Wolf Hollow (Wolf Hollow Shifters, Book 1)

by Nikki Jefford

  There was only one shifter who had dared suggest she consider claiming a non-pureblooded mate. At the time she’d assumed it was Tabor’s way of hinting he’d picked up on her feelings for Aden.

  Now Sasha wasn’t so sure. He’d also brought up offspring.

  “Any pups of yours would still be stronger than the rest. Even offspring from a half-breed.”

  There was only one half-breed in Wolf Hollow: Tabor.

  If there was a shifter cocky enough to defy the elders, Sasha had little trouble seeing the green-eyed ruffian putting his own interests before others.

  Her body shivered imagining Tabor atop her rather than Olivia. It had been so long since she’d been touched. Sometimes she swore she felt her wolf snapping at her from the depths of her soul, whimpering for satisfaction.

  Sasha cleared her throat. “It’s been a long day. I’m in no mood to spend it with a stranger.”

  “You better get in the mood. Hector traveled a great distance to meet you.” The vein on Garrick’s neck looked ready to pop.

  Sasha imagined her parents howling their outrage from the Forest of the Ancestors. Tears watered at the back of her eyes, but she managed to stare stony-eyed at Garrick, even as storm clouds gathered over her heart, threatening to burst.

  Jager stepped forward. “No, they will meet as planned during the full moon ceremony when they dance together. Hector won’t be able to resist Sasha once they perform in the sacred dance. As for the full moon, we can only hope.” Jager rubbed his hands together.

  “What about the rest of the supply run?” Jack asked. “The pack will wonder why we’re not heading back to the caves tomorrow to bring back today’s supposed bounty.”

  “Tell them I’ve decided it’s better for you to wait until after the full moon,” Jager said.

  “What about future supply runs?” Farley chimed in. “When do you think it will be safe to return to the city?”

  “I’ll scout out the area in a few days,” Garrick said.

  “I’ll go with you,” Raider said.

  “You’re needed here. I’ll take Ford.”

  “Aren’t you afraid he’ll tell Polly?” Farley challenged.

  “Unlike you, my nephew knows how to keep his trap shut around his mate,” Garrick returned.

  Farley snarled.

  Their voices faded as Sasha’s mind wandered off, wanting to be alone. Soon enough, Jager shooed them away. Jack, Farley, and Palmer headed for the den while Sasha, Aden, and Garrick took the path toward the glade. As soon as Sasha had an opportunity to break free, she did, claiming exhaustion from the day’s journey and events.

  “Rest up, Sasha. You have a big night ahead of you tomorrow.” Garrick’s teeth gleamed when he grinned.

  As their gazes locked, an urge to scratch Garrick’s face came over her.

  Aden missed their interaction as he looked longingly toward the voices drifting through the trees from the glade.

  Just as Sasha had done with the humans, she offered no verbal response to Garrick, fuming as she turned on her heel and stormed into the shadows, leaving the gathering behind her. The muffled voices were soon replaced by the distant echo of Wolfrik’s final words nipping at her heels as the cool, compact dirt muffled her footsteps.

  “They forced us together and we rolled over like obedient dogs.”

  Unlike Wolfrik, she wouldn’t tuck tail and run, nor would she roll over against her will.

  More voices haunted her memories—recent human voices. There’d been no time to fully process them in the horror of the moment, but they swarmed her now like squalling crows picking at her brain.

  “It’s two days until the full moon. By the time we get back he’ll walk her straight to the breeding pens, probably give her to Cujo.”

  Those men would have pushed her onto another shifter to breed . . . the same way the elders were pushing her now.

  Where she’d felt resigned to do what was best for the hollow before, her heart now rebelled. She needed someone to take her mind away from the pack’s misguided notion of hierarchy, and who better than a headstrong half-breed?

  The next evening, Sasha returned to Jager’s hut where a single shifter named Trish waited out front to prepare Sasha for the mating dance. Trish stood beside the small burning fire, tending to a roasting squirrel from a stick atop the flames. She smiled the moment Sasha emerged from the forest.

