The Mermaid's Mate

by Kristin Miller

  Two years ago, werewolf Timber Jax was so caught up in Marian Hartley that he never saw the seductive mermaid’s betrayal coming. Now, outcast to the rogue pack on Feralon Isle, it’s his job to keep the other shifter races away from their territory. But when he comes face-to-face with Marian, he can’t bring himself to turn her over to the pack leader. Or stop himself from falling under her spell once again....

  The last time Marian’s Emperor ordered her to Were territory, she lost sight of her mission—and her heart to a wolf. With the fate of the Mer people in her hands, she won’t let that happen again—no matter how much her body longs to finish what they started....

  THE MERMAID’S MATE

  Kristin Miller

  Dear Reader,

  Since this is the first note in any of the books in the Isle of Feralon series, and The Mermaid’s Mate is the fourth and final novella, I’d like to thank my editors, Ann Leslie Tuttle and Dana Hamilton, for all their hard work on each and every one. Thanks to Nalini Akolekar, my all-knowing agent, whose faith never wavers.

  Loving thanks to one of my very best friends, Laurie Kormos. The Isle of Feralon series would not have been what it is without your insight. Thank you for your enthusiasm, your willingness to answer all my crazy questions (without a hint of laughter) and your friendship. Thank you to Aggie Smith, AJ Larrieu, Lisa Sanchez, Vanessa Kier and Virna DePaul, who read either one or all of the Feralons and gave brilliant feedback. Thank you to my friends and family for your steadfast support.

  Lastly, I’d like to thank you, dear reader. The Isle of Feralon was a fantasy world that was so much fun to create. I hope you love the Isle of Feralon, and the people in it, as much as I do.

  Kristin Miller

  Dedication

  To my husband Justin,

  who never stops believing.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Nocturne Cravings BPA

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Hand to stone, Timber Jax crouched on a jagged ledge of Were Mountain, his boots barely fitting on the narrow overhang. His muscles cramped and his bones ached, but he couldn’t move. Not yet. Not until he was certain the coast was clear. His pack mates moved below him, stealing through the thick plumes of morning mist. From his position high above, they looked more like ghosts than wolves, their bulky shadows slanting over the stone-faced mountain before disappearing around a bend to the right.

  Thunder grumbled across Feralon’s sky, matching the hollow ache in Timber’s middle. He hadn’t eaten in forty-eight hours, since before they prepped for the secret mission to the southernmost edge of Were territory. He’d kill for a fat, juicy steak. Acid churned in his stomach at the thought.

  They’d only be down here a little bit longer. Once Ryder found what he was looking for—damned if Timber knew what it was—they’d return to their lair.

  The mere thought of his bed and a warm meal made Timber’s muscles quiver with anticipation.

  Adjusting his position on the ledge, Timber searched westward, across miles and miles of towering rainforest toward dragon territory. Nothing. Zero movement and not a scent of a dragon invading from their western lands. He searched north, along the menacing peaks and ridges of Were Mountain. No werewolves from the main pack trailed them. East, down the ribbon of river that snaked toward Merfolk territory, not a single beam of color shone through the waves, signaling an approaching mermaid.

  They were in the clear.

  Timber’s job—his only job in the rogue pack—had been a success thus far. All he had to do was keep the other shifting races away from them. He had to keep the pack’s paths hidden, their voices silent and their presence unknown.

  Easy enough for a mercenary who was trained in combat techniques and pack warfare.

  Below, a scuffling caught Timber’s gaze. Trees shook as the grunt of a wolf echoed to his ears.

  If he shifted into a wolf, he could communicate silently with his pack mates and hear what was going on. But he’d always been able to sense danger better in human form. Always been able to smell it coming like a bad stench on the wind.

  Ryder, Delta wolf and leader of their rogue pack, emerged from the shaking tree alongside a pack mate with icy-gray fur. Holding his breath so as not to catch Ryder’s attention, Timber leaned over the ledge to get a better look. With a clip bark, the Delta wolf clawed the inferior wolf in the muzzle. Whimpering, the wolf hit the dirt, cowering from Ryder’s wrath.

