by Juniper Hart
Captured by the Shifter
Text Copyright © 2017 by Juniper Hart
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2017
Publisher
Secret Woods Books
[email protected]
www.SecretWoodsBooks.com
Captured by the Shifter
Birch Mountain Alphas
By: Juniper Hart
Table of Contents
Captured by the Shifter
Story of the Birch Mountain Alphas
Bonus Content: Bloodline Heiress
Captured by the Shifter
Prologue
A glass smashed to the floor and the group inhaled collectively, watching the scene unfold.
It wasn’t the first time they had engaged in such a heated argument, but this time was different; this time Damon was furious enough to kill. It was obvious in the way his green eyes had begun to tinge yellow in the dim light of the room.
“Why is this so difficult to grasp?” he rasped angrily. “I want them out of town. All of them. Do not question me. Do as you are told. It will stop when we have the man responsible.”
The others shifted uncomfortably, a deep silence falling over the room. It was like a film noir in the abandoned backhouse tavern, the music skipping on the jukebox as the group avoided each other’s eyes, but no one made a move to shut off the irritating sound of Keith Urban hitting the same note over and over.
“It isn’t our job—” Ty started to say.
“Not my goddamn job? That’s the excuse you’re going to feed me?” Damon snarled. “How much more needs to go wrong? How many more kids need to die? You’re pathetic, all of you.”
A snort of derision followed his last words, but Damon was not finished. He rose from the round table, using a hand to swipe at the beer bottles sitting before him, sending more glass shattering to the already filthy floor of their meeting quarters.
“Why is this difficult for some of you?” he asked, his irises blazing as he met their reluctant gazes. “I am not asking you to drop a nuclear bomb on innocent people.”
“It will be a nuclear bomb in this town,” Ty countered. “I don’t know how you expect to get away with this. We’re already skating on thin ice just doing what we’re doing right now.”
“We are doing Bismarck a service,” Damon retorted, slapping his large palm against the table and causing the others to flinch slightly.
“Not everyone will see it that way, Damon,” Jake replied quietly. “There will be backlash and scrutiny. That’s stuff we can’t afford.”
The group leader carefully eyed the blonde.
“Are you afraid?” he sneered, and Jake visibly bristled at the taunt.
“I am not scared. I am obviously the only one thinking about the long-term effects. How many will retaliate if we do this?”
“They will have to figure it out first,” Damon reminded him. “And they haven’t picked up our trail in years.”
“Well, history tends to repeat itself, boss.”
“It’s for the greater good,” Damon sighed. “And in the end, it will be worth the risk. We have been up against much worse than this.”
“Famous last words,” someone muttered, and Damon whirled to snarl at him, his face contorting into a hideous mask.
“You will do what I say,” he insisted, “if you know what is good for you.”
Again, the men lowered their eyes, but they nodded in concession, bowing slightly as they did so.
“I don’t want to open this discussion again,” Damon continued. “Understood?”
A slight murmur of agreement passed over everyone’s lips, but Damon could feel the animus radiating toward him through each member of the group.
It’s nothing they haven’t done before, he thought, shaking his black hair in annoyance. Where was all this reluctance stemming from all of a sudden?
The men began to shuffle out of the roadhouse, the country song still skipping obnoxiously on the jukebox.
“Someone turn that off!” Damon yelled as they exited the one-room tavern.
But as the last man left, no one stopped to switch the song off, leaving Damon alone inside with the music grating on his nerves.
The lack of action to his final order did not go unnoticed, and he felt a spark of alarm course through him.
Am I losing control of the pack? Damon wondered.
He dismissed the thought immediately, but as he stared around the empty room, listening to Keith Urban repeat the word “babe” over and over, he knew that he might be facing a small problem.
Did I ever really have control in the first place?
Part I
Chapter One
“It’s stifling in here, Bernard,” Summer announced sweetly, fanning herself with a dish towel. “You should probably turn on the air before everyone passes out.”
“It’s not that bad,” the bar manager replied, flopping back in the booth, a cold drink in his hand. “The doors are open.”
Easy for you to say, she thought with annoyance. You’re not running around like a headless chicken.
Bernard seemed so comfortable, Summer was almost expecting a geisha to appear and feed him grapes.
“It’s not just me complaining,” she pleaded, her light blue eyes wide with insistence. “The customers are sweating. Look at them!”
Bernard barely lifted his head from his phone and grunted.
“If I start running the air conditioning now, our electric bill is going to go through the roof. Can I take it out of your pay?”
Summer bit back a scowl and sighed.
The Cherry House was an upscale establishment near the University of North Dakota. It attracted an eclectic mix of college kids and locals seeking refuge from their long working hours. The drinks were pricey, the cover charge modest, and the crowd generally laid back, but that evening, the humid late summer heat created an unusual discord in the bar. Summer knew from experience that alcohol paired with disgruntled clientele was not a good combination.
