Tristan's Despair (2019 Reissue)

  Tristan’s Despair

  Lavinia Lewis

  Copyright Lavinia Lewis 2019

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  License notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of Lavinia Lewis.

  Warning: This book contains material that some readers might find disturbing or objectionable and is intended for mature readers only.

  Back Cover Information

  Wolf shifter Tristan Ambrose is delighted to finally meet his mate, but is human Joey Brooks prepared for the constant danger that life with a shifter entails?

  When wolf shifter Tristan Ambrose unexpectedly meets human Joey Brooks outside the guesthouse where they both stay, he couldn’t be happier to have finally found his mate.

  But Joey is an ambitious young newspaper reporter who came to Wolf Creek looking for a story on the arson attacks that have recently ravaged the town.

  Can Tristan trust Joey to keep not only his secret, but that of his entire pack?

  And when Joey is nearly killed by a fully shifted wolf, will he decide that a future with Tristan is not worth the risk to his life?

  Reader Advisory: The events in this series follow chronologically so each book is best read in sequence as part of the series.

  ***Please note*** This book has been previously published, the cover has been changed and the story re-edited, but otherwise the content remains the same.

  Chapter One

  Tristan’s stomach twisted in knots as he pulled into the parking lot of Jackson’s bar and maneuvered his old truck into the empty space next to a shiny, black and chrome Harley. As he sat in the near darkness of the truck’s cab, trying to build up his nerve to get out, two tough-looking bikers strode by and headed for the entrance.

  Winding down the window, Tristan inhaled deeply to determine the men’s species. They were both wolves and seemed vaguely familiar although he couldn’t place where he’d seen them before. He was fairly certain that they didn’t belong to the same pack as he did—the Wolf Creek pack.

  The first man was tall with long, dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His friend was a short, balding man with a ZZ Top fashioned beard. They were dressed from head to toe in black leather. Looking down at his dark grey knitted sweater and jeans, Tristan began to have second thoughts.

  His plan to get away from Wolf Creek for a couple of hours, to hang back with a beer or two and maybe get some action, didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore.

  He was way, way out of his depth.

  He would have been more comfortable going to Jessie’s Dancehall, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Pete had bought the land that Jessie’s sat on right after Evelyn had burned the place to the ground and it was still some weeks off from its grand re-opening.

  Not that it would make any difference to Tristan if the bar was open or not. He knew as sure as shit that the moment he stepped through the doors and ordered a drink, Pete would hot-foot it to the phone to call Jared and tell him he was there and he couldn’t be dealing with his brother’s over-protective crap right now. He wasn’t hurting anyone.

  He just wanted a fricking beer.

  Was that so bad?

  Why his brother got so upset about his drinking, Tristan couldn’t understand. Okay, so he might have overdone it with the drinking before they’d moved into Nate’s old ranch house, but it wasn’t like he was an alcoholic or anything.

  He’d had a lot on his mind back then.

  His father had just died, and he and Jared had moved to a small town where they didn’t know anyone. Tristan had missed his life in the city.

  He still did, actually.

  He didn’t feel like he fitted in around Wolf Creek.

  He’d made a couple of friends, but otherwise, he was pretty damn lonely.

  Tristan had driven out to Jackson’s to have a couple of drinks because he’d heard the bar was gay-friendly and that a lot of local wolves hung out there. But looking at the clientele that were entering the bar in steady numbers, he wasn’t so sure he’d heard right.

  The bar was not what he’d imagined it to be.

  He’d expected something like Jessie’s. Somewhere relaxed, maybe a small dance floor off to one side with Carrie Underwood’s dulcet tones humming out of the jukebox speakers.

  Yeah. Wrong.

  “Howdy.”

  Tristan yelped and slid along the bench seat away from the open window, his breath almost as fast as his elevated pulse. A broad, muscular man stood next to the truck, his thumbs tucked into the belt loops of his jeans.

  A cowboy hat was pulled low over his eyes.

  Tristan had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard the man approach.

  Dumb.

  He needed to be more careful. Discreetly, he sniffed the air between them and caught the scent of hay, sweat, and cologne.

  Underneath was the rich, earthy tone of wolf.

  “Jesus, you scared the living crap outta me.”

  The wolf shrugged an apology.

  “You plan on sitting here all night or are you going to grace us with your presence in there?”

  “Um, yeah. I was just about to go in.”

  The guy nodded to the bar but didn’t make a move towards it or take his eyes off Tristan.

  “Right, yeah, let’s go.”

  Tristan slid back across the seat and reached for the door handle. On impulse, he pulled off his sweater then tossed it on the passenger seat. The plain white T-shirt wasn’t that much of an improvement, but at least he looked less preppy.

  The wolf was still grinning when Tristan stepped out of the truck.

  “First time here?” he asked as they set off together.

