3. In stasis （but without a side of the curse）
The Beta of the Winter Creek Pack’s name is Tristan Crowder, and I can’t fucking stand him.
Three months into my open-ended visit to Winter Creek, I’m still bitter as fuck. Can’t help it. It’s hard to live in a house with someone and not learn their name. That’s how I did, but he still hasn’t introduced himself to me. He hasn’t spent more than a few seconds in the same space as me, either.
Oh, and he one hundred percent is my fated mate—but that doesn’t change a Luna-damned thing about the way I feel toward him. Honestly? His existence wouldn’t annoy the ever-loving shit out of me if he was just some gorgeous wolf hanging around on the rare occasion I catch a glimpse of that blond hair, those strikingly handsome features. I like a little eye candy myself, and no matter how much Tristan simply existing pisses me off these days, there’s no denying that he is gorgeous.
But when he alternates between disappearing into the woods for days at a time because he’s obviously avoiding me and moving around the pack house like I don’t exist, he just rubs my fur the wrong way.
Mainly because my poor wolf wants nothing more than to rub her flank against his…
It’s a shifter thing. His scent is intoxicating to me, and if I could roll around in it, carrying it on my skin, my wolf would want to. My ‘human’ half? Not so much. The brain in charge can think past the way my body reacts around Tristan. It knows better than to hope for a mate that can’t seem to make up his mind about me.
He hasn’t rejected me. Not outright, at least, though the bond that sprang into place just about three months ago is… well, it ain’t no bond, I’ll tell you that. Despite my own conflicting feelings for the Beta, I’m stubborn enough to refuse to sever whatever tie we have. The Luna gave it to us, and I have too much respect for the goddess to impulsively throw away my fated mate bond just because the one male meant for me decided, nah, I’m good.
But that’s my problem. If he wasn’t interested, fine. I think I’m pretty fucking amazing. Doesn’t mean everyone else does. The best part of being a shifter is knowing that, fated mate or not, at the end of the day, a mate gets to choose. We both have to want the other for the mating ceremony to take, turning the promise of forever into a finalized mate bond. No mutual feelings, no bond. Tristan, on the other paw… the Beta drives me bonkers with his mixed signals.
When he’s not around, I get the hint. When he is? If he’s not purposely ignoring me, I catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye. His expression is always carefully masked, and with our bond what it is, I can’t figure him out. My nose can’t catch any of his emotions, either, but pheromones… yup. I catch some of those and it makes the whole situation even more complicated.
I don’t like complicated.
Believe me. This hot and cold crap got old the first time the Beta growled softly at me when he saw that I was naked in front of a few of his packmates and a couple of witches. He gave up any right to be possessive over me when he rebuffed me.
I can handle rejection. I understand that, due to the stasis curse, he might be hesitant to go from existing the way he was to jumping into a committed relationship with no way out.
But pointedly telling me that he was walking away to rinse my scent off of him?
I’m a petty, bitter she-wolf. I don’t know if I can ever forgive him for that.
And while bitter I may be, I’m definitely not a glutton for punishment. I’m still living in this town, but I’m not about to poke my snout in where I’m not wanted. I’m not only thinking about Tristan when I say that, either. Even though I’ve moved into the pack house now, that includes cozying up to the rest of the Winter Creek Pack.
Fallon insisted I stay with her newfound family when I made it clear I wasn’t ready to head back to New Jersey just yet. She gave me a room on the third floor of this weird, old stone mansion, tried her best to involve me all while she was dealing with her own shit—including her newly bonded mate, plus the fallout from magically murdering her grandmother—and gave me some space when I told her I was happy being left alone for a while.
I spent four years sharing a dorm with Fallon and Lorelei. When Jeannie Lipton says she needs to be left alone, even those two scattered to the library or another room before I snapped.
It’s not so different now. Only I’m free to show off my claws and fangs if anyone is pissing me off.
Because Fallon found it so easy to fit in with the pack—even when she still gullibly believed she was a full human and not a hybrid supe—I think she thought I would, too. After all, I was born knowing what I was.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? I was born knowing I was a rare Luna-touched wolf, and that makes me different from nearly every type of wolf shifter except, perhaps, for maybe an even rarer female alpha.
In the supernatural world, there are countless types of shifters. Basically, if it’s a sentient creature, someone somewhere has taken that shape at least once before. I’ve heard of earthworm shifters, shark shifters, even bunny shifters, but they’re also pretty rare. The big three are way more common: wolf, bear, and large cat.
Each has its own type of community. Large cats have their prides, bears have their claims, and wolves? Most of us belong to a pack.
