by Knight, Gwen
Written in the Stars
Wolffe Peak Book 3
Gwen Knight
Copyright © 2019 by Gwen Knight
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by CT Cover Creations.
Edited by Hot Tree Editing.
Created with Vellum
Contents
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
Epilogue
Promise me the Moon Sneak Peek
Also by Gwen Knight
About the Author
Dedications go my favorite lady whose hankering for a certain sexy scene pretty much inspired this entire book…
Fact #1: Someone kidnapped Harley’s estranged mate.
Fact #2: They messed with the wrong wolf.
Fact #3: He’s going to kill them all.
Jasmine Pierce knows what she wants and how to get it. And the one thing she doesn’t want? Harley. He’s betrayed her in the past, who’s to say he won’t do it again? But when she’s kidnapped by Humans First, a shifter hate group, the one man she’d hoped never to lay eyes on again is now her only chance for survival.
Ethan “Harley” Fulton might not trust Jasmine with his heart, but that doesn’t mean he’s willing to let her be tortured and killed. His only option is to sneak into a treacherous jungle full of hostile radicals and enemy jaguar shifters to rescue her. Easy enough, right? Wrong.
Neither are ready to forgive and forget, but this time, there’s so much more at stake. This time, a simple mistake could cost them more than their hearts. This time, it could cost them their lives.
Prologue
The putrid stench of humans burned the inside of Jasmine Pierce’s nose.
A week had passed since she’d been forcibly changed into a shifter, and already, she could tell the difference between the two species. Even semi-conscious, she recognized a new, distinctive animalistic smell about herself. This wild, earthy aroma that clung to her hair and skin. Markedly different from the nearby sweaty assholes who stunk of little more than desperation and lust.
It was a fetor that wouldn’t abate, one she clung to with the hope of using it to claw her way free of this hell she’d fallen into. If only her eyes weren’t so heavy. If only she could force them open or muster even a semblance of strength to save herself. All side effects from the drugs they continuously pumped into her system. She’d never smelled anesthesia before—but now, it was a scent she’d never forget.
A boot nudged her thigh. “Wake up.”
When she didn’t respond, something sharp struck her cheek, and her head snapped to the side.
“I said, wake up.”
Jasmine peeled open her droopy eyes, still enthralled by the sedatives rushing through her blood. She had to wake up. Her survival depended on it. Though she couldn’t quite remember why. It wasn’t until her captor wrenched on the rope garroting her throat that she remembered.
Silver rope.
Before all this, she’d never heard of silver rope, but her captors had since introduced her to a whole new world of pain since they’d changed her. The second she’d shown the first sign of shifting, they’d slung a noose embedded with silver fibers around her neck and strung her up from the rafters. One wrong move and she’d be swinging from the gallows.
At least it’d make for a pretty picture.
“Wake up!” Another hard slap.
A pained cry escaped her cracked, bleeding lips. She’d long since sworn she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing her cry. But she’d broken that promise soon after being bitten. There weren’t many injuries Jasmine hadn’t experienced, thanks to her time spent as a recreational skier. But the pain of that bite had been like every injury she’d ever sustained combined together in a cocktail of misery.
“Boss needs you conscious,” her captor snapped. “We ain’t gonna get a cent out of Daddy unless we can prove we ain’t gutted ya.”
Jasmine’s head drooped as she muttered something incoherent.
“Think we dosed her too much?”
“Nah…” Rank breath grazed her tingling cheek. “Bitch just can’t handle her drugs, eh? Time to wake up, princess. Or Daddy’s gonna get a whole lot more than a lock of hair in the mail.”
The noose around her neck suddenly constricted, the fibers ripping through her flesh. Jasmine’s eyes shot open as she choked on the musty air, her fingers clawing at her throat.
“There she is.” Her captor gave another hard jerk before slackening the rope. “Up and at it, princess. Someone wants to speak with you.”
Jasmine sucked in a lungful of air, her chest burning as she coughed it back up.
“Jasmine? Sweetheart? Can you hear me?”
“Dad?” she rasped, her vision swimming with unshed tears. One of her abductors held a sat phone against her ear, and the sound of her father’s voice sent a rush of relief through her battered body. “Daddy?”
“Aw, how sweet.” Her kidnapper leered at her before yanking the phone back. “See, Daddy, your precious lil’ darling is just fine. Now, about that ransom….”
Her captor stalked out of the room, taking the phone—her only sense of comfort—with him. Finally alert, Jasmine blinked away her tears and studied the room they’d been holding her in for days. For the first time since they’d dragged her into this hellhole, she could actually think. Maybe if she could figure out where they were keeping her and somehow pass that message along to her father, he could help her.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t see anything noteworthy. This shanty was nothing more than an abandoned shack. The rundown walls reeked of mold, and aged rubble dusted the floor. The ceiling sagged near the middle, giving glimpses of the sunny sky outside. The windows had long since been boarded up.
