by Skye Jones
Wolf in the Storm
Shifters of the Glen – Book Five
Published by Skye Jones
Copyright 2016 Skye Jones
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or used without the written permission of the publisher.
All events depicted are fictional, and any resemblance to places and persons is coincidental.
This work of fiction is intended for adults age 18 and over.
Editing by Lisa A. Hollett at Silently Correcting Your Grammar
Cover Design by DW Art and Design
Interior Layout by Rachel Medhurst
Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
This book is dedicated to my father. Miss you, Dad!
Acknowledgements
Thanks, as usual, go to my amazing critique reader, Jo. You always make my stories better!
My editor, Lisa A. Hollett, who is simply fantastic.
To Rachel Medhurst for her formatting skills!
To Sheryl for her beta reading!! Thanks aren’t enough.
To the readers who support my work—your support means so, so much.
Prologue
Adam stared out across the water. The sea shone an azure blue, the sand the whitest white. It looked like something out of a tropical travel brochure, but if he stepped outside, he’d need his thick sweater, even on a sunny, late autumn day like this.
The Scottish Highlands held some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. But they weren’t renowned for their warmth, and the air held a real bite.
Despite the beauty of the place. Despite the lulling waves and the cries of gulls. Despite the gorgeous white cottage, clinging to the grassy slope of the dunes, with a view out over the bay. He didn’t want to be there. Leaving the pack right then, with all the threats they faced, felt all kinds of wrong. But he’d been gifted the break as a surprise from his two sons and their mates, and he didn’t feel he ought to say no. They’d chosen a seaside break because he’d once been on a trip to the seaside with the boys’ mother, and she’d often talked about it. She’d been the one who loved it, though, not him.
He understood their best intentions. Lately, he’d been moody, he supposed. More terse than usual. Stressed even, one might say. Who could blame him, though? The pack faced a lot of new threats. Rogues seemed to be coalescing around their small territory, and it terrified him deep down. Vivid memories hit of bad times in the distant past, when the rogues attacked and took their females, killing the young males. Most of his pack either wasn’t alive then, or the memories had faded. Not for him. The only other pack member who probably owned memories as strong as his was Boyd. The pack enforcer had lost his mate to a rogue many, many years ago. But now Boyd had a new mate. The bright and vivacious Laura. And she’d given him a new lease of life.
Maybe that right there proved to be his problem? All the males around him seemed to be bonding…pairing up. Adam often thought of the boys’ mother, and he missed her to this day, but he’d never wanted another mate. Not felt the need. Besides which, how would his sons take it? They talked of him finding himself a mate, but when confronted with the reality, he worried they wouldn’t like it. Wouldn’t like whomever he found, because frankly, she wouldn’t be their mum. They also didn’t know the truth of his mating with their mother. They’d been more of a political union than anything else. At the time they mated, the Frith pack had been low on numbers and needed new blood. Ruth, his mate, brought a group of thirty young shifters with her when she’d joined Adam. Of course, once they’d bonded and mated, he’d cared for her. Deeply so, but they hadn’t felt that headlong physical rush others of his kind did when they mated based on scent and attraction. Part of him wanted that. The moment when someone’s scent hit you and your senses went wild.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He’d grown far too old for such foolish, romantic fantasies. But maybe he ought to at least have sex. Find someone to scratch the itch with. These days, female wolfen often had sex before they finally bonded with their true mate. Times were changing.
Really, whatever he decided, right now, he ought to do something other than simply standing in this kitchen, looking out over the sea and ruminating. The small village at the top of the dunes housed a tiny pub. Maybe he ought to go and pretend to be human for a short while. Sit in a corner and down a few pints. It might do him some good.
He couldn’t change into his wolf here. Didn’t dare risk it. Why the boys thought he’d want a week by the sea he had no idea. To be honest, he guessed the idea came solely from their mates, and his sons were both too in love to tell them no. Shifters didn’t go on vacation. They didn’t need to. Whenever they needed to recharge, they didn’t change location. They changed form.
Oh well, only a few more days and then he’d head home. Instead of the sea crashing outside his window, for a moment he heard the birds singing in the woods of his home as if he were there, and anxiety gnawed at him once more. He hoped to hell the place was okay. He probably overestimated his own importance. After all, he’d left the pack in Drew’s capable hands many times before when he had to go to some boring meeting or another for a few days. But he couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of unease.
Perhaps he ought to listen to his instincts and go home? He huffed out an annoyed breath and made a decision. He’d go to the pub this evening. Play at being human for a couple of hours. Drink some good beer, do the crossword, that sort of thing. And if he still felt uneasy once he returned to the cottage, he’d head on back to the pack. Manners and the feelings of his sons’ mates be damned.
Chapter One
I stared at my reflection and sighed at the way I’d aged in the last couple of years. I turned away from the small mirror covering the bathroom cabinet and walked out of the room.
