White Wolf Mate (Silverlake Shifters Book 2) Read online

  “What do you want to eat?” she called over her shoulder. “I have some chicken in the icebox. I could make sandwiches. Or you could have salad?” she asked dubiously.

  He grinned. “I’m a wolf,” he said. “Wolves eat rabbits, not rabbit food.”

  She smiled. “There actually is some rabbit in there,” she said. “But vegetables are good for you. Vitamins and things.”

  He shook his head in mock amazement. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d even know what vitamins were, what with amnesia and living all isolated up here.”

  She gave him a mock-stern look. “Watch yourself, buddy,” she said. “I read a lot.”

  “I can see that.”

  As she put together some sandwiches, she could see him studying the open living/dining/kitchen area, as if he could learn about her by studying her habitat.

  She tried to look at the cabin the way someone else would see it. The living area was large and sunny, with a shabby, comfortable sofa and chair. The walls were lined with bookshelves. She didn’t have electricity, no phones or computers or television. She learned about the world by reading.

  There was a small dining area, with a polished wooden table made out of a huge slice of tree trunk, and two chairs that Ben had made from gnarled tree branches. They gave the place kind of a fairy-tale look.

  The kitchen was bright and pleasant, with cheerful curtains at the window over the sink. The sink itself had an old-fashioned hand pump, that brought up water from the well. There was no water heater—she heated all her water on the stove. There was a cold box in the corner that took blocks of ice. In the winter she and Ben had harvested them from the lake and stored them in sawdust in the underground ice house at the edge of the woods. Now she mostly got them from town. There were handmade wooden cupboards and shelves, filled with mismatched dishes. On display in the middle of one of the shelves was her favorite platter, an antique painted with an image of a lake on a starry night.

  The cabin was simple, but she’d tried to make it pretty, with the curtains she’d sewn and the placemats she’d woven herself, and rag rugs she’d braided out of old clothes and fabric scraps.

  It was comfortable. It was private. It was hers.

  “I like your place,” Rafe said finally.

  She smiled because he sounded like he meant it, instead of just being polite. “Ben—my late husband—built most of it,” she said, putting the plates down on the table. “He wasn’t much for decorating, though. I did that.”

  “It looks nice,” he said, taking a seat. “Homey. A lot better than my cabin at Silverlake. My decorating style is somewhere between bachelor pad and crack den.”

  She laughed. “You live by yourself?” she asked. She took a pitcher of lemonade out of the cold box and poured two glasses, bringing them to the table. She sat down.

  He shook his head. “I share a cabin with Jesse. He and Jace and I—Jace is our alpha,” he explained. When she didn’t react, he said, “The head of our pack?”

  She nodded, chewing slowly so she wouldn’t have to answer. She wished she could remember more about shifter packs. So he wouldn’t think she was some kind of freak.

  “Jace and Jesse and I have been friends ever since we were cubs,” he said. “Then, when we were teenagers, our pack…”

  He trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes. She could sense pain in him, an old pain, one that he usually covered up. “Our pack was broken up,” he said. “Hardly any of us were left. Jace’s dad—our old alpha—was gone, so Jace was alpha, but we had no home. No territory. No place to go.”

  Terin nodded sympathetically. “Like me, kind of,” she said. “Except you weren’t alone.”

  He looked up and smiled. “No,” he said softly. “I wasn’t alone.” He was silent for a moment.

  “Anyway,” he went on, “we did everything we could to rebuild the pack. And finally, a few years ago, we were able to get Silverlake Mountain as our territory.”

  She watched his face, how it went soft when he talked about his friends, when he talked about the mountain. “It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she said.

  He frowned, as if trying to figure something out. “I thought it would mean more,” he said slowly. “We worked for it for so long. It was all we could think about. And it was always the three of us. Then Kane and Israel found us, but they—well, they’re pack, but I’m not close to them. Jace and Jesse are my brothers.”

