The Wolf Marshal's Pack (U.S. Marshal Shifters 3)

Chapter One

1

“This is not exactly picnic weather, Aria.”

Aria Clarke had been named after a beautiful kind of music. On this particular July morning, she didn’t think she’d ever looked less worthy of the name. She reeked of industrial-strength bug spray and was sweating through her paint-stained T-shirt.

Maybe if Doreen Clarke had been able to foresee that her daughter would grow up into a dorky, frazzled nature photographer, she would have reconsidered the name and called Aria something sturdy and practical instead. But Aria doubted it. Her mom persisted in seeing the beauty and grace in everyone.

But apparently she drew the line at seeing the beauty and grace in mud. Aria couldn’t blame her for that.

She shifted her camera bag to her other shoulder. “I know, Mom. But I didn’t want to waste the light, and you know Mattie. She’s weather-proof.”

“Yes, she takes after you and your father.”

Her parents seemed about as mismatched as two people could be. Her mom was all about art museums and symphony orchestras, and her dad was all about roughing it out in nature. Somehow, though, they’d fallen for each other, truly and deeply.

Aria thought that in general, she took more after her dad. And sometimes she wondered if anyone else would ever look at her—a stressed single mom with two very clingy parents of her own—and see the potential for that kind of grand, lasting romance that would go on in sickness and in health.

Not that I make it any easier for guys, of course, Aria thought wryly. With all the dirt stains and bright orange flannel and the giant camera around my neck, perfectly designed to get in the way of my boobs. I can’t exactly be the easiest person to fall in love with.

Well, she couldn’t exactly have a makeover right here in the middle of the nature preserve. And right now, all she wanted was a quiet morning to spend time with her family—before sneaking off to take some pictures with this gorgeous and eerie pre-thunderstorm light.

Her mom was right. It wasn’t exactly picnic weather. But getting hit with a rain shower wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect to you as the only non-weather-proof member of our family,” Aria said now, shaking off her daydreams with a smile. “I brought plenty of ponchos, and I’ll have us out of here in a hot minute if a storm starts, I promise. If I’m off taking pictures, you’ve got my permission to grab up Mattie and Dad and high-tail it to the car to wait for me.”

“The light is lovely,” Doreen admitted.

If Aria had gotten her love of the woods from her park ranger dad, she’d gotten her aesthetic appreciation of color and shade from her museum curator mom. She should have known Doreen would see how haunting yellow-green color of that summer thunderstorm light was.

“See? I have to drag you along places, Mom.”

“To look after my grandchild while you have your adventures.”

“To geek out over colors with me,” Aria said. “And because you make the best picnics. I guarantee you no other family out here has homemade sweet tea lemonade and lobster curry sandwiches. And your world-famous deviled eggs with smoked paprika.”

She knew when she’d won. Doreen smiled, pleased. “Well, we can have an early lunch as soon as your father gets back from getting Mattie all filthy with mud.”

Her dad had taken Mattie off to hunt up wildflowers to make a princess crown. He was a complete pushover for his granddaughter and would let her talk him into anything. And as a veteran park ranger, he knew all about how to comb through the woods for the prettiest blooms. Aria could remember him doing the same thing with her, back when he’d first been teaching her the basics of compass-reading and bird-watching.

When it came to her family, she’d always been lucky.

She and Doreen managed to find a flat and mostly dry cliffside rock where they could spread out the picnic blanket. They had just finished laying out lunch when Aria’s daughter bounced up to her.

“Mom, look at my hair!” Mattie chirped, falling into Aria’s lap.

Aria ran her hand over her daughter’s beautiful black curls. “You’re obviously the prettiest, smartest, toughest princess of any kingdom.”

“Why do they call them kingdoms and not queendoms?” Mattie said.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” Doreen said approvingly. “You keep on asking questions like that, and if someone tells you that’s just the way it is, don’t accept that as an answer.”

“But what does that mean?”