Guarded by the Wolf: A Fated Mates Werewolf Romance (Gold Creek Wolves), page 1
Guarded by the Wolf
Gold Creek Wolves Book Five
Savannah Sterling
Contents
Prologue
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
Stay Connected to the Pack
Digital Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please visit your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration of content is permitted.
This book is a work of fiction, and any similarities to any person, living or dead, are coincidental and not intentional.
Copyright 2023 Savannah Sterling
Prologue
Fallon
The white sterile paper is cool and crinkly under my butt as I shift uncomfortably on the exam table. I hate how doctors make you get undressed — then wait in a cold room in a paper gown until they deign to see you.
The room smells like rubbing alcohol and disinfectant. The artificial scent burns my airways and makes me want to gag. Even the paper gown smells funny.
Through the thin walls, I can hear muffled voices, strange beeps, and what sounds like a heartbeat, though it’s much too rapid.
I hate hospitals. Luckily, shifters almost never get sick, so I can usually avoid them — until now.
There’s a quick knock at the door, and then the doctor comes in. He’s human — late fifties. Pale. Weak. I could snap him in two with very little effort, and yet he has this impatient air of superiority, as though he has somewhere more important to be.
He’s rushed as he looks over my chart — not even acknowledging me. “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he says, a crease appearing between his brows.
Tell me something I don’t know, doc. I’m thirty-two years old. There’s no good reason why I haven’t gone into heat yet. The tests he ran can only evaluate my human anatomy, of course, but there must be a human explanation for my inadequacies as a wolf.
“The results of your blood test came back,” he says. “Your FSH levels are very high, which is concerning.” He sighs, as though I did something to cause this, and finally meets my gaze. “I believe you have something called primary ovarian insufficiency, which means your ovaries are not releasing an egg every month. It’s relatively uncommon in a woman your age, but it does happen.”
A little tingle goes through me at the news that I haven’t been imagining things.
When I was nineteen, my friend Marna had her first heat. Then, in college, most of the other female shifters I knew started. When I reached my twenty-fifth birthday without going into heat, I knew something was wrong, but I kept hoping I was just late to the party.
Now I know better.
It’s a relief to be able to put a name to what I’ve been experiencing, though it comes with a fresh sense of foreboding.
The doctor sighs and looks me up and down. “We can treat your symptoms with hormone therapy. Unfortunately, this condition makes your odds of getting pregnant spontaneously very, very slim.”
I swallow. My throat feels like sandpaper. “How slim?”
The doctor grimaces. “I’d put your chances at five percent. That, of course, will decrease dramatically as you get older.”
My heart has lodged itself somewhere behind my sternum. I can’t get pregnant? Can’t have pups?
“Of course, I can refer you to a fertility specialist, and they can help you explore your options if you do want to have children.”
My skin suddenly feels too small for my body, and a familiar itchy sensation takes over as I fight the urge to shift. It’s the natural reaction to receiving news you want to run from, but I can’t afford to lose it here.
The doctor seems to read the terror and heartbreak on my face, because his expression softens. “If you do wish to become pregnant, you can receive a donor egg.”
But his words just wash over me without really sinking in.
I’ve never heard of a she-wolf who couldn’t do this one simple thing. Shifters like me don’t have “insufficiencies” — at least not human ones.
All my life, I’ve known I was meant to be a mother. And yet I had to be so careful not to flirt too much or give the wrong signals to males — human or shifter.
Male shifters outnumber females four to one, and most she-wolves are submissives who fall at the bottom of the pack hierarchy. Dominant she-wolves like me are fleetingly rare, and we’re treated like royalty — in the sense that we’re basically locked in a tower until we’re ready to mate.
I was twelve when my father sat me down and warned me that I was a commodity — that I had to watch my every move because male wolves and their packs might want me for what I could provide. Strong, dominant pups.
What a fucking joke.
“I’ll put in a referral to my colleague who runs a fertility clinic,” says the doctor. “He’s very good.”
I nod, but I know it’s futile. There’s no way I’d ever be able to get IVF treatment.
Apart from the obvious risks of our kind going into a medical setting to be poked and prodded, male shifters are prideful creatures, and they want to mate with healthy females who can reproduce.
And I’m not meant to mate with just any male.
I’m a Brewer. My father wants me to mate with a rich alpha who can grow the family business, and alphas want to produce pups who could also become alpha.
That’s why no one can find out about my little problem — not until I’m mated. A five-percent chance isn’t a zero-percent chance, which means I still have time.
I need to find a mate and get knocked up fast — before I get any older.
Chapter One
Fallon
Rich people have a smell — crisp, clean, and cold. They smell like fancy hotels, aged scotch, and new leather shoes. In the case of dominant wolf shifters, they also smell like power.
