Contents
Windham Werewolves
The Hunter's Moon
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Hunter's Alpha
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
The Hunter's Pack
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Hunter's Clan
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
The Hunter's Mate
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Thank You
Other Titles by Shawntelle Madison
About the Author
WINDHAM WEREWOLVES
The Complete Collection
Part 1-5
Shawntelle Madison
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Shawntelle Madison
Version 2.6
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.
Chapter 1
On most mornings after her chemo treatment, Cynthia woke up at home with a mouth scratchy like cotton and a hammer-struck headache.
This morning, however, her eyes shot open, and she sat up alert. Something was wrong. Darkness filled the bedroom’s corners. Only the light coming in from under the single doorway to her left cast a glow along the floor. Post-chemo, her room was usually pitch-black. Light-sensitive migraines were fairly common for her.
The blankets, which should’ve been smooth cotton, were stiff. Instead of refreshing, cool air from a humidifier, the air was dry and warm, with the subtle scent of white pines and fir trees, almost as if she were in a cabin.
Why wasn’t she in her room? She would beat the hell out of her brother for letting her recover in some off-the-wall bed-and-breakfast where they served sunshine happy face breakfast platters.
“Zach…” Her brother’s name died on her lips as a familiar jolt to be alert for danger folded over her. She moved her hand first then a leg. Every limb was stiff as if she’d slept for longer than usual. A search along the sheets only revealed someone had left a warm spot next to her side. She hadn’t slept alone.
She fought the fearful swallow that danced along the back of her throat. If she weren’t at home, she wouldn’t have any weapons. A hunter always carried something useful, but she had no idea where her bag was.
“I know you’re awake,” a deep male voice said from the darkened corner to her right.
As quickly as she could manage, she shuffled out of the bed toward the door. By the time she had taken a few steps, her body rebelled. Her stomach clenched tight as a wave of nausea coursed through her.
Not now. Not now. Not now.
After each therapy session with a lovely cocktail of drugs, she was one of the lucky ones to have severe nausea. And every single time, she puked her guts out like a binge-drinking college dorm boy bending over a porcelain altar to worship. Intensification therapy for cancer sucked ass.
The sound of her retching must’ve spurred the stranger into action. In seconds, he was at her side, a bucket in his hands. After so many hospital visits, the shame from such a personal act was gone. Nurse after nurse had seen her spew. Another stranger didn’t matter much.
He supported her with a strong arm around her waist and helped her hold the bucket. Even as her knees buckled, he held her. Far too easily.
“I gotcha,” he said softly. “It’ll be over soon.”
When she finished, her head rolled back. Episodes like this always took what little strength she had left.
“You shouldn’t have gotten up.” He picked her up and laid her on the bed. Once she was settled, he left the room with the bucket and returned shortly thereafter. All the while, her heart raced. It wasn’t the smooth lilt to his voice that alarmed her, but the heat radiating from his skin. She had lost a bit of weight, but he lifted her as if she were nothing. Had the werewolves captured her while she was so vulnerable and weak?
“Where am I?” She stuck with a safer question instead of asking, Who are you?
He chuckled. “Safe, Cynthia.”
So, he knew her name. “‘Safe’ isn’t a good enough answer.”
“You’ve been sleeping for nearly twenty-four hours after your chemotherapy treatment in Vancouver. If you were in danger, you’d be dead already, hunter.”
“Where is Zach?” She tried to keep the quiver out of her voice.
The man didn’t reply.
Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness. A single heavily draped window and the door were the only exit points. Each required at least five footsteps. She wore a thin T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Depending on the wintry conditions outside, she wouldn’t last long unless she took him out and found adequate clothing.
Her fingers twitched. A year ago, before her cancer diagnosis, she would’ve used a gun strapped to her thigh to turn him and every thug werewolf into Swiss cheese. At least two silver bullets to his chest would do the job.
“Did you kill him?” she asked slowly.
“No.”
Cyn could faintly make out the man who leaned against the wall. He stood tall, with broad shoulders and a lean waist. She couldn’t make out the color of his hair—matter of fact, the only features she could discern were his eyes. In the dark, they reflected like a canine’s eyes, like those of a predator. She tried to hold his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes forced her to blink. Stay sharp, Cyn.
“You’re after a ransom, aren’t you?” she managed. “Bring down the weakened hunter and use her to cushion your bank account?”
He folded his arms. “Not even close.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to calm down first. Your heartbeat is too elevated.”
