Winter Tails: A Limited Edition Winter Shifters Collection

by Fox, Piper

  Christian stepped around his guest and headed toward the couch, “Yeah well I don’t get company very often and usually my place isn’t as put together as you see it tonight.”

  Tamara followed him to the furniture, “I’m really worried, Christian. We have absolutely no idea who attacked us in that warehouse or where Sylvia and Declan can possibly be.”

  The Were-Lynx sat on the couch, stretching his long legs out, “I understand, Tamara, but you need to keep a level-head here. I promise you we will find them. Though I can’t promise you what condition we will find them in, we will find them.”

  Tamara sat in the recliner, “But how long is it going to take us to find them? You know they say that after forty-eight hours a missing person is almost impossible to find. And usually they aren’t found alive.”

  Christian leaned forward, “Hold that thought, beautiful. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s go over what we know.”

  She nodded her head in agreement as he continued, “That Greek neighbor of yours was doing a little Peeping Tom act the first night we all played and gave a bullshit story of why he was there, okay?”

  Tamara nodded, that night seeming so long ago, “That’s right. You and Declan went to check out his story the next morning but found that no one had been staying at the cabin he claimed to be in.”

  He tapped the coffee table with his knuckles, “Right, and when we returned to the cabin he was there with you. Alone, I might add.”

  She ducked her head, “Look, I’m already kicking myself for letting him get that close. But I’m safe and sound, aside from the pounding in my head. Let’s move on from that point.”

  Christian continued tapping on the coffee table, an idea forming in his mind if only he could get it to show itself, “The next morning I went into town and put a call into the Coalition to speak with Sylvia, filled her in on the details of the situation, and set up the meeting for today.”

  Tamara picked up where he left off, “We had our meeting, Sylvia asked me some questions about Conrad and then we were attacked. Okay, so we’ve retraced our steps, now where does that leave us?”

  Christian stood and started pacing in front of his guest, “I believe I know where they are, but I have to call the Organization and fill them in on what’s going on. Maybe they will have some more ideas on where we can go from here.”

  She stood with him, “I hope so, Christian, because we need to get Declan back before the magic forces him to change.”

  He nodded, “That being the least of our worries. All right, let me make this phone call. Let’s see where the Coalition directs us to go.”

  Christian pulled his phone out of his back pocket and dialed a number, placing it on the coffee table after hitting the speaker button, “Hey, it’s Christian. We have a situation.”

  The voice that replied back asked, “And what situation would that be, Christian?”

  He cleared his throat and looked at the human woman squirming uncomfortably in the recliner, “Sylvia Shuster and Declan Fairfax have been captured.”

  The reply was matter of fact, “Code Black is it?”

  Christian nodded, holding his hand up to Tamara as she moved to speak, “Yes, sir. When can I expect them at the door to help me search?’

  The man on the other end of the line sighed, “They are already on their way. Should be there within the hour. Oh, and Christian?”

  The Were-Lynx sat down on the couch, “Yes, sir?”

  “You might want to be sure that Declan’s human is able to keep her tongue when they arrive or else the results won’t be pretty,” there was a click and the line went dead.

  Tamara stared at the phone in shock, “They know about me? I thought you said that the Organization didn’t like human and supernatural relationships?”

  Christian winced, “They don’t. But Declan refused to break off your engagement, so they decided to let it ride. For the moment. What you need to do when they get here is sit there and look pretty. Just let me do all the talking. And know that they are here to help us not hinder us. Do you think you can do that, beautiful?”

  She nodded her head, “I will give it my best shot, doll. I’m not known to keep my opinions to myself, as you’ve found out.”

  He laughed, “Quite the hard way I might add.”

  There was a knock at the door and Christian gave Tamara a serious look, “That’ll be Search and Recovery. Remember what I said, okay?”

  Tamara pulled her fingers across her lips in the universal sign of sealing her lips. Satisfied he answered the door. Two burly men walked through the door, crossing their arms over their chests as they took in the scene.

  “Fill us in on the details so that we can get started. The sooner we find the head of the UK division and our unheard of Were-Fossa the better things will be. We do not want the UK division to send out their own Search and Recovery team,” the dark-haired beast said.

  Christian stood between Tamara and the two men and filled them in on everything that had happened since his trip up to the cabin. He knew that with the team’s help they would find Declan and Sylvia within days of their being captured.

  * * *

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  About the Author

  Like most authors, Elvira Bathory always loved to read. When she was younger, she had always been creative and dreamed of being the next big thing in music but found she didn’t make the cut for that creative outlet. So, she turned to other means of creativity. She started spinning worlds and fell in love with the idea of being a writer. When she turned 28 years old, she decided it was time for her to settle down and married the man who had been pursuing her for years. Shortly after the two got married they started a family and Elvira decided it was time to dust off those old notebooks that contained her creative words so she would be able to stay home with her children. Five children later and Elvira took a chance, submitting some of her worlds wherever she could. Despite the fact that she hasn’t been published for very long she hasn’t slowed down in creating her worlds. She writes in the erotic genre, with a paranormal flair. She prefers to write about shifters, using animals that have never been used before, or haven’t been used that often, and she loves delving into the research to make her characters come to life. She’s been known to write a contemporary romance or two but just has more fun adding the paranormal aspect to all of her work.