  Tristan’s first instinct was to lie—to pretend that he came here all the time. No big deal, just another night out at his favorite bar. But there was no point fronting—hell, the guy could have been the owner of the place for all Tristan knew. He nodded instead and, as he followed the wolf to the door, he opted for honesty.

  “Yeah. It’s, uh, not what I thought it would be.”

  The wolf chuckled. “Yeah, can’t say as it’d be my first choice of watering holes either, but needs must. Name’s Brandon, by the way. Brandon Delaney.”

  “Tristan Ambrose.”

  They shook hands then Brandon pulled open the bar door and led the way inside. Tristan turned Brandon’s name over in his mind. It was familiar, but just like the two bikers out in the parking lot, he couldn’t place how he knew it.

  As they made their way to the bar, Tristan tried really hard not to meet anyone’s eye. In Jessie’s, he’d shot his mouth off a time or two when some of the locals had pissed him off and he’d ended up in more than his share of fistfights. It had been nothing he couldn’t handle, but he didn’t think he’d get away with his wisecracks here.

  Some of the men were scary as hell—far from your average rednecks.

  Brandon walked right up to the bar like he owned the joint and planked it
on an empty stool. Tristan took the seat next to him and studied the wolf out of the corner of his eye. He was good-looking, a bit older than the type Tristan would normally find attractive, but yeah, he had promise—strong, wide chest, lean stomach, and long legs—none too shabby.

  When the bartender approached, Brandon turned to Tristan and damn if he didn’t catch him checking out his ass. The sexy grin that seemed a permanent fixture on his face widened.

  “What do you want?” he asked, leaning closer so that only Tristan could hear. “And I mean to drink. It’s pretty obvious what else you’re looking for.”

  Heat rose in Tristan’s cheeks, but he didn’t avert his gaze. It was what he wanted, after all, and Brandon didn’t seem bent out of shape that he’d been checking him out.

  He left the comment hanging and said, “Whatever you’re having.”

  Brandon shrugged and turned back to the bartender. “Two Cokes, please.”

  The bartender nodded and started to fix the drinks, but Tristan didn’t miss the expression of distaste that flashed across his face.

  He couldn’t say he blamed the guy.

  He was rocking the same expression himself.

  “Coke!” he said with incredulity. “Are you for real?”

  “I don’t drink anymore. And let that be a lesson to you. Next time someone asks you what you want, tell them.”

  Tristan shook his head.

  It was just his luck to get landed with a guy that was probably the only non-drinker in the bar. What the hell was this, some sort of conspiracy? If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought Jared had paid the dude to keep an eye on him. But that would be assuming his brother knew where he was.

  He didn’t.

  And if Tristan had anything to do with it, he never would. When the drinks were placed in front of them, Tristan thanked Brandon and took a sip before turning to study the room. Now that he was inside, the bar wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought, but there was a lot of leather—an obscene amount of leather.

  Right before he took another sip of Coke, there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned and, when he saw the guy who was trying to get his attention, his jaw very nearly made contact with the sticky hardwood floorboards. The guy was human and pushing fifty if he was a day.

  He was about as round as he was tall.

  “You looking for me?” the guy asked.

  After a moment, Tristan realized his mouth was still hanging open so he closed it and shook his head.

  “I…don’t… That is, I’m not…”

  Much to Tristan’s relief, Brandon leaned across him and saved the day. “Sorry, man, he’s with me.”

  The guy nodded and with a last heated glance at Tristan, moved away to try his luck somewhere else.

  Tristan sighed. “Thanks for that.”

  With a small shrug, Brandon met his gaze.

  His eyes sparkled with amusement and he let out a low chuckle.

  “Not your type, huh?”

  “Oh, sure he was. ‘Cause nothing says sexy like a stained wife-beater.”

  Brandon threw his head back and let out a loud guffaw. “You’re all right, kid.”

  Tristan grinned, ignoring the ‘kid’ comment.

  He took a sip of his drink, remembered it was Coke and grimaced, but it didn’t spoil his new and improved mood. It looked like he was actually going to get laid tonight after all.

  Hallefuckinglujah.

  It was about time.

  He was done waiting for the right time or the right man and had decided to seize the moment and go for it. And Brandon seemed a good a choice as any to begin his education.

  “So, what pack do you belong to?” Brandon asked quietly, presumably so that no humans could overhear, although they’d need to have pretty good hearing to catch the conversation over the din of the loud rock music that boomed out of the speakers and assaulting Tristan’s ears.

  “Wolf Creek,” he replied. “Kelan Morgan is the alpha there.”

  Brandon raised his eyebrows in surprise and a grin that was pure wickedness ghosted over his lips.

  “Really? How is my old friend these days?”

  “You know Kelan?”

  “You could say that. We grew up together. We used to love giving each other shit. I haven’t seen him for years, though.”