As if he cared. She made a rude noise. His kind lived to conquer and dominate. Ever since the world had discovered that werewolves roamed the cities, the hunters had had to step up their game to clean up the carnage from the rogues who trailed after trouble.
“I don’t have any drugs for arrhythmia if your heart goes out, so you need to chill,” he added.
Silence crept between them. The nagging need to ask questions didn’t stop. How did she get here? Where the hell was here? What had happened from the point when she got her treatment to now?
“Where is my brother?” she said with clenched teeth.
“He’s not here.” The man left the wall. With a sweep of his hand, he opened the curtains to reveal the night sky. Instead of the Vancouver skyline, there was nothing but mountains and endless trees dotting an expansive valley with not a single sign of civilization.
“Your brother returned to Vancouver,” the man said. “We brought you to my cabin in the mountains.”
***
Kaden Windham tried to read the dark-haired woman who lay in his bed, staring wide-eyed out the window of his cabin. A rainbow of emotions crossed her ruddy features: indifference, anger, fear, doubt.
Her mouth formed a straight line, yet her brow furrowed as if her sickness were beating at her. To the wolf in him, her body was weak. Before Kaden had healed her, her scent had been bitter and strong, almost like black licorice. Every time she exhaled, her body recited a list of problems. The list led to one obvious conclusion: she was dying.
And yet, the fierce resolve in her voice said otherwise.
“My brother would never abandon me with you people.” She spat out the word people as if it were an expletive. “Why were you lying next to me?” She didn’t look at him when she asked.
“I had to heal you.”
“You’re not that good. I still feel like shit.” Her chin tilted upward, and he caught the hint of amusement in her light gray eyes.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Alpha werewolf healing is bullshit. It’s just a rumor you spread so you can get sympathy or justify your existence.” She dared him to deny it with her hardened gaze.
He took a step toward her, a growl forming in his chest. She froze. Her hands clenched the blanket and the muscles in her legs tensed as if she really planned to attack him. This determined streak of hers was entertaining only for so long.
Minutes passed. Her body trembled, but she wouldn’t stand down and look away.
He advanced on her faster than she could blink. In one moment, he was across the room, and, in the next, he had her pinned to the bed with his body over hers. Not to hurt her, but to make a point.
“Don’t make me regret my decision to help you, hunter,” he growled.
This time, he had her attention. She tried to move him but failed. Her feeble push was nothing, even compared to a man’s thrust. She turned her head to the side, baring her neck like a pup as if she’d been taught such. When he had lain next to her during the night, at first, he’d gotten close enough to touch, but not much more. But as the night grew deeper and the cold seeped through the cracks, he sensed the chill along her skin and couldn’t help but draw her to him. He surmised that she’d lost weight, but she still had womanly curves. His arm had rested along the gentle slope between her waist and hip. A perfect fit.
“And what do you get for helping me?” she finally asked him.
Was that all she cared about? Answering her wouldn’t make any difference; she’d already judged him the moment she figured out that he was a werewolf.
When he didn’t answer her, she remained silent. He took that as defiance.
Her stomach growled, but she refused to ask for food. Even though anger floated off her in waves, she wouldn’t be much of a threat. For now. He rose off her and left his bedroom for the kitchen in the adjoining room. Time to fetch what she needed. He returned to the bedroom to find she hadn’t moved. She remained still as he got close.
“Drink.” He tilted up the cup until she was forced to quench her thirst. Then he presented a few pills.
She paused and looked at them suspiciously.
He snorted. “It’s Zofran, just in case you want to stop puking. Your choice.”
She glanced at the white anti-nausea pills in his hand then peered at his face.
Her hand hovered over his open palm. The faint white scars along her knuckles resembled claw marks. When she caught him looking at her hand, she quickly downed one of the pills.
Noises from outside the cabin piqued his attention, maybe a deer passing by. If it were one of his friends, now wasn’t the time for them to be nosy. “I’ll be back.”
He checked out the living room window that faced the peak. Beyond the trees, he couldn’t detect anyone, not by sight anyway. If someone were close, whoever it was didn’t want to be spotted. He grinned. If he did have a visitor, he’d contend with them after she rested. He returned to the room to find her lying in bed with her arms crossed and belligerence all over her face.
“Your brother warned me,” Kaden said. “But I didn’t expect you’d be as stubborn as a cross-eyed rabbit getting dragged into a carrot patch.”
“What reason do I have to believe you’re not lying?” Her heartbeat stuttered and her breath caught in response. “That you haven’t kidnapped me from the hospital?”
