Wolves of Amrok Hollow: Until I make you MINE

By Jeanette Lynn

In theory, it sounds simple enough. An arranged mating. Daunting as the idea of blindly mating a possible stranger may be, Emersyn is short on options and growing desperate for an answer. What she could never have accounted for, the wolf who decides he's not only the solution to her unique problem, but the only anything she'll ever need. Not one to just give in when a challenge presents itself, particularly in the form of the stubborn Alpha female, he'll hound his curvy little stubborn bit of destiny until he's made her HIS.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanette Lynn
• Release date: Feb 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463911938

Jeanette Lynn

Jeanette Lynn lives with her Neanderthal, beyond awesome kiddlens, mini-dino water-ninja (turtle), slightly eccentric terrier mix, and hobbit pup. She enjoys creating quirky, offbeat characters in out of this world stories. And, of course, a good happy ending.Quirky, offbeat characters in out of this world stories. Finding love in unexpected places.Paranormal, contemporary, fantasy, sci fi, shifters, aliens, magic and matchmaking mayhem, there's a little bit of everything.

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Until I Make You MINE

Jeanette Lynn

Copyright © 2020 Jeanette Lynn

All Rights Reserved

Thank you for purchasing this book.

It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and or distributed for commercial or noncommercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked ownership of all trademarks and word marks mentioned in this book.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Please Read

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Jeanette Lynn Books

About the Author

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This one is for all the Alpha females out there, and the dudes who can appreciate a strong leading lady.

Don’t let anyone dull your sparkle, sunshine. You’re a handful of Sweet Heat Skittles.

Don’t let anyone else tell your feisty buns differently.

And we aren’t bossy, damn it. We’re adamant!

CHAPTER 1

˜΅˜

Late. As usual. I was so frazzled anymore, I’d forgotten the meaning of the phrase on time . This time, though, totally not my fault. Parking, rushing out, my small backpack over one shoulder, I was halfway up the walk when I spotted trouble through the diner window, sat at the table with my best friend at the booth.

Shit. The urge to turn around and skip out altogether consumed me. To top it all off, Hanky’s was busy.

I’d been hoping it would be dead tonight, Aaron running the cricket chirping and keeping our coffees filled while Fynn and I caught a moment for ourselves to sit and just chat. No. I was going in. My nerves cranked up and I winced, inside and out. I had some things I really needed to talk with someone about, someone not at work, someone not my parents or related to me, and definitely not anyone even remotely related to the pack’s council. That pretty much left Fynn, my best friend and confidante, the only man I knew who could keep his god damned trap shut, the only person I really trusted in Blackwater, and more specifically, all of Amrok Hollow.

Amrok was like the dimple in the crooked butt crack of Blackwater, a dark watered hidden treasure no one really knew about, cared much about outside of the people who resided within, a speck on the balls of the middle of god damned nowhere, in the middle of that nowhere. The black hole of not clearly marked on a map and no one knows what the heck you’re talking about. It was the perfect place for a bunch of mangy shifters, mainly wolves, like myself, to call home.

The diner was flippin’ hoppin’, as Aaron liked to joke on the busier nights, crammed to the brim. Were they having some kind of special I wasn’t aware of? Venison burgers back in again? I thought that wasn’t until March or April... Was Rach, part owner of the joint, doing that prime rib thing again? It wasn’t that far from Valentine’s Day, I noted, wondering at the ratio of patrons to possible sweetheart meals’ deals or whatever nonsense she’d cooked up. There was no telling with that cheetah shifter.

The bell over the door dinged as I stepped inside. The one thing I didn’t mind when the place was packed, much as I stuck out like a sore thumb sometimes—taller than the average five-seven to five-nine a shifter of the female persuasion topped out at—stuffed to the brim like Hanky’s was, I fell into the crowd, just blended right in.

Yo! Hey! Em! Over here! Fynn bellowed over the din. His arm shot up, waving me on.

Or perhaps I didn’t blend in as well as I thought I did. Smiling wryly, my head jerked in his direction in acknowledgement. Forcing my feet to move, I slowly made my way over to his booth. Ansel sat across from his younger sibling, sprawled out across a booth seat that could easily have sat two. Didn’t matter. I honestly didn’t want to sit that close to him anyway. Ansel... How did I describe Ansel? Ansel was an asshole.

Fynn slid down his seat, patting the spot next to him. Bring it on over here, partner, Fynn joked, even white teeth flashing as his lips tipped up into a welcoming smile. Fynn had one of those faces. He was handsome, that devil may care smile, dark brown eyes, perfectly shaped nose with a little hook in the nostrils, a long face and squared jaw, Mr. Perfectly Proportioned over there. Fynn was one of those total package looking dudes. His heart matched his face, but, shit, that temper. And sometimes, that fucking mouth. My dude bro bestie was far from perfect, but I loved Fynn, very much, in fact, would do anything for him and the butt knew it—and despite some recent, ah... changes in our, erm, relationship, so to speak—he just wasn’t the wolf for me.