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  Read More of Elvira’s Work

  The Creature Within: A Shifter Anthology

  Happily Furever After: A Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Limited Edition Anthology

  Curse of Christmas: A Collection of Paranormal Holiday Stories

  Falling for Shifters: A Limited Edition Autumn Shifters Collection

  The Red Shoe Chronicles : A Limited Edition Anthology

  Saved By The Snow Leopard

  A Shifter Romance Adventure

  Samantha Bell

  About Saved by the Snow Leopard

  I came to Mongolia to take a break. To get away from it all and reconnect with myself. The weather is cold, but the ticket was cheap, so who am I to complain?

  Then, my tourist camp is attacked, and I’m rescued by a handsome mountain man. Except… he’s not only a man. He’s a snow leopard. He swears he came to save my life, but can I trust a man I barely understand?

  Will I get back to civilization safely, or is this man going to keep me in his mountain home forever?

  Alexandra

  My family and friends said I was
crazy to go to Mongolia in the middle of winter. But wasn’t that part of the adventure?

  My family said, “But Alex, you just got your Ph.D.! You need to find a job!”

  My friends said, “Why would you go to the middle of nowhere in the winter. Wait until the summer for a trip.”

  No one understood my need for a break. After over ten years of consecutive schooling, four of which I labored over my dissertation, I needed a break. I needed to get away from it all. I wanted to reconnect with nature and reconnect with my humanity.

  Why Mongolia? It was the cheapest ticket. Probably because everyone else thought it was crazy to go horseback riding in the frozen wilderness, too.

  Despite the cold, everything was going great.

  The first two days of the tour allowed me to explore Ulaanbaatar, the capital city, and a name I still couldn’t pronounce right. Then, we were off on an excursion across the countryside, headed towards the mountains.

  The tour group was understandably small, about ten of us, including our two Mongolian guides. I didn’t really talk to anyone, though, being the only one who wasn’t part of a group. I kept to myself and explored the city how I wanted to, just as I planned.

  Most of the locals could speak some Russian, so I thanked my stars I minored in Russian when I did my undergrad degree. I was rusty, but it was passable, and most people were patient with me. Most people were just happy to meet a foreigner who could communicate with them. Everyone else in my group only spoke English.

  Today was our first day on the trail. We had no vehicles, only horses and hard wooden saddles. I adjusted my weight back and forth, trying to relieve the pain shooting up from my ass and into my back. My legs were aching, and I’d only been riding for a couple of hours.

  The guide signaled ahead of us.

  The vast mountains came into view over the horizon. Snow blew and swirled around us, grass sticking up through the thin layers of ice that covered the scrublands. Above us, the sky was a brilliant blue.

  This is why I signed up for this tour. The vast wilderness around us made me feel so insignificant, but also powerful. I was such a small part of the world. For the past ten years, I’d focused on nothing but myself and my work. Now I could breathe cold fresh air and see the world for what it was. Beautiful.

  We rode for the rest of the day and made camp slightly before sunset.

  I pitched my tent, one of many tiny yellow triangles that surrounded our campfire. The tour guides brought out food and told us stories about the nomadic people who lived in the wilderness of Mongolia.

  “So, they still live like they did a thousand years ago?” One tourist asked.

  “Pretty much, although some of them have traded motorbikes for their horses,” Our guide said with a laugh. “Many people are going to the cities these days, but a good number of us still live out in the mountains just like our ancestors.”

  I looked up over the fire to the mountains.

  We’d camped at the base of the Mandal mountain. Tomorrow we would get to climb and explore. That meant limited horseback riding, which was good news for me. I wondered how good I’d climb with my sore legs.

  I retreated to my tent without another word.

  At the beginning of the excursion, the other members tried to get me to talk and have fun with them, but by now, they’d got the message.

  Not that I didn’t like people, I really did, but this trip was for me. I needed this rest. My soul needed silence and peace.

  My body needed sleep.

  * * *

  I woke to the sounds of screaming.

  I reached up and grabbed the zipper to my tent, pulling it open.

  Everything was dark. The fire was reduced to nothing but coals and smoke. Ashes blew into my tent as something dark zipped by my tent.

  A horse?

  More screams and people shouting in a language I didn’t know.

  If I squinted, I could see people running away into the dark. Bodies lay motionless around the glowing coals of the fire.

  My instincts told me to stay put.

