by Bella Jacobs
Unbroken
Dark Moon Shifters Book Three
Bella Jacobs
Contents
About the Book
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
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Sneak Peek
About the Author
Also by Bella Jacobs
Copyright UNBROKEN © 2019 by Bella Jacobs
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under 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 the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance 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. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy, fast-paced urban fantasy reads. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
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About the Book
My enemies think they've broken me.
They should think again.
When our quest started, I was an innocent girl. Now, there is blood on my hands and vengeance in my heart. I will stop at nothing to protect the people I love. Even if it means betraying everything I hold dear.
These four men are my life, but loving me may be the death of them.
I have one chance, one last shot to save the world without losing the love that makes it worth living.
They say it's always darkest before the dawn. I just hope we all live to see the light...
Either way, I'm not going down without a fight.
UNBROKEN is the final installment of the Dark Moon Shifters series, a red-hot reverse harem paranormal and urban fantasy romance. Expect pulse-pounding action, suspense, serious ass-kicking, and four sexy shifter men who will make you wish you had a bear, wolf, lynx, and griffin of your own.
For my street team. Again, you are the best. Thanks for sticking with me on this wild and crazy ride.
Chapter 1
Wren
I wake from the strangest dream.
The strangest, wildest dream… There were monsters and mad scientists and secrets and sadness and four amazing men and love unlike anything I’ve ever known.
God, there was so much love, a shameless abundance, overflowing my cup, making me feel like anything was possible.
I try to hold on to their faces, their names, but it’s all slipping away, the way dreams do.
Slippery dreams, as slippery as that thing…
At the end of the dream, there had been something horrible oozing across the floor. Something I’m not going to be sad to forget.
My eyes creak open, letting in the sunlight, banishing the last of the nightmare shivers. My room is brighter than usual, making me wonder if I’ve slept through my alarm and whether I’m going to be late for work at the shelter.
But then Mom calls out from down the hall, “You want waffles or pancakes, Wren?” and I remember that it’s Saturday.
“Waffles, please. Be there in a second,” I call back, bringing a hand to rest on my belly beneath the covers. My stomach is a little unsettled, but the nausea isn’t nearly as bad this morning as it has been the past few months. Maybe the doctors have found the right cocktail again, the mix of drugs that will hold the Devour virus at bay for a few more months, maybe even a few years if I’m lucky.
The thought is logical, but it feels…off. Wrong, somehow.
I sit up, hugging the covers to my chest as I scan the room, plagued by the terrible feeling that I’m forgetting something more important than a dream. My gaze flicks from my books on the shelves, to the papers strewn across my desk, to the bureau with the big mirror where the pills sit in their rows of bottles, waiting to be tipped out one at a time and gulped with the glass of water I keep by my bed.
I look down to see the big pink Tupperware bowl in its usual place on the floor, as well, for those days when I’m so sick that I won’t be able to make it to the bathroom in time. But I don’t need it this morning.
I’m not that sick at all, in fact.
As I swing my legs out from under the covers and start toward the bathroom, the slight nausea fades away completely. I rub the sleep from my eyes, wishing I could remember the dream.
Or that thing bigger than the dream…
But I can’t remember going to bed last night or what my parents and I ate for dinner. It’s all a blur.
“The meds,” I grumble as I use the bathroom and wash my hands, meeting my own weary gaze in the mirror. It’s happened before—the meds that make me feel the best physically aren’t always the best for maintaining prime mental function.
It comes down to a choice: feel shitty or think shitty.
Usually, I choose the former—my brain is too important to my work to risk making one of my kids feel bad because I can’t remember what we talked about the day before or, God forbid, their names—but I can’t deny it’s nice to omit vomiting from my routine. My shower is equally pleasant. I don’t have to use my bath chair a single time, and I even have the energy to brush on a little blush and mascara after I get dressed.
Mom will like that. Not that she cares whether or not I wear makeup, but she gets excited when I look healthy. Even if it’s a lie.
We all know the virus is winning.
No, it’s not. You’re not sick. Wake up, Wren! Please!
I blink at the voice in my head. It’s my voice, but…not mine, too. It’s coming from somewhere far away, another place and time, a place I don’t want to be. It’s a cold, frightened voice from someone who’s running out of hope and options, who’s left behind all comforts of home and is alone in the wilderness.
