Winter of the Wolf

by Cherise Sinclair

  The flash of satisfaction in Calum’s face disappeared too fast for her to be certain of what she’d seen. He released her arm. As the blackness in his eyes turned silvery-gray, he puled the sawhorse barricade to one side.

  Bree stopped breathing, hearing only the pulse of her pounding heart. No one moved.

  “Cosantir?” Shay asked after a long moment. He was so brave. “Are we forgiven then?”

  “You are.” Calum’s lips quirked. “Herne won’t step between a female and her lifemates. The Mother would have his…antlers.” His mouth curved into a real smile. “Cahirs, Breanne, welcome home.”

  As relief ripped through Bree, she staggered. “We can stay? Realy, realy stay?” She wrapped her arms around Calum and hugged him tightly. “Oh, thank you.” He chuckled, hugged her back, and pushed her gently He chuckled, hugged her back, and pushed her gently through the sawhorses. She heard Jody’s whoop of delight, was caught in hard hugs from Angie and Vicki, and kissed on the cheek by Bonnie. A second later, Bree was engulfed in women.

  Shay grinned as the females surrounded their alpha, and their happiness flowed into him like a bubbling creek.

  Standing quietly, the males of his pack waited, and their support and pleasure at his return were a low hum in his bones. My pack, my mate. The hard shoulder rubbing against his completed his world. My brother.

  As he rose to his feet and yanked Zeb up, he noticed the storeowners were bringing tables and chairs out. Bowls and platters of food appeared from various cars and stores.

  After checking the Cosantir who’d moved aside to talk with his littermate, Shay lowered his voice, “A bhràthair, either Cold Creek likes watching their Cosantir kil people or

  —”

  “Or the fucking feline set us up,” Zeb muttered. “Again.”

  “Did you know about that lifemating thing?” Shay said under his breath.

  “Fuck no.” Zeb lowered his voice further. “I wonder how close we came to getting fried?”

  Calum turned and gave them a grim smile. “Very, very close.”

  Shay winced. The Cosantir definitely had a mountain lion’s hearing.

  Calum added, “If anything had gone wrong in Seattle, the Mother wouldn’t have been able to intervene. It helps that Herne favors his helhound fighters—he was pleased to go easy on you, especialy since you kiled another demonkin.” Shay eyed the Cosantir warily. What kind of a person has conversations with the God and the Mother?

  Alec punched Calum in the shoulder. “Nobody pissed themselves, dammit. You’re losing your touch, brawd.” Amusement lit Calum’s eyes. “I wil endeavor to meet your expectations next time, sheriff.” His gaze returned to Zeb and Shay, and darkness flashed again. “Do not let that next time be either of you.”

  “No, Cosantir.” Shay gave a slight bow and heard Zeb’s grunt of agreement.

  As Calum stroled toward the crowd and the beginning of a celebration, Shay’s eyes narrowed. Al those preparations already made. Just when had the Cosantir had that little chat with the Gods?

  He rubbed his chin, remembering where they’d camped last night. He turned to Alec. “Calum already knew we were lifemated, didn’t he?”

  “Aye. He said you were so wel-mated that you lit up the edge of his territory like a firebal. He was damned pleased.

  As am I.” Alec stuck out his hand. “Good job, cahirs.” As am I.” Alec stuck out his hand. “Good job, cahirs.” They shook hands with him and ventured into the press of people. Slaps from the pack males, hugs from the females, congratulations from the townspeople.

  When they were finaly permitted to rejoin Breanne, Angie pushed glasses of champagne into their hands. As the noise died, everyone looked at them expectantly.

  When Breanne looked confused, Vicki said, “With the—in Cold Creek, the newlyweds make the first toast.” Shay didn’t even have to think. He stepped forward and raised his glass. “To our friends.”

  Zeb’s shoulder rubbed his as he said in his rough voice,

  “Our family.”

  Breanne squirmed between them, her gentle voice filed with joy, “Our home.”

  ~ The End ~

  Daonain Glossary

  The Daonain use a conglomeration of handed-down languages from the British Isles. Some of the older vilages stil speak the Gaelic (Scots) or Irish Gaelic. Many of the stil speak the Gaelic (Scots) or Irish Gaelic. Many of the more common (and mangled) shifter terms have descended from Welsh.

