by Juniper Hart
Shifter Scandal
Birch Mountain Alphas
Text Copyright © 2017 by Juniper Hart
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2017
Publisher
Secret Woods Books
[email protected]
www.SecretWoodsBooks.com
Shifter Scandal
Birch Mountain Alphas
By: Juniper Hart
Table of Contents
Shifter Scandal
Bonus Content: Lost in the Woods
Shifter Scandal
Birch Mountain Alphas
Legend of the Birch Mountain Alphas
As the legend goes, in the North Hungarian Mountains, Abel Toth and his bride Mariska were struggling to survive the unforgiving cold of 1432. Their land was barren, and they were at the mercy of a tyrant landlord who worked the couple without rest.
With food scarce and Mariska, who was pregnant and sickly, about to perish, Abel knew he must find a way to keep his family alive.
He stole off into the woods one night, determined to find a rabbit on which to feast, but soon found himself lost and empty-handed.
He encountered a small cabin nestled in the groves of the mountainside, surrounded by birch trees, and he approached it with low hopes. People were starving all over Hungary and unwilling to embrace strangers while they sank into their own despair.
Near death, Abel knocked upon the door, begging the old woman inside for assistance. He promised her anything if she would only give him a morsel to eat so he could return to his ailing wife.
She sneered at him, proclaiming that he did not have anything worthwhile for which to trade his life, and she recommended he allow himself to die.
His fierce European pride refused to let him give up—not when his beloved was waiting. He told the old woman that God would not allow for him to die, and he turned to leave. The old woman, impressed with his resolve, called him back.
“I will grant you your wish on one condition,” she told him.
“Anything,” he agreed gratefully. “I will do anything to return to my Mariska again.”
The old woman’s eyes glittered with something Abel could not identify, but he was far too bedraggled to decipher her expression.
“I will appear to you one day and you must grant me whatever I desire from your land,” she explained to him.
Abel thought of the dying farm and could think of nothing worthwhile the witch would want. He immediately agreed to the terms, and suddenly his arms were laden with a sack filled with meats, cheese, vegetables, and breads. The food was enough to save his wife and feed his tiny family for a month.
He looked up to thank the old woman with tears in his eyes, but he was already standing before his once ruined shack. It had been restored to a secure cottage, without the concaved roof and drafty holes in the mud walls.
Abel rushed to his wife’s side, finding her well and with color in her cheeks for the first time in her life.
He dropped to his knees and prayed to God, thanking Him for sending the witch to his aid.
Years passed, and the farm became fruitful. Abel and Mariska were blessed with three healthy children. Then the old tyrant landlord died, leaving the farm to his kindly daughter, who oversaw the peasants with a velvet glove.
Abel had all but forgotten the reason for his family’s turn in fortune when the decrepit witch appeared at his cottage one day.
Abel, an old man himself by this time, was shocked to see she was still alive, but welcomed her happily into his home.
“You have returned!” he announced, waving his arms about as if to show her how well he was doing.
“I have come to collect on my debt,” the ancient woman crooned, and Abel nodded eagerly. When he had made his deal with her, he had thought he wouldn’t have anything to offer her. Now he could appropriately repay her for what she had done to help him.
“As you can see, I have much to give. What would you like? A horse? A cow? Eggs? Milk? Cheese? Anything you desire shall be yours.”
The old woman smiled a toothless, mirthless grin that made Abel uneasy.
“I wish for your firstborn,” she declared, looking toward the field and setting her eyes upon Attila, Abel and Mariska’s firstborn and a strapping lad. Abel laughed, believing her to be jesting, but then he could see that she was not.
“I will not give you my son!” he decried, and the old woman’s face immediately contorted in fury.
“You will recant on our deal?” she hissed, pointing a long, gnarled finger in his face.
“You may have anything you wish,” he said, “but never my children!”
“That was not a condition of the deal,” the witch snarled. “I will give you one last chance to make good on your word.”
Abel folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head vehemently.
“No! Leave this place. You cannot penetrate our family with your witchcraft.”
The old woman leered, cold and terrifying. She disappeared before his eyes, leaving Abel with his heart pounding.
She will not retaliate, he thought to himself.
As he stood, he watched the crops turn to ash. The animals dropped dead in the field, and dread instantly overcame him.
He turned to seek out his family, rushing to their sides and exhaling in relief to find them safe and accounted for.
The next morning, Abel woke, his mind unclear and foggy after a strange dream, and he stared about the cottage.
The walls were splattered with blood, and the mangled corpses of his family were sprawled about the floor in tatters.
Uncomprehendingly, Abel ran to them, opening his mouth to scream. Nothing emerged but a guttural howl as he dropped to his knees.
He extended his palm to touch Mariska’s face, and suddenly he saw hair sprouting from his knuckles.
Wheeling backward, Abel touched his face, feeling a snout where his nose once was, and he rushed to find his reflection in a cracked mirror. He saw the blood of his family upon his furry face, his elongated teeth and the yellow in his eyes.
