Wild Women Collection
Page 1
Wild Women Collection
Rachel Sullivan
WILD WOMEN COLLECTION
Books 1 - 3
By
Rachel Sullivan
Copyright © 2019 Rachel Sullivan
Edited by Heather McCorkle.
Cover Design by Mibl Art and Tina Moss.
All stock photos licensed appropriately.
Published in the United States by City Owl Press.
www.cityowlpress.com
For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at info@cityowlpress.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and permission of the publisher.
Contents
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Wild Women Series
Wild Women Groups of the United States
FREYJA’S DAUGHTER
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
LILITH’S CHILDREN
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
ISHTAR’S LEGACY
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
SNEAK PEEK OF MIDNIGHT DESIRE
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About the Author
About the Publisher
Additional Titles
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Wild Women Series
By Rachel Sullivan
Freyja’s Daughter
Lilith’s Children
Ishtar’s Legacy
WILD WOMEN GROUPS OF THE UNITED STATES
Huldra—Forest women, able to cover their skin in bark and grow branches from their hands and feet, created by the Goddess Freyja.
Washington Coterie
- Faline
- Shawna
- Olivia
- Celeste
- Patricia
- Renee
- Abigale
- Naomi (missing)
Succubi—Empathic women, able to manipulate and absorb energy, created by the Goddess Lilith.
Oregon Galere
- Marie
- Heather (missing)
Mermaids—Aquatic women, able to shift their legs to a tail and cover their skin with scales, created by the Goddess Atargatis.
California Shoal
- Gabrielle
- Azul
- Elaine
- Sarah
Harpies—Women able to sprout bird-like wings, feathers, and talons, created by the Goddess Inanna.
North Carolina Flock
- Eonza
- Salis
- Lapis
- Rose (missing)
Rusalki—Women tied to nature, able to read minds, practice divination, and cut lives short, created by the Goddess Mokosh.
Maine Coven
- Veronia
- Daphne
- Azalea
- Drosera
- Aconitum (missing)
- Oleander (missing)
Nagin—Women represented by the cobra, able to use kundalini energy to manipulate the energy of a person from the inside, created by the Goddess Wadjet.
United Kingdom
- Anwen
- Berwyn
- Eta
Shé—Women able to change their lower half into a snake tale while in the water. On land they maintain their legs and can grow scales on their body for protection as they play their handmade instrument to change the energy, moods, and thoughts of others, created by the Goddess Nü Gua.
China
- Chen
- Fan
Echidna—Women able to change their lower half to a snake tail for speed, defense, and squeezing their prey, created by the Snake Goddess of Crete, whose name is not uttered or known to outsiders.
Crete
- Calle
- Gerda
FREYJA’S DAUGHTER
Book 1
Preface
Many years ago, the Wild Women—huldra, succubi, harpies, mermaids, and others—warred to near extinction before the Hunters rescued them from their own demise. These men, born into a lineage of strength and bravery, separated the Wild Women, placed them into territories to protect them, tame them, and train them.
This is my history, according to the Hunters.
My mother’s whispers told a different tale.
One
My prey, a five-foot-ten Caucasian male, ordered a double shot mocha as he tappe
d his pointer finger on the counter. I eyed him from a little round table near the door. His faint scent of nervous sweat called to me.
I preferred the scent of fear wafting from my prey, but nervousness would have to do. Fear would soon join the mix. It was only a matter of time.
“Do you go to school near here?” he asked the barista. She looked to be in high school, more than twenty years younger than the man I followed.
The barista nodded. “I graduate in June.” On a paper cup, she wrote the fake name he’d given and shifted her attention to the next customer in line.
He failed to notice the hint.
“You like your teachers? I bet you like teachers.” He shook his pointer finger at her.
I choked on my coffee.
This bail-jumper hadn’t risked capture to satiate his caffeine fix. No, the fix he was jonesing for was a female of the unwilling sort.
A male barista brought the man’s drink to the counter and stood protectively beside the girl. The object of my current hunt, Samuel Woodry, picked up the cup with the fake name on it and struck out. He left the coffee shop, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. As he walked past, I stared at that pointer finger he’d been tapping on the counter and decided to break that one first…on accident.
As a bounty hunter, I still had rules to uphold, proper conduct when bringing in a perp. Though, if he fought me—and he would, since I only selected bail-runners who got off on victimizing others—then a tussle resulting in a broken bone would be perfectly understandable.
According to his file, Samuel Woodry had never learned that it’s not polite to point. His victim, a college student who’d escaped from his capture, will forever remember his scarred finger. The way he shook it in her face when she begged to go home. How he pretended to be a teacher in his sick idea of role playing.
My heart beat a little faster as I downed the rest of my drink and exited the coffee shop. Samuel’s black hoody—so different from the blazer and khakis his most recent victim had met him in—didn’t exactly stand out in the misty Seattle rain. Between his outfit and the swarm of downtown pedestrians, I had to follow closer than I would have liked. At least the crowd served to protect me from his gaze the few times he glanced over his shoulder.
