Caught in the Crossfire (The Cloven Pack Series: Prequel)

by D. Fischer

  Table of Contents

  The Cloven Pack Series

  D. FISCHER

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  About the Author

  Titles by D. Fischer

  Caught in the Crossfire

  The Cloven Pack Series

  - Prequel -

  D. FISCHER

  Caught in the Crossfire (The Cloven Pack Series Prequel) is written by D. Fischer. This book is copyrighted by D. Fischer.

  Copyright © 2017 by D. Fischer. All rights reserved.

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  Everything in this book is fictional. It is not based on true events, persons, or creatures that go bump in the night, no matter how much we wish it were…

  A Note of Thanks

  I have so many people I’d like to thank.

  First and foremost, I want to thank N. Roust. You have helped me so much with my writing. I’ve learned much from you and I’m eternally grateful to call you a dear friend. Your honesty makes me a better person and writer.

  Second, to my sister, J. Frasher, for taking the time out of your busy schedule to help a sister out. Your loyalty is unwavering and your acceptance of my quirky and witty attitude is refreshing in such a judgmental and hostile world. Thank you for always dishing it back.

  Third, to two friends I’ve gratefully gained, authors Lucille Moncrief and Scernia Elizabeth. Your insight into the author world has strengthened me.

  Fourth, to A. Dahl, who’s encouraged me to shoot for the stars.

  And last but certainly not least, I want to thank you, my readers. You inspire me. Dream big, my friends, because you lack absolutely nothing.

  Chapter One

  The weather will change as she pleases. She can choose to be serene or destructive. If she chooses destruction, everything you loved, dreamed, and fought for will be lost in her wake. She has no depth of boundaries. No quarrel of states. No prejudices of those undeserving. She can make or break you. Survive or perish. Only then will you know if you are strong enough to weather her storm.

  Kelsey Rylend

  Jeremy crosses the lawn on his way to patrol the territory, a smile lifting the left side of his cheek. He’s feeling cocky about last night, and with good reason. This verbally noiseless man has started to come out of his little hermit shell. I can feel my wolf inside me, content as a cat in a sunny windowsill. Her satisfaction with our mating is contagious.

  Jeremy and I are opposites. He’s the quiet but watchful type, where I am vocal and bitchy. An odd match, but the choice of mates isn’t up to us. Mother Nature takes it upon herself and plays a little game of cupid.

  Sitting in the lawn chair, a cup of tea in one hand, I lift my other and brush it against the fresh claiming mark on my neck. I smile back at him, thinking back to last night like a movie on replay.

  My mother notices my wistful smile. “This is no place for a newly mated couple,” she mutters while pretending to read her book from beside me. I look over at her. I’m the spitting image.

  She’s right. Craig Johnson, our Alpha, has seemed to set a goal to make this Pack, the Cloven Pack, the most undesirable out there. His punishments for rule-breakers are endless.

  My reply is dipped with as much wit in my tone as I can muster. “And that’s no place for a mole on your cheek.” Mother has always seen the glass half empty; always pointing out the flaws.

  She shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the pages. “I don’t know what I did to raise such a snotty child.”

  I turn my head back to Jeremy and watch him shift to his wolf. “I prefer ‘high-spirited’.”

  She mumbles under her breath so that only I can hear. “Did he faint?”

  It’s normal for a wolf shifter to faint when the claiming slaps into place. The sensation can be so over-whelming that it’s a natural occurrence for the body to black out and adjust.

  I try to hide the smile from my face. He did faint and I spent a good few minutes slapping him awake.

  She notices my humor and takes it for what it is. “Mother Nature doesn’t make them like she used to.”

  “Well, if we all got our way and dear old Mother Nature wasn’t in the picture, you’d be wrinkle free.”

  My mother tsks and sets her book aside, leaving a corner marked to continue at a later time. “Walk lightly, Kelsey. Talk like that around the Alpha and you could be the next one getting whipped for your attitude.” She wiggles her way out of the chair and holds her hand out to me. “Come on, dear. Let’s go prepare supper.”

  I sigh and take her hand. She’s been telling me to walk lightly since I was a young girl. My sarcasm and wit came at an early age. It’s generally not something I can control. With a little practice, I’ve learned to keep most of my shit inside and bite my tongue.

  I follow her through the back lawn to the sliding glass door that enters the Alpha quarters. Stepping through and onto the hardwood floor of the dining room, I slide the door closed behind me and we head to the kitchen.

  I love to cook. It’s a trait I’ve also received from my mother. But it’s one thing to love and another thing to buck against if you’re told you have to do it. Being demanded to do something sets my hair on end and gets my teeth grinding. It takes the ‘give a fuck’ right out of it.

  The kitchen is large. Wood cabinets flow along the walls and black speckled granite counters adorn the countertops. A large island takes up the rest of the wide space. Craig has expensive taste and had one of our Cloven Pack members, Flint, install everything. Flint finished just last week.

  I head to the fridge and pull out the vegetables. “Maybe if we play the lottery and get rich, we can move out of this hellhole,” I contemplate. “I could buy an island.” I know I’m safe talking about such things. Craig has gone to the bars with a few of our wolves. No doubt, they’ll probably return drunk off their asses.

