The Longing of Lone Wolves
Also by Lana Pecherczyk
The Deadly Seven
(Paranormal Romance)
Sinner
Envy
Greed
Wrath
Sloth
Gluttony
Lust
Pride
Despair
Fae Guardians
(Fantasy/Paranormal Romance)
The Longing of Lone Wolves
The Solace of Sharp Claws
The Dreams of Broken Kings
Game of Gods
(Romantic Urban Fantasy )
Soul Thing
The Devil Inside
Playing God
Game Over
Game of Gods Box Set
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Copyright © 2020 Lana Pecherczyk
All rights reserved.
ASIN: B0876S6N7W
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © Lana Pecherczyk 2020
Cover design © Lana Pecherczyk 2020
www.lanapecherczyk.com
Contents
Download the Map
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
Chapter 44
Preview of Envy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
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About the Author
Click here to download the Map of Elphyne
Chapter One
Clarke O’Leary woke up yawning. Then the tang of sulfur burned her nose and she sneezed, jolting with a splash.
A splash?
She opened her eyes and blinked until everything came into focus. She lay in shallow warm water. Icy air bit her nose. Tall snow-tipped fir trees crowded her on one side, and on the other, clear blue sky. Blue sky. The shock of it slammed through her.
Where the hell am I?
Because it wasn’t Vegas. At least not the one she knew with the scorched sky and nuclear winter. That Vegas had been quarantined, half-underground and isolated in the futile hope of avoiding radiation drifting across the continent.
Clarke jackknifed up and grasped her head at the giddy onslaught. Her stomach revolted and she leaned to the side to vomit something thick, dark and sluggish. Gross. Moving her eyes hurt. God, everything hurt.
Shifting away from her mess, her fingers hit something rough underwater. Smooth and curved. She pulled out an oxidized Coke can. The letter “C” had been carved into the aluminum. It was just like the can she had drunk from last night… but old. And in water. In the middle of nowhere.
A growing sense of doom settled in her stomach. She noticed more odd things. The metal on her watch had deteriorated and a network of rust covered her bracelet’s brittle charms. She fumbled about the shore, searching for more evidence of… of what, she wasn’t sure… but all she came across was more mud, more strange sulfur smelling water, and more throat-tightening panic.
Where was she?
Why was she there?
She jammed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets.
Calm down, Clarke. Think.
Scrambling back in time, she tried to conjure the last thing she remembered—the long sleep, waking in water—but her brain was as sluggish as the surrounding lake. Tiny warm waves lapped against her legs in a soothing way, as if to say, “It’s okay. Don’t stress. You are where you’re meant to be.”
Think.
She had to reach further back than that. Back to before the sleep. To yesterday. To the end of the world.
She had been in a one room apartment, watching apocalyptic news on a tiny television, drinking soda with two girlfriends—Ada and Laurel—wondering if it would be her last. Knowing it would be her last. The memory solidified in her mind. Laurel wouldn’t stop switching channels, looking for more up-to-date news. Ada had paced beside the couch. And Clarke had scratched her initials into the Coke can. But that was yesterday… wasn’t it?
Chilly air brushed her face and nipped at her skin. This wasn’t her apartment. And she wasn’t in war-torn Vegas. But she was alive.
Clarke checked down the shore. The lake stretched for miles. She glimpsed a cabin hiding in the snow-capped fir trees some distance away. Smoke curled from the chimney until it disappeared in a lazy dance. It looked like something out of a fairytale.
But this was real. Down in the water, her reflection still belonged to the same freckle-faced redheaded grifter. Flushed cheeks. Fever-bright blue eyes. Purple lips and chattering teeth despite the warm water. It was her, Clarke O’Leary, petty thief. Sometimes psychic, sometimes fake. Always a dreamer.
Think, Clarke. Breathe. Remember.
The world had gone crazy. She’d just come home from the casino. With her precognition skills, she could usually feel out when the cards would play her way. Usually. But this particular night, she’d gone home early. The casino had been closed.
Why had the casino been closed?
Because of the war. They’d thought they were safe, that the bombs hadn’t hit Vegas, but it was the fallout they should have worried about. The war came for everyone, and for those it missed, the scorched sky took care of them. Weather patterns changed. Crops wouldn’t grow. Nuclear plants went into meltdown. Around the world tectonic plate movements tore buildings down as the land shifted. They’d tried to continue with normal life for as long as possible, hoping they’d be safe. Until they weren’t.
