Carver: A Paranormal Shifter Romance Read online

  CARVER

  A PARANORMAL SHIFTER ROMANCE

  ANGELA FOXXE

  Copyright ©2016 by Angela Foxxe

  All rights reserved.

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  About This Book

  Monique had been hiding away in the Northern Vermont Mountains for the previous seven years. Hiding from her past, from her pain and mostly from herself.

  However, all that was to change the day she came across an adorable wolf pup who appeared to have a profound effect on her.

  Little did she know, the pup was the son of Alpha Wolf Carver who feared his son had been kidnapped.

  Upon discovering that his pup was safe and being cared for by Monique, Carver realized he had the opportunity to ask the young girl for one final, life changing, favor....

  This is a paranormal shifter romance featuring a handsome, muscle-bound Alpha male and a cute, curvy heroine. It is full of surprises, intrigue and steamy scenes. Please read only if you are 18+

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Living in the mountains that spent most of the year covered in snow came with dangers. Dangers like the pack of wolves who called that area home. They moved with a fluid grace other animals couldn’t hope to match. Seven of the largest and fastest worked together to bring down their prey in rapid, decisive attacks. The other ten circled behind the pack to cut off any chance of escape. They also looked after the cubs, wolves too small to join in the hunt, and vulnerable to other predators. Elk, rabbit, and goats all fell before their flashing teeth. There was no escaping the pack.

  Snow fell in sporadic bursts, the wind changed direction almost randomly. The alpha wolf didn’t like it. Avalanches were always a problem, but were more common with the massive snow storms that came out of nowhere and could freeze an unprotected wolf in a few minutes. He felt just such a storm was coming. His howl echoed off the hillsides and between the trees. The pack sensed his call, more than heard it, as they were spread out over a mile of territory. It was time to go home.

  Every wolf, including his mate, charged for the den. Winter quarters in the mountains weren’t easy. In the summer they lodged up on the high ridges, frolicking in the sun, or they crept into town unseen. In the winter though, the only place for them was the den.

  An old forgotten mine lay a few miles from the lake. It provided access to a plentiful hunting ground, as well as shelter from the weather, and from hunters. It was also well hidden—a fact the wolves took advantage of. While they were prey to no animal, there were others who hunted them.

  Recently, the wolves began hearing the howls of a strange pack echoing off the canyon walls. Trouble was coming, and they didn’t want it. A rival pack meant competition for food, mates, and space. The alpha knew the real reason they came, though. It wasn’t for their winter quarters, or the lake; they felt the call of his son. The same way the pack had.

  His son was special, he couldn’t say how, but he just knew in his heart. The little cub’s birth had been a dramatic affair, and when he finally squeaked out his first growl, something changed. The wolves felt his presence in their minds.

  The den lay just ahead as Carver stood watch on a small bluff overlooking the entrance. There were only eight wolves left to check in. Among them, his wife and son. Sienna was more than capable of looking after Kirk, she was married to him after all. He’d picked her for more than just her scent, and her willingness to stand up to him. Her strength of self was remarkable, as was her rust colored coat. He growled at the thought of holding her down and making her his once again.

  The den they claimed was big enough for most of the wolves to pair off and find their own space. Unlike many packs, Carver tried to keep an even balance between men and women. Wolves, after all, were very social, and if he could keep them all happy, then there would be no need for them to sneak off to town when the urges called. They were wolves, so the urges called almost every night.

  When Sienna and he first started the pack, it hadn’t been easy to maintain. He even had to kill a few of the more aggressive males to make sure they understood. The women could choose who they were with. They weren’t to be forced or threatened. Sienna came from a pack where the alpha’s control stemmed from his ability to force the females into sexual relationships they didn’t want. Carver wanted a pack that loved each other, that fought, hunted, and slept together because of a mutual bond, not because of the promise of reward.

  It took several years, and more than a few wolves were killed, maimed, and driven out, but Carver had it. Only one wolf in his pack didn’t have a mate, and she chose it. Age crept on her and when she did mate, it was in town, far away from the pack. Carver accepted that as part of who she was. As long as she came back to the pack, he was fine.

  The sun reflected off the hill in a bright display of light and color. The call went out and Carver felt the beginnings of worry creeping up his spine. Sienna and Kirk were unaccounted for.

  Something was wrong. He threw his head back and howled into the evening sky. The wind picked his voice up and carried it to the corners of the valley.

  Nothing.

  The pack was safe, he could go look for his mate without worry. The storm on the horizon loomed and there wouldn’t be much time before visibility would be non-existent. The wind shifted suddenly, as it did often in this part of the mountain. New scents came to his nose. He sniffed the air; they were faint, hidden. He, however, was an exceptional tracker, and had been doing it since he was a cub.

  Humans.

