Werewolves & Whiskers: Sawtooth Peaks Wolf Shifter Romance Box Set

by Keira Blackwood

  Adrenaline pumped through my veins. Stay on the road. Don’t drive off the cliff. Don’t drive off the cliff.

  Boulders tumbled up ahead, just past the frosted sign marked Falling Rock Zone. The weight of the snow must have caused the rocks to fall, dropping forever down once they reached the ledge.

  The car wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t turn. My heart raced as my body lurched forward. Pain. Black.

  Chapter Two

  Harkins

  Yuppy out-of-towners. Sawtooth Den was full of ’em. ’Twas the season of rich pansies playing hunter and gold diggers who pretended to find them charming.

  Winter in Sawtooth Peaks hadn’t always been this way. Neither had my life. But livin’ in the past did me no favors.

  They talked. They laughed. They drank and played pool. Overshadowing the usual liquor, grease, and shifter scents was the smell of human tourists. The regulars were still around, just outnumbered. Zaria knocked back shots of bourbon from her stool, two down from my seat in the corner. The petite, raven-headed she-wolf seemed to share my sentiment about the season and the customers.

  With silver hair, and the kind of grin that made women swoon, Lance checked in at each table. He made a fine businessman and alpha to our pack. His father would have been proud if he’d lived to see his son grown.

  The jukebox kicked on. A flash of bleach-blond hair and I turned. But she was too young. Too drunk. Not Amy. The woman hung her arm over the shoulder of a stick-thin brunette as they butchered Journey together. I turned around, leaned my elbows on the bar, and glanced at the bartender standing where Amy should have been.

  Fleur was fine. She had a friendly demeanor. She didn’t cause trouble. And she poured beer well enough. But she wasn’t Amy. Every hour that passed was a reminder that the woman who belonged behind the bar wasn’t at Sawtooth Den. She wasn’t even in Sawtooth Peaks. And that made everything less tolerable.

  “So tell me,” Amy’s brunette substitute said, stopping in her tracks in front of me. “What’s your story, Harkins? How long have you been with the pack?”

  “As long as I have,” Zaria said, raising her glass. “He’s been the alpha’s second for twenty years—first John’s, now John’s son’s.”

  I gave Zaria a nod.

  “Okay,” Fleur said, adjusting the poinsettia behind her ear. She looked between me and Zaria, then squinted her eyes at me and smiled. “So is Harkins your first name or last name?”

  “No one knows,” Zaria said, flashing me a look that meant trouble. “He’s like Cher. Or Madonna.”

  Fleur laughed. “No manlier examples? Let’s see, what men go by one name?”

  “Prince,” Zaria offered, smiling at my expense.

  Voices across the room grew louder. Two pretty-boys at the pool table, wearing college football jackets. They were indistinguishable from the others in their group—human, drunk, and looking to impress the blonde who watched them.

  “One more round. Come on, man. Double or nothing,” the first said.

  I watched from the corner of my eye, ready to move if the situation escalated.

  “Maybe more like Sting or Bono,” Fleur replied.

  “Ice-T,” Zaria said.

  “I said pay up,” the shorter of the two men said from his place in the back of the room. His muscles tensed. I rose from my seat.

  “What do you think, Harkins?” Fleur asked. “No comment?”

  “How ‘bout Mr. T,” I replied, without turning back.

  Zaria snorted. Fleur laughed and poured another drink for Zaria.

  My attention turned entirely to the two drunken college kids. The shorter one had a pug nose and fire in his eyes. He pushed the taller one. Anger, excitement, heavy breathing, hearts racing, sweat—I could smell the fight brewing.

  “It’s not that big of a deal, Brad,” a big guy with sandy hair said. He stood beside the two who scowled at each other, tension ready to boil. “Just pay him and let someone else take a turn.”

  “Cheater,” the short one said, pushing the tall one for the second time.

  It wouldn’t take much more; I could feel it. I weaved through the crowd, and waited.

  “Dick,” the tall one replied, with his ferret-face contorted in anger. He raised his fist.

