If only her parents could have seen her handle this situation. She’d always viewed herself more as a warrior than a leader, but just now she’d stood firm and diplomatic.
When the first pandemic spread across the country, thousands of urban-dwelling—non-pureblooded—shifters retreated to the woods and found guidance from shifters like Sasha’s parents, purebloods as they were called, wolf shifters who had been born and raised in the wild for generations. Together, the purebloods and urban shifters had formed packs along the fringes of a once thriving human society, subsisting in small groups to survive.
Through their example, Sasha had learned the value of generosity and acceptance in an ever-changing world.
She looked at Tabor, expecting something more gallant than the snide look he shot her.
“How very noble of you to step in on my behalf. Considering your pedigree, I suppose I should be overcome with gratitude.” His words were laced with scorn.
Tabor’s eyes drifted languidly down her body, making Sasha acutely aware of the fact she was still naked and Tabor was still erect. Averting her eyes proved difficult. It had been nearly three years since she’d seen a man aroused—even if it wasn’t on her account.
Tabor set the end of his bow on the earth in front of him and leaned against the tip of the frame.
“I saw your face earlier,” he said. “You’re even worse than the rest of the pack, so full of your own self-importance while inside you recoil at a half-breed like me. You don’t think I’m good enough for Wolf Hollow and you took an opportunity to demonstrate your superiority in front of a pack member.”
Sasha shook her head slowly. How could he say such awful things? Her chin trembled. She didn’t want Tabor to see. She ground her teeth together. “I live to serve this pack and all its members. I stepped in and saved your sorry skin, didn’t I?”
Tabor shrugged. “I meant no disrespect,” he said, sounding bored.
“Didn’t you?”
Tabor looked her up and down again before resting on her eyes. She’d never spent much time looking into his. They were emerald green, brilliant jewels as lush as the forest surrounding them. Most of their pack had brown eyes with the occasional blue. Something about the greens of Tabor’s irises was familiar and comforting, like a piece of home staring back, and yet looking into them felt more intrusive than his wandering gaze over her body.
Tabor lifted his bow and tapped the string against his leg. “Forgive my bluntness,” he said. “But perhaps you can understand why I would question your defense on behalf of a half-breed when you yourself chose only to couple with a pureblood and, barring none, would sooner live out a sedentary life making judgments on others.” Tabor’s smile curled. “I know Wolf Hollow is fresh out of pure-blooded males, but isn’t it your duty to breed?” He raised his brows and stared pointedly at her.
For the second time that day, memories of Wolfrik burned fresh holes into Sasha’s torched soul, charring it as black as a vulhena’s coat and the reminder of what their kind had done to her parents . . . and Wolfrik’s.
In the beginning, she and Wolfrik hadn’t been able keep off each other, easily accepting their parents’ and elders’ wishes to claim one another and continue their pure-blooded lineage. But following their parents’ gruesome deaths, Wolfrik rebelled against the three surviving elders before taking off, never to be seen or heard from again, while Sasha stayed behind and served the pack.
Her loyalty ought to count for something more than ridicule.
Sasha’s nostrils flared and heat filled her cheeks. Life was so much easier in wolf form. For instance, she could have lunged at Tabor on all fours and ripped out his throat, diplomacy be damned. Yet the truth behind his words hurt. Sasha hadn’t slept with anyone since Wolfrik, but it wasn’t for the reasons Tabor thought. Her feelings were for a werewolf, if only he’d claim her.
Sasha sucked in a breath, determined not to allow Tabor to drag her down to his level. She’d had enough of his spiteful words.
“You accuse me of making judgments when it is you who judge me.” She dropped to her hands and knees, preparing to shift when she heard Aden call her name from the other side of the boulder.
“Sasha,” he yelled again.
The anger coursing through her dissipated, replaced at once by a flurry of sparks that sizzled beneath her skin. She got to her feet quickly, feeling lightheaded.
