by C. D. Gorri
“We’re not taking a bike?” His bike was still parked out front.
“No.” He shook his head. “Too obvious. I’m taking one of the cars. We can pack more stuff, and fewer people will see us.”
There had to be ten cars in here.
Bran led me to a forest green SUV and held the door open to help me in. “Buckle up, buttercup.” He kissed my nose.
Then he was in, and backing out, and heading back down the driveway, away from Blackwood House.
I couldn’t help but look in the mirror on my door. I was leaving part of my heart behind.
But they didn’t want to come.
The front door flew open, and both Conan and Alec came out. Both raised their hands, and I could tell that they were shouting.
Bran’s jaw tensed. He didn’t look around, or say anything, only pressed down on the gas.
The house disappeared as we went around a corner.
Another couple of minutes, and we were at the gate.
Then out onto the main road, the gate to Blackwood House closed behind us.
It was done.
While I didn’t have all my heart, I had the piece that wanted to be with me. We’d build a wonderful life together.
Best of all, there wouldn’t be a war. It hurt to think about, but I understood. No one wanted a war.
I knew that tonight, however, when I had a moment alone in the bathroom, I’d cry for them. For Alec and Conan, who sacrificed what they wanted. Who had sacrificed me, sacrificed for Bran.
I hoped their intended wives would be enough.
Then I turned my eyes forward, reached over to wrap my hand around Bran’s larger one, and looked to my future.
“Don’t be afraid anymore, Lena. We’re together now.”
It’s not the end, I thought. It’s just the beginning.
Thank you for reading!
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Keep riding with Fated to the Pack, book two of the Lone Wolves MC, the newest reverse harem series from bestselling author, Laney Powell. Follow Lena as she comes into her own in a way she never expected, discovering all that has been taken from her and taking it all back with three hot, growly shifters at her side.
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If you enjoyed this book, you may also enjoy...
Nobledark Academy Series
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About Laney Powell
I’m a Midwestern lady, living life in the Rocky Mountains. I adore strong men with hearts of gold, even if that gold is initially hidden. It may even be a little tarnished, which is fine. Tarnished can be cleaned right up!
That's what drives me to write the stories that I write. I love not only a good cowboy romance, but a sexy demon love story, and all sorts of paranormal flavors, so expect all of the above from me.
Thanks for reading!
xoxo,
Laney
Dragan’s Fate By Skye Jones
Dragan’s Fate © copyright 2021 Skye Jones
Edited by: Jessica Fraser and Sheri Williams
Dragan’s Fate
When your fated mate is also your mortal enemy, things become complicated.
Dragan has lived for over a thousand years, and thinks he’s seen everything, but when a shifter gets brought to the fortress where he rules the vampire Legion, he believes she might be his fated mate. Except…shifters are the enemies of vampires, not their mates.
Lisbeth is running away from her pack when she is found by the very last people she’d ever wish to see, a team of vampire hunters. They take her to their palace home to auction as a servant, but a tall, dark, and surprisingly handsome vampire claims her instead.
Dragan wants to make Lisbeth his, but to do so he must get the permission of his Queen. More, he must overcome his own prejudice to be able to recognize his true fated mate.
Chapter One
Lisbeth
I’m running as fast as I can, the earth kicking up under my boots as I fly over familiar hills and dips, the dark shroud of night almost completely covering the land. Pounding behind me has me pumping my arms faster. I try in vain to outrun the boys I know are probably mere feet behind me. They mean me harm, and if they catch me, I’m in a world of hurt.
This is nothing new. I’ve always been the odd one out. The runt of the family. The joke of the pack. The punchline at the end of cruel jibes. My wolf never showed herself during puberty like the other shifters, and their teasing accelerated.
As I reached maturity, and found myself still unable to summon my wolf, the taunts became more serious. Vague sniggers and whispered jokes became outright bullying. Then the bullying became something more sinister. Pulled hair here. Torn shirt there. Tripped up ‘accidentally’ on my way to the market. And it wasn’t only the kids; the adults of the pack began to shun me. This gang of boys behind me are the worst of my tormentors though.
Those bastards can’t catch me. They can’t.
The air burns my lungs as I gasp in a much-needed breath. Oh God, they’re going to be on me at any moment now.
“Hey, runt, don’t run away. We only want to talk, promise.”
I recognize the voice as that of the leader of the gang giving chase. Marcus. He is my nemesis, and I think this time he really means me harm.
I’m pumping my arms as fast as I can, but I can sense them right on my tail.
Ooomph.
A weight hits me hard in the back, knocking the air from my lungs with an agonizing burn as I’m taken down to the ground. I hit soggy, peaty soil, and send up thanks that at least it’s been raining, and the ground isn’t that hard. The weight at my back moves for one blessed moment, and I can breathe. My relief doesn’t last though, as hands grab me everywhere.
