Shifters of Silver Peak: Mate For A Month

by Georgette St. Clair

  She nodded. She should feel relieved, right? He wasn’t going to try to take advantage of the situation.

  Such a gentleman, she thought unhappily.

  Chapter Six

  Marcus sat on a bench by himself at lunch, the same way he always did. Most of the pack members were currently working for a home builder, erecting new homes in a subdivision that had sprung up on the humans’ property near Juniper.

  The foundation had already been set and the skeleton of the framework erected. Now they were working on getting the roof up as quickly as possible, to protect the house’s frame in case it rained.

  It was two p.m. They were eating lunch in shifts; since he’d come in late, he was taking the late shift.

  Marcus found his mind drifting back to his home. To Eileen. How was she doing? What was she doing? Was she regretting ever setting foot in Silver Peak?

  And why was she always mad at him? He must be doing something to make her mad, although he couldn’t tell what. He was treating her the same way he treated everyone else – he tried to stay away from people so they wouldn’t scrape across his raw nerves and drag his wolf out of him, snarling and threatening.

  Being around Eileen was different, though. When he was near her, he felt his heartbeat increase, and a strange warmth spread through him. Not the red-hot rage he was used to feeling – it was a pleasant warmth, which puzzled him because he didn’t know what to do with it.

  For the first time in a decade, he found himself wanting to be with another human being. That alone was making him itchy and uneasy. Why get used to something that was going to end soon?

  Damian, Casper, Samuel and Zeke walked by, chatting with each other. Marcus felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and his fangs itched in his gums. It just happened to him spontaneously these days; he’d be sitting there, and for no reason at all, he’d get that shifter sixth sense that something was wrong. Danger, his senses screamed at him.

  It was broad daylight, and he knew everybody on the site. There was no danger – other than Marcus.

  Casper and Damien settled down on a bench near him and opened up their lunch boxes. Casper set his tool box next to him.

  Except apparently it wasn’t his.

  Samuel walked over to them, gestured at the tool box and said mildly, “Excuse me. I think you’ve got my toolbox there.”

  Casper shot to his feet, snarling. His face turned hairy.

  “You calling me a thief?” he growled.

  Marcus leaped to his feet and was standing between them in less than a second.

  “If the shoe fits.” Marcus gritted the words out between his teeth. “You wanna throw down? Because you’ll be challenging me, not him. But I’m gonna be a nice guy and let you call your loved ones to say goodbye first. Oh wait, you don’t have any.”

  Samuel stepped back, his eyes wide. He was a good kid, mild-mannered, hated conflict – and Marcus shouldn’t be acting like this in front of him, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Zeke leaped to his feet. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, holding up his hands. “Nobody called you a thief.”

  He glanced over at Harry, the site project manager, a human who was already less than thrilled with Marcus and his frequent outbursts.

  Harry was talking to some other pack members and not paying attention to them. Yet.

  “You think I’m scared of you?” Casper snapped at Marcus, but he’d turned a shade paler. “I’m not a thief, and anyone who calls me one is going to pay for it.”

  “If by ‘pay for it’ you mean take you out, that’s what’s gonna happen. What are you waiting for?” Marcus’ fangs descended and the bones in his face shifted. He could feel his skin melting away under the fur.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. Marcus, it’s fine,” Samuel said pleadingly. “I don’t want you to get in trouble. He can have the toolbox.”

  “It’s not your toolbox!” Casper snapped, fists balled, glaring all around him.

  Damien picked up the box and looked at it. “Uh, Casper, this actually is Samuel’s toolbox,” he said. “I’m sure it was a mistake.” Damien always seemed to end up acting as peacemaker between Marcus and Casper, who just rubbed each other the wrong way.

  “So?” Casper growled in his thick Texas accent. “Grabbed the wrong toolbox. No reason to call me a crook.”

  “Why don’t you both apologize to each other and we’ll call it even?” Zeke glanced at Harry again, then back at Marcus, his meaning clear. Don’t cause any more trouble.