The primal animal cries reverberated throughout the Northern Hungarian Mountains as Abel ran from the horrific scene.
It was not long before Abel had retreated into the low woods of Hungary, where he could easily prey upon human flesh to satiate his insurmountable cravings, unknowingly turning dozens of others into the creature he had become with a mere scratch of his claw.
When colonization began in the New World, Abel’s descendants, the Birch Mountain Alphas, were able to shift from their wolf forms to human, and some even managed to dance in between.
They never outgrew their sensitivities to silver, wolfbane, or religious artifacts, but their numbers forged and they found packs in the most unlikely places.
Deeply ingrained in their genetics was a deep distrust for others, the witch’s betrayal imprinted in their minds and passed through the generations. This made it very difficult for the Birch Mountain Alphas to find their fated mates.
Prologue
How can a city of this magnitude be so suffocating?
The blackness of the subway tunnels did nothing to calm her racing heart. She willed herself to stare straight ahead as if the slightest movement would attract attention. She hoped her dark sunglasses and headscarf would protect her f
rom potential scrutiny, but she had low hopes.
She was
Gabriella Medina , after all. Her face would be recognized from Maine to Alaska and everywhere in between. There was not a place on earth where her smoldering eyes would not spark a second glance. For the first time in her twenty-four years of life, she rued her sensational good looks. There was nowhere to go, no place to hide.
How could I have let this happen? I don’t know what to do, she told herself mournfully. How did this get so far?
It was a question she had asked herself many times over the past weeks, but the answer did not manifest itself easily. She had no part in what had happened, not really. She wished she had been more outspoken, though, louder in her protest. It was too late now; it had escalated beyond control, and all Gabby could think to do was run.
This will blow over eventually, she reasoned, but the words were little comfort to a girl who wanted nothing more than to disappear into thin air. There must be somewhere I can go in the meantime.
Slowly, she lowered her too-large glasses and peered about the cesspool that was the A train heading into Manhattan. Her wide, chocolate eyes scanned the torn advertisements above the doors, hoping for inspiration.
Eyeglass store, therapist hotline, Mr. Chang’s Chinese and Wings… Oh!
Forgetting her need for anonymity, Gabriella fully pulled the glasses from her face and scooted toward the rear of the car, where an ad had caught her attention.
She stood before a drunk homeless man and a tightly wound businessman, staring in awe at the glorious colors of the picture before her: an endless blue contrast against a grassy sea of emerald green while horses roamed about with mountains framing the shot.
“How can you have any worries in big sky country?” the caption read. A slow smiled formed on Gabriella’s generous mouth and she nodded agreeably.
Perfect, she thought, exhaling slowly.
“Hey! Aren’t you Gabriella Medina?” the homeless man demanded, jarring her from her reverie.
Gabriella eyed him suspiciously. He was the last person she would have expected to recognize her, but within a second, she knew why he had. A newspaper lay open on the seat beside him, her picture in black and white accompanied by a full-length article.
She shook her head quickly, covering her face again and backing away from the man, turning her head so her silken chestnut strands covered her partially.
“No,” she muttered. “You’re confusing me with someone else.”
The homeless man pointed, his voice raising an octave as he waved his finger in excitement.
“Yeah! Yeah, you are! You’re the chick who’s having an affair with the mayor!”
Color draining from her face, Gabriella watched as the entire car turned to stare at her, their mouths agape. The train began to slow at Cathedral Parkway, and a din erupted as people reached for their cell phones and iPads to document their encounter with the fallen woman in their midst. Without hesitation, Gabriella bolted onto the crowded platform as soon as the doors slid open.
I have to get out of New York, she thought, hyperventilating as she rushed toward the surface of the city. She shoved the glasses back onto her face, willing herself not to cry.
It was the same thought that had crossed her mind dozens of times since the scandal had emerged, but this time was different. This time she had a plan; she was going to the Treasure State.
I will lay low and stay out of trouble, wait for everything to settle for a while. Then I will return to civilization. My only problem will be not dying of boredom in the middle of nowhere. After all, what the hell can happen in Montana?
Chapter One
“Yes Mrs. Giberson, I understand your complaint. You have the same one every week.”
The raised pitch of Mrs. Giberson’s voice could be heard through the police station, and the officers exchanged a bemused grin as
Sheriff Cameron Lapin rolled his cerulean blue eyes skyward, his face pained as he jolted the phone from his ear to keep from being deafened by the irate neighbor.
“Yes, ma’am,” the sheriff conceded. “I know what you think you saw, but—”
He listened as the old woman continued to howl in his ear as the other men watched in amusement. It was always the same complaint from Mrs. Giberson: coyotes were on her property, scaring and eating her chickens.
“I will have an officer investigate as soon as one becomes available,” Cameron promised, hanging up the phone with a sigh. He peered around the room at the five idle policemen, and they all promptly averted their eyes.
