Mated by Moonlight

by Jessa Slade

Steel Born - 3

Chapter 1

So, an Alpha female wereling walks into a bar, and...

The rest of the joke was on Beck Villanova as his good sense evaporated like dry ice at the sight of the pocket-size beauty stalking toward him. Waves of lustrous sable hair brushed her shoulders when she twisted her curvy hips to angle between the close-packed tables. A whisper of night wind from her entrance carried her scent to him: rich, warm and spicy as an amber incense stick, smoldering.

Thankfully, the massive pine bar stood between them, or he might’ve gone right to her. His uncle who’d carved the soft wood himself more than fifty years ago to honor the trees felled to make way for the Sun-Down Tavern would no doubt have had a better joke about mighty wood.

Distracted by the insistent thump of his cock against the fly of his jeans, Beck half turned toward the taps and gave himself a quick adjustment. The brush of his hand made him groan as his erection surged higher.

He sent a sidelong glance across the busy tavern. Damn, but Merrilee was in fine form tonight.

Though he’d tried not to listen, he’d heard she was out of town last week, and judging by the sleek way she was pulled together, she’d just gotten back. Life in the Eastern Oregon mountains even in early summer tended toward flannel and denim, so her sleeveless Chinese blouse and ankle-length skirt with its slit-up-to-there ventilation looked wildly out of place.

And wildly sexy. Emphasis on the wild.

She paused to chat up a table of grizzled old-timers. Mad Dog Valley wasn’t big, so everyone knew everyone except for the tourists who came through to take advantage of the pretty vistas and outdoor activities. She smiled at Orson, ringleader of the gray-hairs, and continued her progress across the bar.

The click of her high heels tripped up Beck’s spine like teasing fingertips. Only a woman with wereling grace could walk the gravel parking lot in heels that high without breaking stride or her ankle. He found his hand on the bar rag making restless circles on the pristine pine, but all he felt under his fingers was the lush, heavy weight of her dark hair as he angled her mouth toward his aching flesh.

He swallowed hard and averted his gaze. If she glimpsed his inappropriate thoughts, she’d be on him in a heartbeat.

Not that he’d mind.

He jerked his eyes back up. Damn it, he was Alpha here, in his own territory and in his own bar. She wasn’t going to make him look away with merely a twitch of her mesmerizing ass.

He wanted to stick his head under the ice-cold flow of the taps. Or maybe he just needed to put the dispenser down his pants.

Instead, he turned to the back bar to grab a wine bottle. An up-and-coming Columbia Gorge vintage he wouldn’t have known to stock, except he’d heard Merrilee’s design company was masterminding the vineyard’s ad campaign.

“Oh, God, Beck, no more wine.” Her throaty voice wrapped around him like cool night fog. “Give me one of your homebrews.”

He veered his hand toward a pint glass. She’d made it clear enough last time, two Alphas should consider themselves lucky not to tear each others’ throats out, so he kept his tone pleasantly neutral. “How was your flight back?”

“Came in over Hell’s Canyon just as the sun was setting with a full moon chasing my tail.” She slid onto a stool and watched with avid hunger as he poured in two slow stages to give her the dense, creamy head of a good stout.

Moving closer to the bar to hide his erection, he slid the glass gently toward her, relieved his hand didn’t shake. That comment about chasing her tail...

She met his gaze—her blue eyes piercing his soul like the sight of a perfect, cloudless sky—and saluted him with the glass before she tipped his brew to her lips.

He took the unguarded moment to study the exposed column of her neck between the three undone buttons of her collar. His heartbeat stuttered and reset itself in time with the barely visible throb of her pulse.

When she finally put the glass down, half the beer was gone and most of his composure. Friend zone, he reminded himself sternly. Only a little more dangerous than a demilitarized zone.

She licked a spot of foam from her upper lip. “Ah. Now I’m great.”

“Tough week at the office?”

“You have no idea.” She leaned down—giving him a glimpse between those three loosened buttons to the shadow between her breasts—to pull off her shoes. “Why didn’t I pick a job like bartending that would keep me barefoot at home?” She set the piercing heels on the stool next to her.

Good thing the stools were hardwood. Just like the rest of him. Which didn’t stop her comment from poking him a bit. So he was a homebody, so what? He’d done his adventuring and hadn’t found what he was looking for out there. “I guess that’s what you get for running such a successful business.”

She grimaced and took another drink. “Telecommuting sounds good, but the big clients always want to meet in person.” She wet her lips again. None of the natural redness left her mouth.

Beck refused to look away, much as he imagined some New York exec had glimpsed her photo on her company’s “about” page and demanded a face-to-face.

Her pack, which claimed the upper end of the valley, was full of creative types. Her Beta, Keisha, took nature photos for all the best magazines. Even in black-and-white, Keisha had captured a hint of Merrilee’s Alpha presence: strong, focused and always in command. Seeing her in living, breathing color with those blue eyes and red lips, any man would want to capture more.

Not that an Alpha would ever allow such liberties.

Merrilee kept one hand on her beer as she swiveled the stool to half face the room, the chatting of the patrons a contented murmur in the background. “And how is the Beck pack?”

The small town—home to his pack as well as a mix of unaffiliated werelings and unsuspecting humans—nestled about two-thirds of the way up Mad Dog Valley. Merrilee’s great-grandmother had claimed the lake in the hills above to the wilderness beyond. Female Alphas—unusual among wolf-kind—had held the land ever since, even when Beck’s great-granduncle’s bigger pack had claimed the town and the lower valley and spread out onto the ranchlands below.

“Been quiet,” Beck said. “No more wanderers.”

“Speaking of.” She took another drink and glanced at him. “I’m sure you’re wondering what happened to that loner who drifted through last month.”

He shrugged. “We followed him to the edge of our territory and then I called you. I’m sure you took care of it.”

Even though he’d longed to continue the hunt onto her lands. He had met her in his human shape while she had already been in her verita luna her Second Truth. When he pointed to where the prints crossed the invisible line between them, she had blinked at him—her blue eyes paler and more piercing in wereling form—then lowered her nose to the scent and trotted off.

Stopping himself from chasing after her that night had taken all of his considerable strength. Since then, he’d been working out.

A lot.

She quirked her lips, as if she knew what he was thinking. “His tracks headed upcountry, out into the wilderness. I have Peter and a couple others patrolling that border. If he crosses back, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it.” She tilted her head toward the tavern patrons.

He found a grin at her disgruntled tone. “Small towns are the best, aren’t they?”

She looked at him through her lashes. “Unless you want to keep something quiet.”

His smile slipped. Maybe he was getting tired of secrets.

She finished her beer with another swipe of her red lips and grabbed her shoes. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you later.”

She didn’t make it a question and certainly didn’t wait for his answer, just sauntered out with those high heels slung over her shoulder. He stared toward the door for a long moment, even after it closed, before he reached for her bottle, aligning his fingers with the empty places her grip had left in the condensation.

By the time he closed the till—after finally booting Orson and his cohorts into the night at the end of one of their impromptu barbershop quartet sessions—and hauled the trash out back, the moon was directly overhead.

In the silvery light, the parking lot looked like a sea of ice, and a shiver raised the hair at his nape. He walked the bar’s perimeter once, running his hand over the seat of his Harley as he passed.

Since the Sun-Down was situated at one end of the main street, he looked straight up the dark asphalt to the slumbering town, all in classic-movie grays. From the alleys branching out to various backyards, Orson’s tenor warbled “Bright Was the Night” and his quartet answered from their own stoops. When their doors closed, the street was quiet.

Behind the tavern, a line of trees marched up to the ridgeline like a finger pointing to the forested mountains. The moonlight turned the pine needles to pewter, leaving the shadows underneath more mysterious in comparison.

Feeling the subtle prickle of a watchful gaze sweep over his skin, Beck faced the darkness. “I know you’re out there.”

The darkness held its breath, but it had been a long night—a long time—and frustration grated on him like the parking lot gravel.

“Quit hiding, little girl.” He knew that would work.

From the pitch-black under the pines glided a lean shape that did not give up its sable darkness despite stepping into the moonlight.

At a distance, the shape screamed wolf. Sometimes outsiders literally screamed wolf. But the faint glimmer of the verita luna lingering around her was a clue to anyone who knew to look that this was no ordinary canid.

She chuffed at him, a reprimand for the little girl remark.

He was in no mood to be scolded. “You forgot to pay for the beer.”

Quick as a thought, she dodged at him. Her shining teeth caught his pant leg and tugged him off balance before she jumped away.

He staggered and almost went down. “What, you left without a word, and now you want to play? You can’t have it both ways.”

She growled. Werelings in the verita luna were always more volatile, their human-style principles and filters stripped away.

He knew his complaint was stupid—werelings lived two ways every day—but the sight of her all dolled up had reminded him of the distance between them. And how easily she always walked away, whether in high heels or barefoot. “Go home. I’m done with your games.”

She stared at him. The moonlight couldn’t catch her plush, dark fur but it glimmered in her pale eyes.

“Shoo,” he said.

She charged.

He was hampered by the towering bulk of his human body while she was smooth and quick in her four-pawed drive. Her teeth caught his jeans again, higher on his thigh this time, too close for comfort. Denim ripped with a sound like laughter, and a gust of cool night air wafted across his privates before she danced back.

“Dammit, Mer!”

She darted forward again, but this time he was ready. As she came at him, he juked and caught her by her scruff and the thick base of her tail. She was a bit of a thing, especially for wolf-kind, and he was big for any man. He hefted her weight easily.

She yelped as her paws left the ground, but mercilessly, he tossed her into the stock tank he kept filled for the ranchers and pleasure riders who stopped for drinks.

The splash was mighty, but not nearly as impressive as the snarling.

He stood with his hands on his hips. Oh shucks, he had infuriated the beast.

She launched out of the tank with her back paws braced on the steel rim. He had just enough time to admire the wild ice shine in her eyes before she hit him square in the chest.

He went over backward like an axed pine tree, one arm curling protectively around her wet fur. Gah, his stupid body wouldn’t let her fall even though she was the one at fault.

He lay in the gravel, staring up at the moon, while she scrambled to her feet, her front paws braced on either side of him. She shook, sending a cloud of damp diamonds in all directions. The scent of her—pine duff and warm spices and secret shadow places—made his breath catch.

That and her back paw in his crotch.

He sat up to heave her off his chest. “Forget it, Merrilee. I’m not interested—”

She snagged the hem of his T-shirt in her teeth and sprang over him, skimming the fabric inside out over his head.

He swiped at her, but she was off and running, his shirt between her teeth and her tail between her legs.

Which was a load of horseshit. She wasn’t afraid of him or anybody. But she should be. That was his favorite shirt.

Chapter 2

She ran. It felt good to run with her kill in her teeth and the bright moon on her back. And Beck was behind her, which made running even better.

Weaving between the blackjack pines, she chanced a glance back. He would need a moment to recover from the unsettling transformation of the verita luna, when the beast was dominant, but she knew he was fast—There! That brindled flash between the trees was Beck’s rich brown hair streaked with sun-bleached locks and a bit of gray at the temples from being so damned honorable.

She thrashed her head from side to side, slinging the T-shirt through the pine needles. He called the shirt a classic. Most of the band members featured on the front had died of overdoses decades ago.

Which was still more recent than the decade Beck occupied in his head.

She had sensed his irritation when she talked about her job. In his 1950s mind, he probably believed she should stay home. Probably thought she should turn over her pack lands to him. With a belly roll while she was at it.

Although sometimes it might be nice to share the burden...

No. Her pack expected more from her.

A hundred years ago, her ancestress had defied wolf-kind patriarchy to kill the abusive Alpha who had battered the pack and founded a place for werelings with their own unique ways. But championing such a sanctuary required a leader tough enough to hold hidebound traditions at bay while still holding the pack together, a precarious balance upon which rested their independence. To each female Alpha since came the same warning: Be strong always.

She thrashed the T-shirt again as if it had questioned her vow.

From behind her, a low, deep roll like thunder vibrated in her bones. For half a heartbeat, she wondered if Beck’s inner beast still had the upper hand. Or paw, as it were. But it was rare that the verita luna, the Second Truth, completely eclipsed the more human aspect. Werelings spent most of their childhoods in their upright forms, learning the intricacies of the human world and human control, before puberty made the shift—and the passions of the beast—inevitable.

Of all werelings to succumb to the il-luna, it would not be Beck Villanova. From his strictly traditional upbringing, right down to a stint in the army, he was the perfectly controlled Alpha. She’d had to practically bite him to get him to shift. She shook her head at her own flight of nerves. Beck would never let his beastly side rule unopposed.

Although sometimes she fantasized about the possibility.

The whiff of his manly sweat was ripe in her nostrils from the T-shirt he’d worked in all night. The bite of whiskey and the smoky scent of bacon were heady enough, but the hints of leather, musk and books also made her senses whirl.

Books? Had he been out running even once in the time she’d been in New York? No wonder he was so slow—

With a roar, a large shape dropped to the path in front of her. She tried to dodge, but he clamped his teeth on the T-shirt. Since she refused to let go, her momentum whipped her around. Her paws left the ground and she was airborne. Which reminded her, she owed him for dunk-tanking her.

When she opened her jaws, she went flying. She landed in a poof of pine needles and lay still. Wait for it...

Beck’s presence loomed in her awareness, though her eyes were closed. Wait for it...

He whined softly, even more softly than the whisper of worn cotton as he dropped the T-shirt.

Instantly, she scrabbled up, seized the T-shirt and fled.

Through the trees—weaving, dodging, their twinned shadows dark as ravens skimming across the earth, silvery under the moon—up to the ridgeline, higher yet to where the trees thinned and the moonlight thickened and the town was just an old campfire of cool, yellowing embers below them.

In a small clearing, lush with early-summer grasses, she slowed. She expected him to pounce, but instead he kept pace just behind.

She trotted in a circle to face him, finally letting the prize fall between them.

Beck was magnificent, even for wolf-kind. He sacrificed none of his immense size to the change. If anything, his heavy ruff and luxurious tail tipped with silver made him seem even larger in the verita luna.

His eyes were the same molten gold though. Not exactly the same, of course. A wereling’s eyes always seemed brighter, as if some tarnish of the human flesh was scoured away in the Second Truth. Despite the flattening effects of the moonlight, the gold gleamed at her with a purity that made her shuffle her paws uncomfortably in the long grass.

She didn’t want to stare into his eyes. She hadn’t lured him all the way out here to deal in truths—first, second or any other number.

She tilted back her head to stare up at the moon and breathed out a long sigh as she shifted. Her bones ached and her skin felt seared by terrible sunburn as she made the change. She reared up onto her back legs—no, her only pair of legs now as she shifted back to her human flesh—so she could stand over him.

But when her vision cleared, Beck was standing too, big and naked.

Shocked, she took a faltering step back. Not because he was naked—she’d stolen his T-shirt, after all—but that he had shifted so close to her. The verita luna was a dangerous moment: when a wereling was vulnerable and exposed, the beast might attack, unconstrained by any even vaguely human command.

Again, she fleetingly wondered about his discipline. She swept him with a glance, wincing as she always did at the sight of the brutal swirl of scars and burns that wrapped the lower half of his torso. If he hadn’t had a wereling’s vigor, the IED would have meant his death, not merely his discharge. But except for that reminder of his time in the army, he seemed to be in satisfactory—okay, exemplary—shape. Certainly he would not have been able to achieve his present upright...um, very upright...state if he’d passed into il-luna.

He stood balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, as if he thought she might run again and he’d have to keep chasing her in this form.

His other balls were hard and tight, she could see from here. They knew she was done running.

She took a step toward him, the grass caressing her bare ankles, and he eased back to his heels.

“So you’re ready to be caught.” His tone was calm enough she wasn’t sure if he meant it as a question or an idle comment.

Or a warning.

She paused. “Consider it payment for the beer.”

“I said I was done playing.”

She lifted her chin, letting the night breeze finger the locks of hair around her face and tighten her nipples into almost painful peaks. Showing him what he was missing. “Since when do you give up so easily?”

“Since I realized you’re never going to let me farther in.”

Skimming her hands down her hips, she framed the tidy triangle of dark hair, resting her thumbs on the points of her hips. She bit back a triumphant smile as his gold eyes brightened, following the gesture. “This has always been far enough for you, hasn’t it?”

Slowly, as if with great difficulty, he lifted his gaze. “When I first got back from overseas, yes. Not anymore.”

A draught of doubt, colder than the night wind, iced her skin. Well, she’d gotten what she wanted from him anyway: some good beer, an itch scratched, a few insights into how a powerful male Alpha handled his pack.

“Fine.” She spun on her heel.

And finally he pounced.

With one hand, much stronger than the breeze and almost as hot as the slumbering sun, he swept the hair from the back of her neck. He leaned down to bite her nape as his free hand came around her to cup her breast. He rolled the peak between his thumb and finger, drawing a moan from her trapped halfway between a sigh and a howl.

