HOTSHOT BROTHERS: Coyote Shifters

by Hunt, Sabrina

  Above us, fluffy white clouds stretched high, and the wind rustled through the branches. I shivered in anticipation. I had a feeling Ben had brought me out here for another reason besides the incredible view.

  “Hazel.” He said, turning me to him, and I tried to keep calm. “I want to give you something.”

  Ben had pulled out a small leather pouch, tied at the top with a knot, and now he fumbled to open it. Finally, he pulled out a silver necklace. A crescent moon charm dangled from it. It was wrought in delicate filigree and had a moonstone gem mounted on its center.

  Taking it from him, my smile trembled, and I held it up. I had no words.

  “Here,” Ben said gruffly, taking the necklace back, and turning me around. Lifting my hair, he slid it on and fastened it. It nestled in the center of my chest, feeling like a warm promise on my skin. “And I got this.”

  I turned back around to see him slide a thick silver chain out of his shirt. When he held it up, I realized a sun charm was hanging from it.

  “Ben, I…” My voice was the barest of whispers, as fat happy tears pressed at my eyelids.

  “The night we met, five years ago, there was a crescent moon. It was beautiful, I never forgot it.” He cleared his throat. “And you know, if I’m the moon, then you’re the sun. Without you, I have no light, no life,” Ben swallowed hard. “I’m nothing. And I will never make the mistake of trying to keep you out of my life again, which is why I also got you this.” He pulled a box out of his pocket and his face reddened. “A promise ring.”

  It was a simple silver band. On the outside of the ring, there was an engraving of a moon and sun embracing, while on the inner band, our first names were written.

  Hazel and Ben. I liked the sound of that.

  Unable to speak, I just nodded and let him slide the ring on. Then I threw my arms around his neck and he lifted me in the air. “Thank you, Ben. It’s perfect.” I gazed at him.

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured. “Thought it was the least I could do.”

  Smiling at him, I leaned down, and our lips met.

  When we broke apart, I held his face. “Ben, I’ve forgiven you. I get it. You were going through so much and so much was happening. We’re together now. That’s what matters.”

  He shrugged, muttering, “I still don’t think that’s an excuse,” and I swatted him. Then he grinned, his eyes teasing. “I know, I know. I think too much.”

  “I love you. I love you so much,” I murmured.

  His arms tightened around me. “I love you, Hazel. I always will.”

  Then we kissed again, losing track of time, the world spinning around us, and everything but each other. I shivered as his hands splayed against my lower back. His touch was so familiar now but still stirred my nerves into a tizzy. Every time it was as though it was the first time we’d ever touched. Somehow I knew our passion could only grow and never waver. This was love, endless and eternal. Thoughts spun away.

  I forgot everything except him. And I knew he’d forgotten everything but me.

  When we stopped, realizing what time it was, the sun was starting to inch towards the horizon, and we laughed for a good five minutes. Then, with Ben’s arm around my shoulder, we took a last look out at the valley, and I nodded.

  “We’ll find that Moonstone,” I declared.

  “Of course we will,” Ben agreed, squeezing me tight.

  With that, we turned and left, ready for the future, and whatever it had to throw at us.

  Together.

  The adventure continues in Book Two!

  The Hotshot Brothers:

  Coyote Whisper

  Book Two

  A lead on the Crooked Man, that snake of a Skinwalker, had led us brothers to a small town in northern Arizona. But somethin’ didn’t feel right, smell right.

  Except her.

  I didn’t even know her name, but I had to say somethin’ when that diner owner started jawing at her for forgetting her wallet in her car. That’s not usually my style, and I’m still hearing one too many jokes about it from Cree, that doofus. Hell, now Hazel thinks I shoulda asked for her number. Never mind the rest of my brothers won’t stop smirkin’ at me.

  With her warm skin, bright brown eyes, and dark twist of curls, she’d caught my eye the second we walked in. All I could think was, a woman like that has no business looking so sad.

