“Eventually, you won’t even notice it.”

She opened another cabinet door and pulled out a can of spinach. “I want a mate! How am I going to find one way out here? You’ve made sure there are no other lupus garous in a four-hundred mile stretch of land.”

So that was some of the trouble. Not that he’d had much luck finding her a mate in California either because she’d been so choosy.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. Besides, when we rent the cabins, the grays will come from all over the country and you can find a mate.”

He hoped. Never having discussed Uncle Basil’s clientele with him, he assumed his uncle advertised on the Internet and in magazines that would help draw a crowd from all over. All Hunter had to do was tweak the ad to let alpha male leaders who were without a mate know his sister needed one.

Hunter flipped the steaks, seared them for a minute, and then tossed them on the rose china that had been passed down two generations. “What did you want us to do? The arsonists destroyed the forests and moving north to Oregon was the best thing we could manage.”

She didn’t reply and he sighed. “So, five members of our pack moved into the vineyards in southern California. What kind of a life would that be? We’re used to hunting in woods during our nighttime excursions. No other lupus garous live in the area, so no worry about encroaching on another pack’s territorial rights. Besides, Uncle Basil decided it was time to retire and was glad to gift us the land and cabins. It couldn’t be more perfect.”

“So what’s this really about? Uncle Basil never once mentioned he wanted to quit the business,” Meara said.

“We were happy in California. He knew unless something like this happened we wouldn’t have moved a foot out of there.”

She peered out the window. Her spine straightened and her mouth dropped. “I’ll be right back.” She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulders and headed outside.

He strode to the window and looked out.

“Hell.”

It was the woman. Had to be. Tessa Anderson, the photographer. Petite, swallowed up in a white parka, she trudged toward their house with a camera strap slung around her neck. The camera bounced between her full breasts, which were accentuated by the snug fit of her pale blue turtleneck. Her jeans outlined curvy legs, and suddenly he had the most lascivious thought, wondering what was wrong with him at a moment like this, to be envisioning this woman naked with her long legs wrapped tightly around him.

A pink ski cap hid her hair, but her brows were red, her green eyes sparkled with fire, and her cheeks and pert nose were rosy from the cold. Full, sensual lips shimmered with pink gloss that begged for a man’s caress. Her eyes garnered his attention again. Expressive, vibrant, full of life, yet a subtle sadness marred them.

Why was she wandering the woods alone when the night would soon cast her into darkness? Why here? Unless she had made friends with Uncle Basil and had come to see him.

Hell. No wonder he couldn’t get rid of her himself.

Meara quickly confronted her, and Hunter raised the window to overhear the conversation. Even though he planned on talking to Miss Anderson, it didn’t hurt for Meara to tell the woman the error of her ways. At the very least, giving Meara some control over their lands would make her feel more at home here.

Meara raised her hand to the woman in her path. “You’re trespassing.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and her brows knit together in a tight little frown. “Uncle Basil said I could take pictures out this way during the winter because he didn’t have any B&B guests this time of year.”

She had Uncle Basil’s permission? What was the crafty old wolf up to?

“Uncle Basil?” Meara asked, her voice rising.

“That’s what he told me to call him.”

So, Uncle Basil had a relationship with the human female after all. Which wasn’t like him.

“Well, his real niece and nephew have taken up residence, and Uncle Basil has moved to Florida. The rules are different now. Find somewhere else to take your pictures. Don’t come here again.”

The woman glanced at the house. Looking to rescue Uncle Basil? Or maybe she hoped he’d come out and save her from Hunter’s sister?

Facing Meara, she offered her gloved hand. “I’m Tessa Anderson, a professional photographer. I live down the coast.”

Meara folded her arms. “Then you must have plenty of photo ops on your own land.”

Tessa stiffened and Hunter could see now the woman wasn’t going to be easily persuaded. Her jaw tightened and her eyes flickered with inflexible resolve.

“Every area along the seacoast is different. And it changes as the tides pummel the coastline. It varies with the seasons also.” Tessa tilted her head to the side. “Uncle Basil never said anything about moving. He isn’t ill, is he?”

Hunter shook his head. He admired tenacious lupus garou women, but a human female like that could cause real problems. So why was he checking out her package again—the way her turtleneck caressed her breasts, the camera strap pressing between the sensuous mounds, outlining them further, and lower to the jeans accentuating her long, curvy legs.