  He took off like a shot. His paws tore through snow as his massive flanks pushed him to run faster than he ever had before. Sienna’s scent drifted on the wind, as did Kirk’s, but they were off, not quite their scent, they smelled...

  Oh gods Sienna, why have you shifted?

  If she changed, something catastrophic happened. They rarely shifted in the winter, only a dire emergency would even make them consider taking human form. Usually, the pack stayed wolf for most of the year; in the summer, he and others who wanted to go would take human form and head to town.

  There were things in the human world that made existence as a wolf easier. The den was more than just a place to sleep, it was their storage and supply hub. Wolves rarely needed medicine, their own abilities healed them from nearly any wound, and they never got sick. They could starve to death though. Carver traded skins to the local taxidermist for cash and used that to buy emergency supplies to stockpile for hard winters, a practice that saved them more than once.

  They followed strict rule
s when in town. No one could know who they were, they couldn’t hurt anyone or draw attention to themselves. It wasn’t easy; in human form his wolves were charismatic, and—as far as humans were concerned—desirable. More than one wolf found him or herself outnumbered in a bar when they attracted the wrong mate. He never let Sienna go by herself; if she needed to, she could defend herself, but not without killing someone.

  Now though, she fled from something dangerous, minutes from a storm, and she was in human form. Why?

  His paws clawed for traction as he came to a stop. The wind still brought her scent to his nose—she was close. As were others. He could smell their sweat... and something else. His ears perked, and he heard her.

  She came around a tree, her side bloodied, one arm cradling their pup. Blood flowed down her leg from a wound in her stomach.

  “Carver,” she screamed, “run!” A bullet exploded out of her chest marring her perfect beauty. Her eyes glazed over. And she was gone. Her body fell face first into the snow. A large dart protruded out of her left buttock, barbed with spines to prevent it from being easily removed.

  Kirk wailed where he fell next to his mom. Her red hair splayed out around her head. She didn’t move. Carver wanted to scream, he wanted to rage, howl, and kill everyone he could find. He couldn’t though. This was no accident. They were looking for him. Kirk yelped as he picked him up by the scruff. There was no time to be gentle. Carver didn’t look back as he galloped away from the love of his live. He couldn’t cry as a wolf. No matter how much he wanted to.

  The den was in sight, he could smell the other wolves fear and anxiety. They were crowded around the entrance, waiting. He wanted to warn them, to tell them to get back. With Kirk in his mouth he couldn’t. Fifty feet from the entrance, pain shot up his side. He stumbled in the snow to tumble end over end. Kirk flew from his mouth. He heard the pup’s squeak as it bounced off a tree.

  Agony, like his leg was on fire, sprang up. He tried to take his feet again, but he couldn’t. His paws wouldn’t respond, he flopped around in the snow as the pain consumed him. It wasn’t a new pain, it was the pain he felt every time he changed. He howled in pain and it finished as the scream of a man. Naked, and in the snow, Carver could barely move. His hand found the barb in his thigh and he tried to pull it free. When he touched it, he felt the needle end scrape bone. The world went dark from the pain.

  The wind picked up, snow started falling and soon the storm would be upon them. He couldn’t let them have his pack, no matter the cost. Carver wasn’t stupid, he knew the day could come that hunters of some kind would chase them here, or track them.

  Feeling returned to his arms and he dragged himself forward. Twenty feet old man, you can make twenty feet. He desperately tried to ignore the whine of his pup, he couldn’t spare the look now. Whatever they shot him full of prevented his wounds from healing. His face hit the snow and the cold begged him to give up. A warm, rough tongue licked his temple. Despite the situation, Carver smiled; his boy tried to help him.

  Footsteps crunched in the hard snow, they weren’t far behind. Just a few more feet. Push!

  He found a fallen tree branch with his hand and heaved. The white bark of the birch tree was no different than the dozen around it. On the trunk of this one, on the south side Carver leaned against, a heart was carved into it. Inside the heart Carver and Sienna had left their initials. They were together when they found the den years before, he only wished they could be together in the end.

  “Hang on pup, I love you,” he said to his son. The pup whined from the cold. The snow fell faster now. Unless the humans used thermal vision, they wouldn’t see the den, or what he held that was buried beneath the trunk of the birch tree.

  A form came out of the snow. Covered in tactical garb and a large hat, he held a silenced rifle pointed right at Carver’s head.

  “You should have stayed in your hole, old man. Now your pack is mine, as is your boy.” He dimly recognized the voice, but he couldn’t place it.

  “Why?” Carver managed to utter. Never in all his long life had a wolf pack attacked another as humans, with guns instead of fangs. No matter the circumstances of his death, the pack would never follow this wolf, not ever. They would fight to the death before they followed a coward.