“Bernard, people are leaving,” she tried again. “Look!”
She pointed toward the door, where several patrons were walking out the door, airing their shirts with their hands.
“More the reason for us not to turn on the air,” Bernard countered. “We can’t cover the expense with less people drinking.”
Summer gaped at him, her mouth parted to scream sense into him, but she realized he didn’t believe his own circular logic; he was just being his normal arrogant self, trying to sound intelligent as he spoke in loops.
Even if he hadn’t been aware of how ridiculous he sounded, Summer had already given up the fight. It was all she had in her. Acknowledging the futility in the conversation, she turned back to slip behind the bar, where half a dozen customers were waiting for their drinks.
“What did he say?” Tonya demanded, pouring a bottle of gin into a tumbler.
Summer could only shake her head.
Tonya scoffed.
“What a cheap asshole,” she snapped, loud enough for the nearby patrons to hear. Summer shot her co-worker a warning glance that went unheeded.
Tonya had been working at The Cherry House for longer than anyone, and in her mind, she had earned the right to say exactly what she wanted when she wanted. It m
ade Summer nervous how outspoken the fiery redhead could be, which was why she had opted to speak with the manager instead of sending Tonya.
Although, Tonya probably would have warranted better results, Summer mused.
Summer Garland had never been good with conflict, and she tried her best to keep the peace when she could. The problem was, Tonya made it very difficult, and Bernard was no help.
“He’ll realize it’s in his best interest soon enough,” Summer said quickly, watching as Tonya glared relentlessly at their oblivious boss. Bernard was chuckling at something on his cell phone.
“He’s probably laughing at something he posted himself. He’s just the type to laugh at his own jokes,” Tonya called out, again taking no pains with the volume of her tone.
The men and women at the bar giggled while Summer cringed inwardly. If Tonya knew she had an audience, there would be no stopping the barrage of insults.
“You ladies should check him out,” the bartender commented, nodding her head in Bernard’s direction. “He’s a real catch. Forty years old, lives at home with his mom, and can’t get off his ass on a Friday night to help his staff. Who wants his number?”
She eyed the girls who backed away, laughing.
“No? No takers?”
“No thanks!” came the chorus of responses.
Summer pretended to focus on the drinks at the bar. She was growing embarrassed despite the fact that the assault had nothing to do with her.
This brings back memories of my childhood, she thought, shaking her head.
“Oh, come on!” Tonya cried, her voice growing louder than before. Summer knew she was trying to bait Bernard, who still hadn’t recognized that he was the topic of the conversation at the bar.
“Of course, you may have some competition,” Tonya continued. “When his head isn’t up his own ass, his nose is so deep in the owner’s, it’s the only thing he smells anymore. Isn’t that right, Bernie?”
Bernard suddenly seemed to understand his attention was being sought, and he glanced up. Tonya grinned at him disarmingly, nodding her head with encouragement.
“Right, boss?” she called again. Bernard, clueless as he was, bobbed his head in agreement.
A roar of amusement erupted from the spectators, and Summer watched as Bernard’s face twisted in confusion.
This is painful to watch, she thought, giving Tonya a mildly disgusted look.
“What?” Tonya asked defensively, noticing the expression on Summer’s face. “It’s not my fault he’s an idiot.”
Summer did not respond, instead turning back to the customers.
It would be nice to find one place in the world where there was no drama, she thought wistfully, yanking bottles of Corona from the bar fridge. I wonder if I will ever find that.
It seemed that from the moment Summer had popped her head into the world, she was destined to live amongst conflict.
Her mother had been the quintessential drama queen: a shrill, anxious woman who rarely found beauty in anything. Carol Garland was twenty-five when Summer was born and had immediately declared her blonde, sweet-faced daughter the reason for everything wrong in her life.
“You ruined my figure!” and “I could have been a model!” were constant refrains in the Garland house.
Summer’s father had fled the scene when she was two, and Summer had only a fleeting memory of his cologne and a timid smile.
“You look like him,” Carol often snapped at Summer, and it became yet another reason in the mounting list for the older woman to hate her. Some of Summer’s earliest memories were of trying to get her mother to smile, but it seemed that her only daughter could do no right.
Her mother deemed her finger paintings amateurish, her clay mugs sloppy. Anyone else would have given up, but Summer longed for nothing more than her mother’s approval.
If Carol’s endless diatribes were not substantial enough, Summer’s mother seemed drawn to men who would fight with her. While there had not been any physical violence, Summer’s childhood had been a barrage of shouting, door slamming, and punched walls. Carol was as much the aggressor as any of her many suitors.
All Summer ever wanted when she was a child was a sense of peace and quiet, a solitude which she never seemed to find, no matter where she went.