“Ah, hell, babe, you run and I can’t stop myself from chasing.” His murmur against her skin was cool on her dampened flesh as he kissed a line across her carotid, raising a shiver from her.

“Chase?” Ignoring the endearment—she wasn’t that much younger than he was—she tilted her head to give him more access to her throat. “I had to practically drag you out here by the scruff of your neck.”

“By the neck of my shirt.”

“Your scruffy shirt.”

“It’s a classic.”

She groaned again, not in pleasure this time. “We should’ve stayed in the verita luna so I wouldn’t have to hear this again.”

“Let’s,” he quickly agreed.

But she turned in his arms, deliberately brushing her belly across his rampant cock. They’d never come together under the moon in wereling form. It was...too animalistic.

Too true, a voice in her head accused.

She ignored the voice by taking Beck in her hand. He bucked, golden eyes widening at her aggression.

It always shocked him when she took the initiative so quickly. Which was why they could never be truly together.

She was Alpha. He was Alpha. Worse than fire and water, they were fire and fire, which was great for the sex, but would burn their respective worlds to the ground.

She pulled herself up to her tiptoes and still had to drag him down to her kiss with one hand fisted in his unruly curls. What was a thick ruff in his wereling form was almost as wild now and a perfect hand hold. Their tongues tangled, and the flames in her imagination licked higher with each kiss deep as the night sky.

He growled into her mouth. “You taste like my brew. Like me.”

She growled back, wordlessly, a caution at his presumption. Then she stroked him, a deft circling of his cock and a delicate caress of his tight sac that brought him to his knees.

For a moment, she admired him there, with his shaggy head at her navel. He tongued her, dipping his fingers into his mouth before brushing over her slit. With a gasp, she followed him down. Dominance was all well and good, but it had been a long week in New York.

He tried to spread the T-shirt behind her, but she rolled him so that he was underneath her and sat up straddling his thighs. Okay, so maybe dominance was good.

His cock surged between them, a pearl of fluid glinting in the moonlight. She took him in her hand and gave him another stroke. He bowed his hips up, lifting her easily, the long muscles of his thighs flexing under her. To stop herself from falling, she flattened her other hand across his broad chest, sifting her fingers through the patch of fur that was only a reminder of his wereling self. Under the scars, his abs tightened as his breath caught, and he stared up at her with darkening eyes.

“What do you want?” she murmured, one word for each stroke.

“You.”

He always made it sound so simple. Alarmingly so.

This once, she wanted it to be that. “Then have me.”

When he rolled her, somehow he managed to center her perfectly—terrifyingly perfectly—right on the T-shirt to protect her from the prickling grass. He loomed above her, silhouetted against the bright moon for a moment before he dipped his head to kiss her.

“You make this so hard,” he said.

“I make you hard.”

“That too.”

“Now.” She raised her hips toward his.

“No.” He kissed his way down her throat, as leisurely as the moon tracking across the sky to the swell of her breast. She clutched at him impatiently and he chuckled. “You’re not in the city anymore. You’re on country time now. We do things the old-fashioned way.”

“Damn the old ways,” she muttered.

He chuckled again, his breath gusting over the nipple he’d toyed with earlier. He tilted his head and flicked his tongue across the swell. With a moan of frustration, she used her hands to plump her breasts and flicked her own fingers over the aching tips. Deep in her belly, she felt the answering pull and an echoing well of moisture at her core.

His growl was lower this time as he finally sucked her hard, pulling her flesh into his wide mouth, tonguing her nipple against the roof of his mouth. Later she’d want to be eaten by the big bad wolf, but for now...

She abandoned her teasing self-play and squared herself under him. “I’m only going to ask once.”

He drove into her.

Big as he was, all over, she took him, thrusting up to meet him with another moan, this time of delight.

He slicked himself deep into her and withdrew and thrust again before her cry faded. He set the pace like a midnight run, relentless and unfaltering. She knew he could go forever.

No, she didn’t want to think of forever, just of right now.

She clutched at his wide shoulders, digging her fingers into the hard mounds of pure muscle. She’d seen him sling full kegs of beer like they were nothing more than empty aluminum cans. He slung unruly drunks—and uppity wolf-kind—with the same power. But of course, that’s how an Alpha handled everything: easily.

Even her.

The thought was infuriating, and she met his thrusts with her own. His eyes widened and he anchored one hand under her hips to control the moment.

She’d have none of that. She slipped her hand past his to cup his sac and pull down hard, to pleasure him, to warn him. He bucked once, breaking the stride, and she laughed.

He tilted her hips just a little deeper to touch her core, and then she wasn’t laughing anymore.

With every stroke, he pushed her higher, making her muscles clench throughout her body, even her heart pounding, pounding. Her skin tingled like the coming of the verita luna, but it wasn’t that—she was just coming. The moon seemed to shatter, but that was just the stars behind her closed eyelids as she climaxed in a rush.

He threw back his head and roared, the triumph of an apex predator that silenced the night, and then he too came.

She clenched around his pulsing shaft as he spent himself. Of course he would roar before he came; just announcing to the world that he’d made her come first. She drummed her fingers on his biceps as he held himself above her, stiffly trembling in the aftermath.

She realized her impatient drumming had turned to petting, her fingertips playing over the tight ridges of musculature. He had very nice, strong arms.

The better to hold her with...

She wriggled up, and he grunted as his cock popped free with a wet sound. When she scooted out from under him, he collapsed. His arms—his very nice, strong arms—splayed out to either side.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he muttered into the grass.

She stood and gave herself a little shake. “You’ve always been an old soul.”

He angled his face to stare at her, so she tilted one hip toward him and reached up to fluff her hair, knowing it would do nice things for her figure.

He grunted again and turned his face the other way. “You don’t mean that kindly.”

She scowled at him, thinking she should shift just so she could bite him on his moon-white ass. He had a very nice, strong ass...

Of course, she could bite him there with her current teeth, but somehow that seemed a little too forward.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” she reminded him.

“Babe, once I’m inside you, nothing could stop me.”

Heat touched her cheeks, and she was glad of the bleaching moonlight. “I meant, you didn’t have to come running with me if you really didn’t want to.” She cursed the note of wistfulness—not quite a whine—that crept into her voice.

“Of course I had to. That lone wolf is still out here somewhere.”

She let her hand drift down from her hair. “That’s why you followed me? Because you thought I couldn’t take care of myself?”

He turned his head to face her again, his golden eyes shadowed and wary. “That wasn’t the only reason, obviously.” He pushed himself upright, one leg bent under him as if ready to ward off an attack.

He was arrogant, but he wasn’t stupid.

She forced herself to exhale slowly, as if she could force out the scent of him lingering in her chest. If the stock tank had been nearby, she might have voluntarily jumped in to wash herself clean.

She shifted, letting the verita luna cover her bare skin. When her momentary blindness cleared, Beck was standing, watching her, the wariness still in his eyes. He did not shift, wisely, since in her present state she might have struck.

Instead, she ran.

Chapter 3

Beck watched her flee. Although she would no doubt object to the word flee. Her tail was flagged high with fury. But he’d only spoken the truth.

He just couldn’t seem to keep his mouth closed—not any more than he could keep his jeans buttoned—around Merrilee Delemont.

Trudging back down the mountain with his damp T-shirt in his hand, he listened for the soft thud of paws in the forest around him. But he heard nothing beyond the usual night rustlings. She had probably continued up the mountain. Her pack’s small village of log cabins, A-frame cottages, and a tiny restaurant with incongruously fine dining was clustered near a picturesque high lake that was a popular destination for hikers, anglers, photographers and horseback riders up for a daytrip from town. There were no formal guest accommodations, of course; Merrilee didn’t encourage sleepovers.

He made a low noise in the back of his throat, his indignation keeping him warm despite the cool night breeze.

At the line of trees behind the bar, he paused in the shadows to make sure no one was hanging around—he was still naked since he had no interest in donning the muddy, spit-slimed shirt—and he finally heard an out-of-place noise back near the Dumpster and his Harley where he’d shifted.

If Merrilee was messing with his favorite pair of comfortable, old, button-fly jeans...

He raced toward the disturbance, thinking only as he rounded the corner that Merrilee on the prowl never made noise unless she wanted to be heard.

And he came face to—face to eyeball?—with a keg-sized, three-legged spider thing perched on the Dumpster. Like no shifting creature he’d ever seen before, its body was roughly oblong and dotted with long, stiff hairs. One of its skinny, barbed legs was thrust through a limp cabbage he’d thrown out.

The impaled cabbage looked far too much like a head. Creepy.

Almost as creepy as the single palm-width eyeball atop its body. The sclera glistened white as a broken bone in the moonlight.

He skidded to a halt, nonplussed. The spider thing, disturbed from its snacking, flung the cabbage at him.

He dodged easily, glad Merrilee had gotten his blood pumping earlier, and the old produce flapped past. The spider thing scuttled off the Dumpster, its hard-tipped claws clattering loudly in the still night. It sprang away, tipping over the Harley.

Okay, now he was creeped out and pissed. And a little worried. The Fat Boy was a big machine, and the spider thing had dumped it like it was some girl-friendly crotch rocket.

The creature scrambled toward the street, Beck in pursuit.

Creepy things were not allowed to creep around his territory.

So late at night, the town was quiet, slumbering, only a few porch lights still glowing. Good thing. He didn’t want the unsuspecting human population to see this obviously unnatural thing.

Plus, he wished he’d stopped to put on his pants.

The spider ran straight down the middle of the road. For a three-legged thing, it was fast, preternaturally so.

But then, so was he. He realized, when it rotated as it ran to eyeball him again and then put on a fresh burst of speed, that it was at least semi-sentient.

He’d lose the creature if he shifted. In the blurred time he needed to cross into the verita luna, it could dart any direction and be gone. But he wasn’t sure he could keep up.

He needed to hasten the shift and hold his focus for those crucial moments. He just needed a concentration point... He thought of Merrilee, stumbling unaware upon this creature as she sneaked back to steal his jeans.

Between one footfall and the next, he shifted.

The pain and dazzle of the verita luna almost made him stumble. Only blind stubbornness kept him on the pavement.

As his vision cleared, sure enough, the spider thing was veering toward an alley.

Beck lunged, right behind it, with all four paws digging into the gravel.

The thing squealed, a shrill and livid sound, like sheet metal tearing. From the next alley over, a dog barked.

Obviously, the creature had thought it could escape when he shifted. Despite his insta-fur coat, he felt chilled. It knew what he was. Worse, it had thought it knew a wereling’s weakness during the change.

It scuttled for a wooden fence, vaulting with blurred speed over the edge.

Beck launched himself behind it and managed to catch its trailing third claw in his teeth.

The thing slashed backward at him with another leg, but that left only one leg for it to catch itself.

They fell and rolled across the backyard in a flurry of fur and slashing barbed legs. In a noisy clatter, they bashed through a set of folding chairs and a grill. The puff of charcoal ash made Beck’s nose itch with a terrible sneeze, but he held on grimly.

The backyard deck light flashed on, halogen bright.

“What the h—?” The last word was lost in a rising bellow.

Beck dug his feet into the lawn, struggling to hold back the squealing spider that nevertheless managed to drag his two-twenty weight several yards.

Until the grizzly—clad in shreds of striped pajamas—reared up and came smashing down with both front feet, monstrous claws curving wickedly.

The spider made one urk sound and greenish goo sprayed from the eyeball.

Beck leapt back, pawing at his muzzle to get rid of the foul taste.

When he looked around, Orson, the barbershop bear, had shifted back and stood in the remnants of his nightclothes with a pair of grill tongs hefted like a spear over his gray head. He plunged the tongs into the splattered spider, pinning it to the earth.

A spiral of oily smoke twisted up from the creature.

This time, Beck sneezed.

Orson planted his hands on his scrawny hips. “Well, hell. Look what the dog dragged in.”

* * *

By the time Orson had gone inside to fetch a robe and an extra pair of pajama bottoms, Beck had shifted and was rinsing out his mouth from the garden hose.

“Imp tastes like ass,” the old man said.

“More like acid,” Beck corrected as he took the offered cotton pants.

The pants were far too small since they fit Orson in his human incarnation, not his verita luna shape. Where the old man packed away all the pounds he added to his grizzly form was one of the mysteries discussed at length—in the proper company—over beers at the bar. Most of the townsfolk werelings had decided he kept it in his voice.

But Beck was relieved there was still considerable strength in the old man. And he was glad enough for the pants too.

Avoiding the squirts of green goo, Beck approached the thing impaled on the lawn. “What is an imp?”

“Phae.” Orson spat the word as if he too tasted the fetid, greasy char.

Beck frowned. “We haven’t had trouble with their kind in...” He shook his head. “Since before my time.”

Orson huffed out a breath. “Not before mine. I was a boy last time I saw one. Cocky bastard, walking through town just as dusk settled, all wrapped up in his glamour. Lying through those smiling teeth. Probably fanged, though no one could see.”

Pursing his lips, Beck decided not to remind Orson that they had fangs of their own. Though he’d never dealt with phae himself, he knew all the old stories. Werelings had always hated the phae. Phae glamour was an affront to the verita luna, where the shape was the truth.

Not that it was always a truth they could share.

But werelings had not abandoned the sunlit world as the phae had. They’d kept to themselves, kept quiet, and kept their ways while the phae had skulked away, driven by changes in a world to which they would not—or could not—adapt.

Beck studied the grill tongs. “So those are iron.”

Orson nodded. “One thing those liars can’t lie about. Cold, hard iron will end them.” He spat again. “But nothing’s made of iron anymore. The steel-born phae can creep back in if no one’s watching.”

Crouching beside the imp, Beck looked at the big ruined eye. “What was this one watching?”

“Maybe nothing,” Orson said. “Maybe just a stray.” But he didn’t sound convinced.

Beck nodded, more at the concern not spoken. “I think we might need to do some hunting.”

“My boys will do a walk through town. No sense getting everyone worked up about nothing.”

Beck thought about the stories he remembered. “The phae have no argument with us.”

“Besides us being where they wish they could go.”

“They can’t have my town,” Beck said. He heard the wolf in his own voice, protective and possessive.

Speaking of protective and possessive...

He glanced at Orson. “Merrilee needs to know about this. Can you deal with this mess?”

The bear-kind nodded. “If I leave the iron in, it’ll just melt away. But I’ll bring the boys over for a whiff before we head out on patrol.” His eyes glinted. “If the phae want a war, we know how to fight.”

* * *

After making a few investigative calls, Beck aimed for the winding road to the lakeside village. The first golden light of morning reminded him the last thing he wanted was a fight. He’d put fighting behind him when he took his honorable discharge. He wanted the peace to brew his beer and serve his pack. He wanted quiet nights to run free. He wanted...

But what he wanted and what an Alpha had to do were two different things and not as easily brought together as a wereling’s shifts.

That truth was as clear to him as the displeasure on Merrilee’s face when he cruised up to the A-frame cottage perched above the other houses closer to the lake. She stood on the porch with her legs braced in a wide stance. The overflowing flower boxes framing the windows seemed too soft for the Alpha he knew, even though the rich red blossoms matched her compressed lips. What other incongruities might he might find within?

Not that he’d ever be invited.

He’d known the Harley’s roar in her pristine community would get her hackles up. Which contradicted his earlier thought about not wanting to fight, but there was a good reason he’d been sent off to military school and then the army; he’d always been too good at fighting.

He killed the engine, letting the stillness of the mountain morning return. For a pack of apex predators, Merrilee’s werelings were outliers. They focused on their creative pursuits, ignoring were-typical physical pastimes. Honestly, they were the kids he’d have beat up in grade school before he got shipped off and got beaten on some himself. Now the peace appealed to him. He’d had only a couple hours of sleep after calling his contacts about the strange phae appearance, and the quiet was almost as much a balm as the powerful rumble of the bike.

Almost as much as looking at Merrilee. In her tight leggings and a long, V-neck sweater with a colorful fringed hem that danced under her butt, she made his fingers twitch with a need to play with all the disparate textures.

She didn’t say anything as he swung off the bike, just took a sip from the coffee cup in her hand. The twist of steam told him it was recently poured; likely a pot still simmered somewhere inside. Not that the simmering Alpha outside would let him have any, so he wasn’t even going to ask.

“Got another cup?” He cursed himself when the request popped out anyway.

Merrilee raised one brow. “Long, cold ride this early just to get coffee.”

And a long, cold day in hell before she gave him one was implied.

When he stalked up the walkway, she put the cup down and squared her shoulders. Her bare toes, nails pearly pink from the chill, curled over the edge of the step.

Looked like she was ready for a fight too.

He focused on the flowers and didn’t continue up the porch steps even though the pounding of his pulse in his ears echoed as if he kept right on walking. “Quit challenging me,” he said through gritted teeth. “We have to talk, and I can’t do that with you staring holes in me.”

