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  Title and Copyright Page

  Shifters Mountain

  Werewolf Shifter Romance

  Author: Meredith Bailey

  © Copyright 2018 by Meredith Bailey. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  From the Author:

  Thank you for purchasing this book.

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  Table of Contents

  Title and Copyright Page

  Shifters Mountain

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Shifters Mountain

  Description

  April Depardieu is a mountain climber, although she finds the limits of her capabilities when she joins a group of friends to scale Mont Blanc. Torn between enjoying the experience and wishing she’d stayed at home, she nevertheless presses on in the face of a rising danger—the warming weather.

  As the danger of avalanche threatens, she harbours increasing doubts about their safety, but can’t turn back since the point of no return has been reached.

  When she awakens in a strange mountain chalet, with her leg splinted, she knows the worst has happened. But as she drifts in and out of consciousness, she catches sight of a mysterious man who comes and goes at random, sometimes in the middle of the night, and often without clothes.

  Why is he leaving bare footprints in the snow, and why are there always wolf tracks near the door?

  April knows she must shake herself from the dream-like sleep, and recover her ability to walk in order to pursue the mystery of her mysterious benefactor.

  Chapter 1

  I checked the carabiner’s snap gate for the fifth time before I admitted I was procrastinating—and scared.

  “If you’re not going to do this, why bother flying out here at all?” I muttered. “You could have stayed at home, walked the dog, or played tennis, anything but risking your life on a snow-covered mountain.” Light snow drifted down from above, kicked down by my impatient climbing buddy.

  “Hey, April!” he called, “you asleep down there?”

  “Coming, Sonny,” I shouted back. “Dammit…” I muttered. I hated people seeing my fear and I was determined to move on up to reach the summit before noon tomorrow. If we didn’t, it was likely we’d be called off the mountain. Rising temperatures made for hazardous climbing and the PGHM, the mountain police, were considering closing the Gouter Route if the day grew any warmer.

  “April!”

  “Coming!” I snapped. I glanced down the Grand Couloir, immediately wished I hadn’t, and then turned my attention to the remainder of the climb. Two of our party had already reached the ridge, the Refuge du Gouter, and were monitoring the rising temperature. If I held them up any longer, I’d be responsible for wasting everyone’s week. Drinking beer in Chamonix was a poor substitute for gazing out from the summit of Mont Blanc.

  And so, I committed myself, swinging out from the laughably small ledge I’d found, and digging in my toes as I pushed upward.

  It was terrifying, but also the biggest thrill of my life. Office work was a way to bring in the beans. This was living, and nothing compared, or would ever compare to this: the soul-chilling confrontation of nature at her most unforgiving. Knowing that a single mistake or a moment’s lack of concentration could end my life was the most sobering thing I had ever felt. People called me crazy for risking my life, but doing exactly that was what made me who I was. If I wasn’t in danger, what was the point of being alive?

  I focused on the task at hand, and, with shouts of encouragement from my buddies, I made good time, almost making up for my poor showing earlier.

  Within two hours, we were heading along the Refuge du Gouter, enjoying the sunshine but worrying about what the warmth might do to the stability of the packed snow beneath our feet.

  “It’s enough to make you wish for a snowstorm,” Sonny called back to me.

  “That might make things worse,” I shouted back.

  “And we’d lose the scenery.”

  “Will you guys can it?” Ray called from behind me. “The last thing we need is an avalanche.”

  “Avalanches don’t—” I began, but Sonny had stopped.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. Hey!” he called to the team ahead. They stopped and turned, raising their arms to ask why he’d called a halt.

  “Everything okay?” Ray asked.

  “I don’t know… Something feels…” he shifted his feet, testing the snow for something. I waited patiently, trusting Sonny, who had ten years’ more experience than me.

  It didn’t help him much. The entire snowfield, from a kilometre ahead to the edge of the ridge, was shifting. The snow vibrated beneath my feet—exactly what Sonny had feared and had been feeling for. All five of us toppled as the snowfield picked up speed, carrying us along with it. The PGHM had been correct in its assumptions. The mountain was unstable, and now we were caught up in the shift.

  I cried out as the flat snow started to break up into jagged sheets, the leading edges rising above the sheets below them. Five feet ahead, a wall of white rose into the air, towering over me. If it broke up, or slid over the top of the sheet I was clinging to…

  I could only pray that it didn’t.

  The ice slammed against my body as it slithered down the mountain, gaining speed rapidly. I was riding ten tons of rapidly crumbling bobsled, with no control, and no idea which way I was headed. The sheer drop of the Grand Couloir wasn’t far away, behind me and off to my right. I’d never survive the drop.

  Something smashed into the floe I was riding, and I was spun to the right, to face the steep drop, exactly as I’d feared. Within seconds, I was going to be plunged over the edge. The fall would no doubt kill me, and the hundred tons of snow that followed would ensure I wouldn’t be found until September. I was ten feet from the edge of the speeding floe. I could either take my chances with the avalanche or face the thousand-foot drop plus the avalanche that would land on my head.

