Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Quote
Chapter 1 - Ronan
Chapter 2 - Lyric
Chapter 3 - Ronan
Chapter 4 - Lyric
Chapter 5 - Ronan
Chapter 6 - Lyric
Chapter 7 - Ronan
Chapter 8 - Lyric
Chapter 9 - Lyric
Chapter 10 - Ronan
Chapter 11 - Ronan
Chapter 12 - Lyric
Chapter 13 - Ronan
Chapter 14 - Lyric
Chapter 15 - Ronan
Chapter 16 - Ronan
Chapter 17 - Lyric
Chapter 18 - Lyric
Chapter 19 - Ronan
Chapter 20 - Lyric
Chapter 21 - Ronan
Chapter 22 - Ronan
Chapter 23 - Lyric
Chapter 24 - Lyric
Chapter 25 - Ronan
Chapter 26 - Ronan
Chapter 27 - Lyric
Chapter 28 - Ronan
Chapter 29 - Lyric
Chapter 30 - Ronan
Chapter 31 - Lyric
Chapter 32 - Lyric
Chapter 33 - Viktor
Thanks for reading
Books by Samantha Wolfe
About the Author
ROGUE
HEART
The Trueborn Saga
- Book 2 -
By
Samantha Wolfe
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 persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18, and all characters represented are 18 and over.
Copyright © 2019 Samantha Wolfe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected].
Cover design:
germancreative
ISBN-13: 978-1090846075 (paperback)
ASIN: B07PVKLG56 (ebook)
www.samanthawolfeauthor.com
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
-- Lord Byron --
1
RONAN
I can smell the undead freak's stench in the darkened alley, hear his heart racing as the fresh blood he recently consumed pounds through his veins. I've been tracking him for sometime tonight after finding the poor homeless human he'd fed on earlier. Now I finally have him cornered and can put an end to this laborious job that's eaten up the last two weeks of my life. Going against his brood and gathering together his own little nest of hungry and unruly baby vampires is going to cost him everything.
When human bodies first started hitting the floor, the vampire brood tried to keep it under wraps and police it themselves. But then a powerful local mage's daughter was attacked. She barely survived, and her coven demanded reparations from the brood, but they insisted they were innocent of any responsibility since the perpetrator acted on his own and broke vampire law. A bitter war threatened to break out between the two groups until they came to an agreement to end the deadlock.
Enter me, the impartial hitman they hired to clean up the mess and appease both sides before the authorities took notice of the spike in strange deaths and threatened both group's secret existence. I only have one mark left, the ring leader of the entire debacle who's currently hiding somewhere in the alley ahead of me.
My boots move silently across the garbage strewn concrete as I approach the end of the alley. My excellent night vision doesn't pick out my target anywhere, but I know he's close by since his undead stink is even stronger now. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. The newly turned ones always tend to smell a little of rot compared to the dry dirt smell of a mature vampire. I still as I move one side of my black leather trench coat aside to free my sword in its scabbard at my left hip. I briefly close my eyes as I pinpoint the vampire's location, then cock my head to the right as I hone in on his ratcheting heart rate nearby. With a slow predatory grin, I open my eyes and wrap my hand around the well-worn and familiar grip of my sword's hilt, and wait. It doesn't take long.
A dark shape breaks away from the rusted out fire escape above me and drops down in a silent flurry of motion. I instantly dance left and whirl, simultaneously pulling my ninjato, the straight and shorter version of a Japanese katana sword that I prefer to use. The silver plated weapon flies free, flashing in the moonlight as I spin, and makes contact with my quarry with a hissing sound as it burns into his flesh. The vampire snarls in pain and fury as I spin to face-off with him with my sword raised between us with his blood now sizzling along the length of the blade.
