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Happy Holidays!

Happy Holidays, everyone! Stay safe and warm. =) No new chapter today. Go spend some time with your loved ones!

“happy holidays!” by Melissa Brawner (https://www.flickr.com/photos/1020576...) is licensed under CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/...).

Free Fiction Friday! Ritual Chapter 7

Every Friday until the book’s release, I’ll post a chapter. Enjoy! If you would like to be notified of the book’s release, please sign up for my new release newsletter. =)

I recommend starting with Chapter 1.

CHAPTER 7 (Warning! There are spoilers. I recommend reading the books in order, starting with Fever, which is currently free! Also, please keep in mind this is the raw manuscript, meaning it hasn’t been glossed over by an editor yet. Some things may change slightly upon final publication. =)

 

Elijah was waiting for her when she got back to the room. He’d been sitting on the bed, hands pressed on his knees, looking like he had the weight of the world strapped to his shoulders.

She could relate. She was so going to need a good massage when this was all over.

If she wasn’t dead.

A shiver rattled her bones.

“Hey,” Elijah said with concern, rising and going to her. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered in a shaky voice. “I’ll be all right. It’s just… a lot to digest.”

“Tell me about it.” He growled a curse and pulled her to him.

She eagerly went, pressing her face against his warm, strong chest, and wrapping her arms around him. She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat, memorizing this moment so she’d always have it to hold onto when things got dark.

Which was inevitable, considering the way things were already going.

She wanted to curse. Wanted to scream. Mostly, she wanted to pull Mistress Black’s hair out.

Or set her on fire.

Or torture her.

Her eyes flashed open with horror. Holy shit, since when had she become so bloodthirsty?

Her power snaked under her skin, whispering dark thoughts to her. You want to hurt her. She needs to pay for what she’s done to her mate.

Since discovering her magical affinity, she’d been conducting research non-stop, courtesy of a little magical hacking spell that covered up her trail on the World Wide Web. The D.P.I. had a cybercrime department that kept tabs on online magical activity. Searching for “Black Magic” was one of their hot words, and she definitely didn’t need to drag them into this, too. They had enough to deal with as it was.

Elijah held her like that for a long while. Which was fine by her. Let the world stop, if only for a moment. It owed them at least that much in exchange for attempting to save it.

Verika felt her mate tense slightly before he spoke. His voice was so quiet, somewhere below a whisper, as if he was afraid to even speak. “There’s one more thing I neglected to mention, about Mistress Black’s visit.”

Her heart stuttered. Immediately pulling back, she looked up into his eyes. “Tell me.”

He told her. And her jaw nearly hit the floor. “Excuse me, I’m supposed to be descended from her? That monster?”

“She says as much. Or, at least, she’s delusional enough to believe it’s true, even though it might not be.”

What. The. Hell?

Could she be? Sure, she supposed it was possible, anyway. She didn’t exactly know much about her birth mother. Okay, she didn’t know jack shit about her real parents because they had given her up, supposedly “for her own good.”

Dammit, she was sick and tired of people telling her what was and wasn’t good for her.

She was pretty sure being related to psycho-witch wasn’t a good thing.

“What else?” she demanded. “I know you’re holding back information.”

He bit his lip. “She also said she’d remove my brand if I gave her you.”

“A trade,” she said flatly.

“It would appear so.”

Verika’s brain stopped working. When it started up again, all it could muster was one word. “Fuck!” she shouted, pulling away.

Elijah’s eyebrows rose into his hairline like there were balloons attached to them. The F-bomb rarely tumbled out of her mouth. She liked to think she was a sophisticated curser.

But sometimes, the F-bomb was the only word to do a situation justice.

She needed to hit something, now.

Going to the wall, she formed a fist and punched.

“Ow! Mother—”

“Whoa, there! Take it easy!” Elijah grabbed her hand, which throbbed now like she’d dunked it in lava, and kissed it.

She winced, tears springing to her eyes. “That hurt,” she said miserably.

He chuckled, giving her an amused look as he gingerly rolled his thumbs over her sore knuckles, gradually massaging away the pain. “At least you formed the punch correctly and didn’t break your thumb. Though your hand’s going to be sore as fuck, I’m afraid.”

“I never understood the point of punching things until now. I just… grrr, God! I needed to release the anger somehow. Next time, I’m going to aim for a pillow.”

“Wise choice, Muhammad Ali.”

She lightly punched him with her free hand. “You’re hopeless.”

Elijah opened his mouth to say something when he swayed. The color leeched from his skin, and he stumbled toward a chair at the dinette set.

Verika went to him and sank into the opposite chair, resting a hand on his arm. His skin was cold. He was never cold.

“Elijah?” she asked with worry.

“I’m all right,” he rasped. His breaths sounded labored, like it was taking every ounce of strength he had just to breathe. “Just letting it pass.”

“Has this been happening for a while now?”

His silence confirmed just as much.

“When did it start?” It wasn’t an angry, or even accusatory, question. Just a curious one.

“When we first hit the road. I’d been having ‘little flus’ here and there since I left Mistress Black, but they were so mid and few and far between that I didn’t pay them much mind.”

They sat in silence for a while. “I wish you’d told me,” she whispered.

“I didn’t want to wor—”

“Sssh,” she whispered, pressing her finger to his lips and hugging him. “You’re my mate. I’m going to worry about you regardless. It actually helps me worry less if I know what we’re up against.” She leaned back and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to hold her gaze. “I’m not breakable. Don’t hesitate to share your worries with me. I can take it.” Her lips quirked up in a grin. “I’m actually kind of a mystical badass, if you haven’t noticed.”

He snorted. “Yeah. I got that part.”

Dropping a kiss on his forehead, she sighed and sank back down into her chair. “So what are we going to do?”

“What do you mean? Wait, you’re not considering handing yourself over to Mistress Black.”

She twiddled her thumbs and stared at her hands. “If it’s the right thing to do.”

He shot out of his chair. “Bull-fucking-shit it’s the right thing to do! Verika, she’s insane! She’ll kill you, or worse!”

She stood up too, her own voice rising in anger. “I can’t sit around and watch you slowly die!”

“And I can’t give up the only person who makes me want to live to the one who almost destroyed my life!”

Verika’s thought process stumbled. “Elijah…”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he cursed and sat down. His back stooped and he kept his gaze hidden from her as he said, “I can’t lose you. I can’t. It would break me, Verika.”

Speechless, she whetted her lips and paced, nibbling at a fingernail. “We’ll explore other options. I think we should do as your brothers suggested and rest. Our brains work on things subconsciously while we sleep. I know it works for me. When I have a problem I can’t seem to solve, I sleep on it and usually wake with the answer.”

“But what if she comes?”

“That won’t happen,” she said, eyes going cold as her power crackled through her. “If she comes, I’ll rip her apart.”

Elijah stared at her hands, where green energy had gathered at her fingertips. He swallowed hard.

The glow immediately winked out. Shit. Calm down before you freak him out more.

She had to get a rein on her power before it became unruly.

Elijah blinked and looked away. His gaze found the window, staring. “Maybe we should run away, keep my brothers out of this.”

Oh, Elijah.

Walking over to the table, she knelt before her mate and took his hands in hers. “We came here to ask for your brothers’ help. I’m so proud of you. I know that couldn’t have been easy, facing them.” She kissed the backs of his hands. “And I know it’s tempting to return to old habits because they’re comfortable. Diving into the unknown is scary. I should know. I was scared to death when I discovered what I truly was. At one point, I would have given anything to return to being an affinity-less witch because it’s what I knew. But change happens for a reason. It helps us grow and makes us stronger. We need your brothers.” She stood. “Running isn’t the answer anymore, Eli. We can’t run forever. The only way it’s going to end is if we stand and fight.”

She bent, her lips hovering over his lips. “I promise, through thick and thin, I’ll be there fighting right along with you. Forever.”

Then she kissed him.

A promise. A prayer. And filled with all the passion she possessed in her soul.

Free Fiction Friday! Ritual Chapter 6

Every Friday until the book’s release, I’ll post a chapter. Enjoy! If you would like to be notified of the book’s release, please sign up for my new release newsletter. =)

I recommend starting with Chapter 1.

CHAPTER 6 (Warning! There are spoilers. I recommend reading the books in order, starting with Fever, which is currently free! Also, please keep in mind this is the raw manuscript, meaning it hasn’t been glossed over by an editor yet. Some things may change slightly upon final publication. =)

Gage stared at the strange marking on his eldest brother’s back with apprehension. “So this… brand ties you to Mistress Black’s soul?” The conversation had inevitably moved on to how to take out Mistress Black, if Elijah knew where she was, and an all-around game plan for killing the bitch. Despite learning about Elijah’s sad, lonely life, nothing could have prepared Gage for this twist.

“Correct,” Elijah said, nodding grimly. “To my understanding, so long as I bear this mark, if Mistress Black dies I die with her.”

Nik swore. “That fucking bitch did this on purpose. She knew we might prove troublesome once we learned Elijah was alive, so she slapped this Blood Brand on his back as a means of insuring her own safety.”

Gage’s thoughts had run along similar theories. “But how did she know we wouldn’t want to join her? I don’t think this is completely the reason why she did this. There’s another reason.”

Elijah’s lips pressed together. Gage immediately honed in on his brother’s discomfort. “You might as well spill it, because you know we’ll needle you until you do,” Gage said.

“What?” Nik looked between them. “What are we needling him about? If you need someone to rough him up, I’m your man. I’m still pissed at you, Eli.”

Gage’s lips pulled into a small smile. The fact Nik had moved on from calling Elijah “motherfucker” and “asshole” to “Elijah” and now just “Eli” meant he was slowly forgiving him.

Good. No one had been more hurt by Elijah’s disappearance than Nik. Nik had always been closer to Elijah than Gage, thanks to their age difference. Gage thought Nik’s butt-hurt attitude was like a neon sign at how desperate Nik was to reunite with Elijah. But he had a lot of hurt to work through first before that happened.

“Can’t say I don’t deserve it,” Elijah said, straightening. He sighed. “I had… a visitor the other night.”

Nik stopped his relentless pacing to watch.

“Go on,” Gage urged.

“Don’t freak out—it was Mistress Black.”

“Christ!” Nik groaned, running his hands over his face. “It’s just like you to say something like that. Remember the time you broke your leg and were rushed to the E.R. in an ambulance? You called Dad and was like, ‘Don’t freak out, but I’m in the hospital.’”

“What did she want?” Gage pressed.

“She wanted me to come back, saying the longer I was away from her the sicker I would become.”

“You’re feeling sick?”

“Yeah.” Elijah shrugged. “No big deal.”

Nik went to open his mouth, but Gage cut him off. “Go on.”

“She proposed a trade—she’d remove the brand if I gave her Verika.”

“What?” Nik spat. “Why the hell does she want her?”

Every muscle in Elijah’s body seemed to tense. “Because she claims Verika is her descendant.”

Both men stared at him as if he’d suddenly said the world was flat.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Nik said.

“I wish I were,” Elijah replied grimly. He coughed, swallowing hard.

Gage frowned as he watched him. “You feeling all right?”

“Yeah. Just had too much to drink, I think.”

“Buuuulllllsssshhhhiiiitttt,” Nik drawled. “A Johnson having too much to drink? There’s never enough to drink for one of us.”

Elijah clamped his lips together, his cheeks puffing as if he was trying to hold back bile. “Oh, fuck.” He leapt off the couch and rushed toward the garbage can behind Nik’s desk.

Nik ran after him. “No, no, no! That’s a wire—”

The sounds of retching filled the air. Nik and Gage both winched as Elijah hurled his guts into the basket. Thanks to the wire frame, the vomit spattered all over the floor, too. Their noses wrinkled as the smell of barf hit them. They could probably get a buzz off of sniffing it, there was so much alcohol.

Gage silently went to the mini-fridge and retrieved a bottled water and a paper towel. He handed them to Elijah once he’d straightened. Elijah’s skin was noticeably paler and sweat had broken out on his brow. His eyes glimmered faintly with red—

Gage’s eyes narrowed. Is that Blood Magic? No other type of magic bore that color, save for fire, but something told Gage that wasn’t it.

“So,” Nik said slowly, shoving his hands in his pant pockets. “That was pretty epic.”

“Are you certain there’s nothing to Mistress Black’s warning? About the branding making you sick?” Gage asked quietly.

Elijah looked miserable. He wiped his mouth with the paper towel and shook his head. “I didn’t want to believe it. I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know anymore.”

Gage! Cried Danica through their mate-bond. Something’s wrong with Verika.

What is it? What’s happened? Are you all right?

Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. She’s really sick. We don’t know what happened. One minute she was fine, and the next she was puking her guts up.

Where are you?

Sitting room, east wing.

Stay put. We’ll fetch BLANK and come find you.

“What is it?” Nik asked, watching his brother’s face carefully.

Gage glanced at Elijah. “Danica says Verika just got sick.”

***

Holy crapmonkeys, that was a lot of puke. Verika couldn’t remember heaving that much since having the stomach flu back in high school. It had been going around, and a lot of kids were out with it. Verika had thought she was going to get lucky and not come down with it, but nnnnnnnnnooooooooo. She was never so lucky. Never.

The boys burst into the room within a minute of Alara directing Verika to lie down on the couch.

Elijah was instantly at her side, his face drawn with worry. His hands were all over her face, touching the back of her head, gently stroking damp strands of hair back that had gotten stuck to her sweat. “Love, look at me. Are you all right? Does it hurt anywhere?”

