Page 1 of Cowboy Wolf Christmas

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Was it too much to ask for a bit of peace? Silas Buck snarled as he prowled through the snow, clutching his leather Stetson against the harsh, whistling winds. The blue-ridged Montana mountains loomed in the distance, their frozen peaks barely visible against the blinding snow which now coated the ranchlands, until nothing but a stretch of endless white remained. There were only three days left until Christmas.

Fuck, he hated it. Snow. Christmas. The whole damn season.

He dreaded it like a millstone. Every goddamn year.

Breath swirling about his face, Silas trudged toward the center of Wolf Pack Run. Whatever the hell the packmaster was apt to blame him for now, he’d sooner get it over with before he retreated back to his cabin—alone. It was bad enough that over the past several days, the whole of the pack hadn’t been able to stop casting wary glances in his direction. But then they’d had to go and summon him, and to the Grey Wolf packmaster’s office no less.

Like a rabid dog on a leash.

Silas growled, sifting his way through the snow. This time of year, all decked out for the holidays, the dusted cabins and glittering birch halls of Wolf Pack Run, the Grey Wolves’ ranch, looked like a scene from a fucking Hallmark card. Romantic. Cozy. Charming. A promise of warm hearths and even warmer company mixed with holiday cheer.

But never for him.

Outside the main compound, several females huddled near the cabin entry. At the sight of him, their group erupted in a hiss of whispers before they eased inward, shrinking closer to one another. To protect themselves. From him. Their former enemy turned packmate. A walking nightmare in cowboy boots.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“What are you looking at?” he snarled, letting his frustration loose.

Abruptly, the females scattered, letting out several littleeepsas they retreated in different directions. At least one or two had the courtesy to mutter some vague excuse, before shifting into their wolf forms and disappearing into the ranch’s ether. A feat made easier by the endless flurry of snowfall.

Silas grumbled. Good fucking riddance.

“Do you have to antagonize them like that?” The voice was tinged with amusement.

Silas turned to find Wes Calhoun, his former packmaster turned Grey Wolf second-in-command, leaning against the great hall’s doorway. Against the backdrop of ice and snow, the smirk which pulled the other wolf’s lips coupled with the pale hue of his blond hair made him look every bit the villain he’d once been.

Silas scowled, unable to hide his annoyance. It didn’t matter. The Grey Wolves didn’t trust him as far as they could throw him. It’d been over a month since Silas had sworn fealty to their pack, longer since he’d been brought here against his will, forced to assimilate, but still, they didn’t consider him one of their own.

He was their boogeyman. The Krampus to their Santa.

Why change course now?

“Once a Wild Eight, always a Wild Eight,” Silas grumbled. “Except for you.”

Wes frowned, before he nodded to where the females had gone. “They’ll come around.”

“Not for me.” Silas’ scowl deepened. “Youcame willingly.”

Wes shrugged. “Circumstances change, brother. Sometimes you have to change with them.”

“Do you tell yourself that or do you really believe it?” Silas shot back, his words a thinly veiled growl. He pegged his former packmaster with a hardened stare. Moving to step around the other wolf, he tried to make his way into the hall, but Wes placed a rough hand on his shoulder.

“Is that what you wanted? To stay with the Wild Eight?” Wes’ words stopped him short, wrapping around him like a dark promise of what’d once been.

Silas snarled, teeth bared. Fuck if he knew what he wanted. Then or now.

His future felt as cloudy as the endless gray stretch of Montana sky.

Still, he felt himself hesitate.

“It was better than here,” he answered finally. “Anything’s better than here.”

“You don’t really mean that.” Wes squeezed his shoulder. “Give it time.”

Silas shook his head, pulling from Wes’ hold. Time only deepened wounds. Never healed them. He was reminded of that harsh truth every Christmas. “Time is all I have,packmaster,” he hissed. “I’d think you of all wolves would understand that.”

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