Dreaming of a White Wolf Christmas Read online

  Also by Terry Spear

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  Heart of the Wolf

  To Tempt the Wolf

  Legend of the White Wolf

  Seduced by the Wolf

  Silver Town Wolf

  Destiny of the Wolf

  Wolf Fever

  Dreaming of the Wolf

  Silence of the Wolf

  A Silver Wolf Christmas

  Alpha Wolf Need Not Apply

  Between a Wolf and a Hard Place

  Highland Wolf

  Heart of the Highland Wolf

  A Howl for a Highlander

  A Highland Werewolf Wedding

  Hero of a Highland Wolf

  A Highland Wolf Christmas

  SEAL Wolf

  A SEAL in Wolf’s Clothing

  A SEAL Wolf Christmas

  SEAL Wolf Hunting

  SEAL Wolf In Too Deep

  SEAL Wolf Undercover

  Heart of the Jaguar

  Savage Hunger

  Jaguar Fever

  Jaguar Hunt

  Jaguar Pride

  A Very Jaguar Christmas

  Billionaire Wolf

  Billionaire in Wolf’s Clothing

  Thank you for purchasing this eBook.

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  Copyright © 2017 by Terry Spear

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Aleta Rafton

  Cover images © Lauzia/iStock, Cybernesco/iStock, Roman Mikhailiuk/Shutterstock, Stefano Cavoretto/Shutterstock

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  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—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  A Sneak Peek at Flight of the White Wolf

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To Fran Breece, who always asks me when I’m going to write another White Wolf book. Enjoy! And thanks for being a wonderful friend and fan!

  Prologue

  Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, Minnesota

  Two years ago

  Clara Hart felt like she was being followed. She and her four friends had trekked through the wilderness, stopping for lunch and setting up the two tents for the afternoon, then exploring a bit more before making dinner and sharing stories around the campfire. She hadn’t been camping in years. Even then, she’d only gone as a Girl Scout. She didn’t think her adoptive parents had ever camped out. They preferred ritzy resorts—fine dining, the best of accommodations.

  Except for the eerie sensation that they were being watched, Clara was having a ball.

  “Hey, see anything?” Eleanor asked, teasing her as Clara peered around at the woods again.

  “Nope.”

  Fisher laughed. “You’ve been saying something’s following us for miles. When was the last time you’d been camping again?”

  Clara threw her camp pillow at him. He grabbed it and threw it back to her. “You know,” she said, “it could be a bear or a cougar. Be sure to take something to eat in your tent tonight so the rest of us won’t have any worries.”

  Smiling, the redheaded guy shook his head. “You’re paranoid. As noisy as we’ve been, nothing would come near us.”

  Maybe she’d watched too many scary movies. Fisher was probably right. But Clara couldn’t quit checking out the pines surrounding them, just in case he wasn’t.

  “She’s just getting psyched to write her next romantic suspense novel set on a camping trip with friends,” Fisher said. “And everyone dies, except a man and a woman who hate each other’s guts and fall in love over the ordeal.”

  He was the total geek of the bunch, a computer wizard, but he’d taken up canoeing and hiking when his girlfriend said she was dumping him if he didn’t immerse himself in the real world every once in a while. The twist was that she had to work and he had to come without her on this trip.

  “Why don’t you write real stuff?” Charles asked.

  Eleanor slapped his shoulder. “I like her books. You just keep writing them. Ignore Charles. He wouldn’t know a good book anyway, if he ever read any.”

  Later that summer night, the full moon was bright and the stars were sprinkled across the darkening sky as Clara and her friends were ready to settle down in their tents. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t sleep. She lived in the suburbs of Houston and was used to hearing doves cooing and blue jays fighting over suet in the feeders in her backyard during the day. At night, everything was quiet out where she lived.

  Here in the wilderness, she listened as a wolf howled off in the distance, its song eerie and beautiful. An owl hooted nearby, and a breeze whipped the pine and fir branches around, making her feel as though Bigfoot was walking through the forest to join them.

  Eleanor and Melanie appeared to be sound asleep in their tent. Clara wished she could be too. They planned a couple more canoe trips and several more hiking excursions over the next few days, so she needed to be well rested. Her exercise was usually limited to a gym, so though she was in great shape, hiking on uneven terrain made her aware that not all her muscle groups had been getting a good workout. Until now.

