Shifters Gone Wild: A Shifter Romance Collection

by Skye MacKinnon

  Every head turned toward him.

  He lifted his palms as he held Sean’s gaze steady. “They came when we were structurally at our weakest.” At Sean’s slight head inclination, he continued, “Each and every one of us was ... distracted.”. His attention fluttered between me and Sean before he included the others in his scrutiny. “In one form, or another.”

  “You are saying they waited for us to lower our guard?” Philip said.

  “It stands to reason.” Giles shrugged. “I would.”

  Chapter 12

  More requests had been made for me to retire and allow the men space to discuss me without my witness. Each time, I refused to comply. Danger had followed me from the moment I met Sean. Only a fool would have attempted to hide from its truths.

  Further debates had occurred. No solid answers had been found, and the sun considered putting in an appearance before Sean allowed me to tend to his wounds.

  He stared up at me from the crude stool in the corner of the bathroom, his eyes showing an entire platoon of emotions fighting for their place in the forefront of his mind.

  With a lift of the washcloth, water poured off into the basin below it. “Do not think to trick me, Sean.”

  His eyebrow twitched beneath the thick strands of hair that had grown long enough to flop over his forehead.

  I ignored the gesture. “Please stand.”

  “You do not need me to stand to address my shoulder.”

  Water splashed over the lip of the basin as I dropped the cloth. I tucked a forefinger beneath his chin and tilted his face upward, continuing to lift until he had no choice but to follow.

  His teeth ground as his legs straightened. I caught the wince in his eyes before suggestive questions entered his gaze, and his smile appeared when I reached for the fastenings of his trousers.

  A tug loosened the binding as well as jerked him forward.

  His lips met my ear, his breaths warming the flesh there. “Really, Jem. Would you take advantage of a male in need of care?”

  “Distractions are not going to work.” I slid my fingers beneath his waistband and nudged it downward.

  His hands closed over mine. “Removing those is not necessary to treat my shoulder,” he said with more force than the last time.

  “I smell too much blood for only a shoulder wound. And the staining to your trousers reveals an injury you try to conceal.” I lifted my face, seeking his eyes. “Or did you truly believe I would not notice your hindered gait?”

  As I pushed down at his waistband again, his hands tightened, holding mine in place. “You do not need to see everything.”

  “As your mate, I disagree.”

  His eyes darkened as he stared down at me, but only a heartbeat later he released his hold.

  Muscle rippled beneath my curled fingers when I nudged the fabric over his hips. I knelt to undress him, and he tensed further, giving a hissed inhalation as the trousers brushed against his skin. Only once the black fabric pooled at his ankles did I see the extent of harm caused, and I swallowed the gasp that tried to escape.

  From his right buttock down the back of his thigh, a jagged opening, encrusted with crimson, oozed a yellowy liquid—an echo of blood that had already exited. I pressed my fingertips to the damaged flesh, pulling back when he flinched at the contact.

  “Why would you try to hide such an injury?”

  “Alphas cannot show weakness in front of their pack.”

  My forehead tightened beneath my frown. “Thank you for so generically placing me amongst the others.”

  He gave a quiet growl, when I poked at the already-present bruising that surrounded the injury. “That was not what I meant.”

  “No?”

  “You know I hold you in much higher regard than that,” he said, his voice deep.

  I removed the gathered material as he stepped from its constriction. “Yet, you still attempted to hide this from me, even once we were alone.”

  “I did not wish for you to feel afraid.” He stalked across the room.

  Tearing my gaze from the seeping liquid, I studied the power in his body, evident in each and every movement he made, no matter how minute. From his dark mop of hair, across his muscular back, all the way down his defined legs to the tips of his toes, strength and might dominated Sean’s body like a tailored uniform. I would never feel anything but safe whilst beside him.

  “The only thing I have to fear is losing you,” I said.

