by Jena Wade
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty - One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Coming Soon
More From Jena Wade
About Jena Wade
Finding His Passion
Greycoast Pack
Book Four
Jena Wade
&
Lorelei M. Hart
Copyright © 2020 by Jena Wade & Lorelei M. Hart
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Published in the United States of America
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Chapter One
Thorne
Something was brewing. I had no idea what, but something had the dark healer on edge to the point where she’d freaked out, killed three animals, and left. Just disappeared, not even returning for me.
But she would always return for me.
I didn’t remember much about how I got here or who I was before she bound me to this living hell, but I knew that much. I was important to her. Not in the caring about me kind of way. No. She hated me and often took her frustrations out on me, the scars on my body a visible reminder of only a fraction of what I’d been through.
My importance to her ran deeper than that, not that she ever let me in on why. She just was sure that if she poked enough at me, gave me enough concoctions, and spoke enough words over me that I would somehow be the key.
The key. That was all she ever said on that, but every time she did, the sinister nature of what that meant shined brighter.
I sniffed the air, the sight of a dead snake catching me out of the corner of my eye. She’d once loved that thing, as much as she could love something. She never experimented on it, instead talking to it like a friend, and then… boom, she killed it along with the others.
Killing wasn’t new to her, but like this? This was new. She normally killed with a purpose—the heart of an animal to complete a spell or to destroy an animal that was no longer of value to her. She didn’t stop at animals either—I’d seen the last breath of shifters by her hand, their screams echoing in my nightmares nightly. No, she killed, but not out of anger like this time.
What had her so riled? And what did that mean for me?
I feared for when she returned. I was already on borrowed time with her, and honestly, most days I wished for death over this existence. I was here, but not—my animal in control as much as he could be with the bars wrapped around us. My human side came and went into consciousness like it was floating through existence.
The stink of death flooded my senses. So much senseless death. I tried to shut down, to give myself time away. That was a coping mechanism that worked for some people, right? Things got so bad that a person could hide in their happy place as the haunting intensified. For me, all memories of happiness were gone. Did they ever even exist? Had I been happy before? The emotion seemed out of reach for me. If I had a life before the dark healer captured me, I couldn’t remember it. This was life. My life.
Or rather her life, as she constantly referred to me. Why couldn’t I be that snake? This existence was getting to be too much. And hope? I had none. Not even close to any. I couldn’t remember a time I wasn’t here, not really. The fuzziness of my brain, the distance I felt from my body—that was my entire existence.
I curled further into a ball, my legs all but useless, my back as close to the wall as I could manage. I began my now habit of counting. One. Two. Three. Four. I would go until I could no longer count, the menial task distracting me slightly from the pain, the fear, the dread.
Today, unlike days before, at least those I could remember, the counting failed. I didn’t get lost in the rote activity. I didn’t get a moment’s reprieve from the pain. Instead I got something completely different. I got a piece of me.
Me, at least more of myself than normal, my human self, was in the forefront. My brain—somehow less hazy, not by much, but enough. I was still pushed back almost too far to be sure I was fully in my body, but it was different. For a split second I thought I might try to shift, but to what end? At least in my wombat form I was fierce and warm. In my skin? I’d be weak and shivering, the bottoms of my feet hurting against the rough ground. If I even could shift, which I was seriously doubting even with the glimmer of possibility right there for the taking.
I began to count again. It was the only tool I had to keep from complete despair, even if it was faulty at the moment. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
A memory slammed into me; they did that sometimes. My count lost.
The memory wasn’t much, just me picking berries. I was young, so young, my hands tiny as they snatched berries off of the bush and popped them into my mouth. The sweetness coating my tongue, the seeds getting stuck into my teeth, the stickiness of the juice covering my hand. It was as if I were there, as if I were home.
Home? Was it home? Was it even a real memory? The tinctures the dark healer gave me often blended reality until I no longer saw where it began or ended. Did it matter?
Allowing myself to indulge in the joyful moment regardless of it being real or not, I ignored the sound of people approaching and then entering the cottage-like structure that the dark healer called home. She was back… but not alone.
The scent. Wolf. She had a wolf with her, his scent new, but not. I tried to come forward, to be more present. Something was happening, something not good.
I attempted to get up. My body failed, my wombat frozen not in fear… no, this was different. This was like when we moved here… when she drugged us. But had she?
