Savage Revenge

by Shelli Stevens

  Dedication

  Thanks to my family, friends, editor Tera, and all those who helped make this book fabulous. Especially to Danielle and Christina who were my betas and gave me the thumbs up.

  Prologue

  Karina re-fastened her ponytail and took off at a slow jogging pace on the trail.

  She needed to clear her head from the one too many beers she’d had last night at the bar. Though her mouth felt like cotton and there was a subtle pounding in her head, she’d still hauled her butt out of bed for a steady run on a quiet trail in the woods.

  It was her cure all for the typical Saturday morning hangover. Not to mention it kept her ass looking fabulous.

  With music blaring from her iPod and Mother Nature for eye candy, happiness was hers for the taking. She could forget she was going through a divorce. Forget her husband was threatening to take her to court to get custody of their daughter.

  Life out running was so simple. So mind-numbing.

  Maybe it was the eerie cords of the song she was listening to, but the hairs on the back of her neck lifted as the usual lightness of her run took on a darker note.

  The sense she was being stalked came quickly and sent a shiver of fear down her spine. She tugged the ear buds out and slowed to a stop.

  With adrenaline keeping her heart racing, she swept her gaze around the woods.

  She saw nothing out of the norm, only the same mix of shadows and light where the sun broke through the treetops.

  But she wasn’t alone, and the sudden realization came in the flurry of leaves lifting and something dark racing toward her.

  “What the fuck?” Karina stumbled back with a cry of shock, but it was too late. The creature was on her, teeth flashing before they buried into her neck. Ripping. Biting.

  Pain was her world now, and it floated on a sea of red. Her cries for help brought no sound, only more blood.

  The last thing she saw on the wolf was the glittering green of eyes that looked strangely human.

  Chapter One

  Must keep running.

  Nathan Larson blinked the sweat from his eyes, but the few trees around him still morphed and stretched into orbs of green. His muscles trembled from exertion and sleep deprivation made him half delusional, but he refused to stop and rest. Hell, he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to.

  He didn’t falter, just plunged on, tearing through the forest in the form of his wolf. His paws barely touched the dirt and rocks.

  It was unfortunate, but his scent would linger in some places from early on in his journey. He’d tried to be careful by being resourceful. Using rivers, lakes and even the ocean at times to swim south in a blatant attempt to hide his path.

  And then he’d hit the jackpot when stumbling across an empty hunting cabin outside Cannon Beach. After breaking inside, he’d ravaged any dried foods he could find to refuel his body. Though, more than the food, it was the bleach that had been his savior, offering him the possibility of masking his scent once he diluted it and washed his body.

  There’d been no time for sleep or rest at the cabin—he’d known that would have to come later, but now, who knows how many days had passed since he’d been forced to run.

  Exhaustion was going to take him down for the count if he didn’t find a place to rest for several hours.

  He blinked the sweat from his eyes and tried to comprehend his surroundings again. Where the hell was he even? Southern Oregon? Northern California?

  The spruce trees had faded into redwoods. The redwoods were beginning to fade into dry granite hills.

  The hours, days, were all a blur. There were periods he couldn’t even remember. Maybe he’d passed out or just blacked out from exhaustion.

  Where are you going?

  The question had spun in his head continuously and he still didn’t have an answer. He just knew he had to keep running. Had to think of a way out of this.

  Blood. The image slammed into him and he stumbled over a protruding root. So much blood.

  He shook his head and tried to rid the horrific image and focus on the trees in front of him. There was no clear-cut trail, but it was better that way. It would make him harder to track.

  The sudden gray among rugged terrain had his glance whipping to the side. Solid rock ran parallel behind the trees, rising and falling in a jagged wall.

  A cave. Maybe he could find a cave to crash in, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to make it much farther.

  With a low snarl he tore off to the left and to the hope for shelter. It took several minutes of exploration, but luck, again, was on his side.

  Nathan wedged himself into what was little more than a crevice deep into the mountain of rock. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hide him enough if anyone passed by.

  Without intending to, his body shifted back to human. His muscles stretching and popping, trembling with exhaustion through the change. Naked, and fully human, he fell to his hands and knees.

  The ragged breath he dragged into his lungs was warm and gritty from the dusty rocks around him.

  He slid to the ground completely and rolled onto his back. There was the brief image of blue sky above him through the rocks, before his eyelids—feeling as if there were leaden weights on them—fell shut.

  Behind closed lids there were no sunny skies, just a sea of red.

  A hoarse cry of pain and frustration gathered in his chest, but he ground his teeth together and held it back.

  The cry of a hawk sounded above him, but in his head it morphed into the screams for mercy that would forever haunt him.

  He would rest for now, but he had to keep running. If he stopped, he was a dead man.

  Before he passed out, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe death was the easy way out.

  “Do you want another coffee?”

  Glancing up from her laptop, Sage gave a friendly smile and shook her head.

  “Thanks, Eva, but one’ll do me this afternoon. If I have anymore caffeine I’ll be climbing the walls.”

