Switch of Fate 1

by Lisa Ladew

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Table of Contents

  Switch of Fate 1

  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

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Notes From Lisa XOXO

  SWITCH OF FATE 1

  by Lisa Ladew

  and Grace Quillen

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or organizations, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Copyright © 2017 Lisa Ladew All Rights Reserved

  Grace and I hope you enjoy this new series we are starting… it’s gonna be a big one!

  Acknowledgements

  Book cover by The Final Wrap <3

  Cover model: Steffen Hughes

  Photographer: THE Golden Czermak, Furious Fotog <3

  Much thanks to: The readers in One True Mate Spoilers and discussion for all the help!

  From Lisa:

  I personally want to thank all my idea elves, my hot guy elves, my trope/PNR elves, and my pick-me-up elves for the endless support and assistance in making these books the best they can be and helping me out so much. <3

  I also need to thank Grace for being flexible and being willing to attempt this with me!! I know what a freak I am – you are a saint to put up with my craziness. I appreciate you.

  And thank you, Jayme Maness, for keeping me on task and picking up my slack so I can write more often than I don’t.

  From Grace:

  For my kids, who remind me to bust my ass. And for those who love me though my heart is all thumbs.

  I'd also like to thank Jacob & Spencer at the Nantahala Outdoor Center for their expertise and not letting me die no matter how many questions I asked.

  Chapter 1

  The small, rural town of Five Hills, North Carolina, USA

  Early evening of a hot August day

  The Bear Claw Diner

  Jameson Montreat, Lead District Ranger of Nantahala National Forest, Keeper Number Twelve, the mythical White Wolf of Nantahala, and first to ever fail at awakening the Steward, strode heavily into The Bear Claw, his eyes drawn to the diner’s sign as they always were. The wooden, painted board had the words, ‘The Bear Claw’ in a snappy font; to the right of that, the unofficial shifter’s logo. Unofficial because shifter’s didn’t exist, according to humans. But a logo because yes, shifters did exist, and they were gravitating to Jameson’s small town in the middle of nowhere, North Carolina. Sometimes drawn by the logo Jameson put on his website and the flyers he sent monthly to fight-training gyms all over the world, but more often they were drawn by something no one could explain, not even him.

  In fact that inexplicable thing drawing the shifters to Five Hills might be the only reason that his logo worked in the first place. And now that they were here Jameson needed to explain what he knew, that they didn’t know, to the shifters as best he could, as soon as possible. He hoped he didn’t lose his job, his home, and his standing in the shifter community when he spilled his secrets.

  Jameson stepped to the side, squinting from underneath his work-issued Stetson hat, and tried to imagine what the logo was missing. Gnats and no-seeums swarmed him in the heat that rose from the asphalt as much as it shone down from the lowering sun. He waved them away, frowning, going over what he’d already reviewed a hundred times. He’d seen similar images thousands of times, in books, advertisements, on letterhead in the human world, but never did looking at any of them make him feel like this exact one did. On the one hand, he felt lonely and incomplete when he stared at it, like there was a hole in his life that would never be filled. But on the other hand, it made him feel strong and capable and part of something vital. No guilt when he looked at it, which was a relief.

  The logo was simple, no matter how long you stared at it. Three claw marks being sliced into some material, with a hint of the claws that were making them coming through from the back-side. Similar to dozens of other logos. Except. Something was missing from this image. Every shifter he’d ever talked to about it said they felt the same, like there was something missing from the picture, but none of them had any inkling what it was, or why they would even think that. There was no out-of-place dot or shadow implying something had been there in the past. Only the feeling. The Instinct. Shifter Instinct was mostly silent in modern times, but largely, Jameson believed, because so much of daily minutia was unimportant.

  Jameson stared hard at the claw marks, hoping for a flash of insight. None came. He sighed, pulled himself away, and stepped inside the diner, wrapping his hand tighter around his soft-sided briefcase handle. No answers today with the logo. Maybe he would do better with what was inside the briefcase.

  Once in the small, homey restaurant run by two shifters, his friends, Jameson pulled off his Stetson and scanned the nearby booths, looking for the woman he was meeting. Greta Sims. He’d seen her picture on her website, and although a shifter couldn’t normally be sure of another shifter by sight alone, he nonetheless knew Greta was a human. Which made her off of his radar, romantically, even though her picture showed her to be of child-bearing age, and lovely to look at. The Keeper had to mate a full-blooded shifter or else the line would end with him. He’d failed at so many things, he couldn’t fail at this, too. But being successful at mating would mean leaving a broken legacy of loss and missteps to one of his young. Whichever pup had the misfortune to be born as the white wolf. Even so, what could he do, but what he had been born to do? Nothing.

