Revenge: A Shifter Paranormal Romance
Revenge
A Shifter Paranormal Romance
Keira Blackwood
Copyright © 2017 by Keira Blackwood
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.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual persons, places, or events is coincidental. All characters in this story are at least 18 years of age or older.
The cover utilizes stock images licensed by the author. The model(s) depicted have no connection to this work or any other work by the author.
Edited by Liza Street
Contents
Introduction
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Also by Keira Blackwood
Running to the Pack: Chapter One
Running to the Pack: Chapter Two
Pierced: Chapter One
About the Author
Introduction
Revenge. Regret. Redemption.
* * *
Axel
Days of self loathing, self destruction, and unrestrained rage had long passed. Or at least the worst of them. Still, nothing could fix what was broken inside of me. That’s what I thought, until I met her. Now it’s all that I can do to keep up with the stunning raven shifter that mirrors my soul, and captures my heart.
* * *
Penny
Zombie slayer—that’s my life now. Every night since my brother died, I’ve searched for his killer, alone. No one understands, until I meet him. Now we search together: for the truth, for revenge, for redemption.
* * *
The shifter world of Sawtooth Peaks collides with the thrall infested world of Scarlet Harbor in this standalone novella. This story contains steamy shifter romance, action-packed and suspenseful circumstances, scorching love scenes, and a happily ever after ending.
Chapter One
Axel
Three years, five months, and eleven days—the length of time it had taken for me to change. Bar after shitty bar had blurred together in a black pit of self-loathing. The patrons were just like I had been: pitiful, angry, and there to drink away their sorrows. My story was different than theirs. I didn't have a wife to hate, crying children to avoid, or a job that I'd lost.
Down the west coast, then the east, I'd run from my troubles. The longest I'd stayed in one place was a few months in a small town in Texas before I had hit the road once again. Each stop was the same as the last: another biker bar, another place where no one knew my face or my story. But no matter how far I ran, I never forgot what I'd done. I'd hated the man that had murdered my father, and worse, I hated myself after I'd taken my revenge.
Blood for blood hadn't stopped the pain. Instead, it had shown me how far I'd fallen.
I stared at the tiny, tube TV that was mounted above the corner of the bar. It was always some kind of sport, whatever was in season. Colorful cars fought for rank in a clump that resembled a flock of birds. I’d never cared much for racing—the confines of the track, the circling. It reminded me of life—always the same, always a competition for so little, an inch ahead or a dollar more.
The buzz of the engines was barely audible below the voices of drunks betting on the race, arguing over who had the best chance to screw some chick that wasn’t there, and belching. The guy two stools down had an unnatural amount of gas. It wasn’t just the sound that made that clear.
All of it was typical, a slice of drunken, degenerate life. This time it was Louisiana, some small town I hadn't bothered to learn the name of.
“Another?” The bartender smiled at me and leaned forward on her elbows. A third chilled and sweaty longneck swung from her fingertips. The woman was pretty, with brown hair pulled up high, and bright eyes that spoke of her gentle spirit. Fragile. Human.
She was everything that I wasn’t, and the type of person I should avoid. No more destruction in my path—I’d given up one-night stands and carnal comforts. There was only the road, and the search for peace.
“I’m good, thanks,” I said.
“If you say so,” she said with a wink and a shrug of her shoulders. “You know where to find me when you change your mind.”
I wouldn’t. Instead, I set the cash I owed on the counter and walked out.
The hot, humid air was little relief from the stuffy bar. It was nothing like the cool summer nights back home. But that was part of why I was here. Difference. Distance.
Buildings were spread apart along the main street, instead of squished together. Colors varied only between whites, grays, browns and reds. Few lights lined the stony road, allowing the moon to shine brightest of all. It was the first town I’d visited where the stars could be seen from Main Street.
Crickets chirped. Frogs croaked. I was in the middle of nowhere. That suited me fine.
Across the street was a dark building marked General Store. It looked like nothing special, but still I found my attention lingering.
On the otherwise lifeless storefront, the door cracked open. Hidden in shadow, yet impossible to miss, a small woman slipped out. Tight, torn jeans clung to her thin legs. An oversized leather jacket hung from her shoulders. Her short hair was jet black, her flawless skin fair. The scent of shifter was undeniable, under something soft, like dew on a spring morning, that was uniquely her. But what froze me was her eyes. It wasn’t the cliché gorgeousness of them, though the copper shade was unusual. It was the hate that simmered beneath. It was looking through a mirror straight to my soul, to who I had been, to the version of me I never again wanted to be. She stared back, unmoving, from across the street, until she broke the connection and disappeared around the side of the building.
