Howl for the Holidays Read online

  Howl for the Holidays

  Keira Blackwood

  Contents

  Copyright

  Introduction

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Also by Keira Blackwood

  Running to the Pack: Chapter One

  Running to the Pack: Chapter Two

  Bodyguard: Chapter One

  Grizzly Bait: Chapter One

  Grizzly Bait: Chapter Two

  About the Author

  Newsletter

  Copyright © 2016 by Keira Blackwood

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual persons, places, or events is coincidental. All characters in this story are at least 18 years of age or older.

  The cover utilizes stock images licensed by the author. The model(s) depicted have no connection to this work or any other work by the author.

  Introduction

  Close friends—both wanting more, but still holding back. Sometimes life gives us a nudge in the right direction. And sometimes it takes a car wreck.

  Since their first appearance in Sawtooth Peaks, I’ve wanted to give Harkins and Amy their chance to find happiness. Howl for the Holidays is their story.

  Chapter One

  Amy

  Cinnamon-infused pinecones, hot chocolate with marshmallows, tall boots and cozy sweaters, that feeling of freshly fallen snow melting beneath my paws—winter was hands down my favorite season. It was the smoky warmth of a crackling hearth, the cheer of white lights clinging to rooftops and woven between the branches of tall pines. Winter meant hiding beneath the covers a little longer, while icy air bit my cheeks.

  Like most mornings, I wouldn’t have minded a few more minutes in bed. But, it was a get-up-and-travel day. Luckily my heater worked wonders. Through the windshield, the world ahead of me was blanketed in white. The road included. There was only the two-line trail from tires traveling before me that told me that my little blue Volkswagen Beetle was still on curved mountain road instead of driving off the side of a cliff. Sunlight reflected off of crystal-like powder as the clouds receded from the bright blue sky. The effect was both mesmerizing and blinding.

  Winter in the mountains meant massive amounts of snowfall. That snow brought skiers and hunters to Sawtooth Peaks, to the lodge that was more of a modern, luxury hotel than a part of the classic, Victorian town. And the lodge brought business to Sawtooth Den, which meant more money in my pocket and new people to meet. If I’d had my way, I’d have spent Christmas working, catering to my pack, and patrons that had travelled from near and far for a mug of ale.

  But as an Anderson, it was my duty to travel home for the holidays, just like I did every year. Just like my entire family did, and always had. The Anderson farm had passed down from my great-great-grandparents through generation after generation, all the way down to my parents. Just like every Christmas before it, I was required to join my mother and father, my grandmother, my uncles and aunts, my cousins, my siblings, and my nieces and nephews for a feast grown and harvested on the Anderson land.

  It was a tradition that I’d cherished as a child: picking fresh green beans and carrots from the garden in the summer, canning them with my sisters, my mother, and my grandmother, and then opening up those same cans for Christmas dinner. The farm-raised turkey tasted better than any I’d eaten anywhere else. Having everyone gathered together at the long banquet table to share the year’s work was as satisfying as tasting the creamy butter that I’d churned myself.

  I still loved winter. And spending time with my family. But Christmas? Not so much.

  Vvvrrrmmmmm. My phone vibrated against the plastic cup holder. It was hard to believe I could still get a signal this far from Sawtooth Peaks. It wouldn’t last long. I risked a glance down and checked the number. Nora. It was beginning already.

  A flash of brown fur streaked past the windshield, a mule deer, and I instinctively hit the brakes. My breath caught and my arms tensed, but I held my eyes wide against the instinct to flinch. The little car skidded and fishtailed, jostled across uneven snow. The enormous buck stopped and stared. A flick of the wheel and the tires bumped back into the single set of tracks. I took a deep breath, and looked back at the tall, brown deer with long, ornamental antlers. He stood still, watching me drive away from his place by the tire tracks. I turned my attention back to the road. Eyes forward. There was bound to be more ice.

  Trees were clustered in patches, like larger-than-life versions of cylindrical, paper water cups. The road curved around a sharp rock face, with treetops and boulders visible off the ledge out my driver side window. Even with as tall as the pines grew, their tops didn’t reach the height of the road. Every time I rounded these bends my fists clenched on the wheel. One wrong move and my little blue car would careen down a hundred feet into the valley.

  Vvvrrrmmmmm. The phone rattled. I debated whether or not I should answer or just pretend I’d already arrived in the cellular dead zone. I needed both hands, and I wasn’t ready to start the annual mate talk. Any other time of year I’d be happy to chat. My sister was great. Nora and I could spend hours talking about the latest episode of Werewolf Diaries or who was going to be killed off next in the Vampires USA novels. My whole family was great really. Just not at Christmas. The phone vibrated again in my palm. Fine.

  “Hi, Nora,” I said.

  “Amy!” my youngest sister replied with such excitement that it seemed like she didn’t expect me, even though it was her who called me. “Are you almost here? Mom’s been asking if anyone had heard when you were planning on leaving.”

  “I got held up at work last night. Again this morning,” I said. Held up may have been a slight exaggeration. In truth, I’d decided to spend the last few hours before I met my doom in the company of my second family, the one that I’d chosen to spend all of my days with. At Sawtooth Den, with Harkins, and everyone else in my pack. “I’m on the way now.”