  My mother glances at me with a cocked eyebrow before grabbing some vegetables to wash. “You could buy a plane to visit an island. I imagine flood insurance will be expensive when owning an island, dear.”

  I stare at her for crushing my dream before I can even finish dreaming it up. There’s that glass half empty again. “Or I could stick you in a nursing home and call it a day.”

  Without batting an eye, she retorts, “Or I could turn you over my knee and spank your mouthy behind.”

  I hide the smile by biting the inside of my cheeks. Not often does she return the banter. I find it most entertaining when her inner-hag comes out to play.

  To ruin my sarcastic mood, the walking, talking, breathing Barbie doll saunters into the kitchen and leans against the counter. I slowly turn my head and look at her, leaving no expression on my face.

  “Can I help you?” I ask with false modesty.

  She smiles sickly sweet and snatches a chunk of chopped broccoli. She pops it into her mouth and chews with an audible smack. I internally cringe and growl at the unwanted female.

  Jazz smiles with triumph before pushing off the counter and swaying her hips as she walks out of the kitchen. Her high heeled shoes click against the wood floor. “Keep up the good work,” she calls over her shoulder.

  She’s her only fan. I wonder if she knows that.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” my mother whispers as I go back to chopping vigorously.

  We work silently together, flowing through the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. Pack mates start to trickle in, roaming through the kitchen like dogs waiting for scraps to be dro
pped on the floor. Mother shoos them out in the beginning but eventually gives up when Craig returns drunk as a skunk.

  He walks into the kitchen, staggering and reeking of liquor. Don’t get me wrong – I have quite the love affair with tequila, but do I drink it every night? No. It’s called self-control, buddy. I grit my teeth to avoid saying it out loud.

  Wavy, short-cropped, blond hair flows over his scalp, while a nose the size of Texas reaches too far past his flat face. If it wasn’t for his nose and shrewd, thin lips - and his personality, for that matter - he may have been an attractive guy.

  Craig is unmated. He used to have a mate, but she died giving birth to their daughter, Brenna. I’m positive he blames Brenna for her death, but, from what my father says, they weren’t close to begin with. Which is why he survived her death.

  Mates, once mated, often die when the other does. It’s a little quirk Mother Nature decided to provide wolf shifters.

  Both Evo and Brenna get their looks from their beautiful mother, Juna. Except the blond hair. From the few pictures I’ve seen of her, which is in my parent’s quarters, she was striking. Long flowing brown hair and perfect symmetrical features.

  “Our meal should be done by now,” Craig growls while swaying on his feet.

  Brenna walks into the kitchen and glances at the timer on the oven. “It says five minutes, dad.”

  Muscles tense in his neck, his body rigid. He turns his head in her direction, a glare squinting his beady eyes. “Talk to me that way again, and you’ll have another thing coming.”

  He always says that to her – ‘another thing coming.’ He always delivers, too. Did just yesterday, in fact. With a whip. Craig is a sick fuck, even when it comes to his own daughter.

  She ignores his threat and walks to the cabinet to pull out plates. Following Craig, the other wolf shifters melt out of the kitchen and head to the dining room. Their chairs squeal in protest along the wood floor as they pull them out from under the table. I watch as Bre stiffly reaches for the plates and pulls them down. She tries to hide her wince of pain, but it’s hard to mask such fresh wounds.

  I walk over to her and pull down the rest of the plates. Setting them on the counter, I lightly squeeze her shoulder and peck her cheek. She nods her thanks and heads toward the silverware drawer.

  The timer beeps on the oven. I help Mother get the pans out and place them on the counter to await distribution. Mother and I won’t be serving the table as the wait-staff. Nope – Craig has other wolves serve the food while he sits on his throne at the head of the table. Poor Bre must sit next to him, too. It is she who’s the unfortunate one to serve those at the table, right along with Dyson and Flint.

  “Want to go for a run with us after we eat?” I ask Brenna in a hushed tone.

  She glances at me from counting the silverware. “Who’s we?”

  I didn’t bat an eyelash to her inquiry. The Pack has cliques and we didn’t mix the cliques. “Flint, Dyson, Jeremy, and me. I invited Ben, but you know how he can get.”

  Though Ben is our friend, he spends most of his time on his own. The guy has some anger issues and can fly off the handle at the blink of an eye. Brenna seems uncomfortable around him, anyway.

  She stretches the muscles in her neck and nods her head. That girl has a lot of stress planted on her shoulders. “Sure. Can we run on the East side?”

  I frown at her. Such an unusual request. “Sure.”

  Chapter Two

  Jeremy Tompkin

  After supper, everyone dispersed from around the dining table. Most of us found Craig’s tasteless and snide comments repulsive and fled as soon as the time was appropriate.

  Kelsey and I make our way to the edge of the woods in the backyard. Flint, Dyson, and Brenna oversee clean up, so it’ll be a few minutes before they join us.

  Her small hand inside mine, we walk a few hundred feet into the pitch-black forest. As shifters, our wolves’ extra sense provides us with the necessary skill to see in the dark. All is silent except for the nocturnal creatures scurrying about their business. They flee as soon as we’re close enough, afraid of our presence and the possible danger we could bring.

