Above This Grave (The Cloven Pack Series: Book Three)

by D. Fischer

  Above This Grave

  The Cloven Pack Series

  - Book Three-

  D. FISCHER

  Above This Grave (The Cloven Pack Series Book Three) is written by D. Fischer. This book is copyrighted by D. Fischer.

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

  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 ofThanks

  I want to thank my loyal, loving, and patient husband. As I’m typing away with my nose pressed to the computer screen, I feel him staring at me, a smile on his face as he watches me do what I love. He pokes fun at me, making me laugh until my stomach hurts, but I know underneath all that jest, he’s proud. My heart swells every time he encourages me to catch my dreams.

  I also want to thank my kids, who show me the unwavering meaning of love and the depths of true imagination. I watch them play together on the floor of the living room, no expectations from each other, just giggles and a goal – to squeeze in as much play time as they can before bed. It’s with this, that I realize how simple life should really be and how complicated we seem to make it. They show me the true meaning of strength, love, commitment, and loyalty, with no strings attached.

  Prologue

  He smiles, a metal bar in his hand. Alpha George Kenner, my human provided me with earlier thoughts. Peppermint. He smells of peppermint. Committing the smell to memory, I growl inside my human. Alpha presents a threat, walking toward us. His weapon shines in the dim light, his fingers curl tighter around it, knuckles straining against his skin.

  My human is bound, foggy, sedated. He’s angry, leery, determined.

  My hackles raise, my head whips the space inside my human, an angry buck and sway. I feel white hot anger. Each step he takes, my growl is louder, my nerves tingle.

  Human sends calm vibes. He wants control. I disagree, pawing inside him, expressing my displeasure.

  He takes one more step. My attention flicks between his posture and the shining metal bar. He speaks to my human. The bar raises higher when my human doesn’t respond. I snarl, ripping against the barrier.

  The bar swings. My Pack mate shouts beside my human, confined to his own chair.

  I freeze.

  Crack.

  I feel the pain as it connects to my human’s leg, the bone breaking. My human yells, his shouts and pain spiking my rage.

  Pawing my internal space, my lip curls, and I dig my teeth into the barrier with all my strength. Ripping, snarling, slamming. Determination. Protection. Must avenge.

  I manage the shift without my human’s consent. The bones crack, reshape, and connect with quick speed. I push from the chair as soon as I’m whole. The metal chair crashes against the floor, echoing, offending my sensitive ears. My muscles contract and I barrel toward the peppermint-scented enemy. Air ruffles my fur, my underbelly. My teeth bare, snarls ripping from my chest. His eyes grow wide, shiny, the skin wrinkled. He swings the metal bar as I leap, connecting with my side.

  Crack.

  Instant pain blossoms from the area, spreading to my side, my insides. I fly through the air—objects, people, passing by as a blur. The metal wall echoes as I hit it and drop to the hard floor.

  Throbbing pain. Shouting. My ears ring. The shuffle of feet, running. A small whine travels through my nose.

  My breaths heavy, feet under me, I lift myself. My head whips to the man, my body a little slower. My muzzle pulled back, canines exposed. I stalk forward, a slight limp.

  Peppermint man yells at the other men. My eyes sweep the scene as they scurry. A frightened woman slips out the door. Pack mate sits frozen in his chair. Moisture gathers under his eyes. Men shift, discarding their clothes to the floor.

  This is my chance.

  I leap into the air, straight for the peppermint man.

  He drops the bar, steps to the left, grabs my fur, slams me down. His fingers are firm, painful. A bone cracks. The air leaves my body. I wheeze, fighting to breathe.

  He takes several steps back, his smell less heavy as he does. I stand on shaky legs, growls vibrating my sore ribs. I keep my head lowered, twist to face him, hackles raised. He smirks. His wolf shows as his eyes glow.

  Three wolves skid to a halt in front of their Alpha. Dust specks scurry to the air—swirling, swaying, distracting.