  Damien handed the toolbox to Samuel. Casper glowered at Marcus.

  Marcus fixed Casper with a cold, hard look. “You even look at Samuel wrong again, I’ll separate your head from your body. You think you’re a big man? You like to scare cubs? Let’s settle this now.”

  “I forbid it!” Zeke yelled furiously. He was the pack beta, and going against his word was like going against Roman’s word. “We are not going to throw down over a stupid misunderstanding!”

  Harry was definitely watching them now.

  Marcus stared at Casper for a long, long moment. Damien was patting Casper on the arm, talking to him in low, urgent tones.

  Finally Casper turned and stalked off, swearing loudly and kicking a garbage can as he walked by it.

  Funny thing was, Damien and Zeke had just saved Casper’s life by intervening, and everybody there knew it. Wolves had a hierarchy. So did wolf shifters. They could sense who was top dog, who would win against whom in a fight. In some cases, it was closely matched. In the case of Marcus…he could take out any person in their pack except for Roman. That would be a close call, but Roman would probably win.

  Samuel would be at the very bottom of the hierarchy, Marcus knew. He’d probably never even gotten in a fight.

  With his physical prowess, Marcus had the right to be beta, but nobody would even dream of suggesting it to him. The beta had to have social skills. Marcus did not have social skills. Marcus spent the better part of each day trying not to kill people for saying hello to him.

  Casper was plenty scarred up, like Marcus was. So he’d been in fights before, and had won. But he wouldn’t be a match for Marcus. Casper just happened to have the type of aggressive, obnoxious personality that was going to get him killed sooner or later, because he didn’t know when to back down from a fight. It was no surprise that he’d joined Roman’s pack; with his personality, few packs would put up with him.

  Marcus caught himself wondering, again, if Casper was the source of his new uneasiness and the return of his nightmares.

  Could he have been one of the men in the cages? Was that why Marcus was having so many flashbacks to the past?

  Or even worse…one of the men who had bet on the forced, illegal fights?

  But no, Marcus would have scented it. Most of the men who’d bet on the fights had been killed. The few survivors had been tracked down, arrested and jailed for life. Almost all of the prisoners had died when they’d risen up against their captors, and the other two who’d made it through – he knew who they were. With a growl, Marcus returned to his lunch and tried to banish all the thoughts that were tangling together in his brain now.

  Matthew. Eileen. The guards. The jeering crowds.

  Fur rippled all over his body, his snout protruded and his fangs shot out. With a mighty effort, he forced his wolf back down, and it raged there, gnawing at his mind and hurling itself against the prison of his skin.

  How much longer could he go on like this?

  Chapter Seven

  After Marcus left, Eileen went out to her car and brought in the overnight bag she kept stashed in the back seat. She took a long, hot shower and tried to banish all her worries from her mind, scrubbing the mud off and basking in the heat.

  She dug into her bag for a fresh outfit. She changed into a pair of rhinestone-studded jeans and a sky-blue Angora sweater and low-heeled blue pumps.

  Tomorrow she’d go in to town, do some shopping for appropriate shoes and pick up her suitcases, she decided.


  In the meantime, what to do with her mud-spattered clothing from this morning?

  There was a washing machine and dryer in the far right corner of the living area. She’d never washed a load of clothing before in her life, but how hard could it be?

  She grabbed her silk jumpsuit, tossed it into the washing machine and stared at the clothing. Nothing was happening. The clothing just lay there.

  Soap. It probably needed soap.

  She looked at the box of laundry detergent sitting next to the washing machine. How much should she use? Her clothes were really dirty. She put in ten cups just to be sure, and closed the lid. She stared at the machine. Nothing.

  Well, there were buttons on top of the machine. They had to be there for a reason.

  She pushed a bunch of them, and after she hit one that said “Start” the machine rumbled and then started making noises like water was rushing in.

  Ha! Eileen Pennyroyal, domestic diva, was unstoppable!

  She was sitting on the Adirondack chair, sending her father a smug text to let him know that she was on the Kincaid Pack’s property working out the final details of the contract, when she glanced over at the washing machine and realized that huge mountains of soap suds were boiling over and spilling out of the lid and onto the floor.

