Twenty Six year old Blake Hunter is the Alpha of the largest pack in the region. Finding his mate is the last thing on his mind.
But, in the midst of dealing with uninvited relations, aspiring future Lunas and increasing rogue attacks on his easter...
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“I hate caves.”
Alex, Amara, Charlie and a small troop of warriors hovered silently amongst the trees on the east side of the valley, watching the small clearing leading to Clinthorpe cave with a sense of foreboding.
The furthermost cave in the system, deeper into the valley than the others and sheltered by the thickening forest; theoretically Clinthorpe should have been able to fend off the worst of the rapidly approaching winter weather. But the chill that enveloped the deserted clearing sank deep into their bones, numbing them from the inside out and several of the warriors shivered involuntarily as they carefully scouted around the edges of the treeline.
The silence hung heavy and unnatural in the air. Even the natural sounds of the forest faltered into a lifeless, empty void around the cave.
The only sound that penetrated the ominous quiet came from the wind. It continued to attack the forest in a steady stream of increasingly frigid air that rattled through the trees. The branches, bare of leaves, clattered together like thousands of tiny bones tied together with invisible string, unsettling their wolves and putting them all on edge.
Alex, tucked into a hollow at the base of one of the trees, found himself gritting his teeth every time the branches above him began to rustle – the disjointed, hollow melody creating vivid images of skeletal spectres, calling to them from beyond the grave. To make things worse, a smell drifted on those winds towards them – sweet, sickly and foul. There was no sign of any rogues.
“They couldn't have sent us to Sweet William, could they?” he continued to mutter to himself as they waited for his Alpha's signal to move in. “Nothing dangerous about a cave with a name like Sweet William – sounds like a flower." He sniffed. “Nothing dangerous about a flower.”
Charlie shot him a look of grim amusement as he repeatedly tested the edge of his blade between his fingers. “Wolf Bane's a flower,” he reminded his Gamma quietly. “Then there's Nerium Oleander, the sweetly scented killer... Aconitum, otherwise known as the devil’s helmet – "
“ – Hemlock, Foxglove,” Amelia continued morbidly from her place on his left, never taking her eyes off the squat outline of the cave entrance. “White snake root, Belladonna...” she frowned and leaned round the Gamma to peer at Charlie. “What's that long purple one they nicknamed Dracula's flower?”
“Black Arum,” Charlie said with a tight grin. “The root burns to the touch.”
Alex looked between them sourly. “Thank you so much,” he said flatly. “It must be comforting to know that the pair of you are a minefield of useless information. You should go on a date sometime, you must have loads to talk about.”
“Be nice,” Amara murmured placidly. “You'll hurt his feelings.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows at her. “How are you not cold?” he snapped. She'd stripped down to a thin tunic in anticipation of the fight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the biting winds that made most of the warriors huddle further into their thick coats.