The day outside had seemed lovely, but I felt too weirded out to go walking on the beach alone. Not another soul disturbed the pristine view, and frankly, the fact terrified me. My daughter bought me this holiday thinking it would help. Thinking a week with my bestie, in a stunning setting, would help heal my shattered heart. And it may have. If said bestie had turned up, but she’d let me down at the last moment. So instead of bracing wintery walks on the shoreline, I envisioned a week of mostly being holed up in this tiny cottage.
Even without company, I might have enjoyed myself in the past. Before. Back then, I’d been confident. Capable. The sort of woman to head up a team of consultants in any one of a number of demanding roles. Now, I’d become a wisp of a woman. As insubstantial as the breeze whipping the waves on the beach.
I’d become a nobody. And inside I grew more and more terrified as time went on, it seemed. I quaked with fear when I thought of the future. I trembled when I thought of the past. And yet, the present terrified me most of all. What ought I do in the still of the moment? In the here and now, to try to keep on living, keep on being for another day longer.
Breathing was good. My therapist liked to tell me, “One breath in and one breath out, Pamela. Then one foot in front of the other.” Easy for her to say. I was sure her breath didn’t play hide-and-seek, preferring to lodge itself in her tight and tense chest cavity rather than finding its way back outside to mingle with the fresh air, making space for fresh, lovely oxygen. With my tense jaw
and tight throat and painful chest, breathing normally seemed like a luxury.
Sick of my worry train, I moved. I descended the stairs, and Humphry, my whippet, gave a soft snort of delight when I entered the lounge. The terror inside began to claw at me once more, trying to get out of my chest, where surely it would wreak havoc once out and about in the world. The energy felt too large to be held by someone as tired as me.
I hated the days like this. The ones where agitation stole all my peace, but where I also couldn’t do anything meaningful. Inertia robbed me of any chance of real action. So, I lived in limbo. Stuck in this stressed-out, worn-out, tired but wired body that I detested.
The extra rolls of fat dismayed me. The wrinkles around my eyes and the deep frown divot between my eyebrows irritated me. The new gray roots saddened me. It all reminded me that I’d given the best years of my life, the best of myself, to a man who’d waited until the worst possible moment and then walked away.
My stomach clenched, and I gave a soft moan and bent over as fat tears began to spill down my cheeks.
No! I would not do this again. Not another tear would I waste on the bastard. And I shouldn’t spend another night alone in this cottage, listening to the waves and feeling desolate beyond measure. Either I packed up and headed home, or I did something to break the hold this anxiety held over me. I ought to go to the pub just over the top of the dunes. Screw up my courage and take Humphry for companionship. A glass of liquid courage ought to make an hour in company bearable. And frankly, right now, the four walls and the endless dark sea were scarier than the idea of having to be in company.
Mind made up, I swiped at my eyes and went in search of my handbag. A quick brush of my tangled hair, a sweep of blusher and mascara and some clear lip gloss, and I looked ready as I’d ever be. No one in the pub would guess I used to be a supposed beauty. I’d been modeling when I’d met my future ex-husband, Roger. Doing quite well, too. Then married life happened, and I’d gained weight and lost my cheekbones, and somewhere along the way, the sparkle in my eyes, too. I’d grown plain. Plump. Middle aged. Now, when I walked down the street, heads didn’t turn. Men didn’t look at me with hunger or desire. Roger couldn’t have timed it better. He’d waited until I’d turned, like a fruit going off, and he’d left. Taken up with someone younger, slimmer, and sexier.
An age-old story, really, but mine stood out with the callousness with which my ex cut me out of his life.
“Oh, for God’s sake, stop dwelling on him! He doesn’t deserve this space in your head.” Humphry gave a low whine as if he agreed, and it made me smile.
I grabbed my windproof jacket, bright pink as if the shock of color might once more make me attractive, and I hooked Humphry’s lead around his slender neck before opening the door.
The lights from the few village buildings dotted along the road at the top of the dunes lit my way and bathed the sand and beach in a golden glow. I glanced at my watch. Only eight, so plenty of time to grab a drink and some crisps and find a corner to hide away in.
We walked up over the dunes, Humphry prancing alongside me. I loved him dearly. In the last year or so, he’d become my best friend. My constant companion.
I shouldn’t really be spending money, as things were tight, but what difference would a few drinks make in the grand scheme of my epic broke-ness?
The lights of the pub shimmered warm against the cold, dark sky. As we neared, second thoughts hit. I might panic in there. Do the thing where I couldn’t breathe and my hands shook and my face went red. The thing I was certain other people noticed, despite my therapist’s reassurance that most of us are far too caught up in our own worlds to notice others. Still, I had my phone. I could always ring my MIA bestie, Diane. Or I could shove my nose in my book and hide behind it if I needed to.
I went up the two steps and pushed open the door. Immediately, my nerves calmed somewhat. The place held few customers. It also possessed lots of nooks and crannies. Cozy corners to hide in. I can do this.
