by Sky Winters
Conall laughed and grabbed Catriona, keeping her from any further attacks. Catriona squirmed with delight, giggling. “Unhand me!”
“No, I’m afraid you’ve wounded my pride while I was trying to be romantic,” Conall teased, holding his grip.
Catriona kicked her legs, managing to push them both over onto the ground. With a bit of effort, she pushed herself closer to Conall’s face. He looked up at her coyly.
“Well, if you shan’t let me go, I shall simply have to overpower you,” she said with a smirk.
Conall was going to reply with another clever quip, but before he could do so, Catriona kissed him. He breathed another laugh and released his hold on her. Catriona pulled her head up.
“Oh, you give up so easily!” She exclaimed. But Conall shushed her and pulled her back to his lips with a smile. They kissed tenderly, not with the excitement of the night before but with the contentment of knowing they were safe, and in each other’s arms.
The fire burned brightly, warming the two lovers, and the rest of the pack. That day marked a new life for them all - Catriona had found her new home, and the clan had at last laid claim to one of their own. Who knew if the future would bring more enemies, more fights to be fought - but they knew where they stood, and the clan would never let another army drive them away.
The End.
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Preview of Daddy Wolf: Silver Wolves MC
Amanda caught sight of him the moment he entered the bar. He wasn’t one of the usuals, and he certainly didn’t look like one either. Threads of gray weaved through his dark hair and most of his beard. He had a weathered demeanor, that only made him more appealing. He had to be at least ten, maybe even fifteen years older than her.
She scanned his biker gear as he made his way toward the bar. Black riding boots, leather jacket, worn jeans, and a t-shirt that read “Bad Samaritan” made up his ensemble. A few of the regulars took note of him, especially the women, as he walked through the place. He was more than a little out of place in a sea of local office types having a quick drink between the end of their work day and their retreat home.
“What can I get for you?” she asked.
“A shot of Jack and whatever you have on tap will do me.”
“Guinness, Blue Moon, Bud or Bud Light,” she replied.
“All shit. I’ll take the Guinness, I guess.”
Amanda nodded and poured him a shot before heading over to pull a pint of beer from the tap, making polite conversation that might have been tipped with just a hint of curiosity.
“I haven’t seen you here before.”
“Nope.”
He wasn’t the talkative type as he offered up nothing further. Instead, he knocked back the shot and took a drink of the beer before ordering another shot. There was no conversation to be had between the two of them other than his ordering more shots and another beer. He seemed unaffected despite the amount of alcohol consumed as he eventually settled his tab and walked out. Amanda realized she knew nothing more about him when he left than she had when he came in and, much to her surprise, found that she would like to.
It wasn’t often that a man garnered much attention from her. Many of the regulars usually hit on her, but she had no interest in any of them. She was well aware that she was attractive, though not at all conceited about it. Most women would consider it good fortune to have been graced with her good looks, but it was a curse, as far as she was concerned.
She brushed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, and let her blue eyes scan the space. She felt like an All-American girl—looked like one—and that is precisely how she was treated. No one cared if she had a brain or any inclination to use it. Instead, they saw her as an object to be possessed. Men grabbed her thick waist and groped her lean legs. She rolled her eyes. Men only saw fit to dangle her on their arm as a point of envy for other men. Women saw her as a threat. She was neither.
It hadn’t been so long ago that she had thought it in her best interest to settle down. She was, after all, twenty-eight and still single. Carson Sims had been in her life for two years and was eager to marry her. It was no secret that he was ambitious and power hungry. That had been just fine with her for him to be driven. She had been just as keen to make a name for herself in the world of art acquisition. It had been after a particularly difficult day with a local curator that a conversation had shed a frightening light on what she was signing up for if she married Carson.
“I don’t know why you don’t just leave that job. You’re not going to need it once we are married,” he had told her.
Amanda had stopped in the middle of preparing their dinner and looked at him, studying his face carefully. He didn’t seem to think anything of what he had just said.
“I may not need the job, but I’m hardly one to sit at home and let you take care of me. I might complain, but I love my job and want to take it as far as I can. Someday, I’d like to own my own import-export business.”
“Then I’ll buy you one. I’m already doing quite well for myself and will only become more successful as time passes. We can buy you a business, and you can hire people to run it, so you aren’t tied up there all the time.”
“Why wouldn’t I just run it myself? It is, after all, what I want to do. Why would I pass it off to paid strangers?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Amanda. You’ll have your hands full here quickly enough.”
“With what?”
“Do you think running a household is easy? This is a huge house I’ve purchased for us to live in once we’re married. You can spend your time redecorating however you choose, cooking, reading...I’m sure you’ll want to hire the cleaning out eventually. I mean, I know you pretty much do it now, but once we have children, you’ll be even busier with them.”
Children?
“We haven’t even discussed children,” she replied.
Amanda could feel her anger rising. She had always known that Carson was traditional when it came to his idea of marriage, but she had no idea that he expected her to be a stay at home mother. What about her own ambitions? Was she not entitled to pursue a career just as he was?