  Damn that noble streak of the Young’s. I’d thought I’d all but tamped it down.

  But after we’d locked eyes, how could I resist? I wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh, and maybe help her out.

  Man, she was a feisty one, too. Didn’t even want my help and said that straight to my face. Well, I was no fool. I could appreciate that, and had to have a good laugh.

  But now we’re on hot on the Skinwalker’s trail and he’s boxed in a corner. We’ve got a fight on our hands – a showdown outside of town later that night. And just as us Coyotes were planning an ambush, guess who shows up?

  Miss Feisty.

  Oh, this woman was trouble, and she had no clue she was walking straight into it.

  When the Hotshot Brothers and Hazel wind up in a small town in northern Arizona, they’re hot on the trail of the Crooked Man. Yet, something about the town is off.

  Very off.

  Residents are disappearing, new ones are showing up, and no one seems to know what’s going on. Everyone’s spooked, but no one’s talking and the sheriff hasn’t been seen in days.

  Then, within the woods outside of town, the six come across a strange compound, and Hazel is sure the Moonstone is inside. So, later, the brothers come back, planning to ambush it, but a sudden turn of events has them retreating.

  A young woman Wes helped out earlier shows up looking for someone.

  She gets attacked, the brothers go on the run, and then they get split up.

  Now lost in woods with this young woman, Wes has to watch both their backs and try to ignore the insane magnetism pulling him towards her, for each of them has a secret they don’t want to entrust in the other.

  But in order to survive – they’re going to have to.

  Book Two: Coyote Whisper

  Chapter 1

  The grainy photograph and dull linoleum warped in my vision.

  I’d stared at it so many times I’d thought I’d be numb to it by now. I’d thought it would become like a word repeated over and over again: strange, not quite right. Bereft of any meaning.

  And yet every time I laid eyes on it, the five-by-seven square ricocheted through my chest like a bullet, tearing apart everything I’d ever known or hoped for.

  MISSING – REWARD FOR INFORMATION.

  Stamped across the top in a blocky, sharp-edged font, each of those words lacerated my sense of reality. Every time I read them, I lost my grip, and myself, a little bit more.

  Below those words was the photograph of a girl. A girl tilting her head at the camera, her eyes squinting slightly and her lips pulled in a smile that was wide with delight at being alive.

  Under her photo were a list of details. Meaningless at this point. Almost contrived. How could a birth date, height, or even a name tell anyone anything? How could a small handful of adjectives ever hope to describe this vibrant girl? How she lived larger than life? That she laughed loud and long, sang off-key while driving, and had a soft spot for babies; that she liked ghost stories and was a scholarship student in a Ph.D. program, a leader in her sorority in her undergrad, and had been a hell of a soccer player in high school?

  How could mere words tell you anything?

  How could they tell you she was my beloved older sister?

  TRINI MONTERO. 5’4. 145 LBS. 12/10/1989

  Written in all caps, it seemed like a death notice, not a missing person’s poster.

  In the black and white picture, you could see the inheritance from our Mexican father in Trini’s face his dark hair, round cheekbones, and tan skin. You couldn’t really see my mother’s, though. The Irish. The blue eyes, lanky body,
and long curls.

  No, in fact, what I saw was how the police took one look at that picture and dismissed it. Just another Latina out partying in Vegas and got herself into trouble. Probably ran off with an athlete or a B-list actor. Not even worth looking into. She’d turn up or sooner later, right?

  Then the deputy had raised his eyebrows when my white mother and brown father had come in. He’d made a joke about whether my father was legal. I’d thought my mother was going to give him a swift uppercut. She had a lively Irish temperament she couldn’t always keep in check, but my father had calmed her, laying a hand on her arm. As he always did.

  Trini and I always loved that about him, how gentle he was.

  As for me? Even now, his words burned low in my gut, and I fought down the urge to scream. Or go find that guy and punch him for my mother.

  However, his words had also lit a fire in me. The moment that deputy had dismissed us, I’d decided I would investigate this myself. While I hadn’t the faintest clue how to do detective work, I was a good researcher and doggedly persistent.