“Who’s up?” Cameron demanded. A complete silence fell over in the room. “Come on, ladies, don’t be shy.”
“I went last time,” one officer said quickly, and his words were met with a round of grunts.
“Sure you did,” another officer murmured, knowing the deputy’s aptitude for dismissing what he considered to be worthless calls.
“Fine. Brewer, you go. Take Collins with you. After you’re done with Mrs. Giberson, head up Vaughan Road and keep an eye out for the Potter’s renegade horse. Someone said they saw him heading toward Emerson Junction.”
Officer Brewer stifled a sigh but did not object, gesturing for the rookie to follow. James Collins jumped eagerly from his chair, happy to make an impression with his superiors. He had only been on the force for three months and was still trying to prove himself.
The novelty will wear off, the sheriff thought cynically. When he realizes that Great Falls is boring as sin, he’ll stop looking for excitement.
Cameron could barely remember what it was like to be a rookie. Was I ever really excited about this job? Not likely, he thought. Even if he had been, it had obviously not lasted long.
“Brewer!” Cameron called before the men disappeared from the building. The seasoned cop turned to look at the sheriff, barely shielding the displeasure from his eyes.
“Yeah?” answered Brewer.
“Do me a favor and swing by Angelstone Nurseries and see if they have any Monkshood. Maybe Mrs. Giberson would also like some for her farm.”
The men stared at one another for a long while. Cameron noticed the other officers trying to read his non-verbal communication to Brewer. Of course they had never been able to understand the undercurrent flowing between them.
Brewer nodded almost unperceivably and left without a word.
“What else is on the books for today?” another officer asked.
Cameron shook his dark head, his perfect crew cut not shifting by the move.
“Well then,” the officer said, sitting back and taking a sip of his coffee. “Just another day at the office.”
“Would it kill you to patrol the town?” the sheriff asked, scowling. “At least pretend to do some work around here?”
The officer’s mouth became a fine line of defiance, but he slowly rose to his feet. Cameron Lapin’s temper was infamous, and the officer clearly wanted to stay on his good side.
Cameron eyed the remaining officers as they sauntered out. No words were exchanged and he smirked slightly in his silent win.
He had been the sheriff of the small town of Great Falls, Montana for ten years. It was more or less a desk job, but upper management had its perks. Telling people what to do was one of Cameron’s strongest qualities.
It was not his fault that his six-foot four, two hundred-twenty-five-pound frame inspired awe and submission. He relished in the fact that people cowered in his presence.
The phone on his desk rang again, eliciting a sigh from him. It was shaping up to be a busy day—two phone calls before nine o’clock in the morning.
Damn, it’s almost like the big city in here, he thought sarcastically.
“Great Falls Police Department,” Cameron answered the phone.
“Uh, sheriff?” An uncertain man’s voice flittered into his ear, and Cameron tried to place it. It didn’t instantly register.
“Yes, this is Sheriff Lapin,” he answered. “Who is this?”
Sud
denly, he could hear the shrill voice of a woman yelling in the background.
“It’s Bob Jacobs,” the man said. Cameron recognized him now: he was the owner of a grocery store. The phone became muffled, but he could hear Bob telling the woman to calm down.
“Bob?” he called. “Hello? Is everything all right?”
A moment later, Bob returned on the line.
“Yeah, listen, I just got into a car accident on Second Street, across from Gibson Park, with this broad. The woman is hysterical and turning purple.”
“I am not turning purple, you idiot!” came the screeching response.
I wonder if she’s related to Mrs. Giberson, Cameron thought. Same wretched pitch of voice.
“Is anyone hurt, Bob?” he asked, reaching for his radio and speaking into it. “Car 112, come in.”
“No,” Bob replied. “But our vehicles are damaged pretty bad and we’re blocking traffic.”
“Get off the street and wait for help,” Cameron instructed. “We’ll be there soon.”
He replaced the phone and waited for his officers in the field to respond.
“Car 112,” an officer called back through the radio.
“What is your location?” the sheriff asked.
“Eighth and Willmont Road.”
Cameron glanced at the clock in surprise. How fast was he driving? He didn’t have time to worry about the officer’s infractions. Cameron was much closer to the scene of the accident than anyone else. He jumped up from the table and called out to Jeannie at the front desk.
“You’re on dispatch, Jeannie,” he told her, grabbing the keys to his car. “Call out a couple tow trucks to Second Street across from Gibson Park. There’s been an accident.”
“You got it, boss,” the amiable redhead replied, winking flirtatiously at him.
A few years back, they had shared a night or two of drunken passion, but it had fizzled as quickly as it had begun. The novelty of an inter-office romance caused more problems than it was worth. That was fine with Cameron; he had neither the time nor the interest in a relationship. He was a lone wolf. But that didn’t stop him and Jeannie from remaining friends and continuing with the sexual banter. Sometimes Cameron wondered if he was missing out on something by dismissing the women he briefly dated, but his common sense overrode his moments of weakness.