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  ASHER

  (WOLVES OF WINTER’S EDGE, BOOK 3)

  By T. S. JOYCE

  Asher

  Copyright © 2017 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2017, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: January 2017

  T. S. Joyce

  www.tsjoyce.com

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Image: Furious Fotog

  Cover Model: Tyler Halligan

  Other Books in this Series

  Gentry (Book 1)

  Roman (Book 2)

  Contents

  Copyright

  Other Books in this Series

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

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  Prologue

  Asher was leaking the black fog again.

  He stumbled over a tree root in his desperation to get farther away from the house before the darkness took him. His body was vibrating. Inky, dark tendrils spread from his hands, reaching for anything living, and then roiling clouds of black brought the energy back into his body. Every plant the fog touched died. He was killing the forest around him. He sniffed and blinked back tears. Even at seven years old, he knew he wasn’t supposed to be like this. He tossed a look over his shoulder to make sure Gentry and Roman weren’t following him. They would get hurt if they were around him when he was like this. When he was The Taker.

  All that followed him was a trail of dead, dry, gray plants. The forest was alive and green except what he’d killed. A bird chirped on a low-hanging branch. It was black with brown eyes. Pretty, shiny feathers, but it was a dumb bird. Not afraid. Didn’t it see The Taker in him? The fog was reaching, stretching, concentrating on the bird.

  “Fly away!” Asher yelled, but it was too late. The bird flapped its wings to escape, but Asher already had him. He was already feeding on him. The bird’s head drooped, and it fell off the branch and turned dead and gray just like the plants. At least the bird was bigger and had filled Asher’s hunger. The fog seeped back into his skin and, horrified, Asher picked up the bird’s body. A tear streaked down his cheek. He’d killed it. He’d never hurt an animal before, but he’d killed this creature that hadn’t done anything wrong.

  He squatted down and began frantically digging in the dirt. He had to bury it. Bury it before the spirit haunted him like the other ghosts standing around watching him. He had to bury it before Roman and Gentry saw it. Before Dad saw it and realized how bad he was. Before Mom saw it and cried again. She cried every time she saw The Taker in him.

  Asher laid the little body into the grave he’d scooped and covered it with rich, black earth as fast as he could. While he was patting it down, from behind him his mom murmured, “It’s okay, Asher.”

  He whimpered and spun, riddled with guilt. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Mom wrapped him up in a hug, like he wasn’t bad or scary.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he cried. But he clutched onto her shirt because he wanted her to keep hugging him anyway.

  “You can’t hurt someone like me,” she whispered.

  “Why not?”

  Mom knelt in front of him and gripped his shoulders. Her black eyes searched his face, and her black hair whipped around her shoulders. There were tears in her eyes. “Because, Asher, my boy, I’m like you.”

  “You are?”

  She gave him a small smile and nodded her head. “I’ve figured out a way to make this easier on you.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to take your powers into myself, but there will be a downside.”

  “What’s a downside?”

  “It means we’ll both have to make a sacrifice to make you like the other boys.”

  Asher didn’t understand, so he wiped his cheeks with his knuckles and shook his head.

  “Asher, I’m going to give you a wolf, like your father has. I have to make you and your brothers stronger to fight what you are. The wolf will give you strength to fight the power you were born with. Does that make sense?”

  No. Not at all. He’d seen Dad’s wolf but couldn’t imagine being one. Asher didn’t want to disappoint Mom though, so he shrugged and said, “I guess. Will it hurt you?”

  Her smile was so sad. “Not much. It’ll hurt how it has to, but I would do anything for you, my boy. Anything. Do you want to be rid of it?

  “Of The Taker?”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  Asher nodded solemnly. “I hurt things, and then I feel stronger.”

  Mom’s face crumpled, and she stared off into the woods for a minute, swallowing over and over. “I’m going to fix The Taker in you, Asher. There’s one last thing, though.”

  “What?” he whispered.

  “When it’s all done, you and your brothers aren’t going to remember me.” She inhaled sharply like the words hurt badly, and now twin tears streaked down her cheeks.

  Asher reached forward and touched one. It absorbed into his finger, and he felt the energy from her sadness. “I hate The Taker, but I don’t want to forget you, Mom. Not ever.”

  Mom pulled Asher in close and hugged him tight. And then she stood and held out her hand for him to take. “Come on, my Asher Boy. We have work to do.”

  Chapter One

  Ashlyn Jenkins narrowed her eyes at the trio of cabins surrounding her. The parking lot was empty except for her own car, and no lights were on in any of the cabins despite the late hour. Snow blew across the concrete in sheets, and outside the warmth of her rental car, the wind howled. Hunter Cove Inn looked like a ghost town.