  At the same time, there was a pounding on the front door.

  He was back!

  And she was as good as dead.

  “Son of a seacow,” she gasped. “They will not be able to identify my remains.” She ran into the bathroom and grabbed armfuls of towels, ran back and began frantically scrubbing at the floor. More soap spilled out. Rivers of it. The washing machine was a volcano erupting with soap.

  The door flew open, and a very pregnant female shifter with a big mop of curly red hair waddled in, followed by a tall, lean female shifter in overalls and a T-shirt, and a fat old beagle.

  The pregnant female was holding a basket of muffins. She stared with mild surprise at Eileen, who was kneeling, frantically scrubbing and ready to burst into tears.

  Eileen stood up. “What do I do? Make it stop!” she cried, pointing at the machine.

  The redhead glanced at the taller woman. “Erika, you take this. I’m too big to bend,” she said, patting her stomach.

  Erika raced over to the washing machine, knelt down, reached behind and unplugged it, and the soap stopped exploding out.

  She stood up, in a sea of ankle-high suds.

  “Hey, I’m Erika!” She stuck out her hand as if nothing had happened. Eileen felt the hammering of her heart slow down a little.

  “I’m Eileen, pleased to meet you.” She looked around mournfully. “I drowned his cabin.”

  Erika looked around. “Serves him right – your new mate is kind of an asshole.”

  At that, Eileen smiled. “So. You’ve met him.”

  Erika threw back her head and let out a loud, braying laugh. Eileen could only imagine the looks of horror on the faces of her social circle back home if they were to hear a laugh like that.

  But Eileen loved it. This woman was joyously unselfconscious. She didn’t give a damn what anyone thought about her.

  “Did you break that furniture too?” Erika asked, looking at the pile of splintered wood. “Are we having a furniture-breaking party? I call dibs on the table.”

  “No, actually, Marcus did that,” Eileen said.

  The pregnant lady had set down her basket of muffins on the kitchen counter. She picked one up and began eating it.

  “Sorry, I’m starving all the time these days,” she said around a mouthful of muffin. “I’m Chelsea, Roman’s mate. You’ve met Erika, and this is my dog, Pepper.”

  Pepper let out a yawn and regarded Eileen thoughtfully.

  “Technically, Pepper is her dog, but she loves me better,” Erika said. “Welcome to the pack, by the way. Sorry about your luck. Mating with Marcus, I mean.”

  “Erika, please!” Chelsea gave her a look of annoyance. She waddled over to the Adirondack chair and Erika helped her slowly sink down into it. Then Erika fetched the basket of muffins and handed one to each of them.

  Erika gave part of hers to Pepper.

  “She’s supposed to be watching her weight!” Chelsea chided Erika. “The vet said.”

  Pepper gave Chelsea a reproachful look and let out a blast of flatulence.

  “That was your fault,” Erika informed Chelsea. “You can go ahead and starve her. I’ll give her snacks and then she’ll love me even more.”

  Chelsea waved her hand impatiently at Erika.

  “Anyway. Ignore my crazy friend here. Roman told me what happened with Marcus, that you guys are going to pretend to be mated to keep the Council off of Marcus’ back. But I wanted you to know…he also thinks that you and Marcus are a good fit,” she said.

  “He what?” Eileen was shocked. She didn’t want to insult Chelsea’s mate, but he was clearly an idiot.

  “I know, I know,” Chelsea said as Pepper pawed at her leg and looked at the muffin in her hand. “Pepper, stop that. I am not Erika. Eileen, here’s the thing. Marcus comes off as an ass when you first meet him, but he’s actually one of the best guys I know.”

  The door banged open.

  “Stop spreading lies,” Marcus growled, walking into the room. Eileen flinched. So he actually was back. What was he doing home so early?

  “You do come off as an ass,” Chelsea said calmly.

