Aimee Easterling's Blog, page 6

The Hidden World of the Fox

Adele Brand’s book is a lovingly written, easy to read, but far from exhaustive window into the red fox’s world. Most the text is about the European foxes the author has had personal experiences with (which she notes are considered by some to be a different species than the North American red fox). Here are some of my favorite takeaways:

I hadn’t realized that red foxes in Britain have been folded into not-so-wild areas, both living wild in cities and fed in backyards the way Americans feed birds. (A different source suggests urban foxes are evolving to be more doglike than their rural counterparts, which is an intriguing corollary). This actually matches up with my anecdotal survey of fox populations in the U.S. — I smell them regularly during my woodland hikes while very rarely seeing them, but a suburban friend says they’re pretty common where she lives.

How (other than smell) do you know foxes are present? My friend often hears them (probably most frequently in midwinter when they’re mating) and sees them as roadkill. And while we think of foxes as nocturnal, Brand notes that they’ve just learned to be leery of humans and move their activity to night when we’re around. All of that said, game cameras will dramatically increase your odds of seeing a fox. Set the camera up about a foot and a half off the ground, pointing up a game trail (rather than across).

Brand goes on to explain that a fox requires “nine voles or one rat daily – or one double cheeseburger with fries.” A mother fox will need to add on two additional voles a day per cub. And since their stomachs are small, foxes can’t go long periods like wolves do between meals. Instead, they need to snack often, sometimes on earthworms or carrion (although rodents are their main prey).

The experienced viewer can tell male and female foxes apart by the shape of their faces. Vixens (females) have narrower faces while dogfoxes (males) have broader cheekbones that make their faces look W-shaped.

Brand writes: “Territories are really the construct of male foxes; a vixen, rather like a Victorian woman, holds property only as a proxy of her mate.” A fox territory is often home to a breeding pair, subordinate females who usually don’t breed, cubs from the previous year (usually female), and possibly a transient male or two.

Finally, I’ll end with an absolutely crazy story Brand told about a German fox who “gathered shoes to a fantastically obsessive level. For over a year, steel-capped workmen’s boots, wellingtons, and slippers all vanished from doorsteps. When a forestry worker stumbled upon her den, an astonishing 86 shoes were stashed around it. Another 32 were found nearby in a quarry. The count of the town duly had laid them out in his palace for their owners to collect – and put out a gentle advisory to keep footwear indoors at night.”

Intrigued? There’s plenty more where that came from, but you’ll need to read the book for the rest. Alternatively, you can read my far-more-fantastical take on foxes in the city in the free book Wolf’s Bane.

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Reading week

Twenty-five years ago, when I first showed up at college, I immediately pored over the academic calendar. “Reading week!” I exclaimed, imagining seven solid days of curtailed classes and assignments. We’d all sit around on bean bag chairs, sipping hot chocolate, gorging on pizza, and reading silently. Now and then one of us would share an amusing tidbit, then we’d all return to our books.

Unfortunately, the reality was very different. First of all, reading “week” was only two or three days long. Second, the period occurred right before finals, so our time was spent frantically poring over class notes while reciting our school’s unofficial mantra under our breath. “Anywhere else it would have been an A….”

Fast forward ahead to the present, and I sent Charmed Wolf off to the beta reader last week. Pre-pandemic, I used to spend those two weeks filling my brain with different ideas via travel before starting to brainstorm the subject matter of my next book.

Travel isn’t currently advisable, but reading — especially the non-fiction that tends to pile up on my shelf waiting for my attention — can transport me while feeding the bubbling soup of my imagination. So I decided to recreate the Reading Week that naive frosh imagined in 1996.

To that end, I’ll be curled up on the couch each morning this week, in front of our wood stove with zero to two cats plus some dark-chocolate-covered almonds and clementines (my current snacks of choice). I’ll fall into my kindle and, when something interesting jumps out at me, I’ll come over here and share tidbits on my blog. Stay tuned!

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The root of my storytelling gene

Since today is my birthday, I thought you might indulge me sharing an old family story that contains no werewolves or supernatural elements. This essay was written by 17-year-old me as part of an application for a scholarship from the Daughters of the American Revolution.

(No, they didn’t give me the scholarship. I can’t imagine why not.)

***

Most of my mother’s ancestors were blond, blue-eyed people. They traced their descent on her father’s side from Sweden and on her mother’s from Saxon stock. So the question arose: Why did my grandmother, my mother, and I all have dark hair and eyes?

Once, my grandmother was told by her angry grandmother that she was just like “that woman” with her dark hair and snapping black eyes. At the time, a woman was expected to be meek and obliging, not willful and defiant.

My grandmother showed me a picture of “that woman,” who turned out to be Mary Greene, my great-great-great grandmother. The photograph was black and white and much faded with age, but I could easily distinguish the woman who my grandmother was supposed to resemble. Mary Greene’s hair was white and the old woman sat peacefully in a large chair. And yet, I saw the same pride in her face that I often see in my grandmother’s, the pride I hope to find in my own face.

I think this is the picture 17-year-old-me was referring to…but if so I was a bad listener. This is my great-grandmother.

The Greenes, so the story goes, lived in Hope Valley, Rhode Island, and often went to Shawomet, by the shore. Some of my relatives remember picnics at the traditional family farm in Rhode Island. However, the Greenes lived long before the memories of these relatives, in a simpler time when people walked the few miles to the beach to sharpen their scythes in the sand.

I like to imagine that these distant ancestors were good people, and their deeds certainly seem to indicate kindness. After one of the violent storms that blew in off the ocean, the Greenes found a shipwrecked girl tossed up on the beach and took her in. Their dark-complexioned foundling was named Mary Greene and, although she was well-loved, she never quite blended into the family. She looked different; but, more than that, she was independent.

Mary Greene grew up and lost some of her impulsiveness, although she was never a conventional woman. She married a blond Yankee like those in her adopted family and soon they had four small children, each of whom kept at least a small part of Mary Greene’s features and will. Her third child named his first child Mary Greene after her grandmother. However, the girl’s mother believed, as most people did at that time, that a woman should be tractable and obedient. Therefore, Mary Greene the elder’s daughter-in-law was never in accord with her new mother-in-law.

The willful streak of darkness slipped down through the generations until my grandmother stamped her foot angrily and was told by that daughter-in-law (now a grandmother) that she was just like “that woman,” the defiant waif who family lore supposed was Spanish or Portuguese or perhaps Native American.

Mary Greene was a woman born at the wrong time, but her descendants inherited the fortitude and defiance necessary to survive in twentieth century America. That willful, wonderful woman imparted to my grandmother the ability to travel to Panama as a dietician at a time when many women didn’t have jobs outside the home, let alone outside the country. I am anticipating with pleasure the ability Mary Greene has bequeathed to me.

***

In case you’re curious, a DNA test of my mother combined with some genealogical sleuthing suggests that “that woman” was likely of Germanic descent. An odd coincidence since my father’s side of the family is largely from Austria and Germany and is also dark-haired and dark-eyed.

But that — including the butcher who could write two different letters with his right and left hands at the same time — is a story for another time.

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Moon Glamour sneak peek

Are you ready for  a brand new book in a brand new series? Moon Glamour can be enjoyed as a standalone, but it also launches a new world of werewolves and fae. Keep reading for a preview!

Chapter 1

I showed up at the job interview with salt packets in my pocket and a grease stain on my right knee. Scanning the museum steps for a woman with a rose pinned to her blouse, I came up empty. Good. I was early enough to nip inside and wash up.

Unfortunately, I didn’t quite make it to the ladies’ room before words a human wouldn’t have been able to decipher percolated into my lupine-enhanced ears.

“I’d hit that.”

“Mm mm, me too!”

I turned just a little so the glass case I was walking past reflected the faces of the girls behind me. They were around my sister’s age. Sixteen, fueled by raging hormones, and currently proving that men weren’t the only ones who objectified members of the opposite sex.

“I mean look at that butt.”

“Can’t. Too busy with his biceps.”

They sounded like they wanted to lick the object of their admiration. And even though I was on a deadline, I swiveled all the way around so I could follow their gaze.

No wonder the girls were excited. The man leaning forward to peer at the brush strokes of a Renoir measured over six feet of rope-thick muscles. His shoulders were so wide I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had to turn sideways to fit through doorways.

He also moved with the grace of a werewolf. I flared my nostrils then coughed as my throat flooded with the wildness that only another shifter could exude.

My fists clenched. Coming face to face with a male werewolf was bad news, even if both of us were currently playing human. If I was lucky, this stranger would acknowledge my right to pass through a territory I didn’t rightfully belong in after he saw the rectangle of paper in my pocket. But my get-out-of-jail-free card wasn’t likely to hold up to many testings. Better to fly under the radar….

