North Star Shifters: The Complete Series

by Roxie Noir

  “I think it’s time you mated,” Brock said.

  Nathan’s heart leapt and then sank. Brock wasn’t talking about Leah, and he knew it. Leah was betrothed already, and even if it was to a monster, she’d be married and mated within the week and Nathan couldn’t do much about it.

  “How come?” he finally asked.

  “It’s time,” Brock said, simply. “You ought to settle down and have a few cubs. It’s not right for someone to turn thirty-five and still be unmated, you know.”

  I found her, Nathan desperately wanted to say. She’s going to marry the wrong man.

  He couldn’t do it, though. Jonah and Brock had agreed on this, and he knew neither man would be willing to turn his back on the deal — especially not Jonah, who didn’t seem like the kind of man willing to marry his virginal daughter to someone like Nathan.

  “You have someone in mind,” Nathan said. He knew Brock well enough to know that, at least.

  “Emily Whitehorse,” said Brock, and Nathan frowned. He had no idea who that was.

  “One of the Whitehorses?” he asked.

  “The sister of the woman getting mated to Ian,” Brock said. “She’s the real reason I made this deal with Jonah Whitehorse. Twenty years old, pretty as a picture. Perfectly ripe. Comes from a very old shifter family.”

  Nathan’s rage surged, and he felt the itch of his bear just below his skin. Brock was making Leah marry Ian as some kind of side deal?

  It wasn’t fair. Nathan flex his jaw and forced his bear back.

  “I don’t remember her,” he said.

  “You will.”

  Truth be told, he barely remembered anything from the party except Leah herself, as though she was a supernova and her light had drowned everything else there into background noise.

  “I don’t think I can marry a twenty-year-old,” Nathan went on. Needing to do something with his hands, he picked up a level and set it on the countertop, the bubble landing perfectly in the middle.

  At the very least, he was good at his work.

  “The Whitehorse girls are supposed to make excellent mates,” said Brock, something icy and slimy in his tone. “Two are already married, and by all accounts they’re compliant. And fertile.”

  Nathan’s stomach turned, just a little, and he focused on the level instead of on Brock. Leah hadn’t seemed compliant, not in the moments they’d had together, anyway. She’d seemed fiery, a girl with plenty of backbone.

  Maybe that’s why her father was pawning her off on Ian, though.

  A chill swept through Nathan.

  That’s it, he thought. They think she needs someone like Ian to control her.

  “I don’t think I can do it,” Nathan said, half his mind still on Leah.

  “I told Jonah you’d attend family dinner at their house tonight,” said Brock, still standing in the middle of the half-remodeled kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest. “Just go. If you really don’t want her, there will be plenty of takers, but I wanted to offer her to you first, as my right hand man.”

  Nathan looked up.

  Leah will be there, he thought. Or will she be with Ian?

  Nathan’s stomach clenched yet again, and he did his best not to break into a grin at the possibility of seeing her again, no matter how stupid and pointless it might be to see her.

  He realized Brock was still watching him.

  “Thank you,” said Nathan. What else could he say?

  “Six, at the old Soren farmhouse,” Brock said. “They don’t appreciate tardiness, so be on time. And try to clean yourself up.”

  “Think you could spare Violet to come yell at me?” asked Nathan, half-joking.

  Brock turned to go, but looked over his shoulder, half-amused. “Watch it,” he said.

  Then he left Nathan alone in the half-finished kitchen remodel.

  Nathan rubbed his temples in the new silence. Elsewhere in the house, he could hear its inhabitants moving around, but they tended to avoid the kitchen for now, since it was still an empty shell.

  In fact, the kitchen was just another way that Brock lorded his power over the rest of the clan, and even Nathan had to admit he was kind of genius.

  The kitchen’s owner, Roy, had been alpha for at least twenty years. He’d been alpha when Nathan was born, right up until his early twenties, and then Miles Kamchatka, Nathan’s older brother, had fucked everything up.