Though he didn’t look at her, he felt the moment her gaze shifted. Like a hot hand leaving his skin. He kinda missed it.

“What are you doing here, Beck?”

“Had a problem in town last night.”

“I’m sure you handled it.”

He hazarded a lightning glance her way, but her expression was clear. She meant what she said. “Might not be the sort of problem that goes away so quick.” He told her about the imp and Orson’s plan to case the town. “I called some people, asked about unrest among the phae, and what I heard isn’t good.”

For a long moment, only the breeze in the pines broke the silence. Then she grabbed her coffee cup and turned away. “I don’t have decaf.”

For another not-quite-as-long moment, shock locked his muscles before he jumped the steps two at a time to follow her into the house.

The front room was her business office. One lemon-yellow wall boasted design awards. Three computer screens crowded a pine desk big enough to have made his uncle jealous. Splashes of paprika-red and cool lime tones brightened the central hallway that led past a tiny bedroom on one side and bath on the other. He poked his nose in each, breathing her spicy amber fragrance.

Her call echoed down the hall. “Do you want this coffee or not?”

He sauntered to the kitchen and great room at the back of the house and dug in his heels again to admire the view framed in the floor-to-ceiling windows. While the porch at the front of the house had faced the pretty little lake below, the back looked out to the mountains, just trees and sky and freedom. Unlike the cheerful office, it looked wild and a little lonely.

The view of a woman who wanted no one to hold her back.

Merrilee shoved a mug at him. The mug was big, almost a soup bowl, and the coffee was black, just the way he liked it.

Did she know he drank his coffee black, or was she just not willing to give him the pleasure of cream and sugar?

“Thanks,” he said. “Do you have any hazelnut?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Where is the imp carcass? I want to see it.”

He shook his head. “It was mostly dissolved when I stopped by on the way here. Orson and his quartet started out at dawn. I expect they’ll have a report for me by lunch.”

“I want to hear everything they find,” she demanded.

“Good coffee,” he said.

She paced toward the windows. “My mother told me stories of the phae.”

“I think every wereling mother did. Hard to keep a kid safe under the covers in bed with bogeyman tales when you are the bogeyman.”

Her lips quirked. “Yeah. She told me if I kept sneaking out at night, they’d steal the verita luna from me.”

He studied her over the rim of his mug. “What were you sneaking out for?”

She shrugged. “My grandmother wasn’t getting any younger, and since my mother wasn’t Alpha, I’d decided the more I ran, the sooner I’d change. I figured running under the moonlight would make me better.”

“I thought fighting would make me better. Takes more, doesn’t it?”

She gave him another look, more speculative this time. “Anyway, Mom was always trying to find a way to keep me home until she could finally turn me over to Grandmère.”

“According to my sources, your mother wasn’t stretching the truth too far.” He headed for one of the chairs pulled up in front of the windows, forcing her to follow, and settled into the deep, overstuffed cushions with an appreciative grunt. A heather-gray throw on the back of the chair tickled his nape, as if wanting to swathe him while he contemplated the view. “The phae Queen warps human desires into the magic that empowers her. Who knows what she would do with wereling passions?”

Merrilee lowered herself to the chair beside his but stayed perched on the edge. “Is that what you think this is about? The phae Queen coming after werelings?”

He shrugged. “I’m told the imps are her creatures, used for spying. This wasn’t a courtesy call.”

She drank the last of her coffee in one slug and surged to her feet. “I want to see what’s left of the imp.”

He looked at his coffee mournfully. With a huff, she plucked it from his hands and went to the kitchen to transfer it to a travel mug. She topped it off before screwing on the cap, and he felt an inexplicable surge of pleasure at the small kindness. It was good coffee.

They left the house after she fetched shoes and a coat, and she pulled the door closed behind them.

“Lock it,” he said. “Until we know what’s going on.”

Her jaw worked, but she nodded. “I’ll have to find the key. Go ahead and I’ll meet you there after I borrow a car.”

“I’ll take you down.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll—”

“I’m going that way anyway.” He gave her a steady look, not a challenge—not quite. And then he slowly cocked one brow.

She stiffened. “Wait here.”

He leaned against the railing while he drank his good coffee and admired the shimmering lake and the impressive amount of noise she made banging around her office, muttering something about Alphas.

He took another savoring sip. She should know.

Chapter 4

Merrilee finally found the key where it had been long lost in the bottom of a haphazard ceramic pot made by one of the pack’s homeschooled kids, though most of the children were bused out daily to attend school with town werelings and unaware humans.

Was the wandering imp a sign that the phae had decided to mainstream?

She made a quick call to Keisha, updating her Beta, then tromped out to the porch where Beck looked far too comfortable. And far too sexy, his dark gear contrasting with her red carnations. The scent of leather and coffee and cold wind whispered to her, and she tried to ignore the way her body wanted to fit itself to his, as if they were already leaning into the curves of the mountain road. She refused to look at him as she locked up.

However, refusing his offered ride would be pointless. And weak. And she didn’t want that.

She turned. “Ready?”

He took one more pull off his coffee, bottom’s up, and then tucked the mug behind the newel of the porch stairs. “Thanks for that. You make it just right.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s nothing. I just have a very expensive coffeemaker.”

He sighed. “Can’t you just say ‘You’re welcome’?”

“Not when you’re really saying I’m a good little woman in the kitchen.”

“I’ve seen your kitchen now, remember? I think you’ve only used one of those stove burners, ever.”

“How many burners do you need to warm up soup?”

He shook his head. “No wonder you come to the bar so often, just so I can make you burgers.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I had a very nice Kobe filet in New York.”

To her surprise, a flash of hurt darkened his eyes before he turned to go down the steps. If they hadn’t been so close together on the small porch, she wouldn’t have noticed.

“No exotic beef here,” he said. “But if you want a sniff of dead imp before it’s gone, we better get moving.”

Despite his long, angry strides, she lingered.

She hadn’t meant his burgers weren’t good. He knew his way around raw meat, knew how to throw on a quick sear and then be patient, letting the juices simmer. She’d meant that she didn’t go to his bar just because he fed her. She went for...other reasons. She respected his leadership and knew he’d tell her all the valley gossip. Plus, he was always quick with a smile that made her feel better after being too long away from her mountains. And he did look mighty fine, whether he was in an apron or one of his bar T-shirts or his leathers like right now.

Actually, he looked mighty, mighty fine right now. And mighty dangerous.

He started the Harley with a roar that echoed inside her. He gave her an impassive look before pulling on his helmet and holding a second out to her. The darkened visor cut off any further fulminating stares.

She stalked toward him, zipping her coat. The strap on the helmet fit just right under her chin, as if it had been sized for her.

He twisted around to help her mount, but she avoided his hand and slid up into place behind him, settling her hands primly at his waist.

His flanks jerked under her fingers as he caught his breath in surprise. As if he thought she’d never been on a bike before. Well, she hadn’t, but she’d thought about it. Maybe dreamed about it, once or twice.

The phae Queen could’ve discovered all sorts of crazy powers on the strength of those dreams.

He spun the bike in a tight circle, leaning hard and forcing her to line her body up with his. But as they headed down valley through the crisp morning air, she found herself grateful for the close proximity. His broad shoulders blocked the wind, and even through his leathers and her heavy coat, his body heat burned her. She’d forgotten her gloves, though, so she sneaked her hands inside his waistband, finding blazing-hot bare skin.

His scarred abs contracted to escape her ice-cold fingers, but the Harley never wavered. Even when his growl was lost in the bike’s rumble, she still felt it in her bones. She grinned at the back of his head, knowing he would sense her amusement just as clearly.

They pulled into the alley behind Orson’s bungalow, and Beck halted. He held her elbow, steadying her as she dismounted. At his touch, the vibrations seemed to keep humming in her body. She slanted a glance at him as he shut down the bike and called Orson from the cell phone that looked ridiculously tiny in his big hand.

It had been...odd having him in her house. She always told herself she liked her privacy too much to have many guests. Plus, she could never have any Alphas claiming her space. But when she saw Beck sitting in one of the two chairs facing her mountain view, she realized she did have two chairs. She’d never really asked herself why.

He finished his call and looked over at her. “He said the quartet should be finishing up soon. They’ll meet us at the bar.”

She nodded and pushed through the back gate.

Her hunter’s eye took in the signs of struggle—the scuffed grass, the upended grill. The iron tongs sticking up out of a puddle of greenish gunk.

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“It wasn’t much better when it still had three legs and one eyeball.” Beck circled the imp remains.

She sniffed more cautiously, parsing the scents of charcoal, rot and grizzly-kind musk. Underneath was the hint of wolf-kind. And beneath that, an elusive fragrance, strangely sweet. She crouched next to the pile of stinking jelly streaked with black char where the iron speared it.

The perfume was coming from the imp. “It smells like cotton candy.”

“Orson says all the phae have a wonder to them, even the grotesque ones.” When Beck prodded the tongs, the jelly sizzled, sending up a puff of oily smoke and another whiff of scorched sugar.

She’d recognize the scent from now on. She stood. “We need more iron.”

At the general store, to their consternation, they found few usable items.

“Steel’s a better choice,” the owner, Bill, told them. “Won’t rust.”

Since Bill was a none-the-wiser human, they couldn’t very well tell him they needed to slay creatures that lived only in his children’s bedtime stories.

Merrilee smiled at him. “I was thinking about taking a stab—” she slanted a glance at Beck “—at blacksmithing.”

Bill rubbed his chin. “Well, maybe you could melt something down.”

They walked out with a set of fireplace tools, a decorative door stop in the shape of a hedgehog, and Bill’s advice to visit Babette’s Antique Emporium up the street.

“That old gal is made of iron herself,” he said.

Merrilee hefted the ash hoe and poker, which felt nicely like weapons, and left Beck to carry the hedgehog as they headed up the sidewalk.

She stabbed experimentally with the poker. “Didn’t Babette propose to you once?”

He glowered at her. “She’s proposed to everyone in town at least once, but only when she’s drunk.”

“So you weren’t interested?”

“I gave her a pot of coffee. Not as good as your coffee, of course.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t settled down yet.” She swung the hoe with more force. “Almost two years since you got back and took over for your uncle, and you don’t even have a Beta, much less a mate. What are you waiting for?”

“I have my pack and my job, same as you. What more do I need?”

“Yeah.” The iron pulled heavily at her arm; she’d have to watch out for that.

The old house with a touch of Victoriana that was Babette’s Antique Emporium displayed mostly plastic and glass knickknacks in the front windows. Merrilee’s mood plummeted lower as they walked into the kitchy little front yard with its dozen concrete birdbaths and tribe of lawn gnomes. “If the phae be chased off with bad taste, I think we’re on to something here.”

Beck gave her a reproving glance. “You’ve never even been inside, I bet. Babette has a lot of nice homey décor and wearable art.” He ignored her snort. “More to the point, she keeps farm salvage in the barn out back.”

They stayed on the walk that circled the house, passing a tree hung with upward of a hundred wind chimes. They were eerily silent until Merrilee nudged one, just to make it ring.

“Now you’ve done it,” Beck muttered.

The house’s side door swung open, and Babette popped out with a smile as wide as the ceramic sun faces decorating the fence. “Bexley!”

Merrilee choked and stumbled over a nonexistent crack in the sidewalk.

Beck ignored her and hugged the smaller human woman who was hanging on to her mid-fifties with all the strength in her custom acrylic nails. Merrilee told herself to pull in her own; just because she couldn’t paint her nails without the work being wasted when she shifted was no reason to be a raging wolf bitch.

Although if Babette didn’t remove her hand from his ass—

The woman stepped back and straightened her fringed Indian print scarf. “You two finally shacking up?”

Merrilee choked again.

Beck shook his head. “Babs, you’ve always been hell on secrets.”

Merrilee glared at him while the woman shrugged. “I figured it wasn’t a secret anymore if you’re standing so close together.”

Merrilee took a long step back which sent her knocking into the wind chimes. They clattered over her shoulders.

Babette raised her plucked brows. “Never mind then. What can I do you for?”

“We’re looking for iron. Maybe old horseshoes or nails. Not steel or any other alloy though.”

“Cold-forged iron.” Babette nodded. “Only thing to keep fairies away.”

The chimes fell silent Merrilee went so still.

Beck gave a little smile. “Even more hard to believe, Merrilee here is taking up blacksmithing.”

Babette shot her an incredulous look. “What good is that in New York City or whatever other fool place you’re flying off to?” She waved a hand. “Come on back to the barn. Let’s see what I have.”

The big barn was a treasure trove strung with cobwebs. “Most everything’s steel nowadays,” Babette said, poking through a rack of garden tools. “But the antiques are sometimes iron.”

Merrilee sidled closer. “How do we tell the difference?”

“Take a grinding wheel to them and they’ll spark different. Wrought iron sparks flow out straight, and the end spreads like a willow leaf. Or just press it up against a fairy and see if it burns.”

Beck laughed, but he sounded strained. “Babette—”

She shook one sharply nailed finger. “There are secrets, Bexley, and there are lies. You can tell me one, but not the other.” When he only crossed his arms over his big chest, she huffed out a breath. “Orson was sniffing around here earlier, and he is not as good as you at keeping his voice down.”

Merrilee sighed.

Babette gave her an even sharper look. “But I’d have known something was afoot. You can’t get to be my age and not have seen a few strange things.”

Beck tilted his head. “What have you seen lately?”

“Not just lately.” She waggled her fingers. “Orson turned into a bear once.”

“Whiskey’ll make you see things,” Beck said noncommittally.

“And Orson, apparently,” Merrilee muttered.

Babette gave her a reproving look. “He’s is a good man. And bear.”

Beck rubbed his forehead. “Then why is he the only one you haven’t proposed to?”

“He’s the only one who might say yes,” she said. “But that’s not what made me suspicious. I’ve seen that thing he’s looking for, that imp.”

Merrilee stiffened. “When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“And hear the whiskey comments? No thanks. Anyway, I thought it was another one of you people, changing into something else.”

Beck laughed once. “Babette, is there anything you don’t know?”

She didn’t smile back. “Why a man who can change into a grizzly is scared.”

Beck’s smile flatlined. “We’re not sure either.”

After they’d taken Babette’s report of the imp sightings—plus another set of fireplace tools, a few antique farm implements and a good length of wrought iron fencing with each upright topped by an arrow point—Beck and Merrilee returned to the street. They’d left their purchases in the barn, planning to return with Beck’s truck.

Merrilee glanced back as they headed for the Harley. “Can we trust her?”

“No reason not to.”

She ticked off on her fingers. “Alcoholism. Selling out to the highest bidder; she robbed us at those prices. Her wanting to get her hands on your ass again... Wow, you’re blushing, Bexley.”

He strode to the bike and slammed on his helmet. “You coming or not?”

Amused, she settled herself against his spine. They never spooned after sex; she never hung around long enough to get that far.

It seemed strange—and maybe just a little sad—that only the looming threat of a phae invasion had pushed them so closely together.

Chapter 5

Beck loved his Harley, but he’d never been so eager to get off it to get away from the press of Merrilee’s hot body when they arrived at the Sun-Down. How many layers of denim and leather—how much steel—would he need to put between them to forget her touch?

Maybe the phae Queen could suck that desire out of him.

The nasty thought made him frown, and Merrilee was echoing his fierce expression when she pulled off her helmet.

What did she have to be angry about? She had her rewarding work, far away from him, she had her pack, her fuck buddy with no strings attached, just as she liked it.

Orson’s quartet hadn’t shown up yet, so he unlocked the bar, though he kept the shades down. Normally he didn’t open until happy hour, making the bar a good place for a clandestine meeting.

Assuming everybody in town wasn’t already in on their secret like Babette.

Merrilee went behind the bar, tossing her coat beside his. “Mind if I get a drink? I think I need one after this morning.”

“Help yourself,” he said. “As always.”

She’d bent down to the cooler, but she straightened slowly at his dangerous tone. Her blue eyes glimmered in the light of the neon beer signs. “You can just say no.”

“Apparently I can’t.”

“I thought we were talking about a can of Dr. Pepper.”

He leaned his hip against the pool table and clicked on the overhead light. “For someone with wereling senses, you sure are blind.”

Abandoning the soda, she stalked toward him until she was right up against the toes of his boots. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He huffed, wishing the scent of her wasn’t so enticing. If he could just clear his nose and his skin of that sweet and wild fragrance, maybe he wouldn’t be so inclined to reach for her whenever the opportunity presented itself. Whenever she presented herself. But all he could do was tuck his hands under his arms. “Never mind. Let’s stay focused on—”

“No, now I’m curious.” She didn’t look curious; she looked furious. “If you want me to walk away, just say the word.”

“You never walk away. You run. You hardly batted an eye at Babette mentioning fairies, but when she said something about us being together—” He wiggled his V’d fingers like little running legs.

