Shifters of Silver Peak: Mate For A Month

Shifters of Silver Peak: Mate for a Month

Copyright 2015 by Georgette St. Clair

This book is intended for readers 18 and older only, due to adult content. It is a work of fiction. All characters and locations in this book are products of the imagination of the author. No shifters were harmed during the creation of this book.

License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Thanks so much for buying “Mate for a Month”! It can be read as a standalone, but if you’re interested in the first Silver Peak book, you can purchase it here:

http://www.amazon.com/Mate-Marked-Shifters-Silver-Peak-ebook/dp/B016G14KMU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1447720402&sr=8-1&keywords=mate+marked

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Monday morning

Oh no oh no oh no.
Eileen Pennyroyal’s mind raced with panic as she stared at the bear that stood between her and her car. She clenched her Coach purse to her chest as if it would shield her from the giant beast, and looked around. A million thoughts were racing through her head.
I just had to wear the heels. Why did I ever even come here? I should have known I’d fail. Daddy said I’d screw up, and I did.

And finally, as the bear began lumbering towards her,
At least I’m wearing clean underwear. Mother would have been so proud.

If only the bear was a shifter, it would probably be lumbering towards her in greeting rather than threat…but it wasn’t. Eileen, a wolf shifter, had an excellent sense of smell. The scent that drifted into her nostrils was pure animal.

What are you supposed to do when you’re confronted with a bear?
Eileen frantically searched the recesses of her memory. Damn it, how the hell should she know? She might be part wolf, but she lived on the Upper East Side. The closest she got to wildlife was feeding the pigeons in Central Park.

The bear reared up to its full height and let out a threatening growl. Panic clutched her throat, and she turned and ran. Her heel sank into the dirt on the side of the road and her ankle twisted painfully. She fell to the ground and dropped her purse, and felt her pants rip. The ground was hard and cold, rimed with frost. April in Montana. Mornings were still chilly.

Above her, she could see vultures drifting on the air currents in the bright blue sky. Turkey vultures, brown and white, with tiny bright red heads and hooked beaks. Looking for their next meal.

Oh, come on, you bastards.

Was it her imagination, or were they moving closer now?

Really? I hope you choke on my corpse.

Her purse lay next to her in the dirt, contents spilling out. She grabbed her keychain, which had pepper spray on it in case anybody tried to get fresh or mug her. Would it stop a bear? Doubtful, but Eileen Pennyroyal would go down fighting.

The bear was almost on top of her. It reared up with a terrible snarl – and then paused.

She heard angry snarling coming from her left, and twisted around to see what else was going to kill and eat her.

Standing downwind of her was an absolutely enormous gray wolf, crouched low and growling. Shifter wolf. She could tell because of the scent, and its size. All shifters were larger than their natural counterparts – that was part of the whole super-soldier experiment thing, make them big and fierce – but this one was huge even for a shifter.

The bear let out a low, threatening rumble and stood very still. Eileen sat there, clutching her pepper spray and holding her breath. She tried very hard to be invisible.

The bear was much bigger than the wolf, but all wild animals were freaked out by shifters in their animal form. Shifters smelled…wrong. Off. Unnatural.

After a long moment, the bear turned and loped off, disappearing into the treeline.

The air around the shifter seemed to shimmer as he turned human. Hair melted away, pointy ears shrank and rounded, tail vanished. Bones moved and rearranged themselves, and then he was a tall, muscular man crouching on the ground. He had dark hair buzzed close to his scalp, a strong jaw, and eyes with the whiskey-amber tint of a shifter’s. She couldn’t spot an ounce of fat on his body. There were several long scars on his torso and a few on his arms, which meant he’d been in some vicious fights with shifters. And lived to tell the tale.

He was also stark naked, of course, since he’d just shifted.

She looked away as he stood up, and a blush rose to her cheeks. He was proportional in size, all over. Huge. Good Lord.

She waited for him to walk over and hold his hand out to help her up, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. He was probably self-conscious because he was naked, she realized.