  Errors and simplification of speling and pronunciation can be attributed to being passed down through generations…or the author messing up. Below are a few of the more common words and terms used by the shifters.

  a bhràthair: brother

  a chuisle mo chridhe: pulse of my heart a leannan: sweetheart, darling

  a mhac: son

  brawd: brother

  cahir: warrior

  cariad: lover, darling, sweetheart cosantir: guardian or protector

  dùin do bhuel: shut up

  mo bhràthair: my brother

  mo charaid: my friend

  mo chridhe: my heart

  mo leannan: my darling / my lover tha gaol agam ort: I love you

  trawsfur: transform or shift

  About the author

  I met my dearheart when vacationing in the Caribbean.

  Now I won’t say it was love at first sight. Actualy since he stood over me, enjoying the view down my swimsuit top, I might have been a tad peeved—as wel as attracted. But although we were together less than two days and lived on opposite sides of the country, love can’t be corraled by time or space.

  We’ve now been married for many, many years. (And he stil looks down my swimsuit tops.)

  Nowadays, I live in the west with this obnoxious, beloved husband, two children, and various animals, including three cats who rule the household. I’m a gardener, and I love nurturing smal plants until they’re big and healthy and productive…and ripping defenseless weeds out by the roots when I’m angry. I enjoy thunderstorms, playing Scrabble, or walking to a neighborhood tavern for a dark beer. My favorite way to spend an evening is curled up on a couch next to the master of my heart, watching the fire, reading, and…

  wel…if you’re reading my books, you obviously know what else happens in front of fires.

  ~ Cherise

  ~ Cherise

  * * *

  Please come and visit me online:

  Website: http://www.CheriseSinclair.com

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/CheriseSinclair Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/AuthorCheriseSinclair Facebook: www.facebook.com/CheriseSinclair Here’s a blurb and excerpt for

  The Wild Hunt Legacy 1:

  Hour of the Lion

  by Cherise Sinclair.

  Erotic paranormal romance (ménage)

  Hour of the Lion by Cherise Sinclair is an outstanding paranormal story… Hour of the Lion kept my attention from beginning to end and left me wanting more in the incredibly fascinating world that Ms. Sinclair has created.

  Recommended Read ~ Jae Dark Divas

  Recommended Read ~ Jae Dark Divas

  With a fantastic heroine, two yummy heroes and a whole host of fun side characters… this slick paranormal romance came at me out of nowhere and knocked my socks off. ~

  Nix Scorching Book Reviews

  Readers prepare to be swept away by this amazing tale!

  Author Cherise Sinclair has another winner with Hour of the Lion! ~ Shannon The Romance Studio HOUR OF THE LION was simply amazing. Hot hunky shifter men, a strong and sassy heroine, a gripping story, and some oh so lovely ménage action are just the tip of the iceberg in this phenomenal read! A Top Pick and 5 Stars ~

  Rho The Romance Reviews

  Blurb for Hour of the Lion

  A dedicated covert ops agent, Victoria Morgan folows two rules: do your duty, and protect the innocent. When she gets bitten by a werecat—yeah, that was a sucky day—she must investigate beings that shouldn't even exist. Just how is she supposed to tel if a person is huma
n…or an animal-shifter who eats raw meat for breakfast?

  shifter who eats raw meat for breakfast?

  During her investigation, she finds a real home and friends for the first time. Now, scientists are waiting for her to turn into something four-legged with a tail, the shifters suspect her of spying, and she has falen in love with two werecat brothers. Should she do her duty and expose their existence?

  Or should she folow her heart and protect them with al of her deadly skils.

  Excerpt for Hour of the Lion

  Ignoring the wood pixie chittering angrily in the oak tree, Sheriff Alec McGregor silently stepped onto the porch, coming up behind the burglar. He tried not to laugh as the criminal squirmed like a paw-pinned mouse.

  It’d been a boring week so far. The last excitement was a good four days ago when old Peterson, having indulged in rotgut tequila, tried to demonstrate how to tap-dance on top of Calum’s bar…which he did about once a month.

  At least a pinioned burglar had the dubious distinction of being unique.