  Ryder was an asshole. Corrupt, with a penchant for disobedience...at least that’s what the report stated after he was disbanded from the rest of the Weres on the enchanted Isle of Feralon.

  Under normal circumstances, Timber wouldn’t have been caught dead with a rogue wolf like Ryder. But nothing about their relationship—and Timber’s debt to Ryder—was normal.

  Thinking about your lost pack mate won’t bring him back.

  As Ryder howled softly, Timber jerked himself back to the present, though he couldn’t shake the remorse plaguing him. He couldn’t think about Rison and what happened that fateful winter night. Guilt was a damn fine distraction—one Timber couldn’t afford.

  Wolves emerged from the mist below, and filed one by one along the rocky path that led back to their lair. For a split second, Timber lost sight of Ryder around a massive shrub that had somehow grown into a tiny crevice in the rock. When he emerged once more, Ryder was in his human—or Were—form, standing behind him on a nearby ledge.

  Ryder was larger than Timber by a solid foot, and probably fifty pounds heavier, but his size made him slow. His eyes were beady, and his hair was razor-short and black as soot. Dark, smoke-colored markings on his neck that resembled tribal tattoos inked down his shoulder, mirroring Timber’s own—they were part of the same pack. Not brothers, but bred from the same line.

  “We’re moving out,” Ryder barked, folding his arms over his chest. “If you would’ve stayed in wolf form, you would’ve heard the order.”

  “I can sense things better this way.” Timber watched as the rogue pack of wolves leaped over rock and boulder, bounding their way back to the heart of the mountain. “As long as I do my job, what do you care?”

  “I hate repeating myself.” Ryder exhaled, his narrowed eyes burning with hatred. “One of your brothers got the location wrong. What we’re looking for is about a half mile that way.” He nudged his chin over Timber’s shoulder, to the west.

  “So we’re not blasting today, then?”

  They’d moved up and down the mountain range, blasting large sections of rock to reveal the shimmering layers of stratum beneath it. They’d spent months doing the same routine: scouting, setting up, blasting, waiting for the main pack to check out the area, then scouring it themselves, before moving on.

  Timber was beginning to think Ryder had completely lost his mind. Ryder wouldn’t tell anyone why he wanted to collect sacks of dirt from the blasted rock, or what he wanted to use them for.

  It was damn strange.

  And none of his business.

  All that mattered was following orders, repaying the debt Timber owed him and getting back to the main pack.

  “If you think I’m leaving the dynamite stuck into this mountain, you’re crazy,” Ryder said. “After the storm blows over, we’ll circle back and pack up shop, then take the stock back to the lair.”

  Timber kicked out his legs, giving them a good stretch. “Are you blasting the new area this morning, then?”

/>   “Not with the storm coming. By the time we set up, it’ll be too dangerous to maneuver back over the mountain. We’ve had a long night...a long, wasted night, thanks to the incompetence of your pack brothers. It’s time to head back.”

  The storms that had rained down on the Isle of Feralon the last few weeks had been like nothing Timber had ever experienced in his thirty years. They had completely crippled the island. Dragons didn’t fly when lightning was a threat, and retreated to their castles. Werewolves remained in the bowels of Were Mountain—nothing stunk worse than wet dog fur. And the Merfolk dove beneath the waves of their bay on the eastern part of the isle.

  Timber studied the morning sky. Menacing, dark clouds lumbered across the faded span of blue, thundering as they inched closer.

  “Sounds like a plan. I’m going to stay out here another minute,” Timber said, as rain started to fall. “I’ll be on your tails in a sec.”

  “You don’t have to explain to me.” Ryder jumped to another ledge, a good ten feet away. “I’m your Delta, not your fucking girlfriend.”

