He walked back into the office building. Verity and her two “advisors” were sitting in chairs in the front office, scowling.
A group of pack members was standing by in case of trouble. Zeke and Avery and Leland, who were long-time pack members, along with Damien and Casper and Samuel, who’d joined more recently. They leaned on the wall, exchanging stony stares with the two “advisors”.
Verity looked up from her cup of tea – she’d brought her own teabag – with a frown.
She had brown hair cut in a severe chin-length bob and wore a two-piece brown woolen suit. She carried a shiny new brown briefcase. The only color on her was the slash of pink on her narrow lips. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows were drawn together in a suspicious scowl that seemed to be permanently stamped on her face.
“Look,” he growled at her, “I know why you want to talk to Marcus – because it looks like he hasn’t been spending enough time with the pack. It’s my fault. I lost some of the check-in sheets. I’m a lousy record-keeper. You can fine our pack for it.” And he’d make damned sure Marcus paid them back for it, too.
She gave him a tight, pained smile, and little cracks spread in her foundation near the corners of her mouth. “We already will be. But this has been an ongoing problem for over a year now. We need to evaluate him. You can either have him brought to the office, or we can go get him ourselves.”
Roman tensed.
This wasn’t going to end well…for anyone.
* * * * *
Eileen didn’t know whether she wanted to throw up, cry or scream in frustration. Really, she’d like to do all three, but she couldn’t decide which one she wanted to do first, so instead she paced furiously next to her car.
Damn her father, and damn that asshole Alpha Roman who’d just practically spit in her face. Damn him for being right, too. Her father had set things up so there was literally no way that Roman Kincaid could ever agree to building that road. You couldn’t talk to an Alpha like that; it was pretty much the same as throwing down a challenge to him.
She’d known that her father was a rude bully in his business dealings, she’d just had no idea how bad he was. Of course she hadn’t, because he always kept her out of his business affairs.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
She was so screwed. She’d just had to go and lie to her father. Now she was going to look even more incompetent and pathetic.
Would he really send people to grab her and drag her by force back to Manhattan? She was afraid he might.
Technically, he couldn’t force her to marry Beacham…he could just cut her off, throw her out and leave her destitute. And he wouldn’t hesitate, she knew that.
She stumbled as she paced, wrenching her ankle. She glanced down at her suede pumps. Ruined, crusted in mud. Everything was all pot-holey and muddy here. She’d hoped her pale ivory jumpsuit would make her look mild and unthreatening. Instead it just showed every speck of dirt, of which there were plenty.
Could this morning get any worse?
“Are you lost again?”
She felt a sharp zap of arousal shoot through her, and looked up.
It was the rude shifter from yesterday. At least he had clothes on this time. Jeans, laced up tan construction boots, T-shirt, leather jacket. And the same scowl creasing his forehead. And her body was reacting to him in ways that it shouldn’t; she could feel her heart rate speeding up, her breath quickening and a rush of moisture between her legs.
“Why, universe?” she wailed. “What have I ever done to you?”
“Who are you talking to? My name’s not Universe. It’s Marcus.”
Oh, so the jerk had a name.
“I was talking to myself,” she said resentfully. “Go ahead, make fun of me.” If he laughed at her, she’d…she’d kick him. That was what she’d do. Right in the unmentionables. That was what her mother had called them.
“Why would I do that?” He looked puzzled. “I talk to myself all the time. Better than talking to other people.”
Of course he’d think that.
“You people are the worst,” she said furiously. “I hate all of you. Every last one.” Actually the rest of the Kincaid Pack that she’d met when she’d arrived had been nice, but she wasn’t cutting anyone any slack right now.
“Then why are you here?” he asked.
“Of all the nerve!” she shouted at him. “You want me to leave, do you?”
“I don’t want anything. You said you hated us. Why would you want to stay here if you hate us?” He looked even more confused.
