Untamed Hart

by Kim Faulks

  Untamed Hart

  Fated & Forbidden

  Kim Faulks

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. Hart

  2. Ondine

  3. Hart

  4. Ondine

  5. Hart

  6. Ondine

  7. Hart

  8. Ondine

  9. Hart

  10. Ondine

  11. Hart

  What’s next in the Fated & Forbidden Series

  Copyright © 2016 by Kim Faulks

  All rights reserved.

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Untamed Hart

  Fated & Forbidden Series

  The Blood Moon's rising. Just like all the other summoned creatures, Hart Devis can feel her call—all the visions in the world won't change that.

  And he’s like the moon. He serves one purpose and that's not to find his future—because his future is as black as his past.

  He’s the dark wolf of the family—the outcast—the loner.

  Andhe’s here to kill.

  It's what he does best.

  So the clans have turned to him to do what needs to be done. Kill this so called Creator and set them free.

  All he has to do is find a way to get to her in time, because there is no way he’s turning mortal, and there's no way he’s finding a mate.

  1

  Hart

  Find a mate before the Blood Moon…

  Find a fucking mate?

  The Creator’s words echoed inside the vision, rebounding in the cold, dark chasm of his mind.

  “You’re not going to do it, right?”

  Hart closed his eyes and felt the sway. His stomach tightened, squeezing until the sting of acid scalded the back of his throat. He was going to be sick, and he was going to do it all over this goddamn nagging pain in the ass beside him.

  The one true love of your life…destined by fate to be your match.

  Destined by fate? Never. In this moment of weakness, the demons of his past found a crack in his armor and crawled through.

  We’re together by fate, Hart. You are mine, do you hear me? You are mine. You can’t run from me, so don’t even try.

  He could feel the Mistress’s ghostly touch resurrected from the past…soft words—a cruel touch. The sharpened edge of her nail sliced the skin on his stomach as she trailed lower, whispering about love, about need, about…submission.

  Still the Creator’s vision nailed him down with tooth and claw.

  I can’t go through that again.

  The sting at his wrist was instant, and the smell of burning flesh followed. Three claw marks were singed with fury across his wrist. He’d been marked once more. A sign of torture… A sign of obedience—this one, he’d never fulfill.

  Not again…never again.

  The question hung in the air unanswered, you’re not going to do it, right?

  Hart swallowed and forced out the words. “Do you even have to ask?”

  He’d rather change and be a wolf for life. He’d rather swallow broken glass. He’d rather spend an eternity alone…but to be turned mortal?

  He’d never be weak again, and being human meant just that.

  His mouth went dry, lips arid. A dark need rose, an urge to hunt…to kill. The Blood Moon. It had to be. The urgency was a ticking bomb inside him, getting louder, growing stronger—and now he knew why.

  This bitch…this Creator was summoning her power. The others didn’t seem to notice, but he did—he knew real power. He’d been marked before—but not like this—never like this.

  He narrowed in on the tendrils of her force, and drew the energy in deep.

  I can track her if needed.

  The thought pushed its way inside his head. Find her. Kill her.

  The idea took hold. “This Creator has no idea who she's dealing with. We aren't her fucking pawns.” Hart turned to stare at Dante. “You’re gonna hunt her with me, right? We may not be able to undo her spell, but at least it'll be the last one she casts. At least our last kill will be one that's worth a damn!”

  Dante nodded, his eyes sparkling like stars in a moonless night. "I'm in.”

  "Good." Hart moved in close, drawing the lone wolf's scent in deep.

  At the back of Hart’s mind a thought took flight. What if this is a setup?

  But Dante smelled like a hunter’s desire, and if the lone wolf wanted to get his claws bloody then Hart was up for the hunt of a lifetime. "I wasn't looking forward to doing this on my own."

  "Why are you doing this?”

  The question was a snare around his throat. He fought the urge to look over his shoulder at all the horrors in his past. Bodies and the dark deed he’d done were buried back there.

  "None of your fucking business. Just because we're working together doesn't mean we're friends. I just don't want to see the Blood Moon harm us any more than you do.”

  "Suit yourself," Dante said.

  Hart scanned those who clung to this mighty Creator from his mind’s eye. "If we're gonna do this, we need information. I'll make some inquiries.”

  "Me too," Dante whispered as he sniffed the air.

  Hart turned, catching his gaze. "You think we've got a chance of peeling off a seer?”

  Dante's lip curled as he barked. "Hah, I wish.”

  Hart caught a flicker of movement in the vision behind the Creator, someone small, feminine, and hidden. He licked his lips and tasted Fae. “I’ll see about getting us some intel we can work with.”

  He left Dante behind, climbing on his bike to seek solace in the quiet of his apartment. He was still trapped by the vision, still haunted by the last of the Creator’s power and the tiny flutter of a heartbeat that’d set his teeth on edge.

  He pulled up outside and climbed the stairs. Here he could think, he could plan. The hunter in him reared, punching adrenaline through his veins. He shoved his key into the lock and stumbled inside. Darkness swallowed him. Sleep—he needed sleep. He stepped past the bed, and hunkered down on all fours, crawling into a darkened corner of his room.

