by Helena Ray
The Pride of Savage Valley, Colorado 3
Hidden Pride
After her boss’s sexual advances finally become too much, Anya Copely quits her job as an assistant skating coach. She runs to her father’s hometown of Savage Valley, Colorado, and takes a job at her aunt and uncle’s singles resort, the Woodland Den.
When Anya stops at the Ninth Time, the town’s secondhand shop, owner and mountain lion-shifter Clayton Abbott instantly realizes that she is his mate. Despite being thirteen years her elder, he sets out to woo Anya, and his enigmatic younger brother Jack falls for her as well.
However, nothing goes as planned in Savage Valley. Corporate giant Ulysses Norman deploys a scheme to seize the Ninth Time’s prime real estate by sending his mistress to seduce Clayton and Jack, but when she recognizes Anya, his mistress goes rogue. Can Jack and Clayton claim their mate before a shadow from Anya’s past takes her away from them forever?
Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter
Length: 49,708 words
HIDDEN PRIDE
The Pride of Savage Valley, Colorado 3
Helena Ray
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
HIDDEN PRIDE
Copyright © 2012 by Helena Ray
E-book ISBN: 1-61926-144-8
First E-book Publication: January 2012
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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DEDICATION
To AM. For a decade, you have inspired me, entertained me, and understood me like no one else. They don’t make words to express how much you mean to me.
And to Justin, the only man I’d let wake me up at 3 a.m. for, well, anything.
HIDDEN PRIDE
The Pride of Savage Valley, Colorado 3
HELENA RAY
Copyright © 2012
Prologue
The skater on the ice hit the final pose of his long program, and Anya Copely erupted into applause along with the rest of the audience.
“Representing the United States of America, Kenneth Whipple!” the announcer called, only intensifying the din of the American crowd’s cheers. Kenny looked around, dumbfounded as a sea of roses and stuffed bears fell around him. As soon as he reached the boards, Anya jumped up and down, clapping her hands.
“Kenny! That was incredible,” she exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, embracing him even before he could put on his skate guards. “The landing on the quad toe was perfect!”
Kenny returned her hug and kissed her on both cheeks. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Anya. Through all the drama and breaking up with Paul, you’ve been my rock.”
Anya gave him a final kiss on the cheek before releasing him. “Whatever. Those were hours and hours on the ice paying off.”
“The choreographed step sequence was sloppy. You’re not getting any grade of execution points for that.” The harsh voice behind Anya made every muscle in her body tense up. The man’s fingers wrapped around her upper arm, squeezing so hard she winced in pain. “And what was that little display from you?” he said in a harsh whisper against the side of her face, his putrid breath invading her nostrils. “He’s not your boyfriend. This is being filmed for international television, remember? If you jump all over him like that, people are going to think I employ some sort of cheap slut.”
The words were on the tip of Anya’s tongue to remind him that Kenny was most certainly not interested in anything female, but his hand squeezed tighter, nearly drawing tears from her eyes. A camera then turned in their direction, and he released her, smiling and patting Kenny on the back as their image was displayed on the arena’s JumboTron with the caption Coach: Christopher Birkhead.
He waved to the camera, feigning an entirely believable look of humility as he ushered Kenny to the kiss-and-cry area. As soon as an image of the judging panel flashed on the screen, Christopher stomped off the carpeted platform and back to Anya. He clenched his fist around her upper arm again and lowered his face to hers. A cold droplet of moisture rolled off his nose and onto her face as darkness flashed in his eyes.
“You’re mine. Whether or not you like it, you belong to me.” Anya tried to escape from his grasp, but he only put his hand on her back and forced her closer to him. “If I ever, ever, see you touching another man like that—”
“The scores for Kenneth Whipple, please.” Christopher released her the instant the announcer’s voice echoed through the arena. He sat next to Kenny on the bench in the kiss-and-cry and rubbed the skater’s shoulders as if he actually cared anything at all about his student. Kenny leaned forward so that he could see around his coach and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” Anya shrugged her shoulders, once more feeling utterly powerless.
