Wolves' Bane

By Angela Addams

Marked as a Huntress, Morgan Stills has been thrust into an ancient feud, one that will pit werewolf against Hunter. Her choice? Pick up a sword, or die. But picking up a sword means fulfilling her destiny to kill the one man she can’t live without.

Caleb was born for one thing and one thing alone: follow the burning of his tattoo to find and protect his fated mate and Huntress. But how is he supposed to protect her when she’s just as determined to fulfill her own destiny—killing him.

Each story in The Order of the Wolf Series is standalone story that can be enjoyed in any order.
Series Order:
Book #1: Cursed
Book #1.5: Wolf Slayer
Book #2: Wolves’ Bane
Book #3: Spell Weaver
Book #3.5: Mayhem
Book #4: Valiant Heart
Book #5: Beast Rising

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Jul 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640632035

Angela Addams

Angela Addams is an author of many naughty things. She believes that the written word is an amazing tool for crafting the most erotic of scenarios and likes telling stories about normal people getting down and dirty and falling in love. Enthralled by the paranormal at an early age, Angela also spends a lot of her time thinking up new story ideas that involve supernatural creatures in everyday situations. She is an avid tattoo collector, a total book hoarder, and loves anything covered in chocolate…except for bugs. She lives in Ontario, Canada in an old, creaky house, with her husband, children and four moody cats.

Book preview

Chapter One

Predictions

It seemed like a good idea at the time. At least that was what I kept telling myself as I scanned the ghoulish interior of the psychic’s tent and stifled yet another shiver. Sure, ten bucks for a reading, greeeaaat idea! I shifted in the uncomfortable wooden chair, my uneasiness growing as the smell of some pungent herb assaulted my nose.

I eyed the jars that ran along one of the tent’s lopsided shelves, wondering if there was something dead—or deadly—pickling in each of them, imagining that I could see an eyeball pressed against the cloudy glass of one of them. My stomach clenched at the thought. Get a grip, you wuss. I blew out a long breath and ran my fingers through my hair. This was definitely one of the more elaborately decorated psychic spaces I’d encountered. So what if the place was creepy?

I’m going to kill Rachel, I muttered as I pulled my jacket tight around my waist. I was the worst person to be sitting in a psychic’s tent. Thanks to my crazy drunk of a mother, I was certifiably superstitious and a self-admitted gullible dope when it came to the all-knowing fortune-telling scams.

And yet, even knowing this, I didn’t dare get up and leave. I couldn’t walk away, not when there was a chance that this might be the one psychic who got it right—who could tell me what I needed to do to fix my life, get back on track with my grad work, find love, and become a whole person again.

Um, excuse me? Ma’am? Miss…uh…Mistress Fiona? I said as I craned my neck, trying to see beyond the back panels of the tent. I knew there was someone in there. An old, gruff-sounding, disembodied voice had bellowed for me to take a seat when I’d first come in. If you’re too busy, I can always come back.

Nonsense. The word came from right behind me.

I spun on my chair to find an impossibly short woman standing at the opening of the tent, incandescent blue eyes and luxurious long locks of dark curls making her look like some kind of fairy.

I thought… I stumbled for some words. I could have sworn the voice I’d heard earlier had come from the back of the tent. Now this beautiful, little woman was standing between the open panels at the front, the sparkling lights of the carnival games and rides cascading over her olive skin with a shimmering glow. Mistress Fiona?

The little woman nodded, her generous mouth lifting into a bewitching smile. I am.

She moved closer to me, the panels of the tent closing behind her, deadening the thudding sounds of the carnival rides and music. I closed my eyes and drew an involuntary, deep breath. Fiona’s rich, warm fragrance enveloped me, easing my tension.

You have come for a reading. Her words were accented with thickly laced French undertones.

I nodded, snapping my eyes open and found Fiona had somehow soundlessly moved to the other side of the tent and was now seated opposite me. A wave of excitement swept through me, fluttering in my stomach as I eyed the woman with a mixture of curiosity and nervous expectation.

My friend thought it would be fun, I blurted out. It was the same friend who’d refused to enter the tent herself, citing the age-old excuse of heebie-jeebies, though I didn’t tell Fiona that.

