Shifter Woods: Snarl

By Nicola M. Cameron

Can a lone wolf woo and win his very own kitty girl, or will he get turned into cougar chow?

Jack Hawthorne is an Alpha wolf shifter and former SEAL who lost the leadership of his pack while serving his country. Kate Chandler is a cougar shifter with no sense of smell and a deep-seated distrust of fated mates. When these two are thrown together at the Cougar Ridge Ski Resort in Esposito County, NM, Jack realizes that the sharp-witted, beautiful female is his heart’s mate. But her injury means she can’t smell the truth, and her father (and Jack’s former commanding officer) has made it clear that Kate is off limits.

Now, Jack has to convince Kate that they’re meant for each other, win her father’s approval, and get the local wolf pack to accept him. But as every SEAL knows, the only easy day was yesterday.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicola M. Cameron
• Release date: Sep 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463817216

Nicola M. Cameron

Nicola M. Cameron is a married woman of a certain age who enjoys writing about science fiction, fantasy, and romance. When not writing, she likes to knit and quilt. And she may be rather fond of absinthe.While possessing a healthy interest in romance and sex since puberty, it wasn’t until 2012 that she decided to try writing about them. The skills picked up during her SF writing career transferred rather nicely to SF/fantasy/paranormal romance. Her To Be Written work queue currently stands at around nineteen books, and her mojito-sodden Muse swans in from Bali every so often to add to the list, cackling to herself all the while.When not working, Nicola is usually making StuffTM, kissing her husband, or entertaining her cats.

Book preview

1

God, I’d kill for a margarita right now. A big one with a nice, salty rim, some fresh lime juice, and a good slug of Patrón. Even better, a margarita and a cute waiter with a really great ass to serve it to me, then rub my shoulders while I drank it. Yeah.

Kate Chandler’s wistful daydream about an icy drink and a hot server (brought on by a payroll spreadsheet that did not want to reconcile, dammit) was broken by the blinking light on her desk phone. Sighing, she punched the Front Desk button. Hey, Denise.

Hey, Kate. The clerk sounded apologetic. I’m really sorry to bother you, but Sheriff Lynch is here and he wants to talk to your dad.

I’m guessing Dad’s off the property?

Yup. Running a van load of guests down to the airport.

Kate muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath as she brought up the day’s work schedule. Pete’s supposed to be driving the van today.

He’s going to his kid’s school pageant. Mr. C said he’d cover for him.

Of course he did. Technically speaking, Robert Chandler was the owner/operator of the Cougar Ridge Ski Resort and she was the general manager, which meant that he was supposed to stay in his office and oversee the entire property while she concentrated on things like scheduling, event planning, and payroll. In day to day practice, however, her father had developed the bad habit of jumping into jobs here and there, usually without telling her, and leaving her to play catch-up. Fine. Tell Cal I’ll be right out.

Saving the spreadsheet as a precaution, she left her office with its prosaic cream walls and beige furniture and headed out to the front desk. Cougar Ridge was one of the main tourist attractions in Esposito County, bringing in avid skiers from New Mexico, Texas, and Arizona. As a sideline, it also generated its share of drunken visitors doing stupid human tricks. This wouldn’t be the first time a member of the sheriff’s department had arrived with a guest who’d gotten caught trying to steal a street sign or something equally moronic.

Unlike her utilitarian office, the resort's huge lobby was done in classic winter resort style with redwood beams, log walls and a big fieldstone fireplace in one corner that crackled with a cheerful fire. People in brightly colored ski gear strolled back and forth, chatting as they headed out to the lifts that would take them up Sandia Crest or in to the restaurant and bar. Nodding at some of the regulars, Kate spotted a tall, handsome coyote shifter in a sheepskin jacket standing near the front desk. Casually studying the passersby, he angled his body so that the gold sheriff's badge on his jacket wasn’t immediately visible.

Good old Cal, always discreet. Hey, sheriff, she said as she joined him. What did one of our guests do this time?

Caleb Lynch gave her an appreciative smirk. It’s not a guest this time, Kate. Is your dad around?

He’s running some guests to the airport. Knowing him, he’ll stop off for lunch in MacComber. Can I help?

Maybe. Could you come out to the truck?

Sure. Grateful that she was wearing one of her heavier cardigans, she followed Lynch outside, letting him take the bulk of the brisk February wind. He'd parked his SUV around the side of the main building, and as they approached Kate could see a large shape in the caged back seat.

I picked up this gentleman from one of the culverts out on Muenzler Road, the sheriff said, nodding at his passenger. He said he was trying to reach your dad. Do you know him?

Kate peered through the dusty side window. This close, the shape resolved into a man in a blue parka. It was on the tip of her tongue to say no when the man’s aura brushed against hers. No, not a man—a male. Whoever he was, the sheriff’s passenger was also a shifter. Definitely not a cougar. Some sort of canine?