He's thin, tall, and dressed in tattered clothes like a homeless human. His dark hair is a filthy snarl around his face. It's either a disguise or he doesn't give a shit. Hell, it's probably a little of each. He looks young, maybe mid twenties, which would usually tell you jack shit about a vamp's age. But I know he's not much older than his wannabe brood of freshly turned vamps that I already killed. He's not anywhere near as powerful as he thinks he is. On the undead power scale, he's pretty far down the line, and his intelligence isn't much better, or he wouldn't have put himself in this position. That's the problem with being a vampire, being turned didn't change your personality or your intellect from when you were human. In this case, it just makes him an idiot with more power than he can handle and a blood thirst he isn't equipped to control.
"Fucking dog!" he shouts with a hand pressed to the smoking and bleeding wound that filleted the skin along one of his forearms. "You cut me."
He looks shocked, his bloodlust blackened eyes wide and incredulous, and his fangs bared in an angry lip-curling scowl on his deathly pale face. No one expects a werewolf to carry a sword, or any other weapon for that matter. But I'm not your typical trueborn, and not every problem needs to be solved with teeth, claws, and fur. I give him a smug feral grin as I casually flick the lingering blood off the end of my blade. Then I grasp the hilt in both hands and lift it up into a defensive position in front of me again.
"And I'm going to do it again," I say and let my eyes flash cobalt with my wolf.
"They have no right to send you after me," he says in a hissing sibilant voice.
"I don't fucking care." I adjust my hands on the silk wrapped grip and shift onto the balls of my feet.
"I won't be as easy to kill as the oth-"
I abruptly attack, my sword swinging at him and cutting him off mid-word. I'll be damned if I let this corpse have a chance to start monologuing. I do not want to hear him babble on and on. I just want him dead...permanently this time.
He barely throws himself out of the way as the blade whistles through the air right where his neck was a fraction of a second ago. Damn vampire reflexes. I press forward and strike again. This time I'm faster, and the tip of the sword rips through his filthy shirt and opens a shallow line of smoking flesh across his chest.
The vampire hisses out a string of expletives and tries to dodge past me. Oh no, he's not getting out of this alley alive. The next stroke of my blade cuts off his escape attempt and leaves a bleeding smoldering wound down his side. He backs away from me farther into the dead-end alley with a hand pressed to his flank. His eyes are fixed on me with a hateful stare that's edged with real fear now. He's no match for me, and he knows it.
The wolf in me rises higher, sensing weakness in our prey to exploit as I advance on him with measured steps. My teeth ache and my skin itches, and I know my eyes are burning a near incandescent cob
alt blue as he clamors to be let out to make the kill. I stifle it, knowing I'll have to find a safe place to let him out later tonight. It's been far too long since I've shifted. It's time to end this before I lose control of the beast inside me.
In desperation, the vampire rushes me with a vicious inhuman snarl. He comes at me with his fangs fully extended and black flames burning in his eyes as his long bony fingers reach for me. It's just the opening I've been waiting for. I pivot and duck under his reckless attack, then spin as he passes. My sword sings through the air in unerring precision and in one swift and fluid motion, I take his head. Acrid smoking blood flies, arcing through the air as his head tumbles from his body. The now completely lifeless corpse drops limply to the ground at my feet as the head rolls to a stop a few yards away. Then stillness falls over the alley as his blood slowly pools beneath him.
I open my senses, listening and smelling for a long moment, and detect nothing out of the ordinary. There are no sirens, no scent of anyone else nearby. Good. I walk over to the head as I pull out a pair of pliers from my coat with my free hand. I lift a booted foot to hold it down and yank one fang out of his mouth as proof, so I can collect the rest of my pay. Then I kick the head back over to the body with a grimace of distaste. Good God, I fucking hate vampires.
I return the pliers to my coat along with the tooth, and take out a rag and swiftly wipe down my sword before tossing the bloodied fabric on top of the corpse. Then I withdraw a small vial of garlic-laced holy water from another pocket. It's overkill, but I believe in being thorough. After popping the cap off with my thumb, I liberally pour it over the thing, watching as it already starts to smoke. I drop the vial, then pull a matchbook out of another pocket. I light it one handed with a practiced ease, and toss the whole thing onto the body.
