Cry Wolf: Wolves of Angels Rest, #7

By Elsa Jade

The killing moon is full…

The wolves of Angels Rest knew they’d have to face off against the shifter-hating Kingdom Guard some day. And that day has come.

Diesel has lived his whole life protecting others, so no way will he let the Guard bastards hurt anyone else. The pack is on lockdown until the battle is over. But then his past finally catches up with him.

Country-western star Willow Raleigh has been on the road for years, looking for something she lost a long time ago. And she finds more than she ever bargained for: a secret that will change her world, a menace that will change her body, and a love that will change her soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Circle Ink
• Release date: May 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533794277

Book preview

Wolves of Angels Rest: Book 7

CRY WOLF

Elsa Jade

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The killing moon is full…

The wolves of Angels Rest knew they’d have to face off against the shifter-hating Kingdom Guard some day. And that day has come.

Diesel has lived his whole life protecting others, so no way will he let the Guard bastards hurt anyone else. The pack is on lockdown until the battle is over. But then his past finally catches up with him.

Country-western star Willow Raleigh has been on the road for years, looking for something she lost a long time ago. And she finds more than she ever bargained for: a secret that will change her world, a menace that will change her body, and a love that will change her soul.

Copyright © 2015 by Elsa Jade

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as factual. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be scanned, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Wolves of Angels Rest

Elsa Jade

Get all the Wolves of Angels Rest

HERO

JOKER

ROGUE

WARRIOR

LOST WOLF

GHOST WOLF

CRY WOLF

FIGHTER

WISH UPON A WEREWOLF

Chapter 1

The last encore ended at almost one a.m. so Willow Raleigh didn’t sneak out the back of the casino until after two.

Not that the time of day or night really mattered in Las Vegas, even back here where the neon didn’t reach. God, how she hated this place.

She took a drag off her cigarette as she huddled against the bare brick wall in the alley, hating even more the sting of nicotine in her throat—she’d suffer for that later—and the bitterness of her own thoughts.

She’d worked so hard to get here, paid the price over and above, and now…

What did she have to show for it? A band on the edge of dissolution, a ruined reputation, a few extra pounds—more than a few, if the tabloids were to be believed, which they were not—and now this damn pack-a-day habit to soothe the post-show jitters.

Well, all that plus a cool hundred thou for every performance.

Her soul was worth that, wasn’t it? More or less? She shivered in the almost-winter wind snaking between the hulked buildings.

Even if she hadn’t written anything new in the last year. Unfortunately, she’d run out of songs that she’d stashed away when they were living out of their rickety Econoline van. The guys had accidentally overheard her latest attempt and actually laughed out loud. And not in a nice way. Not good. One more week of shows and then they were due for a break, but immediately after that, they were back in the studio to record the next album.

And she had nothing.

She tried to hum a melody, but the chorus wouldn’t come. Her throat hurt anyway.

Jittery restlessness made her nerves slam dance, and she longed for a flowing two-step with a strong partner to hold her. She just needed a break, a chance to let off some steam with someone who wasn’t judging every little thing about her. Somebody who wouldn’t remind her she’d missed that falsetto. Someone who wouldn’t care that wardrobe had to let out her costumes—again. Someone who didn’t even know her made-up name. He’d just swirl her through the tune, let her spin, dip her right at the end…

With a sigh, she crushed out the cigarette on the bricks and pocketed the butt. Time to go face the music—har har—from the guys and the newest manager for Willow Raleigh and the Eagle Boys.

But as she turned and reached for the door, the sight of a figure stalking down the artificial canyon of the alley made her pause.

Vegas was twenty-four/seven, but the loading dock was usually empty this time of morning. Which was why she always chose it for her retreat. Maybe some tourist had gotten lost. She’d wandered the wrong way more than once after they’d first scored their Vegas residency and found herself stomping a lotta extra miles in her cowboy boots to find her way back.

Maybe she needed to get lost more often so she could burn off some of the cocktail calories without the nicotine.

But when the figure neared the fluorescent light above the loading bay, she drew back toward the doorway. Not a tourist, more like a bouncer or one of the heavies who walked behind the casino bosses. She didn’t like those guys. Nothing fazed them, nothing touched them. They didn’t smile when she did her good little country girl thing, and they didn’t blink when she rocked the sultry torch singer persona. Those guys knew liars and thieves like the backs of their hairy-knuckled hands…so they always saw right through her.

Whoever he was, he’d probably yell at her for skulking around behind the casino like a thief in the night. Or the morning. Whatever.

As he passed into the pool of light, though, she changed her mind again. Not a tourist, not a bouncer. His stride was too steady and sure for a drunk looking for a place to puke. He almost glided, his big, black boots silent without the flat-footed stomp of some big bruiser. Even if he was huge. He looked like he could bench press the dumpster. With just one arm.

His unadorned black T-shirt hugged his wide chest and emphasized the bulk of his biceps. With his short-cropped dark hair just starting to grow out shaggy, he had an ex-military look. She knew the look since she’d done a couple USO tours—heck, she’d done a couple military guys too.