Her throat felt raw, but that was honestly about it. “No, I’m fine. Just… well, actually, I don’t know what came over me.”

Nik, who stood nearby with his arms crossed, cleared his throat loudly and cast a pointed look at Elijah, who glared at him.

Verika looked between them. “What is it?”

Elijah sighed. “Don’t kill me.”

Verika smiled wistfully. “Always a great way to lead in to something you don’t want to tell someone else.”

When he’d finished explaining Mistress Black’s warning, she definitely didn’t feel like killing her mate—she felt like killing Mistress Black.

A Blue Warlock named Heath, who looked more like he belonged on some wilderness survival show on the Discovery Channel than in the medical field, had followed the boys in and looked her over as Elijah explained what was going on. “Actually, that’s not so far-fetched. From what I’ve seen and heard, Blood Magic can impact a wolf’s mate via the mate-bond.”

A colorful and creative string of curses ensued from both Nik and Elijah. It would be fun to watch them get into it in a Curse-Off. “So the sicker I get, the worse off Verika will be,” Elijah said, just to spell it out.

“Afraid so,” Heath said with a sympathetic smile.

“Dammit!” he snarled, balling his fists and looking like he was about to punch the wall.

“Easy there, brother.” Gage stepped in front of him, cutting him off. “Alara just had this room redecorated. I don’t think ‘angry-male-punching-holes-in-the-walls’ is the type of look she’s going for.”

“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you have any experience with Blood Magic, like how to lift a Brand?” he asked Heath.

“Sorry, man. All the stories I know of say a Brand has to be removed by the one who did the Branding.”

“Which means either way, I’m going to have to face Mistress Black,” Elijah said darkly. Verika felt a trickle of fear through their bond as he thought of her magic, of the things she’d done to him and forced him to do.

Oh, Elijah.

She desperately wanted to go to her mate, but right now she didn’t feel as if she could walk without toppling over. Instead, she covered his hand with hers. “We’ll think of something. I’m not letting her anywhere near you if I can help it.”

“We might not have a choice,” he murmured, staring at nothing with that hard look he got when he was overthinking something. His spine stiffened, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. A second later, Verika’s stomach churned.

Crap!

Alara, who had been watching both of them like a hawk—or, more appropriately, a wolf—was already prepared. She shoved a spare waste basket in front of Elijah, just in time for him to puke in it.

Verika grasped her hair and did the same in the waste basket beside Danica had set beside the couch. Danica bent over her, gently holding her hair back with a grimace. “That does not sound fun,” she said as Verika straightened with a groan.

“It’s not. It’s absolutely wretched.” She graciously accepted the wet towelette Alara handed her and wiped her mouth. “My body’s starting to hurt, too. It kind of reminds me of when I had the flu.”

“How do you feel?” Gage asked, looking at a ghastly Elijah.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear her over all the vomiting. Did she say the flu? Sounds about right.”

“I’ll get you both something for the aches and nausea,” Heath said, and scurried from the room.

Verika settled back against the throw pillow. “Guess Advil and Pepto-Bismol are just as good for magic-induced flu-like symptoms.”

“You can’t remove the Brand?” Nik asked her.

“No. I tried. I think it really can only be removed by Mistress Black herself. Blood Magic is particular like that. That’s why so many people use it to secure top-secret information. Think of it like a magical thumbprint or voice recognition, like what you see in spy movies.”

The room went silent. Everyone wore the same grave, stumped expression.

A moment later, Heath returned with tablets and Sprite. “To help settle your stomachs,” he said, handing both her and Elijah red and pink pills. “And good old acetaminophen for the pain.”

“Thanks, man,” Elijah said, taking them both down in one gulp.

Verika would swallow a whole elephant if it would make her feel better. Knocking back the pills and the soda, she focused on taking deep breaths instead of fussing over her rollicking stomach.

“Well, we’re not going to get anywhere just standing here stewing over it,” Gage said, ever the leader. “I say we let Verika and Elijah rest for now, and convene again at supper to discuss a plan of action.” He looked at Elijah with a mixture of sympathy and understanding and cold-hearted ruthlessness. “I know you’re… troubled about facing Mistress Black, but we ultimately need to face her. It’s never going to end until we can get rid of her for good.”

“I know,” Elijah said quietly, swallowing hard. Verika swore he got paler.

With a curt nod, Gage clapped him on the arm. “Danica and I will stay until this is all sorted out. Um, get to feeling better.”

Seemingly at a loss for words, the werewolf king walked out of the room.

Verika got it. Really, she did. If she’d had a long-lost sister all of a sudden pop up again in her life, she’d be unsure how to feel, too. On one hand, you’d be hurt they’d abandoned you and hadn’t thought enough of you to call over the years. On the other, you’d remember all the good times you used to have as kids, and would want to return to those good times.

Though she’d never voiced it out loud, she doubted the brothers would ever be able to return to the level of trust they used to have. Or maybe she was projecting her own feelings onto the situation. Once her trust was broken, it took a long time for it to return.

If it ever did.

For them, at least, she hoped and prayed it did. Especially for Elijah’s sake. She’d watched the guilt and self-loathing for abandoning them eat away at him day by day, hour by hour, and had felt helpless to heal him like she so desperately wanted to. But some hurts love couldn’t take away. Sometimes you had to face your demons by yourself if you had any hope of conquering them.

Sometimes, you had to let your loved ones fight their own battles, and keep standing by them so they’d know they were never alone.

Danica glanced at the door and back at them. “Uh,” she said, awkwardly running a hand through her golden hair, “I’m going to make sure he’s okay.”

Verika started to stand. When Elijah took a step toward her, Nik said, “Actually, could I have a moment with her, Eli?”

Alara went still.

Elijah glanced between Nik and Verika and gave a cautious nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

He looked at Verika over his shoulder as he walked away. She gave him a reassuring smile, though her chest fluttered with butterflies.

Alara and Nik stared at one another, and Verika assumed they must be having a private conversation.

At last, Alara nodded slightly. Casting Verika and her mate one last look, she wheeled about and followed Elijah out of the room.

Nik chuckled, his face lighting up with that carefree smile Verika had so adored when they were together. It was still cute, but it didn’t tug at her heartstrings as it once did.

“I never got a chance to thank you,” Nik said, coming to sit beside her on the couch.

Verika had thought about this moment, had felt it coming. There was much to say between them and yet there wasn’t. What was done was done. The past was in the past and all that. Still, she found her old guilt returning as she said quietly, “Yeah, well, it’s the least I could do after I…”

Nik took her hand and turned her to face him. “Don’t feel bad. I mean, yeah, I’m not gonna lie. It hurt like hell at the time. But I see now everything happens for a reason. Every hurt, every trial. They have purpose. You leaving me allowed both of us the opportunity to find our true mates.”

She gave him an unsure smile. He smiled back, letting go of her hand.

Verika studied him from the corner of her eye. It would feel too weird blatantly staring at him. It was hard trying not to. The man she’d thought she once loved, whom she would have given up everything for at one point in her life, sitting here less than a foot away. And yet she felt… content. At peace.

A long sigh broke her lips and her shoulders at last eased as the burden of hurting him finally, at long last, lifted.

He’d forgiven her. Though he hadn’t explicitly said as much, she knew that’s what he meant. The reason he’d wanted to talk.

Freeing up her own hurts afforded her the clarity of mind to focus on healing her mate’s. Though it may not be her place, she said anyway, “Are you still pissed at Elijah?” She immediately regretted it. Of course he was. Duh!

Smooth, Verika.

“Yeah,” Nik said tersely, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I can’t easily forget or forgive him for ditching us like that, when we most needed him.” He growled a sigh and rolled his massive shoulders and then his neck. Verika heard a few bones pop. She wondered how much rest he’d gotten since becoming Alpha, and then firmly reined in those feelings. He was no longer hers to fuss over. That was Alara’s job. Nik’s expression saddened as he stared out into empty space. “I missed him so damned much. Still can’t believe he’s back, like it’s too good to be true. I’m afraid… I’m afraid that if I let him in again he’ll leave.”

“Well, we can’t exactly live here,” Verika said with a wry smile, nudging him.

He snorted and nudged her back. “That wasn’t an invite, love. You know what I mean.”

She nodded, thinking. “I don’t think he’s going to run. He wants to be a part of your lives.”

Nik gave an imperceptible nod, pressing his lips together. With a glance at his watch and a heavy sigh, he stood. “I should get you upstairs where you can rest.” He offered her his hand, and she let him pull her up. She’d forgotten how strong he was. How supportive he could be.

Alara was a lucky wolf, but then again, so was she.

A wolf.

Crap, that’s right. Her first Change was coming up in a few days. How was she going to manage that on top of this illness?

Breathe.

Nik supported her with an arm around her shoulders as he led her out of the room and upstairs. “So,” she said softly, leaning into him as her knees trembled. “Just to make sure—we’re good?”

Nik smiled. “Yeah, doll. We’re good.”

Thank you.

At least if she died soon, she’d rest easy knowing one less person in the world hated her. Because once Mistress Black made her move and word got out Verika was also a Black Witch, she had a feeling she’d shoot straight to the top of the Underworld’s Most Wanted List… and become one of the Underworld’s most feared—and loathed—witches.

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Free Fiction Friday: Lust Chapter 4

Taking a break from Ritual to bring you the fourth chapter in my Blood Moon Rising tie-in novel, Lust. If you’re wondering how Lust came about, then please see this post.

On to the story! Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading. Ritual chapters will resume next Friday, up until release.)

Read Chapter 1

BUY THE EBOOK ***Still waiting on some links. They will be updated here as they become available.

Amazon || Amazon UK || Amazon CA || Amazon AU || Apple || Barnes & Noble || Kobo || Smashwords || Scridb || Oyster || Tolino || Inktera

 

A WOLF WHO’S SPENT HIS LIFE IN THE SHADOWS OF HIS PAST…

Beta werewolf—and ex paranormal bounty hunter—Shadow knew when his Alpha commanded, er, “politely growled” for him to attend the werewolf summit, that it was going to royally suck. Not only does he not want to fool around with all that royal werewolf bullshit, but he knows he’s not exactly everybody’s favorite guy. Considering he ruined a lot of lives in his old profession, he’ll be lucky if he can survive the weekend. Not to mention his mating Fever is driving him insane—and so is the feisty Alpha female he’s Marked as his mate.

A QUEEN OF WOLVES WHOSE REIGN IS THREATENED…

Spirited Breanna Whiteclaw is barely holding it together. With an ornery Alpha named Strider out to make her—and her pack —his own, and with her pack recovering from recent attacks by an unknown enemy, she has her paws full. Attending the summit means leaving her pack in their time of need, but as a royal werewolf, she knows she has no choice. Add to that the fact her Blood Moon is approaching, and she has yet to find a mate—until the devilishly handsome Shadow Marks her as his own.

CAN LOVE BE BORN FROM HATRED?

Shadow never intended to go through with the mating ceremony—especially with the daughter of a man he killed. But his Fever has other plans. The more he’s around her, the more he craves her touch, longs to hear her voice, and aches to claim her.

From the moment Shadow’s Mark formed on her hand, Breanna knew her mate-bond was destined for failure. The bounty hunter responsible for her father’s death is the last wolf on this earth she could ever bind herself to forever. But if she wants to remain Alpha and save her pack, she might not have a choice. As Strider closes in on her, she finds herself relying on Shadow’s quiet strength—and craving those rough hands all over her curves.

BUY THE EBOOK ***Still waiting on some links. They will be updated here as they become available.

Amazon || Amazon UK || Amazon CA || Amazon AU || Apple || Barnes & Noble || Kobo || Smashwords || Scridb || Oyster || Tolino || Inktera

CHAPTER 4

Damn. This. Fever. To. Hell.

Shadow clenched his hands as he reined in his burning desire to go after the woman and do something he’d likely regret.

He tapped his foot as Drake turned to face him. “I knew you’d killed some pretty prominent figures in the Underworld,” said Drake, still sporting the stunned look, “but I had no idea Bear Whiteclaw was one of them.”

Shadow remembered Whiteclaw. Vicious bastard. His idea of fun had been to blackmail and cheat innocent people into doing what he wanted. Sometimes that resulted in his victims’ deaths, especially if they did not comply. Whiteclaw had also believed in child labor. The Black Moon Pack had shut down more than one of his illegal operations. Shadow would never forget the sunken cheeks and hopeless gazes of the neglected children they’d saved.

Nor would he ever forget how pissed off that sad sight made him.

Breanna had to know about the labor camps. But if she did, why the hell would she still defend her “father’s honor?”

“Excuse me,” he murmured to his Alpha, not waiting for a dismissal.

Drake sighed and muttered something along the lines of, “Cocky bastard. Walks off all the time without asking for permission…”

Shadow kept walking. His eyes tracked the female—and her delicious scent of jasmine and lilies—through the crowd.

He watched the lean muscles of her back work. God, the back of that dress was spectacular. Like a firework made of diamonds had exploded and formed straps. He also appreciated how low-cut it was.

Heat built within him. He felt the crotch of his pants tighten as he began to harden.

Damn. He should turn around now. But he kept walking, unable to stop until he reached her.

She sensed him before he could grab her. So had her bodyguard. Murder danced in the man’s eyes as he strutted toward Shadow. Breanna held up a hand, and the bodyguard halted. She whirled around to face Shadow. Those lovely brown eyes blazed with fury. “You have a lot of nerve following me.”

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

Her own eyes appraised him, widening slightly. Some of the anger drained away.

His heart stuttered as he caught a whiff of desire rolling off of her.

