by Juniper Hart
The day has come, he thought, embracing his cousin.
“Welcome to Pierre,” he said, smiling. “How are you?”
Dex smiled, nodding.
“Good, cuz. You look good,” the older man said, eyeing him appreciatively. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
Cruz laughed.
“I am living on caffeine and no sleep,” he replied. “When did you get in?”
Sol was watching the exchange without saying a word.
“Early this afternoon. I wanted to come and get you from school, but Uncle Sol said you drove yourself, so I’d have to wait.”
Cruz was suddenly overcome with an affection for his older cousin.
He’s a good guy. He’ll make a good pack leader, and I will ensure that his transition is smooth.
“Dad didn’t tell me you were coming today,” Cruz said, glancing at his father.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Sol said. “Surprise!”
The boys laughed.
“Well, ah, I have a bit of work to do, but after that we can go out. I can show you around town. I’ll just call my girlfriend and tell her you’re here and coming with us.”
“No way! I don’t want to be the third wheel,” Dex protested, but Cruz shook his head.
“Don’t be crazy,” he laughed. “She’s been dying to meet you. I’ve told her all about you.”
Dex raised a dark blonde eyebrow.
“You did?” he asked, seeming flattered. “Wow.”
Cruz chuckled.
“When Dad makes an official announcement, I am sure that you will feel like a bug under a microscope. You may as well get used to it.”
Dex laughed, but he looked from his uncle to his cousin in confusion.
“Am I missing something?” he asked. “What announcement?”
Cruz shook his head.
“It’s not a secret, Dex. Dad told me already and I think you’re going to be the best wolf for the job.”
“I really don’t understand. Uncle Sol?”
The younger men looked at the pack leader who was smirking almost maniacally.
“Oh yes, that,” Sol said. “I forgot to tell you.”
Cruz felt a spark of anger.
He brought Dex here under false pretenses? That’s not cool.
“Dad, seriously?” Cruz growled.
Sol shrugged.
“Sorry,” he replied flippantly. “I meant to say something.”
“Uncle Sol?”
“I asked you to come for a visit so that I could formally announce my successor for pack leader,” Sol told him.
Dex nodded. “That’s great!” he said enthusiastically. “I’m glad to be here for that.”
“You are that successor!” Cruz sighed, exasperated.
“What? Me?” Dex laughed. “That’s not possible.”
“Yeah, son. He can’t be the successor. It has to be a male on my side of the family,” Sol piped up. “What are you talking about?”
Cruz stared at his father dumbfounded. When he read the wicked glint in his eyes, Cruz realized he had been played by his own father.
“You never had any intention of giving it to anyone else, did you?” Cruz asked, shaking his head at his own stupidity. “It was a ploy to get me to get my shit together.”
Sol nodded eagerly. “And it worked like a charm, didn’t it?”
Cruz looked at his father, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
He settled on throwing himself into his father’s arms.
“Thanks, Dad,” he whispered.
“You don’t need to thank me, Cruz. You came through for the Benz family and the pack when you called me to their house that day. I knew then that you could handle whatever comes at you.”
“I hope nothing like Josephine ever comes at us again,” Cruz grunted, and his father laughed, setting him back.
“I have a feeling that won’t happen again,” he replied.
Sol looked at his son and smiled. “I’m proud of you, Cruz. I hope you know that.”
And for the first time in his life, Cruz felt like he was exactly where he belonged.
***
THE END
Have you read all of the books in the Birch Mountain Alphas series?
Shifter Scandal
Captured by the Shifter
Continue reading for the legend behind the Birch Mountain Alphas and a bonus story!
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.
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
Enchanted Werewolf
Box Set – Books 1, 2 & 3
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
[email protected]
www.SecretWoodsBooks.com
Werewolf Spell
Enchanted Werewolf – Book One
By: Alexis Davie
Chapter 1
Cara Stone typed on the keyboard of her laptop, sprawled out on her bed in her apartment. Her fingers flew across the keys as a thunderstorm boomed outside her window. The sound of rain inspired her, drove her to write more and more compelling characters of passion and play.
