Free Legend of the White Wolf by Terry Spear

snapped.
       "We can never have enough females what with the shortages there are. Besides, Hilson wants to deal with her."
       "Hmph, if he'd dealt with her when he first staked her old man out, we wouldn't have this new situation. What's your brother's problem? She's not too alpha for him, is she?"
       Kintail rubbed his chin and looked back out the window. He wondered why his brother hadn't already taken the woman for his own. Maybe she was too alpha for him.

    Cameron didn't see anything near the lake where he'd heard the man yell, although the way voices traveled, he might have been much farther away. But when the sound of snowmobiles started up at the cabins, his intuition imme diately kicked in, warning him something wasn't right.
       He trudged through the knee-deep snow as fast as he could manage in the blowing wind, retracing his steps as much as possible to make it easier to run. The snowmobiles sounded like they were leaving the area around Faith's cabin. Which he assumed meant only one thing. At least two people were stealing them.
       But as soon as he saw Faith racing around the side of her cabin half dressed, wearing no parka, gloves, or ski hat, shouting, "Bastards!" his heart nearly froze.
    "Faith!"
       She whipped around, her brows knit in a deep frown, her mouth curved down, her bare fists held tight at her sides. "They stole our snowmobiles!" She stiffly waved down the road.
       "Go inside," he warned, as the snow covered her hair and stuck to her sweater, the wind still not subsiding, and he figured she'd catch pneumonia the way she was dressed.
       She waded through the deep snow, stopped, looked down, then fished a cast-iron frying pan out of a snow drift, whisked around, and returned to the porch. In disbelief, he watched her. Hell, the woman was lethal. Despite the circumstances, he smiled, then hurried around the cabin and looked down the road. The snow mobiles were long gone.
       When he stepped inside and closed the door, Faith was busily jotting down information. "Blue parka, black ski mask, scrawny build but tall, jeans, cowboy boots, black gloves, yellow goggles. Other guy—black parka, black ski mask, heftier, same approximate height, jeans, snow boots, brown gloves, 9mm," she muttered under her breath.
       "One of the bastards had a gun?" Cameron pulled off his gloves, parka, and hat, setting each of them on the chair near the wood-burning stove, then lifted a blue floral towel she'd hung over the log footboard of the bed.
       "Yeah, pointed it at me when I started chasing them."
       "Before or after you pitched the frying pan at them?" He joined her and ran the towel over her wet hair. She melted a little under his ministrations, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek, her skin still cold. "Hell, Faith, didn't they ever teach you not to chase armed men when you don't have a weapon of equal or superior might?" he scolded, dropped the towel on a chair and pulled her tightly into his arms.
       She turned her head and frowned up at him. "I didn't know he had a gun at first. Not until he pointed it at me. Bastards."
       "The snowmobiles are insured."
       "Well, yours has a slight dent on the tail end now. But it doesn't make me any less angry knowing they're insured."
       "You hit my snowmobile?" He released her and began massaging her tense shoulders, her sweater soft, slippery, and springtime fragrant. She leaned into his touch, and he was ready to carry her off to bed, to sooth his frayed nerves… in his own way.
       "I aimed for the guy, but that frying pan weighs a ton so it didn't have the lift I'd hoped for." She growled, then purred as he continued to massage. "Good thing you brought your stuff in or they would have stolen your gear, too."
       "All I care about is they didn't steal you away." Even now his heart was still racing from worrying she might have come to harm. "Did they do anything other than take the machines?"
       "Not