Winterstoke Wolves
Collection
Books 1-5
SASHA SILSBURY
Copyright © 2020 Sasha Silsbury
All rights reserved. Except as permitted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
1. Playing by the Book
2. Wild is the Wolf
3. Scents and Secrets
4. The Red Run
5. Blue Sky Lies
Playing by the Book
Winterstoke Wolves Book One
SASHA SILSBURY
CONTENTS
1. CAL - bitter coffee and soapy water
2. LUKE - bright white snow and steep stairs
3. CAL - shelves and blurbs
4. LUKE - crates and books
5. CAL - swords and farm boys
6. LUKE - floor crumbs and elephants
7. CAL - white tablets and white snow
8. LUKE - cold river water and bright green eyes
9. CAL - milkshakes and cheap deodorant
10. LUKE - lies and bad men
11. LUKE - lust and fury
12. CAL - into the mountains
13. CAL - mountain peaks and bubble bath
14. LUKE - picnic thoughts and whiskey
15. LUKE - romance novels and police stations
16. CAL - truck engines and thin cotton
17. LUKE - leaflets and dresser drawers
18. LUKE - quilts and double stacked bookcases
19. LUKE - golden eyes and kindergarten
20. CAL - candy and mayonnaise
21. CAL - one white and one yellow
22. LUKE - self-control medals and rabbits
23. CAL - sea air and crunchy mice
24. LUKE - ravines and scenarios
25. CAL - sore paws and a set of blue eyes
26. LUKE - bubble baths and veggies
27. CAL - baby pics and tantrums
28. LUKE - eyelashes and black silk pajamas
29. CAL - mint tea and unicorn paper
30. LUKE - red and gold
31. CAL - digging dens and hidden roots
32. LUKE - pack dynamics and hierarchies
33. CAL - knees and a bag of potatoes
34. LUKE - burned coffee and bloody palms
35. LUKE - names and taillights
36. CAL - iron bars and honey
37. LUKE - fallen leaves and chocolate chip cookies
38. LUKE - pack law and satellite images
39. LUKE - hedges and sandpits
40. CAL - marble floors and nailed down shutters
41. LUKE - blood and betrayal
42. CAL - baby dark eyes and a yellow onesie
Epilogue: CAL – coloring books and coffee
CAL
Bitter coffee and soapy water
Cal panics in Cedar Falls. He’s only been in town a couple of days and is washing dishes in a diner just off the main street when the familiar scent of burned coffee wafts in with a swing of the diner doors.
Cal freezes halfway through scrubbing out the stew pot, forearms immersed in hot soapy water.
The alpha isn’t Reed. He doesn’t even look like him. This one is tall and dark, with a big scraggly beard. On the second sniff, it’s clear his scent is different too: more bitter coffee than the sharp burned scent of Reed, but the damage is done.
Cal doesn’t stop to take the rubber gloves off before he’s out of the diner and walking to the bus station. Even as he’s walking, he knows he should go back for his bags at the motel and that he’s freaking out for no reason.
He keeps going. Even the thought of going back while the scent of burned coffee lingers in his nostrils is enough to make his vision blur and his hands shake.
He takes the first bus out, and it’s only when he’s in his seat with the town rapidly receding behind him that he looks at his ticket and pays attention to where he’s going.
That turns out to be Aylewood, a town he’s half heard of. It’s somewhere in the midst of the Aylewood mountain range, and attracts the kind of tourists who’ll disappear into the forest for days at a time with nothing but a backpack and a compass, or couples who fancy cuddling up in a cabin while waiters bring champagne on ice to their door.
This time of year, it’ll almost certainly be more of the latter than the former. The nights are drawing in, and only a fool would go hiking now, when great swathes of snow threaten at any moment. Reed hates anything to do with the outdoors, so it’s a good choice, if an unintentional one.
The only problem is that Cal’s savings are still sitting under the mattress in his rented room in Cedar Falls. All he has left in his pocket after paying for the bus ticket is fifty-two dollars and eight cents.
He breathes in deeply and watches the scenery, trying to calm himself. It isn’t so bad. A tourist town like Aylewood will have jobs. All he needs to do is wash dishes for a few more days, keep out of the way of the local alphas and be on his way.
Keep moving. That’s the way to do it. Maybe one day, he’ll stop but not yet. Not while Reed is still alive. And if Reed lives a good long time, then Cal will be running and washing dishes for the rest of his life.
Cal is fine with that. Anything is better than going back.
He shifts in his seat. He’s never liked sitting for too long. The bus rattles higher up the mountain pass. There are steep drops on either side of the road with white-dusted fir trees below and snow top mountains above.
A mother with a babe in arms occupies the seat opposite. She’s sitting with her eyes closed tight against the view out.
Cal doesn’t blame her, but he’s never been afraid of heights. He likes them, loves the feeling of being high above everything. It gives him perspective. The world always seems so small and unimportant from above, as if all his cares are nothing to worry about.