  He rubbed his chin, feeling the rasp of stubble. He’d noticed—being as how he was a guy—what was wiggling was a very fine, nicely rounded ass in tight jeans.

  And being a guy, he felt the need to see the front of this And being a guy, he felt the need to see the front of this dangerous perp who had one leg inside the window and the other outside. He moved silently across the porch and checked out the criminal’s front side to see what else the evening might hold.

  Evening is going well. Hair, the rich color of dark walnut, rippled across her shoulders, and her purple T-shirt was tight enough to reveal amazingly lush breasts for such a compact body. Since she was too occupied to notice his arrival, he could study her assets without being considered a macho pig.

  Abundant. Yes, that would be the word. He’d heard the more-than-a-mouthful is wasted saying, but when it came to breasts, he was a bit of a glutton.

  Concentrating on freeing her leg from something, she was oblivious to everything else.

  He thought for a minute and decided to speak up. And hey, he needed to see the color of her eyes—for the report and al.

  “My jail is empty today,” he remarked sociably. “In case you wondered.”

  She froze like a mouse hearing a fox. When huge copper-colored eyes met his, everything inside him came to a halt, like the day he’d been chasing a rabbit and got his leg caught in a steel trap. A hard painful grip, only this time it was his chest being squeezed.

  The sound of her breath whuffing out, like she’d been pounced on, cleared his mind. Cop—I’m a cop. And she pounced on, cleared his mind. Cop—I’m a cop. And she was a burglar. No pouncing on this little prey alowed…and wasn’t that a damned shame?

  “Oh, hel,” the lady perp said, obviously having recovered fast. She now looked more pissed-off than concerned, and that just wasn’t right. “Listen, I’m realy just—” He leaned his hip against the porch railing and crossed his arms. “It’s caled breaking and entering,” he offered helpfuly.

  Her mouth dropped open. “No way. Hey, I talked to the realtor this morning and—.”

  “Um-hmm. It’s good you’ve done your homework.

  Shows a certain pride in your work.”

  The sparks in those big eyes almost did him in. “I am not a burglar, dammit. I’m here to rent this place. Amanda Golden is supposed to meet me.”

  He studied her for a minute. She had the realtor’s name right—’course it was there plain as could be on the rental sign.

  A wisp of scent drifted past him. Blood. Fresh. “You’re bleeding.”

  She blinked at the change of subject, and he noticed with pleasure how her thick lashes feathered down against skin tanned almost as dark as her brown eyes.

  “I’m bleeding?”

  Herne help him, but she realy was lovely—and he shouldn’t let that pretty face suck him in. She probably shouldn’t let that pretty face suck him in. She probably wrapped every male she met around her ringless, delicate finger.

  Besides, she was human. Some shifters enjoyed sampling human females, but he’d never understood the attraction.

  He pointed to where a nail had snagged more than her clothing, and blood darkened the leg of her jeans. “Looks like the previous renter overlooked a few nails from last season’s Christmas lights. Let me get you down from there before I start on some serious interrogation.” Her eyes narrowed, then she leaned forward. Reaching out, she obviously intended to steady herself on his forearms, but the opportunity was too good to ignore. With a smooth move, he dropped low enough that her hands settled on his shoulders instead, and he grasped her around the waist. His fingers curled around surprisingly hard abdominal muscles—

  the female must work out regularly—and he lifted her up.

  She gasped as he swung her onto the porch. Her grip tightened on his shoulders, lean hands, not soft, yet they felt very, very good on his body. Her hands would probably clutch his shoulders—just like that—as he slid inside her, filed her.

  He shook his head. Where the hel had that image come from?

  Her eyes were huge, and she smeled of pain and fear. He released her immediately. She was frightened. And he could released her immediately. She was frightened. And he could tel it was more than just worry about being arrested. No, she was scared of him. The idea was insulting.

  “Um. Thank you.” Her voice was husky.

  “My pleasure.” After al, honesty was the best policy, and he’d enjoyed the hel out of getting his hands on her. Was looking forward to enjoying more, but…she was scared of him?

  On the street, a white Taurus puled up behind the Jeep.

  Amanda Golden slid out, briefcase in hand, hurried up the sidewalk, and onto the porch. “Helo, Alec. Ms. Waverly?

