HOTSHOT BROTHERS: Coyote Shifters Read online

  HOTSHOT BROTHERS

  Coyote Shifters

  SABRINA HUNT

  Copyright © 2017

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to events, businesses, companies, institutions, and real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Book One: Coyote Moon

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Book Two: Coyote Whisper

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Book Three: Coyote Storm

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Book Four: Coyote Legend

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Book Five: Coyote Inferno

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue: Coyote Summer

  Book One: Coyote Moon

  Chapter 1

  Four and a half years ago

  The sunset faded swiftly, as shadows swathed the city, and the streetlights flickered on one by one. Standing at the window, sipping my iced tea, I twirled a finger through my hair and smiled at the sky. Beyond the trees and city streets, everything was gold above the dark mountains. It was gorgeous here in Washington State, so pristine and clean, even in midst of the busy city of Seattle.

  As the assistant to Professor Whitlock of the Burke Museum, I should’ve been finishing up for the day, not daydreaming, oblivious to the world around me. But being alone in the museum at sunset was such a rare thing; I couldn’t help loitering by the window for a few minutes. And the empty office behind me, usually buzzing with phones ringing, conversations, and people coming and going, didn’t seem to mind. It was a messy, comfortable place, filled with stacks of paper, old books, and heaps of Native American artifacts. During my first ever shift, I’d offered to clean it, but the Professor had looked at me askance.

  “My dear, I find more comfort in this chaos than in wasting time trying to keep it tidy. Everything moves towards entropy, so we’re just helping it along. And it’s far easier to find things in here than you think – there’s a system! You’ll catch on in no time.”

  While Professor Whitlock – or Whitsy, as he was more affectionately known – was right, it did mean that sometimes I had the nasty surprise of coming across a small mammal skull, or almost slicing a finger open on a misplaced knife, or finding food long past expired. Or having to spend an entire afternoon combing the shelves for something, only to realize it was already on Whitsy’s desk.

  In spite of that, I loved my time at the museum and felt an odd protectiveness where Whitsy and his peccadillos were concerned. While absent-minded, he was also the kindest and shrewdest soul at the Burke. Small and wrinkled, with long gray hair and a whimsical smile, he had a proud nose, tan skin, and bright dark eyes that spoke of his Native American heritage of the Salish, or Flathead tribe.

  A heritage that we shared.

  No one would ever expect that, of course, since I grew up in London, and had light chestnut hair, freckles, and dark blue eyes. Only my aquiline nose, almond-shaped eyes, and full lips were my inheritance from my beloved American-Salish grandmother. I had doted on her as a child, growing up enamored with her stories of Montana, and dreaming of visiting one day.

  Once upon a time, that dream was one that had been shared by my grandmother and grandfather. We were supposed to visit the States on holiday together four years ago – we’d tour the west, visit Gram’s family, and climb the Flathead Mountains.

  But then Gram had died unexpectedly before our trip, and since then Grandfather had been in failing health. However, he’d insisted I go abroad on my own, study the Pan-American cultures I’d spent all my time thinking about, and visit those places we’d once planned on seeing together.

  Perhaps too, I had a strong affection for Whitsy because he’d instantly seen that I had Salish blood in me. Then he’d insisted that I make plans to visit Montana as soon as possible.

  One day, I thought wistfully. For now, I was a senior at the University of Washington, double majoring in Anthropology and American Indian Studies, and had a million things to do. I had scant time for dreaming, which is why I seized every idle moment I got.

  “I’ve been knocking for well over a minute, so you can forgive me for barging in, right?” said an amused, male voice from behind me. Startled, I jumped and spilled iced tea all over the windowsill. “Ah, sorry about that. Didn’t meant to scare you.”

  “Bugger,” I muttered, shaking my wet hands and turning around. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–” I trailed off as I stared in a surprise, then blurted out, “Who the hell are you?”

  The young man standing behind me tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Well now, I’d think a young lady raised in Holland Park would have better manners.” His voice was wry and I flushed. “I’m someone with a question. It’s a bit time sensitive, so is Professor Whitlock around?”

  “How do you know where I grew up?” I asked, astonished, and my cheeks reddened. Then I straightened and tossed my head. “And no, as I still don’t know who you are.”

  The boy gave a theatrical sigh, sha
king his head, and crossing his arms. “Your accent, love.” He said, imitating me. “I spent time in London when I was deployed overseas. As for my name, I’m Benjamin Ofreo. Or Benny-O, or Ben. Professor Whitlock and I are what you might call pen pals. He said if I was ever in Seattle to feel free to stop by.” Ben shrugged. “Here I am.”