  “It’s a gorgeous day, Sage. Not too hot, low eighties. Almost sweater weather here.” The middle-aged waitress propped one hand on her hip and waved the coffee pot toward the window with the other one. “You should be outside, not lounging around in here.”

  Eva looked as if she spent most of her free time outside. Tanned skin that appeared on the leathery side, lots of sunspots, and white-blonde hair that was probably mostly due to a box and a bit from sunlight.

  Sometimes she envied people like Eva who could go out into the sun and not burn within minutes. Her own skin was so fair and freckled, all she had to do was walk from her car to her house on a hot day and her skin was pink.

  Pulled further out of the story she was working on with every passing second, Sage didn’t get frustrated—because she’d already been before Eva had come over—and instead just offered another bright smile.

  “You’re right, it is gorgeous, but I have work to do. Pay the bills and all.”

  The woman glanced down at Sage’s laptop and frowned. “Writing those books again?”

  Those books.

  “It’s what I do.” She reached for her coffee and finished the last sip before adding brightly, “And you know, I’m really rather lucky to be able to call this my job. I don’t have to sit at a desk all day, I can make my own hours—”

  “Well then, ya see? You can go outside and work on your book later, right?”

  Oy. Eva was as bad as her mother with the hounding. She grimaced and shook her head.

  “I need to turn this book in by the end of the month, so I’m really pushing to keep up. I’ve made a deal with myself that when I hit my word count goal for the day I can go outside. Shouldn’t be long.”

  “Hmmph. All right, I�
�ll leave you alone. You sure you don’t want any more coffee?”

  “I’m sure. I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  Eva nodded and moved on to the back of the restaurant where the only other customer sat.

  Sage watched her for a moment before letting her gaze fall on the old TV secured on the far wall.

  The news was on. Though the volume was down, she could see the headline about a group of soldiers being accused of a murderous rampage in a small village in Afghanistan.

  Her heart sunk a little. The news was nothing but depressing stories, and this war had been endless, and just as depressing.

  She pulled her focus from the TV and glanced out the window and over the rugged, brown terrain. While some considered early fall around the Fresno area to be almost sweater weather, it was still entirely too hot for her. Which was why it was easier to write in the Sasquatch Diner than in her house that had broken air-conditioning.

  She’d have to get that fixed. She would, she vowed again silently, watching the October heat shimmer on the mountainside. It would just have to wait until her next paycheck.

  Which means you’d better get your butt in gear and finish this book.

  Biting back an agitated laugh, she turned her attention back to the laptop in front of her and the cursor that blinked in almost gleeful torment.

  Finish this book? Oh God, as if it were that easy. If it were as easy as it used to be, the book would’ve been done weeks ago. Months ago. Instead, she had a deadline in a matter of weeks, and she was on chapter two. Chapter freaking two.

  “I’m so screwed,” she whispered and pushed her coffee mug aside to give her enough room to fold her arms on the table and lay her head on it.

  She was blocked. She’d always sworn she didn’t believe in writer’s block and thought the muse was an excuse to justify lazy writers being unproductive, yet here she was, lucky to write a handful of words a day.

  But the words wouldn’t come. They would not come. She’d tried, oh crud, it was ridiculous how she’d tried to make them flow, but they were stuck behind a twenty-mile creative logjam in her brain.

  Because you write about everything you’re not, and it’s finally catching up with you. The voice of self-doubt resonated the familiar worry in her head.

  Yet she’d managed to fake it well enough to publish fifteen books—six which had hit major bestseller lists. She argued the point silently, and then turned her attention back to the open manuscript in front of her.

  “I can do this,” she muttered and rested her hands on the keys. “I can do this.”

  She typed a sentence. Two sentences. Hallelujah she was on three!

  Crap.

  Sage sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, shook her head, and deleted what she’d just typed. Who was she kidding? Those sentences sucked. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Definitely not tonight when her focus was extra scattered.

  Minimizing her document, she looked at the wallpaper on her laptop and let out a soft sigh.

  Her lips curled slightly as she traced a finger over the image of a man playing an acoustic guitar. A lock of reddish-blond hair fell over his face, blocking one of his half-closed eyes.

  Oh, he was so handsome and really, incredibly charming. Women seemed to love him…maybe even she did. A little.

  In the photo his lips were parted and she could almost hear his throaty voice as he sang a song about destiny. Each time she heard him sing it, it never failed to make her heart flutter.

  And that fluttering would be happening sooner than later. Just a few more hours from now, to be exact. He was scheduled to play at The Gold Mine tonight and she intended to be there.

  “Maybe you’d like some iced coffee instead? Looks like you could use some cooling off.”

  Flushing at the realization she’d been caught mooning at her desktop image, Sage closed the lid and shook her head.

  “Thanks, Eva. Actually, I should head out for the day. I need to get ready for tonight.”

  “Leaf Jacobs is in town for a concert again, hmm?” Sighing, the waitress shook her head. “I’ll get your check.”

