Hyena Queen: The Legend of Synthia Rowley, #1

By Ann Mayburn

My name is Synthia Rowley, and so far I really suck at saving the world.

  I'm a latent shifter, a human that randomly became a hyena Queen. Crazy, right? You have no idea. When I turned twenty-five some magical chastity belt that had been completely blocking my sex drive snapped. One minute I was the ultimate shy science dork, the next I had curves that kill and a libido that won't quit.
 
  Good thing, 'cause I'm supposed to have four husbands.

  Yep, four. I'm destined to marry them all and they were all born to love me and only me. My own little harem. Here comes the really insane part. My husbands? The four men that I'll be mated to for the rest of my life? They were born female and my pheromones will turn them into men. You heard me right, my hyena Queen pheromones will literally change my mates from women, into hulked out sexy studs. But if I don't find and transform my mates, and soon, my world and everyone in it will be slaughtered by demons from a different dimension.

  Good times.

Author's Note; This book is for readers with an open heart and mind, and is the first in an ongoing series. No cliffy, but a HFN ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Mayburn
• Release date: Jan 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393197010

Ann Mayburn

Ann is Queen of the Castle to her wonderful husband and three sons in the mountains of West Virginia. In her past lives she's been an Import Broker, a Communications Specialist, a US Navy Civilian Contractor, a Bartender/Waitress, and an actor at the Michigan Renaissance Festival. She also spent a summer touring with the Grateful Dead-though she will deny to her children that it ever happened.From a young age she's been fascinated by myths and fairytales, and the romance that often was the center of the story. As Ann grew older and her hormones kicked in, she discovered trashy romance novels. Great at first, but she soon grew tired of the endless stories with a big wonderful emotional buildup to really short and crappy sex. Never a big fan of purple prose, throbbing spears of fleshy pleasure and wet honey pots make her giggle, she sought out books that gave the sex scenes in the story just as much detail and plot as everything else-without using cringe worthy euphemisms. This led her to the wonderful world of Erotic Romance, and she's never looked back.Now Ann spends her days trying to tune out cartoons playing in the background to get into her 'sexy space' and has learned to type one handed while soothing a cranky baby.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Syn

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The early morning subway car was oddly empty for a Monday. Usually it was standing room only, and getting a highly coveted seat was a miracle. Somehow, I’d done the impossible and managed to secure not only a seat of my own, but also an empty space next to me for my commute on the Metro. If I believed in good luck, I’d be running to the nearest lotto stand and buying a hundred tickets. The lights flickered overhead as we descended into a tunnel, the pink blush of dawn turning to darkness before my eyes. I leaned my head against the cool glass window, my bored gaze watching the gloom fly by.

I was zoned out, in a weird state of being mentally nowhere when something caught my eye. It was a jitter of movement outside of the speeding car, a brief flash of something. The little hairs along the back of my neck stood up as I shook off my daze and turned so I could get a better look out the window. An endless line of concrete walls, along with the occasional red exit sign met my searching gaze. My body rocked with the movement of the Metro, the constant hum of the subway car over the tracks subtly vibrating through my bones.

There it was again.

A flicker of grey splotched with violent crimson. It was the burst of red that snapped me out of my daze, as bright as a carnation and glowing in the darkness. My brain tried to argue I was seeing some kind of maintenance lighting, that my eyes were playing a trick on me. Tucking a wayward strand of brown hair behind my ear I glanced around, wondering if anyone else noticed something out of place. In the unflattering lighting, my fellow passengers were all going about their normal business, so I turned back to the window and hoped no one noticed my nose was now pressed to the glass.

I was a big enough dork already without adding window licker to that list.

A streak of color seared my eyes, and I sucked in a sharp breath as something sprinted past the hurtling subway car.

Tearing at my throat, a scream tried to fight its way out of me, but it couldn’t get beyond the lump of fear choking me tight.

No other shouts came behind me, so I was sure no one else had seen what I just did. People who lived and worked in D.C. might be jaded, but even the most bored executive would have at least uttered something. That meant only I had seen it, and maybe it wasn’t real.

Keeping my eyes peeled in the darkness, I kept watching, my anxiety building by the second. Something was wrong here—off. As the train continued to rumble and lurch, it dawned on me that we’d been underground for a long time. Way longer than usual. We should have reached the surface by now. Glancing down at my watch, I was shocked to see that it was 3:15 am.

The train lurched, hard, and I cried out in pain as my head thumped the glass. My nose burned and I licked my upper lip, the taste of my blood coppery and harsh. I reached up to feel my sore nose, but a horrible shriek of rending metal behind me had me whipping around in my seat.

