by Kyle, Celia
“See?” the man named Hank crowed at his pal. “Even she knows how it works.
Chuck’s face flamed red with fury at being upstaged by some stupid waitress. “Yeah, like some libtard bitch has any idea what she’s talking about!”
“You callin’ me a bitch?” Hank thundered, jumping to his feet as his chair spun across the floor from the sudden move.
“No, I’m calling her a bitch,” Chuck snarled, slowly standing and clenching his ham-sized fists. “I’m calling you a fuckin’ dumbass!”
Oops! If Persia had just kept her big mouth shut, she wouldn’t have to break up a fight between a couple of drunk codgers.
“Guys, can we please take it down a notch?” Persia pleaded, stepping between them and flashing a wobbly smile. Men usually went crazy for her dimples.
But the men were already moving, and before she even knew what happened, a plaid-covered elbow connected sharply with her forehead. That sent her flying back into the wall with a painful thud before she bounced off and her head bashed against the side of a table. Then the lights went out and the world went dark.
Chapter Two
Warren Edgecomb pulled into the parking lot of The Lair, turned down the lazy melody of the country song he sang along to and rolled his windows up before anyone heard his terrible voice. He brought the truck to a stop in a parking spot with lines so faded only locals knew where they were and took a deep breath.
Warren, you’re getting ahead of yourself again.It was just light enough to see bats flitting around between the swaying trees, having their nightly dinner. Watching bats and fireflies always settled Warren down when he felt out of sorts. Tonight, though, they weren’t cutting it.
How could they? It wasn’t every day a guy went out for a walk in the woods and ran into his fated mate. Not even a shred of doubt lingered in Warren’s heart that he had, indeed, finally found his mate. If he’d been in his human form when they’d stumbled across each other in Wolf Woods earlier, he might have questioned their connection, but his wolf knew better. The beast recognized her in an instant, and his entire world had turned upside down.
Warren had always had a good head on his shoulders. Dependable, even-tempered, smart. Just like any good ol’ country boy should be. He felt confident as the beta for the Soren pack, their lands located just on the other side of Wolf Woods. He’d never doubted his abilities to serve the pack and their alpha, Zeke Soren.
But a love life? Yeah, no.
The strangest part of it all was that he hadn’t just been wandering around the off-limits Wolf Woods for fun when he’d caught Persia’s scent on the wind and followed it to the clearing. Dick McNish had greased every palm he could to secure the rights to rip out the woods for the sake of some generic, cookie-cutter condos.
The pack had thought they’d won when a large newspaper had published a scathing exposé accusing the real estate developer of pulling shady crap all over Georgia. Then McNish had brought in an army of bulldozers—okay, three—to intimidate them.
It was a mind-fuck, and they all knew it. Unfortunately, it had also been quite effective. Apparently so had the article. After moving the dozers to the parking lot of the woods, not another peep had been heard. It seemed McNish had gone into his own personal form of hiding.
He’d been a thorn in the pack’s side for far too long. Not a thorn, more like a loaded gun trained directly at the pack. Literally. Considering McNish had ordered one of his goons to shoot a Soren pup, along with any other wolves they ran across, the pack knew better than to breathe easy as long as he was out there, ready to stir up trouble. So Zeke had sent Warren out to make sure McNish hadn’t revved up his bulldozers.
As he’d been heading back to Soren pack lands after seeing the slumbering dozers, he’d scented his mate and stopped dead in his tracks. It didn’t seem possible, not after his heart had been so shattered when his childhood crush had found her own mate, but once he’d caught sight of her, any doubt had vanished. She was his.
And she’d taken his breath away. Flowing red curls topped the loveliest, creamiest skin he’d ever seen. His sharp wolf eyes had been able to see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, even at a distance, and her plump pink lips begged to be kissed. When she’d drawn closer, he’d been mesmerized by her eyes—one blue, one brown—and the fact she’d seemed to trust him, a strange wolf in the woods.
