Werewolves & Whiskers: Sawtooth Peaks Wolf Shifter Romance Box Set

by Keira Blackwood

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said. “I don’t know if I said this last night, but thank you for coming out here for me. And for breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “We look after our pack.”

  He cast his eyes down away from mine. That was it. The shut off. Though I knew he wouldn't run out here in the middle of the night to hold just anyone while they slept. It was the typical Amy friend zone. I was special to Harkins, a close friend. And that was it.

  “Let’s bring those back and cook them up,” I said. “Salmon sounds amazing.”

  Then I scooped up two long fish into my mouth. It was best to change the subject, not to linger.

  “I’m cooking,” Harkins said from behind me. I didn’t know that he cooked. Learn something new every day.

  I led the way, sure that he would follow. It was difficult knowing that he didn’t want me, but I cherished what we had together all the same.

  Chapter Seven

  Harkins

  The scent of roasted salmon made my stomach ache. I stared hard at the fillets while the flames flicked up and darkened the orange fish, and forced myself not to look at Amy.

  She took her time getting dressed. Agonizingly so. I wanted to turn and stare. Her hips were wide, her breasts round. She was gorgeous, sexy, and naked. I didn’t need to imagine the way she looked. I’d seen her before, and I’d never forget. She was perfect. I wanted to tackle her to the ground and feel her bare skin on my hands, taste her lips, claim the only woman I’d ever really loved.

  But Amy deserved better. She deserved a better man than I could ever be. So I stared at the fish and hoped Amy would finish dressing before the orange fillets turned black.

  “So I’m thinking we keep heading up to my family’s farm,” Amy said, “since it’s closer than going home. I’m sure you’re welcome to stay for dinner with us if you’d like. And there’ll be plenty of help to get the road clear, and the cars repaired afterward. That is unless you want to head back to Sawtooth Peaks for Christmas dinner. I know I’ve imposed on you enough. If you want to go back while I go ahead, I totally understand.”

  She thought she had put me out. She never could.

  Amy sat down by my side on the log, fully clothed. I sighed in relief and pulled the fish from the fire.

  “Got no plans,” I said. “Just work.”

  “So you’ll come?” Amy asked with a genuine smile. She had a gorgeous smile, the best smile. Her big, brown eyes lit up, and dimples formed on her cheeks. She had a second way of smiling. It was the fake grin she put on at work for the sleazebags that hit on her. I preferred the first.

  “Of course,” I replied. Work, or Amy. Easy choice. Hell if I was going to let her travel the rest of the trip on foot alone. “Food’s done.”

  “Let’s see how good your cooking is, James Harkins,” Amy said, beaming at me.

  I grinned back. I gave her the biggest fillet and she dug in, lifting the fish to her mouth then going right back for more.

  “It’s good,” she said. “Really good. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I replied. “Can only cook a few things. Meat. Fish.”

  “Well, you do it well,” Amy said. “It’s not easy over an open flame and with no plates or pans.”

  “My specialty,” I said. “All I did before Sawtooth Peaks.” Out of necessity I’d taught myself to prepare meat and fish with nothing but a pocket knife, a lighter, and wood.

  “After you left the east coast?” Amy asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How long was it between when you left and when you met John Tenbrook?” Amy asked.

  She knew part of the story. The part where John had found me, feral mostly. Took me in, though he had no need to. He could have left me. The last alpha of Sawtooth Peaks had been kinder than most men, humans or shifters.

  “Didn’t know how long at the time,” I said. “Later found out it ended up being about eight months.”

  “I wish I’d had a chance to meet John,” Amy said. “With the way everyone talks about him, and the way you talk about him. Was he as good of an alpha as Lance?”

  “He was,” I said. “Had peace with all the pack’s neighbors. John was the kind of alpha that made the pack and the town better. Took people in, no matter where they came from or what they’d done.”

  “Like you?” Amy asked.