A scream, one born of pure fear, tore from me as I scrambled back, trying in vain to put some distance between myself and the horror now staring me in the face.

The back of the subway train was missing like it had been ripped in two, and beyond the jagged curls of metal and the severed sparking wires was a rushing horde of abominations pouring out of the darkness. Shapes that had no right to exist, things made of teeth and fangs, a roiling mass pulsating with evil intent. Their howls and screams combined into a terrifying crescendo that tore through my soul like the end of the world.

Ma’am!

A hand shook me roughly, and I jerked awake, blinking in confusion at the sight of an old lady with lots of curly white hair shaking my arm. She sat close enough that I could see the fine white hairs of her old lady mustache, and she smelled faintly of fried food and flowers. Her teeth were slightly crooked, but her breath was nice and minty.

You awake now?

What?

Releasing my arm so she could sit back in her seat next to mine, she cocked her head and looked at me like I was mental. You must have been havin’ a doozy of a bad dream. You were screamin’ like someone was trying to murder you.

I—I’m sorry.

As my fear lifted, burned off by the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, I figured out I wasn’t on the Metro, but on the Amtrak train for the first part of my commute into work. And everyone on it was either staring at me, or looking out of the corner of their eye. Scrunching down beneath the weight of their gazes, I ducked my head, wishing I had my hair down so I could hide behind it.

Don’t be sorry. I used to have nightmares all the time about Richard Nixon. He sure was a terrifying son of a bitch.

Uh—

Abruptly she grabbed my hand. Sweet Mother Goddess, you’re bleeding.

To my shock, I looked down and saw that each of my palms had little crescent shaped cuts from where I’d dug my nails into them in so hard they’d pierced my skin.

Oh, was all I could whisper as I stared down, the pain finally reaching through my mental paralysis. Crap.

Wish I had my big purse with me, but I always leave it home when I come into the city. Too many snatchers out there, just waiting for me to turn a blind eye. Have lots of Band-Aids in that purse, but none on me. Next stop is coming up, you should get off and go wash your hands. Who knows what kind of diseases are left on these seats. Why just yesterday I saw a man...

As she rambled on about some guy being repulsive in an alley, I gently folded my fingers over my palms, my racing heart slowing as I took in deep breaths of her French fries and lilies scent. Not the most pleasant combination, but it helped ground me for some reason. The sound of screeching brakes caught my attention, and I quickly stood then grabbed my backpack.

Thank you for waking me up, I said in a low voice as I scooted past the old woman.

She patted my arm, then lightly settled her hand on my wrist, her deep blue eyes unexpectedly sharp. "When the benevolent Mother told me to go into the city today I knew it had to be a good reason, ‘cause these bones of mine are tired of moving and would rather be at home. You take care of yourself, young lady. Dark days are coming and you’re going to be a candle in the night. Not all the darkness in the world is gonna be able to put out your spirit. Mmmm, hmmm. I can see it now, your love is gonna guide a lotta people like a beacon from a lighthouse, show them the way to safety through the storm. Many blessings on you."

Unable to think of anything to say in response to that, I muttered, Okay, well—um, thank you. Have a nice day.

She waved to me, but I lost sight of her as I darted out the doors onto the concrete platform. Weaving through the crowd, I made it to the utilitarian restroom with its scratched mirrors. My normally tan cheeks were pale, and the light scattering of freckles along my nose stood out. Taking a deep breath, I focused on washing my stinging hands, then dried them beneath the air blower as I examined my wounded palms. The nightmare that had caused them still lingered in my mind, but I forced it away and focused on cleaning myself up.

By the time I boarded the next train I was running a bit late, so I texted my boss, Dr. Greg. Just like I expected, he quickly messaged me back not to worry and to take my time and arrive safe. In a world full of assholes, my boss was one of the few —and rare— genuinely nice guys. Plus, he commuted from Baltimore, so he understood the pain of late trains and missed connections. Finding a seat, I settled in and put my backpack between my feet.

As the world rolled by, my dream faded, and I grew embarrassed all over again for screaming myself awake in public. I didn’t like attention, didn’t like to stand out in a crowd, and giving people a reason to make fun of me made me want to barf. You know that old saying about words not hurting? It was a total and complete lie. Words hurt, and the wounds they inflicted were slow to heal.

In an effort to distract myself from my morose thoughts, I glanced around the train car. A flash of red caught my attention and I startled, reminded of my nightmare, but it was just the sunlight glinting off a woman’s pretty auburn hair. Her companion had dark hair, cut short enough to reveal his scalp in places. Maybe he was military.