  She watched him carefully, tuning in to that connection she felt with him. “But something’s wrong?”

  His eyes grew dark, and then he shook off the mood he’d been in. “Nope,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong. Jace found a mate, a true mate, and sealed the magic on Silverlake Mountain. It’s ours, and no one is going to take it away from us.”

  Terin was still watching him, trying to figure out how he really felt. He’d put on his lighter self like a bright-colored coat, but she could still feel the darkness beneath it. An old wound.

  It made her want to reach out and touch him, to comfort him. He looked up and met her eyes, and she caught her breath. Something passed between them, some communication. Their gazes held for a long moment, until she couldn’t handle the sense of closeness any more, and looked away.

  After they finished eating, Rafe prowled around her space while she cleaned up, looking at her things, running his finger over the spines of her books. She felt like he was trying to see into her head through her belongings. She didn’t know if she liked that or not.

  It was exciting, in a way. To meet someone who wanted to know inside her. But it was scary, too, and she felt—invaded? She wasn’t used to having someone in her space who paid so much attention to her.

  The cabin felt smaller with him in it. When she’d lived here with Ben, it had just been home; it hadn’t seemed small. But Rafe’s presence filled it. She could almost feel the heat of his body across the room, and she was acutely aware of every movement he made. The shift of his leg muscles under his jeans; the way his chest muscles rippled under his shirt.

  Suddenly she was having trouble breathing.

  “I need to get some herbs from the garden,” she said breathlessly.

  She was out the door before he could answer, leaning against the wall of the house while she caught her breath.

  He was so gorgeous. Hot, was what they said in the books she read. She felt like an idiot because she didn’t even know how real people talked, what slang they used, or what kind of music was popular, or anything. She barely knew what was going on in the world off this mountain.

  For the first time since she was a teenager, she wished she did. She wished she could be hip and amazing and fascinating and funny, and make him want to be with her.

  Then she wished he’d go away and leave her in peace.

  She went to the garden and pulled up some herbs randomly, just so she’d have something to take back into the house. But when she went back inside, he wasn’t there. She glanced into the bedroom, but it was dim and still, her handmade quilt lying smooth on the bed. No wolf, no scent of one.

  There was only one place he could be—and she didn’t want him there. She hurried to her painting studio. It was a shed that Ben had built on the back of the cabin, with its own ventilation system, and insulated so that she could use it winter or summer. There was a heater for when the air got cold, kept way to the side, away from any flammable paint fumes.

  He was standing at her easel, holding her unfinished painting by the edges. The black wolf under the sky full of northern lights.

  No! He couldn’t be in here. The paintings were part of her soul, and this was where she came to put the broken pieces of herself back together. No one was allowed in here.

  Without thinking, she snapped, “Get out!”

  Chapter 7

  Rafe started at the sound of her voice, and almost dropped the painting. He’d been so entranced by it he hadn’t even heard her coming. He looked up from the canvas. “This is—” he began.

  “Don’t touch th
at,” she said sharply. “It’s still wet. You could ruin it. And get out of here. I didn’t say you could go wandering around my house, going through my private things.”

  Oops. Screwed up again. But the painting had drawn him in. “It’s amazing,” he said. “It’s like—”

  “Put. It. Down.” She sounded as if she were trying very hard not to scream at him. “And get out of my space.”

  Whoa. Okay. He put the painting down carefully and stepped back. Then he walked out of the room, turning slightly to pass her without touching her. She looked like she was ready to change and attack him without warning.

  He could almost hear her fuming. How dare he invade her private space? Who did he think he was? Rafe the fuck-up, as usual.

  He stopped in the living room, waiting for her to come out and say something to him. Yell at him. Anything. But she just walked past him, out the door, like she couldn’t even look at him or talk to him.

  He could understand her being upset, but there was more going on here. A few times she’d seemed on the verge of some kind of panic attack, like her wolf was going to burst out, or she was going to run. Something had happened to traumatize her, and his being here was messing with her head.

