Real Men Shift Volume Two: Paranormal Werewolf Romance Boxed Set

by Celia Kyle

  Venturing into the woods where most of the protestors were camping, Warren had looked around for anyone who looked friendly. A scrawny slip of a man with nasty blond dreadlocks had been lying on his back under a flimsy blue tarp tied to the side of a tree, taking a pull off a vape pen. Something about the kid had set Warren’s teeth on edge, which the fellow must have sensed because as soon as their eyes had met, the boy’s brown ones grew wide and he scooted back on his ratty sleeping bag until he was hidden from Warren’s view.

  “Greetings,” a willowy brunette had spoken as she heated a pot of something resembling food over a small propane stove. “Are you joining us for dinner?”

  Her stoned boyfriend had smiled lazily as he plucked out a gentle tune on his guitar. Warren had returned their smiles as he shook his head.

  “Thanks, but I’m looking for a pretty redhead. I think her name’s Persia?”

  He hadn’t been able to bring himself to speak her obviously fake last name, Moonshadow. Thankfully he hadn’t needed to.

  “Sorry, she took off about an hour ago.”

  “Right, she mentioned something about going to work, but I can’t for the life of me remember where,” Warren inserted as smoothly as he could. A cop would have seen right through him, but the trusting hippies had taken him at face value.

  “The Lair, man,” the woman’s boyfriend had crooned, almost in tune with his music.

  That was all Warren had needed to know.

  “Are you sure you don’t want some lentils?” the woman had called after him in a wistful tone as he hurried back to his truck, ignoring her.

  As he sat in his truck, watching The Lair’s red and yellow neon flickering, he wondered if marching into his newfound and totally unsuspecting mate’s place of work was such a bright idea. Everything in him screamed to run in and find her, just to make sure she was safe, but the human half of him knew he’d have to go slowly. Not only was she a human who had no idea werewolves existed, but she’d told him not an hour earlier that she was swearing off men for good. If he ran in calling her his mate and claiming to be a werewolf, she’d call the dudes in the white coats.

  Warren dragged his palm over his face and sighed. Of course, it would be his luck that he’d have to go through the human channels to get things done. But for his mate, he’d do anything.

  “Persia.” He tested how the name sounded on his tongue.

  Pretty, perky, bold.

  Just like her.

  With a breath for luck, he hopped out of his truck and headed around the building, only to find the most quintessential Tremble scene ever. Levi Walker, the pack’s former enforcer and a town cop, stood in front of the building, his arms crossed across his broad chest as he listened to an inebriated older fellow blather on. The man’s wispy white beard bobbed as he spoke, his soiled work jeans, muddy boots, and a sweat-stained red-and-black flannel shirt under black suspenders a typical good ol’ boy uniform. The man swayed slightly as his arms flailed.

  As Warren walked past the pair, the man spat a wad of black goo into the dirt and used his tongue to push a nasty lump of chew back into place in his lower lip before continuing his ramble at Levi. Warren had trouble catching everything he slurred, thanks to his thick Georgia accent coupled with slurring.

  “Occifer, I tells ya, Chuck done hit her good wit his elbow. I seen it. You go on an’ look. I seen it! Git her looked at so you can enter it in ev-ee-dence, tell you what.”

  “Sir,” Levi sounded weary, “if you could please…”

  Whatever came after that, Warren didn’t hear it. The insistent thunder of his quickened heartbeat drowned out everything else. The redneck’s words were nonsense, yet Warren’s belly cramped at each one. Somehow, Persia was involved. If there was one thing Warren had learned in the hour or so since encountering his mate, it was that he needed to listen to his gut.

  Throwing open the door to The Lair, he stopped in the doorway and nearly shifted with rage. Hux Davenport, the owner of the bar and a Soren pack member, squatted over a motionless Persia, fanning a dirty dishtowel in her face. Whatever had happened to her, Hux’s ministrations didn’t seem to be working because she was completely knocked out. A trickle of blood dribbled down her forehead and into her hair.