  “Oh,” I said nodding, then I winced. “Oh heck. You should have called first. Whitsy is out of town for the weekend, left about an hour ago.” Trying to hide how flustered I felt in this boy’s presence, I snatched up a roll of paper towels from a nearby table and began mopping up the spill. “I’ll take a message if you like.”

  Ben Ofreo watched me as I cleaned, making my cheeks heat even more. I thought he was about my age, but from the way he said “deployed overseas,” I realized he had to be a few years older. He had an air of intelligence mingled with amusement at the world. Or perhaps just me.

  And he was so handsome my stomach swooped just looking out of the corner of my eye at him. Looming at least a good foot over me, he had tanned olive-brown skin, silky black hair that was spiky and somewhat too long, falling into his dark eyes. Broad-shouldered, lean with muscle, and strong-jawed, he gave the impression that few things stood in his way.

  Lost in thought, he didn’t respond to my offer, so I finished cleaning, tossed the wet paper towels into the bin, and wrung my hands. Taking a deep breath, I offered him a shy glance. “Um, unless – well perhaps I can help you?” I only asked the question to be polite. I honestly couldn’t imagine there was anything I could do to help this dark, handsome stranger.

  Yet now he was regarding me and my stomach swooped again.

  Suddenly Ben leaned down until our faces were mere inches apart and my breath hitched in my throat. He smelled like pine, along with something indescribably masculine, and wild. It made me think of endless deep, dark woods under a starry sky and a full moon rising in the East.

  “Can you keep a secret?” Ben asked in a low voice, the timbre of which seemed to rush along my spine and short-circuit my brain.

  “Um...” I managed to get out, regarding him with a mixture of confusion and shock. Ben pulled away and glanced around the office. Then he strode over to the door, closed it, and locked it. “Hey!” I cried out, a nervous flutter of panic going through me, mixed with a strange thrill. He made me feel safe, but he didn’t get to go around locking doors. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Don’t want to be disturbed,” Ben said shortly, coming back over and eyeing me. “What’s your name and what do you know about the indigenous people of the northwestern Rockies?”

  Letting out a small huff, glancing between the door and Ben, I said, “My name is Hazel Pemberton. If you’re trying to find something out about the Native Americans of that region, anywhere from Montana to here in Washington State, you’re going to have to be a tad more specific. There were almost a dozen tribes. Honestly.” I snorted. “What exactly is it you want to know?”

  Ben looked mildly impressed and I felt a small glow of triumph. After a long moment, he asked, “Do you know anything about original tattooing methods used by tribes in Montana?”

  “What?” I stared at him in astonishment, not expecting a question like that, nor the slight tinge of desperation to his voice. “Well, there’s a lot of competing theories, not to mention human flesh doesn’t exactly keep over time, so what we have is a lot of guesswork, oral tradition, and ideas from other cultures which still preserve it… Is that what you’re after?”

  “No.” Ben grit his jaw and shook his head. I saw him involuntarily clutch at the pocket of his jacket and got a quick glimpse of the outline of a book. “Forget it, it’s probably not a question that can be answered.” I looked back, watching his face as he said this, almost more to himself than me.

  “What tosh.” I snorted, stamping one foot, and Ben gave me a surprised look before his face pulled up in a lopsided smile. My heart turned over in her chest, but I ignored it, and continued, “A question can be answered, Mr. Ofreo. I just need your actual question, not this roundabout-ness.” Ben’s smile got bigger and my heart took off even more. “If you must know, I’ve actually traveled quite a bit and spent a lot of time with cultures all over the world. Not only have I met a lot of amazing people, but I’ve learned about their incredible customs, which they were so generous to share. Including tattooing. So I know quite a bit more than you might realize.”

  Ben studied my face. Even though my cheeks were flaming, I refused to look away.

  “Can you keep a secret?” He asked again. “You didn’t say before.”

  “Why is that relevant?” I asked, biting my lip.

  He let out a warm laugh that sent a tingle through me and shook his head. “I need to know, Hazel.” Then Ben paused, his face serious, as he gazed at me. “Can you keep a secret?”

  A thrill went through me at the sound of my name in his deep voice. Our gazes locked, and I nodded and said in a soft voice, “Yes. You have my word.”

  “Thank you,” Ben said, then he stepped back and shrugged off his jacket. Underneath it he was wearing a button-down shirt, bursting at the seams over his muscles. Then, to my utter shock, he began to unbutton it.

