Page 1 of Hexes & Heartstrings (Shifters of Bastion Keep #2)

Bent over with his hands on his knees and panting from exhaustion, Bruin struggled to catch his breath.The sounds of approaching growls alerted him, and he lifted his head to see a large animal shape speeding towards him.

He turned around, but no matter in which direction he looked, he saw more, eight in all.

He was beset on all sides. He considered incanting an Earthen Strength charm, or anything to give him a bit more stamina, but there just wasn't enough time.

Swallowing heavily, he braced himself for the impact.

The first wolf bowled him over, knocking him onto his back. It was a massive beast that weighed almost as much as he did, and its claws dug into Bruin's bare chest as it stepped atop him, growling.

"Please, no…"

Ignoring him, it lowered its muzzle over Bruin's head, strings of saliva dripping down. Feeling the heated breath of the beast against his cheek, he prepared himself for the inevitable.

Opening its mouth, the wolf let a rubber ball fall out onto Bruin's face. It was wet and slobbery, and rolled stickily down his neck and onto the grass.

"Bleh," Bruin said, wiping at his cheek. "Really, Markos?"

The rest of the canine shifters approached, each of them in their animal forms; a total of four wolves, three dogs, and one coyote.

A second shifter managed to drop off another ball, nudging it with her nose until it was touching Bruin's hand and then looking at him hopefully, but the other victors in the latest round of fetch were having trouble as they fought over their spoils.

"Yeah, no, you're fine," the golden-furred wolf said dismissively. "Come on, get up! Again!"

Bruin staggered to his feet as Markos got off of him, his tail wagging.

"No more. I'm tired ."

"No you're not!" Markos spun in a circle, his paws dancing. "Come on, just one more round!"

Several other voices joined in, but Bruin held fast, crossing his arms. He withheld a wince as his shoulder flared painfully at the movement.

"That's what you all said two rounds ago! My arms are sore."

Markos whined, an act that was echoed by the nearby shifters. He lifted one of his paws up, patting the air as he begged, and Bruin relented.

" Fine, okay. But just one more ball, not one more whole round."

The fluffy pack of canines immediately barked their approval, then formed up facing away from him. There were grapples and snarling complaints as a few of them argued against their fellows being too far forward over an imaginary line, but finally settled down.

Shaking his head but secretly enjoying their loud, boisterous nature that reminded him very much of his family back in Chicago—more fur, less noise, but just as physically affectionate—Bruin picked up his dropped sling and one of the sodden balls.

He spun the sling widely over his head, ignoring the burning complaint in his shoulder, then released the ball into the horizon.

Instantly the shifters ran out, chasing after it.

Bruin sat down on the ground, letting his right arm hang limp, worn out from an hour of throwing balls, rolling around in the grass, being knocked multiple times onto his ass by overly affectionate canines with no respect for personal space, and delivering full-body scritches.

He'd tried to pace himself, but when he'd suggested that one of them take a turn at throwing the balls, they'd loudly argued against it.

'Impossible,' one had said, and each of the rest nodded their agreement.

Supposedly, the temptation to chase after their own thrown ball was too much. They were obviously ribbing him, but Bruin couldn't say that he really minded, not when they were always so happy, with their barks and their licks and their dogpiles.

He watched as eight of the fierce and highly-trained guardians of Bastion Keep chased each other down the field, taking the opportunity to lay back down on the grass.

It was the first Saturday of September, and the sun shone down warmly despite the several thousand foot elevation of being in the Rocky Mountains. Bruin was shirtless, and his spring-green, orcish skin was finally starting to darken after months of spending time outdoors.

It wasn't like he hadn't been outside back when he'd lived in Chicago, either living in his apartment with his extended family, or when he'd had a tiny dorm room to himself during his years of witch apprenticeship.

Certainly no avoiding it as a self-professed Green witch who drew strength from earth and plants!

But his current three-year service at Bastion Keep allowed him ample time to devote to his gardening interests.

Hyperactive barking alerted him, and he lifted his head. It looked like nimble Auguste had managed to grab the ball. A wolf shifter with fur so silver it was almost blue, he was always handy for a laugh or a candid opinion about life as a guardian.

