by Lauren Dawes
Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Dawes
Published by Vixen Publishing
First Edition, 2020
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www.authorlaurendawes.com
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The right of Lauren Dawes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
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E-book ISBN: 978-1-922353-05-4
Print ISBN: 978-1-922353-06-1
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All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.
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All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Cover design by Covers by Christian
Edited by Heather Long
Proofread by Bookish Dreams Editing
For Anita
For kicking my butt into gear and not letting me stop writing Shadowed Lover even when I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.
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#CPpowerforever
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And for Phil and Evie
…always.
Trigger Warning
This book contains scenes that depict sexual assault which may be a trigger for some readers.
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
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Bonus Content
“Shadowed Lover” Playlist
Still need more?
Also by Lauren Dawes
About the Author
1
Drake leaned over and turned up the music. The bass thumped through the subwoofers, making the table the sound system was sitting on jump like it was having a seizure. It was a rare day off for him and the rest of the Revenant, and it was one they’d all been looking forward to.
There was a shout, and he turned his head to find Mateo and Jett both leaping from the couch at the same time, the controllers for their gaming system dropping to the floor. He wasn’t surprised when the swearing started, nor was he happy. The fuckers tended to make a mess when they got into these dick measuring contests. The pair were always competing against each other, though, whether it be in the gym, in the field, or chasing a female they both wanted to bed. The only saving grace was that they were better at sharing the latter.
Barely.
Drake shifted his gaze over to the other side of the room where quicksilver-eyed Sasha was brooding in her corner. She was the only female in their team, but underestimating her would be a fucking mistake—probably the last one you’d ever make. The woman had ice in her veins and a heart made of stone. Her ruthlessness made her the perfect soldier, the perfect member of the Revenant. They were, after all, the ones responsible for policing the other Shadows, for protecting the Trinity’s interests.
Her brooding was understandable. She’d been saddled with the fucked up ability to see what was going to happen in the future. From what he understood, knowing when you and everyone you’d ever come into contact with was going to die wasn’t a picnic, but to Sasha’s credit, she never flapped her gums about what she saw unless it was pertinent to the situation.
He glanced to his left as Grayson sidled up beside him. A tumbler was in his left hand, the clear contents cozying up to the two ice cubes still floating in there.
“You’d think they’d get bored of doing this every single time,” the male murmured, his green eyes fixed on the two one-hundred-and-ninety-pound black jaguar shifters rolling around on the floor, trading punches and breaking furniture.
“I wish they’d take this shit outside,” Drake growled. He and disorder were not friends.
Grayson grunted and ran a hand through his dark hair. At six-seven, the guy had a good couple of inches on Drake, but unlike Drake, he didn’t have a hard, sharp edge to him. They referred to Grayson as the Gentleman because despite being a trained killer and protector of the species, he was from a pure bloodline and had impeccable manners and taste.
Drake bit back a curse when there was another crack as one of the side tables became a casualty of the brawl.
“Want me to break those two up?” His companion lifted his chin in the direction of Mateo and Jett. Grayson had the ability to read and manipulate emotions, which did come in handy when tempers ran high.
Which was about ninety-nine percent of the time.
“Nah, let them work this out with fists and blood. They need the release.”
Grayson nodded. “Have you heard from the Trinity yet?”
Shifting to the side, Drake dodged a gaming controller sailing past his head. “Not yet,” he replied, picking up his own glass of vodka and swirling the clear liquid around. The ice cubes bumped and skittered as far as they could within the confines of their glass prison, all destined to disappear and water down his drink. “But I expect to hear something soon. We’re never left to our own devices for long.”
The Trinity wouldn’t allow it.
They were the trio of jaguars who controlled all the Shadow units, including Drake’s team, doling out their assignments and which pride they were to serve. Two hundred years ago—long before Drake’s time—the Trinity didn’t exist. It was only after a Leo—the most dominant male who ruled an individual pride—tried to overthrow multiple prides by using all the Shadows to do his bidding that they were established. By removing direct contact between the Leos and the Shadows who served them as security and protection, they eliminated the possibility of a coup happening ever again.
And the Revenant existed to make sure all the other Shadows and jaguars alike toed the line. They were the Trinity’s attack dogs—every other shifter’s Bogeyman.