  “Aww, shucks,” Nora said. “I’m sorry to hear you’re not further along.”

  “Promise I’ll make it there before dinner,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on the Christmas Eve Eve feast.”

  “Good, because I’m dying to tell you all about-”

  “Ask her who she’s bringing.” I heard my mother’s voice in the background.

  “Anyone special in your life this year that you’re bringing home to meet the family? Boyfriend?” Nora asked. Then after a pause, “Mate?”

  Oldest of six girls, I was the only one left without a mate. The one everyone would ask about dating, and offer advice. At twenty-six years old, it was as if my family believed I was destined to go barren at any minute. And here I was, driving home for another Christmas, single. I felt guilty for feeling that way. They were kind, loving people who’d welcome me with open arms. I’d play with my nieces and nephews, and help all of the women with the cooking. They’d share their lives with me, and I’d be reminded of what I didn’t have.

  “You know me,” I said. “Running the bar keeps me-” Static cut into the line.
<
br />   “What’s that?” Nora asked, a crackling sound cutting in and out over her voice. “Amy? crrkkkkcllllllll… “cubs…”

  “Looks like I’m losing you, Nora,” I said. “Catch up tonight.”

  No answer.

  “Bye,” I said. Cubs? I hoped she was talking about her kids, and not asking a question. Saved by the cellular dead zone. At least for a few hours.

  Most of the time, I was one-hundred-percent fine with being on my own. Running the bar kept me busy. The pack was all the company I needed. I didn’t have time to date, and it didn’t bother me. Except at Christmastime. Seeing my sisters was nice. And I liked their mates, all five of them. I adored my nieces and nephews. But when everyone was together, and talking about me missing out, it left me feeling like I was.

  I should have just done what I wanted. I should have stayed home, and accepted an invitation to join someone else’s family dinner, or even better, made myself a turkey sandwich and worked. I wouldn’t have been alone. At the very least, Harkins-

  A cloud of white. A flash of brown and green. The tires squealed as I hit the brakes and the car kept moving along the icy road. I held my eyes open, tried not to flinch. It was just like the deer. I’d be fine. I could hold onto control. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. Stay on the road. Don’t drive off the cliff. Don’t drive off the cliff. Boulders tumbled up ahead, just past the frosted sign marked Falling Rock Zone. The weight of the snow must have caused the rocks to fall, dropping forever down once they reached the ledge. The car wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t turn. My heart raced as my body lurched forward. Pain. Black.

  Chapter Two

  Harkins

  Yuppy out-of-towners. Sawtooth Den was full of ‘em. T’was the season of rich pansies playing hunter and gold diggers who pretended to find them charming. Winter in Sawtooth Peaks hadn’t always been this way. Neither had my life. But livin’ in the past did me no favors.

  They talked. They laughed. They drank and played pool. Overshadowing the usual liquor, grease, and shifter scents was the smell of human tourists. The regulars were still around, just outnumbered. Zaria knocked back shots of bourbon from her stool, two down from my seat in the corner. The petite, raven-headed she-wolf seemed to share my sentiment about the season and the customers.

  With silver hair, and the kind of grin that made women swoon, Lance checked in at each table. He made a fine businessman and alpha to our pack. His father would have been proud if he’d lived to see his son grown.

  The jukebox kicked on. Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world. A flash of bleach-blonde hair and I turned. Too young. Too drunk. Not Amy. The woman hung her arm over the shoulder of a stick-thin brunette as they butchered Journey together. I turned around, leaned my elbows on the bar and glanced at the bartender standing where Amy should have been.

  Fleur was fine. She had a friendly demeanor. She didn’t cause trouble. And she poured beer well enough. But she wasn’t Amy. Every hour that passed was a reminder that the woman that belonged behind the bar wasn’t at Sawtooth Den. She wasn’t even in Sawtooth Peaks. And that made everything less tolerable.

  “So tell me,” Amy’s brunette substitute said, stopping in her tracks in front of me. “What’s your story, Harkins? How long have you been with the pack?”

  “As long as I have,” Zaria said, raising her glass. “He’s been the alpha’s second for twenty years—first John’s, now John’s son’s.”

  I gave Zaria a nod.

  “Okay,” Fleur said, adjusting the poinsettia behind her ear. She looked between me and Zaria, then squinted her eyes at me and smiled. “So is Harkins your first name or last name?”

  “No one knows,” Zaria said, flashing me a look that meant trouble. “He’s like Cher. Or Madonna.”

  Fleur laughed. “No manlier examples? Let’s see, what men go by one name?”

  “Prince,” Zaria offered, smiling at my expense.

  Voices across the room grew louder. Two pretty-boys at the pool table, wearing college football jackets. They were indistinguishable from the others in their group—human, drunk, and looking to impress the blonde that watched them. “One more round. Come on, man. Double or nothing,” the first said. I watched from the corner of my eye, ready to move if the situation escalated.

  “Maybe more like Sting or Bono,” Fleur replied.

  “Ice-T,” Zaria said.