  Hux glanced behind him, his eyes growing wide at Warren’s presence. Not because he was there, but because he was snarling in Hux’s general direction. The man scooted away, leaving the human female for Warren to deal with.

  Smart man.

  Rushing to her, Warren held her oval face in his hands and breathed deeply. Yes, his mate. No question. And she was injured. Damn it!

  Scooping her into his arms, Warren marveled at her fragility and vowed to make it his life’s mission to keep her safe, forevermore. As he turned to head out the door, Levi stepped back inside and gave him a bewildered look. The old redneck peered over his shoulder at the scene.

  “What the hell, Warren,” Levi hissed under his breath. “I already called an ambulance. You can’t just—”

  Warren didn’t need to say a word. He just gave Levi a look as hard as steel, and the man backed off. He even held the door open for Warren as he carried her to his truck. She needed treatment from one of the few people in the world he trusted.

  His sister.

  Chapter Three

  Persia’s eyes fluttered open and then narrowed at the bright lights beaming over her head. Squinting them shut again, she winced at the pounding throb in her brain. Headaches were one thing, but the pain stabbing into her head like a knife with every heartbeat far surpassed anything she’d ever experienced.

  What the hell happened?

  Thinking back to the last event she could clearly recall, she retraced her steps. Kicking Leaf out of her van. A walk in the woods. A wolf.

  Wait.

  A wolf? Did it attack her?

  Her heart sped up, making the ache in her brain twice as painful. It only slowed down when the wolf’s sharp blue eyes penetrated the murderous throbbing in her head. No, he’d rolled over and snuggled her like she’d raised him from a puppy. Her new woodland friend.

  Finally, back on track, she remembered going to work at The Lair. Something about a couple of old rednecks tickled the back of her brain, but the poor organ couldn’t manage to bring up that particular memory, and the more she tried, the more she hurt.

  “Mmmf,” she groaned as she peeled her eyes open against the light again.

  It looked more like an adjustable lamp found in hospitals. The harsh smell of antiseptic added to the impression. Whatever had happened to her, someone must have taken her to a doctor’s office or urgent care. Persia tried turning her head to get a look around the space, sending a jolt of pain through her body. Bad idea. Maybe sitting up would be easier.

  Grunting with effort, she fumbled for the side of the bed, only to find hand rails. It was a gurney. Perfect for keeping her steady as she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. The room tilted this way and that, so she closed her eyes until she didn’t feel as if she was standing on the bow of a tiny boat in stormy seas.

  “Oh good, you’re awake,” a soft, feminine voice came from nearby.

  Cracking one eye open, Persia looked at the tall, fairly fuzzy woman who approached. A few blinks cleared her vision enough to see the woman was also breathtakingly beautiful—the kind of woman elderly billionaires left entire estates to. But something about her presence calmed Persia. If this woman was her doctor, she was in good hands.

  “Who…what…?” Persia tried, and failed, to say.

  “Shh,” the blonde bombshell pressed a hand to Persia’s back for support. “Just take a minute to get your bearings.”

  Before she could, a stupidly handsome man hurried forward behind the blonde and peered over her shoulder at Persia. Deep concern shaded his blue eyes, the kind of concern someone showered for a loved one, not a total stranger. And he was a stranger to her, yet… something seemed so familiar about him. Blinking the feeling away, she decided he must be a
patron at The Lair. She must recognize him from one of her shifts.

  “Where am I? Who are you?” she finally managed, reluctantly turning her gaze back to the woman.

  “My name’s Trina Kincaid and you’re in my clinic.” She shot a silent warning of some kind to the man, who resembled her. “And this is my brother, Warren Edgecomb. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Persia.” She rubbed a tender spot on the side of her head. “Persia M-Moonshadow.”

  “Good,” Trina elbowed her overly concerned brother aside. “Look at my finger, Persia. Okay, now follow it without moving your head. Very good. How are you feeling? Dizzy or nauseated?”

  “No, but my head hurts like a bitch.” Persia did her best not to allow her gaze to flick over Warren. “What the hell happened to me?”