As he got closer, her gaze caught on some sort of marking—a tattoo or a scar—gleaming on his forearm. She’d seen something like that before, if she could just remember where…

She stepped out of the shadows. Hey there. Got a light?

She unfurled a cigarette between her fingers. Admittedly it wasn’t the most original line ever. But she’d figured out before she was legal drinking age that guys didn’t need originality.

This guy didn’t startle when she appeared, and for a second, she thought he’d keep on walking. But at the last momnet, before his long legs carried him past, he pivoted toward her.

It was she who took a step back.

Damn, he was kind of spooky intense. His piercing dark eyes narrowed as he swept her with one up-down glance without lingering on any of her good parts, bagging and tagging her in an instant. He lifted his head, nostrils flaring, in an odd gesture, like her grandfather’s hunting dogs catching a scent.

She had fond memories of her childhood running wild on the border between Kentucky and West Virginia, but the last time she’d visited, she’d felt something missing. Something she was still trying to find out here, so far away. This was a strange place and a strange man to evoke those memories…

Those things’ll kill you, he said.

Oh, he had the kind of voice she loved, like a soulful tenor sax pitched low, echoing just a little in the darkness.

Seduced by the sound of his voice, it took her a second to decide his line wasn’t that original either. Oh well. Cover songs could get standing ovations too.

Ignoring the initial spark of nervousness, she sauntered toward him. Should she try her little girl lost routine? Or was he more into a bad girl looking for the right man? She usually had a better read on a guy by now.

She tilted her head so her shellacked curls slid across her shoulders. Even three hours under stage lights couldn’t melt her. Only live once, right? By all means, continue on with the clichés. And to think she’d once gotten a shiny award for best new singer-songwriter.

No lighter, he said with a shrug.

She settled back on her heels. Well, that took the fun out of their witty repartee. She slid the cigarette into the nearly empty pack in her purse. Too bad.

You shouldn’t oughta be asking strangers to light your fire.

She hadn’t felt this lit up in a long time. Some inexplicable mix of insta-attraction and annoyance at his attitude. Maybe it was just that he hadn’t seemed to recognize her yet. Come to think of it, that was probably what attracted her and annoyed her.

She put her hand on her sequined denim hip. From the audience, the spangled jeans looked awesome, but up close they were maybe a little gaudy, especially since wardrobe had to accommodate her ass and had put in a triangle panel of only sequins, like a bedazzled thong on the outside of her jeans.

The zipper, however, worked juuust fiiiiine.

She gave him an even more insolent once-over than he’d given her. Nobody’s supposed to be back here except employees. And you’re not wearing your name tag.

He crossed his big arms over his chest. Was he flexing for her, or where those corded muscles always so tight? I don’t work for anybody except myself. And I go where I want. He looked her over again, and this time his sharp gaze lingered on her breasts. Besides, where’s your name tag?

Damn, she was just thinking how she needed some time being unknown, and yet here she was practically trying to tell him who she was.

I’m Wil, she said. Who are you?

Diesel.

Shee-it, and she thought her name was ridiculous. Well, hey there, Diesel who goes where he wants. Where are you going tonight?

She almost laughed at his visible double take as his arms fell loosely to his sides. Her jumping out of the doorway hadn’t startled him, but the implication she was thinking of jumping his bones had him running scared.

She didn’t laugh, but she did smirk.

His eyes narrowed again. His face was all-American enough to make him the hero in one of her music videos. He had the right handsomely rough-hewn features—straight nose, hard jaw, lean cheeks. But his dark hair, dark eyes, and black T-shirt made him just a little too menacing. Too bad for his music video heartthrob career—DOA—but just right for her.

With one long stride, he covered the empty space between them and wrapped his arm at the small of her back, yanking her up against his broad chest. The move jolted the smirk right off her face. She gasped and flattened her hands on his pecs to push a little room between them.

He stared down at her. I guess I’m coming right over here, he said in that low voice.

Whoa, cowboy. Under the thin cotton of his shirt, his skin was hot, so hot she curled her fingers. I don’t know what you think—

I think you like playing with fire.

She tossed her head back. And you think you’re all that?

I know it.

Lotta talk, she murmured.

You’re right. Don’t know what came over me. Guess just as pretty as you are, you shocked all these words right outta me.

Maybe shut up now, she suggested.

Before the last breath left her lips, his mouth came down hard on hers.

She’d kissed—lots—but this… This was something else. He devoured her, his mouth working over hers like he had to have all of her at once. His parting lips jacked her open, and then his tongue was tangling with hers, roaming every crevice of her mouth like he’d left his car keys and a hundred dollar bill in there somewhere.

She gasped and sucked down a breath of him, clear and wild as the night sky over the Vegas desert.

But somehow every bit as far away.

And she wanted him closer.

A brief flash of shame at her own stale cigarette breath—not to mention groping this stranger—almost withered her intentions. But then he dropped one hand to her ass and squeezed her up against his crotch.

The thick bulge behind his fly pressed into her belly, and she moaned. Oh god, one kiss and he wanted her. Wanted her so bad she was surprised his black jeans hadn’t split across the front like