The Snow Leopard's Pack (Glacier Leopards Book 5) Read online

  “I like to cook,” he said simply. “I thought when I got this place that I’d barely be here, always out in the Park, but it turns out that even when you work as much as I do, you spend some hours at home with nothing to do. So I learned how to cook. Turns out it’s not as difficult as a lot of lazy husbands probably think it is.”

  “That’s the truth,” Lillian muttered. “Can I help at all?”

  Cal shook his head firmly. “You can sit down and relax.”

  “I’ll set the table at least,” she offered.

  “No, thank you, I’ll plate it all up out here,” Cal countered, and Lillian finally had no choice but to sit down at the little kitchen table.

  Somehow, though, with Cal’s back turned, his attention busy on the food, it became easier than it had been to ask tentatively, “What’s it like, being a shifter?”

  Cal’s hands paused in chopping a green pepper, and Lillian hastily said, “I apologize if that’s rude, I didn’t think—”

  “No,” Cal said thoughtfully, “it ain’t rude.” The rough grammar caught her by surprise; she wondered if this was his natural way of speaking, and he’d been cleaning himself up around her. She hoped he stopped, if so. At this point, she wasn’t about to judge him harshly for an ‘ain’t’ or two, that was for certain.

  “Just,” he continued, “I don’t normally get asked that question.”

  “Really?” she said, surprised. “I would’ve thought people would be dying to know.”

  “Well, most people outside this town don’t know, remember,” Cal said. “Out in the rest of the world, shifters are just a weird legend no one believes in anymore.”

  “Yes, but you’ve lived here a long time now, haven’t you? And if you grew up in another shifter town...”

  Cal shook his head. “I’ve lived here ten years. But it’s the first place I ever lived where shifters were fairly well-known. Like, here, most people don’t talk about it, but everyone knows. You grew up knowing, right?”

  Lillian nodded. “My parents told Teri and me that shifters were dangerously violent, so I couldn’t say we were knowledgeable, but yes.”

  Cal grimaced at that, glancing back at her as the knife paused. “I gotta say, it’s a miracle you and your sister both turned out so darn well. Seems like it should’ve been impossible. I’m more impressed than I can say.”

  Lillian shifted position in the chair, uncomfortable. “So you grew up somewhere it wasn’t known at all,” she prompted.

  Cal turned back to his chopping. “That’s right. And it wasn’t—well, I’d prefer this.”

  “I can imagine,” Lillian said, trying to picture the sort of desperate secrecy that situation would require.

  There was a pause while Cal slid the vegetables off the cutting board into a bowl, and then he said abruptly, “Secrecy was important, but my pack took it to an extreme. Our alpha—my uncle—he was a real dictator. Constantly suspicious that someone was about to spill the secret. He monitored everyone, had a couple of bruisers to make sure all the pack members stayed in line, did exactly what he said. Didn’t want anyone to move a finger without his okay.”

  Lillian thought about it. “That sounds awful,” she said, then added slowly, “And...familiar.”

  Cal nodded, not turning around. “I don’t talk about it much,” he said tersely. “Not much to say, really, and most of these kids wouldn’t understand. But it seemed to me like you would.”

  “Yes,” Lillian said softly. “Not that I’ve experienced the same tactics that he used. No enforcers. But when you live under the thumb of someone who insists on knowing every move you make...it’s difficult. It’s very, very difficult.”

  “That’s right,” Cal said. “So I joined up at eighteen. Snuck out, went to the recruiting office, never looked back once. Always been happy I got out.” He took a long, slow, breath, and then tossed some vegetables in a pot, stirred, and then turned around to face her.

  “Shifters like hierarchy,” he said. “That’s what I was getting at, answering your question. It’s because of the secrecy, because we don’t have any separate police, or government, or anything like that. So shifter communities, they tend to have some kind of leader. A lot of them call the leaders alphas. Because that’s what they are, most of the time—whoever can display the most dominance to the others. Whether that’s psychological or physical depends on the community, but a lot of the time it’s decided by fighting.”

