Captured By The Shifter

by Juniper Hart

  And when that happens, we will be ready for him, God help the next poor jerk.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Lara. She wants us to meet her for dinner tonight.”

  Damon arched an eyebrow.

  “She knows you live in the same house, right?”

  Summer chuckled and kissed his full mouth again, running her fingers through his dark mass of hair.

  “Obviously I am spending more time here than I am there,” she replied lightly, and he sat up, nodding seriously.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” he agreed. “Maybe she’s throwing you out.”

  Summer chuckled.

  Lara had become like the sister Summer had always wanted, and the Lycans had become her family. She had met Nash and he had smiled at her, his blind eyes seeming to see her clearly. He bowed slightly. She felt like she had known him her entire life.

  “You are more beautiful than I imagined,” the old man said.

  She giggled in embarrassment and glanced at the other members of the pack, who nodded in agreement.

  “I told you he would hit on her,” Ty called out, and the others laughed.

  “I am not talking about her physical beauty,” Nash snapped. “Her inner glory radiates so brightly, it warms my face.”

  “Thank you,” Summer whispered, touched by the sentiment.

  The old wolf took her hand, seeming to know where it was instinctively, and squeezed it lovingly.

  “You are at peace now,” he told her, and Summer’s heart had never felt so full.

  “Are you going to answer her?” Damon’s voice startled her from her reverie and she nodded quickly.

  “Yes. We’re going to dinner,” she replied, and he feigned a pained groan.

  They arrived at The Cherry House, and the couple saw Lara immediately.

  “You could have picked a better place,” Summer joked. “Ty says the service here is awful.”

  They all laughed and slid into the booth that Jake and Ty had once claimed as their own.

  “What is this all about?” Summer asked, leaning forward with interest. “It must be important.”

  Lara nodded eagerly. “It is,” she replied, but before she could say anything else, Tonya arrived at the table.

  “Any chance you want to work tonight?” she sighed as a greeting. “I hate this place.”

  Summer chuckled and shook her head. “No, thanks,” she replied, knowing her co-worker was joking. “I hate it too.”

  Tonya grinned broadly.

  “Atta girl, Summer. I knew you’d come around. What will it be?”

  They placed their drink orders and turned back to Lara, who seemed to be bursting at the seams.

  “Okay, spit it out,” Summer ordered. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m pregnant,” Lara blurted out, and the words hung heavily in the air.

  Summer’s smile froze on her lips and she glanced furtively at her boyfriend, who seemed unperturbed by the news.

  “Congratulations!” Damon exclaimed, reaching forward to embrace her. “You must be very excited.”

  Lara nodded, a blush coloring her cheeks. “It was a surprise, but we are really excited,” she replied.

  Summer shook off the sense of unease she felt. “Where is the proud papa?” she demanded. “He should be here celebrating, too!”

  Lara hung her head and shrugged.

  “Duty calls,” she replied lightly, and suddenly the feeling of concern Summer had dissipated.

  It’s all on Ty now, she thought, exhaling as she glanced over again at her man. The stresses, the animus, the politics, they all belong to Ty.

  “He said he would try to be here,” Lara continued quickly.

  After Jake’s bullet had pierced his chest, it had taken almost ten minutes for Damon to come back. Ty and Summer had been certain he was dead, both dying slightly themselves in the time and trying to rationally decide their next move.

  Then her lover had slowly sat up, looking around with blank eyes, and Summer had never been more relieved in her life than in that moment.

  “You came back!” she gasped. “You came back to me.”

  “I will never leave you,” he told her sincerely. “You are my fated mate.”

  But even then, Summer could tell that something was not right, and later that day, they all found out what effect the silver bullet had on him: he couldn’t shift anymore. Damon’s days as pack leader were over, and he had no choice but to bequeath the honor to Ty.

  “It may be a curse,” Damon had warned Ty. “But if anyone can beat the shroud of darkness, it’s you.”

  “They say that the lycanthrope virus is a curse,” Ty responded lightly. “But it has done well for me thus far.”

  And maybe he has ridden the pack of the curse, Summer thought hopefully. Lara is pregnant with the next pack leader. Even if something was to happen to Ty, he will have a legitimate successor. It will be the first one not appointed in generations.

  The thought filled her with happiness and sadness simultaneously.

  She knew that Damon felt lost without his abilities. It was like learning to live all over again, but she had helped him rediscover things he had long forgotten.

  The pack still honored him, and both he and Summer were welcome at the tavern, but Summer knew it was painful for him, even though they kept helping the pack as civilian allies.

  “I have nothing left,” Damon had whispered to her one night. “The moon is full and I feel nothing.”

  Summer had swallowed her tears and touched his face, kissing him softly about the cheeks, forehead, and lips. She blinked back her tears and inhaled the spicy aftershave on his face.