A wave drew back from her legs like a blanket, exposing threadbare jeans and previously white tennis shoes, now brown and full of holes. She tapped her watch. Dead. Her rusty charm bracelet tinkled, and the matching earrings rocked at her ears. Her father had given her the jewelry. A gift for every important event in her life. A candle charm for her sweet sixteenth. An ice-cream charm for her graduation. The watch when her mother walked out on them. Her father had died just before her eighteenth birthday. Heart attack.
But that was years ago. She shook off the memories and picked at her disintegrating clothes. If this was the outfit she wore yesterday, then why was it falling apart? Why was her bracelet so rusted? And the weird vomit…
Something landed on her lashes and she blinked. Another thing got in her eye. She pushed wet hair from her cheek and trapped it around her ear. The unmistakable flurry of snow floated down to dust her face. Wonder warmed her, and then the memory hit.
She’d stepped outside the apartment because it
had been snowing. In Vegas. That was the last thing she remembered.
Chapter Two
Fifty years of hunting rogue humans had brought Rush to this—peeping at a woman while she bathed in the hot springs of a lake. His lake. He scrubbed his face at the absurdity and stepped out of the forest to see better, but couldn’t keep the scorn from his mind. Him, an ex-Guardian, leering like a teenager.
“What do you think,” he grumbled to the gray wolf next to him. “Does she look good enough to eat?”
For much of the past decade, the scrappy old wolf had been Rush’s constant companion. Him and his pack of snow wolves currently hunting in the surrounding forest. Even though Rush had not shifted into wolf form for decades, the locals still scented him as a kindred spirit and bowed to his energy.
Rush winced. He may not be with the original Nightstalk family, but he’d made a new family. A new pack.
Gray growled and licked his teeth, eyes never leaving the woman, his prize. Their prize. Rush’s curse forbade him to touch another living being, but the wolf at his side was free. The pack helped Rush hunt wayward humans roving into their territory. They were how Rush continued to keep the realm of Elphyne safe, even if his job as a Guardian was finished.
The woman had overlong russet hair. Pale, creamy skin. A delicate neck that drew the eye down to plump breasts stretching her top. She was a beauty like no other, but she would forever be out of reach for someone like him. He tugged at the neck of his fur-lined cape. Despite the snow surrounding him, he cooked.
“Possibly a nymph, playing in the water?” he murmured.
Gray snorted.
Maybe.
She couldn’t see Rush. No one could. The curse took care of that too. So he studied her openly.
She wore strange tattered clothes in a fashion he’d not seen before. Rush had traveled all over Elphyne, even beyond into the forbidden Crystal City where humans killed fae on sight… if they’d been able to see him. But this woman, her clothes were strange. She tugged at her shoes.
A snarl ripped from his throat as a shard of light hit his eyes.
“Metal,” he hissed to Gray. “She’s wearing metal on her wrist.”
His hand moved to his belt and hovered over the bone knife, still bloody from his recent hunt. The knife almost sang as his palm hit the hilt. It wanted out again, and when the woman tucked long red hair behind a small round ear, Rush gave the knife what it wanted. He pulled it out.
She’s human.
Through clenched teeth, he ordered Gray, “Go back to the pack. Wait for the word.”
Gray snuffled in protest.
Damn it. He should have brought his sword Starcleaver. At least with that, he’d have less of a chance at touching her and triggering the pain that came with the curse. Another order was on the tip of his tongue, and then movement near the lake caught his attention. Multiple bodies crept toward the woman from the sides. Two, three… six. Six fae. And—Rush sniffed the air with a throaty snarl—someone he hated more than anything in the world. Thaddeus. His uncle. And now alpha of the Crescent Hollow wolf-shifter pack.
Chapter Three
The howl of a wolf snapped Clarke’s attention to the shadows of the woods. The hairs on her arms lifted. She crawled out further onto the bank, leaving the warm water behind. A feeling wrapped around her chest. The familiar buzzing of premonition. And then… caution. Someone or something watched from the darkness of the woods. The sense of it creeped up her spine and then she knew. Something was hunting her. It was the same as all her premonitions. Good or bad, the sensation she felt in the square of her chest predicted her own future when she saw everyone else’s in full color motion pictures.
Another howl.
Breath caught in her throat, her pulse picked up speed, and she squinted to scan the area for the source of danger.
She found it.
But not in the woods as she’d thought. Crouching, hostile shadows closed in on her. Two, maybe three from each side. To the right, muscular men with white long hair crept toward her. Others encroached from the left. The buzzing in her chest grated with slick bad vibes, just like it had every time Clarke had been around an evil person in her past. These men fit the mold. All of them held weapons—swords, axes, hammers. None were metal, but still looked dangerously fierce. Wooden handles with creamy white blades. She swallowed. Bone. They were made from bone.
