The Savage Alpha's Vow
Look for the split trunk where lightning struck twice.
Morag presses her palm flat against the old pine's bark and pushes, and there it is - a thirty-foot scar of blackened wood twisting upward like a frozen scream. She wedges her thumb into the groove she started earlier and gouges another inch-deep notch facing northwest.
*If you get lost, mark your way back. The forest doesn't forgive.* Her grandmother's voice, twelve years dead, still carries.
The heather grows thicker here, purple-bloomed and knee-high, catching at her boots. Behind her the village lies two miles and a whole world away. Ahead, the Moonshadow Forest swallows the light. She has an hour, maybe less, before sunset bleeds out across the valley, and she has already wasted three days finding nothing.
What she is looking for is Moonpetal, growing at the base of a cairn near a standing stone, marking where the old territory ends and the wild begins. What she finds is a boy who feels the moon in his bones and the pack that will not let him go.
Callum MacTavish was nine years old the first time he lay flat against the damp earth on those moors with his fingers dug into the soil, and he has been holding the same ground ever since.
What follows: blood on the heather, the price of a cure, a boy who feels the moon, a herbalist's bargain, a trap in the glen, the stitches between two people, a whisper from the pups, and a night that changes what both of them are prepared to swear to.
*You made a decision based on poisoned information, delivered by a traitor, while you were bleeding from a wound she'd packed with paralytic herbs.*
*Then remember this. You're pack.*
Highland shifter romance with a herbalist crossing into wolf territory for a cure, an alpha carrying a childhood he has never described to anybody, a traitor working slowly and patiently, explicit scenes, and a guaranteed happy ending.
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Morag presses her palm flat against the old pine's bark and pushes, and there it is - a thirty-foot scar of blackened wood twisting upward like a frozen scream. She wedges her thumb into the groove she started earlier and gouges another inch-deep notch facing northwest.
*If you get lost, mark your way back. The forest doesn't forgive.* Her grandmother's voice, twelve years dead, still carries.
The heather grows thicker here, purple-bloomed and knee-high, catching at her boots. Behind her the village lies two miles and a whole world away. Ahead, the Moonshadow Forest swallows the light. She has an hour, maybe less, before sunset bleeds out across the valley, and she has already wasted three days finding nothing.
What she is looking for is Moonpetal, growing at the base of a cairn near a standing stone, marking where the old territory ends and the wild begins. What she finds is a boy who feels the moon in his bones and the pack that will not let him go.
Callum MacTavish was nine years old the first time he lay flat against the damp earth on those moors with his fingers dug into the soil, and he has been holding the same ground ever since.
What follows: blood on the heather, the price of a cure, a boy who feels the moon, a herbalist's bargain, a trap in the glen, the stitches between two people, a whisper from the pups, and a night that changes what both of them are prepared to swear to.
*You made a decision based on poisoned information, delivered by a traitor, while you were bleeding from a wound she'd packed with paralytic herbs.*
*Then remember this. You're pack.*
Highland shifter romance with a herbalist crossing into wolf territory for a cure, an alpha carrying a childhood he has never described to anybody, a traitor working slowly and patiently, explicit scenes, and a guaranteed happy ending.
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