“Wait, I’m getting something…” Hitching her sarong up around her knees, Martha Hernandez clambered up onto one of the tables on the terrace overlooking the pool. Heedless of the curious glances she was getting from the other resort guests, she rotated on the spot, methodically waving her cellphone.

She let out a little yip of triumph as the signal strength flickered from one to two bars. “There! Nita, can you hear me? Hello? Nita!”

From the silence on the other side of the line, Martha was somewhat suspicious that her eldest daughter was considering pretending to be going through a tunnel. Unfortunately, the sounds of Manny and Ximena yelling in the background about wanting popsicles rather gave the game away.

“Tell Ximena there are orange ones, she just needs to look further back in the big freezer,” Martha instructed. “And don’t let Manny have one of the grape ones unless he takes his shirt off first. Those stains just do not come out. Oh! That reminds me, make sure you find an excuse to go over to Roddie’s tonight. Sniff through his laundry for any hint that he’s been fighting the rattlesnakes again. If he crosses the territory line one more time, we’re going to have-”

A deep, aggravated sigh crackled over the phone. “Ma, you are meant to be on vacation.”

The muscle-bound bear shifter behind the bar was eyeballing her as if wondering whether she’d escaped from a secure facility. Martha gave him her best mind-your-own-business-young-man glare over the top of her sunglasses.

“What, being on vacation means I can’t check up on my family?” Martha said into the phone. “I just want to make sure everything’s still all right.”

“Everything is fine, Ma. Just as it was three hours ago when you last called. Will you please just go and relax?”

“Abuela! Abuela!” Ximena yelled from the background. “Manny took the last orange pop! I’m older, tell him he has to give it to me!”

“No! No!” Manny shrieked. “Mine!”

“Oh dear.” Martha clicked her tongue as her grandkids’ howls of outrage shifted into literal howls of outrage. “Put me on speaker, Nita, before someone starts bleeding.”

“No, Ma,” her daughter said, with unaccustomed firmness. “You left me as acting alpha. And anyway, they’re my kids. I’ll sort them out. You are going to enjoy your nice relaxing vacation.”

“I will, honey, I promise. But first just let me-“

“No, Ma. And stop calling home. Do you want us all to think you aren’t enjoying your present? The one that the whole family saved up specially to buy for you, for months and months?”

Part of Martha felt a stab of guilt. The larger part felt admiration at the surgically-precise way her daughter had wielded that edged hint of disappointment.

Maybe she can handle the whole pack in my absence after all.

The thought gave her an odd lump in her throat. She was proud of her daughter for stepping up to the role of acting alpha in her absence, of course…but what if Nita handled it too well?

What if they don’t really need me anymore?

Martha swallowed, forcing brightness into her tone. “Oh, I’m having a wonderful time here. Tell everyone that it’s the best birthday present ever.”

“I will, Ma. Now, you go have a good time. And don’t call again.”

“Love you,” Martha said, but the line had already gone dead.

Why has the pack forced us out? Her inner coyote whined forlornly. Do they think we are too old to hunt? Do they think we can no longer provide for the cubs?

“Now, that’s just being silly,” Martha told her animal, trying to convince herself. “Nobody’s been outcast. We’ll be heading home in a week, and everything will be back to normal.”

“Uh, ma’am?” The bartender had approached her table cautiously, as though worried she might bite. “Do you need any help down from there?”

“Nonsense, young man. I’m perfectly capable, thank you.” Martha descended from her perch with as much stately dignity as could be mustered while wearing a swimsuit and sarong. “There, see? I don’t need your help.”

His rugged, handsome face crooked in a wry grin. “I can see that, ma’am. But I do think you could use one of my margaritas, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

“What a nice boy you are.” Martha patted his arm—goodness, it was like petting a rock—and sank down onto a deckchair. She gusted out a sigh. “Better make it two. Big ones.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With a respectful tip of his hat, the bartender went off to make the drinks.

Martha stared down at the sparkling turquoise pool, idly kicking the toes of her flip-flops together. “Relax,” she muttered. “Enjoy myself. Don’t worry about home. Right. Easy.”

It should have been easy. Shifting Sands was a beautiful place. Just off the coast of Costa Rica, the private island was like a jewel cupped in the hand of the sea. And the whole place was just for shifters. Not a single human in the entire resort, or indeed the entire island.

No need to worry about secrecy. No need to worry about protecting her family from hunters, or keeping the rambunctious pack in line. No chores to be done, no mouths to feed, no babies to soothe.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Martha was completely free to do whatever she wanted.

If she could just work out what that was.

She signed again, tucking her cellphone back into her beach bag. She retrieved the resort pamphlet from the side pocket, flipping through it.

Shifting Sands offered a mind-boggling array of entertainments. She could go out whale-watching in the resort boat. She could learn to snorkel. She could get a massage in the spa, hike through the jungle, take a day trip to the mainland to sightsee… there was even a salsa dance tomorrow evening.

So many diversions… and no-one to share them with her.

Dropping the pamphlet, she watched the gentle sway of the palms lining the pool. Without conscious thought, she found herself rubbing the old, worn gold band of her wedding ring.

Miss you, Manuel.

Ten years of widowhood had worn the sharp stab of loss down, of course. But something about this peaceful tropical paradise made her long once again for his bright, ready smile and laughing eyes.

The warm breeze whispered over her bare arms like a lover’s caress. If Manuel had been with her now, she knew exactly what they’d be doing.

Oh, how I miss a man’s touch.

She snorted at the ridiculous thought. She was a respectable widow, and a grandma to boot. That part of her life was long gone.

Movement caught the corner of her eye. Thinking it was the bartender coming back with her drink—or drinks—she sat up, twisting around.

“Holy Mother of God!” She jumped so hard that she nearly fell off her deckchair.

It wasn’t the burly bartender. This man looked like he might have eaten the bartender for breakfast, possibly washed down with a few gallons of protein shake. He wasn’t so much built as constructed.

Her eyes tracked upward of their own accord, past hard thighs bigger than her head and eight-pack abs. He wore nothing but black swimming shorts, leaving the apparently endless expanse of his muscular chest on full display. His skin was so pale he looked like a sculpture carved from marble, marred by the faint lines of old, crisscrossed scars.

Pack leader though she was, the man exuded such an aura of dominance that he had her inner coyote rolling onto its back instantly. Whoever—or whatever—he was, there was no doubting his power.

Martha’s heart thudded against her ribs. Her own alpha coyote had never once, in all her years, submitted to another shifter’s animal…

Wait.

Her coyote wasn’t rolling in submission. For all the man’s hulking physical strength and overwhelming presence, she didn’t feel the slightest bit afraid of him.

No, her coyote was whining and writhing in…invitation.

“Oh,” Martha breathed.

He was so tall, she couldn’t see his face until he tipped his head down. He had the most striking features she’d ever seen—not conventionally handsome, with his heavy brow and wide jaw, but arresting. A strong will had shaped those weathered lines, over long, difficult years. His iron-gray hair was sheared brutally short, like an army recruit’s. There was something military too about his perfectly still, straight-backed stance.

His deep-set eyes met hers. They were as gray as his hair, hard as tempered steel.

“You,” he rasped.

“Oh no.” Martha scrabbled off the side of the deckchair, heedless of dignity. “Nope, nope, nope.”

The man’s impassive expression never changed. Not an eyelid flickered, not a muscle twitched.

“No!” Martha yelped, and fled from her one true mate.