Beyond Secret Worlds: Ten Stories of Paranormal Fantasy and Romance Read online

  The woman paused, then finished, "I'm not gonna hurt you, kid."

  And then Quetzalli turned her back on me and made her way out of sight.

  ***

  "So what're you running from?"

  I nearly dropped the spoon when Quetzalli snuck up behind me. But there was still nourishment to be gleaned from its metal surfaces, so I was careful to snatch the utensil before it hit the ground.

  Gourmet meal this was not, but I still wasn't willing to spill a drop. Not after those twenty nerve-wracking seconds spent hunting soup, spoon, and can opener, the process taking twice as long as it should have since my gaze remained trained on the door the entire time.

  Then, rather than heating my find, I'd carried the congealed glob of salty goo outside to eat where I could scan the horizon for predators. And despite all that effort—and the fact that cold, condensed soup is pretty darn disgusting—I'd gotten so lost in the enjoyment of filling my belly that I hadn't even noticed when my hostess returned.

  Now I jumped to my feet at the same time Quetzalli rolled her eyes and slumped back into the recliner. "Look, kid...."

  "Fen." I wasn't sure why I told her my name. It wasn't like I was still that fresh-faced kid who'd greeted every new shifter with a handshake and a smile during my early days of trying to carve out a place for myself in the cold, hard world. Even at that time, my naive younger self had never offered up any identifying information to strangers. Not my name, not my outpack status, not the fact that I was only part shifter and boasted the world's most half-assed wolf.

  And I quickly became glad of those evasions when sadistic drifters entered my radar. No, this afternoon's alpha hadn't been my first close call, which was why I'd taken to hiding in the woods and hunting at the slaughterhouse rather than continuing to look for a pack worth calling my own.

  We should just go home to Wolfie, my lupine conscience muttered. And, for once, she was right. Our former leader had cobbled together a clan of shifters who wouldn't have fit into any other pack, and they were clearly the only werewolves willing to welcome a halfie like me into their midst.

  But I refused to trot home with my tail between my legs. No, I'd either find another pack, or I'd come up with a way to return as an asset rather than as a hindrance.

  "Look, Fen," Quetzalli corrected herself, breaking into my thoughts. "I've got a mate to look out for. She's sugar and spice and everything nice." The other shifter waved her hand in the air as if making fun of this absent better half, but I could tell from the glint in her eye that she adored her mate. "I need to know what kind of trouble's following in your footsteps."

  I looked down at the feet in question, noticing for the first time that I'd tracked smears of blood across the wooden porch. Even though I'd never given out my name before now, my scent trail was likely to lead the slaughterhouse stranger to my door sooner rather than later.

  The can of soup was empty and I set it down gently on the dirt as I rose to my feet. I felt like an octogenarian, my muscles having solidified into one continuous ache. So much for relaxing in the seeming safety of the strawberry field. "I should go."

  Quetzalli rolled her eyes. "That's not what I'm saying, kid." Apparently, knowing my name made no difference in how she saw me. "What I'm saying is—knowledge is power. So spill."

  ***

  I told her everything. I started with the alpha who'd tried to drug me, a danger that Quetzalli brushed off with a roll of her expressive eyes. She seemed confident that she could handle the drifter who she'd dubbed "Big Mac."

  Then, when my hostess brought out a second serving of soup, this one watered down and heated up on the stove while I waited outside, I spewed forth the long tale of my own stupidity. How I'd left a perfect found family through childish mortification when my advances had been rejected by the pack leader. How I yearned every day to return home and how I knew I'd be welcomed with open arms...but my pride kept me wandering in outpack territory.

  How I was still in love with an alpha eleven years my senior who had looked at me with kind, brotherly eyes as I tried to pull his head down for a kiss. "You're one of my best friends," he'd told me, "But you're not my mate." Wolfie evidently thought I was a kid with a crush, and he'd been so careful not to give me the wrong impression of his own feelings in the days that followed. Yes, he'd been so careful that I'd had to leave in order to avoid the pity that seemed to perpetually drift in the depths of his beautiful eyes.