Grayson smiled, revealing his slightly elongated canine teeth. “Well, wherever we’re going, let’s hope it’s something that requires us to take a vacation.”
Drake nodded curtly. His team called Wyoming home, but the weather was cooling off, and the chill of winter was setting in earlier than expected. Soon, their compound would be surrounded by snow and they’d be balls deep in it, too. He looked out the set of French doors at the ass-end of the room, the twenty or so small panes of glass revealing the endless forest that hemmed them in. Darkness swathed the branches, the moon barely making its mark on the leaves that swayed gently in the breeze.
Their place was remote, and that was just the way he liked it. Security was tight, and if someon
e so much as came within a mile of their front gate, he’d know about it. Drake emptied his glass, taking what remained of the cubes into his mouth and biting down.
“Another?” Grayson asked, tipping his chin in the direction of his glass.
He contemplated it for a moment. Getting drunk enough to forget would’ve been difficult, but the idea of numbing out was fucking tempting. Ten years ago today, he’d received the worst news a twin could possibly receive. Ten years of regret. Ten years of self-loathing.
Against his instincts to get so polluted he wouldn’t remember his name in the morning, he shook his head. “No. I’m going to bed.”
Grayson’s eyes flashed with his cat as he no doubt got a bead on Drake’s grief.
“Come on, D, don’t be a fucking pussy,” Mateo called from the ground, blood dripping from one nostril. Drake looked to Jett. The guy was not leaking fluid, which meant he was the victor.
This time.
Drake flipped Mateo off then clapped palms with Grayson. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.” As he left the rec room, he glanced over at Sasha, finding her looking out at the dark forest. He worried about the female sometimes, worried about what lurked around in her gray matter and made her so introspective. She turned her head toward him, her black hair falling over half of her face. Her eyes, though—those haunting gray eyes—latched onto him and made the blood in his veins run cold. The hair at the back of his neck prickled in awareness, but he wasn’t ready to hear the details of the premonition she’d just had. Not tonight.
Turning, he left the room, the feeling of dread sliding from his shoulders as he jogged up the stairs to his room. Pulling the black T-shirt over his head, he dumped it on the ground on his way to the bathroom connected to his room. Crisp white marble was on every surface, from the heated floor beneath his bare feet to the countertop that housed twin sinks. The walk-in shower was much the same with an oversized rain shower head stretching across the top.
Leaning in, he got things started before stripping out of his sweats. While he waited for things to get good and foggy, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, running his index and middle finger over the mark over his heart. The Shadow Mark—the one he’d been born with—had rerouted his life. It was a simple ‘X’ with a circle inserted between the two upper arms and it was this that set him apart from other shifters and Shadows.
Stepping into the shower, he quickly ran through the whole wash-rinse routine, ignoring the triple-milled sandalwood soap Grayson ordered by the crate and stocked in every bathroom, sticking to his usual bar of Dial. After he rinsed off the suds, he shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist.
As he turned to leave the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his back. Stretching from the base of his neck to the bottom of his spine, the Grim Reaper stood sentry, its hollow eyes and wicked grin making a sense of dread uncurl in his stomach. Wrapped in his arms was a woman, her face turned toward the personification of Death, her expression one of surrender.
He liked to think of death in this way—something you go toward willingly.
Without hesitation.
Without regret.
Without fear.
Stalking into his room, he swiped a clean pair of sweats from the straight-backed chair in the corner of his room and pulled them on. His legs suddenly felt like they’d turned to Jell-O, and he collapsed into the seat. He rubbed at the spot over his heart, wincing. Time didn’t seem to care he was still hurting from the loss of his twin sister. Sometimes, though, he could swear he still felt her, like an apparition that followed him around, tethered to his soul.
His phone started to vibrate on his nightstand, and he got up to answer it.
“Zed,” he drawled in a bored tone, hoping to mask his real feelings.
Which was fucking off-kilter, unhinged, and off-balanced.
“Drake. How are you?” Zed, one of the Trinity, asked.
He sat on the edge of the mattress. “Good, although I have to tell you, I’m not one for social calls tonight.”
“Blunt as ever, Drake.”
“Nah, just no time for bullshit.”
“Fair enough,” the Shadow Elder replied. A weighted pause crawled over the line, one that lasted long enough to make Drake’s eye twitch.