  Miles’s high school sweetheart had come back, now a doctor, and Roy had kidnapped her. Miles had snapped and challenged him to physical combat for alpha status — technically still allowable, but something that hadn’t been done in fifty years.

  Miles had won, nearly killing Roy.

  Then, the next morning, he’d driven out of Fjords with Delilah, and nobody had heard from then since.

  The North Star clan had no idea what to do. What happened when your former alpha was nearly killed, and the new one picks his lover over his pack?

  Brock had stepped in, and at first everyone had assumed he was just filling in until Roy got back on his feet, but then he simply stayed alpha. Now, ten plus years later, he was still alpha, reinforcing his status by paying for Roy’s kitchen. This way, Roy was indebted to him and could hardly complain; besides, a man whose kitchen — and car, and vacations — got paid for by another man was hardly alpha material, after all.

  With a sigh, Nathan sank back to his knees and went back to fiddling with the drawer, making sure that everything lined up exactly right. That, at least, was something he still had complete control over.

  Chapter Seven

  Nathan

  Usually, Nathan worked until six or seven before knocking off, but that day he was gone by four-thirty. It wasn’t like Roy or his mate would complain; after all, they were getting cabinets from the best carpenter in southern Alaska for free.

  As he rode home on his bike, Nathan felt like he was buzzing, half with excitement and half with dread. Leah might be there, but she wasn’t his. He didn’t know if he’d be able to control himself around her — not with the incredible way she smelled, the way she’d looked at him when he’d been a bear just about ready to rip Ian apart.

  Once he was home, he spent a long time standing in front of his single dresser in his boxer briefs, frowning.

  He’d already worn his best outfit to Leah’s party — he refused to think the word betrothal — and had torn it to tiny pieces by shifting out of it, so that was out.

  Otherwise, Nathan wasn’t exactly a fancy guy. Nine days out of ten, he wore a white undershirt, jeans, and work boots. In the winter it was a long-sleeve t-shirt and a sweatshirt. He was a carpenter, after all — it wasn’t like he wore a three-piece suit to work.

  As it turned out, he didn’t have a lot of options, and he was glad that Violet wasn’t there to give his choice of outfit the stink eye. He settled on a plaid button-down shirt, currently the nicest one he owned, and a clean pair of jeans, simultaneously wondering whether Leah would like it and praying that she just hated everything about him.

  After all, he couldn’t have her, and if she wasn’t interested, that would make it easier.

  Then he donned his black leather jacket, got on his bike, and headed out to the Soren farmhouse, just a little ways outside of town.

  On the way, he tried not to think about the Sorens. What he’d done to them wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever done, but it was up there.

  Kaitlyn was the worst thing he’d ever done.

  The Sorens had been an old shifter family in Fjords since the early 1800s at least. They hadn’t had an alpha in a few generations, but the Soren men were always among the pack leadership in some capacity. As advisors, as bankrollers, that sort of thing — their words held weight in clan meetings and with whoever was alpha.

  At least until the alpha was Brock.

  Brock didn’t like the Sorens and the Sorens didn’t like Brock. They didn’t like the way he ran the clan, they didn’t like that he was in his early twenties when he took over, and they didn
’t like the way his followers, including Nathan, deferred to him. Brock didn’t like the way they tried to wrest power back from him, or the way they tried to get their supporters to do the same.

  So, after midnight one night, he sent Nathan over, with two other clan members for backup and a .45 in his hand — a gun big enough to stop a grizzly. One guy guarded the Soren’s three kids while Nathan and the other guy told them that they had to leave, now, or their kids would be orphans.

  Phil Soren, the father, had challenged him, only to have his nose broken with the butt of a shotgun.

  The Sorens left that night, their SUV filled with whatever they could grab in an hour.

  Nathan tried not to think about all that stuff, but he’d done it for the clan. They were the only brothers he had left, after all, and wasn’t clan unity the most worthy cause there was?