  The man tore off his ski mask to reveal a scarred face. His left eye socket hung empty and claw marks ran down his cheek to his jaw.

  Carver’s eyes widened in shock. “Brennan?”

  The man smiled, he shouldered his rifle a finger brushing against the trigger to activate the laser sight.

  “Why are you smiling?” he demanded of Carver.

  “You lose.” Carver held up the detonator in his hand and thumbed the plunger. It was Brennan’s turn for wide-eyed shock. The explosions rippled above them like fireworks. The thunder that followed was the sound of countless tons of snow and rock rushing down the mountain side in a deadly race to the bottom.

  Brennan turned to run. Carver hugged his son for the seven seconds he had before the wall of snow crashed into the valley.

  *

  The radio blared out its usual warnings of winter storms and avalanches as the dark-skinned woman mindlessly chopped logs into firewood. Piece after piece until a thin coat of sweat covered her skin and made her remove her parka. Monique tossed it out of the way. The cold air froze the sweat that made her tank top cling to her generous curves. It refreshed her as she commenced with the wood cutting.

  The cabin’s wood stores ran low, thanks to an extremely cold winter that didn’t seem to want to let go. For the last six years, she lived there. She only needed three cords of wood to make it from October to March. Here it is December and she was down to almost a third of her wood stores.

  When the storm let up that morning, she decided it was as good a time as any to add some wood. The flurries of snow billowed about her as she set to work. Piece after piece fell before her axe. It was easy for her, to lose herself in the manual labor. It was why she was there. The howl of a wolf drifted up the valley to her ears. It made her pause. The local pack wasn’t usually this active in the winter, and almost always gone in the summer, but that was the second howl she heard today. If they were hunting, they could be dangerous.

  That’s enough wood for today.

  She carried the axe back to the small shed behind the cabin. It only took her a moment to clean it off and oil the blade to help it fight off the damp snow. The last thing she needed was a rusty wood axe. The snow picked up in the few minutes it took her to put her tools away and stack the wood she chopped under the cabin’s south awning. She reached down to pick up her coat when she heard the terrible noise that no mountain person ever wanted to hear.

  Avalanche!

  The ferocity of the rumble shook the ground. She stumbled to the side of the cabin to hold on. It was worse than any earthquake she ever felt. Across the valley, nearly a mile away, she watched as the entire side of the mountain gave way and rolled at breakneck speed into the valley. The snow obscured the results, but she prayed no one was caught in it.

  No, don’t think about it. Don’t think about it!

  Tears threatened her. Monique wiped her face and refused to give in. The rumbling quieted as the danger passed.

  Inside her cabin once more, she stripped down out of her wet clothes. In the cold, wearing wet undergarments meant death. She put a few more logs on the fire to build it up. A line ran in front of it that she used to dry her clothes. Clad in a fresh pair of white panties that contrasted against her dark skin, and a sports bra to hold her generous curves in place, Monique started in on her pastime. There wasn’t much to do up in the mountains. She hunted in the summer, and when she couldn’t kill enough food, she traded with the people of Albury, the small town twenty miles away and three thousand feet down the mountain.

  “One,” Monique said to the air as she completed her first push-up. For the next hour, she worked her upper body with a variety of push-ups, pull-ups, and other resistance training. When
she first moved there, she only wanted to escape New Orleans. Her body wasn’t ready for the rigor of surviving in the mountains, though. After the first winter when she nearly froze to death because she couldn’t chop down a tree, she resolved to get in better shape. After digging through the chest her uncle left behind she found an army manual for physical fitness. The workouts honed her muscles and kept her mind from turning to darker thoughts.

  After she finished that, Monique set to making sure her bow was in good working order. Ammo was too expensive and, with the avalanche danger, she didn’t want to risk firing a rifle. The bow she bought with what little money remained after she left New Orleans. The arrows she learned to craft herself, along with how to hunt with it.

  The wind whipped the fire into a frenzy; she could hear the gale howling outside. She put her bow aside and started in on dinner. This was her routine, day in, and day out. Her fingers and thoughts always focused on survival, always on what to do next. Never looking back. She left that for her nightmares.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The cabin didn’t have electricity, which meant Monique went to bed when the sun went down, and rose when it came up. It took her some time to get used to it, but after a few months, she slept better than she had her whole life. If it weren’t for her nightmares, she could imagine looking forward to sleep. She woke with a start, clutching her throat and gasping for air, just like every morning since... No, no, no.

  It was her ritual. She sprang naked out of bed to run to the fire. Its embers ran low, but not dead. Dried leaves, grass, and twigs brought it back to life. When the flames looked ready, she gingerly placed a small amount of wood to stoke them. After a few minutes, a full sized log roared and crackled. The warmth of the stove warded off the cold, and dried the sweat that covered her dark skin.