Page 15 of Cowboy Wolf Christmas

“There might be a can of something left over in the pantry or cabinet from when . . .” He heard himself hesitate. “From whoever the fuck last lived here,” he mumbled.

He didn’t like to think about that. The time this place had spent abandoned. Or worse, the time it’d been occupied in the years since by someone who wasn’t him, only to return to being abandoned again. Like it was cursed. Him, this place, these hills.

Though he knew the only true curse was the choices he’d made. He’d done this.

And those bloodsucking fuckers. Wherever they were.

He hated them. For everything they’d taken from him. Now and then.

Silas shook his head, moving to step toward the pantry.

“No thanks,” Cheyenne said. “I-I can’t stand the texture of canned food.”

The texture?

Silas shrugged, convinced it was some bourgeoisie shit that came with being raised a Grey Wolf at Wolf Pack Run, where the pack had anything and everything they wanted at their fingertips. Life in the subpacks was harder. But bearable. Happy even.

Though never as well protected. That dark hole inside him, where his grief lived, filled with resentment. Rage. That was where he lived these days. Because it was familiar. He’d spent so long there, he didn’t know how to get out of it again. Didn’t even know if he could. She’d been right when she said he pushed others away. But fuck if he knew how to stop himself from doing it. It’d become second nature.

“Right. Texture,” he grumbled, as if he had any idea what the hell that meant. “I’ll find some blankets.” He started to head to where he knew the linen closet used to be, but felt himself hesitate. He paused before he turned back toward her.

The way she looked standing there, naked in the moonlight that streamed through the window was . . . Well, he didn’t know. He wasn’t the sort of man to say something took his breath away. But she did then. Even as he felt guilty for it, knowing she was vulnerable after––whatever that was. Now more than ever.

“Are-are you going to be okay while I go do that?” He pawed at the back of his neck sheepishly. Even to his own ears the question sounded strange. Sincere, yet forced. Like he’d been out of practice being nice for too long. Shit.

Maybe she really was right about him.

If Cheyenne noticed the change, she didn’t say anything. She wrapped her arms around herself, glancing out into the darkness. The nearly full moon hung in the sky overhead, obscured by the relentless fall of snow.

“Yeah,” she whispered, nodding like she was trying to reassure herself. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

Silas nodded, then made his way through the darkened cabin, searching for any sort of linen or sheets. He tried not to catalogue all the changes as he went. All the life that’d clearly happened there. Without him. Without any of the family he’d loved either.

When he finally located an old quilt wedged in the far back of an empty cabinet, he heard Cheyenne’s voice call out to him from one of the bedrooms.

“Silas.”

He grunted in response.

“There’s only one bed in here.”

Silas closed his eyes, even as his hands clenched, tightening until he was fisting huge handfuls of the fucking quilt. He couldn’t catch a break tonight, could he?

6

Cheyenne had no idea how she was ever going to sleep. Her mind was still reeling from overstimulation. From the change in routine. Her plans. The darkness. Nothing around her felt familiar. It was all too much. She glanced over to where Silas lay, still and solid beside her.

He’d offered to sleep on the floor, curled up in wolf form. But she wasn’t about to kick him out of the only bed in this place when him leading her here was the only reason she was still breathing, alive. If the vampires had found her while working on that tractor alone, they wouldn’t hesitate. He didn’t need to break a nose like he’d done with Cayden, their packmate, in order to protect her. Vigilance. Awareness of surroundings was enough because the vampires hadn’t even found them. But they’d gotten close.

Silas’ gut instinct seemed honed like a blade.

If how he’d held her when she’d been stimming was any indication.

He’d been a natural, both then and in the pasture, like he’d known exactly how to help her. Even at a time when she hadn’t been able to help herself.

“Silas,” she whispered over to where he lay beside her.

He didn’t answer.

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