Bound to Change: A Limited Edition Spring Shifter Romance Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  World Weaver: Book 4

  Soul Hook: Book 5

  Other books:

  Blood Curse

  Bug Queen

  Burning the Devil

  ONCE UPON A WOLF

  An Alphas & Alchemy: Elemental Shifters Prequel

  Keira Blackwood

  About Once Upon a Wolf

  A woman knows what she wants. That goes double if she’s a shifter.

  Historian to the wolves of a lost shifter world, Laurel transcribes the stories of her people. She writes a few novel tales of her own, too.

  She lets her vivid imagination lead her, and she’s about to turn her greatest story into reality.

  She’s sure that her dragon lord is meant to be her mate.

  Until her childhood friend tells her she’s wrong.

  They aren’t children anymore, and she has to admit Cypress is smoking hot. He also means more to her than she’d ever cared to admit.

  What if all along her story was about the wrong hero?

  Chapter One

  Laurel

  Taut and tanned, his back led down to an ass as tight as two unripe melons.

  No, that was too much, too fast. I pinched the bridge of my nose and scratched my quill across the scroll, eradicating the words I’d just written.

  The ethereal glow of the setting sun cast the guardian in a wash of golden light. His flaxen curls glimmered and shimmered in a glossy sheen. Taut and tanned, his back led down to...

  ‘Mighty hot buns’ wasn’t quite right. Sure, it was accurate, but it was also too much, too soon.

  Inch after inch of utter male perfection.

  Celedon didn’t turn, even though Laurel was so close he had to know that she was there. Entranced by the expansive stretch of his powerful wings, she took a step closer. Then another. With bated breath, she reached a tentative hand toward the dragon who had captivated not only her dreams, but her waking fancies as well.

  He turned and caught her wrist. “I knew it was you.”

  Her lady bits fluttered. She looked into the green fields of his eyes and her heart fluttered, too. “It will always be me.”

  She reached over his shoulder and brushed her fingers across his impossibly soft yet incredibly strong wings. He closed his eyes and groaned in pleasure, for as his mate she knew all of his erogenous zones. Just as he knew all of hers.

  Celedon pulled her into his arms and stole her breath with the kind of kiss she’d waited her whole life for. It was tender yet firm, just like his...

  I paused with my quill as I debated a tasteful yet accurate term for penis. It was hard and big and used for thrusting like a sword, I was sure. Love sword? Too sharp. Love sausage? Too...ew. I tried to think of long things. There was a type of python, the fathach snake, that roamed the jungle. Love python, yes, I liked that.

  It was tender yet firm, just like his love python that pressed hot and hard against her sweet heat. She wanted nothing more than to feel the long, rigid—

  There was a knock at the door. My breathing was heavy, my body flushed with the excitement of my story. I was not ready for visitors.

  “Just a moment.” Frantic, I rolled up the scroll. My fingers fumbled as I attempted to tie it shut. Making a bow with string was something I’d done a thousand times before, yet now it was like I’d never used my hands in my life.

  The string finally in place, I slid the scroll onto a shelf beside hundreds of others that appeared just like it, and hurried to answer the door.

  A hulking wall of muscle greeted me. A very shirtless wall of muscle.

  She licked the hills and valleys of his glistening chest, taking her time as she roamed the rapturous landscape of tanned flesh.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and forced my gaze upward. The man standing before me wasn’t Celedon; it was only Cypress.

  “Hey.” My voice came out huskier than I’d expected. I wished away every salacious thought that filled my mind and tried to appear as if everything was normal.

  My totally platonic childhood friend looked me up and down slowly, taking in the whole wanton picture, from my labored breaths to my pebbled nipples poking straight out under my dress, to the heated blush washing over my entire body. The blush settled in my cheeks and my ears, burning like a bonfire.

  I wished I was dead.

  Cypress inhaled slowly, no doubt scenting my desire.

  Don’t ask what I’ve been doing, please.

  “Everything okay, Laurel?”

