by T. S. Ryder
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In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
The Shifter's Secret Baby Girl
A Paranormal Romance
By: T.S. Ryder
Table of Contents
Chapter One – Marguerite
Chapter Two – Everett
Chapter Three – Marguerite
Chapter Four – Everett
Chapter Five – Marguerite
Chapter Six – Everett
Chapter Seven – Marguerite
Chapter Eight – Everett
Chapter Nine – Marguerite
Chapter Ten – Everett
Chapter Eleven – Marguerite
Chapter Twelve – Everett
Chapter Thirteen – Marguerite
Chapter Fourteen – Everett
Chapter Fifteen – Marguerite
Specially Selected Bonus Content
The Shifting Billionaire's Baby
Taken by Two Hockey Dragons
The Dragon Shifter's Love Potion
Sold to the Shifter
The Dragon Shifter's Babies
The Dragon Shifter's Twins
The Werewolf's Secret Baby
The Shifter's Detective
The Vampire Prince's Baby
The Vampire Prince's Prisoner
About T.S. Ryder
Selected Other Books by T.S. Ryder
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Chapter One – Marguerite
There was something about taking time away from civilization, going deep enough into the woods until she lost a cellphone signal, that Marguerite Ward loved. Usually, she was more into the luxuries of life. Soft mattresses, fluffy pillows. Once in a while, though, it was good to just disconnect and exist in the moment.
This moment, however, wasn't so pleasant. Darkness crowded through the trees, making the smoldering embers of their fire look all the smaller. The problem was that although Marguerite was finding it difficult to stay awake, she had to. Her daughter, Elena, didn't seem to be in any sort of rush to settle down. She danced around the fire pit, waving her arms over her head.
"The moon is so beautiful, Mommy!" the five-year-old exclaimed, spinning in a circle. "It's so big and bright. Look at it! It's pretty."
Marguerite repressed a yawn. She had promised Elena that she could stay up as late as she wanted, but midnight had come and gone. "Don't you think it's time to get in the tent? We can read a story."
"But I can't see the moon in the tent. Mommy, can we go swimming? I can hear the river rushing and there are frogs over there. I want to catch a frog!"
"We're not going to catch frogs."
If she weren't afraid that her daughter would bolt into the trees and disappear into the night, Marguerite would have been tempted to rest her eyes for a minute. She sneaked a look at her cellphone. Almost three. This hadn't been what she had expected, coming out here. Her father used to take her camping all the time growing up, but when it got dark, she had become scared and they'd stayed in the tent. Elena had been restless, acting out a lot more than usual these past few weeks, and Marguerite thought that getting away from the constant stimulation would help.
She hadn't expected to be still up at three in the morning while her daughter spun in circles, staring at the moon.
"I want to catch a frog," Elena repeated, a little softer this time. "I want to run and run and run."
Wolves started to howl in the distance. Marguerite tilted her head, trying to judge how far off they were. Worry knotted her stomach, but touching the canister of bear spray by her leg helped to ease her anxiety. The wolves seemed quite far away, anyway. At least Elena had stopped dancing around. Now she stood utterly still, staring into the forest.
Maybe this would mean that she'd get a little scared and then they could go to the tent and sleep.
Elena threw back her head and howled. It was so loud that Marguerite jumped to her feet. She rushed to her daughter and shook her head.
"No, don't do that. You'll make them come over here."
"But I want them to!" Elena cupped her hands around her mouth and howled again.
Before Marguerite could scold her once more, something changed. She wasn't sure what it was at first – certain that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Elena's form seemed to ripple, and her white skin took on a shadow-like quality. It all happened so quickly that when an animal stood where her daughter once had, Marguerite didn't know what to make of it.
The animal turned. It looked like a werewolf out of some sort of horror story – slightly taller than her daughter, with wider shoulders that stretched her pajamas out. A wolf-like face with sharp, erect ears and glowing yellow eyes. Arms that were slightly longer than the legs, hands that ended in claws. The beast howled again and jumped at her.
Marguerite screamed and pushed the werewolf away. It fell head over heels and landed against the log. For a moment, it just sat there with wide eyes and its jaw gaping open. Soft whimpers came from its throat and it turned its face away. Marguerite stood frozen, her mind going over every possible scenario. She was dreaming. She was hallucinating from lack of sleep. She had hit her head and was in a coma.
The whimpers grew louder and Marguerite shivered. Those sounds were coming from her daughter. This werewolf was her daughter. Elena. Whatever horrible hallucination she was going through right now, she couldn’t forget that. It made her skin crawl and went against her every instinct, but she inched forward until she was able to put her arms around the werewolf. The thick fur made her cringe.
"I'm sorry. I was just a little scared. I shouldn't have pushed you. I'm so sorry."
Elena buried her wolf-like face in Marguerite's shoulder and she had to force herself not to shiver and push her away again. The wolves were still howling.