  "He's right, you know," Quetzalli said when my words finally wound down. "You're not in love with him."

  "He didn't say that," I shot back. "He said he wasn't in love with me. There's a difference."

  A kinder woman would have patted me on the back and said, "Oh, you poor dear, of course you're right." But I found Quetzalli's eye roll more heartening. "It's what he meant," she countered. "But, whatever. You have to learn these things on your own. It's a tough row to hoe being a strong woman shifter, and I'm afraid there aren't any shortcuts to get where you're going."

  Now I was the one tempted to roll my eyes. A strong woman shifter? Quetzalli met that description for sure. Being a lesbian werewolf wasn't going to fly in 99% of the packs out there. No wonder she and her mate were wandering alone in the human world. I knew firsthand how hard outpack life could be, and the fact Quetzalli was alive at all was a testament to her spunk.

  But I wasn't any kind of strong shifter. Case in point—my own wolf was so quiescent that I hadn't heard a peep out of her this entire time. She should have been hovering beneath my skin as I listened for intruders in the kitchen, but instead she'd easily relinquished control to my human brain as soon as we'd shed our fur. The idea that suffering from a hearty bout of unrequited love was going to toughen me up seemed laughable.

  I opened my mouth to tell Quetzalli as much. But then a woman who could only be her mate came trotting out of the forest naked, her own wolf clearly stifled only seconds before.

  "There's a strange alpha heading this way," she called toward us. "And he doesn't smell good."

  ***

  I found myself in charge of yanking clothes off the line while Quetzalli and her partner stuffed their ancient sedan with the few items of value they'd unpacked during their stay in strawberry valley.

  "What do you mean he doesn't smell good?" the former asked as she passed by with a cardboard box of kitchen staples hefted on one shoulder. I'd felt bad for gulping down so much of her soup when her cupboards were nearly bare, but now I was glad there was less to pack. The sooner their possessions were stashed away, the sooner the two could make tracks out of here. At least then I wouldn't be responsible for bringing down doom on anyone but myself.

  Because while I'd been able to laugh about "Big Mac" when Quetzalli had been looking all tough and strong beside me, I felt much less hopeful now. Not with the alpha nearly breathing down our necks and causing my hostess to hover protectively around her sugar-and-spice mate.

  Perhaps I should try to lead the alpha away? But one glance at Quetzalli working as fast as she could to stuff her box into the backseat changed my mind. No, I'd see this out and make sure the two women were safely on the road before the stranger arrived.

  "He smelled....I don't know...not quite in his right mind," Quetzalli's mate answered. Galena was the same age as her partner, but softer and more feminine, and she'd given me a quick hug after our brief introduction. I found myself thinking that it was a good thing Galena had found a tough woman shifter to team up with, because otherwise she would have been trampled by the patriarchal, over-bearing males who made up the average werewolf pack.

  Trampled just like I would be when these two drove off and left me behind. My heart rate sped up and I forced myself to breathe instead of gasp.

  "But he's on foot, right?" Quetzalli prodded. "So he can't follow our car."

  "Yeah, and I think that's everything." Galena slammed the trunk shut and headed toward the driver's seat.

  This is it. My muscles tensed, ready to run as soon as the pair was s
afely out of sight. But I forced myself to wait, the honor Wolfie had instilled in me requiring that I see their taillights in the distance before I took to my heels.

  But they were taking forever to get in the car. And the alpha had to be drawing closer by the second. Why weren't my hostesses gone yet?

  Cocking my head to one side, I noted that both women were now looking at me quizzically. In response, my eyes flicked over the contents of the packed vehicle. I'd already stowed the full laundry basket in the back seat, so what could they be waiting for?

  Spreading my hands out questioningly, I asked more than said, "I'm sorry?"

