Branches for Cover: Legends of Kake Book 1 Page 2

  “I was actually going out to see a movie this weekend. Stay for a couple days at the inn. Did you...have something to do? I mean, did you have...anything planned that you were going to do already?”

  Internally, I winced for him. He was fumbling through asking me out on a date. Which meant he was nervous, which meant he had feelings for me. Which was bad.

  I couldn’t be intimate with anyone, at least emotionally. The physical side was less of a problem, except that I wanted Simon for a friend. I desperately needed a friend. If we crossed into dating territory, I would lose that easy camaraderie. Expectations would follow, the most terrifying would be expectations for truth.

  I steeled myself against feeling, ignoring the phantom fish in my intestines swimming harder against the current than ever before, and lightly smacked Simon’s abused bicep. “You know I don’t do movies. Come on, we’re BEEFS, you should know this by now.” I gave him an easy smile, momentarily sucked away by the wariness and disappointment that shown through his eyes.

  Fuck.

  He recovered quickly, mussing my hair with a vigor that bordered on abusive. “Oh yeah, you haven’t caught up to modern times yet, I forgot.”

  I let him have that victory, and just scoffed, swiping up another doughnut and taking a large bite. “That’s why I want to get fat. Diddy ye ken the fat Scot wifies birth the finest bairns?” I used my best Scottish lilt, imitating what I remembered of my mother’s voice.

  Simon groaned and covered his face. “God, Kin, don’t ever use that fucking voice again. And it’s BFFs, not beefs. Jesus.” His voice and shoulders shook with mirth, and the sound lightened my burden, the fish stopped swimming, even as guilt swept me under the same internal currents. I laughed with him anyway.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  I flipped through the yellowed, dry pages of the book as carefully as my fingers would allow. Sea serpent, in muted watercolor, stared back at me with catlike, yellow eyes. It was a surprisingly accurate rendition of Caddy, even down to the eyes. As were the other supposedly mythical creatures described and illustrated in the book, including the Werewolf, except for the change by the full moon detail. That just wasn’t true, and I wasn’t sure how the folklore had started. What perhaps caused the most concern was the section on Witches. There were a few covens mentioned, all of which existed. Kitchen witch, Hedge witch, Green witch, etc. Of course, my coven wasn’t mentioned at all—not that I expected it to be. No one knew my coven still existed, and that I was the remaining member. That much was reassuring.

  I closed the book and ran my finger along the woven cover, slightly rough to the touch, a dusty teal that had faded with time. Beasties of Kake, it was titled. It was published in 1999 by a Dr. Lucas—no first name mentioned. Kake was a Tlingit territory, mostly indigenous. It didn’t make sense that the title should use a Scottish word—’Beasties.’ It sent a chill up my spine, something that only happened when my intuition sent out a flare that something was wrong. However, even though ‘Beasties’ is a Scottish word, the name Lucas is not. As it was, I couldn’t find anything on the Lucas fellow, but I also didn’t have many resources at my disposal. I supposed I would have to travel into Petersburg soon to use a computer. I’d have to ask Simon or rent an ATV.

  After looking one last time at the book, I tossed it into the side table drawer next to my couch, turning the key to lock it. It was a dangerous book if anyone got ahold of it and started looking for said creatures. Knowledge was power, and so was belief. You start believing in fairy tales, and they might just come to life.

  I threw the rest of the pile of books I’d taken onto the side table, setting the Tlingit-English dictionaries on top. Although I’d been here for two years, it was hard to learn a language when no one talked to you. Though, that wasn’t anyone’s fault—I was a recluse. I needed to get more serious about learning the language.

  Sighing, I whipped my black tunic up over my head, letting it cascade to the floor. I wasn’t the tidiest of people, but I was a minimalist, having only three full outfits and two pairs of boots to my name. It made cleaning easier and messes not too big of a deal.

  I shimmied out of my jeans—the ones I’d worn the previous day—and as I yanked them down along with my underwear, I noticed a rip in the inner thigh that hadn’t been there before.

  I frowned. Even if I felt like patching them, they’d still be too small. I couldn’t put it off any more. I needed a new pair of jeans. I’d have to go into Petersburg no matter what now.