In school, she was an easy target. Despite her fair, good looks and gentle nature, she was a pushover and easily preyed upon by the bigger and meaner students. She did the homework of the older students, simply vying for their friendship, but it never came.
The cliques alienated her early on, and Summer spent her recesses listening to endless taunts about how she acted like a mouse, and if she wasn’t careful, she would be picked up by an owl and pecked to death.
The kids had no idea what kinds of nightmares those silly chants gave her, but night after night, Summer would wake, sweating and sobbing. She learned to dislike the night because she feared that the nocturnal birds might be looming in the dark, waiting to snatch her up and away.
Summer managed to graduate high school, but only just barely.
Her guidance counsellor had basically told her that her teachers had taken pity upon her and given her a passing grade so that she would not have to endure another minute of torment in high school.
Summer had never felt more relieved than the day she had run home from school with her diploma in her hand.
She had told the counsellor that she was unable to attend the graduation ceremony and asked for the piece of paper that would supposedly open doors for her. It was a lie of course, but Summer did not want to spend one more minute facing the people who had made her life so miserable.
The diploma, though, changed everything.
It was the only reason she had stayed in Fargo all that time.
She had long since given up on the dream of pleasing her mother or anyone else. She had only one quest back then.
Minimally, you need a diploma, and then you can get a job and a nice, quiet apartment in another town where no one knows you.
Summer was realistic; she knew that without a college education and work experience, she would not land a high-paying job, but she wasn't looking for much.
I will be happy with a studio apartment in a poorer area of town. I won’t set my expectations too high.
The reality had been much worse than she had anticipated.
She entered the A-framed house where she had lived her entire life, her heart filled with youthful optimism, and sought out her mother to inform her of the plans she had made.
The scene which had unfolded was one that Summer could not strike from her mind, even years after the event.
“You don’t love me!” Carol shrieked. “After everything I’ve done for you, how can you leave me alone?”
“I do love you, Mama,” she protested, desperately wanting her mother to stop yelling. “I just need to be on my own.”
“It’s a boy, isn’t it? You’re leaving to run off with some pig!”
“No, Mama, I swear!”
“Are you knocked up? I should have sent you away to an all girls’ school. Now you’ve ruined your life!”
“No, Mama! It’s nothing like that!”
“You’re a liar! You’ve ruined my life and now you’re running off to ruin yours. You’re just like your father! I should have seen this coming!”
Eventually, Carol had dissolved into a puddle of self-pity and Summer had been allowed to leave, but her guilt matched the weight of her luggage.
When Summer arrived in Bismarck, she wondered if she had travelled far enough from her mother.
I might still be able to hear her screaming from here, she thought wryly, noting the distance between them was of only a three-hour drive. It was far enough away that Carol would not arrive on her doorstep unexpectedly, but close enough that Summer could visit often if the desire ever struck.
It never had.
Finding a cheap hotel room with her sparse savings, Summer found a job at a breakfast diner near th
e library and began seeking apartments for rent. It had taken longer than she had expected, the job market not bustling for a woman with minimal experience.
It did not take long for the disillusionment to settle, leaving Summer with a familiar sense of anxiety in her gut.
I will never be able to afford an apartment by myself with what I make at the diner, she realized. She quickly looked to find another job, but in a town the size of Bismarck, she was lucky she had found one place hiring, let alone two.
I will find a roommate for now, and then, when I get a reference, I can find another job and get my own place, she reasoned.
Setting forth on that plan, she quickly moved in with a young nursing student name Madisyn, and at first, Summer was content with the arrangement. While she and Maddy were not friends, per se, they had a pleasant enough relationship, and Summer was beginning to find the calm she had so actively sought.
A month after she had moved into the third-story apartment on East Indiana, Summer came home from her shift at the diner and found Madisyn sticking her nose into a line of cocaine.
Shocked, Summer retreated into her room without saying a word and tried to block it out. The last thing she wanted was to fight with her roommate, not when she had been so close to feeling secure somewhere.
It doesn’t matter what she does with her time, she thought. It has nothing to do with me.
But it had more to do with Summer than she wanted to believe.
Madisyn ’s partying went well into the night and she entertained a boisterous bunch of students who made Summer’s childhood experience at home feel like a soft pillow in heaven.
The final straw had come when an acquaintance of Maddy’s entered her bedroom and tried to sleep with her. Not sexually assault her, merely spoon her and snuggle.
It did not make Summer feel any less violated. Still, she kept her mouth shut, bearing the increasingly uncomfortable living situation, and bought a lock for her bedroom door.
She desperately wanted to leave, but she had no extra money for her first month’s rent, last month’s rent, and deposit. She endured six months of Maddy’s drug-infused hell before she managed to scrape together enough cash to find a new roommate.