  Unable to sleep, Clara quietly slipped on her boots, then rummaged through her bag until she found her camera and pulled it out. Camera in hand, she grabbed a flashlight and a small tripod, then headed outside. She set
everything down on the ground and stretched, smelling the crisp, pine-filled air. She loved it out here.

  She set up her tripod, set her camera on it, and angled it at the sky. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well take some pictures of the stars with the pines reaching up to touch them.

  Then she heard the sound of a small dog whimpering. Thinking a puppy had found its way to their campsite, she grabbed her flashlight and turned it toward the woods. Maybe it had smelled the hot dogs they’d cooked over the campfire earlier. They had seen other canoeists and hikers with dogs, so maybe someone was camping nearby.

  Clara didn’t see anything at first, just the glow of the moon and the stars scattered across the darkness in a beautiful, sparkling array. Then she heard movement in the brush, and she shined the flashlight on the bushes. A fluffy, white puppy with huge feet stared back at her. She loved animals and knew how to interact with them so she didn’t scare them off. She watched him while he observed her.

  “What are you doing out here?” she whispered to him. They couldn’t leave a puppy in the wilderness to fend for itself. He looked about five or six months old, so not old enough to take care of himself.

  He finally approached the campfire and smelled the ashes where the juices from the hot dogs had dripped into the fire.

  “You look like you could use a little meat on your bones.” Clara walked over to the tree where they’d secured their food up high to keep it away from bears and other wild animals. She pulled down one of the secure bags and rifled through it for a package of beef jerky, keeping an eye on the young dog the whole time. He seemed so well behaved, sitting like an obedience-trained pup, though he wore no collar. But it made her think he’d gone exploring and the smell of food had brought him here.

  She held out a piece of beef jerky to him, though in retrospect, she realized she should have tossed it to him no matter how well behaved he seemed. She hadn’t thought she’d have any trouble with him. She was wrong. He was so hungry that he grabbed the jerky, biting her fingers. He only cut the skin a bit, making her bleed, but he could have injured her badly. She cried out, and he stared at her for a moment. Then, as if he knew he was a bad dog, he tore off into the woods, the beef jerky firmly secured between his jaws, and was gone.

  Furious with herself for not being more careful, Clara still felt bad about the puppy, knowing he was hungry. She had to put the food away and take care of her injury. Trying not to hurt her bitten hand, though any movement was painful, she tied the food bag high up in the tree again. She considered leaving more beef jerky out for him, but it might attract bears.

  Then she wondered if maybe the puppy was what had been following them all along and that’s why she kept feeling like they were being watched. With flashlight in hand, she tried to locate the puppy, but she couldn’t find any sign of him. She didn’t want to travel too far from camp either. She could just imagine losing her way on top of being bitten!

  Her hand was throbbing like crazy, and she finally gave up the search. After returning to the tent, she found the first aid kit and camp lantern and carried them outside so she didn’t disturb Eleanor and Melanie, who were still curled up in their bags, sleeping soundly. Clara assumed the puppy would return for more beef jerky if he got hungry. They could work on locating his owners if they could coax him to come with them.

  By the light of the lantern and her flashlight propped up against the log she was sitting on, she poured antiseptic on the wounds. The stinging and burning was like a million jellyfish tentacles ripping through her nerve endings, and she clenched her teeth to avoid crying out. The notion that being in the woods like this could increase her chances of the wound becoming infected made her curse her foolhardiness all over again. Then she had an awful thought… What if the puppy was carrying rabies?

  Hoping she hadn’t made the worst mistake of her life, Clara bandaged her fingers and turned off the lantern. She made two trips to carry everything she’d brought out back to the tent. Making sure everything was secure so no one would trip over it if someone got up before she did, she returned to her sleeping bag and zipped it up to her chin. Her injured fingers throbbed like hell. Now she really couldn’t sleep.

  A couple of hours later, she suddenly felt her muscles twitching and her whole body heating—like she was running a fever. Damn it! She was so hot that she wanted to yank off her clothes.

  She fought the urge to strip naked, but she was burning up and feeling so weird that she finally unzipped her sleeping bag and started to strip off her sweats and socks, as if her brain was telling her she needed to cool down before the fever consumed her.

  For an instant, everything seemed to blur, and she realized she could see some light in the tent, when before she couldn’t without her flashlight. Was the sun already rising? Great, and she hadn’t had any sleep. Yet she was no longer hot.

  She meant to reach for her flashlight, but what she saw made her want to scream out in terror. But the sound wouldn’t come at all. She couldn’t grab her flashlight. Her arm had turned into a white dog’s leg. Ohmigod, she was hallucinating!