Leave. Now, my inner wolf whispered. Our heart rate sped up. Human feet were pointing toward the exit with wolf speed hurrying their motion when the girls hissed out disappointment.

“Ew. What a face.”

“I’d still do him…if he tied a bag over his head.”

Their words descended into giggles and curiosity stole my momentum. This time, I turned all the way around to see what grotesqueness had squashed their juvenile infatuation.

I was too late to catch more than a glimpse before the man angled his body away from us. I’d seen enough, however, to note the relevant facts.

Skin a middling brown that I suspected spoke to a Latin American heritage. Bushy eyebrows. A nose that had been broken and reset without medical attention. Scars, multiple scars.

But that wasn’t the reason the girls had reacted so negatively. The charisma of an alpha—and he was an alpha; I could smell that on him—should have attracted human women as thoroughly as it intrigued female werewolves. Only, something was off about this particular specimen. Something related to the scars streaking through what might otherwise have been appealing features.

I cocked my head, trying to understand the girls’ repulsion. This was an unexpected twist in the well-worn path of werewolf charisma. The strength of an alpha, apparently, could either attract or repel.

And as I squinted, I could almost see what had turned the teenagers off about Mr. Broad Shoulders. More than the scars. Something deeper….

Then I blinked and my face blindness kicked back in.

Well, my face blindness plus his evasive action. Instead of responding with the rage I would have expected, the alpha turned even further so we couldn’t catch even a glimpse of his supposed ugliness. Maybe that’s why I broke my cardinal rule—never draw attention to yourself.

“The perfect male body,” I mused aloud. “A rare art form. I believe I saw two specimens on the fourth floor, third gallery over from the stairs.”

I had, too. Last Sunday when I wandered through the Roman marbles. The men in question, let me be clear, were statues. Naked, though. Muscular. Perfectly featured. The girls would appreciate their chiseled physiques.

I was tempted to add a zinger. Something about the cold harshness that often went hand in hand with perfect masculine beauty. The warmth of spirit that was far more important outside museums.

But these girls were kids. Too young to know better.

So I let their giggling recede without dousing them in the cold water of adult wisdom. Then I turned my own feet toward the exit, already thinking ahead to my upcoming meeting…

…and ran into a wall of hot, living werewolf chest.

***

“That was sweet, chica.” His voice was deep, gravelly. Before I could retreat, he took a single step sideways. Now he was toeing the line of appropriate personal space while also opening my path to the exit in case I needed to make a run for it.

And I did need to make a run for it. I’d wasted my hand-washing minute educating teenagers. If I didn’t leave now, I’d be late to the job interview. Which, in turn, was likely to cascade into making me late visiting my sister. Late preventing family drama from a stepfather who reveled in inserting monkey wrenches into my well-laid plans.

But my feet merely swiveled so I could stare upward into the face of the stranger. He was taller than I’d thought from a distance. Maybe because he’d been striving at the time not to scare gawking teenagers? Had his shoulders been hunched earlier? His spine bent?

Whatever the reason, I was the scared one now. Or maybe scared wasn’t the proper word. Some heavy emotion I couldn’t quite fathom struck me in the chest area. It was abruptly hard to breathe.

“But unnecessary,” the man continued, and for a moment I forgot what he was talking about. “I know what I look like.”

Oh, right. Human standards of external beauty.

“We have such a strange obsession with facial symmetry,” I observed, forgetting for a moment that I was talking to a male werewolf who could likely freeze me in my steps and force me to do his bidding. “Presumably based on the evolutionary advantage of choosing the healthiest mate. Infections during childhood….”

“These scars didn’t come from childhood infection.” His head cocked and he smiled, a slow display of sharp teeth that—I’ll admit—sent a tremor down my spine. I flinched and his mouth snapped shut, lips going instantly flat.

“I apologize.” His eyes struck the floor, as if he was afraid of me.

I wanted to stay and tell him he had nothing to apologize for. Because even as the tremor flew through me, I understood it for what it was—instinct no more rational than that which had disgusted the teenagers.

But I was late. My sister needed the cash this job would offer.

And this man was a werewolf. Dangerous to me in ways I couldn’t afford to handle. A threat to my tenuous understanding with another alpha, one that allowed me to see my sister while she lived far too close to the heart of his territory.

“Keep your chin up,” I told the stranger as I spun toward the open door. And why, when distance eased the tightness in my chest, was I left feeling heavy rather than light?

Chapter 2

I recognized my employer-to-be by the rose on her blouse, just like she’d promised. Unfortunately, my handshake wasn’t up to her standards.

“What have you been handling, Athena?” Marina offered in lieu of a greeting. Pulling a dainty, lace-edged handkerchief out of her handbag, she dabbed at her fingers as if we were attending a tea party rather than hovering at the edge of a roiling crowd.

Oops. I’d lost track of the grease from my sister’s fries in the midst of my werewolf sighting. Still, I wasn’t the only one who’d overshot societal cues.

“I replied to your message telling you this was a bad time,” I countered, “but your account had been closed.”

As I spoke, my gaze dropped to my cell phone. Harper’s weekly visiting window started in two hours. And while I’d been willing to be late to this job interview, if I didn’t show up in a timely manner at my sister’s boarding school afterwards, her dad would sneak in and “visit” instead….

“Do you have somewhere more important to be?” Marina’s voice was steely as she interrupted my contemplation of time and sisterhood.

I was losing whatever chance at this job I’d once had. Still, I answered honestly: “Yes.”

The word hovered between us for several seconds before Marina shrugged. “Then we might as well get on with it.”

As she spoke, she gestured up at the pseudo-Grecian facade of the museum behind us. Surely she didn’t mean…? I’d assumed this was a neutral public meeting place, not….

“I don’t steal from museums.” That clinched it. Marina was too much trouble and….

The check materialized out of nowhere. One moment my right hand was empty. The next moment, my fingers clasped a crisp rectangle of paper sporting more zeroes than I’d ever seen in my life.

I blinked. Magic? Or just my tired eyes playing tricks on me?

Either way, my free hand slipped into my pocket, feeling for the salt packet that went with my sister’s weekly fast-food treat. Harper liked her fries double-salted. She’d be sad if I lost her favorite seasoning.

Still, I found myself worrying one corner until it frayed open. Then I let a few grains dribble out onto the pavement. Better safe than sorry, right?

And…Marina took a single step backwards. Coincidence, I was sure of it. After all, magic didn’t exist. Well, I mean, magic other than werewolves.

Shaking off my uncertainty, I stuck to the tangible. “What’s this?” I asked, waving the check between us.

“The first half of your payment.” Marina leaned in closer than was really appropriate by human personal-space standards. She didn’t, however, step over the line of salt.

Still, she was close enough now for me to count her pores…or would have been if she’d had any. Instead, her skin was so smooth she might as well have been airbrushed. My nose, though, didn’t report any metallic hint of makeup.

Instead, Marina reeked of rose petals. Not from the flower at her lapel, which appeared to be a simple, unscented supermarket offering. But if the rose aroma emanated from a perfume, why couldn’t I distinguish an oil or alcohol base?

Curious. Still, it was the zeroes that prevented me from taking my own step backward, that prevented me from hightailing it away to my more important engagement. “What do you want in exchange for another check like this one?” I asked finally.

Marina’s lips didn’t turn upward, but I scented her smugness. I’d been the first to cave. She’d won that round.

“Follow me,” she promised, “and you’ll find out.”

***

She turned away, heading up the stairs without waiting to see if I’d follow. I flared my nostrils…and something furry and wild impinged.

Wolf. Not from Marina. Not from the ugly-fascinating man I’d met inside either. Instead, the scent rose from behind me, the variety of sub-odors suggesting multiple shifters were present amid the chattering humans entering and exiting the museum.

I itched to swivel and hunt for trouble. Instead, I kept my eyes on Marina. After all, she was the more immediate danger and I’d run out of salt.

“The museum doesn’t own the object in question,” she called back, heels clicking as she strode up the marble steps away from my stationary figure. “It’s on loan from a rich, white dude. And isn’t your sister’s tuition due soon?”

Her knowledge of my preferred thieving target—complete with slang that sounded awkward on her lips—plus my familial weakness was chilling. More dangerous than shifters because it was more focused. I dismissed the wolf scent and jogged to catch up with my maybe-boss.

“I chose you for this job because of your special abilities,” Marina continued as we wended our way past the recommended donation box. She ignored it while I dropped in a ten-dollar bill.

“Special abilities?”

“Furry abilities.”

My feet froze on the stairs I’d been following her up. My nostrils flared again.

But there was no wolf scent about Marina. No fur. No wildness. She shouldn’t have known what I was capable of.

Still, I disabused her of that notion. “I don’t use any furry abilities on the job.”