Not me. Not Lorelei, either. It comes down to our bloodline. If you go all the way back, my mother’s side is descended from Romulus and Remus, the twin wolves who founded Rome all those years ago. We were born to serve the goddess, and with a ranking like that, we’re just too unique to fit into the hierarchy that wolf shifters insist on. We exist outside of it, though any shifter who doesn’t know my heritage would gauge my power level as a delta.
In reality, I’m much closer to being an Alpha—and, sometimes, I wonder if that’s another reason why Tristan pulled away.
Besides the Luna, I’ve only ever heard of two other female alphas: one who ignited the centuries-long Claws and Fangs war between wolf shifters and vampires before her death, and another who is currently one-half of the Alpha couple in a pack situated on the East Coast, not too far from where me and Lorelei live.
Tristan is a beta wolf. More than that, he’s the actual Beta of the Winter Creek Pack, second in rank to Lucas—and, well, Fallon now, too, since she’s his bonded mate. It’s ingrained in him to respect and obey his Alpha. Maybe he doesn’t know what to make of such a dominant she-wolf, especially since both Fallon and Jade are deltas and I’m me.
And maybe, three months later, I’m still grasping for straws to explain away his curious behavior…
It could be because of what I am. Most Luna-touched wolves have the trademark silver eyes that show they’ve been blessed by our goddess. She has a few gifts she passes down to her chosen few, including my twin’s ability to sense mate bonds.
Lorelei and me, we’re different from even those shifters. We’re not just Luna-touched. We were born to be her guardians, a pair of protectors who do her bidding in the mortal world. That’s not all we can do, either. When the Luna needs us to, we serve as her avatar, too. She slips into my body, using my eyes and my mouth while I kind of hang out in the back of my consciousness, waiting for her to finish up.
That happened last month. The Luna swooped in, taking over so that she could talk to Fallon directly instead of through me, then disappeared again. Poor Fal. That really freaked the fuck out of her, but I get it. The supe world is a weird place with its own rules, and my poor friend is having to play catch-up.
That’s another reason I decided to stick around. With the curse on Winter Creek finally broken after seventy long years, half of the local pack took the chance to leave the second they could. Supposedly, there’s a truce now between the witches in the sanctuary city and the wolves. They want Fallon to take over for her dead grandma, becoming the leader of the coven. They say they won’t retaliate… but I’m not so sure about that.
Call me suspicious if you want. That’s fine. I’ve seen what people—supes and humans—can do. Lorelei’s not in danger. Fallon is. This is where I’m needed. I’m not avoiding going home because it stings to think of interrupting Lorelei’s happily ever after with Cal, or that I’m hanging around like a stray dog because I’m hoping Tristan might come to his senses and realize I’m the best thing to happen to him since sliced bread.
And, don’t worry, there’s no way I believe that crock of shit, either.
When I first arrived inWinter Creek, I found a spot on the edge of the pack’s territory—just outside of the Alpha’s reach—to hunker down and figure out what I wanted to do next. My only guidance from the Luna was that Fallon was here, she was on the cusp of breaking the curse, and I was still tasked with avenging Jolie Bordeaux’s murder.
I didn’t know how much Fallon knew about supes then. Figuring that a little reconnaissance was a good way to get over my bruised heart—and waiting for the Beta to either track me down himself or sell me out to his Alpha—I waited and I watched and I spent most of my time in my fur.
Of course, on one of the only times I was sneaking around in my skin, I caught scent of a witch nearby, got curious, and found myself in the position of becoming his ‘captive’. It worked out in the end, and I could’ve escaped the coven house anytime I wanted to, but it’s fair to say that I haven’t had the chance to really explore the rest of Winter Creek.
The top of my spine is itchy. You know that spot right between your shoulder blades where your back meets the stump of your neck? I have this weird quirk; my gift from the Luna, I guess. I can sense danger the same way Lorelei can sense mate bonds.
There’s only one catch. It’s a niggling feeling, not a premonition, and there’s no way of knowing who’s in danger until it’s too late—but it’s not me. My danger radar pings for anyone else, but if it’s my ass in the sling? I never can tell in advance.
See: accidentally getting nabbed by Remy Gauthier and brought to the coven house as a bargaining chip once he believed my story that I was Fallon’s friend coming to visit. The pictures on my useless phone—because, duh, I forgot that one big perk to a supe sanctuary was the lack of wi-fi and cell service—proved I knew Fallon, and he decided to extend an offer of hospitality on the coven’s behalf.
Translation: magic prick zapped me, and when I woke up again, I was bound and gagged for a photo op.
Best thing about being a Lipton? Unlike the Luna-touched wolves with silver eyes, mine are a nice, ordinary brown. Not gold like most wolves, either, and as a supe with a dud sniffer, he had no idea I was a shifter until the moment I went wolf and ripped out his throat.
