by JK Cooper
Table of Contents
Title Page
The Summer Omega Series
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Ascension
Copyright © 2018 Kristen Cooper
Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design
Interior design: Mikey Brooks (www.mikeybrooks.com)
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the publisher. For information regarding permission please visit: www.authorjkcooper.com
Summary: Shelby Brooks is the Summer Omega of whom werewolf Mystics have long prophesied, but prophecy can be altered. She and her bonded mate, Kale Copeland, have awakened and discovered who they truly were—and who they must become. Their former world of Alsvoira suffered the wrath of Mareus, the Alpha Prime, and his failed attempt to bring about the Advent through Ascension. Now on Earth, Mareus and his daughter, Athena, are determined to succeed in ushering in the Advent. Shelby must race against Athena to unlock the keys of Ascension before the Advent destroys all she loves. Her unique bond with Kale may give her an edge as she fights to save her pack and Earth, but Athena has plans for their intensifying relationship. All bonds, even those forged by prophecy and eternal love, can be shattered.
eBook Edition
THE SUMMER OMEGA SERIES:
AWAKENING
~
ASCENSION
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DEDICATION
For Declan, whose radiance was too great for this world.
December 1941
Argonne Forest, Northeastern France
Elias Copeland stepped lightly on the snow crusted ground with his standard issue British military boots. The soft crunch of icy terrain beneath his tread made him grimace. The enemy was still hunting them. His breath steamed in the early morning air. Last night, during a skirmish with German forces, he and nineteen soldiers from his squad had become separated from his Scottish Royal Highland Regiment, the Black Watch.
Fifteen of the twenty had fallen as they fought their way back toward the skirmish line, but they’d had to abandon that goal after losing so many. Only five now moved forward, in enemy territory, alone. Another crunching step broke past the ringing in his ears, a gift from the enemy mortars of last night’s battle. He started to believe the ringing would never end, becoming a part of him. He gritted his teeth and dragged a numb foot over a fallen branch.
Move forward, he told himself, always forward. Tae stop wid mean death. Ah’ may be marchin` meself ‘n’ the lads straecht tae death anyho.
Elias shivered. His socks were soaked with snowmelt and icy sweat. Fear ignores temperature, pushing water past frozen pores without a care for the waste of it all. No one had any water left. He scooped a handful of snow from a low hanging limb and put it into his mouth. Somehow, despite his fingers being numb from the cold and his chest shivering, his cheeks felt like they were on fire. Dehydration. Ah kin survive th' mortars, bullets, 'n' ice, ainlie tae die a’thirst.
He adjusted the sling that secured the Thompson submachine gun tightly against his shoulder. The metal buttstock, an extra section of weighted cold, gnawed like icy teeth through his green fatigues. He’d thought about abandoning the gun a hundred times, but he knew he would need it the moment he set it down.
Maybe a’m awready deid, wandering th’ snaw-covered woods of Hades in search of fresh blood. He looked at a white hand, fingernails blue. That’s how come a’m sae thirsty, sae cauld, sae colorless. The ragged breath of his squad mates reminded him he was not dead yet. Carney coughed a wet, wheezing rattle. He’d taken a bullet in his side. Elias had heard that same cough before and knew what it meant. Lungs were filling with blood, leaking warmth and life out of the man with each step. He didn’t have long, but they wouldn’t leave him behind.
Paden helped Carney along, but had stopped being only a crutch, and had begun half carrying him miles back. The two were old chaps from the same village in the Scottish Highlands. They had all known each other before the war, long before this insanity had brought them to foreign lands. Elias wished they were back in Scotland now. Then Carney just might live.
“Whits that?” Paden whispered.
Elias, at the head of the fire team, turned toward Paden, fear prickling through the parts of him that were not fully numb. Carney’s arm hung loose around Paden’s shoulder, slack. Their injured mate coughed again, weaker this time, and Paden set him down gently against a tree. But his eyes were elsewhere. “Thare, tween tha trees I clocked something.”
“Whit?” Elias asked.
Paden scanned the area to their right, his face covered with soot and soil. Elias noted the flush of red in his cheeks beneath the grime. We’re all dehydrated.
“A flicker,” Paden said. “Movement. Lik’ a shadow.”
Elias didn’t give credence to the ghost stories of the Argonne that lingered from the Great War, but they were alone and cut off. He felt a sheen of fresh sweat slick his back. How dae I hae th’ water fur that? Fear must have found a hidden reserve, set aside for just such moments. Unbidden thoughts of lingering ghost soldiers from the Meuse-Argonne offensive twenty-three years ago forced their way into his mind. Ghosts weren’t the only things that could be in these woods either. His men had to survive. All of them. All that were left. He even held some small hope for Carney.
Tavish, Elias’s younger brother, stepped up to Paden’s side, pointing his Lee-Enfield No. 1 Mk III rifle in the general direction Paden and Elias now stared. “I didnae see anythin’.” His voice cracked, whether because of cold, dehydration, or anxiety, Elias could not tell. His rifle seemed unsteady. Odd, that. Nothing had ever scared his baby brother.