  It was a no-brainer. As quickly as my numbed fingers and spiked boots would allow, I crawled to the edge of the ice, glanced once at the tons of snow thundering down after me, and then threw myself into its path, hoping for a miracle.

  Five seconds later, my makeshift bobsled vanished over the edge of the Refuge du Gouter and I was engulfed, sent tumbling into a crushing nightmare of dazzling whiteness.

  ~

  “Faites atention…” a man said in a soft voice.

  “Ow…” I managed. Every joint and muscle burned or stabbed me with white-hot needles. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why had I tried to move? Groaning, I laid back down and concentrated on breathing until the worst of the pain began to fade.

  “Vous avez ete blesse.”

  “What…what…” My foggy brain couldn’t translate his French. “I don’t understand. Ah… Je ne comprends pas?”

  He switched to English, with a soft accent. “Don’t try to talk. You’ve been through…ah…traumatise…You will need time to recover.” When I’d tried to move, my leg had hurt terribly. Hot waves of pain washed up my thigh, and I squirmed as my sk
in burned.

  “I don’t…hey, that hurt!”

  “I apologize.” He withdrew the needle from my bare shoulder, then laid the syringe in a stainless steel dish. But if I’d entertained any thought of being in a hospital, I was sorely mistaken. Yes, the bed in which I lay was steel-framed, and was raised to support my back, but that was where any similarity ended. The room was small, and dimly lit. The walls were of typical Alpine chalet construction, thick horizontal planks of varnished wood. All of which made the needle-jabbing more alarming. Why was I in a strange bed, being attended to by a man I’d never seen before?

  And why was I naked?

  “My clothes!” I snapped. “Where are they?”

  He smiled tolerantly. “Your ski suit was destroyed by the fall. The blood soaked everything below the waist, and the bone break tore through your thermal underwear.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry. But I have your shirt, and your brassiere.”

  “Where?” I suddenly felt chilled without my clothes. Yes, I was in a warm bed, but I felt vulnerable, and trapped. Without clothes, I had no way to escape this stranger.

  Another thought struck me. “Did you undress me?”

  “Of course.” He made an ‘I suppose so’ face, pushing down both lips. “But you should not be concerned.”

  “Really?”

  “It was your leg which was injured. Your dignity was not.”

  “You undressed me!”

  “Your ski suit I cut away.” He mimed scissors with two fingers. “Your leg I treated.” He pushed himself to his feet with a weary sigh. “The rest of your clothes were removed for your comfort, and…” he raised a single finger to silence my next protest. “…it was done with no lights.”

  “You undressed me in the dark?”

  “Does it not make you feel less…um…viole? Violated?”

  “Maybe,” I conceded. “But how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “You don’t.” He surprised me with his simple reply. “You must learn to trust me. Here.” He handed me my t-shirt and bra. I pulled the blankets up to my neck and dressed as best I could. “These also.” He held up a pair of dark blue sweatpants. They were probably two sizes too big.

  “You will need the extra room,” he explained. “For the bandages, yes?”

  I sighed. “Yes, that makes sense.” As we’d talked, the sharp sting of pain had faded from my leg. I didn’t move, for fear of setting it off again, but I was desperately keen to put a layer of clothing between my lower body and the man, who still hadn’t introduced himself.

  “Are you a doctor?” I asked.

  “I was. A long time ago.”

  “And where is this place?” I glanced around the small room. “Where am I?”

  “A secluded chalet, on my land.”

  I frowned. “How secluded, exactly?”

  “You need not feel threatened, Mademoiselle. It is secluded, not for the purposes of seduction, but for solitude.”

  “You don’t enjoy company?”

  His smile was sad, wistful. “Shall we say…company does not enjoy me?”

  “Hmm…okay.” An urgent need alerted me to a new problem. “I need to use the bathroom.” Damn. Of all the times…

  He stroked his chin. “You should not need…ah, I see. The bag is full.”

  “What bag? Oh, no…” I gazed in dismay at the urine-filled bag hanging from the side of the bed. A catheter bag. I reached down, and sure enough, a small plastic tube lay between my legs. I sagged back onto the bed in dismay. So much for my dignity.

  “Now you are awake, I can remove this. But with your leg still damaged, you may find difficulty—”

  “Take the damn thing out!”

  “Should I switch off the lights?”

  I rolled my eyes. “What’s the point? You didn’t switch them off to fit it, did you?”

  “Of course not. It would have been dangerous.”

  I threw an arm over my eyes. “Go on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

  “If you are certain.” He moved closer, pulling on a pair of protective gloves. The blankets were lifted from my lower half and I groaned as cool air touched my most intimate parts.

  “Oh my god…”

  Chapter 2

  It was a huge relief to have the catheter out. My cheeks burned at the thought of him seeing more of me than any man ever had. After he’d slid the plastic tube from me, he offered to help me finish dressing. I declined, insisting I’d manage just fine.