It felt a little like intruding, but I couldn’t look away from the couple. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and their peaceful smiles flickered in the bright morning sunlight pouring through the windows. The woman reached up and toyed with the ends of her bright red hair, lowering her eyelids as she gave the man sitting next to her a coy tilt of her head. When he reached out and gently cupped her cheek, her eyes closed all the way and she sighed as he kissed her tenderly.

Bliss, her expression was pure bliss, and oh how I yearned to know that sensation.

A pang of longing rippled through me and I looked away, trying not to be angry with the couple for their non-crime of being in love. It wasn’t that I was genuinely mad at them; I just coveted the connection they had with each other. I was jealous of their ability to be normal and watching them so obviously in love reminded me why I was different. An outcast, a tall and nerdy twenty-four-year-old woman with a body like a prepubescent boy. The redhead being kissed senseless on the other side of the train was everything I secretly yearned to be. Through lots of therapy and bouts of depression, I’d come to a peace of sorts—or at least an acceptance of my physical oddities that would forever prevent me from having a romantic relationship.

That didn’t mean I still didn’t wish things were different.

That I wasn’t different.

Oh, I was normal enough on the outside. I inherited my full lips, wide cheekbones, and a bold nose from my African American and Irish father, while my Scottish and German mother had gifted me with her hazel green eyes and light brown hair. My body was normal, if on the tall and skinny side. Once I left my teens behind, my acne had finally cleared up and braces had come off. I didn’t dress any different from the majority of the professional work crowd, or wear attention drawing outfits. If anything, my clothing tended to blend in. Neutral colors, soft prints, nothing that would make people notice me. I had no desire to catch anyone’s eye to the point of one of my college friends telling me I dressed like a nun with a fetish for beige.

No, my exterior wasn’t what set me apart from the rest of humanity.

If it was just my looks that made me a freak, I could have had plastic surgery to fix it. But there was nothing that could correct my condition. I’d tried everything, some things more than once, and I still remained flawed on a fundamental scale. There was no quick fix for my condition, or any fix at all.

I had no sex drive.

I didn’t mean I was slow to arouse, or that I was just very picky about what I found attractive. No, I was talking about a complete absence of desire to the point where I had no idea what arousal would even feel like. Lust was as elusive of a concept to me as what it would be like to have roots like a plant instead of feet. And never, not even once, had I looked at someone and had a desire to kiss them, let alone have sex with them. To be honest, the thought of making love to someone made me faintly queasy. Without the drive of passion to motivate me, the mental image of me getting all sloppy with a man in bed was totally unappealing, no matter who I imagined snogging around with. I liked cuddling, and holding hands was nice, but having someone paw at my breasts when it did absolutely nothing for me was a kind of torture.

Ugh.

It wasn’t just the physical issues that set me apart from everyone else. Sex was everywhere in society. People used it to sell goods, to change someone’s mood, and as a motivation second to none. People would go to ridiculous lengths to have sex, and I had no idea why. They would cheat on their spouse, lie, steal, pay, and even kill for it. Surely a simple physical act couldn’t feel that good? I mean, wars had been fought over sex. It was the major force driving most people’s lives in one way or another. Everyone wanted to find their Prince or Princess Charming, get married, have kids and live happily ever after. I wasn’t immune to the need for a family, but my version would have to happen during an IVF at a doctor’s office.

When I was a teenager I kept waiting to feel the glorious tingles of attraction that my girlfriends would describe, and long for the day when I’d look at a boy and see him as being something other than a friend. That day never came. Desperate, I attempted to see if maybe I was gay and liked women, but my body was equally unresponsive to them. Hell, I couldn’t even make myself orgasm, and I’d tried really hard. I felt like a complete failure as a woman, a sexless freak who was denied one of life’s basic pleasures through no fault of my own. Sometimes I wondered if I was being punished for something, if I was meant to be an outcast. It was better to feel like I was cursed, than to acknowledge the fact that my abnormality was how I’d been born. A hapless fluke, a random assembly of DNA gone amok.

Finally, after becoming suicidal, I told my mom what was going on. By then, I was eighteen and still sexually unresponsive. More than a little freaked out by my depression, she took me to the doctors ASAP. Six months and a variety of humiliating tests later, they decided my issue was psychological and told me I was just a late bloomer. Four years later, when I was twenty-two and still asexual, they did another barrage of tests. Once again they turned up nothing abnormal. In the end, the expensive doctors couldn’t help me, and their final recommendation was that I speak with a sex therapist. I tried that as well, and our sessions together only left me feeling more broken than when I began.