With a deep breath, I crossed to the bar and ordered a large glass of red and a bag of salted nuts. Yeah, I should forego the nuts as I needed to lose a couple of pounds, but hey ho. I fancied something to nibble. I took my drink and snack and headed over to a little nook that held two tables, each surrounded by comfy looking, upholstered armchairs. I sat and took a big sip of my drink. Oh, bliss! The wine tasted gorgeous, and as soon as it hit my stomach, the soothing warmth helped me relax a notch.
I rarely drank these days. Mostly because I loved how relaxed it made me feel, and letting myself rely on it might end up becoming something of a problem. For the days I felt bad, I had my Valium, and they didn’t mix with the booze either. Since a Valium hangover sometimes lasted me a day or two, I rarely drank for a week or so around taking one of my special little helpers. It meant my boozing days were well and truly over.
A couple more sips of the delicious, almost forbidden fruit of the wine and I began to feel…normal. Not scared. A blissful, momentary escape from the prison of my nerves washed over me. I took my book out of my bag and turned to my current chapter. I probably ought to stop reading thrillers—with their heart-pounding tales of murder and mayhem, they were hardly relaxing—but I loved them anyway. I loved my naughty, steamy books too, especially the ones featuring dominant alpha heroes. But they weren’t appropriate for the pub, so I’d left them at home where they belonged.
I opened the latest torrid tale of crime by my favorite female crime writer and took my bookmark out. People who bent the corners of books irritated me to no end. But then, I was a tad precious about books and novels. They were my crack.
As I read, I fiddled with the bracelet on my arm between turning pages. Hot orange coral and turquoise, I loved it. I’d also made it myself. Creating jewelry helped me to stay calm on the nights I couldn’t sleep.
I got so lost in the story that, for once, I didn’t worry and obsess over whether anyone was looking at me and thinking what a sad and lonely specimen I made. Humphry snorted and lay down at my feet, and I felt…if not exactly happy, then certainly a moment’s contentedness. Something I hadn’t experienced in a while.
A shadow fell over the table, and I glanced up. My heart sank. A man entered my little safe area, and he brushed by the empty chair at my table to head around the opposite table and sit in the chair facing me. Why did he have to face me? If he’d sat with his back to me, then I could have ignored his presence, but now some sort of acknowledgment seemed needed.
I glanced at him and my breath stalled. Wow. He looked so big. Broad, powerful shoulders filled out a gray sweater, and it fit close to his arms, highlighting impressive muscles. He looked to be late thirties to me and was a strikingly handsome man. To add to his appeal, he pulled a book out from under his arm and placed it on the table. For the first time in what felt like forever, something stirred in me. A spark of attraction. I blew it out before it could develop. As if someone who looked like him would spare me a second glance.
He shuffled in his seat and looked up. He gave me a perfunctory nod and a tight smile and then picked up his book. I did the same, not wanting to be gawking while he politely ignored me. Thankful for his lack of scrutiny, I actually managed to get lost once more in my story.
After some time passed, the chair opposite me creaked. I sneaked a glance at him over my book, and he placed his own down and stood. He shot a quick look my way and then did a double take.
What? Did I look particularly weird? Then again, I doubted he’d be able to see most of my face, what with the way I brandished my book in front of me like a damn shield.
He moved around the table and pushed the chair next to my spare one in a little, glancing down as he did so. I realized then how tall he was. With the height to match his broad build, he made an imposing figure.
On his way by, he paused and leaned over to his own table, picking his book up. He held it up and smiled. “Snap.”
I focused on the cover and gave a small gasp of surprise. He hel
d in his hands the exact same book I read. For once, my nerves took a back seat as the coincidence made me laugh. “You like her writing too, then?”
He nodded. “Big fan.” Oh, his voice. Deep and smooth, it matched his serious but deadly handsome face.
“Me too. I love crime writers in general, but she’s one of my faves.”
“You’ve got good taste.”
I smiled again, and for a moment, an awkward beat of silence spilled into the space. This was what I hated about the new me. The inability to do social things. To easily gauge what to say next. I’d not had to, not for the longest time. Roger and I fit so comfortably together, we often finished one another’s sentences. Of course, I’d needed to keep my social skills up at work after Roger left, but then after being made redundant and my ensuing…breakdown, for want of a better word, I’d stopped being social altogether.
The man cleared his throat and pointed at my almost empty drink. “Would you like another?”
I flushed. Oh, how mortifying. Poor guy felt the need to rescue me from the awkward silence and found himself stuck buying me a drink.
“Oh, no. Thank you. You don’t have to do that. I’m heading to the bar myself in a moment.”
Why? Why did I say I’d be getting another drink? I ought to have said I’d be heading off home.
“I know I don’t have to. I’d like to buy you a drink. If you want one, that is?” He paused and smiled. “Which, I presume you do if you were going to get one yourself in a moment.”
He kind of had me there. I gave a dip of my head. “Well, if you’re sure. I’ll buy the next one. A red wine, please.”
“Any particular kind?”
“No. I simply asked for a red, and whatever the barman gave me is lovely.”
“Okay. Back in a moment.”
He glanced down again and paused. “Do you want me to see if they have a bowl with water for your dog?”