Fun? The woman narrowed her eyes. Is this a joke to you?

I flinched. No, of course not, I take this very seriously. Too seriously. With that sudden moment of clarity, uncertainty slipped in. I’d spent hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars on psychic, palm, tarot, whatever, readings—anything and everything that would allow me a supposed glimpse into the future. Perhaps it was time to snap out of it, to accept the unpredictability of life, choose reality over superstition for once and get some prescription drugs to help me out of the slump I’d been in for so long.

Yes, that’s what I need to do, get up and leave. This is a foolish waste of time.

I should leave. With my mind made up, I tried to push my chair back but found myself stuck as it snagged on the carpet.

Fiona’s hand shot out, capturing my wrist and pulling me forward so that I almost fell across the table. No! Her intense gaze bore into mine. "You must stay. I must do your reading."

Startled, I tried to pull my hand back, a thick lump of fear clogging my throat, preventing me from crying out to my friend. Fiona’s grip was strong. Please…let me go! I pleaded.

Her eyes lost their hard glare, and she relaxed her hold on my wrist as she gently began to stroke the lines etched in my palm.

"No, my dear. Don’t be frightened. I didn’t mean to startle you. Please stay. I have much to tell you. I will make it worth your time and—she motioned to the small jar filled with cash on the side of the table—your money."

"You have information for me? Knowing I was being baited but unable to battle the thrall, I swallowed slowly and nodded. How much?"

Fiona’s smile widened. Only twenty dollars, my dear.

I frowned. But your sign said— The grip on my wrist tightened, and Fiona’s sharp nails scraped on my palm. Ouch, okay, okay. Twenty, fine. With my free hand, I dug into my pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty, then shoved it into the jar with a frustrated sigh. It’s not like I hadn’t paid hundreds of dollars already on psychic readings over the years. What’s twenty dollars more?

Ahhh, okay. Fiona’s grip loosened once again as she slid her eyes closed and slowly began to trace circles with the pads of her fingers over my upturned palm.

This is different. Different but also nice—tickling me, sending tendrils of pleasure up my arm almost to my neck, disarming me and somehow easing the fear and frustration.

After a few more swirls of Fiona’s fingers, I closed my eyes too, reveling in the strange intimacy of a psychic caressing my flesh. The sensation slowly began to trail up my forearm, sending both goose bumps and tingles all the way to my scalp. A soothing kind of dizziness washed over me.

I wanted to open my eyes, to see what the psychic was doing, but found that desire fleeting. My mind became unfocused, as if I was drifting into a darkened room, my body sliding onto a soft, down-filled mattress, my limbs heavy and my eyes so firmly shut I didn’t think it would be possible to open them. So why try?

You have been living in a world of sadness. Fiona’s voice echoed in my mind, so light it was almost a whisper as her fingers continued to dance across my skin. You have been living without really living. You lost something, something important.

I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly parched. Yes, I croaked. Sorrow clenched my heart, reminding me why I hadn’t ventured out to be with friends for so long.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to love me. I gave him all of myself, and he threw it away.

As if reading my thoughts, Fiona sighed deeply. Yes, a common tale of sadness, I’m afraid. Young girls fall into this trap of heartbreak. I see it often enough. The swirl of her fingers laced back down my arm, centering once again on my palm. But there’s more to it than that. She sighed again. Do not be distressed by your past failures at love—there is only one man for you and he is coming. Oh, yes, he’s coming to claim you.

A shot of excitement licked down my spine—this was what I craved, this was the kind of portent I so desperately wanted.

What does he look like? How will I know he’s the one for me?

There will be a battle for your affection—two men who will want you more than anything. Your destinies are entwined.

Two men! I gasped.

Yes, both capable of much passion—both demanding different things from you. You must choose which is the right one for you, the one who will be the love of your life.

How will I know? I frowned, a weight descending over me. What if I make the wrong choice?