Were we moving? Was that what all of this was about? Last time she left blood and flames, more than just the building burning—flesh, the scent of flesh as it turned to nothing but death.
<
br /> I closed my eyes, helpless and afraid. One. Two. Three Four. Commotion outside of me threatened to take my focus, but I was too weak for this… I couldn’t do it again.
And then everything changed. It was only a scent. Nothing more. A new scent in the room that changed everything. Not the usual death and despair that clouded this place; no, this was something else. Home. Home was here. My home. Sedges and snowgrass.
Mate. Mate. Mate. Could it be? Could it truly be that my mate was here?
“No. Run. It’s dangerous!” I yelled, except I wasn’t yelling, I was in my fur. “Let me out!” I begged my wombat, and whether he could or not was irrelevant. I needed out—needed to warn him, my mate—to get him into safety. This place was evil—nothing good happened here—nothing.
I felt myself drifting further back, this time not due to spells or tinctures. This time it was my beast. He wanted out of this prison, needed out in a way I’d never felt before… needed to get to that glorious scent.
My wombat turned his head in the direction of the door, the rest of his body still all but frozen by the spells cast upon us, and that was when I saw him, coming directly toward me—he scented us too. He was ours and I needed him to leave—to be safe. He didn’t deserve the type of ending this place brought.
No one did.
Chapter Two
Gio
The longer I stared at the cabin in front of me and the longer that my packmates took to keep up with me, the more I realized there was something in there, something that was mine. Someone that called to me.
I didn’t know what or who it was, but I couldn’t ignore it. My wolf moved faster than my human brain could catch up and command that he stop. I was defying my Alpha and putting my pack members in danger by acting so carelessly, something that I would never do purposely. But I was a wolf possessed. On a mission to find… something.
I was through the first door before I could stop myself. It collapsed with a heavy thud when my massive body hit it. I was large for a human; I was enormous as a wolf. A scent hit my nostrils and I honed in on it. I filtered out all of the blood, gore, and death that surrounded me and instead remained hyper-focused on a sweet, cinnamon-like scent that struck me at my innermost core.
Mate. Mine. Mate.
My wolf howled out his desire and longing. The air split with my howl, startling the dark healer and Mitch. I didn’t pay them any attention.
There was a line of cages on the far wall of the cabin-like building I was in, animals of various types confined to dirty, cramped spaces. Some didn’t seem to move even though I had made a ruckus with my entrance.
I went straight for the center of the wall where there was a large cage that held an animal curled in on itself. It moved its head and blinked at me, interested in the commotion happening behind me. I paid no attention to the things going on around me. I had eyes only for the animal in front of me.
I opened the cage and pulled out the creature. He was unkempt, his hair matted with dirt and dried blood. I took in a deep breath of his scent, trying to get past the grime that covered him and the stench around me. A wombat. They were rare, that I knew. I’d never seen one before.
Wolves were the most common of shifters, then bears and cat shifters, maybe. It wasn’t as if we did a census every year and kept track. But I knew there weren’t many wombats.
I cradled the animal to my chest and he burrowed in, seeking comfort and safety. I happily provided it for him.
“What is it, Gio?”
“It’s my mate,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. Shock rippled through me. If Ozzy had never been taken, if I had drawn the short straw and stayed home to protect the pack, I never would have found my mate. He would have—I couldn’t bear to think about it.
I was here now, and he was safe in my arms. That was all that mattered.
We had lost Mitch, though I had few details as to what had happened. Kade held Ozzy in his arms and I was thankful we’d made it in time to save him.
***
The trip home was a blur. I only half knew what all went down at the cabin. It wasn’t my priority. My mate, trembling in my arms—he was. I ran as fast as I could, wanting to get my mate as far away from that hell hole as I possibly could. We didn’t know if the dark healer would return. I didn’t want to wait and find out.
I knew I would meet the dark healer again and make her pay for whatever she’d done to my mate. That dark healer had caused enough pain and suffering in her life, and I would end it.
Stopping even for a breath wasn’t an option. I took my mate directly to my home, not bothering to even discuss it with my Alpha first. That was not like me. I obeyed orders, respected Byrom and our pack too much to have such cavalier behavior, but this was my mate.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I sat down in front of the fireplace. My mate was clutched around my neck, his claws digging into my skin, drawing blood, but I didn’t care. I’d heal. If he felt safe in my arms, that was where I wanted him to be. I’d do whatever it took to keep him safe.