As I followed him into Pike Place Market, the salty scent of Puget Sound thickened the air. Everything from fresh flowers to figurines created from Mt. St. Helen ash were sealed into containers. The semi-outdoor shops were shutting down for the night.
Unlike the open-air market upstairs, the lower level shops had already closed for the day. With shop doors locked and lights off, fewer people mingled. As we left the crowd, Samuel Woodry slowed his pace and whistled a tune. A bittersweet scent wafted from his skin. Excitement. He had noticed me, a lone woman, and he was pleased.
He couldn’t wait to point that finger in my face. And I couldn’t wait for him to try.
I was a female, yes. But not like any woman he’d ever met. Let’s just say, out of the two of us in the now-empty hall of closed-up shops, I was the more deadly monster. Not that he knew he was salivating over a huldra. If I even so much as tree-jumped in front of a human the Hunters would peel the bark from my back…or worse.
Samuel Woodry stopped short and spun, ready to rush me.
Oh, I hoped he would.
The leather from my black steel-toed boots reached up to my knees, pressing a dagger into each calf. A maroon leather bomber jacket hid my gun, holstered at my ribs over a black tank top. But tonight, my weapon of choice was my hands. I figured since he liked using his on others so much, maybe I’d give it a go.
“Like what you see?” Samuel crooned. “I should teach you the dangers of following strange men into strange places.” He smiled widely and his eyes darkened.
This is the fun part. The part where my prey thinks he’s the predator. Where he relishes the few moments of absolute bliss before reality—also known as the steel toe of my right boot—slams into him.
“I thought you’d never offer,” I said under my breath.
“I brought you someplace special.” He stepped toward me.
So, he thought he had been luring me. Nice. Twisted, yes, but nice.
I cowered to draw him in. I couldn’t help myself. He got off on victimizing others just like I got off on bringing people like him to justice.
The scent of arousal filled the air between us. Sick bastard.
Any normal human with half a brain would question why I followed him, ask who I was, question if I was a cop with backup just around the poorly lit corner. But Mr. Samuel Woodry wasn’t a normal human. He was arrested years ago in connection to missing women, but let off due to insufficient evidence. This time one of his victims got away, which I assumed had a lot to do with why he skipped bail—her testimony held enough proof to put him in jail for a very long time. Still, all his poorly wired brain wanted was to find his next victim. And seeing as his seduce-the-underage-barista plan hadn’t worked, I would have to do.
My inner huldra begged to come out and play.
He rushed forward, grabbed my shoulders, and slammed my back into the front of a darkened used book store. I let my body respond like a rag doll. It led him to believe he had the upper hand, and I wanted to play that card a little longer.
The thrum of my heart beat wildly in my ears.
Samuel drew his tongue from the side of my lower neck to right below my ear. I hid a smile. I’d get to show him his mistake in three…two…
“I’m gonna teach you your first lesson,” he promised. “Class is in session.” He pulled his face away from mine to waggle his pointer finger toward my nose.
One!
I removed my right hand from his grasp and caught hold of his finger. While still holding onto him, my boot—Reality—kicked him in the gut. Samuel screamed out. Steel toes were hell on the innards. I grinned.
He staggered back, cupping his finger and cursing me.
Was that the faint trace of fear I smelled? I lingered as the scent of musty iron filled my nostrils; I allowed it to fuel me, allowed it to tease my inner huldra, to tap into her strength without letting her out—without letting her tear him to shreds.
“Now it’s time for me to teach you a lesson, Sam. Can I call you Sam?” I spoke slowly as I stalked toward him.
I unzipped my leather jacket so my M&P .40 peeked out to say hello.
Samuel turned and bolted.
I hesitated before loping along at an easy pace after him. Huldra are fast runners. We climb and jump through trees, strengthening our already powerful legs. He wouldn’t outrun me. I kept an arm’s length behind him; no sense in finishing my workout before building up a sweat. My prey flung open a metal door to the dark, rainy outside. He scrambled down the cement steps cascading down Seattle’s hilled streets, two at a time, toward the waterfront.
He swung right, slipped into an alley, and wove around huge trash bins. Thankfully, the street lights didn’t reach between the squat buildings. Samuel’s human eyes could not see in the dark. But mine could.
An elderly man sleeping against the brick wall had his legs sprawled out into the alley. Samuel tripped over the man’s shoe and toppled to the wet cement.
The homeless man awoke with a gasp and pulled his legs into his chest.
I lunged at Samuel.
“Lesson one,” I said as I slammed his shoulders into a dirty puddle and straddled him. “You’re a fucked-up person who does fucked-up things to good people.”
“Lesson two,” I said as I punched him in the face. His head cracked against the cement a little more than I had intended. “The only people you’ll be teaching are your cell mates, who I’m sure will be eager to learn new ways of making you scream.”
“And lesson three,” I said as I turned him over and pulled his hands behind his back. His dislocated finger flopped around, which made me smile. I grabbed zip-tie handcuffs from my jacket pocket. “This is a citizen’s arrest for jumping bail.”
A small amo
unt of blood matted Samuel’s hair. He swayed when I hauled him to his feet.