“Amy,” Nora said, with a little pull on my tail. I turned. “I have a dress that you can borrow.”
“Thanks,” I said, and followed her up to her old bedroom. It was just like I remembered, purple, pink, and full of sparkly everything.
“Harkins as in the Harkins?” Nora asked, as I shifted back to human form.
“The one and only,” I said, and slipped on the long-sleeved green dress my sister held out for me. It wasn’t my style, but it was my size. And I was grateful. “Thanks.”
“So, what, he finally said yes to a date and you decided not to share with your favorite sister?” Nora asked with a smug grin on her pretty, pink lips.
“No, I didn’t hold back on you,” I said. “I promise. It just happened. Let’s go downstairs, so I can tell the story just once.”
“I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s curious,” Nora said.
“I’m sure,” I agreed, and squeezed my sister in for a hug. It was good to be home. Wonderful to be with Nora.
When we reached the bottom of the staircase, I heard his voice. In the living room, a fire roared in the hearth. A tree reached up toward the ceiling nearly two stories high, covered in sparkling ornaments and shining white lights.
In his human form again, Harkins sat in the middle of the long, brown leather sofa, with my sisters on each of his sides and Nessa on his lap. Gran stood with Mom and Dad. Everyone had gathered around my mate, sitting on the floor when there wasn’t space to sit. My brother-in-law Jeff stood by the doorway to the kitchen, beer in hand, leaning on the frame and listening to Harkins.
I slid in between my sister Joy and my mate, and took Harkins’s hand. He wore an ugly Christmas sweater my Gran had knit for my dad, one my father had never worn. It had little jingle bells along the collar, which I may have dinged a few times while I sat next to Harkins on the sofa.
“That’s right,” Harkins said. “First time I laid eyes on Amy was at Sawtooth Den. Didn’t take long to love her. Always have.”
“I’m so happy for the two of you,” Mom said, squeezing Dad’s hand as she looked between me and my mate. “What a wonderful gift for Christmas.”
We spent the day in front of the fire, where I told the tale of how we’d lost our vehicles and our clothes, minus the personal, not-so-appropriate-for-Christmas-and-children-details.
“Just Harkins,” Gran said, “do you have a house for our Amy? A good job?”
“Mom,” my mother said, lowering her brow. Then she turned to Harkins and waited for his answer.
“My first name is James,” Harkins told Gran. She nodded. “I have an apartment, a place in our pack as top enforcer. I’m the alpha’s right hand, and have saved all of my earnings for as long as I can remember. I’ll buy her a house if she wants one.”
“I have a job too,” I said. “And a savings. And an apartment.”
My mom looked to Harkins and said, “She likes the little blue house on Main Street.”
“Mom,” I scolded.
“She does,” Nora agreed.
Harkins looked to me and smiled. It was true. I may have mentioned that I liked the little blue townhouse on Main Street. But we could figure all of that out later. For the moment, I just wanted to enjoy what we had discovered—our new bond with each other.
After about an hour, the tension Harkins held in his shoulders was gone, and was replaced by contentment.
I helped my sisters, my mother, and my grandmother with dinner. Harkins spent time talking to my father and my brothers-in-law. They talked sports and agriculture, and most of the time, trucks. Maybe it was a man thing, or only a wolf shifter man thing, but they all seemed to love trucks and motorcycles. Either way, I enjoyed watching Harkins bond with my father.
Nessa showed us the fairy garden she’d built with Gran—a tiny house painted sparkly pink, with succulents growing all around the little wooden building in the terra cotta pot. And Joy’s son, Nick, showed Harkins all of the trading cards in his massive binder. The six-year-old went through all of the statistics and strengths of the monsters and spells, and Harkins listened to every word. By dinner, the two sat on the living room floor playing a battling game with the cards.
We shared a meal of turkey and stuffing, of roasted root vegetables and pumpkin pie. There were fresh-baked rolls and creamy butter. Dessert was a blueberry tart. Everything was homegrown, home-raised, and homemade. It was a delicious meal with good company and good conversation.