  The first punch was thrown. Finally. A quick dive forward, and I held the man’s wrist, catching him mid-swing.

  “What the—” His fist remained clenched, and his eyes flicked from my hand to my face. Anger changed to confusion, then right back to anger.

  The short one’s eyes went wide.

  Then he too made a poor choice. He took my interference for opportunity and threw a swing of his own. I released Ferret-face and swiped my leg into the back of the short dumbass’s knees. When his balance was unsteady, I planted my fist into his face. The sting of my knuckles on his cartilage was exhilarating. A bar fight was exactly what I’d needed.

  “Time to leave,” I said.

  The pansy on the floor clasped his bloody nose in both hands.

  “Hey, man,” the tall one said. His voice cracked as it went up an octave. “We don’t want any trouble.” He leaned back away from me, hands in the air, reeking of fear.

  “Good,” I replied. “Get out of here.”

  The smart one left, knocking over a chair as he ran out the door. The dumb one climbed to his feet and charged at me. Anger radiated off of him. He ran like a bull, and I sidestepped with ease. He fell onto a table full of drinks, splashing the contents onto a couple snuggled on a chair.

  The woman screamed, and her date rose to his feet. “My jacket,” he squealed.

  I twisted the stupid kid’s arm up behind his back. He cried out as I lifted him upright and led him toward the door.

  I heard Lance behind me, apologizing to the couple coated in beer and wine. But my eyes stayed locked on the troublemaker.

  The door flung open as I shoved him through it. He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees. Part of me hoped he’d take another shot at me. Snowflakes landed like dandruff in his short, black hair. More appeared beneath streetlamps, as if materializing in the light. Cold winter air filled my lungs, and raised the hair on my bare arms. Only as I took in the silence, the peace of the empty street, did I realize how frustrated I’d allowed myself to become.

  “Don’t come back,” I said, as I watched him rise to his feet.

  He stared at me a moment, eyes filled with hate, as if contemplating another assault. Then he spat at my feet and walked away.

  I needed a mission. I needed something to do to keep me occupied while I waited for Christmas to pass, for memories of holidays long over to fade back where they belonged, and for Amy to come home. She was my sounding board, my friend, the one who grounded me. Her soothing smile was the best part of my day. She was gorgeous, too. I knew one day she’d find a mate and leave me behind, and this version of me would be all that remained. But for now, it was just a few days. Christmas would be over and Amy would come home.

  I took a deep breath before stepping back into the warmth of Sawtooth Den. The noise of happy voices chorused around the room. Even the woman in wine looked appeased, as did her date. It was a credit to Lance’s people skills.

  The long guitar riff from Free Bird played from the jukebox, and Fleur’s eyes met mine.

  “I’ve got it,” she said over the crowd. “Your last name is Barkins. Am I right? If you want me to stop guessing, all you have to do is tell me.”

  I was restless and not up for dealing with people. I needed out.

  Lance caught me by the door. “Harkins,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  “Send me somewhere,” I said.

  “Actually,” Lance said, “I was about to ask if you could meet with the alpha in Elkston for me. Trixie put together a basket, and I haven’t found anyone who can deliver—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  The phone rang behind the bar. “Sawtooth Den, this is Fleur,” the brunette answered.

  I couldn’t hear the voice
on the line with all of the noise, but somehow I knew the call was important. I could feel it.

  “Um, I’m not sure. I’m just standing in for her.” She was talking about Amy.

  I walked past Lance, through the crowd toward Fleur. My adrenaline spiked. Something was wrong.

  “Harkins?” I heard my alpha’s voice, but it hardly registered.

  “Do you know what time Amy left?” Fleur asked Zaria.

  I stood beside Zaria and looked to the substitute bartender. I said, “She left at nine.”

  “Thanks,” she said, then held the phone back to her ear and repeated, “She left at nine.”

  “Tonight?” The voice on the phone was a woman’s. She sounded worried, as concerned as I felt.

  “In the morning,” I said.

  Fleur relayed the message.