  “Which is no less a fear than the one I hold. Is it even any different, in fact?” Before I could answer, he spun, and in three strides stood beside me. His fingers folded around mine, and he drew me to my feet, taking my face between his palms until I tumbled heart first into his dark, glossy stare. “How can I protect you when I fail to defend myself?”

  With that singular statement, the reasoning behind his verbal attack on his pack became clear.

  “How can you say that—when you have just single-handedly disposed of three outsiders?” At the clench of his jaw and the turmoil in his stare, I sighed. “Of your ability to protect me, I have no doubt. The same applies to your ability to lead the pack. It is only you who does not see your worth and believe you have the heart of a leader.”

  “James—”

  “Was not you.” I placed my hands over Sean’s. “Nor should you try to be him.”

  “Why should I not? He at least had the pack’s respect.”

  “A respect I am certain he must have earned. Just as you will earn—are earning—yours. But that which is worked hardest for often has the greatest rewards.”

  “I ... wish .... Sometimes, I—”

  “It is acceptable for you to miss your brother, Sean. You need not make a show of pretence with me.”

  “It is not only the void his absence creates that stings.” His voice deepened. “It is knowing that my brother died for me.”

  “You cannot know it well enough to carry that heavy a burden.”

  “No?” His eyebrow arched up. “Then, how else should I interpret his actions that day?”

  “You should interpret them for what they were. An Alpha involved with the protection of his pack.”

  “He should not have needed to—would not have needed to—if not for ...” He trailed off, releasing me to rub at his face. On the lowering of his arms, moisture lent a high shine to his eyes, but he turned away.

  “If not for what, Sean?” I reached for his shoulder. “What are you not telling me?”

  James’s death had occurred in my absence, on a day I had visited my mother. Sean had barely uttered a word about it since. His grief, however, had shrouded him like a second skin—along with a deep guilt I had yet to understand.

  “It should have been me.” He spoke to the far wall, his voice a low murmur. “I was primed to deal with the threat, but he ordered me to stay behind. He said ...” His hands slipped to the nape of his neck, where they linked above shoulders knotted with stress. Even the massage I offered did not seem to ease the muscles there. “He said I had more reason to remove myself from risk. That I was needed alive.” He spun, and his arms reached for me, drawing me in tight until his breaths heated my crown, his chest firm against my cheek. “He sacrificed himself so I would still be here for you—in return for the promise I would keep you safe, as you rightly deserve.”

  His words froze me to the marrow. I had spent the past three years believing Sean’s brother only held me in contempt—although his addressing of me by name for his final twelve months had lessened the impression somewhat. To learn otherwise, to be told how very wrong I had been, came as an utter shock. For the first time since I had been introduced to the pack, the wariness I had often experienced in relation to James moved over to be replaced by awe—and a deep sorrow that I had not been given additional time to work through more of his barriers.

  Should an unfavourable ending greet me, or should Sean not live long enough to protect me from harm, he would see it as a failure to his brother. For that, he would neve
r forgive himself— not when James had given up so much for Sean’s future.

  “I am so sorry, Sean.”

  Chapter 13

  Pebbles gave only quiet protestation beneath my shoes and those of Jessica, my sister, as we walked the path toward the village. For as long as I could remember, even as far back as when I would hang from Mother’s leg amidst her skirts, Tuesday had been Market Day.

  Clouds dotted the pale blue sky, like levitating sheep that could drop at the snap of a finger, but they did not hold my attention—not with the strong scent of my mate revealing his proximity.

  I did not bother to look behind. Nor did I waste time peering to my left, where trees gathered in a dense meeting and stretched back into the untamed forest of Wild Woodington—a forest few dared enter, thanks to the wolf calls convincing locals of a non-existent haunting. I already knew Sean would be just beyond the brim of woodland, utilising the thickets as cover.

  “There is still time to change your mind, Jem.” Jessica flicked a speck of dust from the shoulder of her sea-green bodice. “Elizabeth Wells is certain to be there ... again.”

