Wolf's Soul

Four mates to claim. Three crystals to find. Two realms to unite.

With news of my fiery resurrection spreading through fae communities like wildfire, all eyes fall on me. Am I ready for the battles to come? Um... no, not even close. If only my destiny was as simple as sorting out the horizontal hijinks of four scorching hot mates. That I could handle.

With a rogue fae contingent pulling strings behind the scenes, my life in danger, and a mysterious Black Knight plotting, the only thing keeping my crazy train in the station is faith that the magic that put me and my guardians together chose us for a reason.

Calli

He is our calming essence, our foundation, our spirit.
To the four of us sharing the phoenix mating bond with him, he’s Kotah, buddy,
or Wolf. To the rest of the fae world, he’s His Royal Highness, Prince Nakotah
Northwood, heir to the Fae Prime, or, more recently, Fae Prime in Waiting.

Life sucks when you lose the right to choose.

In the week since I woke up the resurrected savior of
the fae world on Earth, I would’ve been lost without my wolf. The youngest of
the five of us, Kotah is the one with the old soul and most contemplative
spirit. He’s brilliant—fact, not hyperbole—and he’s not even old enough to
drink in a bar.

He’s also an omega. From what I know, that’s rare…
like really rare. Not as rare as my human combustion on the side of a Texas
backroad and rising from the ashes as a phoenix, but still rare.

“Hey, sweetie.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and shift
across the middle bench of the SUV to get closer. Kotah is a stunning wolf
wildling with Native American heritage. He’s leanly muscled, with chestnut hair
down to his very fine ass, and the sweetest, melt-you smile evah. And
he’s hurting—which hurts all of us. “Whatever happens, you’re not alone. We’ve
got you.”

“Hells to the yeah,” Jaxx says from behind us. The
jaguar squeezes Kotah’s shoulder from over the backrest of our seat. “We’re a
lock.”

“Damn skippy,” Brant, my grizzly says, turning in the
shotgun seat to offer a wink. “There’s no splitting up this band. We’ll figure
it out.”

Even Hawk jumps on the reassurance bandwagon, offering
a confident smile in the rear-view mirror. “No mate left behind, kid. Calli’s
right.”

Kotah dips his chin and exhales. “It’s the only thing
making this bearable.”

I snuggle against his side and lay my head against his
chest. His heart races beneath my ear and for once, it has nothing to do with
the crazy mating heat that has us all sexually keyed up and randy most of the
time.

A wild growl rumbles from the front seat but it
doesn’t raise anyone’s alarm like the guttural musings that Brant’s bear
usually does. That is his stomach.

“Hey.” I point toward the front window of the truck at
the roadside saloon coming up. Judging by the cars in the parking lot, it seems
popular. “Any chance we can stop in for a burger and beer?”

“I could stretch,” Brant says, straightening in his
seat. “I’m in for a few brews.”

“You’re talkin’ my language,” Jaxx says behind me.

Hawk frowns. “We’re twenty minutes from the Palace—”

“I’m in no rush,” Kotah says, grabbing onto the
lifeline. “I’d love a burger.”

Hawk, our autocratic corporate raider, is cunningly
efficient in all tasks. It may not have occurred to him beelining it straight
at Kotah’s worst fear isn’t a good thing.

Trivial details like emotion and internal struggle
don’t naturally pop up on his radar.

“Kotah’s the man of the hour,” I say, pulling out my
phone to call up my contacts. Since this is a brand-new phone given to me by
Hawk it only has five numbers in it. My four guardian mates and Hawk’s
bodyguard and driver. “I’m texting Lukas to pull over.”

Hawk pegs me with a look in the rear-view. He’s got
the whole intimidation thing down to a science, but this particular glance
holds no heat. “Lukas works for me. Spitfire.”

I shrug. “Done deal. He says, no problem. See, he’s
already hitting his indicator.”

As our three-vehicle convoy sandwich pulls to the
shoulder, the tires crunch over the loose-gravel lot. Lukas and Doc are in the
lead truck with two FCO enforcers and they park away from the bulk of the other
vehicles.

Hawk follows and pulls in beside them.

I lean back to fasten the top button of my jeans and
then pull my shoes back on. “What time is it, anyway?”

Brant checks his utility watch. Hawk has one too. They
are FCO-tech that do a heck of a lot more than tell time. They detect species
of monsters, magical weapons, and other James Bond type things. “Almost four.”

“Wow, it feels later than that.”

Brant nods. “It’s been a day, hasn’t it?”

It has. After I shot a rogue drow murderer in the head
at dawn, we flew to SoCal to clean out the apartment that, up until a couple of
weeks ago, I shared with my best friend, Riley.

I didn’t have it in me to pack up Riley’s things. Her
presence is still too strong around me to give her up for dead and move on.
She’s dead—I’m not in denial about that or anything—it’s the moving on part I’m
not ready for.

Thankfully, the guys saw that, and we changed gears.
We gathered what I wanted, Hawk paid my landlord for the next two months, and
we flew back to the Bastion.

Located two miles northwest of Lebanon, Kansas, the
center of all fae law and administration is only one of the two most important
centers found at the geographical heart of the continental United States. The
other is the Prime Palace.

That’s where we’re headed now. Minus the pitstop at
the burger joint saloon.