Protector Wolf. Linda Johnston O.
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“Yeah, they are,” Vinnie said. “They’re dangerous. They don’t belong here. And if they stay around here, near Fritts Corner, well, yeah, they’re supposedly protected under the law. But I know we can get around that if we figure out which ones attacked my husband. And if that kind of thing happens again you can be certain we’ll do everything possible to make sure none ever gets near this town again.”
She pivoted and nearly knocked over some people in line behind them who weren’t hiding the fact they were eavesdropping.
“That’s such a shame,” Kathie Sharan said. “No one likes to hear that, especially not those of us who care about wildlife.” She looked at Maya, and Ryan thought he saw tears in her eyes. In both women’s eyes, in fact.
“But she shouldn’t threaten any protected species,” Burt Sharan interjected, putting his arm around his wife.
“No, she shouldn’t,” Maya said, “though I can certainly understand her position.” Her head drooped—and Ryan found himself beside her, his arm around her the way Burt had done with Kathie.
He felt something amazing, something indescribable, when Maya turned and put her head on his shoulder. He faced her, held her even closer, wanting to comfort her—and more. His whole body was reacting to her closeness. And it didn’t hurt knowing that this woman was someone who gave a damn about wolves.
But Ryan’s shoulders stiffened at that thought. She cared about wolves, sure—but what would she think about people who turned into wolves, and back again?
Most regular humans, unless they’d had contact with shifters, didn’t believe in them. And once they had something like that, which they considered weird and paranormal and scary, happen within their consciousness, they backed away.
Might even become particularly fearful of those creatures, real or shifted.
Even so, for now, he didn’t loosen his grip.
But he couldn’t help wondering how Maya would react knowing that the wolves who’d nearly attacked her last night were likely shifters.
Or that he was a shifter, too.
How could she be so very aware of this man’s nearness? His arms around her.
His lower parts hard as he pressed against her.
Absurd to even think about it. He was simply being nice. Kind. Sympathetic.
She shouldn’t need sympathy. Morton Fritts did. She felt just terrible about what had happened to him, as if it was her fault.
But she hadn’t brought the wolves here. She was merely an advocate, excited that a wonderful protected and endangered species appeared to be making a resurgence here.
Enough of a resurgence that she, perhaps acting foolish in her delight, had nearly been attacked, too.
If anyone should have been mauled, it was her.
“Thanks,” she finally said in as decisive a voice as she could muster. She pulled back, immediately feeling somewhat bereft as Ryan no longer held her, no longer touched her. But it was better this way. “Let’s go find our table—although I’m not very hungry now.”
“Don’t let any of this get to you.” Ryan’s tone sounded like an order, and she looked up into his face. His brows were knitted, but there was something in his expression that suggested caring. She started to smile, though a bit weakly she figured—but then he added, “Of course I gather you also did something as foolish as Morton Fritts, but you’re just lucky you weren’t hurt, too.”
She took a step back, bumping into someone standing there in line. She excused herself but didn’t take her gaze off Ryan.
How did he know that? She hadn’t left a message when she’d tried calling him at the hotel. And all she’d really said on the subject this morning was that she’d had an interesting night.
Still, under the circumstances—the howls and barks in the distance and her obvious love of wolves—he could certainly have guessed what she’d done.
And since he apparently hadn’t been in his room when she called last night, maybe he had done the same thing. And maybe he had seen her, though she hadn’t seen him.
She needed some answers. “Yes,” she said, “I’m lucky, and maybe you are, too. Did you do anything after you heard those howls last night?”
When he frowned and opened his mouth to reply, she shook her head. “Let’s go sit down and order breakfast—and we can each tell our reactions to those sounds and what we did about them.”
* * *
Okay, so he’d gone a little too far in his initial chastisement of Maya. So what?
He didn’t have to get into specifics.
As they made their way between tables, with him in front, Ryan spotted Piers sitting at a table outside just beyond the glass door. He couldn’t see Rocky at first but figured the dog had been there long enough to relax and lie down on the patio.
“There they are,” he said and finished leading Maya to the table.
Rocky stood up, and Ryan couldn’t help smiling at the way Maya immediately went over and petted him before taking her seat facing Piers. That was a good thing, since one of the remaining chairs had its back to the far patio wall, and if Ryan sat there he’d be able to keep an eye on the crowd.
Ears, too—although he hoped he didn’t regret too much that he was there as a human, with limited ability to eavesdrop. But if someone happened to mention the word wolf he was sure he would hear it.
Piers picked up the menus near him on the tabletop. Ryan noticed he’d already gotten a cup of coffee. As he handed a menu to Ryan, Piers looked at him quizzically, as if asking what he’d missed.
But he’d heard the worst of it before heading to the table: Morton Fritts had apparently been attacked by a wolf.
Ryan didn’t want to bring that up now. There was nothing they could do over breakfast to research which type of wolf had attacked the man, let alone fix that situation.
As a result, he just gave a brief shrug and opened his menu. “Great! They have a good selection, and I’m hungry.” Which he actually was, after his busy night on the hillside.
Not to mention the energy used for shifting. That burned a lot of calories.
As he read the menu, he did hear the word wolf and several times with his heightened hearing. He allowed himself to glance in those directions. Other seated diners, both here and inside, seemed to be discussing the events of last night—at least the howls, since he heard that word a few times, too.
He also heard the word attack at least once...
News had apparently spread about Morton Fritts. Not that it was likely to be hushed up for any reason—not even by shifters, if they were the source of the problem. They could discuss it while in human form, but would they know who did it—shifters or not? And if shifters, which ones were involved?
But with all the various conversations, many of which seemed to be on that subject, and the fact that there was a curious woman at his side so he couldn’t simply sit there listening, Ryan gave up on the possibility of learning much that was useful right away.
Nor did he get any sense, via scent or conversation, that anyone here was a shifter—not that his belief was conclusive.
He decided to order eggs with sausage and toast. Good thing he figured that out fairly quickly since their server, a thirtysomething woman who looked like she’d been at this for a while, came right over to their table for their orders.
Maya asked for only toast and decaf. When the server was gone, she looked toward Ryan. “Did