Shifters of Silver Peak: Mate For A Month (3 page)

“New mate?” Verity looked suspiciously back and forth from Eileen to Marcus. “She hasn’t registered yet. There’s no certificate on file.”

“Well, we’re pretty informal around here.” Roman shrugged. “But he’s been spending time in the company of his mate, so that meets your requirements.”

He gestured at Verity. “Eileen, Marcus, this is Verity Farragut of the Council for Shifter Affairs, and these two men are what she’s referring to as ‘advisors’, but we all know they’re really Enforcers.” The two burly shifters scowled at that, and glanced at each other with furrowed brows, but didn’t make a move.

Verity raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow and looked at Eileen. “She’s crying.”

At that, Eileen looked up and glared. “
She’s
standing
right here
.
She
can hear you. And
she’s
crying because she ruined her shoes.”

Verity looked her up and down. She stared at Marcus, at Roman, at the half-dozen other pack members who were striding towards them and shooting wary looks at the “advisors”. Then she looked at Eileen again.

“You’re not dressed like someone who lives out here.”

Eileen pretended to burst into tears. “This was my only good outfit, and it’s ruined! Ruined!” she wailed loudly. “If only they had decent roads here!” She shot Roman a look as she said that.

Verity blinked and took a step back.

“
Ruined!
” Eileen shrieked. “I saved up for a month to buy these shoes! Ruined!” Her voice rose to ear-splitting level. She stamped her foot in the mud and sent it splattering everywhere, including all over Marcus, who didn’t seem to notice. It also splashed all over Verity’s legs, making her grimace and step back even further.

If there was one thing that Eileen could do, it was throw a temper tantrum. That was one of the few ways she could get rid of her father when he was being annoying and patronizing, which was always. He pretty much seemed to expect her to throw temper tantrums – she was female, after all – so she did, and it worked very well.

“They don’t even sell these shoes here! And now my outfit! Ruined!” That came out as a scream, a very high-pitched one, which had all the shifters within earshot rubbing their ears in pain.

Verity winced. She muttered, “Congratulations to the, er, happy couple,” and turned and hurried off towards her car, with her advisors following her. Then she paused, turned around and stalked back. She stared at Eileen’s neck.

“Wait a minute. Where’s your Mate Mark?”

“Skin allergies,” Marcus growled, at the same time Eileen said, “My pack doesn’t Mate-Mark.”

“What?” Verity’s eyes narrowed. “Which is it?”

“Both,” Eileen said quickly. “I have skin allergies, and the doctor recommended no Mate Mark until they’re cleared up. And my people do not believe in Mate-Marking, so we may not do it at all.”

“Everyone Mate-Marks, except for certain New York and Connecticut shifters.” Verity’s tone was skeptical.

“Yes. I’m Eileen Pennyroyal. We do not Mate-Mark.”

“You’re a Pennyroyal?” Verity raked Eileen’s mud-spattered outfit with a look of scorn.

“
Excuse
me?” Eileen drew herself up to her full height, and her offended gaze bored holes into Verity. “Did you just question my lineage?”

Roman, Marcus, and several other shifters who’d wandered up, all stopped short and stared at her in surprise. Eileen had channeled her elegant, aristocratic mother just then, and she’d done it well.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense,” Verity said hastily. Then she hesitated. “I will need to verify this with your family.”

Brief panic clutched at Eileen’s throat, and then it faded. If her father thought she was mated, married, or whatever he cared to call it, he couldn’t make her go back home to New York. He couldn’t try to force her to marry Beacham.

And Roman would agree to the road being built on his pack’s property, so she could rub that in her father’s face.

“Please, go ahead,” she replied coolly. “Daddy doesn’t approve of the mating, mind you, but he’ll come around. Or not. He has no say in it.”

Verity nodded, looking suspicious but much more respectful now.

“Did you do a formal ceremony?” she asked Roman. “Do you have the certificate?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Roman growled. “I told you, we’re not big on formality here.”

“No Mate Mark and no certificate?” Verity’s voice rose in indignation, and her perfectly plucked eyebrows climbed towards her forehead.