  “That sounds very harsh,” Lillian said quietly. “Difficult for everyone.”

  Cal nodded. “These kids here in Glacier—some of them have never known that life at all. I’ve got a ranger, Jeff? He grew up here. He’s got this big family, all shifters, and there’s nothing like that at all. They just live their lives. Which tells me it doesn’t have to be like that. But it gets like that anyway, somehow.

  “So they call me their alpha a lot of the time. Because I’m their boss, because I’m a bit older than they are. But they don’t know what it can be like.”

  “It sounds to me like you’re doing a very good thing, then,” Lillian said. “Making this place a place where shifters can live more freely, in a healthy community, without violence and fear.”

  Now Cal looked uncomfortable. “Maybe,” he said. “It’s hard. Because a lot of the time, it seems like they want a leader. They come ask me advice, ask me what to do. Your sister came to me with this mountain lion problem. And now I gotta decide: do I act like I’m an alpha? Tell her how to handle it, go to the mountain lions and threaten them, because I’m the snow leopards’ alpha and that’s what alphas do?”

  Lillian was taken aback. “I had no idea you were bothered by this. Please don’t—I can figure something else out—”

  “No,” Cal said quickly. “No. That’s not the problem. Those mountain lions are assholes—pardon my language—and it’s high time someone taught them a lesson, since the police aren’t about to do it. They’re everything that’s wrong with shifter culture, following Gordon Hennessey like he’s their judge and their President all in one. No.

  “The thing is just that when I do go to them, I’m putting myself out as the representative of the snow leopards. That’s the trouble. I’m talking to them like Jeff, and Grey, and Nina, and all of them are standing behind my words. And I just wish there was a way to do it as only me, without taking something from the rest of the leopards that they might not want to give me. That’s all.”

  Lillian thought that over. “Well,” she said slowly, “why not ask them?”

  There was a pause, and then Cal let out a startled laugh. “What?”

  Lillian shrugged. “Ask them. If you’re upset that there’s no equitable decision-making in shifter culture, start it yourself. Do you have—hm—pack meetings, or something similar?”

  “Well,” Cal said slowly, “no, I suppose we don’t.”

  “Maybe you could try something like that, then,” Lillian said. “Sort of like a town hall, I suppose. If they all want you to be their leader, it’s...sort of like they elected you. Unless I’m off the mark,” she added, watching as the expression on Cal’s face went through some odd contortions. “Maybe this doesn’t apply in your situation. I’m afraid I really don’t know a thing about shifters and how they work.”

  “A town hall,” Cal was saying slowly. “Huh.” He shook his head. “That’s the strangest thing.”

  “It’s fairly normal,” Lillian said hesitantly.

  “No, I get that, I just—well, I grew up in that pack I told you about, and then I spent fifteen years in the military, and then I got a job here at the Park where sometimes decisions have to be made fast and without any arguing, if someone’s safety’s at stake.” Cal was talking through it as though he was realizing something as he spoke.

  “So there wasn’t much room for any other kinds of authority,” Lillian interpreted. “It was always a straight chain of command.”

  Cal nodded. “Town hall. Huh.”

  Then he shook himself and turned back to
the stove. “Sorry, gotta keep an eye on this,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s almost done.”

  “What is it?” Lillian asked.

  “Just soup and a salad. Pretty simple stuff.”

  In Lillian’s experience, most men’s idea of “making soup” was to open a can of Campbell’s, and they never would’ve thought to include a salad alongside it. “It looks amazing.”

  Cal shrugged. “I had some leftover chicken, so I thought this would make a good meal. Got some good bread to go with it, too, and it’s got to be eaten pretty soon anyway.”

  Lillian said, “I’m still impressed. I can see you’re a good cook.”

  Cal waved a hand, as though shaking off the compliment. “Wait until you taste it before you say anything.”