With an Olympic figure skater turned choreographer for a mother and a professional hockey player for a father, Anya had gr
own up on and around the ice. Her long limbs made her too much of a klutz for skating, though, and her pacifist nature took her out of the running for hockey. Instead, she had accompanied her mother to the rink, watching every skater and learning what separated the average competitors from the Olympians. By the time she graduated high school, she had become a valuable coach’s assistant. When her parents ceased their jet-setting lifestyle and moved to Colorado Springs in order to be closer to her father’s home in rural northwestern Colorado, Anya landed the coveted position of assistant to Christopher Birkhead, coach of six national champions, two world champions, and an Olympic medalist. Her new job was the culmination of everything she had worked for.
What she didn’t anticipate, though, was that working for Christopher would be a nightmare. Day in and day out, Anya watched him put his students through brutal training regimens that inevitably caused stress injuries in almost all of them. And then came his advances. He pursued her sexually with a single-mindedness that frightened Anya. She tried complaining to the rink staff and to the skating club, but no one dared cross him. When he groped her openly at the national championships, she had lodged a formal complaint with the sport’s national governing body. Even they only gave him a slap on the wrist, a nominal fine that showed exactly how much influence he had in the world of American skating.
It had improved after the national championships two years earlier, but things had been getting progressively worse, especially when Anya’s best friend and Christopher’s prize pupil Kenny began garnering serious international attention. Fantasies of leaving Christopher played through her mind on a regular basis, but he had threatened to ruin her reputation amongst the skating community. What else could she do? She had foregone college in order to pursue a coaching career. There was always the possibility of joining her parents in Russia, where they had moved to start a training camp in her mother’s native Saint Petersburg. Although Anya spoke fluent Russian, she had never felt at home in that culture.
All this ran through her head in the moment of silence before Kenny’s scores were announced. The numbers then flashed on the screen, and for a few beats, the crowd remained silent as the numbers sank in. A deafening cry echoed through the arena as the caption underneath a crying Kenny read Free skating score – 182.37, flashed again, and then read Overall placement – 1st. He dropped his head to his hands, obviously overcome with emotion at receiving the highest score of his skating career.
Anya desperately wished she could be happy for him, but an overwhelming feeling of helplessness flooded over her. There was no way out, and Christopher’s forceful advances would only progress along with Kenny’s career. Twenty-three was far too young to be this miserable. She took a sharp intake of breath as an idea broke through the numbness that had taken hold of her mind.
True, she had only been formally employed in the skating world, but she remembered a time before her reality had become more like a Lifetime original movie. Her summers as a young teenager had been spent working at her aunt and uncle’s guest lodge in Savage Valley, Colorado. She had been so happy, even at age thirteen, helping with guest bookings and guest activities, and even preparing the rooms. It had been ten years since she spent more than a day or two in Savage Valley, but she still missed the small town and its eclectic population.
Maybe she could go back.
“Coach Birkhead! Kenny!”
Cameramen ran past her, trying to get an interview with her employer and best friend. God, she’d miss Kenny and everyone at the rink, but she needed to get away from that monster. She needed to remember what it felt like not to live every day in fear. She needed a home.
Christopher shoved a cameraman to the side as he made a beeline for Anya. Before he could reach her though, she began shaking her head.
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you handling the media? Kenny needs to get back to the ice to start preparing for his next event.”
“I quit.” Anya couldn’t believe she’d spoken the words, but as soon as she had, a weight began lifting from her heart.
“You can’t quit,” he bit out through a forced smile to one of the cameras behind her. “You’ll be ruined without me.”
With a deep breath, she regretfully pulled off the Team USA jacket she wore and handed it to him.
“Yes, I can quit, and I’m quitting right now.”
“You’ll never work in skating again.”
The truth of those words stung, and tears accumulated at the corners of her eyes.
“I know, but I. Still. Quit.” She turned and walked toward the skaters’ exit.
What did I do? I just threw away everything I’ve worked for. No, she thought to herself, that wasn’t what happened. She was finally putting her needs in front of everyone else’s, and what she needed wasn’t here.