Keeping his expression neutral, he said, “Do you know what Bear did?”

“Excuse me?” That pissed off look was back. Her eyes, which had been looking at his manhood, snapped back to his face. “Of course I know. I’m not proud of his many crimes. God, who would be? But he was also my father. You took away the only family I had left.”

That had to be hard. And he could relate. His own family had been a far cry from perfect. It had still hurt like hell when he’d lost them. He’d never felt more alone in his life until then.

“Who’s in charge of the Whiteclaw Pack now?” he asked.

Outrage sparked in her lovely eyes. Which he seemed unable to stop staring into. “Who the hell do you think, asshole? I am! We’re one of the few packs that still passes the role of Alpha down through family.”

Some old bloodlines—Crescent, Whiteclaw, and a handful of others—still functioned more like a monarchy. He also didn’t know whether finding out she was an Alpha made her hotter or more intimidating. He decided on a little of both.

Without thinking about it, he took off his jacket.

Breanna took a step back. “What are you doing?”

Silently, he rolled up his shirt sleeve. Both arms were covered in non-matching tattoos and scars, as were his chest and back. He pointed to one tattoo in particular.

Her eyes followed and froze. “That’s my family crest,” she whispered.

“Whiteclaw,” he said, pointing to the others. “One for every life I’ve taken.”

“But, why would you do that?”

“Because I want a reminder of what kind of a monster I am,” he said without flinching, holding her gaze. “Every life I’ve taken has killed a part of me I’ll never get back. The ink… it’s cathartic. It eases the burden of the guilt somewhat.”

Her lip rolled up in disgust. “Of course. You were doing this for yourself all along.” She turned to walk away.

Dammit. How did he manage to fuck this up?

He donned his jacket and went after her. “That’s not it.”

“Oh? Because all I see is a self-absorbed killer tailing me.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I’m tailing you, how can you see me?”

Her heels screeched to a halt. Slowly, she turned.

He tensed. Uh oh.

Wham!

Her palm flew across his face. He never saw it coming, she was that fast. And holy fuck, she hadn’t held back. His cheek sang from the impact.

“What the—?”

Blue light flared from the back of the hand Breanna had used to slap him. Her jaw dropped in horror as the light faded. An indigo, crescent moon-shaped tattoo now lay etched in her skin.

Her mouth opened and closed several times before she spoke. “You-you asshole! You Marked me!”

***

This couldn’t be happening. Surely, this was a nightmare, and she’d wake up any minute now. Or maybe someone had spiked her drink, and she was hallucinating. Because there couldn’t possibly be a Mark on the back of her hand.

No, no, no, no, no…

Snatching a napkin off a nearby table, she began rubbing furiously at the Mark. And immediately felt stupid. Of course it wasn’t coming off. It would remain inked onto her skin whether or not she decided to go through with the mating.

And oh, did her body want to.

She wasn’t prepared for the wave of lust that swept through her upon seeing Shadow. He had always been attractive in a bad boy, hands-off kind of way. But the black suit somehow accentuated his dark beauty, and stoked her desire. Her craving for him had burned through her hatred, and made her wonder dangerous thoughts. Loving him could destroy her. Letting him into her heart meant forgiving him, which she’d sworn never to do. He wasn’t worthy of her forgiveness, not after everything he’d done.

Shadow stood nearby, eyes wide and speechless.

His silence was irritating. “Well,” she snapped, “say something!”

Jack kept quiet behind her, watching the two of them. His body was tensed, as if he were preparing to break up a fight.

She almost wanted to start one. Wanted the chance to dig her claws into Shadow’s flesh and make him bleed. How dare he Mark her. She didn’t need this right now, not when she was trying to evade Strider and keep her pack from mutinying.

Anger simmered in Shadow’s lovely gray eyes. They reminded her of storm clouds. “What do you want me to say?” he asked with quiet fury. “You know as well as I do that I have no control over the Marking. Believe me, if it were up to me I’d never Mark anyone.”

She blinked. Why did that hurt? It shouldn’t, not when she’d sworn to loathe him for all eternity. But it felt bitterly like a rejection. And if there was one thing she didn’t handle well, it was being cast aside. “Well, don’t worry,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’ll get your wish because I have no intention of ever going through with this mating.”

“Wait,” he said, catching her wrist when she turned to stalk off. “We should discuss this.”

A demand, not a question. From a lowly pack wolf to an Alpha.

Who the hell did this guy think he was? It wasn’t the first time she’d been bossed around by men who didn’t hold her rank but somehow thought because she was a woman, she was weaker. Most of the time, she just let it slide and rolled her eyes. But for some reason with him, it only pissed her off more.

“Let go of me,” she said, her voice a low growl. “Right. Now.”

He did. The second he lifted his palm, she immediately missed his touch.

Which was fucking stupid.

Dammit. She didn’t trust herself around him. Not when her body was screaming to let him take her right now while her mind begged her not to. As for her heart… well, her emotions were such a convoluted mess right now that she didn’t know who the hell’s side her heart was on.

She needed to get out of here, away from him. Go somewhere where she could calm down and logically sort through all this.

“I need some air,” she muttered. “Just go away. Forget you ever saw me.” She ran, pushing through the crowd without apology and ignoring the burning wish that he would follow her.

And the sting of disappointment when he didn’t.

BUY THE EBOOK ***Still waiting on some links. They will be updated here as they become available.

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New Release! Lust, a Blood Moon Rising companion novel

NOTE: This book takes place at the same time as book 2, Protector, of the Blood Moon Rising series. It is a complete, standalone novel. No cliffhangers! You do not need to read the other books in the series to understand or enjoy Lust.

BUY THE EBOOK ***Still waiting on some links. They will be updated here as they become available.

Amazon || Amazon UK || Amazon CA || Amazon AU || Apple || Barnes & Noble || Kobo || Smashwords || Scridb || Oyster  || Tolino || Inktera

A WOLF WHO’S SPENT HIS LIFE IN THE SHADOWS OF HIS PAST…

Beta werewolf—and ex paranormal bounty hunter—Shadow knew when his Alpha commanded, er, “politely growled” for him to attend the werewolf summit, that it was going to royally suck. Not only does he not want to fool around with all that royal werewolf bullshit, but he knows he’s not exactly everybody’s favorite guy. Considering he ruined a lot of lives in his old profession, he’ll be lucky if he can survive the weekend. Not to mention his mating Fever is driving him insane—and so is the feisty Alpha female he’s Marked as his mate.

A QUEEN OF WOLVES WHOSE REIGN IS THREATENED…

Spirited Breanna Whiteclaw is barely holding it together. With an ornery Alpha named Strider out to make her—and her pack —his own, and with her pack recovering from recent attacks by an unknown enemy, she has her paws full. Attending the summit means leaving her pack in their time of need, but as a royal werewolf, she knows she has no choice. Add to that the fact her Blood Moon is approaching, and she has yet to find a mate—until the devilishly handsome Shadow Marks her as his own.

CAN LOVE BE BORN FROM HATRED?

Shadow never intended to go through with the mating ceremony—especially with the daughter of a man he killed. But his Fever has other plans. The more he’s around her, the more he craves her touch, longs to hear her voice, and aches to claim her.

From the moment Shadow’s Mark formed on her hand, Breanna knew her mate-bond was destined for failure. The bounty hunter responsible for her father’s death is the last wolf on this earth she could ever bind herself to forever. But if she wants to remain Alpha and save her pack, she might not have a choice. As Strider closes in on her, she finds herself relying on Shadow’s quiet strength—and craving those rough hands all over her curves.

BUY THE EBOOK ***Still waiting on some links. They will be updated here as they become available.

Amazon || Amazon UK || Amazon CA || Amazon AU || Apple || Barnes & Noble || Kobo || Smashwords || Scridb || Oyster  || Tolino || Inktera

Free Fiction Friday! Lust Chapter 3

Taking a brief break from Ritual to bring you the third chapter in my Blood Moon Rising tie-in novel, Lust. If you’re wondering how Lust came about–and want the chance to read it for free!–then please see this post.

On to the story! Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

Read Chapter 1

 

A WOLF WHO’S SPENT HIS LIFE IN THE SHADOWS OF HIS PAST…

Beta werewolf—and ex paranormal bounty hunter—Shadow knew when his Alpha commanded, er, “politely growled” for him to attend the werewolf summit, that it was going to royally suck. Not only does he not want to fool around with all that royal werewolf bullshit, but he knows he’s not exactly everybody’s favorite guy. Considering he ruined a lot of lives in his old profession, he’ll be lucky if he can survive the weekend. Not to mention his mating Fever is driving him insane—and so is the feisty Alpha female he’s Marked as his mate.

A QUEEN OF WOLVES WHOSE REIGN IS THREATENED…

Spirited Breanna Whiteclaw is barely holding it together. With an ornery Alpha named Strider out to make her—and her pack —his own, and with her pack recovering from recent attacks by an unknown enemy, she has her paws full. Attending the summit means leaving her pack in their time of need, but as a royal werewolf, she knows she has no choice. Add to that the fact her Blood Moon is approaching, and she has yet to find a mate—until the devilishly handsome Shadow Marks her as his own.

CAN LOVE BE BORN FROM HATRED?

Shadow never intended to go through with the mating ceremony—especially with the daughter of a man he killed. But his Fever has other plans. The more he’s around her, the more he craves her touch, longs to hear her voice, and aches to claim her.

From the moment Shadow’s Mark formed on her hand, Breanna knew her mate-bond was destined for failure. The bounty hunter responsible for her father’s death is the last wolf on this earth she could ever bind herself to forever. But if she wants to remain Alpha and save her pack, she might not have a choice. As Strider closes in on her, she finds herself relying on Shadow’s quiet strength—and craving those rough hands all over her curves.

Sign up for the list to receive a notification of when it releases, and for the chance to read it for free by participating in my upcoming survey!

CHAPTER 3

Strider was about to get a black eye, courtesy of her fist. Seriously, they’d been at the summit all of an hour before the groping had begun.

Steeling herself, Breanna clenched her fists at her side. Her lips barely moved as she growled quietly, “Remove your hand from my ass at once, or I’ll remove it for you. And if I have to remove it, I promise you’ll need surgery to reattach it.”

A low rumble of a chuckle came from behind her as a tall, finely built man strode forward. Towering six inches over her already impressive five ten, Strider was as wicked as he was tall. And not in a good way. She’d seen the way the man toyed with his prey while on joint-pack hunts. No one who enjoyed inflicting suffering that much would ever share her bed. And he sure as hell would never share her pack. She’d give her life before subjecting them to his cruel whims.

“I have to admit, your spunk turns me on,” he said, flashing a devilish grin as he unabashedly looked her down and up again. “As does that strip of cloth you call a dress. I must say, my imagination has been spot-on.”

Ugh. She didn’t bother hiding the cringe that wrinkled up her face. Sure, the black silk dress was provocative, hanging onto her lithe form with a few straps of diamonds. The back was completely out, dipping to the top of her ass and showing off the Whiteclaw Pack tattoo inked onto the small of her back—a white pawprint centered at the trough of two crisscrossed feathers.

But seriously, did Strider have to look her over like she was a piece of meat?

“I think I threw up a little in my mouth,” she said, giving him a fake smile. “Excuse me while I go find some champagne to wash out the taste.”

She didn’t wait for his permission to leave. Turning on her heel, she stalked away… far, far away.

Soon as she was around the corner, she leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and sighed hard. The sounds of orchestral music and stiff, polite conversation drifted toward her ears. Breanna looked about glumly.

This castle, these people… for all their beauty, they were so tarnished. Insincere. And if there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was people who smiled to your face and stabbed you in the back the moment you turned away.

Which meant, regrettably, that she couldn’t stand ninety percent of the people in the room. She needed to get out of here, needed to run and be free from sacrificing her personal desires over worry for her pack’s well-being. But she knew that was never going to happen. So long as she was Alpha, she would never stop worrying over her pack’s safety.

“The pack comes first,” her father said to her when she was a teenaged Alpha-in-training. “Never forget that.”

Oh, she wouldn’t. How could she, when her father had reminded her at every turn while she was growing up that the pack came before all else, even his own daughter?

The bitter taste of resentment washed over her tongue. She had been tempted once to flee, to fling away her responsibilities just to spite her father’s wishes.

To maybe, finally, get his attention.

But that would have been selfish. There were good people in her pack, people who both needed and counted on her. She couldn’t let them down, not even to save herself.

Being an Alpha royally sucked sometimes.

She felt Jack’s presence before she saw him casually lean against the wall, next to her. Perpetually tanned with thick blond hair that hung down to his shoulders and cerulean eyes, he was easy to look at. Breanna had considered bedding him once. They were both drunk and were at a Halloween party hosted by a neighboring pack they had an alliance with. There’d been… something between them, though she never figured out what. Later, she was thankful her common sense had overturned her lust, and they hadn’t gone through with anything. Her relationships with the people in her pack were complicated enough without throwing a friends-with-benefits scenario into the mix.

A duo of female wolves walked by, casting Jack admiring glances. He happily obliged them with one of his token panty-dropping smiles. “Having fun yet?” he said as he offered her a glass of champagne. He let his eyes linger on the ass of one of the women before at last turning his full attention to his Alpha.

She gladly accepted the champagne and took it down in one bubbly gulp.

He raised a brow. “I take that as a yes.”

She sighed and shook her head, staring out over the sea of glamorous people. “I detest all of this.” Not that she needed to tell her Beta that. Having grown up together, he knew her better than she knew herself.

“Strider’s at it again,” she said tersely, keeping an eye out for him.