  His boots hit the floor as he kicked them off one by one. Sleep…sleep, and tomorrow he’d find a way out of this mess.

  Zaan and Allendra’s power filled the darkness, drawing him deeper into oblivion, holding him tighter inside the vision and he was yanked into the hateful words of their Creator once more.

  Hart caught biting words, and the heat of anger— but his focus was on the tiny, waif-like woman behind the Creator. She hovered close to the almighty—as though she was protecting Allendra.

  Her lilac hair shimmered as she straightened her spine. The tips of her ears were pinched; she had all the markings of a Fae in the Seelie Court. But there was something else about her, some dark tendril of other that drew him close.

  In the remnants of his vision, she turned her head and found him. Her sky-blue eyes widened, soft pink lips pressed together. She raised her chin. Her chest rose as she inhaled. Did she scent him? Did she know him?

  And in the space between one heartbeat and the next, she disappeared along with Allendra.

  The memory of the vision left him stranded and alone, hunkered in the corner of his bedroom. He blinked finding familiar shadows in his room and exhaled on a shudder. He craned his neck, scanning right, and then left. His body was slow to work. His muscles tightened as he crawled forward and climbed to his feet.

  The Fae lingered in his mind. If he could just get to her, find out what she knew—find a way to get to the Creator…

  The other clans came t
o mind. He needed information, someone who’d spill their guts and divulge every whisper, and every myth they’d ever heard about Allendra.

  His body shook, and his teeth were on edge as he stalked into his kitchen and wrenched open the refrigerator door. He was hungry, but more than hungry, he was filled with the call of the Blood Moon. It wore at him like an exposed nerve in a cracked tooth.

  The cold, raw steak hit the plate. Hart slumped into a chair, raised the meat, and bit. The flesh stuck to the roof of his mouth and he shredded and tore. He chewed and swallowed, forcing the wad down with water.

  This wasn’t him. He didn’t lose his shit like this. He was the calm one, the controlled one—the dangerous one. Yet in this moment, he felt none of these things—he felt unraveled, and for him, that was a bad place to be.

  He shoved from the chair and rinsed his plate in the sink. There was only one place to start, and that was with the leader of the Ember pack, Arlo Dean.

  Arlo had taken him in, out of loyalty to his family’s bloodline, and given him sanction, but that didn’t mean his uncle wanted him around.

  Any other time he’d respect that stance and stay the hell away. But with the Blood Moon hunting those unmated, and the powers of the rest in the balance, it didn’t leave him a choice.

  The warped chrome cabinets echoed back a beaten reflection. Dark hair and dark eyes mirrored the depths of his soul.

  He dragged his nails through the black stubble on his chin and traced the thin scar. It’d taken him months to heal after the last meeting with his uncle, but broken bones would mend— being turned mortal never would.

  He took one look, grabbed his keys and headed for the door. If there was one thing Arlo despised more than the sight of his banished nephew, it was a mortal. Hart was banking on the Alpha helping him for that reason alone.

  The scuff of his boots resounded in the stairwell as he took the stairs three at a time. Metal on concrete howled as he shoved through the front door to the building. The Softtail Harley gleamed in the sun, whispering salvation for a moment at least.

  He shuddered as he climbed onto the seat. The warm rays didn’t quite reach him, as though he was abandoned by this immortal world already.

  The twin peaks of Blackmore Mountains beckoned. Nestled in the crook of one peak and the next lay the Ember pack. The pack was big enough to deter a rogue pack, but not big enough to run against the Elders.

  Head low, Hart hunkered down until a blur of long black hair caught his eye. The fetid stain followed, hitting him like a super moon on his first shift, smelling like blood, like sex, like dark desires, and a nice little corner in Hell.

  No…it can’t be…

  The bike skidded as he rode the brake. His heart thundered, drowning out the shriek of tires and the blare of horns behind him. Hart shoved his foot against the asphalt and righted the sway.

  In his mind, the Mistress carved apart his soul with taloned nails. The bike hit the pavement and Hart lunged. Hard soles smacked concrete like a sledgehammer to his ankles as he left the chaos behind.

  He hit the corner at full speed and barreled into a clutter of outdoor tables. The rancid taste of her lingered. He sucked in the air and raised his hand to stop the glare of the sun.

  “Where is she?”

  Shifters and witches scurried out of reach, but none of them…none was the one he wanted.

  “Where is she?” he screamed. “Where the fuck did she go?”

  She was here, hiding, watching him from darkened corners, shaking with laughter—mocking him.

  Heads shook. Wide eyes found him. His wolf raced to the surface, burning through the veil between flesh and fur. He spun, narrowed in, grasped a witch on the ground and dragged her upright. Her brown eyes widened, as beads and feathers around her neck clattered and tinkled.

  His fingers tangled in her knotted blonde hair as he dragged her face close to his. He could smell her fear, sense her anger, but he was too far gone to care. “Where the fuck is she? The woman—long, dark hair. She was just here. She was just here.”