  Suddenly another horse ran through the center of the camp, kicking up sparks that ignited my tent.

  “Shit!” I screamed, grabbing my thick jacket and worming out of my sleeping bag, just as flames engulfed my nylon tent.

  As I stepped out of the tent, I realized what was going on.

  Our camp was being raided by nomads who did not intend on letting us live.

  About a dozen men on horseback rode through the camp, trampling the other tourists as they ran. Both of our guides were dead, slumped over, and covered in blood.

  I couldn’t help it; a scream rattled out of my body.

  Through the chaos, someone heard me shriek.

  One man turned his horse and lunged towards me.

  I ran as fast as I could through the snow. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to hide the patches of ice.

  I slipped and hit my head.

  Horse hooves struck the ground near my face. The horse neighed and snorted, spitting froth.

  Then everything went dark.

  Batu

  This wasn’t a camp; it was a grave.

  “Wolves,” I growled.

  The grey wolf back prowled this area at the mountain’s base, always looking for lone travelers to rob or kill. Usually both.

  I counted ten dead, most of them tourists, the pack’s usual prey.

  As a snow leopard, I didn’t have a pack to stick with. Most of the time, I kept to myself, but we leopard shifters had one thing in common: the wolves were our sworn enemies.

  The grey wolf shifters lived like regular nomads, raising horses and keeping from the rest of society. In the winter, they were bold, preying on tourist groups like this, to make ends meet. The camp was picked clean of anything that the pack could use. They only stopped short of eating the bodies.

  I looked over the bodies. What should I do with them? Let the birds have them, I guessed. Search and rescue parties would be sent out as soon as the tour group didn’t get to their next checkpoint: same old story, different people.

  I grimaced as the wind blew the scent of burned plastic and blood into my face.

  Just as I turned away, my shifter senses caught something my human ears could not — a heartbeat. One of them was still alive.

  A few paces away from the rest of the camp, a woman’s small form moved slightly. A tiny whimper was muffled against the snow.

  I jogged over to her, noting the dried blood on her skull and the hoof marks around her body. She had been struck and left for dead.

  The sight of her took my breath away. She was pale, with golden blond hair and full lips. A tourist, to be sure. Her lips and fingertips were turning blue and her cheeks were red from the biting snow and wind. If she didn’t get warm soon, she’d die.

  I didn’t hesitate. Snow leopard shifters like me preferred to be alone, but I could not let her die out here.

  Before my shifter side could talk me out of it, I picked up the woman and went back to my snowmobile.

  It was a long ride back to my camp, but it was her only shot at survival.

  Alexandra

  Was I dead? I was dead, wasn’t I? There was no way I lived that blow to my head, which was throbbing worse than any headache I had ever experienced. It was even worse than when I got a concussion playing hockey as a kid.

  I forced my eyes open, surprised not to see the inside of my tent or a snowy, barren wasteland. Where was I?

  I was warm, covered by thick, knitted blankets and laying on a bed of animal pelts. I wasn’t in a tent, but a ger, a Mongolian yurt. The round sides were piled with blankets and simple furniture, and a wood stove sat in the middle, its door flung open to reveal the crackling fire inside.

  Most surprisingly, I was alone.

  I sat up cautiously. “Hello?” I whispered.

  A sudden sharp pain shot through my head, forcing me to lay back down. I saw stars when I blinked.

  I reached up, gingerly touchin
g the bandages that were wrapped around my head. My fingers were wrapped up, too. Whoever had saved me had stripped off my wet clothes, leaving me naked in the cocoon of blankets and fur.

  My heartbeat quickened. Who had saved me? They obviously took great care in making sure I was safe and warm, but who were they?

  I glanced around the ger. A nomad? Had some villagers found me? Where was the rest of my tourist group?

  I shuddered, the memories flooding back to me. I remembered the screaming, the blood, and the fires. Did anyone else survive? The thought made my stomach turn.

  The door flapped open and a giant Mongolian man walked through. He was at least six-foot-five, based on how he had to lower his head to enter the ger. He was dressed in a thick coat and a fur hat.

  I let out a gasp, my lips trembling.

  The man spoke something in a Mongolian dialect that I didn’t understand. He shook his head and tried again. “Oh, you’re awake?” He spoke to me in Russian.

  I nodded slowly, thankful for my Russian lessons. “Yes,” I said. I edged backward until my body was flush against the curved wall. “Who are you?”

  “The man that saved you from being eaten alive by eagles,” He said.

  Wow, straight to the point.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  A sudden warmth rushed to my face. He was the one who saved me? That meant he was the one who bandaged me and saw me naked! I was hyper-aware of how vulnerable I was here.

  “No need to be shy, woman,” He said.

  “Don’t call me woman!” I couldn’t help but snap at him. I’d received enough sexism and abuse during my Ph.D.; I didn’t need to take anymore.