by Parker Foye
Wolf in King’s Clothing
By Parker Foye
An exiled shifter. His alpha mate. And a desire so intense it could be the death of them...
York, England, 1912
Kent was a pack outcast. His shifter instincts cruelly muted, he was collared and kept as a stray. Until he was offered his freedom—for something in return. He must rescue Hadrian, an alpha held hostage in the wolf highlands. It’s a pleasure for Kent to follow the captive’s scent, one so wild and virile it gives him a rush. Though he despises being treated like a mutt called to heel, he’ll gladly fall to his knees for an alpha like Hadrian.
Hadrian has never met anyone like this damaged wolf warrior. His savior who licks the blood from his wounds and who arouses in him feelings he doesn’t understand or want to control. But Hadrian suspects that more than desire binds them. It’s betrayal. Pawns in an elaborate and feral deceit, they’re now caught in the deepening maze of a vengeful shifter world, where navigating the mysteries of the heart could prove just as unpredictable and dangerous as the enemies they face.
This book is approximately 32,000 words
One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise! Find out more at CarinaPress.com/RomancePromise
Carina Press acknowledges the editorial services of Anne Scott
Dear Reader,
I love paranormal romance, so it was an extra pleasure for me to decide we were going to publish two paranormal romance anthologies and then get to read all of the submissions for them. I’m pleased that these two anthologies, Primal Need: A Sexy M/M Shifter Anthology and Mated: A Paranormal Romance Shifter Anthology, are finally available for purchase this month. Romantic, sizzling and just plain fun, I think you’re going to love them.
Primal Need features three talented authors of male/male romance bringing together three incredible tales (and tails, I guess? Ha!). In Parker Foye’s “Wolf in King’s Clothing,” collared shifter Kent must steal one final thing before he can be free, but alpha wolf Hadrian doesn’t intend to go quietly when he realizes he’s the thing Kent has to steal—nor does his pack intend to let him go without a fight. In “The Alpha’s Claim” by Holley Trent, quick-witted actor Teddy Gaines is the mate Coyote alpha Jim West’s inner beast craves, but in claiming the very human Teddy, Jim risks inciting rebellion in an already restless pack. Last in this male/male romance anthology is “Dark Water” by debut author K.L. White. Struggling with PTSD, blinded navy veteran Benjamin wades into the ocean to die but is intercepted by a kelpie, a water horse shifter named Rez, who planned to sacrifice him, but their unexpected passion and love may save them both.
After an accident on her twenty-first birthday, Sam MacTire has to give his best friend, Callie, a quick and dirty education on the ways of the wolf, clan politics and the little problem of their raging hormones before he faces censure for defying clan law and changing her. Check out “Wolf Summer,” debut author Sionna Fox’s addition to the Mated paranormal romance anthology. Returning Carina Press author Shari Mikels joins her with “Drawn to the Wolves.” Wolf shifter and pack alpha Callan Mohan meets his human mate, former sketch artist Kate Ballard, who’s terrified of wolves after witnessing a traumatic childhood incident. And in “Saving His Wolf” by Kerri Adrienne, bear shifter Powell senses the instant he holds her that Olivia is his mate, but the one thing threatening their healing mating hunger is Olivia’s distrusting and vigilant pack—who are prepared to do anything to get her back.
In addition to these six novellas, we have a full lineup of romance to keep you going through spring and the end of the school year! As FBI agents Aidan “Irish” Talley and Jameson “Whiskey” Walker struggle to separate their professional and personal relationships, the challenging task is made impossibly harder when they’re sent undercover—as basketball coach and sports agent—on an identity-theft case in which all their secrets are ripe for exposure. Layla Reyne’s Agents Irish and Whiskey series is back in Cask Strength, and if you’re not following this male/male romantic suspense series, you’re missing out. It’s not too late to catch up with book one, Single Malt.