“What’s to discuss? I thought you wanted children?”
“I don’t know if I do or not. Even if I do, it won’t be anytime soon.”
“Amanda, you are not getting any younger. Surely you don’t want to be one of those women who is middle-aged and pregnant?”
“I don’t know if I want to be pregnant at all!”
“Look, you seem agitated, and I have work to do. You need to sort yourself out and be reasonable. We’ll talk about it again some other time.”
Amanda stared at him wordlessly as he got up and made his way to his office down the hallway. Shaking herself free of her momentary paralysis, she looked around the kitchen. It dawned on her that this was meant to be a prison sentence, not a marriage. How had she missed that little fact?
That had been only a few months ago. She had packed her bags the following day while he was at work and left, leaving only a note with her engagement ring to hold it down on the kitchen table. She had intended to find a place of her own and just continue with her life without him in it, but things had gotten ugly quickly. Repeated incidents later, one of which was in direct violation of a subsequent restraining order, and Amanda had run even further away, giving up everything for a bit of peace of mind.
It had only been after her head had cleared a bit that she had realized that her reason for running went far beyond just not wanting to be a housewife and mother. She had been afraid of commitment, giving up her freedom. It had seemed manageable when Carson had proposed to her, but when he had begun talking about her becoming a homebody and a mother, it had gotten to her. That was the real reason she had left him.
Of course, she didn’t regret it. After seeing how he had reacted, how he had come after her, she could make certain assumptions. Would he have been that abusive in their marriage? Wo
uld it have just been verballing or would it have crossed the threshold to physical violence? He had shown signs of that during the stalking that had taken place, shoving her against a wall and pinning her there to force her to listen to his angry tirade. She had been frightened and greatly relieved when a local had forced him to release her and escorted her to her car safely.
So, she had ended up here, in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Rio Lobo wasn’t exactly the sort of place you’d find on any map. In fact, she hadn’t seen it on hers. Instead, she had wandered off course, ended up here by mistake and decided to stay. It was an old town, full of superstition and ancient lore, but it was her home now. If she missed anything about her past life, it was her budding career. Perhaps one day, she could pursue her dreams once again. Until then, she would continue to lay low and live the simple life she had come to embrace.
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Preview of Secret of the Wolf: Silver Wolves MC
“They’re having a party.”
Saul Bennett, President of the Dire Wolves turned to look at his second in command, Haskin Sims as he spoke.
“A party?” he repeated to the younger shifter, his grandson, in fact.
“Yes. They are celebrating something,” Haskin told him.
“What?”
“I’ve no idea. We’ve lost all of our people we had inside their group.”
“Then we need to get someone back in there and find out what is going on.”
“And the attack?”
“It goes forth. No matter what they think they have to party about, they are still at a disadvantage. In fact, they are at more of a disadvantage while they are all drinking and not minding their hides.”
Haskin nodded and walked out, past where Grant stood quietly listening, along with several others. He hadn’t been with the Dire Wolves long, but had become far more trusted than he had anticipated when he had come here. It had been his intent to join up with the Silver Wolves, but they had rejected him. He understood. He was a stranger and they were forced to close ranks to protect themselves. Instead, he had turned to the Dire Wolves for a place in their club. It hadn’t been easy getting in, but they were larger in number and more willing to take a chance on a stranger. It wasn’t as if he had a lot of options with his past.
“You can all go,” Saul had growled at the half dozen that had remained after Haskin departed.
They had all begun to file out when Saul had called him out, telling him to stay for a moment. It caught Grant off guard, as he wasn’t usually privy to something one on one with the leader of the pack. He waited quietly as the door closed behind the others, still wondering what Saul could possibly want with him.
“How long have you been with us now, Grant?”
“Almost a year now I think.”
“Do you have any ties outside this club? Friends in town, confidantes, folks that recognize you?”
“What? No. I don’t think so. I keep a pretty low profile and stay away from town as much as possible. It’s not in my best interest to be recognized, as you know.”
“Right. Of course. Good. That’s good.”
“Is something wrong?” Grant asked.
Saul stood looking out the window, seeming to think through something for a moment. When he turned, his face was dark, serious. Grant couldn’t help but note how gaunt the older man looked. There had been no rumors about his health, but he could see dark circles beneath his eyes. Perhaps it was just fatigue, but he seemed a bit less than healthy.
“I need an inside man in the Silver Wolves. I need for you to get in there and be my eyes and ears.”
“Me? I don’t think I can. They’ve already turned me away once. I told you that when I came here to you.”
“Yes. Yes, you did. Your candor about how you had come to be with us was part of why we chose to let you in. I want you to go back to the Silver Wolves, find a way to get in with them. You’ll work it out.”
“Of course. Yes,” Grant replied.
Saul waved him away without further discussion. Grant left his chambers and walked down the hall to his room, wondering how he was going to manage getting into the Silver Wolves when he couldn’t before. He was completely lost in thought when one of the second lieutenants stopped by and barked at him.