  “Yeah.” I didn’t like talking about my past. Except with her. Amy could ask me anything and I’d tell her.

  We both ate, and I was ready to get moving. No reason to keep her out in the cold any longer than she had to be. With handfuls of snow, I put out the fire. The embers sizzled, smoked, then dwindled.

  Amy led the way toward her family’s farm, back into the woods.

  “What’s it like?” I asked. “The farm?”

  “Oh,” she said, “it’s a big farm in the middle of nowhere. I thought it was magical when I was little. The way food grew in the ground when it was well-tended. The way a family could create so much.”

  “And now?” I asked.

  “They still do those things,” she said with a smile. The kind of smile that said she didn’t really want to go home for the holidays at all.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “Not with me.”

  “Do what?” Amy asked.

  “Pretend everything’s fine when it’s not. Pretend that the bubbly bartender is all that you are,” I said, treading carefully between ferns.

  “I am a bubbly bartender,” Amy said. “It’s my thing. Good friend. Always smile. Listen and be there. That’s me.”

  “Sure,” I said. “But I can tell you don’t wanna go to that farm. I can tell, Amy.”

  “Fine,” she said, stopping in her tracks and turning to face me. Her eyes were intense. Her muscles were stiff.

  I worried that I’d upset her. It wasn’t my intention.

  She continued, “I don’t like spending Christmas with my family. Or Thanksgiving. Or Easter. I love my family, and love to be with them. But every time everyone is all together it turns into a pity-fest that poor Amy’s going to be an old lady with no mate. And I don’t need that. I like my life. Sure, I’d like a mate, but I’m busy with work. And it’s not like the right kind of guys line up.”

  “Amy,” I said. “Any man would be lucky—”

  “Let me stop you right there,” Amy said, putting her hand up. “You don’t get to tell me that I’ll find a nice guy, or that I’ll find my mate. Because if you aren’t going to take me up on a date then you can’t say someone else will. And I know you too, James Harkins.”

  A flash of nerves squeezed in my gut. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but I was also afraid of what she might say.

  She put her hands down, and her face softened. “You’re deeper than the silent, tough enforcer that everyone sees. I see your pain, your kindness. I see the way you keep everyone at arm’s length so you don’t have to let anyone know you. But I do.”

  By the time she finished speaking, the tension in her shoulders had eased.

  She did know me, too well, and she deserved better than a man old enough to be her father. Not a scarred and damaged brute. She deserved a happy life with cubs and the kind of man who could give her everything that she could ever want.

  I said nothing.

  “Okay then,” she said with a nod. Then she turned around and started back down the narrow deer trail. “And no matter how mixed my feelings are about going home for Christmas,” she said softly, with a small turn up of her lips. “I’d never miss it. Holidays are about family.”

  Family.

  Not for me. Not anymore.

  Chapter Eight

  Amy

  Walking through the forest on autopilot, I stepped over logs and around low-growing plants. Was I too mean? No. He could take it. But maybe I was a bit too harsh.

  Harkins followed me even after I’d snapped at him. I shouldn’t have snapped. He was right. Of course he was right. There was a mate out there for m
e somewhere, just like everyone said. There was a mate for everyone. But I didn’t have time to date, not really. And the one I wanted wasn’t interested.

  Maybe he knew me too well. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he liked brunettes or was hung up on some woman from back east. It was pointless to go over it again in my head. I knew it was. Just as I knew it was selfish of me to be glad that I’d have Harkins with me for Christmas dinner. But I was grateful for him being with me all the same.

  “Bear.” Harkins’s voice pulled me from my head. Which was undoubtedly a good thing. Overthinking was always trouble.

  “Bear?” I said, sniffing the air. “Shouldn’t they be in hibernation?”

  “They should,” Harkins agreed. “But you see that tree?” He pointed off to our left, into the distance. I scanned the tall trunks of the sky-high pines until I saw it. Deep lines carved into the bark of one of the evergreens. The scrapes were distinct—definitely created by bear claws.