  As Ryder bounded over the rocky edge of the mountain and disappeared, Timber mumbled, “And I’m damned glad for that.”

  He checked his watch. The sun would be peaking over the horizon in a few minutes, blanketing the rain forest that stretched to the west. Timber hadn’t seen a Feralon sunrise in years. Despite the hunger carving out his stomach, he had a curious inkling to watch one again.

  After easing himself down onto the overhang, Timber hung his feet over the side and let them dangle. It was hard to let his guard down, but it didn’t stop him from trying. It was hard not to listen for any tiny sound, and look for any twitch of a shrub, to discover an approaching enemy. It was nearly impossible to just...be.

  Someone had once told him he needed to work on that. That he needed to relax and enjoy the moment.

  Marian Hartley.

  Damn that mermaid. Two years ago, she’d tried to seduce him, like all mermaids did—it was in their nature, after all. But she’d succeeded when others hadn’t, made him feel something he’d never felt before, then royally screwed him over. She’d used him. Reported the location of their hidden lair to her Emperor. He’d been so caught up in her, he never saw the betrayal coming.

  A tiny hint of blue light shining through the Feralon River caught Timber’s attention.

  “And now I’m delirious,” he said, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. “Wonderful.”

  Merely thinking about Marian had made him start seeing things. The light continued to get brighter, swirling and shimmering through the soft blue waves of the river. Mermaids could emit light from their tails that resembled the aurora borealis—mysterious, yet magnificent in its beauty. The light that flowed from Marian’s tail was long, vibrant blue and whipped like a dancing flame. It was the second most beautiful thing Timber had ever seen in his life, coming in closely behind Marian’s smoldering blue eyes.

  “What the hell?” Timber leaned forward, watching as the light continued to swirl just below the surface. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He wasn’t seeing things at all.

  It was either Marian or one of her sisters. Fin colors ran in colony lines, and Timber would recognize the cerulean blue anywhere. Whoever she was, she was really far upriver.

  Storms were known to flood the river, turning previously inaccessible parts of it accessible. This nosey little mermaid had to be swimming through one of those surges. Marian had always been curious by nature, and had been an explorer for her colony—she’d told Timber stories of traveling around the bay and upriver as far as her fins would let her. But was her presence here, when Ryder was setting up blasts, a coincidence or something more?

  The clouds overhead grumbled, vibrating the entire mountain, shaking Timber’s entire being.

  He got the skin-tingling, gut-clenching feeling that something wasn’t right. Why couldn’t he shake it? His insides crawled. Hair stood on the back of his neck. Timber scraped his hands through his razor-short hair and stared at the misty-blue light fishtailing beneath the surface of the river.

  Damn it, what had she gotten herself into now?

  The mermaid was close. Another few seconds and she’d be just beneath him.

  The mountain trembled.

  Thanks to Timber’s heightened senses, he felt the foreboding spark of ignition before the dynamite detonated. He scrambled to his feet, and splayed his hand over the face of the mountain behind him. His incompetent pack brothers must’ve forgotten to cut the fuses.

  The blast sent shock waves through the rock that splintered right into his chest.

  Ka-BOOM!

  Timber leaped as the explosion split the air and rocked the mountain, but it was too late. The ledge beneath him gave way. His dominant leg had nothing to push off on, and he fell. Dropped like a stone. Scrambled for footing, a handhold, anything.

  He roared as the face of the mountain crumbled into thousands of rocks, sliding into the river below. The last thing Timber saw before crashing into the shallow water below, was a vivid blue light that shot through the river like a streak of lightning.

  Damn it, he’d rather drown than be saved by Marian; she’d never let him live it down.

  Chapter Two

  Marian Hartley screamed as chunks of Were Mountain crashed into the river, filling it with dirt and debris, clouding the once-clear stream. She spun around and swam back the way she came, desperation clawing its way through her. Her tail pounded the water hard, propelling her downstream, toward her territory, and safety.