  I lifted my chin. “Yes, of course. I’m working.”

  His eyes narrowed, instantly sensing my lie. He looked past me as if searching for someone else in my hut.

  I slammed one hand on the wall in front of him and placed the other on my hip. “What do you need, Cypress?”

  A droplet of sweat trailed down his chest, drawing my eye. Cypress ran his fingers through his auburn hair, flexing both his delicious abs and an arm so thick it was clear he could lift me with ease. Lift me, pin me against the wall, raise my skirt—

  “Thorn needs the latest report,” he said.

  My desire seemed to have transferred from the dragon of my dreams to the boy next door. Sure, Cypress was a grown man now, but I’d only ever seen him as a friend. Allowing my thoughts to stray was a betrayal to the man I was fated to spend my life with.

  I lifted my attention to Cypress’s chestnut eyes. “You need a shirt.”

  Amusement—at my expense, I was sure—flickered across his irises and settled in the tiny crinkle at the corner of his lids. “The reports, Laurel?”

  “I’ve got it under control. Thanks.” I turned back to the wall of scrolls. Some were new, while others had been passed down for eleven generations, and everywhere in between.

  As the historian of the wolf tribe, it was my duty to record the stories and lives of my people, just as it had been my mother’s duty before me, and her mother’s before her, all the way back to the first wolf shifters who’d sought sanctuary on the island from the outside world.

  In addition to recording the narrative of my fellow wolves, I was tasked with monitoring the ever-present existence of the blight to the north. To me, the black speckling of leaves was something that had always been. It didn’t spread, only existed, just as it had for over two hundred years. But no one knew what it was, so like my ancestors, I recorded it and formed reports.

  That was what our alpha Thorn was looking for—the latest map of infected vegetation. And I was ready, excited even, to deliver it to him. Of everyone in the village, he was the only one who spent time with Lord Celedon, Guardian of Land.

  I grabbed the scrolls I needed and slipped them into my bag, sparing one last glance at the story I’d been writing. What would my gram think about me storing my fantasies alongside her maps and journals?

  Maybe she’d once done the same.

  I wrinkled my nose and shivered, shaking the thought of erotic tales featuring my grandparents.

  A quick spin on my heels, and I stopped myself short of slamming into Cypress’s chest.

  “What are you still doing here?” I sidestepped around him. “I told you I have it under control.”

  With that, I hurried through the door, leaving Cypress to let himself out.

  Holding tight to the strap of my bag, I let my feet carry me and my mind wander to that morning two weeks past, when I’d traveled to the northern forest to document the blight.

  My bodyguard had been somewhere behind me, close enough to sense danger, yet far enough away that we both were granted space. Something had flickered in my senses, something magical. I followed, not knowing what exactly it was, only that it filled me with a joy I wasn’t accustomed to.

  Upon cresting a ridge, I saw him.

  The Guardian of Earth. The dragon. The man. The legend. Celedon.

  He was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen, a sculpted god with wings the same shade of green as his hard eyes.

  He’d placed his palm on the trunk of a sapling, one with the dark flecks I had come
to record. The trunk thickened and reached up toward the sky. Branches darkened and grew long. Green leaves and cream flowers blossomed from the ends. Before my eyes, the sick sapling matured into a healthy tree as large as the tallest in the forest.

  I had walked closer, wanting nothing more than to know everything there was to know about him.

  Our gazes locked.

  I opened my mouth and shut it again, so in awe I couldn’t speak. But I felt it, the awareness that my people waited their entire lives for—mating instinct.

  He gave me a small nod of acknowledgement before spreading his wings and shooting up into the sky.

  It would mean breaking the rules and traveling out on my own into the forest, but tonight I’d find my dragon once more. I’d gift him the story I was writing, and he would see me the way I saw him. He was worth the risk, because Celedon was my fated mate.

  We were meant to be.