“You are the rudest people I’ve ever met!” She stamped her foot, which sent mud splashing up her jumpsuit, ruining it. “And your roads are terrible!” she shrieked, tears burning her eyes. “You have horrible, horrible roads! You should be grateful we offered to build a road on your property, because we’d build a real road and your roads are made of dirt!”
“You’re mad because we have dirt roads?” He looked as if he were really trying to understand.
Her shoulders sank in defeat. Had she really just insulted him and his pack because they had dirt roads? What a snobby thing to say. She was starting to sound like her father. A fate worse than death.
“I’m sorry,” she said, blinking hard and trying not to cry. “None of this is your fault. I’m having a bad day. I’ll leave now.”
And then she burst into tears.
* * * * *
“Is that him?” Verity glanced out the window. Marcus was standing outside, a few hundred yards away.
Great. Of all the times for Marcus to decide to be social, it had to be right now.
Marcus was arguing with the blonde, who was yelling at him about something and waving her arms. They were standing so close to each other... Marcus never let people get that close to him physically.
It was weird how they were interacting. Roman felt an odd sense of déjà vu, then realized what they reminded him of.
Him and Chelsea, on the day they’d first met.
“Excuse me. I’ll go get him for you,” he said to Verity. “Stay right here.”
He hurried outside, running over to where Eileen and Marcus were standing.
“You want to build that road?” he said to her in a low voice. “Play along with what I say. It’ll only be for a few days, maybe a few weeks at most. Okay, maybe a month.”
Verity had ignored his orders; she trotted over to him with her “advisors” at her heels. His pack members had also followed him outside.
Roman turned around and said triumphantly, “Oh, and here’s the other reason why Marcus hasn’t been spending much time with the pack. He’s been too busy with his new mate.”
Chapter Five
“New mate?” Verity looked suspiciously back and forth from Eileen to Marcus. “She hasn’t registered yet. There’s no certificate on file.”
“Well, we’re pretty informal around here.” Roman shrugged. “But he’s been spending time in the company of his mate, so that meets your requirements.”
He gestured at Verity. “Eileen, Marcus, this is Verity Farragut of the Council for Shifter Affairs, and these two men are what she’s referring to as ‘advisors’, but we all know they’re really Enforcers.” The two burly shifters scowled at that, and glanced at each other with furrowed brows, but didn’t make a move.
Verity raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow and looked at Eileen. “She’s crying.”
At that, Eileen looked up and glared. “She’s standing right here. She can hear you. And she’s crying because she ruined her shoes.”
Verity looked her up and down. She stared at Marcus, at Roman, at the half-dozen other pack members who were striding towards them and shooting wary looks at the “advisors”. Then she looked at Eileen again.
“You’re not dressed like someone who lives out here.”
Eileen pretended to burst into tears. “This was my only good outfit, and it’s ruined! Ruined!” she wailed loudly. “If only they had decent roads here!” She shot Roman a look as
she said that.
Verity blinked and took a step back.
“Ruined!” Eileen shrieked. “I saved up for a month to buy these shoes! Ruined!” Her voice rose to ear-splitting level. She stamped her foot in the mud and sent it splattering everywhere, including all over Marcus, who didn’t seem to notice. It also splashed all over Verity’s legs, making her grimace and step back even further.
If there was one thing that Eileen could do, it was throw a temper tantrum. That was one of the few ways she could get rid of her father when he was being annoying and patronizing, which was always. He pretty much seemed to expect her to throw temper tantrums – she was female, after all – so she did, and it worked very well.
“They don’t even sell these shoes here! And now my outfit! Ruined!” That came out as a scream, a very high-pitched one, which had all the shifters within earshot rubbing their ears in pain.
Verity winced. She muttered, “Congratulations to the, er, happy couple,” and turned and hurried off towards her car, with her advisors following her. Then she paused, turned around and stalked back. She stared at Eileen’s neck.
“Wait a minute. Where’s your Mate Mark?”