  “Elizabeth Wells bothers me not in the slightest.” My head tilted at the rolling crunch of wheels somewhere behind, and I sighed at what would be an inevitable outcome if Jessica and I did not reach the village before the approaching carriage. “We need to make haste unless we want a repeat performance of last week.”

  Her questioning gaze caught mine before comprehension claimed her expression, and she pivoted toward the route we had trod. Her shoulders sagged with her heaved breath of exasperation. “I remember a time when barely man or woman busied this path.” She grasped her skirts as I did, and we forced our feet into a brisker pace. “Anybody would think we had the best marketplace for miles around.”

  “We do.”

  Jessica’s laughter came out as a delicate tinkle. “Maybe ... for the likes of us, at least.”

  She meant for those who practised what malicious folk would brand as witchcraft. Mother, though, would argue her craft had a great deal more to do with drawing on the earth’s natural resources than any kind of underhanded spellcasting. She insisted the generalised term did not refer to her, or to Jessica, with whom she had been slowly sharing her secrets.

  I, myself, had my doubts about her misconceptions—especially as I had grown up in a household that revolved around plants and crystals as healing aids, repellents, and cleaning supplies, amongst many other uses.

  The gravelly rolling built in volume, telling me the carriage moved at greater speed than I had estimated. At least fifty yards still separated Jessica and me from the corner that hid the bustle of village life.

  “We may need to go faster,” I murmured.

  “And risk an ungainly entrance?”

  “It is either that, or risk another spectacle. The villagers already think me wayward. Why stoke their malevolent fires for them, by allowing them to believe I carry evil within me, also? You heard their whispers last week, as well did I.”

  Amusement sparkled in Jessica’s hazel eyes beneath the loose, acorn-brown tendrils of hair that bounced as she moved. “If you choose to lay with a man whilst unwed, you have to be prepared for the reaction of the flock. Gossip is one of their most practiced hobbies.”

  “Mother seems to always escape appraisal.” My focus latched onto the twenty yards spread out between us and our destination, as the horses’ snorts reached me with almost as much strength as their slightly soiled scent.

  “Mother has cured ailments for too many people. They are all too aware that to speak ill of her would bring them no favours.”

  The enticing scent of fear pulsed across on the breeze, a split second prior to the whinnying and stomps.

  As I whirled around, hooves stamped at the ground, sending a cloying frenzy of dust into the air.

  Nostrils flared, eyes wide, the horses regarded me in terror and with an unquestionable yearning to be farther away.

  The coachman tugged on the reins, panic creasing his features as he turned from the beasts to the female he escorted. “Whoa!”

  Jessica’s fingers folded around my forearm. “Come, Jem.”

  One deadly hoof thudded the path a few yards away, before the animal backed up a step or two. His head thrashed as though he realised how near he had allowed himself to venture, his wild stare whipping from me to the trees.

  I would have felt sorry for the poor creatures—being bombarded by a double dose of what their senses would identify as predator could not have been pleasant—if not for the utterings I detected from the village telling me I had already attracted un-hoped-for attention.

  With a glance to the right, I caught the shiver of brush and the glisten of Sean’s eyes, before I allowed Jessica to shepherd me away. On turning, I suppressed a groan.

  A small crowd had gathered on the corner.

  Jessica linked an arm through mine. “Ignore them,” she said, holding her head high as she marched forward.

  The strength of her grip gave me little choice but to follow unless I wanted to create even more of a scene. With a defiant tilt of my chin, I matched my step to that of my sister and headed for the mumbling busybodies who hadn’t anything better to do with their time than shake their disapproving heads at the likes of me.

  Dead boar held such an unpleasantly powerful aroma, nothing at all like the richness of the cooked product it became, that I switched to breathing through my mouth as Jessica and I passed the butcher’s stand.

  “’Morning, Miss Stonehouse.”

  We both turned toward the ruddy male, who stood poised with his cleaver above a soon-to-be-amputated trotter. His auburn hair curled across his brow, and his cheeks blushed an even deeper shade once he captured my sister’s focus. However, I knew from experience, she would offer him no more attention than a polite response—proven when she nodded and steered us away.