My feet moved on their own, tracing the path of the woman who sparked something inside of me—interest, feeling. I’d thought myself a shell, dead inside. But she drew me with a single glance. I couldn’t say why I followed, only that I was compelled to get a closer look, to ask her name, to stare into her eyes once more.
The scent of shifter faded beneath the reek of decay. The stink of meat that had been left out in the hot sun assailed my nose, while the nearness of it set my hair on end. What the hell was behind the general store?
Feet shuffled. A male voice grunted. Metal clanged. The woman was in trouble. I raced around the corner, and found her cornered by three men in a small, poorly-lit parking lot.
The dim, fluorescent light flickered, shading the lot in a sickly yellow hue.
One turned; the other two did not. The woman backed toward the brick wall behind her, copper eyes squinting as she spared me a short glance. Her heartbeat was even, her face hard. She wasn’t afraid. Did she have a death wish?
“Leave her be,” I said, walking forward. I clenched my fists, ready for the fight that would ensue. My pulse thrummed in anticipation. It had been too long since I’d had a good brawl.
Tall and
thin, quick yet strange—the olive-skinned man charged at me. Or at least it may have been olive in different light. Below the harsh florescent, gray was a better description. Though no amount of light could change the color of his eyes. Bright as Mountain Dew, and just as unnatural, his eyes were fucking neon yellow. I’d never seen anything like it.
I’d expected a fist, for the bastard to try to hit me. What I hadn’t expected was him to come at me teeth first. Well, that, or the rancid odor that seeped from his pores. Like a rabid animal, he tried to bite me, grazing my leather sleeve with his blackened teeth. I knocked him back, and looked to the woman I’d come to help. Were they all like this? Were they trying to bite her?
With a silver flash, steel cut through flesh. She moved like an expert with that blade, slashing without hesitation. Was she an assassin? The man on the right held his throat with one hand, and grabbed at her with the other. The metallic scent of freshly spilled blood filled the air. The woman kicked the bleeder back with a heavy stomp to the chest.
Glrrrarrr. What sounds escaped his throat? He wavered but went back for more.
The second, with a mop of filthy blond hair, dove forward, hands and teeth clamped onto the sleeve of her jacket. Why teeth? What were these men? They sure as hell weren’t shifters.
“Let—” Her voice was low, raspy, and full of heat. “Go.”
The knife jabbed through the neck of the bleeder—a short, balding, middle-aged man. His business suit seemed out of place with the thin guy that rose to his feet and came back at me. T-shirt and jeans. Did they know each other at all?
The woman stabbed through Mop Head’s ear. He too fell.
She rolled both over onto their stomachs and drove the knife up through the bottom of their skulls. She was no victim here. The yellow-eyed bastards weren’t, either. Still, was that really necessary? What the hell was going on?
My fist planted square between Olive-Skin’s yellow eyes. He faltered, caught himself on hands and knees. Then he rose once again.
He didn’t seem winded. Didn’t show any signs of pain, even when his nose buckled beneath my fist.
“Why won’t you stay down?” I growled.
Metal clinked on asphalt. I looked down at the dagger the woman had wielded. It was simple, with a black hilt.
“Zombies,” the woman said.
I held my foot on the bastard’s shoulder, and stared—not at the man on the ground, but at the petite shifter. She appeared both calm and unscathed. Excitement danced in her almond eyes, a look I knew all too well, the thrill of the fight. Her features were sharp, yet delicate. Her lips were thin yet rosy, just like her cheeks. Tiny freckles crossed the narrow bridge of her nose. She was beautiful. It was everything about her, from her delicate frame to the competence she’d shown in the fight. And just like that, I was enthralled, mesmerized, and out of my comfort zone.
“Zombies?” I asked. “Is that some kind of joke?”
She shrugged. “Stab it at the base of the skull or it’ll eat you.” I looked down at the thin, hollow-cheeked man beneath my boot. His nose was crushed, his arm skinned, and his pinky finger bent completely the wrong way. He didn’t seem to care. He eyed me like his next meal, saliva bubbling between rotting teeth. Instead of saying anything, instead of trying to fight, he pulled on my jeans and bit wildly into the air.
“That’s rid—” I looked back up at the woman, just in time to see the impossible.
In a flourish of feathers, the woman transformed.
I stood in awe. A bird. I’d never seen a bird shifter of any sort. Her feathers were as black as her hair, with a glossy shimmer in the moonlight.
As quickly as she’d caught my attention, she was gone. Her wings flapped as she rose above the flickering light, soaring upward and beyond reach. There were no clothes left behind. There had been no cracking of bones—no sign of a shift. Was she truly a shifter at all? Or something more?
Grrllllrrrr.