She scrambled to her feet, still holding her pepper spray. She looked him in the eyes, concentrating very hard on not letting her gaze drift south. She had been raised better than that – more’s the pity.

“Thank you for saving my life,” she said to him. “My name is Eileen Pennyroyal.” As soon as she mentioned her last name, she regretted it. A lot of people found it intimidating or off-putting.

But not this guy, apparently. He didn’t even react. Was it possible he hadn’t heard of the Pennyroyals? That would be a refreshing change.

“You’re a shifter,” he growled at her.

“Well, obviously.” The eyes and the scent gave it away, of course. Her eyes were a startling shade of gold.

He just stood there and stared, his warm breath making puffs of vapor in the chilly morning air. She was disconcerted. He didn’t seem embarrassed about his nudity; he wasn’t making any attempt to hide it.

“Why didn’t you shift?”

“What?” she said, rattled. He was really making her nervous. “Do you need some clothing? I’ve got a sheet in my car – you could wrap yourself in it.” She hadn’t checked in to the hotel yet, so she still had her suitcases in the car. She’d packed 1500 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets in case the hotel didn’t have any.

“Why would I wrap myself in a sheet?” He was staring at her as if she was crazy, and he was starting to seriously tick her off. First of all,
he
was the one standing there starkers with his enormous schlong hanging out, and he was looking at
her
funny? And he wasn’t attempting to flirt with her or charm her at all. Not that she would have gone for it, but still. A girl liked to have the option.

“Why didn’t you shift when you saw the bear?” He grunted as much as spoke, a scowl creasing his forehead.

“Oh.” She was taken aback. He was right – why hadn’t she shifted? Pure panic. She’d never been in physical danger in her life before. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?” He stared at her in disbelief. Then he cast a perplexed glance at her car, a gleaming gold 2015 Lexus, and back at her. She knew what he saw as he looked her up and down. Flat-ironed, artfully razored, shiny blond hair. Plum-colored cashmere cowl-neck sweater, perfectly color-coordinated with her wool slacks. High-heeled suede boots.

She looked ridiculously out of place standing on a narrow country road somewhere near Silver Peak, Montana.

“Did your car break down?”

“No,” she said. “I, uh, I’d been driving for a long time, and I got lost because my GPS couldn’t pick up a signal out here, and I had to stop, for, ah…a call of nature.” She blushed as she said it. How embarrassing.

“You mean you had to pee?” He looked even more baffled.

Well, of course she’d had to pee. But she hadn’t actually intended to say it and conjure up inelegant visions of her squatting in her heels, pants bunched up around her ankles, using a packet of tissues as toilet paper.

When she just stared at him and didn’t answer, he let out a grunt of annoyance. Then he pointed, jabbing the air with his finger. “Silver Peak is that way.” Without another word, he melted back into wolf form – and turned and loped back into the woods.

She gasped in outrage as she stomped back to her Lexus, climbed in and slammed the door. She’d nearly been eaten by a freaking bear! He hadn’t even asked if she was all right! He hadn’t even said his name! He hadn’t even tried to get her number!

Wait, of course he hadn’t, she scolded herself. She wouldn’t have given it to him if he’d asked. She was attracted to men of sophistication and style, not rude, grunting, naked strangers who were incredibly handsome and stupidly not interested in her.

She sat there for a minute, composing herself. And she closed her eyes and summoned up her late mother’s voice, which she hadn’t heard since she was twelve.

You can do this, Eileen.

She smiled at the memory of the faintly British accent. Her mother had been born in upstate New York, and attended a prep school there, but had gone to university at Cambridge. She’d picked up a trace of an accent that she’d never lost.

Her mother had promised her, shortly before passing away from cancer, that Eileen would never really be alone. Whenever Eileen wanted to talk to her, she could – and her mother would be listening. And she’d always be proud of her.

Then she heard her father’s voice echoing in her head.
No way are you going to Silver Peak. You’d screw it up like you screw up everything. Thank God you’ll be safely married off soon.

She shook herself.