Aden rounded the boulder, dressed in jeans and a snug cotton shirt, damp hair tousled. Carrying Sasha’s sundress draped over his strapping arm, he made his way to where she stood beside Tabor and handed Sasha her dress. Thanking him with an elated grin, she slipped it over her head while Aden stared at the dead vulhena, eyebrows furrowed.
“What happened?” he asked. “When I returned from the falls, you were gone.”
Sasha’s smile hardened when she glanced over at Tabor.
“I caught wind of another vulhena lurking nearby. I arrived just in time to save Tabor’s and Olivia’s tails.”
Tabor rolled his eyes upward.
“You took him down on your own?” Aden asked, sounding impressed.
“Tabor shot an arrow through his heart,” Sasha said begrudgingly.
Aden’s gaze flew to Tabor. He lifted his chin and smiled warmly. “Good work.”
Tabor returned the smile and lifted his bow. “We don’t allow vermin in Wolf Hollow.”
Aden chuckled and nodded in agreement. “No, we don’t,” he said, walking up to the vulhena. He kicked it over onto its back and raised his brows. “Nice shot.”
“Why, thank you.” Tabor swept one arm out and brought the other to his middle, dipping forward.
His arrogance grated on Sasha’s nerves. She was sure he bowed to annoy her. She could practically feel him glance her way with that smug smile on his lips.
“I can dispose of it,” Aden said.
“Most kind of you,” Tabor returned.
Without a second thought, Aden shucked off his faded denim jeans, letting it all hang loose. When he removed his shirt and displayed his solid pecs, Sasha’s throat went dry. He had the best-looking abs of any shifter in Wolf Hollow.
Not wanting Tabor to catch her open admiration of her partner, she looked into the sky pretending to gauge the time. As she did, she could have sworn she saw Tabor shoot her a knowing smirk. Like all the young men in their tribe, life in the wild had put muscles on Tabor and sculpted his body into a state of perfection that might have pleased a potential mate, had it not been for his aggravating temperament.
Sasha forced herself to look only at Aden’s face. “I’ll accompany you,” she said.
He flashed her a friendly smile similar to the one he’d given Tabor when congratulating him on shooting the vulhena.
Aden shifted while standing on two feet, towering above them in one big mass of brown fur.
Tabor cleared his throat meaningfully, doing so again until Sasha reluctantly looked his way.
“Before you go, allow me to remove my shaft from the body.” His eyebrows jumped when he grinned at Sasha.
She narrowed her eyes as he swaggered past, planted a foot on the vulhena’s chest, bent down, gripped the wooden shaft, and pulled it out of the creature’s heart.
Aden grabbed the vulhena by the neck, firmly in his jaws, and dragged it down the knoll.
Hurrying to catch up, Sasha lifted her dress over her head, not caring that Tabor openly watched every inch of fabric as it left her body. She tossed it carelessly onto the ground and, staring at Tabor defiantly, got onto all fours. As her bones contracted and fur covered her body, she caught Tabor’s throat bob as he swallowed, his hungry gaze following her as she hurried away.
chapter two
Desire throbbed in his groin as Tabor watched Sasha run after Aden.
Interesting, he thought, rubbing his fingers over the scruff on his chin.
> Once the two shifters disappeared around the boulders, he glanced at the she-wolf’s discarded dress laying haphazardly over a clump of dirt.
Little did she know that her flippant gesture of bravado had been viewed as an invitation, especially now that Tabor considered he’d been wrong about Sasha’s self-imposed celibacy having to do with pure-blooded snobbery. He hadn’t missed the way her face softened when Aden called out her name and strode up the hill.
Had she finally moved on, with a werewolf no less?
Tabor’s jaw slid to the side, considering the treetops beyond the knoll.
No, he decided, Sasha looked more like an adoring puppy than a satisfied she-wolf when she stared all moony at Aden. The werewolf was too thickheaded to notice that she looked at him like she’d bend the council’s rigid rules of courtship if it meant bending over for Aden.
The thought of her lifting her ass for another shifter pulled a deep growl, unbidden, from inside his throat.