  “W-What do you think you are doing?” I cried out, going to catch his hand, but he stopped me easily and caught my wrist instead.

  “Sh.” He cocked an eye towards the door. “I just need to show you something, that’s all. Once you see, you’ll understand my question.”

  “And you need to get undressed to do it?” I muttered, trying to ignore the warmth of his big hand around my wrist, and then the pang when he let it go. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  Again Ben let out that warm laugh. “You have no idea,” he murmured, shrugging off his button-up, and then shedding the tank underneath. “Well?”

  Mouth dry as I stared at the shirtless male standing in Whitsy’s dim office, the afterglow from the sunset hitting his chiseled body, I struggled to say something. His torso was long and hard, defined with abs, pecs, and a mouth-watering V into his trousers. “Um…”

  ‘The tattoo, Hazel,” Ben said, sounding impatient, almost bored, but his eyes were glinting with amusement. And something else. Something that made me drop my eyes from his.

  Instead, I focused on the opalescent gleam on his left pectoral, right above his heart. It was a white, pearly tattoo, reminding me of a full moon reflecting off the pure white snow.

  Frowning, my fingers found a magnifying glass on Whitsy’s desk. “A coyote paw print…” I murmured, “but what is this ink?” Without even asking, I moved closer and held the magnifying glass over it. From what I could see, there were no discernable lines and no scarring. It was almost as though it was part of his skin. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “You haven’t?” Ben asked and something in his voice made me meet his eyes.

  Hopping up on Whitsy’s desk, I sat on it and ushered Ben closer. “Let me see it again. No, Ben, I haven’t. I’m sorry. But it’s superbly done – the artistry is incredible,” I said, lowering the glass and staring at it. Impulsively, I traced my fingers over it, seeking out the lines of scarring, and Ben’s muscles jumped under my touch. His skin was warm and smooth. I froze.

  “No, this can’t be.” I breathed, looking up at him. “How is this possible? This is no ancient technique; I can tell you that much. What, is this some new technology or–”

  Ben cut me off, covering my hand with his, and pressing down. His heart thundered under my fingertips and I swallowed.

  “I’m sorry, you don’t get to ask questions.” His voice was flat and distant, his eyes clouded, and almost sad. “It’s for the best.”

  “But maybe I can help.” I grabbed his other hand without thinking. “What is going on? Why were you asking about ancient tattooing techniques? Did someone tell you this was one? And why a coyote paw? Do you know that the coyote shows up again and again in Native American folklore? He’s lauded as a great protector, a warrior,
but also a trickster.” I was aware I was babbling, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Ben… Who-who gave you this tattoo?”

  Ben swallowed, then squeezed both of my hands. “I don’t know.”

  “What?” I gasped, my mind going blank, and then I tried to make sense of what he’d said. “Were you drugged? Have you told the police?” Then I paused as he glanced away. “What is it? Are you in trouble? Please, Ben, tell me. Maybe I can help, you never know…”

  For a second he hesitated, glancing at me, then suddenly he froze, eyes narrowing, and his gaze shot to the door. In another second, he had a finger pressed to my lips and was leaning down close to my ear, whispering, “I have to go. Thank you, Hazel.” His breath tickled across my skin, making my blood whoosh in alarming, head-spinning ways. And then he pulled back, cupping my face with his other hand, and smiling at me. “I’ll never forget you.”

  Then, in the spans of a few breaths, Ben pressed a fierce kiss to my cheek, winked at me, and raced from the room. I turned, a hand lifting to my cheek, as a shaky breath exuded from my lips.

  “That was quite a goodbye.” I murmured. “And I don’t think I’ll ever forget you either, Ben.”

  Dazed, I found my backpack, not quite sure what to do with myself, or where to go. But I couldn’t stay in that office. I had to think and I desperately needed fresh air.

  Walking outside to the car park, I was still thinking about Ben, his tattoo, and that kiss, when suddenly a large shadow reared up in front of me, and I stumbled back.

  “Excuse me!” I bit out, clutching the handles of my bag. “Can I help you?”

  Two men in long overcoats were standing there, with hats pulled low, looking like detectives out of a penny dreadful novel. Each was smoking a long cigarette and I coughed a little on the heavy, ashy smell.

  “Sorry to disturb you, miss, but we’re looking for someone and heard he might be in the area.” I noticed he was wearing gloves as he clumsily unfolded a piece of paper. “Seen this kid?”

  A smudgy, black and white picture of Ben stared up at me, his expression sober.

  Can you keep a secret?

  I caught my breath and shook my head. “No, I haven’t. Sorry. Is he a criminal or something?”