“’twas from the corner of me eye,” Paden said. “A’mtelling ye lads. ’twas thare.”
Rhett, the fifth surviving member of their squad, checked the ammo in his clip. “A’ve only twa rounds more.”
Elias felt Rhett’s and Tavish’s stares turn to him as he and Paden continued to scan the barren trees. The tops of rounded rocks and bulging tree roots peeked through the snow. Limbs and other deadfall lay cluttered near the b
ases of several trees. No birdsong or sounds of scurrying things found his ears. The only sound, in fact, was the soft ambient rush of wind through naked branches above mingling with the ever-present ringing in his ears. Early morning’s gray hue had just broken the night’s bleak blackness. That made the burning in Elias’s heart lighten by a few degrees even though the dawn’s air actually felt colder.
He sighed in relief. “Alricht then, we nae seen anythin’ fae hours. Tak’ yer canteens lads and fill thaimm with snaw. Let it melt then add mair. We all need water.”
“Kin we stairt a fire?” Carney asked with a wheeze. His hands shook as they gripped the front of his fatigues. “A’m sae cauld.”
Tavish lowered his rifle and slung it over his shoulder, then sat next to Carney, rubbing his arms. “You’ll be alright. You believe that, Carney. Ye hae tae believe it.”
“Nae fire,” Elias said.
“But, Sarge, he’ll die,” Tavish said.
“We cannae risk it.” Elias turned his eyes toward Carney. “A’m sorry, Carney.”
Tavish looked hard into his brother’s eyes and hissed, “Elias!”
Elias shook his head. “Nae fire. That’s an order.”
“Aye, Sergeant,” Tavish said, a little bite in his tone. “All that taime in Yankee land made ye a’ mighty, didnae it?”
Elias had worked in America for several years but returned to Scotland once England entered the war. America had sat on the sidelines like a right tender fat hibernating bear while Europe and Asia burned. But news of Japan’s attack on Hawaii a week past had spread throughout Europe like a fire across dried tinder, and Elias felt hope that the inevitable entrance of the sleeping giant into the war had finally come.
“Do’nae challenge ma, bràthair,” Elias warned. “Nae noo.”
“’Tis alricht,” Carney said weakly. “I’ll nae hae yer lives at risk fae mine. Eli’s right.”
Wure at risk anyho, Elias thought. “You just bae strong, Carney. We’ll find a medic straecht awa’.” He knelt down and unscrewed the cap of his canteen, then pushed the open spout into the snow. He began packing the slushy precipitation inside.
“Ye ken whaur we ur, lads?” Paden asked.
Elias looked up. Paden still stared off into the distance.
“Fill yer canteen, Corporal,” Elias said.
“Wir in the Hollows.”
Everyone stopped. Elias stood, leaving his canteen in the snow. “How do ye ken that?”
“Cannae ye feel it, Sarge?” Paden said. “The silence. Shadows flickering through the barren trees.” He turned his head toward Elias. “Death bides here. A’m feelin’ it in th’ groon.”
“Sarge,” Rhett said. “If Paden says he saw something, and noo feels it, we’d be foolish tae doubt him.”
The Hollows. Apparitions from the Great War still roamed here, they said. Lore of dead soldiers appearing in the mists of early morning regaled men around camp fires to this day. Some stories said these spirits were benevolent, leading lost men around ambushes and mines; others said that those who followed the departed spirits were found dead days later with shrapnel throughout their bodies and decomposition that looked years old. Elias might begin to believe the tales.
Paden, their scout sniper, had never been wrong. The way the man could move through the forest and sense his surroundings had always made Elias feel a bit invincible; or at least protected. But ghosts?
Then, laughter, to their left. Ten o’clock. Elias and his men flattened themselves on the ground. Paden brought his Enfield sniper rifle to bear and peered through the scope.
“Whit dae ye see?” Elias asked. The laughter turned into several voices. “Is . . . is that German?”
“A’m counting six heids. Krauts,” Paden said. “Na, seven noo. Two hundred eighty-one yards.”
So, not ghosts after all.
“Sarge,” Rhett said. “Two hundred eighty yards is a’noothin’. We kin tak’ thaim by surprise.”
“Two hundred eighty-one yards,” Paden said, not breaking away from his scope.
Elias considered. “Whit dae ye say, lads?” he whispered.
“I’m good, Sarge,” Carney said through a wet cough.
“Ye’ll be staying put,” Elias said. “Paden, how far in before you have a proper line of sight?”
The trees, barren or not, could prove problematic. Paden moved his rifle a few inches to the right and scanned for several seconds. “Thare. That copse will give me cover. Puts me aboot one hundred fifty yards out.”
“Aboot one hundred fifty yards?” Rhett asked. “Now yer estimating?”
“One hundred forty-seven yards,” Paden answered with a deadpan voice. “Close enough sae as tae not be heard and still draw a good bead.”
