Runaway Wolf Girl

Chapter Two

Gods and goddess and all that is good and holy, what an effing day.

Rhett pulled into the parking spot, shutting off the engine, and heaving a massive sigh.

It'd been one thing after another, with a broken pipe flooding Mr. Don Casey's yard, a clogged toilet stuffed with toy cars thanks to Mrs. Kelsey's toddler, and, to top it all off, dodging a Chihuahua from hell while trying to repair Old Lady Spencer's broken porch step.

Why anyone wanted a pet dog- let alone a dog like Old Lady Spencer's- was beyond him. That chihuahua was a god-awful creature. It looked more like a half-dead rat with an eye problem, and the little creep was so sneaky it had actually nipped him once when he had his back turned while reaching for his hammer. That had nearly set Rhett off, and goddess knows what he would have done if he'd lost his temper. It had taken everything in his power to reign himself in and he'd barely managed to keep his wolf under control.

And he couldn't lose control.

Not here.

Not when he'd finally found this place: the closest he'd ever had to a home. It had quickly become his safe haven- the only place he could finally breathe without looking over his shoulder.

Pecan Cove was a small town, barely a dot on a map, out beyond the middle of nowhere, and when he'd accidentally stumbled across it, he hadn't known he'd discovered somewhere he could belong, somewhere he could start anew, build a life, have an actual future. This town wasn't as luxurious as the city; it didn't have all the amenities that came from an overly large population of citizens and a vast selection of department stores- not that he'd ever have use for such places- but Pecan Cove was somewhere no one knew his name. Somewhere his past didn't matter.

Rhett had always wanted to settle down- to stop running and grow some roots. Maybe get his own place and stop renting for once in his life. Granted, he wasn't living in back alleys and abandoned streets anymore- that was rough. The rats were the worst- crawling and biting him in his sleep while he lay on whatever he'd found for a makeshift mattress, usually dirty cardboard. Having an apartment was an upgrade to that part of his past, for sure. But having an actual home...

He'd thought about it sometimes when he was working, his mind wandering while hammering nails, fitting pipes, any monotonous task. He found his consciousness drifting, pondering dozens of things he'd never dared dream of before... back when he was barely more than surviving.

There was a little white house with dove gray trim, maybe it was even that classic Victorian style- the kind with all the sweeping balconies and steeples- with a grassy front yard and a bright red mailbox. A kid with a lopsided grin, laughing and blowing bubbles...

Sometimes, when he thought about that house and that mailbox, he could hear a voice and see a smile that he couldn't quite place. She was calling his name, beckoning him, sending tremors down his spine. It was always there- that house, that woman, that voice, always in the back of his mind.

Not that he really believed any of it for a second- he hadn't been born lucky enough to have a family. But since he came to Pecan Cove... he'd let his guard down just enough to dream of a home, and there was one reason for that-

No f*****g werewolves.

Rhett growled on instinct, his eyes flashing.

His life hadn't been his fault. He'd never wanted to be a rogue. No werewolf is born wanting to be a rogue- it wasn't part of their programming. Werewolves were biologically tuned to be members of the pack- the desire to be part of the pack overtaking all else, and Rhett hadn't been programmed any differently from a normal wolf. But circumstances were set against him from the start. He hadn't been given a choice in terms of his fate; he was chased from place to place, his very existence a threat to all preestablished packs. And every time he ran, he never knew whose territory he was stepping into next.

There was once, during his lowest point, he just wanted to die. He would have, too, if it hadn't been for his wolf stepping in and taking over. He didn't remember much during that time. His wolf kept that part of his life hidden from his memories.

Don't need to know, he told Rhett and left it at that.

Rhett figured it must have gotten pretty bad for his wolf to keep his memories blocked, and so he never pressed the issue. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know all the things they'd done to survive.

Besides, all he wanted- all he'd ever wanted- was to be left in peace, allowed to live, to have a minor place in the world.

But werewolves were not the type of supernatural creature to allow rogues any form of peace. Rogues were unknown factors, and unknown factors posed a threat to a pack's safety and security. Unknown factors were dealt with swiftly and effectively- except in Rhett's case.

He'd managed to evade death, if only by the skin of his teeth, and part of that had to do with his size.

He was big, even by werewolf standards- well over six feet tall, and gifted with the frame of a linebacker. And when he shifted, his wolf was just as physically intimidating, with power practically rolling off his body in waves. He could intimidate even the largest alphas, giving them a run for their money if it came to a clash of claws.

That was never Rhett's intention, though. He didn't even like fighting, unlike a lot of wolves he'd come across. He was the guy who did his best to walk away from confrontation instead of immediately throwing punches. Violence was always the last resort, something to turn to if there were no other options, if his life was at risk. There was enough death and violence in the world. Rhett knew all about that firsthand...

There was a rap on his truck's window.

Rhett jumped, his hair standing on end.

"Hey, Rhett!" Ollie grinned, chuckling at the startled look on his face.

Growling in response, Rhett opened the door and stretched his long, stiff limbs. He hadn't realized how long he'd been sitting there, making unnecessary trips down memory lane.

"Gotcha that time," Ollie laughed.

"Whatever," Rhett grumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"You finally ready to go in?" Ollie gestured to the diner.

Rhett grunted and they made their way toward the double glass doors with the signs "Open 24/7" and "7.95 Burger and Fries" taped to the front. The food was decent and cheap, and it was the only place you could grab a bite to eat at 3:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning when you'd been drinking yourself into a stupor the night before.

"Sorry I jump scared you, but I got tired of waiting. I'm starving. What were you doing in there, anyway? You looked like you were thinking about something serious." Ollie nudged Rhett with his elbow.

"Nothing important," Rhet growled, signaling for Ollie to drop it.

"Sure, boss," Ollie shrugged, unconvinced. "So, you buying?"he asked, hopefully.

Rhett paused and sighed. "One beer," he allowed.

"What was that? Two? Did I hear you say two beers?"

"One beer." Rhett rolled his eyes, his mouth slipping into a half-grin.

"My mistake. Three beers. Three beers is definitely enough beers, I think. It's been a three-beer kind of day, don't you think?"

"Why do I put up with you?" Rhett wanted to know.

"Because you love me- and I am the closest thing you have to a pack," Ollie told him matter-of-factly.

Rhett didn't argue.

Ollie had shown up on his doorstep, bloodied, bruised, beaten, and half alive in the dead of the night, chased out of his home by his own packmates. His wolf had caught Rhett's scent and, by some miracle, managed to drag Ollie's nearly unconscious body to Rhett's apartment, banging against the door before collapsing on the welcome mat. Rhett took one look at him and dragged his broken body through the door. He took him in, patched him up, and never asked what happened, for which, Ollie was grateful.

They'd been inseparable ever since.

Ollie looked up to Rhett like he would an Alpha, which left Rhett feeling oddly uncomfortable, and also strangely protective over the younger, less experienced werewolf.

"You wanna split a pizza?" Ollie wanted to know.

"Nope. Splitting a pizza with you means I get one slice and you get the other seven."

"Damn," he cursed. "You figured me out."

"Ollie, my young friend," Rhett placed a hand on the young wolf's shoulder. "I don't know if you know this, but- you're really not all that complicated."

"Ouch!" Ollie grinned, in spite of himself.