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

Whoo. Chasing after the imp hadn’t been anywhere near as reckless as what he was doing now. Why did he feel the need to grab the wereling by the tail?

Because he wanted more than tail.

She leaned into him, close enough that her breasts brushed his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing down the V-neck of her sweater. It wasn’t his fault; the wolf inside him saw the pale swell of skin, thought moon, and came out to sing.

“I. Don’t. Run.”

He lifted one brow. “Really?”

He tilted his head and kissed her.

Open mouth. Tongue. Slick lips. A moan. His or hers?

He sealed the kiss so they had to swap breath or separate, and he knew she wouldn’t give ground. Not now. He canted back over the pool table, forcing her to anchor one hand behind his head or lose the kiss. Lose the fight.

He was an idiot to fight so hard when she didn’t want to be won. But her kiss... Ah, her kiss was like a howl in his heart, and he had to answer.

She levered one knee up onto the felt so her thigh pressed hard against his flank. He gripped the curve of her ass in those tight leggings, feeling the flex of muscle and lush padding. The fringe of her sweater tickled his wrist.

She wrapped her other leg around him, both hands anchored in his hair while she kissed him, hard and desperate, as if she were drowning...

He pulled her snug against him, dry humping like a randy kid. God, he could have held her aloft with the might of his throbbing cock alone if he let that beast out.

No longer needing to hold herself, she let her freed hands skim inside of his T-shirt. Her fingers tripped up his abs, and he flexed for her, every muscle tightening. She rubbed his nipples, and he jerked against her, which made her rub him again, harder. Then she pinched, and he gasped, pulling the air from her lungs.

If he wasn’t careful, she was going to make him come in his jeans.

He hitched her higher on his belly, taking the strain off his denim-bound erection. Down through the opening between their bodies, she wedged one hand into his waistband. His cock, already surging upward, rose to meet her questing fingers as she popped the first button of his fly.

She slicked her thumb over the first bead of cum at the same time she pinched his nipple again, sending an electric jolt through his groin.

She palmed him, sliding the ring of her thumb and forefinger over the blunted head of his shaft. He threw back his head in anticipation of that first delicious stroke...

That didn’t come.

He opened his eyes to find her all but crouched over him, eyes glittering, both her knees on the pool table, him bent over nearly backward.

“I don’t run,” she repeated.

“You better not.” The threat sounded a little breathless in his own ears. “Not now.”

Still she lingered, holding him—literally—on the edge.

Footsteps scraped in the gravel outside, and a quartet of voices rose. In another second, the door would swing open.

And here he was, almost flat on his back, Beta in his own bar.

He heaved upright, dumping Merrilee off his lap while he hastened to stuff his stiffy back behind the buttons.

She landed easily, the long hem of her sweater settling around her as if nothing had happened.

But she gave him a triumphant look. “So having people know about us...”

He growled low in his throat. The sound was a little ragged and lost in the thump of the door swinging wide to admit Orson and his cronies.

“I’m telling you,” Orson was saying. “Imps are only the first sign.”

“Unless it’s the only sign,” argued the quartet baritone, a black bear wereling who conveniently went by the name Barry. The other two black bears nodded.

Orson threw up his hands with a grizzly-sized grunt which clearly did not impress the others. He fixed Beck and Merrilee with a stare. “What are you two doing?”

Beck tried to choke out an answer, but Merrilee slipped in front of him gracefully. “We gathered some iron antiques for weapons.” She grinned at Orson. “Babette said you can come pick them up whenever.”

A flush colored the old man’s cheeks. “Ain’t got a truck.”

“Borrow Beck’s.” While the grizzly grumbled, she went behind the bar and served up a round of plain waters. “So tell us, what did you boys smell?”

“That imp was creeping around for a couple days at least,” Barry said while the quartet clambered onto stools in front of her.

Orson drank deep before rubbing his nose. “It was a subtle thing, which I suppose makes sense for a spy. Wouldn’t have known what I was smelling if it hadn’t died in my backyard.”

“Any pattern?” Beck didn’t take the fifth water, and Merrilee arched a brow at him.

Orson pulled a small, tattered notebook from his pocket. Flipping past pages of musical notations, he paused on a sketched map of the town. “Caught the oldest scent here.” He pointed at the mouth of the valley. “Anything earlier was lost in the comings and goings. Lot of traffic there. Anyway, it skipped up the valley, back and forth.” He zigzagged his finger along the map, stopping when he got to the Sun-Down at the end of the road.

“Searching,” Merrilee said.

“For what?” Beck scowled at the map. “It was digging through my garbage.”

She deliberately did not look at him. “Maybe we should have held it for questioning.”

“Next time a three-legged spider thing tries to stab you, you can hold it for questioning.” But even as he said it, the thought of her wrestling the imp with its stabbing claws made what was left of his erection wither.

She gave him a glance that would have cooled any lingering ardor. “I’ll do that.”

“Maybe they won’t come back,” Barry said.

Orson snorted. “The phae don’t back down.”

“Neither do we,” Merrilee said.

Beck looked at the pattern on the paper. The imp had stopped at the bar only because he had stumbled upon it. But the zigzag had been headed in one direction: toward the mountains.

Toward the lake village. Toward Merrilee.

* * *

Why did she feel such a need to poke him?

Merrilee watched while Beck outlined a sentry schedule for the quartet and a few others they trusted to keep quiet. No sense worrying the town’s wereling population into an uproar about creatures that were mostly a legend to them, much as they themselves were a fantasy to the unsuspecting humans.

She waited while he tossed Orson the keys to his truck and ushered the quartet out. Only then did she shakily settle on a bar stool, flattening one hand over her aching breasts.

She poked him because she wanted him to poke her with that long, thick, hard—

He slammed the door open, reentering the bar, and she jumped off the stool.

She just couldn’t back down. If she did, she might never want to get back up again.

And worse? She might like it.

“That imp was heading my way,” she said.

He nodded, his face impassive. “Now you know what to watch for. Or what to smell for, anyway.”

She wavered. Her smaller pack didn’t have the resources Beck’s did. If she tried to set up a watch, she’d quickly have a group of worn-out werelings who could be as much a danger to themselves as any phae.

She bit her lip, and the little pain reminded her she could take greater pain and so could her people. They had before and they would again to preserve the place they’d won with blood and kept now with a fierce allegiance that a one-time soldier would surely understand.

Beck rubbed the back of his neck. “Merrilee—”

Grandmère would be disappointed she’d even for a moment weakened. “I’ll keep you updated. I assume you’ll do the same.”

“Of course. Let me give you a lift home.”

She spun on her heel. “I’ll hitch a ride with Orson.”

“Babe...”

She didn’t pause this time, but she kept her footsteps even so it didn’t look like she was running.

But even though she was going slow, he didn’t chase after her.

By the time she retrieved the iron scraps with Orson—who loaded Beck’s pickup with a notable lack of bear deliberateness while Babette chatted at him—and they swung by her cottage to unload half the iron, the sun was heading for the backsides of the mountains.

She paused to wipe her forehead. Despite her wereling strength, wrestling the length of decorative fencing without getting impaled was a trick. Even Orson was huffing as he leaned against the pickup’s bumper.

He resettled the straps of his overalls. “Got everything?”

She nodded. “Half of it, anyway.”

“He’d give it all, if you just asked.”

She frowned at him, bemused. “I wouldn’t leave the town undefended.”

“Ain’t the town that’s wide-open. It’s his heart.”

It hadn’t been Beck’s heart open, but his pants. “Babette got to you, didn’t she?”

The old griz flattened his lips in a prim line. “Bears are solitary.”

Merrilee tapped her chin. “So where do little bears come from?”

“Never mind that. I mean to say bear-kind don’t bother themselves with who is first and who is second.”

She stiffened. “I don’t bother either. I am Alpha.”

“If that keeps you warm at night.”

It didn’t. It kept her up some nights, as she checked her spreadsheets and work orders, making sure her pack stayed strong. Strong and separate. She didn’t have much from the mother who’d left her with a loving but stern grandmother, even less from the ancestress who had fought a hundred years ago, but this they had passed to her along with her Alpha blood: a place of her own. She would not give that up to another pack or to the phae.

Or to her own traitorous heart.

Chapter 6

Explaining the imp to Keisha and her husband, Peter, was easier than Merrilee had expected. She invited them to her cottage for dark beers and darker troubles, but they knew more about the phae than she did.

“Peter’s mother loved fairy tales,” Keisha said. “Where do you think he got his name?”

Merrilee wrinkled her nose. “Didn’t Peter kill the wolf?”

Peter shook his head. “He just caught it and marched it in a victory parade. It was Russia, where they do that sort of thing.”

To her mind that wasn’t a preferable outcome. “Beck is keeping things quiet in town, but we don’t have that luxury. I want at least two iron weapons in every hand by tomorrow afternoon.”

She’d already told them about Babette’s scraps. Keisha started sketching at the office desk while Peter solidified her ideas in a drafting program, the two of them in their matching World of Warcraft T-shirts arguing whether iron-tipped spears or crossbow arrows would be more practical.

Some werelings—with the intrinsic wildness they could never fully tame—were incapable of dealing with a world where the wild was limited to national parks and weekend getaways. Her pack had successfully transitioned to modern life, via the magic of telecommuting. But now it turned out, strong Wi-Fi and a sizeable bank account were no replacement for cold, hard iron. For a nervous moment, Merrilee wondered if she was asking too much of her clever, artsy—and let’s face it—nerdy pack.

For a half second, she imagined a big, strong wereling crashing through the cottage door, hand-and-a-half iron sword over his wide shoulders. Maybe he’d say something suitably pithy, like, “I’ll save you!”

Before his face coalesced in her mind, she mentally kicked herself. After she kicked the imaginary savior out of her head.

She had to be the big, strong wereling here.

“Luckily we have a bronze sculptor—cougar-kind from Seattle—working here with friends,” Peter was saying. “He’ll have all the metal working equipment we need.”

“Lucky,” she muttered.

Keisha looked up from her sketches, her frown magnified by the round lenses of her glasses. “We got this, Mer. Why don’t you grab something to eat? You sound a little grumpy.”

Anybody else said that, Merrilee would’ve snapped their head off, made that her snack. But she nodded. Werelings were creatures of bodily passions, and she’d been neglecting hers, which was why she’d gone to Beck in the first place.

And just look where that had gotten her.

She left Keisha and Peter to geek out over the balance of iron throwing stars and padded down the hall to the kitchen, beer bottle in hand.

The windows framed a perfect darkness highlighted by the sprinkling of stars above the jagged peaks of the pines. She stared for a moment, feeling a strange mix of disquiet and pleasure at the stark view.

Run, it coaxed.

Run to? Or away?

She huffed softly and turned her back on the lure. Suddenly starving, she opened a microwavable package of mac and cheese. While she waited for the ding, she dug around in the cabinet for bacon bits. She assembled the ingredients—such as they were—and contemplated dumping the steaming orange mess into a real bowl. That comment from Beck about never using her cookware had stung, which was stupid. She didn’t cook, but she managed to keep her pack fed and happy, even if sometimes she didn’t have the time or energy to do more for herself. Certainly using a fork was concession enough to civility.

She took the meal outside to the back patio and settled into one of the Adirondack chairs. Balancing the hot bowl on one flat arm of the chair and the cold beer on the other, she started to ease back.

Then stopped.

She flared her nostrils. Unfortunately, cheese and bacon had overwhelmed her sensitive nose. But there was something...

She pushed silently to her feet. She had kicked off her shoes while waiting for Keisha and Peter, so she spread her toes across the pebbly concrete of the patio, muscles loose and ready.

From the shadows, a voice said, “Don’t let me interrupt your feast.”

Though she knew it was Beck the moment he inhaled to speak, instead of relaxing, her muscles tightened. But she forced herself to slouch back into the chair. “What are you doing here? You should be patrolling your town.”

“I have enough people. You don’t.”

“We got this,” she said, struggling for the note of confidence that had been in Keisha’s voice.

Beck stepped forward out of the shadows beneath the pines. He wasn’t wearing his usual biker leathers, which explained why she hadn’t heard the telltale din of the Harley.

He was naked.

See, this was the sort of thing that made her muscles tighten.

He sauntered toward her, the indirect light from the living room shining through the windows to illuminate the long lines of his body in warm light. Except for the dark line of curls across his chest and down toward his navel, skipping over the scars, to his... Her breath caught in her chest at the effort not to let her gaze drop any lower.

“I wanted to track the imp myself,” he said. “It was a bit of a run. Got an extra beer?”

She pursued her lips, thought of Keisha and Peter inside, and reluctantly handed over her bottle. “Help yourself.” As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. It reminded her of their spat in the bar.

Clearly, he thought the same thing. His lips flattened, but he took the bottle from her hand. “Thanks.” Instead of sitting, he took a few steps back so he wasn’t looming over her.

Busying herself with the mac and cheese, she looked away when he tipped the bottle, exposing his throat. “The imp didn’t make it this far.”

He lowered the beer with a sigh, letting the bottle hang near his thigh, which practically forced her gaze to other dangling parts of his anatomy. “No. But I thought the pattern it made in town looked familiar. It was following that lone wolf. Can’t decide whether this is good news or bad. The imp was after a wereling, but not one of ours.”

Ours. Of course, he meant his pack and hers, not that they were one.

She angled her disobediently wandering eyes toward the trees, as if she was considering, which she was. “Probably he hoped to disguise his passage, muddying the waters with the presence of so many other werelings.”

Beck growled under his breath. “Doesn’t make me like him any better for putting the rest of us in the imp’s path.”

No, he wouldn’t, she knew. Beck took his people and his duty seriously, just as he was serious about everything.

He took another pull from the beer bottle then glanced at her. “Good beer.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know it’s one of yours.”

His lips quirked. “Must be why I like it so much.”

Her own amusement faltered. Like his meticulously crafted brews, anything he considered his would be special, worthy, treated as precious and held to the highest standards of wereling tradition. That was the way he was.

And that was exactly the way she wasn’t. She wasn’t special; she was Alpha by a quirk of her blood. Her small, eclectic pack didn’t even meet the human world definition of traditional. As for precious? Unlike the pure gold that shone from Beck’s eyes, she knew one bad scrape would reveal she was nothing underneath but some cheap, base metal, without the worth even of iron.

She’d told him how she used to run to force the verita luna. What she hadn’t told him was how afraid she’d been, caught like the il-luna halfway between the duty of becoming Alpha...and the fear she wouldn’t be.

She pushed her cooled food aside. “If we want answers, I guess we know one place to look. If we can find him.”

He cast a glance at her bowl. “You can run on a belly full of macaroni?”

As she rolled out of the chair to her feet, she shifted so she landed on all fours and gave him a writhing lip.

He had taken a long step back, wisely cautious of the verita luna.

After all, some truths had teeth.

She wolfed down—literally—the last of the orange noodles, then gave the bowl a last lap of her tongue.

“Pre-rinse cycle?” Beck shook his head. “Remind me to wash your dishes before I eat with you again.” He finished the last of his beer, and as he leaned down to place the beer next to her bowl, he too shifted, bones lengthening, rich fur flourishing, his eyes more golden than ever.

She licked her lips, telling herself she needed to clear the cheese from her whiskers.

He sneezed once, probably from the beer bubbles, and took a few steps toward the shadowed trees. When he glanced over his shoulder at her, the stars glinted in his eyes and she read the irresistible call of the wild in the golden depths.

She tilted her head back for a short howl, knowing Keisha and Peter would hear and understand and not wait up for her.

Run.

* * *

As she had taken the lead during their last run, Beck expected Merrilee to do the same again. It was her territory, after all.

To his surprise, she stayed at his shoulder, even a little behind since she wasn’t as long through the neck as he was. Where the track through the pines narrowed, she coursed silently to one side, letting the trees come between them, but when the path opened, always she returned.

At first, the warm, wolfy scent of her made him worry he wouldn’t be able to clear his head for anything else. But the trek—wordless and simple—finally let the verita luna surround him, and he wasn’t Beck, fighting with Merrilee, he was a wolf hunting with his mate.

As if that thought wouldn’t get him into more trouble than the first.

They came to the place they had met over the scent of the lone wolf, Beck in human form, Merrilee in the verita luna. Any trail was long dispersed, but they paused to snuffle in the tree roots and scratch at a few rocks, just in case.

Beck swung his head, marking the basically straight line from town to the point where they stood. Merrilee aligned her body opposite his, her sable muzzle pointing toward the next valley.

With the easy lope of wolf-kind, they gained the ridge and traveled along the rockier but more open spine. At the highest point, Merrilee scrambled up onto a stony promontory, posing with her nose to the wind like the bold carving at the front of a Viking ship, the dark trees an ocean all around.

