Page 33 of Cowboy Wolf Christmas

Her heart was in her throat, pounding with fear. Silas growled, dark eyes flashing to his wolf. “Run to the cabin, lock the door, and don’t look back.”

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Cheyenne heeded his warning without question, for which he was grateful, because Silas had all of two seconds before he sensed the vampire breathing at his nape. The bloodsucker slammed into him with supernatural force, knocking him onto the ground. The wind rushed from his lungs in one fell swoop. But he’d expected it. Anticipated it. Silas rolled into the fall, springing back on his feet again just as quick, blade still in hand.

This bloodsucker didn’t stand a chance, not with the cold, stormy rage that fueled him. He’d had enough of these bloodsucking fangers fucking with him at Christmas. He snarled.

And yes, he thought Die Hard was, in fact, a Christmas movie. Why did anyone ever ask?

Even if these bloodsuckers had made him hate it for a time.

But he was about to John McClane their ass, so he supposed, he’d let bygones be bygones. With them, himself, and his past. All of it. Cheyenne was right. He needed to forgive, but not forget. He wouldn’t lose her over past pack politic.

He swiped his blade, warding off the bloodsucker just long enough so he could shift. A knife may have caused injury for them, harm, enough to give them pause, but only a stake through the heart, decapitation, or his personal favorite, tearing their throats out with his canine teeth truly laid the undead to rest. He took his kills ruthlessly, made it personal.

Cold. Calculated. Fierce.

He shifted into his wolf, legs and limbs seamlessly falling into place until he stood on all four feet, teeth bared, snarling his rage. There was no way this vamp would outpace him now that he stood as his wolf, not when the bloodsucker stood there on two feet, looking for all intents and purposes like a human man, save for the fangs and the pulsing red eyes which tracked his movements through the dark.

Silas bobbed and weaved, barely evading the bloodsucker’s speed. But nature would always win when faced against man, dead or alive. If not now, then in the end.

But he wasn’t waiting around for that.

He lunged for the bloodsucker, claws tearing into tender flesh as he bit and snarled. The vampire bared its fangs back, hissing and fighting in a swirling blur of hits. And for what? The right to exist? Control these mountainsides? Fuck that.

He and the packmaster needed to have a little discussion about more than a few things.

The vamp gripped him by his scruff, tossing him back. “Your hide is mine, you mangy mutt,” the vampire hissed. Silas stiffened. He stood opposite of the fanger, in the snow. He recognized this bloodsucker. That voice. From his Wild Eight days. That realization prickled through him, filling him with awareness, fear for Cheyenne, their packmates.

Theirpackmates.

His and hers both. She’d helped him understand that now. If they’d have him, he could be both. A former Wild Eightanda Grey Wolf. They could be one and the same.

He snarled, advancing again, uncertain he’d live long enough for Cheyenne to realize exactly how she’d effected him. Made him whole like that.

A single vampire he could handle without so much as blinking an eye. But more?

And there were more. He sensed them.

Scented the sickly sweet scent of death on the breeze.

The one that stood before him would never travel alone. Not against Cillian’s orders, their leader. But all the same, when Silas saw his chance, he went for it. He dodged right, faked left, before he lunged again, sinking his canines into the vampire’s throat. The iron-filled taste of blood coated his maw, as he ripped and tore, the warm pulse now going still for a final time on his tongue. He shifted back to human form in an instant. Blood coated his front as he snatched his blade from the snow in preparation for the coming onslaught.

He spat a mouthful of blood into the snow and dirt. His teeth would be stained red.

“Silas!” Cheyenne’s shout drew his attention to his left, echoing in his ears.

His gaze darted in her direction just in time to see her shift into her wolf, along with several other of the younger alpha warriors of the Grey Wolf pack.He growled his disapproval from across the clearing as she bounded toward him, but she snarled back, where she now stood in wolf form. She hadn’t listened to him and locked herself inside. She’d gone for help.

He couldn’t have been prouder of her. Furious? Sure. Terrified? Yes. Feeling far too protective of her? Definitely. But proud all the same. She was tender hearted as she was fierce, brave. A cacophony of growls filled his ears. The snarls of the Grey Wolves. The approach of the vampire’s onslaught as they hissed. The moon hung in the sky overhead, staring down at them and illuminating the snow in its glittering light.

With this few wolves and so many bloodsuckers, they’d die out here, become nothing more than food for the dirt and snow beneath their feet. Blood fodder as the vampires bled them.

He didn’t want that to happen. Didn’t want them to be over yet, before they’d even really had a chance to begin. But he’d feared this from the moment they’d returned to find the ranch unguarded. He’d hoped he could spare Cheyenne if they came, of course, protect her. Yet it was too late for that. They were surrounded, but she was there now, beside him, prepared for battle, as kind and full hearted as she was wild. His beautiful glorious mate.

Silas turned toward her, prepared to tell her he loved her one last time. “I love you,” he whispered. In wolf form, she couldn’t answer back. But the echo across the mountainside did.

He hadn’t counted on that, the whole of the Grey Wolf pack, returned early, exactly as they’d left. A shiver coursed down Silas’ spine as the sound of Maverick and the other wolves’ howls filled his ears, echoing out into the night. From where she stood beside him on all four paws, Cheyenne’s golden eyes met his. He smirked at that and together they threw back their heads and howled, the haunting sound of the pack all together as one filling the mountainside.

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