But that didn’t frighten her as much as the surrounding sounds. When they’d first tied her up, she hadn’t been able to hear much beyond the sound of her panicked breaths and broken cries. Now—now—she could hear everything. From her abductors’ heartbeats to the damn cockroaches scurrying across the broken wooden-planked floor. Amazingly enough, she could even hear a flock of birds a few miles away alongside a cacophony of excited monkeys. But the best sound in the world was that of her father’s voice pouring out of the phone outside the cabin.
“If you hurt her, this discussion is over—”
“You ain’t in any position to lecture me, old man. So, unless you wanna be finding pieces of your girl scattered through the jungle, make sure the money is ready.”
A headache spread across her brow when she frowned. The jungle?
The last thing she remembered was a cold hand clapping over her mouth right before someone dragged her into an alley. Back in Denver. Her mind might be clouded, but she couldn’t think of a single place in the States with a jungle.
“You have one week,” her kidnapper growled before disconnecting the call.
Through the open door, Jasmine watched as he
turned toward his men, the setting sun illuminating his harsh profile. Something bitter mounted within her, a hatred so strong that for one brief moment, she believed it possible to break free of her bonds and snap his neck with her bare hands. If ever she had the chance, he would be the first to die—she’d make sure of that.
Her abductor stepped inside the rundown shack and lifted his head, a pair of dark eyes slamming into her. At the sight of her struggling against her restraints, his mouth curled into a cruel grin. “Time to go back to sleep, princess.”
The anger roaring through her veins screeched to a stop as panic kicked in. “No, wait—”
Before she could muster a plea, a sharp prick pierced the side of her throat. Seconds ticked by, but eventually, her body lost the battle and went slack against the restraints. She needed to resist the drugs, needed to somehow… fight them… off.
The darkness sucked her under before she could even try to resist.
1
Ethan “Harley” Fulton grinned at the sight of his pack alpha reciting his vows. In all the years Harley had known Wyatt Turner, he’d never believed this day would arrive. But here they all stood, clad in their bestest penguin suits, watching as their gritty, ball-busting alpha proclaimed his everlasting love to the woman who would soon become Mrs. Gritty-Ballbuster.
Wyatt had always been the epitome of a hard ass, a necessary evil when ruling over a group of sixty-seven misfits. He didn’t take shit from anyone, and those who tried to hand it to him often ended up in a grave. But then one Miss Skylar Callahan had crashed like a flaming meteor into his life and knocked their poor alpha right out of his bobby socks. After what felt like an eternity of waiting and planning, their special day had finally arrived, and Harley couldn’t recall a single moment when he’d witnessed such a shine in his alpha’s eyes. The utter devotion he showed her with a single look was something most struggled to find. Guess it was true what they said: love conquers all. Even surly old werewolves.
Now, all that remained was the final touch.
And right on cue, the minister gave a broad grin and announced, “You may now kiss the bride.”
Wyatt didn’t hesitate. With a mischievous grin, he swept Sky into his arms and sealed the deal with the kiss of the decade. Cheers erupted from the attending audience, including Harley, who pumped his fist in the air and bellowed his approval.
Badass werewolf pack or not, there was something special about this moment, about seeing Wyatt and Sky’s love and hard work come to fruition. They’d spent months arranging the perfect wedding and dealt with more than their fair share of hiccups, from disastrous seating arrangements to inedible food platters to obstinate guests. This senator couldn’t sit by that governor, or the fish wasn’t the right type. Lord have mercy, it was enough to drive anyone insane. One glance at Sky, though, and everyone could see it’d been worth every bit of hassle.
Still cheering, Harley leaned over and nudged his fellow packmate, Axel. “Your turn next, buddy.”
Axel chuckled, his eyes lit with excitement. Chatter around the water cooler had centered predominantly on Wyatt’s wedding—the man was the alpha, after all. Not to mention, he’d chosen to marry a woman so deeply ensconced in politics she’d once attended a presidential ball on the arm of a well-known senator. Those sorts of credentials were bound to suck up all the limelight.
But now, it would be Axel’s turn.
While he and his lovely bride-to-be had recently faced their own woes—like a shootout at their engagement party—Maddie seemed determined to play through the pain. Last Harley heard, the brave woman refused to let the hate group, Humans First, win and would marry a werewolf, come hell or high water. Damn admirable, if you asked him. The woman had ovaries of steel and a mouth to match.
“Et tu, mon ami? ” Axel asked in his smooth, Cajun drawl. “Got your eyes on a special lady?”