  My eyes shift between the three. Pack mate shouts for me to stop. I ignore him, saliva dripping from my teeth. The droplets splat to the floor.

  Vengeance.

  Human watches inside me. His anger my own. His pain my own. His determination my own.

  Their hackles raise and one steps closer. My eyes zoom in on him, watching his body, his movements. I dip my body lower, ready to spring. I glance at the door. Two wolves guard it. No escape.

  The wolf takes a step closer and I lunge. Clash of bodies. Clash of fur. I bite his face, his neck. Blood soaks my tongue, the taste of iron slips down my throat. Our growls vibrate my ears.

  We release each other, our teeth clanking. We tumble and land on our feet. He grabs hold of my shoulder and I whip around. Sliding across the floor for a moment, his paws gain purchase and he barrels toward me again. I bare my teeth and dig them into his shoulder. Another taste of blood.

  He grabs my leg. I yelp, releasing him. Another wolf joins—his teeth sear into my rump. I howl. Another set of teeth slice through fur and skin over my broken ribs. I drop to the ground. The weight too heavy. The bites too much. The pain too intense.

  Yelping and whining, I try to wiggle free from their grasps, from their bites. Blood soaks the ground, my back easily slipping along the floor.

  Snarls, hot breath, sharp bites of pain. I howl.

  Teeth snap. Saliva and red, thick liquid splatters and sprays.

  So much . . . pain.

  Darkness spreads across my vision.

  ****

  My eyes blurry, my brain foggy. Snow slick across my wet fur. I blink. Winter snowflakes in thick ribbons sting my dry nose, the wind howling.

  A blizzard. I’m outside. I’m moving.

  My head lifts, my eyes rolling.

  Fight it, my human shouts at me.

  I’m being drug, no longer in the shed. The thick blankets of snow cold on my wet fur, skin, wounds.

  Weak. I’m weak. So tired. My head slumps, my vision dark.

  *****

  My nose twitches, my ears along with it. I open my eyes. I’m in a smaller shed, slumped in a corner. Heavy dust tickles my nose, the scent tinged with iron.

  Eyes flick to figures in the corner, I release a weak growl. They remain a statue, but their sneers tell me I’m their prisoner.

  Minutes, hours—I’m not sure how long—passes. I fall in and out of darkness, growling when I can muster it.

  I jump, my heart thudding fast when the doors open. I growl.

  Both my guards rush out the door, their lips curled. Commotion outside, skin hitting skin. My muscles quiver, my cold body. Snowflakes sprinkle in through the door. I weakly shift my weight, my fur frozen to the pool of blood beneath me.

  A white blur barrels into the shed and skids to a halt.

  Brenna, my human breathes. He sighs with relief.

  I growl at the female white wolf. I scent her, recognize her, but continue my growl. The white wolf stands as a statue, eye zooming around my body.

  That’s our Beta, my human barks at me. Let me shift back.

  My eyes narrow. I ignore my human. I can’t, the threat isn’t over. His safety—our safety—our survival at the forefront of my mind. I lift my lips, grow
ling with the last of my strength.

  Trust no one, I growl to my human. I feel him tense inside me.

  ChapterOne

  Flint Rockland’s Wolf

  Two weeks after capture . . .

  I pace and pant, a limp in my step. My tongue hangs out, droplets falling to the carpet. It’s not hot in this room, but I remain anxious just the same. My stomach grumbles. The Beta female is late with my meal.

  I pause in my step to look out the window. The sun is shining on the snow, reflecting a blinding light. I wish I could play in it. But danger could lurk out there. I shake my fur, my teeth snapping shut with pain. Wounds are still fresh, still healing.

  I pace again.

  A sound in the other room jolts my muscles with fear. My hackles raise and a growl escapes my muzzle.

  My Beta female appears in my doorway, behind the bars my Pack has placed there. I sniff the air, scenting for danger.

  She speaks soft words to me, but I’m too consumed in my growling to pay attention. I paw the ground, letting her know her company isn’t wanted. Placing her hands on the bars, I lunge, snarls ripping through my throat. She ignores it and sits on the ground, peeking through my metal confines. Dropping the meat after a few minutes of watching me, she stands to leave.