She whuffed, and he leapt up to join her, breathing her scent, her breath...and the hint of another wereling carried on the clear night breeze.

No one he knew. The lone wolf.

He inhaled, pulling the scent deep into his lungs, feeling his heart pound at the crisp air and the thrill of the hunt. They had the favor of the wind, but that was a tenuous advantage compared to iron.

When Merrilee crouched to descend, he blocked her.

Silly move, of course. She snapped at him, and when he hopped aside to avoid her teeth, she sprang down lightly before turning to glare when he followed.

She faced him with her dark head high and her tail an angry arch over her lithe spine. The faintest hint of shining fang showed between her lips.

He looked away, the most apology an Alpha could give. She received his apology as an Alpha would, by turning her back on him and resuming the hunt.

This time in the lead.

Plunging into the valley, they lost the scent for a while as they were forced to meander through the trees and boulders, but Merrilee kept to the course the wind had set. They were well outside the boundaries of either pack, and Beck’s hackles prickled at the unfamiliarity. Werelings were wild folk, no doubt, but they had their human sides that appreciated civilized comforts, and so they tended to adapt their lands to the best of both worlds. Here was wild only, untouched. His wolf reveled in the perilous purity, but the Alpha wanted control. And the man knew this was a place to hide trouble, lots of trouble.

Merrilee slowed, her head up, testing the wind. He did the same, catching the scent of the loner, plus smoke.

Close. And with a fire?

He exchanged glances with Merrilee who tilted her head in echo of his confusion. Wolf-kind had no need of fire.

Putting distance between them so they would not make one convenient target, they stalked the stranger.

It helped that he had a cheerfully crackling campfire masking sight, sound and smell. And he was drunk. He sat on a moldering log, staring into the flames, with a mostly empty whiskey bottle tilted beside him. His ragged coat looked much the worse for wear.

Merrilee rolled her eyes at Beck in disbelief. He gave her an exaggerated nod.

To the stranger, it must have appeared that they materialized out of nothingness. Though he was a wereling, he startled, one flailing foot kicking the whiskey toward the fire.

The spray of alcohol sent the fire raging up in a hungry gout, and the stranger shouted, not so much in surprise as dismay. He snagged the bottle and pulled it to his chest, before giving them a furious glare. “Loco lobos. Go ‘way.” He brandished the bottle, which might have been more menacing if he hadn’t seemed so anxious not to spill any.

Beck recognized the upper-shelf brand only the Sun-Down carried. It seemed unlikely the stranger had brought his own. He drew back his lips in silent threat.

“I tried to save you.” The loner rubbed his forehead. “Who leads here?”

Beck growled deep in his chest, but Merrilee barked once, just a little louder.

The loner’s gaze shuttled between them. “Awkward.”

Merrilee took a step toward him, rearing up and shifting in the same move, making the stranger sidle back with a muttered curse.

She stood in all her naked glory, bathed in firelight that tricked hints of red from her thick sable hair and highlighted the flush of their long run.

Of course she was bold in her own skin; she was a wereling and Alpha. Still, Beck kept growling that the loner was seeing her. He took a few stiff-legged steps, half circling the man.

The loner quickly averted his gaze, clutching the whiskey as if that were entirely enough companionship for him.

“The upper valley you passed through is mine,” Merrilee said, then she tilted her head toward Beck so her hair slid forward over her breasts. “The lower valley and the bar where you took that bottle are his.”

The stranger mutely held out the whiskey in his hands.

She shook her head. “I don’t want a drink. I want answers. You can start with your name and why you are here.”

Her tone was milder than Beck thought necessary for interrogating a thief and a trespasser, but he knew she was a good leader. And, he admitted wryly, she probably wasn’t suffering from this lust to slash the man’s eyes out.

“My name’s Eldon. Doctor Eldon Nally.” The loner spoke to the whiskey. “From Portland. I came...I just needed to get away for a while.”

When Beck took another prowling step closer, the man raised one hand in an appeasing gesture. His pale palm was bruised and laced with scratches.

Beck circled the camp but found no scent of others, wereling, imp or otherwise. He nosed a wereling-styled satchel, rigged to stay on during the shift that allowed wolf-kind to carry a few belongings. The pack held only a handful of energy bars and a pair of loafers that wouldn’t fit Nally’s swollen feet.

If this was a holiday, he’d come woefully underprepared, and from the dismal expression on his face, he wasn’t enjoying his stay.

Merrilee watched Beck’s exploration then returned her attention to Nally. “City wolf you might be, but certainly you haven’t forgotten pack courtesy. You should have introduced yourself when you crossed into our territory.”

Beck paused. Did she realize she’d spoken of their territory as one? He angled closer to her.

Nally nodded, his mouth downturned. “Sorry, yes. I was...distracted.”

“By the imp following you?”

He glanced up sharply, and Beck caught a glimpse of something hard and cold in the man’s otherwise unremarkable brown eyes: a mix of fear and fortitude. A look of desperation, the sort that drove men—and wolf-kind—to strange acts.

Beck moved closer to Merrilee. If Nally made one wrong twitch... He breathed out a low sound, a subliminal warning that the other male would feel in his skull.

Nally ducked his head. “I don’t know what you mean. Imp?”

“A kind of phae,” Merrilee said. “Not something I’m sure I would’ve believed in if I hadn’t smelled it myself, dead by an iron stake. So I’ll ask again in a slightly different way, and please don’t pretend that the words themselves make any difference, because I’m wanting the truth here. Why were you being followed by the phae?”

Nally swiped his lips nervously. “I didn’t know it had a name. I just knew it was bad.” He took a hit off the whiskey. “And I needed to get away from it.”

“So you thought you could scrape it off on us.”

“No! Well...I hoped it might lose my track. And I thought maybe you’d kill it.”

“He did.” Merrilee put her hand on Beck’s neck. He couldn’t help but puff up a bit.

Nally let out a long breath that collapsed his chest within his tattered coat. “I can’t even kill a squirrel.”

That explained the energy bars.

Implacably, Merrilee continued, “And why was it following you?”

“Because the phae want this.” Nally fumbled in his pocket.

Beck stepped forward with a snarl.

Merrilee trailed her hand down his spine, soothing his hackles. “Slowly, Doctor Nally.”

With a wary look, Nally displayed a small vial clutched in his fingers. The glass looked too thin to be out amidst tree roots and rocks. “This is what they want.”

Merrilee tilted her head, following the angle of the purplish powder that sifted within the glass. “This and they? Rather vague.”

“The phae Queen sent emissaries to my lab to offer me riches in exchange for my discovery, a unique subspecies of psilocybe spore with the undifferentiated potential to...” He tilted the vial the other direction, and tiny sparkles flashed inside the purple powder. “Well, to take us anywhere we want to go.”

“Magic mushrooms,” Merrilee said flatly. “It sounds like you’ve been sampling your own wares, Doctor.”

Another glint of that dire light flared in his eyes. “My doctorates are in psychiatry and mycology, not liberal arts. I sought a cure for some of the worst disorders plaguing our times: depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress, violence.”

She crossed her arms suspiciously. “You can cure those by getting people high?”

“Getting high is an excuse to avoid one’s problems. I created a therapy to take us deeper, through our problems and out the other side.”

Beck let out a huff.

Nally gave him an arch, professorial look. “Haven’t you wondered why werelings are almost pathologically healthy, happy and whole?”

Merrilee shook her head. “Pathologically?”

Nally started to pace, revving up to lecture mode. “How can werelings, who should by rights suffer the worst sort of existential alienation, be so together all the time?”

Beck slanted a glance at Merrilee, who lifted her brow. They were both thinking of one wereling who wasn’t “all together.”

Nally didn’t seem to notice the silent exchange. “Because—” he continued on the same breath as he wheeled to face them again “—they are perfectly in tune with the magic inside them.”

Beck shook his head in a human gesture of denial, while Merrilee said, “It’s not magic.”

Nally waved his hand again, more vigorously. “Please don’t pretend that the words themselves make any difference,” he said, repeating her. “The verita luna—our Second Truth—gives us a unique access to a deeper reality to open our eyes, our minds, and our hearts.”

His animation faltered. “There are some—disconnected humans, werelings who can’t find their verita luna, and others—who might be saved by my discovery.”

Beck sensed the wave of sadness that gave the lone wolf-kind’s scent a minor note. Merrilee must have felt it too because she let her disbelieving stance soften. “So you produced a psychedelic mushroom to imitate the sensation of being a wereling?”

Nally shook his head. “Not just imitate. Become.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “What do you mean, become?”

“The spore therapy can trigger the verita luna in werelings troubled by shifting.” He shuffled his bare feet in the loam. “And it seems to initiate a similar effect in humans.”

Beck’s surprised whine was half lost in Merrilee’s incredulous, “What?”

Nally hastened on. “The spores shouldn’t affect the phae. Except they can apparently hijack the ‘journey facet,’ as I call it, and open portals on a whim between their realm and ours. Which is how I accidentally summoned them to my lab. It seems the phae Queen wants my discovery as part of her scheme to take over the sunlit world.”

Merrilee sputtered. “Take over?”

Nodding, Nally pocketed the vial again. “Her emissary offered me everything my heart desires. Except...” His plain brown eyes darkened. “Except they couldn’t give me what I really wanted.” He lifted his chin. “And I know better than to make midnight deals with fairies. I gathered the spores, pretending I was willing to trade, but instead I flung a handful of iron fillings I’d been using for some electromagnetic experiments at the phae. I grabbed the spores and I ran. And now I’m here.”

The story seemed to deflate him, and he sank back to the stump.

Merrilee looked at Beck, who flattened his ears to echo the worry in her eyes.

Reaching for the whiskey bottle, Nally said, “The emissary mentioned—just an angry aside—that phae traitors had taken up residence in a valley out this way. I thought if I could find Vaile’s Valley, I might find a haven.”

Beck exchanged another glance with Merrilee, and she shook her head slightly. “Doesn’t ring a bell with either of us. But our people will start sniffing around.”

Nally glanced up. “You’ll help?”

“Phae traitors in our world? That’s a change, and I want to know what it means.” She paused, head cocked.

Beck lifted his head, matching her tension. Then he heard it too.

A howl, drifting on the wind. Faint, far away.

And afraid.

Chapter 7

Merrilee knew Beck and Nally were close behind, but she didn’t glance back, not even when she smelled blood from the doctor’s tender paws. Her pack cried out for her, and she would not slow.

Still, despite the impulse hauling her homeward, she sensed Beck’s powerful presence behind her like the bow of a shockwave giving her fresh energy when the night’s miles wore at her.

They crested the ridge above the valley—she and Beck side by side, with Nally a short way behind. She scanned the village. All the house lights blazed, and an unfamiliar line of lights—coldly wavering—spiraled through the darkness near the lake.

They raced down the hill toward the back of her cottage, shifting as they hit the edge of the trees.

Peter was waiting with an armful of clothing, glancing at the other two males without comment. “The phae are down by the lake. They want...I don’t know what the hell they want. They’ll only speak to you. Keisha is stalling them.” He swallowed, fear for his wife echoing in his human voice just as it had suffused his howl.

Merrilee took the clothes from him. It was a summer tank dress, inappropriate for the cool of night, but she could rip out of it in a heartbeat if she shifted. “How are we doing on weapons? I hope we have more than sketches.” She strode for the back door, yanking the red silk over her head.

Peter followed her inside. “We cut apart the fencing after you left. Each shaft is pure iron. It’s all on the front porch, waiting for you. We didn’t want to challenge them.”

“That’s what I’m here to do.”

“We. That’s what we are here to do.”

She swung around to face Beck who was only steps behind.

Her mouth opened automatically to warn him off, but she closed it with a snap. She wasn’t stupid. Confused and—little though she wanted to admit it—frightened. Not of the phae, but of him.

But she also knew—as deeply true as her verita luna—he would stand with her against anything.

She gestured down the hall. “Spare clothes are in the bedroom.”

He nodded and tossed Nally’s satchel to the doctor. He brushed past her, his skin hot from their run, and disappeared into the spare bedroom where she kept various castoffs for shifting visitors.

She took a breath to steady herself. Without his presence, the air was strangely bland.

She faced Nally who was pulling his clothes from the satchel. “Doctor, I want you to stay here, out of the phae’s sight, smell, senses or whatever else they use. Help Peter find this Vaile’s Valley. If these phae have an enemy, I want that enemy as a friend.”

Nally grunted an assent, but Peter dogged her steps as she headed for the front office. “I need to be with Keisha.”

She paused to touch his shoulder, feeling the wolf-kind muscle under the layer of computer programmer padding. “I’ll send her back to help with this search, which is more important than any posturing down at the lake.” And if anything happened to her, she wanted her Beta out of harm’s way, ready to take command. “Doctor Nally will explain the situation.”

Peter looked torn, but he went to her desk and opened a satellite terrain map. “What do we know about this valley?”

She left them to their search and yanked open the door to the find the fence staves lined up against the flower boxes, looking incongruently dark and dangerous against her blood-red carnations.

She took a makeshift spear. With the butt end on the ground, it came up only to her belly button, but the blunted arrow-shaped head seemed lethal enough. To anything it pierced, especially a phae.

Beck appeared at her side and plucked the spear from her hand. “I’ll take that.”

She bared her teeth. “Don’t start the Alpha shit now, Bexley.”

He loomed over her, looking as lethal as the iron shafts in his too-tight black T-shirt. The cargo pants she kept for guests had always seemed a reliable choice, but now—on him, considering the circumstances—the leafy camo pattern seemed menacing. He was every bit the warrior with spears in hand.

Including her spear.

She snapped out each word. “Give. Me. My. Weapon.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t the way to face them. You don’t want to look defensive. You want to look in control.”

“I am in command.” She knew that wasn’t quite the same thing, but the truth hurt like a spear in the gut. She had never faced this sort of threat. And he had.

But he didn’t remind her of the fact. “Let me be the dumb muscle. You go down there, cool and collected, and find out what they want, what they know. If they thought it would benefit them, they’d have attacked already. Don’t reveal your hand either.”

She took a breath. This time, the air was laden with his distinctive earthy scent and the whiff of salt. For an instant, she was tempted to lean in and taste him.

Salt, like iron, supposedly barred the phae. They were creatures of glamour, not the crude realities of the bodily world. But the earthy, salty truth of the Alpha beside her made her pity them. No wonder they wanted to steal the passions of the sunlit world.

So why she was fighting so hard against those passions? Was she really such an uncertain Alpha that she doubted her command over herself? She wasn’t supposed to be fighting herself, but the enemy. Who was not Beck, despite what the helpless acceleration of her heartbeat sometimes led her to believe.

She let out the breath slowly and nodded.

Beck gave her a crooked smile. He reached over and snapped off one of the blooms and tucked it behind her ear. The carnation’s peppery perfume wreathed her.

“Spicy and spiky, just like you,” he murmured.

“In the language of flowers, the carnation means ‘I am but human.’”

He chuckled. “One, no you’re not. And two, I can’t even believe you know that.”

She shrugged. “Peter told me. Keisha planted them because they were used to coronate royalty.”

“If he likes obscure information, hopefully he can find this mysterious phae valley. And I can easily imagine you with a crown of these flowers in your hair, my wolf-kind queen.” He leaned in to kiss her.

This was so not the time or place, with the invading phae in the valley, not to mention the gossipy Peter right inside the front door. But the brush of his lips was so sweet, so right.

She tangled her fingers in Beck’s wind-ruffled hair and deepened the kiss.

The phae wanted passions? She’d show them passions.

He gave a soft grunt of surprise. Though his arms were full of iron spears, preventing any wandering hands, he tilted his head lower to give her better access. He had perfect lips for kissing, thin and masculine but full enough to tempt her to bite. She sucked at his lower lip, pulling the slick flesh between her teeth.

This time his groan was all pleasure, and his tongue chased hers as if they had all night and all day and another night besides.

Slowly, as her breath ran out, damned reality intruded. She pulled away, straightening the flower in her hair. “Okay then.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

In silence, they walked down to the lake parking lot. So late, there were no visitors’ cars. Instead, the blacktop gleamed like ice in the reflected light of a dozen torches.

“Torches,” Merrilee muttered. “Seriously?”

“Give ’em a break,” Beck said. “They were chased out of the world during the Iron Age. Takes time to catch up, especially if they don’t have a tech-loving modern leader like you.”

No, their Queen apparently had a more primitive invasion in mind. But this valley was one territory she wouldn’t claim.

Instead of the hot red flicker of flames, the phae torches wavered like water with a pale silvery hue. The midair ripples were weirdly mesmerizing, and Merrilee had to force her gaze away.

“Nice trick,” Beck murmured.

The beings that held the torches were also strangely compelling. They looked mostly human, if severely beautiful...until their forms rippled like the torchlight, revealing a mishmash of wings and tails, claws and scales. Behind the dozen torch bearers stood a line of darker figures. Their shapes did not waver; tall and menacing as Beck, with talon-tipped black wings that arched over their shaggy heads. Obviously the killers.

