Mate Marked: Shifters of Silver Peak (2 page)

Sunday, May 16th

The sounds of snarling and snapping and the chants of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” yanked Roman out of a sound sleep.

He tried to sit up, but something was sprawled across him. No, someone. Someone with long hair and way too much perfume. He opened his eyes, his head feeling vaguely thick and fuzzy. What fucking time was it? It was still dark out.

He didn’t recognize the woman sleeping on his chest, which was nothing new. It was definitely someone he hadn’t slept with before. Maybe. Vague memories from the night before told him her name was something like Brittany.

He rolled her off him, and she sprawled on the mat on the ground, groaning and rubbing at her face.

“Washup? What time ishit?” she groaned, crawling back onto the bed as he stood up. His bed was a king-sized mattress on two wooden pallets which he’d made into a bed frame of sorts. A kerosene lantern rested on the wooden cable stool night-stand. He glanced at the clock, which hung from a hook on the tent’s wooden frame. 3:30 a.m.

One of the women who’d slept over a few weeks ago had informed him that his décor was actually very trendy these days. She’d called it rustic-industrial chic.

“Wash all that noish?” The woman currently taking up space in his bed was still drunk. She was pretty, but the beery fumes rolling off her, mixing with the thickly applied perfume, definitely dimmed her appeal. “No idea,” he grunted. “Be right back.”

“Hey, come back to bed.” She patted the mattress next to her.

He ignored her and headed out of his tent, not bothering to pull on his pants.

His tent was set high on a slope overlooking all the others, so he could keep an eye on his pack and see any threats that might be headed their way. A silver crescent moon hung overhead, and light from a dozen torches illuminated the clearing among the towering pines where they’d built a stone-ringed fire pit and placed tables and benches.

In the clearing, two of his pack members, Rafe and Corrigan, had shifted and were snarling and snapping at each other. They were panting hard, and Corrigan was bleeding from his flank.

His pack members backed off when they saw him approach, and the shouting died down.

Adrenaline raced through his veins, which sent Roman shifting in an instant, dropping to all fours. His night vision blazed to life and a million smells swirled through his nostrils. The woodsmoke smell from the fire, the tang of pine sap, the unique, musky scent of each pack member…

Rafe lunged at Corrigan again, and Corrigan dodged out of his way. Roman charged into the circle and knocked Corrigan and Rafe sprawling.

He threw back his head and let out an angry howl as they scrambled back to their feet. Then he shifted back into human form, and they did too, hanging their heads in a show of respect. The three men stood there under the moonlight, naked, sweaty and panting. They were half angry, half amused. The pack members and the women they’d brought home from the bar were laughing and enjoying the show. Typical Saturday night with the Kincaid Pack.

“What the fuck, you idiots,” Roman growled. “We have to work Monday.” If they hurt each other too badly it might take a couple of days to heal. Reginald Purcell had brought them up here to do a job, and his barn wasn’t going to build itself. They were ahead of schedule, sure, but Roman expected that of them. It kept them competitive, gave them an edge over other traveling construction crews.

“Rafe stole my girl. I wasn’t done with her yet,” Corrigan grumbled, but he still maintained a respectful demeanor as he faced his Alpha.

“He stole her?” Roman snorted. “Like, she was a car or a chest of drawers, and you owned her? Was your Mate Mark on her neck?”

“Hell, no!” Corrigan looked horrified at the suggestion. “She left my tent to go get us some more beer from the cooler and never came back. I thought she’d been eaten by a bear.”

“It wasn’t a bear eating her,” Rafe snickered.

“Fuck you, asshole! Don’t poach on my territory!” Corrigan barked at him. Then he resumed his lament. “So I go out looking for her and she’s getting busy with Rafe up against a Douglas fir tree.”

“Oh, a Douglas fir. Well, that had to be the last straw,” Roman said, voice laden with scorn. “I mean, a lodgepole pine would have been okay, but a Douglas Fir? Unacceptable. Listen, moron, if you haven’t Mate-Marked her, you’ve got no claim on her.” And if he had Mate-Marked her, he wouldn’t be a member of their pack anymore, but that went without saying. “Rafe, Corrigan, for waking up the entire damn pack with your stupidity, you’re both on latrine duty. Go scrub ’em out, now. They better smell pretty next time I step in there.”

The two let out loud groans of protest but headed resolutely off to the latrines, while the pack let out good natured jeers and their girls clung to them drunkenly and laughed.

The sun was peeking over the horizon now, and the pack members stumbled back to their tents to get dressed or, for those accompanied by women, have sex again.

