This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
Surrender copyright 2015 by Heather West. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
“Jekh dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata.”
“One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness.”
— Romani proverb
CHAPTER 1
Cara was stunned into speechlessness. In just a few short days, everything had changed, and changed drastically. How had this happened? It had started with something as simple as a stroll alone through her neighborhood and ended with her heart being broken by a Wolf named Sebastian and a declaration of war between the Tribe and the Fallen.
She knew that she was partly to blame for the situation. When she’d come across the rogue Wolf attacking a man in an alley, she’d allowed her magic to show. When Sebastian had shown up to help her she had assumed that he was just a Hunter. How was she supposed to know that he was, in fact, a werewolf himself? Since when did werewolves hunt down their own kind?
Things were dire and they were only going to get worse. Cara’s father, Nico, had the proof right in front of him that the Fallen werewolves had somehow become able to shift at will. Or, at least, their king had.
Like the Tribe, the Fallen had many families. In the Tribe, they were called just that — families — but in the Fallen, they were known as packs. The pack that had settled here in New Orleans had a king who was a rogue.
To make matters worse, the Tribe’s Queen was dying. That meant that the strongest woman of every Tribe family would have to dance in front of the Council of Elders. They would have to all display their powers in the hopes of being the next Queen of the Tribe. Of all the women who would gather in that dance, only Cara had pure Tribe blood running through her veins; only her family, the Kris, had never diluted their bloodline by marrying outside of the Tribe.
Once, long ago, all werewolves had been rogues. Rogues were werewolves who were unable to shift back into human shape; they lived for the blood and the hunt and attacked humans gleefully. Rogues had no taste for non-human meat, and centuries ago, they had almost created more devastation than the wars that swept across the lands.
During that time, a Queen beyond compare had been born into the Kris family: Carida. Carida was young but almost too powerful. Kris meant justice and those that held that name had held their duties sacred. When Carida became Queen, she cast a spell upon the Fallen that would change the way that werewolves lived forever. She gave them back to the ability to live within their human form and shift only at the turn of the moon. But like all spells, this one needed constant bolstering. It had rules that had to be followed.
Many of the wolves accepted her spell gratefully. Others rebelled, unable to live within the confines of Carida’s spell. For centuries, the Tribe hunted down and killed these rogues; finally, a truce was created between the Tribe and the Hunters, a group of angry and determined humans who had banded together in order to banish monsters of the night from the corners of the earth.
Hunters hunted both Wolves and Tribe — or Gypsies, as they were sometimes known — back in those days. The Tribe suffered greatly in the religious wars and the Inquisition because of their birthright of magic. But after the truce, the Hunters eventually began to accept that the Tribe wanted the same thing that they did: to be left alone.
In the centuries that had followed, the spell had been threatened many times but had never been broken. The war that the Tribe had dreaded so much never came, mostly because the old rogue kings died off and wiser heads prevailed. When Cara had been a little girl, she had asked her father why that was; Nico had replied wryly, “It’s a little hard to rule when you can’t even walk upright.”
At the time, Cara had not understood what he meant by that but as she grew older she understood it. Rogues had no control over their own bodies, much less an entire pack — that is, unless the pack they were commanding was a pack of rogues.
Her heart sank at the very thought. A pack of rogues could decimate the city easily. Their lust for human meat, blood and bone was so great that they would kill not just one, but many, in the course of a single night. Neither the daylight nor the waning of the moon could halt their killing sprees; they remained in Wolf form no matter what.
“I’m sorry,” Cara said to Nico now. Cara knew she was apologizing for having fallen for Sebastian. She had thought he was a Hunter, but that was no excuse and they both knew it. She was apologizing for not trusting her father enough to talk to him when she met somebody. She was apologizing for not listening to Ion, her fellow Tribe member, when he told her that Sebastian stank of Wolf. She was apologizing for having allowed a Wolf to create mate–lust within her and she wondered if her father knew that, if he could read her thoughts even now.
God, she hoped not!
Her eyes went back to the pictures on her father’s desk. So, the King of this pack of the Fallen was a rogue, as was his son. Did Sebastian know? He was Fallen — she’d seen that with her own eyes. Like the Tribe, the Fallen had taken to riding the giant chrome motorcycles that they loved so much, adding humans to their gang in order to swell their ranks and to engage in lucrative criminal activities.
That made Cara’s heart ache, too. Once upon a time, her family had stood for justice and righteousness. Now they were just common biker outlaws: drug runners, gun runners and more.
“You have other things to think about right now, Cara.” Nico’s words were terse and they stung. “You must dance at the gathering and you must make us proud. You alone have enough power to stop this.”