Not since making a deal with the local alpha, that is. Not since Harper had begun attending boarding school so close to the heart of Rowan McCallister’s pack.

“What, never? Well, no matter.” Marina’s voice was perfectly museum appropriate as she dismissed my refusal to use my wolf and returned to the object of her fixation. “Before the current owner took possession, the item had been in my family for generations.” She paused long enough to spear me with eyes bluer than the sky. “I’m not asking you to steal, Athena. I’m asking you to return what’s already been stolen.”

Again, she turned away, this time leading me into a well-lit gallery. We didn’t speak as she made a beeline for a glass case housing a metal bracer.

It was a decorative arm cuff, meant to be worn at the wrist. Three inches wide, made of pounded gold and silver.

The pattern portrayed a running wolf.

I shivered. A wolf…like me? Like the scent outside? Like the world I did my best to steer clear of?

Ignoring what felt like more than a coincidence, I focused on the sign beside the artifact. What I saw there made me shake my head in disappointment.

Of course Marina had lied. All of my employers lied sooner or later.

“This is over a thousand years old,” I noted, raising my eyebrows. “It was dug up last month somewhere in England. You couldn’t even bother dreaming up a story that matches the obvious facts?”

“It was stolen from a cemetery,” Marina countered. “A cemetery in which my ancestors were buried. Do your research. Then cash the check if you want the job.”

The sweetness of rose petals wafted past my nose as Marina turned away. She was leaving. Walking out on me.

Which was good. Safe. And yet….

All those zeroes prompted me to call after her. “What’s to prevent me from cashing the check then disappearing?”

At first, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. But Marina spun in a cloud of flowing fabric when she reached the arch separating the gallery from the hallway. Her hair looked more blue than black there. Her teeth appeared werewolf sharp.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Harper would regret anything that prevented me from receiving my prize.”

Her use of my sister’s name chilled me down to my marrow. My breathing didn’t slow until the scent of rose petals had faded to nothing on my tongue.

Chapter 3

I hadn’t decided whether to take the job, but I did my due diligence anyway. Wasted precious minutes pretending I was interested in other items in the gallery beyond the bracer so the security footage wouldn’t look so suspicious if this turned into a crime scene.

In fact, I was snapping photos of a Viking’s helmet when the scent of wolf once again surrounded me. This time it was closer. Stronger.

I whirled…then relaxed as I took in the same ugly shifter I’d met downstairs.

“You’re very recognizable,” I greeted him.

I’d intended my words as a compliment, my face blindness meaning that I often couldn’t pick out people I’d met only once or twice or, let’s be honest, seven times before. The stranger didn’t take it that way.

Instead, he sidestepped as if once again opening up my escape routes. His face tilted away from me so I could only see the unscarred left side, and his voice was apologetic as he rumbled, “I didn’t intend to startle you.”

“I wasn’t startled,” I began. But my nostrils flared and proved me wrong.

Because I didn’t smell wolf now. I smelled wolves, plural. More than this single gentleman in a shifter’s malleable skin.

I spun, not quite comfortable with having the wolf I knew at my back but even less comfortable with being unable to see the wolves I didn’t know. There were two of them. Both just as tall as the one behind me but totally different in every other way.

The one on the left was white, tattooed, and decked out in studded leather. A biker or biker wannabe. Definitely someone I’d cross the street to avoid passing alone at night.

The one on the right was black, clad in a suit that could only be tailored. As perfectly featured as Marina while still exuding virile masculinity. This one the chatty girls would have eaten up.

Still, something about his eyes suggested his gentility lay only skin deep. His wolf scent was overwhelming. The hairs on my arms stood on end.

So I was relieved that the biker spoke instead of the more dangerous man beside him. “What’s this?” he asked, his eyes skimming over me then rising to meet those of Mr. Ugly. “Tank?”

Tank’s answer confirmed his identity. “She was here when I arrived.”

For half a second, I relaxed into the already familiar rumble. Scary men stood between me and escape, but Tank wasn’t scary. He was gentle beneath his massive exterior. The kind of man who forced himself into a small box for the sake of skittish teenagers.

And…his breath was hot against the back of my neck.

Maybe not so safe then. Tank had advanced without me realizing, sandwiching me between himself and the other two shifters. His earlier sidestep now seemed less like politeness and more like baiting a trap.

A trap I’d blithely strolled into.

I swallowed. Tried to talk my way out of a situation that would have been better avoided. “Look, I have a card in my pocket from the local alpha. He’s granted me permission to hunt here….”

“Does it look,” Scary Suit asked, “like we’re interested in cards?”

Adrenaline consumed me. Fight or flight. Unfortunately, neither was an option at the present moment. Not when I was penned in by shifters, each of whom boasted double my mass….

Reprieve came from an unexpected source.

“Are these men bothering you?”

The interruption materialized into an ordinary human. Museum security guard, if his uniform was any indication. Late fifties, chubby around the middle. Nowhere near a match for one of these werewolves, let alone all three.

Still, his official tone and the gun at his hip promised an authority that might just get me out of this mess. I grasped at the offered straw.

“Yes,” I answered, tarring all three shifters with the same brush. Never mind that Tank had been nothing but polite to me. I tried to ignore the bitter disappointment wafting from him as I continued, “They were.”

The guard lifted his walkie talkie, calling in backup. I slid out from between the trio of werewolves, expecting at any moment for a hand to slam down and pin me in place.

None did. No one stopped me. Not even the security guard as I slid past him, through the arch, and hurried down the hall.

Four museum patrons seemed to be too much for one security guard to juggle. So I didn’t have to use my backup plan—begging for a bathroom break then using the ladies’ room as a staging ground for escape. Didn’t have to give my name and address. Just slid away from the werewolves and the human authority figure like the burglar I was.

I did spare a hint of remorse for Tank. But I doubted he’d be held up for long. After all, security cameras would confirm the men had only spoken to me, never even touched me. The guard would have no reason not to let them go.

Which meant I needed to make tracks before they were released. My tennis shoes snicked softly against marble as I plummeted back down the main stairwell. The front entrance drew me, but a stray thought changed my trajectory. Scent trails. It had been a year since my last run-in with other werewolves, so I’d almost forgotten. I needed to think less like a human and more like a wolf.

I wasted thirty seconds spinning through the smelliest aisle of the gift shop. Scented candles were always good for overwhelming a lupine nose….

They certainly overwhelmed mine. I had to pinch my nostrils shut to prevent a sneezing fit as I inserted myself amid a large family exiting the museum. These humans were just as stinky as the space I’d rushed out of. Fruity shampoos and manly body washes. Helpfully foul. I let their forward momentum carry me two blocks in the wrong direction before peeling away to strike off on my own.

That should be enough. Or at least I hoped so. The benefit of a city—there were too many people passing to make it easy to trace a single scent trail for very long. Add on my evasions and any followers wouldn’t stand a chance….

Not that I really expected the trio to track me. They had no reason to. Yes, I was a female shifter, but I didn’t possess the enticing chocolate aroma of a pack princess. My half-blood heritage had provided that much for me at least.

And my wending route away from the museum had turned up an unexpected side benefit. A fleeting glance down an alley caught golden arches on the next street over. Perfect. I’d pick up another salt packet for Harper before heading back to my car….

I was halfway down the alley when the scent of wolves rose around me. Halfway down the alley when something leapt from above, landing on my back and bearing me all the way to the ground.

Chapter 4

I rolled while jabbing upward with my elbow. Someone grunted. The grasp on my shoulders relaxed just enough for me to wriggle free.

But whoever had leapt off the dumpster wasn’t my only problem. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of wolf fur that matched a warning growl. Meanwhile, the thud of boots on pavement promised there was at least one undamaged two-legger backing up the one swearing on the ground.

Then the wolf was upon me. Gray around her muzzle suggested age but her speed rivaled that of a teenager. She snarled. Snapped. Stopped one inch away from my skin.

I was on my hands and knees, lacking the leeway I needed to scramble upright. The wolf was providing just enough breathing room so I could scuttle backward. An attempt to herd me toward whoever I’d elbowed? I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him griping, the expletives loud and harsh.

He was the least of my worries, however. So was the wolf.

Or, at least, that wolf. My own inner animal was alert, angry, powerful. She grabbed at our shared body, doing her best to burst free of my skin and clothing….

And her instincts were good. Going wolf would help us escape this ambush. But I couldn’t afford to break the rules I’d agreed to when I accepted the card in my pocket.

Not now, I told my inner animal. Harper needs us.

Without the card, we couldn’t see our sister. Would be forced to leave this territory and beg for refuge in another. Or, more likely than begging, would be forced to make a deal we didn’t want to make.

My inner wolf was driven less by rational thought and more by instinct. But even she could see the juice wasn’t worth the squeeze in this instance. So she subsided…for a moment, until the gray-muzzled wolf snapped another offensive, her teeth cutting through my shirt and into my wrist.