  “Wow, you’re from Wolf Creek?”

  Brandon nodded. “Born and bred. I moved out east a decade ago, but, uh, yeah, let’s just say the Sunshine State wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

  “How come? You didn’t like it there?”

  “Just some pack trouble.”

  Brandon shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable with the way the conversation was heading, so Tristan didn’t push.

  It was none of his business.

  “So, you’re living in Wolf Creek again?”

  “Sure am. Moved home today, in fact. My pop had to sell his bar and now he’s putting all his energy into running the ranch. He needed help so…”

  Brandon shrugged.

  “Wait, sell his bar? Are you Jessie’s son?”

  “Yep. You know my pop?”

  “Not well. I mean I met him a couple of times. I used to drink at the dancehall until…” Tristan left the sentence hanging.

  He’d been about to tell Brandon that he had stopped going to Jessie’s when his brother had convinced him to quit drinking, but how pathetic would that have made him look? He didn’t want to get into his drinking habits or his brother’s disapproval of them.

  “Yeah, nasty business, those fires,” Brandon said, incorrectly guessing the nature of Tristan’s thoughts. “My pop said the woman responsible still hasn’t been caught.”

  Tristan shivered involuntarily. “No, she hasn’t,” he said quietly. “She burned down the ranch I own with my brother as well as Kelan’s and Pete’s houses.”

  “Huh, that sucks.”

  Tristan nodded and took a long drink of his Coke.

  He didn’t want to talk about the fires any more than he wished to think about that psychotic wolf Evelyn Armstrong. Tristan had been injured quite badly in the fire at his house and had spent a week in the hospital recovering from his burns.

  He still had nightmares about it—when he could sleep at all.

  Most nights were spent lying awake, listening to the sounds outside his bedroom door, convinced that Evelyn was coming back to finish what she’d started.

  After downing the rest of his drink, Tristan motioned to the bartender. When he got the guy’s attention, he ordered a beer. Brandon was still nursing a full glass of soda and turned down another.

  At least the bartender hadn’t asked for ID because, yeah, that would have sucked. Tristan knew he looked younger than his twenty-two years and he was sick of being called out on it. At least Nate had got out of the annoying habit of calling him ‘kid’. Now if he could just get Brandon to do the same, his night was gonna get a whole lot better. He wanted Brandon to find him attractive sexually, not treat him like the younger brother he’d never had.

  What Tristan wanted more than anything was to find his mate. He was happy that Jared had Nate, but sometimes it was hard to watch them all lovey-dovey because it reminded him of what he didn’t have. He wished he had a Nate of his own—okay, obviously not a guy that old, because that would be gross, but someone who treated him like he was the center of their universe just like Nate treated Jared.

  It didn’t help that Tristan spent so much time with Aaron and Cary. He liked them, he really did—they were about the best friends he’d ever had—but they were even worse than his brother and Nate. They could barely keep their hands off each other and when he was out with them, he felt like a fricking third wheel. He knew they didn’t behave that way to piss him off and he was sure that if they knew how he felt they’d tone it down a bit.

  But he didn’t want them to have to do that.

  They shouldn’t have to hide what they felt for each other just because it gave Tristan a case of the Joneses. Wit
h a frown, he downed his beer in one long pull and signaled for another.

  He’d just have one more.

  Chapter Two

  Joey rubbed his temple as he pored over the documents on his desk.

  He was missing something, he had to be.

  When Mason Jacks, a reporter he worked with at the Texas Mail newspaper, had come back from Wolf Creek with no story worth a damn, Joey had taken it upon himself to get some answers. He was only a junior reporter himself, nowhere near Mason’s league, but if he could get the story that Mason couldn’t, he would ingratiate himself with the big boys at the paper and hopefully score the promotion he’d been angling for. At twenty-three, Joey had done well to get where he was, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

  He wanted his shot at the big time.

  Tired of reporting on small-time stories, Joey had taken the vacation time owed him and set off for Wolf Creek of his own volition. But his first couple of days in the small town had been a complete bust. He hadn’t discovered shit. Every surface in his small rented room at Marnie’s Guesthouse was littered with notes, newspaper articles and reports on the spate of fires that had occurred in the town a little over six weeks ago.

  The trouble was, the more he looked over all of the papers, the less sense they made.

  There didn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason behind the fires. The only connection he could find was a guy called Pete Johnson. His ranch house had been one of those burned down along with a dancehall called Jessie’s that he used to manage. Several people had been killed there and it was the reason the town had first hit the news. However, Joey had already spoken to Pete and he’d got nowhere.

  Pete wasn’t talking.

  The other two properties that had been torched were a mystery too. The home of the sheriff had been one of those targeted and that of a rancher named Kelan Morgan. There had to be a link—Joey just wasn’t seeing it.

  But he would.