  She ran out of the tent and stood by the fire ring. Looking down at herself in the full moonlight, all she saw was one big, white dog with a fluffy white tail. What. The. Hell.

  Yet, despite the fact that the experience felt real, she knew she had to be hallucinating. She smelled the sharpness of the fragrances: the pines and firs, the scent of the river nearby, the strong aroma of food—their food. She could smell the ashes in the fire ring, the drippings of the fish they’d cooked for lunch, and the hot dogs and marshmallows too.

  The sounds were startling: the movement of the leaves and swaying pine branches; the hooting of the owl, which seemed clearer, closer; the running of the river over stones, the water dipping and rising again as if she could “see” the movement.

  When she reached the river, wanting to take a drink—which, in her right mind, she would never have done without purifying the water first—she saw the most beautiful white wolf drinking at the edge on the opposite bank.

  Her jaw dropped. Wolf, not dog.

  Which immediately made her think of the white puppy. And the howl she had heard.

  She frowned. How could the puppy have gotten across the river if it had been with this wolf? And what in the world were Arctic wolves doing in Minnesota? They didn’t have them here, did they?

  The wolf rose to its full height, and she didn’t think it was a female. Not as big as he was. Beautiful, white fur all fluffed out like he’d had a shampoo and a blow-dry treatment.

  She realized he was looking at her. Staring like she was staring at him. This could be a really bad thing. If this was real.

  She tore off and heard him howl, the most beautiful howl she’d ever heard. More wolves howled in response from farther away, and she figured a whole pack of them would race after her next.

  The next thing she remembered was climbing into her sleeping bag and she was out like the proverbial light.

  * * *

  When Clara woke in her sleeping bag the next morning, she recalled the most bizarre dream she’d ever experienced. Her fingers felt fine. Had she even been bitten? Had the wolf pup even come into camp last night? Or had she imagined the whole thing? Why hadn’t she taken a picture of the pup? She’d never managed to take a picture of the stars either.

  She glanced at her sweats lying next to the sleeping bag, realizing she really had stripped naked. Her hand was still bandaged, which proved she had been bitten. Yet her fingers didn’t hurt. Not even a tiny bit.

  Everyone had already gotten up and was making breakfast—oatmeal and coffee. She could smell the meal as if she was sitting fireside. She could hear the crackling of the burning firewood and her friends commenting that they’d never seen her sleep so long in the morning, although they were talking softly so they wouldn’t disturb her sleep.

  She pulled off the bandages, in
tending to show her friends what had happened to her last night, to explain why she’d been sleeping like the dead after the wild hallucinations she’d had. But her hand didn’t have a mark on it. That was way too weird.

  She could understand being so hot last night in the sleeping bag that she’d taken off her sweats, but bandaging her hand over an imaginary bite wound? She still recalled how painful it had been when she’d poured the antiseptic over the injuries.

  If nothing more, she had one hell of a tale to tell everyone over breakfast. She tied her hair back in a ponytail like she always did before she hiked, thinking she needed to cut it shorter so it wasn’t always whipping around in her face. Then she quickly dressed. When she left the tent to join her friends at the campfire, she knew they’d give her grief for being the last one up. Mainly since she usually gave them grief because she always started the fire in the morning and always told them they waited until they smelled the coffee before they rolled out of their sleeping bags. She couldn’t believe she’d slept in either.

  “Here’s Sleeping Beauty,” Fisher said. “You always beat us out here, so what happened? I was expecting my cocoa latte, but all I woke to were cold ashes.”

  “Well, I had one crazy night.” Clara got her coffee, sat down on a log next to the fire, and told them what had happened to her: the puppy bite, dreaming she’d shifted, seeing a white wolf across the river.

  Everyone was smiling at her.

  “I tripped over her sweats this morning, so she was naked in her sleeping bag last night,” Eleanor said.

  Clara felt her cheeks flush with heat. She hadn’t meant to tell anyone she had stripped naked.

  Then Fisher very seriously said, “Hell, Clara, they were werewolves, and now you’re one.”

  “So you shifted and it knocked the mahogany coloring out of your hair?” Eleanor asked. “I didn’t even know you were a true redhead until now.”

  Melanie nodded. “I love your natural color.”

  Thinking her friends were teasing her, Clara untied her hair and looked at the silky strands in the early morning light. The vibrant cinnamon color of her natural hair was back. Her jaw hung agape.