“What is it?” he demanded, planting his feet onto the thick carpet. He flexed his toes, needing to feel grounded because he had a feeling he was about to be put through the wringer.
A heavy sigh, and Drake could just imagine the male rubbing his eyes like he was goddamn tired. Yeah, well, that made two of them. “Something’s happened.”
Drake’s hand tightened on the phone, but he forced himself to relax. “Talk to me, Zed.” Christ, he almost didn’t want to know.
“A female has been reported missing.”
Impotent rage suddenly burned through his veins, and he stood up to pace, his legs mimicking the speed of his memories from a decade ago. He hadn’t been home when his twin sister went missing, and he punished himself for it every damn day. The fact that this news was reaching his ears today, of all days, was a bad, fucking omen.
With fingers tightening around the phone, he barked, “Who? Where?”
“A female called Elsie Fox. I don’t know much, but what I do know is she was taken sometime between her classes at UC Berkeley yesterday. Her roommate reported her missing to her parents.”
“Is Specter on this? Does Lewis know?”
“They’re taking care of it,” Zed replied in a slow, calm voice. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up since…”
“Thanks,” he bit out, cutting the guy off before he could say the words that would strip him to the bone.
There was a pause, then…
“Don’t get involved, Drake,” Zed warned with a soft snarl. “Let us handle this.”
“But—”
The Elder cut him off. “I mean it. Stay out of this. Your judgment is clouded right now.”
Drake’s free hand tightened into a fist. Every single instinct he had started firing, bucking against the shackles that had just been placed on him. He bit his tongue. Hard. That sweet, salty taste of copper flooded his mouth, and he swallowed it down.
Without another word, Drake hung up, his phone slipping from his fingers and thumping to the carpet beside his foot. Zed’s words lapped his conscious thoughts until all he heard was the reality of the situation.
The walls of his room felt closer than before, pressing against his skin. Smothering. He gasped, trying to choke down another breath of air, trying to get more oxygen into his lungs to stifle the sensation of drowning. Beneath his skin, his cat prowled like the caged beast that it was, snarling and hissing at him, baring his fangs. Drake had to get out of there. Practically ripping the bedroom door from its hinges, he ran down the stairs and yanked open the front door.
Behind him, Grayson yelled something, but Drake didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Stripping out of his sweats, he thought about the cat who inhabited his body, sharing his blood, his instincts, and his brain. He thought about him coming to the surface of his mind. Between one breath and the next, Drake’s vision changed from color to muted shades of blue and gray. Throwing his head back, he roared and let the beast out.
For three hundred agonizing seconds, his bones broke and reset. His muscles and tendons were torn and reformed to fit his cat’s sleeker, more lithe body. His jaw throbbed as the larger incisors took up residence, his whole face elongating and flexing. Finally, fur started to sprout.
Like all Shadows, his coat was solid black. There were no hints of rosettes beneath the solid swallowing color—he was all oily darkness. All fluid grace.
When the pain finally subsided, he flexed his whiskers forward and stretched out his new body. There were a few pops and groans as his new bones slid into shape, and he finally felt like he was seated in his new skin properly.
Sensing eyes on him, he threw one last look at the house. Grayson was standing in between the jambs,
his eyes cycling between human and cat. The guy eventually nodded, having gotten a good enough read on Drake’s emotional grid—which was, by the way, fucking screwed up—and retreated back into the house.
Drake huffed.
Turning, he started pawing through the underbrush, his fur getting tangled in burrs as he passed. He didn’t know where he was going—all he knew was he had to keep moving. This news had shaken him to the core, and although he didn’t know the female, he knew the feelings her parents and siblings must be running through because he had suffered through them too.
Regret.
Fear.
Anger.
With a small snarl, he picked up the pace, not bothering to dampen his footsteps as he went. He had no intention of hunting, but if a deer was stupid enough to get in his way right now, he’d be sure to show it a good time.
He ran until his lungs burned like they were laced with shards of glass and his muscles ached, but still the same thought was banging around in his head—it had happened again.
2
Neve inspected the nail she’d just painted and blew gently over the Smith & Cult polish. Palace in Wonderland was the name of the color, but all she saw was a horrible shade of metallic fuchsia. Even if she bothered with painting her nails, she wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing that color. Her cousin, on the other hand…