When several heartbeats passed without Fiona uttering a sound, the weight turned into a strong sense of foreboding. I snapped my eyes open to see Fiona’s beautiful face pulled into a tight grimace, her eyes closed and her brow furrowed with concentration. With one hand, she held my wrist tightly. With the other, she continued her circles, using her nails to scratch along my palm.

Ouch, that’s starting to hurt. I tried once again to pull my hand away, but Fiona’s grip was like steel. Fiona, let go!

But she seemed to be caught up in some kind of trance, her body swaying, her lips moving in silent speech. My eyes grew wide and my stomach lurched. The room got darker, the lanterns grew dimmer. What the hell is going on? The chill was back, gripping me fiercely as I tugged on my arm, increasingly frantic for escape.

And then Fiona gasped, her skin flushed as she slowly opened her eyes. Her look was haunted.

I instantly ceased my struggling to stare at her.

The hunter seeks you. Your life is in danger. Her voice was gruff, aged, her eyes vacant as if she was lost in her own world, not really seeing me, yet staring right at me.

Her words sounded like a death sentence. I felt the blood drain from my face as I raised my free hand to cover my mouth. Dread washed over me. What?

You are being hunted. Beware of the beast. He comes for you.

Tears welled in Fiona’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She did nothing to stop them as she uttered her final foretelling of doom.

You are marked for death.

Chapter Two

Hunted

I yanked at my hand and finally broke free, the momentum pushing me back so hard my chair almost toppled over. I stumbled to stand, my body shaking, my legs weak.

"No! You can’t say that kind of stuff—you can’t talk about death like that!" I bolted through the closed tent panels, my mind reeling at the bizarre words that kept repeating in my head.

You are marked for death.

The humid night air assaulted me when I exited, sucking my breath away. I panted as I tried desperately to get my heart to slow and my nerves to calm. That woman was crazy. No psychic in their right mind would give a prediction like that. Who would want to know something so dreadful? I stumbled a few paces away, then scanned the noisy fair grounds, the flashing lights and yelps of pleasure doing nothing to relax me.

Where’s Rachel? She said she’d wait right outside the tent.

Someone jostled me and I turned, expecting to see my friend and ready to blast her for making me venture outside of the safety of my home, but strangers surrounded me. I spun around, disoriented and lost in the hectic movement of the crowd and enveloped by the loud, claustrophobic noise.

I squinted, raising my hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the carnival lights. My awareness sharpened as the noise truly became clear. Screaming. But not the usual, happy reveler type of screaming. No, this was more like screams of terror. I turned again, scanning the crowd that continued to bump and push past me. This wasn’t a slow moving group of partiers. This was a panicked exodus. All of these people were running away from something. And there I stood, dumb and still, being pushed and shoved, lucky to be standing at all.

What the eff is going on? I whispered, narrowing my eyes into the darkness beyond the carnival lights as the last of the group moved past, ignoring my unmoving form. I should be running too. But confusion rooted me in place. The carnival sounds seemed to have stopped, the only noise coming from the people who’d already escaped, their screams echoing behind me.

An eerie feeling of disquiet settled over me—a sense of being watched.

In the distance, glowing orbs blinked into existence, twin yellow bulbs floating in the darkness that surrounded the outer boundaries of the carnival. I narrowed my vision even more, until I locked onto those two bright beacons. I took a hesitant step forward, then another, all the while staring in confusion, my mind puzzled, reason fleeing.

I shivered. The orbs matched my movement. For every step I took forward, they did the same, until finally as I lowered my hand from my brow, the pulsing lights of the carnival revealed what the orbs truly were.

My scream remained trapped in my throat as I jerked backward, stumbling before my body tensed and my legs locked. I wanted to run but found myself standing, foolishly still once again—this time frozen by fear—my gaze riveted on the gigantic wolf moving closer to me.

Vomit surged with my fright, a disgusting lump in my throat that I struggled to control.

The wolf’s yellow eyes glared at me, its teeth bared as it sniffed the air, and then licked its long tongue across its nose.

I didn’t know much about wolves, but I knew enough to guess that if I spun and ran, the beast would be on me in seconds. The thing was so huge its head was higher than my waist, and I was a tall girl. I’d never seen a dog, even the big breeds, who matched this animal in size.

