Hunted: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 1)

by Erica Woods

  Hunted

  The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 1

  Erica Woods

  Copyright © 2019 by Erica Woods

  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.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ebook ISBN: 978-82-93735-00-7

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Elite Readers Newsletter

  Dear reader

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Glossary

  For all the lost souls out there, and for those brave enough, decent enough, and strong enough to find them.

  1

  Hope

  “Is she dead?” Gregory poked a finger through the hole in my aching side and waited for a reaction.

  I gave none.

  A familiar, sticky substance coated my skin in grimy layers of dark red, the puddles of blood on the floor barely distinguishable against the muted black.

  I was weak. So very weak.

  Blood loss and pain threatened to send me slinking into sweet oblivion, but if I wanted to escape this hellhole, I needed to stay awake.

  Two fingers touched the base of my throat. Rather than flinch away in disgust, I remained still and hid behind the deep shadows in my mind.

  “No pulse. She isn’t breathing,” Silva said. “Guess we finally did her in.”

  A beat of silence, then, “Let’s just make sure, shall we?”

  Something sharp and cold parted my skin and buried deep. If the monster sharing my body had not been shielding me, I would have screamed from the agony piercing my belly.

  “Dead,” Gregory pronounced. “You’re lucky this didn’t happen sooner or the boss would’ve had your hide.”

  Red spots danced behind my closed eyelids.

  Silva snorted. “Luck had nothing to do with it. I’ve wanted to get rid of this bitch for years.”

  My lungs burned with the scream I refused to let loose, and my mind began to fracture with the agony I was forced to suppress.

  They had to think I was dead. They had to. If Matthew had taught me anything, it was that only the dead left the Hunters’ compound.

  “When did you get permission to kill her?”

  The burn in my stomach intensified. A thousand teeth were surely ripping me apart from the inside out.

  “I didn’t,” Silva admitted. “Not exactly. Though they said to do whatever it took to—“

  Just as I was about to lose my grip on the scream building in my throat, shadows danced across my mind and the monster that had once ruined my life came to my rescue.

  The next minute passed in blissful peace. The cold seeping through my body stole the pain, and in the back of my mind I knew it was bad. Very bad. I hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, so near death I no longer needed the monster’s help to shield my heartbeat or halt my breaths.

  A small eternity passed while I drifted. Then, the sound of receding footsteps. When the heavy steel door grated against cement floors, the thought that I was alone whispered across my mind.

  At first, I didn’t react. The cold embrace of death seemed so sweet, so peaceful, I didn't dare leave it. But . . . I wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. Not while there was still hope.

  “If you are ever in trouble and I’m not around, go find your uncle Gavril. Gavril Sânrigla.”

  “But Daddy, I have you!”

  My father tickled my five-year old ribs, making me giggle despite the sadness I saw shining in eyes so like my own. “I know, pumpkin. But someday I might not be here and you may need help. I know you’ve never met him, but he’ll help you. He’ll have to.” The last part whispered beneath his breath, and when he tipped my face up, grief ravaged his expression. “He lives in Ontario, in Canada. Ask around for the family Sânrigla. They’ll find you . . .”

  The comforting voice of my father slipped away, and my eyes shot open.

  That first breath was glass shredding my lungs. Though my eyes were no longer closed, I saw only darkness, the black pit of death hovering just out of reach. But then the flickering lights overhead came into focus and I became aware. Aware of pain.

  I hurt. Dear god, how I hurt.

  Lifting my neck took strength I didn’t know I still had, and what I saw had me stifle a gasp. The ugly lamp hanging from the metal hook in the ceiling bathed my wounds in a grotesque light, giving the dark blood coating my skin a shiny quality I immediately hated.

  Don’t have long . . .

  A groan rasped past my parched throat, my lips cracked and bleeding. Yet a swipe of my tongue was enough to close the most painful cuts, and I had to swallow back the hatred for the shadowed being in my soul as gratitude temporarily surfaced.

  My monster may have put me in this predicament, but I would not be alive without it.

  I clenched my fist and tested the bonds keeping me prisoner. Each movement was torture. Wounds reopened, bled, ached with the fiery inferno of hell. Air hissed through my clenched teeth, and I kept going. Who knew how long I’d have before the cleanup crew arrived?