Blood. I scented blood that wasn’t my own and knew that I felt some dried blood on him. But did he also have opened wounds that needed tending? Just how many injuries did he have? I wasn’t able to get a good look at him with him attached to me like he was.
I lifted him off of me and inspected him carefully. He was underweight for a wombat. His fur was matted and dirty. His nostrils flared as he breathed, scenting me. Did he know what I was to him?
“Can you shift?” I asked.
He blinked at me.
“You’re safe here. I’m—” I cleared my throat. “We’re mates. I think. You and I—Do wombats have fated mates?”
His dark brown eyes bore into mine.
“Do you understand me?” I asked after a moment.
He blinked, but gave no indication that my words were registering. Just how long had he been in that form? How long had he been held captive by the dark healer?
I took a deep breath to hold the panic at bay. Time. He just needed time. The whole ordeal had been a shock. Hydration, food, and a good night’s rest would make a difference.
“I’m gonna give you a bath,” I said. “I think that will help.” I had no idea if it would help or if it would hurt the situation. But I knew I wanted, needed, to get the stench of that place off of him. I wanted him curled up in my bed. Even if it was in his wombat form. Wherever he was, I wanted him safe.
“Here. Are you thirsty?” I held up the bottle to him and he grabbed it in his paws and tipped it up. Water splashed down his face. He gave a little shriek and a snarl. He sat on the floor, shook his head, and rubbed a paw over his face to clear off the water.
“Easy, there.” I pulled the water away and he swiped a paw at me, his claws fully engaged and ready to tear my skin open. “You’re a little prickly, aren’t you? That’s okay. I’m gonna take good care of you. I promise. We’ll have you back to shifting in no time.”
I hoped.
I knew he wasn’t just a regular wombat, the non-shifting kind. How could he be, if he was my mate?
But I couldn’t sense his human side, not fully. Maybe I could, just a tiny bit. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking. Exhaustion weighed heavily on my body. It had been a long night and a whirlwind of emotion. I was used to my boring, mundane life in the pack.
I’d talk to Lissy about my mate tomorrow. She might have a clue.
Tonight, I just wanted to get my mate clean, get him fed, and keep him safe. He was with me now and I would make sure that nothing ever happened to him again.
I received many scratches during the process of wrangling him into the tub. He screeched when the water hit and I washed away the dirt and grime. I had to cut a lot of the mats out of his fur, which made him look a little goofy, but it was necessary.
He had a few open wounds, but nothing that required stitches. They didn’t appear to be recent, though as a shifter anything over a day old should have healed by now. In his dehydrated, malnou
rished state he likely couldn’t heal quickly, maybe not at all.
I wrapped him in a towel when I was finished and he settled against me, his eyes closing as I rested on the couch. My mate was in my arms, albeit, not exactly how I had envisioned having my mate in my arms before. But he was there. And my wolf was content.
“I don’t like not knowing your name,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll be able to shift for me?”
He let out a low rumble that may have been a snarl in his sleep, but gave no other indication that he understood.
“That’s alright, Prickles. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
Chapter Three
Gio
The next morning I awoke with my wombat still in my arms, giving no indication that he was ready to change into a man at any point in time. That was all right. He needed time. Perhaps if he got hydrated and put on some weight, then he’d be back to his regular shifter self. Whatever that was.
He needed time to build up trust with me, to be comfortable enough to shift. I could wait. I had no choice.
I sat up right on the couch, with Prickles in my arms. The towel was still wrapped around him. We hadn’t moved after his bath last night. I had been too tired and he was too comfortable.
There was a knock on my door and I stood up from the couch. I went to move Prickles from my arms, but he held on tight. His claws dug into my shoulders.
“Okay, you can come with me. I think it’s my Alpha, though. Don’t be scared, he won’t hurt you.” I really didn’t want my mate attacking the Alpha of the pack. That was a surefire way to be kicked out.
I opened the door. Sure enough, it was Byrom standing on my porch.
“Good morning, Gio. How are things going?” he asked. He looked over at Prickles, but kept his distance.
“I’m not sure. He’s clean. I’ve fed him.” I swallowed thickly, my arms tightening around Prickles. I trusted Byrom, but this was a situation we’d never seen before. I had no idea how he’d react to a shifter who couldn’t shift. Many packs kicked latent shifters to the curb so they didn’t weaken the pack. We’d never had one in Greycoast and I had no idea what Byrom’s stance was.