Within seconds, flames erupt with a whoosh and engulf the vampire. A few more seconds later, and it's already turning to ash. Less than a minute after that, the fire winks out and any evidence of his existence is reduced to a pile of soot at my feet. I sheath my sword with a nod of satisfaction, then turn and walk out of the alley.
I pull the hood of my coat up over my head as I emerge out onto the street, and swiftly make my way back to my car. I'm ready to get my cash and get the fuck out of town, then find some woods, so I can shift and go for a run. I can feel my wolf clawing around inside me like a caged animal. He needs to hunt and feel the earth under his paws. Just the thought has anticipation shuddering through my entire body. Like I said, it's been too long since I let him out.
This is a shit neighborhood and while I have little to fear from some criminal lowlife, I worry about my ride getting fucked with. Thankfully, I find my 1971 Mustang Mach 1 right where I left it, still intact under the street light that I hoped would deter any vandals or thieves. What I also find is a tall statuesque blond dressed in all black and leaning against the passenger door in a casual nonchalance that no one should have in this neighborhood. I warily approach the woman and catch her familiar scent, confirming her identity.
Shit.
I growl under my breath, equally perturbed by her presence as I am about her scratching the fairly new electric blue paint job I got after my last contract. I stop a few yards away from her. Harlow Walsh is dangerous in every sense of the word, and it's best to keep my distance. I don't know exactly what she is, but she's not human, and she's one of the most deadly killers I know besides myself.
"You're a hard man to track down, Nash," she says, her warm dulcet tone belying her amused smirk and the eager predatory gleam in her blue eyes.
"Not hard enough apparently," I say in a grumbling voice as I cross my arms over my chest defensively. I'm not sure how she found me, but I'm not surprised. She's resourceful and terrifyingly intelligent.
She responds with a warm peel of laughter that's just as attractive as she is, and just as misleading.
"What do you want Harlow?" I ask.
"My boss has a job for you."
"Not interested," I instantly reply, then start to walk around the front of my car, intent on ending this discussion by driving away. Her presence has my wolf all worked up, eager for a fight that I can't let happen. This isn't the time or the place, and to be honest, I'm not sure who would win either. Besides, I refuse to work for people like her boss, Viktor Bravas. It always comes with conditions and hidden agendas that I don't want to get involved with. It's one of the many reasons I want no part of any trueborn pack business.
I unlock the door and pull it open, feeling Harlow's intent eyes on me as I take my sword off and toss it into the back seat. I'm in too much of a hurry to get away from her to stow it in the hidden compartment in my trunk. I'm just about to lower myself into the black leather driver's seat when Harlow speaks again.
"Rett Weylin," she says.
I still at her almost casual words and meet her gaze over the roof of the vehicle. "What?" I ask, my voice hard and vicious.
"The mark," she says with a smug grin as she places her crossed forearms on the Mach 1's roof. "It's Rett Weylin." She cocks her head knowingly. "He killed your mommy and daddy, right?"
I'm not even bothered by her playful mocking tone as the wolf surges up inside me in a frenzy of bloodlust at her words. The man in me follows suit, instantly burning with hate and rage and the need for vengeance that's laced with deep-seated pain and despair.
She knows exactly what carrot to dangle in front of me to get my undivided attention. I've never made a secret of my ongoing search for Weylin and the reason why, despite keeping the exact details of what actually happened to myself. So I'm not surprised that Harlow, and hence Bravas, knows about it. However, the fact that they managed to find him when I've been unsuccessful all these years is completely unexpected.
"Where?" I ask through lengthening fangs as I hold the wolf in check with every once of strength I possess. I feel him boiling under my skin as my eyes flash cobalt fire. I dig my nails into my palms as I fight the threatening shift.
