Haunted Wolves: Green Pines, Book 2 by Moira Rogers Read Free Book Online Page A

searching. “What’s his story?”
    “I’ll tell you if you hand me one of those biscuits.”
    He was teasing her. Lorelei ignored the gentle wash of power that rolled over her and lifted an eyebrow as she searched through the bag again. “I didn’t know you charged for conversation. This changes things.”
    His lips curved upward. “I only charge for the really epic stories.”
    She handed him the paper-wrapped biscuit. “Fletcher’s must be legendary, then.”
    “ Legend being the key word.” Colin folded back the wrapping without taking his gaze off the road. The scent of egg, cheese and bacon filled the car, and his stomach rumbled. “Fletcher’s from this fishing village in New England, up near the Canadian border. Very old school, very off the radar—but not the usual sort of sanctuary, either. Witches and wolves control the town together, and intermarry like European royalty trying to keep the peace.”
    “They do not .”
    “Oh, yes they do. Take themselves as seriously as European royalty, too.”
    She waited for him to say more but he didn’t, so she nudged his arm. “Get to the good part.”
    “Ah, but the good part’s pretty awful. His father was the alpha, and when Fletch was nineteen, the pack’s beta challenged his father…and won. The new alpha drove Fletcher out of the pack.”
    And out of his home. Lorelei bit her lip. “That is awful.”
    “Worse when you know he left his childhood sweetheart behind, and the only reason he wasn’t killed on the spot is that his mother agreed to marry the new alpha in exchange for sparing her son’s life. Legitimize the rebellion, or some kind of crazy dynastic bullshit. I’m telling you, the place he’s from is medieval.”
    A whole different world from what she’d known, and it didn’t sound much better. “Now I feel guilty for teasing.”
    “Don’t.” Colin polished off the biscuit and reached for her hand. “It’s one more story, right? We all have ’em. Don’t know many wolves who don’t.”
    “No, not many.”
    “Maybe someday you’ll tell me yours.”
    Lorelei tensed. “It isn’t very entertaining.”
    He squeezed her hand and then released it, leaving her with the warmth of his presence without the pressure of his touch. “So hand me another biscuit, and I’ll tell you another story.”
    She recognized the careful, encouraging timbre of his voice. She’d used it herself, a gentle nudge toward trust. And she knew he couldn’t help it, that instinct demanded he push, no matter what.
    It wouldn’t work. But he had no way of knowing that, and even if she told him, he wouldn’t believe. He’d just keep trying, and she’d have to keep shoving him away.
     
     
    There was no straight shot from Clover to Memphis. It was another one of those things he kept forgetting about small-town life—sometimes, in order to get anywhere, you had to drive fifty miles out of your way on tiny country highways with few convenient rest stops and fewer topics of conversation.
    The drive hadn’t seemed so long when he’d last come to Memphis. But Fletcher had been driving then, and Colin had been in the passenger seat, texting his contacts and cursing every time his phone lost signal.
    Not now. Nothing to do but stare at the road and chew his lips raw to stop himself from trampling over the silence Lorelei clearly preferred. He’d always been partial to quiet himself—it was one of the many reasons he preferred Shane’s company to Fletcher’s—but this wasn’t the comfortable silence of friends who didn’t need to fill the quiet with useless words. This was awkward, tense silence, heavy and claustrophobic. Two near-strangers used to the buffer of pack, her vibrating with unease and him with frustration because there was nothing about her distress he could fix.
    When signs for Millington began to pop up along the highway, relief warred with renewed irritation. He had to break the silence now, if only to discuss where to go first, but