Tangled Vines Vineyard

Otter Cove, Alaska

She rose naked from their bed, leaving him sleeping soundly. Simone loved this time of day—no one was yet stirring, and the first rays of the sun were just beginning to creep over the horizon. Some called it the blue hour—that space of time that exists right after sunset or before sunrise when the sun is at such a significant depth below the horizon that it takes on a mostly blue shade. It was as if the possibilities of the day were endless.

Stretching, she walked towards the French doors that led out onto the balcony. Flinging them open, she walked outside, leaned against the railing, and took in the vista that lay before her. Immediately below was a finely manicured lawn on which someday she hoped to see her children play. Beyond that lay the rolling hills of the vineyard and further still the headland that led down to the beach.

Simone smiled, sensing Mischa awake and preparing to join her.

“You love this hour of the day, don’t you?” he rumbled as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

“I do. It’s as if the world has retreated to its primeval self, and there is nothing but us and the land.”

He chuckled. “It’s become hard to remember when you weren’t here. You are so much a part of this land.”

“I love it here,” she said, leaning back into his strong frame and holding his arms within her own embrace. “But more importantly, I love you.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Not nearly as much as I love you. You complete me in a way I never thought possible. Valentin tells everyone that since you joined us, you have made his life so much easier.”

“What about yours?”

“Easy? Rarely.”

She elbowed him playfully in the ribs, provoking the deep, rumbling chuckle that filled her heart with joy.

“But better? Most definitely. I never understood the meaning of words like ecstasy, bliss, rapture, exultation, and wonder. Oh, I knew their definitions, but I didn’t comprehend them to the depths of my soul.” He kissed the top of her shoulder. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

They stepped apart and each of them called forth their dire wolves. Simone still delighted in the dazzling display of the maelstrom that swirled all around her. Rolling thunder, the sizzle and crackling of lightning, and the flashing shards of color never failed to entrance her. She wondered how she had lived without it and without the enormous blonde dire wolf that rose from the vortex, shaking herself from nose to tail.

Not bothering to wait for Mischa’s enormous black dire wolf to emerge from his own swirling storm, Simone leapt over the balcony railing and landed below, bounding off toward the beach in the same movement that had carried her to the ground. She could hear Mischa as he landed and took up the chase. Well, if he was going to fuck her outdoors in the cold, he was bloody well going to have to work for it.

Simone galloped towards the beach, leaping over the vines but careful not to damage them. She’d need to check them later, as sometimes Mischa wasn’t as careful with them as he should be. If their pack hadn’t been awake before, certain their alpha’s baying as he ran with his mate would take care of that.

She loved the sound of Mischa baying. Back in Italy, the Bacchus pack only howled, and only then to communicate. Here at Tangled Vines, the dire wolves made a variety of sounds. Oh, they howled to communicate, but also to express sorrow. A howl usually entailed a single, drawn-out note. On the other hand, baying consisted of variations within the tone and was often used to express joy and the thrill of the hunt.

That she was the prey of her fated mate’s pursuit was known to everyone within hearing distance. At first, Simone had been embarrassed, not only by Mischa’s open displays of lust where she was concerned, but by her own response. Never had she failed to respond when he called to her.

Simone wove her way through the rows of vines, leaping over them to vary her path, but always headed in the same direction—toward the beach and the sea beyond. She loved the feeling of freedom and power that came from running as her dire wolf. She galloped toward the promontory cliff that would lead to the beach below.

She picked up speed as she headed over the cliff and down the path, letting the incline and gravity help her reach her maximum speed. She hit the sand at full speed, galloping towards the waves as they crashed along the craggy coastline. She paused for a moment and watched as Mischa eschewed the path and made his way down, bounding from rock to rock. He charged towards her, bowling her over as he rushed down to the hard-pack sand closest to the ocean and spun around, play-bowing and yapping at her.

Simone gave chase, and together they charged down the beach, nipping and yapping as they bumped into each other, enjoying one another as the sun’s rays climbed over the horizon, and the blue light began to morph into shimmering hues of red, orange, and gold. It was as if someone had struck a match and set the sky alight.

She raced into the sea, knowing her mate would be loath to follow her. For a big, bad dire wolf, Mischa hated the frigid waters of the Gulf of Alaska. Oh, he liked to sail them well enough, but he detested getting soaked through to the skin. Simone, on the other hand, found it invigorating and delighted in rolling in the dry sand to get warm and remove the cold water from her coat.

Mischa prowled the beach, just out of reach of the water’s edge, whining and baying—entreating her to return to him on dry land. Nope, if he was going to entice her to have sex on the beach this morning, he was going to have to work for it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have sex—she always wanted to have sex with Mischa—it was just that sex on the beach could result in sand getting in places it had no right to be.

The barking became more insistent, and she leaped into the water, swimming toward a point where if he wanted to catch her before she got back to the house, he’d have to get wet. If not, they could have sex in their nice, warm, cozy bed. The thing was, shifting always made her more feral self come to the fore—not just as a dire wolf, but in wanting to fuck and fuck hard. Luckily, she had a mate who was more than willing to accommodate her.

Climbing up onto the rock, she wagged her tail, bowed playfully to him and woofed, teasing him as she turned to run but waggling her backside to taunt him. She stretched out to run at full speed, gobbling up the distance as she crashed through the back door and startling Mrs. Perkins, who laughed daily at their antics before bounding up the stairs and down the hall to the room she shared with her fated mate.

Life was good, sweet, and joyous. She was a dire wolf, one of the last prehistoric species left on earth. But more than that, she was the fated mate of the Alpha of Tangled Vines.