Bitten by Treachery (Hadley Werewolves)

by Shawntelle Madison

  Contents

  Bitten by Treachery

  Copyright

  Other Titles by Shawntelle Madison

  Praise for the Coveted Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  BITTEN BY TREACHERY

  Shawntelle Madison

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

  Copyright © 2013 Shawntelle Madison

  eBook ISBN-13: 978-0-9887985-5-7

  Cover design: Shawntelle Madison

  Edited by Sarah Bromley

  Stock Image: Hot Damn Stock

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

  Other titles by Shawntelle Madison

  COVETED SERIES

  Natalya Stravinsky:

  Collected (Prequel Novella)

  Coveted

  Kept

  Compelled (Coming in 2014)

  Aggie McClure:

  Bitter Disenchantment

  Best Served Bitter (Coming in 2014)

  Tessa Dandridge:

  Repossessed: The Warlock Repo Man Chronicles

  HADLEY WEREWOLVES

  Bitten by Deceit

  Bitten by Treachery

  Bitten by Vengeance (Coming in 2014)

  Praise for the Coveted Series

  COVETED

  “Characters of all shapes, sizes and species abound in this new series from debut author Madison…How can you go wrong when your heroine is a werewolf with OCD? Madison tells her story with a lot of humor, and readers will be waiting with bated breath for her next story.”

  Romantic Times Book Reviews, 4.5

  “A regular person in a magical body, Natalya’s struggles with her job (irritable Harpies trying to return vases!) and love life are both hilarious and heartwarming.”

  NYT Bestselling Author Eloisa James – Reading Romance Column – B&N Review

  “This is the start of a funny and touching new paranormal series, which may be dealing with supernatural creatures, but gives them all very human problems that make them very relatable. I loved this book and can’t wait to see what’s in store for Natalya next!”

  Parkersburg News and Sentinel

  “I really enjoyed Coveted. It’s got pack dynamics, action and there is one hell of a weird therapy group…”

  Night Owl Reviews

  “Over the course of the novel, Nat makes strides in conquering her demons, and while she ends up far from perfect, the growth is definitely there. I was rooting for her and can’t wait to continue her journey in the next book, Kept.”

  The Romance Reader

  CHAPTER ONE

  Crouched low on the ground, Charly seethed. With her wrists bound in front of her and her legs tucked in, she fought to maintain the pose she’d been taught as a child. Her thighs clenched tight from sitting on the cold, wooden floor for so long. All of this was her coven’s punishment for her mother’s deeds, and now hers, a daughter atoning for her mother’s sins. The coven was never merciful—especially for those who tried to disrupt their plans. They’d make her pay just to warn others not to even try to break the coven’s laws in the future.

  A thin line of sweat rolled down the witch’s back, creating an itch she couldn’t scratch.

  Ignore everything around you, Charly.

  Pain, on the other hand, was far more difficult to tune out than discomfort. No matter how much she twisted to the side, she couldn’t see the werewolf’s bite on the small of her back. Before Charly had been shoved to the floor, she’d been stripped of her clothing in a stuffy room filled with covered furniture and cobwebs. She snorted with bitterness, unable to hold in the anger that overwhelmed her senses. The bite wound on her back throbbed, and she tried not to think about how she got it.

  The sound of high heels echoed across the chamber. In the outskirts of Las Vegas, there wasn’t much to hear so far beyond the limits of the bright city. The elder blood witch’s home was one of the largest among the sisters, a perfect place to hide away Charly while keeping her on the crow coven’s commune.

  “Are you done fighting us, Charlene?” The voice dripped with condemnation. The coven used her full name, and Charly hated that they never wanted to use her nickname. Ever.

  “No, Isabella, I’m not done fighting you,” she replied between clenched teeth.

  The woman chortled. “You were always a stubborn lot—just like your mother.”

  Virulent words came to mind, but Charly couldn’t cast spells due to the magic in the ropes around her wrists and ankles. Either way, this wasn’t the time to speak.

  More footsteps. The rest of the elders had arrived to assess her. Women dressed in black with imposing expressions flanked them on each side. The enforcers, known among the witches as their soldiers, had bound and left her here.

  “Isabella,” one of the women said, “is she ready to take her place among them?” This high-pitched voice was easy to place: Ophelia, their leader. To think she had helped raised Charly. Also, she was the one who had so easily judged her mother unfit to stay with the coven. That was until Charly stepped forward to save her.

  “Almost,” Isabella replied. “But I believe she’s forgotten—or chooses to forget—why we take such extreme measures in our fight against evil.”