  She shouldn’t have come, at least not before the storm. She should’ve waited for the rain surge to fill the river more fully, but her Emperor had ordered her to figure out what the wolves were planning at the base of the mountain, and she wanted to get her job over with.

  The last time she was ordered to do something like this, it hadn’t ended well. She’d come to Were territory, spent too much time here, forgotten about her mission, and had lost her heart to a werewolf.

  Hell if that would happen again.

  But now was not the time to be thinking about Timber and the way he’d heartlessly broken up with her and ordered her back to the sea.

  This time she was getting in, getting the information she needed and getting out as quickly as possible. That’d be a whole lot easier, had a massive rockslide not blocked the river!

  Confusion swirled around Marian, chilling the blood rushing through her veins. Something warned her that the mountain’s collapse was not natural. No, there’d have to be a reason for a rockslide to accompany such a deafening boom.

  The rockslide had to be caused by something...someone, she corrected.

  As far as Marian knew, she was the only mermaid in the area—others would be stupid to swim this far upriver, unless they were following the Emperor’s orders as she was. Dragons weren’t known for traveling this far into the heart of the Were Mountain range. And the werewolves wouldn’t blow up their own mountain, would they?

  So who, then?

  Once Marian was a safe distance away, she breached the water’s surface. Her blond hair swept over her shoulders and flattened against her breasts. The storm had arrived, dumping buckets of rain, dimpling the water in large, splashing pockets. It wouldn’t be long before the river surged, filling this gorge with rushing water.

  “Holy Emperor.” Marian gasped, her delicate hand shaking as she pressed it against her mouth.

  The entire side of the mountain had broken away from the rest, as if some invisible giant had taken an ax and sliced away a huge section, revealing clean, layered earth beneath it.

  “Who the hell would do something like this?”

  As she settled back into the water, her tail fanning gently beneath her, Marian got the strangest feeling...tiny, minute vibrations in the water brushed against her legs and hummed against her chest. The vibrations were constant, but erratic, and felt a lot like someone was thrashing around in the water.

  Someone or
something was trapped upstream.

  Diving beneath the waves, Marian searched through the settling dirt for the cause of the movement. Had she been mistaken? Was there another mermaid hiding in the murk? If there was another mermaid, they’d be hurt. Trapped beneath the rocks.

  Careful so she wouldn’t get caught by a boulder herself, Marian swam into the dark water, sweeping her arms in wide motions to clear her way through. Vibrations continued to lash around her, landing on her skin in an ominous layer of goose bumps.

  Despite the quivering in her bones and the shallowing of the river, Marian pushed on, winding round and round the new, boulder-chunked riverbed. The water cleared. Muffles of a deep voice hit Marian’s ears.

  Following the sound of the grunts, Marian raced upstream. The water became so shallow, the hard whip of her tail fin hit rock bottom with each desperate push. She could shift into Mer—or human—form and wade through until she found the person in danger, but she could move faster this way. If she got into danger, she could swim more quickly than any werewolf or dragon. If this was some kind of twisted trap, her best bet for escape was to keep her fins, and her wits, about her. Besides, the only way she was going to be able to see through the cloudy, rock-strewn river, was to be down in it, fanning away the silt with her arms and tail.

  How long would it take for the rain to flood this whole area? The fresh water would help her see more clearly and the rush would sweep the debris downriver.

  As Marian closed in on a giant plume of dirt, the grunts quieted. She could hear the slow pitter-patter of their heartbeat fading into the rush of the river. Could almost sense their strength waning as the water overtook them. Whoever it was didn’t have long to live; they’d been underwater for too long.

  Spinning around, Marian rolled her body, head to fin, using the long length of her tail to fan the plume farther upriver. There! A man was trapped beneath a heavy chunk of stone. His legs were pinned, his arms wrapped around the stone as if he’d tried to pry it off himself. By the time she swam to his side, his torso had gone limp and his head had fallen back.