Dez

Wolf Diaries Book 1

Dez Cover

Meet Dez… an educated, sexy and independent modern female who was building a successful and fulfilling life away from her estranged father. Suddenly, her father demands she returns home.

You see, her Daddy is the ALPHA of a powerful werewolf pack, and he believes his daughter belongs with pack. But, Dez just doesn’t fit in at the bosom of her pack any longer, because she was born an anomaly, a fluke of nature. A born werewolf who cannot shift into a wolf. Now she must endure, as an outsider among her brethren, while she does her best to avoid the male who owns her heart, and rejected it over a decade ago… Wyatt Bailey.

Meet Wyatt… intelligent, devoted and lethal pack BETA, and the ALPHA’s best friend. He’s also a male who puts his duty to pack first, and lives to protect and provide for those in his care. A strong code of honor guides his actions, and has kept him from Dez for years. But all Dez sees is a walking wet dream and perfect counterpart to her own inner she-wolf and a High Plains Adonis who rejected her.

While the ALPHA plans a future for Dez and Wyatt, outside forces threaten the well-being of the entire pack. Will Dez and Wyatt be able to find their own destiny, or will their love story end before it ever begins?

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~*~ CHAPTER ONE ~*~

I don’t even try to suppress my irritated sigh when I hear the gate to the backyard open with a rusty screech.  Dismissively, I refuse to glance up from my novel.  I assume the interloper is a member of the Alpha’s household staff coming to relay my daily reminder to dress for dinner.   But when my instincts alert me, I look up despite my petulant mood.

Surprise! It’s not a maid come to waste my time by delivering unnecessary reminders.

My uninvited visitor is my dad’s made for sex ranch foreman and second in command.  Suddenly, my inner wolf is wide awake, and clawing to be free.  The horny little she-bitch is eager for the new arrival to join us by the pool.  Her enthusiasm isn’t tempered in the slightest when the sexy-as-sin cowboy meets my habitual glare from across the wide yard, and tosses a negligent nod in my direction.  Even from this distance, the tension on his face is evident.  I almost smirk in sullen satisfaction, because I know my father must have sent him on this errand, and he finds it especially distasteful.

Uh… yeah, dummy, of course he finds it distasteful.  He’s gotta come talk to you.  Obviously that’s not something he wants to do.  Ever.

I return his nod with equal indifference, at least on the surface.  In truth, I am trying to latch onto anything that will distract me from the predictable course of my wayward fantasies as I drink in the full effect of this male’s masculine beauty.  Not even thoughts of a mind-bending physics final back at Cal-Tech can distract me from this shirtless Adonis of the open range.  The male is tall, tan, and abso-fucking-lutely lethal.

A true predator in every sense of the word.  

He’s a wet-dream-inducing vision of the Old West that plays out regularly in my girlish fantasies.  The sight of that old hat makes me smile.  It’s the same old battered Stetson he’s always worn.  I know that dusty old Stetson is hiding a set of piercing brown eyes that always see everything.   The same old battered Stetson which I know covers a thick mass of silky, shaggy brown hair that I am dying to run my fingers through.

Of their own accord, my eyes move lower to take in his shirtless torso.  His tanned skin is glistening in the sunlight, highlighting the deep contours of his finely muscled torso and chest.  Muscles that tempt any red blooded female to touch, to lick, to bite…

Stop it Dez!  Stop drooling over what you can’t have. I chastise myself mentally.  Just look at him, stalking toward you with all the natural arrogance of a born Alpha.  Teasing you and taunting you with what you won’t ever be good enough to have. 

My fingers are still itching to touch, so I clench them in frustration.  I look down at the crumpled cover of the paperback I had been enjoying.  A playful smirk tries to curl my full lips as my quirky sense of humor shines through my lust and frustration.

Sorry Caitlyn O’Leary.  Your very sexy SEALs of Midnight Delta are hot, but this real-life cowboy right in front of me is even hotter!

I resist the urge to squirm on the chaise, because the cowboy in question has almost traversed half of the wide yard.  When the light breeze shifts just a bit, the scent of alpha male wolf, fresh sweat, and natural musk fill my senses and ignites my blood.  My eyes eagerly devour the feast of slick and shiny man-candy.