The ballroom is full of rich alphas tonight. My father made sure of it. He wasn’t able to control my brother, so I’m his last hope to add to the family fortune.
Looking around, I feel a sense of impending doom peppered with resignation. The alphas are all ridiculously good-looking, but I don’t feel a pull toward any of them.
It wasn’t as though I expected to find my fated mate or anything, but I always hoped I’d feel something for my mate — affection, attraction, or at least respect.
But to most alphas, a she-wolf is just a means to an end — a fertile womb attached to a powerful bloodline to give him strong, dominant pups.
I want to leave, but I have a feeling I’m not allowed to go until I pick . . . someone. Every unmated alpha in the state of Colorado is here, as well as several from Arizona, New Mexico, and Utah.
For my alpha, Adrian, finding me a mate is all about diplomacy. An advantageous coupling might prevent a war between our pack and another at a time when our territory is constantly being challenged.
After the news I received, I know I need to mate soon — especially now that Adrian has his sights set on finding me someone. Shifters can scent when a female is in heat, and Adrian doesn’t miss a thing. If he realizes I’m not going into heat, it’s all over. He won’t risk pawning off a she-wolf who can’t bear pups on another pack’s alpha.
“Fallon.” My father’s low, booming voice carries over the nearby voices, and I turn to face him. “I’d like for you to meet Marcus, alpha of the Red Feather Lake pack.”
A tall beefcake of a man materializes in front of me, wearing a very expensive tux. He looks like a former football player or maybe a wrestler — buzz cut, thick neck, arms as broad as tree trunks. He smells like mint and musk.
I can tell he’s dominant, but not as dominant as me. And yet I force myself to lower my eyes like the good little girl that I am.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, forcing myself to smile as I look down at his chin before sliding my gaze to the bridge of his nose. It’s a little trick I picked up for dealing with alphas. I never drop my gaze to the floor like some submissive she-wolf, but I never challenge an alpha directly — unless he really pisses me off.
The truth is, I could put most of these wolves on their backs in two seconds flat, but the repercussions would fall on my family. Besides, I actually really like this dress, and I’m not going to ruin it by shifting.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” says Marcus in a low, rumbly voice.
Ugh. Somehow he makes the old-timey courtesy sound gross as his eyes rove over the swell of my breasts. The girls just peek out of the shimmery gold fabric of my gown, and I instantly want to crawl out of my skin. Even though I chose this dress to show off the goods, I find myself wishing I’d worn something a little less revealing.
Marcus takes my hand and bends over to kiss it with an air of false deference. It makes my insides boil with rage. A dominant wolf wouldn’t expo
I’d love to put this guy on his ass. Unfortunately, that’s not why we’re here.
“Would you care to dance?” Marcus asks.
Over his shoulder, my father flashes me a look that says refusal is not an option.
“I’d love to,” I lie, trying not to shudder as his huge paw envelops my hand. He drags me out to the center of the ballroom, where other couples are already dancing. Most of the other females are subs — well-bred, submissive she-wolves who will make good mates and breeders.
These sorts of mating rituals didn’t use to be as common as they are now. My father says alphas used to hold out for their one true mate, but with tensions rising between the packs, most are anxious to breed and secure their bloodline.
When we reach the dance floor, Marcus ropes an arm around my waist and pulls me snug against his body. I stiffen, my skin crawling everywhere we’re touching.
I know exactly why he did it, and it’s not just to cop a feel. He’s trying to mark me with his scent so the other males will stay away. But I have zero intention of letting this possessive asshole rub his stink all over me, so I put my hand on his shoulder to muscle some distance between us.
“What’s the matter?” Marcus asks. “Concerned for your virtue?”
I want to laugh, scream, and spit in his face — all at the same time. As if I’d be afraid of a weak alpha like him. His pack doesn’t respect him, and it shows. His wolves are out of control.
“Not at all,” I say sweetly, smiling up at him.
Marcus cracks a grin and tries to bring me closer. He’s too dumb to realize that I meant it as an insult.
The hand resting on my waist creeps lower, and I feel it brush the swell of my ass. I swallow and fight the heat of humiliation that’s creeping across my cheeks.
Everyone is watching us — including Adrian and my father — and this dude is feeling me up!
Sucking in a breath through my nose, I discreetly reach behind my back and yank his hand off my ass.
“I was told you were a gentleman,” I say, unable to keep the bite out of my voice.
Marcus snickers. “I don’t know where you heard that.” His hand slides down again, openly cupping my ass. “I like to sample the goods before I buy to know exactly what I’m getting.”
I swallow down the bile that’s creeping up my throat. I can’t make a scene — not here. Not tonight. An alpha’s mate must be unshakable. Poised. These events are a test of that poise — part meat market, part hazing ritual.