Jack growled. “If the prick wasn’t an Alpha, I’d take his tasteless comments and shove them up his ass.”

Breanna snorted. “I’d endorse that.” She groaned, banging the back of her head against the wall. Her elegantly styled bun bore most of the hit, and a few strands of jet-black hair came loose to dangle around her face. Her hairdresser would weep, seeing how she was mistreating her “masterpiece.” “He’s not the first overly ambitious Alpha to try to make me his mate, and I’m sure he won’t be the last.” Breanna gave Jack a reassuring, if not weary, smile. “Don’t worry. I can handle him.”

“I know you can.” His arm brushed hers, a comforting, strong presence. And his way of reminding her he was always there for her if she needed him.

She took his hand and squeezed it, letting him know that subtle reminder meant more to her than words could express.

“How’s the schmoozing with the new Beckinridge Alpha coming along?” Jack said.

Ah, the restless world of pack politics. Not one of her favorite topics, but one she was comfortable talking about at least. “It was going well, actually—until Strider strode up to him and began acting like we were a couple. He went on and on about how much he’s helped me out over the years, from behind the scenes while my father was still Alpha. Which we all know is a bunch of bullshit. He’s never lifted a finger to help us.” Her words stiffened as her jaw clenched. “What he doesn’t seem able to understand is that the weaker he tries to make me seem, the more determined I am to get rid of him for good.”

Jack’s hand froze. It had been on its way to deliver the last bit of champagne in his glass to his very sensuous lips. “You mean, you’re thinking about offing him?”

“If it comes down to it.” She wasn’t above murder to protect her pack, even if it was taboo for one Alpha to murder another. “He kept bringing up the recent rogue witch attacks in our territory. I haven’t told him about them, which means he either has someone in the D.P.I. on his payroll or he had something to do with them.”

“To prove his point. About you being weak.”

“My suspicions exactly. He also mentioned something about me ‘not being strong enough to withstand the darkness in the coming war’. What the hell does that even mean?”

“No clue.” Jack’s brows furrowed and he frowned. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a grateful smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

That turned his frown into a grin, and those heart-melting blue eyes of his sparkled with pride… and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Actually she could, but she didn’t want to. Didn’t want to wreck things between them when their relationship was rock-solid. Given recent events, her pack’s trust in her ability to protect them from outside threats was damaged. While her relationships with the majority of her pack members were intact, there was an alarming number of them who were beginning to doubt her ability to be a strong enough Alpha to lead them. And they weren’t shy about expressing those doubts to whomever would listen.

“You’re too soft-hearted. There’s no place in a pack for an Alpha like that. You’ll get your pack mates killed, which is the greatest offense an Alpha could commit.”

She’d heard her father’s voice in her head often throughout the long, lonely years she’d been Alpha, constantly reprimanding her when she demonstrated sympathy or showed mercy. A man with little compassion, Bear Whiteclaw had been a force to be reckoned with in his glory days. She still couldn’t believe he was dead. A mixture of grief and rage slammed into her, making her inner wolf growl.

The wolf who’d killed him had gotten away. When she’d walked in on her father’s body, the air had been filled with blood. And the scent of wolf, pine, snow, and earth, a sharp, masculine smell that had forever been burned into her nostrils.

Shadow. That was the wolf’s name who’d killed her father. Had run a knife across his throat while he’d slept, and left him to bleed out.

Shadow had been apprehended by the D.P.I. and tried for murder, but the charges were eventually dropped. The organization Shadow worked for wasn’t the only one who’d wanted her father dead. She knew he’d committed some pretty underhanded acts to get where he was, but she had no idea as to the extent of his atrocities.

Her father had been evil, pure and simple.

But he had still been her father, her only living relative.

Blinking back tears, she straightened and cracked her neck. Her body felt tenser thinking about that night of blood and death. She needed a distraction. Anything not to think, not to feel. Otherwise, the rage might consume her.

“I’m going to find the ladies room,” she said. “Then I suppose I’ll drink more liquid courage and see if I can—”

The smell hit her as if she’d smacked into a brick wall. A mix of pine and snow, a reminder of loss and heartache.

Whirling, she murmured, “It can’t be.” Her eyes searched the crowd, tracking the scent. Distantly, she heard Jack say her name. She hadn’t realized she’d started walking, following the scent, until the crowd parted and there he was.

The man who murdered her father.

***

Shadow felt her watching him before he saw her.

His eyes followed his senses, locking onto a tall raven-haired woman with olive skin. Her eyes were slanted and deep brown. Coupled with her thick black brows and full lips, she looked like an Indian princess. Tribal tattoos of black ink covered her biceps and wrists in bands. The simplicity of her inky dress complimented the turquoise stones dangling from her ears. She was radiant.

And pissed as hell as she stormed over to him.

He raked his brain, trying to figure out who this woman was.

“How dare you show your face here, murderer!” she screeched, getting right in his face. Anger seethed from every pore in her lovely, toned body. Not that he was looking.

Eyes upward, mate.

He didn’t flinch at the flung insult. He’d been called worse.

Drake stepped up to stand beside him. “Breanna,” he said smoothly, ever the diplomat. “I see you’ve met my new head of security, Sh—”

“I know who he is,” she spat, still glaring at him. “He’s the man who murdered my father.”

Stunned silence followed the statement. It was the first time Shadow had seen Drake struck speechless. A crowd had gathered around them as people pretended to be chatting but were secretly listening to the fight.

Freaking rubberneckers.

Drake at last shook his head and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken.”

“No,” Breanna said coldly, holding Shadow’s gaze. The burning fire in her eyes only made her more attractive. Breanna, Breanna… why couldn’t he remember who she was? “I’ll never forget the face of the man who killed Bear Whiteclaw.”

Bear White… Oh, fuck.

This was his daughter? Shadow remembered seeing her at his trial, giving a passionate testimony that nearly had the jury ruling in favor of killing his ass. He hadn’t recognized her. She’d changed in the years since they’d met. She’d grown more into a woman.

A harder, colder version of the tearful pup mourning over her father. A man who deserved to rot in hell for the crimes he’d committed against mankind and paranormals alike. Killing Bear Whiteclaw had been doing the world a favor. Instead, it had earned him the scorn of a lot of people, including the fiery female in front of him.

Words of apology dried up in his mouth. How did you say you were sorry for something like that? “Miss, I—”

“What? You’re sorry? Don’t you dare lie to me, you son of a bitch.” Her dainty hands formed fists, which trembled at her sides. Blood dribbled between her fingers, dripping to the floor. Her claws must have come out. He’d bet his retirement she was itching to tear his face off. She’d probably smile while doing it.

A tall blond man who looked like he could bench press a bus walked up to Breanna, and whispered something in her ear. The tension eased out of her, but only slightly.

She stepped up to Shadow, her lips brushing his cheek and making him shiver.

“If it’s the last thing I do,” she whispered, “I’ll kill you.”

In one fluid motion, she was gone. He watched her walk away, his body too wired from the heat burning through him.

A fire that had blazed to life the second her lips had caressed his skin with the threat of death.

Free Fiction Friday: Lust Chapter 2

 

Taking a brief break from Ritual to bring you the first chapter in my Blood Moon Rising tie-in novel, Lust. If you’re wondering how Lust came about–and want the chance to read it for free!–then please see this post.

On to the story! Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

Read Chapter 1

 

A WOLF WHO’S SPENT HIS LIFE IN THE SHADOWS OF HIS PAST…

Beta werewolf—and ex paranormal bounty hunter—Shadow knew when his Alpha commanded, er, “politely growled” for him to attend the werewolf summit, that it was going to royally suck. Not only does he not want to fool around with all that royal werewolf bullshit, but he knows he’s not exactly everybody’s favorite guy. Considering he ruined a lot of lives in his old profession, he’ll be lucky if he can survive the weekend. Not to mention his mating Fever is driving him insane—and so is the feisty Alpha female he’s Marked as his mate.

A QUEEN OF WOLVES WHOSE REIGN IS THREATENED…

Spirited Breanna Whiteclaw is barely holding it together. With an ornery Alpha named Strider out to make her—and her pack —his own, and with her pack recovering from recent attacks by an unknown enemy, she has her paws full. Attending the summit means leaving her pack in their time of need, but as a royal werewolf, she knows she has no choice. Add to that the fact her Blood Moon is approaching, and she has yet to find a mate—until the devilishly handsome Shadow Marks her as his own.

CAN LOVE BE BORN FROM HATRED?

Shadow never intended to go through with the mating ceremony—especially with the daughter of a man he killed. But his Fever has other plans. The more he’s around her, the more he craves her touch, longs to hear her voice, and aches to claim her.

From the moment Shadow’s Mark formed on her hand, Breanna knew her mate-bond was destined for failure. The bounty hunter responsible for her father’s death is the last wolf on this earth she could ever bind herself to forever. But if she wants to remain Alpha and save her pack, she might not have a choice. As Strider closes in on her, she finds herself relying on Shadow’s quiet strength—and craving those rough hands all over her curves.

Sign up for the list to receive a notification of when it releases, and for the chance to read it for free by participating in my upcoming survey!

CHAPTER 2

Three years later

 

Shadow knew they were being followed before they stepped off the plane. Call him paranoid, but after being snuck up on too many times to count, he’d learned to watch his back every damn second.

And, more recently, he’d learned to watch his Alpha’s back.

Drake Jones looked more like royalty than the leader of some rough-and-tumble werewolf pack. With a wardrobe that consisted of fancy suits, polished dress shoes, and watches worth more than Shadow’s salary, the middle-aged Alpha was rocking the style thing.

He flashed a smile at the flight attendant as they exited the plane. Though the man could definitely afford a private jet, Drake always liked flying coach. He “liked to mingle,” something Shadow never had been very good at. Which was fine by him. Mingling wasn’t in his job description; busting skulls to keep his Alpha safe, was.

The rest of Drake’s security team, headed by Shadow, fanned out to their positions as their Alpha made his way through the terminal. People stopped and stared as he passed, probably wondering if he was somebody famous.

Shadow broke off from the group. I have something to attend to, he telepathically told his second-in-command, Bronx.

The thickly muscled, dark-skinned man caught his eye and silently nodded. With his black suit and dress shirt, he looked more like a member of the mob than a body guard. They all did. The wardrobe was Drake’s idea. The thought was that the more intimidating they looked, the better they’d scare people off. You know, in case anyone got the bright idea in their heads to actually attempt an attack on Drake.

If only it worked that way. If only it were that easy to stop an attack before it happened.

Shadow turned into a bathroom marked “closed for repairs”. The inside was silent. The floor and most of the stalls were torn up, like it was in the middle of a remodel. The air smelled like dust.

Shadow waited in the center of the room. A moment later the door opened.

He smirked. “Was wondering when you’d make a move.”

He whirled and punched so quickly the man didn’t have time to block. The air rushed out of him as he stumbled backward. Shadow lunged, following up with an open palm strike to the guy’s chin. He went flying into the wall, crashing into a pile of wood.

The knife he’d been clutching fell to the ground.

Shadow stalked forward as the guy groaned and made to retrieve the knife. Shadow knelt in front of him, scooped up the knife, and dangled it in front of the stranger’s stunned face. “And what were you planning on doing with this?”

The man had a hard time focusing on the knife. Considering how hard Shadow had hit him, he was probably seeing doubles. “I was… going… to kill you…”

“Why?” Shadow asked pleasantly.

The man’s voice smoldered with anger. “Because you killed my son, you asshole. Don’t try denying it. I know it was you.”

“What was your son’s name?” he asked, not without compassion.

His bottom lip trembled as emotion swam in his eyes. “Mark.”

A nod. “And was Mark involved in any illegal activities?”

Silence.

That’s what he thought. He raised a brow.

“He…” A hard swallow. “He used to bleed vampires and sell their blood on the Black Market.”

“A Red Rum dealer then. Or, if he wasn’t into creating and selling liqueur that can kill you, perhaps he dealt in Stardust?”

“Stardust?”

“A vampire’s blood can be magically processed to form this pink powder called Stardust. It looks innocent but it’s anything but. It makes the druggie hallucinate. I once watched a man gouge out his own eyes after snorting the stuff, convinced worms were crawling out of him.”

“Jesus!”

“Look,” Shadow said with a hard sigh, “I’m not in that line of work anymore, killing people for money, that is. And I’m sorry about your son.”

The man voiced his disbelief in a few choice words.

Shadow ignored him. He was used to jabs at his questionable moral compass. “But I can tell you my former employer never had us go after innocents or casual drug dealers. Your son must have done something a lot worse to deserve his fate.”

“Go to hell!” The man spit in his face. Tears ran down his cheeks as he silently fumed at Shadow, probably wishing to set him on fire with his glare.

So he didn’t know the truth about his son. Soon as he said the name, Shadow knew whom he was talking about. Mark’s dad had a tattoo on his left hand of a feather. So had Mark. That’s how he’d put two and two together. Mark hadn’t simply dealt in illegal drugs—he’d also been involved in the kidnapping and trafficking of young human girls. He’d started his own underground company, specializing in products made from vampire blood. And he’d needed sustenance for the vampires he’d kept chained in the basement of his secret warehouse…

Shadow pocketed the knife, a simple switchblade, and left the man sobbing alone in the bathroom. He most likely would never see him again. Or maybe he would. The ones who held deep grudges bordering on rage were like a dog with a bone. They didn’t give up the chase that easily.

Except his life was the bone, and he had no intention of handing it over anytime soon.

Drake was waiting for him in the limo parked out front.