As a wolf, he stood as tall as her waist, but in human form, he would tower over her short frame by a good foot, not that such a height disparity bothered him in the slightest. But her abundant curves had really started his wolf panting. Breasts out to there, tucking into a trim waist and flaring back out generously where her hips started.
But there was more to his mate than mere appearances. He’d caught the faint scent of patchouli on her, as if she’d been near someone wearing it, coupled with a gauzy, flowing skirt that hugged her hips beautifully and a thin tank top which showed off what her mama had given her—without the benefit of a bra, praise be—told him she had to be one of the protestors trying to save Wolf Woods. The females he’d grown up with wore camo and rode ATVs while Persia probably had a dreamcatcher hanging over her bed. Or tent, more than likely.
Not that her status as an environmentalist bothered Warren either. Wolves in general leaned in that direction, purely to maintain their ancestral pack lands. It didn’t really matter why they were both fighting against McNish, just that they were on the same side.
What worried him more was that his mate was a human. Of course, some of his favorite pack mates used to be human, but she might have a problem with him being a werewolf. Humans didn’t always react well when they learned werewolves were real.
Even worse, he’d presented himself to her in his wolf form, and now she saw him as an overgrown pet rather than her life mate. He could still feel her fingers buried in his fur, staring into his eyes with her bi-colored ones, and a shiver of need rolled through him. He’d just have to track her down, woo her in his human form and pretend to be something he wasn’t, which presented its own sort of difficulty.
Warren’s luck had run out in the love department, and he certainly didn’t have many skills at flirting. He’d grown a lot since letting go of his immature crush on Zeke’s sister, Chloe. One of the things he’d learned was that he’d need to be open and honest with his future mate, should he ever be lucky enough to find one. Now that he had, he realized how hard that would be as a wolf trying to court a human.
He’d tried following her at a safe distance, but too many campers had been milling around. Sadly, most humans reacted to wolves exactly as Persia had initially—with fear. Besides, even though they hadn’t seen any of McNish’s wolf hunters out for a few days, that didn’t mean they weren’t prowling around, just itching to spill some wolf blood.
After high-tailing it to the pack house, he’d driven his truck back to the entrance of Wolf Woods in search of his ginger mate. Even before he’d opened his door, he knew Persia wasn’t there. Her scent, an intoxicating mix of cotton candy and berries, had lingered in the air though, so he knew she’d only recently left. Time to ask around.
Venturing into the woods where most of the protestors were camping, Warren had looked around for anyone who looked friendly. A scrawny slip of a man with nasty blond dreadlocks had been lying on his back under a flimsy blue tarp tied to the side of a tree, taking a pull off a vape pen. Something about the kid had set Warren’s teeth on edge, which the fellow must have sensed because as soon as their eyes had met, the boy’s brown ones grew wide and he scooted back on his ratty sleeping bag until he was hidden from Warren’s view.
“Greetings,” a willowy brunette had spoken as she heated a pot of something resembling food over a small propane stove. “Are you joining us for dinner?”
Her stoned boyfriend had smiled lazily as he plucked out a gentle tune on his guitar. Warren had returned their smiles as he shook his head.
“Thanks, but I’m looking for a pretty redhead. I think
her name’s Persia?”
He hadn’t been able to bring himself to speak her obviously fake last name, Moonshadow. Thankfully he hadn’t needed to.
“Sorry, she took off about an hour ago.”
“Right, she mentioned something about going to work, but I can’t for the life of me remember where,” Warren inserted as smoothly as he could. A cop would have seen right through him, but the trusting hippies had taken him at face value.
“The Lair, man,” the woman’s boyfriend had crooned, almost in tune with his music.
That was all Warren had needed to know.
“Are you sure you don’t want some lentils?” the woman had called after him in a wistful tone as he hurried back to his truck, ignoring her.