  Bending my arms in an awkward angle to reach the bra clasp behind my back, I unclipped it and let it fall without ceremony.

  I padded to the bathroom, if it could be called that. The toilet was hidden behind a door, but the bathtub and sink were in full view. A large, copper bathtub sat on a wooden pallet, the window next to it level with the tub. I’d never had anyone over, and my cabin was so secluded, it didn’t matter to me.

  I plugged the drain, then turned the faucet knob, waiting for it to get warm, then hot, and added my favorite amber and vanilla soap to the running water, sending a warm, delicious essence into the otherwise cool, dry cabin.

  While it ran, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in front of the sink. I took the ponytail out of my hair and brushed it, noting how much longer it already seemed compared to a month ago. Of course, my entire body was changing rapidly now, in preparation for my first Blood Moon.

  I turned twenty-five in two days, and that’s when I would, by human terms, ovulate for the first time. It was annoying, how my body plumped and filled out in preparation. Surely, thin Wolves could birth a pup. Why did I have to fatten up? Two months ago, I was a size eight. Now, I was a size twelve. As I ran my gaze over myself, I moved my waist-length hair to see my new body properly.

  Breasts full, round, and pert, more than a handful. Rosier than normal tips against my normal pale skin. My waist narrowed dramatically, not changing much except for a slightly softer middle, and then flaring out again at my hips. I turned, noting how my ass had plumped up, too.

  I shook my head. Just another bullshit problem of my species. I wished I could talk to my mother about it. I had no resources other than vague knowledge I’d gotten from my ex-pack. I knew that the Blood Moon was a once-annual event for shifters. I knew that it served the purpose of breeding and choosing a mate, which I clearly wouldn’t be doing. I knew I would be more aroused than normal. Besides that, I didn’t know much. I remembered my mother’s body, how soft and pillowy it always was, how she always smelled like fresh flowers and cookies. She was the epitome of Wolfhood and womanhood. I remembered how her red hair was a perfect match to mine. I pictured that hair disintegrating under the soil, deteriorating with the rest of her flesh until only bone remained.

  Blinking away the sudden tears of rage, I turned the water off with a creak and a groan from the tub, and stepped into the almost too-hot liquid, topped with the creamy foam bubbles of my handmade soap. It was dark, save for the single candle I’d lit that sat on the sink.

  I sighed and leaned my head back, wetting my heavy hair. I scrubbed it within an inch of its life, cursing as the thick strands initially fought the wetness like a penguin’s feathers, and was momentarily tempted to shave it all off. I discarded that thought immediately, the idea sick to me. Everyone knew male Wolves liked their women’s hair long, something to sniff, to nuzzle, to hold on to during sex. And I wanted to lure a mate.

  No, no, I reminded myself. My body wanted a mate. Not me. The ridiculous first Blood Moon of my hormones wanted a mate. I could shave my head and stave off sex for life if I really wanted to.

  I sighed again into the darkness. But I didn’t want to.

  Even now, my body tingled under the rich water, the zaps and tightening going straight to my womb, between my legs. I clenched my teeth against the feeling, annoyed at my body and at the instinctive need inside of me.

  Before I could help myself, I slid my hand over my breast, over my tight nipple, down my quivering stomach, and between my le
gs. I dove my fingers down the wet slit, and back up to touch the aching, sensitive bulb at the apex.

  I strangled a moan, biting my lip as my head fell back, and a picture of my mate—or what I would want in a mate—flashed in my mind.

  He’d be big, but not too big. Dark hair and eyes, thick with chiseled muscles. He’d be kind, considerate, dominant. Insatiable.

  I moved my hand faster, this time unable to hold back a moan. I pictured my potential mate grabbing my ass roughly as he kissed me, his warm, sensual lips devouring mine, his tongue licking into my mouth with passion. I pictured him naked, lifting me to the wall, opening me, his hard length teasing the place I teased now with my fingers. I was so wet, so slick, so ready to come that when I pictured him finally thrusting into me, I lifted my hips as I came.