Shadow got in without a word, and the driver took off. The two men rode in silence before Drake finally spoke. “So,” he said casually, “who was trying to kill you this time?”

Drake had sought out Shadow with the intention of employing him after firing his previous head of security for incompetence. The ex-chief of security had seemed keener on watching porn on his phone than protecting his boss. Once Drake had done the research on Shadow’s background, he’d become persistent in making him the top of his security team. “A man with your skills is hard to come by,” he’d said. “And the world isn’t getting any nicer.”

After losing his entire team in the vampire disaster, Shadow had quit Black Moon Inc. and vanished. At first he’d traveled. Then when he’d gotten bored with that, he’d moved from town to town working odd jobs. He never was one to be content staying in one place for long. Or, at least, that’s what he’d kept telling himself.

Really, he was just trying to outrun the pain of his past. But that’s the thing about guilt—it follows you everywhere.

Eventually, the itch to return to what he did best—protect the interests of humanity and the Underworld—returned. That’s when Drake swooped into his life. They’d been introduced through a mutual friend at a soiree. Then Drake had started digging into Shadow’s past, liked what he’d found, and made an offer Shadow couldn’t refuse. By then Shadow had blown through his savings and was on the verge of declaring bankruptcy.

What was left of his moral compass had tried dissuading Drake from hiring him. Shadow had enemies, a plethora of them. Enemies who could just as easily hurt Drake as they could him. He’d be a liability. Drake was convinced otherwise. When Shadow had at last gotten evicted for not paying rent again and had to spend the night in a homeless shelter, he’d finally taken up Drake on his offer.

Drake was still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

“No one,” Shadow replied, looking out the window.

Drake chuckled. “You don’t have to be ashamed of who you were. I admire the kind of bravery it took to do what you did. You saved a lot of lives.”

“And destroyed twice as many.” Shadow’s gaze became hard. “A lot of families will never get their kids, spouses, or siblings back because of what I did.”

Drake watched him with sad eyes. “At some point, you need to stop blaming yourself. You had a mission and you fulfilled it. I can’t think of anything more honorable than trying to protect your fellow Americans.”

Shadow looked away again, this time positioning his body toward the window. Conversation closed. He fucking hated it when people pretended like he was some kind of goddamned hero. People saw what they wanted to see, even if the villain was sitting right in front of them.

The drive to Castle Crescent, the site of the werewolf royalty gathering, wasn’t far. Settled in the rolling countryside of Arkansas, the Scottish castle looked out of place. The werewolf king, Victor Crescent, had it brought over stone by stone and reconstructed. A large garden lay spread out behind the castle, and cars were lined up along the circular driveway that looped in front of the castle’s entrance.

The driver stopped. A footman opened the door, and Shadow got out first. With a glance around, he nodded, and Drake joined him.

“Try not to look so excited,” Drake said, nudging him as they walked up the gazillion flights of stone steps leading to the open doors of the castle. The rest of Drake’s security team flanked him on either side, eyes darting this way and that, searching for threats.

Shadow smiled. He’d trained them well.

While he admired his team, they weren’t family. He could never seem to accomplish the closeness he had with the Black Moon Pack. Probably because he kept turning down social invitations. He couldn’t get too close, not again. When he got close to people, they got hurt. He wouldn’t be responsible for another pack’s demise when the weight of his comrades’ deaths still hung around his shoulders like a leaden cape.

Shadow grunted in response to Drake’s teasing. He fucking hated these events. He’d rather scrub toilets than fancy up with a bunch of snotty royals.

Cold eyes surveyed him and his team quickly as they entered the castle. Many looked away, no doubt dismissing him as more “hired help.” Some stared.

And some glared at him so hotly he thought his flesh would start to melt.

Yeah, he was used to being hated. Didn’t mean he liked it.

Many of the royals in this room had business deals go south because he’d offed one of the people involved in the deals. Tons of money had been lost as a result, which had earned him the title of “Resident Asshole.” Never mind how hypocritical that was, considering most of these bratty asshats were corrupt as all get-out.

Did he mention he hated royals?

A woman wearing a scrap of cloth for a dress that probably cost thousands of dollars sashayed by him, winking. His inner wolf surged to the surface, whining to rut. He firmly pushed it back down.

Dammit, now was not the time for his Fever to kick into high gear. Every werewolf knew when their Blood Moon was upon them. The urge to mate was insatiable. Only, he hadn’t Marked anyone yet. Probably because he refused to bed anyone. All part of his “do not let anyone get close” policy.

It was just as well if he never found a mate. If his Blood Moon passed without mating, he would be “doomed” never to fall in love again. Which suited him fine. The fewer people who were intimately involved with him, the better.

Drake clapped him on the back, oblivious the head of his security was in the throes of his Fever. Shadow hadn’t told him. Hadn’t seen the need to. The Alpha had enough on his plate as it was.

“I promise I’ll only schmooze for a little bit. Then we’ll raid the liqueur bar.” Drake grinned. His teeth were so white they could probably glow in the dark. “What do you say?”

Did someone mention liqueur?

“Sure,” Shadow said gruffly, then followed his Alpha, literally, into the wolves’ den.

Free Fiction Friday: Lust Chapter 1

Taking a brief break from Ritual to bring you the first chapter in my Blood Moon Rising tie-in novel, Lust. If you’re wondering how Lust came about–and want the chance to read it for free!–then please see this post.

On to the story! Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

 

 

A WOLF WHO’S SPENT HIS LIFE IN THE SHADOWS OF HIS PAST…

Beta werewolf—and ex paranormal bounty hunter—Shadow knew when his Alpha commanded, er, “politely growled” for him to attend the werewolf summit, that it was going to royally suck. Not only does he not want to fool around with all that royal werewolf bullshit, but he knows he’s not exactly everybody’s favorite guy. Considering he ruined a lot of lives in his old profession, he’ll be lucky if he can survive the weekend. Not to mention his mating Fever is driving him insane—and so is the feisty Alpha female he’s Marked as his mate.

A QUEEN OF WOLVES WHOSE REIGN IS THREATENED…

Spirited Breanna Whiteclaw is barely holding it together. With an ornery Alpha named Strider out to make her—and her pack —his own, and with her pack recovering from recent attacks by an unknown enemy, she has her paws full. Attending the summit means leaving her pack in their time of need, but as a royal werewolf, she knows she has no choice. Add to that the fact her Blood Moon is approaching, and she has yet to find a mate—until the devilishly handsome Shadow Marks her as his own.

CAN LOVE BE BORN FROM HATRED?

Shadow never intended to go through with the mating ceremony—especially with the daughter of a man he killed. But his Fever has other plans. The more he’s around her, the more he craves her touch, longs to hear her voice, and aches to claim her.

From the moment Shadow’s Mark formed on her hand, Breanna knew her mate-bond was destined for failure. The bounty hunter responsible for her father’s death is the last wolf on this earth she could ever bind herself to forever. But if she wants to remain Alpha and save her pack, she might not have a choice. As Strider closes in on her, she finds herself relying on Shadow’s quiet strength—and craving those rough hands all over her curves.

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CHAPTER 1

Shadow’s nose shriveled up the second he smelled the graveyard.

Holy fuck.

This made roadkill smell good. It was a mixture of three very distinct smells: rotting flesh, decaying vegetation, with a hint of mildewed earth.

Mildewed earth that smelled like piss.

Jacque, his cocky-ass French informant, had been right about this being the hideout of those lowlife vampires. Vampires who decided it’d be fun to go on a killing spree, make national news, and leave the bones of their victims on people’s doorsteps. You know, for shits and giggles.

Only when it was the bones of children you were talking about, people didn’t much find that funny. The killers hadn’t discriminated between paranormal or human victims, either. They’d killed everything from witchlings to werewolf pups to human children, all abducted from malls, playgrounds, and other public venues across the nation. Though the human race and paranormals had their differences, and were a long way off from coexisting peacefully, both sides could agree on the fact those serial killers were the real monsters.

Shadow grinned, knowing his eyes were glowing gold with the promise of shredding those psychotic, child-killing motherfuckers to pieces.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

And from the bloodthirsty smiles on his comrades’ faces, they were thinking the exact same thing.

They crept through the thick undergrowth of the forest surrounding the old graveyard, the tangle of brambles cutting any exposed pieces of skin. Namely, their pretty faces.

None of them gave a shit, though. Shadow knew they didn’t. Not even Naomi, who might as well be Barbie when she wasn’t on duty. Their skin was mostly scars, like someone had decided to take a knife and play Picasso on their asses.

The rest of their very ripped, and very deadly, bodies were covered in sleek, black military-grade synthetic suits that fit like second skins. A howling black wolf head emblem was stamped on their right sleeves, just below their shoulders. The sigil was damn near invisible, if not for its glossy surface shining against the matte finish of the suit. The emblem was visible outright only to those who knew where to look for it, or for the matching tattoos they all wore on their bodies. The right of passage to earning that tattoo, to taking the Blood Oath of the Black Moon Pack, was legendary.

Shadow hadn’t come across a single Black Moon bounty hunter outside of his crew. Sometimes, he thought the “top secret, international organization” he worked for was more like a private club.

Some quit.

Of those who were left, few survived. And those who did… well, let’s just say they’d earned Shadow’s irrefutable respect.

His crew, made up of five men and two women, halted and knelt at the edge of the forest, blending in with the shadows as easily as if they were made of them.

“Are you in position?” came a man’s voice from the earpiece in the captain’s ear. Shadow glanced at his commander, who knelt next to him, and adjusted his weight as his bad foot started to fall asleep. The subtle shift in movement resulted in him brushing shoulders with the man who led them, the same man who’d saved his life and became his best friend for the past six years he’d been in service.

The brief contact was comforting, familiar.

A reminder he wasn’t alone anymore.

Still fucking weird, but after a lifetime of solitude, he wasn’t complaining.

“Fucking A,” Captain Riley murmured back, his voice barely audible above the rustling of leaves and other foresty shit that sashayed and swayed around them in the autumn breeze.

Shadow’s nose tingled as the wind kicked up dirt and pollen off the forest floor. Hey, at least it was carrying that godforsaken stench downwind. For the first time in a mile, he felt as if he could take a full breath.

From his left, Naomi stifled a gasp. “Holy fuck, that was rank,” she muttered.

“Keep your voice down,” Riley snapped.

Shadow caught something that sounded like, “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, princess,” but it was difficult to tell over the symphony of chirping crickets, belching frogs, and dancing leaves.

Riley let the quip roll off of him without so much as a snarl.

There was an unspoken rule that Riley’s orders were indisputable, even if you didn’t entirely agree with them. Sure, they may joke around, but when it came down to it they knew who was in charge.

And if they ever needed a reminder… well, all they had to do was glance at the twisted flesh morphing Riley’s face, arms, pretty much every damn inch of his body, to remember what that son of a bitch was capable of.

In broad daylight, it was hard not to stare at Riley’s ugly mug. Cloaked in the shadows of night, he became downright mesmerizing, like a demon straight out of your worst nightmare. You wanted to look away, if only out of politeness or the fact that looking at him made you want to piss your pants, but you just couldn’t.

Darkness pooled in the trenches of razed flesh that had been dug by wicked claws nearly twenty years ago. Riley shouldn’t have been alive after falling into a cave of demons, but if anyone could make miracles happen it was him. He’d been tracking them for days as part of his latest mission. Heaven and hell had strict rules about full-blooded angels and demons being on this plane of existence, and let’s just say the demons had broken all the rules and then some. Riley had known he was close to finding them, and had gotten reckless. No one saw the hidden entrance to the cave where the demons were hiding out until Riley fell through the earth and plunged straight into a horror movie.

He should have been dead. Really, he should have. Any other wolf or paranormal would have been killed in a heartbeat, but not Riley.

Shadow had once seen the man decapitate three vampires using a butter knife. His boss took ingenuity to a whole other level. If not for his creative use of a vial of holy water and a simple wooden stake, the demons would have done a whole lot worse than marked up his body with their claws and teeth.

The whole “demon slayer” thing was a legend among their troop by now. He’d thought Thompson, their newest recruit, was going to shit a brick when Shadow had first told him the tale.

“Making the im-fucking-possible possible.” That was Riley’s slogan.

And thank God for it, otherwise, Shadow might not be breathing this rank-ass air right now.

“On my mark, move in,” said the gruff voice through the earpiece. Riley’s boss, whom they all affectionately called “Midnight”. No one knew what he looked like, except for Riley, and they sure as hell weren’t getting any answers out of that poker-faced douche bag. They’d all speculated, of course. Judging by his voice, Midnight was in his mid-fifties, with graying hair shaved in a military cut, cool, steely eyes, and a heavy-set mouth that was perpetually stuck in a frown.

Riley didn’t much like them talking about Midnight. Shadow had once tried prying the reason why not out of him, but in typical Riley fashion, he’d changed the subject.

“And no matter what you think when you see them, remember what they’ve done,” added Midnight sternly. “These vamps are evil. They are the enemy, plain and simple.”

“It’s black and white,” Riley said, keen eyes fixed upon the silent graveyard. “No problem. For a quarter of a million dollars apiece for this bounty, we won’t second-guess.”

A promise, or a command, whichever way you looked at it. And just what the fuck did Midnight mean by “no matter what you think when you see them?” Did the vamps look weird? They were child-killers, for fuck’s sake. It didn’t matter what the hell they looked like. Shadow was going to enjoy the shit out of putting a couple of bullets through their heads. Or maybe Shifting into his wolf form and taking his time with killing them in a more creative, satisfying way. None of his team mates was above torture, especially when the one suffering deserved it and then some.