It was in Savage Valley.
Chapter 1
Two weeks later…
“Damn it! Not again.”
Jack Abbott’s claws protruded as he hugged his coat tighter around him as he took in the view from Adam’s Point, shredding the fabric of yet another coat. However, the godlike perspective justified withstanding the cold and the resulting partial shift. Being programmed to shift in below-freezing temperatures had its drawbacks. But from where he stood at the highest point in the Mukua range of the Rocky Mountains at the western edge of Savage Valley, Jack could see the whole town sprawled out in front of him. He couldn’t help the sensation of omnipotence that rippled through him as he surveyed the land from the crumbling stillhouse in the northwestern corner, across the small Shoshone reservation and the town center, to Brown Trout Lake in the far southeastern corner. It was only early November, and already the rooftops were dusted with a thin layer of snow, promising a long and frigid winter.
He glanced at his cheap watch. 1:30 p.m. Almost time for him to shift back into lion form. He looked over the town and saw the outline of tiny figures spilling from the strip of buildings on Main Street that held his own shop, the Ninth Time, along with the Savage Herald and Savage Hunger. The diner’s lunch rush would be dying down, clearing the coast for Jack to take his position behind the counter at the shop again.
With a start, he grasped the wooden railing of the outlook and climbed on top of it. Balancing in the wind with his arms widespread, he reveled in the utter solitude, one of the few moments of peace Jack ever got. Reprieves from the telepathic chatter of the pride were few and far between. He closed his eyes, and soon only a pile of clothes testified to the fact that any human man had balanced on the thin railing. Instead, Jack treaded silently to the edge of the outlook, each of his four paws soundless as he started down the mountain.
Cora would be up soon to collect his clothing and leave the crumpled garments in the designated tree stump near the top of the mountain, an agreement he’d struck in exchange for letting the staff of the Woodland Den have first dibs on new items at the Ninth Time. The cold sting of snow beneath his paws centered Jack, pulling his consciousness toward that of the animal. He allowed his basest instinct to take over and crawled through the woods to avoid anyone that may have wandered through on their way to Adam’s Point or the Woodland Den. A deep breath told him the coast was clear, and with one smooth motion, he leapt onto the low-hanging branch of a Douglas fir, landing on all four paws at once. Tired from his run up to Adam’s Point, he lay down on the branch, dangling one paw off the side, and opened his mind, listening for his brother to join him in shifted form, the signal it was time for Jack to man the store.
His senses opened in preparation for the sign. Everything was in sharper focus in his lion form, his vision flawless, his hearing superhuman, and his sense of smell—
Each muscle in his body tensed up, and he could feel his coat bunching at the back of his neck. His skin tingled beneath his fur as each hair stood on end, catching the wind that seemed to intensify in that moment. The sweet aroma filled his nostrils, turning into a tightening and burning that engulfed his entire awareness. Possession. Never had he
wanted anything so badly as to find the owner of that heavenly scent, the creature that held his attention in the palm of its hand. He jumped to a lower branch, closer to the ground and the source of that aroma. He cocked his head and nosed a branch out of the way.
What he saw electrified his awareness even further. Walking down the path toward the town center, only a short distance in front of him, was a young human woman, flushed from the cold and utterly exquisite in her beauty. Each long, shapely leg extended as her feet crunched the thin layer of snow. Her hips flared out from a trim waist and led up to what Jack could tell even through her coat were supple, ample breasts. But his admiration of those features was only an echo of his human mind. What held his leonine attention was the long, graceful neck that he could glimpse through the curtain of dark hair and from underneath the deep-red scarf she wore. Her skin was milky white, the color of the snow tinged with a pink glow.
He could almost feel the skin of her neck underneath his teeth, feel how it would tighten before giving way to his canines, marking her as his forever. The power of the image took hold of him, drawing a low grumble from his throat and tightening his skin even further. With slow movements, she turned to him, and more blood rushed to her face, rouging her full lips temptingly. He dipped his head lower, and their eyes met. All the tension in Jack released at that moment, which freed his muscles, allowing him to skulk closer to her and—