Page 37 of The Vampire's Thirst
Convinced Ivan was taking care of the other boys, she surrendered to the adventure she was on, even though it was a dangerous one. Besides, this kid was innocent and delightful.
It’s just as easy to be happy as it is to be sad.
She chucked under his chin. “Sweet. But I’ve had a long day and plan to crash. Next time, handsome.”
Key card in hand, she slid into the passenger seat. “Around back. Room 22.”
“Why are you so happy?” Dax snarled, staring through the glass at the clerk who was still leaning on his elbows, wearing a silly-ass grin. “Did you need to flirt with him to get a room? Couldn’t you just pay?”
“Sure, but where’s the fun in that?”
Another growl from the vampire.
Jealousy?
Let him stew. She’d thought about him for years. Her savior. The man with wild, hungry eyes, hard muscles, long hair, and chiseled good looks. The man who would always keep her safe. Now she was alone with her dream god. But he had a nasty disposition. And that was when he was in a pleasant mood. Still, whenever he touched her, her knees trembled.
Slut.But can I be a loose woman if I only want one man?
Correction. One vampire?
Slut-in-training, maybe. Not full-time yet.
****
Thornwasn’t pleased to leave Luka, but his brother had to travel recovery road by himself. At a Scath portal, the Firebrand shifter tapped his chip, disappearing, truck and all.
He and his black Ford Super Duty F-450 Platinum She Beast rode east out of Bozeman at night, eventually turning south on 89. Along with Ward Davis, he sang “Old Wore Out Cowboys.” At least he was free. Free of letting down the Firebrands. Free of letting down his pack and Luka.
With a cigar clamped between his teeth, Thorn scrubbed a fist along his jaw. The childhood scar from before his Awakening ached like a warning. Or maybe a guilty conscience.
After turning onto the gravel road, he traveled across a wide valley. Above an iron gate in the distance was his brand, Claw Ranch, drawn with five straight lines through a horseshoe tilted onto its side to look like a C. The closer he got, the easier it was to breathe. The less his scar ached.
Thorn ran cattle and some horses. His chief ranch hand lived down the road a distance along with a few other hires who took care of his place. They knew little about its owner, but they managed the property well. It was all he needed.
Making time with dust flying behind the She Beast, Thorn spotted his log cabin. He chuckled as he pulled the cigar out of his mouth, a puff of smoke escaping his lips. His dream started out as a small one-bedroom getaway. But it grew until it became a retreat on steroids, a place where fellow Firebrands and packmates could visit to enjoy Montana’s wide-open spaces.
Now, it had three bedrooms, a bunkhouse, a giant kitchen with the latest equipment, and a long table cut from a tree on his very own property. The great room boasted a giant stone fireplace, a massive TV, and a long bar for drinking and chatting. Navaho rugs covered polished dark floors while baskets and horse blankets hung on the walls.
Few people had been here yet, but the place was just recently finished. Eventually, laughter, boozing, and a lot of fucking would fill it.
Thorn parked and hopped out, his worn cowboy boots clumping across the porch. His breath caught when he opened the door. “Home,” he whispered.
Once he unloaded his small duffel from the truck, he checked the fridge. Full as he had asked. Looking forward to a good run, he left, racing toward the mountains in the distance. His wolf wanted freedom. Like man, like beast. Both had been cooped up too long, caught between pack and Firebrands.
Thorn ran for about five miles until he reached the thicker woods abutting the national forest. He shucked his boots, socks, pants, and shirt, folding and laying them alongside a familiar tree.
He closed his eyelids, preparing for the feeling which accompanied a shift. Some described it as painful with joints popping and bones reforming while fur sprouted. He found it thrilling.Hell. He liked a little pain. Good for the soul.
On all fours, he shook his chestnut fur to release the tension. His black and white muzzle near the ground, he scented pine needles, damp earth, and crisp air.
The wolf threw back its head and howled.Freedom. And it ran, dodging trees, climbing mountains. No more thoughts plagued it. It was all animal. His beast was in charge, and it knew only pleasure. The thrill of nature. The joy of the hunt. Birds scattered. A deer took off for shelter, but the wolf wasn’t ready to kill yet. The speed and feel of the wind ruffling fur was all it wanted.
It skirted a freezing mountain stream for a while until an urge surfaced. He shifted beside a pooled area where he jumped in. The water was so cold it shriveled his balls and chattered his teeth, but the icy chill invigorated him. When he’d had enough, he climbed out, tossed back his wet hair, and shifted into his wolf again. Charging forward. Howling. Stretching his legs in the moonlight.
Hours later, once his limbs quivered with exhaustion, he returned to his tree, curling onto the ground, enjoying the fresh mountain breeze.
When a scream pierced his sleep, the wolf bolted onto all fours. It raced toward the sound, pulling short when a backpacker’s campsite came into view. Near the tent lighted with a kerosene lamp, a female struggled between two males.