  Charly didn’t forget. She couldn’t forget. Any witch in this room sensed the siren’s call from the trapped monstrosities in the basement of that very building. In a tiny room on the lowest floor sat a plain wooden jewelry box on an ornate Victorian table. Not a single witch dared to touch it—unless they wanted to be a vessel for a blood demon—a parasitic spirit that used a witch’s corporeal form to take life from other beings like humans or witches. Her ancestors had crafted the boxes to imprison the creatures, but the containers only worked so well. A few months ago, one of the sisters had foolishly gotten too close to the demons’ box. She answered its never-ending call, managing to disarm the guards and touch the jewelry box. After that the slaughter began. The memories flashed crimson in her mind: Limbs torn off without mercy, heads squeezed until the victims screamed. Such was the demon’s telekinetic power.

  For years, the coven had used werewolves, the only beings who could touch the box, to guard it and keep the box out of the wrong hands. But a week ago their last loyal guard had died from a long exposure to the demons and then the decision had become clear—to the other witches but not to Charly and her mother—that the werewolves would have to be enslaved to help them. Once a werewolf guard entered the room, the demons in the box made sure they never left again. The werewolves didn’t exactly die…but who the hell would be willing to help the witches’ cause?

  “You’re just as damned as the demon who escaped,” Ophelia said. “We all have a price to pay to protect what we hold dear. Some are forced to pay more than others.”

  “How long until the wolf’s venom takes effect?” another of the elders asked.

  “It’s been twenty-four hours,” Isabella said coolly. “The transformation should take place soon.”

  Charly squeezed her eyes sh
ut. Her coven forced her to become one of them. She sucked in a breath and held in a curse.

  “Very good,” Ophelia said. “Our plan will work this time. Amelia made too many mistakes during our last experiment. She messed up everything we’d worked so hard to achieve.”

  Charly heard everything the older sisters said and realized the rumors she’d heard were true. A few weeks ago, rumblings began that her aunt Amelia infiltrated an isolated werewolf pack in the Arizona desert. She’d been sent with a singular mission: take over the wolves by controlling the alpha male. But based on what her mother had told her, everything had gone horrible wrong. Either the spell on the wolves was poorly cast or it outright failed. The alpha went mad, and after he bit other werewolves, they turned rabid instead of becoming the loyal protectors the witches had needed. In the aftermath, Amelia was dead, and once Charly’s mother threatened to reveal the coven’s mishap to the blood witches who governed all covens, she’d been detained and now sat alone in another room similar to this one. Unable to fight back, Charly agreed to their plans to save her mother, but there was no way in hell she’d lay down without a struggle on their part.

  A growl rumbled in a darkened corner, and chains rattled across the floor. Charly refused to look up. She refused to think about what lurked in the darkened corner, what it had done to her. When the attack occurred a few days ago, Ophelia had been in the room the whole time. She’d done nothing to stop it.

  “The wolf’s awake,” was all she recalled Ophelia saying. “Are you ready, witchling?”

  No one could’ve been prepared for what horror she endured.

  Charlene’s body shook as her recollection of the attack flashed through her memory. The rapid beat of her heart, the tightening of the magical ropes on her arms and legs. They had no concern how badly she might be mauled, only that she was bitten and infected with their poison. Once the poison was inside her, she’d heal. She had steeled herself for the impact then a gray-haired wolf was on her, teeth bared. Yellow eyes had stared at her, hungry since the beast had been denied food for four days.

  During the attack, she had managed to roll onto her stomach, crouching as best as she could to protect her head and torso. Clawed hands had kept her still while it swooped in to bite her. Her choked screams ended abruptly as the werewolf had crawled back into the corner where Ophelia dropped a bowl of dog food. Whether it had been the wolf’s conscious decision or the food that had saved Charly, she didn’t care. The throbbing pain from the bite remained—an ever-present reminder—and a new emotion joined it: A deep-seeded fear that at any moment the chains would shift again and the restraints wouldn’t be short enough to keep the beast at bay.

  Now that she’d been infected and the werewolf was quiet, the blood witches could move forward with their plans.

  Ophelia crouched and brushed away clumps of blonde hair out of Charly’s face. “Don’t ever forget. Those animals can’t get back their humanity once they surrender to the wolf. Our only option is to control them or lose our battle with the blood demons.”

  Ophelia turned to the elders.

  “Set her free tonight, Isabella,” she ordered. “Her provisions are packed. Keep an eye on her until she reaches town. From there, Charlene is to find the pack’s alpha male. She will enchant him, and she will take over the werewolves. She must if she wants to spare her mother from judgment.”

  The lone road in and out of Hadley called to Trenton. He’d sometimes sit in his patrol car by the highway and watch hawks circle overhead as they hunted for prey. Once in a while they’d dip into the brush to snag a kill. His fingertips flicked the keys dangling from the starter again. A habit to keep his agitation in check. Maybe his restlessness was due to all the time he’d spent traveling as a rogue werewolf. He’d done too much hitchhiking over the years. Going from town to town through the desert. The sand practically could’ve swallowed him before he’d reached Hadley, a surprising oasis for his wandering. Other than the past couple of months, his first year had gone by quickly.

  The radio in the car came to life. “Drew, we got a 484 over at the hardware store. They caught the Granger kids stealing again.”