Roman rolled his eyes, then turned to face Eileen and Marcus. “I, Roman Kincaid, pack Alpha, do approve this match and I bless and sanctify the union of Marcus Wright and Eileen Pennyroyal,” he pronounced in loud, ringing tones. “They are now life-mates. May their union be long and fruitful, and blessed by many cubs. May they serve their pack well. God bless us everyone. Happy?” At those last couple of sentences, Verity shot him a dirty look.

“Well, you are pack Alpha, so it’s official,” she said doubtfully. “They are now life-mates. Can’t argue with that.”

Wait, what?
Eileen felt the blood drain from her face.

She and Marcus were really life-mates? Or, as her father would put it, married?

The pack Alpha had just said they were mates. That was as official as a Mate Mark. Or a traditional wedding ceremony in front of a priest.

She waited until Verity and her two big, hulking bodyguards had left before she dared to sneak a peek at Marcus – the man she’d met yesterday. The sexy, sullen man who couldn’t stand her. The man she’d just been mated to.

* * * * *

Marcus pulled to a stop by his cabin, and Eileen parked next to him. It was at the end of a dirt and gravel road, tucked away in a small clearing among the fir trees. He hadn’t done much in the way of clearing out the underbrush, but Eileen liked it. The setting was beautiful. She suddenly felt herself itching to strip down, shift and go for a run. Not in front of Marcus, of course; she still had some decorum left.

She sat in her car for a minute, as Marcus climbed out of his car.

Roman had explained the deal to her after Verity had left. He’d named the price the pack would accept for granting permission to build the road. In exchange, she had to agree to stay there and pretend to be mated to Marcus for up to one month, although if Verity left town before that, she might be able to leave sooner.

It was very, very rare for life-mates to split up, but given the enormous lifestyle difference between Eileen’s pack and Marcus’ pack, they would be able to justify it when the time came. During that time, Marcus would also go to work five days a week and spend time with the pack at least five evenings a week, and document it. By the time she left, Roman would be able to offer proof that Marcus was sufficiently socialized, and then the council would have no cause to take him.

During that month, to keep up appearances, she would live in Marcus’ cabin and participate in pack activities. Unfortunately, for the next thirty days, according to shifter law, Verity had the legal right to drop by the pack property at any time, unannounced – so the two of them had to put on a good show.

What would her mother have thought of Marcus? Eileen wondered. Her parents’ marriage had been arranged, and from what Eileen had seen, their relationship had been formal, polite and passionless. Eileen was an only child.

Once, when Eileen had wondered out loud who her father was going to pick out as her husband, her mother had flashed a brief smile that seemed to have a secret sorrow behind it. “Times are changing,” she’d said. “A lot of girls pick out their own husbands these days. They marry for love. Even people in our circles.”

That had stuck with Eileen to this day. Except she hadn’t picked Marcus – he’d been picked for her by Roman.

Or had he?

She could easily have said no.

Marcus was standing next to his car, waiting for Eileen to get out.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she muttered. She flung open her door and climbed out, and the needle-like heels of her boots sank into the dirt.

Note to self: buy new shoes immediately.

There were two structures in the clearing – the cabin and his workshop. In between them were a woodshed and a stone fire pit with a grill.

There was a wooden table near the woodshed, with a wooden chair next to it. One chair.

Who had a table with
one chair?

Apparently Marcus did.

As soon as they walked into the cabin, she could see that was a theme. The interior was all one big, rectangular room. The living room area had a wooden Adirondack-style chair in it, facing the flagstone fireplace. One single chair.

The kitchen area had a big stainless steel fridge, oak cabinets with hand-wrought iron pulls shaped like little branches, and by the window was a rectangular table with…one chair. The cabinets were all decorated with beautifully detailed wooden carvings of nature scenes along the top panels, and had hand-carved vines twirling and climbing up the sides.

In the far corner of the room was a king-sized bed with a red-and-black flannel blanket and matching pillows. She suspected that the only reason his bed was that big was to accommodate his size, not because he had frequent female company.

There was a pile of splintered furniture off to the side of the room, she realized.