Auguste made it about three-quarters of the way back before he was pounced upon by his fellow guardians, playfully fighting each other over who would have the honor of Returning the Ball.

In retaliation, Auguste shifted into his large werewolf form, tossing them aside.

He made it two more steps before he was tackled by five other werebeasts, claiming foul for his changing forms.

Markos and the coyote, giving up the game, simply loped over to Bruin's position, plopping themselves on and beside him. Intuiting what they wanted with no small amount of bias, Bruin started petting them.

Despite the ache in his shoulder, it was shaping up to be a good morning.

Bruin was about to ask Markos his opinion on which brushes were best for werewolf fur—something Bruin wanted to purchase for use on one of his two boyfriends—but at that moment the bell towers of Bastion Keep began tolling, deep resonations that carried throughout the region.

All play ceased, and eight snouts turned towards the castle just as the tolling stopped. Bruin felt a cold shiver, and he tensed.

Damn it.

Markos got off of Bruin, shifting into his human form as he did so.

He was a scarred man in his late twenties with eastern European features, fit like all of the guardians, and reminded Bruin fondly of a frat boy he'd once dated.

If Markos had been interested in men, and if Bruin weren't dating his younger brother, he would absolutely have made his shot.

"Three, four, five…" the pack leader counted.

About eight seconds after the first triple-ring of the bells, they tolled again, and Markos nodded.

"Eight hours until the incursion!" Markos called out to the others, shifting into his werewolf form as he turned around.

He was seven feet of lean, golden-furred muscle, and still sported a cocky grin.

"We've got plenty of spare time, but let's not dally.

Pick up everything and head to the Great Hall. "

Bruin had just stood to his feet when Markos picked him up into his arms like he weighed nothing, a display of shifter strength that still caught Bruin off guard—he might be small for an orc thanks to his human mother, but he was still a good six feet tall with a full frame.

Bruin snorted. "I guess I count as part of everything, huh?"

"Yes, but it's mainly because you're slow," the werewolf teased as he made long strides towards the castle. "It's not your fault you're not a shifter, though. Besides, no reason to make you walk the half-mile back."

"No fair!" Auguste complained, carrying two balls and a water jug as he caught up to them. "I wanted to carry the witch."

"The last time you carried the witch, you 'accidentally' held him upside down so that his face was in your crotch."

"He liked it, I could tell by his scent."

"I did!" Bruin agreed. "I had a fantastic view, and who doesn't like the smell of a hardworking man?

But then I had to explain to Sergiy why I had your musk on my face, and as much as I enjoyed the possessive fucking afterwards as he overrode your scent with his own, I'll have to pass.

So I'm sorry, but I'm hands off. Sexually, I mean, the platonic stuff is still cool. "

"Aye, alright, witch. And I'll be more careful in the future, we wouldn't want our lord to have an aneurysm."

Carried in Markos's furry arms, Bruin did his best to keep himself still so as not to disturb the werewolf's stride, but did turn his head so that he could see the castle that had been his home for the last four months, and with years still to go.

Bastion Keep lay easy in a field of chartreuse green, its stone walls made of mottled grays and browns, like a timber wolf's coat.

Red and gold banners hung from its battlements, displaying the dragon and shield insignia of the Usenko family that ruled the castle and its lands.

A good family, and a home populated by good people.

…but to be fair, there was a small chance that Bruin might lack objectivity, considering that he was dating two of its residents.

Markos charged in through an open gate set within the housing of the western wing, entering an inner courtyard used for training.

Cheerful howls and yowls from other shifters greeted them as they jogged through the training grounds and into the castle proper.

Once there, Bruin was finally set back on his feet, and he followed the tide headed towards the Great Hall.

Gathered within the combined community and feasting chamber were about two dozen guardians in their red and gold kilts, with more arriving every moment.

Bruin looked around, but didn't see either of his fellow coven members, or the castle's High Priest that he reported to for orders, so he found himself a seat at one of the room's many long tables and poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher.

It wasn't a long wait, and soon he saw Lord Sergiy Usenko standing up on a bench, addressing the crowd as their warlord.