  Chapter Two

  Cypress

  Outside the village walls, the forest was quiet. Shadows grew across the thicket of brush and fallen limbs that coated the ground. Blue faded from the sky, replaced by hues that belonged to tropical birds.

  From my perch above the front gate, I could detect the approach of outsiders long before they reached Lycaon Village. Weeks would often pass between visits though, leaving little to do for me and my fellow sentries but watch over the shifters inside the walls.

  Two women packed the final remnants of dinner from the communal tables while four others moved benches around the beginnings of what would become the night’s fire. A couple walked the gardens, picking fresh produce with their two small children scurrying underfoot.

  Others came and went from the treehouses that made up the heart of Lycaon. Many of the dwellings were carved inside the thick trunks, while others were huts constructed of living reeds around the trees. High above, vine bridges connected the treehouses like a spider’s web. Even the palisade was alive. Between boulders of found stone grew thorny vines that held the rocks in place.

  None of it interested me.

  Only one villager captured my attention. But to her, I didn’t exist.

  When I was six years old, my mother brought me to Lycaon for the first time. Before that day, I had known nothing but isolation and the cave the two of us had shared. The other children had eyed me with suspicion. At the time, I didn’t understand. I didn’t know that red hair was a trait that belonged not to wolves, but to the coyote pack.

  But Laurel didn’t care.

  She came up to me when no one else would. It didn’t bother her that I was different, that I was a half-breed. She told me she was a collector of stories, and that she wanted to know mine.

  I’ve been in love with her ever since.

  That’s what made the events of today so difficult to understand.

  Hours had passed, yet the sweet scent of her arousal still intoxicated me. Her pupils had dilated when her emerald eyes had met my gaze. Her heartrate quickened, pitter-pattering like raindrops, as she stared at me. Her chest heaved and her lips parted, begging to be kissed. It was the first time she’d ever looked at me as more than a friend.

  And then she’d rushed away.

  Maybe she was afraid. Maybe I should have finally made my move.

  But it wasn’t only arousal I’d sensed. There was nervousness in her scent, too.

  It was right to wait until she was ready. For Laurel, I’d wait an eternity.

  My foot was tapping against the watchtower floor. I hadn’t realized I was doing that. With conscious effort, I forced my leg to still, but the jittery energy remained.

  From my perch, I could see everything. Everything except her.

  “Hey, Patrin.” I approached the next sentinel down the line. He was leaning on the trunk of one of the great trees with his arms crossed and his mop of dark hair hanging down over his face. He’d spent the last hour dozing and could use a change of pace as much as I could.

  Patrin squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his neck before meeting me halfway across the closest vine bridge. “Yeah, what is it?”

  “Take the gate for me for a bit. I need to stretch my legs.”

  “Sure.”

  When he took my place, and I was sure he was truly awake, I wandered the network of bridges above the village to burn off some energy. The darker the sky became, the less movement there was on the streets below. People either returned to their homes for the night or settled in around the village fire.

  But I hadn’t seen Laurel do either.

  The last strokes of color drained from the sky, allowing the delicate blanket of stars to shine through. I stopped walking and leaned on the rail. The vines and boards beneath my feet swayed with the change in motion, then stilled.

  The constellations were on full display in the cloudless sky. I looked up to Warrior, a grand wolf whose likeness was found in each of us. Farther to the west was the Guardian, the earth dragon whose power gifted Lycaon the grandest harvests on all of the island.

  I looked down to the botanical gardens. By the entrance, a couple shared a passionate kiss. A knot formed in my chest. I envied their love, the mutual honesty in their vulnerability to each other.

  It was unfair to expect Laurel to read my mind. But opening up risked her pushing me further away.

  From somewhere in the garden, a vine shot up into the air over the top of the wall. On instinct, I hurried across the bridge to the closest ladder down. When my feet hit cobblestone, I ran to the garden.

  Scaling the wall was forbidden, as was venturing into the forest alone at night. The island’s beauty was rivaled only by its danger.