Tabor set down his bow and arrow then picked up Sasha’s dress and shook off bits of soil and moss from the fabric. Lifting the thin scrap of cotton to his nose, he inhaled sun, earth, and female before folding the dress, remembering the way it had clung to Sasha’s full breasts. They were lovely in the nude, naturally, but bare breasts were such a common sight in Wolf Hollow that sometimes it was refreshing to see them covered—if only for the fact that he could then imagine seeing them uncovered.
He finished folding the dress and set it down gently on a smooth rock. His own clothes hung from a low tree branch at the edge of the knoll. Just because they lived outdoors didn’t mean they had to behave like savages.
Tabor picked up Aden’s jeans and shirt next, folded them, and stacked them on the rock with Sasha’s dress.
He couldn’t help liking the werewolf. Aden was popular with everyone in Wolf Hollow; even the purists had succumbed to his irresistible good cheer. The elders loved him because he put down vulhenas as easily as swatting flies.
And he’d complimented Tabor on his clean shot.
It wasn’t every day someone in the pack praised Tabor’s skill. In fact, it was just about never. Wolves and wizards had never mixed, not until Tabor’s mother wandered alone in the forest during the full moon and returned moonstruck and making no sense. She hadn’t been the same after that. Nine months after the encounter, she’d given birth to Tabor, the hollow’s first wolf-shifting wizard.
Born into the pack, Tabor had chosen to remain in Wolf Hollow rather than seek out his father’s people at Balmar Court up north, even after his mother’s death.
The recent memory of Olivia’s shame-faced distress at being caught romping with him filled Tabor with his own bitter distaste for the coquettish she-wolf. She’d acted shy and giggly when they were first paired up. Tabor had believed she’d formed a crush on him. They’d flirted and found ways to innocently touch. That’s all they’d done until today . . . until Olivia made the moves on Tabor.
Not that he minded, but he’d been taking it slow, thinking a bond might form between them.
His eye twitched.
Olivia had made her true intent clear this afternoon and shown Tabor exactly what she thought of him.
He should have felt relieved Sasha had interrupted them and he’d discovered the truth. But relief wasn’t one of Tabor’s go-to emotions. Indignation and pride had plagued him since the day he was old enough to understand bigotry among the pack.
The only relief he felt now was the softening of his groin.
Olivia didn’t deserve a long-lasting salute. He wouldn’t have remained hard at all if it hadn’t been for Sasha kicking up dust, all perky breasts, long, silky hair, and flawless, smooth, summer-tanned skin. She looked sexy when she was angry. Hell, she always looked sexy.
It wasn’t a thought he’d entertained until now. Then again, they’d never stood on a knoll together naked as Tabor brandished a king-sized hard-on.
She’d also never looked at him the way she had on the knoll—really looked at him—directly in the eyes as though seeing him for the first time.
In judgment, Tabor reminded himself, gliding over to the tree holding his clothes and slipping into his jeans.
Once dressed, Tabor made the solo trek back to the glade, the hollow’s gathering place.
The sun drifted lazily toward the tree line, filtering through the leaves and casting speckled light over the forest floor.
In another two days it would be the full moon, which meant every wolf without a mate would be on high alert at the crack of dawn. They had to protect the happy couples of Wolf Hollow during their monthly opportunity at procreation. Wolf shifters, in both animal and human form, could only become pregnant during the full moon. The closer to the exact second, the better their chances.
Wolf shifters didn’t require bygone almanacs to tell them when the moon reached its fullest. They knew the phases by instinct.
While infertility during the majority of the month made for a carefree romp without consequences, it was a problem for mates trying to help rebuild the hollow’s population.
Tabor’s friends Heidi and Peter were among the couples trying for a pup, though they acted a lot less crazy about it than other pairs since they already had two rambunctious little tykes.
The rich, mouthwatering scent of cooked meat reached Tabor’s nostrils as he approached the communal gathering place for the pack’s unmated shifters, a small clearing beside the Sakhir River. The glade provided food and entertainment during the full moon ceremony. Beneath nearby towering pines, shifters stretched out for a snooze in human form before dinner while others sat on large logs arranged around the fire.