  “Not that. The second part. About me being a good guy.”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes. “He’s got a dry sense of humor,” she assured Eileen. “Anyway, I have to head back to show my darling life-mate I’m okay, because he thinks that pregnancy makes me so fragile I might fall apart if there’s a breeze. But I wanted to let you know that the cub shower is Saturday at noon, in town, at my bakery. Wintergreen’s Bakery.”

  “They don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, so we’re sticking to neutral colors. Oof,” Erika said, helping Chelsea to her feet.

  “Oh, you mean…I can come to the shower?”

  “Of course,” Chelsea said. “You’re part of our pack now. And you have no idea how glad I am you’re here! Most of the pack are men, and only a few have chosen life-mates, so we’re a little heavy on the testosterone around here.” She shot a glance at Marcus, who shrugged.

  “Also, I’m not very girly,” Erika added. “So she doesn’t really have anyone to talk to about makeup and that kind of crap. Damn it, there I went not being ladylike again. But anyway, you can be her girly friend, and I’ll be the tomboy.”

  “Oh,” Eileen said. “Thank you. That sounds very nice.” It actually did; Chelsea had a cheerful, confident air about her, and somehow she felt good just being in her presence. And Erika was clearly the clown of the group, completely unselfconscious. It would be easy to relax around them; they’d never judge her.

  Marcus glanced over at the washing machine.

  “That was all me,” Eileen said mournfully. “I’ve never done laundry before. Go ahead, laugh at me.”

  “But if you do, I’ll stab you in the eye with a pencil,” Erika added. “And Pepper will bite your ankle.”

  “By the way, I know you’re the king of the hermits, but we both like Eileen, so we’ll be visiting here more often. Deal with it,” Chelsea said. “And for the love of God, get more chairs.”

  “You do need more chairs,” Eileen agreed. “The normal amount for a table that size would be four. Also, many people enjoy the use of a modern invention known as a couch.”

  Marcus looked at the women with annoyance, and then at the sudsy floor, and then back at them. “So. This is what being mated is like. Can’t believe I didn’t try it earlier.”

  He walked over to a cabinet next to the washing machine, pulled out a stack of towels and began mopping the floor with them. Eileen glared at his back and wished she were one of those shifters with the power to make people burst into flames just by looking at them.

  Chelsea’s phone rang, and she fished it out of her p
ocket and answered it.

  “Seriously? What a pain in the butt. Okay, I’ll let her know,” she said. She glanced at Eileen. “That Shifter Council lady is at the front office. She’s apparently really mad because someone told her your mating is fake, and she’s heading back here to your property.”

  “Want me to kick her ass?” Erika asked hopefully.

  “Erika! What have we talked about when it comes to you solving problems with your fists?” Chelsea said, exasperated.

  “Um…I can’t remember. Lead with my right?” Erika looked puzzled.

  Eileen stifled a laugh behind her hand.

  Chelsea snapped her fingers on the side of Erika’s head. “You are hopeless. Let’s go. And Eileen, I’d suggest you guys stand at the window and pretend you didn’t know she was coming, and put on a good show for her.”

  “With tongue,” Erika added helpfully.

  Eileen felt herself blushing. “Thanks for everything, guys. I will see you Saturday, if not before then.”

  They left, with Pepper waddling slowly behind them.

  Marcus tossed the sopping towels into a laundry basket, walked over to the window and looked out.

  “Yep. Here she comes. I see her car,” he said.

  “Well, much as you can’t stand me, you might actually have to kiss me or something,” Eileen said to Marcus.

  He frowned.

  “I never said I can’t stand you.”

  Now there was a ringing endorsement. Talk about sweeping a girl off her feet.

  “Do you even know how to kiss?” she asked with annoyance.

  “I don’t know, do I?” he growled.

  He pulled her up against him with one muscular arm, tipped her head back with one finger under the chin and began kissing her.

  His kiss was so strong, so commanding, and yet tender. He cupped her face with his hand and stroked her hair, fingers sliding through the silky tresses.

  She leaned in to him, pressing against his body. The swell of his muscles, the earthy, masculine scent of him…