  In what seemed to be her habitual response to my stupidity, Quetzalli rolled her eyes. "We're waiting for you to get in the car," she said, enunciating clearly.

  "But where are you going?" Not that it mattered. If I was invited, I would totally hop this ride away from Big Mac. Suiting actions to thoughts, I slipped into the eighteen inches of empty space in the back seat and rooted around for my seatbelt.

  "Well, I guess that's up to you," Quetzalli answered as she slammed her own door shut. "Personally, I like the sound of this pack you left behind. And I think any alpha would be grateful if an absent member showed up bringing along such strong and beautiful women as Galena and myself."

  Via the rear-view mirror, I could see Galena shooting her mate a quick surprised glance. She'd missed out on story time and was clearly unsure of the idea of joining a shifter clan sight unseen.

  And yet, the gentler woman was willing to trust her mate's judgment. Not because of some submissive shifter bullshit either. No, Galena trusted Quetzalli to have her back at all times, and clearly Quetzalli trusted her mate not to make a ruckus about the lightning-fast decision either.

  So after only a second of thought, Galena smiled at her mate and then met my eyes in the mirror. We'd pulled up to where the gravel drive merged with a highway and I could tell from the road signs in the distance that we had a choice before us—turn right toward Wolfie's pack or left back into the unknown. "Which way?" she asked.

  The real question was, could I rejoin my old clan without following their pack leader around like a love-sick puppy dog? Abruptly, I realized that the answer was a resounding yes.

  Because Quetzalli had nailed my feelings for Wolfie perfectly. Sure, my wolf thought our previous alpha could protect us from all comers (and she was probably right). And we also agreed that he was smoking hot. (That one was a definite yes.) And yet...the bond that seemed to tether Galena and Quetzalli together was distinctly lacking in Wolfie's and my relationship, on my end as well as on his.

  Which meant that I wasn't in love with my former pack leader. I was simply suffering from a girlhood crush, just as his pitying eyes had told me. And just as the straight-shooter Quetzalli had confirmed.

  In other words, it was high time to stop running away from my weaknesses so I could start running toward my strengths.

  The realization burst through my mind in the blink of an eye, but the delay was still long enough to allow the tenacious alpha to emerge into view behind us. He was galloping flat out and I knew I had mere seconds before he'd be pounding on the hood of our car in human form.

  Quetzalli was equally aware of the impending danger. But she'd clearly chosen to ignore Big Mac rather than pushing me into a decision I wasn't yet ready to make.

  Only I was ready to choose the course of Quetzalli's and Galena's futures, and of my own as well. "Take a right," I answered firmly, leading us back toward the pack that I knew would welcome us all into the fold like long-lost friends.

  The relief I felt proved that I'd made the right decision. And as we turned, I resolved to incorporate Quetzalli's wisdom into other parts of my life as well. My wolf might be weak, but my human half could surely learn to make up for her shortcomings. In fact, if I put my mind to it, someday I might become as strong as the unique shifter riding in front of me.

  Someday, I resolved, I too will be as tough as nails.

  About the Author

  Aimee Easterling is the author of the popular Wolf Rampant trilogy, which revolves around the exploits of an unusual pack werewolves. The adventure begins with Shiftless (which is included in the Secret Worlds box set) and continues with Pack Princess and Alpha Ascendant. All three novels follow a shifter who has spent so long suppressing her wolf that she's forgotten how to change forms. In addition, a spinoff serial beginning with Bloodling Wolf can be read at any time in the series. Finally, a new series featuring Fen is due to release in early 2016.

  Be sure to sign up for Aimee's email list at http://forms.aweber.com/form/35/528967935.htm if you'd like to be the first to hear about new releases, to find out when her books are free or on sale, and to download a free copy of Bloodling Wolf. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, and spreading the word!

  Dark Intent

  A Between Short Story

  by Lisa Swallow

  Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Swallow.

  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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Some find the blood the worst to deal with. Others recoil at the smell of death. The pain disturbs me. Every time.

