Prancer Claws: The Twelve Mates Of Christmas, Book 3

  Prancer Claws

  The Twelve Mates Of Christmas, Book 3

  Sable Sylvan

  www.sablesylvan.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Heather Davies/Sable Sylvan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  The Twelve Mates of Christmas — A Sable Sylvan Christmas Spectacular

  Sneak Peek: Vixen Claws

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Thanksgiving, 2009

  As Ethan McLean drove through the forest, bright orange leaves scattered over his windshield like rice at a wedding. He pulled into the lot at Clan Marron, dreading the Thanksgiving feast already. At least after attending the meal, the werebear would have an excuse to avoid the Clan for the next year.

  Ethan’s supercar ran nearly silently, but Ethan’s bear whined as it took in their surroundings. The bear had spent much time watching Ethan dominate the concrete jungle while it hadn’t had the opportunity to explore the wild forests where the bear belonged.

  Ethan ignored the bear as he made his way down the gravel road leading to the lodge. The parking lot had barely a dozen cars parked in it. Ethan was one of the early arrivals. He pulled his car into the lot and parked.

  Ethan gave himself a once-over in the mirror and got ready to rehearse what he’d say when he was inevitably asked about why he was at Thanksgiving without a woman on his arm. Before he could practice, he heard a knock on his window.

  Ethan turned. Outside his passenger window was Emily Hu, werepanda and gossip monger extraordinary, wearing a baby in a papoose wrapped around her chest.

  Ethan got out of the car and met Emily by his trunk.

  “Hey there, Ethan,” said Emily. “I’m surprised you made it this year.”

  “I’m surprised I made it too,” said Ethan. “Work and all that.”

  “I’m sure being a billionaire is just so hard,” said Emily sarcastically. “I see that you didn’t hire an escort this year. Please tell me she isn’t stuffed in the trunk.”

  “You’re the only one here with a person stuffed somewhere,” said Ethan. “You had twins, right?”

  “Twins? Twins? I wish. Try quadruplets,” said Emily. “We ended up with one extra surprise baby. We’ve got one for each of my fated mates. It means there’s never a set of free hands because shifter babies are twice the work. But, don’t think you can get me to drop the topic so quickly. I don’t see a fated mate with you. Is she coming by later?”

  “Can I skip that question and bribe you with pies?” asked Ethan.

  Ethan walked around to his trunk and popped it open. The smell of buttery crust and syrupy baked berries wafted out of the car and made Emily’s mouth water.

  “Are those…marionberry pies?” asked Emily.

  “Pies. Mini empanada style pies. Crumbles. Crumb cakes. Turnovers. Fritters. Danishes. Some cupcakes,” said Ethan. “Special order. This is hot out of the oven.”

  “You know, you’re supposed to bring a home-cooked dish,” said Emily. “But…I guess I could make an exception for desserts baked by the Bear Claw Bakery. Don’t think you’re off the hook about the problem of your fated mate…or rather, lack thereof.”

  Emily grabbed a stack of two pie boxes. Ethan grabbed another stack and followed Emily into the Clan lodge.

  Emily put the pies down on the dessert table and grilled Ethan on why he hadn’t found his fated mate over the past year during their trips to and from his car. Finally, the last boxes were taken out of Ethan’s luxury SUV.

  Ethan’s cell phone rang as he placed the last boxes on the dessert table. He hid a smile. His secretary was delivering on her promise to make up a fake work emergency so he could leave the dinner early.

  “I’ve got to take this,” said Ethan.

  “Make it quick,” said Emily. “I need your help setting out serving utensils.”

  “Okay,” said Ethan, before answering the call. “Hello, Maria? Yes. I see. Huh. And you are sure the Asher-Dixon Clan can’t handle it? What about the Scovilles? I see. Okay. It’s Thanksgiving, but, if it’s an emergency…”

  “Hey, I gotta run and catch a plane back to NYC,” lies Ethan. “Big emergency at the firm. They need me on site.”

  “Oh, well, do one thing for me before you leave,” said Emily.

  “Sure, okay, what?” asked Ethan.

  “Come with me to look at the new Council chambers,” said Emily.

  Ethan followed after Emily. Looking at one room was better than having to sit at a feast filled with members of his Clan that would grill him with questions about why he didn’t have a wife yet. He’d dropped off so many desserts that there was no way anyone could say he hadn’t contributed to the meal, even if he’d left early.

  Emily opened the Council chamber doors and suddenly took Ethan by the arm and pushed him inside.

  “What the Hell?” asked Ethan, stopping Emily from closing the door on him.

  “Sorry, but it’s the only way,” said Emily, before pushing Ethan’s arm away and slamming the door shut. Ethan tried to open it, but it was locked from the outside.

  “Open up, Emily,” said Ethan. “This isn’t funny.”

  “Take a seat,” said a booming voice.