The male stared at the floorboards of the truck so she had no idea what his eyes looked like, but heavy brows and a strong, pointed nose stood out over a thick, unkempt beard that bristled from the parka’s hood like a miniature tumbleweed. A full head of dark hair that looked like it had been barbered with a knife was something she’d seen before. Ex-military?

Lynch nodded. Said he was in the Navy with your dad. Do you know him?

Nope, but he wouldn’t be the first one to show up here. Can I talk to him?

If you like. The sheriff opened the SUV door. Come on out.

Kate stepped back as the male unfolded from the back seat. Jesus, he’s big. The shifter easily topped 6’4" and his worn parka strained to cover broad shoulders and a thickly muscled chest. Jeans that were as old as the parka had been neatly cuffed over well-used military boots.

He stared at the snowy ground like it held the secret to life. She edged forward, bending down a little to catch his eye. I’m Kate Chandler. What’s your name, sailor?

His head came up at that. She found herself looking into a pair of eyes the color of warm Caribbean water. A delicious sort of shock washed through her system, an astounding burst of lust that made the inner muscles between her thighs cramp with need.

The male’s eyes widened, irises expanding until they turned the blue into a thin line around black centers. His aura expanded as well, swirling around hers in a way that made her unconsciously sway towards him. The logical part of her brain screamed at her to step back, break whatever hold he had on her. The cougar part, however, yowled at her to climb the big shifter like a tree and make him hers. Her hands physically ached with the need to run over his shoulders, his chest, trace down undoubtedly cobblestoned abs to his waistband and lower, find the large bulge there and cup it—

What the HELL, Chandler?

—thorne, ma’am.

She swallowed, trying to shake off the sensual haze. What?

My name’s Jack Hawthorne, ma’am, he said softly. Do you know Commander Robert Chandler?

I’m his daughter. She folded her arms protectively across her chest, hoping her nipples weren’t poking through the material of her sweater. It was bad enough that the gusset of her panties was noticeably damp. She could only pray that neither of the males had noticed. Christ on a sidecar, what is wrong with you? He’s just a shifter. Get a freaking grip already. The sheriff said you were trying to reach him?

Yes, ma’am. I served under him at Coronado. His gaze flickered to Lynch, and she guessed he didn’t want to discuss the all-shifter SEAL teams commissioned by the US Navy in front of a civilian, even one with a badge. The commander said that if we ever needed him on the beach, he’d help us.

Her father’s loyalty to his men had covered anything from a loan to helping someone establish a new identity. Are you AWOL?

Anger flashed across what she could see of his features. No, ma’am. I was honorably discharged six months ago. I … there was a problem with my pack.

Pack. That could be anything—coyote, wolf, bear, even horse or buffalo. He was certainly big enough to be one of the last two. What are you?

Those dark brows came down. Can’t you tell?

Damn. She hated having to explain her handicap. I have anosmia, she said shortly. It means I can’t smell anything. I skied into a tree when I was a kid and whacked my head. She tapped the place where the bridge of her nose met her forehead. Did permanent damage to my olfactory nerve.

Hawthorne flinched at that. God. I’m sorry.

Lynch looked sympathetic as well. She shrugged. I’m used to it. So, what are you?

Wolf. From the Rugged Pines pack in North Carolina. Hawthorne chewed his lower lip. Look, I’m not a criminal. I didn’t know it was illegal to stay in the culverts. I’d been walking since dawn and I just needed a place to rest.

In a big metal pipe under a road. Right. A headache began to build behind her eyes, even as that strange attraction zinged across her nerves again. Why do you want to talk to my dad? You need a job?

Those broad shoulders had straightened while they’d talked. Wouldn’t turn it down if one’s going.

The bulk of the jobs at Cougar Ridge tended to be seasonal, filled with locals who knew how to run the lifts and do the rest of the work that a ski resort required. It was already February, nearing the end of the season, but the head of the maintenance crew had been complaining for months about his team being understaffed. If her dad continued to let people have days off for random reasons, having a spare set of hands would come in useful.

She made a decision. Dad won’t be back until this afternoon. That should be enough time for you to take a shower and get cleaned up. I’ll see if I can rustle up some clothes for you. She turned to Lynch. Thanks for bringing him by, Cal. I’ll take it from here.

Lynch frowned. I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Kate. It might be best if Mr. Hawthorne cools his heels at the sheriff’s office until your dad gets home.

If Mr. Hawthorne served under Dad as he claims, we’ll find something for him to do. And if he didn’t, she bared a humorless grin at Hawthorne, "I’ve got about five big ol’ cougars within shouting distance who will be more than happy to