The wolf regarded me for a moment longer before it raised its monstrous head and howled into the night.

Full-blown terror slammed into me as the wolf’s cry was echoed by another in the distance, and then another, and another. I jerked my gaze to the tree line surrounding the carnival and I knew, even if I couldn’t see them, the wolf had a pack. And he had just called them for dinner.

I swiveled my gaze back to the wolf, startled to find it had moved even closer to me, it now stood less than a few feet away. The smell of its rank breath as it puffed air from its body was made worse by the constant rolling of its tongue along its snout, which coated its muzzle in slime. I started to take a step back—one foot raised, just a tiny movement—and the wolf growled, baring its impossibly large fangs, snarling until I placed my foot back on the ground.

In a crazy moment of desperation, I raised my hands in front of me.

Maybe it just wants to smell me, and then it’ll leave me alone.

The psychic’s words flashed through my mind. You are marked for death.

Feeling like a fool, I pulled my hands back and wrapped my arms around myself.

The wolf regarded me, its head cocked as if studying my behavior. Something flashed across its eyes—something I couldn’t quite explain, an intelligence that made me feel all the more vulnerable. It took another step in my direction and then awkwardly lurched backward and raised itself onto its hind legs.

My eyes flew open wide, the strangeness of the situation momentarily dispelling my fear. I was shocked even more when the creature moved toward me with a grace that suggested it walked on its hind legs regularly. I choked on a hysterical kind of giggle. This had to be some kind of prank, a trained animal that the carnival owned. Maybe the wolf had escaped from its cage. My heart thudded painfully as I prayed some trainer would come and call his pet off.

Beware of the beast. He comes for you.

It moved closer, its fangs flashing in a silent growl. I forced myself to swallow the lump in my throat, struggling not to sob, not to beg for my life, all thoughts of laughing gone. I knew that there was no trainer. I knew that no one would come to my rescue. I slid my eyes closed, unable to face the hideous monster glaring down at me.

I felt its horridly hot breath against my skin, smelled the rancid scent of decaying meat caught in its teeth, could almost feel its tongue upon my flesh as it licked its snout again and again.

For once, a psychic was right. I’m going to die.

You are mine.

Huh? My eyes flew open as disbelief and confusion rushed through me. The beast stood looking down at me, its eyes showing that same intelligence I’d had a fleeting glimpse of moments before. Human intelligence.

Holy shit!

You are mine, the wolf repeated, its garbled words almost unintelligible, slurring like a drunk as he sprayed my face with spittle. You are my bride. He gave a rough laugh, almost like a bark. I will claim you.

My already racing heart kicked into a frenzy, fight or flight instinct making my knees wobble. What the eff? I struggled to speak, to untangle my tongue and make some sense of the situation. Talking wolves. Wolves that stood on two legs, walked and talked.

I must be dreaming, I murmured, dizzy all of a sudden. My vision wavered. This had to be a dream. I was probably still in Fiona’s tent, dead asleep.

No dream, Morgan.

I startled violently at the use of my name, and snapped out of my frozen state. I took a stumbling step back only to have the beast follow me once more. Oh god.

No escape. He growled. You are mine.

I turned my head, the smell of the wolf’s breath almost unbearable to my senses, searching for a way to escape, tears burning my eyes. Much to my horror, the wolf raised its paws and gripped either side of my face, its long claws pressing into my flesh—threatening to break the skin, forcing me to look at him again.

Submit to me, he ordered.

As I opened my mouth to speak, another sound reached my ears. Boots on gravel. The sound of someone running, someone coming closer. Hope trickled through my paralyzing fear.

The wolf turned its massive head away, looking toward the sound, releasing my face. His eyes widened with shock or recognition, and I turned to see what he was looking at.

But all I saw was black.

Chapter Three

The Prophesy

When Caleb heard the call of the wolf, his gut bottomed out. He had a matter of minutes to find her. He pumped his legs faster, relying on instinct to locate the Huntress. If she died, if he failed…well, that just wasn’t an option.

Not this time. Not his Huntress.

He had been chosen for this night, and he would get to her first.