Even the witches had been unable to help. They simply said it was the will of the Mother Goddess, and that was it. Rumors had it that witches could cure or do anything, for the right price, but not a single one I went to could help me in any way. It had been one of the lowest points of my life, even worse than when I was bullied so bad in high school that my mom pulled me out to homeschool me instead. I could escape my bullies, I couldn’t escape my own betraying body.

The train pulled back out into the sunlight and my pupils stung briefly as they readjusted to the bright glare. My image vanished, leaving me staring at the river passing by, trapped in my dark thoughts. Guilt twisted through me like a vile worm, but I was helpless to stop the emotion squirming through me. In my quest to be normal I’d done something that I wasn’t proud of, and thinking about it still shamed me.

Out of desperation, I had tried to force myself to fall in love. A great friend of mine named Adam had been asking me out for years, so I finally said yes. We were both mineralogy majors in college together, and I honestly enjoyed spending time with him. He was an amazing boyfriend, attentive and doting, and I knew he was really into me.

People seemed relieved that I had a boyfriend, and I finally fit in with the rest of the human race. The only problem was, I didn’t feel one iota of attraction to Adam. My relationship had been one big fake out on my part. I tried to be into him, I really did. I tried every trick I could to feel even one spark of passion, but it was useless. When Adam attempted to make love with me after we’d been dating for six months, I freaked out so bad I ran into the bathroom and threw up.

Guilt curled through my heart and I closed my eyes against the sunlight, my inner-lids shining orange with the glare. Adam was such a nice guy. He hadn’t deserved to have his heart broken—and that was exactly what I did. I could still feel his anguish as I ended things with him, the way he’d teared up. I hated myself for doing that to him, and that loathing kept me from ever making the mistake of using someone again. My friends didn’t understand why I broke his heart, and I lost a few after we split up. Nobody, other than my mom, my aunts, and my doctors, knew about my problem.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I’d told one girl when I was a sophomore in high school. My supposed best friend, and she’d spread it around that I was frigid and a total freak. The emotional abuse got so bad my mom pulled me out and home schooled me.

An announcement came over the speakers that we’d reached my stop and I stood, gathering my backpack and making sure my French braid was still under control. My bright pink and green sneakers looked out of place with my professional black slacks, but my boss didn’t care. Honestly, I could probably get away with wearing casual clothes to work, but it just didn’t feel right. I’d busted my ass for my job and I took it very seriously. I was a very junior level mineralogist and curator of gems and minerals at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. Even though the pay wasn’t the best, and I did a lot of menial work, I loved my job. It provided me with instant access to one of the greatest collections in the world, and allowed me to interact with some brilliant people. While my love life may be non-existent, my academic life was rich with excitement and energy. Yes, I know, most people wouldn’t find research on minerals exciting, but I did. There was something intensely satisfying about unlocking the secrets of the earth.

Being surrounded by friends that felt the same way gave me a feeling of belonging, of acceptance. It was a warm and soothing emotion, knowing the group of people you were with liked you. I still had to pinch myself a little when coworkers invited me to do things after work. I was the unpopular girl who never got asked to prom, and now I had more friends than I could count on both hands. Truly, I was blessed, and the reminder helped me let go of my pity party. I may not know romantic love, but I was surrounded by the love of good friends and an awesome family.

Joining the flow of humanity, I trudged my way up the steps out of the Metro station and took a deep breath once I reached the surface. The Smithsonian Natural History Museum was only a block and a half away and I paused for a moment to adjust to being above ground. The light morning breeze stirring the branches of the cherry trees nearby was a welcome relief from what was already promising to be a scorching hot day. My body went on autopilot and followed the familiar course through the urban jungle to the staff entrance at the side of the building. Lovely plants and rose bushes bordered the brass double door entrance, making the armed guards seem out of place.

As I approached, a massive guy who was probably in his late forties and wearing a museum security uniform turned in my direction. With a big barrel chest and thick arms, he was intimidating as heck. He flicked his gaze over me, his narrow brown eyes scanning me from head to toe as I tried to appear harmless. I mean, I totally was, but for some reason I always felt like I was guilty of something beneath the guards’ suspicious gazes. With his black tactical gear, he cut an imposing figure against the creamy white marble forming the archway of the doors. His dark brown eyes seemed to absorb the light, and he stood at constant attention. Rumor had it most of the guards were shifters, and looking at Doug, the hulking current keeper of the proverbial gate, I could believe it.