As he sat in his truck, watching The Lair’s red and yellow neon flickering, he wondered if marching into his newfound and totally unsuspecting mate’s place of work was such a bright idea. Everything in him screamed to run in and find her, just to make sure she was safe, but the human half of him knew he’d have to go slowly. Not only was she a human who had no idea werewolves existed, but she’d told him not an hour earlier that she was swearing off men for good. If he ran in calling her his mate and claiming to be a werewolf, she’d call the dudes in the white coats.
Warren dragged his palm over his face and sighed. Of course, it would be his luck that he’d have to go through the human channels to get things done.But for his mate, he’d do anything.
“Persia.” He tested how the name sounded on his tongue.
Pretty, perky, bold.
Just like her.
With a breath for luck, he hopped out of his truck and headed around the building, only to find the most quintessential Tremble scene ever. Levi Walker, the pack’s former enforcer and a town cop, stood in front of the building, his arms crossed across his broad chest as he listened to an inebriated older fellow blather on. The man’s wispy white beard bobbed as he spoke, his soiled work jeans, muddy boots, and a sweat-stained red-and-black flannel shirt under black suspenders a typical good ol’ boy uniform. The man swayed slightly as his arms flailed.
As Warren walked past the pair, the man spat a wad of black goo into the dirt and used his tongue to push a nasty lump of chew back into place in his lower lip before continuing his ramble at Levi. Warren had trouble catching everything he slurred, thanks to his thick Georgia accent coupled with slurring.
“Occifer, I tells ya, Chuck done hit her good wit his elbow. I seen it. You go on an’ look. I seen it! Git her looked at so you can enter it in ev-ee-dence, tell you what.”
“Sir,” Levi sounded weary, “if you could please…”
Whatever came after that, Warren didn’t hear it. The insistent thunder of his quickened heartbeat drowned out everything else. The redneck’s words were nonsense, yet Warren’s belly cramped at each one. Somehow, Persia was involved. If there was one thing Warren had learned in the hour or so since encountering his mate, it was that he needed to listen to his gut.
Throwing open the door to The Lair, he stopped in the doorway and nearly shifted with rage. Hux Davenport, the owner of the bar and a Soren pack member, squatted over a motionless Persia, fanning a dirty dishtowel in her face. Whatever had happened to her, Hux’s ministrations didn’t seem to be working because she was completely knocked out. A trickle of blood dribbled down her forehead and into her hair.
Hux glanced behind him, his eyes growing wide at Warren’s presence. Not because he was there, but because he was snarling in Hux’s general direction. The man scooted away, leaving the human female for Warren to deal with.
Smart man.
Rushing to her, Warren held her oval face in his hands and breathed deeply. Yes, his mate. No question. And she was injured. Damn it!
Scooping her into his arms, Warren marveled at her fragility and vowed to make it his life’s mission to keep her safe, forevermore. As he turned to head out the door, Levi stepped back inside and gave him a bewildered look. The old redneck peered over his shoulder at the scene.
“What the hell, Warren,” Levi hissed under his breath. “I already called an ambulance. You can’t just—”
Warren didn’t need to say a word. He just gave Levi a look as hard as steel, and the man backed off. He even held the door open for Warren as he carried her to his truck. She needed treatment from one of the few people in the world he trusted.
His sister.
Chapter Three
Persia’s eyes fluttered open and then narrowed at the bright lights beaming over her head. Squinting them shut again, she winced at the pounding throb in her brain. Headaches were one thing, but the pain stabbing into her head like a knife with every heartbeat far surpassed anything she’d ever experienced.
What the hell happened?
Thinking back to the last event she could clearly recall, she retraced her steps. Kicking Leaf out of her van. A walk in the woods. A wolf.
Wait.
A wolf? Did it attack her?
Her heart sped up, making the ache in her brain twice as painful. It only slowed down when the wolf’s sharp blue eyes penetrated the murderous throbbing in her head. No, he’d rolled over and snuggled her like she’d raised him from a puppy. Her new woodland friend.