A moment of silence passed, filled with the sounds of the night. Shadow scanned the graveyard. Even the dead bodies of paranormal creatures gave off signatures, which those vampire bastards were probably using to mask their own.

No matter. If he couldn’t sense their paranormal signatures and hone in on their exact location, then his nose sure as hell could sniff them out.

Just follow the scent of stale piss and body odor. If it smells like a Dumpster at noon in July, it must be a vampire.

Shadow felt Riley tense before he heard the command.

“Go,” Midnight clipped.

Riley raised a hand and pointed. As one they moved out, guns ready, footsteps silent. A lethal, synchronized unit. They knew each other’s movements. Knew one another’s fighting styles. Riley had taken special care with his team. Even after they’d lost one of their own last year on a mission gone bad, Riley had put the candidates through hell and back before at last selecting Thompson. The kid might be a bit green, but he was second only to Riley when it came to fucking shit up. Seriously, even Shadow, sadistic as he could be in the heat of battle, got the heebie-jeebies sometimes when watching Thompson do his thing.

It took less than thirty seconds to surround the graveyard and get into position. One wolf every ten feet, spread out equally across the circumference of the graveyard.

A light fog had moved in, covering the ground and all but the tops of the crooked tombstones. A darkened mausoleum stood at the graveyard’s center. Not even a fence wrapped around the place. It was old as dirt, with some of the graves dating back to the Revolutionary War. The earth had sunken in at spots, tipping a few gravestones into one another while the rest lay chipped or broken in the dirt. Most were so weatherworn you couldn’t even read the writing on them anymore.

Shadow idly wondered if when he died he’d even get a gravestone, and if he did, if they’d put his real name on it. Either way, he didn’t think he much care. Being forgotten might not be so bad, considering all the wicked things he’d done since joining the Black Moon Pack.

Better to let the world think he’d never existed.

The wind shifted, carrying the smell of decaying bodies toward Shadow’s direction. Bracing himself, he took shallower breaths. Inside his head, Thompson sputtered through the telepathic link all members of a pack shared.

Good God! It ’s choking me!

Must be fresh kills, sometime within the past two weeks, murmured Orion, a tall, tank-of-a-man with dark skin, hazel eyes ringed in gold, and thick ropes of dreadlocks he always kept pulled halfway back. Hailing from New Orleans and more than a little versed in voodoo, Shadow had wanted the Southerner’s code name to be “Spooky,” but Orion would have none of it.

All the more reason to get this taken care of, fast, Riley said. Shadow, you’re up.

On it. Shadow slinked into the graveyard, bending and twisting his body so as to remain hidden in the darkest shadows. There was a reason he was named after them. Growing up in the slums of New York City, he’d quickly learned that the difference between jail-time and remaining free lay in your ability to hide and keep moving while staying out of sight. When your momma was MIA and your dad too drunk to care about cooking dinner or paying the bills, you had to get real clever real fast about finding food and money. So from the time he was seven to the time he turned eighteen and left that shit hole for good, he’d had plenty of practice at “turning into a shadow.”

Luckily for him, the graveyard had plenty of them. The thick cloud cover overhead helped in that department, obscuring the full, bloodred moon just enough to hide his swift progress through the graveyard.

Though he’d rather dump a tub of oil over himself and light a match, he forced the putrid air in and out of his nostrils, sifting through the smells of death and latching on to the vampires’ perfume of stale piss. He still hadn’t felt signatures yet. No surprise. A lot of vamps had magic, and it wasn’t the first time he’d come across someone who could hide their paranormal signatures. Though a valiant effort, it hadn’t saved them, just as it sure as hell wouldn’t save these sons of bitches.

As he crouched behind a large tombstone covered in black ivy, he bit back a curse as the phantom injury flared up in his foot. He’d earned it while stealing goods from a supermarket owned by a local crime lord—a move he would not recommend, but hey, he was desperate and stupid at the time. The security guard was kind enough to leave him a reminder not to be so stupid by giving him a bullet in his foot as he’d been running away. He’d evaded paying the medical bills tied to removing the bullet and roughly patching up his foot by moving from city to city, often twice within the same month. He thought his foot would be permanently fucked up until he fell in with the Black Moon Pack, finally got some decent fucking money, settled his many debts, and was able to visit a doctor who knew what the fuck she was doing. “Surgery will help it,” his shiny new doctor had said. And by help, she’d obviously meant fuck it up beyond repair, because that’s exactly what she’d done. Not even a Blue Witch or Warlock could heal that kind of fuck-uppery. He’d sued the shit out of the doctor, of course, and while more money was always nice, it couldn’t buy back the full use of his foot. It made him a liability.

One he was seriously afraid Riley would cull someday very soon, for the safety of the team.

Fuck, Shadow didn’t know what the hell he’d do without the Black Moon Pack. Roam? Get a 9-to-5 day job, like civilized folk? God, that sounded like dying and going to hell right there. He’d rather gouge his eyes out than work a desk job.

He could picture his resume now. “So, Mr., um, Shadow. We see you have a background in ‘fucking people up’ and ‘killing a lot of shit,’ and yet you have no record. Care to explain?”

Knowing his temper, some paper-pushing manager would try to get cute with him. And he’d get real cute right back by bashing his face into his desk.

Yeah, he’d have to rethink the desk job idea.

Shadow’s bad foot screamed in pain, making him wince.

That foot bothering you again? Riley asked quietly. Shadow knew the question would be directed only at him through a private link. Riley was a lot of things, but at least the guy was courteous.

Shadow shrugged off the question. The silent “Can you do your job?” Eh, it’s the weather.

My busted knee does the same thing. Don ’t sweat it, man. Picked up on anything yet?

Shadow gave the graveyard one last scan for good measure. Nope. Just me, the pack, a whole lotta dead, rotting things stuffed somewhere around here—mausoleum, I’m guessing—and a whole lotta gravestones and—

Child-like laughter filled the graveyard, the sweet, delicate sounds echoing off the tombstones. Shadows ran through the mist, faster than even his wolf eyes could catch a glimpse of.

The electric tingle of paranormal signatures had the hairs all along his body standing upright in unison. There’s of them, from what I can tell, Shadow said through their pack-bond. He didn’t bother saying they were all vamps. If he’d felt it, the others had too. And judging from the tension crackling through their bond, they certainly had.

Swish!

Something whizzed by, and sharp pain lit up Shadow’s cheek. Son of a—

The tang of blood filled the air as warm liquid dribbled down his face. That motherfucker had cut him.

“You taste sweeter than you look.”

With a shriek at the innocent, young voice, he whirled, gun raised and pointed at…

At—a child?

At first, he thought maybe the vampire’s claws had been dipped in poison, which had seeped into his bloodstream and began to fuck with his perception of reality.

Because this kid, this innocent little person no older than five, couldn’t have glowing red eyes. Or little, cherubic hands stained in dried blood.

Or tiny fangs poking just beneath her upper lip.

The little girl—the vampire—sucked on her fingers as she watched him like a hawk eyeing a mouse. “That’s the first time I’ve had wolf blood before. It’s different from I expected. Sweeter. Maxwell told me not to drink it because it’s poisonous, but I don’t feel anything. Guess I really am immune to werewolf venom, just like Mr. Tavers suspected.”

He didn’t know who the hell she was talking about, but listening to this thing talk threw his mind for a loop. For one, the kid still had a child-like tone of voice, very high-pitched and sweet, but it spoke with the reflection of a thirty-year-old woman.

Secondly, his face had been clawed by that? No one snuck up on him. Ever. And the first person to do so was a fucking toddler.

Lowering his gun a fraction, but not enough so as to be stupid, he said gently, “How old are you?”

She smiled. “It’s impolite to ask a lady her age.”

The fuck? Was she flirting with him? Nausea kicked his stomach, and he nearly hurled right there. “Are you, um, lost?”

“No. This is my home.”

“The graveyard?”

“The dead don’t seem to mind.” A careless shrug, though those crimson eyes still stared at his face. It had begun to itch—the cuts were scabbing over. Thank God for accelerated healing, courtesy of his werewolf genes. “I want some more,” she said, licking the blood off her lips. She took a step forward, her feet bared and covered in so much dirt and blood that it looked like she was wearing brown socks.

He threw up a hand. “Not so fast, sister. You have some explaining to do.”

She stopped, eyes going wide and bottom lip trembling. “Am I in trouble?”

He studied her. “I don’t think so. But your master might be.”

“Master?”

“Your maker. Someone had to of turned you.”

A snarl tore out of her throat, and she hissed, baring her fangs. “You think I answer to a master? I haven’t needed a master in four-hundred years.”

Say what? “I’m sorry, I thought you said ‘four hundred years.’”

“I did.” She smiled sweetly. Any trace of her animalistic rage vanished in a few blinks of her doe-like eyes.

He didn’t like where this was going. “And your master released you, I assume.”

“He didn’t have a choice—I killed him. Ripped his throat out with these.” She tapped her delicate, little fangs.

Fuck. She hadn’t blinked twice when saying that she’d killed her master, either. His breathing quickened, and he threw open his senses.

A twig snapped to his right; someone was moving in. And judging from the rotting smell and the tingling vampire signature, it wasn’t one of his buddies to back him up. A third paranormal signature crackled along his skin, to his left, this one stronger than the others.

Shit.

He was about to be ambushed.

Keep her distracted, Riley ordered. We’re moving in.

Hurry the fuck up before her and her buddies decide to have a midnight werewolf snack.

“Who are you talking to?”

His eyes snapped back to the little girl’s. “Excuse me?”

“Inside your head just now. Do you have company?” She peered about.

His jaw dropped.

Telepathic. This freaking toddler vamp was telepathic.

With an exasperated groan, he rolled his shoulders. “You have got to be kidd—”

Gunfire rang out, shattering the symphony of the night. Something shrieked and went down hard on the ground.

The little girl whirled, hissing. Then she was gone in a blink, her platinum-blond hair streaking behind her and making her look like a ghost playing amongst the graves.

Chills crept up his arms, making his skin tingle.

To your right! cried out Naomi’s voice.

A shadow loomed in the corner of his eye. Cursing and twisting on the balls of his feet, he raised the gun and fired—into thin air. A few seconds later, claws gripped his shoulders and violently yanked him back. The rear of his skull crashed into a tombstone, making him see stars.

Something knelt in front of him, sniffing. “You wolves really are too arrogant for your own good,” came a cultured voice filled with disdain. “You honestly thought you could sneak up on a master vampire?”

The man squatting in front of him was in his late thirties, with golden hair cropped above his shoulders, an open white button-down shirt—also sporting the blood-stained look so many vamps found fashionable—and trousers that looked like they were from the 1800s. He too wore no shoes. Flickering crimson light sparkled in his eyes.

Shadow bared his fangs. The reflection from his glowing golden eyes shone in the vamp’s. “She said she had no master. That she killed him.”

“And she did, kill me that is.” He smiled, showing off two large fangs. “Then she turned me into her servant for all eternity.”

Someone screamed—Thompson? Orion?—followed by more gunfire. The sounds of struggle and the scent of fresh blood filled the air.

Sensing his team’s distress, Shadow started to get up when Big Bad Vampire pushed him back down. He dug his claws into Shadow’s shoulder, pinning him to the gravestone. “Vicious little thing, my Anne.” An amused chuckle. “I’ll never be able to match her talent for raw savagery.”

“What the hell did you do to those kids?”

He cocked his head to the side, confused. “I didn’t do anything.” He leaned forward, his demonic eyes locked with Shadow’s. “That was all Anne’s idea.”

The child? All those murders… toddler vamp did that?

“Give me a break,” Shadow spat. “You’re probably trying to cover your own tracks by throwing her under the bus.”

“It’s true, actually.”

The girl appeared behind the older vampire and rested her hand on his shoulder. He winced. Shadow’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve never liked children,” she went on matter-of-factly.

“But you are one.”

“No, I am not!” she roared, coming within an inch of Shadow’s face and hissing. Blood and gore dripped from her mouth. The smell… oh, God. Naomi.

He started to struggle again, but the man’s claws dug in that much deeper, tearing flesh. “Don’t move while the lady is talking to you!”

“I have hated every child I’ve ever come across,” Anne hissed. “Liars, monsters, all of them. They said they liked me, that they wanted to be my friends. But then they hurt me. They teased and bullied me as a human for my mind-reading abilities. Called me a freak and threatened to burn me at the stake, or stone me to death; all for simply being different. I didn’t ask for this gift. I didn’t ask to be treated like dirt. I finally said no more. Children are the cruelest tormentors on earth. Childhood is cruel, one long test to see if you’ve got what it takes to survive to adulthood.”

He could only stare. This was the kid’s outlook on her peers? What the hell had her life been like?

“You want to know what my life was like?” Anne said.

That’s right. In his bewilderment, he’d forgotten he was dealing with a telepath.

“My parents left me on the steps of an orphanage. Mr. Tavers—” she jerked a thumb at the man — “was our overseer. I say overseer because that place was like a slave camp. We were made to do all the chores, and to answer at his beck and call. We never got presents, never got a birthday cake. No kisses, no hugs, no signs of affection.”

“And I’ll be that made you angry.”

Her silent glare was answer enough. Couldn’t say he blamed her. Not that his childhood was Hallmark movie worthy, but hell, it had been heaven compared to what this little girl had been through.

“Is that why you killed all those children?” Shadow asked quietly.

Anne blinked. “They deserved it.”

