Rogue Wolf by Long Heather

Author:Long, Heather [Long, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: shifters, interracial, wolf, Heroines, alpha, Heroes, Strong, wolves
Published: 2015-02-27T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Though he feigned resting at first, Salvatore did manage a couple of hours of sleep, waking only when Margo pulled her hand away. She’d stopped at a filling station. He took over the fueling and she elected to head inside for food. They didn’t linger and ate in the vehicle. The restaurant inside the station made decent burgers, though he didn’t care for the fries. When she claimed the fries for her own, he indulged her—as long as she let him feed them to her.

The play helped his wolf maintain their façade of calm. More, it satisfied a need to ease her touch hunger. When her tongue stroked over the tip of his finger, however, the need to leave the damn car and satisfy their other appetites threatened to shred his control. Twice more they stopped and though they got out of the vehicle and walked to stretch while they refilled the car and purchased more food, Salvatore nursed an increasingly bad temper the closer to their destination they drew.

A setting sun turned the sky a rough red and orange when Margo followed her phone’s verbal instructions off the highway to a series of streets. Despite the address being within the city limits, Rayne’s brother lived at the end of a twisting, winding road in a house that had certainly seen better days. Margo’s eyes had already gone golden to penetrate the rapidly descending twilight. Not waiting for her to tell him to wait in the vehicle, he stepped out as soon as they stopped.

She was a half-step behind him, but she didn’t glare. Like him, she studied the area, tested the scents, and locked the car before they took two steps away. The first scent he caught warned him of an unfamiliar wolf nearby.

“It’s Nelson,” Margo said, circling the car then heading toward the front walkway. The cement was cracked, and grass spindled out between the slabs. The yard needed a good mowing, though tall no weeds filtered through the vegetation. Heavy bushes framed the house on all sides, with flowering plants climbing trellises as though to disguise the chipped and peeling paint. Unfortunately, they did little to occlude the scent of rotting wood.

Four steps led up to the elevated porch. White, cross-hatched wicker enclosed the underside and prevented small animals from making a home. The liberal use of bleach burned his nostrils. They hadn’t even achieved the porch and the stink of it burned beneath the moss, water and floral scents of the yard. The front door swung inward and a dark skinned wolf strode out. His balding head gleamed under the half-light. Broad shouldered, he had a barrel chest—everything about him was large from his height to his long-fingered and wide hands.

Margo didn’t slow, climbing the steps swiftly only to be enfolded into an embrace.

“Hey Margie-girl,” Nelson, she’d named him, rumbled in a deep baritone. His wolf rode very near the surface. Margo held him tight and the embrace continued past the point of Salvatore’s tolerance, though he kept his comments in check.

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