  Her best friend Blaire had lost her damn mind. That was the only thing that explained her going on a vacation Ashlyn had planned, and then never coming home. Oh, she called occasionally and had even sent her a picture of the three men she now lived with. Giants, the lot of them. Albeit sexy giants, but Ashlyn had sat through this horror movie before and could see it plain as day. Her best friend was playing Goldilocks and the Three Murderers.

  “Eeny meeny miney mo, catch a serial killer by the toe. If he hollers, stab him a lot,” she muttered, gripping the handle of the pocket knife she’d bought at the general store in town. “Eeny meeny miney mo.” She’d never been a very good poet.

  Ashlyn chugged the last of her strawberries-and-cream Frappuccino and tossed the cup to
the floorboard like a badass, then thought better of dripping on the rental, picked it up, set it carefully back in the cup holder, and shoved the door open with the heel of her snow boot. “Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

  She marched right up to the biggest cabin, the one that said 1010 on the house number, and took the porch stairs two at a time. She puffed her chest up and reared her hand back to blast her knuckles on the wooden door.

  “I wouldn’t,” a man said.

  Startled nearly to death, Ashlyn jumped back from the door and clutched her chest.

  The man was one of the beasts from the picture Blaire had sent. The big one. He stood—and stood and stood—so that Ashlyn’s head rolled back to take in his massive size. He wore a black T-shirt as if the cold didn’t bother him and black sweats. He held a black cup of something hot in his hand and wore a black winter hat over what looked like blond hair. His eyes were a vivid, light blue, and his jaw was chiseled and dusted with short, blond facial hair. He was sexy as fuck if she ignored the deep frown on his face.

  Ashlyn gulped. “I’m here to rescue my friend.”

  The man canted his head in a way that reminded her of a curious animal. His eyes, however, didn’t look curious at all. They looked angry. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  Taken aback, Ashlyn looked down at her bright pink jacket and matching pink ski pants. Was he referring to her leopard print snow boots? Those were just as hot as the rest of her fitted outfit.

  “Rude,” she said curtly. “What the fuck are you wearing, Johnny Cash?” The man’s mouth fell open and his frown deepened, but before he could respond, she held up her hand primly. “No matter. Where’s Blaire? We have a flight to catch.”

  The man snorted. “Blaire isn’t getting on any flight, so why don’t you take your blinding outfit and your attitude back to your wildly-inappropriate car for this weather and leave.”

  “It’s a smart car! I get like four hundred miles to the gallon!”

  “It’s a matchbox car, and the tires are nearly bald. Try not to die on your way to the airport,” he growled as he strode past her.

  Fury blasted through her as he walked by, and losing her mind completely, she grabbed the belt of his pants and held on as he dragged her a few feet across the icy porch.

  “No,” he ground out. “No touching.”

  Nausea rolled through her stomach, and suddenly her hands hurt so bad, she lost her grip.

  His eyes looked lighter when he turned around. God, he had a lot of muscles poking out of his shirt. And tattoos. Was she going to barf in front of him? Ashlyn wrapped her arms around her stomach and swayed on her feet. Maybe it was the ten packages of airplane biscotti cookies she’d stolen from the flight attendant’s cart when she wasn’t looking. Perhaps karma was now giving her food poisoning.

  “Sorry,” the man muttered.

  “Sorry for what?” she asked. “I probably shouldn’t have grabbed your…butt.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. Blaire’s not here. She’s in town with the others. Won’t be back until late.”

  He turned and opened his door, then let himself into the dark room. He really wasn’t going to invite her in! Ashlyn dashed into the door opening, and then sighed in relief when she made it all the way in before the sexy giant got it closed. Victory.

  “What are you doing?” the man asked in an exasperated tone.

  “Whoo, it’s dark in here. I can’t see anything.”

  “I can. Now get out.” The door opened again.

  “Polite decline. Do you have hot chocolate? I’m cold.”

  “Do you have no sense of self-preservation at all?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what that means, but I’m super thirsty for something hot and sweet, and if Blaire is going to take forever in town, I want to wait inside here, where it’s warm, instead of my”—she deepened her voice to make fun of him—“wildly inappropriate car.”

  The man let off a long, harsh sigh that tapered into a weird sound that was slightly scary. He slammed the door so hard, she jumped. The hollow sound of his boots against the wood floors told her he was walking away. Seriously? He really wasn’t going to turn on the lights?

  “It’s still dark in here.”

  “I like the dark. If you have a problem with it, fix it.”

  “God, you’re so rude,” she muttered as she felt along the wall for a switch.

  “I’m rude? You barged in here and demanded hot chocolate.”

  “Because I could tell you weren’t going to offer!”

  “Because I didn’t invite you in!”

  “My name is Ashlyn,” she introduced herself angrily.

  No answer, but she could make out the tinkling sound of a ceramic mug.