She’d left the safety and sophistication of her expensive penthouse condo in her father’s doorman-guarded building for a good reason.

She was going to convince the Kincaid Pack to allow her father’s business to build a road through their land. There were very few places left to build in Silver Peak, because of the construction boom there, and the Kincaid Pack happened to own prime land right next to the spot where a cluster of amazing mineral springs had been discovered the previous summer. Her father had purchased property near the springs, but currently that property was land-locked – and worth nothing without access. They needed this deal.

Once she’d negotiated that contract, her father would see that she wasn’t totally incompetent, and he’d listen to her when she said she didn’t want to marry Beacham Haversham.

She wasn’t going to let a little thing like a near-death experience with a bear and an encounter with the rudest man she’d ever met dissuade her. She would not be safely married off soon, to Beacham or anyone. She would prove her worth.

With a determined nod, she started her car and headed towards Silver Peak.

Monday evening

The sun was low on the horizon and there was a chill in the air.

Marcus stood in the small workshop near his cabin. It was unheated, just the way Marcus liked it, and smelled of wood shavings and sap. He set down his palm gauge with his other tools on the broad-planked handmade table and surveyed his work.

When he carved, it took so much concentration that he was able to block out all the ugly thoughts. All the dark memories. But when he finished his latest project, he was empty and the darkness came rushing in.

The soft white linden wood had been shaped into a detailed frieze. He’d spent the last couple of weeks working on it in his spare time.

With chisels and blades and gauges, he’d carved out a woodland scene with robins sitting on a curved branch. Their heads were tipped back in song. He admired the veins on the leaves and the individual feathers on the birds.

Then he picked the piece up and carried it outside to the woodpile. He lay it down on the tree stump he used as a chopping block. He picked up the ax that was leaning on the chopping block, raised it high overhead, and brought it down again and again, sending splinters of wood exploding through the air.

As he did, dark, ugly pictures from his past flashed through his mind. Despite the cold air, sweat beaded on his forehead and poured down his face.

He looked down. The frieze was in splinters.

Off on the edge of the grove, the wind carried the scent of shifter, and he could hear footsteps crunching across the leaves on the ground.

It was Roman.

“Don’t recall sending you an invitation,” Marcus growled at him.

Marcus was even more irritable than usual. He’d met a woman earlier that day. A strange, golden-haired woman who had shifter eyes but looked almost too delicate to be a shifter. She’d looked at him as if he were some kind of monster. He was, of course – he could barely stand to be in his own skin. But for some reason it had bothered him that she could see it in him. For reasons he couldn’t understand, he’d wanted her to smile at him. Of course, he’d been scowling the whole time, so maybe that was why she hadn’t smiled.

Or maybe she’d just been able to see right through him, and had known what he really was.

Roman stalked towards him, and Marcus set the ax down next to the tree stump.

“Make yourself at home.” He scowled at Roman. “Can I get you a beer? Oops, fresh out. How about directions back to your house? That way.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of Roman’s cabin.

Near the tree stump was a wooden table and a wooden chair. One wooden chair. Marcus did not like to encourage company.

Roman sat on the table and pointed at the chair. “Sit,” he snapped at Marcus.

Marcus heaved a sigh and glanced around with a scowl. His property was a couple of wooded acres located towards the back of the Kincaid Pack’s lands. He’d built his cabin and workshop himself, turning down the pack’s offer of assistance.

He settled into the chair. His Alpha had given him an order. He didn’t like it, but then he didn’t like social contact in general.

“Yeah,” Marcus grunted, settling back in his chair. “What?”

He suddenly wondered if the woman had complained about him. It was surprising how much the thought stung – not that he cared what anybody thought of him.

Good thing she was obviously some kind of city slicker tourist who’d be leaving town soon, because that kind of distraction, he didn’t need. He was barely keeping it together these days as it was.

“You haven’t been at the job site in three days.” Roman’s amber eyes bored into him.

So, not the woman, then.

Where is she? What is she doing right now?

And why does that matter?