  “Could be from before the first snow,” I offered.

  “Could be.”

  “It seems the most likely. I don’t smell anything but wolves,” I said. The markings looked fresh, but they would have even if they were made two months ago. The chances of a grizzly or black bear wandering around in this cold were low.

  “Agreed,” Harkins said. “Let’s keep movin’ either way.”

  “Fair plan,” I said, and continued on the deer trail that curved mostly in the right direction. The brush off of the path was too thick to traverse. Best to avoid it, so we followed the trail.

  After about another mile, the trees became less dense. As the trunks grew farther apart, logs and brush covering the ground became sparser and were replaced by snow. Between branches, I could see bits of the rocky white landscape beyond.

  We reached the valley just before the mountain that led to the farm. Another couple of hours and we would reach the road. But between us and our destination was rough terrain.

  And a pack of wolves.

  “Amy.” Harkins’s voice was soft, little more than a whisper.

  “I see them,” I replied.

  Camouflaged amongst gray rocks and snow-covered slopes, between frost-coated bushes and branches of saplings, were our kindred. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a pack of wolves so close. There was a stillness to the air, a quiet as we looked at them and they looked at us. Gray fur and white—they watched and waited, until the largest male stepped forward. There was no questioning that the tall, gray wolf was the pack’s alpha. His eyes were yellow, and he held his head high as he approached.

  Had I been human, I’d have been terrified. But instead, I felt a sense of calm, a peacefulness from the pack. The alpha howled, and the pack followed his lead. Voices picked up over the expanse as wolves lifted their heads toward the sky. I took it as an invitation.

  “Want to run?” I asked Harkins, keeping my eyes on the alpha.

  “It’s been so long,” Harkins replied.

  “I know,” I said. The prospect was thrilling, being one with my inner beast. Being surrounded by those who shared my experience in a pure and natural way. Then I stripped my clothes and began to shift. I looked to Harkins, at the excitement glistening in his eyes. He needed this too.

  I experienced the change: the tail sprouting, the fur growing, the cracking and reshaping of my bones. But I watched my companion, the smile that crept onto his face as he pulled off his boots, his shirt, his pants. I took in the hard lines of his chiseled muscles, the strength and masculinity of his naked body.

  Harkins dropped to all fours and his thick arms shrank to the thin but agile legs of his wolf form. His beard receded and was replaced by gray fur. His scars remained, which I liked. They were a part of him, man or wolf.

  He padded close to me and nuzzled his face into my neck. My breath caught as his scent filled my nostrils—saltwater, sand, and oak. James Harkins.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and took off toward the pack.

  I bounded after, paws sinking down into the cold, wet snow. The alpha ran to Harkins, taking his side as we raced around the valley. Wolves flanked me on the left and right; they were ahead of me, behind me. It was exhilarating. Hearts raced, and snow flew up from pounding paws. It was a sea of fur, of gray and white, just like the landscape. I watched the movement of the wolves, their muscles moving powerful, agile legs. And I watched Harkins, the way he kept pace with the alpha, and the thrill in his eyes.

  Over a log and around a boulder the pack raced, falling in line when the path grew narrow. Adrenaline pumped through me as the cold air bit my face. The fluffy white powder gave way beneath my paws. There was an air of excitement, yet also peace in the running wolves. They were one, and they allowed us to be a part of that, if only for a little while.

  Harkins fell back and ran by my side. I felt his enjoyment, saw the thrill and excitement on his face. Watching him let go, live fully in the present, heightened the joy of the experience for me. I was fueled by his energy.

  The pack dove under low branches, around sharp turns, and over hills. We moved in a single direction behind the alpha, flowing like trout carried in the river’s current. It was different from running with my pack, a wordless escape from the real world fueled only by instinct.

  Snowflakes landed on Harkins’s long muzzle, then I noticed the moisture in my fur, my ears, my nose. Freshly falling snow.