And if the bus slips and falls into a ravine, then that seems like a fitting end. He only hopes Reed never finds out what happened to him. It would serve him right to keep searching for Cal long after Cal is dead.
They stop in a town called Button Oak where the mother gets off with her child, and a pair of students get on.
The male is an alpha who smells like duck feathers. He gives Cal an appraising look, nostrils flaring, then dismisses him the moment he picks up nothing other than neutral beta scent. The girl is an omega. She keeps close to the alpha, nuzzling at his neck and letting him grip her tight around her neck as they sit.
It’s the alpha that makes Cal realize what he’s forgotten. The money is replaceable. Cal has two good hands to wash dishes or cars or floors. It’s the blockers hidden in the secret compartment in his bag that are a problem.
His chest tightens and he’s suddenly horribly hot. The young alpha up front turns in his seat and sniffs the air, picking up on the sudden change in scent. Cal meets his eyes as casually as he dares, then looks away.
Nothing to see here. Just one more beta.
Cal pushes the little window above him open and lets fresh, cold air into the space. The alpha turns away.
Cal forces down the anxiety and tries to think logically. A little town like Aylewood will have its seedy side. They all do, but the dealers will be aiming their p
roducts at drunk students, bored housewives and tourists looking for a little entertainment for the weekend. Blockers might not be as easy to come by.
He also doesn’t have much money to pay for them. If the dealer picks up on Cal’s desperation, it might get difficult.
Cal does some calculations in his head. He has at least a week, he thinks, more or less. It’s difficult to know. People react differently to coming off blockers, and he’s only done it once before. Then he’d had two weeks before his heat hit.
New plan. If he can’t find anything in the first two days, he’ll stay in Aylewood long enough to earn a bus ticket out to the biggest city. He’ll definitely be able to find blockers there. It’ll be close run, but the only option he has.
He feels a bit better with a plan in place, loose as it is. Suddenly, he feels tired. This isn’t the first time, he’s panicked and run in the seven months since he escaped Reed, and every time, it takes its toll. Fear is exhausting.
He leans back in the seat and tries to sleep. He finally manages to fall into an uneasy doze, and although it feels as if he wakes with every rattle and turn of the bus, it also feels like no time at all before the bus driver is shaking his shoulder.
Cal stumbles off the bus, half asleep. The air outside is bitterly cold, a good ten degrees colder than Cedar Falls. He shivers, squinting up at the sky. It’s maybe three hours before the sun sets, and all he has are the clothes he left the diner in: jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
He doesn’t blame himself for running. Not on its own, but running knowing it wasn’t Reed and knowing he was leaving his stuff behind? That was one dumb move.
There must be some kind of hostel around here where he can find a bunk in a shared room for the night.
The young alpha and omega from the bus must have gone somewhere.
There’ll also be the local packhouse, but that’ll be worth avoiding unless he has no choice left at all.
Guess we’re sleeping outside, kid. That’s what Dad always used to say, but they didn’t do it that often. Dad was organized. He’d always plan where they were going well ahead of schedule.
And the nights they did spend outside weren’t too bad. Dad always made sure Cal had the sleeping bag and then curled himself around Cal so he’d benefit from his body’s warmth.
It’s far too cold to sleep outside. At a guesstimate, Cal thinks it’s already below freezing and likely to drop further during the night. He doesn’t have a sleeping bag or even a proper coat. It’s even too cold for him to wolf out and rely on his fur.
The bus has deposited him on what appears to be the main street. There are a couple of diners, an Italian restaurant, a bakery, a second-hand bookstore, a small supermarket, and an estate agent, all closed.... and also the Grand Hotel which doesn’t look that grand at all, but is serviceable for Cal’s needs, if likely out of his price range.
If they don’t have a room, they might know someone who does.
The hotel is the kind of shabby Art Deco that can look good if done up nicely but doesn’t appear to have had as much as a coat of paint since it was built.
Cal pushes through stiff revolving doors and enters a lobby smelling of stale beer and cigarettes. The carpet is bright orange, worn and at least thirty years away from being the height of fashion.
A plump red-haired woman is leaning on the reception desk, engrossed in a novel. She looks up as Cal approaches.
Cal puts on his best flirty smile. He knows what he looks like. There was a reason Reed prized him, and before he’d got taken, that smile had got him plenty of discounts. The woman smells pure beta, but it never hurts to try.
“Evening, how much for a room? Just a single will do.”
The woman seems unexpectedly surprised by the question. Closer up, Cal sees the name tag ‘Elyse’ just below the tip of her collar.
“You didn’t book?”
“Nah, just rolled into town,” Cal says as casually as he can.
“I’m so sorry. We’re full this eve. Got a wedding on. Not even space for a mouse, I’m afraid. Every where’s going to be booked up tight. Try the packhouse. They’ve usually got a few beds going.”