Great. Just great. Wolves always responded so very rationally to physical challenges.

Not.

The growl rising out of my throat didn’t originate with my human self. Fur slid from the skin of my arms….

And I held my breath while scrabbling atop the greasy pavement in search of a weapon. If I could prove to my wolf that I wasn’t defenseless, she’d subside. Or at least I very much hoped so.

Fingertips turned up a bottle cap. A flattened piece of metal. Nothing useful. Couldn’t the litterbugs be bothered to drop a knife now and then?

“We’re not going to hurt you.” The voice twenty feet down the alley was deep, soothing. Tank. Why did his presence here make me so disappointed?

Still, he’d been helpful. My inner wolf stopped struggling the instant he spoke.

“Of course you aren’t,” I agreed just as my hand closed around something sharp and pointy. Aha. The litterbugs had come through after all.

The shard of glass bit into my palm as I fisted the found weapon. It wasn’t much. But perhaps enough to get out of this mess without going lupine? I hoped so.

“That’s why you’re attacking me in an alley,” I continued.

As I spoke, I eyed my route to safety. I’d only have one go at it. Slash the wolf’s face with the shard of glass, kick out a second time at whoever had initially leapt on top of me, then vault on top of the dumpster and from there onto the fire escape.

The shaky vertical staircase would keep the wolf from following until she could shift back to human form. I hoped Tank’s distance and my original attacker’s nosebleed would similarly slow them down.

It was a sliver of a chance, but I’d take it. Better than going full-on fur and wearing out my welcome in the city closest to Harper’s boarding school.

So I feinted with my empty fist. The wolf swerved just the way I knew she would. The glass shard bit into my skin as I teased it out behind my fingers…

…then something hard and unyielding clenched around my middle. Air wheezed out of me. My chin sunk to my chest as I peered down at tattooed arms cocooning me in an unaffectionate bear hug.

Meanwhile, the wolf shimmered upward into a woman. Mid-forties if I had to guess, with short black hair and dark eyes that seemed to see all the way through to my inner wolf.

Her voice was dry as she turned our recent fracas into a minor misunderstanding. “We just want to talk to you,” she said, walking away to pick up a pile of clothes from behind a dumpster.

Not only clothes. There was a gun there and a shoulder holster. The woman donned the combination so easily I had a sinking suspicion her profession lay in the field of law enforcement.

My past, it appeared, had caught up to me. Now I wished this had been a mere mugging carried out by an unruly group of male werewolves.

“I have the right to remain silent,” I informed her, trying and failing to hold my body away from the biker’s.

Because, of course, that’s who had disarmed me in the most embarrassing way possible. Or I assumed so, despite the way faces tended to slither out of my memory. How many other tattooed, leather-clad werewolves were likely to be hanging out downtown?

Meanwhile, Nose Bleed rose from the ground and materialized into a beautiful black man. The third member of the museum trio, presumably. Great. Just great.

This time, there was no security guard to rush to my aid. Instead, I bristled, not wanting my assailants to realize how intimidated I was by the odds, the gun, the badge the woman surely had in her pocket.

But one of them noticed. “Will you feel safer in a public space?” Tank murmured.

One minute ago, he’d been on the far side of the alley. Now he was so close his heat warmed me. Tank’s huge hand closed around my right wrist, then he jerked his chin upwards. “Ryder. I’ve got her. You can let her go.”

The tattooed biker snorted. The arm around my waist tightened. “Finders keepers.”

Tank growled and I got the absurd impression I was being fought over like a bag of Halloween candy. The air sharpened with alpha electricity and….

“Boys.” To my surprise, the woman’s voice stopped the incipient battle before it had time to begin.

Ryder released me. Tank took a step away from his former opponent, even though his hand remained clenched around my wrist.

Without meaning to, I’d followed Tank sideways. Now, I peered up at him, trying to assess his intentions. But his face twisted sideways. Not away from Ryder’s glare. Away from my searching glance.

“Should we take this somewhere more public?” he rumbled, repeating his question. The uncomfortable bend to his neck seemed habitual. A way to see me out of the corner of his eyes, I guessed, while hiding most of his own face from view.

His grip, meanwhile, was firm but not painful. I expected my wolf to rise onto the offensive. Instead, she sighed and settled down for a nap.

Traitor. Perhaps that’s why my voice came out curter than I intended.

“I’d feel safer if strange men stopped manhandling me.”

Tank’s lips—what I could see of them—thinned. But he didn’t release me.

And the woman, once again, took the lead. “I have handcuffs if you’d prefer. Can’t risk you doing another runner.”

Her eyes promised she was far scarier than Scary Suit. Whatever she wanted to talk about mattered to her as much as bringing fries to my kid sister mattered to me.

I swallowed down aggression and accepted reality. The faster I gave them what they wanted, the sooner I could see Harper. “A public space it is.”

Chapter 5

We walked right past the McDonald’s. Breezed into a fancy coffee shop where the only item on the menu that appeared to contain sugar was a so-called Super Shake…which came out green and seedy and thoroughly disgusting.

I gave up on my beverage after one abortive sip then focused on Tank’s fingers curled into my fingers. Because he’d slid his grip down to my hand while walking. As if we were lovers instead of captor and prisoner. Even now, our intertwined fingers rested atop his knee.

I hated how aware I was of the flesh separated from mine by one thin layer of fabric. Of the muscles that slid beneath our joined hands when he leaned over to draw the sugar dispenser down the table toward us. Of the care he took tearing open sweetener packets to pour into my drink.

Thus doctored, the Super Shake became marginally less vile. The fact Tank had noticed my disgust and made an effort to remedy it was far more enticing.

There’s nothing sexy about being kidnapped, I reminded myself. Inside my belly, my wolf hummed disagreement. I clenched my free fist and told her to shut up.

Thief, I reminded myself. Cop. Bad combination.

“What do you want from me?” I asked Lupe—the woman, who appeared to be these werewolves’ leader. We’d faked amiability while ordering, sharing introductions. First names only. I wasn’t about to offer identifying information to someone who had attacked me in an alley and Lupe didn’t press the point.

Now she smiled before answering, as if she was well aware of my lupine half’s interest in Tank’s proximity. “The Samhain Shifters….”

Shifter I understood. But—“Saw Win what?”

“Samhain,” she said again, slower. “Sunset on October thirty-first through dawn on November first. The Samhain Shifters are a group assembled to keep the most dangerous night of the year safe.”

She eyed me, as if expecting instant understanding. And, yes, I could do calendars. “Halloween,” I confirmed. Then, unable to help myself, I glanced around at the guys who were silent observers of our conversation. “They don’t even need costumes. Posh Spice. Biker Spice….”

“And Ugly Spice,” Ryder—the tattooed biker—suggested when I couldn’t come up with a name for Tank.

“No, he’s….”

Lupe spoke over me before I could finish my sentence, which was probably a good thing since my rebuttal had originated with my wolf and involved the word tasty. “This isn’t about trick-or-treating,” the gun-wielding female told me. “Nodes pop up every Samhain. I’m one of several full-timers who assemble a crew of shifters two weeks beforehand, a member of which is drawn from each nearby pack. Our teams start out as strangers and train just long enough to learn to work together without building pack bonds. After that, we keep the fae in check for a very critical fourteen hours.”

I was nodding along until the last sentence, at which point my eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “Are we talking bad fairies? Like Tinkerbell with an attitude?”

Lupe shook her head, humorless. “More like full-size beings who use glamour to look and smell like your best friend then suck your pack bonds dry to fuel their depredations. Thus the short-term team.”

Pack bonds. My lips thinned. Based on a bad encounter as an orphaned teenager, I’d sworn off werewolf packs for the duration. I certainly had none of those much-touted connections with other shifters to be threatened by these hypothetical fae.

Still, I’d heard how pack bonds worked. They let mates communicate telepathically, allowed an alpha to locate his underlings, and could even be used to heal. So I guessed I could see why others found them so important. Regardless, they had nothing to do with me.

“Our job is essential,” Tank told me, sliding into the silence my lack of a response offered. “I met a pack once that was impacted by fae. They self-destructed. Tore each other to pieces. The few survivors told me they didn’t even understand what was happening for months after it started. They just thought long-time friends had turned into enemies. Family members became backstabbers….”

His cheek twitched. The pack, I could tell, had mattered to him. Despite myself, my left hand slid toward the one Tank had rested on the table. I stilled the pesky appendage before it could get me into more trouble than I was already in.

Lupe watched us both with eyes dark and hard. “The fae aren’t always that overt,” she told me. “The subtle ones are even more dangerous.”

“Dangerous enough to make it kosher to assault total strangers in an alley?”