  The thought of being caught before I even made it off the table had me thrashing against my restraints. No give, but the dull ache in my leg told me the bone in my shin had set sometime in the last few minutes and was nearly healed.

  I heaved once more, used all my strength—

  The bindings gave.

  Shocked, it took me several precious seconds to lower my feet to the cold cement floor. A part of me couldn’t believe my plan had worked. They’d never left me unsupervised before. Never.

  I rose and choked on a sob. My stomach . . . it was being ripped apart. Ripped apart by fire. Only acid could burn like this.

  I looked down, but there was no burning flesh, no w
ithering skin eaten away by corrosive liquid. No, the reason for my pain was the knife still buried in my stomach.

  Not giving myself time to think about it, I yanked the knife out and fell to my knees. A low, keening sound was stifled by the palm I pressed against my mouth. Despite the danger, it took me several breaths before I could quell the pained noise.

  By then, the edges of the wound had begun knitting together and pain gave way to the staccato drum pounding in my ears. Run, its rhythm seemed to say. Flee!

  I got to my feet and crept to the door, pressing my ear against the cold steel like the idiot I was. Soundproof—I’d forgotten. No self-respecting Hunter wanted to listen to the screams tearing through this room day after day.

  I’d have to open the door without knowing if one of them waited on the other side.

  I shuddered, my hand hovering over the handle.

  A year ago, none of this would have been possible. The Hunters had never allowed me to get this close to death before. Torture, yes. Horrifying experiments, yes. But not death. Not until a few months ago.

  Something had changed. There’d been a new desperation in their quest to break me, to force the monster to the surface. Either my continued refusal had frayed their temper, or they’d simply decided I was no longer worth the effort. Whatever their reason, it had taken another death—Matthew’s death—on my conscience before a plan took shape in my guilt-riddled brain. No prisoner left the compound alive, but no one cared about the dead.

  With the image of Matthew’s bloody and beaten face seared into my mind, I wrenched the door open before I could reconsider.

  Empty.

  I almost sagged to my knees in relief.

  The unforgiving, rough stairs that had scraped the skin off my bones on more occasions than I could count, rose before me.

  I took a step. And then another. Chills traveled up my spine, a cold hand squeezed my heart and whipped it into a gallop. Each step defied the Hunters. Each step increased the punishment I’d receive if I were caught.

  A part of me, a small, shameful part, wanted to run back downstairs, strap myself to the table, and lie there until someone came back. If I was caught trying to escape again . . .

  Ugly memories assaulted me. My skin crawled and my stomach threatened to heave.

  But I didn’t have time to be sick.

  When I came to the top of the stairs, my whole body shook. Two doors separated me from freedom. The first—the one looming before me—opened up to a narrow hall that snaked down dim corridors and eventually led back to my cell. The second lay just beyond this one. It occupied the right wall just a few feet into the hall, and the prisoners knew it well.

  We were marched past that door every time we were brought down to the torture room. Always unlocked, it led right outside, the path to freedom so close we could almost taste the wind. The Hunters used it as yet another form of cruel torment, taunting us with knowledge that if only we were brave enough, strong enough, we could get a few lungfuls of fresh air before we were caught and punished—or killed—for our temerity.

  The pounding of my heart seemed to echo off the concrete walls as the beat in my ears grew to unbearable levels. With a trembling hand, I opened the first door and prepared to run.

  No voices rose in a cacophony of threats or commands to stop. No Hunters aimed weapons my way. The last door was right there—narrow and metallic, an unarmed, unlocked obstacle standing only a short sprint away.

  I ran.

  The first touch of the sun after eighteen years underground was not at all how I’d imagined. The rays were not soft and gentle on my face, nor did they disperse the chill in my bones. No peace flooded my system, no hope bloomed in my chest. Rather, it blinded me, the harsh glare forcing me to stop, to wait until my eyes adjusted to the relentless brightness.

  The sun . . . the thing I’d dreamed of seeing all these years was jeopardizing everything. The escape almost within reach, the freedom I could feel in the breeze whipping my dirty, blood-streaked hair around my face, and the life I’d clung to with such quiet fervor I wondered if the Hunters hadn’t managed to break me after all.

  I lifted my hand to block the sharp rays burning my corneas and tried to control my growing terror.

  Have to move. Have to run.