Now that the fight had been broken up and the adrenaline was wearing off, Roman gave a rueful laugh as he glanced around the campsite, which was currently trashed just like every Sunday morning.

There were empty beer cans scattered around, and bottles, and fast food wrappers. His pack members hadn’t bothered to pick them up and toss them into the steel barrel trash cans that had been set out near the fire pit. A couple of empty coolers were overturned. Avery’s tent had collapsed on top of him and whatever pack groupie he’d brought home—and they hadn’t even woken up. He could hear Avery and the girl snoring underneath the collapsed tent. That happened a lot with Avery; his over-enthusiastic banging was the stuff of legend.

Paul and Leland, two brothers who’d joined the pack six months before, were the only other two pack members who were still asleep; he could hear them snoring in the tent they shared. They hadn’t brought home any women, so he wasn’t sure why they were still so wiped out. He’d go kick their tent in a bit and wake them up if they didn’t come out soon.

Benjamin, the pack beta, trotted up, barefoot and wearing only boxer shorts. A human would have been shivering, but the chill air didn’t bother any of them. Shifters had a high tolerance for cold.

“Want me to start boiling the water for coffee?” he asked.

“Go for it,” Roman said to him with a nod. “You’re the best. I don’t care what anybody says.” But he softened it with a wink.

Edward, a shaggy-headed blond who served as the pack’s cook, wandered over, yawning and scratching his stomach. He cast a glance at the beer cans gleaming in the dirt and gave them a sloppy salute. “To all the dead soldiers,” he said. “Last night was epic. At least I think it was—I can’t remember that much, but something about a blonde.” He let out another huge yawn.

“I’ll help clean up after breakfast,” Benjamin said, glancing around at all the clutter. He liked things tidy.

“Get some of the others to help you,” Roman called out after him, striding back towards his tent. “I’ll be out chopping firewood.”

As Roman passed Bertram’s tent, he heard a woman’s voice raised in shrill rebuke. Bertram was starting to get serious with some chick from Silver Peak. The two were already having problems.

“You can’t tell me to be exclusive if you’re still out chasing tail!” the woman yelled. “And don’t tell me you’re not—my sister told me about Friday night!”

Roman shook his head. This wasn’t going to end well.

He began taking a mental tally of all the pack members he’d already seen that morning; it was his job to keep track of them.

There were twenty in all. Marcus wasn’t there, and neither was Zeke, he realized. When they’d been out at the Hootenanny tavern the night before, Zeke had said something about spending the night with a girl in town.

Marcus hadn’t gone out with them, and his tent was set back from the others in the woods. He was an antisocial A-hole; a pack like Roman’s was his only hope of staying in the good graces of the council.

“Benjamin. How long has it been since Marcus checked in?” Roman called.

Benjamin, who was kneeling on the ground scooping beer cans into a trash bag—he just couldn’t help himself—called back, “Haven’t seen him since Friday night. I stopped by his tent yesterday; he wasn’t there. Pretty sure he’s been out roaming around the woods by himself.”

Roman let out a muffled curse. Marcus just had to push it. Always.

Roman was really trying to cut the guy some slack. His entire pack was a refuge for shifters who couldn’t fit in anywhere else, or who wanted to leave an ugly past behind them, so he tried to help out when he could. That was why Roman regularly faked the monthly reports he sent in to the council, pretending that Marcus was spending the allotted amount of time with the pack. He’d had Marcus put his paw print on multiple check-in sheets at one time to cover for the times that he didn’t check in, and he was almost out of the faked documents. This was getting old.

“Want me to go get him?” Benjamin offered.

“Nah, I’ll do it as soon as I call Zeke and see where he’s at.”

He headed back towards his tent, shaking his head in annoyance. Marcus was going to have to shape up, or…well, there weren’t really any other options.

Hell, he hated the council as much as anybody, but trying to ignore them was like trying to ignore gravity. They existed. You dealt with them.

They’d been created after the shifter experiments of the 1930s had been exposed—by terrorists. First a clandestine branch of the government had secretly used the genes of athletes spliced with the genes of animals to synthesize a substance that caused humans to morph into animal form. They’d planned on creating an army of soldiers with the strength of bears and lions, the scenting ability of wolves, the ability to climb like monkeys or burrow like moles…

Then a terrorist group had stolen the substance, manufactured mass quantities, and placed it in the water supply of several major cities around the globe. Tens of thousands of humans had been turned into shifters against their will—and it was a genetic mutation that was passed on to their children.

Chaos had resulted. Humans had formed mobs, had rioted in fear of these shifter creatures.

