Page 1 of First Love

Chapter One

Amelia

Blood. Splattered everywhere. Normally, it didn’t make me squeamish. Werewolves were no strangers to blood soaking their fur after a hunt. This blood, however, was the blood of my family, my friends, my pack. It flowed from their lifeless bodies in crimson streams that stained absolutely everything in range. It smelled of death, destruction . . . grief.

I stepped over the bodies of my fallen kin and companions, shuddering at the merciless slaughter they’d endured.

And I was to blame.

As a Scouter wolf, my job in the pack was to warn of any threats to our safety. I was good at my job too. Or I had been. Until today. I’d saved our pack, the Vanner pack, from rogue wolves, attempts to steal our territory, and challenges to Noah Vanner, our Alpha and my uncle. I’d received commendations for my expert handling of these threats, and Uncle Noah had come to rely on me.

Now I’ve let him down.

Let him down and cost him and our entire pack their lives. One missed threat and they were all gone. I was the only member of the Vanner pack that had survived the invasion from a nomad pack that had been wandering throughout the country. I’d heard the stories of their ruthlessness, seen images of the carnage they unleashed, but I’d had no indications we were this psycho-pack’s next target.

I should have seen them coming.

What the fuck good was I as a Scouter if I hadn’t been able to spare my pack—my beloved wolf brethren—from complete annihilation?

My job among the humans was with a landscape design company. I was the lead architect, creating landscape plans for homeowners and businesses. I loved this work, as evidenced by the long hours I spent at it. If I wasn’t on a site, my own hands plunged into the soil or wielding a shovel, I was at my house on my laptop, using various programs to assemble my designs. I lived and breathed flowers, bushes, trees, ornamental grasses, patio stone . . . I couldn’t get enough of the endless combinations for creating outdoor beauty.

Sometimes, I let my obsession with work draw me away from werewolf business. I kept my eyes and ears and werewolf intuition tuned in so I could identify any threats to the pack.

Usually.

This last project, however, was a huge one. I’d been put in charge of landscaping for a new resort in Montana where I lived. It was the perfect job for me as I had infinite knowledge of the native plants of the area and knew exactly which ones would be both eye-catching and promote the relaxing energy the resort owners desired. There had been countless meetings and several reiterations of my designs. I did little else but work on this project.

Clearly, it had commandeered too much of my attention. I’d gotten wrapped up in human affairs too completely. I’d abandoned my duties, and my pack had paid for my neglect with their lives.

My paws were coated in their blood now as I searched for any sign that someone had survived. My nose told me no one had lived through this massacre though. I stopped at the body of Uncle Noah. His enormous black wolf form was draped over my cousin, Talia. He’d no doubt died trying to protect her.

Because I hadn’t protected any of them.

Where had I been during this fatal battle? Knee-deep in soil, planting hydrangeas and waxing poetic about sustainable gardening. Meanwhile, the people—the wolves—who were most precious to me were being butchered.

I shifted to human and fell to my knees at Uncle Noah’s body. I leaned over him, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Noah. So sorry.”

I cried until howls erupted from the woods behind my uncle’s house. That gypsy pack of wolves were claiming this land as theirs. With no one to fight with me, I didn’t stand a chance of surviving here in my Montana home anymore. Maybe I deserved to die with my pack though. It would be a fitting punishment. How could I move on without all of them?

More howls echoed, and my wolf survival instincts kicked in. My uncle wouldn’t want me to bare my neck and let these other wolves take my life. I was positive he didn’t go out that way. He went down fighting and protecting and being the fierce Alpha he’d always been. I had to live for him and all the other wolves that had fallen here today.

Grabbing a blanket off Uncle Noah’s couch to cover my naked body, I made my way out of my uncle’s house and dashed for my own next door. I dressed, packed a few essentials, and loaded my car. I spared some precious moments to set my uncle’s house on fire. It wasn’t the Alpha’s funeral he had earned, but it would have to do.

With the howls of the invading pack growing louder, nearer, I hopped into my car and drove directly to the airport. I scanned the available flights and randomly chose one to Vermont. Still woodsy but far enough away from Montana that I’d be safe. I found my seat after stowing my bag. I immediately threw earbuds into my ears and plugged them into my phone. Hoping I’d established the international sign for Don’t Bug Me, I pulled up the map of werewolf lands only werewolves had access to. I tapped Vermont and waited for the page to load while other passengers filled the plane.

I lucked out with an empty seat beside me and an old lady sitting in the aisle seat of my row. She’d only nodded at me so far. I took that to mean she understood my desire to be left the fuck alone.

On my phone, several names of werewolf packs filled the screen.

Romeros

Fergusons

Leonas

Sinclaires

I studied the numbers of each and determined the Sinclaire pack was the largest in Vermont. Actually, it was the largest in New England. That was exactly the protection I needed right now. I’d seek out their Alpha, explain my situation. With any luck, he’d agree to take me in. It wouldn’t be the same as having my family pack, but it was better than going the way of the lone wolf. I wasn’t cut out for that shit. I needed a pack.