Moon Born (The Wolf Wars Series Book 3)

by H. D. Gordon

  As he’d only every sworn one oath in his life, an oath he was still currently bound to, he didn’t understand why the Seer had called him this. Perhaps the creature had been wrong, had gotten him mixed up.

  But that didn’t seem right. The Seers had not struck him as beings who were often wrong, if ever. As far as he knew it, there was no way to break his oath to the Erl Queen. None had ever done so before, and the oath was for life. His queen was not one who just let people walk away from their debts.

  “Is that all?” she asked now, drawing him out of his thoughts. She’d chosen her natural form to hear his recounts, and her long tentacles tapped at the stone floor as she waited for him to answer. “You’re sure you’re not missing anything else?”

  Vega was careful not to let any emotion appear on his face, was careful not to even swallow. “That’s all, your majesty,” he said. “Every detail I remember.”

  She was silent for just long enough for him to become uneasy, to have to remind himself not to shift on his feet.

  At last, she flicked her fingers in dismissal. “Fine,” she said. “You may go.”

  Vega did not have to be told twice. He bowed to his queen and stalked out of the throne room with what he hoped was a casual pace.

  He had just exited through the doors when he heard his queen cackle behind him, and he paused. His better instincts told him that he should keep on going, reminding him that if she caught him listening in on her she would have his head removed from his shoulders in a heartbeat.

  But, still, he waited.

  The sound of her laugh died as she said, “The Wolf and the Demon succeeded. They now know how to remove the collars.”

  A male voice that he did not know responded. It was deep and raspy, unlike any he’d ever heard. “Then I guess that the Seers now have the Savior’s Stone.”

  “Mm,” said his queen. “That would be a smart bet.”

  “Then we can move forward with our plans,” the male voice said. “I’ll get in touch with the remaining Pack Masters immediately.”

  “You do that,” she replied. “Once the collars are removed, the Wolves will destroy each other. After the dust settles, the time will be perfect for someone else to step in.”

  “Yes,” the male voice said. “War is the most profitable of activities people can engage in, if you know what to do with the opportunity.”

  “We must be cautious, however. Once the Dogs are freed, they will be a force to be reckoned with. Their numbers will be overwhelming.”

  “I’m aware of this, which is why I’ve begun securing measures to even out the odds a bit. The Pack Masters will be outnumbered, but they’ll have the silent support of the Brotherhood, and we’ve got a few tricks up our sleeve.”

  “Care to indulge me?” the queen said.

  “Not unless you want to tell me about all the things your Valac told you about the Seers and their city.”

  The Erl Queen was silent.

  “That’s what I thought. How can we be partners if we don’t trust each other?”

  The Erl Queen snorted. “We are partners precisely because we don’t trust each other.”

  “Yes, well, the board has been set, so now all we have to do is wait.”

  “To the fruitful business of war,” she said.

  “And the politics of power,” the male voice replied.

  “What are you doing?”

  Vega spun on his heels and saw one of the other Valac soldiers watching him. He cleared his throat and did his best to appear innocent.

  “I was standing guard until you arrived,” he said. “You’re late.”

  The other soldier was silent a moment. Then he took his spot by the doors to the throne room, still eyeing Vega suspiciously.

  Vega gave him a narrowed eye look of his own and retreated to his quarters. Once he was there, he shucked off all his heavy armor and collapsed atop his bed.

  Then he lay staring up at the dark ceiling, replaying the Erl Queen’s conversation in his head. So much had happened, and his queen had not been wrong when she’d accused him of being changed.

  Even the odds for the Pack Masters, the male voice had said. Vega didn’t like the sound of that at all.

  Breaker of Blood Oaths, the Seer had called him.

  He didn’t like the sound of that, either.

  But it was Princess Nandi’s face that kept sleep from finding him, despite his exhaustion. He had never encountered a creature so lovely, so divine, and being around her had stirred feelings in him that he’d forgotten he was capable of having.

  Feelings that could get him killed.

  Even though he’d spent the better portion of his existence in the darkness of the Erl Queen’s shadow, the Wolf, the Demon, and the exquisite Sorceress Princess had reminded him that there was good in the world, that there was kindness and beauty and love.

  And it was this, perhaps, that scared the mighty Valac warrior most of all.

  Because some part of him understood that this meant he would eventually need to choose a side to stand on, and no matter what choice he made, there would be pain.

  Mountains of it.

  The End… For Now

  The final book in The Wolf Wars Series coming soon.

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  About the Author

  H. D. Gordon is the author of several urban fantasy novels. She is the mother of two amazing daughters, and a lover of kick-ass females, beautiful things, and nerdy t-shirts.

  She believes our actions have ripple effects, and in the sacred mission of bringing love and light to the world.

  H. D. spends her time with family, eating desserts, and taking strolls by the sea.

  She resides in southern New Jersey—which she insists is really quite lovely.