  Despite the pain wracking my body and the fear souring each breath until the very air itself tasted of poison, I had to take a second to appreciate the severe beauty of the outside world. Brighter than I remembered, the blue skies worked with the sun to create the harsh light that felt so unfamiliar to my sensitive eyes. The colors they created made little sense, overwhelming to someone who’d lived countless years in a sterile, mostly gray environment. The bright blue of the wide-open sky, the soft green of trees rustling in the wind, of grass swaying with each caress of the soft breeze, even the mottled browns of plants in their dying stages were a shock to my system.

  I stood there, staring, unable to tear my gaze away from everything I’d been missing, everything I’d never thought to see again. Until the blaring screech of the Hunters’ alarm rang through the air and terror once more flooded every cell of my exhausted being. The terrible noise kick-started my hazy brain and reminded me what was at stake.

  This was it. My one shot at freedom. If I got caught, I’d either die, or they’d break me.

  For the first time in years, I willingly reached inside myself to the monster lurking there and asked for its strength.

  It came, but slowly, reluctantly. And it hurt. A punishing, angry hurt that screamed of disuse and tasted of sullen disappointment.

  Gritting my teeth, I let the power fill me and vaulted over the rail that separated the little balcony on the second floor from the free-fall on the other side.

  I landed easily, my knees bending to bear the brunt of the fall. Bare feet dug into cool dirt, the sensation so unfamiliar, so alien I had to force myself to get up, to not bury my hands deep in the earth and marvel at the connection. Then the alarm gave off another unholy screech, and bile rose in my throat.

  Run! a voice screamed in my head. Run!

  The adrenaline flooding my body should have propelled me forward, but I was frozen in place. A huge, towering forest stretched out to my right, only a barbed wire fence standing between me and the false sense of safety found beneath the canopy of green. And to my left—past the Hunters’ small cabins, the outhouses, and the larger, freestanding buildings I knew down to my bones housed terrors I couldn’t hope to withstand—lay a dirt access road.

  A memory from when I was six flashed through my mind. The scent of my mother’s perfume. Her angry voice as she yelled into the phone. Me sitting stock-still in the backseat, trying to become invisible as I watched that same road roll past.

  To my relief, the memory faded when I closed my eyes. The pain and guilt I still carried with me wherever I went would choke me if I lingered too long in the past.

  Move!

  I looked from the forest to the road. My best chance of survival lay past the Hunters, down the worn, dirt road.

  Unless they caught me first.

  Indecision warred inside me. How could I make this choice? I hadn’t been allowed to decide what to wear or what to eat for over eighteen years, and now I was supposed to make a life or death decision with the alarm screaming in my ears, the sound a blaring reminder that time was running out.

  A stuttering, half step forward brought me no closer to a decision.

  Once more, I looked between the forest and the dirt road that sparked memories of the last time I’d seen my mother. Her disgust as she looked at me, the knowledge of what I was, what I’d done—

  I shook my head, sorrow squeezing my chest so hard I almost collapsed. Blinking back tears, I took another faltering step before spotting a car driving down the narrow road. One of theirs.

  The decision had been made for me; I’d be going through the woods.

  I took off at a run, the barbed wire fence looming impossibly far. The stretch between the compou
nd and that fence was one unending, open space. If one of the Hunters looked outside, they’d spot me in a heartbeat. That knowledge acted both as a heavy rock in my stomach and as a whip against my back, urging me to push harder, to run faster.

  But my broken body was tired. So very tired.

  A roar began in my ears; my tongue felt thick in my dry mouth. Each breath felt like razors in my chest, and still . . . still the fence stood farther away than the distance I’d already run.

  Faster! Faster!

  With a moan, I reached down and stirred the darkness in my soul. This time it answered with a roar. Power coursed through my worn body and lent speed to my shaky legs. The shackles binding the bane of my existence shook as I tried to control that dark force. Whatever it was, whatever cursed gifts it saw fit to lend me weren’t enough. Not with my mental leash hobbling it, the shackles I’d kept in place for so many years draining its strength.

  The alarm stopped, and for one blessed moment, the emotion I was named after—hope—soared through me. But only for a moment.

  My name was a lie. Despair was the only constant in my life.

  When the alarm resumed, it sounded louder, closer than before. It was followed by the terrifying noise of raised, male voices and the whirring of motors starting.