Santa's Wolves

By Evie Wilde

It never occurred to Meghan Casey that she would be the key to helping four wolf shifters save Christmas.

Santa is missing, and reporter Meghan Casey heads to the North Pole to investigate the big guy's disappearance.

When she reaches the winter wonderland, she meets four strapping members of Santa's special guard.
And while they don't think they need her assistance, Meghan insists on joining the search for their boss.

Each of the four men tempts her in his own way, but after being cheated on by her former fiancé, Meghan isn't ready to open her heart.
Little does she know Santa's guards are part of a pack, and whoever is intent on stopping Christmas is not about to let them or Meghan get in his way.

When Meghan is kidnapped, her men will do anything to get her back, and they just might save Christmas in the process.



Santa's Wolves is a paranormal romantic suspense stand alone novel with happy holiday feels and a guaranteed HEA. #WhyChoose

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evie Wilde
• Release date: Dec 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215477779

Evie Wilde

Evie Wilde is the pen name for two authors who love all things paranormal. After spending hours discussing their favorite magical romances, they decided to write some together. One attends law school, while the other is a work-at-home mom with a houseful of kids, but they both love sexy men with a gift for magic and making their mate’s happiness their number one priority.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Meghan

MEGHAIf I did anything on this trip, it would be proving my mother right about one thing.

That I was stubborn as all hell.

One plane ride after another, flying northward in December would be a terrible idea to anyone who considered it for more than a second.

Here I sat, in a tiny airport somewhere near the North Pole, a jillion miles from anything that could be called civilization.

Maybe that was a bit harsh. There was a small town here. Charmingly named Northtown. Because that was all that was special about it. It was a town in the north.

There were a few homes about, a couple of shops, but the main attraction and whole reason for its existence was the airport.

I shivered, waiting for the manager to tell me if my mission could be fulfilled.

My quite frankly suicidal wish to travel even further north, all the way to the North Pole.

There you are, the man said. He was a man, that was all I could tell about him, and that was only based on the baritone of his voice. The rest of him was completely covered in coats, scarves, a balaclava, and some huge goggles on top of that. He was protectively layered to shield his body from the fierce cold temperature and biting winds.

Honestly, I envied that he knew enough to dress so warmly. Me, I was an idiot, who thought my Washington state upbringing would have steeled me for the worst the world had to offer.

I was wrong. So, so wrong.

I got a pilot who's heading further north. Gonna warn you, though, he's a bit of a prick.

Naturally, I thought. Thank you. Where is he?

Come along. He nodded.

He led me out into the snow. It had let up a bit, yes, but the chill gnawed at my face for daring not to impersonate a mummy.

Barney! the flight hangar manager called out loudly, sure to be heard over the winds. Got someone who wants to talk to you.

A portly man climbed off the plane. He had a woolen beanie on his head, but otherwise his face was exposed. He must have kept himself warm from the fire he was projecting out at and through the airport manager. I told you once, I told you a thousand times, you dolt, it's Barnabus or Mr. Beck. Don't talk to me like we’re friends.

This, the manager whispered to me, is what I was talking about.

'Barney' or Barnabus, whatever he insisted his name was, closed the door to the plane. It wasn't a super large 747 or anything, but it wasn't a simple four-seat biplane like the ones that had got me this far either. It was a big, dull gray thing that could carry plenty of people or cargo as needed. It was something that could handle the weight of a slightly curvy woman in her late twenties with ease. It shouldn't have been too hard to convince him to take me on.

I certainly hoped so because the bribes I was able to offer were growing smaller and smaller.

Trying my best to be courteous, I smiled brightly. Hi there, Mister ... Beck, was it?

He nodded, a scowl forming on his face, but then as his eyes trailed down my body, he softened.

I shuddered. I was accustomed to this reaction from men, but it felt odd to be eyeballed like that with my puffy coat on. I supposed up here, though, given even a hot summer day was only slightly north of freezing, men used their imaginations because the cold didn't magically turn off their libido.

Perhaps I could use this to my advantage…

Beck nodded. Yes. Mr. Beck will do. At least you know to show me some respect unlike some people.

He glared at the manager behind me.