“Skin allergies,” Marcus growled, at the same time Eileen said, “My pack doesn’t Mate-Mark.”
“What?” Verity’s eyes narrowed. “Which is it?”
“Both,” Eileen said quickly. “I have skin allergies, and the doctor recommended no Mate Mark until they’re cleared up. And my people do not believe in Mate-Marking, so we may not do it at all.”
“Everyone Mate-Marks, except for certain New York and Connecticut shifters.” Verity’s tone was skeptical.
“Yes. I’m Eileen Pennyroyal. We do not Mate-Mark.”
“You’re a Pennyroyal?” Verity raked Eileen’s mud-spattered outfit with a look of scorn.
“Excuse me?” Eileen drew herself up to her full height, and her offended gaze bored holes into Verity. “Did you just question my lineage?”
Roman, Marcus, and several other shifters who’d wandered up, all stopped short and stared at her in surprise. Eileen had channeled her elegant, aristocratic mother just then, and she’d done it well.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense,” Verity said hastily. Then she hesitated. “I will need to verify this with your family.”
Brief panic clutched at Eileen’s throat, and then it faded. If her father thought she was mated, married, or whatever he cared to call it, he couldn’t make her go back home to New York. He couldn’t try to force her to marry Beacham.
And Roman would agree to the road being built on his pack’s property, so she could rub that in her father’s face.
“Please, go ahead,” she replied coolly. “Daddy doesn’t approve of the mating, mind you, but he’ll come around. Or not. He has no say in it.”
Verity nodded, looking suspicious but much more respectful now.
“Did you do a formal ceremony?” she asked Roman. “Do you have the certificate?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Roman growled. “I told you, we’re not big on formality here.”
“No Mate Mark and no certificate?” Verity’s voice rose in indignation, and her perfectly plucked eyebrows climbed towards her forehead.
Roman rolled his eyes, then turned to face Eileen and Marcus. “I, Roman Kincaid, pack Alpha, do approve this match and I bless and sanctify the union of Marcus Wright and Eileen Pennyroyal,” he pronounced in loud, ringing tones. “They are now life-mates. May their union be long and fruitful, and blessed by many cubs. May they serve their pack well. God bless us everyone. Happy?” At those last couple of sentences, Verity shot him a dirty look.
“Well, you are pack Alpha, so it’s official,” she said doubtfully. “They are now life-mates. Can’t argue with that.”
Wait, what? Eileen felt the blood drain from her face.
She and Marcus were really life-mates? Or, as her father would put it, married?
The pack Alpha had just said they were mates. That was as official as a Mate Mark. Or a traditional wedding ceremony in front of a priest.
She waited until Verity and her two big, hulking bodyguards had left before she dared to sneak a peek at Marcus – the man she’d met yesterday. The sexy, sullen man who couldn’t stand her. The man she’d just been mated to.
* * * * *
Marcus pulled to a stop by his cabin, and Eileen parked next to him. It was at the end of a dirt and gravel road, tucked away in a small clearing among the fir trees. He hadn’t done much in the way of clearing out the underbrush, but Eileen liked it. The setting was beautiful. She suddenly felt herself itching to strip down, shift and go for a run. Not in front of Marcus, of course; she still had some decorum left.
She sat in her car for a minute, as Marcus climbed out of his car.
Roman had explained the deal to her after Verity had left. He’d named the price the pack would accept for granting permission to build the road. In exchange, she had to agree to stay there and pretend to be mated to Marcus for up to one month, although if Verity left town before that, she might be able to leave sooner.
It was very, very rare for life-mates to split up, but given the enormous lifestyle difference between Eileen’s pack and Marcus’ pack, they would be able to justify it when the time came. During that time, Marcus would also go to work five days a week and spend time with the pack at least five evenings a week, and document it. By the time she left, Roman would be able to offer proof that Marcus was sufficiently socialized, and then the council would have no cause to take him.