  “She should have been here hours ago,” the woman said. “It’s not like there’s anywhere to stop on the way. Are you sure she left at nine?. If Amy’s not there, then what happened to her?”

  Panic and purpose compelled me. Blood thrummed in my ears.

  Before I realized what I was doing, or comprehended the voices calling my name, I was outside. In my truck. Driving. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. I had to find Amy.

  Chapter Three

  Amy

  The deer’s long legs flexed with majestic grace, leaving distinct tracks in the white powder. Each footprint looked like a heart, two teardrops meeting in a point for every step. It was the size of the track that had lured me, the promise of a large buck. Alone in the snow-covered field, he was easy to follow. I could hear the flutter of his heartbeat even before I laid eyes on him. It was the black tip of his otherwise white tail that told me he was a mule deer. A two hundred and fifty-pound buck, of about five years. His long, elaborate antlers displayed his strength, as did his size. The fight he’d provide made him all the more alluring.

  Each step brought me closer to my prey. In the open fields of soft powder, with little cover to hide behind, he’d see me before long. I had to remain low, stay upwind, and be silent. But something was wrong. Unnatural. The snow wasn’t wet between the pads of my paws. There was no movement to the air. No upwind, because there was no wind. There were no scents of winter, of moist snow or thriving evergreens. I kept my distance from the buck, but I should have been able to smell him. There was nothing. It wasn’t right.

  White faded to black through the slits of my drowsy eyes. Was I sleeping? I tried to open my eyes, to find the buck. But there was no white field. No buck. Only black. My head was heavy, and the throbbing within overtook everything else. I raised my paw to take the next step, and found fingers instead. A blurry human hand. Was it shaking? Was that mine? Forcing my eyes to blink and widen, I strained to focus. So much pain.

  Saltwater, sand, and oak—I didn’t have to turn to know who was by my side. It was the man who was always there for me. We could have been at the bar, at a pack event, or on a mission. I knew James Harkins was always within reach. Tonight it was the woods. A wild grizzly cub had been seen outside Sawtooth Lodge, wandering too close to civilization. The sun would soon fall, and she needed to find her mother before some idiot with a gun decided to come out and help. There was never a shortage of unskilled, self-proclaimed hunters at the lodge. The call had come in from the scouts, from whichever sentries Lance had stationed to patrol the woods for the night. And Lance had sent Harkins to lure the cub back into the mountains. I had volunteered to help. Which led us to a dark night in the autumn woods.

  Dried pine needles covered the forest floor, though the tall evergreens were still full. Each step crunched on fallen sticks and needles. There was no need for stealth, though we both knew it was safest to complete this mission as wolves.

  He turned his back to me as soon as I slipped my jeans down over my hips. How many times had we shifted together over the years? Enough that it was commonplace. Still, Harkins always turned. It wasn’t just a woman thing. He ignored Zaria, Trixie, everyone else when they were naked, not acknowledging them or averting his gaze. It was me.

  “How long do you think we have before the cub causes trouble? Or the tourists do?” I asked, dropping the last of my clothes in the usual place. I used the same tree every time so I wouldn’t forget where I’d left my belongings. It was just far enough into the forest behind Sawtooth Den that we wouldn’t be seen shifting by the humans in town.

  “Not long,” Harkins replied, though his back was still turned to me. I looked over his broad shoulders, his thick arms, his tight ass. Just because he turned didn’t mean I had to. “It’s been half an hour since she was spotted. Won’t be long ’til some prick tries to impress his friends.”

  “Are you sure you can carry that thing in your teeth?” I asked, looking down at the slab of meat attached to a long bone.

  “You’ll have my back,” Harkins replied.

  “I will,” I agreed.

  Hair grew all over Harkins’s back, a coat of thick gray fur that covered his body. He dropped to all fours, and his face grew long. I closed my eyes and let go of what it meant to be human, let go of human speech and human form. Bones cracked and reformed, painful yet exhilarating. Shifting meant being more connected with the natural world. Worries faded behind the heightened senses of wolf form.