The council had supposedly been created to protect shifters, but really they were like an annoying government nanny, always poking their nose where it didn’t belong.

Roman shrugged. He’d known when he became Alpha that he’d have to deal with them from time to time. He’d figure out something for Marcus; he wasn’t giving up on the surly, annoying bastard.

He pushed aside the tent flap and climbed in.

He had a small generator set outside the tent to keep his mini-fridge going and his cell phone charged.

The girl was sitting up now, hair rumpled, sleepy.

“Hey, baby, want to go another round?” she slurred.

Moderately tempting.

He shrugged. “Sure, Brittany. Right after I make a phone call.”

“Brittany’s my twin sister! I’m Bethanny! Have you been sleeping with my sister?” she shrieked indignantly.

Roman had to pause to think. One thing about being a single Alpha, he never lacked for female attention.

“Screw you!” It came out in a shrill wail. She scrambled to her feet, and grabbed her clothes. She stomped out of the tent, naked, with her clothes in her arms, as he texted Zeke.

The reply came back a minute later.
Hey, bro, be back in a couple hours. Everything’s good here.
Not a lot of detail. Not that it was any of Roman’s business who Zeke was screwing or whether he showed up on time.

He wandered out again and began picking up crushed beer cans and tossing them into the garbage. Rafe strolled up, holding up a wanted poster with Roman’s face on it.

“Dude, can you go into town today and get some more of these? We’re running out,” Rafe said. “Either that or we need a toilet paper run.”

At that, Roman flashed a fierce grin. It was the camp joke that they kept a steady supply of Roman’s wanted posters to wipe their asses.

“Don’t worry, someone will hire me,” Chelsea assured Pepper, who didn’t look at all worried. Pepper never looked worried. The sun was shining and her stomach was full—what was there to worry about?

They were sitting on a bench on Main Street. First thing in the morning, Chelsea had shifted and killed several squirrels for her and Pepper’s breakfast. Now she was sipping a small cup of coffee, all she could afford. And that left her with nine dollars to her name and her stomach was rumbling. Carbs. She wanted carbs, damn it.

She’d slept in her car the night before. That morning she’d walked up and down Main Street asking at every single business, and they’d all nicely but decisively told her they weren’t hiring. Several of them had shared the fact that business was so slow they might not even be open much longer. Apparently the earthquake that had ripped through the area a year before had knocked out the local paper mill, and the paper mill had ended up relocating rather than rebuilding. Half the pack and most of the jobs had gone with it. Houses stood empty, and the local merchants were on their last legs.

It felt like Silver Peak was a dying town, but that couldn’t be right. She’d been so sure. She’d felt like her destiny was inSilver Peak.

She was starting to feel a cloud of gloom descend on her, and that couldn’t happen. She hadn’t taken her weekly dose of medicine that morning; she was trying to stretch it out.

She shut her eyes and concentrated hard.

She imagined blue skies and rainbows, and peacocks with glorious fans of tails, and tables and tables laden with pastries and pies, and she felt her mood quickly turning around again. Whew. That had been close.

“Can I pet your puppy?”

Chelsea’s eyes flew open and her gaze lit on a tall, sturdy-looking woman in her early twenties, with straight, shoulder-length brown hair. She wore jeans and sneakers, and no makeup. She was already bending over and holding out her hand to Pepper, who was sniffing at it with interest.

Good. Now there was someone else to talk to, and it was someone who liked dogs. There was something else for her to feel cheerful about.

“Sure,” she said. “Pepper’s not a puppy. She’s actually a fat, lazy old lady. Don’t do it, Pepper,” she added as Pepper shot her a reproachful look and let out a vengeful blast of flatulence.

Yep. Pepper understood her
and
was revenge-farting for good measure, Chelsea was sure of it.

The woman burst into a peal of laughter. “I’m Erika,” she said, kneeling down and scratching behind Pepper’s ears. Pepper closed her eyes and groaned in bliss. “Your dog is hilarious.””

“I’m Chelsea Wintergreen. Pepper likes you. You must be a nice person.”

“I love your dog. She’s a comedienne,” Erika said with a grin. Then she grew serious. “My aunt would kill me if she heard me laughing at dog farts. Her mission in life is to make me more ladylike. She thinks my almost-fiancé is going to leave me if I don’t class up.” She glanced up at Chelsea. “You look pretty ladylike. How do you do it?”

“Hmm. I do?” Chelsea considered that. She didn’t specifically try to make herself look ladylike, but she tended towards the frilly and the cheerful. She was wearing a flouncy green skirt trimmed with dark green lace, and a peasant shirt with ruffles at the neckline, and she had a big green flower barrette pinning back her curls.