Sit. Ansel, uncouth, curt, grumbling, and at times condescending and snide, bossy as fuck, lifted a booted foot and kicked the bottom of the booth seat, his thick eyebrows beetling, bunching together to form the monster of all unibrows across his high forehead.

Glancing from sibling to sibling, wondering how his parents had managed to birth a devil that acted like one, his face too squared, too many frown lines to be considered traditionally handsome, built like a damned tank, muscle stacked upon muscle, and those damned gorilla lookin’ arms of his, tree trunks for thighs, and then Fynn, a devil that looked like an angel. Maybe they were more akin to kobolds... or large gremlins... Smirking at this, ignoring Ansel, I kicked his foot out of the way with my muddied work boot and slid into the teal blue and white booth seat, tucking my elbow in so I didn’t shove it into Fynn trying to squeeze in. Small, I was not. Not in height, weight, wolf, or personality.

Once settled, adjusting my thick black hoodie and hiking up the back of my faded jeans so they didn’t slide down in the back, I glanced around. I had to reiterate just how comfortable I wasn’t in crowds. People moved past to pick up to-go orders from the counter across the way, almost brushing my shoulder as they passed. Skin prickling, I bristled. I really wasn’t the crazy touchy type, especially not with those unfamiliar to me. This was like a preview of Hell.

Ordered you a coffee. I caught the cup as Fynn slid it a little too forcefully my way, sloshing hot brown liquid across the tabletop and almost my hand.

Scowling, reaching over him for napkins with one hand, I took a quick sip from the thick-rimmed cup with Hanky Pankey’s written in bold black lettering over a bright blue pair of polka dot panties, grimacing at how hot it was not, and set it down to begin to mop up his mess. Fynn grinned, watching me. No warning, dick? The look on my face said. Shit starter, the man was.

Glancing up, making eye contact with Aaron, I pointed to my cup and she nodded and smiled. She was so used to this by now she probably found it hilarious. We were at the point we barely spoke more than a handful of words and I saw her more than most of my kin.

It’s cold, I grumbled at Fynn when she was no longer in sight, who must have been waiting for a comment just such as this because his eyes crinkled at the corners and he laughed.

Maybe if you’d made it on time it wouldn’t be cold, he said on a chuckle.

Rolling my eyes, I tossed my dirty napkins at him. Fynn squawked, his hands flying up as if to block the soggy napkin assault from staining his precious new camouflage print thermal long sleeve, but they hit the palms of his hands and stuck to his skin. I laughed as he flapped his hands, unable to flick the offending wet material away, his squawking growing louder.

Children, I thought I heard Ansel huff.

Dick. Asshole. Bastard. Whatever, walking lump of hemorrhoids.

Don’t you have somewhere else to be? I huffed, my sense of humor fading as he glowered down at me and I scowled right back. I couldn’t rightly say what our problem was with each other or how it, this, had technically all started, and I couldn’t much say I cared how it had all come about, but whatever the case may be, it was all his fault. All his. That was my story and I was sticking to it.

Nope. He made the word pop. Scooting my cold coffee across the way, he picked up my cup, dark brown eyes eyeing me all the while, and took a long, slow, noisy sip from my cup.

My face bunched, nose scrunching, expression pinching, until Fynn was chuckling and I knew it was from the stupid look on my face alone. An ewwww from this utterly disgusted lady right here, hung unsaid in the air.

So, why are you late? Fynn prompted, adding, This time, with a smirk of a smile.

Pigs got out, I said simply.

One peek down at my muck covered boots and Fynn nodded. Plausible.

Aaron came over with the coffee pot, took one look at Ansel drinking my cold coffee, and her face too bunched up. See! It was disgusting! I wasn’t alone! Vindication! Black lipsticked lips puckered, her pale face pinkening with her obvious, ill-disguised disgust. Cold? she asked.

My head bobbed so hard I felt like I was giving myself whiplash.

I’ll get you another one, she said quickly, topping off Ansel’s cold coffee on her way as he slid the cup toward her across the table. Her vibrantly colored tattooed arms and pale skin were a stark contrast to her starched, teal button up, black work pants, and sensible shoes. With a promise to be right back, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, her punky pink high ponytail swishing as she went.

One of Ansel’s mitts for hands tapped the side of his mug. His large, brown hands cradling the cup made the pink and white checker patterned Hanky Pankey’s mug look tiny in his grip. He almost looked like he was holding a sippy cup with no lid. Grinning at the idea, my smile fell when I felt his dark eyes fix on my face, glower still firmly in place. He kept this up until I felt like he was trying to stare a hole through my face. Sighing, wondering just what I’d done to send him into a tizzy now, I turned to face Fynn.