  Once we were both wolves, we headed out into the night. With fresh meat as bait, we quickly found the cub. She came running from the parking lot of the hotel, straight at Harkins, when we were close enough for the grizzly to get a whiff of the ham.

  Harkins dragged the ham along the ground, away from the barreling cub. I gave some distance, and followed behind the two.

  “Rather be on patrol than this,” Harkins said in shifter tongue, between gritted teeth. His jaw was clamped around the end of the long, fleshy ham bone. He backed slowly away from the cub, dragging the meat along the ground just out of the bear’s reach. “Wish you were still at the bar?”

  “Nah, it’s fun to mix it up every once in a while. Go out for some excitement or lure a bear cub away from civilization, in the best of company,” I said.

  “Better if a mission’s slow or dangerous, not both,” Harkins said.

  “Don’t worry. I have six nieces and seven nephews,” I said. “I’m great with kids.”

  “This isn’t a kid,” Harkins replied.

  “She’s not going to harm us,” I said, following slowly at the back of the line, behind the scarred, gray wolf and the fluffy, brown bear cub that was nearly as large. “She’s not going to harm anyone, right little bear? We’re going to get you back where you belong. Where you’ll be safe.”

  Harkins kept his pace the same as the cub’s, keeping the meat always ahead until we were about a mile away from the lodge. Then she dove.

  The cub batted the bone from Harkins’s teeth. Now that she’d caught the ham, we’d lost our bait. I watched the cub chew a mouthful of savory meat and wondered what exactly we were supposed to do next. We needed to keep moving.

  “It’s the mom I’m worried about,” Harkins said.

  “I think you should be more worried about how you’re going to get that—never mind.”

  The mother’s scent announced her presence. Mission accomplished.

  A giant grizzly roared as we backed away from her cub. She charged forward, closing the distance between herself and her offspring.

  “Run,” Harkins called, and I listened. Paws pounded the moist, packed dirt of the forest floor as we ran side by side toward Sawtooth Den. Adrenaline pumped and I could feel Harkins’s eyes on me.

  The bears didn’t follow. And then we were alone.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, still staring at me.

  “I’m not ready to call it a night yet,” I said. “Are you?”

  “No.”

  I flicked a pile of pine needles up at Harkins with my paw, and smiled as much as my wolf form allowed. He raced forward through the needles and around a t
ree.

  “Let’s run,” he said, smiling back.

  I followed. The forest was our playground, with moonlight illuminating the path through tree branches. Harkins fell back, brushed his shoulder against mine. Our eyes locked. We tripped over a root and tumbled onto a patch of soft ferns—onto each other.

  But that wasn’t now. It wasn’t right. Just like the deer, it wasn’t right. There were no scents. What was wrong with my nose?

  It was a memory. A memory of an exhilarating run through the woods, a successful mission, and the feeling that Harkins had wanted exactly what I wanted. It was the night that I had asked him over for a late dinner.

  His answer had been no.

  Wake up.

  It was cold. So cold. Yellow strands dangled above me in two clusters, one on each side of my head. My hair? That wasn’t right.

  None of this was right. My head was heavy; my arms were like lead. The seat belt dug into my thighs and my shoulder.

  I was upside down. I grabbed the wheel and braced myself as best as I could before releasing the belt.

  My arm buckled and the floor, no, roof came crashing down on my head. Everything hurt, stung, throbbed, or burned. I closed my eyes and saw the fluffy brown fur of the bear cub, the sharp tines of the buck’s antlers. When I blinked, I saw the splintered glass of the cracked windshield. And my phone.

  My vision was blurred, so I touched the screen and hit send. It didn’t matter who I called; anyone would do.

  Nothing happened. But I noticed the dried blood smeared across my palms. Dead zone was about to take on a new meaning.

  Twisting around, I reached for the door handle. The door didn’t budge. I tore the rearview from the rippled glass and bashed it into the side window. Glass cracked. My vision swirled and faded.

  Unsure how long I’d be conscious, I kicked in the direction of the driver side window, and slid myself through the small space.