  Still, he couldn’t sleep sometimes. He’d smashed in a man’s face. He’d broken arms and given black eyes before, and after a while it had become just another part of his place as Brock’s right hand man. Brock told him what to do and he did it, because after the first couple, it wasn’t like another bad deed was going to make him a worse person.

  He was pretty sure he’d already bottomed out.

  Kaitlyn was the only one he still had those perfectly clear nightmares about, though. The other dreams had gotten muddy with time and indifference, but every time he backhanded the fifteen-year-old girl in that cold parking lot, he could see his breath in the Alaska winter air, could hear the fateful crack.

  Nathan had never even answered for it. He hadn’t meant any of it, but it happened, and no one else in the clan ever seemed to mind.

  She was just some human girl, so who cared?

  The Soren house came into view, just on the outskirts of town, so Nathan slowed down and rumbled slowly up the long gravel driveway, trying to keep his engine quiet.

  Still, when he pulled up and parked his bike next to the Whitehorses’ van, the front door was already open and Jonah Whitehorse was watching him from the house’s wraparound front porch. Nathan didn’t even have time to run his hands through his hair before the other man was greeting him in his huge, booming voice.

  “Nathaniel,” he said.

  Immediately, the hairs pricked up along the back of Nathan’s neck. He hated being called Nathaniel. That was what his mother had called him when he was in trouble, usually right before she’d gotten out the belt and given him a good whipping.

  Bear parents tended to be strict and old-fashioned, and the Kamchatkas had been no different than most.

  “Mr. Whitehorse,” he said, coming up the stairs, remembering that he had to be on his very best behavior. He assumed that this included not shifting and giving the patriarch of the Yukon clan hell for using his full name.

  “Welcome,” boomed Jonah, and the two men shook hands.

  “It’s Nathan, actually,” he said. As soon as he said it, he could practically feel the chill emanating from Jonah, just for a moment, before the older man renewed his smile.

  Nathan couldn’t believe he’d already fucked it up.

  Well, another hour or two, he’d have dinner, then be on his way.

  “Brock tells me Emily caught your eye at the party yesterday,” he said, his eyes glinting. “I’d be more than happy for you to get to know her during our Leah’s betrothal. I understand arranged marriages aren’t as common here.”

  His heart beat a little faster, just at her name.

  “As far as I know, this is the first one the North Stars have taken part in,” said Nathan.

  Emily, he thought to himself. Try not to forget the name of the girl you’re allegedly here to see.

  Jonah frowned, just a little, a hollow just barely forming between his eyes, in his forehead.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re coming around to it,” he said. “Arranged marriages are much more stable than those allegedly based on love, you know. Kids fall in love for a month and think they’re ready to spend their lives together. Much better to have cooler heads prevail and decide someone’s fate.”

  Nathan blinked and bit his tongue. That went against every fairy tale he’d been told growing up, and it wasn’t at all what the North Star leaders professed. They really pushed the “true mates” thing, practically insisting that every couple who managed to procreate were soulmates. Nathan had never really believed in the concept.

  Well. Until he’d locked eyes with Leah.

  Jonah walked to the front door and opened it, graciously allowing Nathan through the door first.

  It looked different than the last time he’d been in there, but the last time he’d been inside it had been after midnight in the wintertime, and he’d been carrying a handgun big enough to stop a full-grown grizzly.

  Now, the wood floors shone in the evening light as Nathan walked into the house, a slight breeze drifting through the open, airy space.

  A short woman — short by shifter standards, at least — bustled into the front hallway and held her hands out.

  “You must be Nathaniel,” she said, her brown eyes sparkling. She had light brown hair with just a hint of gray, and even though she’d pulled it back curls were popping free all around her face.

  “He prefers Nathan,” rumbled Jonah.

  “Of course he does,” the woman said. “I’m Margaret, Emily’s mother.”

  Nathan still hadn’t been able to remember what Emily looked like, and just hoped that he’d recognize her when he saw her.

