by Elle Lincoln
“They did, yes.” Nessa begins stomping around with me.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought this was a group effort.” She blinks at me, wide-eyed.
“Yeah, Bean.” Pepper stands, stomping across the floor with Ash following behind her.
“You three are crazy!”
“Yeah, but you love us this way.”
“I do. Of course I do.” We stomp to the front door where we grab more drinks, and then to the balcony and down to the firepit. Laughter bubbles from my lungs as peace fills me. I have four mates and my family here. Contentedness washes over me, drowning out all the unknowns, at least for now. I have time to understand everything.
Time. Especially being mated to wolves, I have hundreds of years.
“What’s that smile for?” Nessa drags a chair over to the pit.
“You guys need to find your mates so we can make this a thing.” I wave my hands at them.
“A thing?” Ash smirks, the grammar Nazi.
“Yes, a thing. This is now our thing. Us together for the next few hundred or so years.” I stand with my hands on my hips.
“You think we’ll act like we’re in our twenties for the rest of our lives?” Pepper wrinkles her nose as though that thought alone disgusts her more than anything else.
“Of course not.” I wave her concern away. “But no matter where we are in life. No matter what we are doing—”
“You mean who we are doing,” Pepper quips, earning a smack from Ash.
“That too,” I answer with a smile, the sugar and malt seeping into my bones. “Every adventure will always begin and end with you three. We will always come together and find home in each other. I may have mates in a sub-pack. But you girls, you are my own personal chosen wolf pack.”
“I’m going to cry.” Nessa wipes away an actual tear. “You girls are my pack. My home.”
“Let’s howl at the moon!” Pepper jumps up, pointing to the full moon heavy in the dusky sky.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three!”
Together we howl at the moon, our bond solidifying in that moment and sinking into my heart and soul where these three slice and carve their way in. They’re more than cousins, more than friends, and more than family.
They are my chosen and there is magic in that.
“Now how do we start a fire?” Nessa questions, her voice back to naïve and tinny.
“Hold my beer.” I thrust my drink at her.
“Is this one of those moments that I’m going to make into a meme?” Pepper leans back in her Adirondack chair, flicking off her flats.
“Yes.” Nessa takes my drink as I walk toward the stockpile of wood at the back of the cabin.
“It’s cider!” Pepper’s voice echoes all around me.
I wondered which one of them would correct that. “Grab a lighter and some old newspaper, I’ll be right back,” I call over my shoulder.
My smile takes over my entire face as I march around the house. My fingers slide along the wood Dad carved out, around to the back toward the stack of wood. Cobwebs greet me, tickling my fingers, but not even those dim my happiness.
Finally, my eyes land on the woodpile, the very empty wood pile. Dammit, Dad wasn’t around to stock the pile up. Frowning, I gaze into the thicket of trees, knowing I’ll be able to grab an armful of wood. Or better yet, I can find a downed tree from the storm last night and drag it back. It’s not perfect for a fire, but it’ll be fine. I’ll just have to make sure to grab some dried out twigs.
This is my moment to prove I’m not the weakest link. That I can do things on my own and for myself. To step out of the stereotype of damsel. Sure, it’s just collecting wood, but to me this is the first step on the road to becoming a badass.
Above, night begins to truly fall. My feet crunch as I step into the copse of trees. A spiderweb grazes my arm once more, and I wrap it up and flick it away as I breach the wooden entrance into the lush forest.
Heart pounding, I laugh at myself as I head toward the once worn out trail Dad and I used to take. My smile is still plastered on my face, and even more so as I hear the girls howling at the moon again.
Deeper and deeper I go, looking for that perfect fallen tree. Finally, in front of me, a preschooler of a tree sits with a crack at the base, lying on its side. Leaning down, I grip the base and twist just like Dad showed me. The ends fray as a crunch sounds to my left.
Pausing, I turn, my brows furrowed when I see nothing. No shadow movement. I need to turn back now, or else I may get lost out here. As long as I head in that direction, I’ll be okay. I squint, just barely making out the brown of the cabin.
I spin back around, reaching down for my tree, but I never get a chance to grab it.
A scream tears from my throat when I see the man standing in front of me. Quickly, he hops over the log and covers my mouth with his hand, stealing my scream. His other hand slams against the base of my throat, threatening to collapse my airway as his grip tightens. My body hums with danger, and in my chest my heart thumps out an erratic pattern. Adrenaline courses through me, igniting me from the inside out as though I’ve gripped a live wire.
Yet, it isn’t his presence that sets me on edge.
Nor his eyes that devour me from head to toe.
But the pinch that begins in my chest.
A Note From Elle
I want to say I’m sorry about that…
But let’s be real. I’m not.
Shhh. No need for pitchforks and torches. Book 2 is almost done. You just kinda have to wait a little. Like October. I got some other books you can check out on the next page or find me on social media. I’m a little bit crazy but I hope I’m your kind of crazy.
Not into that much crazy? Sign up for my Newsletter where I’m relatively normal. Mostly.
Lies. I can’t make any promises.
Elle
P.S. Reviews are nice. They are like online fairy kisses. Every time you leave one a fairy gets a candy. You wouldn’t want to deprive the fae of their sweets, now would you?
Also by Elle Lincoln
Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance
The Raven Trilogy
Writing as Sarah Black
Urban Fantasy
Blood Rite - Witch’s Reign Book 1
About the Author
Elle Lincoln has been writing out her dreams and even nightmares for over a decade. She believes in magic in all forms, and oftentimes you’ll find her daydreaming in the oddest of places. Her passion is Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance, where the men are a little bit real and a dash of mythical.
When Elle isn’t writing she’s probably chasing around her four children, child-like husband, and a rambunctious Australian Shepherd. All who keep her on her toes. Nice try with the distractions, but mommy still got those books written and published. She resides in the beautiful state of Pennsylvania with lore and legends, and a whole lot of cornfields.
www.ellelincoln.com