  Her fingers fumbled around for a minute before they slid onto a light switch. Score. She flipped it on and winced at the bright illumination.

  There was a stone hearth built with rocks of all different shapes and sizes, but it wasn’t against a wall. There were stone steps leading up behind it to a hallway, probably where the bedrooms of the house were. There were scuffed wood floors and log walls and a cute kitchen off the living area. On the back wall were a pair of French doors that showed the snowy landscape of the backyard.

  “Whoa,” she whispered in awe, stepping carefully into the big room.

  “You’re standing in a ghost,” the man said blandly from where he was pouring hot coffee into a mug.

  What a weird combination of words. Ashlyn looked down and around her, but nope. No ghost.

  “Look, can you just move three feet to the left,” the man gritted out.

  “God, you’re weird.”

  “Well, at least I’m not wearing all pink. You’re hurting my eyes.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt your eyes if you turned on a damn light every once in a while and added some color to your own wardrobe. Why are you so grumpy? Are you like one of those mountain hermits who hates people?”

  “Yes,” he deadpanned. And then he made his way to her—his boots echoing against the floorboards too loudly—and shoved the half-full mug of steaming coffee at her.

  “This isn’t hot chocolate.”

  “And you’re a beggar. Don’t be a chooser, too. I don’t have hot chocolate. I have coffee. Black.”

  “Of course, it’s black.” She dragged her gaze down his monochromatic clothes and tried to look severe as she took the mug. “Thanks.”

  He gave her an empty smile. “My pleasure. I’m gonna call Blaire and hurry her up.”

  Ashlyn sipped the coffee and made a bitter face. “Good luck with that. She isn’t answering her phone right now,” she said as he pushed buttons on his phone. She’d called her a dozen times over the last couple days, but nothing.

  He pulled it up to his ear and said, “Hey, you have a visitor, an annoying one… I don’t know, Blaire, she’s loud. And pushy. Ashlyn. Great, see you in a few.”

  Ashlyn made an offended noise. Blaire answered for him? But not for her supposed best friend? Sudden emotion prickled her eyes, but the man was staring at her now, and she didn’t want him to see how slapped she felt. Blinking hard, she made her way to the kitchen and set the mug near the sink. “You can drink the rest of this,” she said thickly. “I promise I don’t have mouth herpes.” As she walked past the man, she murmured, “It was kind of nice to meet you. Thanks for calling her.”

  Feeling utterly rejected, she made her way to the door and opened it.

  “I’m Asher,” the man said from behind her.

  She turned and made an attempt to smile, but it came out a stupid lip tremble instead. Ashlyn swallowed hard and tried to make a joke. “Do you go by Ash for short, too? Because then we could be Ash and Ash.”

  “No.” His tone had come out hard and cold, but at least his eyes had softened a little.

  “Fantastic. It was super fun talking to you Asher. Have a nice time in your precious dark.” She flipped off the light switch just to piss him off and closed the door a little too hard b
ehind her.

  But when she made her way back to the car and got in, he still hadn’t turned the light back on. She frowned at the shadowy house. What a sexy weirdo.

  Maybe Asher really did like the darkness.

  Chapter Two

  What the hell just happened?

  Asher’s heart was banging against his chest like some creature trying to escape the bars of his ribcage. His breath came too rapidly, and his hands tingled with the first phase of the Change. He clenched his fists and looked out the small peephole on his door to catch a glimpse of Ashlyn sauntering to her car, arms wrapped around herself like she was cold.

  Pitiful, beautiful human. It was her color that made him release a long exhale. He could see everyone’s color. Maybe it was their aura, he didn’t know. He didn’t give a shit what it was called. He only knew he could see things beyond this world, and Ashlyn was a pure and vibrant blue, like a clear sky. Like summer after the rains. He’d never seen a color more beautiful than hers.

  Which made no sense because she annoyed the shit out of him. She pestered, demanded, joked, and smiled too much. She would be an exhausting woman to keep occupied. One of those who had probably never sat still a moment in their life. An on-the-goer, where he liked to sit still in the shadows and observe. She was a creature of the light, and he was a creature of the darkest corners. The Taker in him would love to taste a woman whose color looked so pure, but the wolf in him snarled at the idea. Protective instincts? Did he have those? Maybe with Gentry and Roman, Blaire and Mila, but not with a stranger. Not with a human. Humans died too easily. He could swallow up her light and turn her into a gray, dead thing in minutes.

  Movement caught his attention, and he slid a hate-filled glance to the ghost of Dad who was walking from the other side of the room toward him, worry in his eyes. “Stop,” Asher commanded. And he did. Asher smiled. Dad probably hated that Asher could control him in the afterlife. Prick deserved to be controlled. He’d ruined Asher’s life the day he kicked him out of the pack.