“Most importantly never display wolfish alpha status behavior toward Cricket around humans. They’ll think you are in some sort of abusive relationship.”
“Commander Fist explained our roles outside wolf territory. As difficult as it will be,” he grinned, “I’m a fast learner and a good actor.”
“Good. Your biker gear and Harley are on our plane. You and Cricket will fly to a local airport in Watsonville and then head toward Santa Cruz. The GPS is built into your motorcycle.”
Slade looked forward to the type of adventure he’d always enjoyed. Not that he’d ever expected to mingle with humans, but he enjoyed escaping the confines of his pack territory. His father hated all things human. He must be growling in his grave at Slade’s new career with the LIA. “I’ll follow her lead.”
“There is one more thing about why I chose you to team up with Cricket.”
“Yes?”
“You are to protect her from an unforeseen danger.”
Slade had no problem agreeing with her command. “I will protect her with my life.”
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that. I don’t want to lose any team members, but Cricket is special. She has human sensibilities, which makes her an ideal spy. Unlike us, she can go months without needing to shift.” Most weres remained full wolves two days a month to avoid shift trauma.
“My pack must shift every two weeks,” he said mostly to himself. Yukon werewolves were unique in that they could only go one or two days without shifting. One of the reasons he could leave his pack and travel was he had always been able to hold out for two days. More if he had sex. “Could it be because she was born a runt?”
“Possibly, Dr. Becker our human doctor and research scientist, thinks she was tiny, not because she was weak, but because she was more human than wolf.”
“A runt perhaps meant to be born human.” He regretted calling her a runt, but that’s what she was.
“Let me make this clear. I don’t give a rat’s ass what other pack members, including her family pack thinks. On my team, Cricket is a beta.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Slade had the urge to ask her why Cricket’s alpha would throw her out of his pack, but refrained. It was none of his business. Didn’t matter. What mattered was proving to Rylee she’d made the right choice in allowing him to join Team Greywolf. And most importantly, protecting Cricket.
Chapter 9
Cricket sat on the soft leather armchair couch and buckled her seatbelt. The LIA plane felt more like a living room with wings rather than a packed sardine like most domestic human flights. Several soft leather chairs rested near the window, enough for thirteen passengers. Once the captain gave the okay to walk around, a lounge and kitchenette offered them the comforts of home, even a bedroom in the back for longer flights.
The captain sat in the cockpit doing last minute checks. The co-pilot stood by the open door. Thus far, she was the only passenger.
Cricket stared out the window. Where was Slade? Maybe he changed his mind. How could the over the top bossy alpha tolerate having her, a runt, in charge of the investigation? Since she returned, he seemed aloof. Probably kicked the I-need-a-lower-rank-wolf-to-calm-me mojo. Slade hadn’t insisted she room with him. Then again, his temporary quarters were only three doors away. Odd, he didn’t prefer staying at his luxurious premier guest quarters being a royal and all. Jesper would have joined him. Anyway, maybe it sunk into Rylee’s head sending an unstable alpha on a mission had dire consequences. Is that why he stopped in front of her apartment? To tell her he’d sit this mission out.
Cricket recalled the moment that brought a tingle down her spine as well as other erotic places below her pelvis. A beyond foolish reaction. Wishful thinking to the max. No romp in the den for them.
She’d prepared the report for Rylee and had just hit send when the raw masculine scent of alpha testosterone invaded her nose and aroused the horny female part of her brain to wag her tail. Goodness, the entire compound of alpha and beta kickass males reeked of testosterone twenty-four/seven. The other three females, including Rylee joked about what they called Team Greywolf Cologne. But the scent beyond her door smelled of fresh untamed Alaskan forest. Primal. More wolf than human. Slade. Part of her demanded she slam the door open and drag him in for some forbidden sex, especially since she caught a whiff of his wolfish desires.
Cricket hesitated, but lost her good senses and opened the door. He left, leaving her sniffing in every bit of his remaining molecules, like a cat stoned on catnip on top of going into naughty feline heat.
No wonder he quit the mission. Forbidden or not, their sexual tension would ignite a fire in drought ridden California.
She bit her lower lip. Who would take his place? She turned to the copilot. “Hey Sam, are we still waiting for Slade or somebody else?”
“Slade is the only other passenger listed on the manifest.”
Punctuality was Rylee’s thing, not hers, but they were supposed to have left five minutes ago. What if she told Captain Camilla to take off without him? Cricket had gone on several undercover missions solo. Should be safe enough. The only werewolf DNA they’d found on the scene was the warden’s and in Randi’s case, his girlfriend, who flew in a month ago frantic with worry for her lover. Odds were, his biker friends were just normal humans. She may not be the strongest were, but her Glock evened the odds if some werewolf hunter turned out to be the culprit. Unlike Randi and the other missing weres, she prepared to meet danger head on.
Sam looked out the window. “There he is.”
Cricket rolled her eyes. Great. His bossy royal pain in the ass prince is going undercover after all. The real work would be
keeping him from going wolf rather than finding out what happened to Randi. One headache of a distraction.
Slade boarded. “Sorry for the delay. I had a dinner meeting with Rylee and Lunara.”
Cricket put her tablet down. Oh, wow. Dressed in a leather biker jacket, over a black t-shirt that accentuated his broad muscular chest, blue jeans that fit like a glove over thick muscular legs made him a hot star for the next blockbuster action movie. The song, Bad to the Bone echoed in her head. His thick blond hair combed back. His face, scruffy and unshaved. If females had boners, she’d be shamefully exposed. She whistled a wolf call. “Might as well turn around.”