What can I do for a lovely lass like you? he leered.

I raised the corners of my mouth tentatively, unsure how far I wanted to go with my flirting because I sure as hell wasn't attracted to this man. Not one bit. Um, I'm looking for a flight up to the North Pole. I was told that you were headed in that direction.

The North Pole? The enthusiasm drained from his voice.

Yes. I'm a reporter, and I'm trying to get to the bottom of a disappearance.

What would that be?

Santa didn't show in my hometown like he usually does. I intend to find him and get to the bottom of the story.

What little pleasantness he’d shown me immediately evaporated and was replaced with a snarl. You want to go see Santa?

Um, yes?

And you claim to be a reporter?

Claim? I am a reporter. With WCKR.

I call bullshit. Where’s your cameramen? Your crew? I see just one woman, and that's not what a news station would send for a story involving Santa Claus.

I raised an eyebrow. All I need nowadays is a phone, not some massive camera crew, thank you very much.

For a professional newsfeed? That's a load of crap if I ever heard it. He glowered at me, seeing right through my thinly veiled lies. What, are you some lost little girl? I thought you looked young. Just want to go up and visit Santa, don’t you? Cry at him until you get what you want?

No, that’s not it at all. I want to follow-up on the...

Forget it. Find your own way north. I'm not taking you up there to freeze to death for some nonsense. He looked at the manager. Don't even waste my time with this shit again.

Barney, take the stick out of your ass for once, would you? the manager retorted, shaking his head and waving my direction.

Oh, you're lucky this is the only airfield around. Otherwise, I'd do everything I could to make sure your little airstrip failed.

'Barney' continued ranting and raving as the manager guided me away from him, seeing it was a lost cause.

He erupted as soon as I mentioned Santa. I think he's the one who never got the present he wanted as a kid.

Barnabus has always been a weird one, but I wouldn't pay him any mind. He sighed. You got a place to stay? His is the only plane leaving before the next blizzard rolls in again.

I figured I'd try to book a local hotel. Or motel. Or anything. My budget wasn't exactly very open to finding the best of accommodations.

A hotel? There aren't any hotels here in Northtown. We're not exactly a booming tourist destination.

Where do out-of-towners stay, then?

Most people passing through come in their plane, and they just sleep there, or they already have connections for a room or whatever.

And if I don't have a plane or connections?

You better hope some guardian angel comes and takes mercy on your soul, because the last thing you want to do is spend a night in the hangar.

I stared at him, wide-eyed.

He laughed. I'm screwing with ya. My mom's got a guest room she keeps ready for the rare occasion someone like you passes by.

I let out a breath of relief. How much?

We ain't gonna charge ya. Mom would beat my ass if I tried to extort you for a place to stay. Up here, you gotta help one another out to survive.

I let out a sigh. Thank you so much.

Even if I had reservations about staying in a stranger’s house, it wasn't like I had any choice in the matter.

Come along now. We should get you settled before the storm stirs up again.

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For a guest room in an old lady I didn’t know from Adam’s home, the place was pretty comfy.

It wasn't posh or elegant. Hardly. The interior design was somewhat revolting, and the wood paneling fell out of style back in the 70s, but it was warm and that was what counted. I made a show of my gratitude as they fed me and put me up for the night.

Turned out the manager guy’s name was Morty, and he wasn't exactly hideous when he wasn't covered in five layers of fabric.

Morty didn't seem interested in me. He made it quite clear that his invitation to spend the night was his way of being a good person and not an attempt to seduce me. I was fine with that. I was here to find out what happened to Santa Claus, not hook up with some guy.

That night, I slept well, and I wasn't in any hurry to get up. I didn't know how long I’d be stranded there.

For as much of a dick as that Barnabus guy was, he did have me dead to rights on one respect.

I wasn't here for WCKR like I said I was.

Sure, I was a reporter there. Meghan Casey, lead field reporter for the Kringlesville Evening News. I was the girl they sent out on assignment for a variety of human interest stories. Every once in a while I got to report something more serious, but that was unusual because not a lot of serious things happened in Kringlesville.

No. We were known for one thing. An annual event. Every Black Friday at six o'clock in the evening, the big man would appear.

