Charmed by the Wolf

by Kristal Hollis

  The Wolfan’s Redemption...

  Wolf pack sentinel Tristan Durrance firmly believes happily and mated don’t go together. Until Penelope Buchanan arrives at Walker’s Run Resort. Nel’s undeniably gorgeous...and human. Tristan should steer clear of her. But she awakens an indescribable longing in him; one he can’t resist.

  Nel’s ready to explore new things, and Tristan is one of them. But despite the visceral attraction between them, Nel senses he’s keeping some powerful secrets. Tristan will do anything to protect Nel. But he also knows the beast within him won’t stay hidden forever.

  “Here’s something to warm you up.” Nel held out a coffee cup to Tristan.

  “I’m not cold.” He accepted it anyway, his eyes tracking her every movement as she sat on the couch. He sat next to her, closer than she expected. His posture was rigid, his breathing tight and controlled. Nothing like the easygoing, self-assured guy she’d danced with all evening.

  Nel cleared her throat. “Was everything okay on patrol tonight?”

  “Penelope, what are you doing?” He placed his mug down on the table next to them.

  “Trying to distract myself from the storm by having a conversation with you...except you’re not cooperating.”

  Thunder broke overhead and Nel jumped. Tristan took the coffee cup from her hands and put it down next to his.

  “Storms bother you?”

  She nodded. “My dad used to read me stories as a distraction.”

  Tristan leaned forward, grazing his cheek along her jaw.

  “What kind of distraction are you looking for tonight?”

  Southern born and bred, Kristal Hollis holds a psychology degree and has spent her adulthood helping people and animals. When a family medical situation resulted in a work sabbatical, she began penning deliciously dark paranormal romances as an escape from the real-life drama. But when the crisis passed, her passion for writing love stories continued. A 2015 Golden Heart® Award finalist, Kristal lives with her husband and two rescued dogs at the edge of the enchanted forest that inspires her stories.

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  Charmed by the Wolf

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  CHARMED BY

  THE WOLF

  Kristal Hollis

  Dear Reader,

  When the idea for the Wahyas of Walker’s Run series began to germinate, I envisioned Tristan Durrance in a profession other than law enforcement. However, as the first and second books evolved and he kept showing up in the stories in a capacity other than I had intended, I realized he had chosen a career better suited for himself than I had imagined.

  One thing that remained constant was his staunch adherence to bachelorhood. Though happy for his friends when they found their true mates, Tristan clearly had no inclination toward finding his own happily-ever-after.

  Of course, that was a challenge I couldn’t resist. So I threw Penelope “Nel” Buchanan in his path. It was all fun and games at first, but what’s a wolfan to do when his heart decides to play for keeps?

  I hope you enjoy Tristan and Nel’s adventure. To connect with me and learn more about the Wahyas of Walker’s Run series, visit www.kristalhollis.com.

  Kristal

  For Keith.

  Through all the ups and downs,

  you remain my constant.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Excerpt from One Night with the Valkyrie by Jane Godman

  Chapter 1

  How dare the sun show its bright, bold face today?

  And the serene, clear blue sky was simply all wrong.

  The beauty and tranquility belittled the horrific tragedy that took place here, seven years ago to the day.

  In his wolfan form, Tristan Durrance padded across the isolated forest cove. It had taken a long time, but the pack was finally healing. The violent loss of Mason Walker, the eldest Alpha son, had struck all the Wahyas in Walker’s Run hard, but particularly Tristan. Mason had saved his life, become his mentor and his closest friend. His senseless death was a deep wound that hadn’t quite closed.

  Tristan wished he had been with Mason and his younger brother, Brice, on that fateful day. His presence wouldn’t have prevented the rogues’ attack, but he could’ve evened the odds. Maybe Mason wouldn’t have died and Brice wouldn’t have nearly lost his leg, if Tristan had only listened to his instincts.

  Something had felt off that morning. The sensation had wormed its way beneath his skin and inched into his muscles, making him restless and irritable.

  Much like today.

  He blamed the feeling on working too hard, too little sleep and the anniversary of his best friend’s brutal murder.

  Tristan never found peace when he came to the cove, but usually the dark, dank, somber woods nursed his misery. Today, however, all signs of the violent past were obliterated by fresh green moss, tiny blades of grass and delicate flowers with colorful petals stretching toward the barrage of morning sunbeams breaking through the tall, skinny pines. Even the gentle breeze carried the fresh, fragrant scent of summer.

  He scratched at the ground, his paw slicing through the gossamery green disguising the greedy soil that had soaked up Mason’s blood. Life had sprung from death, yet Tristan found no solace that it had. Everything and everyone had moved on.

  Why couldn’t he?