  She stopped on the porch, holding on to the railing and breathing hard. He could sense her wanting to run, but she also probably didn’t want to leave him alone in her house. She was really freaking out.

  Well, he couldn’t just stay in here. She needed something from him—even if it was nothing more than an apology. But he wanted to give her more. He wanted to heal whatever had hurt her. He could almost feel her panic in his own chest.

  He wanted to barge out there in his usual impulsive way and try to fix it right away, but he knew he’d really blow it if he did that. He had to be patient, which he sucked at.

  But he’d try.

  Carefully, so as not to spook her, he walked out onto the porch and leaned against the railing next to her.

  She stiffened up, but she didn’t bolt. She didn’t speak or look at him either, so on a scale of one to ten he figured he was at about a three.

  “I’m sorry I looked at your paintings when you didn’t want me to,” he said quietly.

  She didn’t relax. Her hands were squeezing the railing in a death grip.

  “You shouldn’t have,” she said. “You can’t just go through people’s private things without asking.”

  Damn. He kept forgetting what it was like for people who weren’t in a pack. Emma was always yelling about privacy.

  “I know,” he said. “I forget, though. I’m used to the pack. Everybody’s in each other’s business and borrows each other’s stuff. There’s not a lot of privacy going on there.”

  “I’m not in your pack,” she snapped.

  Somehow, those words felt like they were piercing his chest. Like the branch that had impaled him, and almost as painful. He frowned, running his fingers up and down the porch support pole, wondering why she mattered to him so much.

  “No,” he agreed. “You’re not.” But I wish you were.

  He sighed. “I shouldn’t have gone in your studio. I’m too impulsive. Everyone says so.” He paused, picking absently at a splinter in the wood. “It kind of goes along with talking too much. I don’t stop to think. I’m sorry.”

  She bit her lip, and he could feel her begin to relax, her body not so tightly wound. He hoped she would believe that he hadn’t meant to upset her. It almost killed him to wait in silence, instead of running his mouth as usual. But he couldn’t rush her. She was like a wild animal, ready to shy away at the first wrong move. And for some reason, invading her studio had been a big one.

  Finally her breathing steadied. Sounding a little surprised, she said, “You have a very calming presence.”

  That was the last thing Rafe had expected to hear. He burst out laughing.

  “Me? I’ve been called a lot of things—most of them variations on ‘obnoxious’ and ‘annoying,’ he said. “Sometimes I’m amusing. Occasionally I’m even badass. But I’m pretty sure nobody in my whole life has called me ‘calming’ before.”

  She smiled a little. He loved to see her smile. He reached out his hand, hesitantly, and then smoothed his fingers gently up her forearm.

  “Do you mind if I touch you?” he asked. She didn’t object, so he stroked her gorgeous skin again, keeping the touch feather-light. “Most wolves find it comforting,” he explained. “They need affection from their pack mates.”

  He saw goosebumps rise on her skin. Was she responding to him? Did she want him at all? Something inside him yearned for her, wanted to touch her and hold her and protect her. But if she told him to fuck off, he’d go. He didn’t want to make her any more unhappy than she was. And he was not especially known for making people happy.

  Only this time, he wanted to. He was shocked at how desperately he wanted it.

  Chapter 8

  Tingles were running up Terin’s arm, and she was getting goosebumps. His hand was so warm. Just standing next to him made her want to snuggle up to him, feel his arms around her. It had been so long since she had been with a man. She wanted him to touch her more, but then she didn’t know what the heck she would do with him after that.

  She had the feeling he wouldn’t just say thank you and go away.

  She was afraid she wouldn’t want him to go away. And then what would she do?

  But she still found herself whispering, “I don’t mind.”

  She angled herself slightly towards him. His hand went higher, skimming lightly up her arm and over her shoulder to cup her face. He moved towards her, slowly, giving her time to back off. Instead she shifted her body closer. She suddenly wanted to feel his lips on hers, to taste him, to feel his warmth spread through her.

