Masters of the Hunt: Fated and Forbidden

by Sarra Cannon

They offered me an office job, but paper pushing wasn’t my thing. I wouldn’t last a week behind a desk, even with Mable for company. Plus, no bonuses.

  I yawned long and loud, trying to fool myself into being tired. No dice. I was wide awake.

  The night had ticked past in silence until I couldn’t stand the quiet. I had to escape my apartment. As glad as I was to see Mai, my heart felt scoured. I was too raw inside, and not even her stash of Sweet Dreams wine quieted the chaos revolving through my thoughts. Rook, the Hunt, Mom, the High Court, Shaw, Rook, Macsen, the dead princes, Shaw. Rook, Rook, Rook. The mantra had pushed me into the elevator and up to the apartment over mine.

  If the door had been locked, I might have gone back to my room. But it wasn’t, and I didn’t.

  That’s how I found myself taking comfort from the worn brocade couch Rook had abandoned in the same spot as where he conjured it, staring out his window into the calm dark of the sleeping city.

  Mom was tucked into her bed at her house, sleeping off the hellacious vertigo she blamed on the cruise ship. Courtesy of the conclave, her yard was sporting a half-gnome bodyguard able to keep her property under surveillance twenty-four seven. Yeah, I laughed too until the cherubic lawn ornament quadrupled in size and lifted my car over his head…with one hand. Sven Gardener was one scary dude.

  The sharp trill of my current ringtone had me patting down the cushions to find my cellphone.

  “Hello?” I breathed against the screen while sliding it up to my ear.

  “Thierry.”

  “Shaw?” My heart thudded painfully. He had been the one face missing from my welcome party. I even called him when he didn’t call me. All I got was a canned message from his cell carrier. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  “It’s broken.”

  Relief that he hadn’t been avoiding my calls slid over me. “What happened?”

  “I ran over it with the truck. A few times. Once I heard you had been taken.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said gently. “No one could have anticipated any of this.”

  “I should have made the case a priority. I should have checked my phone more often. I should have—”

  “No.” I pushed up straighter. “This was not your fault. None of it.”

  “I shouldn’t have called,” slipped out on a tired breath.

  Feeling hurt, I growled, “Why did you?”

  “I thought I could…but I can’t. I might hurt someone.”

  My pulse leapt again. “You’re hungry.”

  No answer.

  I rubbed my left eye with the heel of my palm. “I’ll tell security to let you up.”

  Apparently Diode wasn’t enough to make the conclave comfortable. I had two new bodyguards. Mine were not as exotic as Mom’s gnomian guard. I had been issued a standard pair of sword-toting sidhe warriors. Unseelie, naturally.

  “Security?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard.” I pushed to my feet. “We’ll talk when you get here.”

  “Thanks, Thierry.”

  Don’t thank the fae sat on the tip of my tongue. Fae. I wasn’t all fae. I wouldn’t trade thanks for favors. That wasn’t me. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know if I could cash in markers even if I wanted to.

  Tired of the caffeinated hamster running in the wheel of my thoughts, I swore. Enough semantics. I was too drained for this nitpicking, so I acted like a perfectly normal person and said, “You’re welcome.”

  I hung up the phone before he got the chance to say more and padded over to the window. Whatever I hoped to see wasn’t there, and my chest felt heavier for taking that final glance. The temperature had dropped since I arrived, and standing so near the tall window meant that my breath fogged the glass.

  Afraid my guards might skewer Shaw if he beat me to them, I turned to go. My hand was on the doorknob when a tapping sound made me turn. Black against the night, a large bird sat on the windowsill.

  Above its head, in the fading puff of my chilled breath, was written a familiar endearment: a stór.

  A neat trick for a bird, especially considering the condensation was on my side of the glass.

  I crossed to him and ducked my head until I was at his eye level. “I’m not your darling.”

  He fluffed his silky feathers and cawed once before vanishing into the darkness.

