Page 1 of Protecting The Gray Wolf
Chapter One
Kade Alvarez peered in the window of the upscale Manhattan gallery and snorted. Not exactly his kind of place. He rubbed his hand over his jaw. The two-day-old stubble, black jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket likely didn’t meet the dress code. It would have to do. His prey was inside.
For the first time since he’d shifted into his wolf form at fifteen—and his life was blown to hell—he hesitated. As a lone wolf, he was judge, jury, and executioner for the wolf packs. His job was to hunt down and execute any rogue wolves that might expose their existence to the human population. The alphas took care of discipline within a pack, but there were those who believed they existed outside the laws. This wasn’t a normal hunt. It wasn’t a rogue he was tracking but a woman. A human woman.
What am I doing here?He blamed the white wolf. After almost a century of having no contact, Devlin Moore—the white wolf—had reached out to him. But extreme times called for extreme measures. The lone wolves were being hunted, not only by one of their own kind. That would be too easy.
No, a damn mage was involved. Not the New Ager bunch who called themselves wiccans or pagans, but a real, magic-wielding, bend-the-laws-of-physics mage. The goal was to capture one, or all the lone wolves, and steal their immortality, and they would stop at nothing to attain it.
“No good deed goes unpunished,” he muttered. The line of communication between him and Devlin was tenuous, but the other lone wolf had warned that the trap involved a human woman. One who, according to the white wolf, would share hisdistinctive coloring.
Which was why he was here instead of at a bar in Rio de Janeiro knocking back tequila and enjoying the company of some of the local lovelies. The inner voice that had guided him for the past eighty-five years had brought him to New York. Or had it been influenced? If a mage was involved, there was no way to be sure.
His wolf grumbled inside him, eager to hunt. Ignoring the beast, he let his gaze roam over the glittering crowd. The men were split into two groups—those that wore suits and those in casual designer jeans, which had likely cost more than everything he had on combined. The women wore dresses—predominantly black—and high heels, their hair coifed, makeup understated. It screamed money.
“Get it done.” He yanked the door open with more force than necessary. Whatever force had brought him here, whatever challenge waited, he’d deal with it as he always did—quickly and decisively. Several heads turned his way when he stepped inside. Ignoring the stares, he prowled through the airy space. It was larger than it appeared from the outside, taking up multiple levels.
“Welcome to Chelsea’s.” Striking in a gold fitted sheath and towering heels, she commanded attention. Her blond hair was pulled back in a sleek bun. Fine lines radiated from the corners of her eyes—hinting she was older than she appeared at first glance. Her lips were painted a deep red.
Shit! He didn’t have the time or inclination to play nice, his wolf too on edge. Smothering his impatience, he pasted on a smile and reached for her proffered hand. “Thank you. And would you be Chelsea?” He brought her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to them before releasing her.
Her pupils dilated, and he caught a hint of arousal over the cloying scent of her perfume. At times like this, his preternatural senses were a pain in the ass. Her lips curved upward. “I am. Chelsea Clifton. This is my gallery.”
Knowing his job, he glanced at the walls, most of which were filled with paintings that looked to have been done by a group of three-year-olds hopped up on sugar, and barely refrained from snorting. “It’s impressive.”
She hooked her arm through his. “I pride myself on it. Let’s get a drink and you can tell me what brought you here. I’ve never seen you before.” A painted nail glided over his chest. “And I would have remembered.”
“I was passing by and decided to crash the party.” He didn’t bother to lie. No point.
Her hand squeezed his bicep through his coat. “You’re more than welcome to enjoy the opening. Maybe you’ll stay until it ends at eleven. I can give you a private viewing.” Stopping a passing server, she retrieved a glass of champagne from the tray and handed it to him.
Kade took it and waited until she had one before raising the glass. “To a successful night.” He brought the glass to his lips and sipped. An excellent vintage. No cheap stuff for this crowd.
“Chelsea.” Annoyance crossed her brow as a younger man hurried up to them, his eyes tracking Kade from head to toe before turning to his companion. “The Ralstons wish to speak with you. They’re considering several paintings.”
“Duty calls.” She patted his arm. Damn woman was doing her best to mark him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get her cloying scent off his jacket. “Enjoy the showing. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she all but purred. She started to walk away but turned back. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.” With a cocky grin, he headed to the back of the room. He dumped the glass on the first serving staff he saw. The artwork here was more realistic and took actual skill, but he wasn’t here to look or buy.
It was crowded, but at more than six-and-a-half feet, he could see over everyone. No onepingedhis radar. A circular iron staircase rose to the second floor. Taking the stairs two at a time, he went to the next level. He paused by the railing and looked down. Chelsea caught his gaze and gave a finger wave.
Turning away, he continued his search. There weren’t as many people up here. This floor was divided into four zones with a different artist in each. He growled under his breath. This was turning into a colossal waste of time. For once, his intuition was wrong. His target wasn’t here.
He was about to head back to the stairs when a painting caught his eye. Everything inside him stilled. Even his wolf went quiet. It was hung on the back wall, as far from the patrons as it could get and still be in the gallery. The canvas was four feet tall and three feet wide. Drawn by an invisible force, he stepped closer, stopping right in front of it. Mist rose around a mountaintop. It was night, the full moon hanging low in the sky. At the peak stood a pure gray wolf, head tipped back in mid-howl. But what he couldn’t tear his gaze away from was the mark on the wolf’s chest. It was a black sickle shape.
It was the mark of the lone wolf, the one that branded him as an immortal warrior, the one that had appeared on his chest when he’d made his first shift. His hair and eye color had changed at the same time, both turning a foggy gray. That’s how it always happened.
He raised his hand until it hovered in the air in front of the canvas. It was a perfect rendering of what he looked like as a wolf. His mouth went dry, and he tried to swallow past the lump that threatened to choke him. Solitary, the beast was king of the night, a powerful, apex predator, afraid of no one or nothing. Yet loneliness oozed from him.
What the fuck is going on?
He dropped his hand back by his side and curled his fingers into his palm to keep from ripping the painting from the wall. He felt exposed and vulnerable, as if the artist had seen into his soul.
There was a signature on the bottom right side of the canvas. Luna. That was it. No last name. Probably wasn’t even her real name, assuming it was a woman. This had to be why he’d been drawn here. Chelsea would know the artist. As much as it pained him, it was time to cultivate a friendship with the owner. Before the night was over, he’d have the artist’s name and own the painting. Whether he’d keep it or destroy it was still up for debate.
The air stirred behind him. Goose bumps rose on his skin. Kade’s head snapped around, searching for what had disturbed him. The woman was almost six feet tall, even wearing flats. The dress she wore was a pale gray that matched her eyes. It was loose but gave the impression of generous curves beneath. Curly brown hair tumbled around her shoulders. Streaks of gray ran through the front part so the strands framed her face. And what a face it was. Her lips were full, her chin slightly rounded. High cheekbones brought his gaze back to her eyes, which widened beneath thick, dark lashes.
Part of him hadn’t believed the white wolf, or hadn’t wanted to, but there was no denying the vision before him. The gray streaks in her hair matched the color of his hair, and her eyes were a mirror image of his. Their eyes met, and she came to an abrupt stop. Every muscle in his body tensed, poised to give chase if she ran. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him.