  Flint Rockland

  I mentally beat against the barriers on the inside of my wolf. He won’t let me surface, believing he’s keeping me safe. He’s traumatized and I don’t know how to help the creature. For Christ’s sake, he’s growling at Brenna. How can I reason with my wolf if he’s finding Pack mates—Brenna, of all people—threatening?

  That’s my Beta female, fucking asshole! Let me shift! I continue to threaten my wolf, but he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t care. In his eyes, he’s keeping us safe.

  I watch through my wolf’s eyes as Bre speaks to me. “Flint, come on. Fight him,” she whispers. “You have to be okay. The others . . . They’re talking about what to do with you if you’re wolf—” She swallows. “If your wolf goes completely Rogue . . . if you can’t return.” Moisture gathers in her eyes. “Please, Flint. I’m begging you.”

  She attempts to put her hands on my bars but my wolf lunges at her for the intrusion of his space. Her eyes are haunted with dark circles under them. She isn’t sleeping well. The mating bite on her neck is fading to a permanent scar. I’ve been losing track of time, unaware of how long I’ve been trapped, but that scar tells me it’s been a couple weeks.

  I watch her stand, tears rolling down her cheeks. She throws my wolf fresh raw meat and turns to leave. I panic inside. I don’t know how to get out. I don’t know how to get free. He won’t let me, damn it, I shout inside my wolf, mentally pounding on the barriers again.

  Irene Scott

  I struggle in my handcuffs as we drive through a bumpy gravel area. Blindfolded and desperate for answers, I ask, “What’s going on? Where are we?”

  The man driving the car shifts into park and I attempt to look through the black mask over my head. In this dark car and with the night sky, it’s useless trying to catch a glimpse of our location. I’ve tried using my shoulder to shimmy this mask up, but I can’t scoot it past my nose.

  “The Castle,” the man snarls, unwilling to provide more information. His voice is like sandpaper, deep and rumbling, caused by his addiction to cigarettes. The smell wafting off his skin is unmistakable.

  After leaving the Cloven Pack territory an hour ago, I had pulled over to the side of the road in favor of helping two men. They seemed to be having car trouble and I had planned to offer them a ride into town. As I climbed out of my car, I got a whiff of them—both wolf shifters—before I was rushed and nearly tackled to the ground. They handcuffed me and placed this mask over my head before I had time to process the situation I was finding myself in. I was shoved into the backseat of their car, only one of the men entered to drive this prison-on-wheels to my unknown destination—and probable fate.

  I hear the leather squeak from his seat. The driver’s side door slams as he exits, rocking the entire vehicle. Gravel crunches with each footstep as he walks around the side and opens my door. He pauses—I’m sure to take in the sight of me, my attempts to remove my mask—before his threatening growl startles me.

  Roughly, he pulls the mask off my head and my eyes immediately shift to my surroundings. It is still dark out, so they take a moment to adjust.

  We’ve parked in front of a large off-white shed surrounded by trees. I would have guessed this place held farming equipment inside, but I get the feeling we aren’t here to stir the ground and plant some seeds—it’s still winter.

  The words pop out of my mouth before I have time to filter them. “This doesn’t look like a castle.”

  “Shift to your wolf and I’ll kill you before you can sprout fur,” he snarls before yanking me from the backseat.

  His brown hair appears black in the dark night, and his nose is crooked from one too many breaks. His shoulders are broad and lined with muscles, but he doesn’t move as gracefully as his physique would suggest. When he had walked across the gravel, I heard a limp in his step. Between the healing cut on his forehead and the injured leg, I mentally tip my hat to whoever got the better of this guy. I hold no sympathy for my abductor.