In response, Lupe speared me with one of those alpha glares that made underlings shiver. “If we think she can help us, then yes.”

And maybe I could help. Marina’s rose-petal aroma shimmered in my memory. The way the check with all those zeroes had materialized out of thin air. “I might have met one.” I hadn’t realized I was speaking aloud until Lupe’s eyes narrowed. “A fae,” I elaborated. “Fairy. What’s the singular?”

“No.” Lupe shook her head. “The fae—singular and plural the same—only cross over during Samhain, although they can talk mortals into working for them in the interim. We call those helpers Sleepers. They’re trouble, but not our primary objective.”

A burst of masculine annoyance: “Why are you telling her this?”

I blinked. I’d forgotten there were others present beyond me, Tank, and Lupe. Now, I shifted my focus to the black man I’d punched in the nose. Butch, his friends had called him, even though the name made no sense for someone blessed with such sublime physical perfection. Despite my punching, his face remained as perfectly formed as before.

“We tracked Athena down,” he continued, voice melodious and at the same time grating, “because Ryder had a hunch she was a Sleeper. She could be taking notes right now, intending to sell us out to the enemy.”

“She’s not a Sleeper,” Lupe interrupted, still pinning me with her gaze. “Are you?”

About that, at least, I could be honest. “This has nothing to do with me. I appreciate the invitation and the drink….”

Ryder snickered. He was the one who’d recommended my so-called treat. He’d known, I now realized, that the Super Shake was full of kale and chia seeds.

My punishment for leaving him to the mercy of the security guard? Or a jab at Tank, who’d been ready to fight Ryder over who got the pleasure of restraining me?

Whatever the reason, Ryder’s childish means of retaliation reminded me to glance at my watch. And what I saw there made me wince.

I needed to leave now if I wasn’t going to be late to Harper’s visiting hour. Sixty minutes once a week. Stepfather aside, I wasn’t willing to lose one second of sisterly bonding time.

“As delightful as it was to meet you all…” I rose, or tried to. Unfortunately, Tank’s loose grip on my fingers had hardened to the implacability of iron.

“This is important,” he told me. “My alpha’s territory is close to the node this year. We have pack mates there overcoming trauma. Pups who require a safe haven. Their fate depends upon Samhain Shifters. On us.”

His point made, he turned his attention to Lupe. “Athena has skills our team lacks.”

I hadn’t thought Lupe was particularly impressed with me, but she nodded. “Our team could use another woman. Consider it your civic duty to participate. Like voting, but more intense.”

To save the world…or at least werewolf pack bonds? For half a second, I wavered. This was what I’d dreamed about when I was a child. Making a difference, not stealing baubles from and for the rich.

But childish dreams didn’t last into adulthood. “Does the job pay?” I countered, knowing it didn’t.

Only, I was wrong. “I could squeeze a little out of the budget,” Lupe answered, ignoring the way Butch’s face wrinkled in disgust that, on him, still appeared beautiful.

So that’s what this was? Another job interview? “I’m flattered,” I answered, “but no.”

After all, squeezing out a little cash didn’t sound like it was going to pay Harper’s tuition. I couldn’t afford to save the world pro bono.

Saying no to werewolves, however, was a bad idea. I tensed, fully expecting the kid gloves to come off.

Instead, Tank released me. Released me…and pressed a business card into my hand before I could retreat.

“At least think about it.” His words and his touch made it hard to swallow.

Still, I managed to rise this time without being yanked backwards. Took a step away from the table…and no one leapt up to stop me.

“Sure, I’ll think about it,” I said, knowing every one of these werewolves could smell my lie.

Keep reading on the retailer of your choice!

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Wolf’s Pack

Wolfie: I want my whole pack together.

Me: Well, things happened in other series that mean certain members of your pack can’t live within your territory….

Wolfie: Whatever. I want them all in one place.

Me: I can’t rewrite the past….

Wolfie: [grabbing my keyboard and opening a new word-processing document] Just copy [click] and paste [click]. Now we need the commentary. [Handing the keyboard back] I’ll talk and you type.

Me: [deep breath] I’m ready.

***

Thus began Wolf’s Pack, a super-gigantic box set with all the novels, novellas, and side stories in one place for the Wolf Rampant, Alpha Underground, and Wolf Legacy series. At Wolfie’s request, I’ve even marked the result down from $24.99 to $19.99 for two days starting now to reward you, the members of his virtual pack.

That said, if you’re a long-time reader, even 44% off buying the books individually might not be worth your while. The price is only a good deal if your collection is missing five books or more, or if you really want all of the extras (including historical covers and never-before-seen browbeating commentary by Wolfie).

Plus, if you only read on a kindle, I’m afraid you’re out of luck — Amazon doesn’t give authors a sustainable royalty if we price our books above $9.99. On the other hand, what better time could there be than now to try out one of the other retailers? Kobo has a waterproof ereader (I’m drooling!) and Google’s price for Wolf’s Pack is just a hair cheaper than anywhere else. Personally, I also adore Nook (although their website has been broken all week, so you may have to wait a few days to buy there).

Whichever site you choose, I hope you enjoy the result!

The post Wolf’s Pack appeared first on Aimee Easterling.

Wolf Legacy now live in audio!

http://aimeeeasterling.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/HuntressBorn.mp3

Are you ready for a binge session listening to tales of werewolves, cupcakes, and family lost and found? If so, you’re in luck! The amazing Mapuana Makia has completed the entire Wolf Legacy series, which is now available on all audio retailers (except the ultra-slow Audible and Amazon).

The individual books and box set are also available for free borrowing, either through Overdrive (if your library has a copy — if not, request one!) or through Hoopla. Links below:

Available on:

Or request a copy at your local library!

Available on:

Or request a copy at your local library!

Available on:

Or request a copy at your local library!


Available on:

Or request a copy at your local library!


Available on:

Or request a copy at your local library!

In other news, Wolf Dreams and Moon Dancer have finally trickled down to Audible and Amazon. So if you were hoping to use a credit for your listen, now’s your chance!

Phew! That was quite a summer of audio. Which series is up next? I haven’t decided, but if you feel strongly, feel free to comment below.

Are you ready to listen to another complete werewolf series? Mapuana Makia did an amazing job narrating Ember’s…

Posted by Aimee Easterling on Monday, October 5, 2020

The post Wolf Legacy now live in audio! appeared first on Aimee Easterling.

Lions, Bears, and Werewolves, Oh My: Video from the 2020 Imaginarium

The Imaginarium was forced to go online due to the pandemic…which means my talk turned into a video I can share with you!

Humans that morph into animals abound in fantasy and romance and can even be found in literary fiction, science fiction, and horror. But which shifters appeal to which readers? From fated mates and found family to power dynamics and inner struggles, dive into the tropes and worldbuilding facets of werewolves and other shifters as they related to a variety of genres.

Although you can’t can’t take part in the interactive portion, you can comment on the facebook post below as you watch. Enjoy!

Last week, I took part in the 2020 Imaginarium. The organizers wisely decided to move the convention online…which means I can share my talk with you!

Posted by Aimee Easterling on Monday, September 28, 2020

The post Lions, Bears, and Werewolves, Oh My: Video from the 2020 Imaginarium appeared first on Aimee Easterling.

Books I lost sleep over this spring and summer

The more complicated the world gets, the more I appreciate books that hook me so deeply I lose hours walking in another person’s shoes. Most of these books aren’t in my genre, but every one was a complete immersion in loveliness. Crack their covers before bedtime at your own risk.

Krista Street’s Magic in the Light is a very hooky paranormal. The heroine can heal with a single touch…which also means she can’t touch anyone for more than a few seconds without using her powers. Except, of course, her fated mate. (Free in Kindle Unlimited.)

Life on the stage isn’t all that interesting to me, but the characters in Lucy Parker’s Pretty Face really drew me in. The heroine is never taken seriously because of her sexy voice — which sounds like it could lead to an awful story but actually worked very well.

Virginia Kantra’s Carolina Dreaming is the middle of a series but turned out to be the perfect place to start. Between the baker heroine, the rough-around-the-edges hero, and the dog, it was too sweet to put down.

Speaking of dogs, Bev Pettersen is back after a far too long wait with the first book in a romantic suspense series. Grave Instinct is full of her signature blend of suspense, romance, and four-legged friends. A pure delight! (Free in Kindle Unlimited.)

I’ve been on a regency romance kick lately, and Evie Dunmore’s Bringing Down the Duke is the best I’ve read in quite a while. Sweet and thoughtful with just the right amount of history mixed in with top-notch characters. A must-read!

Penny Reid is always a winner, so I’m including two of her books in my recommendation list this time. Kissing Galileo is a backlist book with an ugly cover but a wonderful story inside. The power imbalance of a teacher-student relationship can be really difficult to do well without being icky, and so can major weight loss. Reid nailed both.