But as she and Beck approached the tableau, it was the phae in the lead who truly captured her attention. Mounted on a massive, skull-headed stag with a strange mottled hide that came and went like scudding clouds, the phae was draped in a cloak of ivy and from his brow spread antlers almost as wide as the stag’s. Whether it was his own growth or a clever headdress, she wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered with a creature of illusion, she supposed.

However, the gleaming fangs of the three-headed dog beside him looked real enough to rend flesh from bone. The middle head snapped as they stepped closer.

Beck snarled back, full throated. The vicious sound filled the parking lot and the lake beyond.

Mine, said the snarl, though of course he knew better.

Or at least Merrilee thought he did.

She put her hand on his shoulder to stop him. He paused, reluctance vibrating through her fingertips from his every tensed muscle. She continued on alone to join Keisha and two of her werelings who were ranged in front of the phae.

They parted for her without glancing back, attuned to her presence.

She smiled at her Beta. “Thank you for seeing to our guests while I was occupied. You may return to your tasks.”

Keisha blinked at her then inclined her head and slipped away, not needing another word. The other two werelings edged back beside Beck.

Merrilee faced the phae. “I apologize for not being here to greet you earlier. If only I’d had word you were coming. Welcome to my territory, Lord of the Hunt.”

The phae studied her a moment, a preternatural red glint in his eye. “You know me, wereling.”

“Queen,” Beck retorted. “Queen of this valley.”

Under other circumstances, she might have laughed, maybe a little bitterly. She held only a small lake and a few homes, a spread of trees, a decent Wi-Fi connection, and one aging Cessna. And now she faced this ancient being, barefoot with a flower in her hair.

Maybe it was Beck’s growl—or the iron spears—but the phae lord inclined his horned head. “It is a fine little valley. Queen.”

“The lake in the sunlight is quite lovely,” she said modestly. As far as she knew, the phae were not incapacitated by sunlight, but neither could they easily maintain their disguises under the bright, clear truth of day.

Although, if as Nally said, the spores could open portals anywhere, the phae would not be so proscribed in their comings and goings.

As for what the spores did to humans... That was too terrible to contemplate.

“I hope to see it one day.” The hunter smiled thinly. “Perhaps soon.”

Okay, this was a reason why she wouldn’t be a good queen of old. This little game of words was going nowhere. “Why have you come?”

Apparently the Lord of the Hunt had as little interest in banter as she did. His tension made the stag stamp restlessly, its revealed bones clattering like gruesome wind chimes. “I have come for the alchemist.”

She rubbed her chin. “Sorry. Alchemist? I’m not sure—”

“The professor.” The stag clashed its bones again at the hunter’s anger. “He is one of yours.”

She shook her head slowly. “My pack is small and simple. I know them all, and not a one is trying to turn lead into gold.” She gestured, taking in the rustic setting. “Would one like you seek really come here?”

“All manner of rogues and traitors have gone to earth of late.” His eyes blazed with the crimson fury the torches lacked. “If you lie—”

She spread her other hand, empty palm up. “Werelings are creatures of truth.”

The piercing red gaze did not leave her, and she felt balanced on the point of those horns. Finally, he lifted his head, and she almost imagined the bloody glow sweeping the darkness behind her. “He is near,” the hunter said softly. “And I will find him.” He returned his attention to her. “It will go better for you if you put your nose to the ground and save me the need to occupy your lovely little territory. We will return tomorrow night for the alchemist. If you do not produce him...”

Her hackles rose, not at the dog reference but at his presumption. If the phae Queen thought this emissary was doing anything to smooth her way into the sunlit world, she must also like vinegar instead of honey.

But apparently neither of them wanted a knock-down-drag-out fight.

At least not yet.

Merrilee smiled, with almost as many gleaming teeth as the three-headed dog. “I will certainly do all I can to you.”

If the hunter heard her blatant slip, he didn’t acknowledge it. He spun the stag on its bone hooves toward the torch bearers. Instead of flinching away, they closed in around him in a circle, the black-winged killers in another ring around that.

Then they vanished.

For a heartbeat, the cold ripple of the torchlight remained in a thousand tiny twinkling lights. The same sort of light that led travelers into the woods, never to be seen again, Merrilee thought grimly. Then those too disappeared.

Beck stepped past her toward the space where the phae had gone. “Nice prevaricating,” he said conversationally.

“Thanks. All that time in the city has some upsides.”

Where the phae had gone stood a ring of toadstools. Even if she hadn’t had the night vision of all wolf-kind, she couldn’t have missed the circle. Each of the mushrooms was a hand span across with pale green tops glowing eerily in the light of the rising moon.

“Death caps. Biggest I’ve ever seen. Figures.” Beck used the tip of one fence shaft to methodically knock down the ring. In a snake of greenish smoke, each toadstool withered at the touch of iron.

Most woodsy folk knew to be wary of confusing the poisonous mushrooms for the edible sort, but this was a different danger. Merrilee shuddered. “Yet another reason to stick to mac and cheese.”

He slanted a glance at her. “Only because you haven’t tried my chanterelle bisque.”

She shook her head. “And you call yourself Alpha.”

Instantly she wanted to take back the bitchy comment, but he only grinned. “A real man knows how to get dirty.”

She couldn’t help but answer his smile even though she suspected he was trying to humor her out of worrying. But there was a lot to worry about: killer phae, poisonous mushrooms, not to mention a sexy Alpha on her turf.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 8

Pacing beside Merrilee back toward her cottage, Beck passed a couple of spears to her pack mates, keeping two for himself. At the porch, he handed them the rest of the makeshift weapons. “Be sure all your strongest have one.”

They slanted a glance at Merrilee, but she merely nodded, so they took the weapons and headed down the street.

He clenched his jaw, knowing she was going to rip into him—and rightly so—for ordering her people around. Instead she opened the front door and walked in. She glanced back. “You coming?”

Surprise held him frozen a moment then he jumped after her.

Yeah, he was always scrambling to keep up with her.

In the front office space, Peter and the doctor were hunched in front of Merrilee’s computer while Keisha paced. The coffeepot she’d hauled over to the desk dinged as if on cue, and she distributed cups to everyone while Merrilee summed up the encounter at the lake.

“Okay, this seems bad.” Peter swiveled back to the computer. “Based on what Eldon here was able to tell me and some poking around, I think we might just have had a phae invasion months ago and not even known.” He pulled up two satellite images of a typical Oregon valley, lush with trees on the ridges and boasting rich bottom land with a meandering stream. Except one image had a large, elegant house lording over the valley. “These images were taken a week apart. And there’s no road. How did a house appear basically overnight?” He waited a beat. “Magic.”

Merrilee grunted. “A phae rancher glamoured a McMansion for himself in the middle of Oregon?”

“Oh, it’s real enough,” Peter said. “Even if it doesn’t appear on any records anywhere. I think this is the phae rogues’ stronghold. Look at this.” He pulled up another image of the same valley from a slightly different angle. The light picked out the very faintest pattern in the long grass around which a small herd of black cows grazed. The ring looked very similar to the toadstools Beck had just stomped out.

“Crop circle,” Peter said with great satisfaction.

“So. Beef-loving aliens or phae.” Merrilee rubbed her forehead, knocking the flower out of her hair.

With lightning reflexes, Beck caught it before it hit the ground. He kept the flower, but he ran his other hand up under her hair, closing his fingers gently on the tension at the back of her neck.

For a moment, she stiffened in affront, the tiny hairs at her nape riffling against his sensitized fingertips, but as he massaged, she let out an almost inaudible sigh. Her skin, chilled from the night air, warmed to his touch.

Meanwhile, her gaze didn’t shift from the screen. “Where is it, if this is Vaile’s Valley?”

Peter widened the view, skimming past other landmarks and property divisions. “Few hours’ drive from here, no more. Except for the no road thing. Which of course isn’t a problem if we walk in.”

Merrilee took another breath and knocked Beck’s hand away as she turned, one hand already at the neckline of her dress, ready to toss it away. “Let’s go then.”

He caught her elbow. “No.”

Damn it, the tension flowed back in an instant. He felt it expand all through the room, even to Nally who was not her pack. She triggered that kind of devotion in every wolf-kind she met.

He should know.

He dropped her elbow. “You’re needed here. I’ll send Orson.”

Merrilee shook her head. “Bear-kind are slower.”

“Not that much slower, and he knows more about the phae than any of the rest of us.”

She chewed her lip, and he knew she must be exhausted to display that indecision.

“I could go,” Nally offered. “I could explain most clearly what has happened.”

The hint of uncertainty gone except for the redder mark on her already red lips, she shook her head. “The Lord of the Hunt probably suspects you are here, hiding among us, and hopes to flush you out. We’re not going to fall for that.”

“But it’s my fault the phae are here at all.” Nally hunched his shoulders. “I had good intentions creating the spores, but the road to hell...”

“Not an entire road yet,” Beck reassured him. “Just a few portals to the phae realm.”

Merrilee grabbed car keys from the desk beside the door. “All right. Nally, you come with us and explain to Orson what he needs to tell the phae, assuming this is Vaile’s Valley. Keisha, Peter, I want to be ready for a pack meeting at dawn. When the Lord of the Hunter comes back, I want some creative answers to his rude questions.”

As they headed out to her car, Beck murmured in her ear. “You don’t have to come. I can take Nally to town and see Orson off.”

She shrugged, pushing him away from her shoulder. “No. I’m not letting you do this by yourself.”

“Letting me?” He made his voice a low rumble.

She pointed the key at him. “Don’t.”

“Merrilee, does it ever occur to you that we have a rare opportunity here? Two strong packs, with all the assets that entails. We could make this anything we wanted.”

“Pack fusion is a risky proposition,” Nally noted. “At least when both Alphas are still alive. Two strong packs means two very strong personalities, and that can lead to...” He met Beck’s furious stare and clutched his satchel to his chest. “That can lead to very interesting things. And of course I believe in opening new pathways... Perhaps I should get in the car.”

“Do that.” Beck stared at Merrilee over the hood as the doctor slid into the back seat. “Did you notice how I didn’t take the keys out of your hand? I’m a very progressive Alpha male that way.”

She snorted. “Take my keys and I’ll bite you. I am a bitch that way.”

Their ride down the mountain was quick and mostly silent.

They found Orson smelting iron in his backyard in a homemade foundry of sheet metal cylinders riveted together. The fluid pouring from the spout glowed lava-bright.

“Looks like an accident waiting to happen,” Nally opined.

Beck glanced at him. “You made mushrooms that unlock real magic.”

Nally pursed his lips.

They waited for Orson to complete his task, pouring the molten metal into a box of wet sand. Divots carved in the sand held the metal into pointed shapes.

When the bear-kind pulled off his welder’s mask, he grinned at them. “Iron spearheads. Gotta love the internet. I asked Babette to hit up her pickers for any iron scraps they can find.” His grin faltered and a hunted look crossed his face. “Not sure what she’ll want for it all, though.”

“We have another task for you.” Beck quickly outlined their findings and the plan, and then let Nally take over the story. He stepped aside to where Merrilee was standing, staring at the black char in the grass; all that was left of the imp.

“Like a bad dream,” she murmured.

“Daylight’s almost here.”

“And then the phae lord returns after that.”

A weary note in her voice made him angle protectively closer. “When we finish up here, I’ll take you home. Nally can stay here.”

She shook her head. “He’s my responsibility.”

“How?” He tried to keep the growl out of his voice. “We both found him. The phae are threatening our valley and maybe more besides. How is this only about you?”

“Because.”

He waited, but she fell silent. “That’s the stupidest answer I’ve ever heard, Mer, and you are one of the smartest women I know.”

“Because I have to do it all,” she snapped. “That’s what an Alpha does.”

He straightened. “What? No. We do not do it all.”

She waved a hand. “Maybe you don’t. Because you are better at this job than me.”

“That’s not what I—” Orson called his name, and Beck scowled at her. “Hold that thought.”

“I’ll add it to my list,” she muttered.

Orson flapped the map that Peter had printed out. “Crazy,” he said by way of commentary. “I’ll get Barry to drive us as close as possible, then we’ll go on foot the rest of the way. We’ll take his phone, so call us if...if anything.”

They separated at the front walk, Orson heading toward Barry’s house, Beck, Merrilee and Nally to her car.

Nally peered out the back window as they drove away. “I hope he and his friend will be okay. I’d feel terrible if...” He shook his head. “I already feel terrible.”

“They are bear-kind,” Beck said reassuringly. “And passable singers. If anyone can sweet talk or force a phae, as necessary, it’ll be barbershop bears.”

As they drove through the main part of town, half the houses were still lit, despite the late hour. The half that were wereling, Beck knew. The humans would be blissfully sleeping.

Except one human habitation blazed with a porch light and a string of all-weather rope lighting.

He tapped the windshield, drawing Merrilee’s attention to the Victorian. “Looks like Babette is awake. Let’s see if her pickers came up with anything today.”

When Merrilee pulled the car around to the big barn, they found Babette already there. She waved them closer then turned the gesture triumphantly to the pile of rusty pipes laying in the drive.

As they piled out of the car, she grinned. “What a lucky score, hey? Hauler friend of mine just finished salvaging a tear-down.” She peered past them. “That old bear with you too?”

Grinning, Beck shook his head. “But Orson will be thrilled to get all this. Can I pay you now?”

“C’mon inside, and I’ll give you the invoice.” She led the way toward the house. “Mind you, don’t kick a hole through the salt.” She pointed out the thin line of the white crystals poured around the house. “And, Bexley, don’t knock your head on the horseshoes. I didn’t have time to hang ’em right. I did some searching online after I got the foundry design for Orson, and I read the wind chimes are good to have too. But you can’t believe everything you read, right?”

They ducked under the line of iron crescents dangling from the doorframe into the farmhouse kitchen.

Nally glanced around curiously at the braid of garlic cloves tied into the shape of a cross. “You...seem to have barricaded yourself against supernatural assault.”

“Not against bear changelings, I hope,” Babette said cheerfully. “Just those damned fairies.”

Nally slanted a glance at Beck who shrugged. “Babette is our resident collaborator.”

The professor nodded. Most humans who stumbled upon the knowledge of werelings kept the news to themselves, rightly suspecting that informing the world of their discovery would not endear them to either werelings or their fellow humans. But the desire to delve deeper into the unknown and forbidden was too much for many of them to walk away, and so they became collaborators, a word that simultaneously acknowledged their new association with werelings...and a certain inevitable distance from the unsuspecting human world they left behind.

Babette clucked. “Nobody threatens my friends. Don’t much matter who—or what—they are.” She bustled through the swinging door into the dining room which was overflowing with antiques and knickknacks. “I have the invoice here somewhere.”

Nally sank into a chair that needed a fresh coat of paint. He sighed and leaned his elbow on the end table beside him, then froze.

Beck noticed his arrested expression. “What’s up, Doc?”

Merrilee made a disapproving noise at the line, but Nally reached out for an object displayed below the stand of silk scarves and beaded necklaces. The hand-lettered sign above read Local Artists.

He held the small metal square a moment, his gaze fixed, before rotating his hand to let them see the engraved belt buckle.

“I like my buckles bigger,” Beck said.

Merrilee stepped closer. “The pattern is the same as the image Peter showed us.”

Babette joined them, a yellow sheet in her hand. “Found it. Oh, I see you found a treasure too.” She smiled. “I can add it to your total.”

“Where did you get these?” Beck poked through the other buckles. Three showed more traditional depictions of broncos bucking, but the last had another version of the stylized circle pattern.

Babette pointed at the sign. “Sweet local boy. Makes some gemstone ones, but I sell out of those faster than he can get them to me. Name’s Josh Reimer.” She turned over a buckle to show them the RR symbol on the back. “Runs some real nice cattle, too, about three hours from here.”

“Reimer Ranch,” Merrilee said. “That was on the plat map we saw.”

“One hill over from Vaile’s Valley.” Beck looked at the older woman. “Do you have his phone number?”

While Babette dug through her records again, Nally hauled himself upright with a pained sigh, clearly anticipating another long explanation, but Beck put a hand on his shoulder. “Babette, you willing to take on a boarder for the night?”

She shrugged. “Sure, although I still have some work to get done around here. I read how you can smelt iron in a microwave.”

The doctor looked horrified and intrigued at the same time. “Another online search?”

She nodded. “There seemed to be some question whether it’s a good idea.”

Beck coughed. “I was hoping to have a safe place for Doctor Nally here.” When the professor bristled a bit, Beck gave him a look. “A fairy-free place.”

Nally sank back onto the chair he’d just left and looked down at his scuffed hands. “Not running sounds wonderful.”

“I’ll take the spores. I have an old iron safe where we can lock it up until...” He trailed off since he wasn’t entirely sure what came after.