  He smiled slightly and tilted his head, brushing her lips gently with his.

  Oh. That one tiny touch sent heat pulsing through her. He returned his lips to hers, taking small sipping kisses. Terin raised her hands and slid them over his chest.

  Rafe gathered her in his arms and pulled her close, fitting her along the length of his body. She could feel the hard muscles, her softness fitting perfectly against him. His cock was getting hard; she could feel it against her hips. The heat pooled between her legs, her insides going molten.

  Terin was overwhelmed by the sensations. She deepened the kiss, sliding one hand up to tangle in his hair. It was soft and wild, just like she’d hoped it would feel. His tongue dipped between her lips and slid surely around hers, tasting her, tangling with hers, probing deeper. Terin felt a soft growl start in her chest. He felt so good, like luxuriating in the sun after a week of rain.

  Without thinking, she slid her other hand around his waist and under his shirt, up the smooth planes of his back. The feel of his skin was intoxicating. He pulled her even more tightly against him, kissing her neck and across to her shoulder, gently closing his teeth on the sensitive place at the base of her neck before kissing it again. He kissed his way back up, lingering on her neck, making slow circles with his tongue just under her ear. Terin moaned, pressing herself against him. She felt him smile before he returned to her mouth and kissed her deeply once more.

  His hand moved up her side, almost to her breast, and then he stopped, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead on hers.

  “The first time I met you, I grabbed your breast without permission,” he said. “I’d rather not make the same mistake again.”

  What was she doing? Terin felt a flutter of panic. Kissing was one thing. Breasts and other things… “I’m not—maybe we shouldn’t—I mean—”

  “Shh,” he said, kissing her softly. “It’s okay.” He encircled her in his arms, relaxing against her. “God, Terin,” he said. “You do something to me. From the first moment I saw you…”

  “You were delirious,” she reminded him, trying to catch her breath.

  “Still am,” he said. “Every time I see you.”

  “You’ve only seen me once. After the delirium
, I mean.”

  He laughed raggedly. “Every time you go out of my sight, I hate it. And every time I see you again, it hits me just like the first time. Do you know how beautiful you are?”

  She turned her head away, eyes down. “I’m not.”

  He slid his knuckle under her chin and lifted it, so that she looked him in the eyes.

  “Why would you think that?” he said. “Your husband…he must have told you.”

  She stepped back, slowly. Rafe let his arms drop, but she could feel his reluctance to let go of her.

  “Ben wasn’t like that,” she said. “It’s not—he didn’t—” She didn’t know how to put it. She saw Rafe’s eyes darken, and put a calming hand on his shoulder.

  “He didn’t hurt me or abuse me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said. “It’s just—Ben was kind of a strange man. A loner. He moved out here because he didn’t trust society or the government. He sort of thought everyone was out to get him. He wanted to be self-sufficient, live off the grid so that when everything went to hell, he’d be okay.”

  Rafe shook his head. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”

  Terin shrugged. “I guess it was, but for a long time I didn’t know anything else. And he was kind to me.”

  Rafe sat down on the porch swing and pulled her down next to him. He stayed a few inches away from her, giving her space, but took her hand gently in his. “Tell me about him,” he said.

  She sat silently for a minute, wondering where to start. It was so hard to talk, especially about things that were important. Rafe didn’t seem to be impatient, though. He just sat there beside her, waiting.

  “He found me in the woods, when I was sixteen,” she said softly. “Like I told you, I’d been in an accident, and I didn’t remember anything from—before.”

  Rafe frowned. “Like, nothing? I mean, could you talk, and walk and everything?”

  Terin nodded. “I had all my general knowledge, and skills,” she said. “I just couldn’t remember anything personal to me. Who I was, where my family was—nothing from my past. I didn’t even remember my name, but I had some kind of ID card. Terin Whitney.”