Meanwhile, her Engagement and Espionage is a cozy romantic mystery spinoff of her Beard romance series. Cletus is such a delightfully weird hero that, even though I’m not a fan of cozies, I’m hooked for the entire series.

Moving on to young adult, it’s hard to describe Elizabeth Acevedo’s With the Fire on High in a way that does it justice. Suffice it to say that if you like the genre, you’ll love this cooking-focused book.

Finally, if you need one last night of lost sleep, Mason Deaver’s I Wish You All the Best is a sweet and thought-provoking coming-of-age tale. You’ll learn about what it means to be nonbinary, but that’s secondary to the gentle love story that will keep you hooked.

The post Books I lost sleep over this spring and summer appeared first on Aimee Easterling.

Moon Blind duology now in audio!

http://aimeeeasterling.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/Sample.mp3

I’m so excited to be able to share both Wolf Dreams and Moon Dancer with you for a twelve-hour gulp of werewolves, archaeology, adventure, and romance! Whitney Dykhouse blew this reading out of the water, making this my favorite series adaptation yet. So, if nothing else, I highly recommend you take a listen to the sample above.

Like my Moon Marked series, the Moon Blind audio duology is available everywhere (including your local library)…or it will be. There seems to be some major delay going on at ACX (the author side of Audible and Amazon). After waiting a solid month for Wolf Dreams to go live, I gave up on a synchronous release and uploaded both audiobooks to the other retailers for immediate gratification. Bonus: they’re only $7.99 apiece on Apple at the moment, which is dirt cheap!

Happy listening!

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Stray Shifter excerpt

Are you ready for a sneak peek into the final book of the Moon-Crossed Wolves Trilogy? It probably goes without saying, but the following chapters contain major spoilers for books one and two….

***

Chapter 1

The intercom crackled above our heads. “Alpha! Trouble at the front gate!”

I fumbled with my carry-on while twisting to peer up at the speaker, but Luke didn’t pause. “Ruth will hear it,” he promised, scooping the bag off my shoulder without breaking stride. “Vacation. Drake Bay, remember?”

As if his words had moved my foot off the brake pedal, I followed him down the path toward the parking lot. It wasn’t just the rainforest of Costa Rica that drew us, either, although the photos I’d perused online were stunning. It was the sure knowledge that this pack—Ruth’s pack—needed to accept their true alpha before the Naming Ceremony next month.

Because the Naming Ceremony was the key to lowering our nerve-wracking vigilance. Once we proved that Ruth was our accepted alpha, even the most powerful packs would hesitate to attack.

And, okay, it didn’t hurt that we were so close to turning over the reins that I could smell the salt surf and see the monkeys. There’d be smoothies full of passionfruit and pineapple. Parrots in palm trees. Cuddling up to my mate on a breezy balcony while watching the sun set over the sea.

Best of all, our cell phones wouldn’t work there. If the pack needed someone, they’d have to turn to Ruth. By the time we returned, Luke would be the leader’s brother rather than a third-wheel alpha. No more confusion within the clan. No more danger from the outside world if pack mates’ eyes turned to the wrong leader when push came to shove.

The ordinary sounds of pack life, however, had transformed while I was daydreaming. A sharp bark rose above the rooftops. The wheels of my suitcase caught on a stray pebble and my feet snagged against an invisible mental barrier.

Could Ruth really manage without us? After all, she was eight months pregnant….

“Alright?” Luke asked. His hand was strong against my arm, steadying my balance. We’d passed the gaggle of pack vehicles by this point, heading toward the car we’d purchased for his and my use only. The vehicle had taken us on many adventures already and the pack had been fine each and every time we left them. In fact, bonds between werewolves had vibrated stronger after each absence.

Yes, taking a more extended vacation was the right thing to do. I smiled at Luke as he stepped around me to open the car door. And, okay, I did glance backwards once as I slid into the passenger seat. I wasn’t looking for pack mates, though. I was peering up into the bluest eyes imaginable, a swirl of cinnamon curling around my left shoulder.

The fact I caught a flash of orange out of the corner of one eye was irrelevant. It was hard not to see the gaudily clad teenager sprinting toward us, but I really did try.

Luke’s brow furrowed. “Please tell me you didn’t just meet her eyes.”

I didn’t ask him how he’d known the girl—Carly, turned Blade, turned twenty other names, now Ester—was present. The pack bond had grown sturdier during the time I’d spent with Clan Acosta. Now both Ruth and Luke knew the location and status of every relative without bothering to look.

As Luke’s mate, I caught snippets of secondhand information. Like the fact that Luke’s niece was frantic. Like the fact she was so light-headed from sprinting that she was about to pass out.

Still, she gasped out my name. “Honor.” Two more pounding footsteps, then another verbal exhalation. “Luke. I’m so glad I caught you guys.”

I didn’t even glance at her this time. Instead, I peered up at Luke, watching the war play out across his features. He wanted to stay and see what kind of trouble had appeared on the other side of the compound…and he wanted to flee for the long-term good of the pack.

This was his choice. I couldn’t make it for him. So I clutched the pelt that would shift me to wolf form and I forced myself to wait.

“Luke!” It was his niece’s shriek that decided him. The shriek…plus the pack bond tugging at his gut so hard it overloaded our mate connection and made me queasy.

His niece was level-ten upset. And while Luke had turned over the pack-leader reins to his sister quite willingly, he couldn’t ignore the kid’s desperation. No wonder he spun around even as I fought to pull my sword while leaping out of the passenger seat.

“Ester. What happened?” Luke demanded.

His hands were on her arms before I’d disentangled my weapon from the seat belt. He twisted her this way and that while his eyes scanned visible skin for signs of damage. I half expected him to flip her upside down to peer at her feet.

The girl’s brows slammed down as she shrugged out of his grip. “I’m going by Bruiser now. It’s stronger. Tougher. I thought you’d remember.”

She clearly wasn’t injured. Now that I paid more attention to the pack bond—a tiny thread of light connecting Luke and his niece, barely visible if I squinted and cocked my head sideways—I could feel her bodily wholeness. Her shriek had originated in fury, not pain.

And Bruiser was still irate when she grabbed Luke’s hand and began towing him back in the direction she’d come from. “Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear the intercom?” she demanded. Then, without waiting for an answer: “There’s trouble at the front gate.”

***

As if reacting to Bruiser’s reminder, the intercom once again flared to life. This time, Ruth was the one speaking, her voice terse with alpha authority.

“Uninvited visitors at the gatehouse. All on-duty wolves report to battle stations. Off-duty wolves, meet me lupine at the front gate.”

Breath caught in my throat. This wasn’t mere trouble. This was an invasion.

A click marked the end of the pack-wide message. A new click suggested that Ruth’s subsequent statement was broadcast less widely than the first. “Luke, get Honor out of here. The pack can’t handle woelfin distractions.”

My mate turned to face the security camera, one of dozens the pack had installed when we returned to Luke’s childhood home six months earlier. “I might be a distraction but Honor isn’t,” he bit out before getting down to business. “How many invaders?”

“None of your business,” his sister countered. “If you don’t leave now, you’ll miss your flight.”

Bruiser’s eyes, which had been raised and bright when she back-talked Luke earlier, fell to the pavement. The fact Luke and his sister were hashing this out aloud rather than silently attested to the cracks in their united public front.

Because while both agreed that Ruth was the pack’s alpha, Luke’s over-protective wolf often rebelled against her dictates…like it did now. “Are you planning on staying inside the fence where you’re safe?” Luke demanded.

The fence, like the security cameras, was new since we’d moved here. Twenty feet tall and lined with razor wire, the enclosure made the pack’s home base look like a sprawling prison rather than the welcoming hamlet it had resembled previously. On the other hand, we all slept better at night with more than the forest shielding us from enemy attack.

Ruth wasn’t one to huddle behind protection however. “An alpha doesn’t send her pack into battle alone.”

As the intercom crackled into silence, howls rose from outside the fence line. Something in my stomach twisted. The pack was in danger and further debate would delay the clan’s defenses.

I met Luke’s eyes then jerked my chin toward the back gate.

Unlike the spot where invaders were attacking, this secondary entrance only opened from the inside. We’d planned to drive our car out, turn left at the fork, then head to the airport.

If we turned right at the fork, though, we’d circle back around and end up at the front gate. Behind the invaders. It was a way to obey Ruth while still helping the pack if the tide of battle turned against them.

Unlike Luke’s bond to his sister, the connection between the two of us glowed with strength and unity. There was no squinting required for me to see the tether, and I also didn’t have to put my thoughts into words to get the point across. Just tagged his attention and opened myself up.

Luke nodded. “Okay,” he told his sister, ignoring the disbelief in the eyes of his niece. “We’re going. Be careful, alpha. Bruiser, do whatever Ruth says.”