Sucker.
Remy is dead. So is Marie Bordeaux. With the witches outnumbering us twenty-five to one, it doesn’t take my itchy back to know this could go bad real quick.
Usually, I’d have a quick chat with the Luna and see if she had any advice for her favorite guardian. I can’t. There are times when our goddess goes silent, and not even my close tie to her gets me any special privilege. I used to relish those times when I was sure I was alone in my head, but lately… she whispered to Lorelei that Cal was her mate. She did the same to me when I laid eyes on Tristan.
And then Fallon broke the stasis spell on Winter Creek and the Luna, it seems, has taken a vacation of her own.
Heading down the two flights of stairs that lead to the first floor—and the kitchen—I wonder: this is my vacation, too. Why not act like it?
I sense that the kitchen isn’t empty long before I push open the swinging door the separates the hall from the kitchen area where the pack usually congregates around a large wooden table. The Alpha’s aura is unmistakable, even if he’s not my Alpha, and I recognize Fallon’s inherently sweet scent the second it filters in through my nostrils.
Throw in the unmistakable aromas of freshly fried bacon, eggs, and toast that’s probably a shade darker than I like since I can scent the lingering burn in the air, and they must be enjoying breakfast.
I’m not annoyed that they’re eating without me. Why would I be? Food has a very specific meaning when it comes to shifters. To provide it specifically from one shifter to another, it’s basically saying that I’m going to feed you, take care of you, and love you. Alphas provide for their pack as a whole. Parents feed their pups. And prospective mates show their affection with a meal.
In the pack house, the shifters who live here take turns making a communal meal. Fallon tried to get me to join them, but my wolf is proud. I’ll eat what I provide, and if that means scrounging up something from the kitchen when I’m hungry, that’s what I’ll do.
Of course, if I walk into a meal that’s half-eaten, I’m not above scavenging the leftovers. My wolf doesn’t see that as letting someone else take care of us. That’s why, after I wave a greeting toward Fallon and nod at her mate, I grab a pile from the cabinet and start loading it up for my own breakfast.
It’s all set up buffet style. I ladle two sunny-side-up eggs onto my plate, add six pieces of bacon, three pieces of toast, and a few orange segments on top before yanking on the drawer and grabbing a fork and a knife.
Bumping it closed with my hip, I take one of the empty seats.
Lucas Guidry sits at the head of the table. Sometimes Fallon sits opposite him, sometimes she sits by his side. Today she’s on his right, and I’m facing my friend with my back to the door.
It’s nice to not have to be the alert shifter on duty. If there’s one bonus to having an Alpha nearby, it’s letting the responsibility to protect fall on his broad shoulders for a change.
Me? I dig into my breakfast.
Fallon doesn’t bat an eye at the amount of food I piled up. She’s used to it. Before she learned I was a shifter, she believed me and Lorelei when we explained away our slender figures and huge appetites as a high metabolism. It’s not a lie. Shifters need a ton of calories to shift and to heal, and we burn through them quickly. I can survive longer than humans without food if I have to, but since I don’t have to, why not chow down?
Lucas expects it of a wolf. That I don’t immediately join the conversation I interrupted when I walked in is normal for him, too. Shifters eat first, talk later, and it’s not like I really have anything to say right now anyway.
The Alpha’s plate is empty. Fallon is nursing a scrambled egg or two between eating her toast. Her long blonde hair is thrown over one shoulder, showing off both the impressive opal hanging over her blank tank and the impressive mating mark peeking out from beneath the strap.
That’s what happens when the mate marking you is a cursed feral who bites you when he’s partially shifted, but Fallon doesn’t seem to mind. She likes to show it off, and the way I’ve caught Lucas absently brushing his mark on her with his thumb, he likes everyone seeing how… enthusiastically he claimed his mate.
Fallon’s happy with him. The Alpha sacrificed everything to have a second chance with his fated mate, and I’m glad the two found their way to each other. I spent nine years protecting Fallon. It might have started out as an assignment from the Luna, but even if we butted heads all the time, she’s the only close friend I have who isn’t my identical twin.
Lucas is a dominant alpha wolf shifter with a perpetual glower, hair as black as his fur when he’s his wolf, the golden eyes that mark him as a supe, and a body twice as big as mine. I don’t give a shit. If he ever broke Fallon’s heart, I’d drop him, and I made sure he knew that the first chance I got after I moved into the pack house.
All he did was give me this searching look, then a small smile before letting me know that I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. Fallon already did, but I guess Lucas thought it would mean something if he allowed it, too.
Not really, but if it makes him feel a little better, I can pretend.
I’ve got a lot of experience doing that.