  “Sasha’s here,” she announced.

  Jager hobbled out of his hut holding a tin cup in one hand. He smiled with crooked teeth. Sasha walked over so he wouldn’t have to limp to her.

  “Drink up,” he said, handing her the cup.

  “Just a sip.” Sasha took the cup and tilted it back. The liquid burned down her throat. She wrinkled her nose and handed the cup back to Jager. She’d never understood all the fuss over his brew. It didn’t have a flavor so much as a burn, like a sudden rash across her throat, and she had no interest in anything that would dull her senses.

  Jager took a large sip. It made sense that he would drink the stuff to dull his aches and pains.

  “The squirrel’s cooked enough. Take it off the fire so it can cool,” he said to Trish.

  Trish did as he said, propping the stick over some rocks. She grabbed a small pan of beeswax off the ground and set it over the fire.

  Jager lifted his cup to his lips and drank down the liquid before setting it on the ground. He rubbed his hands together.

  “After you eat, we’ll get started on your costume.”

  “Where are the other females?” Sasha asked.

  Usually they all prepared for the ceremony together while the men readied themselves in a separate location.

  “Francine and Amber will see to the other females, including Alexa. I met her earlier, attractive woman,” Jager said.

  “And Hector?” Sasha asked.

  Jager grinned. “Large man. As big as Raider. He’ll make a strong mate.”

  Trish squealed and clapped her hands together. “I am so happy for you, Sasha.”

  Rather than respond, Sasha stared at the squirrel—skinned and charred. “The meat’s probably cooled enough,” she said.

  Eating meant not talking.

  Trish sprang to action, snatching up the stick and handing it to Sasha, who blew on the roasted flesh before biting into the meat.

  Eating in wolf form was much easier—no cooking required.

  Luckily, Jager and Trish weren’t big talkers. They waited quietly for Sasha to finish the squirrel.

  Once Sasha had picked the rodent’s bones clean, Trish set to work on Sasha’s hair, plaiting it into two tight braids that she then wove together to keep out of the way.

  As Trish took the melted beeswax off the fire, Jager returned to his hut. Wimp, Sasha thought. He wasn’t the one who had to go through the discomfort of hair removal. She undressed and stood near the fire’s heat while Trish got started on Sasha’s right leg, smoothing the warm beeswax over her calf. Once the wax covered a portion of Sasha’s leg, Trish pressed a cloth into the wax. It always felt nice going on. Coming off was another matter. Trish ripped back the strip, taking wax and hair with it. Sasha gave a slight flinch. It seemed rather ironic to put so much work into hair removal in human form when she was covered with fur the moment she shifted.

  Her mother had once told her the urban shifters had started the practice, incorporating it into the ceremonial dance. Over time, the two became tradition. Once she had a mate, she wouldn’t have to fuss with such things any longer.

  Trish was on Sasha’s left leg when Palmer emerged from the forest.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, looking Sasha over.

  Sasha was used to it. Palmer was one of those males who couldn’t keep his eyes off a woman’s chest. Maybe that was another reason for Francine’s ire. But Francine knew what she was getting into when sh
e claimed Palmer as her mate.

  “Where’s Jager?” Palmer asked, staring at Sasha’s breasts.

  “Giving Sasha privacy; you should do the same,” Jager bellowed from his hut.

  Palmer sniffed and grinned, moving in closer. “Nice work, Trish,” Palmer said.

  She blushed and looked at the ground. “Thank you.”

  He dragged his eyes away from Sasha’s breasts to glance down at Trish. “You should come sit by me at the ceremony, admire your work in action.”

  Trish’s blush deepened. “That would be nice.” She kept her eyes on what she was doing.

  Jager poked his head out of his hut and scowled at Palmer. “Stop distracting Trish while she’s getting Sasha ready.”

  Palmer smirked. “Stop hiding in your hut, old man.”

  Jager took an uneven step out. “Where’s that mate of yours? You shouldn’t wander too far away. She looks like she’ll pop at any moment.”