  Was she that obvious? Stupid question. Clearly she was. Half the town knew she had a crush on the indie musician by now. Even Leaf knew, and it wasn’t an altogether one-sided crush.

  It wasn’t, she told herself again as she pulled out a ten from her wallet.

  Tonight she might even be bold enough to put her plan into action.

  She tossed the money onto the table and headed for the door.

  Tonight she might try her hand at seduction.

  Ten dollars. That was the last of the money.

  Nathan crumpled the bill in his hand before stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans.

  Actually, they weren’t his jeans. They belonged to the owner of the last house he’d broken into this morning.

  The jeans were stolen along with the other clothes he wore. He’d also taken advantage of a shower, bleach, food and twenty dollars he’d found in a jewelry box.

  All were getting him by—just barely—with his quest to stay hidden. To contemplate how the hell he was going to prove his innocence.

  That is, if he were even innocent.

  A wave of nausea and unease swept over him, but he shoved it firmly aside. He was innocent. If he didn’t know it in his gut, then he wouldn’t be running.

  He needed to find a place to hunker down for more than an hour or two. He needed several days. He needed to gain someone’s trust. Someone he could easily manipulate.

  That person needed to live alone. Easiest target would probably be an elderly human or a woman.

  Stopping outside a small, run-down-looking establishment, Nathan glanced at the door that was cracked open and contemplated his options.

  He was just outside of Coarsegold. Some other small town up in the hills, getting closer to Yosemite. Not a lot of other businesses, but then there was this little bar.

  From the half-open door he could hear the soft notes of a guitar and the melody of a man’s voice as he sang.

  There wasn’t much else nearby to choose from, just a gas station with a minimart. Which meant cameras.

  The likelihood of a camera at this joint was slim. Reminding himself of that, he pulled open the door completely and stepped inside.

  Maybe he’d been expecting people to turn and stare, but nobody seemed to notice his presence as he made his way into the bar.

  He had to decide. Now.

  His gaze scanned the room, searching for anyone who could possibly be a target.

  It only took a moment before he found her. Sitting alone and watching the singer on stage, she sipped on what looked like lemonade. She looked friendly, trusting, and not a day under seventy.

  He grabbed a seat at the table next to her and forced himself to smile when she glanced his way.

  Smiling wasn’t exactly in his nature. He didn’t have time to charm people—never had the need for it—he was the Goddamn alpha. He did what he wanted.

  But he was going to need charm tonight. Buckets of it.

  The elderly woman gave him a quick, uncertain smile in return, and then scooted her chair another couple inches in the opposite direction.

  Shit. You’re blowing this, Larson.

  His mind raced. He’d offer to buy her a drink, but she already had one.

  “Good singer.” He grunted, nodding toward the guy on stage.

  The woman’s eyes widened, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was talking to her.

  She didn’t even reply, just gave a nod of agreement.

  He took a slow breath in and reached for the edge of his chair to slide it toward her. He stopped, though, as an elderly man approached and took the seat next to her.

  Apparently the woman wasn’t as alone as he’d figured.

  Son of a bitch.

  His jaw hardened and he jerked his gaze away to the other side of the room. His attention snagged immediately on her.

  Maybe because she’d already been watching
him with a look of dismay.

  Was she alone? It certainly seemed like it. The curvy twenty-something was somewhat plain, and she gave off a straitlaced vibe.

  Maybe a cross between a librarian and hippie type. She wore a long, multi-colored skirt and a thin, black tank top that hugged an impressive chest.

  But it was her hair that fascinated him. Long and red, it fell in loose curls down her back.

  As if she’d just realized he’d caught her staring, she jerked her attention back to the stage and the singer on it.

  Her head tilted in a way that sent a cascade of curls to block her face from him.

  His lips quirked, and he had the feeling she’d done it on purpose.

  This time gut instinct told him she was alone.

  He glanced around the bar again, seeing if there might be a better target, but beyond the handful of couples and occasional group of girls, there was no one.

  It would have to be her. Curls girl.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  Damn, he’d been so focused that he hadn’t realized a waitress had approached from behind.

  “I’ll have a PBR.” He paused, hoping like hell he had enough money. “And whatever Curls over there is drinking, I’ll buy her another.”

  Though the waitress was going to be pissed when she realized he didn’t have enough for a tip.

  “Curls?” The waitress glanced across the room. “Oh, Sage. She’s just having seltzer water. But you got it.”

  Seltzer water? So much for hoping he could get her buzzed. She seemed small enough that it wouldn’t take much. At least the waitress would get a tip now.

  He waited until he had the can of beer in hand and the waitress had delivered the seltzer water to Curls. Or Sage. Unique name.

  Sage glanced up sharply, glass in hand, her brows drawn together as she looked at him.

  When she started to shake her head at the waitress, he stood and made his way over to her.

  He’d only taken a few steps when a wall of realization slammed into him. He froze, drawing in another deep breath of her scent and the sweet shifter blood coursing through her veins.

  Fuck. How had he not realized she was a shifter? How had it taken being nearly on top of her to sense she was one of his kind?