  I don’t speak bird, but I think his cawing laughter called me a liar.

  The End

  *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  A cupcake enthusiast and funky sock lover possessed of an overactive imagination, Hailey lives in Alabama with her handcuff-carrying hubby, her fluty-tooting daughter and their herd of dachshunds.

  You can check out the other titles in the Black Dog series here: http://bit.ly/1GHuDjk

  Follow Hailey online at:

  http://haileyedwards.net/

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  *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  Heir of the Dog

  © 2015 by Hailey Edwards All rights reserved.

  Edited by Sasha Knight

  Cover by Damonza

  Interior format by The Killion Group

  Desert Hunt

  By Anna Lowe

  Heat rating: Steamy

  Paranormal Romance

  Rae has a secret—one she can’t allow any wolf pack to discover. But with an old enemy hot on her heels, she has no option but to trust Zack, the man from the wrong side of the tracks. Taking off on the back of Zack's Harley seems like good idea at first, but when she lowers her defenses for the captivating coyote shifter, she might just be risking it all.

  The new she-wolf in town may be strictly off-limits, but Zack just can’t keep away. When the thrill of the chase gets his blood pumping in more ways than one, he’s ready to overstep every boundary and break every rule. Destiny says she’s his—but the pack’s ruling alpha says she belongs to another.

  Chapter 1

  “Rae!”

  It was a barked order, not a request.

  Rae gritted her teeth and counted to five before turning slowly and facing the source: Sabrina, the daughter of the ruling alpha. Still a spoiled brat at seventeen. Rae didn’t want to imagine what the girl might be like in another couple of years.

  “My father wants you in his office. Now.” Sabrina underpinned the command with a flick of her glossy mane.

  Rae wouldn’t have thought it was possible for a werewolf to be a princess, but there it was. Sabrina made damn sure she punctuated every sentence with a jangle of gold bracelets and the same two words—my father—reminding everyone of the pecking order around here.

  That was one of the bitter truths of pack hierarchy. The alphas and their offspring ruled the roost, and the rest of the pack had no choice but to fight or submit. Twenty-eight hardscrabble years had taught Rae that all too well.

  She chipped another little piece off her soul and did as directed, pretending to be like the others. A good little female meant for hearth and home—and definitely, definitely, not for the hunt.

  She worked off the tension steeling her jaw, reminding herself she had something far, far more special in her heritage than alpha blood. Something secret. But she’d be damned if she let on to anyone. A pack would claim her forever if they found out, and then she’d never be free.

  “Do you ever bother looking in a mirror?” Sabrina smirked, eyeing Rae’s tangled hair.

  Not nearly as often as you. She nearly shot the words out but caught herself on the first syllable. So what if her long brown hair was usually thrown into a loose ponytail? So what if her figure said athlete and not cover girl? That’s who she was,
and she liked it that way. She’d leave the plunging necklines to curvy girls like Sabrina, because attracting unwanted attention could be a dangerous thing.

  She set off, finger-combing her hair on the way to the alpha’s office and flicking away a burr she’d picked up some time that morning. So she’d been out wandering again. Was that so wrong for one of their kind?

  Except she wasn’t exactly their kind. Oh, she was a wolf shifter all right, but one born to another pack. And even back home in Colorado, she’d always been a little different. The one who didn’t quite fit in.

  Her inner wolf let out a snort. A lot different. If only they knew.

  Rae eyed the alpha’s office door warily before giving it a nervous knock. There was a grunt, and she entered, dropping her eyes in the required sign of subordination to the grizzled old alpha and his haughty mate. Even after all these years at Westend pack, the gesture didn’t come easily.

  “Your lucky day has come,” Roric announced, curt and cold. “Pack your things.”

  For this alpha, a smile and a sneer were one and the same. What did he mean by lucky day?

  She glanced uncertainly at his mate, who frowned in acid disapproval of Rae’s dusty jeans, her plain blue T-shirt, her… Well, her everything.