Nally handed over the satchel with another sigh. “I pass the onus to you.”

Merrilee shook her head. “You still have knowledge we need. You stay behind these protections until we’re sure the phae understand they can’t have what’s ours.”

The professor sat a little straighter, nodding. At the brighter spark in the wolf-kind’s tired eyes, Beck was torn between a smile and a nip of jealousy. With just a few words, Merrilee gave the loner new energy and made him hers.

The first part was fine, but after that...

Beck shouldered the bag of ‘shroom spores and gestured Merrilee out through the kitchen, Babette following.

“Poor little man,” she murmured. “He’s tuckered out. I’ll get him fed and put to bed.” She pulled open the door for them. “You send Orson back to me, and I’ll have some iron bullets ready for him.”

Beck remembered to duck beneath the horseshoes on the way out. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

“But if it does, thank you,” Merrilee added.

Babette stood in the doorway a moment, staring out at the night. “I always knew there was more to the world than I was seeing. I just...for some reason, it’s been a while since I remembered to look.” She shifted her gaze to them. “So thank you.”

As they drove away from the barn with the scrap pipe loaded into the trunk, Beck pulled the vial from the satchel. “Seems so innocuous.” He slanted a glance at Merrilee. “But I suppose even a little thing can change everything.”

She tilted her head. “I suppose.”

“A mushroom spore, a roadside bomb, an iron bullet,” he mused. “You.”

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t think I appreciate the comparison.”

“Change isn’t always bad.”

“It’s the bombs, bullets and toadstools part.”

“They brought us together.”

“Us? Let’s just get through the next couple of nights alive, okay?” Her expression was hard in the dashboard light, but her tone was pleading.

“I don’t think just living is enough for me anymore.”

“What are you—?”

“That’s all I wanted while I was overseas, but now... My uncle talked about you when he’d call me. Did you know that?”

She shook her head wordlessly.

“He said you were a fine Alpha, done your grandmother proud. He knew I’d be Alpha if I came home, and he wanted me to know about you.”

“When,” she murmured. “Not if you came home, when.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t a sure thing. Nothing is. I could only do my best.”

“And that’s always been...”

He waited for a long moment. “Been what?”

“Nothing.” She pulled into the parking lot by the bar. “I’ll be happy to lock this thing away.”

Frustration rippled through him. He didn’t doubt she would be. Just as she locked up everything else.

Chapter 9

Following Beck into the bar, Merrilee kept her gaze off the pool table. At least he made that easier by not turning on the lights. Instead, he led them directly to the back room and down the basement steps.

In addition to stock for the bar, his home brewing equipment crowded the cool cement room, the stainless steel vats gleaming under the bare bulb he flicked on. The batch was obviously in the fermenting stage, but a lingering bready scent of the mash made her stomach gurgle.

Beck glanced back, lips curling in amusement, as he pushed open a door to a side room. “That mac and cheese letting you down?”

She wrinkled her nose as she followed him into the little office. “If you hadn’t stolen my beer, it would’ve been a real meal.”

He sat behind his desk and swiveled around to an open cardboard box to withdraw a dark brown bottle. “Try this one.” He swiveled the other direction to open the solid gray waist-high safe pushed into the corner. “Bottle opener’s up there somewhere.”

She tossed her keys on his desk and dropped into the second rolling chair while he stuffed the satchel into the safe.

Actually there was a whole bowl full of bottle openers with every logo known to bartenders. She took the Harley one on top but paused when he grabbed his phone and pulled out the phone number Babette had given him.

He gave her a hopeful crossed fingers gesture as he dialed. When a faint—and faintly irate—voice answered, he leaned back in his chair. “Is this Josh Reimer? I’m a friend of Babette, from the Antique Emporium. I apologize for calling so late, but—No, no, she’s fine, but I need to get word to a fellow I think is a neighbor of yours, name of Vaile...” His gesture changed to a thumb’s up and he shot her a triumphant glance. “I understand your reluctance, but about those circle patterns on your belt buckles...”

Merrilee listened, nodding as he hit the high points of the story with a certain amount of deliberate vagueness.

“My friend Orson will be at Vaile’s place in a few hours to explain in more detail. I’d sure appreciate it if you’d let Vaile know what’s coming.” He paused as the other man responded. “Well, sir, mysteries are just a part of life, aren’t they?”

They exchanged a few more words, including Merrilee’s contact info, then Beck disconnected. He glanced at her. “How’d I do?”

“You didn’t sound too insane.”

He grimaced. “Drink your dinner.”

When she finally cracked open the beer, the hoppy fragrance made her close her eyes and inhale. She leaned back and took a drink.

She couldn’t contain a moan of delight as the rich head hit the back of her throat. Notes of chocolate and blackberry danced across her tongue. She tilted the chair and upended the bottle for another long draught.

When she opened her eyes, Beck was watching, his golden eyes almost as dark as the brew. “Like it?”

“Might be your best ever.”

He smiled as he shut the safe with a reverberating clang. “I think so too.”

She stared at him. “How did you get to be so confident?”

He leaned back in his chair, echoing her stance. “I’m Alpha.”

She shook her head. “I’m Alpha too. And I don’t feel it.”

“Going away for a while...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “My parents weren’t Alpha, but I was cocky enough they knew I would be. I didn’t want to leave home, but I learned a lot about myself while I was away.” He glanced up, a sharper look in his eye. “Is that why you’re always flying out?”

She looked down at her beer. “Maybe. Or not. I didn’t want it at all, really.” She took another hurried sip, swallowing hard when the beer foamed up. “I never told anyone that.”

“Never wanted...” His expression stilled. “Never wanted to be Alpha?”

“My grandmother was disappointed my mother wasn’t Alpha. I think Mom had me just to silence the long-suffering sighs.”

“She couldn’t have known you’d be Alpha.”

Merrilee shrugged. The Alpha strain ran in families, so of course the chances had been good. “I don’t blame either of them. I just wish...”

He watched her closely. “Someone else could take your place.”

Even though she tried to stay loose in the chair with the help of her exhaustion and the good beer, every muscle tightened, coming to alert at the mere threat.

He gave her a fainter smile. “Or not.”

She groaned. “It’s like another beast inside me. As if it wasn’t crowded enough in here.”

“Like the military, being Alpha is an honorable duty.”

She scowled at him. “You think I don’t know that?”

“But it’s also a pleasure.” He pushed out of his chair and sauntered around his desk to perch on the edge in front of her. Hooking a toe through the leg of her chair, he rolled her closer. “After all, you get to tell people what to do.”

She lifted her chin when her knees bumped against his. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“And weirdly enough, that is an even greater pleasure.” He leaned down to brace his hands on her thighs and stare into her eyes. “So why don’t you try it. Tell me what to do.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to back off, but what came out was, “Kiss me.”

He smelled of iron and night, and his mouth was as hot as a forge. He kissed her as if it had been his idea.

He hauled her up into his arms, and the flex of muscle made her pulse jump in answer. She wanted that strength inside her, but...

She pulled back a scant inch. “No. Beck. We don’t have time for this. The phae... My pack meets at dawn... I have to go.”

“I locked your car keys in the safe.”

“What?”

“I hear you bite when someone messes with your keys, but even a wereling can’t bite through iron.”

She struggled against his grip. “You can’t—”

“But I did. And you can’t keep pushing yourself to do it all. That’s what you said before, but that’s not what an Alpha does. You have a strong pack, Merrilee. Let them do their work. Your only job is to lead them.”

“Only?” A harsh laugh that sounded too much like a sob escaped her.

“Only, but not alone.” He ran his hand over her hair, a soothing gesture that nevertheless forced her to look up at him. “I’m here.”

He kissed her again, and with another flex of his arms, he was carrying her up the stairs. Not just to the bar, but up another flight, to his apartment above. She’d seen the lights in the upstairs windows once or twice—maybe three times, or possibly more—when she’d driven through town, but she’d never been up to his rooms.

The paneling was even older than his favorite T-shirts, but the space had an almost Zen-inspired simplicity with clean Mission furniture and simple Kashmiri rugs softening the wood floors. Except for all the bookshelves; those were overflowing with dog-eared paperbacks. She’d have to tease him about eating his homework. And maybe buy him an e-reader.

That was the only glimpse she got before he headed for the bedroom. She saw the Chinese blouse she’d worn to New York folded neatly on a corner chair, but then he was carrying her to the tiny bath.

He twisted on the shower with one hand while lifting off her dress with the other, the brush of his fingers raising shivers over her skin. There were certain benefits to a very small bath.

“This is why you ditched poor Nally,” she murmured.

“I wanted to stash the good doctor in a safe place. And that’s not around me when I want you.”

As steam rose around them, turning to silver smoke in the light of the moon through the small window, she watched him strip out of the borrowed clothes.

“You look even better naked,” she said.

“You don’t mind...” His hand hovered above his marred ribs. “It’s ugly.”

“I mind what almost happened to you because of them.” She settled her hands on his hips, her thumbs brushing the twist of scars. “And you know perfectly well how sexy you are.”

“You can have me this way anytime you ask.” He lifted them both into the shower.

“I’m asking.”

“Coming right up then.”

He did, too, kissing her under the stream of water until she was gasping, then perfectly angling into her with his body slick with water, hers wet with wanting him.

He held her easily, one hand under her ass and the other against the wall, his cock stretching and stroking her core. She clutched at his shoulders, tightening her fingers on the muscle as if she could claim that power.

Like the morning, her orgasm came faster than she wanted. She struggled to hold back, but he felt so good, so right, inside her.

“Stop fighting it,” he whispered against her hair. “Stop fighting me.”

The soft, fierce command made her come, her inner ring of muscles tightening around him while waves of pleasure spread outward.

He threw back his head, and the groan wrenching through him seemed dredged from the very root of his cock, so deep was the sound. It vibrated her bones, and she climaxed again as he surged inside her.

Even his strong arms were trembling by the time they caught their breath and he eased out of her. He let her slide carefully down the wall.

She locked her knees, embarrassed at the urge to keep sliding into a limp puddle at his feet.

Before the water could wash the last evidence from her skin, he lifted her out of the shower and wrapped her in a towel. He knelt to dry her legs.

“I can do that,” she muttered.

“But why, when I am here?” He smiled up at her, white teeth flashing in the gloom. “Learn to delegate.”

His hands were better, gentler than her own rough efficiency, both soothing and exciting.

She touched his bent head, the tousled locks so like the coarse silk of his wolf pelt. “How can you do that?”

“The miracle of good towels? It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

She almost let the moment slip away; finding the words was harder than the first time she’d gone hunting field mice in thatch. But somehow she knew she had to keep digging. “How do you kneel without feeling...small?”

When he looked up again, his gaze was serious. “It doesn’t change who I am. Or what I am.” He stood with an easy swiftness that made her breath catch. “And it doesn’t change you.”

“But—”

“We’re not all-powerful, babe.” He caught her hand against his scarred belly. “Don’t learn that like I did: the hard way. You’re smart enough and strong enough to know when you don’t have to do it all yourself.”

The thought of not being alone was so tempting, her fingers clenched with wanting it, wanting him. She closed her eyes tight to squeeze away a suspicious stinging and boosted herself up to kiss him.

He took it like his due, which once upon a time would have made her livid, but somehow the water and his touch seemed to have smoothed away her ire. “We only have a few hours,” he said when she slid down. “Let’s make the most of it.”

She thought that meant something dirty, now that they were all clean, but when he carried her to the bed and pulled back the navy flannel sheets, he laid her down and only pulled her into the curve of his arm, her head cushioned on his shoulder.

She lay stiffly against him for a heartbeat. “And?”

He kissed her forehead. “Put your thigh over mine.”

“What?”

“It’s called snuggling.”

“I know that.” Tentatively, she crooked her leg. “I saw a movie once.”

He chuckled, bouncing her head a bit.

Her arm flat against her side felt out of place, unbalanced, so she placed that on his chest. Now the heavy thud of his heart echoed under her ear and her palm, seeming to connect through her body.

From her position, her view to the nightstand included a small framed plaque with a medal pinned in the center. “Is that your Silver Star?” When his uncle had named him Alpha, of course everyone in the valley had looked him up on the internet him, so she knew he’d received the medal for pulling two fellow soldiers to safety despite the wound that had earned him the Purple Heart and his belly of scars.

His arm tightened on her. “Like there aren’t enough stars in the sky around here.”

She thumped his chest at his deprecating tone. “Is that why you keep it right where you can see it? A night light?”

He grumbled under his breath. “It’s a reminder.”

“Of what?”

His aggrieved sigh ruffled her hair. “I was a bad kid, but... I got a shiny gold and silver star eventually. On the back it says ‘Gallantry in Action.’ Not just gallantry. Not just action. Those are easy, you know? But both at the same time?”

She tucked her chin to his chest. “That’s an Alpha.”

“Yeah. And I want to remember that. Now go to sleep.” His murmur was less command than entreaty. “I’ll get you home before the sun rises.”

With his promise and his heartbeat quieting her, she slept.

* * *

Ice rimed the world the next morning, which made the instant oatmeal and equally instant coffee more delicious than they had the right to be. Merrilee hummed her appreciation as she waited for Beck to retrieve her keys from the safe.

He frowned at her. “That’s nothing. You need to try my omelets.”

She smiled around the chunks of brown sugar. “You’re lucky I’m not biting you for stealing my keys.” She gazed past him at the vial of purple spores. “Such little things to cause such trouble.”

His stare at her was more direct as he tossed her the keys. “Tell me about it.”

He made her watch while he started her car and scraped ice off the windows, but she refused to wait inside. She couldn’t let him always tell her what to do.

Plus, he hadn’t bothered to put on a coat, and she liked the way his butt looked in his close-fitted jeans, bending over her hood.

Fingers wrapped around her coffee, she tucked her nose down in the buttoned-up neck of the flannel-lined denim jacket he’d loaned her. He’d ignored his box of visitor clothing and pulled the jacket and a pair of sweatpants from his own closet to replace her ridiculous summer dress, so the cozy warmth smelled of rich cedar, an overlay of malt, and him.

And a hint of sex since they’d indulged one last time before they’d stumbled out of bed.

She let out a breath that fogged in the cold air. She shouldn’t get used to this; she might get lazy and spoiled on good beer.

For all the icy chill, the predawn sky was a Technicolor meld of pink and blue, promising lovely weather later. Just the sort of day one wanted to spend smelting iron bullets, marshalling the pack and preparing for a preternatural war.

Beck opened the driver door for her and she slipped in. She looked up at him. “I’m sending our young down here today.”

He nodded. “I think it’s a good day for a field trip. I’ll have the bus ready and a contingent to go with them. I’ll be up with the rest of my people later.”

The car’s heaters were blasting, but the warmth that went through her had nothing to do with that. “The phae are threatening my territory. It’s not your fight.”

His jaw clenched, and his gold eyes darkened. He leaned down so fast, she thought he would snap at her, but instead he kissed her once, hard and possessive. He glared at her from that intimate distance.

“Haven’t you gotten the message yet? I will always fight for you.”

Without waiting for her response, he stepped back and slammed the door. He slapped the roof for good measure and pointed up valley, as if she might have forgotten the way.

She hesitated, wanting to jump out and...and what? Make him take it back?

Or make him say it again?

She gunned the car and sped away.

She arrived at the lakeside parking lot as her pack was gathering. Just a couple dozen families and singletons, healthy and sturdy from the mountain air and a satisfying life her great-grandmother had started for those who were just a bit unusual, even for werelings. She had been tasked with continuing that way of life, and instead this menace had found them.

Maybe there was only so much running away even a wolf-kind could do.

Keisha and Peter leaned shoulder to shoulder, looking tired but resolute, their arms wound around each other. The cougar-kind sculptor had loaded his trailer with all the quickly manufactured iron weapons, and now helped disperse the spears, clubs, flails and darts to the small crowd.

Merrilee brought them up to speed, with the finding of the rogue phae stronghold, the extra iron pipes in her trunk, the last-minute field trip for the children. She selected a handful of the young mothers and two older werelings to make the trek down valley, all of whom bristled at the exile for their own safety. “This is our place,” someone protested, but they all inclined their heads when Merrilee swept them with a glare.

“The phae will return this evening, and I want only our strongest to face them.” She refused to think how she’d raced away from her fiercest ally. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to a battle, but if it does, let’s be ready.”

Keisha dispensed a color-coded flow chart of how their forces—such as they were—would be positioned, and the pack went to stockpile their new weapons, looking unaccountable perky.

They were all apex predators within, she reminded herself. Perhaps they had been living the good life too long. Maybe Beck was right when he’d said she should have given them more opportunity to display their own power.

She just wished the chance hadn’t come under such dire circumstances.