  He spotted Greta, a cute blonde in her early-40s, wearing a smart blue business suit and heels that did not belong anywhere near the Natanh
ala Forest, waving merrily at him from a corner booth. She must have known him from the picture on his own website, and his uniform, which was why he had worn it. The uniform would put her at ease and make her less likely to withhold anything. Greta was a book binder and the East Coast’s current leading expert in the dating and restoration of ancient books, but Jameson had not shared with her the gravity of the find she was about to experience. She thought she was doing a favor for a friend, and that the book she would be inspecting was no big deal.

  Nothing could be further from the truth. The book was everything.

  Jameson lifted a corner of his mouth, his version of a smile, and raised a hand to Greta as he walked her way. He slid inside the booth opposite her, waving away her attempt to stand. They shook hands, her eyes crawling over his uniform, his nametag, his badge and awards. Then his biceps, and finally his face. He knew his eyes were the most arresting part of him, had heard it from countless one night stands and friends-with-benefits over the years. He’d never had a serious relationship, and never would until he met his mate. And even then there would be no courtship, only fast and furious mating that led to young as soon as possible. Or at least that was how he saw it. He had over a century of childless years to make up for, and any mate of his would understand that.

  He kept his eyes down, his tone stiff, his countenance formal. Jameson needed Greta to be all business, no distractions. Focus only on the book.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  She let her fingers linger on his side of the table as they released their handshake and he placed his case on the table. She smiled again, beamed really, then spoke. “You don’t look nearly old enough to be the Lead Ranger in a National Forest. What are you, thirty-five?”

  “Forty-eight, actually,” he said, not looking at her, feeding her the age on his driver’s license. He was actually one hundred and fifty-eight years old, but she would never know that.

  He snapped open the case and pulled out the book. He didn’t bother wearing gloves, and it wasn’t in a protective holder. It was only wrapped in a clean towel. The book itself could not be damaged. Hadn’t he himself seen the former Keeper’s blood soak the pages, then disappear as if it had never been there? As if the pages had simply neutralized the red liquid that should have marred it forever, made it tacky and stained.

  She giggled flirtily. “Straight to business. I like that in a man.”

  Jameson lifted the corner of his mouth again and met her eyes for the briefest of moments, trying to lead the conversation to where he needed it to be. “I appreciate you doing this. I’ve often wondered about my grandfather’s book.”

  Not his grandfather’s, his uncle’s. The former Keeper he’d seen slain in front of him by a male he would never forget. He would never tell Greta that, either. No human would ever understand.

  Although the book had no title page, he often thought of it as The Keeper’s Book, even though he was the Keeper, and it sure as hell wasn’t his book in any but the possessive sense. Still, his uncle had bade him, “Take it and learn from it, lest their evil be victorious!” hissing the words as he lay dying on the forest floor from a bloodblade through his chest. A bloodblade was a special weapon; it caused wounds that couldn't be healed with a shift as most others could. The shifter could shift back and forth a hundred times, animal to person, person to animal, but the wound would remain untouched by the transformation. Even human medicines were of limited help, and no good at all on mortal wounds. Shifters could heal from almost anything, but receive any more than a glancing blow from a bloodblade and their lives were in peril.

  Jameson had slim hopes that Greta would be able to tell him anything at all, but he still had to try. He laid the towel on the table, the book on the towel, then slid it all across the table to her, not saying another word.

  She tore her gaze away from him like a good bibliophile. When it landed on the book, a throw-back to something you would expect to see in the library of a monastery five hundred years ago, surprise and reverence lit up in her eyes immediately.

  He would have to play this just right…

  ***

  Coralie Hamilton, 31, the youngest professor at Shady Pines College to ever be considered for tenure - and wasn’t that just some highway robbery that a college could go six years without offering even the most basic job security - pulled into the packed parking lot of The Bear Claw and ran for the diner’s front door. She was late and she hated being late.

  Was it really possible she’d never been to such a popular place before? She’d lived in Five Hills for years, now. But she could see why she hadn’t known about it, considering that for some reason the entrance wasn’t even marked. Cora’d missed it and had to turn around, which meant going another mile to the next turnoff. How did a restaurant even survive without a sign off the highway?