I flail, hitting out, trying to get them off me. I’m acting on instinct and not thinking this through.
“Get off me!” I scream.
Marcus is leaning over me, pinning my arms to the ground above my head. He laughs, his mouth turning up at one side where the scar cuts across his lips.
“Oh, come on now, precious,” he says. “Don’t be like this. Don’t make it a fight.”
His hand reaches for my belt, and I freeze in terror.
His words permeate my mind, and together with what his hands are doing, I realize what these men want. I’ve always thought of them as boys, the same boys that went to school with me and made my life hell. But just as I’ve grown, so have they. I’m surrounded by a group of hungry, angry males, who see me as nothing more than some fun to be toyed with, brutally.
I don’t know how much I can even blame them. It’s not as if they’re not taking their cue from the rest of our pack.
I’m the lowest of the low - a wolf shifter who cannot change form. I’m that word that every parent dreads hearing when they bring new life into this world of ours.
Latent.
Being latent means being broken. Defective.
I see the disappointment in my parents faces every day, and if your own parents don’t love you then who the hell else will?
The world drifts away as I close my mind to what’s happening to me. I float as my mind disconnects from the fingers grabbing and tearing at clothes and pinching flesh. I can’t fight all these males, so instead, maybe I should just try to close my mind to this. Zone out. Go somewhere else.
&
nbsp; Nothing matters now but my survival, and not only my body’s survival but that of my psyche too. I won’t let these young males break me. No matter what else happens, they won’t break my spirit.
What they are about to do is the ultimate sin in our world, except if you do it to a latent. Females must be pure when they are taken by their mate. They will breed with the male who chooses them and try to increase our numbers. Not us rare latents, though.
In the traditions of old, we are fair game. Not only can we not change form, but we can’t procreate either. With the wolfpacks so decimated in numbers, any wolf who cannot contribute to furthering the generations is useless.
“You go first Marcus, then I’ll take a turn with the trash next.”
I glance to my side to see Roger, the most hated of them all, staring at me with his oily, muddy gaze. I hate him so much it burns in me. The protective listlessness which stole over me starts to recede as a wave of indignant fire burns brightly. I won’t let these bastards do this. I won’t go down without a fight.
Luckily for me, I know some tricks. I know things that no mere shifter should know. One of which is how to call upon the Fae when you need them the most. I send up thanks to my grandmother, then I start to chant under my breath.
Fairy light, fairy bright, bring your presence to the glen tonight.
Oo’er mountains and streams, and forests of dreams, bring your presence to the hills tonight.
I call upon the wood-folk.
I call upon the hill folk.
I call upon the folk of the vale.
I call upon the water sprite.
Oh ye of the Magic Kingdom, grant me this wish and show your presence tonight.
“What the hell is she rambling on about?” Marcus asks.
“Who cares?” Roger says.
I close my eyes and squeeze my hands into fists, so tight my nails hurt, as I pray to the gods and goddesses of these ancient mountains to send the help that I need.
The Fae are whimsical folk, and they don’t always answer even the most desperate pleas for help.
Something to my right catches my eye, and I turn my head, the wet grass smashing against my cheek as I stare into the distance at the forms dancing in the gloaming, surrounded by halos of faint light.
Oh, please, gods and goddesses, let this be the help that I need.
The forms are approaching and getting closer, gliding over the hills. As they near, they morph into four beautiful, nubile women wearing very little indeed for such a cold evening.
“What the hell?” Marcus says as he stares, aghast.
“Hello, boys. Why don’t you play with us instead of that scraggy little mess?” The nearest creature asks.
Her hair is almost white and hangs right down to her curvaceous hips. The Fae are tall and strong, powerful creatures, not tiny fairies like humans believe.
“We are much more your sort of fun, wouldn’t you say?”
Roger stares at them with his eyes narrowed.
All shifters know about the Fae, and despite our simple ways, we aren’t stupid, none of us, not even odious creatures like Roger. He’s figuring out whether this offer is real - because the Fae really do like to have a lot of sex according to the legends - or a trap.
“As kind as your offer is, this isn’t about fun,” Marcus says. “It’s about teaching this little runt here her place in the pack.”
The Fae grins at him. As she smiles, what started as a mere smirk widens and widens, until it becomes something horrific. Her face is almost split in half by the maniacal grin.
Oh, gods in the heavens, I think I may have called upon one of the mountain Fae, the kind who wait for the weary traveler to stray from the path, then lure them away and play with them for months as they suck out their life force. What will they do to young, testosterone-filled male shifters?
As the creatures advance upon the males, I scrabble back in the mud. It squishes into my fingernails, getting inside my jeans too, making my panties cold and wet. Ignoring the discomfort, I keep moving backwards as the women advance and the men from my village start to retreat.
“Run little runt,” one of the females says.
I don’t wait to be told twice. I roll over onto my hands and knees and push up onto my feet.
