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  PACK BOUND

  PACK BOUND SERIES BOOK 1

  LEISL LEIGHTON

  PRAISE FOR PACK BOUND

  Wow! I have found a new author to read! Leisl Leighton has created a world full of intrigue and captivating characters that draw you into the story and hold readers hostage until the very end. I was certainly spellbound throughout.

  EVA MILLIEN - STORMY VIXEN’S BOOK REVIEWS

  Leisl Leighton is an awesome story teller. This whole series so far has me wanting to keep finding out more about other characters and read her other books.

  JESSICA - GOODREADS REVIEWER

  I was hooked!

  CYN - GOODREADS REVIEWER

  Leisl has out done herself again … Strong characters and a great story line that will keep you entertained … I can't wait to read more of her work either too. I have come to love this series.

  KIM - GOODREADS REVIEWER

  I found the premise very cool…I recommend to all shifter and witch fans because this is an intriguing story with tons going on and a new spin that you will love! I can’t wait for the next book!

  CASSANDRA LOSKOT - CASSANDRA LOST IN BOOKS BLOG/BOOK REVIEWS

  LOVE A FREE BOOK?

  One Fate, one mate, a bond too strong to deny …

  * * *

  Paul Collins, duty-bound Pack Warlock and seer, must marry a strong witch for the good of Pack McVale. But his hidden feelings for his best-friend’s sister, maternal wolf Ivy McVale, make this a more difficult pill to swallow every day. Especially when they begin to mate.

  * * *

  Then Paul has a vision: If they mate, Ivy will die. Desperate, Paul uses his powers to change destiny and make Ivy think she’s always hated him. He can deal with any punishment the Fates make him pay for tampering with destiny, as long as Ivy lives.

  * * *

  After recovering from a bewildering month-long illness, Ivy notices her nemesis, Paul, is tormented by something. And strangely, she is the only one who can feel it. Unable to endure such unhappiness—even if he does call her Poison Ivy—she is determined to help him, no matter the cost. Because Pack McVale cannot survive without him, and curiously, neither can she ...

  * * *

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  * * *

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  CONTENTS

  About Pack Bound

  The Curse of Morghanna Cantrae

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Moon Bound

  Leisl Leighton

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Also By Leisl Leighton

  About Leisl

  Acknowledgments

  ABOUT PACK BOUND

  ONE PACK, ONE COVEN, A DESTINY INTERTWINED...

  Five hundred years ago, facing extinction, a group of powerful witches united to create a pact with the Were to save Witch-kind. The pact expelled an ancient evil, known only as the Darkness, that blocked the Were from their wolves. With the Darkness destroyed, the Packs and Covens grew strong as they thrived beside each other in their brand-new world.

  * * *

  But the Darkness was not destroyed.

  * * *

  Skye Collins has been brought up to fear her magic and shy away from Witch and Were alike. But when Jason McVale, the Alpha of Pack McVale, comes in search of her, she is intrigued and tempted. Yet, the intensity of passion she shares with Jason threatens her control – and if she loses control, she just might turn into the weapon the Darkness intended her to become all along.

  * * *

  Can she trust this Were when he says his Pack will die without her? More importantly, can she trust her magic before the Darkness has its way?

  To Mark—my one and only.

  Your belief in me has led me here.

  Thank you.

  THE CURSE OF MORGHANNA CANTRAE

  I curse you, my pack, to a life without magic. May the right to change be taken from you, your animals gaoled and tortured inside your flesh as I have been gaoled and tortured inside mine. I curse you to the eternal damnation of your kind. And I curse all others who let this insanity befall one in their care. Take warning, from these, my last words, all you who would come after: Look to the wellbeing of your Pack Witch or suffer the fate of the MacCraes.

  * * *

  I tie my curse unto my death,

  I curse you all with dying breath

  Three times three times three times three

  My will be done, so mote it be.

  * * *

  Curse as transcribed by Father Luke as Morghanna was burned at the stake for witchcraft, 1502, Edinburgh, Scotland.

  1

  Skye stopped at the crest of the ski run and took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the Victorian Alps laid out before her. A breeze, full of the scent of eucalypts and the cool freshness of snow, blew a lock of red hair into her eyes. She swept it back under her ski hat and took a deep breath.

  ‘What a beautiful day.’ She’d skied in Austria and Canada, but even though the ski season was so much shorter in Australia and the snow not nearly as good, there was nothing like the stark beauty of the blue-tinged mountains of the Great Dividing Range. The other ski resorts were breathtaking too, but these mountains were home. They sang to her soul in a way the others couldn’t.