Not alone. You’re not alone. You have… So much…
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut until the nagging tug at my thoughts fades away.
Auditory hallucinations. I make a note to mention them to my doctor at m
y next checkup and pad down the hall toward the heavenly smell of crisp waffles and warm maple syrup. I turn the corner into the kitchen and see Mom setting the table and Dad just in from the garden, a huge bouquet of roses in his arms, and my throat goes tight.
It’s so good to see them…
So good. Like I haven’t seen them in ages. Like a part of me expected never to see them again.
“Grab forks will you, Wren?” Mom asks. She sets the creamer down, but her smile fades when she glances up to find me standing frozen in the archway. “What is it, baby?” She hurries around the table, reaching for me. “Are you okay? Are you feeling worse? Did the pain in your hips come back?”
I shake my head, swallowing past the lump in my throat as I struggle not to cry. “No, I’m just… I just love you so much.” I fall into her open arms with a laugh that, against my will, turns into a sob.
“Oh, honey, I love you, too.” Mom wraps me up tight, the way she’s done ever since I was a little girl. “More than the sun and the moon and the stars in the sky.”
“Me, too. I don’t know what I’d do without my girls.” Dad comes over, enfolding us both in his even bigger arms, cradling us close to his chest. He smells like the garden—sunshine and herbs and freshly cut flowers—and I pull in a deeper breath, wanting to inhale the comforting smell down into my soul.
This. Home. Family. Safety. Acceptance.
Love without fear that it’s all going to be ripped away.
How did I ever take it for granted?
It’s so precious. The most precious thing in the world.
“I’m so glad to be here,” I say, swiping at the tears on my cheeks as I pull back with an easier laugh. “Sorry to be so emotional.”
“Stop it.” Mom takes my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “I love your big heart. I wouldn’t trade it for a mountain of pancakes.”
“What about waffles?” I narrow my eyes, and Mom laughs, the way I knew she would. She’s been through so much hell in her life that she’s always ready to grab at a piece of heaven.
And what’s more heavenly than laughing with someone you love?
“Well, waffles are another story.” She winks as she motions toward the table. “You sit down, baby. I’ll grab the forks. I can’t wait for you to try the new recipe. These are sweet potato waffles, with honey butter to melt on top and caramelized walnuts, whipped cream, and warm syrup for toppings.”
My stomach growls, and we both laugh again. “That sounds amazing.” I settle in, sighing happily as Dad arranges the roses in the vase in the middle of the table. “And those are so beautiful.”
“It’s a perfect day out there, too,” Dad says, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
I glance over my shoulder at the garden, where the morning sun is kissing every fruit, vegetable, and tightly curled bud, coaxing life out of the ground. “It is. We should go for a walk after breakfast. I have extra energy this morning.”
“Well, of course, you do.” Mom clucks as she sets a fork by my plate and slides into her seat next to me. “It’s the new medicine. Working like a charm.”
“Won’t be long now,” Dad agrees. “And you’ll be good as new.”
“Healthy and strong and able to live the life you’ve always dreamed of,” Mom says, beaming at me. “And then it will be like this every day. Perfect and happy and safe.”
“No more scary things. No more death waiting around the corner,” Dad says, his words sending a shiver up my spine. “Not ever again.”
Death. Around the corner. Waiting.
To spring a trap…
I blink, and visions of a cramped cave and a corpse flash on my closed lids, making my orange juice go rancid on my tongue.
“All our prayers are finally being answered.” Mom sighs, her eyes shining as she reaches for the syrup. “We should celebrate. It’s almost your birthday, Wren. What would you like to do? A day trip to the mountains? Tea at the botanical gardens?”
A garden. There’s something there.
A reminder that I have business that needs tending. My thoughts lunge toward a connection, but they’re a puppy on slick tile, unable to gain traction, spinning out on unsteady paws.
“Wren?” Mom prods when I take too long to respond.
“The mountains,” I say, forcing a smile. “Or we could just stay here. Have a barbecue, maybe? It’s been so long since we’ve had friends over.”