  “Get moving.” Roric jutted his square chin toward the door. “Another pack is willing to try you out for a season.”

  Rae’s heart thumped. She’d been hoping something would come along in another pack—a job, an internship, anything. She’d had enough of Nevada. Not so much the heat or the dusty flats but the stifling hierarchy of Roric’s Westend pack. That and the fact that these shifters had sold their souls. Gambling was big business in Nevada, but as far as Rae was concerned, it was a business wolf packs had no place in. What happened to their connection to the earth, to the old ways?

  Unfortunately, Roric’s pack had only let go of some of the old ways. They’d clung to the rest: the crushing, absolutist authority, the strict delineation of male and female roles. The only consolation was that Roric wasn’t as bad as some others—like the alpha Rae had fled in Colorado ten years before. Here, her body was safe. And by now, she’d learned the ropes. If she toed the line carefully, she had a modicum of freedom. After all, no one ever paid attention to what the odd wolf out did on the night of a new moon.

  But who knew what it would be like in a different pack?

  “Where?” she blurted.

  Roric waved a lazy hand as if it were all the same to him. But that gesture, like so many others, was probably rehearsed. This alpha didn’t do anything without analyzing it for the benefits—to him and his pack. Individual wishes didn’t register on his list.

  “Arizona. Twin Moon Ranch.”

  She caught a breath. When she’d put in a request for a transfer, she’d been thinking East Coast, where the packs were said to be more modern-minded. But Arizona? Wolf packs in the Four Corners area were known to be old school. And Arizona—that was old-old school. Who knew what kind of alpha she’d have there?

  She glanced around, second-guessing herself. Westend had never felt like home, but did she really want to start all over again?

  The hard faces greeting her provided all the answer she needed: the decision was made.

  “Who knows,” the alpha female added with a conspiratorial glance at her partner. “You might finally find a suitable mate there.”

  Rae hid the stutter in her breath. Was that a hint? A threat? The room leaned in over her, as enclosed spaces always did. She let her chin dip into the briefest nod, asking—begging—to be dismissed while her mind spun. Arizona?

  Roric flicked a finger toward the door. She was released.

  “Good luck,” Sabrina called, her tone clashing with the words.

  Right, luck. Rae had been in Nevada long enough to know that it took a hell of a lot of waiting to win at any gamble. Better to make her own luck, or at least stack the odds in her favor.

  She hurried to her room, forcing calm over her mind as she decided which of her few belongings mattered enough to take. Topping the list was her recurve bow and a freshly fletched set of arrows, with a few silver-tipped ones, just in case. Because there were wolves, and there were wolves. Who knew what Arizona might bring?

  Chapter 2

  Zack stretched and squinted into the morning sun. He took a deep, testing breath and got a lungful of promise. He did it again, just to be sure. No, he hadn’t been dreaming. The desert really was alive with an enticing new scent. One of those fresh, optimistic scents that said spring was coming and everything would be new, good, and clean. He’d gotten home late last night after a week away tracking, but the scent had struck him the minute he rolled his Harley back onto the ranch. Something like the fragrance of a century plant in bloom—something that didn’t come along but once in a very long time.

  He looked around, searching for the first hints of spring as he walked the meandering path that connected his hermit’s cabin to the bustling central part of the ranch. But there was nothing, at least not yet. The ocotillo weren’t showing any scarlet buds, nor were the manzanitas giving any hint of color.

  So what the hell was that scent?

  He sniffed again, figuring it was one of those tricks of nature. The desert was full of mirages that showed a man what he wanted to see, only to cackle and whisk them away. For all that his Navajo mother had tried instilling the beauty of nature in him, his white father’s skeptical nature seemed to win out. The desert was simply another place on earth—just emptier, quieter, and more dangerous than the rest.