  Trina explained as she shone a pen light in Persia’s eyes. “I wasn’t there, but from what I’ve been told, you took an elbow to the head, slammed into a wall and then bumped your head against a table. The good news is that it doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but your head’s going to hurt for a day or two. Now, I’m not set up for, um, injuries like this, so if you want to alleviate any fears, we could take you to a hospital for an MRI—”

  Persia managed to wave her hand, dismissing the idea. “God no. Too much trouble. I’m fine, really. As a professional protestor, I’ve had a helluva lot worse than a headache. One time this cranky construction foreman knocked me on my ass with the bucket of a bulldozer.”

  Persia thought the story was hilarious, but Warren didn’t seem amused in the slightest. In fact, he looked downright furious. “Are you joking? Did that really happen? What’s the guy’s name and address?”

  Trina rolled her eyes and nudged him aside. “Ignore him.”

  Now that some of her senses were returning to her, Persia took a good look at Trina. “Hey, you seem familiar. Did you stop by Wolf Woods a couple of times last week?”

  Trina smiled. “I did. Good memory. Now I’m confident you’re not seriously injured. I hear those bulldozers haven’t budged an inch since McNish brought them in. Your handiwork?”

  Persia beamed. “Not just mine. I’ve got a team.”

  “That means yes,” Trina chuckled as she checked Persia’s pulse. “You’re doing a great job.”

  “Thanks,” Persia faltered a bit. Locals often were the hardest to convince when it came to McNish’s developments. “Mind if I ask what your deal is? I know why we’re fighting to keep Wolf Woods wild, but what’s at stake for you?”

  Warren pushed past Trina, his hands starting to reach for her but then quickly pulling back. His fingers curled into fists, as if he was holding himself back from something, while Trina continued her exam.

  “The original settlers of our, uh, village homesteaded the land this side of Wolf Woods. For generations, we’ve used those woods as an extension of our property, a sort of buffer between the town and us. It’s not that we’re antisocial and don’t want neighbors or anything. It’s more that the woods are a local landmark. There’s a lot of historical and cultural significance there. Losing the woods would hurt the town as a whole, not just for a bit of public greenspace, but tourists come from all around to search the woods for werewolves.”

  Persia snorted. She’d researched Wolf Woods and Tremble thoroughly before dragging her caravan there to protest another McNish development. Loonies from around the country flocked to the tiny Georgia town in search of cryptids—chupacabra, Big Foot, and werewolves. The town had cleverly capitalized on the fascination with Wolf Woods, which had turned Tremble into something of a tourist trap. If she’d had the money, she would have loved to spend the night in one of the Lupine Inn’s werewolf-themed rooms. As it was, working at The Wolf’s Lair Bar & Grille gave her enough of a supernatural vibe, what with all the silly werewolf tchotchkes decorating the place.

  “I really can’t believe people still believe in all that nonsense.” She smiled up at Warren. It felt good, natural. Smiling at him seemed to be what she’d been born to do.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught Trina shooting a funny look at her brother, but Persia was too mesmerized by his stormy blue eyes. So mesmerized, she barely noticed another man walking into the clinic from an adjoining room. The man had shaggy, light brown hair and matching hazel eyes with a physique that wouldn’t quit. It seemed this village produced a lot of gorgeous people.

  “Even so,” Trina spoke again, “if Dick McNish gets his way, we’ll all suffer from the loss of Wolf Woods.”

  The man sidled up to Trina and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “McNish is an asshole. He needs to be brought to justice.”

  “I totally agree,” Persia’s excitement over finding like-minded people dimmed her pain a little. “You know, if more locals joined our protest, we’d have more footing. Things always go much better when townspeople get involved instead of just looking at us outsiders like we’re lunatics. Besides, the more people who protest, the more exposure the issue gets. Strength in numbers and all that.”

  The trio shared a look that spoke volumes, but Persia didn’t have the translation guide. If she had to guess, she would have said they looked intrigued. Better than irritated, so she pushed on.

  “Our first step was to set up our base camp and draw some attention with our signs and chants.”

  “I particularly like ‘Down with Dick,’” the man holding onto Trina chimed in. “Name’s Max, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Max. And thanks. That one’s mine. Came up with it ages ago.”