  What began as a sparse sprinkle quickly became a blinding fog of pillowy white specks falling all around us. The pack slowed and turned toward a cave.

  “We need to go back,” Harkins said.

  “I guess so,” I agreed, though I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to have to put my clothes back on and feel the cold, to give up the serenity we had found amongst our kin.

  The pack went on as Harkins and I turned back the way we had traveled, through sharp turns and between boulders. Back to our clothes.

  As one of the pack, the time spent running felt brief. Walking back, watching the white flakes float down from the sky, the distance seemed much greater. What had felt like minutes was likely an hour or more in reality. And the path back seemed endless. The snowfall grew heavier, mixing with icy pellets. The wind picked up. My skin prickled with goose bumps as the cold air blew my fur forward. Dampness sank into my bones. Before long, soft snowflakes had been replaced by harsh wind and painful pellets of sleet.

  Still, the experience had been worth it.

  “We were out too long,” Harkins said when we returned to the edge of the forest, to the place where we had left our clothes, which were now covered in snow and ice.

  “It was nice though, right?” I asked.

  “It was,” he agreed, narrowing his eyes at me as my whole body shivered. “But I have to get you somewhere safe. Warm. Dry.” If it was someone else, I might have minded the sentiment, that he had to do it instead of we. But Harkins wanted to take care of me, and I liked that. “And you should stay a wolf. I’ll carry our clothes.”

  “So you’re planning on shifting to carry all of our things?” I asked.

  “You’ll be warmer with fur. It’s the smart choice,” Harkins replied.

  “Why don’t you do the same then?” I asked. “It’s silly for you to carry my clothes. If it’s better to stay as wolves, we should both stay as wolves. Carry our clothes between our teeth.” I smiled at the thought of trying to drag everything through the storm. It wasn’t practical. But I wasn’t ready to leave my phone and keys out here in the middle of nowhere.

  “I’ll be fine,” Harkins said.

  I looked him in the eye. He was stubborn. Maybe I was too. Then I made up my mind, and shifted back to a naked human popsicle.

  “I’m shifting back,” I said. “I’ll wear my clothes.”

  Harkins averted his eyes, returned to human form, and dressed. Sleet pelted my bare skin, as I raced to pull on my soaked and ice-crusted clothes. Everything was too tight and uncomfortable. I preferred the fur.

  “We can find shelter
,” I said between attempts to still my chattering teeth. “There’s an abandoned cabin not too far that way.”

  “It’ll do,” Harkins said, then wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close.

  If I hadn’t been shivering so hard, and if there weren’t five layers of fabric between us, I would have been excited about the contact. But even under the circumstances, he was warm and comforting as we walked out into the winter storm.

  Chapter Nine

  Harkins

  Dank with the stink of mildew and rodents, the cabin had been left to decay. Much of the small building had collapsed and been taken over by nature. Lucky for us, there was still a living room with a roof and a fireplace. I was grateful that Amy knew the area so well. I couldn’t have found the cabin without her. In the ice and snow, it looked like a pile of rocks or some brush. Nothing of worth.

  It was fine for me. I’d stayed in worse. But Amy deserved a better place to hide from the storm. If I’d stayed on task, we might even have made it to her family farm by now. When the storm let up, there’d be no more stops.

  There was nothing to see out the boarded-up window, even if it had still contained glass. The world was white and gray. Nothing more.

  The best place to sit was by the fire, where Amy was, close to the flaming hearth on the cabin floor. I’d found plenty of scrap wood from the sections of the house that had been exposed to the elements. Problem was, it was all damp. It had taken a piece of floorboard to start the flame. But the heat was growing as the rest of the wood dried.

  “Been here before?” I asked Amy as I sat down beside her on the floor.

  Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her blond hair still wet on her shoulders. Her brown eyes were glossy, both beautiful and distant as she stared into the flames.