by Martha Woods
“Oh goody, I love speeches.”
“Just relax, you’ve done it a thousand times before, you’re going to be great.” She stepped back from the stage, giving me a once over and a thumbs up. “You look great, give ‘em hell.”
Standing in front of that microphone, staring out at the sea of paranormals and hunters, all sat side by side with no hint of hostility, no stiff postures, and no hands-on weapons, just… comrades, the lot of them. Seeing my friends mixed in with them, feeling no more out of place than you would among a crowd of your other friends, standing there like they’d always belonged. On my weaker days, I wondered if all of this was worth it but… looking out at this…
Yeah. Yeah, this was worth it.
“Alright,” I said, tapping my papers against the podium and clearing my throat, “The first meeting of the new Alliance is in session.”
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Preview
PREVIEW: The Alpha’s Return
Book 1 of the Werewolves Of Boulder Junction
Martha Woods
© 2017 Martha Woods
* * *
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
For permissions contact: [email protected]
Chapter 1
The darkness was his friend, keeping him hidden from sight as he sprinted through the woods. Gigantic paws hit the ground with thuds, muffled by the soil. The wind brushed against his thick, gray fur. He felt free. This was the only time he felt this way, running in the night in his wolf form. At times like this, he could temporarily forget about his responsibilities and simply be a part of nature; a part of the night. Smaller animals scurried to their hiding places, avoiding the huge predator zipping through the forest.
The wolf inhaled long and deep as it ran. Liam smiled within as the fresh air filled his lungs. This was what he had missed about Boulder Junction: the acres of forest, the freedom to run wild, and the fresh air. Other than that, he wouldn’t mind never seeing the place again. It was where he had grown up and the place that he had finally escaped when he was old enough. Family duty had forced him to return and it seemed there was no escape this time.
Liam came to a stop in front of a river. He stood still for a few minutes, resting on his haunches as he stared out across the dark water. He always enjoyed the peace and quiet of the forest at night. The only sounds audible were the sounds of nature. His ears perked up when he heard something that didn’t quite fit in with the natural sounds. Footsteps, hushed by dirt and leaves, approached him. The feeling of danger coursed through him, sending him on high alert. More than likely, it wasn’t someone merely out for a night stroll. Not at midnight and certainly not in these woods. He sniffed the air, catching a whiff of an unfamiliar scent.
A low growl rumbled in his chest as he got up and padded back into the safety of the bushes. He didn’t want any trouble and he really didn’t want to kill anyone so soon after arriving back home. Liam let out a sigh. So much for a peaceful night run, he thought.
He treaded lightly, careful not to make a sound. All he had to do was make it back home undetected. Stealthily, he moved through the woods, listening for any sign of his unwanted companion. There was silence. Had the person turned back? With any luck, whoever it was had taken caution and turned back. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling of danger. His sense radar was always on point. But it was just a human, right?
Stories of werewolf hunters that he had heard of as a child suddenly flooded his mind. It was the eeriness of his current situation that brought on the foolish memory. He had always thought hunters were nothing more than myths because he had never seen one. Plenty of stories about other wolves’ experiences were heard - which had to have been exaggerated, he was sure. Wolf shifters were powerful, cunning creatures. There was no way a single human with a sword could take one down. And that was always how the story of the hunter went: a human, wielding a sword, taking out a wolf three times his size. Ridiculous.
The farther Liam walked into the forest, the more he should have felt at ease. He was sure he had put a good distance between him and whoever had been approaching from the other side of the river, but he still felt like he was being watched. His golden eyes surveyed the surrounding area. There was no one or anything in sight. His moderate pace then turned into a full out run.
Then he heard the footsteps again. They were approaching him at a rapid pace, going almost as fast as he was. So, whoever was in the woods with him wasn’t human and it definitely wasn’t a fellow wolf. For a second, he considered stopping to confront whoever – whatever – followed him. It could be a vampire on the prowl. But they were rare in this area. They avoided small towns.
If he stopped then he could have a midnight snack. His wolf loved the idea of fresh meat, but Liam shoved down the craving. He was sure he could outrun his pursuer. Suddenly, something whizzed past his head.
What the hell?
He looked ahead to see an arrow lodged in a tree. His eyes widened. Was he being hunted? Could it possibly be the hunter of legend on his tail? It was hard to believe but he wasn’t taking any chances. He decided not to lead whoever it was to where he lived. Liam knew the forest like the back of his hand and he used that to his advantage, making sudden twists and turns and confusing trails of paw prints. Hopefully, he would lose whoever it was. He moved tirelessly until the footsteps could no longer be heard. He smiled, knowing there was no way his mystery stalker could keep up, even if it was a hunter.