  Stuck in a rut, he didn’t quite know how to get out of it or if he wanted to. Most wolfans his age were mated and had a wolfing or two in tow. He wished them the best, all the while resigning himself to a life of bachelorhood. Coming from a long line of wolfans mated unhappily-ever-after, he preferred to be alone than to spend his life stuck in a doomed relationship he could never be free of.

  Life is what you make of it, so make the choice to be a better man.

  Mason’s voice whispered through Tristan’s mind. A memory rather than comfort from beyond the grave. In life, Mason had spoken those words to Tristan on more than one occasion and he found the sentiment both inspiring and irritating, depending on mood and circumstance.

  Right now, Mason’s words of wisdom deepened Tristan’s restlessness. After all, he had made the choice to be a better man. He gave one hundred and ten p
ercent to pack, family and community.

  His efforts were never enough. Never good enough. People always wanted more.

  Tristan stretched out over the freshly unearthed dirt and rested his chin on his paws.

  “Brice has a daughter now. Brenna—she’s a real cutie.” Just as if Mason were next to him, Tristan used the telepathic communication Wahyas employed when in their wolf form. “She has the Walker coloring, with a touch of red that she got from her mama. And her eyes... I swear, sometimes I see you looking at me through her eyes.”

  Silence answered, as always.

  Still, Tristan shared everything that had happened with the pack since his last visit, a year ago. When there was nothing left to tell, he pushed up on all four paws.

  “Gotta go,” his thoughts whispered, because there was no sense in expressing how much he missed his friend. If Mason’s spirit could hear or sense Tristan, he would already know.

  Head down and with a slow pace, Tristan left the cove. With the day off from the sheriff’s department, the longer he stayed away from his cell phone, the better. Everyone in the pack and at least half of the human residents in Maico had his number on speed dial. No one ever called to say hello or ask how he was doing. Not even his family. If his phone rang, someone, somewhere, had a problem they wanted him to fix.

  The nearly two-mile trek back to his truck was uneventful, except for the occasional curious deer who watched him pass. The forest animals within the Walker’s Run territory had grown to trust Wahyas, who never hunted to kill.

  Cautiously, he approached the clearing where a dirt road dead-ended. A forest green truck was parked so that the front end pointed away from the woods. Tristan gave a quick look around. Merely a habit. No one—more particularly, no humans—ever came out here.

  He trotted to the truck and sat on his haunches. A tingling sensation sparked at the base of his neck, spiraled down his spine and spread along his nerves as he shifted. An instant later, he stood as a man and yanked open the driver’s-side door. The ringtone he’d set for the Alpha’s calls greeted him. Leaning across the crumpled clothes on the seat, he reached into the glove box and grabbed his phone.

  “Where have you been?” Gavin Walker’s irritable growl added to Tristan’s foul mood.

  He shoved aside his true feelings and responded respectfully. “Same place I always am on this particular day. Things are beginning to grow again.” Tristan kept the strain out his voice. “By next summer it might be a nice place for a picnic.”

  Concern threaded through Gavin’s long sigh. “When you leave, come by my office. And I expect to see you sooner rather than later.” He ended the call, saving Tristan from the chipper lie that he was on his way.

  He tossed his phone on the dashboard and reached for his knee-length shorts.

  “Excuse me.” A soft, sweet feminine voice froze his movements.

  Damn!

  Not expecting anyone to be in the area, he’d forgotten to guard his blind side.

  Stiffly, Tristan made a quarter turn left. In front of the vehicle stood a woman wearing a thin-strapped summer dress with an unusual hem that was higher on the sides so that if she turned he’d get a glimpse of her thigh. And her hair, tied back with a blue ribbon, was the color of honey. He loved honey. Especially on biscuits.

  He felt a smile bud on his lips despite his mood and the unfortunate circumstance of being caught bare assed by a human female.

  “Sorry to bother you,” she continued, hesitantly, “but are you a sheriff’s deputy?”

  “I am,” he said politely, though it should’ve been obvious. His double-cab F-150 had red-and-blue emergency lights embedded in the grill. And the doors, one of which currently shielded the woman from the extent of his nudity, were detailed with the Maico Sheriff’s Department logo.

  “Great.” Relief lightened her worried expression. “I was down at the abandoned plantation house when you drove past, earlier.”

  “What were you doing there?” The dilapidated structure had been condemned for the better part of twenty years. Such a shame. The architectural design was amazing. Under different circumstances, Tristan would love to buy the old place and restore it, but the huge house was much too big for a single man.

  “Taking pictures and making some sketches. I thought it would be fun to paint.” Her gaze slowly traveled from his face all the way down to his bare feet. Thankfully, the open truck door shielded him midchest to the knees. Still, her whiskey-colored eyes rounded. “Oh!”