  No matter what, I would find my sister.

  I’d told no one but my closest friend and cousin, Marcia, who’d begged to come with me. But she was barely legal, so I’d shut that down. And she was still in school.

  I, on the other hand, was an aimless college graduate with a photography degree. I’d been freelancing and bumping around the country, trying to find meaning in the world. No one would notice if I decided to hang up the towel for a few weeks.

  Thankfully, too, I had a good lead. One of my sister’s friends told me about how Trini had been enamored with this guy who ran some company out in Arizona. He’d been the last person they’d seen her with during that fateful night.

  It seemed promising in other regards, too. We’d visited Arizona once as kids and Trini had loved it. Maybe she’d decided to go on an impromptu trip and had lost her phone. Or maybe he’d invited her to interview for his start-up. While I didn’t exactly buy into any of my theories, they passed the time and kept other, darker theories at bay.

  In researching that man, Hugo Kren, I’d managed to find his home address in a small town in Arizona. It was supposed to be a unique kind of a paradise, the irrigation from the rivers cropping up a little forest in the desert. People liked to camp and hike there, and usually during the summer it attracted a younger crowd. Trini always did like to be first, so that was enough to bring me here.

  Here, to this godforsaken town, River Hills, where I couldn’t even find a whiff of Hugo Kren, never mind his address. And none of the locals seemed to know anything about him, the company, or want to help me. For a small town, they were an aloof bunch.

  Or maybe they just didn’t like outsiders.

  And now I was in my current spot. Sitting alone in the town diner, drinking cold coffee, and trying not to cry. Trying not to think about how my mother had told me last night, her voice shaking, that the Las Vegas police had no new leads. Trying not to imagine what could have happened to my sister and whether I’d ever see her again.

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to find in this town. Did I think I was going walk up to the address and find Trini waiting for me? Or perhaps that Hugo Kren would be a philanthropist she’d fallen in love with, and that’s why she’d vanished?

  Cold fear sucked at the bottom of my stomach, drawing all my hope into it, even as I tried not to let myself get caught up in grim premonitions.

  But this town, the dull people, and the gray skies were wearing on my soul.

  Folding up Trini’s picture carefully, I stashed it in my pocket and pulled out my phone. I had missed calls from my parents, along with Wyatt, the guy I’d been dating off and on. Scowling, I texted my parents and ignored Wyatt. Why couldn’t he get a hint? We were so off right now.

  A chorus of voices interrupted my thoughts and I looked up. A group of men was tramping into the diner, beelining for the table one over from me. My entire body locked up and unreasonable anger gripped my heart. While I knew it was the only table that would accommodate all of them, I didn’t want to be disturbed right now.

  Whatever. I should probably leave now anyways.

  As they slid into the booth, laughing and joking, I counted five of them. They were way too bright and lively to be locals. Huh. Must be tourists like me. At that moment, I realized a slim young woman was in their midst, with curly chestnut hair and dark blue eyes.

  A pang went through me – they were almost the same color as Trini’s.

  But it was no wonder I hadn’t seen her, with all the muscles crowding around that table. Each of those guys was seriously strapping. All of them were well over six feet, with biceps for days, tanned and rugged. I could tell they spent their time working outdoors.

  As I studied them, my photographer’s eye taking over, I became curious. There was something about those men that suggested a bond, but one I couldn’t put my finger on.

  Brothers? I wondered.

  Then I paused, confused. All of them were different ethnicities. One guy looked like a Viking, with his golden hair, while another guy was light-skinned with curly red-brown hair, and the last two were darkly tanned. One of them had a more olive cast to his skin and hooded dark eyes. The other one reminded me of an overgrown puppy, with brown hair and big light blue eyes. As for the last man, he had his hood up and I couldn’t catch a glimpse of his face.

  Shaking my head, I chided myself for thinking that. I was half-Irish, half-Latina. Who was I to make that call? As I studied them more, I could tell they were all about the same age – mid to late twenties – not much older than me.