We stayed up late after the kids had all fallen asleep, talking and laughing, trading stories and remembering Christmases long past. My mate sat beside me, and held my hand, asking questions as my sisters shared embarrassing tales of my childhood. I’d done the same to them when they had first brought their mates to meet the family. Embarrassment was part of the holiday tradition—part of being an Anderson. And I loved every minute—the way Harkins lit up when my eyes went wide, and the way he brushed his thumb over my knuckles when my cheeks turned pink.
At the end of the night, I took Harkins up to the bedroom that used to be mine and showed him all of the little things that had mattered to me when I was young. There was the blue comforter, and the little, stuffed, gray wolf that I had snuggled when I had slept. I felt like a teenager, sneaking a boy into my room, excited and nervous. It was our first night together as mates in a real bedroom, between real sheets.
I dropped my sister’s dress to the floor and pulled the jingle bell sweater over Harkins’s head. The little bells sounded as they hit the floor, and I smiled. I ran my fingers through my mate’s beard, down to his taut, masculine chest, and climbed into my childhood bed. Harkins watched my movements with hungry eyes, stood still as I made myself comfortable. When I beckoned him to follow, he dropped his borrowed pants and came to bed without hesitation.
We made love, and stayed up whispering, then made love again. I’d never seen Harkins so happy or so carefree. It was blissful, and wonderful, and the perfect Christmas. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open a moment longer, we slept together for the first time in a bed, as partners for life. As mates.
Epilogue
Amy
I felt like the house from The Cat in the Hat with Thing One and Thing Two racing around in my belly. Each turn and flip told me the twins would be a handful, a wonderful addition to my new life. Boys or girls, I didn’t know yet. I wanted it to remain a surprise. My mom called every day to see if I’d changed my mind about finding out their sexes and asked the doctor. She also grilled me on how I was feeling. She’d been down to visit more times since she found out I was pregnant than she had since I had first left the farm and moved to Sawtooth Peaks.
Fleur was trained and ready to pick up all of my duties when I took my maternity leave. Which I was not yet ready to do. Harkins sat on his usual stool in the corner, silently taking in the scene, and within reach of me and anyone that tried to get too close.
Pool balls cracked on impact, and Journey played beneath the laughter and chatter of Sawtooth Den’s patrons. I winked at Harkins as I walked by, and he gave me a look that said he was ready to take me in the supply closet. Not that it would be the first time. I smiled and poured another round of beers for the booth in the back.
“Hey.” A tall, thin, human man walked over to the bar and leaned over a bit too far for my comfort. His nose was long and crooked, his arms as thick as my neck. “Heyum sweetcheeks. How ’bout I take you—”
I frowned. His words slurred as badly as his breath smelled.
Harkins was on his feet in no time. I held up a hand, letting him know I had it covered.
“Let me stop you right there,” I said to the baby-faced man who didn’t seem to care that I was seven months pregnant. With twins. “I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t even heard my offer. I’va six inch—”
“I’ve got a six-inch knife,” I said with a smile, my citrus blade in my hand. “I use it to cut limes. And whatever else I have to cut.”
Harkins stood behind the man, m
uscles tense and ready to defend my honor. The drunk leaned forward, again opening his mouth to ask me for what I assumed would be more than drinks. Harkins laid a hand on the man’s shoulder.
If my hearing had been human, and not shifter, I would have missed what my mate said. But I didn’t. “Walk away now and you get to keep all of your limbs. Including the little one.”
The man turned and stared at Harkins, who was the shorter of the two. I’d have put my money on Harkins even if he wasn’t my mate. Their eyes were locked for but a moment.
“Sorry, yeah,” the guy said, hands in the air, before walking away.
Harkins approached, to where the man had stood by the counter. He took the drunk’s place, and leaned forward. With a devilish grin and a sparkle in his eye he was as sexy as ever. His beard was full, his shoulders big and strong. I appreciated the way his thick arms flexed and the strength he showed in everything he did.