“Get up and get ready. We’re going in ten minutes.”
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to now,” Grant began to say, but the lieutenant cut him off.
“I don’t know what you are going on about, but I don’t have time for any bullshit. Get your shit together and join ranks.”
Grant knew that he could tell him about the conversation with Saul, but he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to do that. Instead, he got up and got undressed, preparing himself to shift and join his brothers. A thought occurred to him. Why was Grant telling him to join a pack he intended to attack? If the attack was successful, there would be no need for anyone to be inside the other club. It was obvious that he didn’t think they would be successful in wiping out the other pack, so perhaps he only intended for it to be a warning.
Ten minutes later, he was standing in the middle of the other wolves as they prepared to make their way toward the Silver Wolves clubhouse, prepared to take on an enemy that would never see them coming. He took a deep breath and then they were running through the woods toward battle. His heart raced as he jaunted through brush and bramble, the cool night air exhilarating as it cooled down his rapidly heating coat of fur.
Soon enough, the enemy would come into view and everyone had their orders. This had been carefully organized. Well thought out and planned by all involved. Grant was built for battle. They all were. Still, he had lost his taste for it after what had happened to him before he had come here. His last encounter had taken everything from him - his home, his family, his future. Now, he was just another nameless stray that had fallen into a pack of animals more lethal than he had ever really considered himself.
It wasn’t that he was skittish or had any fear of what was to come. Few would argue that he was one of the most powerful and vicious wolves among them when it came down to it, but it was more by reputation than anything they had actually seen. What they didn’t realize is just how much he had lost his taste for violence. He would do what he was asked to do. That was his job as a member of this pack.
His thoughts drifted away as the clubhouse came into view. This was it. Inside the compound were less than a hundred shifters and they were being surrounded by several times their count. Their biggest defense wasn’t numbers, but security. The protective walls of their clubhouse would be their saving grace, but many would still fall and each attack would take out more of them until there were none. A howl filled the air as everyone came into position and there was a flurry of activity beyond the edge of the woods where they stood as the Silver Wolves guarding the exterior became aware of their presence.
For those wolves, it was already too late.
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“Going once? Going twice? Sold, to the gentleman in the double-breasted suit!”
The auctioneer gestured to the winner with the silver body of the mallet before slamming it against the gray stone of the podium.
“A fine choice, sir; I’m sure you’ll be more than pleased with this, ah, lovely specimen.”
The “specimen” he was referring to was the slim-bodied blonde in red silk bra and panties, and black manacles standing in the middle of the stage. She’s certainly a cute one. Kieran looked at her bare, slender legs, which she crossed as she stood in an attempt at modesty. She was a slip of a girl, her straw-colored hair tied back in a thick French braid and her arms crossed over her small, pert breasts.
But, just like all the others, not my type.
With a slow, sweeping gesture of his arm, the auctioneer beckoned the girl to leave the stage. She nodded. Her face was tight with fear; her blue eyes were wide and shimmering, w
hich Kieran could see from his seat dozens of feet back from the stage.
Docile, timid, and willowy. He traced the circular rim of his drink with a long, graceful finger. I’ll leave those girls for the Ukrainians.
And, as though on cue, the buyer, a stocky man wearing a pin-striped double-breasted suit and with oil-black hair slicked into a tight sheen stood from a seat closer to the front.
I should’ve known when he said “double-breasted;” only the Ukrainians would be tacky enough to go for a look like that.
The Ukrainian walked toward the stage and extended his hand toward the woman he had just purchased. By polite instinct, the girl, who couldn’t have been far out of her teens, extended her own, but was abruptly stopped by the lack of length in her chains. A murmur of laughter swelled from the crowd.
“No matter,” said the Ukrainian in a thick accent, his low, bass voice tinged with a rich, Slavic accent echoing through the hall, “there will be plenty of time for formalities later.”
He then gestured toward one of the guards in slim-cut, tailored suits who stood on either end of the stage. They dashed over and undid the chains; the manacles fell to the stage with a heavy thunk. The girl stretched her now-free arms and legs.
“Come, child,” said the Ukrainian, pointing to the empty chair at his table.
She nodded with apprehension before stepping off the stage with the timid, shy steps of a baby deer and taking her seat next to her new owner, who put his heavy, burly arm around her and pulled her close.
Leave it to the Ukrainians to be unable to wait even a minute before getting their hands all over the fresh meat. Kieran shook his head and took a slow draw of his drink.
“And for our next item, please welcome this lovely young lady, new to our fair city by way of Des Moines,” said the auctioneer in his clear, buttery voice.
The next girl was brought onto stage by one of the suited guards. Where the previous girl was slim and fair, this girl was shapely, with a rich, olive-colored complexion. Her coal-black hair fell around her face in straight, symmetrical tresses, and her lips were full and painted with a shiny lacquer of dark red lipstick. And unlike the last girl, who seemed fragile and frightened on stage, this one seemed to enjoy the attention; she put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight from one foot to the other while winking and blowing kisses to the audience, the thick metal of her chains clanging together.