Santa Claus.

It'd started decades ago. He would show up in Hillsville, ho-ho-hoing and spreading Christmas cheer.

At first, people thought it was some eccentric old man just putting on an act.

The thing was…

He kept appearing. Every year. The day after Thanksgiving in Hillsville. He never seemed to age; he never changed. He was always the same old Santa, always cheerful, always lighting up the town.

People looked into it. They tracked him, tried to find out where he went after he left, but they found nothing.

Murmurings of the possibility spread like wildfire—could Santa be real?

Hillsville transformed into Kringlesville, and our little town became world famous for the annual visit from Mr. Christmas himself. News crews from all over traveled our way, and the legend of Santa spread through the world. The Christmas spirit, which had been lacking for many folks, was resurrected, and the world became more joyful.

That was—until this year.

For the first time in what I was told was one hundred and three years, Santa didn't appear in Kringlesville.

Since no one knew where this man was from or knew how to contact him, no one could confirm what happened. In my mind a mystery was born.

However, we couldn't claim foul play.

We couldn't contact anyone from the North Pole to check on his whereabouts.

Maybe he decided to stop showing up.

Maybe he got confused and forgot.

Whatever the reason was, the man wasn't there, and the cops weren't going to go looking for a man no one was really sure even existed.

What shocked me was how unconcerned other people were over the missed appearance.

There was a mild sense of that sucks he didn’t show up, but other than that most of the citizens of Kringlesville went on about their usual business.

I couldn’t do that.

To me, Santa was special. Christmas was special.

I couldn’t just let it go. I wanted to know why Santa stood us up this year.

So, I accosted my boss. I explained my theory that something was awry, told him Santa might be real, and someone should go and investigate the North Pole.

He shot me down.

I tried to insist that it could be a major story if someone proved Ol' Saint Nick was actually real. Because to most people he was a legend. Everyone thought he was some random guy, or maybe a series of men intent on spreading Christmas cheer. But what if he was real and something happened to him? What if something, or someone, detained him from his trip to Kringlesville this year?

The answer was still no.

We were a local station. Blah. Blah. Blah. We didn't deal with big world-changing news like that.

I wasn't some small-town girl, all starry eyed trying to become a world-renown journalist. I Nor was I a person who could rest easily without the answers I needed.

So I went rogue. I’d investigate the story on my own.

My boss threatened me with termination if I didn't come back with an attention-grabbing story, yet he promised me no support with it.

So, on my own dime, I headed north.

I’d underestimated the costs of such an expedition, so Morty's spot of charity was quite a relief.

A knock at the door startled me. Meghan? You awake?

I recognized Morty’s voice. Yes, what's up?

I’ve found someone willing to fly you north. Someone a helluva lot more agreeable than Barney, so if you hurry, I think we can get you on a plane.

The clock on the wall indicated it was only minutes after six. In the morning, right? Part of me wanted to crawl under the covers and stay there. I wasn’t looking forward to braving the bitter cold again.

Do they want to leave right now? I called.

Yep, he wants to get in the air before the next storm.

I scrambled for my clothes. Be right out!

Did I have time to shower? No, the more I thought about it, it didn’t seem like a good idea to go out in this weather with wet hair, and I hadn’t brought a hair dryer.

That would have to wait.

It wasn't like I was about to be on camera or anything.

So I compromised, splashing some water in my face after I brushed my teeth.

I dressed with the purpose of putting on as many layers as possible. Wrapping a scarf around my neck and putting on my stocking cap, I was well bundled. Once I put on my puffy coat only my eyes and nose were visible.

Gathering my things, I headed out to the front porch where Morty was waving at me from his snowmobile.

I hopped on the back, and in a matter of minutes we were back at the airport.

A large helicopter rested in the field, and as we got closer, I could see that even with all the outer gear he was wearing, the man standing next to it was very attractive.

He’d yet to see me. He was waving some instrument in the air, but I saw him. All six feet and more of him. The only thing keeping his head warm was a ten-gallon hat which looked great with the jeans and cowboy boots on his feet.

As the snowmobile approached, he finally looked to Morty and me, giving me a glimpse