Happy Mother’s Day and Greetings Earthlings. Today, I’m sharing another snippet from my Bitter Creek Holler title, Ursus Horriblilis.
“If the wolf’s pelt didn’t belong to a pack member, why are you so set on having it?” Rhee persisted.
Shep wanted to tell her to hush, to not draw attention to herself, but the old man fixed his crazy eyes on her again.
“Mate,” the old lobo rasped, the one word so laden with sorrow it resonated in the room and caused a chorus of mournful howls.
Damn, no wonder the old man is more than half crazy. Lonestar’s mate had been killed and skinned.
“How long ago?” Shep asked, ready to leave and help Lonestar retrieve the white wolf pelt.
The question of when it happened seemed to stump the other shifter. The old man frowned as if searching for the answer and finally growled, “Winter. 1867.”
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Have a great week, everyone!!