by Paige Taylor
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Dark Moon
Paige Taylor
Contents
Copyright ©2017 Paige Taylor
Acknowledgments
Prologue
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
Coming Soon
About the Author
A Note From Paige
Recommended Reading
Run Little Wolf
Copyright ©2017 Paige Taylor
This body of work is a fictional creation. All names, characters, settings, references to historical events, real people or real places and products are from the authors imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher. Please be advised that a legal team has been contacted and any illegal reproduction of this will have action taken against it.
Acknowledgments
Cover Design by Arizona Tape at Arizona Type Designs.
To my benefactors, known and unknown.
Thank you for being you.
Prologue
I run towards my door, almost tripping over the welcome mat that sits outside the carved oak entrance. The sudden jarring of my body tears open the healing cuts I have all over my body. My ribs burn as I grab the brass front door handle and fling it open with as much force as I can.
My mind is scrambled in my panic. What do I do? What do I take? How long do I have left? Obviously not long enough to pack up all my belongings and get the hell out of here. I run through my living room, heading straight for my bedroom at the back of the house. I can feel my right eye closing over, narrowing my vision, and my jaw, not yet healed from the break, jolting with every impact my feet make with the ground.
I run towards my bed, collapsing onto it, trying to grab my suitcases and duffle bags with my one good arm. Not that the arm is pain free. No, thanks to the broken ribs it’s almost as painful as the other arm that I’ve yet to reset at the elbow. Well, no time like the present. I grab the wrist of my broken arm and jam it back into place, holding in the scream that is trying to force its way through my gritted teeth.
I take a second to rest from all the physical exertion, needing all the strength I have to get these fucking bags out from underneath the bed. The dizziness I get lifting the bags is killer, the room tilts and swirls like I’m on a bad, fucking rollercoaster. I try to stuff as many clothes into the two bags and one duffle as possible. I don’t have the space to take everything. I’m only going to be able to take what I can grab in a few armfuls. I stumble to the bathroom and snatch my jewellery bag, throwing it into whatever bag is closest.
I run around the room as fast as I can go, grabbing my mementos, the photos of my family, emergency cash, anything that is irreplaceable. When I finally have everything I need, I go to close the lid on the suitcases, when a photo of the pack stops me. It dawns on me that I’m abandoning my family, my pack. A few tears start leaking from my left eye, which burn as they roll down through the cuts on my face. Not being able to deal with looking at it for a moment longer, I close the lid and zip the bag with as much force as I can muster.
My car is, thankfully, right outside the door. I drag the bags to the back door and use every working muscle to lift them onto the seat. Silently closing the doors to the car, I walk back to my cabin and close the door without looking back, my heart aching with every step I take away from my home.
I drive for what feels like an eternity, and all I can think about is what led me here.
I wake up gasping for air, Fuck, why does my throat feel like it’s being crushed by a fire poker? I lift my heavy arm towards my neck and am met with a metal choker biting into my skin, the silver burning my hand the second I touch it. The silver choker tightens further as my breathing gets faster. Fuck, what the hell is going on?
I look around the room and realise that my Alpha is sitting calmly on a chair about ten feet away from me, shielded in the darkness of the basement I now realise I am in. I try pulling the chain, a growl forcing its way from my throat when the metal doesn’t budge.
He stands and walks towards me, causing utter terror to seep into my bones.
“What did you hear, Ava?” he asks with a controlled voice. When I don’t respond, his eyes harden, sparks of underlying hatred flashing across his face. Before I can even see him move, he is suddenly less than three inches away from me.
“WHAT DID YOU HEAR, AVA?” he screams at me. Spittle landing all over my face, making me flinch.
“I didn’t hear or see anything Alpha, please let me go!” I know I could get caught lying, but I’m hoping that he is so desperate to hear truth that he ignores the pace of my heart and the dilating of my pupils. I’m praying that his desperation will save my life.
“I don’t believe you,” he says, back to the calm-face I’m only now realising is a facade. I’m given no warning as I’m thrown backwards with a punch to the side of my head. Over and over again, I’m punched and kicked and beaten. I can feel every crunch of bone; every bruise being formed on my body. I know that I’m wailing at him to stop, but he just keeps going, until I’m too broken to move, too broken for my wolf to come forward. The assault on my body stops suddenly, but I’m too scared to look up to see if there is another blow coming. I feel the chain being unlocked and the burn of the silver taken away from my skin.
He bends down to my eye level, staring into the one eye that isn’t swollen to the size of a golf ball. I whimper when he moves in closer, touching his lips to mine, I try to back away, but the pain makes my consciousness waiver.