The shifters on dinner duty bustled around the fire, finishing preparation on the evening’s meal. Smoke and steam rose from a great big cauldron above the fire. Tabor’s stomach rumbled at the smell of boiled meat. Francine, her belly almost as large as the cauldron, stood stirring the stew with a long wooden spoon, sweat glistening around her hairline.
Once a female shifter reached her second trimester, her body became incapable of shifting into wolf form until after she gave birth. With pure-blooded native wolf shifters, the opposite was true. When two purebloods mated, the female was stuck in wolf form the moment she became pregnant until she gave birth. Purebloods were considered the strongest wolf shifters in existence, but they were a dying breed.
Unless Wolfrik returned, or the elders convinced a pureblood from another pack to move to Wolf Hollow, Sasha might have to choose among the migrant urban wolf shifters—meaning Tabor had a shot, and when it came to hitting his target, he was dead on. Besides, after today he’d lost interest in callow she-wolves like Olivia.
He noted her standing under a tree talking with Camilla and Rosalie. Her back stiffened as he entered the glade and her mouth moved quickly. She grabbed her friends’ hands and pulled them away with her toward the fire. It was as though she was afraid Tabor would try and approach her. Olivia had no reason to worry; Tabor wanted nothing more to do with the narrow-minded bitch.
He continued into the clearing. Most of the single shifters had returned from assignment and lounged nearby awaiting the call for dinner. Zackary and his buddies had claimed a log on the far edge of the clearing where a path led to the river. They sat with their legs spread wide, leaning back, and speaking at top volume while watching the women prepare dinner.
It was a toss-up as to whether Zackary would notice Tabor walking by or stick to monkeying around with his friends like an ape.
Tabor didn’t get a chance to pass before the mongrel brushed his thick bangs out of his face and smiled with malicious intent. Like Aden, Zackary was one of the largest men in the pack. Unlike Aden, he was about as pleasant as a heaping pile of wolf dung.
“Hey, Tabor. What’s with the bow and arrow? Afraid to dirty your nails . . . I mean, claws?” Zackary glanced at his cronies, who howled with laught
er.
Tabor’s fingers tightened around his bow. A surge of anger swirled through his belly like a brittle leaf caught in a whirlpool. The women continued tending the fire and stirring the pot, but Tabor could feel their eyes on him too.
When Zackary stopped laughing, Tabor spoke.
“A bow can come in quite handy,” he said, twirling it around his fingers and tossing it into the air. Tabor caught it one-handed without looking. His eyes were zeroed in on Zackary’s, a challenge in the slant of his brows. “You never know when a mad dog like your father might wander in and need putting down.”
A dark shadow passed over Zackary’s face right before he leapt to his feet and rushed forward in a blind rage. Zackary’s distemper should have given Tabor an advantage, but his own anger raged like the flames of a forest fire, unpredictable and out of control.
He tossed the bow and quiver onto the ground as Zackary charged. As impressive as the big, bad wolf looked, Tabor threw the first punch. He socked Zackary in the eye and followed it with an uppercut to the jaw. The brute bellowed, grabbed Tabor by the shoulders, and threw him to the ground. Upon impact, the wind was temporarily knocked out of Tabor. Before he had a chance to regain his breath, Zackary was on top of him, raining blows over Tabor’s head and chest. He took a punch to the face and felt his lip split. The taste of copper filled Tabor’s throat. He nearly gagged trying to swallow while pinned to the ground on his back.
Zackary’s friends gathered around, cheering him on.
“You can take him, Zack.”
“Make that dog eat his own words.”
Zackary grabbed Tabor’s throat, squeezed, and roared. Even in human form the brute was animalistic.
“I’ll do better than that,” he said. “I’ll take out his tongue so he can’t speak again.”
Light glinted off the rusty switchblade Zackary yanked open from his pocket.
Wolf Hollow (Wolf Hollow Shifters, Book 1) Page 2