Page 25 of A Shifter Disaster Thanksgiving

Sylvester shook his head. “No, it’s already getting late. I’m going to head home and check on my wife. And perhaps I will spread my wings tonight.”

Chapter Eleven

“You Want Me to… Ride You?”

The novel lay opened on the floor beside the fireplace, just out of reach of the flames. Ordinarily, she’d never place a book in such close proximity to the fire, but tonight there were other, more important things on her mind.

Other things meaning Sylvester.

Earlier today, she’d scoffed at herself for being preoccupied with him when she might be waking up to a war tomorrow instead of a regular Thanksgiving—or whatever passed as regular in a place like this. But right now she was more concerned about how Sylvester felt about her.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, blinking into the flames.

And perhaps she was. But, Diane knew, in a way, matters of the heart were just as important as other matters. And wouldn’t anyone seek assurance that their heart was safe, especially if that heart had been wounded before? Diane was coming to terms with the fact that she loved this man, this new husband of hers. But what did he feel for her, exactly?

That wasn’t her only concern. She hadn’t forgotten her brief encounter with Jon earlier. From what he’d said, it sounded as if Sylvester had been seriously pissed. And if it had something to do with his brother, that was understandable, not that it made the situation any less concerning.

The irony of her situation was not lost on her. She could write a book about that everything that had happened to her so far. It was just the sort of content her readers would devour: a lone woman trapped on a mountain, a murderous village chief fanning the flames of war, and a fiery, passionate romantic entanglement with a sexy blacksmith who wanted vengeance for the killing of his father.

And all of that was on top of the characters in the story being supernaturals.Thatwould drive her readers wild.

But there was the catch: She couldn’t write anything. In all the time she’d spent here, she’d found only a single book, and she doubted whether anyone had a pen or paper, much less a laptop.

She was still lost in her thoughts when she heard the sound of the door opening and closing. Her heart rate ratcheted up and she shot to her feet just as Sylvester entered the living room. He was scowling.

“Hey,” she said, unsure what else to add.

He blinked at her, but said nothing.

Diane pressed her lips together. “Are you okay?” she asked him. “Jon told me and Quinta that you went to see your brother again. Is something wrong?

In response, Sylvester scoffed. “Of course something is wrong. Glenstra requested that this village surrender instead of risking a war.”

“I remember. I was there when your brother mentioned it.”

“Well, my brother turned down their request.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It sounds like it. Except that his refusal will most likely spark a war.” He stepped closer, pulling off his top, and for a moment she found herself almost distracted by the sight of his chiseled abs. “If there was any doubt before, it’s gone now. It’s only a matter of days before Glenstra attacks us again.”

A question formed on her lips, and she let it out immediately. “Just… just how bad would things get if a war broke out?”

Sylvester simply stared at her, and for the next few seconds Diane wondered if he thought her silly for asking such a question. To her surprise, he reached out and took her hand in his, sending an electric jolt up her arm.

“Come with me,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

All Diane could do was nod.

***

Looking back on it, she wasn’t even sure what she’d been expecting. But it most certainly hadn’t been the fifteen-minute walk through the village as the orange sky darkened overhead. Pine Gap was just as peaceful in the evening as it was in the mornings, Diane observed, taking in the view as they walked in silence, but it was more beautiful now. Many of the cabins they passed were lit up; the darker it got outside, the brighter they appeared.

They soon came to the edge of the village, which was nothing like what Diane had imagined. There were no walls to keep out stray animals or outsiders. The street simply extended into the expanse of snow ahead, beyond the rows of buildings. In the distance, she could see a thicker gathering of pines farther down the mountain.

Sylvester moved on, saying he wanted to put some more distance between themselves and the village. When they’d gone another two hundred feet, he stopped.

“I don’t understand,” Diane said, turning in the snow to look at Sylvester. “What are we doing here? Is there something—?”

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