The wolves were near, closing in, and she was there. Her scent sang to him, her fear torqueing his own a millionfold. She had every right to be terrified—if the wolf got to her first, she was as good as dead.

The mark of the beast that etched Cal’s forearm burned with her proximity. The prophecy had, for once, been clear and non-cryptic—she would be at this fair on this night, and he would have only moments to save her life.

Cal pulled the cloak from his backpack as he ran. He pushed himself faster, tossing the bag aside once the cloak was free, his gaze darting, searching for a lone woman standing, frightened, with a beast breathing down her neck, ready to strike.

He narrowed his eyes. In the distance, on the outermost edge of the carnival’s borders, near the dark forest that surrounded it, there she stood. The beast’s paws cradling her head—touching what belonged to him. Anger and possessive rage gripped Cal. She is mine.

He ran toward her, opening the cloak and bellowing his fury. Seconds later, his men returned his call, their own shouts echoing from all around him. The wolf turned its dirty yellow glare in his direction seconds before Cal jumped. He slammed into her with more force than he’d intended but was relieved that the momentum pushed her out of the beast’s grasp as he enveloped her in the cloak.

The roar of rage that followed was like an icy hand gripping his heart. With the Huntress secure in the cloak, the beast would not be able to see or find her. She was safe so long as she wore it. It would disorient the pack enough to give Cal a chance to run with her, because even though she was invisible to them, he was not. Fleeing was the only sure way for her to live.

Cal hoisted her up, tightening his grip as he heaved her over his shoulder. When she started to struggle, he locked her legs in place against his chest. She may not like it, but he was determined to get her to safety, to protect what was his—a thought that had him itching for a little wolfie ass-kicking. Although he couldn’t actually kill the beasts—only the Huntresses could do that—he could leave his mark, and for touching his woman… Yeah, he’d be very happy to embed his blade in ol’ Lazarus’s gut. Shoving that thought aside and with his men falling in to cover them, Cal turned on his heel and ran in the opposite direction, ignoring the instinct to fight in favor of securing the Huntress until they could get her back to the mansion.

Zigzagging at breakneck speed through the maze of tents, trailers and carnival rides was a good way to lose any wolves that dared follow him, but it was also an excellent way to get lost. At least his Huntress wasn’t battling him. Her body moved and swayed with his as he ran. Although it made for an easier trek, her docility was a little disappointing. He had hoped his Huntress would have a little more fire in her.

Cal skidded to a halt when he reached a dead end, cursing at his lousy sense of direction. A peninsula of trees that jutted from the forest loomed before him. As tempting as the notion was, he could just make out their vehicles on the other side of the small stretch of foliage, he couldn’t go in there, not with her anyway. The forest belonged to the beasts.

As if to second that conviction, a wolf called, its eerie howl far too close for his liking. Just as he’d feared, at least one of the pack had broken away from the fight. He needed to get the Huntress to safety, and it would be easier to do if she was running on her own two legs.

He moved back, away from the forest and around one of the carnival trailers, sweeping his gaze over every potential hiding place. Once he was satisfied that nothing lurked in the shadows, he gripped her waist and made ready to lower her from his shoulder when the scraping sound of claws on gravel touched his ears. Cal froze and slowly turned, adjusting the Huntress’s weight in case he had to run again. Peering around the trailer, he caught sight of a lone wolf venturing into the carnival grounds and heading away from them. It was a momentary reprieve. It wouldn’t take the beast long to track his scent. He had no choice. It was time to fight.

Cal moved deeper into the shadows, traveling a few more steps down the length of the trailer before lowering the Huntress as gently as he could, more intent on unsheathing his sword than worrying about whether or not she got a few bruises. The second her body hit the ground, she began grunting and cursing, clearly desperate to get herself out of the cloak. Panic flared as he quickly glanced over his shoulder, half expecting the beast to beeline right for them with all the noise she was making. With a rough curse of his own, Caleb placed his sword on the ground next to him and struggled to release her from the folds of the cloth, cursing even more when he became tangled in her frenzy to be free.

Will you stay still? he barked, his frustration growing. "I’m trying to get you out of