“Is what she said true?” I asked the struggling man beneath my boot. I could hear a heartbeat, barely there one second, then pounding the next. I wasn’t sure what that meant. But he certainly smelled like death.
A hiss-like sound came from his dry, cracked lips, before his teeth sunk into the rubber of my boot. Zombies weren’t real. But then again, I hadn’t believed in magical crow shifters that took their clothes with them.
“Have a name?” I asked.
Grrrgggfff.
“You don’t look much like a Garfield,” I said. “But, whatever. Now what am I supposed to do with you?”
The shining metal of the dagger caught my eye. It laid next to Garfield’s head. If he’d had any brain left in his skull, would he not have picked up the weapon? His yellow eyes glowed in ravenous hunger.
Zombies—that was going to require some investigation. But no matter what the truth was, this town wasn’t like anywhere else I’d been. Different was exactly what I had been looking for. Even more so, that woman intrigued me. I had to see her again. And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I found myself looking forward instead of back.
Chapter Two
Penny
Eleven months and thirteen days—the amount of time that had passed since I’d watched my brother die. Each morning began like the last, with a hole in my chest and the knowledge that I’d again failed to find his murderer. Just like I had failed to save him.
The night would end the way it always did. I knew it was true, though it changed nothing. Tucking my wings in, I landed on the third-story window sill of the compound. The three-hundred-year-old bricks were cool beneath my talons. The glass pane remained open, just as I’d left it. As expected, no sounds came from within my room. Still, I knew she was there.
Long, sharp toes caught in the lush, cream carpet when I hopped down to the floor. The words played through my head, the ones I had practiced as a child, the ones that belonged only to my constable. Tos. Servitio. Magica facienda. Pinnarum in cineres abit.
Sanctity. Servitude. Secrecy. Feathers to ash.
Wings transformed into sleeves and arms, the human body that ached with exhaustion.
“Hey, Kaylee,” I said, without turning to look at my sister.
“You know why I’m here,” she said.
I slid off Danny’s coat and draped it over the dresser, then dropped my boots at the end of the bed and climbed in. The comforter was soft on my back, and exactly what I needed.
“I wish you would stop,” Kaylee said.
I stared up at the ceiling, at the swirled, white plaster. It was the same thing she said every night.
“I get it,” she said. “I really do. Danny wasn’t just your brother. He was also mine.”
The mattress jostled as my little sister climbed in next to me. She put her head on my shoulder. Her soft, black tresses tickled my arm, but it was the dampness that pulled my heartstrings. I brushed her hair back from her face and looked down at my sister’s red cheeks, streaked with tears.
She looked up at me with her bright blue eyes. “I just can’t lose you, too.”
“I’m fine,” I said, offering what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
“You don’t seem fine,” she said, voice soft. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t keep doing this.”
“Everything’s okay,” I said. “I’m home safe.”
Kaylee’s fingers squeezed my palm. Her hand was soft on mine, warm. “Yeah,” she whispered, as her eyelids drew shut. Slow and even, her chest rose and fell in restful sleep. I wished she hadn’t stayed up.
If only I could promise more. I wished I could tell her that it was over, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t a matter of want. I couldn’t stop. Not until I found him.
His crooked nose was wide, with a break long-healed. His arms were thick, his gut round. Not a single day had passed without those cruel yellow eyes haunting me. Everyone else was moving forward, and they expected me to do the same. None of them had been there. None of them had seen Danny’s face, or heard his screams.
It was the same thing I thought about every night, the same face that tormented me. But when I blinked, something strange happened. It wasn’t the zombie’s face that I saw. It wasn’t a creature that filled my thoughts.
Hard jaw, broad shoulders, and a look I hadn’t seen in town—trouble, the tear-off-your-clothes kind. My thoughts drifted to the shifter from behind the shop. What was he doing there? What was someone like that doing in Corbeau? Why did I care?
I stared at the ceiling, holding on to the sister I wished I could protect from myself, until I drifted off to sleep.
Short hair, brown as pine bark, yet highlighted like a shimmering, golden sun. His jacket was distressed, black leather, a choice that reminded me of my brother. But that was where the resemblance ended. His eyes were like coffee, dark as a shadow in the night. Sharp features and average height set him apart from other wolf shifters that I’d encountered. He was different—not just from the ravens of my constable, but also from other outsiders. There was a sexy, dangerous edge in those eyes. It was mirrored in his stance, in his clothes.
My breath caught, my body pinned beneath his gaze. Anticipation filled me, like his fingers raking over my skin, before we ever touched. I tasted him on my lips—rough, salty, though we hadn’t kissed. There was a promise in the dark, in the set of his jaw, in every step that brought him closer. It was the promise of pleasure, of a night unlike anything I’d ever experienced.