NocC 018 - Kristin Miller - Forbidden by Fate - Harlequin 2012-07 by Nocturne Page B
Book: NocC 018 - Kristin Miller - Forbidden by Fate - Harlequin 2012-07 by Nocturne
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“You haven’t been to a meeting like this one, I guarantee it,” her father said, cutting her thoughts short. “A Draco hasn’t been granted access into this den in the last fifty years.” He pushed back the flaps of his burgundy robe and strode around the inner circle before the pack. The men adjusted themselves on their chairs and watched him circle with bright, glowing eyes.
“Then why now?” she asked. “What’s changed?”
“The boundary lines of Feralon have been drawn.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “But there is one piece of the isle that has not been spoken for.”
Don’t say it. Not Feralon’s hot springs.Those springs needed to remain neutral for memory’s sake alone. But what other land could he be speaking of?
“Is there?” Sasha shrugged and gave an apathetic eyebrow perk. “Where?”
“It lies between Were and Draco territory.”
Damn it.Sasha knew that borderland and the hot springs well. Too well. She’d gone there every night as a teenager to meet secretly with Damon, her first—and sadly, only—love. The series of bubbling ponds tucked into the base of the werewolves’ mountain had both fueled her midnight fantasies and extinguished her innocence.
Remembering the passion she’d experienced there with a man she’d never forgotten, Sasha shivered. The werewolves had carved out the inside of the mountain and had made it their home, but they’d left the hot springs untouched. The Dracos had paid no attention to the hot springs before now, but Sasha figured it was because the springs were too close to Were territory for Draco taste. Sure, the two shifting races were at peace, but treaties could be broken faster than a snap of her jaws.
“The hot springs haven’t been claimed by any shifting race on the isle.” Sasha struggled to keep her gaze level with her father’s. “Why do you think Dracos would take interest in it now?”
A broad-shouldered Were in desperate need of a shave, stood and waved his hand impatiently.Jasper. “Forget your daughter’s twenty questions, Kenyon, and focus on the task at hand—figuring out why the Dracos want the hot springs and then kicking that lizard out of our mountain.”
Jasper spoke over Sasha like she wasn’t even there. After what happened between them, she deserved every revolting look, every nasty word. A few years back, when Sasha got fed up pining away after Damon, she’d invited Jasper into her bed. No matter how she tried to put the past behind her and move on with her life—with someone new—daydreams of Damon and their sizzling rendezvous wouldn’t subside. It seemed a part of her deep down inside just wouldn’t let go…
“Good to see you too, Jasper,” she said.
As if she hadn’t said a word, Jasper retreated to his chair.
“Draco in five,” another Were said with a grunt. “I can smell him.”
“Yesss,” Kenyon said, taking his chair at the front of the den. He patted the leather-wrapped seat next to his. “Sit, Sasha. That’s an order.”
Damn it. Just like him. Pull rank when all he had to do was ask nicely and maybe throw a “please” in there somewhere and she would’ve complied. Werewolves, male or female, could not—ever—disobey a direct order. If Weres chose their own will over their Alphas, they were kicked out of the pack, never to return. They’d lose the only family they’d ever known and wander the Isle of Feralon…lost.
As Sasha settled into the chair, despite herself, her father said, “Now watch your old man ruffle some feathers.”
“Scales,” Sasha whispered to herself. “Dragons have scales.”
Footsteps sounded down the hall. Kenyon narrowed his onyx eyes on the door. Packmates growled one by one—a symphony of aggression and testosterone that made Sasha sigh in amusement.
What an incredible waste of time this was. She could be in her den. Reading. Writing. Hell, who was she fooling? She’d sneak out from under her father’s
“You haven’t been to a meeting like this one, I guarantee it,” her father said, cutting her thoughts short. “A Draco hasn’t been granted access into this den in the last fifty years.” He pushed back the flaps of his burgundy robe and strode around the inner circle before the pack. The men adjusted themselves on their chairs and watched him circle with bright, glowing eyes.
“Then why now?” she asked. “What’s changed?”
“The boundary lines of Feralon have been drawn.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “But there is one piece of the isle that has not been spoken for.”
Don’t say it. Not Feralon’s hot springs.Those springs needed to remain neutral for memory’s sake alone. But what other land could he be speaking of?
“Is there?” Sasha shrugged and gave an apathetic eyebrow perk. “Where?”
“It lies between Were and Draco territory.”
Damn it.Sasha knew that borderland and the hot springs well. Too well. She’d gone there every night as a teenager to meet secretly with Damon, her first—and sadly, only—love. The series of bubbling ponds tucked into the base of the werewolves’ mountain had both fueled her midnight fantasies and extinguished her innocence.
Remembering the passion she’d experienced there with a man she’d never forgotten, Sasha shivered. The werewolves had carved out the inside of the mountain and had made it their home, but they’d left the hot springs untouched. The Dracos had paid no attention to the hot springs before now, but Sasha figured it was because the springs were too close to Were territory for Draco taste. Sure, the two shifting races were at peace, but treaties could be broken faster than a snap of her jaws.
“The hot springs haven’t been claimed by any shifting race on the isle.” Sasha struggled to keep her gaze level with her father’s. “Why do you think Dracos would take interest in it now?”
A broad-shouldered Were in desperate need of a shave, stood and waved his hand impatiently.Jasper. “Forget your daughter’s twenty questions, Kenyon, and focus on the task at hand—figuring out why the Dracos want the hot springs and then kicking that lizard out of our mountain.”
Jasper spoke over Sasha like she wasn’t even there. After what happened between them, she deserved every revolting look, every nasty word. A few years back, when Sasha got fed up pining away after Damon, she’d invited Jasper into her bed. No matter how she tried to put the past behind her and move on with her life—with someone new—daydreams of Damon and their sizzling rendezvous wouldn’t subside. It seemed a part of her deep down inside just wouldn’t let go…
“Good to see you too, Jasper,” she said.
As if she hadn’t said a word, Jasper retreated to his chair.
“Draco in five,” another Were said with a grunt. “I can smell him.”
“Yesss,” Kenyon said, taking his chair at the front of the den. He patted the leather-wrapped seat next to his. “Sit, Sasha. That’s an order.”
Damn it. Just like him. Pull rank when all he had to do was ask nicely and maybe throw a “please” in there somewhere and she would’ve complied. Werewolves, male or female, could not—ever—disobey a direct order. If Weres chose their own will over their Alphas, they were kicked out of the pack, never to return. They’d lose the only family they’d ever known and wander the Isle of Feralon…lost.
As Sasha settled into the chair, despite herself, her father said, “Now watch your old man ruffle some feathers.”
“Scales,” Sasha whispered to herself. “Dragons have scales.”
Footsteps sounded down the hall. Kenyon narrowed his onyx eyes on the door. Packmates growled one by one—a symphony of aggression and testosterone that made Sasha sigh in amusement.
What an incredible waste of time this was. She could be in her den. Reading. Writing. Hell, who was she fooling? She’d sneak out from under her father’s
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