When she agrees to pose as his woman to get details they need for the case, things heat up fast—and it’s not long before the lines between business and personal blur, and they’re both in over their heads. Sarah Hawthorne’s Demon Horde contemporary romance series will keep you turning the pages and this newest installment, Rebel Custody, is no exception.
Contemporary romance author Jen Doyle is back with her charming and romantic Called Out. Widowed mother of four Lola McIntire did not need a man. Been there, done that, got the broken heart. Even worse? A man who had more drama in his life than she did—like the irredeemable Jack “Ox” Oxford, the major-league pitcher who slept with his best friend’s fiancée. By all accounts, he should be called out. But there’s something about Jack that Lola just can’t shake.
Jules Court first brought us Hot in the City and now she’s Enticing the Enemy. When passion erupts between police detective Daniel Cruz and defense attorney Erin Rafferty, natural enemies might become something more.
Last this month is the steamy erotic romance Crave Me by Stacey Lynn. Master Jensen Rhodes was determined to leave the BDSM lifestyle forever, but when he’s introduced to Haley Portsmouth, a new sub seeking her first Dom, he not only decides he’ll train her for submission, he’ll take everything from her—including her heart.
Pick your poison—or your paranormal or contemporary romance—this month with all these great offerings!
Coming next month: Rhenna Morgan is back with her latest übersexy hero in the Haven Brotherhood series. Hang on to your hats because Trevor is going to knock your (cowboy) boots off and set your world on fire! Also releasing: our newest anthology offering, a capers and heists collection!
As always, until next month, my fellow book lovers, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
Dedication
To those who choose their own name.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Eighteen minutes. Long enough that Kent had scraped a fresh groove into the arm of the uncomfortable wooden chair with one of his claws, cross-hatching the scars from his last visit. Wood shavings piled by his feet. Beside him a scrawny kid, smelling strangely of strawberries, edged to the other side of his own chair, eyes flickering between Kent’s collar and claws with equal parts fear and disgust.
Kent ducked his head, letting his long hair fall to disguise his collar. Stare more, shitstain. He’d rinsed off the blood from his latest contract, hadn’t he? Not wanting to spoil the fancy wood Tabitha had imported from somewhere in the Empire.
Nineteen minutes. Midnight had been and gone, but business never stopped. The new century had been good for York. Rowntree’s factory and the railways both brought in plenty of money, and people like Tabitha had found ways to shave slivers of silver for themselves. Longer hours, perhaps, and certainly darker purposes, but Kent had no qualms about either.
“How long—how long’ve you had that?” the kid suddenly asked,
pointing at Kent’s throat. “I seen you before, ain’t I? And you had it then.”
People saw the collar and thought they knew Kent’s story. A collar to bind him into human form, before being ejected from his pack. Exile. Like there weren’t wardens ready to bind for the price of a warm meal.
Humans didn’t know shit. Wolves even less.
“A punishment, weren’t it? What did you do? Here, are you listening?”
The guard at the door shuffled his weight. “Shut up, Anthony. He don’t talk.”
Anthony glowered like someone had stood on his tail. Kent began scraping a fresh groove into the arm of the chair as the door opened to the main office, the scent of cloves marking the warden’s magic behind the movement. Kent’s nose wrinkled at the smell, stronger than usual and worse than the blood and offal wafting in from the streets below. He breathed shallow, Anthony matching his breaths as they waited for the summons.
“Prince!”
Kent unfolded from the chair, growls rumbling in his throat, the vibrations increasing his awareness of the leather wrapped around it. Like he ever forgot. Tabitha might as well have whistled for him like she would a dog, using the name on his collar. A name he’d never chose. Only as free as she wanted him to be.
Aches and old scar tissue twinged with stiffness from sitting, making his steps hitch. Twenty minutes, and he’d aged as many years. Someone should put him down. Wasn’t that what people did with old dogs?