Liam closed his eyes, held his muzzle up, and inhaled deeply. The scent had disappeared and there was once again silence. He waited a few minutes before heading back in the direction he had come from. The tree that the arrow had lodged in came into view. He went closer to study it. There were strange markings along the wood, markings unfamiliar to him. He had to get it home. Maybe his housekeeper could tell him what they meant. The woman loved strange things like ancient languages and artifacts. She was a bit peculiar but if she didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t bother her. Plus, she was one hell of a cook.
Liam used his teeth to pull the arrow from the tree trunk. He was surprised to see that the tip was made of silver. His blood ran cold. The arrow was meant to kill him. If it had hit him, he could have kept running. Unless it had lodged in his heart… then he would have been a goner. Did someone know who he was or was it just coincidence that someone attacked his first night home?
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Cayden walked toward his truck, wearing a deep scowl. He slid inside and threw his bow down on the passenger’s seat and slammed his palms against the steering wheel with aggravation. He had the abomination in his sight but he lost him deep in the forest. He needed to get better at the hunting these things if he was ever going to find the beast that killed his father. He pulled up the sword strapped to his thigh and ran his fingers over the curved blade. He stared down at it with reverence. It was the weapon that had been in his family for generations.
Pain and anger ripped through him. He wouldn’t be holding the blade if his father was still alive. He let out a breath that he had been holding tight in his chest. He didn’t want t
his life, the life a hunter. His father had always shielded him from the strange world he was meant to be a part of until he couldn’t hide him anymore. Cayden had a curious nature and had wondered about his father’s strange behavior, all the secrecy, and lies that had driven his mother off.
One night he had decided to follow his father to see where he went almost every night. Now though, he really wished he hadn’t. Hidden in the bushes, watching his father, confusion had muddled his mind. The only rational explanation to why his father was lurking in the woods with an arsenal of weapons was that he had to be hunting wild animals. Then something had jumped out of the bushes. It was a man with red eyes and abnormally sharp teeth. To his amazement and absolute terror, the man had transformed into a beast right before his eyes‒ a wolf-like creature, only much bigger.
A teenage Cayden had watched, transfixed and too afraid to move as his father battled with the creature and ended the fight by the taking the beast’s head off with the same blade he held now. That night had changed his life forever and pulled him into a world of darkness and death. His father had known all along that he had followed him into the woods. He figured it was time for Cayden to know the truth about his family lineage. Imagine his shock when he discovered that he came from a long line of hunters. Throughout history, his kind traveled around the world maintaining order and protecting humans from all magic and supernatural creatures. That explained his father’s sporadic, long absences.
Cayden was stronger and faster than most humans, able to handle himself in a fight with a werewolf, any kind of shifter, a vampire, and the list went on. Of course, he refused to accept his heritage and left home and all the craziness when he was nineteen. All he wanted was a quiet life, a nice, safe desk job, and maybe a wife and a kid or two.
He remained estranged from his father for years. Finding out that his father had been killed a year ago, he had finally assumed his title as a hunter. Guilt and pain drove him to find the shifter that killed his father. Maybe if he had stayed and hunted with his old man, protected him, he would still be alive. He’d always thought it was less than smart for one person to hunt alone. There should be a team of men and women working together. The best he had done was check up on his father every once in a while, but he chose to stay away for the most part. The last he heard, his father was in these very woods, hunting a pack of shifters and one of them had killed him.
Cayden set down the blade. He vowed that it would be the weapon he used to end the shifter when he found him. Tonight, he had hoped to get his hands on one of the creatures and torture him or her for information, then kill the abomination of course. He had been close, but the wolf was fast and had the advantage of knowing the terrain.
No matter. He would remain in town until he accomplished his mission. In the meantime, he would take out as many abominations of nature as he could and hone his skills. He started his truck and drove off, easily navigating his way through the dark with his enhanced vision. A shadow of a smile hovered on his lips. He may not be thrilled about what he was but he was going to have a grand time in Boulder Junction wreaking havoc on all the creatures that went bump in the night.