  Ethan turned back to the room. The Council chambers were filled with select members of the Clan Elders whose number included the past alphas of Clan Marron. In the center of the Council was Jasper Jackson, the current Alpha of Clan Marron, and next to him, a werebear that Ethan recognized as Ryan. Ryan was a Bear Buns stripper. He wasn’t the type of bear Ethan hung around in New York City. He’d distanced himself from that class of folks. Plus, Ryan was a bad boy like himself, and Ethan didn’t want competition…or someone to feed that side of his energy. Ethan loved getting into bad boy shenanigans but knew that every time he did, his stock went down a point, so he resisted his bad boy urges, just as he’d resisted the urges of his shift – to find a mate, and the other call, to fall into mate madness.

  He’d heard rumors that Ryan had found a wife. Ethan couldn’t imagine that the playboy stripper had found a fated mate. He was sure the marriage must’ve been for tax purposes – the type of thing Ethan himself would’ve done, if he’d found someone he could’ve trusted. Long ago, he’d decided he’d only ever trust himself. No trauma led to that character development. He’d modeled himself after the people he thought were the most successful, and noticed that none of them let people in. They looked out for themselves, and that meant trusting none but themselves. For Ethan, that meant he couldn’t trust a wife, a mate – even one that was fated – or even his own shift. After all, that shift gave him the urge to find a mate…and was the very reason he might lose everything, including his humanity.

  “What’s this about, Jasper?” Ethan asked angrily.

  “Take a seat,” said Jasper.

  Ethan walked over to the lone chair in the room and sat on it, turning it around so that he was straddling it’s back while facing the Council. It was a power play he’d picked up from a fellow business school alu
m. By obeying orders in an intentionally defiant way, he was asserting his control of the situation.

  “Do you know why you’re here today?” asked Jasper. “Why you were brought in front of the Council?”

  “No,” said Jasper. “I pay my dues. I stay out of trouble. I donate to the various causes the Clan supports. I brought over two thousand dollars’ worth of baked goods to Thanksgiving today. I’d like to think I’m a model member of Clan Marron.”

  “You would like to think that, wouldn’t you?” asked an older male member of the Council. “Tell me. If you are such a model shifter, where is your mate?”

  “I haven’t had time to find one,” said Ethan. “Supporting Clan Marron takes money and time which I can’t spend on pursuing a mate.”

  “Yet you have time to go golfing and drinking and out for fancy dinners,” said Jasper. “The clans of NYC are well-heeled and notice everything. Word travels fast.”

  “What I do with my life is my business,” said Ethan.

  “When was the last time you shifted?” asked a woman. “How often have you been shifting? Do you let your bear run free to help your bear help you? After all, your bear can’t help you if it’s cooped up in your soul.”

  “It’s been a while,” said Ethan.

  “How long is a while?” asked Ryan.

  “You aren’t an elder,” said Ethan. “Why are you even here?”

  Before Ryan could answer, Jasper held a hand up. His son closed his mouth.

  “It is no concern of yours how the Council makes its decisions,” said Jasper. “Answer the question. How long is a while?”

  “Two years,” said Ethan.

  “Two years? That’s dangerous, and you know it,” snarled Jasper.

  “It’s not like I’m living in the woods like everyone else here,” said Ethan. “It’s a logistics issue.”

  “Bullshit,” said Jasper. “There are healthy shifters all over the East Coast. You live in New York City. You could go to Maine. You could go to Vermont. Hell, you could just drive a few hours north and explore upstate New York. But you haven’t.”

  “It’s no business of yours how often I shift,” said Ethan.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, boy,” said Jasper. “You’ve raised your chance of mate madness. The more you deny your destiny, the more dangerous it becomes. Without a mate, and with an angry shift, you’ll succumb to it. That’s a guarantee. You’ll become a feral beast, unable to become human again. Is that what you want?”

  “You must follow tradition,” said Ryan. “And in doing so…you will learn to follow your heart. I did. You might even learn the true meaning of Christmas – that giving is better than receiving.”

  “I’m supposed to listen to a stripper talk about Christmas? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t just leave right now,” said Ethan.

  “I’ll toss you out of the Clan if you do,” said Jasper

  “So what?” asked Ryan. “I don’t care.”

  “Oh, but I know you do,” said Jasper. “I might not be a pretty boy city boy like you, but, I know how y’all tick. You care about image and part of image is reputation. How will it look if you have been tossed out of your Clan? Who would trust a shifter whose own kin don’t trust him?”

  “You would never get the vote needed to kick me out,” said Ethan.

  “I already did,” said Jasper. “That’s what we just wrapped up before you came in and the vote was unanimous. You have to agree to our terms, or you will be publicly banished from Clan Marron. You’re a ticking time bomb. You don’t shift. You don’t have a fated mate. It’s just a matter of time until mate madness takes over.”

  “And what exactly do you want me to do?” asked Ethan. “Write you a check?”

  “This won’t cost you a dollar,” said Ryan. “Besides, Ethan. What if you fall into mate madness? All the money in the world can’t stop mate madness. Plus, you have a certain lifestyle you’re used to. A wild bear can’t exactly rent a private jet to go to the Caribbean for a fun weekend on a white sand beach, or eat the finest steaks and drink the best wines. A bear wouldn’t fit in first class or be able to fit into a tailored designer suit to go to a five-star restaurant. A bear can’t drink scotch out of fine crystal. It’d slip out of your paws! You’d need to get the scotch poured into a bowl or something, and then you’d have to lap it up, and that’s definitely not a situation that’s covered in standard table etiquette, and –”

  “Fine,” said Ethan. “Whatever. I agree. I’ll do whatever it is you want me to do to stay in the Clan and to get Ryan to shut the fuck up.”