  “So what’s your next step?” Warren asked, inching just a little closer to her, which didn’t bother her a bit.

  Persia grinned up at him, partly from excitement over her plans and partly because she couldn’t seem to do anything except smile at him. “Building platforms in the trees so they can’t be torn down. It’s called tree-sitting. We use mountain climbing gear to get way up in the trees to build the platforms, and then we just camp out there to stall development.”

  Warren’s eyes glittered. “Treehouses?” he breathed, clearly excited by the idea.

  “Not exactly,” Persia laughed at his enthusiasm. “But close enough.”

  “Count me in. I have access to lumber, tools, and plenty of skilled workmen who’d be thrilled to support the cause.”

  Persia’s heart nearly stuttered to stop, giving new meaning to the quip “Be still my beating heart.” Not only was this Warren guy drop-dead gorgeous, but he was eager to join their effort in stopping the development. Taking a beat, she gave him a deep-down assessment. Sandy blond hair, a little darker than his sister’s, eyes so blue they pierced her to the core, a lean-yet-muscular swimmer’s build, and a desire to save the environment. Or at least stop McNish, anyway. What more could a girl want?

  Warren was a true manly man, a far cry from the hacky-sack-loving, pot-smoking hippie guys she tended to hang out with, but the image of him swinging a hammer, shirtless and sweaty with hard work, made her feel tingly in all of her happy places. Meeting his gaze felt a bit like taking a shot of really good tequila, slowly warming every inch of her skin and then soaking through the rest of her.

  “How can I turn down an offer like that?” she swung her legs over the side of the gurney and attempted to stand.

  As soon as her feet touched the floor, the warmth oozing through her was replaced by a harsh wave of dizziness and she had to press her butt to the gurney to brace herself. Persia was almost certain it was caused by the bump to her head and not the intoxicating scent rolling off Warren.

  Almost.

  “Whoa,” Trina lunged for her patient, but Warren reached Persia first.

  His warm hands gently helped her back onto the gurney, and one remained on her shoulder, even after she no longer needed the help. Not that she was complaining.

  Trina clucked her tongue. “You probably want to get back to your camp, but it’s pretty late and I’d feel a whole lot better if you stayed the night so I can monitor you.”


  “Good idea,” Max dropped a quick kiss on his lady’s cheek. “In fact, I made a nice stew for dinner, and there’s plenty for a guest.”

  “Or two,” Warren gave his sister a meaningful look.

  Trina smirked at him. “Only if you sing for us.”

  “Uh, no one wants to hear that,” he replied, scowling at her and giving her a not-so-subtle head shake.

  “Come on, big brother. It’s always such a treat.” Trina gave Persia a mischievous smile. “He’s got a helluva singing voice, when he isn’t being greedy with it.”

  “No,” Warren insisted, “she’s already got enough of a headache. Last thing she needs is to listen to my caterwauling.”

  Trina rolled her eyes at her brother’s stubbornness and huffed, “Fine.”

  The back and forth between the siblings warmed Persia’s heart. As an only child, she’d never had that bond with another person. She’d had to suffer through her childhood alone. Someone to share the burden might have been nice, but then again, she wouldn’t have wished it on her worst enemy.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I really do need to get back to work. This might come as a shock but being a professional protestor doesn’t pay as much as you’d think.”

  Warren seemed too concerned to catch her joke. “No, not tonight. Hux feels terrible about what happened and gave you the rest of the night off. With pay.”

  She’d liked Hux the moment she’d interviewed for the barmaid job, and this little nugget only confirmed her belief he was a good man. That didn’t mean she was going to overstay her welcome with her new friends, though.

  “That’s really nice of him, but I still need to get my Westfalia. It’s my home and I’m a little protective of it.”

  Warren caught her gaze again and any worries she had fled from her mind.

  Westfalia? What’s that?

  Concussion? Who cares?

  “No need to worry about your van. It couldn’t be anywhere safer than in Hux’s parking lot. Trust me on that. I’ll drive you down there first thing in the morning. Deal?”