  Taking another deep breath, she pushed off over the crest and, with a wild ‘Yahoo!’, flew down the slope, her knees moving like rubber pistons as she attacked the moguls.

  She ignored the swish and slide of other skiers around her, enjoying this moment of freedom on her last day, before she had to go back and face the real world. She wished she had an extra few days to gird her loins—as her grandpa used to say—against the responsibilities awaiting her at home, but it wasn’t to be.

  Instead, she was determined just to be happy with the now. It was a rare clear day at Mt Buller, and she was going to enjoy it to her fill.

  She was just getting into a rhythm on the moguls when a strange chill crept down her spine—the kind of chill you got when someone was watching you surreptitiously. She’d been having that feeling off and on all day. She slowed, turning to see if she could catch them at it.

  ‘Whoa!’ she heard. Then something hard and heavy smashed into her. The sky tipped and an oof of breath exploded out of her as she hit the snow. A large body landed on top of her and then they were sliding, smashing over and through the moguls, until they finally slowed and came to a stop.

  Head spinning, she lay with her arms flung out wide, crushed under the hot weight of a man. She moaned.

  ‘Are you okay?’ the man’s husky voice murmured in Skye’s ear.

  ‘Only if I don’t breathe,’ she managed, surprised she wasn’t winded. Snow inched into the collar of her parka. She shivered.

  He shifted, pushing up onto his elbows to look down at her.

  Despite the pain sparking through her body—damn, she was going to have some impr
essive bruises for show-and-tell on Monday—she became uncomfortably aware of the way their hips pressed together, legs tangled. She hadn’t been this close to a man in way too long. This wasn’t the way she’d imagined it happening again, though.

  She tried to move. The action made his board—amazingly still attached to his feet—cut into her leg. She winced. ‘Well, this is a very charming way to meet and all, but can you get off, please? You’re crushing my legs.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He scrambled back.

  ‘Oh, fudgy-duck!’ She gasped as his board scraped over the bruise.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ He ran his hand over her leg, checking for injury.

  Shivers chased across her skin that had nothing to do with the snow melting inside her jacket. Skye pulled away. ‘No. I’m fine. Just let me stretch it out.’

  He shifted back. But instead of getting up and skiing off like most other people would, he stayed, kneeling beside her as she stretched out her leg.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I usually ski, but my brother talked me into trying out a snowboard this year.’

  Her temper spiked at his words. Rubbing her aching leg, she snapped, ‘Are you kidding me? What the hell are you doing on Federation? It’s a black run—or didn’t you notice all the signs up the top, you irresponsible arse?’

  His eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. ‘Wow. That thing about redheads and tempers is true.’

  She bristled. ‘You could have killed yourself, or someone else. Namely me!’

  He brushed snow from his hair. ‘For your information, I was doing okay until I hit that goddamned icy patch. I don’t know why I agreed to try a board,’ he grumbled.

  He sounded so much like her twin, River, when he was pouting, that her flare of anger disappeared and she had to hide her grin. ‘So why did you go over to the dark side?’

  ‘My trickster of a brother said it would be a rush, but I think he just wanted to see me fall on my arse.’

  Her lips twitched. ‘That would be okay, except for the fact that you fell on mine.’

  ‘It looked softer than mine.’

  She choked on a laugh. ‘Are you saying I have a fat arse?’

  Rather than trying to back-pedal, his mouth curled into a lopsided smile—such a lovely mouth. ‘No. In fact, I was thinking how nice it looked before I smacked into you.’

  Skye dragged her eyes from his mouth. ‘Is that why you took me for a toboggan ride, with me as the toboggan? To meet me and my nice arse?’

  ‘That, and the fact you stopped so suddenly.’

  She snorted. ‘I thought you said there was an icy patch.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He laughed. ‘I did. Didn’t I?’ He pushed his sunglasses off his face to look down at her.

  She gaped.

  He had the most startling eyes. They were deeply blue on the edge, almost black, but lightened to an icy blue at their centre. Lightning-bolt striations crazed through the iris, making it seem as if his eyes glowed. They reminded her of a picture of a wolf River had put on his bedroom wall when they were young. She’d asked him to take it down. He’d thought it was because she was frightened of big dogs, but it hadn’t just been that. The wolf’s eyes had haunted her in a way that confused her ten-year-old soul.

  This man’s eyes were even more dangerous to her equilibrium. They pulled her in. Her chest ached like she’d been winded.

  He broke eye contact and pushed to his feet, allowing her to catch her breath. ‘Here, let me help you up.’ He put out his hand.

  Don’t touch him!