  It was probably the most intense orgasm I’d ever had, and it hadn’t even been real sex. It’d been an imaginary man and my hand and two minutes. Pathetic. And telling of just how powerful instincts and my first Blood Moon were. I’d have to lock myself up to keep from jumping the first semi-decent man I saw. Including Simon.

  With that disturbing thought, I stood up, letting the water slough off my body, and reached for the white towel hanging on the hook next to the window.

  My hand stopped midway when a scent assaulted me. The scent was dark, smoky, woodsy, and male.

  A shifter was here. In my house.

  Chapter 3

  The Intruder

  I had prepared for this day meticulously. I kept a small, packed bag by the door that I could carry easily in my wolf form, filled with food, clothes, and a couple weapons. If I sensed a Wolf, here, I wasn’t to stay and fight. I was to shift, grab the bag, and run toward Canada. As fast as I fucking could.

  Yet here I was, wrapped in a towel, frozen in place, my mind blank. Gone.

  The scent of him, the dark musk, sharp and woodsy with just a hint of smoke, assaulted me like caustic cloud of poison—except it was the most delicious poison I’d ever encountered. My heat-like state smudged my mind all to hell, telling me to stay, to go to him, to rub myself up against him. My sex was already swelling and filling, ready for him.

  My self, Kinna, the one with a brain, screamed at me to run.

  The latter finally won, but only when the man himself appeared. He rounded the corner, presumably coming in from the side door, and stood mere feet away, staring at me.

  Except as soon as he was there, thoughts of fleeing went out the window. My Wolf dug her heels in, essentially keeping me rooted to my spot, clutching my towel, dripping with water quickly cooling as it pinged against the tops of my feet.

  The first thing I realized was that he wasn’t Wolf. That calmed my nerves slightly, making it easier to think. The second was that he was huge—and terrifying. That kickstarted my fear again, especially since the next thing he did was move toward me, his arm raised as if to grab me.

  I ducked under his arm, rolled across the floor and up to stand by the door. I lost my towel in the process, but it was just as well, since I was going to shift and take the bag.

  I felt my pre-shift fire—the burning in my gut—ignite...and then... fizzle.

  I gasped and turned my head toward the man. He was there, grabbing me and slamming me against the door. My head hit the hard spruce wood, spots appearing in my vision. My arms were lifted above my head and secured with something sharp that cut into my wrists. He kept his hand there despite the device, and his other hand spread against my lower belly, pushing in to keep me pinned to the wall.

  Fear slid like muck down my throat and into my belly.

  His dark eyes, a midnight blue, met mine. He growled, a deeper timbre than I was used to hearing in my ex-pack, and in response, my inner muscles clenched between my legs, despite my fear and the pain the man was causing me.

  His face was close, his warm breath fanning over me. His features were rugged, nose bold and slightly off-kilter, mouth a hard line, jaw and chin jutting and strong. A short, thick beard hugged his jaw, adding to his darkness. His hair was a thick, dark brown, short, the front slightly longer as it curled over his forehead.

  “What do you want?” I croaked.

  “What was the stunt you pulled on me last night?”

  His voice, almost as deep as his growl, caused another embarrassing wave of what felt like forced arousal down my body, tightening my nipples. He shifted on his feet, his nostrils flaring, his shirt brushing against my breasts.

  “Don’t play coy with me.” His voice maintained a touch of huskiness, another note that shredded my common sense and made me lean into his frame. Warmth encompassed me, at once soothing and exciting me. I fought against the waves of desire, so utterly disgusted by myself that I broke out in a cold sweat.

  His eyes widened momentarily, and then he narrowed them again. “I’ll ask again, and then I’ll leave. What did you do to me last night?”

  Every time he spoke, the rumble of his voice tripped through me, scattering my thoughts like a flock of sparrows pummeled with a stone. Now that I was pressed against him, the vibrations of his growl moved over me in a decadently sultry promise. Or so my addled brain thought so.

  I was arching against him, trying to get close to his skin even as un-yacked vomit smarted my esophagus at my own actions. Unable to meet his eyes, my blurred vision stayed fixed to the bristle on his throat that was flexing as he clenched his jaw so hard I thought I heard it crack.