Marcus shrugged.

“If I don’t show up to work, I don’t get paid. It’s my bank account, not yours. So?” he grumbled.

“You haven’t come to any meals with the pack. It’s been weeks. You were barely meeting the requirements before, and now you’re flat out violating them. You’re begging for the Council for Shifter Affairs to come down on us. I’m surprised they haven’t been here yet.”

Marcus felt a dark tide of anger and frustration wash over him, but it was directed at himself, not Roman or even the council. “You’re right,” he said gruffly. “I’m sorry.”

Roman shook his head in frustration, running his fingers through his long, thick hair. “I just hope it’s not too late. We’ve already gotten complaints from them about you, and I don’t need to tell you what that could mean for the rest of the pack. Dinner starts in half an hour. Be there. The van leaves for work tomorrow at seven sharp. Be on it.”

Marcus thought of pointing out that he didn’t need to ride in the van – he had his own car and he could drive to the job site himself – but now was not the time. Roman wanted him around the others as much as possible, to strengthen their case if the council came after him.

He nodded shortly, then turned and headed back towards his cabin. He glanced back to see Roman walking back in the direction of the camp with long, angry strides.

Why was the darkness coming back for him now? It had been fading bit by bit over the years…and now it roared back, during the daytime, at night, come to claim him. To drag him down to the depths of madness. It had started a few weeks ago, and it was getting worse by the day.

It would have been better for everyone if he’d died with the others all those years ago. He knew that now, but the survival instinct was a powerful one.

He snatched up the small table that sat next to his Adirondack chair. He’d built that by hand as well, like everything in the cabin.

He smashed it on the ground again and again, until there was nothing left but splintered shards of wood.

He closed his eyes, and a picture swam in front of his face. It was a picture of a friend, face bloodied, light fading from his eyes…

On the day that friend had died, Marcus had made a silent promise. He’d find his surviving family and take care of them.

And he’d kept that promise. Sent anonymous checks every month to Matthew’s mother. Stepped in when his younger brother had got in trouble.

And there were the other two…who’d survived, but with their minds broken. They were in an institution now. He sent money to their families as well.

Marcus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had to hang on for their sakes. Had to. And Roman’s pack was his last hope.

Roman had started the pack for other shifters like him. Misfits, rejects, people on the run from their pasts. He asked no questions. Nobody discussed their past. He expected them to be reasonably civil to each other and to pull their weight, and that was it.

The problem was, shifters who did not socialize with other shifters on a regular basis went feral, which made them a danger to everybody. That was just another gift from the secret government program that had created them in the 1930s – and spun out of control when terrorists had stolen the compound that created shifters and put it in the public water supply in numerous cities.

There were all kinds of weird issues with the various types of shifters that had been created, including mutant strains of psychic powers in some families. But one thing that was consistent with all of them was the need to spend time with others of their own kind.

Because of the danger posed by shifters gone feral, the council required their Alphas or pride leaders to report in regularly, with proof that their unmated pack or pride members had been spending at least five days out of seven, every week, with their pack.

Pack members with mates could get away with as little as two or three days a week, but Marcus didn’t have a mate.

Marcus regularly broke the rules when it came to socializing. He pushed it more than anyone in Roman’s pack. And they were not a pack which could stand up to scrutiny. They were like the French Foreign Legion of shifters. They had ugly pasts. Some of them were probably hiding out from the law and living under fake names. Some of them, God help them, might have had pasts like Marcus’.

Images flashed through his mind again.

He was in the cage before a fight, and his tormenters were jabbing at him with the shock stick. They screamed and jeered at him. Sizzling agony seared through his body.

He did now what he’d always done back then – threw back his head and laughed, a harsh, angry sound laced with madness.

“That all you got?” he shouted at the ghosts in his mind.

Just like ten years ago.

“That all you got?” he would shout at the guard. The look of shock and rage on the guard’s face always made him laugh even harder. The other prisoners screamed and threatened. Some begged. Not Marcus. He wouldn’t give them that.