  Jessica had been approached by more males than she could possibly handle in the three years since I had lived with the pack. Apparently, the locals believed one ‘brazen’ sister led to another. ‘Cut from the same cloth’ seemed to be one of their favoured mumbles.

  Little did they know that if Jessica chose to snare them, the decision would be all hers, and they would stand no chance of escape. Against my better judgement, and certainly without the knowledge of Mother, Jessica ensured she captured exactly the men she wished for.

  “I need to visit with Kitty Pritchard,” she said, her arm still looped through mine. “My supply of red lobelia petals is waning.”

  “Red?”

  “Red holds more potency than pink,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I rolled my eyes, my chest rising to accommodate a deep sigh. “More potency for whom?”

  Jessica’s mouth spread into a wide smile that illuminated her entire face. “Brenton Pollock.”

  “So,” I said frowning, “you turn down a proposition from the rather affluent George Wentworth, yet gladly set your sights on Brenton Pollock, who earns a pittance for sweeping the stables at Caldey House?”

  “I know.” Jessica laughed. “But you should see Brenton’s hands. They look so ... strong.”

  As I opened my mouth in hypocritical admonishment, she untangled her arm from mine and spun, dancing backward. “Meet me at Josie’s stall. I shan’t be long.”

  Before I could protest, she swerved into the crowd.

  As I lingered beside the bakery stand, deep inhalations drew in my favourite fragrance of the market: cottage loaves piled high next to plaits and scones. Beside me, Old Mrs Crowley pawed at the brick loaves, squeezing one after the other, whilst the proprietor watched with fidgety fingers, probably hoping for her to stop.

  As the sweet and warm, yeasty fragrance merged with heavenly musk, I tilted my head to the side, peering around the rotund baker, until my gaze locked with the dark one two rows over.

  “Hey.” Sean’s greeting scarcely caused his lips to move and would reach no other, but it carried to me as surely as if he h
ad been at my side.

  Lower lip caught between my teeth, I smiled.

  “Really, young lady, you should be ashamed of yourself. Can you not show a modicum of decorum?”

  I turned to the ancient woman beside me and, ordering myself not to point out that leaving the house with a food stain upon one’s cheek could hardly be considered dignified, dipped my chin, adopting an expression of remorse. “Apologies, Mrs Crowley. I really do try my best ...” I just never seem to succeed.

  She stared at me for seconds, and my lips threatened to twitch, my laughter to escape—even more so at the rumble of Sean’s chuckles from across by the rug beater.

  Mrs Crowley patted my arm as she turned to walk away. “I shall pray for you, my dear,” she said, adding after she had gone a few steps, “Again.”

  “Cottage, is it, Miss Stonehouse?”

  I swung back to the baker and nodded, noting that Sean had once more obscured himself from me. “Three, if you would be so kind.”

  With my bread secured in a knapsack, I ambled toward Polly’s Preserves. Giles had a particular liking for strawberry jam, and I had promised to collect a few jars on my journey.

  A line of three patrons crowded the front of her stall when I arrived, and I awaited my turn behind a kitchen maid who had no doubt been sent out for supplies.

  Polly handed over a batch of marmalade to the front customer, a smile on her round, weathered face as currency changed hands. Once the buyer had moved away with his purchase, the line ushered forward. I had not even taken a step when Jessica grasped my arm.

  Brows drawn low, she hauled me away from the throng with her mouth set in a firm line. Around the stall, past the fruiterer, along to the far corner of the bank, where her fisted hands dropped to her sides, and she let out a resounding, “Urgh.”

  “What on earth is wrong?”

  “Elizabeth Wells.”

  I rolled my eyes, but with no ounce of humour. Elizabeth had never quite forgiven me for ‘snaring’ Sean, a male she had deemed worthy of herself, though I suspected she never wanted him for more than a short-term venture into the unknown. “What rumour has she begun now?”