  Lillian had been deliberately imitating Cal’s way of complimenting her—because, she’d realized, he’d been doing it regularly throughout the day. Slow, clear statements about how impressive he thought she was.

  She’d been brushing off the compliments because they never quite jived with how she felt about herself. But she hadn’t realized until now how irritating that might be. She wanted to say to Cal, “No, don’t act like I’m wrong to compliment you. I’m not wrong, I can tell that you’re good at this.” It was frustrating, even.

  She wondered if that was also how Cal had felt when she’d wriggled out of acknowledging what he said about her. Food for thought there, maybe.

  “Just about done,” Cal said, and the next few minutes were a fascinating study in how quick and careful a big man like him could truly be. The kitchen was tidied up, the table was set, and soup was ladled into bowls, all in just a few minutes, and all without any mishap or even too much clatter.

  It was graceful as hell—pardon my language, Lillian thought, smiling to herself—and insanely attractive.

  Cal brought the soup to the table and set it down in front of her. It smelled amazing.

  “Thank you for this,” Lillian said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “My guess is you don’t have people cook for you that often,” Cal said. “So I’m happy to change things up a bit for you.”

  Lillian was quiet at that, not wanting to complain. Instead, she tasted the soup. It was amazing, rich and full-flavored. The vegetables were bright and not at all overcooked, the chicken was tender, and the stock was...”Do you make your own stock?”

  Cal nodded. “Pretty easy. Toss a chicken carcass in a pot of water, walk away for a while, come back and it’s done.”

  Lillian shook her head. “Expect me over for dinner again, I suppose.”

  “Happy to have you,” Cal said warmly.

  Lillian hadn’t been expecting the depth of feeling she could hear in his voice. She felt herself flush.

  Was he interested? Was he just being friendly? Or maybe he was feeling something sincere, but it was just because he was happy to welcome someone else into his pack. Lillian could tell that he was a natural leader, whatever his discomfort over the possibility of being too authoritarian. Maybe he was just glad that the pack might be expanding.

  “So,” Cal said, apparently oblivious to her racing thoughts, “what made you want to be a librarian?”

  “Oh,” Lillian said, immediately distracted, “there was really nothing else I could’ve been. I could hardly decide on a major on college. I just wanted to know a little bit about everything. If I could’ve majored in English, history, biology, chemistry, theater, and fine arts all at once, I would have.”

  “That’s interesting,” Cal said thoughtfully. “I guess I would’ve thought a librarian would obviously be someone who liked English literature. But there’s a lot more in the library than just that.”

  Lillian nodded vigorously. “There’s all sorts of subjects. And we have a lot of people come in to learn how to use computers these days, too, so I do a lot of educating about that, which I enjoy also.”

  Cal smiled. “Librarians of the future.”

  “It’s important,” she said. “People need to know how to use computers to access so many services these days, and especially out here in the middle of nowhere, some people still don’t. So it’s a big part of my job. But—well, mostly, I love to read.”

  “What are some of your favorite books?”

  Lillian smiled. “That’s a good question. People usually ask, ‘What’s your favorite book?’ which I can never answer. Hmm, let’s see. Some of my favorite classics are Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Twelfth Night...I like science fiction more than I would’ve expected; I just finished Dune and it was very, very good. History, of course; I’ve been reading a book on World War I that’s truly amazing—” She made herself stop.

  “Huh,” Cal said. “Maybe you could recommend me some things. There are some nights at the Park where I’m on duty, but mainly there to be on call if there’s some kind of emergency. And the hours can get a bit long with nothing to do. Can’t shift, because then I’m not on the radio, can’t go out into the mountains because I have to be available quick. Just have to sit in my office. A book would be welcome.”

  Lillian smiled. “Of course. Come in the library sometime and I’ll pick some things out for you.”

  “I’ll do that.” There was that warmth again.

  They finished up the meal, and Lillian stood up with her plate before Cal could protest. “No, I won’t hear it,” she said when he opened his mouth. “You cooked this amazing meal for me, the least I can do is the dishes.”