  Skye hesitated as her inner voice barked at her; it was part of a spell her grandpa had woven to stop her from using her magic and to warn of any other magic users around. It usually sounded like her grandpa, calm and kind and supportive, but now her grandpa’s voice held a tone like that of her grandmother, Morrigan Cantrae, at her commanding best.

  Her first instinct was to do the opposite of anything Morrigan commanded. But she was no longer a child and instead of fighting it, she hesitated as she thought it through.

  Her inner voice, changed or not, was only supposed to react so forcefully if she tried to use her magic—something that could never be allowed—or if an equally powerful witch or warlock was around or she was in danger.

  Well, she hadn’t used her magic and there was nothing about this man that suggested

  he was a warlock; no tingling under her skin that warned her a true magic user stood before her. No sense of impending disaster.

  And the chance of him being an axe murderer was pretty well zip.

  So, if he wasn’t a warlock or an axe murderer, there was no reason not to accept his offer of help.

  She put her hand in his.

  His fingers were strong as they wrapped around hers, and so warm the heat of him soaked into her, even through her gloves.

  ‘Thanks,’ she choked out as that warmth slid through her, doing something entirely untoward to her nerves. Overwhelmed, she pulled her hand from his grip.

  He stepped back.

  Perversely, now that he’d moved away, she wanted to get closer, beg him to touch her again. What the hell?

  ‘Are you sure I can’t do anything for you?’

  Looking up into his face and those remarkable eyes, his voice a melting tenor in her ears, she forgot all about the pain in her leg and ankle. ‘I’m pretty certain there are many and various things you could do for me.’ Oh God! Had she said that out loud? She slapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. The look on his face told her she had. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered through her fingers. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’

  He moved closer. ‘I don’t mind that you did.’

  She swallowed hard, forced herself to answer. ‘But I do. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

  His brow furrowed again. ‘Maybe you knocked your head.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She tried to look away but couldn’t. It was those eyes. And his voice. That was why she was behaving like such a weirdo. There was one room in the house where eyes and a voice like that really came into their own—and it wasn’t the kitchen.

  He was so gorgeous, with sinfully long dark lashes, the chiselled features of a male model and a dimple in his left cheek. The only thing that marred his perfect good looks was the scar that ran through his top lip—but that just made him look rugged and tough rather than pretty.

  She sighed, wanting to touch his dimple, run her fingers across the stubborn jut of his jaw and linger on that scar. She wanted to flirt and have some fun. This was her holiday, after all. But she was vastly out of practice with flirting. She hadn’t been on a date for years. What was the point when she could never get serious with anyone? Instead, she’d concentrated on building her business and spending time with River. Not that she minded: it was her fault her twin was housebound. She owed it to him to always be there.

  The man stepped closer bringing her attention snapping back to him. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  The more he spoke, the more she thought of a good bottle of red, low seductive music and a plush fur rug before a fire. It was difficult not to reach for him, push her fingers through his silky brown hair and bring her lips to his.

  But the way he looked at her indicated he didn’t have the same inclination, regardless of his comments about her nice arse. He looked more confused than interested.

  Disappointed when she knew she shouldn’t be, she said, ‘I’m fine, really.’ She put weight on her sore foot and took a few hobbling steps. ‘Almost as good as new.’

  He looked unconvinced. ‘Perhaps you should call it a day. You’re limping.’

  She shook her head. ‘Are you kidding? It’s not often you get days like this at Buller.’

  She gestured at the blue sky, the snow-laden trees lining the run, the mountains of the Victorian Alps marching into the distance, covered in the blue haze of thousands of eucalypts. ‘You would have to chop my leg off with your snowboard to stop me from skiing on such a beautiful day.’ She cocked her head to the side, c
onsidering. ‘Nah. Maybe not even then.’

  He laughed, the sound washing over her like warm water lapping at her skin. ‘Let me see you down to the bottom at least, make sure you get to the lift.’

  Skye’s gaze raked over his face, her vision blurring. The way he looked at her reminded her of something … someone.

  ‘Hello!’ He waved his hand in front of her face. ‘Don’t tell me I gave you a concussion.’

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. ‘No. I’m fine. Just a bit of snow blindness.’ Pathetic excuse, but with him standing so close, she couldn’t seem to do better. Opening her eyes, she squinted. ‘It’s a bit bright with the sun. I should have worn my goggles.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  His voice was hypnotic. She couldn’t stop herself leaning forward, breathing in his scent. The need to give in to the temptation to touch, to kiss, to lick, was overwhelming. It was like she’d been bewitched.

  She snapped upright. Panic clawed at her throat. Could she be? Bewitched?