  For more information, please visit:

  www.hdgordonbooks.com

  Want more? Read on for a sneak peek at Moon of Fire (The Blood Pack Trilogy: Book 1)

  Hustling wolfsbane is the only way Dita Silvers knows how to survive.

  As a werewolf from the slums, she longs to lift her family out of the poverty they were born into, break the cycle of her ancestors, and free herself from the cage of circumstance.

  But when Dita makes a snap decision that changes the course of things, and her ambitions and sharp mind puts her on the radar of a prominent criminal wolf family, she will be forced to make tough choices, testing her strength as a leader and her resolve in accomplishing her end goals.

  With a witty best friend, a wild younger brother, an older brother with a dangerous secret, and three little sisters to look after, Dita has her hands full. Female werewolves do not command the respect male werewolves do, and they certainly don’t run a bootlegging operation at the height of prohibition.

  Moon of Fire

  The Blood Pack Trilogy: Book 1

  H. D. Gordon

  Copyright © 2018 H. D. Gordon

  Published by H. D. Gordon Books

  Cover by Christian Bentulan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and publisher of this book

  Chapter 1

  The moon was full and red, and the Wolves were drunk and hungry.

  The sounds of the fights in The Ring floated out of the barn and into the fields beyond, an ever-present soundtrack to my Friday nights.

  The main event this evening featured a brawny male on his sixty-seventh fight, the favorite over his competitor. Personally, I was more interested in th
e female fight that would take place beforehand. The female I’d been placing money on—and winning—was fun to watch, if one could call such a brutal fight “fun.”

  I was likely to miss it, anyway, because business was flowing, and the business was what I was here for.

  After taking one last long glance down at the worn parchment in my hand, I folded the paper and replaced it in my jacket pocket, leaning casually back against the wooden building behind me with feigned ease. Appearing relaxed was important, but being on one’s toes was absolutely necessary. Currently on my person, I was carrying enough Wolfsbane to make a poor Wolf’s month, and in my world, the predators were always lurking around the corners.

  Catching a familiar scent on the air, I angled my head and caught sight of Phil, a frequent customer. His cracked lips pulled up as he spotted me in my usual position, his grin revealing the missing teeth the drug use had rotted and claimed. His clothes were old and carried a stench that was irremovable, and open sores spotted the skin on his arms and hands.

  The weather was cool with the approaching winter, but the fine leather of my gloves never left my hands for fear of what I might contract from doing business with Wolves like Phil. I pitied the male, as well as the others, but in all honesty, I couldn’t say the hands they’d been dealt by life were any worse than the one fate had given me, so the sentiment was easily dismissed.

  We all had our demons. For Phil, it was the drugs and booze. For me… Well, I had to be the demon.

  “Hey there, D,” Phil crooned as he hobble-walked over to me. His tongue snaked out to wet his dry lips, and my stomach twisted, but my posture and expression remained unaffected.

  “What’ll it be?” I asked.

  Phil patted his pockets, as if he didn’t know the exact amount he had to barter with. “I’m a little short. Can you help me out?”

  I pulled my gaze away from a small group of young Wolves who had gathered outside the barn in which The Ring was held, and gave Phil a look like he must be stupid.

  He chuckled at the expression, but when I held his gaze, the laughter dried up like rain on a summer afternoon. “Always so serious, Dita,” Phil added, and sighed. “What can I get for ten?”

  Still holding his eyes with the steel in mine, I reached into the fine fabric of my black jacket and produced a dime bag of Wolfsbane, exchanging it for the coins Phil handed me.

  He looked like he might have something else to say, but baring my teeth a bit sent him ambling away again. I rolled my neck and scanned my surroundings, patting absentmindedly at the paper folded neatly in my pocket. Just a few more hours, and I could go home. Eat something, maybe even sleep.

  The high-pitched squeal of a Wolf crying out in The Ring cut across the night, and while once upon a time the sound had given me nightmares, I’d long since grown numb to the pain-filled shrieks of the losers. Why anyone would choose such a life was beyond me, but then again, I supposed many would think the same of my own life endeavors.

  It wasn’t like I had much of a choice, though, so perhaps in their individual ways, it was the same for them.

  Such philosophizing had no place in my world, so I pushed the thoughts aside and continued my hustle as the darkness of the night deepened, and then gradually gave way to the wee hours of the morning.

  I was checking my timepiece when my older brother, Devon, found me. As soon as I saw him, I could tell from the look on his face and the set of his shoulders that something was wrong. Knowing our family, the matter could be any range of depravity.

  Devon was a large male Wolf, handsome and muscular, with blue eyes and dark hair and an easy smile that he spent a good deal of time suppressing—at my insistence. Our enemies would no doubt see his easygoing manner as weak, and while I appreciated the quality in him, I wouldn’t allow it to get us killed.

  “How’d you do?” Devon asked as he approached, straightening the lapels of his jacket in the overly civilized way he had.

  “Good,” I replied. “I’m almost out. Can probably go home with zero stock if we stay another hour.” I yawned and checked the timepiece in my pocket. “You can give me the rest of yours and I’ll get rid of it if you want to go.”