I leaned forward and gave him a kiss.
“You know,” he said. “I have a—”
“After work,” I chided.
The phone rang, and I turned to answer. “Sawtooth Den, this is Amy.”
“Amy.” I recognized Cole Tenbrook’s voice.
“Hi, Cole,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“The cribs are done and ready to deliver,” he said.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “We’ll meet you at the house.”
“See you then,” Cole said before hanging up.
I turned back to my mate. “Cribs are ready,” I said. “Let’s go.”
He smiled, and walked toward the coat rack.
“Hey, Fleur,” I said, “I just got a phone call—”
“Go ahead,” she said with a look that suggested that I should have known her answer. “Really, Amy, go.”
“Thanks.”
We walked home to the little townhouse on Main Street that we’d bought together. It was only a block from work, and my favorite color, robin’s egg blue, just like my car parked out front. Harkins locked his hand in mine as we crossed the street and went inside.
The ceilings were tall, the floors hardwood. Decorating the three-bedroom house was still a work in progress, with most of my attention spent on perfecting the nursery. Harkins had painted the walls a neutral light green, and I had matching bedding with silver and white accents picked out and ready.
Cole and Hailey, his mate, arrived soon after us. While Harkins and Cole set up the two matching, hand-carved cribs side by side in the nursery, Hailey and I had a chance to catch up.
“Are you excited?” she asked, looking down at my enormous belly.
“I am,” I said, holding my hands over the summersaulting twins.
“You’ll be a great mom,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said, and hugged my friend.
They didn’t stay long, and then it was just me and my mate. He sat down in the rocking chair set up between the two beautiful cribs, and I sat in his lap. Harkins wrapped his arms around me, and we took in the completed nursery. It was the final touch to our new house, to our new life. All that was left was waiting for the twins.
Everything was different since we’d spent those nights out in the mountains. The sadness that I’d seen in Harkins was gone. He smiled, he hummed, and those laugh lines by the sides of his eyes grew more noticeable.
We became closer with every passing day. He read stories to my belly and held me while I slept. We ran through the woods at night as wolves, and visited my family every holiday.
Harkins nuzzled his nose in the crook of my neck and breathed me in. I savored the comfort of his arms and his scent—saltwater and sand. I turned to him and met his eyes. He gave me that same look. The one that he gave me every day, the one of love and longing. It was a look I cherished from the man I loved, my mate.
Leaving the Pack
Book Five
Chapter One
Axel
Three years, five months, and eleven days—the length of time it had taken for me to change. Bar after shitty bar had blurred together in a black pit of self-loathing. The patrons were just like I had been: pitiful, angry, and there to drink away their sorrows. My story was different than theirs. I didn't have a wife to hate, crying children to avoid, or a job that I'd lost.
Down the west coast, then the east, I'd run from my troubles. The longest I'd stayed in one place was a few months in a small town in Texas before I had hit the road once again. Each stop was the same as the last: another biker bar, another place where no one knew my face or my story. But no matter how far I ran, I never forgot what I'd done. I'd hated the man that had murdered my father, and worse, I hated myself after I'd taken my revenge.
Blood for blood hadn't stopped the pain. Instead, it had shown me how far I'd fallen.
I stared at the tiny, tube TV that was mounted above the corner of the bar. It was always some kind of sport, whatever was in season. Colorful cars fought for rank in a clump that resembled a flock of birds. I’d never cared much for racing—the confines of the track, the circling. It reminded me of life—always the same, always a competition for so little, an inch ahead or a dollar more.
The buzz of the engines was barely audible below the voices of drunks betting on the race, arguing over who had the best chance to screw some chick that wasn’t there, and belching. The guy two stools down had an unnatural amount of gas. It wasn’t just the sound that made that clear.
All of it was typical, a slice of drunken, degenerate life. This time it was Louisiana, some small town I hadn't bothered to learn the name of.