Hey, Fynn said suddenly, we should have cool nicknames for each other. Why don’t we?

Huh? I had trouble following the man. While we were normally in tune, that old, familiar way two people who’d known each other forever had, there was many a time lately I felt like we were running on different wave lengths, beyond two ships passing in the night.

You know, nicknames and shit. Why don’t we have ‘em for each other?

You call me Em, I reminded. He was the only person who called me Em instead of Emmy or Emersyn. There, nickname wish granted.

Right, but we need cool nicknames. Fynn glanced to his brother briefly, who was blinking, watching his sibling with a strange look, before diverting his gaze elsewhere.

We’re friends, not a couple. Scrubbing at my face, wondering at my timing since Fynn seemed to be in one of his non serious moods, I sighed noisily. You want a nickname, the best you’re getting from me, Fynn Gurgen, is Stupid. You can call me I’m With.

Why would you- Wow, Em. Wow. Fynn’s hand went to his chest and he shook his head. He looked like he was practicing grieving at a funeral. That cuts deep, boo-boo bear. Real deep.

No boo-boo bear, Stupid. We’re wolves, I reminded. And no ‘bitch’ remarks either. It’s lame, old, overused, too fucking easy, and no one thinks it’s interesting anymore. Next.

Honey cup? Fynn tried again. "

Unrolling my napkin, I picked up my fork and pointed it at him. My black nail polish glinted in the light. His hands shot up, fingers giving a little wiggle, and he grinned.

Sweet Maple? Sugar Roll? Honey Dumplin’?

Ansel grunted but it sounded like he was covering up a laugh. You’re an idiot, he got out between gruff coughs.

Like the syrup or the tree? I barked, startled. Honey Dumplin’? Really? How about you just call me nothing. Sugar Roll... You wish someone would sugar your roll... I’m warning you now, you come at me with more of that maple syrup, honey cuppin’ sugar bull or whatever you got on the tip of your tongue ready to roll, I’ll stab more than your hand, you hear me?

So violent. And I ordered you waffles and bacon and everything. With a side of... guess? Just guess? You’ll never guess, but try. I dare you.

Shut your hole, Gurgen.

Ungrateful female. Fynn held his hands up high, then wiggled his fingers like they were doing the wave.

That stole some of my annoyance. The goddess of bacon and all things delicious had food on the way—I was, if temporarily, feeling mollified. Fork lowering, I eyed him. Did you really?

Is it not our traditional breakfast for dinner on every third Wednesday of the month? Dark eyebrows shot up. Don’t tell me you’re getting senile on me, Em. We’re not that old.

Yes. Yes, it was breakfast-dinner Wednesday. Instead of smiling, I eyed my friend critically. That where you pulled that sweet maple malarkey?

Give me more credit than that, Em. We all know I pull my best ideas straight out of my a-

Fresh coffee! And your order’s up! Just in the nick of time, Aaron popped in, setting my fresh cup down, a towering waffle platter next, and then Fynn’s usual, an omelet bigger than his head with just about everything but the kitchen sink folded inside it.

Anything for you, Ansel? Aaron pulled out her note pad and grabbed the pen dangling from behind her ear, poised and ready.

Eyeing my platter, the extra side of bacon, strawberries and cream cheese stuffed waffles, and side of fries with buffalo sauce and ranch, he shook his head. His grimace said it all. Spoilsport. Just the coffee.

Ansel was a grumpy wet blanket. Taciturn, blunt to the point it was painful, like the time I asked Fynn if my butt looked funny in the capri pants I’d just bought for the summer and without preamble he said it looked enormous. I mean, it had looked godawful, floral on this big butt didn’t always turn out flattering but, good lord! Tact, man! Ansel was the pooper of parties, the you shouldn’t do that brigade, the informant on all of Fynn’s and my childhood endeavors. Ansel had been our glorified hall monitor growing up—the snitch that never got stitches. When Ansel got older and discovered more interesting things, like girls, I assumed, high school, sports, joining the ranks of the pack’s members, we were no longer worth getting in trouble. Then Fynn and I had gotten older and discovered the opposite sex, the real world, graduated and gotten jobs, shot through most of our twenties, and suddenly Ansel was back, ready to bust shit up, the cock blocker. He was just there, in the peripherals, popping in at random to ruin our fun or grumble some snark filled remark.

I was so used to him raining on our parade I could predict when the male was due to pop up. Well, usually, I was decent at it, I corrected, thinking of right now. What the hell did he want? Other than to be the bane of my existence, but only when it suited him.

My animosity for Fynn’s older sibling had only seemed to grow as his overbearing, bossy ass tried to exert that third only to the Alpha ranking he thought should mean something to me. Puhlease, unless it was pack related, that shit didn’t hold any weight on anything, as far as I was concerned.

I mean, Ansel tried to be civil in public, like during the rare, larger pack events I felt obligated,