The chilled rain splattered against the window, soothing her as the rich sound of Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” came from a little portable speaker that an ex-boyfriend had given her and forgotten about.
A bolt of lightning crackled through the sky loudly from a distance away, barely visible from the skyscrapers that surrounded her apartment complex. Someday, she’d be a famous writer. Eventually, she’d work up enough courage to finally publish. She’d been working on several novels for, what, five years? She’d started writing the summer after she graduated from college. Most books took about the same time as a baby to grow in the womb—nine months. This was kind of funny to her. But after all the time she’d spent laboring over them, they were like her children. This one was especially close to her heart. She cared for it. Cherished it. That was probably why she had so much trouble publishing.
Cara always tried to use her life experiences as inspiration for her novels. In this particular one, she used the death of her parents to convey the raw pain of losing them through words. The coroner said they hadn’t suffered after the car accident, and their deaths were quick. Although that was supposed to be comforting, she didn’t hurt any less.
Writing was a sort of therapy for her, one that was less expensive and more relaxing. Putting the words on the laptop helped her work through the memories in a healthy way, all while maybe making some money if she ever found the courage to actually contact a publisher.
To publish the story and put herself on the line like that was troubling to say the least. She’d never been the first one to jump into the front of the line and push for what she wanted. She had always patiently waited her turn. Someday, it’d be her moment to publish a book. Until then, she’d just write on and on.
Cara zoned back into writing her story. Thunderstorms calmed her. She wasn’t sure why, but they soothed her and took away the memories of her stupid job at that damned newspaper. Her boss loved to criticize Cara’s writing. Everyone else thought she was great. But him? Nah.
One of these days, she was going to straight up tell him that he didn’t own her. That all he actually owned was a small-time newspaper, and the digital world was taking over anyway. She was willing to bet that within ten years, the paper would shut down. Soon enough, he’d be working for her when she was rich and famous!
Someday she’d that say.
Maybe.
Probably not.
After an hour of writing, her phone buzzed beside her. She glanced over. It was one of her friends from work.
Hey girl, you coming to the party?
A couple of Cara’s friends were going to a bar to enjoy a night out on the town. They’d been trying to convince her to g
o for weeks, but she never found who she was looking for at that kind of event. She unlocked her phone to reply.
Going to have a headache right before it starts. Thanks though.
She wasn’t sure why those kinds of things never worked out for her. She’d dated a ton of guys—and she did really mean a ton—but none of them ever really did it for her. She always felt like they were missing that spark. She didn’t want a guy that was as meek as she was. She wanted to find someone taking life by the horns, the kind of guy that would take her into the bedroom and strip off her clothes and…
Anyway.
She realized she’d been staring at her computer screen silently for the past few minutes. She blinked, trying to snap out of the mental fog, and went to fire up the coffee maker. It was still early in the morning on a Saturday. She had nowhere to be. Nobody to please. No chores to do until late Sunday night when she’d regret not doing anything on Saturday.
As the steaming hot coffee poured into her cup, someone rang the doorbell.
She paused.
Ring, ring!
That didn’t make sense. She hadn’t invited anyone over.
Ring, ring!
“Who is it?” she called.
Whoever it was just kept ringing the bell, so Cara pulled on a bathrobe over her skimpy pajamas and went to answer the door. After a moment of thought, she grabbed the coffee cup. If it was someone with bad intentions, she wanted to have something to defend herself with, and unless the assailant was ten feet tall and made of solid steel, hot coffee to the face would get a strong reaction. She’d watched plenty of those home invasion shows to know better than to trust strangers.
Wondering when she’d gotten so skeptical of the human race, she opened the door. She had broken the little peephole glass years ago, but she couldn’t be bothered to fix it so it had stayed broken. She was starting to regret not asking her landlord to repair it.