  Leah’s face, on the other hand, was etched in his memory, and he could see the strong resemblance between her and her mom.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he finally said, berating himself for almost forgetting his manners.

  “I’m so glad you’re interested in Emily,” she said, putting a hand very lightly on his arm and pushing him into another light-filled room, this one with blue curtains that matched the blue couches inside it, all three pointing at a big farmhouse fireplace. He had a vague memory of seeing this room on his last trip through the house, looking to his left in the dead of night and seeing nothing more than shapes in the darkness.

  Margaret guided him to a couch, then bustled out of the room through a different door. Jonah had just disappeared, apparently, and Nathan was alone in the room with matching curtains and couches.

  He had the feeling that whatever was going on was completely normal in the Yukon clan and utterly alien to everyone else.

  Having nothing better to do, he looked down and began picking at his fingernails, trying to wipe the memories of the Sorens from his memory. He could still remember the way the youngest child, probably not more than three, had been crying about leaving her favorite stuffed animal behind. It had been a lion named Simon.

  Strange the details you remember, thought Nathan. He picked his head up and looked around, trying not to get lost in that dark memory.

  Finally, he heard voices.

  “You need to come chaperone your sister,” Margaret was saying, using a tone of voice that she obviously thought was very commanding.

  “I need to watch the pie,” said another woman’s voice.

  Leah’s voice. Nathan’s spine straightened, and his ears strained to hear what she was saying.

  “Rebecca will be back in a minute and she can watch the pie. This young man is here for Emily now. Don’t keep him waiting.”

  “Mother, she’s not going to do anything inappropriate in the sitting room with a man she’s only just met,” Leah said, sounding exasperated, but also like she’d had this exact argument a thousand times and knew the outcome already.

  The way she was right now, this feisty, no-nonsense woman, that was how she’d been with him at the party when she told him not to eat the tarts. Nathan couldn’t lie: it got his blood up, but also didn’t square at all with what he’d been told about her.

  “You know the rules,” her mother said firmly. “Go chaperone your sister. I’ll watch the pie until Rebecca gets back.”

  “She’ll le
t it burn. She always does.”

  “Leah, I am not having this argument.”

  “Fine,” Leah muttered, and then there was the sound of an apron being taken off, quick footsteps crossing the floor, and then everything went quiet for a moment.

  Nathan tried to lean back a little and not look quite so much like he’d been trying to eavesdrop.

  He also hoped, desperately, that Leah was going to wear a paper bag or burlap sack or something, just to hide her soft, luscious, perfect body. If he was supposed to be there for her sister, he had to at least try to keep up the ruse, which probably included not simply drooling over Leah herself.

  Just as he was thinking about how easy it would be to remove a burlap sack from her — just whisk it over her head and there she’d be, gloriously nude — he heard steps at the other door, and he turned and stood.

  Standing in the doorway was a slight young woman, in a skirt that fell past her knees, with brown eyes and strawberry blond hair. She was blushing hard and looking at the floor, but behind her was Leah.

  Leah looked like someone had just slapped her across the face.

  Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, her flaming red hair slowly working its way free of the bun she’d pinned it into. She looked shocked to see Nathan standing in front of her.

  Then her forehead furrowed, just a tiny bit.

  She looked shocked and angry. Nathan’s stomach sank, and he saw Leah’s hand push Emily just a little, in the small of her back.

  The girl stepped forward awkwardly, finally looking up to meet Nathan’s eyes.

  “I’m Emily,” she said, her small white hands twisting together in front of her.

  She looks like a child, Nathan thought. How could Brock think this is a good idea?

  “I’m Nathan,” he said. He had no idea at all how to proceed.

  Most of Nathan’s romantic experience was in bars, with women five or ten years Emily’s senior. Women who’d already been around the block a couple of times, the sort who’d have a drink and then jump into bed with a tall, handsome stranger and never even get his phone number.