“Did they bully you, like those kids at the orphanage did four hundred years ago?”

Doubt and regret flickered through her eyes, which flashed a pretty blue hue before turning red once more. “It doesn’t matter! They’re guilty! I saw all of them bully someone or something—animals, playmates, siblings. They were cruel-hearted, each and every one of them. They deserved what was coming to them.” With a “hmph,” she spun about, dismissing him.

Fuck. So their child-killer had turned out to be a child herself. Midnight’s warning suddenly made sense.

No matter what you think when you see them, remember what they ’ve done.

“Remember what she’s done,” he murmured aloud, barely audible.

What she’d done… in her mind, he bet she thought she was doing the world a service. Saving another kid from a self-esteem beating like she had endured.

His heart suddenly went out to her. He’d never had kids, hadn’t even considered it. No one in their line of work would, not if they were still sane, anyway. There didn’t need to be another kid growing up in the world with a daddy or mommy who couldn’t be there for them. And he’d refuse to let some fucking stranger raise his pups. He wouldn’t do that to his children, make ‘em think they were unwanted.

But while slumming it, he’d been the victim of plenty of abuse at the hands of street gangs and asshats who thought they owned everything and everyone they saw. Like because their life was hard, the world owed them something. You get abused long enough, and you start to feel pretty resentful—and mad as hell. He’d spent a lot of years dealing with the aftermath of that anger, until he’d found martial arts as an outlet, a way to channel all that pent-up aggression and purge it from his body before it could do him serious harm.

This kid had most likely been holding in her pain for so long—literally, hundreds of years—that it had eventually exploded. The result? A mass murdering spree to exact her revenge on people who mirrored her childhood demons.

Immense sympathy swelled in his chest, making it hard to look at her with the knowledge he had to end her. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

She stopped and turned around back around. “What did you say?”

His eyes lifted to hers. Her cheeks might be round, her voice might be sweet, but she is not a child. She’s a murderer, the target. Pure and simple.

“Keep it simple,” he muttered. Still, his heart picked up speed, pumping doubt into his veins.

When you were in the Black Moon Pack, you couldn’t afford self-doubt. It could shut you down, which could make things very tricky indeed. And possibly result in getting yourself, or your pack, killed. He’d already failed Naomi and who knew how many others on his crew by not acting immediately when he saw Anne and realized what she was. He wasn’t going to let the rest of them down.

He Shifted before he could overthink it and change his mind. Mr. Tavers screamed, throwing up his hands as a massive wolf, black as pitch, descended on him. Shadow pinned him with his paws and swiftly relieved him of his throat. Blech. He hated the taste of vampire blood, especially that of a vamp who’d been gorging himself on children. The thought of it made him almost throw up.

Anne ran. Shadow went after her, sensing her fear. The smells around him were amplified in his wolf form.

Three of his comrades were injured or dead, he couldn’t tell. So much blood saturated the air, mingling with the stench of the corpses the trio of vamps had stashed somewhere.

Riley was shouting something at him telepathically, but the chase was on. His prey drive overshadowed his common sense. Shadow tore after Anne, leaping over gravestones like they were nothing.

Anne burst through the mausoleum doors and skidded to a halt in front of the far wall. She whirled about, eyes wide with fear.

Gotcha.

Shadow leapt.

As his jaws opened wide, prepared to severe her head, his humanity screamed at him to stop.

She ’s just a child, a victim!

And above all other oaths the pack had sworn, they said they’d never harm an innocent.

Yes, she’d killed.

Yes, she was a liability.

But he saw only a little girl thrown into a monster’s body, harboring years of hatred for the cruel hand life had dealt her. It wasn’t fair—she didn’t deserve to die. She needed a second chance. And the longer he looked at her, the more he saw his little sister, Amelia, in her eyes. A hurting soul, crying out for help the only way she knew how.

Through violence and death, just like the world had showed her.

Amelia hadn’t gotten a second chance, and for that, Shadow had failed her. Failed to protect her. Failed to keep his promise to his mother.

But for Anne, life didn’t have to be so cruel.

The biting urge to save her gnawed at him until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Veering to the right, he snarled and slammed into a row of coffins lining one side of the mausoleum. The old structure shuddered, raining dust and debris down from the ceiling. His paws scrapped against the stone floors as he righted himself, panting hard as he eyed the vampire staring at him with mouth agape.

“You stopped,” she said. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Nails scrapped along the insides of the coffins. Shadow growled, whirling about as lids opened and fell to the floor. Tiny white hands reached out, hefting up little bodies that were asleep before now.

Before their master awakened them.

Pair after pair of red eyes lit up the inside of the mausoleum, until the crimson light drowned out the moonlight drifting through a lonely hole in the ceiling.

The ground began to tremble beneath his paws. With dread, he chanced a glance at the graveyard. The earth stirred, looking like a roiling sea that tipped over the gravestones. Like something straight out of a zombie flick, tiny hands shot out of the earth. Bodies emerged from the soil, rank skin dripping off of shattered bones. Some were missing limbs or an eye, an ear, or, in the case of one particularly gruesome corpse, a head. From the size of their bodies, they were all children, just like those that stared at him in the mausoleum. Only, unlike his glowing red-eyed friends, the corpses out in the graveyard weren’t vampires.

They were the walking dead. The stench that had filled the air, all the bodies of the missing children that had never been recovered… Anne had been stowing them away in the graveyard for safe-keeping.

To use as a trap. And if the dead could walk, that meant she had a—

Boots clicked on the stone floor of the mausoleum as a figure stepped out of the shadows. A handsome young man in his teens stepped into the pool of red-stained moonlight, palms raised toward the ceiling. Pools of murky green light gathered in his hands, shimmering with faint red sparks.

The vampire stopped beside Anne, red eyes fixed on Shadow and a wicked grin on his fanged face.

“Your friends were fun, but no match for my power,” the boy said. He had dark blond hair styled in a tousled look, and pale skin that matched Anne’s. His clothing was also not from this century, more like circa 1700s.

“Judas was also shunned by society in his time,” Anne said, admiring her Child. She stroked his arm lovingly, like petting a favorite animal. “Like me, he was an outcast for his abilities. Whereas I could read minds, Judas could bring back and control the dead. As I’m sure a wolf of your expertise knows, necromancy is an extremely rare gift. I couldn’t let it go to waste. So when he sought me out and begged me to turn him, I did. He understands me. He’s the only person who knows what it’s like to be me.”

More screaming came behind him as the dead crawled free of their graves. Though gunfire still rang out, there wasn’t as much of it.

His pack was losing.

Ivy—the only other female on the team besides Naomi—cursed. Her wail pierced the air, and a moment later the dead began moaning and hissing. The sounds of tearing flesh rang in Shadow’s ears—a feeding frenzy.

Oh, God. Ivy! he screamed.

Shadow, fucking listen to me! I’ve been screaming at you for five minutes! Get out of there! Riley yelled back. Abort the mission! I repeat, abort—

Stark silence.

Shadow’s heart pounded. How the fuck had Midnight missed this? These weren’t normal vamps they were dealing with. Why the hell hadn’t he said anything?

Unless… unless he’d meant to leave it out because he’d wanted the team to fail.

But to what end? It didn’t make sense.

Shadow’s mind spun with questions and theories, none of them pleasant.

“I guess you’ll never get to find out. Soon, it won’t matter anyway.” Anne looked at Judas and nodded. “Kill them all.”

No! The faces of his team flashed through his mind. He had to get the fuck out of there, had to—

His body slammed to the floor as the child vampires waiting in the coffins leapt onto his back, pinning him.

His skin lit up with red-hot pain as fangs sank into his flesh, tearing and sucking. The venom from one bite wouldn’t kill him; that much he knew. But from fifty or so vamps…

He fought to buck them off, but where he freed himself of one, another latched on like a leech. They dug their claws into his fur to anchor themselves to him.

As the poison spread through his system and slowed his thinking and blurred his vision, he kept thinking of his teammates.

Of all the good and bad times they’d had together, like a big, dysfunctional family.

What have I done?

His vision started to turn black, zapping his strength along with it. His body felt heavy, like stone. He fell to the floor, with his head slumped toward the entrance.

Clouds had moved in, patching the moonlight. The cloud cover shifted, raining red moonlight down on the grisly scene below.

The graveyard was soaked in blood. Pieces of his teammates littered the ground. A shred of torn, dark flesh bearing the wolf head tattoo lay by the mausoleum—it had belonged to Orion.

There was no more gunfire.

No more screams.

As the vampires continued to feed off him, and the darkness overcame all conscious thought, there was at last no remembrance of the guilt he felt at having failed his entire team because he’d hesitated to kill his target.

Because he’d been too soft.

Too weak.

Not enough. He was never enough.

Not strong enough to save his team. Not strong enough to save Amelia.

Not even strong enough to save himself.

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Introducing Lust… and a chance to read it for free!

I’ve been wanting to conduct a reader survey. This will allow me to learn more about what you guys like to read, and help me better serve you as an author. But I know people are busy and don’t like to do something for nothing! So I wrote Lust as a “thank you” for participating in my upcoming survey. =) If you don’t want to participate, it will still be available for purchase wherever eBooks are sold.

Here’s the skinny on it:

It’s takes place at the same time as Protector in my Blood Moon Rising series.
It’s a complete story! Meaning you don’t need to have read any other books in the series in order to read and enjoy Lust. This also means it’s cliffhanger free! Stand-alone lovers, rejoice!
It’ll be priced the same as the other books in the series ($2.99).
It will be given freely as a gift to survey participants (eBook format only).
Only people who are on my newsletter list are eligible to participate in the survey. 

The survey won’t be long, about 10 to 12 questions. I’ll send an invite to complete it when the newsletter goes out announcing Lust‘s release. This will probably happen early next week. I’ll go into more details about the survey in that newsletter blast, so if you don’t want to miss it, please consider signing up for my new release newsletter.

Now about Lust…

A WOLF WHO’S SPENT HIS LIFE IN THE SHADOWS OF HIS PAST…

Beta werewolf—and ex paranormal bounty hunter—Shadow knew when his Alpha commanded, er, “politely growled” for him to attend the werewolf summit, that it was going to royally suck. Not only does he not want to fool around with all that royal werewolf bullshit, but he knows he’s not exactly everybody’s favorite guy. Considering he ruined a lot of lives in his old profession, he’ll be lucky if he can survive the weekend. Not to mention his mating Fever is driving him insane—and so is the feisty Alpha female he’s Marked as his mate.

A QUEEN OF WOLVES WHOSE REIGN IS THREATENED…

Spirited Breanna Whiteclaw is barely holding it together. With an ornery Alpha named Strider out to make her—and her pack —his own, and with her pack recovering from recent attacks by an unknown enemy, she has her paws full. Attending the summit means leaving her pack in their time of need, but as a royal werewolf, she knows she has no choice. Add to that the fact her Blood Moon is approaching, and she has yet to find a mate—until the devilishly handsome Shadow Marks her as his own.

CAN LOVE BE BORN FROM HATRED?

Shadow never intended to go through with the mating ceremony—especially with the daughter of a man he killed. But his Fever has other plans. The more he’s around her, the more he craves her touch, longs to hear her voice, and aches to claim her.

From the moment Shadow’s Mark formed on her hand, Breanna knew her mate-bond was destined for failure. The bounty hunter responsible for her father’s death is the last wolf on this earth she could ever bind herself to forever. But if she wants to remain Alpha and save her pack, she might not have a choice. As Strider closes in on her, she finds herself relying on Shadow’s quiet strength—and craving those rough hands all over her curves.

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Free Fiction Friday: Ritual Chapter 5

Every Friday until the book’s release, I’ll post a chapter. Enjoy! If you would like to be notified of the book’s release, please sign up for my new release newsletter. =)

I recommend starting with Chapter 1.

CHAPTER 5 (Warning! There are spoilers. I recommend reading the books in order, starting with Fever, which is currently free! Also, please keep in mind this is the raw manuscript, meaning it hasn’t been glossed over by an editor yet. Some things may change slightly upon final publication. =)

Nik was going to fucking kill something. Or, more likely, someone.

Like a certain asshole brother named Elijah.

“Seriously,” he said to Gage, who sat way too fucking poised in front of him while he paced around like an agitated tiger. “How, exactly, after years of silence, did he all of a sudden get the gall to show up out of the blue like, ‘Hey, by the way, guys, I’m alive and well. Like, what the fuck?”

Gage eyed the tumbler of Scotch sitting on the coffee table centered in a trio of leather couches. So far, he hadn’t even taken a sip, but Nik could sense he wanted to. He was probably trying to be the responsible one and all that.

Saint Gage. As someone with a personal history of being an asshole by nature, Nik found it both endearing and annoying how perfect and nice Gage could be.

But he loved him anyway, because that’s what brothers did.

“I don’t know,” Gage murmured, turning his eyes back to Nik. “Perhaps it’s Verika. Love has a way of making you grow a pair.”

Wasn’t that the truth. Though it could be argued love could also scare the hell out of you and turn you into a dickless pansy. Most days, he still didn’t feel worthy of Alara’s affection. Maybe because love had a way of stripping you bare and leaving you vulnerable, laying out all your virtues and faults for the other to see. Which was some fucking scary shit. He was still afraid someday she’d recognize the ugliness in him, tuck tail, and run, but so far she hadn’t.

And he prayed to God she never would.

A knock sounded at the door, quiet but not so much as to sound timid.

Nik’s heart started pounding. It felt like he was about to go into battle, only this he wasn’t looking forward to. Dread wrenched his gut, twisting his insides and making him feel like he was about to come unglued from nerves.