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Preview
PREVIEW: Kiss of A Vampire
(Book One of the Vampire Prophecies Series)
Martha Woods
© 2016 Martha Woods
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
For permissions contact:
[email protected]
Chapter 1
The street fair continued to buzz with the energy of people drunk on craft beer and artists making more cash than they would all year. Plastic white booths lined the entire lawn of Pack Square Park, filled with handmade crafts such as woodwork, jewelry, quilts, and anything else you could sell for an exorbitant amount of money. Tessa’s table, a round stool with a purple, velvet cloth and a glass paperweight that mimicked a crystal ball, was tucked well away from the main thoroughfare, but she’d had a steady number of clients since arriving that morning. They knew she would come every October as the leaves changed and the air grew crisp. They came, nervous and full of questions about the future. She had no real answers for them, but she could sound convincing with the tumble of thoughts always pouring from their minds, a relentless current that pummeled her if she wasn’t careful.
Her lower back ached from sitting so long, and her flask of bourbon had long run dry. It was about time to call it a day. She’d told at least ten widows their husbands loved them and wanted them to be happy. All she had to do was listen for the lament that played like a scratched record in their thoughts. Once a widow heard her husband’s name pass Tessa’s lips, they tended not to question her anymore. She overcharged several drunk jackasses and claimed to see a vision of their adultery. Their insecurity lay just beneath the surface, and she could usually string together two convincing names from their anxious thoughts. She’d also had a handful of giggling teenagers, an old man who’d simply hit on her, and a little boy who wanted to know if his dog would come back. She’d made several hundred dollars. The festival ran three Saturdays in a row. She’d stay one more before moving on. She hadn’t quite settled on where she wanted to go next. She was leaning towards Texas. She didn’t like snow much, and winter was already making an appearance in the early morning as frost clung to the grass and trees.
Tessa moved to take down her small sign, which simply read Psychic. She did not display her name, her contact information, or her fee. She preferred anonymity and flexibility. For the old widows, she only charged twenty dollars. For the drunkards, forty. For the fervent believers of the occult, a hundred bucks or more. They were crazy. Tessa might be able to read minds, but these assholes believed in witchcraft and shapeshifting and vampires.
When she turned back to the table, a man sat across from her. She jumped, startled.
“Shit, you scared me,” she said.
The man now sitting across from her smirked. “You don’t sound much like a psychic,” he said. His voice was low, and there was the tiniest bit of grit to it that she liked. He had chestnut brown hair that was cut short to accent a sexy widow’s peak. His skin was ghostly pale and his eyes were a piercing emerald green that sent a tingling sensation across her skin as they raked over her. Even in the dim light, she could see the flecks of gold near his pupils. He looked delicious. Tessa sized him up and decided it had been a while since she’d indulged in a passing tryst.
“You think you know all about psychics?” she countered, and sat down, offering a mischievous smile that was borderline flirtatious.
His thin pink lips curved slightly in amusement. His thoughts flirted with attraction, but she felt the weight of his condescension. He thought she was silly. She was going to overcharge his handsome ass.
“Enough,” he said. He reached for his wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and put it on the table in front of her, raising an eyebrow as if in a challenge. That challenge echoed in his thoughts.
“Two hundred,” she countered, sitting back and crossing her arms. Another hundred-dollar bill appeared.
“Thank you,” she said with a sly smile as she palmed the bills. “What’s your name?”
“Kristian,” he said.
“Alright, Kris,” she said. He flinched at the informal nickname. Tessa bit back a smile at ruffling his posh feathers. “Let’s do this.”
She put both of her palms down on the table on either side of her fake crystal ba
ll and closed her eyes. She waited for his thoughts to unravel, loosening like a knot in a cord. When she first met someone, she was often slapped with a barrage of thoughts, visions, and feelings all at once, no form to be had. The more she got to know someone the more she could read until eventually, she could hear every tiny thought that passed between their ears. She hadn’t been close enough to someone for years for that to be the case. And as far as her business went, if she let people sit in silence long enough, their thoughts would align themselves into some semblance of readable order.
“You don’t need to ask me any questions first?” he said, surprise creeping into his gravelly voice.
“Shh.” She hushed him and continued to listen, suppressing a smile when she could feel his mild confusion. Most psychics would play mind games, asking leading questions in order to cold read. She combed through vague feelings and a few random thoughts she couldn’t pull enough context from to be of use. She waited. He grew impatient. He crossed his arms over his chest in the peripherals of her vision. Then, like finding the missing puzzle piece, she put together something that could be useful.
“I’m getting something,” she said. His arms loosened. “I’m picking up on a…Veronica. You’re close to her. You feel protective of her. You’re worried about her. You fear they are coming.”