  Trenton chuckled. Drew was the newest werewolf hire who got a job as a cop a few days ago. Instead of working in town, Trenton preferred his post by the county road. Maybe so he could think. His boss, Kyle, may have assumed he was just looking for another excuse to sleep. The most he’d seen in terms of vehicles, suspicious or otherwise, were delivery and gas trucks that came through a few times a week.

  Hadley wasn’t the kind of place where folks dropped by on vacation. The werewolves around here liked it that way. Especially after what happened a few weeks ago: destruction, fear, and crazed werewolves. A bunch of words that all coalesced into an apocalypse rolling through the area. They didn’t need word of that mess traveling.

  He settled deeper into the seat as sleep tugged at him. He’d worked a double twenty-four hour shift. Far too long, even for a werewolf. His eyelids drooped, and the rise and fall of his chest slowed. Before he closed his eyes, he spied a form walking down the road. From this distance, she was a moving speck among the cacti and sagebrush.

  The morning sun cast a glow on her blonde hair, the strands like white fire. He slightly leaned forward, watching her gait while she approached him. Even though he was downwind, she was clearly visible since the sun was to her back. She had soft curves and long legs. If anything stirred around her, she didn’t turn her head to notice. Every now and then though, she adjusted the black backpack on her shoulder.

  While traveling as a rogue, Trenton had seen plenty of women moving on their own, strappy gals in biker gear to young runaways like this one with dust covering their worn jeans. She had to be twenty to twenty-five. Old enough to be on the road, but not scary enough looking to keep the roughnecks off her trail. Rogue werewolves without a pack to keep them in line would circle girls like her and torment them for miles. He’d been lonely, but never that desperate. Such actions disgusted him.

  He started the car and drove over to her. Might as well say hello. She didn’t blink once when he pulled up beside her. “Good morning, miss.”

  She tilted her chin his way. He stared at her light-brown eyes. Maybe they were hazel. “Hey.”

  “Where you headed out here all alone?”

  “The nearest town.” She kept walking, forcing him to drive to keep up. His gaze flitted to the sun-kissed skin peeking between the two open buttons on her shirt. A gentle breeze flowed through the car, bringing her scent to Trenton: feminine, soft, with a hint of orange. Something else was there. A new one he’d never smelled before. It was ever-so-faint, like an afterthought of perfume from the night before on a woman’s wrist.

  “You mean Hadley?” he asked.

  She nodded, the gesture barely perceptible.

  His eyebrows lowered. Most folks didn’t go out strolling through the desert for shits and giggles. There was nothing for miles except for rock formations, dirt, and dust devils. Kyle had warned him to be vigilant with strangers coming to town. The last thing they needed was more trouble after burying their dead not too long ago.

  “You got family here?” he asked.

  She finally stopped to give him a stern eye. “Am I under arrest or something?” Her anger floated off her and hit his nose like chili peppers.

  “No, miss.” He flashed a grin. “We had some trouble a few weeks ago and now we’re careful, is all.”

  Damn, he was just doing his job, but he felt sort of bad for putting her on the spot. She had an easy way about her, like she didn’t have an ounce of menace.

  When she didn’t say anything, he kept talking. “How about I give you a ride into town? No more questions.”

  She stopped walking. “Just a ride?”

  “There aren’t too many places to go in Hadley, but I’ll get you there.”

  Before she reached for the door handle, she hesitated. Her fingertips twitched. What the hell was going through her head? She stared at h
im intently.

  Finally, she opened the car door and got in. “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Flying into Hadley under the radar was pretty much useless, not when she was escorted into town in a police cruiser.

  Charly settled into the worn seat. The patrol car wasn’t the newest. She’d seen plenty of them in Vegas after the blood demon attacked the coven and escaped into the neighborhood. She tried not to check out the cop, but it was rather hard. His lean body filled his seat in a good way. And damn it all to hell, he smelled good, too.

  After she’d left the coven’s private compound, she rode on a few buses and walked when she had to. Her slow transformation into a werewolf had made it difficult to live in her skin. Everything had a new smell. Most folks had the rank odor of unwashed skin. Citrus fruits like lemons had a sharp, yet tart scent. Even something as simple as flowers had an overwhelming sweetness she’d never before experienced. She expected the cop to smell like sweat and washed clothes. Yet his scent, one of new leather and spicy cologne, flowed through her nostrils and ran up her inner thighs like a lover’s gentle finger.

  Her scent, on the other hand, had to be masked. She couldn’t merely saunter into Hadley as a witch, so the coven had given her a cover she would never have willingly agreed to: Live as a werewolf and help them or die by treachery with her mother.

  Charly focused on the road. She had a job to do. She didn’t have the time to check out the vermin locals.

  “Do you have a particular place you want to go?” he asked offhand. “A motel or the local coffee shop?”

  “Not really. Either is fine.” Why did she have to get a talkative one?

  “You got a name?”

  “Charly.”

  “Full name or short for something? I’m Trenton.”