Lifting his nose, he took a deep breath. Because of the shifting breeze, despite the smell of pines and the sea air overwhelming all else, he caught a whiff of the woman’s scent—of peaches and… tequila and margarita mix?

His eyes widened a bit as he smelled something else, something that generated an age-old need—a desire so strong that it could only mean her pheromones were triggering his craving. What the hell? She wasn’t a lupus garou—didn’t have their distinctive scent, yet sexually, she served every bit as much a magnet for a male lupus garou.

His gaze fastened on her eyes, now narrowed a little, sharp and full of mistrust.

“Did he always keep you posted on his plans?” Meara asked Tessa, being her usual snarky self.

“I was supposed to have dinner with him.” Standing taller, Tessa considered the house again. “Do you have a number where I can reach him? Or an address?”

Dinner? Had Uncle Basil forgotten? Or conveniently avoided it, which would explain his warning—although cryptic—about Tessa before he left. Hunter let out his breath in exasperation.

Meara snorted. “Leave, now, or I’ll call the sheriff. Don’t come back here.”

“It was nice to meet you, too.” Tessa glanced once more at the house as if to say she wouldn’t be thwarted from seeing Uncle Basil. Her breath mixed with the cold air in a puff of smoke, she lifted her chin a little, and then whipped around, and headed back into the woods.

The urge to hunt the minx filled Hunter with a craving so strong, he had to remind himself she was a threat to their existence. If she’d been a lupus garou, that would be a different story. He would have shown just how interested he was and worn her down until she felt the same for him, if she didn’t automatically. But a human like her was nothing more than tempting forbidden fruit—one taste would never be enough. Best to buy her out and remove the menace from the area.

Meara stalked into the house, saw Hunter at the open window, and gave a half smile. Then she frowned. “Don’t you go getting friendly with that woman, too. Jeesh. I heard you and Uncle Basil talking about her. You know, the lower your voices go, the more I listen in.” She shook her head. “No wonder Uncle Basil couldn’t get rid of her. Sweet and innocent. Miss Red Riding Hood in a white parka.” She raised a brow. “And by the way, as petite as she is, her boobs are silicone—have to be."

No way was the woman anything but the real thing, every bit of her, and he wanted to prove to himself they were in the worst way. Hunter shut the window. “You made Tessa Anderson suspicious. She thinks we’ve buried Uncle Basil in the backyard. So now I’ll have to take care of it.” And he would, starting tonight.

“Hmpf. What about the rest of our pack?” Her spine stiff, Meara stirred the spinach heating on the stove and refused to look at him.

“The seven who took off for Portland will return when they get tired of city life.”

“So they moved to greener pastures, and we’re stuck in Timbuktu?” Meara’s amber eyes flashed with irritation, her lips turned down.

“We’ll rent only to lupus garous, like Uncle Basil did. We’ll entice eligible alpha males to visit, and you’ll put them under your spell.” He failed to understand how she couldn’t see the beauty of the area. If she would just take a run with him in the woods, work out some of her frustration, she would feel better. “We’re not a city pack. The rest will tire of it before long.”

“And then?” She yanked out her chair and dropped into it, fixing him with another chilling look.

“They can join us here. Plenty of game for hunting on moonlit nights. Oregon has laws to protect wolves. We won’t have any problems.”

“I want to go to the city.” She looked up from her salmon and although she kept her expression stern, her eyes glistened with tears.

Ah, hell. What really was the matter?

“A red pack already resides in Portland.”

Her mouth parted.

Hunter clarified, “Leidolf is the pack leader. I met him last spring when you wouldn’t come with me to see Uncle Basil. He seemed a nice enough lupus garou for a red. As nice as one can be when he’s dealing with a gray pack leader, but he won’t like it that some of our pack are encroaching on his city.”

She folded her arms. “Fine. You’re bigger than the reds. Push them out and we can start over there.”

Leaning back in his chair, he studied his sister’s stubborn expression. She’d always been so predictable, so agreeable. What was wrong with her now?

“Quit looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I’m in my first wolf’s heat and I… want… a… mate! Damn it. Don’t you ever feel the pull? No, of course not. You have one-night stands with human women who want the same thing and then you’re satiated, for a time.”