Cara didn’t bother asking what he meant. There was no way to prevent the war; what he meant was that she could stop the open rebellion among the Fallen’s ranks. There were rogues in power, rogues who had the ability to shift back to human form! It was impossible and yet it was true. Somehow, some small part of the spell had been broken or transformed. It would be up to whoever was declared Queen to repair it — even if it meant her own life.
CHAPTER 2
Sebastian could feel something in the air as soon as he walked into the house. There was an expectant hush and a smell that he recognized all too well: the reek of blood. His brow furrowed. Why was there blood was in the house?
His keen sense of smell led him to the large basement door. It was in this basement that the Fallen conducted many of their illegal activities — while they never actually cooked the crystal meth that they sold to drug distributors, they often hid large kilos of it down there. The basement held all kinds of supplies, everything from guns to large piles of cash, in case they had to make a hasty exit. Being prepared to flee into the night was a skill that they had learned the hard way over the centuries.
Sebastian had expected to see many things when he walked into that large, dim basement. What he had not expected to see was a human chained to a wall, his skin flayed and rivulets of blood running from his back, chest and limbs. Sebastian’s heart began to beat faster as he approached the nearly unconscious man. He’d been beaten, yes, but even worse, he’d been bitten!
Sebastian’s heart sank. The bite marks meant that someone from the pack had tasted human blood. Closer examination revealed that there were no chunks missing from the man’s flesh; he had not been consumed, at least. That meant that whoever had bitten him had not gone fully rogue. But it was still a puzzle. Where did the man come f
rom? Since when did they keep humans in the house for any reason?
He drew closer and the man’s eyes snapped open. He’d been gagged with a hard strap of leather jammed between his teeth. Sebastian started to pull it out then hesitated.
“I’m going to take this out of your mouth and I’m going to help you escape, but we need to talk first,” Sebastian said quietly. “The hearing of those who are upstairs is very acute. This room is padded so well because there are often people about day and night and everyone needs to sleep. Normal conversation might not be heard, but if you scream, they will hear you and they will come. Do you understand?”
The bound and gagged man’s eyes were as round as saucers. He nodded vigorously and tears poured down his battered face. Sebastian was rarely moved — too many centuries of violence had left his heart hardened to such things — but pity stirred within him at the sight.
Sebastian removed the gag carefully. The man took a long shuddering breath but did not scream.
“Who are you?” Sebastian asked.
“Little Rat.”
“I see, how did you get here?”
The man trembled, a fine silvery shiver that caused his chains to rattle slightly. “I was riding, out with the guys. One minute we were all on our bikes just tooling along the next we were… I can’t even explain it man.
“It’s like they came from nowhere and jumped onto the bikes with us. They looked like wolves at first, but then suddenly they were men — but not like men I’d ever seen. From the moment they landed on our bikes they had control of them. They had this big-ass semi waiting. They pulled us right up into the truck.”
“And they brought you here? You said ‘us’ — where are the others?”
Little Rat began to weep silently. After a deep, shuddering breath, he managed to whisper, “They ate them. I swear to God, man, those things ate my brothers. I know how that sounds and I know you’re probably thinking I’m just some crazy street biker — and I guess you’re right about that, but man, those wolf things ate the other guys.”
A hard, cold knot formed in Sebastian’s belly. He looked around the stinking basement. He would have been able to smell their blood in the air if they had been killed here, but he couldn’t smell anything but this man’s blood.
“When did they bring you here?” he asked.
“I don’t remember. It’s been a while since… oh, hell… I don’t even know. It’s not like I can tell time anymore, you know?”
Sebastian was impressed. This man was tough; despite everything he’d seen and everything that had been done to him, he was keeping his head up. He wasn’t begging for mercy, he wasn’t pleading for his life. Sebastian knew that deep down inside, this man knew that his true escape would not come when Sebastian unlocked his chains and opened the basement door. He admired the man, and pitied him too. But his presence here spoke volumes about what was going on within the ranks of the family.
“I’m sorry for what was done to you,” Sebastian said. “It’s not our way, and it hasn’t been for years. I’m sorry about your brothers.”
Little Rat’s eyes gleamed with understanding. He took in the boots that Sebastian wore and the heavy leather jacket. “You’re one of them aren’t you? You’re one of the Fallen.”
It was not a question and they both knew it. Sebastian didn’t bother lying to the man — there was no sense in being dishonest at this point. “Yes, I am. And you are one of the Tribe. Only not really — you’re Tribe in name only.”
Little Rat’s lips trembled. “I’m Tribe, man. I rode with them, I been with them since they rolled into New Orleans. I would lay down my life for them. Those are my brothers and my people, so don’t tell me that it’s in name only.”