She was a larger girl, and she remembered the matron of the foster home where she’d grown up telling her that bigger women shouldn’t wear bright clothes because it drew too much attention. The matron had been one of those bony women who always stared hungrily at other people’s food and got really bitchy around mealtimes.

For a while, Chelsea had tried to take her advice. She had dressed to be invisible, wearing dark, plain, dowdy clothes, but that had made her depressed. And that wasn’t good for anybody. So now she dressed how she wanted, and she figured that if anyone didn’t like how she looked, well, they didn’t have to look at her.

“And you remember to sit with your legs crossed.” Erika made a rueful face. “My aunt says that I sit like a trucker. She thinks it’s because I was raised by my dad. Are you staying here in town? You could teach me to be classier.”

“Well, if I were sure I was staying, I could try,” Chelsea said doubtfully. “Unfortunately, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I was looking for a new pack to join and a job. I was going to stay with my cousin Mel, but apparently she and her house left town, and nobody’s hiring.”

“Yeah, we’re all pretty much dying here, business-wise.” Erika nodded glumly. “I work for my dad—he owns the garage—and he hasn’t had a customer since the day before yesterday. That’s why I’m out wandering around. I got bored.”

Then she glanced down the street, towards the Grocery Depot, which wasn’t hiring. A man had just climbed out of a beat-up old Ford pickup truck.

“Oooh, Roman’s in town! Let’s go admire the view.” Erika leaped to her feet, and Chelsea got up and followed her, because she liked Erika and she had nothing better to do.

They hurried down the street to catch sight of a man who, Chelsea reluctantly had to admit, was quite the male specimen. The reluctance came from the fact that he was far too self-confident. He walked with a swagger and his lip was curled in what looked like a smirk of self-satisfaction. As he headed towards the Grocery Depot, he winked at several girls who were gathered on a street corner, and the girls squealed like he was the second coming of The Beatles.

He wore a black leather jacket and jeans, and he had long, silky brown hairThe curve of his upper lip was sensual. He had a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Chelsea realized that not only was she staring at him, but he’d caught her staring. He looked her up and down appraisingly, his mouth curled in an insolent grin, and he winked.

“He winked at you!” Erika gasped. “It must be because you’re ladylike!”

“Erika, I’m the fifth girl he winked at already,” Chelsea said, watching his retreating back and his round, sculpted butt as he strode up the wooden steps and into the Grocery Depot. “He’d wink at anything female that walked on two legs. And then he’d do other things with them.”

“Still. He’s so sexy when he winks. But I’m almost engaged,” Erika added hastily. “I’ll probably be Mate-Marked any day now.”

Chelsea shook her head and walked away. A crowd of young women were hurrying up the steps into the Grocery Depot, practically elbowing each other out of the way in their eagerness to get to Roman, and Chelsea realized that for some reason this annoyed her.

“Maybe the Hootenanny is hiring,” Erika said, following Chelsea. Pepper trotted at Chelsea’s heels with a groan of protest. They were moving fast; Pepper liked to take it easy. “That’s the bar north of town. It’s on the outskirts of human territory, and it actually caters to both crowds, humans and shifters. They won’t open until tonight, though, like six p.m.”

“Thanks, I’ll give them a try,” Chelsea said. What could it hurt? She had no waitressing experience, but maybe she could bus tables.

“Erika! Who’s your new friend? I do approve,” an older woman said, walking up to them. She had a cap full of tight gray curls and was heavily rouged and lipsticked. She wore a pink polyester dress and matching pumps, and she clutched a pink purse with a pink leather rose on the clasp.

“You see?” she added to Erika. “She’s wearing a skirt. And heels. That’s how you catch and keep a man.”

“Aunt Louise, this is Chelsea Wintergreen. She thought she was going to stay with Mel, but Mel forgot to tell her she was leaving town. And I’ve got a man,” Erika protested. “Oh, there he is. Hi, Terrence!” She waved.

“For now.” Aunt Louise gave a disapproving sniff. “I’ll be at the Chatterbox.” She turned and walked off.

A tall, skinny man with a weak chin and sour expression walked up to them and nodded hello to Erika. Chelsea forced a smile as Erika introduced Terrence, but she thought to herself,
You could do better
. She tried to imagine him Mate-Marking Erika and figured his teeth might not even break the skin. She stifled a laugh behind her hand at the thought, pretending it was a sneeze.

Terrence glanced down at Pepper. “What is that?” he asked disapprovingly.