  “You’re in fucking heat,” he finally said in a grim tone, as if realizing someone he loved had died and he was the one that discovered the body.

  I stifled a whimper as he shifted against me, hard planes of muscle caressing me. I bit my lip hard in embarrassment, until I tasted the mineral taste of my blood. It was like I watched myself outside of my body, watching myself breathe heavily, sigh and whimper against what was clearly a man who wanted to kill me. Who’d broken into my house, who had me in cuffs, who was the reason the back of my head sported what I was sure was a nasty knot.

  “Yes, my first Blood Moon,” I finally breathed.

  He growled, drew in a sharp breath as he looked away, then renewed the pressure on my wrists. “You spelled me last night. I wasn’t sure why you shifted, and then you fucking spelled me. What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do.”

  He gave each word the heaviness he thought they deserved as he asked the question again.

  I shook my head, lust still clouding my brain. “I don’t know what—”

  Then it hit me. My eyes flew to his; I searched his face. “You. You were the bear.”

  His eyes narrowed, shook his head as if disgusted by me. “No fucking kidding.”

  I swallowed, cowering back slightly into the door behind me. “I didn’t mean to use the—flashlight. Sorry if I spooked you.”

  It was the best I could come up with on short notice.

  He arched a thick brow. “Do you think I’m entirely numbskulled? That wasn’t a flashlight, slag. It was a fucking spell. Now, tell me now what you did, or I will slit that throat of yours.”

  “Slag?” The insult was unexpected. It was the Scottish word for ugly prostitute.

  His eyes flashed. “You have three seconds.” His wrist flexed backward, and suddenly three-inch claws struck out from the tips of his long, strong fingers, black as squid ink. He moved them against my throat, a prick making a drop of bloodscent taint the air.

  “One…”

  My brain skipped, flipping through the options.

  His eyes darkened as he tipped his head. “Two…”

  “It was a defense spell, meant to disarm and distract the opponent, that’s all!” My voice was shrill, but thick with emotion.

  He stilled, but his face blanked. He searched my face as if trying to detect a lie. “It caused me to shift involuntarily.”

  I swallowed the thick saliva in my throat. “It would do that. It’s meant to distract. That often will make shifters shift automatically.”

  He frowned, his lips lifting into a snarl, but his le
thal claws retracted, and he lowered the hand. I was addled enough to be disappointed that he hadn’t returned it to my abdomen.

  “Will you release me now? I answered your question.” My voice again came out husky, but I tried to hold it back. After all, it was clear this man was not in the least interested in me. He’d called me an ugly, fat slut. Besides, he’d been three seconds away from ripping my throat open. He probably wasn’t keen on shagging. And neither was I, I reminded myself.

  He shook his head slowly, and my stomach flipped. “Now you’ll answer all of my questions.”

  Shit. Fuck. Shit. I should have known Casey would have sent someone for me. Too much of a coward to come himself.

  He released my wrists from the cuff, let me go abruptly, much to my surprise. Then he spun me around and clamped my wrists in the back.

  “Can I get dressed?” I clipped out.

  “I thought you rather liked being unclothed. Both times I’ve seen you, you’ve been naked,” he said in a bored tone.

  “Please?” I tried.

  He led me to the couch and forced me down to sitting. Then he threw a nearby blanket over me, adjusting it to cover all of me. He lifted dead eyes to mine. “I do not trust you.”

  The heaviness of his ire stomped on my chest and sunk into my gut. I’d never seen such cold rage, not since I’d buried my mother. That time, the rage-filled person had been me.

  “You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I said, trying to remain calm. “I have done nothing.” If I could just get him to relax and step away, I could try again to bolt.

  He smiled coldly. “Only you’ve destroyed a pack and their very lives, and that of many others, in the worst way possible.”

  Ah, so he was here on Casey’s behalf. My chest tightened as I eyed the door, then back to the man sitting on his haunches in front of me, between my legs. He boxed me in on either side of my body, his hands punching into the leather of the sofa. I was strong, but this beast in front of me was surely stronger, that much was clear. Even so, if I could just catch him off guard…