“You need to run little Ava, run far. If I find out you’ve spoken to anyone about this, I will kill anyone and everyone you’ve ever loved. No-one is safe. Do you understand?” he whispers so softly that I almost miss it. I try to nod, and just the slightest movement of my head down is enough for him to recognise my acceptance.
“You have one hour. I suggest you move, Little Ava.”
Pulling myself out of my memory is hard, the trauma that I can feel all over my body bellowing at me, reminding me. It dawns on me that I’m finally out of pack lands and I pull over to the side of the road, I have to do what I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about since I was told to run. I have to break my pack bonds. I close my one good eye, and find that ball of purple light at the heart of any shifter in a pack, with beautiful tendrils reaching out to every member of the pack. I concen
trate on extinguishing each tendril, and with each dimming light, my heart breaks more and more. The final thread is consumed by my black cloud, and as if a rubber band was breaking, I feel the snap of the last link to my pack break. The emotional and physical injuries too great, I feel my body slump forward, my head knocking into the steering wheel as my consciousness fades to black.
Chapter One
10 months later…
I can feel the screams and the music reverberating through the thin concrete walls, vibrating under my feet and into the metal bench I’m sitting on. I start wrapping up my hands in the white medical tape they give all competitors, fat lot of good it does me, but it’s my ritual nonetheless. I roll my shoulders through their range of motion, waiting for that very satisfying crack that releases all the tension through the muscles. I reach up and smooth my hands over my hair trying to tame it in my bun, the waves refusing to co-operate. My pump-up playlist plays so loud in my headphones that I can’t hear beyond the lyrics and guitar riff. I launch out of my seat as the song builds and comes to an almighty crescendo that has me air punching invisible opponents. I start singing, not caring if anyone is around to hear it, or see it. No-one would make a comment even if they did, I think I frightened the last person who interrupted my ritual a little too much. Thoughts drifting to that scene in that Disney movie with the Llama where he threw the old man off the bridge for interrupting his groove. I may have thrown the person through a window instead. In my defence, though, they weren’t a very nice person to begin with. They only interrupted me to tell me that I am a bad dancer. That is just rude.
I continue to sync my breathing and punches with the music, slowing down as the song finishes. With the end of the song comes the killing calm I’ve learnt over the last few months. After my abrupt exit from the pack, I promised myself I would never be a victim again, so I changed martial arts from a hobby to a full-time job, I trained until my skin bled and my bones ached. I trained until even that wasn’t enough. Somewhere along the line, I started to enjoy hurting my opponents just as much as I loved the adrenaline of the fight. Being a lone, female, wolf shifter, you catch on quick about who is your friend and who is your enemy. Unfortunately for me, I met more of the unfriendly types on my travels. Those unfriendly types, however, are how I ended up here in Montana, in a semi-underground, shifter, fight club called the Pit. As the undefeated, female champion.
My face morphs into a look of disgust as I look around the cold, dirty, concrete room, my phone and clothes are still sitting on the metal bench. The yellow-and-orange stained showers drip water from the last batch of fighters. Fighting gear and tape are strewn all around the room. The scent of sweat, blood, and something else cause my nose to scrunch up in revulsion. Picking up my belongings, I throw them into my grey locker that is littered with bumper stickers. I turn my phone off and shove that in, too, before slamming the locker closed.
Standing at the entrance of the locker rooms I wait to hear my name called. I have less than a minute left until my fight starts, so I luckily won’t have to stand here looking a little stupid for much longer. I genuinely don’t understand the importance of these entrances, this is underground fighting not the fucking UFC. We get in the cage, we fight till submission or unconsciousness, and then, we leave. A grand entrance isn’t going to change the outcome of the fight.
I hear the voice over the speaker hush the crowd down to near silence, I flex my fingers in the tape in anticipation, trying to loosen the tension across the knuckles. My eyes close when I hear the slimy voice of the announcer start to speak, my anger rising to the surface, filling me.
“Alright, alright, I know you have been waiting for this fight allll niiiigghht looongg…” he says in a very suggestive tone. God I want to punch him in his tiny, little head. The resounding male howls and woops makes me roll my eyes. Apparently, girl on girl is hot in any form, even when they are beating the shit out of each other.
“The first of two female, shifter fights of the night; we’re in for a treat. The first fight is wolf against wolf. Let’s not waste time with bullshit, Stephanie your opponent for the night is Ava,” At least he cuts straight to the point, and with that introduction, my eyes flash open, and I walk out of the training room, straight towards the cage.
