Lycan on the Edge
Broken Heart Book 13
Michele Bardsley
Contents
Dedication
Together, they will save parakind…
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
Epilogue
Your Lycan or Mine?
The Broken Heart Books
About the Author
Copyright
To my Viking
I love you always.
* * *
To Renee, who is the reason this book rocks.
I love you, BFF!
“I’m sorry, man, but what about a human by day, a freak animal killing machine by moonlight don’t you understand? I mean, werewolves are badass.”
~Dean Winchester from “Heart” on Supernatural
Together, they will save parakind…
Werewolf Sophie Lennox barely survived the Alberich attack that left her wounded emotionally and physically. She’s not sure how she survived the Alberich, a creature thought long-dead, and one of the most savage predators werewolves have ever faced.
Trent Clayton is a werewolf whose own run-in with the Alberich a hundred years before took his wife and nearly destroyed him. Now, he must help Sophie work through her traumatized state and reveal to Sophie that she possesses an unusual gift—one that connects her to him.
Broken Heart is right in the vicious sights of the Alberich, but the creatures have never faced a whole town of parakind willing to defend their borders, and each other, with fur, fang, magic, swords, guns, and zombies.
With two werewolves leading the charge, the citizens of Broken Hear must win the battle against the Alberich. Or die (um, again) trying.
Prologue
Six Months Ago
“RISE WARRIOR. IT’S time to take your vengeance.”
The strong female voice held dark magic, her words forming the spells needed to awaken those who’d been asleep for more than a hundred years. Meckenzie watched in horror as the man, and she used the term loosely, climbed to his massive feet and opened his eyes.
He had four of them. Two in the front and two in the back. More than seven feet tall with green warty skin and a bulbous hairless head, he wore the pelts of slain werewolves around his torso and loose, brown pants strapped to his waist with a large chain belt.
“You sure this is a good move?” Meckenzie asked the crazy bitch stirring up all this trouble.
Ena the Evil turned her witchy black-eyed gaze on Meckenzie. She screwed her mouth into a scowl and pointed a skinny finger. “You dare to question me?”
“Take the broomstick outta your ass,” Meckenzie said because she did enjoy taking her life into her hands. “You seriously want to level an entire town because a couple of werewolves dissed your mom?”
“Dissed?” Twin flames erupted in Ena’s dark gaze. “Tark and Aufanie ensured the destruction of the coven, and that bitch Brigid helped. They all spilled my mother’s blood.”
Oh, irony. Ena had gone after Meckenzie’s mother because she thought hurting Mary Braith would somehow bring the Celtic goddess running to her. How she knew Brigid owed Mom a solid was still a puzzle Meckenzie hadn’t figured out. Her mother had been a means to an end, and her refusal to call Brigid forth is why she died—and also why Meckenzie now bore the burden of Ena’s wrath.
“I will have my vengeance,” said Ena. “I will take from them all they hold dear. The Alberich are perfect machines of destruction. The werewolves are terrified of these creatures. The vampires cannot defeat them. They repel fae magic. These dark creatures haven't walked the earth for more than a hundred years.” She smiled, showing sharp, white teeth. “Lucky for us, several Alberich hibernated to avoid annihilation.”
Since the day she’d been bound into the witch’s service, Meckenzie had heard Ena rail about everything. For a supposed bad-ass, she sure was a whiner. She waved at Tall, Dark, and Ugly. “Hibernation, huh? And this guy decided to take the big nap in Oregon?”
Ena swept her arms up in a grand gesture toward the monster. The loose black sleeves of her shirt flapped dramatically. “He is only the first. It will take time to find the others.”
Meckenzie had her doubts. If this monster was so horrifying and unrelenting, how come his kind weren’t kings and queens of the world? She looked at the Alberich. He scratched his balls and then sniffed his hand. Classy. From the stupefied expression on his face, she figured he was about as smart as the boulder he was currently trying to eat.
Ena stared at the monster with a strange motherly pride. “They will destroy Broken Heart for us.”
For you, mentally corrected Meckenzie. She didn’t want anything to do with hurting others. Too bad it was Ena’s favorite hobby. The witch called the Alberich to her and the hideous creature lined up before her, apparently recognizing Ena the Evil as his master.
Oh, brother.
Broken Heart was in serious trouble. Meckenzie wouldn’t have been within a hundred feet of Ena if she’d had a choice. Unfortunately, she was a minion. Thus far, she’d been able to stay out of the hinky stuff. Her skills were more along the line of retrieving objects though some might call it stealing.
But now, here she was, up to her tits in dark magic and bad life decisions.
Way to go, Meckenzie.
The Alberich spoke. His voice sounded like stones grinding together, and the words weren’t even words as far as she could tell. Ena understood monster, apparently, because she turned toward Meckenzie with a razor-sharp smile.
“His name is Gath. And he smells a werewolf.”
“Here?” Meckenzie gestured around the thickly treed forest. She’d hoped being in the middle of nowhere would protect the humans and parakind from any bad ju-ju Ena might unleash.