  She used her steeliest tone, and Cal looked at her thoughtfully for a minute before saying, “How about we do them together.”

  That seemed workable, at least.

  Lillian was startled to see that they moved around the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. Normally, two people in a kitchen was a recipe for bumping into each other and dropping things left and right, but somehow Cal seemed to have a sense for where she was, and was always turning at the right moment to hand her a plate or point out the right cabinet to put something in.

  She had to wonder if that apparent sense for her was as...physical as the sense she had for him.

  He was a big man, and it almost seemed to her that she could feel his body heat, radiating off of him, making her want to lean in close. When he was behind her, she knew it with a bit of a shiver, and when he was turning to her, handing her something, she was reaching for it almost before she knew it was there.

  She’d never experienced something like this before. With Lew, it had never been quite this...natural. It had always been hard work to meet Lew where he was at, and she’d thought that meant the marriage was worthwhile, a product of both of their hard work, but obviously she’d been wrong.

  And this was something else.

  When the last dish was shining in the dish drainer, Lillian stared at the spotless kitchen. “How are you not married?”

  Then she winced. She’d been busy suppressing any truly insane statements like, Can I touch your biceps? or Your shirt got some soapsuds on it, better take it off, or even the most outrageous, Would you shift for me? I want to see what you look like as a snow leopard. You must be beautiful.

  And now that had fallen out of her mouth instead.

  Cal had turned to look at her when she spoke, and suddenly he was...close. Very close. Inches away, and if Lillian had thought she could feel his body heat before, well, that was nothing on now.

  “I never met the right woman,” he rumbled.

  Forget his body heat, she could feel his voice. All through her lower stomach, making her muscles go liquid.

  She leaned in. She couldn’t help it. He was so close, and she just wanted—she just wanted—

  He kissed her.

  That was what she wanted. Lillian melted under his mouth instantly, letting the kiss sweep her away. Cal made a low noise and pulled her against his body.

  She felt like she’d been filled with this tension for hours. This anticipation, this awareness of her own body. She hadn’t known how to disperse it, to make herself relax agai
n, get rid of the—thrumming inside her that had been getting steadily harder and harder to ignore.

  This, it turned out, was the answer. Lillian’s arms went around Cal’s shoulders without her even realizing what she was doing—until she was struck by how broad they really were.

  His muscles were supple, not rock-hard like she’d assumed they would be. Lillian thought of a sleek cat, and sighed against his mouth.

  Cal’s hands were firm on her waist, his fingers stroking gently over the fabric of her shirt. He deepened the kiss slowly, his tongue slipping into her mouth as Lillian opened for him.

  The full-body relaxation Lillian had been feeling, the total relief from tension that had suffused her body, started to transform into something else. God, it had been so long since she’d been aroused by a man like this, she’d almost forgotten what it was like.

  Or had she? Because she was sure, even though it had been years since they’d had sex even before the divorce, that she’d never, ever felt this way with Lew.

  Like she was on fire. Like there was a flame inside her, centered low in her belly and spreading out through her entire body. To her fingertips, to her toes, pushing her to press in closer, slide her tongue along Cal’s, and step backwards as he moved forwards, pushing her back against something solid.

  Lillian felt his thigh slide between hers and press right up against the ache between her legs. She broke the kiss to breathe, to just feel that sweet pressure, her eyes slipping closed.

  “Good?” Cal’s voice was filled with the warmth she’d come to expect from him, but with a deep edge of something more. Something hotter.

  “So good.” Lillian let herself slide down whatever she was braced against—the fridge, she realized hazily—just a few inches. But it was a few inches of delicious friction through her jeans. She was wet, she knew it; probably she was about to soak through the denim and leave a damp patch on Cal’s thigh. The thought was dizzily hot, dirty like she wasn’t used to.

  Cal groaned softly, the noise deep and rough and sending a thrill through her. Lillian opened her eyes, wondering, because she hadn’t done anything; in fact, her hands had fallen away, and she was just—