“Another?” The bartender smiled at me and leaned forward on her elbows. A third chilled and sweaty longneck swung from her fingertips. The woman was pretty, with brown hair pulled up high, and bright eyes that spoke of her gentle spirit. Fragile. Human.
She was everything that I wasn’t, and the type of person I should avoid. No more destruction in my path—I’d given up one-night stands and carnal comforts. There was only the road, and the search for peace.
“I’m good, thanks,” I said.
“If you say so,” she said with a wink and a shrug of her shoulders. “You know where to find me when you change your mind.”
I wouldn’t. Instead, I set the cash I owed on the counter and walked out.
The hot, humid air was little relief from the stuffy bar. It was nothing like the cool summer nights back home. But that was part of why I was here. Difference. Distance.
Buildings were spread apart along the main street, instead of squished together. Colors varied only between whites, grays, browns and reds. Few lights lined the stony road, allowing the moon to shine brightest of all. It was the first town I’d visited where the stars could be seen from Main Street.
Crickets chirped. Frogs croaked. I was in the middle of nowhere. That suited me fine.
Across the street was a dark building marked General Store. It looked like nothing special, but still I found my attention lingering.
On the otherwise lifeless storefront, the door cracked open. Hidden in shadow, yet impossible to miss, a small woman slipped out. Tight, torn jeans clung to her thin legs. An oversized leather jacket hung from her shoulders. Her short hair was jet black, her flawless skin fair. The scent of shifter was undeniable, under something soft, like dew on a spring morning, that was uniquely her. But what froze me was her eyes. It wasn’t the cliché gorgeousness of them, though the copper shade was unusual. It was the hate that simmered beneath. It was looking through a mirror straight to my soul, to who I had been, to the version of me I never again wanted to be. She stared back, unmoving, from across the street, until she broke the connection and disappeared around the side of the building.
My feet moved on their own, tracing the path of the woman who sparked something inside of me—interest, feeling. I’d thought myself a shell, dead inside. But she drew me with a single glance. I couldn’t say why I followed, only that I was compelled to get a closer look, to ask her name, to stare into her eyes once more.
The scent of shifter faded beneath the reek of decay. The stink of meat that had been left out in the hot sun assailed my nose, while the nearness of it set my hair on end. What the hell was behind the general store?
Feet shuffled. A male voice grunted. Metal clanged. The woman was in trouble. I raced around the corner, and found her cornered by three men in a small, poorly-lit parking lot.
The dim, fluorescent light flickered, shading the lot in a sickly yellow hue.
One turned; the other two did not. The woman backed toward the brick wall behind her, copper eyes squinting as she spared me a short glance. Her heartbeat was even, her face hard. She wasn’t afraid. Did she have a death wish?
“Leave her be,” I said, walking forward. I clenched my fists, ready for the fight that would ensue. My pulse thrummed in anticipation. It had been too long since I’d had a good brawl.
Tall and thin, quick yet strange—the olive-skinned man charged at me. Or at least it may have been olive in different light. Below the harsh florescent, gray was a better description. Though no amount of light could change the color of his eyes. Bright as Mountain Dew, and just as unnatural, his eyes were fucking neon yellow. I’d never seen anything like it.
I’d expected a fist, for the bastard to try to hit me. What I hadn’t expected was him to come at me teeth first. Well, that, or the rancid odor that seeped from his pores. Like a rabid animal, he tried to bite me, grazing my leather sleeve with his blackened teeth. I knocked him back, and looked to the woman I’d come to help. Were they all like this? Were they trying to bite her?
With a silver flash, steel cut through flesh. She moved like an expert with that blade, slashing without hesitation. Was she an assassin? The man on the right held his throat with one hand, and grabbed at her with the other. The metallic scent of freshly spilled blood filled the air. The woman kicked the bleeder back with a heavy stomp to the chest.
Werewolves & Whiskers: Sawtooth Peaks Wolf Shifter Romance Box Set Page 50