“I see we’re feeling maudlin today.” Tabitha eyed Kent speculatively as he entered her office and closed the door, sneezing once. He never could hide anything from her. “Then I’ll be brief.”
Tabitha had surely never been long-winded in her life. She allowed nothing to reach excess. Her oak desk had only a single chair, leaving guests to stand. Her beautifully carved bookshelves were empty. The window, overlooking York Shambles, had no curtain.
Tabitha herself was a tall bird of a woman, a corvid of some kind, with bright eyes and sombre dress. Kent first met her when the country had been in mourning for the late king, and it’d taken Kent months to realise Tabitha wore black out of habit and not for occasion. Kent had taken up the habit himself, to better hide bloodstains. He’d often wondered what Tabitha needed to disguise, sitting behind her bare desk, but Kent had spent his youth begging for scraps and his adulthood fighting for them and knew better than to ask how dirty someone’s hands could get.
Taking his usual place by the naked window, Kent leaned against the wall, needing the scrim of fresh air eking in through the window seams. Cloves made him sneeze, but they were the price of dealing with a warden as strong as Tabitha. He scratched his nose as he watched fingers of orange and pink light reach across the sky, waking the city. Some market holders were already arranging their stalls in the Shambles for the day’s trading. Beyond the Shambles, he could see the prison. He turned his back on it.
Tabitha had steepled her fingers together and rested her chin on her fingertips. Better to look down her nose at him.
“Your work at the river displayed your usual finesse, I hear.” Kent grunted an affirmation. Finesse. “I might have another job for you. How keen are you on removing that thing?” she asked, pointing to Kent’s collar.
He felt his face go blank, like one of the carvings on the cathedral. His heart hammered against his bones. Tabitha knew how badly Kent wanted the collar gone, as it had forced him to crawl to her desk in the first place. He swallowed.
“Job pays good?”
“Enough I could purchase the final ingredients for the casting, if you’re successful. And if you’re certain you still wish to pursue—”
“Will do it,” Kent interrupted. He’d taken a step closer to the desk without realising he’d moved, eager to get his agreement to Tabitha’s ears. At her raised eyebrows he retreated to the wall. He swallowed, throat moving against the collar, and cast his eyes down. Bad dog.
After a beat, long enough Kent risked glancing at Tabitha’s unreadable expression, she continued. “I’ve been approached to retrieve a lost item from the pack in the north and return it south. The pack guards their territory with fang and claw, and it is my understanding they’ve grown attached to this particular trinket, particularly in the wake of recent losses. You may have to meet strength with strength alike.”
Wading into pack business wouldn’t be Kent’s first choice, but at least he knew why Tabitha wanted him for the job. He raised his head, more confident. “Am your best fighter.”
“If ‘fighting’ is what you wish to call it,” Tabitha muttered. She withdrew a piece of paper from her desk and laid it facedown, her hand poised above it. She met Kent’s eyes. “Will you take the contract? You’ll be far from home.”
What could hold such value to justify reaching out to Tabitha? At her price? Because if she could afford to finally free Kent from the collar, her percentage should allow Tabitha to buy the city. Ingredients for castings were rare and expensive, as Kent discovered when he first researched getting the binding removed, and he’d all but given up by the time Tabitha started throwing scraps his way. Alone, he’d have spent his entire life researching magic and come up short. With Tabitha’s knowledge, and the money generated from working her contracts, they’d come close to setting Kent free in two years.
Those two years in Tabitha’s pockets had been long enough Kent had forgotten what fresh air tasted like. The contract offered a breeze on his face, a whisper in the unending dark.
Kent didn’t give a shit what the packs had or who wanted it. Kent would deliver.
He pushed away from the wall and stabbed a claw through the upper part of the paper, careful to make his point but not scratch Tabitha’s desk.
“I’ll do it,” he said. Tabitha released the paper, letting Kent slide it free, and leaned back in her chair as he studied the sketch. Bigger than he’d like. He grunted. “Tricky to move.”