  “Great,” said a mysterious voice. “That means you’re coming with me.”

  A well-dressed man seemed to walk out of thin air and into the Council room. Ethan told himself he must’ve been mistaken, that the man must’ve been there the whole time and Ethan just hadn’t noticed him. The man had a roguish look about him, with dark black hair and a beard that looked like it belonged on a seventeenth-century Spanish privateer, not on a man in a modern tailored suit. The man’s emerald eyes seem to glow with eldritch energy. Around his neck was a chain. It wasn’t thin and made of gold. It was thick and looked like the sort of chain one would have found in the Bastille, old and dingy but strong.

  “What did you just say?” asked Ethan.

  “You’re coming with me,” repeated the mysterious man. “Up North. To Camp Kringle.”

  “First of all, who are you?” asked Ethan. “Secondly, what fresh Hell is Camp Kringle?”

  “I’ve been known by many names. You’ll call me Krampus or ‘sir,’” said Krampus. “Camp Kringle isn’t one of the seven circles of Hell. Trust me. I’d know if it was. It’s where you’ll find your redemption.”

  “But what is it?” asked Ethan. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Montana, to Santana Claus’s Christmas tree farm, where you’ll learn how to handle life as a reindeer shifter and where you’ll find your fated mate, once you’re ready,” said Krampus.

  “Santana Claus? As in Santa Claus?” asked Ethan before he laughed out loud. “You must think I’m an idiot if you think there’s any way I’d believe in Santa or believe that some stranger is going to whisk me away to Santa’s special camp for bad boys.”

  Ethan got up from the chair, but before he even got on his feet, he felt something binding him. Ethan looked down. Thick gray metal chains were strapping him to the chair, tightening as he resisted.

  “‘Santa’s special camp for bad boys,’” repeated Krampus, nodding his head. “It’s got a ring to it. But I don’t think The Jolly Fellow would approve of you calling him by such a familiar nickname…or, Saint Nick-name, as the case may be.”

  “Santa isn’t real,” said Ethan. “Just tell me how much money you want. I’ll write you a check. Let me go.”

  “I don’t need or want your money,” said Krampus, waving his arm and turning the chain wrapped around Ethan into a chain made of entwined bills in various denominations in various currencies.

  “What witchcraft is this?” shouted Ethan.

  “Not witchcraft. Demoncraft,” explained Krampus. “Now that you know demons are real, is believing in Santa really so hard?”

  “Let’s pretend he does exist,” said Ethan. “What does he want with me?”

  “Various shifter clans have arrangements with Santana Claus,” explained Krampus. “Clan Marron handles most of its shifter matters internally, so shifters can maintain their place integrated into human society. Your kind are not the only magical beings on this planet. You’re just the most prolific and visible. It takes balls, not to stay hidden in the shadows of the woods or depths of the oceans. It also means your kind is usually ignorant of the worlds of other magical beings. Consider this your baptism by fire. I’d tell you to take notes if you weren’t so…tied up.”

  “On with it,” ordered Ethan.

  “If only you showed that level of impatience in your pursuit of your fated mate,” said Krampus. “As I was saying, your Clan handl
es most matters internally. Some cases are too severe for the Clan to handle. Those cases are outsourced to Santana Claus. He needs strong shifters to pull his sleigh. I’m the one who trains them at the lumber camp.”

  “So I’ll just work on Christmas Eve,” said Ethan. “I don’t need training.”

  “You haven’t shifted in two years. You’ve never shifted into a reindeer. I don’t know what’s more doughy: your body or your bank account,” said Krampus.

  “I’m not a reindeer,” said Ethan. “You’ve made a mistake.”

  “From the looks of things, you aren’t a bear either,” said Krampus.

  “Then explain why I have a mate mark,” said Ethan.

  “This mark?” asked Krampus.

  Krampus took off his suit jacket and pushed his sleeves up, revealing a sleeve of what looked like tattoos. They were in various types of designs, from ancient hieroglyphics to modern day words in script and obscure symbols, but they all fit together, layered on his arm as if they had been placed there intentionally by a skilled artist.

  Krampus put his hand on Ethan’s chest. Ethan’s shirt burst into smithereens as Ethan felt a burning sensation for a split second. Krampus pulled his palm away from Ethan.

  Ethan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Krampus has Ethan’s mate mark in his hand. The mark swam along Krampus’s skin, up into the sea of symbols, which ebbed away to let the symbol into their ranks, before the tide of taken mate marks flowed back down the arm and hid Ethan’s mark.

  “What did you just do?” Ethan asked angrily. “Did you just take my mark?”

  “Technically, I also gave you a new one,” said Krampus.

  Ethan looked down. His mate mark was gone, replaced by a single word: ‘Naughty,’ emblazoned in emerald green over Ethan’s abs.