  Crumpled metal, the smell of burnt rubber, two bodies trapped. The vertical sheet of rain soaking my suit partly explains how the car hit the tree, but when I step closer I know the weather conditions aren’t the only reason for the accident. I arrived, as instructed, for one soul. So why am I looking at two dying people?

  In my confusion, I miss the dark shadow emerging from the trees but when I see her I know who she is. The female figure descends on the car and pulls the jagged metal from what was once the passenger door. The darkness around her spreads into the night as she drags one of the occupants onto the road. My anger spikes at her intrusion.

  Dark Reaper. Demon. Stealing a soul.

  She is the reason there are two people dying at the scene. I’m here to help across the soul of the person whose pre-destined time has ended, but nobody is here to help the other person whose life has been interrupted by the demon. Ending a human life in this way is the only time the Dark can take souls—the demons orchestrated the accident tonight to bring death.

  Tonight, one soul will pass Over safely, and one will be taken to Hell.

  I can only help the one I’m told to. I cross to the figure inside the car, the guy with metal and glass spearing his body. The young man’s pain washes over me, as if he pours his suffering into my body. I’m here. He looks at me with glazed eyes, hardly registering my presence. Sometimes people hover on the line between life and death, adding urgency to our work. Other times, like this, they fade before our eyes.

  Reaching out, I’m millimetres from touching the man’s head when the scream arrests me. Not from him, but the figure in the road. I’ve heard them scream before, through pain and fear, but this is different. A protest. Refusal.

  A fight.

  How can somebody weak from oncoming death scream like this?

  Once before, I shared two deaths with a Dark. The situation was different, a murder-suicide between lovers. I kept my head down and fulfilled my role. The Dark arrived to steal the soul from the woman, whose painful death they arranged. Their action was abhorrent, and against nature, but not my concern. On that night, I collected the man’s soul, and left.

  Here and now, something about the scream pierces my heart and the marks on my arm burn. I glance down at the intricate black pattern on my wrist, mapped along my forearm towards my bicep. A mark for every soul I’ve helped Over. My daily reminder that one day the path of souls will reach my heart and the final one I collect won’t cross. Her soul will meet mine, destined to be a part of me.

  I break away from the man whose life dulls in the car’s darkness and step back into the icy rain pouring
onto the nightmare. The streetlight glows orange through the rain, across the Dark who is hunched over the second broken figure.

  Stark. Unnatural. Nobody should die like this.

  The girl’s hair splays across the pool gathering around her body; in the darkness it’s impossible to tell how much is blood and how much is water. As I approach, the metallic smell assaults me, familiar and sickening. She’s lost a lot of blood but she clings to her life.

  The scream pierces the eerie silence again and I’m suddenly aware her scream is in my mind, not the air around. The figure beneath the Dark can’t move but she fights; I hear her struggle, feel her will to survive.

  I feel her.

  The Dark keels over as I slam myself into her. In an instant the demon is upright, yellow eyes burning in fury as she lashes out in my direction. I duck and the demon’s hand grazes my cheek, sharp nails tearing my skin.

  “Take yours, I will take mine,” she hisses.

  The Dark returns her hands to the girl’s chest, who whispers words I can’t make out through her shallow breathing. My duty is to help the man to safety now his allotted time is up but, when the girl turns her head, I no longer care.

  She sees me, eyes widening. A flash of pain lances through my forehead, spearing into the recesses of my mind. I’ve seen this girl before in my sleep and in waking dreams.

  In my future.

  Whoever she is, all that matters is saving her soul from Hell.

  I launch myself at the Dark again, and knock her to the ground. She yells back at me, breaking contact with the girl. The girl sucks in a breath, the sound echoing around, and the Dark screams at me again. What do I do? How do I stop this? The need to banish this demon overwhelms. I don’t give a crap that the man I’m assigned to is taking his last breath while the girl regains hers.

  The Dark stares back at me, lip curling as she mocks me. “You screwed up.”