Finally, back on track, she remembered going to work at The Lair. Something about a couple of old rednecks tickled the back of her brain, but the poor organ couldn’t manage to bring up that particular memory, and the more she tried, the more she hurt.
“Mmmf,” she groaned as she peeled her eyes open against the light again.
It looked more like an adjustable lamp found in hospitals. The harsh smell of antiseptic added to the impression. Whatever had happened to her, someone must have taken her to a doctor’s office or urgent care. Persia tried turning her head to get a look around the space, sending a jolt of pain through her body. Bad idea. Maybe sitting up would be easier.
Grunting with effort, she fumbled for the side of the bed, only to find hand rails. It was a gurney. Perfect for keeping her steady as she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. The room tilted this way and that, so she closed her eyes until she didn’t feel as if she was standing on the bow of a tiny boat in stormy seas.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” a soft, feminine voice came from nearby.
Cracking one eye open, Persia looked at the tall, fairly fuzzy woman who approached. A few blinks cleared her vision enough to see the woman was also breathtakingly beautiful—the kind of woman elderly billionaires left entire estates to. But something about her presence calmed Persia. If this woman was her doctor, she was in good hands.
“Who…what…?” Persia tried, and failed, to say.
“Shh,” the blonde bombshell pressed a hand to Persia’s back for support. “Just take a minute to get your bearings.”
Before she could, a stupidly handsome man hurried forward behind the blonde and peered over her shoulder at Persia. Deep concern shaded his blue eyes, the kind of concern someone showered for a loved one, not a total stranger. And he was a stranger to her, yet… something seemed so familiar about him. Blinking the feeling away, she decided he must be a patron at The Lair. She must recognize him from one of her shifts.
“Where am I? Who are you?” she finally managed, reluctantly turning her gaze back to the woman.
“My name’s Trina Kincaid and you’re in my clinic.” She shot a silent warning of some kind to the man, who resembled her. “And this is my brother, Warren Edgecomb. Can you tell me your name?”
“Persia.” She rubbed a tender spot on the side of her head. “Persia M-Moonshadow.”
“Good,” Trina elbowed her overly concerned bother aside. “Look at my finger, Persia. Okay, now follow it without moving your head. Very good. How are you feeling? Dizzy or nauseated?”
“No, but my head hurts like a bitch.” Persia did her best not to allow her gaze to flick over Warren. “What the hell happened to me?”
Trina explained as she shone a pen light in Persia’s eyes. “I was
n’t there, but from what I’ve been told, you took an elbow to the head, slammed into a wall and then bumped your head against a table. The good news is that it doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but your head’s going to hurt for a day or two. Now, I’m not set up for, um, injuries like this, so if you want to alleviate any fears, we could take you to a hospital for an MRI—”
Persia managed to wave her hand, dismissing the idea. “God no. Too much trouble. I’m fine, really. As a professional protestor, I’ve had a helluva lot worse than a headache. One time this cranky construction foreman knocked me on my ass with the bucket of a bulldozer.”
Persia thought the story was hilarious, but Warren didn’t seem amused in the slightest. In fact, he looked downright furious. “Are you joking? Did that really happen? What’s the guy’s name and address?”
Trina rolled her eyes and nudged him aside. “Ignore him.”
Now that some of her senses were returning to her, Persia took a good look at Trina. “Hey, you seem familiar. Did you stop by Wolf Woods a couple of times last week?”
Trina smiled. “I did. Good memory. Now I’m confident you’re not seriously injured. I hear those bulldozers haven’t budged an inch since McNish brought them in. Your handiwork?”
Persia beamed. “Not just mine. I’ve got a team.”
“That means yes,” Trina chuckled as she checked Persia’s pulse. “You’re doing a great job.”
“Thanks,” Persia faltered a bit. Locals often were the hardest to convince when it came to McNish’s developments. “Mind if I ask what your deal is? I know why we’re fighting to keep Wolf Woods wild, but what’s at stake for you?”