“Nearby.” Ena’s crooked smile turned ugly. She turned her sharp gaze to the Alberich. “You are free to hunt the werewolf. But you must return as soon as you’re finished.”
Gath nodded, and turned, tramping into the woods, easily shoving aside brush, limbs, and the occasional tree.
Meckenzie felt sick to her stomach. She hoped like hell the werewolf was running in the opposite direction.
Chapter One
Present Day
SOPHIE LENNOX STARED at the watery muck because she had always faced reality head-on ... and, well, she had no other choice. She’d rather stare at the ground, anyway, because the other option was to stare at her breasts as gravity slowly squeezed them out of her bikini top.
If only she could shift. But going werewolf now would only complicate the already complicated mess of hanging upside down from the ten-foot ladder. She’d gotten on the step with the printed warning “Do Not Stand On This Step.” She’d fallen backward. The ropes wrapped around her ankles and suspended her above a particularly nasty mud hole.
Since all the blood had rushed to her head, she no longer felt the pain in her rope-entangled feet. She sighed. The low breath skimmed down her heated face, and she got a whiff her mint toothpaste. Oh good. At least she’d have decent breath when she died of embarrassment. They could eulogize her with, “Sure she died with her breasts exposed and resting on her chin, but at least she didn’t have halitosis.”
How difficult was it to paint shutters? Seriously. Could she do nothing that didn’t end with he
r being maimed? When she’d tied the ropes around the paint cans and looped them over the ladder’s tray, she raised and lowered them several times to make sure she wasn’t, as Nana constantly harangued her, “overdoing it.” Werewolf strength—I has it. Sometimes. She hated the muscle spasms that took her breath and her movement. Oh yeah, and she couldn’t forget about the occasional blackouts that stole her memories.
Deal with it, Sophie. This is your life now.
Thanks to the isolated location of their Victorian house, help was not within shouting distance. In Broken Heart, no one could hear you scream. At least no one in the vampire seniors nudist colony, which was ten miles up the road. Come to think of it, she would prefer not to be rescued by the wrinkly, naked undead.
Where the heck was her grandmother? How long did it take to pick up a few groceries? Sophie groaned. She’d been trapped on this stupid ladder for…
Hours?
Days?
Aeons?
She turned her wrist over and read the upside-down digital display.
Five minutes.
Her left breast shifted, threatening to expose her nipple. She tucked the errant boob back inside, wondering if she dared to untie and re-tie her bathing suit top. It needed to be tightened if she hoped to keep covered. Her gaze flitted around the side yard. The bushes beside the ladder concealed most of her, and since they lived on the road to nowhere, she had no fear of being seen by passing motorists. Or werewolves.
Wouldn’t her friends just die? They would never let her forget.
Goddess, please kill me now.
Her face felt swollen and tight with rushing blood. Her pulse hammered in her ears blocking out all the normal farm noises she normally heard, and her nose was stuffy too boot. On top of those annoyances, her right breast crept toward freedom.
Frustration shot through her. “All right. That’s it!”
Damned if she was going to be found hanging upside-down with her breasts dangling from her bikini top like discarded Christmas-tree ornaments. Sophie reached behind her back and fumbled with the string. All she had to do was tighten it. Maybe she could just pull the loops—
The string loosened and released. The top swung off and dangled from her neck.
A string of curses erupted from her as she grabbed the top and pushed it against her uncooperative bosom. She couldn’t get her boobs into position and re-tie the top. She pressed the material, her arms against her chest, and closed her eyes in despair.
“Werewolf yoga?”
The deep, masculine voice startled Sophie. Her eyes flew open. Damn it! She’d been so focused on the bikini tops, her boobs, her swollen, stuffy head, she hadn’t heard the man. Now, she found herself staring at a jean-clad crotch. He was too close for her to get a good angle to see his face without face-planting into his groin.
She tried to wriggle away, but swayed forward, bumping into the the stranger’s family jewels.
The man jumped back, missing the water-filled hole by scant inches.
Mortification scorched her cheeks. I’m half-naked, upside down, and now I’ve informally met some random dude’s genitals.
The jeans moved forward. Her gaze riveted to the glinting steel button. Crap. The crotch was returning.
“Stay away!”
The man retreated. He hunkered down, his warm brown eyes holding an expression of concern. Wow. He was gorgeous—like Brad-Pitt-and-Keanu-Reeves-had-a-baby gorgeous. Wavy brown hair framed his chiseled cheekbones. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Peachy,” she said. Hmm. This close, even with a stuffed up nose, she smelled wet earth and pine—scents associated with werewolves. He was shifter, but she knew all the shifters in Broken Heart. Hell, everyone knew everyone in the small Oklahoma town. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Trent. You must be Sophie.”
“You a psychic?”
“Nope. Handyman. Virginia offered me the garage apartment in exchange for fixing up the house.”
Her grandmother hired someone to help with repairs? What am I? Chopped liver?
Trent frowned. No, smiled. Sophie bent her neck, getting a sideways view of his face instead of an upside-down one. Technically, he’d done nothing threatening. It wasn’t his fault his bulge was eye level with her or that she was a klutz. Sweat dripped from her brow as her body protested its unnatural position. Her arms had lost sensation, and her breasts had already jumped out and yelled, “Howdy!”