 

 

Chapter 2

Luke drove while I shed clothing in the passenger seat. Usually, my nudity would have attracted my mate’s attention, but this time his eyes remained fixed on the road.

“They won’t be able to get through the fence,” he told me. Or, perhaps, he was reassuring himself. Still, gravel pinged against the fenders as he sped faster than was appropriate given the unevenness of the road.

“Not unless someone grants them access,” I agreed, wriggling out of my panties. “Who’s on gatehouse duty this morning?”

“Arthur.”

Luke’s honorary uncle—actually some sort of far-removed cousin, but old enough to be in the uncle category—was one of the most stable and loyal members of the pack. “So we’re fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Luke must have disagreed because he didn’t slow down. Instead, he swung the wheel into a tight turn as the fork rose before us. Our passenger-side tires splashed through a puddle, creating a damp line in the gravel as seen through the rear-view mirror.

“One set of tracks,” I observed, just in case Luke was too intent upon planning and driving to notice that heartening evidence. “Other than ours. How many werewolves can you fit inside a single vehicle?”

I hadn’t expected an answer, but Luke gave one anyway. “At least two dozen in a panel van….”

His voice petered off and his eyes grew distant as he tuned in to an interior conversation I wasn’t privy to. Not Ruth, since their connection had frayed weeks ago. Not Arthur either since mental conversations with wolves I knew well tended to spill over to me through the mate bond.

Whoever it was and whatever they said, Luke’s face whitened. He swore, slamming on the brakes and leaping out of the car before it came to a complete stop.

This was where we’d planned on waiting, just short of the rise that would have returned the compound to view. Here, we could hover without Ruth noticing that we barely toed the line of obedience.

Still, Luke’s body language suggested the wait-and-see plan had already flown out the window. So I disembarked as rapidly as he had, swirling my pelt around my shoulders and pulling at threads of wolfishness to initiate a shift.

“Plan B,” Luke growled. “Arthur’s not responding. We….”

The hilltop belched smoke as an explosion roared from the direction of the pack compound. Fabric shredded away from Luke’s transforming body as his paws hit the pavement.

“They’re in,” he explained unnecessarily.

The invaders had blown their way through our fence.

***

Which shouldn’t have been the end of the world. When Luke dug deep into his personal coffers to pay for fence construction, he’d installed a second line of defense at the weakest point. All Arthur had to do was hit a big red button and fifty feet of even heavier fence material would rise out of the ground to create a smaller but nonetheless secure enclosure.

Which, okay, sounds useless since the defenders were outside the perimeter fighting off invaders. But Luke had also added wolf hatches scattered along the entire fence line. The latter were like high-tech doggy doors, keyed to each pack mate’s irises in wolf and human form.

Wolf hatches made it easy to keep the compound locked up tight when we headed off on hunts as a clan unit. They made it simple for skinless to blow off steam without stopping to chat with a nosy gate guard. Now, they would allow pack mates to return to the compound without invaders following…assuming the secondary fence rose before invaders made it inside.

That only worked if the gatekeeper remained conscious and able to erect the backup fence, however. As Luke and I sprinted toward the haze of smoke hiding gatehouse and gate, no signs of life emanated from where Arthur had last been seen.

There was plenty of life around the gatehouse, however. Swirls of movement flickered in and out of focus, heading in the direction of what I guessed to be the fence gap. It was hard to tell through the dense smoke, but invaders seemed to be halfway to the line in the pavement that the secondary fence would rise out of. The big red button wouldn’t do any good if someone didn’t push it fast.

“Don’t wait for me,” I told Luke, knowing his longer legs could traverse the intervening ground faster than mine could. He huffed protest but pushed his muscles harder. I followed suit, fighting not to cough as we dove into the foul-smelling haze.

Inside the smoke, it was impossible to make out our enemies’ progress or the state of Ruth’s defensive forces. Which made our own goal simpler. Ignore the invaders. Head for the gatehouse. Push the button….

Bruiser’s voice struck us via the pack bond just as the wall of the gatehouse loomed dark against the sky. “Aunt Ruth! No!”

A shimmery, distorted image flowed toward us along with the words. Based on the oblique angle and the chain-link diamonds between her and the action, Bruiser had been left behind in the dubious safety of the pack compound while our warriors rushed out to meet the enemy. Ruth, as anyone could have predicted, hadn’t stayed behind the fence.

No, even though she was eight months pregnant, the pack’s alpha was leading the charge. The scarred, potbellied werewolf waddled in front of her relatives, intent upon warding off attacking shifters…

…which would have been comical if battles among skinless didn’t often end in death.

Neither Ruth nor I saw what had prompted Bruiser’s initial cry. Well, not at first. Not until it was too late for Ruth to dodge the huge dark wolf slamming into her hindquarters, spinning legs out from under her. Too late for me or Luke to rush to her assistance as something pale and snarling clamped sharp teeth down on the underside of her neck.

Ruth was an alpha for a reason, though. She didn’t cave. Instead, she twisted her entire body, struggling to protect herself.

Unfortunately, her swollen belly refused to bend. Even as Bruiser’s second cry—“No! Please!”—tolled in my brain, our alpha disappeared beneath a pile of fur.

And…our entire pack hesitated. Didn’t dive in to help their alpha or defend their home. Just stood stock still, waiting to be mown down like so much summer grass.

Which is when Luke stepped into the gap.

Not literally. He and I were both too far away to see the action without Bruiser’s help, let alone impact it. But his mental connection to the pack rivaled Ruth’s.

“Are you wolves or are you field mice?” he bellowed.

His words, I could see, didn’t strike everyone. But pack mates Luke didn’t have a personal connection with possessed connections to one another. No wonder his demand spread through the pack as fast as a ripple. Ruffs rose and lips curled as a tidal wave of strength flowed from Luke through our entire clan.

Which was great…for now. It wouldn’t be great tomorrow, when Ruth tried to wrangle dissent arising from two pack leaders spitting out two different sets of instructions. It wouldn’t be great next month when the neighboring alphas we invited through our gates saw a splintered clan ripe for the picking rather than the united front we intended to present.

Of course, that assumed Ruth was there to host and wrangle next month and tomorrow. And that there was a pack left to be managed at either time.

I blinked and Luke was gone, sprinting toward the spot where his sister had fallen. “The button,” he reminded me.

I turned around to face the building that towered above me in the smoke.

 

 

Chapter 3

The gatehouse door wouldn’t open. I tried and failed to twist the knob a second time, higher smoke intensity at human face level making my eyes smart and my brain fog.

If Arthur had been knocked out of commission (I refused to consider a more permanent reason for his silence), the door should have swung open. Instead, the knob refused to turn.

Locked.

Behind me, the panel van pinged as flames heated metal. Somewhere lost in the smoke, wolves yipped and howled. But my mental connection to the pack lay dormant. Everyone was too busy to fill me in on how the tides of battle turned.

Which was fair. They had their job and I had mine. I pressed my pelt up around my neck and flared my nostrils, seeking clues about who might be hiding in the gatehouse with Arthur.

Big mistake. The only scents swirling through the smoke were rubber and gasoline. I choked on the inhale, coughing far too loudly into my fist. Had I been heard?

I paused for a moment, listening. Nothing. Shrugging off the trickle of unease at the base of my neck, I continued pacing around the outside of the building, the crackle of flames covered my footsteps this time.

Despite a locked door, the gatehouse wasn’t impenetrable. The explosion had dented siding and blackened the eaves. More relevantly, a window had broken halfway down the wall, shards of glass sticking out from the frame like pointy monster teeth.

“Arthur?” I called silently. He shouldn’t be too busy to speak with me. It would be nice to know what I was up against before I dove inside.

My only answer was resounding silence. Well, that plus a twist in my gut and the sure knowledge that the fence-raising button wasn’t going to push itself.

Shivering back down to four paws, I leapt directly through the window’s gaping mouth.

***

Inside, papers danced across the floor, skittering away from the wind of my passing. Something sharp bit into my left rear paw pad. I spun in a tight circle, prepared for enemy attack.

None came. In that first haze of searching, no movement caught my attention either. The nip to my foot had come from a shard of broken glass.

I slowed and padded around at human speed this time, blinking back smoke-prompted tears and peering into the room’s dim recesses. There weren’t many places for an attacker to hide. Two closed doors led to a bathroom and a closet. The mesh rolling chair wouldn’t shield either a living or dead body. The desk, on the other hand….

I padded forward, liquid squelching between my toes as I smelled something other than burnt panel van. Blood. I swallowed. Took another step….

Saw Arthur’s crumpled body.

The fifty-something werewolf lying before me had been the first adult member of Luke’s pack to accept my woelfin identity. He’d learned about my pelt, had spewed profanities for thirty seconds, then had backed me up during a wild sprint through the forest to escape his kin.