  Confused, I was about to look away when the last one drew back his hood. Sitting directly in my line of vision, I couldn’t help but stare. This man was beyond handsome, beyond gorgeous. I couldn’t even explain it to myself, but I knew I loved his face.

  The solemnity of his gaze – contrasting with the fullness of his soft lips, which quirked at the corners – arrested me first. For while there was an impatient restlessness to this man, it was offset by a gentleness borne out of intelligence, strength, and heart.

  And then I was gone.

  His skin was a dark, rich brown with warm undertones, and his dark hair was buzzed short, almost military. But his jaw was scruffy, as though he hadn’t been able to shave in a few days. And ripped seemed like an understatement. His shoulders looked like they needed their own area code and I could easily picture him benching me perched on top of a car.

  When he looked up, I saw that his eyes were hazel, with a hint of green or blue. Wow. What wonderful coloring. I’d love to take his picture, I mused, my chin on my hand.

  Then I realized he was staring at me, amusement flickering in his gaze, and I winced. I’d been staring baldly for way too long. Offering him an apologetic smile, I quickly looked down, heat burning my cheeks. What kind of a ditz was I? But he was so good-looking, he had to be used to girls staring at him all the time, right?

  That doesn’t make it any better, Kalin, I scolded myself.

  Usually I was not the kind of girl to gawk at a man like that. I prided myself on being independent and unattached. This was the twenty-first century, damn it.

  “I’m getting pancakes!” crowed a loud voice from that table. “Who cares if it’s three o’clock?”

  I chanced a peek and saw the dark-skinned guy rolling his eyes at the puppy-like friend. “The whole place didn’t need to know that, Quickfoot.”

  God, what a sexy voice.

  It rushed along my skin, teasing something deep inside of me and I almost shivered.

  He had started to turn his head again and I quickly looked down. At that moment, the waitress reappeared and slapped a check down on the table.

  Picking it up, I scowled. $9.67 for a measly plate of fries, a limp sandwich, and coffee? I was almost tempted to go tell those people who’d just sat down to go somewhere else. Then a burst of laughter came from them and I was surprised to feel another scowl pull on my fa
ce.

  But I couldn’t ignore it. The past three weeks had wrought hell on my emotions. Every so often I became livid with the rest of the world for continuing on as though nothing had happened. Raging at them for laughing and being happy while I struggled to make from one moment to the next.

  Choking back the urge to punch something, I went to pull out my wallet and froze. It wasn’t in my jacket.

  Frantically, I searched the booth, then dug through my bag, and checked my pockets again. Not there. Swallowing, I wondered if someone had stolen it when I stopped for gas before I came here. It was in the damn car. God, I was such a mess.

  Slipping out of the booth, I slung my camera bag over my shoulder and quickly scooted by the table of those people. But not before seeing the blue-eyed woman lean into the tan, dark-haired guy, his arm going around her, and his eyes full of adoration as she said something to him.

  Another pang went through me. Must be nice to have someone like that to lean on.

  Loneliness hemmed me in on every side, settling around my neck and looping up my limbs. It was a weight that made it hard to keep moving forward. Never mind breathing.

  However, I avoided the gaze I wanted to see again the most and made my way to cashier. He was a balding, heavyset man, and had a grim face. Didn’t want to take his photograph. His stained shirt said “Boss” on the breast pocket in cursive. Great.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “Hi there. Listen, I’m sorry, I left my wallet in the car. I-I wanted to let you know before I went out to go get it. But I’ll be right back.”

  “Excuse me?” The man’s face twisted and he gave me a once over. I flushed. “What, you tryin’ to not pay your bill and clear your conscience at the same time? You think I was born yesterday?”

  “Sir, no, please. I really left it in the car–” I tried to explain.

  But the owner cut me off, his face growing red. “It’s bad enough you people gotta come into this country, steal our damn jobs, and now you’re trying to steal from my business?” He demanded.