  “Nah,” Devon said, “we need to get home. Demarco and Dad are at it again. Delia is worried they’ll kill each other.”

  I rolled my eyes, loosing a heavy sigh. “Oh well if they do,” I mumbled. “Hot-headed idiots.”

  Devon grinned, his handsome face lighting up, though the stress caused to him by our family still lined the crease between his brows. “We can’t all be as cold as you, Dita,” he joked.

  I snorted. “No,” I agreed, “because that would be too damn convenient.”

  He jerked his chin. “You coming?” he asked. “You know you’re the only one who can break them up.”

  Cursing, I pushed off the wall on which I’d been leaning. We both knew I would go. The crazy people in my family were forever summoning me, a fate I both cherished and resented depending on the weather.

  “I still have the scar on my back from the last time they did this,” I grumbled.

  Devon slung his arm around my shoulder, a rare show of affection that I allowed for only a handful of seconds before shrugging it off. We were on The Row on a fight night; any number of people could be watching.

  “We’ve all got our fair share of scars as a result of being born a Silvers,” he replied.

  “Ain’t that the truth?” I mumbled, and resigned to the fact that there would be no early sleep for me tonight, not until I stopped my insane father from killing my crazy brother.

  Or until I killed the bastards my damn self.

  I opened the door, and a dish crashed into the wall beside my head, making me flinch and duck.

  The sound of the polished clay shattering against the wood was fantastic, but it was swallowed by the bellow of my father. The timber of his tone told me that he’d been using again, and I felt my rage rise and had to force it back down again with some effort.

  If not for my father’s habit, our family might be able to move out of the shithole we called home, and it was safe to say that I hated him for this. In fact, I was pretty sure that I hated my father just about as much as I loved him.

  On some days, I hated him more.

  The place was in absolute chaos. Devon and I had time to exchange a single exasperated glance before we sprang into action.

  My father and youngest brother had torn the already pitiful shack to shreds, their eyes glowing Wolf-gold as they squared off in the middle of the room. They were both in their Wolf forms, and though my father dwarfed even the largest Wolves in size, Demarco was as scrappy a fighter as they came.

  My twelve-year-old little sister, Delia, was the one who’d thrown the dish in a futile effort to break up the males. Tears streaked her pretty face, and her voice cracked as she screamed at them to stop, too afraid to shift into her Wolf form and get between them.

  I did not blame her.

  Demarco was bleeding on his head, right below his left ear, and a little scarlet also spotted my father’s muzzle as well, his large teeth bared in anger. Snarls and low, rippling growls rumbled in their chests as the two of them snapped at each other’s throats. Chunks of fur floated in the air along with the scent of iron from the spattering of blood already spilled.

  My stepmother, Jodi, sat in the corner, holding a cigarette and a glass of moonshine in one hand and watching with glassy, disinterested eyes.

  My twin little sisters, Ada and Analise, were curled up in the corner, watching the scene with wide, innocent eyes. It was this that made me most angry. I’d accepted the fact that this was my life, but no amount of hammering would ever make me accept it for them.

  Come hell or high water, one day, I would take the twins and Delia out of here. I wasn’t sure how, exactly, but I would find a way. I would see to it that they didn’t have to sell Wolfsbane to survive, that violence would not be a part of their everyday existence.

  And I didn’t care who
m I had to kill to do it.

  Starting with the idiots in this room.

  “Great. You’re home,” Jodi said, taking a long swig of the liquid in her glass. “They’re gonna kill each other.”

  “Thanks for the help,” I snapped, sliding past my father and brother to reach the twins in the corner. I nodded at Devon to take Delia outside, and he scooped her up. Devon and Delia had a special relationship, and I knew he would be able to calm the girl. It was important to remove the children from the situation, and then I would deal with the knuckleheads.

  So I allowed the duel to continue while I picked up Ada and Ana and carried them into the back bedroom.

  The first time I’d had to do this, they had only been two years old, and I could still remember the way their little bodies had shaken like leaves in my arms. Now, three years later, after only five years of life in this family, they were as numb to the violence and chaos as I was to that of The Ring.

  The back bedroom was cold, as it was a space that held heat in the summer and cold in the winter, but I could have heated it myself with the rage that was steadily rising within me. I was tired after hustling to grabby Wolves all evening, and worse, I was hungry. I can be an unpleasant Wolf on the best of days. When I was hungry, I was a danger to anyone near me.

  Well, almost anyone.

  “You should be asleep,” I told the twins as I laid them on one of the three mattresses on the floor and placed gentle kisses on their foreheads.

  “We were,” Ada replied in her sweet little voice.

  “Daddy and Demarco woke us up,” added Ana.

  I released a slow breath, pulled up the blanket around their shoulders, and gave them one more kiss each on the head. “I’ll go make sure they keep it down, then,” I said. “You have lessons in the morning, so you need to sleep.”