As I stumble forward, I turn back once to see that the men are all heading back towards our village at a run. The women are following them at a leisurely pace. Those cowards turned tail and ran as soon as the women advanced on them. Utter bullies.
Part of me knows I ought to stay and make sure the Fae don’t rip those boys limb from limb. I won’t though, because those boys were about to rape me, and I don’t have to do anything to save them.
I run as fast as I can in the opposite direction from my village. Tears stream down my face as I race towards the dark, foreboding mountains ahead. I’m crying for a life I’m leaving behind, for I will never be safe in my village again.
Things were bad enough for me before when I was merely the latent. Now, I will be the runt who called the fairy folk out against the males of her own village. To turn against one’s own pack is the ultimate sin in our world. Never mind that my pack turned against me first, a long time ago.
I have no possessions with me, and no plan, but at least I have my life and my bodily integrity. Maybe I will be able to find a human settlement and make a life for myself there. I’ve heard of shifters doing such a thing. There are stories of those who have shunned our way of life and chosen to live instead with humans in their technologically advanced world.
Or perhaps, I can find a cabin somewhere in the wilds, abandoned, unloved, and make it my own.
If all else fails, my cousin lives in a pack in America where, from everything she tells me, they don’t have the same degrading beliefs about latents. She begged me to go visit her a long time ago, and I refused. I regret it now.
My cousin, Tilly, says that in her pack latents are respected for their other talents. They believe we have the power to foresee certain events and to sense things that full shifters simply cannot. A shifter, from the age of around twelve, is ridden hard by their wolf. They rely heavily on physical senses of scent, sound, and taste. Legends say that in doing this the wolf folk lost more ancient and innate abilities, subsumed by their biological urges. Some packs, like my cousin’s, believe that those abilities still reside in latents.
If only my birth pack was so forward-thinking. Sadly, the wolf shifters in most of northern Europe are backward looking and insular.
As my adrenaline recedes, I start to slow down, and it’s then that I realize I’m totally and utterly lost.
Behind me is my pack and certain punishment, but in front of me there is nothing but dark mountains. They loom against the sky, sparkling with distant, indifferent stars. The air is growing colder, and if I don’t find shelter soon, I might perish out here.
I could call upon the fairy folk again, but I don’t know how much patience they will have with me asking for their help twice in one night. They will be just as likely to take me to their realm and keep me as some sort of pet as they will be to help me.
There must be somewhere around here where I can find shelter. These mountains are popular with humans who want to get away from it all and try out the wilderness trails. You must hike in here; there’s no road access. For that reason, there are many basic shelters dotted around. Most are nothing more than four walls and a roof. However, they at least have a door I can close against the elements.
That’s my plan, I decide. I don’t need to know what I’m going to be doing next week; I only need to know what my plan is for the next few hours: find shelter, rest and wait for morning.
Everything always looks better in the light of day, something my beloved grandmother used to say. I truly believe if she was still alive, the pack wouldn’t treat me this way. My grandmother didn’t care if I was latent or not. Sadly, my parents do. I think because they gave birth to me, they’ve always felt the shame of producing defective offsp
ring.
I still and listen. I may not be able to change form, but I do have enhanced senses. Mine might not be as powerful as those a full wolf, but I can certainly hear things much more than any human, and what I’m hearing right now is the sound of footsteps.
I freeze and glance around me in panic, looking for somewhere to hide. Have the males returned for me? Maybe the Fae reconsidered and let them go?
If they find me, they won’t only defile me, they will beat me to within an inch of my life.
Breath coming in ragged gasps, I crouch low and try to find some undergrowth to hide in. There are a few scrubby little bushes nearby, but nothing to really provide cover. My heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears above the increasing howl of the wind, I stare around me in wide-eyed terror.
Cold wetness hits the exposed skin of my forearms, and I glance up at the heavens. It’s raining. Not a shower, but full-on torrential downpour.
“Oh, come on, let’s go back. There is nothing to see here,” says a female voice.
Humans?
“I swear that I saw somebody running ahead of us,” says a different, deeper female voice.
I sniff the air to try and tell if they are shifter or human, but the rain means it’s hard to catch their smell, and the wind is blowing away from me, carrying their scent with it.
Should I take a chance?
Even if they are shifters, they are not of my pack. I know the voices of all our members. For now, it means I’ll be safe with them, until word spreads from pack to pack of my betrayal. Once that happens, I will be shunned, ostracized from all wolf society, but the other packs won’t have heard yet. They’ll offer me shelter, for a short time at least, long enough to get a hot meal and some sleep. If they are human, I can ask for guidance to the nearest road. Mind made up, I open my mouth.
“Wait. Help.”
“Who is there?” A male voice asks.
I can hardly say I’m a shifter. To do so will bring either ridicule from people who believe me crazy or the swift end of my life if these humans are amongst the few who know of our existence. Instead, I step forward and move towards the voices.