“I’ll get you untangled.”
“Oh.” She swallowed heavily. “My bikini top, uh, came loose.”
“I see.”
“You do? Oh my God!” She looked at her chest, but her arms still provided sufficient cover.
“No, no. I don’t see your—I can’t see anything. I meant I understood.” He looked away, and then returned his gaze to hers. His eyes were dark brown, reminding her of her favorite chocolate truffles. They held an indecipherable emotion in check. She suspected he found some humor in the situation, and she felt grateful he hadn’t laughed. “Do you want me to help you tie your bathing suit top?”
Her expression must have revealed her answer because before she could blurt out Hell no!, he stood and took off his white T-shirt. He squatted again then pushed the shirt over her head, gently tugging her ponytail through. “Do you think you can get your arms through it?”
She nodded, her mouth dry. Hot damn, his abs were the epitome of washboard. She cursed her nipples for picking that moment to poke her forearms. It was as if they’d never seen a cute guy before. Ugh.
“I’ll go away.” He put his hands on his hips, his pecs contracting with the movement. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he caught her looking. He was smart enough to keep any comments to himself. Instead, he nodded. “Yell when you’re ready.”
Sophie waited for him disappear around the corner of the house. Jesus, the view was just as good from behind. Hurriedly, she put on the shirt and tugged it over her stomach. Her arms felt achy and tingly, but she held onto the bottom seam for dear life. “Okay!”
He jogged back to her and grabbed the end of the shirt. “I’ll tie it in a knot. It should hold until I free you.” His hands covered hers, and suddenly, the cold tingles pricking her fingers heated. “Your arms must feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets.”
She nodded and reluctantly let go of the shirt. As he tied a tight, efficient knot, his knuckles brushed her abdomen. Her muscles tensed. When he stepped back to survey the ladder, she released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
Trent shook his head. “How did you manage to get the ladder between the holly bushes,” he pointed to the puddle, “this swamp and the house?”
“I’m very talented,” she grumbled. “Do what you have to, but do it quickly because I can’t feel my feet anymore.”
“Wrap your arms around me and hang on so you don’t fall when I get you loose. I’ll hold onto your legs and lower you to the ground.”
Humiliation flooded her as Trent stood and reached for her feet. Her breasts pressed against his flat stomach as she tucked her face between his legs. She hugged his muscular thighs and tried not think about the man’s anatomy, in particular, the part located under her chin.
Sophie felt his grip around her knees as he tugged on the ropes. Next, his warm palm slid between her thighs. The ropes loosened, and her knees connected with his shoulders as her feet were freed. He tilted, his sneakered feet scrambling for purchase on the wet grass. His grip on her legs tightened, and Sophie had no choice but to hold on for dear life as they both tumbled into the puddle.
Sophie spluttered as gritty water showered her face and filled her mouth. Since she’d landed on top, she had the advantage. She turned around and plunked herself squarely on Trent’s chest with enough force to expel whatever air he had left in his lungs. A pair of brown eyes blinked at her as he tried to draw in a breath.
Sophie put her hand against his throat, pressing against his windpipe.
“I surrender,” he gasped out, holding up his hands. He grinned, his teeth flashing white. His stomach muscles flexed under her rear end, and Sophie realized he was allowing her to sit on his chest and bully him.
The realization came too late. Before Sophie could scramble off, he grabbed her wrists and flipped her to her back into the puddle. Muddy water dripped from his dark hair and onto her face. Her werewolf surfaced and began to growl.
“Whoa.” His eyes held a teasing glint, and his body was relaxed, not rigid with tension or intent to harm. Well, so now what? Sophie considered her options. She could knee him, she supposed. She flexed her fingers, noting that his hands only lightly held her wrists.
For a long moment, they stared at each other, panting heavily. A woodsy scent—his cologne mixed with pure alpha wolf—filtered into her senses. Wow. He smelled really good. Her human side and her wolf side were both in agreement—Trent was a fine specimen.
“Sophie!” Nana’s voice trilled. “I see you’ve met Trent.”
The man rolled off Sophie. She balanced on her elbows and narrowed her gaze at her crafty, sneaky, unapologetically nosey grandmother.
Nana smiled brightly. “Trent, er, Mr. Clayton is my new handyman. I hired him yesterday. He’s going to help us with the house.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” accused Sophie.
“I forgot, dear. I’m old.” Nana’s gaze transferred from Sophie to the ladder. “What were you doing?”
“Painting the shutters,” answered Sophie. She glanced at Trent, who was trying to wipe the mud off his arms and out of his hair. The curly brown hair on his chest narrowed down his muscular stomach, the silky line of hair disappearing into his jeans. Tan, muscled, and good-looking. She looked at her grandmother and frowned. Suspicion crept through Sophie like a cautious spider.
“Where did you find Trent?”
“Queen Patsy recommended him.”
“You consulted with the vampire queen about a handyman?” Sophie eyed Trent, who shrugged. “Seriously?”
Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 Page 1