Why are you so scared? Don’t be a pussy.

Gage eyed his older brother curiously before at last speaking up since it appeared Nik’s voice had vanished. “Come in,” Gage called.

Dammit. He sounded so together while Nik felt like the world was about to fall apart all over again. Just as it had done the night they’d been bitten.

The night their mother packed her shit, booked a cab, and never looked back.

The time their father had killed himself.

The moment Elijah walked out of their lives forever, leaving a crying Nik screaming his name into the night.

He remembered that night clear as day. Blistering cold wind had chapped his still damp skin. He’d just gotten out of the shower and had run outside soon as Gage told him Elijah was leaving. He didn’t want to believe it. He’d looked up to Elijah too damn much. Had learned everything he knew about being a damn good big brother from Elijah.

Bursting through the screen door, he’d stumbled down the porch and into the newly fallen snow. His eyes had scanned the darkening horizon for a lone figure, growing farther away. “Elijah!” he’d screamed.

He’d kept walking. “Elijah! Don’t leave me!”

“Nik?”

Nik startled. “What?” He blinked several times, pulling himself out of the memory and focusing on Gage, who now stood beside him. He looked at his older brother with worry.

“Er, Eli’s here,” Gage said, gesturing to the door.

Everything slowed down as Nik turned to look at his older brother.

Elijah stood there, dressed in a black T-shirt that was a bit too tight for his muscular body, torn, faded jeans, and a pair of sneakers that were beat halfway to hell.

At first, all he could do was stare. In disbelief, in shock, in fear, in awe. He didn’t know what to feel.

Elijah stared warily back, a multitude of emotions passing through his own eyes.

Overwhelming relief crashed into Nik, making his knees shake. He wanted to hug Elijah so badly, to know he was real, that he was here to stay, at last. But his arms wouldn’t move. His body felt as if it were made of stone, tethering him to the spot.

Gage was the first to step forward after the most awkward, tense silence the Earth has ever witnessed. “It’s been too long, brother,” Gage said in a shaky voice, embracing Elijah.

Elijah seemed stunned at first, not hugging him back initially. Then his big arms wrapped around Gage. Though Gage was muscular, too, his body looked much leaner compared to Elijah’s. Elijah was a tank, standing a bit taller than Gage.

The two brothers hugged one another tightly, clinging to each other as if afraid to let go.

Nik’s hands balled into fists at his sides.

Gage and Elijah at last separated, Gage smiling warmly. Well, sort of. More like lukewarmly. Elijah gave him a tentative smile back and looked at Nik. The second he did, his smile vanished.

Anger rolled off of Nik in waves, and his fists shook. “Where the hell have you been?” Nik asked in a quiet, stone-cold voice. He sort of knew from Verika’s explanation last night, but needed to hear it from the bastard’s own mouth.

“Nik—” Gage started, stepping between them and holding up his hands.

“No!” Nik shoved past Gage, getting in Elijah’s face. He grabbed hold of Elijah’s T-shirt collar and shook him hard enough to rattle his brain. “Where the fuck have you been all this time? Huh? Did you not think we’d worry? Did you not think we’d given you up for dead?”

Pain flickered in Elijah’s eyes. “I was trying to protect you.”

Nik searched his expression and tried to detect any whiff of bullshit. At last, he let him go. “Tch. Yeah right. You were probably just too strung out to come find us. Or maybe you were too busy getting balls deep in Mistress Black, our mortal enemy.”

Elijah’s eyes flashed gold and a warning growl rumbled in his chest. “I’m not going to pretend like I wasn’t a horrible, rotten piece of shit, because I was. I was strung out. I was an adrenaline junkie. Hanging out with her gave me the best high of my life.” He shuddered. “Until I got a brutal wake-up call.”

“What happened?” Gage cut in as Nik opened his mouth. He shot Nik a warning look that urged him to rein in his anger before it took over.

Dammit. Much as Nik would love to knock Elijah into next week, Gage was right. Elijah could help them find Mistress Black. For all their sakes, Nik had to cool it.

Elijah sighed hard and ran a hand through his dark hair. He glanced at the tumbler of Scotch on the table. “I hope you have more of that, because I’m gonna need it if we’re talking about Mistress Black.”

***

An hour later, Nik sat stunned. And numb, but that could have been from the bottle of whiskey he’d knocked back.

Every shadowy secret of Elijah’s past had come tumbling out. Gage had a knack for coaxing people into spilling their deepest, darkest secrets. Nik… well, Nik had other methods. Usually ones involving knives and a helluva lot of blood.

Even when Elijah had gotten to the part where he’d met Verika, Nik hadn’t felt a damn bit jealous. How could he when he was mated to the perfect woman? And bit by bit, as Elijah talked, Nik found his anger faded away and gave into sympathy and sorrow. Their collective weight made him feel as if the ocean of alcohol he’d just drunk had added an extra one hundred pounds to his midsection.

The three brothers sat in heavy silence, staring at their empty glasses and bottles, of which there were many. A lot of booze was drunk this past hour.

“Damn,” Gage said at last.

“Ditto,” said Nik, shaking his head. “I had no idea…”

“Yeah, well. I had preferred to keep it that way.” Elijah shifted his weight, not looking at either of his brothers. “I guess in addition to protecting you two, I was also protecting myself in a way. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me, but I guess that was inevitable since I never called.”

“No. I can understand why you didn’t.” Gage leaned forward and squeezed Elijah’s arm. “You’ll always be our family. No matter what you’ve done.”

Elijah stilled, staring first at Gage’s hand and then lifting his eyes to his baby brother’s face. “You mean that?” he asked quietly.

“…Of course.” The hesitation didn’t go unnoticed. Elijah winced.

Huh. Guess Gage had his own demons to deal with in regards to the prodigal wolf.

Gage looked at Nik expectantly.

Nik’s eyes flicked between his two brothers. The two people left on this earth who shared the same blood as him. God, he’d wanted this, had wanted his big brother back. It wasn’t so much because he needed someone to look out for him as much as he’d just missed Eli so damned much. The betrayal he’d felt at him walking out on them, abandoning them, remained, and would take a long time to go away, if it ever did.

But this… this was a start.

Nik met Elijah’s questioning, hopeful stare—and nodded once.

An enormous weight seemed to lift from Elijah’s shoulders.

And for the first time, Elijah actually smiled at Nik.

***

Alara had to admit—Nik was handling it better than she thought.

At least he hadn’t “ripped that motherfucker a new one,” or so he’d promised last night. There they were, locked away in their bedroom and having perfectly hot sex, when Nik had started rambling. About how much he hated Elijah, about how he was going to storm up to his room and throw him out on the street like the bum he was, and so on. Alara had at last given up on a romantic, drama-free evening alone with her mate, and with a sigh of exasperation and resignation, had called their sexcapades quits.

She’d expected yelling, maybe even a few thrown punches. Which was why she hadn’t batted a lash as the yelling begun.

Danica and Verika hadn’t fared so well. They’d both tensed as the three she-wolves listened outside the door.

“He sounds really angry,” Danica murmured, nibbling her lip.

Alara suppressed a smile. She could imagine her mother rolling in her grave, bemoaning what a travesty it was to have such a commoner for a queen. “They’re just hashing it out the only way they know how. They need this. All of them.”

“Let’s just hope Nik leaves me enough of a mate to curl up with tonight,” Verika muttered, crossing her arms. She stared at the door so hard you’d think she had X-ray vision.

“He’ll be fine,” Alara assured her, masking her worry. Truth was, she wasn’t so sure Nik wouldn’t let Elijah walked out without a scratch or two.

Or maybe a busted lip. Or a broken nose. Or a blackened eye—

Stop it. Gage wouldn’t let things get too out of hand. She’d sensed the king’s nerves when he’d arrived, a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Knowing the ache of losing Lizzy made her desperately wish the brothers could find it in their hearts to forgive one another before it was too late. Family was too precious to take for granted.

“Come,” Alara said. “Let’s leave them alone. The guards will step in if it gets too rough.”

Verika gave the door one last doubtful look, but she finally followed Alara and Danica down the hall.

Danica and Alara chatted quietly as they walked toward one of Alara’s private sitting rooms, while Verika trailed them, looking around and keeping to herself.

She’s weird, Danica said telepathically.

Alara smiled softly. She’s just shy. And a bit socially awkward. I think I intimidate her.

Can’t imagine why, Your Royal Perfectness.

Not wanting to give away the fact they were having a private conversation, Alara refrained from nudging Danica with her elbow. So is she seriously a Black Witch? Danica asked, sounding more curious than anything else.

Yes.

Danica’s eyes flickered with worry. Do you think she’s sided with Mistress Black?

Alara thought about it. No, I don’t think so. She seems to want her dead as much as we do, probably for what she did to Elijah.

Danica’s expression turned dark. Yeah. Gage told me about that on the way here.

Alara had a feeling the version Elijah and Verika had relayed to them the other night was truncated. That there was a whole lot more to their stories than either of them was letting on.

Honestly, more power to them. They had just as much right to keep secrets as anybody else. God knew Alara and the rest of them had their fair share of secrets.

The sitting room was by far the girliest of the rooms in the manor. Alara had had to fight with Nik to let her redecorate, saying the place sorely needed “a woman’s touch.” When he’d at last given in, she’d been ruthless in tearing down every drab, boring curtain, ripping off outdated wallpaper, and pulling up shag carpet that would have made Scooby-Doo proud.

The fresh, feminine look of the room now, with its sunny, buttercream walls, white gauze curtains, turquoise rugs, and white couch and chairs, made it hard to recognize the old room.

After one of the maids brought them tea and cookies, they sat back and talked. Alara made sure to steer the conversation to safer topics, such as the weather, shopping, how impossible it was to live in a house full of male werewolves.

Verika replied only when spoken to, sipping her tea quietly while sitting straight up on the edge of the sofa.

Alara watched her carefully and with a hint of amusement. Verika could probably flick her wrist and kill everyone in this manor, and yet here she was, scared to death of a little girl talk. It was, admittedly, endearing.

Alara had heard witches and warlocks couldn’t choose their powers. That they were handed down to them genetically. Verika’s could no more help being a Black Witch than Alara could a werewolf. It was just a part of who she was. It didn’t make her evil.

Unless she chose to be.

“So, I’m dying to ask.” Danica turned to Verika, looking like a kid who was about to sit on Santa’s lap. Warning bells went off in Alara’s head, but Danica spoke before Alara could stop her. “Can you really bring people back from the dead?”

Verika choked on her tea.

Danica! Alara snapped mentally. To hell with the fact Danica outranked her in the werewolf world. She’d warned her to stay on safe topics because Verika was shy, and what did she do? Dive right into Forbidden Topic territory.

Danica gave Alara a What? Look. It was bound to come up sooner or later. I don’t think our witch here is as breakable and vulnerable as you’re making her out to be. Just chill out.

Verika coughed into a fist and set down her teacup with a clank. “Wow, you don’t hold back, do you?”

Danica grinned. “What can I say? I’m not exactly known for tiptoeing around something I want to know. I’ve always been a fan of yanking the bandage off, so to speak.”

“You don’t say?” Verika murmured, sounding hoarse. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, no sense in tiptoeing around it, as you put it.” She leaned back against the sofa, the first time Alara had seen her look halfway relaxed. “Yes, I can bring people back from the dead. Though I didn’t know that until last night.”

Alara raised a brow. She’d assumed Verika had known exactly what she was doing when she’d brought Nik back. “You mean, you had no idea if your spell would work or not when you resurrected Nik?”

Verika shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Though I’ve been getting these… ‘feelings’ of what I should do. Call it a witch’s intuition.”

“Like, your magic is guiding you?” Danica asked.

Verika swallowed, going pale. “Something like that.”

Alara stared at her, eyes narrowing slightly.

Danica, completely oblivious thanks to her curiosity, spoke up. “I think it’s amazing.”

Verika blinked in surprise. “You do?”

“Yeah! Totally.”

Verika stared—and then snorted. “I never expected ‘totally’ to come out of a queen’s mouth.”

“I get that a lot. There’s a lot of misconceptions about how modern queens are supposed to act and sound like.” She rolled her eyes. “I figured, hey, I’m a queen. I’ll make up my own damn rules.”

“You do have a point.”

“Right? That’s what I’ve been saying all along. But some of us ‘royals-by-birth’ in here, not to point any fingers or anything, still chastise me from time to time.”

“I’ve never chastised you,” Alara said.

“Not out loud, anyway, but I’ve seen the eye rolls and the gaping mouths. You know, I figured the less bullshit there is in the higher courts the better. I’m going to be myself regardless of how other people feel like I should act. And if that rubs someone the wrong way, then they don’t deserve the time of day from me anyway. So no sweat.”

Verika smiled in admiration at Danica. “You’re very brave. A lot of people try to please others by pretending to be something they are not.”

“Which is the problem with the world. If everybody just spoke their minds, I think there’d be a lot less drama.”

Alara listened to the two of them chatter. Verika unwound, turning into a much more talkative person than she’d been in the garden earlier. It stung a little, but then again, Alara had never expected them to become best friends. And Danica had a way of making even the most uptight people like and trust her.

A powerful gift for a queen to have.

“Verika? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Alara’s eyes snapped to the witch, who was leaned forward with her hands clutching her belly as if she might be sick. Her pale skin had grown chalky white, shimmering with sweat.

Alara started to stand. “Veri—”

“Oh, God,” Verika gasped, right before her mouth flew open and out spewed a torrent of vomit.

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