  “I said pay up,” the shorter of the two men said from his place in the back of the room. His muscles tensed. I rose from my seat.

  “What do you think, Harkins?” Fleur asked. “No comment?”

  “How ‘bout Mr. T,” I replied, without turning back.

  Zaria snorted. Fleur laughed, and poured another drink for Zaria. My attention turned entirely to the two drunken college kids. The shorter one had a pug nose and fire in his eyes. He pushed the taller one. Anger, excitement, heavy breathing, hearts racing, sweat—I could smell the fight brewing.

  “It’s not that big of a deal, Brad,” a big guy with sandy hair said. He stood beside the two who scowled at each other, tension ready to boil. “Just pay him and let someone else take a turn.”

  “Cheater,” the short one said, pushing the tall one for the second time. It wouldn’t take much more; I could feel it. I weaved through the crowd, and waited.

  “Dick,” the tall one replied, with his ferret-face contorted in anger. He raised his fist. The first punch was thrown. Finally. A quick dive forward, and I held the man’s wrist, catching him mid-swing.

  “What the-” His fist remained clenched, and his eyes flicked from my hand to my face. Anger changed to confusion, then right back to anger. The short one’s eyes went wide.

  Then he too made a poor choice. He took my interference for opportunity and threw a swing of his own. I released Ferret-face, and swiped my leg into the back of the short dumbass’s knees. When his balance was unsteady, I planted my fist into his face. The sting of my knuckles on his cartilage was exhilarating. A bar fight was exactly what I’d needed. “Time to leave,” I said. The pansy on the floor clasped his bloody nose in both hands.

  “Hey, man,” the tall one said. His voice cracked as it went up an octave. “We don’t want any trouble.” He leaned back away from me, hands in the air, reeking of fear.

  “Good,” I replied. “Get out o’ here.”

  The smart one left, knocking over a chair as he ran out the door. The dumb one climbed to his feet and charged at me. Anger radiated off of the black-haired kid with the broken nose. He ran like a bull, and I sidestepped with ease. He fell onto a table full of drinks, splashing the contents onto a couple snuggled on a chair. The woman screamed, and her date rose to his feet. “My jacket,” he squealed.

  I twisted the assailant’s arm up behind his back. He cried out as I lifted him upright and led him toward the door.

  I heard Lance behind me, apologizing to the couple coated in beer and wine. But my eyes stayed locked on the troublemaker. The door flung open as I shoved him through it. He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees. Part of me hoped he’d take another shot. Snowflakes landed like dandruff in his short, black hair. More appeared beneath streetlamps, as if materializing in the light. Cold winter air filled my lungs, and raised the hair on my bare arms. Only as I took in the silence, the peace of the empty street, did I realize how frustrated I’d allowed myself to become. “Don’t come back,” I said, as I watched the short man in the college jacket rise to his feet. He stared at me a moment, eyes filled with hate, as if contemplating another assault. Then he spat at my feet and walked away.

  I needed a mission. I needed something to do to keep me occupied while I waited for Christmas to pass, for memories of holidays long over to fade back where they belonged, and for Amy to come home. She was my sounding board, my friend, the one who grounded me. Her soothing smile was the best part of my day. She was gorgeous too. I knew one day she’d find a mate and leave me behind, and this version of me would be all that remained. But for now, it was just a few days. C
hristmas would be over and Amy would come home.

  I took a deep breath before stepping back into the warmth of Sawtooth Den. The noise of happy voices chorused around the room. Even the woman in wine looked appeased. As did her date. It was a credit to Lance’s people skills. The long guitar riff from Free Bird played from the jukebox, and Fleur’s eyes met mine. “I’ve got it,” she said over the crowd. “Your last name is Barkins. Am I right? If you want me to stop guessing all you have to do is tell me.” I needed out.

  Lance caught me by the door. “Harkins,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  “Send me somewhere,” I said.

  “Actually,” Lance said, “I was about to ask if you could meet with the alpha in Elkston for me. Trixie put together a basket, and I haven’t found anyone who can deliver-”

  “I’ll do it.”

  The phone rang behind the bar. “Sawtooth Den, this is Fleur,” the brunette answered. I couldn’t hear the voice on the line with all of the noise, but somehow I knew the call was important. I could feel it. “Um, I’m not sure. I’m just standing in for her.” Amy.

  I walked past Lance, through the crowd toward Fleur. My adrenaline spiked. Something was wrong. “Harkins?” I heard my alpha’s voice, but it hardly registered.

  “Do you know what time Amy left?” Fleur asked Zaria.

  I stood beside Zaria and looked to the substitute bartender. “She left at nine.”

  “Thanks,” she said, then held the phone back to her ear. “She left at nine,” Fleur said.

  “Tonight?” The voice on the phone was a woman’s. She sounded worried, as concerned as I felt.

  “In the morning,” I said. Fleur relayed the message.

  “She should have been here hours ago. It’s not like there’s anywhere to stop on the way. Are you sure she left at nine?” The woman asked. “If Amy’s not there then what happened to her?” Panic and purpose compelled me. Blood thrummed in my ears.