“We kin dae it, Sarge,” Tavish said. “Carney will cover the retreat, right Carn?”
“Aye, lads.” He pulled a Luger from a holster that he had lifted off a dead German soldier. “They’ll nae get past me.” He coughed bloody sputum.
Elias groaned inwardly. “They outnumber us.”
“But wae hav’ surprise,” Tavish said. “And him.” He motioned with his chin to Paden.
Elias pursed his lips. “Alright then, we’ll provide cover fae Paden while he gets intae position. Then we’ll advance. Cautiously. Ready, lads?”
“Wait,” Paden said. “They hae a medic. I kin see the red cross on his helmet.”
Elias, still prone on the ground, peered over his shoulder at Carney. That complicated things. “Alright,” he said, gazing back toward the German soldiers. They continued their carefree banter and laughter. “If we kin, save the medic. But do’nae take any chances with yer lives, lads. If ye have tae kill him, do it.”
A slender plume of smoke rose from the Germans’ location followed by the scent of something cooking. Elias’s stomach grumbled. “And spare the food as well,” he said. “Go, Paden.”
The scout sniper rose to half his height, then cautiously ran, stooped, toward the copse. He leaped over a fallen tree, then squatted for several seconds before moving again and skulking down behind a jagged stump.
“He’s lik’ a ghost,” Tavish said.
“Aye,” Elias answered.
Paden rose, sniper rifle in hand, and took a step to his right before freezing, suddenly turning into a statue.
“Why’s he stopped?” Rhett asked.
“Shut yer gob,” Elias snapped. “Dae ye see anything?” he whispered to Tavish.
“No. And I do’nae hear anything, either.”
The laughter . . . Elias strained to hear it. When had it ended? He looked toward the Germans and saw the smoke still rising from their position. He squinted. Were they . . . gone? From this distance he couldn’t tell, but the rising warning in his chest made his fingers tingle. Looking back to Paden, he saw the Corporal had not moved. Then, slowly, as if he fought against frozen limbs, Paden lowered to one knee and raised his rifle to his shoulder.
Elias saw it. Something directly ahead of Paden’s position. A flicker, just as he had said, darting between the trees. Black and fierce.
“Oh, Mary . . .”
The creature darted for Paden. He fired.
“What’s happening?” Rhett asked frantically.
Elias sighted on the shadow sprinting directly toward Paden. He heard the bolt action of Paden’s rifle chambering another round. Elias fired with his Thompson, but it was not made for the accuracy he needed at this distance. Tavish also fired.
“I cannae catch it!” he yelled.
Elias fired again, lining up the creature as best he could. Why won’t he fire? He screamed in his mind. Fire, Paden, blast you!
The scout held perfectly still, and Elias ground his teeth.
“Whits he doin’?” Tavish hissed. “Fire, ya bastard!”
Finally, Paden squeezed his trigger and his rifle bucked. The black creature took to the ground and yelped, sliding to a halt in the snow.
Elias rose, breathless. “All eyes, lads! Watch yer zon
es,” he commanded. “The jig is up. They’ll have heard the shots. They know we’re here.” Turning his eyes back to Paden, he saw the scout unmoved. “Paden! Get back here!”
He still did not move.
“Paden!” Elias called again. “What’re—”
The creature, a wolf, larger than Elias had ever seen, rose from the ground. Paden chambered another round with seeming eerie calmness.
“How?” Tavish asked. “He hit it. I saw it. In the bloody throat.”
The wolf raised itself to face Paden, shoulders hunched, lips pulled back. The rumble that came from the beast made Elias’s bones rattle. Paden fired again, but the wolf jutted to the side at seemingly the same moment he pulled the trigger. It was almost as if it anticipated Paden’s shot. Elias’s breath felt heavy in his lungs.
“Fire lads! Bring it down!”
His team advanced on the wolf. Elias’s Thompson rang out with bursts of bullets. Single shots came from Rhett’s and Tavish’s Enfield rifles. Rhett, his last two rounds spent, took to cursing the beast. The Thompson jammed, and Elias switched to his sidearm. Paden had dropped his rifle and also drawn his pistol, firing rapidly. Still, the wolf advanced. Paden stood and backed away while continuing to fire.
Elias saw the impacts of several rounds striking the wolf, but it didn’t go down. Die, demon, die! But it didn’t, and the slide on Paden’s pistol locked back. He’s out of ammo.
“A’m hitting it proper, a dozen times. It will nae go down!” Tavish said, still firing, round after round until his clip emptied.
A cry rose behind Elias, one that made all the hairs on his body stand up straight with terror. He whirled just as another wolf tore into Carney. He had stayed back, just as Elias ordered, his screams louder than Elias thought blood-filled lungs could muster. Three other wolves slunk out of the forest as the one finished with Carney. Elias’s stomach churned at the carnage as the screams died out.
“Oh, bloody hell!” Tavish cried. “It’s a pack. Wae’v stumbled intae their den.”