His nostrils flared as I came closer then he dismissed me as not a threat, per usual. The first time I’d walked into the museum a few years ago for my interview, I’d been too intimidated to even make eye contact. The guards here were so big they could squash me like an insignificant bug. I walked past with an awkward wave he didn’t return, then put my backpack onto the conveyor belt to be scanned once I was inside the large foyer. A domed two-story ceiling arched overhead, encircled with windows and casting plenty of light into the large, circular room below. The foyer was filled with guards checking everyone that entered and left the museum. Back in the 70s, before security had undergone a serious overhaul, someone had broken into the museum and stolen a bunch of priceless stuff. After that they’d beefed up security to the point that the museum had to be one of the safest places in the world.

As my bag was inspected, a familiar witch with one hell of an afro smiled at me as she motioned me over. Wearing the same black tactical gear as the rest of the guards, she somehow managed to make it look fashionable. To the right of the machines stood a bank of what almost resembled big dressing rooms with no doors. Inside there were countertops along the back, filled with carefully arranged potions and ingredients. Sunset yellow, tangerine orange, and gleaming silver liquids sat in their glass vials, waiting to be used at a moment’s notice if needed. While the machines took care of detecting most of the manmade threats, it was the witches who guarded the museum against negative magics.

The witch smiling at me right now was one of my favorite people. Judy had been working for the museum since the early 90s, and was rumored to be one of the best spell casters in D.C. She was also an almost zealously social woman, and had the uncanny ability to remember the personal details of everyone she’d ever met. Whenever I talked to Judy, I felt like I was visiting with an old, dear friend I’d known forever. The feeling must have been mutual, because she always made it a point to say hi whenever she was in my area of the museum.

Stepping into the room, I shrugged off my backpack and stood in the middle of the big pentagram painted on the floor. A shiver raced over me as the circle closed, sealing Judy and me inside. I knew from previous conversations that the shield was to keep any bad juju I might have carried in from spreading into the building. Evidently someone had come in with a magical virus at one point and infected half the staff. They’d been able to save most of them, but the resulting scare had been unpleasant to say the least. Now all inspections were sealed, and if Judy felt really threatened, the shield could implode on us, killing us both.

Yep, just another day at the office.

When I held out my hands to show they were empty, Judy’s head jerked back as she spotted the bruise marks my nails had left behind thanks to my nightmare

Pursing her lips, she gently held my hand and glanced up at me. What happened here?

It’s nothing, I pulled my hand back. I had a bad dream.

Her dark eyes glinted. That must have been one heck of a nightmare.

Yep. In an effort to change the subject, I smiled and said, So how did Lavina’s birthday party go?

Wonderful. She loved your idea for using rock candy on the birthday cake so it looked like crystals, and my husband loved that rock candy is cheap and easy to make. She smiled as she began to scan me with a small, buttercup yellow crystal ball, and the streaks of silver in her kinky ebony hair glinted when she moved. Made her sweet 16 extra sweet. Speaking of birthdays, yours is in a few days, isn’t it?

Yep. I smiled and held out my arms, patiently waiting for her to finish. The big twenty-five.

Hmmm, she murmured as she knelt down, her knees popping alarmingly while she scanned my calves and feet. That is an auspicious day in a woman’s life.

Really? How so?

Well, in some cultures it’s considered the time when a young girl finally becomes a woman. When she enters her power, so to speak. It’s also the last year that a shifter can get their animal.

I looked down at her while she helped me lift my foot so she could scan the bottom. I thought shifters were born with their spirit animal?

Judy gave an unflattering snort. Like in those terrible bear shifter romance movies that are all the rage? Primal Passion? Please tell me a smart girl like you doesn’t watch those cheesy things. My daughters love ‘em and it seems like every time they have their friends over they’re either watchin’, or talkin’ about, those movies.

I nodded, giving her a sheepish grin. I’ve seen them all, though in my defense one of my friends is rabid about them, and she makes me watch them with her. Because of her, I had to stand in line for three hours on opening night when the last of the trilogy came out.

You’re a better friend than me. I’m too old to have the patience to put up with that bullshit. I realize they’re fiction and all, but they get almost everything about shifters wrong. You’d think at the very least they’d get actual bear shifters to play the leads, not humans all pumped up on spells and steroids.

They’re not really shifters?

The Teddy Bear Brothers?

I nodded at their nickname. Yeah.

Child. Judy shook her head in disgust. You have got to get out more. Those boys are human through and through.

How do you know they’re not bear shifters?

I’m a witch, I can see through illusions and those pretty young men, prancing around shirtless on the screen with their fake roars and tight rear ends, are not the real thing.

The roars of primal passion are fake as well? No way. My friend is going to be so bummed. She has one of them roaring as her ringtone.

Judy shook her head. "Don’t tell her. No need to rain on her parade. She likes that shit, more power to her. Everyone needs a little romance in their life, even if it’s in the form