Marcus saw her glance at it. “Firewood,” he said. “I’ll put it outside later.”

The back wall of the cabin was a surprise and a marvel. There was an enormous picture window looking out on the mountain ranges behind them. The gray mountains were frosted with white, and the vast blue of the sky seemed to stretch out forever. It was a view so pretty it belonged on the cover of
National Geographic
.

But where would she sleep? Where would she hang her clothing?

“You don’t have a closet?” she said, looking around the room. His whole cabin was about the size of her closet at home in New York.

In response, he just pointed.

There was a wooden wardrobe near the bed, with an elaborately carved wooden frieze at the top. That would hold maybe one suitcase worth of her stuff – if Marcus took all his clothing out.

Glancing around, she realized that all the furniture had similar adornments. There was a bookshelf with carvings that matched the wardrobe. It was stocked with spy thrillers and military adventure novels.

She walked over to the bookcase and leaned in to look at it more closely. It was so pretty that she found herself reaching out and stroking it with her fingers. “That’s some amazing detail work,” she said. “It’s really beautiful. Did you do that?”

“Yep.” He pointed at the refrigerator. “Help yourself to whatever. I’m late for work.”

So much for a romantic honeymoon.

“Thanks, dream lover. I’ll just make myself at home,” she said with annoyance. “And you’re welcome, by the way, for pretending to be your mate for a month and saving your furry ass from the council.”

She could hear her father’s disapproving voice.
Language.

Bite me,
she thought irritably. She was always sassy to her father – in her daydreams. In real life, there was a lot of rebellious muttering, dirty looks and avoidance.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks.” He almost sounded like he meant it. He looked around the room. “I know this isn’t what you’re used to. If you need anything, tell me. I’ll sleep in the workshop.”

She nodded. She should feel relieved, right? He wasn’t going to try to take advantage of the situation.

Such a gentleman,
she thought unhappily.

Marcus sat on a bench by himself at lunch, the same way he always did. Most of the pack members were currently working for a home builder, erecting new homes in a subdivision that had sprung up on the humans’ property near Juniper.

The foundation had already been set and the skeleton of the framework erected. Now they were working on getting the roof up as quickly as possible, to protect the house’s frame in case it rained.

It was two p.m. They were eating lunch in shifts; since he’d come in late, he was taking the late shift.

Marcus found his mind drifting back to his home. To Eileen. How was she doing? What was she doing? Was she regretting ever setting foot in Silver Peak?

And why was she always mad at him? He must be doing something to make her mad, although he couldn’t tell what. He was treating her the same way he treated everyone else – he tried to stay away from people so they wouldn’t scrape across his raw nerves and drag his wolf out of him, snarling and threatening.

Being around Eileen was different, though. When he was near her, he felt his heartbeat increase, and a strange warmth spread through him. Not the red-hot rage he was used to feeling – it was a pleasant warmth, which puzzled him because he didn’t know what to do with it.

For the first time in a decade, he found himself wanting to be with another human being. That alone was making him itchy and uneasy. Why get used to something that was going to end soon?

Damian, Casper, Samuel and Zeke walked by, chatting with each other. Marcus felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and his fangs itched in his gums. It just happened to him spontaneously these days; he’d be sitting there, and for no reason at all, he’d get that shifter sixth sense that something was wrong.
Danger,
his senses screamed at him.

It was broad daylight, and he knew everybody on the site. There was no danger – other than Marcus.

Casper and Damien settled down on a bench near him and opened up their lunch boxes. Casper set his tool box next to him.

Except apparently it wasn’t his.

Samuel walked over to them, gestured at the tool box and said mildly, “Excuse me. I think you’ve got my toolbox there.”

Casper shot to his feet, snarling. His face turned hairy.

“You calling me a thief?” he growled.

Marcus leaped to his feet and was standing between them in less than a second.

“If the shoe fits.” Marcus gritted the words out between his teeth. “You wanna throw down? Because you’ll be challenging me, not him. But I’m gonna be a nice guy and let you call your loved ones to say goodbye first. Oh wait, you don’t have any.”