  Palmer lifted his chest and flashed his teeth when he grinned. “The sooner, the better, so I can put another one in her.”

  “So full of himself,” Jager muttered.

  “Such a shame to have to wait nine months,” Palmer mused, staring into the trees. He glanced down at Trish. “I have so much life to give.”

  Trish was too intent on her task to notice Palmer staring at her. She ripped off another strip.

  Sasha groaned. Listening to Palmer’s innuendos was worse than hair removal.

  Trish looked up, lips pouting. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did that hurt?”

  “It’s fine,” Sasha answered.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Trish chewed on her lower lip. Sasha had never been modest, but that didn’t mean she wanted Palmer around watching her get her leg hair ripped out.

  She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you check on Francine? She looked like she could use some help.”

  Palmer’s eyes narrowed and his voice turned cold. “Francine has all the help she wants. My woman can handle herself. She was concerned about you and sent me to check in.”

  “Worried about me,” Sasha repeated in surprise. Could her old friend actually care about her distress over having a mate pushed on her? No. Francine hadn’t expressed any warmth the night before. More likely she was worried Sasha wouldn’t give herself over to Hector willingly.

  “She said you’ve seemed distracted these past few weeks,” Palmer said. “Seemed to think your eyes have been lingering a little too long on your patrol partner.”

  It was Sasha’s turn to narrow her eyes. She spread her fingers and pushed her hand down, signaling Trish to stop before the shifter had a chance to spread more warm beeswax on Sasha’s legs.

  “If she’s so worried, perhaps I ought to go and put her mind at ease right now.”

  “No,” Jager said. “You need to finish getting ready.” He scowled at Palmer. “Get out of here unless you want your cup to remain empty at tonight’s ceremony.”

  “I’m going,” Palmer said with an easy laugh, lifting his hands in the air. When his gaze moved to Trish, his voice dipped low and deep. “I’ll save you a spot.”

  “Thank you,” Trish said, barely audible. She blushed fiercely.

  Meanwhile, Sasha felt the squirrel rising up her throat. Palmer’s bawdy behavior was gross enough, but flirting with another shifter when he already had a mate—and a pup on the way—was disgusting. Good thing Francine had such keen eyes to keep track of her lustful mate.

  Sasha would never understand what compelled Francine to go for Palmer. Personally, she’d rather hump a fallen tree trunk.

  Trish looked up at Sasha and grimaced. “Sorry about this,” she said, spreading hot wax on Sasha’s thigh.

  Sasha ground her teeth and braced herself.

  The sun began to dip into the trees. Light speckled over the ground as it filtered through the branches, grasping the last rays before the moon took possession of the sky.

  Once Sasha was smooth from the thighs down, she dressed in a short skirt made from deer hide and a top made of the same material to cover her breasts.

  The only thing left to put on was the wolf mask made from deer hide and rabbit fur. These were stored in a cabin beside the glade, along with tools, books, and other odds and ends. The other performing females would already be gathered at the cabin, waxed and dressed in the same costume as Sasha. Masks were the last things to go on since breathing behind them got hot.

  Jager stepped out of his hut and looked her over, squinting in the fading light. He nodded his approval. A moonstone pendant dangled from his fingers. Limping over to Sasha, he moved behind her to wrap the necklace around her throat and attach it in back.

  “What’s this?” Sasha asked, fingering the smooth teardrop-shaped stone that settled into the valley between her breasts.

  “A little something to help Hector identify you when he joins the dance,” Jager said. He circled around to see how it looked and grinned crookedly. “You’re ready.”

  “Thank you,” Sasha said to Trish and Jager before heading down the path to connect to the narrow trail leading to the communal cabin near the river.

  Voices filled the forest. The single shifters gathered around the bonfire. Smoke billowed into the darkening sky, and the smell of fire tickled her nose.

  Giggles caught her ear as she approached the cabin where the rest of the females had gathered before the performance.

  As Sasha walked into view, the giggling and chatter died off. Four young women stood outside the cabin in matching skirts and tops, their legs all smooth and hair braided like Sasha’s.