Fuck, of course he’s shirtless.  Of course he’s fucking sweaty and … perfect in every fucking way. 

I almost smile at the filthiness of my inner dialogue.  But there are very good reasons this one male makes all my thoughts turn dirty and chaotic any time I lay eyes on him.  Because the male is a fucking walking wet dream.  Because the male used to be the object of my girlish adoration and embodiment of my dreams for the future.  Because he was my best friend and closest confidant at a time when I desperately needed one.

Yeah, and his rejection hurt more than all the others.

I sigh softly because that little reality check is like a bucket of ice cold water being tossed over my head.  Remembered pain makes me close my eyes behind my dark shades.  But it’s a wasted effort.  His image is permanently burned into my brain, in all of his shirtless, sweaty, and god-like physical perfection, which is at this moment bearing down on me.  Some deep sense of foreboding fills my being, but I impatiently push it away.  I know being around this male is just asking for heartache, and I should just get up and walk away without speaking to him, but I’d much rather savor the “pretty” that’s coming at me.   Just looking at the male stalking my way like the feral hunter he is causes me to suppress a torrent of pure animal desire that no amount of painful memories can ever purge from my system.

Nope.  I’m an idiot.  I’m gonna look my fill.  I’m gonna hear what he has to say and it’s likely gonna hurt.  But by damn, I’m gonna look my fill anyway.

Obviously, I am a glutton for punishment.  I just cannot take my eyes from the male before me.  He’s just too damn good to look at.  I see him raise an eyebrow when a small sigh escapes my lips.  I should be embarrassed, but apparently the combination of the broad expanse of his bare chest, tight jeans, and confident swagger, has fried my brain and suffocated every single survival instinct I possess, because all I can do is look at the “pretty”.  To describe Wyatt Bailey as easy on the eyes would be on par with describing the Grand Canyon as a really big hole.  Technically, an accurate statement, yet it’s epically inadequate.

Like me. Inadequate. Less than.  Not good enough. 

At least in the eyes of my father, the Alpha of our pack, and every other shifter I’ve ever met.  You see, my dear old dad is Alpha of the very powerful Henderson Pack.  The pack of my birth is the largest pack of werewolves in the southwestern United States.  My mom, God rest her soul, was the love of my father’s life, and just a lowly human.

Usually, that’s not a problem.  The shifter genes are almost always dominant as hell, just like shifter males.  So the offspring of any mating with a human almost always takes after the shifter parent.  But not always.  Sometimes nature randomly decides to flip some poor kid a giant cosmic finger.  An epic fuck-you for living.

I purse my lips in irritation and remind myself to get a grip.  No sense crying over spilt milk after all.  That’s a game for pussies.  My inner wolf chuffs her amusement at my dig against big cat shifters.  But even the she-wolf’s delighted sense of superiority can’t distract me from my mini pity party.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, my dad loves me.  I think…  Probably…  Possibly…

After my mother’s death, dear old dad positively doted on me until I hit puberty.  And even after puberty, he had meticulously groomed me to take over for him as Alpha of the Henderson Pack and generally treated me as the beloved Alpha’s daughter.  But by the time I was fifteen, he apparently had to face facts.  His daughter, and only child, was a fucking werewolf who couldn’t shift.  An anomaly.  A freak.  A weak link in the hierarchy that rules our pack and society as a whole.

I angrily push the hair from my face as these old feelings make me feel… uncomfortable… pissed off… cheated.  Wyatt is bearing down on me, and I really don’t want to feel vulnerable around my father’s Beta.  Now is certainly not the time to feel insecure because Daddy abruptly shifted his focus from me to my cousin Zachary, since I apparently disappointed him by not sprouting fur and fangs.  Now is not the time to feel hurt or angry because he left me in the cold, and began grooming Zach as Alpha.  A role that should have been mine, but fate, the gods, or just damnable bad luck, stole it from me.

