Rogue Wolf by Heather Long Page A

the U.S. but there were large tracks of unclaimed territories, the largest being in Margo’s own corridors—Texas. While Serafina Andre laid claim to some small parts of East Texas, major packs didn’t infringe on the Lone Star state.
    A tradition that held firm for over a one hundred and fifty years. One didn’t tempt a sleeping beast to challenge those claims. Texas remained on the table. Then again, so were a half a dozen other states.
    Will review materials. Then head for Tennessee in twelve hours if no other sightings are reported. She sent the text and received a simple K .
    After dropping the phone on the bed, she rubbed her face again. What she needed was a shower, some hot coffee and her laptop. Once she reviewed their files on Rayne, she could plot the hunt. Rogues happened, but most rogues followed discernible patterns. Mad wolves went for maximum damage, fleeing wolves went for empty territory, smart wolves headed to big cities, hoping to lose themselves in the crowd of humanity.
    What kind of wolf would Rayne Barrows prove to be?
    A phone rang, but it wasn’t hers. Downstairs, Salvatore said something in Italian. The first words sounded calm, the next came in a rapid-fire stream. Great . She didn’t speak Italian. If he were preoccupied, she could at least shower. Checking the windows, she passed another sweeping glance around the yard. Dylan Royce wasn’t the only Hunter in the woods. She’d scented four when she’d been with her family.
    Mason probably stationed them in a spiral rotation pattern for maximum coverage. They were there as much to discourage the curious from bothering the Italian Alpha as they were to keep an eye on him. Fortunately, no tempers seemed to be fraying or pushing wolves toward bad decisions yet.
    She waited for a pause in the rush of Italian to say, “Salvatore I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be down directly.”
    “Very well, bella . The food will be ready in twenty minutes, according to the instructions.” His immediate answer warmed her. The reaction began somewhere in the vicinity of her chest and unfurled, a sweeping calm.
    Mulling the disquieting response, she checked the clothes in her duffel. Most needed to be washed, but she had one last pair of clean underwear. Checking the shirts, she picked out the least offensive in scent. The tank top would leave her arms bare, but she preferred the fresher scent. A pair of shorts lay beneath them and she scowled.
    “You’re safe, bella .” Salvatore’s voice drifted from the first floor to tease her senses. “Enjoy you’re shower.”
    She opened her mouth to call him an asshole, then thought better of it. He’d already promised her he’d see the word as an invitation for pleasure. Stomach tightening at the thought, she clamped her teeth together. Alphas as a general rule irritated the hell out of her. They were difficult to broach topics with, desired control above all things, and often found her unwillingness to bow her head an insult at worst, and a challenge at best.
    Saying nothing, she stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door. His laughter grated and Margo wanted to spit. Her reaction betrayed the response his words provoked. Son of a bitch…
    Shunting the irritation aside, she turned on the hot water and stripped. Too tired and too cranky to dwell on her unreasonable desire for the man, she focused on getting clean. The hot water pounded on her tense muscles. Once under the luxurious spray, she closed her eyes, her second mistake in as many minutes. Bathed in the steamy warmth, all she wanted to do was go to sleep.
    Forcing her eyes open, she found the guest soap—scentless. Perfect. Scrubbing from head to toe, she ignored the ache in her breasts. Attraction was not a new feeling, nor was desire. The fact Salvatore elicited both from her was a problem she’d simply have to deal with so it didn’t impede on her ability to do her job.
    Lathering shampoo into her hair, she ignored her phone ringing on