  She skidded to a stop in her sandals, just in front of the door. It was too hot to wear anything but sandals in the South in July, whether they were practical for the terrain or not. Cora read the sign to the diner again, quickly, then examined the insignia next to it. The Bear Claw. She giggled, enchanted by the play on words. Clever, particularly for a diner in the Smokies, since a bear claw was a type of pastry and claw marks such as the one on the restaurant’s sign weren’t an uncommon sight. Cora looked around the parking lot, bordered on all sides by a forest of massive evergreen trees that had ravines and creeks in every direction, bisected by the highway that ran through her small town. They probably had bears investigating their dumpster all the time, had maybe even used them as inspiration for the name. The pun worked all the way around. But even with that linguistic satisfaction, Cora couldn’t move away.

  The image. Was it… missing something? Right there, past the third bear claw. There should have been another slice, but this one made by a knife. A glowing knife. As if the holder of the knife and the wielder of the claws - a big predator, a bear or wolf or cougar, maybe - were working in tandem, fighting a common enemy.

  A couple pushed around Cora with a huff and stomped into the diner. She hadn’t even heard them approach.

  Cora shook her head and frowned. How long had she been standing there staring? Sweat beaded on her brow and heat from the sun permeated her hair, warming her scalp. At least a few minutes. Shit! Now she was even more tardy. Cora pushed inside the small diner, thrilled to feel the a/c was in top working order, and looked around the room for Thorn. Frigid air bathed her face, soothing her rattled nerves.

  A waitress walked by, blocking the breeze. “Be right-” She stopped in her tracks and looked at Cora closer, stepping toward her. “Are you Professor Hamilton?”

  Cora nodded and scanned the tables. Thorn must already be here somewhere.

  The waitress headed for the counter by the cash register, retrieving a package and handing it to Cora. “Mr. Severn left this for you.”

  Cora frowned. Something was off. So off, but she couldn’t immediately figure out what it was. “He left it for me?” She looked around again, not registering what she was seeing. “He’s not here?”

  The pretty waitress shook her head and eyed Cora, as if trying to decide how much to say. “He didn’t even come inside. I just happened to be going to my car to get something. He pulled into the parking lot, took one look at the place, and started to pull out. He waved me down and asked me to tell you he was sorry, but he had an emergency, and could I give this to the short lady with the long brown hair. Said he would email you later. It was almost like he was scared; didn’t even stop his car from rolling while he tossed the package at me.” Her tone turned petulant. “Lucky I didn’t drop it.”

  That didn’t sound like Thorn at all. Cora had never met him, never even seen a picture or talked on the phone, but she’d always thought of him as suave and unflappable. Like no matter what you said to him, he would narrow his eyes and respond with something clever. Cora loved imagining him and the conversations they would have together, and had been excited to see how close her mental picture was to the re
al thing. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Thorn, still. She’d been hoping a personal meeting would change that.

  With a flash, Cora realized exactly what was off. “Wait,” she said, holding up a hand to the waitress. “How did he describe me again?”

  The waitress gave her a bit of a confused look, but answered. “Long, wavy brown hair. Pretty pixie face. Short. Willowy.”

  Hmph. Five feet, two inches tall was average height for women in tons of places around the world. Not short. And willowy? She was strong. But at least she knew was what had been off. “He said short?” Thorn could have found her picture in any of a dozen places on the Internet, but her height? No.

  The waitress nodded, then held up a finger at a customer who was trying to wave her over. “Yeah, short. His exact words. You want a table or what?”

  Cora pulled her package in close. Yeah. She had to see what was in the box and couldn’t even wait till she got to her car. “Please.”

  “Follow me.”

  Cora hurried off after her, pushing Thorn out of her mind. So she’d been excited to finally meet him, but so what? It could still happen. Too late, she realized she hadn’t asked the waitress what Thorn had looked like. She would, before she headed back home.

  Now to see what he’d left for her.

  Chapter 2

  Jameson dropped his hands into his lap and plucked at the creases in the thighs of his uniform, taking deep breaths through his nose, shutting down his awareness of the scents of the restaurant as best he could. He was wired up, but it wouldn’t do to let Greta see his desperation. The last time a bookbinder had seen this book Jameson hadn’t learned anything new, but the loose-lipped jerk had blabbed to a hobbyists’ magazine and caused a buzz. Jameson had fielded calls about it for a couple of months before finally changing his phone number. He couldn’t let humans talk about this book; who knew what secrets it contained?

  It had been decades since he’d had the courage to bring it out again, consult someone else. And what would he do if Greta wanted to whip out her phone and take a picture of it, post it on a world-wide web that hadn’t existed the last time? Politely refuse, of course. And if she insisted, or tried to sneak a shot? Tuck the book and her phone under his arm and run, if necessary.