  “Do you feel this?” she murmured, and he nodded, his lips reaching up hungrily to meet her kisses. “Then you feel more than so many people.”

  He had clung to her and sobbed, longing for his dark side, but grateful he had not lost his mate.

  She took his hand under the table and squeezed his fingers.

  Now she was truly at peace, in the hands of her protector, just as she had always wanted.

  ***

  THE END

  Keep reading to discover the origin of the Birch Mountain Alphas. Also, a bonus story is included!

  Discover the Origin of the Birch Mountain Alphas!

  Legend of the Birch Mountain Alphas

  As the legend goes, in the North Hungarian Mountains, Abel Toth and his bride Mariska were struggling to survive the unforgiving cold of 1432. Their land was barren, and they were at the mercy of a tyrant landlord who worked the couple without rest.

  With food scarce and Mariska, who was pregnant and sickly, about to perish, Abel knew he must find a way to keep his family alive.

  He stole off into the woods one night, determined to find a rabbit on which to feast, but soon found himself lost and empty-handed.

  He encountered a small cabin nestled in the groves of the mountainside, surrounded by birch trees, and he approached it with low hopes. People were starving all over Hungary and unwilling to embrace strangers while they sank into their own despair.

  Near death, Abel knocked upon the door, begging the old woman inside for assistance. He promised her anything if she would only give him a morsel to eat so he could return to his ailing wife.

  She sneered at him, proclaiming that he did not have anything worthwhile for which to trade his life, and she recommended he allow himself to die.

  His fierce European pride refused to let him give up—not when his beloved was waiting. He told the old woman that God would not allow for him to die, and he turned to leave. The old woman, impressed with his resolve, called him back.

  “I will grant you your wish on one condition,” she told him.

  “Anything,” he agreed gratefully. “I will do anything to return to my Mariska again.”

  The old woman’s eyes glittered with something Abel could not identify, but he was far too bedraggled to decipher her expression.

  “I will appear to
you one day and you must grant me whatever I desire from your land,” she explained to him.

  Abel thought of the dying farm and could think of nothing worthwhile the witch would want. He immediately agreed to the terms, and suddenly his arms were laden with a sack filled with meats, cheese, vegetables, and breads. The food was enough to save his wife and feed his tiny family for a month.

  He looked up to thank the old woman with tears in his eyes, but he was already standing before his once ruined shack. It had been restored to a secure cottage, without the concaved roof and drafty holes in the mud walls.

  Abel rushed to his wife’s side, finding her well and with color in her cheeks for the first time in her life.

  He dropped to his knees and prayed to God, thanking Him for sending the witch to his aid.

  Years passed, and the farm became fruitful. Abel and Mariska were blessed with three healthy children. Then the old tyrant landlord died, leaving the farm to his kindly daughter, who oversaw the peasants with a velvet glove.

  Abel had all but forgotten the reason for his family’s turn in fortune when the decrepit witch appeared at his cottage one day.

  Abel, an old man himself by this time, was shocked to see she was still alive, but welcomed her happily into his home.

  “You have returned!” he announced, waving his arms about as if to show her how well he was doing.

  “I have come to collect on my debt,” the ancient woman crooned, and Abel nodded eagerly. When he had made his deal with her, he had thought he wouldn’t have anything to offer her. Now he could appropriately repay her for what she had done to help him.

  “As you can see, I have much to give. What would you like? A horse? A cow? Eggs? Milk? Cheese? Anything you desire shall be yours.”

  The old woman smiled a toothless, mirthless grin that made Abel uneasy.

  “I wish for your firstborn,” she declared, looking toward the field and setting her eyes upon Attila, Abel and Mariska’s firstborn and a strapping lad. Abel laughed, believing her to be jesting, but then he could see that she was not.

  “I will not give you my son!” he decried, and the old woman’s face immediately contorted in fury.

  “You will recant on our deal?” she hissed, pointing a long, gnarled finger in his face.

  “You may have anything you wish,” he said, “but never my children!”

  “That was not a condition of the deal,” the witch snarled. “I will give you one last chance to make good on your word.”

  Abel folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head vehemently.

  “No! Leave this place. You cannot penetrate our family with your witchcraft.”

  The old woman leered, cold and terrifying. She disappeared before his eyes, leaving Abel with his heart pounding.

  She will not retaliate, he thought to himself.

  As he stood, he watched the crops turn to ash. The animals dropped dead in the field, and dread instantly overcame him.

  He turned to seek out his family, rushing to their sides and exhaling in relief to find them safe and accounted for.

  The next morning, Abel woke, his mind unclear and foggy after a strange dream, and he stared about the cottage.

  The walls were splattered with blood, and the mangled corpses of his family were sprawled about the floor in tatters.