“Most people call it a dog,” Chelsea said, using her helpful voice.

He stared at her, baffled, trying to figure out if she was being sarcastic or not. “What is that smell?” he said suddenly, fanning the air with his hand. He took a quick step back.

“That’s Pepper. She farts every time someone says something she doesn’t like. She’s got perfect comic timing. Isn’t she great?” Erika said happily.

Terrence took another step back. “Yes, just great,” he muttered.

“If you’re really trying to be ladylike, say ‘breaks wind’ instead of ‘farts’,” Chelsea whispered to Erika.

“Got it.” Erika nodded vigorously. “Breaks wind. Much more classy. I’ve gotta stick with you—you’ll class me up in no time.”

“I mean, you’re fine the way you are,” Chelsea added. “But you asked.”

“Erika!” a woman called from down the street, hurrying towards them. “Is it true? Is he here?” She glanced over at Chelsea. “Hello, new person. I’m Barbara Tudor, owner of the Silver Peak Signal. Twenty-five cents a copy. All the news that fits, we print.” She said that all on one long breath. “Erika, I got some calls. Is Roman here?” she added.

“Yes, he is.” Erika pointed at the store. “He must be here on a grocery run. He just went into the Depot.”

“Oh, thank God.” Barbara breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I was going to have to lead with the crop report, but now maybe we’ll get something a little more interesting.”

A small crowd of shifters had gathered half a block from the store now, and they were crowded together, looking wary and watchful.

Why? He was just one man.

Two of the women in the crowd were arguing with each other. They were both in their fifties with graying hair. One of them wore a crocheted sweater and sandals and a dirndl skirt, and her untamed waves flowed down her back. The other wore a business suit, her hair was curled under in a sleek chin-length bob, and she held a stack of flyers. Their faces were mirror images of each other, despite their different styles.

“Susan, you did not actually bring campaign posters,” the wavy-haired woman said scornfully.

“I most certainly did. I’m the one with a work ethic,” Susan said.

“They’re twin sisters,” Erika whispered helpfully to Chelsea. “The one with the wavy hair is Lorena, our pack healer and owner of the Good Vibrations Crystals and More shop. Her sister Susan is an accountant. Also they’re both running for mayor. Election’s next month. I’m whispering. Is that ladylike?”

“Eh.” Chelsea shrugged. “Not really necessary under the circumstances.”

Erika frowned. “Hmm. Terrence told me I talk too loud and it hurts his ears, so I thought whispering might help. I just don’t get it, really. This genteel crap doesn’t come naturally to me.”

“Well,” Chelsea said, “If it doesn’t come naturally—”

There was a sudden outburst in the alley next to the store. There were loud, angry voices. Terrence flinched and ducked behind a lamp-post.

Oh, for the love of dog
, Chelsea thought with contempt.

Barbara pulled a camera out of her purse but didn’t move any closer to the store.

“Wanna go see what it is?” Erika asked Chelsea cheerfully. Terrence shot her an appalled look.

“Be careful,” Barbara called to them. “He tends to throw things. And people.”

“Stay here and watch my dog. I’ll go,” Chelsea said. She had a feeling that if Erika got in a fight, it would make Terrence feel emasculated—not that it would take much to do that.

Nobody in the crowd was making a move to investigate the source of the noise, and now Chelsea could hear shrill wails of panic. Chelsea hurried down the alley and saw Roman, the sex-on-legs bastard, holding a tall, skinny teenaged boy up by the throat. He was doing it one-handed, without even breaking a sweat. The teenager was clawing at Roman’s hands and thrashing his legs, his eyes bulging out of his head. His face was turning bright red.

She strolled up to them, leaned on Roman and fluttered her eyes flirtatiously. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed; she could feel the bulge of his biceps right through his jacket.

“Ooooh, you are so strong,” she cooed. “I love a strong man. Can you put him down and pick him up again?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Roman said with a grin. He set the kid down, and as soon as he did, Chelsea, still smiling, slammed him upside the head with her purse so hard that he staggered back a step, more in surprise than anything else. He also let go of the teenager.

“I’m sorry,” he gurgled, cringing away from Roman. “My friends dared me!”

“Run,” she instructed the teenager. The teenager turned and ran, clutching at his throat and making wheezing noises.

“What the hell was that for?” Roman demanded indignantly. “Sweetheart, if you want to score a date with me, that’s not the way to go about it. I do like it rough, but I’m the one who gets rough.”

“A date with you? Oh, the very thought makes me come over with the vapors.” She pretended to fan herself with her hand, then added, “Not. I don’t date bullies who pick on children.”