Then Marcus squeezes, as if to tell everyone in the room that he owns me. Fucker.
My throat tightens, and my heart pounds. Almost immediately, that minty scent of his deepens with the change in his mood, and I know he can smell my rage.
“Excuse me,” I grit out, planting a hand on his chest and shoving him away. It’s not easy to break his hold, but I manage to do it without breaking any bones. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
I don’t wait for his reply. I just turn and stalk toward the restrooms, ignoring the snide looks I get from a few of the other she-wolves in attendance.
Since I’m a dominant wolf, the alphas will be vying to claim me as their mate. The other females know they’re destined to be someone’s consolation prize.
I barely make it to the bathroom before the tears bubble up my throat. They burst out of me with an ugly heaving noise, and I press both hands over my mouth to stifle the sound. Shifters have remarkable hearing, and I don’t want anyone to know that Marcus managed to get to me.
Strangling my own sobs, I try not to think about the fact that the tears are going to ruin my makeup. Crying silently is a skill I’ve perfected over the years. My father never tolerated weakness — in me or my brother.
Bracing my hands on the counter, I try to calm my breathing.
I don’t have to mate with Marcus. There are plenty of non-asshole alphas in attendance.
“Get it together,” I tell my reflection. “Just — pick one.”
I don’t have to love him. I don’t even have to like him. But an alpha will expect his mate to give him pups, which is the one thing I actually want. I have to focus on that.
Scrubbing the smeared mascara from beneath my eyes, I pinch my cheeks to give them some color and straighten the bodice of my gown. I smooth back my honey-blond waves, tucking in any flyaways.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to the side and scrutinize every lash, every curve. I no longer look as though I’ve been crying. I look completely normal.
Steeling myself for some small talk with another alpha-hole, I emerge from the bathroom and scan the crowd. I immediately spot Dominic, the cruel alpha from the Beaver Creek pack.
Not him.
I spot several alphas I don’t recognize — likely from out-of-state packs. The strangers are all wild cards, which I don’t have time for tonight.
Making my way around the edge of the ballroom, I inadvertently catch Marcus’s eye as I search the crowd for someone I know.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Shifting my gaze, I continue my sweep of the ballroom, but I see him striding toward me out of the corner of my eye.
No. I refuse to subject myself to another public assault.
“Fallon!” Marcus’s voice booms over the crowd, but I pretend not to have heard him. I search frantically for Adrian, my father — anyone — but all the other alphas are either on the dance floor or engrossed in conversation.
Feeling desperate, I turn and flee toward the lobby. It’s not in my nature to run from a fight, but I can’t confront Marcus here.
“Miss?” The deep, clipped tone of a stranger makes me jump. “Everything all right?”
A clean, spicy scent fills my nostrils, and I feel my shoulders relax automatically. It’s an odd reaction to a strange shifter, but I don’t question it.
I turn slowly toward the sound of the voice and have to raise my head. He’s tall — at least six foot three — with short dark hair and piercing hazel eyes. His face looks as though it was cut from marble by a master sculptor, except for that soft mouth. I can’t help but think he’d be a good kisser.
Judging by the low, commanding timbre of his voice and the dominant energy pouring off him, I’d been expecting an alpha. But the man before me isn’t wearing a tux. He’s dressed in a plain black suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. The suit hugs his athletic body, but I’ve got an eye for these sorts of things, and I can tell it’s off the rack.
My gaze snags on the earpiece and the clear, coiled wire that disappears beneath his collar. He’s working security for the event.
I open my mouth to say something, but then I catch a whiff of Marcus. Not caring that the sexy security guard will see, I lunge for the nearest coat closet and squeeze myself inside.
“Miss —”
“Shh!” I hiss, tossing him a glare. Can’t he read the room?
“Is that guy bothering you?”
Panic flares in my gut. Marcus is getting close.
Without thinking, I grab the security guy by his lapels and yank him into the closet. I shut the door as fast as I can, and everything goes dark.
The momentum carries my new friend into my space, but he catches himself on the opposite wall. His strong arms form a cage around my head, but I find that I don’t mind.
Heart throbbing in my throat, I try to calm my ragged breathing and wait for Marcus’s scent to recede. But instead of smelling the obnoxious alpha-hole’s musk, the security guy’s intoxicating scent fills my airways, making my stomach clench.
As I breathe him in, I realize I’m still clutching the fabric of his suit jacket and hurriedly release my grip. I want to apologize, but I don’t dare make a sound in case Marcus is lurking nearby.
There’s something thrilling about this strange wolf’s scent, but it’s also oddly comforting. I can see the outline of his chiseled jaw in the light creeping in from the small gap in the door.