"Honey, I think it's time to go to bed, okay? I'm not feeling very good." She didn't have a family history of mental illness. What could hallucinations like this be caused by? Schizophrenia, dementia, or delirium, at least. Marguerite was a psychologist, but she didn't have any experience with any really serious problems. Hallucinations might also be caused by medication, tumors . . .
One thing was for certain. She was going to have to get herself checked out as soon as they got home. But for now, she urged Elena to the tent. Driving in her current condition was a bad, bad idea. Once in the tent, Elena curled up in her sleeping bag and fell asleep quickly. Marguerite stayed awake, staring at her, for a long time.
People thought that monsters had replaced their loved ones all the time. She understood that better now than she had ever before. Her heart started to beat faster as she considered the little beast that had become her daughter. If she hadn't realized that she was hallucinating, what might she have done? The thought made her feel sick.
Marguerite wasn't sure how long she sat there staring at her little girl before her form rippled again. The werewolf faded away, leaving her with her blonde-haired baby. The tension in her shoulders didn't ease, though. If this hallucination happened once, then it could happen again. She had to take steps to make sure that she never harmed her daughter.
The most worrisome thing about it all was that the hallucination had been so sudden. She wasn't under any undue stress, nor had she been having any sort of physical pr
oblems. And then this just . . . happened. So she was going to have to hospitalize herself, at least for a little while, to get her brain checked out.
And what would she do with Elena? Marguerite didn't have a lot of friends, and those she did have were scattered across the country. She could call them in, but they were all so busy with their own lives. And, quite frankly, as a psychologist, she already knew what sort of reactions they'd have to this. Either disbelief or fear. Her parents were completely out of the question, and she didn't have any other family . . .
Her mind drifted to Elena's father. The memory of those dark eyes, proud and haunted, his crooked smile, and the way he held himself like he was the king of the world. She had just graduated with her masters and was accepted into a Ph.D. program. He was there, with all those muscles and his dark brown hair ruffled in that carefully disheveled way. Everett Roxton. The name had dripped off her tongue like honey in the hotel room they'd gotten, first his head and then his hips between her legs.
She hadn't thought anything of it when she woke the next morning to find that he wasn't there. It was a one-night stand – nothing special about that. She'd checked the trash to count up the condoms they had used and was satisfied that they'd used one for each time.
But nine months later, she had welcomed her tiny, fragile little girl into the world.
Could she seek him out now? Find him wherever he was out in the world and explain the situation, and have Elena live with him while Marguerite underwent her examinations?
No. No, she had been young and stupid when she had slept with Everett. Reckless with her safety. Now that she was older, she understood just how dangerous going off with a complete stranger was. How many women were murdered doing exactly what she had done? Quite frankly, she had been lucky that she hadn't picked one of the psychopaths out there.
Besides that, the man wouldn't want anything to do with a daughter that he'd fathered by some random chick six years ago. Especially if said random chick was now having a mental breakdown. For all she knew, he was married and settled down by now. Or he might be dead. Or a dangerous criminal. Maybe even in jail. Who knew?
But what if it was real?
Marguerite pushed the thought away. That kind of thinking would only make it worse. There was no possible way that her daughter had actually transformed into a werewolf. This wasn't a fairy tale. This wasn't a horror movie. This was real life, and she wasn't going to let herself harm the most important person in her life.
But what if it was real?
Marguerite shivered. If it was real – if her daughter really turned into a werewolf before her eyes . . . then she needed answers.
It wasn't real.
If she hospitalized herself and was found to have some horrible disease, what then? If she was no longer fit to take care of her little girl . . . Elena wasn't going into the foster system. No way. Marguerite knew what that was like, and she wasn't going to subject her beautiful, full-of-life daughter to the awfulness that she had gone through in her own teen years. So it was either call in one of her friends – none of which wanted kids – or track down Everett.
And then, if she ended up needing to be committed, at least Elena would be with her father. And if it was real . . . then he could have answers.
The sides of the tent were beginning to lighten, and Marguerite laid down in her sleeping bag at last. She hadn't realized how cold she was and started to shiver violently. Now that she had a plan, the tension eased in her body. She would find Everett Roxton and take it from there. One way or another, she was going to have this resolved.
As her eyes closed, she thought once more about the man that had swept her off her feet that night all those years ago. He'd been intense. Eyes locked on her all throughout their lovemaking, arms banded tight around her shoulders, both his hands digging into her hair. It had been unlike any one-night stand she had had before or since. Not that she had had many after she learned she was pregnant. A guy here and there, but ever since Elena was born, she had realized that she needed to be more careful.
She wasn't living for herself anymore. Life wasn't about having fun and running wild.
The tension started to creep back in as she considered losing her precious child. She pushed those thoughts back again and concentrated on breathing deeply. Sleep. She needed to sleep, so she could pack up and drive back home. Then she could start her search for Everett Roxton. One way or another, she would have answers.