  Humidity still clings to the cool night air and it brings scents to life, tickling my nose and urging my wolf. He begs to be released and explore these smells. Before I let him loose to frolic in the forest, I have other activities in mind.

  Before I can forego my plan, Kelsey pushes me against a tree. Her movement is fluid and swift. An impressive and attractive trait, though it shouldn’t shock me. The first time I recognized her as my mate, she rebelled. I was pinned to a similar tree such as this, but with throwing knives holding me in place while telling me to ‘back the fuck off.’ She didn’t enjoy my pursuit. The knives flew at me with such speed and precision, the only way I could prepare myself was to stand completely still and pray she didn’t cut me to ribbons.

  She stands on her tip-toes and runs her tongue along my bottom lip at a leisurely pace, coaxing them to open. As they part, her tongue delves inside. I run my hand through her red hair and grip it lightly, taking control over the kiss. My mate needs a firm hand, especially when she’s spent the day fighting her own nature and biting her tongue at every turn just to keep the skin on her own back.

  I break the kiss and lift her shirt and bra over her head, hearing them rustle against the twigs as they drop to the ground. Gripping her hips, I swing her around and place her naked back against the bark of the tree, pinning her hands above her head.

  Wordlessly instructing her to leave her hands where they are, my lips make a trail down her neck to her collar bone – her sweet-spot. She moans when I bite the sensitive skin over the protruding bone. Continuing down to the swell of her breast, I trace my way around the mound before I flick my tongue over the hardened tip of her nipple. My eyes dance to her face. I watch her head tilt back, resting against the bark, and a soft sigh is released from that luscious mouth.

  Using my other hand, I massage the other breast, tweaking the nipple in the same assault as my teeth. Her sighs morph to moans and she begins to squirm.

  She places her hands on my shoulders, attempting to push me down. I heed to her request. I know what she wants.

  My tongue traces her navel. I undo the button of her jeans and slide the fabric down her shapely legs. I’ll never get enough of her body. That, I am sure of.

  I place my knees on the ground, a few twigs digging into them through my jeans. The small bite of pain doesn’t bother me. I’m too consumed with my task and my mate’s harsh breaths of anticipation.

  She spreads her legs before I have the chance to do so. I place a soft kiss on her folds and she bucks against my mouth.

  Purposefully taking my time, I glide my middle finger inside her and her walls clamp around it. I moan and my cock stiffens inside my jeans from the smell of her arousal.

  So wet, Kels, I send to her telepathically.

  Using my index and ring finger, I part her folds with the same hand while tickling the inside of her walls. I blow on the swollen bundle of nerves and she thrusts her hips forward, a growl escaping her lips. I can feel her aggravation through our mating. Mated wolves can feel what the other is feeling and can also communicate telepathically.

  Swiftly, I suck the nub into my mouth and she cries out. I continue sucking and flicking my tongue along her clit until her legs quiver against my chest. She’s close.

  I release a possessive growl, vibrating her clit inside my mouth, and she loses the control she’s desperately trying to keep contained. Her walls pulsate around my finger as she reaches her climax. She grips my hair with firm fingers until the waves of pleasure subside.

  Standing up, I flip her body around and place her hands against the bark. Bent over in front of me, her ass available for my viewing pleasure, I unzip my jeans and my cock springs free.

  Placing the tip at her entrance, I slide in gradually to ensure I feel every sensation. Our groans mingle i
n the quiet night when I’m fully sheathed.

  Placing a strong grip on her hips – because I know she likes it that way – I pump my hips at an unhurried pace, watching my cock disappear in fascination. I fit so perfectly here.

  I drink the sight in, her round ass jiggling as my pelvis slaps against it.

  Within a few pumps, my mate’s groans become higher-pitched as she reaches another climax. I feel the warm liquid spread over my cock.

  Reaching forward, I grab her breasts and pump harder. I bite the crook of her neck, loving the sensation I feel coming from my mate.

  Her breaths become harsher, her moans become louder, and my name softly escapes her lips. I know what this means.

  She screams, reaches her climax. I can’t hold out any longer. A tingle spreads down my spine to my aching balls, and my seed releases inside her.

  We ride out the waves of pleasuring flowing between each other, our breaths the only sound in the trees.

  Kelsey Rylend

  Jeremy still bent over my back and panting from exertion, I cock my head to the side when a smell reaches my sensitive nose. A perfume reeking of floral scents.

  I growl low and threatening. “Jazz, you fucking sleaze. If you’re done viewing the show, you can make yourself visibly known.”

  Jeremy slides out of me and collects our discarded clothes. Jazz’s footsteps can be heard, stepping on twigs as she makes her way to us. That girl … if Craig wasn’t number one on my shit list, Jazz would take that rightful spot. Two interruptions in one night …

  Jeremy slips on his underwear as Jazz reaches us, an ugly smirk placed on her face that’s coated in unnecessary cosmetics. I honestly don’t remember what she looks like without make-up. There’s a very good chance I wouldn’t recognize her if that day ever comes.