“I’d prefer not,” Cal says a little too quickly. He tries to cover with another brilliant smile. “Is there anything else? I’ll sleep in a supply closet if need be. I’m happy to pay for it.”
“I’m not,” Elyse says. “My insurance won’t cover it.” She gives Cal a sympathetic look. “The packhouse is your best option. They’re a decent lot if that’s what you’re worried about. They won’t cause you any trouble if you don’t cause trouble with them, and I’d know. My husband’s the sheriff. He’s not had a single complaint about them, least not while Adam Winterstoke’s been pack leader.”
Winterstoke. Cal rummages through his memories of Reed’s various rants about other packs over the years. Everyone got on Reed’s wrong side sooner or later. The name Winterstoke doesn’t ring a bell.
Cal glances through the glass lobby doors towards the darkening sky. Elyse follows his gaze and evidently works out what it means. “You don’t want to be out tonight,” she says gently. “Temperature’s going well below freezing.”
Cal tries to work out what’s worse: freezing to death or spending the night with a strange pack. It’s a close one.
“Here,” Elyse pulls a piece of hotel stationery from behind the desk and begins drawing a map. “It’s not far but if you take a wrong turn, you’ll end up in the ravine. You don’t want to spend the night with the coyotes instead of the wolves.”
Cal isn’t so sure, but he takes the map anyway. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing. Tell them Elyse sent you.”
“Will do.” Cal tucks the map into the inner pocket of his jacket and gives Elyse a wave as he walks out the door.
The cold hits immediately. Spending the night out won’t be a matter of discomfort; it might kill him. It will have to be the pack.
Cal stands on the high street breathing in air cold enough to bite the inside of his throat and tries not to be such a coward. It’ll only be a few days at most until he can earn enough for the bus fare out of here.
He’s been militant about popping out each little blocker from its blister pack every night. He smells nothing like an omega. He’s pure neutral beta through and through. No one is going to look at him twice.
Probably.
First thing in the morning, he’ll find some work and won’t bother haggling around the price. All he needs is his bus fare out of here.
He unfolds Elyse’s map and starts walking. About five minutes in, he sees a backpackers, but the man who comes when he rings the bell just shakes his head and directs him to the packhouse. Cal is back out in the cold in about two minutes flat.
The map sends him up further up the main street, past the main stores and cafes until the buildings start to thin and trees take over.
The trees are ridiculous in their beauty. The road is lined with massive oaks, now bare and stark. Cal guesses they’re a legacy from whenever the town was founded. Judging by the size of them, the town’s been here a long while.
Beyond them, sky high firs and pines reach into the clouds. Their scent mingles with the coming scent of snow.
Cal breathes in deeply, lungs hurting with the cold of it. It’s good. Nothing smells like bitter coffee. Even the lingering scent of coffee from the bakery below in the town smells pleasant fresh brewed with a touch of vanilla.
He keeps walking. His boots are decent at least. It was one of the first things he’d bought when he’d run. Dad always impressed on him the value of a good pair of boots. They’d moved around a lot while he was growing up, following the work from town to town. His dad had been the one who’d sourced his first blockers and tried to impress on Cal the importance of taking them.
It’s funny, he thinks. How many times had he rolled his eyes and said something like “I know, Dad.”
But he didn’t know. He hadn’
t really known at all. He sure as hell does now.
Cal wonders where the old man is now. I hope he’s okay.
Maybe he’ll be able to track him down once this is all over. If it’s ever over.
The stars are starting to come out, and the cold is biting at Cal’s skin under the thin material of his shirt.
The road comes to a junction and Cal has to refer to Elyse’s map, squinting under the darkening sky. He keeps heading up, past warm-lit cabins and houses with cars outside. If it had been earlier in the evening, Cal might have tried find an empty place to crash in for the night, but it’s getting too dark now and it’s too risky to go wandering around in the woods this late and this cold.
Finally, he rounds a bend in the trees and the packhouse comes into view.
The majority of the building is dark brick and built low to the ground. The only part that isn’t low to the ground is a single adjoining tower on the far left. It rises four stories high. Reed had something like it, although in a different format. The tower is for outsiders: a means of keeping them separate from the main pack. That suits Cal just fine.
The outside of the packhouse is clean and well maintained, the paths cleared of snow. Neat hedges indicate someone with a trimmer has been at them recently.
The main entrance is a pair of double oak doors that look as if they could take quite a pounding if barred from the inside, but they open easily enough when he pushes on them. They open directly into a common area, and a dozen eyes look up to watch him as he enters.
The common room looks like most of the other common rooms Cal has been in. It’s wide and broad, with sets of sofas and tables, and a roaring fire at one end. There’s a wide window looking out at the parking lot so they can see who’s coming, and a small but fully stocked bar with barstools beside that.
The occupants watch him with interest, but no one seems particularly surprised by his turning up.
Cal guesses Elyse rang ahead. He remembers it being a habit of the locals in the small towns he’d lived in growing up.
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