Samuel stepped back, his eyes wide. He was a good kid, mild-mannered, hated conflict – and Marcus shouldn’t be acting like this in front of him, but he couldn’t help himself.

Zeke leaped to his feet. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, holding up his hands. “Nobody called you a thief.”

He glanced over at Harry, the site project manager, a human who was already less than thrilled with Marcus and his frequent outbursts.

Harry was talking to some other pack members and not paying attention to them. Yet.

“You think I’m scared of you?” Casper snapped at Marcus, but he’d turned a shade paler. “I’m not a thief, and anyone who calls me one is going to pay for it.”

“If by ‘pay for it’ you mean take you out, that’s what’s gonna happen. What are you waiting for?” Marcus’ fangs descended and the bones in his face shifted. He could feel his skin melting away under the fur.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Marcus, it’s fine,” Samuel said pleadingly. “I don’t want you to get in trouble. He can have the toolbox.”

“It’s not your toolbox!” Casper snapped, fists balled, glaring all around him.

Damien picked up the box and looked at it. “Uh, Casper, this actually is Samuel’s toolbox,” he said. “I’m sure it was a mistake.” Damien always seemed to end up acting as peacemaker between Marcus and Casper, who just rubbed each other the wrong way.

“So?” Casper growled in his thick Texas accent. “Grabbed the wrong toolbox. No reason to call me a crook.”

“Why don’t you both apologize to each other and we’ll call it even?” Zeke glanced at Harry again, then back at Marcus, his meaning clear.
Don’t cause any more trouble
.

Damien handed the toolbox to Samuel. Casper glowered at Marcus.

Marcus fixed Casper with a cold, hard look. “You even look at Samuel wrong again, I’ll separate your head from your body. You think you’re a big man? You like to scare cubs? Let’s settle this now.”

“I forbid it!” Zeke yelled furiously. He was the pack beta, and going against his word was like going against Roman’s word. “We are not going to throw down over a stupid misunderstanding!”

Harry was definitely watching them now.

Marcus stared at Casper for a long, long moment. Damien was patting Casper on the arm, talking to him in low, urgent tones.

Finally Casper turned and stalked off, swearing loudly and kicking a garbage can as he walked by it.

Funny thing was, Damien and Zeke had just saved Casper’s life by intervening, and everybody there knew it. Wolves had a hierarchy. So did wolf shifters. They could sense who was top dog, who would win against whom in a fight. In some cases, it was closely matched. In the case of Marcus…he could take out any person in their pack except for Roman. That would be a close call, but Roman would probably win.

Samuel would be at the very bottom of the hierarchy, Marcus knew. He’d probably never even gotten in a fight.

With his physical prowess, Marcus had the right to be beta, but nobody would even dream of suggesting it to him. The beta had to have social skills. Marcus did not have social skills. Marcus spent the better part of each day trying not to kill people for saying hello to him.

Casper was plenty scarred up, like Marcus was. So he’d been in fights before, and had won. But he wouldn’t be a match for Marcus. Casper just happened to have the type of aggressive, obnoxious personality that was going to get him killed sooner or later, because he didn’t know when to back down from a fight. It was no surprise that he’d joined Roman’s pack; with his personality, few packs would put up with him.

Marcus caught himself wondering, again, if Casper was the source of his new uneasiness and the return of his nightmares.

Could he have been one of the men in the cages? Was that why Marcus was having so many flashbacks to the past?

Or even worse…one of the men who had bet on the forced, illegal fights?

But no, Marcus would have scented it. Most of the men who’d bet on the fights had been killed. The few survivors had been tracked down, arrested and jailed for life. Almost all of the prisoners had died when they’d risen up against their captors, and the other two who’d made it through – he knew who they were. With a growl, Marcus returned to his lunch and tried to banish all the thoughts that were tangling together in his brain now.

Matthew. Eileen. The guards. The jeering crowds.

Fur rippled all over his body, his snout protruded and his fangs shot out. With a mighty effort, he forced his wolf back down, and it raged there, gnawing at his mind and hurling itself against the prison of his skin.

How much longer could he go on like this?