Chapter Two – Everett
Blood dripped from his nose, puddling into a congealed mess on his upper lip. Everett grinned as he ducked the fist that flew at his face. All around him, people shouted and hollered. The bartender yelled for security, but Everett ignored everything except his opponent: a jacked-up man wearing a leather vest and spiked gloves. Tattoos everywhere. Bald head and a nasty looking bruise already rising around his right eye.
"That the best you can do?" Everett taunted. He danced out of the clumsy oaf's reach, laughing as he spun behind him and elbowed him in the back. The man fell with a groan of pain.
One of the oaf's biker pals snarled and charged Everett. He mocked a yawn as he sidestepped him. Everett wasn't quick enough, though, and the biker whirled, driving his fist into Everett's stomach. The force threw him backward onto a table that collapsed under his weight. Everett winced as he got back to his feet, only to get a fist to the face and another to his stomach. A couple of the other bikers grabbed his arms and yanked him back.
The oaf grinned at him and punched him in the face. "Not such a smartass now, are ya?"
Everett spat out a mouthful of blood. "Good punch. Almost as good as my sister's."
The oaf growled and swung back his fist again. A hand caught it. Everett grinned as a tall, muscular woman drove her fist into the oaf's stomach, sending him down again.
"Gentleman, meet Kristen," he said. “My sister.”
"Shut up," she snapped, driving her fist into the face of one of the men holding him down.
Everett shrugged the biker off and grabbed the other, bringing him to the floor. He sprang back to his feet and traded blows with another biker as Kristen swung a chair into the one that had just been taken down. Just as Everett knocked his opponent away, though, she grabbed the back of his shirt and started to drag him out. When Everett resisted, she drove her knuckles into his ribs. He felt one crack and grunted in pain, then let her lead him out.
A couple of the bikers followed them outside of the bar, but when Kristen grabbed the porch railing and snapped it with one hand, they backed off.
Everett shrugged her off him as they walked away. Each breath was painful but nothing that he couldn’t handle. Already his ribs were tingling, indicating that they were well on their way to be healed. She hadn’t needed to hit him that hard.
"I had it under control," he grunted as he climbed into his jeep.
Kristen jumped over the door into the open vehicle and grunted. "Right. And they were about to knife you and then you'd have to take off because they'd wonder what sort of freak doesn't die when he's got a knife in his heart. And then where would that leave me? Idiot."
Everett shrugged. "Just admit you care already."
"Whatever." Kristen scowled as they pulled out of the parking lot. "What was it about this time?"
"I was dancing."
"With someone's girlfriend?"
"Maybe." Everett chuckled. "We were having a good time when Mr. Possessive comes over and starts ranting about staying away from his girl. I say if his girl is dancing with other guys, that means he's not doing his job by keeping her satisfied. Told him as much, too. Then he starts trying to attack me. It was pitiful."
Kristen's nostrils flared. He could tell that she was holding in all the many swear words she would be longing to fling at him. He couldn't help but chuckle again, and Kristen punched him hard in the arm. He grunted at the impact, then rolled his shoulder.
"That was unnecessary."
"You're such a jerk."
Everett s
norted. "Yeah. Like you've never picked a fight with someone just for the sake of fighting. I mean, this guy was extremely possessive. I consider it my feminist duty to take such guys down."
"Yeah, you're a feminist. Uh-huh."
She stewed in silence all the way back to his apartment. Everett glanced at her every so often as they drove. She had cut her hair since he had last seen it. Buzzed was a more accurate term. The brilliant scarlet looked almost muddy-brown against her scalp. She looked a bit thinner, too, although it was hard to believe that she had actually lost weight. She’d have to be starving herself to do that.
They didn't talk until they were back at his apartment, pounding back pure vodka shots.
"I'm going to kill him,” Kristen said.
Everett rose a brow as he refilled their glasses. He tried to get drunk, and if he drank enough of the pure grade stuff, it was possible to get buzzed. But actually drunk? Not possible. Maybe if he took the alcohol in an IV. Kristen was acting a little drunk, though. Was whatever happened to them wearing off?
"Kill who?"
"Simon Bell."
Everett flinched at the sound of the name. His lungs closed up for a moment, but he gulped down his glass and used it as an excuse to give him enough time to cool his reaction. "Simon Bell. What made you bring him up again?"
Kristen snorted. She pulled a knife from somewhere, switched it open and sank it into her arm. Blood spurted into the air when she withdrew it, but the fountain soon slowed to a dribble and then stopped altogether.
"So you can knife yourself and heal."
"We never asked to be this way. Every single night . . . Do you honestly like having to kick out your partners before three in the morning? Just once, I'd like to have sex and wake up looking at his face."
Everett grimaced. While they weren't technically related – at least, they didn’t think so, since they didn't look anything like one another –Kristen was a sister to him. Hearing about her sexual exploits was about as exciting as ripping out his eyes every time they regrew. "Think about the cool stuff we can do."