Surrounding the octagon shaped ring is rusted, chain-link fencing up to the roof, with only one way in or out, a door that is locked until someone submits, is knocked out, or is dead.
I can feel the eyes of hundreds of supernatural following me. Their mouths moving, the tension rising in the air from the aggression pouring off the spectators, but I hear nothing. The killing calm is a nifty, little trick I learnt in my first few fights, drown out my unnecessary senses before the fight in favour of the most vital, it drowns out all the bullshit.
The stands around the cage are filled, row upon row, built up four levels in a circular pattern around the cage. It makes the cage feel like a dirtier, smaller scale of the Colosseum; each fighter playing for the favour of the Emperor, or in my case, the large pot of money I win at the end of every match. Every step I take on the blood-covered floor just riles me up further. My opponent’s already in the ring, trying to rally the crowd behind her. Stephanie is quite pretty by anyone’s standard, it’s a shame I may have to bruise her face. Her curly, strawberry-blonde hair is swishing left and right in her pony tail as she moves about the cage. Her pale skin a stark contrast to the black, fight gear she has on. I approach the cage, giving a small head nod in acknowledgment to Allister, the seedy announcer. He really does look like a cockroach, with his small head, small beady eyes, narrow nose and mouse-brown hair that looks perpetually greasy. I feel the vibration of the door slamming shut the second my feet press in to the mat of the cage. This is it.
The instant the lights and buzzers signify the start of the match, Stephanie attacks. Luckily for me, my body twists to dodge the fist coming straight for my temple. I swiftly spin, and round-house kick her in the face before she can turn around. As my foot lowers back on the ground I bring myself into my fighting stance, ignoring the stinging in my toes from the impact of my kick.
Stephanie advances again, trying to kick my feet out from underneath me. I jump over her long, sweeping legs trying to avoid falling to the floor. Before she has an opportunity to move, I quickly crouch down on the floor and drive my fist into her stomach. On my way back up, I drive my knee into her nose. Yep, that was going to bruise her face. I should really remember to apologise for that later. That little lapse in concentration costs me a foot to the stomach, I fly back and hit the cage fence which has only the tiniest bit of give in it. I manage to roll to the side just as one of Stephanie’s clenched fists fly towards the space my face was just in.
I lunge towards her, picking her up at the hips and driving her into the ground. I pin her beneath my body and without a moment’s hesitation throw a few quick jabs to her face. She is bucking beneath me like I’m a bull rider and manages to flip me off her on the last, large thrust. I quickly stand and prepare for an attack. I know she is stalking me. Stephanie runs towards me as I shift my weight and quickly bring my knee up to make a slamming contact with her left-side ribs. The impact of my hit drives her towards the barrier, I rush at her before she can move off the fence and try to land every blow I can into her unprotected left side. While trading punches, my wolf’s concentration waivers, searching for something I cannot see, not the regular behaviour for my wolf. She has two modes; asleep and vicious.
My gaze momentarily lands on a tall man behind Stephanie’s head who has just entered the Pit. He walks straight to the bar, not even looking over at the cage. He looks tall, dressed in a button-up top and suit pants and has brown hair from what I can see. I tear my gaze away, having every intention of finding this man after the fight, maybe to burn off some adrenaline. I force my concentration back to the fight, my arms continuing to pound into the soft tissue of my opponent’s stomach.
Stephanie is growling and snarling at me. She is about to
shift, sensing the change in the air that accompanies a wolf shift, I step out of her way. Within seconds, I am looking at a blonde wolf that comes up to my waist.
“Bad move, Stephanie,” I taunt.
She lunges for me, except instead of getting entirely out of the way this time, I just let her shoulder push against me before I encircle my arms around her torso and squeeze. I wrestle her to the floor and pin her on the ground on her stomach. She can’t bite or scratch, I’m willing to bet she can’t shift with me on top of her either. I have her in a check mate position, all that’s left for her to do is submit. I really wish she would hurry this along, a sense of urgency building through me to find the man who walked past not even two minutes earlier.
After what seems like hours, Stephanie drops her head in defeat and thumps the mat with a paw, I count the thumps in my head, each one making my smile grow. One, two, three. Well, another win for me, then! Twenty-two to zero! I stand up from the ground, quickly rocking back onto my heels, I reach a hand down to help a now naked human Stephanie stand up. As soon as she drops my hand I do a quick turn, bowing to appease the crowd. Stephanie catches my eye as she’s leaving the octagon, she gives me a brief nod of acceptance before pulling her shoulders back and walking out. I’ve got to respect that. At least, she didn’t slink off swearing vengeance on me just because she couldn’t take a beating.