more to alleviate her uncle’s concern than to suggest actual intent. “But I expect you to keep running this place for a long, long time.”

Relief washed over Jimmy’s face and his smile turned genuine. “Deal.”

The daily grind of actually running the restaurant took more time than Angeline cared to invest, but she didn’t mind giving Jimmy and Miriam some peace of mind while their children sowed their oats.

They walked out of the storage room into the kitchen. While one cook tended the large gas stove, the other dropped a basket of steak fries in to the fryer. Another cook and one more server would arrive shortly and stay through closing.

“Aunt Miriam,” Angeline called to the woman entering the kitchen.

As a child, Angeline didn’t think her aunt favored her mother very much. But as Miriam aged, not only had she grown to look more like her sister, she had developed some of the same mannerisms and quirks.

With Miriam, Angeline could almost imagine what it would’ve been like to have grown up with her mother. Her aunt had even encouraged Angeline’s love of music and paid for her lessons when her own father refused to do so.

“I gave Uncle Jimmy the inventory list, but despite the numbers now, you might want to increase the meat order for more steaks and ground beef. The full moon and Valentine’s Day is Friday.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Miriam wiped her hand on the apron tied around her waist as she walked toward Angeline. “Did Jimmy talk to you?” she asked quietly, touching Angeline’s arm.

“Of course I did.” He brushed past them and headed to their office to thumbtack the inventory list to the bulletin board. More than once Angeline had suggested they modernize the books, but her aunt and uncle were old school and feared entrusting their tried-and-true manual accounting system to a computer program.

“Well?” Her mouth drawn in a pensive grimace, Miriam peered at Angeline with the same dark shade of blue she remembered seeing in her mother’s eyes.

“I told Jimmy that I would consider his offer, but he had to promise not to retire anytime soon.”

Miriam’s eyes twinkled with tears, and she hugged Angeline. “Thank you for putting his mind at ease.”

“It’s the least I could do for all that you and Jimmy have done for me over the years.” She stepped back from Miriam, willing her tears to stay deep in the wells. An O’Brien never showed weakness, a mantra her father had drilled into Angeline and her brothers after their mother’s tragic and untimely death.

“I should get out there and help Tessa.”

“Yes, you should. There’s at least one customer anxiously waiting to see you.” Miriam shooed her from the kitchen.

Angeline ducked into the employee room to put on her half apron and grab an order pad before walking into the dining room. Tessa finished taking an order at a table in Angeline’s section then beelined for her.

“You have two orders in, plus this one.” Tessa handed her an order ticket. “Table twenty should have their food coming out in a couple of minutes. Seventeen just went in. And have you met Lincoln, the new guy in town?”

Angeline followed Tessa’s gaze to the bistro table for two in the bar where Lincoln nursed his beer. An untouched bottle sat on the placemat across from him. Curious, but definitely not jealous, despite the little kick in her gut, she couldn’t help wondering who would be joining him.

“He’s really hot, even if he does keep company with Reed—the rat bastard.” Although Tessa had mumbled the last part beneath her breath, Angeline’s wolfan ears had heard every word her recently dumped friend had uttered.

“Lincoln is my new neighbor,” Angeline said, watching a kitchen helper deliver two steak platters to Lincoln’s table.

“Lucky you.” Tessa sighed dreamily.

“No. Not me,” Angeline said, but Tessa had already walked away.

Over the next hour Angeline had a steady flow of customers and only managed to say “Hey” to Lincoln on her way to and from the bar with drink orders. The beer and food at the second place setting remained untouched throughout his entire meal.

Periodically, she’d felt him watching her. Perhaps he wanted an explanation for her behavior this morning. She wasn’t quite sure herself. His warning that she should not expect him to become her new confidant shouldn’t have bothered her. She knew better than to expect anything from a Dogman. Though Angeline felt no obligation to provide an explanation for her reaction, she did want to let him know that she wasn’t angry at him.

Waiting for the bartender to fill a drink order, Angeline casually strolled to Lincoln’s table. The beer for his guest remained untouched. “How was your day?”

“Informative.” His eyes still looked tired and barely a fleeting smile dusted his lips. “I spent most of the time running the woods with Reed.”

“He’s a good guy. Smart. Loyal.”

“Cynical,” Lincoln added.

“He got shot by a poacher a few months ago.”

Lincoln swung his left foot out. The hiking boot concealed the prosthetic within. “A bomb blasted me out of a two-story window.”

“You still have nightmares.”

“I imagine he does, too,” Lincoln said easily. “Our failures haunt us far longer than our victories stay with us.”

“He took a bullet for Shane. I wouldn’t call that a failure.”

“The failure is in believing we are invincible.” Lincoln guzzled the last few swallows of his beer and slammed down the mug on the table. “And learning we aren’t.”

“You sound a bit cynical yourself.”

Lincoln shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “Cynicism colors one’s judgment and clouds the vision. What happened, happened. All I can do is adapt and keep going.”

“Are you waiting for Reed?”

“No.” Lincoln fiddled with the edge of his linen napkin. “I owe an old friend a steak dinner.”

“You’ve been a while. Did he take a wrong turn somewhere?”

The muscle in Lincoln’s jaw twitched. He lifted his sorrow filled gaze. “Died in the line of duty.”

Angeline’s stomach dropped, a sick feeling rose in her chest and her heart hurt as if it had broken all over again. Not for her loss but for all those who’d lost loved ones, living and dead, to the Program.

Dogmen turned their backs on everything and everyone they’d ever known. All communication with family and friends ceased. No one ever knew what became of their loved one unless they received a death notification or an injury forced the soldier into retirement, like Lincoln soon would be.

Long simmering anger ignited Angeline’s tongue. “Instead of eating and drinking with the dead, maybe your sympathies should lie with those he abandoned when he became a Dogman. And, for what? To feed his ego and die who knows where without regard to those he left behind?”

“Angeline—” Lincoln began.

“Have you called your family? Do they know what happened to you? Do they know you’re even alive?”

His guilty look answered for him.

“Unbelievable!” Angeline barely managed to keep the shriek out of her voice.

“They’re better off not knowing.”

“That’s a lie Dogman tell themselves to keep their consciences clear. Speaking from experience, it’s not better. It’s far worse than any nightmare you’ve ever had.”

Though angry and hurt by Tanner’s rejection, Angeline didn’t immediately stop loving him. Not knowing his whereabouts or his situation had been an unrelenting torture. Until one day when a sharp pain sliced all the way to her soul. In that moment, she knew Tanner was dead. He would never come home to her. He would never come home to anyone, except in a box.

Despite Lincoln’s request for her not to leave, Angeline walked away and collected the drinks from the bar. Delivering the beverages to appropriate patrons, she caught a glimpse of Lincoln making his way to the exit.

Good riddance, she thought without truly meaning it. Neither Tanner’s choices nor his fate were Lincoln’s fault.

A deep part of herself compelled Angeline to apologize for her behavior. Another part of her refused.

As a Dogman, Lincoln represented the very ideal she hated. She’d lost her first love—her only love—to the Program, and it destroyed the life they should’ve had.

Lincoln slipped out of the restaurant and Angeline’s heart clenched, a phantom ache that his ridiculous homage had resurrected. It had absolutely nothing to do with the devastated look on his face when she’d left his table.

And if she told herself that enough times, by the time she got off work she might actually believe it.

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