  The lovebirds scurried off, leaving only me and whoever I was meant to stop in the garden. I could call to Patrin, sound the alarm. But I caught a glimpse of a leg before the escapee dropped down over the wall.

  A leg with a long skirt over it.

  As a sentry, it was my duty to keep all of the villagers of Lycaon safe.

  I paused by the wall and listened.

  There were a few feminine huffs on the other side, then silence. I waited so as not to startle her.

  It was also my duty to keep an eye on the forest outside of the walls.

  There was no telling what she—whoever she was—was planning. Following her was the right thing to do.

  After a few moments, the sound of her footsteps faded. I climbed the vine up and over the top of the wall. I dropped down on the other side and scented the air. A touch of vanilla and fallen tree—the sweet scent of aged paper. The scent of a historian, the scent of my mate.

  My chest grew tight. Why would Laurel risk venturing out after dark? It didn’t make sense.

  I followed her scent, keeping to the shadows.

  It didn’t take long to find her. If there had been any question of her identity, one glimpse confirmed that it was Laurel. Long dark waves of hair spilled down her back, a pale green dress clung to her voluptuous frame, and a large satchel hung from her shoulder.

  Even if she didn’t want me around, I would be here to keep her safe.

  I would watch over any member of our pack. And Laurel wasn’t just a packmate to me. She was so much more.

  Chapter Three

  Laurel

  Mouth as dry as sand, I forged deeper into the dark forest. My heart hammered against the tight walls of my chest, even as I told myself again that everything was going to be fine.

  Meticulous planning was my specialty. I’d spent the day preparing for any possible hiccup. Everything I might need was in my bag.

  There were salves for poison ivy, poison oak, poison petal, and bean bane. Suffering any skin irritation was unlikely due to my shifter nature, but it could happen.

  There was snake repellent. I’d purchased the mystery pouch from an otter trader whose wares most people seemed to avoid. It smelled like sage and spring onions, and was filled with dried red and green flakes. Since I had never seen a fathach snake with my own eyes, I had no reason to assume the repellent didn’t work. I
hoped it did, given they were supposedly large enough to swallow a man whole.

  There was a snack of dried coulu fruit. My letter opener was in there, too, admittedly of questionable worth. Most importantly, I’d brought the scroll containing my dragon love story.

  Aside from the food and the scroll, I didn’t plan on needing any of it. But better to be equipped to tackle any obstacle than regret not bringing something along.

  Even after my preparations, actually starting my adventure by climbing the village wall had been terrifying.

  It had also been exhilarating.

  I’d never broken curfew before, or any rules, for that matter. Thrill-seeking didn’t appeal to me, and I’d never much cared what people thought, so peer pressure hadn’t been an issue either.

  No rule was more important than love.

  A sea of clouds washed the moon from the sky. The little shreds of light that escaped through the cracks were obscured by a canopy of needled branches. Thank the guardians for the gifts of my inner wolf.

  Even in human form, my shifter eyes allowed me to see definition in my surroundings. I could distinguish between the burgundy blooms of the creeping rose and the near identical pink buds of the bean bane vine. In the quivering branches of the thorny bush, I could see that the set of beady eyes that watched me belonged to a red squirrel. The packed soil of the narrow game path I followed was riddled with old tracks. I could tell at a glance that the freshest prints belonged to a pair of deer, mother and fawn.

  Shifter ears allowed me to hear the rustle of pine needles in the night air. I could make out a symphony of crickets and the hooting of an owl.

  My inner wolf made me sharp enough to realize I wasn’t alone.

  At first, I hadn’t been sure. Nature meant there were critters everywhere, so deciphering intention wasn’t always easy. But the more distance I put between myself and the village, the clearer the truth became. I was being followed.

  My best move, of course, was to shift. As a wolf, I could run faster, I could fight fiercer, and I could bite a hell of a lot harder.

  But shifting meant it would also be more difficult to carry my clothes. And my bag. I hadn’t come this far to leave my story behind now.