Run.
Run!
The only escape was the forest ahead. Ignoring the protest of her stiff body, she bolted. Her feet flew across the sodden shore. Hair whipped behind her, and the wind whispered in its place. “Run faster. They’re coming for you. They’ll eat you alive. Run.”
And then she heard it.
Thudding footsteps behind her. Every step, every clouded breath, was echoed by a deeper, heavier one. Guttural. Powerful. Getting closer. Closer. Almost… Terror filled her, gushing from within. Something brushed against her back, causing her to stagger. She let out a scream. Her cry shook the trees and echoed across the water. Birds took to the air in fright.
Something hit between her shoulder blades, blasting air from her lungs. She launched forward onto hard snow, only inches from the forest’s edge. Hidden sharp things dug into her cold palms as she slid across the ground like she was on a sled. Her hands hit something smooth under the snow and she tried to grasp it, but couldn’t gain purchase. When she stopped, what she saw beneath the snow didn’t make sense. The familiar pattern printed on shiny perspex didn’t belong here. Red. Yellow. Blue. White. It couldn’t be. But it was. One second, that’s all it took, and then her brain clicked. She’d fallen on the Welcome to Las Vegas Sign, cracked and decayed.
Old.
Ancient.
Something heavy landed on her back and jarred her out of her shock. It pressed down with a beastly warning snarl that breathed heat on her neck. Her face squashed into the sign until her nose hurt. She whimpered, struggling and bucking frantically, but the thing on her back was too heavy, too strong. And then she felt it snuffling into her wet hair, breathing her scent in. Clarke froze, petrified. What the hell?
Something soft yet rough explored the ridge of her curved ear, running from top to bottom. Outraged, she pushed the last of her stamina into her limbs, but she only convulsed beneath the immense pressure. She hit her chin. Dizziness blurred her vision.
A deep male voice bloomed hot in her ear. “Don’t move, filthy human.”
A man. Not a monster. Men were made of flesh and blood, not beings of terror and dreams. Men could be fought. Men could be defeated.
“I should kill you right now,” he said and pressed something cold and hard against her neck. It was a knife. She was sure of it. “But I think my soldiers are hungry.”
A chorus of male snickering and boots crunching announced more attackers. The hungry he spoke of wasn’t food. She could almost feel their hostile energy surround her like a living thing. Every instinct in her body screamed that they would hurt her, claim her, destroy her.
Never.
She’d never let Bishop’s boss take her. And she wouldn’t let these men. Clarke gritted her teeth, kicked out and scrambled forward, clawing at the edge of the forest, grasping the dirt and leafy debris for something to hold. Just a little further. Just an inch.
Find a rock. A stone. A piece of the sign.
The male behind her cursed, gripped her ankles and dragged her back with a grunt. She dug into the ground, gouging for purchase, but it was no use. He was strong, and when he flipped her body so she was on her back, she knew why. Her nightmare was real.
A man loomed over her, almost seven foot high. Fur-lined cape. Long silver-white hair tied at the nape. A puckered scar across the hollow of his cheek. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but the menace in his eyes told another story. It was full of age-old cruelty, and when he sneered with salacious knowing, her skin crawled.
“What have we got here?” he drawled.
Shadows pressed in around her. Stag horns protruded
from the head of a stocky man with a longbow strapped over his shoulders. Two men had ram horns curling in their dark, oily hair. They also had cloven feet. And when her gaze shifted back to her captor, she realized one thing linked them all.
Pointed ears.
Tipped with a light dusting of fur.
Was this a costume party? Some kind of weird anime cosplay convention? Even though it was illogical, some part of her mind still tried to send her back to Vegas, to any excuse that made this a dream. But the sign beneath her body told another story. The old can in the lake. Her rusted jewelry…
The scarred one’s ears flattened. He bared vicious teeth that belonged on a wild animal.
Clarke’s fingers curled around snowy dirt, and she threw it in his eyes.
He dodged with a smile that never hit his cold eyes.
The stag-man, sucked his teeth loudly. “I don’t think you should let ‘er get away with that, Faddeus.”
“It’s Thaddeus, you imbecile. Th-th-th. Crimson, save me.” Her captor rolled his eyes, but then his mood changed in an instance. He was on her, flattening her with his powerful body, gripping her chin painfully, forcing her lips to squish like a fish. He made her look into his yellow gaze. “You’ll pay for that, human wench.”