Sebastian nodded. The man had the right of it even if he didn’t know what Tribe really meant — it meant Kris, the magical bloodline. But this human only knew the Tribe as a biker gang. He had laid his life down for them and there was no denying that.
“You’re a good soldier, Little Rat,” Sebastian said. It was the best compliment one biker could give another.
Little Rat sighed and looked down at the floor between his naked feet. “Could you do me one favor, man?”
“I can’t promise anything.”
Little Rat nodded and then tilted his chin toward a far corner. “My boots and jacket are over there. I don’t need the rest of my clothes — fuck ’em. It wouldn’t be the first time I got caught naked in a bad pose, if you know what I mean. There was this woman in Tijuana… she was worth every bit of it too. Anyway, I don’t aim to die without my colors or my boots.”
Even more admiration swelled up and Sebastian. Little Rat was a true biker, one who had the grit to go all the way no matter how tough the road got. He would have ridden beside this man with pride if things had been different. How he wished that they were!
“I can do that.”
Little Rat’s eyes were shrewd. “You are one of them too, aren’t you? You’re one of them Wolf people?”
“Yes, but not like the one that took you. There are those, like myself, who do not believe in harming humans.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s any consolation to my guys.”
Sebastian couldn’t argue that one. He brought the man’s boots over and Little Rat stepped into them, wincing as the wounds on his legs and feet met the stiff leather. Sebastian undid the chains one hand at a time, making sure that the long heavy silver chain was constantly touching Little Rat’s body. He wasn’t afraid the man would run; he just knew that it was too late for him.
Humans weren’t bound by the truce or the spell. Once bitten, unless a pack member had pity on them, they went full rogue. This man had been bitten many times. Only the silver plate on the floor below his feet and the silver chains around his limbs had kept him from going rogue, but now that he had boots on, his feet were no longer in contact with that floor, and the chain might not prove enough to hold him back. Sebastian had to act fast.
Little Rat sensed the same thing. He looked Sebastian dead in the eye and said steadily, “Come on, man. Send me on to see my brothers.”
Sebastian drew the large silver knife from the sheath on his hip. “Keep the shiny side up,” he said.
Little Rat’s lips twitched in a smile as he said, “I prefer to keep the dirty side down.”
Biker to biker, man to man, werewolf to one turning — it was a moment that made Sebastian wish that things were different. This man would have been a fierce ally in their camp, but he was loyal to the Tribe and always would be.
The knife plunged deep into Little Rat’s chest. Blood burbled out and spilled down Sebastian’s hands, dripping onto the floor below. The light went out of Little Rat’s eyes and he slumped forward limply, but there was a smile on his face.
Sebastian stepped back and took a long, slow breath. Then did the rest of it, cutting the tough old biker’s head from his shoulders with one sure movement.
Little Rat was the kind of man Sebastian had wanted to be from the moment he laid eyes on his first motorcycle. Little Rat embodied everything bikers stood for. He was loyal to his colors and his brothers all the way to the end. He died with a smile on his face, unbroken despite the pain he had endured.
“I’m going to see to it that whoever did this pays for it, Little Rat,” Sebastian whispered. “I’m Fallen all the way through. Whoever did this… they weren’t one of us. They were rogue, and they don’t deserve any of my loyalty.”
CHAPTER 3
The moon was a mere sliver in the dark sky. The constellations rode across the ebony tapestry of the heavens and Cara looked up at it, wondering if any of the legends of those stars were true.
The drums began and her heartbeat sped up. Blood pounded in her veins and the sacred wine she had drank earlier had left a coppery aftertaste in her mouth that had been unpleasant at first but now became sweeter.
She heard a violin that had been tuned down until it notes rang out in a low and mournful tone. It sang in time with
the slow, steady beat of the drum. A guitar joined in, and then steel strings. The drums began to pick up the tempo, their low bass notes booming out loudly and forcing the violin, guitar and wood instruments to travel along the same musical path.
Her feet were in the bare earth. Wet grass stuck to her toes. She could see broken blades flying across the shell pink she had painted her toenails earlier that day. Why had she painted her toenails? It didn’t seem to make any sense, all things considered. The henna that had been used to paint sacred runes across her feet and arms looked too dark in the dimness. She held one hand up, hoping that the moonlight would brighten the designs.
The music played faster and she could see the other women gathering. All of the families were there; the Elders sat patiently waiting in front of the fire. The flames leapt toward the sky, orange–red tongues tipped with the most transparent blue lighting their faces. She noticed that the Elders all looked haggard and slightly frightened. Even Nico, the most powerful of them all, looked stressed and afraid.
Surrender (The Tribe MC: Chase of Prey Book 2) Page 1