  Soft flesh mashed against the hard ridges of her teeth. Still she never whimpered, or flinched. He could see his own reflection, ravaged, filled with rage. “Tell me now, or suffer.”

  Her words were bitten and harsh. “No. Woman.”

  She was lying. She was lying. She was protecting her…working with her. Trying to force him undone.

  “Not. Lying.” She wrestled her head from his grip. “Get the fuck off…me.”

  He released his hold and stepped away. The crowded marketplace closed in around him. The sound of cars, the sight of others in fear…in fear of him, cowering against the café window. Mothers clutched their daughters close and stared.

  He raised his hands and took one slow step away. “I’m sorry…I…”

  “You need help.” The witch spat, and rubbed her jaw. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

  He nodded as his boots hit the asphalt. Horns blared, wrenching his gaze to the road.

  I’m sorry… I’m sorry…

  Those words were a cold comfort to those he left behind. Cars moved slowly, weaving around his bike. The shimmering chrome dragged him close. He gripped the handles and heaved, righting his ride. The leather was scraped, the metal dented, but it was nothing compared to the damage he caused others.

  The bike started with a growl. Hart climbed on, shoved the gear into first and left the nightmare behind. His gaze was focused on the hills, but his mind was haunted by the demons of his past.

  He was losing his shit, broken by this damn curse. The Mistress wasn’t here…he knew that and the truth resonated down to the marrow of his bones.

  He knew she wasn’t here for one reason—and one reason alone.

  Because she was dead.

  Her body buried in an unmarked grave—right where he left her.

  Pine trees sprouted from concrete, and swallowed the sharp rise as he left the city behind. The air changed, filling his lungs with the cold crisp scent of the forest. The bike handled the rise. After an hour of nothing but trees and grass, he was deep in the middle of the Ember pack territory.

  Shadows moved through the trees, and the scent of his kin filled his lungs. He could sense the pack around him, even without their scent riding the wind. There was a deeper connection, the kind that always drew a man back to his pack.

  They raced him, charging over the hill until Hart turned down Ember Lane. He slowed the bike at the first glimpse of the cabin. Arlo would’ve sensed him by now. Would he call the Betas and demand blood? Would he even listen to what Hart had to say?

  Hart killed the engine and coasted toward the front door. Movement through the window tightened the fist around his stomach. Plead his case, that’s all he had to do—and hope Arlo had information he was willing to share.

  The front door opened, but no one came out. Was this a willing invitation? A tremor raced through him. This wasn’t a formal visit, and he and his uncle were not friends. He stepped cautiously, climbing the stairs to the porch and scanned the inside.

  “No one’s going to hurt you.”

  The deep, husky growl was more than familiar. Hart stepped through and glanced around the darkened interior. The cabin was home to more than the alpha. It was home to every stray, every young wolf eager to try it on their own.

  Family. Love. Comfort.

  This was pack life.

  And one of the many reasons why Hart stayed away. He closed the door catching the shadowed figure by the fireplace. “Wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome.”

  “What are you doing here, Hart?”

  Straight to it then. It was better than fangs in the back of his neck. He moved deeper into the cabin. “You’ve heard about the curse?”

  “Whispers— nothing more. What does that have to do with you?”

  The alpha neared. He was taller than Hart remembered, older too. Salt and pepper sparkled at the edges of his hair in the amber lights, and there was a weariness about him now, as tho
ugh life had worn him away.

  Hart clenched his fist and extended his arm. His flesh still burned, raised red edges were easy to see. The three claw marks unmistakable. He fought the urge to back away as Arlo took a step and the sting of his wrist itched with the alpha’s focus.

  Arlo stiffened and jerked his head up. His cold, cynical eyes found Hart. “You?”

  Hart nodded. “Me.”

  “So that’s why you’re here? You want me to lay out a fucking buffet of women for you?”

  Hart flinched. “You think that’s why I’m here? To beg you for a fucking mate?”

  The alpha took another step closer, his voice now a warning growl. “If it is, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  I’ve seen what you do to women.

  The air turned savage, unspoken words closed in. Dark words—battle words. He didn’t know—couldn’t know. Hart kept his uncle’s gaze. “That was an accident.”

  “So you keep saying.” The musky scent of his threat filled the room, blending with sour undertones of regret. “Why are you here, Hart?”

  “I want to know more about our Creator. What she is, where she resides.”

  The sharp bark of laughter resounded like a slap. “What, you think you can change this?” He swept his hand toward Hart's wrist. “You think you can what? Kill Allendra?”

  “Yes.” The answer slipped through his clenched teeth.

  The alpha shook his head. “Then you’re a dead man. I’ve no use for a dead man. Get out.”

  Panic filled him, swirling like a violent summer's squall. He licked his lips. “I need—”

  “Get the fuck out!” The alpha lunged, wrenching his hand in the air. His hand morphed into a paw, blackened claws extended.

  Hart’s wolf cowered. The alpha’s warning scent stole his breath, leaving him stranded—leaving him hopeless.

  He lowered his head and edged backwards, never taking his eyes off the male. Being kin only got you so far in this vicious wolf world—and it seemed he’d reached the end of the road.