And, yes, Arthur’s acceptance had hinged upon my status as Luke’s mate. But during the months I’d spent here at the pack’s home place, our relationship had grown into more than that.

There had been tea invitations while Luke was busy tending the endless tasks of alpha. The hand-drawn family tree that showed up in my mailbox after I complained for the third time about pack mates’ complicated relationships. Notes scrawled in the margins about intertwining pathways of alliance and rivalry that Luke had missed out on during his decade away.

Which could all have been attempts to strengthen a new alpha by educating his partner. But Arthur had dispensed more than mere wisdom. Just last week, when I’d subtly guided two grouchy pack mates into tentative harmony, Arthur had placed his hand on my shoulder just like my father used to do.

“Good job,” he murmured, proving he saw the hard work I strove to keep hidden. In my belly, new connections clicked into place as I fell even deeper into the pack.

No wonder my muscles now refused to carry me closer to the crumpled body that lay in the smoky dimness. Arthur’s chest didn’t appear to be moving. I couldn’t quite talk myself into shifting to human form so I could place a hand in front of his nose.

Instead, I paced past the desk and reared up on my hind legs to depress the big red button. A rumble, more felt than heard, promised the backup fence was rising.

And the invaders? Were they inside or outside that fence?

I itched to pull at clan connections to answer those questions. But anyone I contacted could be thrown off their stride by the intrusion. Better I check Arthur than interrupt pack mates locked in life-or-death struggles….

A voice cut through the silence. “Hello?”

I spun, searching a second time for enemies. Because the greeting was too high-pitched to be Arthur’s. Instead, whoever had spoken was female and healthy. What had I missed when I first surveyed the space?

Nothing I could see. Even the scattered papers were still now.

Yet the voice continued, light and teasing. “I’m sweltering in here. Could you let me out already?”

I padded toward the source of the chatter—the closet door—while wriggling out of my wolf skin. Sometimes, shifting was a struggle. Today, relinquishing my lupine nature felt like taking my finger off the nozzle of an untied balloon.

Wolf gushed out of me. Humanity consumed me. My shed pelt fluttered to the ground.

Ever since the drama with my family, I hated to be parted from my lupine skin. But for once I didn’t take the time to snatch it up and secure it about my person. Instead, my attention was riveted on the closed door three feet from my nose.

There was a woman shut up in that closet. A woman who wasn’t a pack mate—there were few enough females left within Luke’s clan that I could make that identification with certainty.

Closet girl had arrived with the invaders then. A year ago, I would have assumed she was their prisoner, someone to rush and rescue. Now, after finding betrayers hidden deep within families twice in quick succession, I wasn’t so sure of that fact.

I turned to assess the gatehouse yet again. If Arthur was alive, it was my job to protect him from enemies, even chatty female ones. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much available to use as a weapon. A laptop, crushed on the ground. A pen that might or might not manage to pierce someone’s eyeball.

My gaze turned to the window I’d recently leapt through. If I had fabric to shield my hand from sharp edges, one of those glass teeth would make an effective dagger….

The only accessible fabric encircled Arthur’s body. No, not his body. The fabric encircled Arthur.

Gritting my teeth at the mental slip, I stooped and grabbed my pelt rather than ripping Arthur’s shirt. Cuts on the pelt’s leathery surface would turn into cuts on my skin the next time I turned lupine. But I wasn’t ready to steal Arthur’s clothing if it meant risking a glimpse of his sightless eyes.

Instead, I used the fur side of my pelt as a second layer of protection. Then I reached up and wriggled free a triangular shard of glass.

 

 

Chapter 4

The closet door bore no lock, which meant the woman inside could emerge at any moment. But she didn’t. Instead, she spoke again as I strode toward her hiding place. “Timothy? Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

This was interesting. I paused, but no further information was forthcoming. So, using my non-dominant hand, I fumbled open the door.

I vaguely noted that the smoke outside must be clearing because sun streamed through the broken window to illuminate the woman who’d spoken. She was pressed up against shelves of cleaning supplies and printer paper, bound hand and foot with zip ties. Long dark hair snaked around her shoulders, some caught on her sweat-streaked brow.

She hadn’t been lying about the heat.

She hadn’t been lying about thinking I was Timothy either. The bridge of her nose crinkled up in confusion. “Who are you?”

“Honor,” I answered, watching for recognition in her eyes and seeing exactly what I expected.

So, a Trojan horse, not an innocent victim. I turned away without completing the introductions, forcing my feet to carry me back to where Arthur lay beneath the desk.

“Hey!” the woman called after me. “I was talking to you!”

She sounded more annoyed than terrified. Yet another data point, and not one in her favor. Settling onto my knees, I leaned forward into the desk cavity, searching Arthur’s face for any sign of life.

His eyes were closed. If he was breathing, it was too shallow to be visible. I stretched my hand toward his nostrils…then banged my head against the top of the desk as my vision flickered from the real world to the view from behind Luke’s eyes.

Wolves wove in and out around us so quickly they might have been waltzing. The pain shooting up our side, however, and the blood in our peripheral vision suggested a more deadly dance.

Despite the throbbing pain, Luke didn’t remark upon the battle. Instead, he must have seen what I was seeing because he asked, “Is Arthur alive?”

“Watch out!” I countered.

I wasn’t sure how Luke managed it while peering through my eyes and carrying on a conversation, but he dodged an oncoming wolf at the last possible second. The wolf skidded in a failed attempt to slow his mad dash forward. Metal clanged as the beast struck the chain-link fence.

They were inside the backup barrier. I hadn’t been fast enough.

“Arthur,” Luke prodded, as if the two of us were engaged in civilized dinner conversation.

As he spoke, he struck the enemy wolf so fast and hard all I saw was a flash of fur followed by blood spurting. Even though I was used to wolf fights after spending so long among the skinless, the sight of such serious injury unsettled my stomach.

And yet, I was grateful to have Luke beside me as I checked Arthur’s vitals. “Hold on,” I told him. Then, stretching another six inches forward, I pressed two fingers into the indentation at the base of our friend’s throat.

***

“I’m Destiny.” The woman’s voice impinged upon my attempt to determine whether the flutter of pulse beneath my fingertips was wishful thinking. “They hit him over the head. If you cut me loose, I’ll help carry him to safety.”

Ignoring her, I pressed my forefinger just a little deeper into Arthur’s flesh then smiled. “Alive,” I reported. “How’s the battle?”

I’d lost track of what Luke was doing as I focused on Arthur. Now, my mate turned his head so I could see the fight winding down. “We’ve corralled the few who made it in and should be able to force them out the back gate shortly,” my mate reported. “The rest are already heading your way, so keep your eyes open. Who’s Destiny?”

I shrugged, crawling back out from under the desk then grabbing Arthur’s feet to drag him into the light along with me. “A trap, I think. She was tied up in the supply closet.” I pulled up the memory of Destiny’s predicament to send down our mate bond along with the words. Finished with: “She knew my name.”

Luke hummed deep in his throat. Despite everything, the sensation sent a burst of cinnamon spiraling up out of the scar on my shoulder. “Lone wolves are hard on their women.”

“So the attackers were lone wolves?” On the one hand, identifying our attackers as non-pack was good. We’d have a better chance of driving away a loose confederation of lone wolves than we would vanquishing one of our neighbor clans.

On the other hand…did even the dregs of skinless society think the Acosta pack was easy pickings? That was definitely bad news.

“As best we can tell,” Luke confirmed. “Either way, they still have teeth. I’ll send someone along to help you with Arthur. Be careful while you wait.”

Luke’s voice faded as something more pressing required his attention. Which was fine. From the direction of the pack compound, howls reminded me I needed to get a move on also.

Too bad Arthur weighed half again as much as I did. I could either wait for help or I could try to wake him up.

I shook his shoulder. First gently, then harder.

Arthur didn’t even manage to moan.

“You should use your pelt.”

For the first time since dismissing her, I turned back to face Destiny. She was still trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, but her chin was raised and her eyes were fiery.

She’d known my name, so of course she knew I was a woelfin. Still, I chose my words carefully. “How do you suggest I use it?”

“You don’t know?” She attempted to scratch an itch at her waist, tough when her wrists were bound behind her. “Cut me free and I’ll show you.”

“You will, huh?” Maybe Luke was right. Maybe that was desperation talking.

Still, Destiny didn’t look desperate. Her gaze was tinged with something closer to pity.

And whatever itched was apparently more pressing than talking her way to freedom. Because she twisted her entire torso until one thumb became visible, pushing up her t-shirt to reveal her belly.

No. Not her belly. That was something soft and furry.

Her t-shirt had rucked up to reveal a woelfin’s pelt.

Keep reading on the retailer of your choice….

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