Tabitha tilted her head in acknowledgement, more like a bird than ever. “If you are unable—”
“Didn’t say can’t. Can. Trains,” Kent said, aware he missed words, but Tabitha nodded in understanding. He’d spent a long time silent, after a longer time when his voice wasn’t heard no matter how loud he shouted, and unless he planned his words they eluded him. He made an effort to speak in a measured tone. “When does contract need completing?”
“Before the next full moon, for obvious reasons.”
Because the pack in the north were wolves, and Kent would stand no chance against them under the full moon. The previous full moon had been weeks ago, leaving less than a week to travel north, retrieve the “trinket,” and bring it to Tabitha. Tight, but he could do it. Would do it. Kent nodded, folding the paper and stashing it in his inside jacket pocket for safekeeping and later identification.
“Will be done.”
“Then I’ll reach out to my contacts in preparation for the casting. Take the wardings you need from the usual place downstairs.”
A thrill shot through Kent’s body at the thought he could soon be free of the hated collar. He clamped down on the anticipation. So much could go wrong. Hope was for idiots.
At the door, Kent paused and turned around. Tabitha hadn’t moved from her last position, watching him from under hooded eyes. He tapped the pocket where he’d stored the paper.
“Name?”
Tabitha pursed her lips and looked away, out the bare window. The sun cast her face in gold. “His name is Hadrian.”
Kent nodded and left the office, affecting ignorance when the scrawny kid twitched away from him. Kid didn’t matter. By the next full moon, Kent would have his collar removed, and he’d be able to walk among people without pulling stares like iron filings toward his freakish magnet. With his hair to cover his ears, and his hands in gloves, no one would know unless they looked twice. He’d lose the hated name. Finally bury the last scrap of a boy
long dead.
He drummed his claws over his chest, where the pocket with the paper pressed against his heart. One good deed. One lost cub to bring home, and Kent would be free.
I’m coming for you, Hadrian.
* * *
Train whistle. Slowing to take the bend. Bridge ahead. The noise changed to a shallow sound. Hush of rain over the carriage. Kent shouldered open the luggage carriage door and squinted through the drizzle, trying to choose a good place to land. Didn’t seem to be any, aside from the overgrown verge alongside the tracks, flattened by the steady drizzle. It’ll have to do.
Just make sure not to land on the tracks. Broken bones take too long to heal.
Keeping the door open with one arm, Kent crouched for a jump. When the train started to curve on the bend, he leapt.
Ow fuck shit Jesus Christ that hurts.
Eventually he stopped. Panted shallow breaths. Wheezed slightly. Slept in a ditch until the sun began its downward journey. Pushed himself to his feet and started walking. The rain didn’t stop. His aches turned numb with cold.
Wolf packs burrowed into the hills, building elaborate structures into the earth over decades, expanding their territory with pack numbers. Kent had heard stories about packs when he was a kid, when his family travelled down from the highlands with only legends to keep them warm; later, when he never had a roof for more than two days at a time, he’d wished he could build a wolf den in the city. As an adult, with Annie’s roof to keep him dry, he thought living in the hills must be what death felt like. Surrounded on all sides with dirt, no sun, no air, nowhere to run. Tombs.
If Kent had the chance, he’d live at the top of the hill like a god damned king. Not a prince.
Kent had been named “Prince” in the orphanage, when they’d sentenced him to a cold cell in the guise of saving him. He’d bedded down near a rich neighbourhood, too stupid to know better, and they’d dragged the nameless stray in to teach him right. Clipped his claws, hobbled him with shoes, operated—Kent shuddered at the memory, dusty though it was. Some travelling ha’penny warden had spelled the collar on, said it would keep the feral kid controlled under the pull of the moon. Kent hadn’t the words to protest he wasn’t a fucking wolf and didn’t need binding, still howling as the warden tipped his hat and took his bits of silver.