  I’m sorry I’m late. I got hung up at the title company.”

  “That’s al right. I’ve been kept entertained,” his ex-burglar said dryly.

  “Wel, damn, guess I have to let you go.” And she would have decorated his jail cel so nicely too.

  She shot him a nasty look, her appealingly ful lips tightly compressed.

  When she started to move, Alec tucked a finger under her belt to halt her. “Let’s make sure you aren’t hurt too bad,” he said. “Nails can be nasty.”

  As he leaned forward, he realized the faint scent of blood wasn’t just from the nail; it came from multiple places. She had dark red-brown spots on the back of her T-shirt. The gasp when he’d lifted her from the windowsil—had that been from surprise or pain?

  from surprise or pain?

  He studied her closer. Meticulously applied makeup covered a bruise on the side of her face. There was maybe a lumpy dressing on her shoulder under the T-shirt, and something more than a bra wrapped around her sides.

  Now, al that damage might be from a car accident. But that wouldn’t explain why she was scared of him, the most likable felow on this planet. So. He could be wrong—

  frequently was—but he picked the most logical explanation.

  Someone had beaten the hel out of her.

  “Where else are you hurt?”

  Why would the big sheriff ask that? Vic wondered, feeling a chil. She’d covered the blood and bruises adequately. Had her description and injuries been on an APB?

  Dammit, he’d already given her one scare. For a nasty moment, she’d thought Swane had hired him until it became obvious he was just a smal-town cop having himself a good time.

  “Don’t be sily,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding.

  “A little nail scrape doesn’t warrant al this concern.” Nudging his arm away, she shook hands with the realtor.

  “Ms. Golden, nice to meet you.”

  “Just cal me Amanda.” Tal, blonde, wearing silky black pants with matching jacket, she was the epitome of a refined style that Vic had never mastered. After giving Vic’s hand a style that Vic had never mastered. After giving Vic’s hand a firm shake, the realtor frowned at the cop. “Is there a problem?”
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  “You got here just in time,” Vic said. “Your policeman was about to arrest me and haul me away.” Amanda’s snicker wasn’t at al businesslike. “Ah, yes. If his jail’s not overflowing with criminals, Alec feels he’s not doing his job.” She leaned forward and whispered loudly,

  “Of course, it’s only a two-cel jailhouse.” Vic smiled and glanced over her shoulder to see how the sheriff took being taunted. With one hip propped on the railing and a lazy grin on his tanned face, he didn’t look too upset.

  When his focus shifted from Amanda to Vic, his gaze intensified, as if he were trying to see inside her. She felt a quiver low in her bely, but from worry or attraction—she wasn’t sure. Probably worry.

  Towering six feet five or so with appalingly broad shoulders that narrowed to a trim waist, the man moved like a trained fighter. Not al spit and polish like a soldier though.

  His golden-brown hair brushed the colar of his khaki-uniform, and he’d roled his sleeves up, revealing corded wrists and muscular forearms. She remembered how easily he’d lifted her, how those big hands had wrapped around her. He was damned powerful, despite the easy-going manner.

  Yeah, the quiver was definitely from worry.

  Yeah, the quiver was definitely from worry.

  But then he smiled at the realtor, and a dimple appeared at one corner of his mouth. The laugh lines around his eyes emphasized a thin blue-tinted scar that angled across his left cheekbone as if someone had marked him with a pen. His voice was deep and smooth and slow as warm honey, and she felt her muscles relax. “You have a mean streak, Amanda,” he was saying. “I’l have to warn Jonah.”

  “He wouldn’t believe you,” the realtor said as she worked on unlocking the front door.

  The sheriff turned, letting that should-be-a-registered-weapon grin loose on Vic, and her temperature rose. “So,” he said, “Ms. Waverly, wil you be staying in Cold Creek?” He was gorgeous, and he looked at her as if she was something tasty. "Um…” she said and his smile increased a fraction, just enough that she realized what an idiot she was.

  You’re losing it, Sergeant. She scowled at him. “A while.” And the sooner she left this damn town, the better.

  The breeze whipped his shaggy hair “Wel, while you’re here—” he started.