  I hear a car’s wheels crunch across the gravel driveway behind us, causing me to turn my head. The other man, the blond one, is driving my car and parks it behind the one I just exited. He climbs out with a toothy, sadistically excited grin. He’s a dirty man with grease stains all over his arms and clothes. I can only imagine the damage he did to my leather seats.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask as the limping man drags me toward the large shed. My feet have difficulty matching his long strides and I stumble over the rocks beneath them.

  “The One wants to have a little chat,” the dirty man says, jogging to catch up to us.

  I angle my body to walk faster instead of being half dragged. “The One?” I frown, staring at the building they call Castle. Is this some kind of God they worship?

  The dirty man responds with hysterically quiet giggles, making him seem more scrawny and repulsive than my original assessment.

  The large metal door slides open before either of the men have a chance to do it themselves. Light bathes the rest of our path as we enter and I get a full view of what’s inside.

  An open floor plan greets me. A makeshift living area is off to one side. A handful of wolf shifters—mostly male but a few female—lounge on mismatched furniture. They turn their heads in our direction as we step through the door. A small kitchenette and a large dining table are off to the other side. On the wall of the kitchenette and dining area are several pictures, blueprints, and maps taped to the wall. Electric heaters hum throughout the space. Surrounding the open floor plan are cubicles with makeshift walls that are normally seen in a business office. Inside these cubicles are beds—they’ve made bedrooms for each of the wolf shifters. The set-up reminds me of little dens or cages belonging in animal shelters. I frown.

  We stand by the entrance, the other wolf shifters watch me with interest, while the dirty man jogs to the back of the shed and into the largest cubicle. I wait impatiently for him to return, jingling my handcuffs in discomfort. I don’t like this one bit.

  A platinum blond woman exits the large cubicle, placing a bracelet on her wrist as she walks, high-heeled shoes strapped to her feet, in my direction. The dirty man eagerly follows behind her.

  She stands in front of me, assessing me from head to toe with a sly expression. The woman is pretty, but not in a natural way. Her real skin and features are hidden under layers of cosmetics, expensive clothes, and several jeweled accessories.

  Her eyes reach mine and she pauses before speaking. “Irene,” she states my name with no emotions.

  I clear my throat, uncomfortable with this hostile situation. “Erm . . . Yes?” I ask. “Are you . . . ah . . . ” I rack my brain, trying to remember the name my abductors used.

  She lifts a
perfectly shaped eyebrow. “The One.” She gingerly holds out a heavily jeweled hand. She seems hospitable, but it’d take a fool to believe her. This woman, who calls herself The One, who lives in The Castle, surrounded by dirty men and women housed in bedrooms that look like cages, and who abducts complete strangers, will surely be anything but.

  I jingle the metal dangling from my wrists again and lift my eyebrows, the skin creasing on my forehead. She snaps her fingers and points to the handcuffs. Nobody responds.

  “Zane!” she snaps. My heart skips a beat at the sudden outburst. She gestures to my handcuffs again, an impatient, yet murderous look hardens the skin around her eyes and mouth.

  She crosses her arms while the brunette male standing guard of me frees my wrists. She offers her hand a second time, my dark skin a stark contrast to hers as we grasp one another’s hand in greeting. I scowl as I realize I’m shaking hands with the one responsible for my abduction.

  “What Pack is this?” I ask her, the dirty man, and Zane.

  She produces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I get the feeling she doesn’t like to be ordered around, even if they’re just questions. She’s a submissive wolf, that much is true. More submissive than me, in fact. I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she seems to be what they worship.

  “This isn’t a Pack, darling. These wolves,” she sweeps her arm across the room, “are free wolves.”

  My eyelids flutter as I catch the eyes of each wolf shifter staring at me. “You mean Rogues?”

  Holding up a polished finger, she corrects me in a matter of fact tone. “Free.”

  Right. A wolf shifter with no Pack is a Rogue. This is clearly a Pack. They may not be able to communicate telepathically because she isn’t a dominant Alpha, but she’s clearly the one in charge.

  I sigh loudly instead of voicing my opinion. These men and women are already unbalanced. There’s no point in antagonizing them. I’m far outnumbered.