  Uncomprehendingly, Abel ran to them, opening his mouth to scream. Nothing emerged but a guttural howl as he dropped to his knees.

  He extended his palm to touch Mariska’s face, and suddenly he saw hair sprouting from his knuckles.

  Wheeling backward, Abel touched his face, feeling a snout where his nose once was, and he rushed to find his reflection in a cracked mirror. He saw the blood of his family upon his furry face, his elongated teeth and the yellow in his eyes.

  The primal animal cries reverberated throughout the Northern Hungarian Mountains as Abel ran from the horrific scene.

  It was not long before Abel had retreated into the low woods of Hungary, where he could easily prey upon human flesh to satiate his insurmountable cravings, unknowingly turning dozens of others into the creature he had become with a mere scratch of his claw.

  When colonization began in the New World, Abel’s descendants, the Birch Mountain Alphas, were able to shift from their wolf forms to human, and some even managed to dance in between.

  They never outgrew their sensitivities to silver, wolfbane, or religious artifacts, but their numbers forged and they found packs in the most unlikely places.

  Deeply ingrained in their genetics was a deep distrust for others, the witch’s betrayal imprinted in their minds and passed through the generations. This made it very difficult for the Birch Mountain Alphas to find their fated mates.

  Have you read the other books in the Birch Mountain Alphas series?

  Shifter Scandal

  Thank you for reading my book. Readers like you make an author’s world shine. If you’ve enjoyed this book, or any other books by Juniper Hart or another author, please don’t hesitate to review them on Amazon or Goodreads.

  Every single review makes an incredible difference. The reason for this is simple: other readers trust reviews more than professional endorsements. For this reason, indie authors rely on our readers to spread the good word.

  Thank you very much! I am giving you a virtual high-five!

  - Juniper Hart

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  About the Author

  Juniper Hart is a romance writer from the Midwest, who loves telling the insta-love tales of werewolves, dragons, and other paranormal heroes. She specializes in sweet and short alpha romances that always promise a happily ever after.

  Juniper resides in Miami, Florida with her husband and rambunctious blue-eyed son.

  Find out more about Juniper Hart at SecretWoodsBooks.com

  Bloodline Heiress

  Text Copyright © 2017 by Alexis Davie

  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

  secretwoodsbooks@gmail.com

  www.SecretWoodsBooks.com

  Bloodline Heiress

  By: Alexis Davie

  Bloodline Heiress

  Chapter 1

  The room was dark, except for the small candle lit in the corner. The murmurs from outside of Sawyer’s cell were incessant, but she still hadn’t seen any of the faces behind the voices. The door had opened a couple times. Someone shoved food through the door, but that was the only contact she had with her abductors. Sawyer had no idea how long she’d been held captive, although she assumed it had been a few days. The windowless room offered no clue as to how many times the sun had risen since she’d been kidnapped.

  Sawyer’s thoughts turned to her last memory from the night she was attacked. She had just left Howie’s, where she worked as a bartender. She only lived two blocks from the bar, and the city blocks were well-lit and relatively safe. As she passed Hannover Street, she felt a pair of hands wrap around her neck as she was dragged into an alleyway.

  She couldn’t see the people’s faces, but she was positive there were at least two that attacked her. She heard a man and a woman’s voice. The man, who had his hands around her neck, bit her, hard. Her loud screams were followed by the man’s cries for help.r />
  “Fuck! It burns. What the hell is she?”

  The other person smacked her on the head with something solid, and that was all she remembered. The next thing she knew, she woke up in the damp, dark room, which only contained a bed and a toilet. Oddly enough, her captors cared enough to dress her in clean, warm clothes that were not her own.

  Sawyer raised her hand to the back of her head, where she expected to find a large bump or a healing gash, but nothing was there. Her head wasn’t even tender to the touch, which was strange, because they had knocked her out. Although she didn’t feel like she had been in the prison for days, she must have been there long enough for her head to heal. Maybe she had been unconscious for days, or even weeks.

  So many questions raced through her head. How did she get there? Where was she? Why was she there? Were they going to kill her?

  The door opened and jarred Sawyer from her thoughts. Soft, artificial light poured into her cell from the hallway, momentarily irritating her eyes because she had been in the dark for so long. Two men walked through the door without saying a word. Their stoic faces and large frames frightened Sawyer. Why weren’t they showing any emotion or even making eye contact?

  Each of the men stood well above six feet tall, towering over her small, five-foot, four-inch frame. The men were both young and had flawless features. They looked human, but something wasn’t right. They were both pale with skin that was smooth and poreless. They looked too perfect, as if they were simulated. Although every movement they made was graceful, they had an eerie presence. Sawyer tried to speak, but fear paralyzed her. As the guards approached, each man took hold of one arm and guided her out the door. She was ready to fight and break free if any opportunity presented itself, but her hopes were shattered.