  Without seeming offended, he left the room, and I tried to scrape together the last remains of my dignity. Pulling the sweatpants on was a huge struggle. Every joint ached and every muscle burned as I tried to throw the pants toward the toes of my bandaged leg, while still holding onto the waistband. After ten minutes, I dropped the pants onto the floor, wriggled my bad foot onto the pooled fabric, and then did the same with my good foot. Once there, I used my good toes to snag the waistband and pull the pants high enough to reach them with my outstretched fingers. By the time I’d pulled them into place, tears were rolling down my cheeks and I wondered why I hadn’t allowed my nameless benefactor to help. He’d already seen me naked, worse than naked, actually. What else did I have to lose?

  Walking was tough, too. My body protested and demanded I go back to bed. Not a chance. I wanted to be up and about, and figure out where I was in the world. It had also occurred to me to wonder if we were the only ones here. If so, where was the rest of my party? Had Sonny and Ray survived the avalanche? Were they even now scouring the mountainside for me, or were they relaxing in the next room, ready to mock the indignities I’d suffered?

  The living room was empty. Even my ‘former doctor’ friend was missing. He couldn’t be far away, because a healthy log fire was blazing in the hearth, heating my cheeks even from twenty feet away. The living room was large, and appeared to be at the center of the house, with at least two doors on every wall.

  “Welcome. Please…sit.” His voice startled me from my musing.

  “Ah…I need to ask something.”

  “Bien sur. Please.”

  “I was climbing with four other people. Their names are Sonny—”

  “Je suis desole. I found no others. You were alone.”

  “But they must be out there! Where are my boots? I need to find them!”

  “Mademoiselle, you must be calm. You cannot help them.”

  “Why not? What’s happened—”

  “You have been in my care for almost ten days.”

  “Ten days?” I stared at him in disbelief.

  “So they are found, or they will not be found.”

  “Wait a minute, where was I found?”

  “The avalanche carried you onto the glacier. You were fortunate to survive the fall.”

  “And that’s where you found me? Only me?” They couldn’t be gone, surely.

  “Only you. I am sorry about your friends.” His face brightened. “Perhaps they are well and have returned home?”

  “I can only hope.” I wondered if my friends were still scouring the mountain, trying to find me. “Do you have a telephone?”

  “Alas, no. This is a remote region.”

  “Internet?”

  He smiled. “I am isolated from the world. But perhaps when you are better healed, I can escort you to Chamonix?”

  “Is it still light outside? Maybe you could take me there today?”

  “It would be an overnight walk through deep snow.”

  “A walk?” I stared. “You don’t have a car either, do you?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps you would care for some tea?”

  “Coffee. Do you have coffee?” My heart leapt at the notion. How long had it been since I’d had caffeine? Ten days? More?

  “But of course. You Americans and your coffee.”

  “Hey, I’m Canadian.”

  “”Which is better than being American? Or worse? You are quick to make the distinction.”

  It was my turn to shrug. “Being different is wha
t keeps us doing crazy stuff.”

  “Such as climbing mountains when the avalanche warning is in force?”

  “The Gendarme hadn’t closed the route, not at that point.”

  “They closed it immediately afterwards, though.”

  “That’s to be expected. Hey…”

  “Yes?” He raised an eyebrow at my verbal swerve.

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Monsieur White. Ashley, if you prefer.”

  I extended my hand. “April Depardieu.”

  “So how does this happen?” He seemed genuinely shocked.

  “What? How does what happen?”

  “That your name is more French than mine…and yet I am French, for the most part.” We both pondered that oddity for a moment, before he remembered the coffee.

  “So where exactly are we, Ashley?”

  “The Savoie Mont Blanc nature reserve,” he called from the kitchen area. “Part of it, anyway.”

  “Do you see much of the wildlife?”

  “Every day. It is one of my tasks to monitor and maintain the numbers of the Ibex.”

  “Interesting job. Do you see many Chamois?”

  “It is inevitable.” He turned to face me, wiping his hands on a towel. “There are almost six thousand of them in the region.”

  “But how do you follow them in the snow? They’re fast, aren’t they?”

  He tapped the side of his nose. “I have special skills.”

  “Sure.” I didn’t ask. If he chose to be mysterious, then fine. I watched as he busied himself beside a black-and-chrome coffee maker. I smiled as he produced a small jug of cream. No powdered milk for Monsieur White, then. I wondered where he got his supplies from, since we were apparently so removed from civilization.

  Chapter 3

  Ashley was the perfect host, bringing me everything I could wish for, aside from contact with the outside world. It was his way, he said. He preferred to remain apart from humanity and live life in his own way. I thought it was odd for him to refer to humans as if he wasn’t one of them. While I drank my coffee and ate the curiously fresh pastries that accompanied it, Ashley excused himself.