“Perfect.” Mom claps her hands. “You can invite Carrie Ann and your friends from work, and we’ll ask a few couples from church.”
Carrie Ann. Church. The words unlock a door deep inside me, sending heat rushing out. My skin goes hot, and my hands ball into fists.
Carrie Ann is dead, and the Church of Humanity is a lie. This is all a lie.
The me-not-me voice is back, louder now, and when I look at my curled fingers, I’m struck by the sudden certainty that I know what to do with these hands.
These fists.
That I know how to fight, even if I’m too sick to cause much damage.
You’re not sick, but you’re in trouble. It’s time to fight, the voice insists, growing so loud I can barely hear my father as he asks, “Everything okay, Button?”
It’s not okay, and that’s not Dad. Or Mom. And I’m not anything close to safe.
Shoving back my chair, I surge to my feet.
“Wren, my goodness, what’s wrong?” Mom—the thing pretending to be my mom, the dirty trick someone is playing on me—asks, twisting the knife deeper as she adds, “Are you okay, sweetheart? You can tell us anything. You know that, right? And we’ll try to help.”
“Talk to us, baby,” Dad seconds. “We’ll forgive you. No matter what you’ve done.”
“No matter how many sins you’ve committed.” Mom’s blue eyes soften, melting into mine, promising that I can lay down all my burdens and she’ll make everything okay.
That I can confess all the forbidden things I did in those dreams that felt so real this morning and she’ll love me anyway. Her love will banish the confusion and chaos, soothe every hurt, heal every wound. Her love will wrap me up in the safe cocoon of family.
But if I fall back into her arms I won’t be turning into a butterfly. I won’t be turning into anything at all. If I stay, I’ll die.
“I’m sorry,” I say, tears rising in my eyes even though I know these people aren’t real. Still, it hurts to say goodbye, even more than it did that first time, when they drove one way and I went another, worried I would never see them again. But back then I was tucked into the back seat of a car filled with men who had promised to protect me with their lives.
Their faces flash on my mental screen—Kite, Dust, Creedence, and Luke—each one so clear I know they aren’t a lie. They’re real and I have to get back to them. Now. Before it’s too late.
Ignoring Not-mother’s call for me to wait, I turn and run, darting across the kitchen and out the back door into the garden. I cut through the beds, trampling late spring shoots underfoot, crushing a patch of lettuce almost ready for harvest, jumping over the concrete bench my dad placed at the top of the rise to give me the best view of the garden on days when I felt well enough to sit in the sun.
But there is no sun today. Not anymore.
As I run, the sky goes black, and a bolt of lightning streaks a warning across the sky. The thunder comes soon after, rumbling so long and loud that it shakes the ground.
I stumble, falling to my knees not far from the fence. But before I can get back to my feet or make a break over the white picket barrier to the world beyond, vines shoot out of the freshly turned earth, whipping around my wrist and pulling tight, tethering me to the ground.
No…not tethering. Dragging me down. Pulling me under.
“No!” I struggle against them, muscles straining, sweat breaking out on my face, but it’s no use. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been, but I’m no match for Mother Nature.
Lightning flashes again, granting me a clear look at the worms writhing in the soil�
��and then I’m smashing into it face-first.
Squeezing my eyes and mouth shut, I tuck my chin to my chest and fight the urge to scream, fight to keep the dirt out of my nose as I’m pulled deeper, deeper, through a tunnel of tight, damp earth until suddenly I’m birthed into the world on the other side.
And there, I fall.
I fall and fall, tumbling through what seems like an endless gray void, until I can’t tell up from down, here from there, reality from fantasy.
I forget where I was, where I’m going, who I am.
The only thing I know for certain is that I have somewhere to be, people who love me, and that I have to get back to them.
No matter what the cost.
Chapter 2
Creedence
The moment Wren and the monster wearing Sierra’s skin drop out of sight through the floor of the dressing room, the psychic hand shoved up my ass, controlling me like a life-sized man-puppet, vanishes with a wrenching pop.
My spine ripples, my knees buckle, and a strangled cry rips from my throat as my liberated brain writhes with pain inside my skull. The backs of my eyes pulse, and my nose burns like I’ve snorted coke cut with bleach, but there’s no time to humor my traumatized body.