As she’d expected, the day quickly warmed, and as she oversaw the conversion of Babette’s pipes to sharp iron daggers, she stopped by her cottage to change into something lighter. She tossed Beck’s hand-me-downs across her bed in the A-frame’s loft. For an instant, she imagined him naked in her shower, having left these clothes behind. As a trail for her to follow. As a marking of his territory.

She shivered at the thought, wanting his touch even now.

Resolutely, she pulled on a gorgeous strapless maxi dress she’d found on her last visit to New York. It would not fail to impress the glamorous phae and yet offered no impediment to shifting. She ran her hands over the ombre silk that was dyed from icy white around her breasts to an elegant gold to a fiery red speckled with white stars at her ankles. She’d thought it captured the spirit of the verita luna.

Now she would make it her armor as she pretended to be a queen.

The day seemed to go by too slowly, despite all she had to do. Keisha had taken a call earlier from Orson who had made contact with Josh Reimer, but had nothing to report about their meeting with Vaile. Though the bright sunlight ensured the phae would be reluctant to show themselves, Merrilee found she had one ear cocked for anything unusual.

Then she realized she was listening for the distinctive thunder of a Harley.

Which made her curse and stomp on her hem as she whirled away, almost yanking the dress off her breasts.

Which of course made her think of Beck even more.

She almost hoped the Lord of the Hunt did want war, because she certainly felt like attacking something.

So she ate, made sure all her people did the same, insisted they take turns getting some rest—wolf-kind had a special affinity for napping in the sun—tried herself to relax and instead tossed restlessly on her bed next to the cedar-scented jacket, thinking of the night before. She touched the metal rivets down the front, imagining Beck’s flat, hard nipples.

“It’s called snuggling,” she grumbled softly.

An answering growl from far away made her jump out of bed. She went to the loft window that overlooked the lake, the parking lot and the road that wound down the valley.

A caravan was on its way, the rumbling Harley at the fore. She went to make coffee.

There would be no rest for the wicked.

Chapter 10

Beck took the neatly typed battle plan from Keisha, studied the layout and dispersed his people to the thin spots and a few other strategic locations. For a pack that specialized in pretty pictures, they’d organized themselves well. Not that he’d say that aloud to the pack’s leader, who undoubtedly would find a way to take it as an insult.

The Alpha whom he hadn’t seen yet even though the sun was heading toward the backside of the mountains.

He stalked up the hill toward her cottage and grabbed Peter as he hustled by. “Where’s Merrilee?”

Peter lifted his head, seeking that inherent feel all pack members had for their Alpha. “Down at the lake.” His wife called his name and he abandoned Beck without a backward glance.

Damn it, “the lake” covered a lot of water.

Beck glanced at the shimmering blue reflecting the darkening sky. No wonder the view inspired her creative werelings. He took a step that would angle him directly to the parking lot.

But paused. His head swiveled seemingly of its own accord toward a spot closer to the water.

There. He couldn’t see her, but she was there.

His hackles prickled. She was not his Alpha! And yet his feet, apparently turned traitor along with his head, carried him down the hill and through the willows that edged the lake. Where the willows turned to reeds, he found her.

She stood with her dress hiked up to her thighs, shin-deep in the lake. With the bright hot colors of the dress on the darkening blue, she looked like a flame dancing on the water.

He paused, still stunned by his awareness of her, and leaned against a willow, striving for casual though really he wondered if his knees would hold him up. Finally he found his drawl. “Gone fishin’?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Cooling my heels.”

“You always were impatient.”

“Scared, mostly.”

He straightened. “Mer, I won’t let the phae—”

“Not scared of them.” She slogged out of the lake without further clarification, shaking water vines off her bare ankles. “I saw the reinforcements you brought. Thank you. I would have missed that opening in our perimeter. You’re good at this.”

Her blunt compliment made him blink in surprise. “Those years in the army were worth something.”

“I’m grateful you’re here.” She stopped in front of him and pushed herself up onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

Her lips yielded against his. He wanted to pull her close, but he was still unnerved by the feeling that had pulled him to her. “You would do the same for me.”

She quirked her lips, but the expression was more wry than amused. “If the Sun-Down Tavern ever needs a new logo, I’m your girl. But you’ll never change that, will you?”

He tilted his head, wary of the undercurrents still swirling around her even though she wasn’t standing in the water anymore. Was she saying she wanted to be his girl? A zing went through him, but he wasn’t sure if it was excitement or fear.

“I brought Nally and the spores with me,” he told her. “Could be dangerous, even with him wrapped in iron and four-leaf clovers, but I wanted every option available.”

She nodded. “I talked to him earlier. He’s still feeling guilty. I told him he is not to sacrifice himself.”

Beck tilted his head at the way she said the word. “No one is going to sacrifice for those creatures. They have their own world, as we do. They’ll just have to live with what they have.”

She studied him. “Didn’t you say that’s not enough for you anymore? Just living?”

As if the lake waters were rising to drown him, he felt himself paddling to stay afloat on the strange mood ebbing between them. “That was different.”

“Right. Too different.”

“Mer—”

“We should get back.”

Considering she was the one who’d left, this seemed like a blatant dismissal, but he followed her to the parking lot.

With the failing sunlight, her pack had lit their own torches, great fiery things scented of pitch. In their flickering light, her dress shimmered like flame, ready to burn.

And still he wanted to reach out for her.

He prowled away, out of temptation distance. This was not the time to confuse their people. Or himself. But as he skulked just beyond the firelight, still his awareness of her tugged at him.

Hands clasped in front of her, she stood in the empty parking lot. On the other side was the lake, dark now and reflecting the early stars in its stillness.

The first toadstool sprouted as the evening chill snaked across the pavement.

The circle appeared just outside the ring where Beck had burned the last one with iron, and he realized the mushrooms must have left spores he hadn’t seen. He hefted his spears, one in each hand. Next time, he’d be more thorough.

Merrilee did not move as the Lord of the Hunter strode from the circle, on foot this time, a myriad of phae behind him with their pale corpselights, and a line of his black-winged hunters behind them, as if in silent reminder about how the phae made corpses.

Beck’s muscles tensed, itching to throw the spear. But did they really want a war?

While the rest of the phae halted, the Lord of the Hunt approached Merrilee. “Well, Queen of Mutts, where is my alchemist?” At his voice, the evening chill seemed to spread in half-visible streamers across the parking lot.

“We found him,” she said.

An ember glinted deep in the phae lord’s stare. “And his treasure?”

She inclined her head. “Also found. And I am claiming him and his prize as my own.”

The phae stalked toward her. “You have no notion of what you are doing.”

“That has never stopped me before.” From somewhere in the folds of fiery silk, she produced two blades. The iron was rudely cast and brutal-looking, but the knives floated in her hands like dark flowers as she crossed them over her white-wrapped breasts.

The phae halted. “You move fast. The humans are never so quick to believe.”

She smiled. “You should see me when I’m mad.” The smile vanished, like a torch doused, leaving only cold determination. “We are not human, old hunter. You call us mutts? Maybe. We run through the night and the day with the same pleasure, creatures of both worlds.” She took her own step toward him. “And iron has never bothered us.”

The phae lord stiffened. Though his booted feet held firm, his antlered head canted back, away from the approaching blades. “What the alchemist has unleashed is not a thing of this world. It should be returned to our realm.” For a moment, his tone sounded almost plaintive.

“Where you can use it to open the way back here at your whim? I think not.” She took another step.

Beck swallowed a shout of alarm and sprang after her, flanked by a handful of his people on one side and a handful of hers on the other.

Their arrow of iron forced the phae lord to retreat. But if the lurking black wings took to the air, there weren’t enough werelings to contain them.

The phae shook his antlers with obvious dismay. “If you think our Queen will be stopped by mere threats—”

“Not mere threats.” She strode toward the phae, spreading her arms with blades at the ready. “And definitely not alone.”

She pointed at the lake.

From the water a bubbling circle appeared, rapidly widening with arching sparks, an algae bloom of silver and violet unfurling across the dark surface.

And from the middle burst a horse and right behind a confusing clash of black and white wings so it almost seemed the horse was flying.

The phae lord reeled back at the sudden appearance. His scream was piercing. “Traitor!”

The hunters behind him launched skyward, their leathery pinions battering the air like a sudden storm.

Beck and the other werelings raced to Merrilee’s side as the newcomers emerged from the lake, shaking off mere speckles of water as if they’d only come through a drizzle, not a mountain lake. A dozen phae were led by the traitor—Vaile, Beck guessed, the rogue hunter, with a white-winged woman behind him—plus the rider who fired a stinging round of buckshot toward the phae lord’s circling killers.

Beck smelled the iron burning the air even as one of the killers screamed in pain, wing-pierced; Orson must have brought the human Josh Reimer along. As if his name had conjured him, Orson and the rest of his quartet lumbered from the lake, already in the midst of the verita luna, their grizzled hides gleaming with diamond droplets.

The phae lord and his followers milled, caught between the iron-armed werelings and the new arrivals whose spore-sprouted entrance had been hidden by the dark waters.

Beck caught Merrilee’s arm. “You were laying the spores in the lake. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nally wasn’t sure it would work, if Vaile would be able to find the portal from his valley.” She shrugged him off. “I might have gotten pulled into the phae realm instead.”

His heart thrashing in his chest, Beck grabbed for her again.

But the Lord of the Hunt was not finished, even as Reimer’s rifle boomed again and another killer spiraled out of the sky while the werelings advanced with their spears. “I’ll take you back with me, traitor,” he shouted. “The Queen will have her way.”

“Not here,” Beck growled. “This is our valley.”

He charged the phae lord. He needed damned opposable thumbs to wield his spears, but the speed and ferocity of the wolf sizzled inside him. He called on the verita luna, feeling the crazed shift of bone and skin and fury. Muzzle gaping wide, he howled, caught halfway between in the il-luna.

He heard Merrilee cry out and knew he had crossed a line, revealing the ugly darkness at the heart of the beast, worse than any burn or scar. But he would not let their place, their chance, be stolen by thieving phae.

The Lord of the Hunt, focused as he was on Vaile, spun only at the last moment, stunned by the attack.

Beck raised the spears high above his head and brought the points slicing downward.

The phae lord shrieked as the iron carved through the antlers at his brow. The gleaming bones fell, smoking from the severed ends. The phae’s wail seemed to shiver the stars and the corpselight torches of his followers went black. No preternatural blood spurted, and Beck realized the antlers were part of a helm.

But whatever authority the helm had given the lord was gone. He stumbled backward, clutching at his head. His followers fell back around him, crowding toward their toadstool gate.

One of the killers swooped low, reaching for the severed horns.

Beck snarled and leapt, his jaws snapping at the leathery wings. The phae veered off, wobbling with a piece torn from his pinion, though he swiped with a vicious claw that didn’t quite reach.

“Beck!”

He turned with a frustrated roar, spears rattling forgotten in his own clawed hands.

Merrilee watched him, empty hands outspread. “Beck, enough. They are fleeing.”

He stepped over the horns. “Mine.” The word was garbled, ugly in his half-shifted throat.

She smiled around the fear in her eyes, fear that made him want to howl again, howl until the stars fell down. “Antlers do make good chew toys.”

He shifted back on his haunches to kick at the horns. “Not. Not these.” He hissed out the words. “You.” As mangled as his thoughts were, he could not stop them. They twisted past his reluctance to be rejected, past his understanding of her reticence, determined to be freed. “You. Are. Mine.”

Around them, the rogue phae and the werelings had forced the invaders back to their circle. Even the killers dropped from the skies as the toadstool ring glowed a sickly pale green and began to collapse. The werelings pierced each mushroom with their spears, and oily smoke spiraled up.

Merrilee didn’t glance at any of it. Her gaze was fixed on him even though he wanted her to look away from the il-luna monstrosity he’d become. Where was the gallantry here?

But instead she walked toward him, silk shifting around her long legs. When she was bare toe to clawed foot with him, she reached up to grab his muzzle. “No way.”

He sank to his knees as the il-luna passed, and she was right there beside him, cradling him with her bare arms strong around his shoulders.

She kissed the shaggy hair at his temple and whispered, “You are mine, too.”

Chapter 11

Merrilee took them all back to her cottage. The great room had never held so many people—people, werelings and phae. Luckily she had enough wine, though not enough glasses, so she shared her bottle with Beck.

Nally blinked at the rogue phae, Vaile, and his white-winged wife, Imogene. The two had brought with them the strongest of their kin who had escaped the phae realm. “The portal worked? I thought maybe, but... It really worked.”

Beck glared at him. “You may never give your Alpha a ‘maybe’ again, ever.”

The professor ducked his head. “Yes, sir.”

Merrilee nudged Beck’s shoulder. “Or maybe not. There’s a lot we have to learn about what the spores can do.”

He turned his glare to her. “Or should do.”

Imogene shook her head. “Spores that open pathways between the realms in ways we’ve never dreamed and into the secret magic inside all of us and humans as well?” She sent an apologetic glance to Josh Reimer and Babette who was seated very close to Orson. “This is...disquieting.”

“Things change,” Merrilee said. “Can’t do anything about that.” She felt Beck’s golden gaze on her, and as much as she was enjoying this impromptu party—the first of many, she supposed—she wished everyone would go away.

Vaile flipped the broken antlers between his fingers. “When I was one of the Queen’s hunters, I wondered at the power in these bones. I suppose things will be changing for me too.”

Imogene stroked the arch of his black wing. “From foundling to Lord of the Hunt. Our hunt.”

“We will need our own army,” said the quietly exotic woman who sat beside Josh with emeralds winking in her strangely restless hair. “The Queen will not be gracious in defeat.”

Merrilee stood. “So we’re lucky we aren’t alone anymore, and we have each other’s backs.”

By the time they worked out a plan to have some phae come to the lake to work with Nally on the capabilities of the spores and send some werelings, including Keisha and Peter, to Vaile’s Valley to learn more about their new phae neighbors—neighbors thanks to the lake gateway—the sun was just starting to come up. She walked everyone to the front door and thought she was being very gallant not to slam it on their butts.

Then she turned and leaned against it, watching Beck who had followed silently behind her.

His gold eyes were shadowed despite the burgeoning light. “I wish you hadn’t seen that.”

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “The il-luna.” She shrugged. “Maybe I needed to see it. You’re always so perfect and strong, so in control.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Never around you. But never so obviously.”

“Maybe that’s the part I needed to see.” She pushed away from the door and walked toward him. “Makes me realize I haven’t a chance of doing it all, being everything to everyone. To make matters worse, I just sent my Beta away.” He took a breath, but she flattened her palms on his chest to forestall him. “I’m not saying I want that from you. But I want...I want us to be together, one pack, one valley.”

“Two Alphas,” he murmured.

“If the phae can change their ways after centuries, I think maybe I can change too. My pack can still be strong without standing alone. And so can I.” She peered up at him. “It won’t be easy, will it?”

Slowly, he smiled. “Good thing I’m so perfect.”

“Well, let’s not get all arrogant about it—” She squeaked when he caught her hard against his chest and brought his mouth crashing down on hers, as if the wolf still ruled him.

Or maybe that was just his passion for her.

He swung her into his arms and carried her up to the loft. Sunlight streamed through the window and sparkles from the lake cast violet-edged spangles on the ceiling as he laid her gently on the bed.

“Make me yours, Alpha,” she whispered.

“With pleasure.” He kissed her gently. “Always.”

* * * * *

Return to Jessa Slade’s sensual world of shifters and phae in these other tales available now from Harlequin Nocturne Cravings...

Dark Hunter’s Touch

Yearning to be free, Imogene has fled the idleness and cruelty of the phae court to hide in the sunlit realm of humans. When the Dark Hunters find her—and they will—she will face the Queen’s wrath. But she is tired of running, and after a chance encounter with a seductively handsome stranger named Vaile, Imogene embraces the earthly passions within her, if only for one night. But has she fallen for a man—or an illusion?

A Little Night Muse

Convicted of treason, Adelyn has been banished to the sunlit realm of humans—a fate worse than death for a musetta who exists only to inspire other phae. To reverse her exile, she must find a pair of lovers who have fled the court and return them to face the Queen’s wrath. But once in the mortal realm, she meets a man who unveils her hidden desires...

When Josh Reimer discovers an ethereal beauty at a cabin near his ranch, he decides the neighborly thing to do is take her in. Adelyn inspires a passion unlike anything he’s ever known and he vows not to lose the magic they’ve found together—even if that means she must choose between her home and their love.

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Threshold of Pleasure by Vivi Anna

The Darkest Embrace by Megan Hart

Hunting the Jackal by Seressia Glass

Heart of the Jaguar by Katie Reus

Her Wicked Wolf by Kendra Leigh Castle

Demand of the Dragon by Kristin Miller

Seducing the Jackal by Seressia Glass

This Soul Magic by Michele Hauf

The Shifter’s Kiss by Caridad Piñeiro

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ISBN: 9781460316368

Copyright © 2013 by Jessa Slade

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