  “Happy full moon,” Sasha said.

  “Happy full moon,” the other women chorused.

  Jager had selected Camilla, Kallie, and Rosalie to dance that evening. None of them had their masks on yet. Only one face was unfamiliar, a woman with brown hair, sensual curves, and rich brown eyes that regarded Sasha with keen interest. They stood at similar heights and might even come across as twins once they put on their masks.

  Sasha walked straight up to the shifter. “You must be Alexa. I am Sasha. Welcome to Wolf Hollow.”

  “Pleased to meet you, finally,” Alexa said, teeth flashing white when she smiled. “Camilla was just explaining the steps of the mating dance. It’s intriguing. We don’t have this ceremony in Glenn Meadows.”

  Sasha straightened. “If you do not feel comfortable participating, you can always watch from the audience.”

  Alexa batted the comment away with her hand. “Oh no. I enjoy new experiences, and from what Camilla tells me it’s not that complicated. We ladies start off free dancing around the bonfire until the males come along and hump our backs.”

  This set Camilla, Kallie, and Rosalie into a fit of giggles that had them clutching their sides.

  Alexa grinned wide but didn’t laugh. She stared into Sasha’s eyes, a look of challenge in her gaze.

  Unlike a certain half-breed she knew, it was nearly impossible to get a rise out of Sasha. She stared back at Alexa, locking eyes with her until Alexa blinked first.

  Sasha squared her shoulders. “The mating dance is a time-honored tradition in Wolf Hollow which has brought luck and fertility to mated wolves at the full moon for generations.”

  “Of course,” Alexa said in a respectful tone that didn’t match the mockery in her eyes. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

  “None taken,” Sasha said.

  Camilla, Kallie, and Rosalie exchanged glances. Kallie cleared her throat. “I’ll get our masks,” she said.

  “I’ll come with you,” Camilla said, following her inside the cabin.

  Rosalie grinned at Alexa. “You’re lucky Raider’s your partner.”

  “Am I?” Alexa asked, lifting one slender eyebrow.

  Rosalie nodded. “He’s one of the most soug
ht-after bachelors in Wolf Hollow.”

  Alexa sniffed dismissively, then seeming to remember Sasha, glanced over to see her disapproving frown. Normally it was Sasha’s way to show patience toward guests—they had so few to the hollow—but Alexa wasn’t making a good first impression. She had barely spent one night with them and already she was expressing scorn for their pack.

  “With my luck I’ll end up with Carter on my back,” Rosalie continued, missing the chilly glances flying back and forth between Sasha and Alexa.

  “Better than Dylan,” Camilla said, emerging from the cabin with a sly grin on her lips and two wolf masks in her hands. “He’s in and out so fast you barely know he was there at all.”

  Rosalie snickered.

  Kallie, who held the other three masks, joined them.

  Alexa’s nose wrinkled. “I’m not actually expected to couple at the ceremony, am I?”

  Camilla shook her head. “It’s completely optional.”

  “Camilla is always open to the option,” Rosalie said, leaning closer to Alexa as though imparting a secret with a close friend.

  Camilla rolled her eyes and handed Rosalie one of the masks. As Kallie handed one to Alexa, she smiled warmly at the she-wolf. “You have nothing to worry about with Raider as your partner,” she said. “He’s a respected council member with good manners.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Alexa said.

  Sasha had a feeling she was being sarcastic.

  As Kallie handed Sasha a mask, she thanked her.

  When Alexa lifted the mask to her face, Kallie hurried over. “Here, let me help you.”

  While the other females gave each other a hand, Sasha secured the strings of her own mask behind her head.

  The night appeared darker from behind the mask. She stared through the slits. The four other females had stilled, as though transformed by the masks covering their faces. They stood together in silence until a howl rose from the clearing then died down. The beat of drums beckoned them to approach the bonfire and begin their dance.

  Sasha nodded for Kallie to lead their procession. The other females followed. Waiting until last, Sasha reached behind her neck, unclasped the moonstone pendant, and set it on the ground before entering the clearing where their audience awaited.