During that month, to keep up appearances, she would live in Marcus’ cabin and participate in pack activities. Unfortunately, for the next thirty days, according to shifter law, Verity had the legal right to drop by the pack property at any time, unannounced – so the two of them had to put on a good show.
What would her mother have thought of Marcus? Eileen wondered. Her parents’ marriage had been arranged, and from what Eileen had seen, their relationship had been formal, polite and passionless. Eileen was an only child.
Once, when Eileen had wondered out loud who her father was going to pick out as her husband, her mother had flashed a brief smile that seemed to have a secret sorrow behind it. “Times are changing,” she’d said. “A lot of girls pick out their own husbands these days. They marry for love. Even people in our circles.”
That had stuck with Eileen to this day. Except she hadn’t picked Marcus – he’d been picked for her by Roman.
Or had he?
She could easily have said no.
Marcus was standing next to his car, waiting for Eileen to get out.
“Well, here goes nothing,” she muttered. She flung open her door and climbed out, and the needle-like heels of her boots sank into the dirt.
Note to self: buy new shoes immediately.
There were two structures in the clearing – the cabin and his workshop. In between them were a woodshed and a stone fire pit with a grill.
There was a wooden table near the woodshed, with a wooden chair next to it. One chair.
Who had a table with one chair?
Apparently Marcus did.
As soon as they walked into the cabin, she could see that was a theme. The interior was all one big, rectangular room. The living room area had a wooden Adirondack-style chair in it, facing the flagstone fireplace. One single chair.
The kitchen area had a big stainless steel fridge, oak cabinets with hand-wrought iron pulls shaped like little branches, and by the window was a rectangular table with…one chair. The cabinets were all decorated with beautifully detailed wooden carvings of nature scenes along the top panels, and had hand-carved vines twirling and climbing up the sides.
In the far corner of the room was a king-sized bed with a red-and-black flannel blanket and matching pillows. She suspected that the only reason his bed was that big was to accommodate his size, not because he had frequent female company.
There was a pile of splintered furniture off to the
side of the room, she realized.
Marcus saw her glance at it. “Firewood,” he said. “I’ll put it outside later.”
The back wall of the cabin was a surprise and a marvel. There was an enormous picture window looking out on the mountain ranges behind them. The gray mountains were frosted with white, and the vast blue of the sky seemed to stretch out forever. It was a view so pretty it belonged on the cover of National Geographic.
But where would she sleep? Where would she hang her clothing?
“You don’t have a closet?” she said, looking around the room. His whole cabin was about the size of her closet at home in New York.
In response, he just pointed.
There was a wooden wardrobe near the bed, with an elaborately carved wooden frieze at the top. That would hold maybe one suitcase worth of her stuff – if Marcus took all his clothing out.
Glancing around, she realized that all the furniture had similar adornments. There was a bookshelf with carvings that matched the wardrobe. It was stocked with spy thrillers and military adventure novels.
She walked over to the bookcase and leaned in to look at it more closely. It was so pretty that she found herself reaching out and stroking it with her fingers. “That’s some amazing detail work,” she said. “It’s really beautiful. Did you do that?”
“Yep.” He pointed at the refrigerator. “Help yourself to whatever. I’m late for work.”
So much for a romantic honeymoon.
“Thanks, dream lover. I’ll just make myself at home,” she said with annoyance. “And you’re welcome, by the way, for pretending to be your mate for a month and saving your furry ass from the council.”
She could hear her father’s disapproving voice. Language.
Bite me, she thought irritably. She was always sassy to her father – in her daydreams. In real life, there was a lot of rebellious muttering, dirty looks and avoidance.
He cleared his throat. “Thanks.” He almost sounded like he meant it. He looked around the room. “I know this isn’t what you’re used to. If you need anything, tell me. I’ll sleep in the workshop.”
Shifters of Silver Peak: Mate For A Month Page 3