I open my eyes bathed in the sunlight. I first look to the crib that sets near my bed, but finding it empty, I do not panic. Next, I look to the clock on my phone. It is nine in the morning. Which means my amazing mate has let me sleep in again. Our baby girl Sage has an internal alarm clock that defaults every morning at six a.m. and her big brother Gauge is hardwired to awaken by seven thirty. Slade has gotten up with our cubs this morning and let me catch up on some much-needed rest.Juggling a four-month-old, a toddler, a part time job, an apprenticeship, and the final semester of nursing school is tough. But Slade makes everything easier. We are very much in a partnership and he’s a very hands-on Father. My mate doesn’t mind breaking traditional pack roles and being a stay-at-home Dad. His wood working business is really taking off. He makes custom made furniture right from the shed we set up outside our cabin. And the orders keep rolling in. He has a passion for it. After I grad
I lie awake that night, with my mate’s body molded into mine. I was careful not to show her my fear when she told me she was carrying my cub again. Last time, in the days leading up to our daughter’s birth, I was a fucking mess. My mate sent me calming thoughts through the bond, even throughout our daughter’s birth, though I should have been the one to comfort her. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed, as Sage was born beneath the grove of Alder trees. I cried tears of not only joy, but also great relief, that the moon was in our favor that night.But the moon is not without mercy. Tonight, the moon grants me a dream. Of the things to come. Parts of me and Sloane’s story still being written. I am holding my mate’s hand, on the night of the spring equinox, when she births our twin daughters Ava and Caralee, both squalling into this world. Jack and Everest follow a few years after. I watch flashes of our cubs growing, chasing rabbits and fireflies in the woods, then ta
I jump off the school bus and run down the driveway so quickly, my braids flap in the wind behind me, and I’m careful to keep a tight grip on the pink envelope in my left hand, so the wind doesn’t snatch it away. I smile to myself as I throw open my front door, wipe a coating of pink glitter off my free hand onto my jeans, and then toss my backpack down by the entryway. I kick my sneakers off next, barely slowing as I make my way down the hallway. The house smells familiar, of apple cinnamon melted wax, which Mom likes to leave all over the place in those decorative warmers. Even though we’ve moved for Dad’s job so many times I’ve lost count over the past five years, that scent is the one thing that always stays the same, the smell of home. “Mom!” I call out happily. I follow the sounds of a musical number into the living room and find my little sister CeCe dressed as a princess dancing along to her favorite cartoon. Well favorite this week anyway. I’ve heard this song a million tim
“I still can’t believe Uncle Alder let you come. I’ll bet your balls haven’t even dropped yet,” my cousin River ends with a laugh. “You’re just jealous because Willow stole yours cuz,” I counter, “everyone knows she’s the dominant in your relationship. And you’re just the little bitch.” River throws back his head and laughs in a mocking way. Though I don’t hear him deny the words I’ve spoken about his mate back home in Shadow Ridge. In the parking lot of a big rig friendly gas station, twenty miles outside of Camden, Indiana, he leans against the open truck door lazily. He’s the lightest of my cousins, his human skin a shade that refuses to darken much no matter how long he spends in the sun, long fire red hair, and freckled skin from his head to his toes. He’s leaner too, and shares no features with the other Ironclaw’s, so much it’s a long running family joke that he got his name from being found by the river as a cub, abandoned for being the runt of his own pack. This grimy tru
The dirty man stares at me from across the kitchen with no traces of fear or surprise on his face, almost as if he expected to find me here. I force a breath into my shuddering chest. I need to do what he says so no one gets hurt. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Even though I don’t see a weapon in his hand, I know this stranger is dangerous. There’s something about him that I just can’t quite name, something animal like. I can’t believe this is really happening. “There’s a good girl. Stay nice and quiet,” he says, “stay right there and don’t move.” I couldn’t move right now even if I wanted to. I always thought myself brave. I wasn’t afraid of the dark or snakes or spiders or climbing high trees or scary movies. Fearless, Mom would say, but I know that’s not true. Especially now, because if I was all those things, I’d grab one of those knifes from the butcher block, I’d open my mouth to let out the scream I was holding in, and I would run to get away from this man to safety, get he
We rent a couple rooms out in a motel on the outskirts of Camden to clean up and catch a few hours of shut eye before tonight’s hunt. We have to do most of our investigations during nightfall, as several large wolves stalking the walking trails in broad daylight would be sure to draw too much unwanted attention. Wolves are nocturnal creatures for one thing, and our pack members are much bigger than your garden variety wolf, so eight of us spotted in a small, rural town while the sun is still up, would likely cause a panic. Night not only gives us the most freedom to roam the crime scene and track the creature responsible for the local dead man, but it also gives us a chance to blend into the forest and shadows to escape unwanted eyes and recorded videos from gob smacked bystanders. Not to mention, the town of Camden is mostly farmlands, with large open spaces, and fewer places to hide in the sun. The place where the hiker was drug from the trail, is like the only wooded area in the
I awake with a cry and a fierce burning in my cheek. I can’t make sense of much for a while, just that my face bounces off the seat of a vehicle, each impact sends shooting pains that fill my eyes with tears and steal my breath. I can feel my blood, as it clings to my neck, feel it soaking the tie-dye shirt I wore to school. I try to understand what is happening. Why it’s dark and I hurt so badly and where I am. But when I do, when it comes flooding back in jagged pieces, sharp enough to cut, I long to close my eyes again and make it all go away. The truth hurts so much worse than the pain tearing at my face. Then the memory of the monster striking me with his claws. I slowly touch my cheek, my hand quakes by what I’m afraid to find there. I wince when I feel the warm sticky blood that still oozes from the deep scratches I trace with my fingertips. I stop when it hurts too bad to continue. Mom. Dad. Max. All gone. The monster got in. It caught us. Where is CeCe? That thought sends me
By the time the moon and stars come out to greet us, we are amped and restless, ready to join the hunt. Except for Clay, who smells of a human female, and smiles serenely from ear to ear. He’s burned off the tension of the upcoming hunt in the best ways he knows how. Wolfe mouths off about not getting lucky and having to fulfill the grunt work orders from the beta in command. Clay rubs it in every chance he gets as we load the gear and prepare to depart for the nature trails across town. He gloats by giving details of the fuck he just gifted a human girl, as if it was the best ride of her life. I roll my eyes and River laughs and calls him out. River claims to be the Alpha in that regard when it comes to satisfying a female in all ways. But that is certainly up for debate. Growing up with the pack, with shedding our clothes and human skins to merge with our inner wolf, is a way of life. We shift back into the state of birth, naked and unbothered by it. Shame over nudity and modesty