  The bottom of her dress flared and swirled as she quickly turned away, giving him the glimpse of the shapely thighs he’d so hoped to see.

  “Why are you naked?”

  A warning streaked through Tristan’s mind. When two of his friends had been caught naked by human females, they’d kept their natures secret and a whole lot of trouble followed. Now they were mated to those women.

  Tristan didn’t want to add to his troubles, nor did he want a mate. Truth was his best course of action. She wouldn’t believe him anyway.

  “I’m a wolfan. I was in the woods as a wolf and came back to the truck to turn human, but you interrupted me before I could get dressed.”

  “Ha, ha.” Her head shook with an indignant bob. “I walked all the way up here because I need help, not sarcasm.”

  “What kind of help?” Tristan pulled on his shorts and T-shirt.

  “My car won’t start and I can’t get cell service.” Without looking behind her, she waved her phone at him.

  He shoved his feet into his sneakers. “Get in.”

  She peeked over her shoulder before scurrying toward the passenger side of the truck. Tristan waited for her to climb inside and buckle her seat belt before he slid behind the wheel. In seconds, the truck cab filled with her scent. It was soft, feminine, with a touch of vanilla-like sweetness; she smelled utterly delicious.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Penelope Buchanan.”

  “Tristan Durrance, at your service.” Since she sat to his right, Tristan didn’t need to look directly at her to notice the nervous clench of her laced fingers resting on her lap. “Relax before you break your fingers. I promise, I don’t bite.”

  No sooner had the words left his lips than his tongue glided over his teeth, testing the sharpness of his canines.

  He forcibly relaxed his jaw. Never could he ever bite a female, especially during sex.

  If ever seriously tempted, he’d have all his teeth pulled immediately. He’d rather be a toothless wolfan than make the soul-crushing mistake of claiming a mate.

  * * *

  “It’s not you.” Flattening her moist palms against her thighs, Penelope looked straight ahead rather than at the man seated next to her. Tall, broad shouldered and blond. If that wasn’t striking enough, he had the sculptured face of a Greek god. Adonis incarnate. Just her luck.

  Incredibly shy, Penelope had a hard time initiating conversation with an average-looking guy. The one next to her would’ve left her speechless if she hadn’t made a promise to herself to break out of her comfort zone.

  “I don’t want an expensive car repair bill.” Not particularly clever conversation starter, but at least her voice didn’t squeak.

  “No one ever does.” Tristan cranked the engine and drove carefully along the pothole-riddled dirt road. “What brings you to Maico?”

  “There’s a new children’s program at the Walker’s Run Resort. I’ll be assisting with the arts-and-crafts workshops.” She gave Tristan a furtive glance. Though his gaze seemed focused on driving, she had the impression he knew every breath she took and when. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  A few months ago, on her birthday, Penelope had realized that she was now the same age as her mother had been when she died. Not only did Penelope’s heart ache for the years lost betwee
n mother and daughter, but a new ache had sprung. Because of her untimely death, Penelope’s mother’s hopes and dreams were now unfulfilled.

  Unless she made changes, Penelope’s life would be no less tragic. After all, the only thing worse than a life ending too soon was a long life never lived.

  “The Walkers are good people. You’ll do fine working for them.”

  Amicable silence filled the space.

  “Can I ask you something?” Penelope studied his profile and silently sighed. He’d be a perfect model to sketch and paint.

  “Ask away.”

  “Why were you naked?” So very, very naked, though the open truck door kept her from seeing too much.

  “Checking for ticks. The woods are full of them.”

  “Oh, no!” Penelope inched her skirt up, turning her legs to look for possible hitchhikers.

  “I can check you.” Tristan flashed a daring smile along with a wink. “If it will make you feel better.”

  She wouldn’t say the thought of Tristan stripping her down and running his hands all over her body made her feel better about ticks or car repairs, but it certainly made her feel hot and incredibly turned-on.

  She adjusted the air vent toward her face.

  “What happened to your arm?” Tristan’s voice held no disdain, no disgust. Merely curiosity.

  Still, Penelope quickly folded her undamaged arm over the scarred one. “Car accident.” Oh, but it had been so much more, and the scars ran far deeper than the jagged, five-inch reminder along her wrist and forearm.

  Tristan turned into the overgrown driveway and parked next to her white Corolla. Penelope unbuckled, shoved open the door and slid out of the passenger seat before he’d pulled the keys out of the ignition.

  She unlocked her car to pull the hood latch. His footsteps crunched the dry grass behind her.

  “Hey. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Strong, gentle fingers molded around her shoulder and leisurely slid down her arm to cradle her wrist. Tristan’s thumb lightly caressed the hideous scar. Usually she had no feeling in the damaged skin, except for the needle-stabbing sensation that accompanied terrible storms. But Tristan’s touch was feather soft and tickled.