The Wolf and the Watcher

A year of separation has done little to discourage a werewolf's heart, even if the consequence is death.

Alpha Andreas Baron loves Gerwalta Faust, even if she is his natural enemy, and he will have none other for his mate. If only he can convince her of that before the Grand Matron awards his beloved's hand to another...

Gerwalta knows that to give in to desire would sentence Andreas to death. What she feels is irrelevant. She will not condemn him by falling for his attempts at seduction. When she's given a mission that will take her far from the Black Forest, Gerwalta pushes forward, thankful for the distance. Until she discovers that Andreas will be part of the party, that is. Their purpose: capture a band of seven deadly vampires whose schemes would place werewolves and vampires on opposite battlefields for Europe's two great empires. The true danger, however, arises when the wolf and the watcher, away from the influence of clan and pack, cross the point of no return, changing the course of the supernatural world forever...

Andreas Baron, konigswolf of the Schwarzwald pack, could split logs from Michaelmas until Christmas and still, the angst would remain.
Wilhem should not have been surprised, therefore, to find half of the fuel they’d need to make it through winter chopped and piled. What did surprise him was how his king achieved the work of three lupines in one night.
“Good health, mein konig?”
Andreas paused, the axe raised high, to glare at his packling. “Do you question my constitution?”
Wilhelm’s eyes cast to the ground as his body curled in on itself. “No, Andreas, of course not.”
Andreas let his tool fall to the ground and rounded. “Then what business?”
The packling dared a glance upward. “Lisi is asking you to come sup before she puts the pups to bed. It is nearly dawn.”
“Give your mate my thanks, but I am not hungry.”
“But, mein konig, you haven’t eaten a proper meal in two days. Or did you sneak off to the forest to take down a few coneys again?”
The kingwolf huffed. “And if I did? Am I not a predator? Should I not eat of the land as a predator is wont to do?”
Lord forbid the konigswolf should think his prerogatives were being questioned twice in so many winks. “It is justified to draw from the world that which it gives willingly. But you are also a man, and a man needs rest. Even the Almighty allowed himself his due on the seventh day.”
The Almighty had never had to fight off the urges of a full moon growing near while living in the shadow of the woman he loved. How long had it been since they’d spoken? A year? At least that long.
“It has been a long night. But there’s still much wood left to split.”
Wilhelm patted Andreas’s shoulder. “We’ll do it together tomorrow. Come along now, my king, or Lisi will have both of our paws in the trap.”
Snap.
Wilhelm fell in behind his king as the sensation gripped them both: a lurch in the stomach, a buzz in the head. They were no longer alone, even though neither could spot their interloper through the nearby trees.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of freshly cut pine and silver.
“Curse the devil! What do they want?” Wilhelm asked. “And just when we’re about to bed down for the day!”
Andreas wondered as well, but knew no matter how much he hoped, it wouldn’t be her. Gerwalta patrolled these woods now, as she’d done since they returned from Nurenmberg, but the one he loved could slide through the trees without being spotted. More likely it was Helga, the Matron’s first-born daughter and heir apparent, dropping by for a weekly shake down.
“Go, Wilhem.” Andreas pushed his packling toward the direction of the farm as he himself turned deeper into the forest. “I’ll be along shortly. Tell Lisi I’ll help square away the pups for bed.”
“Just as long as you tell whatever red-hooded ninny this turns out to be that she ought come at a more decent hour.” Wilhelm moved along, but called back over his shoulder. “Next time you’re hunting about the forest, you ought to find one of them to eat. Do us all a favor.”
Andreas cringed at the thought. Animal though he was, hunter though God had made him, he’d never partake of dark one flesh. As he made his way to the forest’s edge, however, he did consider other things that he could do involving his mouth and one particular wolfsretter’s skin.
The image in his mind knocked the wind from his lungs and put his heart into his manhood. He found himself arrested, struggling to forgo a much more pleasant projection of what lay before him than humiliation.
And then suddenly, he caught the sight of red hair blowing in the breeze.
“Resplendent.”