Harley watched Wyatt and Sky make their way up the aisle, hands clasped in newly marital bliss, and shook his head. Thanks to his glorious head of ginger hair, green had never been a good color on him, but that didn’t stop a small wave of jealousy from crashing into him. Wyatt and Sky were lucky to have found each other, as were Axel and Maddie. It wasn’t their fault Harley’s love life had crumbled into dust years ago.
But now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. This was a happy occasion. And thinking of one Jasmine Pierce: Maneater always soured his mood.
Harley shook his head and forced a chuckle. “They’re all special, my brother.”
“One day, some unlucky lady is going to sweep you off your feet,” Maddie chimed in at Axel’s side. “And when that day comes….”
That day has long since come and gone, girlfriend. Harley threw her a wink. “Never gonna happen.”
“Which means you’ll be married in under a year,” Maddie teased.
Harley burst out laughing. “What crack you been smoking, girl?”
Amusement twinkled in her eyes. “Come on, you know how this goes. It’s when you aren’t looking for love that it tends to swat you on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.”
“Don’t confuse your experiences with mine, kiddo,” he joked, ruffling her perfectly styled hair.
Maddie squealed and jumped back, the hilarity in her gaze fizzling into playful anger. “Just you wait, Harley Fulton. Mark my words.”
Oh, they’d been marked, then carefully weighed and tossed aside. Because it was kind of difficult to fall in love when he’d already fallen, long and hard, into a black pit of wretched despair. One from which there was no escape.
Once upon a time, Harley had thought himself to be one of the lucky few. The odds of finding your mate were astronomical, but he’d beaten them. Or so he’d believed. Then Jasmine had gone and stomped all over his dreams. He certainly hadn’t felt so lucky after that. Unfortunately, even after all this time, his ticker refused to move on—a definite downfall to this whole mating thing. Luckily, Wyatt was the only one aware of Harley’s situation, and that was how he intended to keep it. The fewer who knew, the better.
Maddie checked her reflection in a small compact mirror then pushed both men toward the aisle. “Come on. We have a reception to get to. And if we miss the cake, I’m going to murder one of you.”
“Oh yeah?” Harley threw her a wink. “Which one?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Ah, ma petite, the things you say….” Axel murmured, lifting their clasped hands to his mouth.
Heat flushed Maddie’s cheeks. “Besides, Wyatt would be mad if two of his best men stumbled in late.”
True that. “As would all the ladies, I’m sure,” Harley teased. “I might have trouble picking out my perfect dessert with such a smorgasbord.”
“Oh my God,” Maddie groaned. “Is that all you think about?”
“Hey, it’s a wedding.” Harley walked backward up the aisle, hands raised in a half-shrug. “I was promised copious women all eager to scratch my many itches.”
Axel threw his head back and laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”
“This is true. But I’m also cute. And I do remember the ladies love cute. Especially at weddings. Who can resist a ginger in a tuxedo?”
“Last I looked?” Maddie asked, her head cocked as she playfully thought on the math equation. “All of them?”
“I’m suddenly grateful I’m engaged,” Axel commented.
“Suddenly?” Maddie scrunched up her nose like a cat and swatted his chest. “What, you weren’t thankful before?”
A loving grin tugged at Axel’s lips. With a twinkle in his eye, he leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers, silencing any further argument. “Of course, mon amour.”
Another stupid twinge tugged at Harley’s heart at the sight of their endearing banter. They made it look so easy. Ugh. He hadn’t expected such a strong bout of melancholy to spear his chest. Damn Jasmine, and damn her damn father for his damn intrusion into their love life.
No, he needed to cage these thoughts. He refused to
let anything taint the merriment today. Wyatt and Sky deserved all hands on deck. A mopey Harley never amused anyone.
So, instead of further feeding the monster, Harley turned away from the happy couple and strode out of the church. An elegant crowd had gathered on the steps, all happily chatting about the wedding and upcoming reception.
Harley lifted a hand to shield against the glaring midsummer sun and took in the sight of so many beautiful ladies. Wyatt hadn’t been lying, that was for sure. Women a-plenty. All hunting for their true mate. He wasn’t that man, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little revelry while ringing in Wyatt and Sky’s new marital status.
Still surveying the plentiful bounty, Harley came to an abrupt stop at the sight of an all-too-familiar face. One he’d never thought he’d see again. One he’d hoped never to see again.
Senator Pierce.
Better known as Jasmine’s father.
Harley swallowed his displeasure and forced a fake smile. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised to see him here. Wyatt and Sky’s wedding was hot-off-the-press sort of news. Especially considering Sky’s career. As a werewolf advocate, schmoozing politicians was part of her job, as was convincing them to support shifter rights.
Senator Pierce had always been a local defender of all things shifter—until those rights had extended to his daughter. Apparently, a “filthy shifter” didn’t qualify as an “acceptable partner” for any of his daughters. That was where he drew the proverbial line in the sand.