Rife with resentment?  No, not me.  I can’t help it; I have to smirk at my obvious self-delusion.  Well, not much anyway.  Mostly, I just miss being the center of my Daddy’s world.  I miss the days when I mattered… to anyone around here.

I snort derisively at myself, because despite the dark nature of my thoughts, my body is still reacting to the male who is now almost within spitting distance. With practiced skill and a well-developed critical eye, I resume my assessment of Wyatt’s muscled up body.  My naughty brain immediately conjures vivid images of exactly what I would like to do with the male.

I wish.  Oh fuck, where was I?  Oh yeah, bemoaning the fact that I am no longer Daddy’s little girl. I sigh softly in frustration at myself, and the truth of my existence.  I know I am wallowing in my own private misery like some weak willed ninny, but…  I miss feeling as though I belong and matter to someone… anyone.  What I truly yearn for is feeling secure and loved unconditionally.

I snort, I mean I actually snort out loud, because I learned the hard way during my teen years that there is no such thing as unconditional love.  Unconditional love is a fantasy that romance novelists and preachers cooked up to get people to buy their bullshit.  My life lessons drove that fact home, repeatedly.  You see, even though I am as strong as most shifter males, as fast and as deadly as they are in human form, I am still a second class citizen in my father’s pack, because I can’t shift into a fucking wolf.  And because of that, my dear old dad shut me out of his life, for the most part.

In all the ways that really matter… to me.

Oh, my father has done “his duty” by me.  But I no longer feel special and treasured when I am around him.  In the eyes of the Alpha, and the pack, I am neither of those things.  Because of a biological glitch beyond my control, I have gone from being the favored child of the most powerful Alpha in North America to being his embarrassment and obligation.

A solid whack across the top of my bare foot snaps me out of my dismal reverie.  I shake my head when I realize Wyatt is standing in front of me and has been speaking to me, probably for a minute or two.  I cringe inwardly over allowing myself to get so caught up in my thoughts.  Affecting an annoyed sigh, I look up, way up, because the male before me is almost six and a half feet tall, into the handsome face of Wyatt Bailey… the bane of my existence.

I want this male with a longing soul deep, so powerful, it permeates my every thought and emotion.  It colors my every movement whenever I am within a hundred miles of the male.  Which is exactly the reason why I spent eight years bumming around Europe after high school graduation, and only returned to the U.S. when Dad sent a band of enforcers to drag me back a little over three years ago.  After six months of pure misery, Dad offered to pay for schooling at Cal-Tech, just to get me out of his sight.

“What the hell you thinkin’ so hard on, little wolf?”  Wyatt’s deep, growly drawl always reminds me of that human actor, Sam Elliott, and I mentally curse my traitorous body when I feel wetness pool in my core at the sound of his voice.

FUCK!  It’s just a voice.  A very sexy, orgasm inducing voice, but just a voice nonetheless.

I know I better get my act together quick if I want to avoid any more embarrassment today.  Let me tell ya, it sure as hell is not fun being turned on in the presence of a wolf shifter, because they sense every nuance of change in a person’s body.  Hell, I have the same ability, and the certain knowledge that being around me gets Wyatt’s pheromones jacked up as well, does nothing to lessen my chagrin in this moment.

Stalling for time, I reach up and casually pull off my shades before I reply.  I suspect my eyes are shifting tone and hue from human to wolf, just as Wyatt’s are… a dead giveaway that a shifter is turned on.

But fuck it, I can’t hide it, so I might as well flaunt it.

I can’t hide the fact that I desire this male.  It’s plain to any wolf with a nose that I long to fuck Wyatt Bailey till we are both so weak we can’t walk.  I want to hear him growl my name in rapture as we climax together after a marathon of rough, dirty, kinky sex.  I almost smile at the thought.

Almost.

Actually, I want a helluva lot more than hot sex from Wyatt Bailey, but it’s never gonna happen.  None of it.  Not the wild, animal rutting.  Not the lifetime mating.  Not the house full of pups.  Not the clichéd mini-van I want to use to taxi kids to little league, school and the grocery store. Not the pretty little house with a white picket fence and big yard.  None of it.  So fuck ‘em!