  He wound around the ranch outbuildings, heading for the work shed. A tracker’s job was an on-and-off gig; he balanced it out with projects on the ranch. This past week, he’d been tracking trespassers on the north edge of pack territory. A gang of three, it seemed, who’d long since come and gone. Nothing there to worry about.

  Today seemed like a normal morning on the ranch with the usual guys out on the usual jobs. Except that Ty, the pack’s second-in-command, was over there, looking like a thundercloud that had stalled on a craggy mountain peak. Zack pulled up in midstep, wondering what was wrong. Ty was hacking at the earth like it was his mortal enemy.

  “Hey,” Zack called by way of greeting. He walked up and steadied the fence post while Ty chopped the earth around it in short, angry swipes.

  “Hey,” Ty grunted without looking up. For Ty, that passed for warm and fuzzy. Anyone but Zack, his oldest friend, would have earned an outright growl.

  The funny thing was, they had no business being friends. They’d both known it, even as kids. The alpha’s oldest son couldn’t mix with just anyone and neither could the no-good half-breed from out on the western fringe of the ranch. Yet somehow, that was enough to bond them in spite of the odds.

  “You okay?” Zack ventured, watching Ty hack away.

  “Sure. Good.”

  Zack lifted an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut. He sighed and found himself savoring the air. That scent was stronger down here on the ranch. A scent that tempted him to hope for something better in life. He bent his head against it, concentrating on his work. Hope only led to disappointment—a lesson he’d learned young and hard.

  Of course, that lesson only held true for some people. Hope sure seemed to work for people like Ty’s younger brother Cody, who was walking by now, chipper as always.

  “Heya, Zack! Ty!”

  Zack gave him a nod. Yes, optimism worked if you were the younger son of an alpha and life laid a golden path before your feet. Light on responsibility but heavy on privilege.

  Ty straightened, bringing his six-foot-two frame eye to eye with Zack’s. As the oldest son and heir apparent, Ty had it the other way around: heavy on responsibility, light on privilege. These days, his intense eyes pretended he was more machine than man, but Zack knew the truth. Inside was a man yearning to breathe free.

  Funny how two friends could be so different, yet so very much alike.

  Working and sweating side by side… They hadn
’t done that in a while, and it felt good. Zack could forget he was the son of a vagrant wolf and a coyote mother, and Ty could pretend he could take on the whole world all by himself.

  “You got it?” Ty murmured.

  “Got it.”

  They switched places, Ty bracing the post while Zack excavated under it. He couldn’t resist another long drag of that air. Might as well enjoy it while it lasted. That scent was full of color and life and… Damn it, there it was again: promise.

  A dog huffed in the distance, and a woman turned the corner at the very same moment that the desert expunged another breath of that sweet, clear air. Zack watched her glide by with an easy, graceful step, and his wolf gave an appreciative whistle before launching into one of his inner monologues.

  Bet she could run for miles.

  Yeah, she probably could.

  Bet she could scale the hills without losing her breath.

  That, too.

  Bet she could lead a wolf on a chase to remember…

  He slammed the brakes on there and gave his head a firm shake.

  “Check it out,” one of the ranch hands whispered to another, and Zack’s keen ears caught every word. “The new girl.”

  “Yeah, welcome to the ranch, sweetheart,” the other ranch hand said, not loud enough for her to hear.

  Zack’s inner wolf growled.

  With that windswept almond hair and lanky limbs, she was much, much too appealing for her own good. The defiant jut of her chin wasn’t for show; this was a woman ready to defend her cause, whatever it was. Pretty and totally unafraid. A dangerous combination for an unclaimed female away from her home turf.

  Zack followed her movements much longer and closer than he’d intended. Everything about her said wild, tangled, and free. Everything he wanted to be.

  A dozen pairs of eyes trailed after her as she strode across the work yard, with one strap of her overalls loose, the other tight. A new female on the ranch was always cause for speculation, and a colt-legged, sharp-eyed country girl like this scored highest of all. From the looks of it, score was on every man’s mind.