Harlow's grin widens in victorious glee. "So you'll take the job after all?" she asks.
"Yes," I say, trembling with rage. "Where. Is. He?"
Harlow leans away from my Mustang and reaches into her leather jacket. I tensely watch her pull out a file folder and lay it on the roof between us.
"He's in a little town in the middle of nowhere called Wolcott," she replies, then nods at the file. "It's not much, but everything you need to get started is in here." She pushes it toward me with a wide and glorious smile that gives me the chills. "Good luck." She winks, then turns and strolls casually away with her hands in her pockets like she didn't just rock my world down to its very foundation.
Before she's even out of sight, I reach for the folder with a trembling hand and snatch it up. Then I lower myself into the leather bucket seat of my car and stare at the thing in my lap in complete and utter disbelief. After twenty-two long years of pain and rage and fruitlessly searching for the man who destroyed my family, my entire life, I finally have my chance for vengeance. And it's going to be so fucking sweet.
2
LYRIC
"You look so beautiful, honey," Dad says from my bedroom doorway.
"Thanks, Dad," I tell him as I pause from applying lipstick in the mirror above my dresser. I turn a bittersweet smile his way.
He's leaning casually against the door frame in his usual black T-shirt and jeans with a heavy pair of work boots. He returns my smile with warmth in his sky-blue eyes as he walks into the room, his lean muscular body moving with power and grace despite being close to sixty years old. Dad glances around the mostly dismantled bedroom and sighs. The walls of my room are bare of art work now. All my knick-knacks are already packed away, along with my clothes, my computer, and everything else I own, in cardboard boxes stacked along one wall. This is my last night in my childhood bedroom before I move in with my oldest sister and brother tomorrow.
"I'm going to miss you," he says as his smile slips into a small frown. I watch his strong masculine feat
ures turn sorrowful.
"Dad," I say. "I'm just moving a few miles down the road."
"I know," he answers as his eyes glitter with unshed tears. "But you're my last baby to move out."
He steps closer and pulls me into a fierce hug, his six-foot frame strong and familiar. His scent envelopes me, making me feel safe and loved. He's always seemed larger than life to me, even now that I'm twenty-one and only a few inches shorter. He's my father, my Alpha, and my friend. He's the best man I know.
"I don't want you to go," he whispers. Guilt clenches in my gut and tears well in my eyes at his words.
"Everett Weylin," a female voice says sharply from the doorway, using his full name to emphasize her point. "You will not lay a guilt trip on your daughter for wanting to live her life."
I peek around Dad's shoulder to see Mom fixing her golden-brown eyes on him with a narrow-eyed glare. Dark golden blond curls cascade around my mother's familiar face and steel-framed cat-eye glasses. She's still dressed in her scrubs since she only returned home from her veterinary clinic a short while ago. As a vet, Mom's hours can be a little chaotic.
Dad turns with one arm still around my shoulders to face his mate and the love of his life. His face lights up like it does every time he looks at her.
"It's not a guilt trip if it's the truth, Cadie," he says as he pulls me close to his side.
He reaches his free hand out toward his wife, who immediately gravitates to him and takes his hand. He pulls her closer and leans in to nuzzle her cheek as he hums happily. Mom smiles softly as she stares up at him in utter adoration, then lifts up on her toes to kiss him briefly. My parents are always like this, constantly touching and looking at each other with love and affection like it's a compulsion. They're mates, two halves of a whole, and can't help themselves.
I can't help but wonder what that would be like and try to ignore the pang of longing and loneliness that subsequently fall over me and the she-wolf inside me. I don't know if I'll ever find a mate, whether trueborn or human for that matter. Our pack is very small, and most of it is made up of my immediate family, so it and the tiny little town of Wolcott aren't exactly swimming with prospects. I'll probably never find anybody. I have to stifle a sigh of depressed resignation, so I don't alert my parents to my melancholy thoughts. I definitely don't want to talk about it.
Rogue Heart Page 1