He needed to heal her again, but he had an inkling she wouldn’t be a willing participant.
“You need to rest now. I’ll answer any questions you have later.”
She rolled her eyes. “If I had a weapon right now—”
“You’d be using it to prop your eyes open,” he supplied.
The woman inhaled sharply, her eyes blinking. The scowl she tried to hold in place drooped. “What did you give me?”
“Something to help you relax. Because any minute now you’re gonna try to take me down.”
“That’s right,” she mumbled. “Just gimme a knife.” Her quickened heartbeat reached a steadier rhythm.
He counted down to ten, but she faded to slumber long before he reached seven. A few strands of her black hair had fallen into her face. He reminded himself, as he moved her hair out of the way, that he was being nice to her and that their first night together side-by-side in his bed had been nothing.
Every time he helped her, his attachment to her would grow stronger, but bonding with her wasn’t going to happen. After his ex-girlfriend Hayley had left over a year ago, he’d told himself he didn’t need another distraction, especially if that distraction could potentially bring his pack’s downfall.
Also, adding a former hunter to his pack wouldn’t go down well with the others and would create dissent, even though her brother had promised to help his pack in exchange for her life. He’d heal her to the best of his abilities, and, when the time came, he’d send her on her way. Anything else was unacceptable.
Chapter 2
When Cyn woke up again, the pain was gone. The familiar aches in the muscles along her arms and legs that greeted her every time she moved weren’t there anymore. The pains would’ve been a distant memory if she hadn’t experienced them not too long ago.
Someone lay in the bed with her. The werewolf.
The back of her head rested against his chest and his thick arms enveloped her. He had splayed his right hand across her stomach. Silky warmth spread from her stomach and extended blissfully into her limbs. Her muscles turned to liquid and her bones to smoke. As much as she wanted to break his arm and run away, she hadn’t felt this relaxed in so long. She had endured month after month of waking up feeling like utter shit, day after day when it got harder to think about the doctor’s prognosis:
“You have less than a year to live, Miss McGinnis. Maybe only months.”
A familiar ache hit her chest, piercing and deep, every time she remembered that morning: the doctor’s cold room, his messy desk, the way the world slowed down to a frame-by-frame movie.
After she’d learned her fate, she isolated herself as she adjusted to her new circumstances. How long had it been since she’d gotten this close to a man? The last one had been a year ago, before her diagnosis. Michael. She pushed thou
ghts of him away. He was too precious for this place. Yet, she missed being held. During chemo, her brother often held her hand to comfort her, but that wasn’t the same as having someone wrap their arms around her as she shivered and ached.
The werewolf next to her made her feel protected, but that was an unwelcome feeling from the likes of him.
With the patience of a mongoose waiting for a viper to strike, she slid his hand from around her waist. Stealth was a hunter’s lesson from day one. The werewolves had far superior hearing, but with a planned approach, an experienced hunter could outwit them.
She rolled off the bed, each movement done bit by bit. Time stretched along until she was standing. She waited. He lay in the bed on his side, his chest rising and falling in rhythm. Any second now, he’d probably open his eyes and grab her. But he never did.
She backed toward the door, hoping and praying the cold wood under her feet didn’t groan. By the time her fingers brushed against the doorknob, enough time had passed for him to stir, but he continued to slumber. The knob yawned a bit when she turned it. His hand twitched, but that was about it.
As fast as she dared, she opened the door and raced out. The room beyond the bedroom was far larger than she’d expected. A quick scan revealed five exit points: three windows in the living room, a doorway to what had to be the kitchen, and the front door. Time to run.
As tempting as it might be to go into the kitchen and hunt down a blade, she still wasn’t in any condition to take down a healthy werewolf on his own turf. She had a better chance of tackling the sad guy who wore wolf costumes at Playland in Vancouver.
So, supplies first. With a part of her attention on the bedroom door behind her, she checked around the simple cotton couches until she spotted a familiar bag. Bingo! She snatched up her hospital bag and opened it.
Not a single weapon inside. Even the Swiss army knife in a side pocket had been taken. Clever little wolf.
At least the clothes she’d changed out of at the hospital were there: a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, her long underwear for when she had the chills, but no jacket, though. The tall rack next to the front door only had one thick coat. She checked it out. The coat was far too big for her and smelled like him. Her hand paused, touching the downy material used to line the inside. His cologne wafted from the folds, smooth and rich like bay rum.
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