The Forsaken Chronicles: The Forsaken Chronicles, #0

By Eve Langlais

Warning: This story is a dark urban fantasy rife with violence. Reader discretion is advised.

A three in one collection featuring previously released titles: Dreams of Darkness, Awake in Shadows and Kiss of Light.

Adara has no idea who she is.

What she is.

That doesn't stop danger from stalking her.

It also does nothing to stem the nightmares.

Caught in her dreams of darkness, Adara attracts the attention of a werewolf and a vampire and wonders if she's losing her mind. They can't exist, and her mind says…forget. But she wants to remember. However, if she does, will the truth shatter her?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eve Langlais
• Release date: Apr 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781773842486

Eve Langlais

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Eve Langlais is a Canadian mom of three who loves to write hot romance. Her twisted imagination and sarcastic sense of humor tend to heavily influence her stories with giggle worthy results. As one of the authors in the Growl anthology, you can be treated to her version of romance featuring a shapeshifter, because she just loves heroes that growl--and make a woman purr. To find out more about Eve please visit her website or find her on Facebook where she loves to interact with readers.

Book preview

The Forsaken ChroniclesFull Page Image

Contents

Dreams of Darkness

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Awake in Shadows

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Kiss of Light

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Copyright © 2017/2021 Eve Langlais

First Printing July 2018

Cover Art by Yocla Designs © 2021

Produced in Canada

Published by Eve Langlais

http://www.EveLanglais.com

E-ISBN-13: 978 1988 328 248 6

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.

Dreams of Darkness

The Forsaken Chronicles Book One

Prologue

She hadn’t died—yet. Regaining consciousness proved that at least. However, with the pain coursing through her limbs, a fiery agony that stole her breath so she couldn’t find a voice to scream, she wished for sweet oblivion. Overwhelming in its intensity, the torment of her body didn’t allow her a moment to think or wonder how she’d ended up in such a state. She only wished for it to end.

Giving up so soon?

Cool fingers brushed across her temple, leaving behind an icy tingle that spread, and where it crept, it left blessed relief in its wake, a numbness she welcomed.

This is what it’s like to be free of pain. She savored the brief moment, knowing it wouldn’t last long. It never did.

The misery retreated, a dark beast that returned to its cave. She opened her eyes. Panic clutched her, for she stared into nothingness.

Have I gone blind? Or had she passed through the final veil?

Where am I? she whispered, her voice a hoarse croak she didn’t recognize.

Silence. You weren’t given permission to speak. The brusque tone clamped her lips together. At least she wasn’t alone—a realization that did little to quell her inner trepidation.

Small sounds—the whisper of fabric as something moved, a hushed murmur as if more than one person were present—drifted to her, and yet, all around, only darkness reigned. At her sides, her hands lay flat on cold stone. The surface not entirely smooth. Etchings were chiseled into it.

She dragged her nails across the hard surface before curling her fingers into fists. She tried to push herself up to a seated position, but a heaviness upon her chest kept her pinned. Not a strap, or even a hand holding her down, more like a pressure, the very air itself keeping her prisoner.

What’s happening? She didn’t know, which only served to feed her panic. Her breathing quickened.

Enough. Calm yourself. The commanding voice cut through her anxiety, and despite the situation, her limbs loosened—a relaxation she didn’t truly feel.

It is time, a deep voice announced.

Time for what? she wanted to ask; however, her mouth would not respond.

What is your name? Cold and impersonal, the questioner—not the same one who’d spoken before—paused to allow her time to answer.

Caught in the dark, bodiless limbo, she could only look within herself, an even scarier vacuum. She peeked around every corner of her mind. Looked for doors to open. Any hint of an answer.

She found nothing. Not even an echo.

Aching sorrow gripped her as she whispered, I have no name. I am nobody.

Where do you come from? Another query by the faceless voice that made her want to scream, Who are you and what do you want?

Instead, the answer rose without conscious thought and slipped from her mouth. Nowhere.

What do you remember?

Once again, she reached into the shadowy recesses of her mind, searching for something, anything. Who am I? Only a hollow void loomed around her. Nothing.

What are you?

Finally, a question she had an answer for. How could she not when it rang in her head, screamed at her in all its ugliness? A tear streaked down her cheek.

Forsaken.

Chapter One

The hushed silence of anticipation caught Logan’s attention as he prowled the deserted sidewalk running along the front of the unlit storefronts. Very few legit businesses stayed open in this part of town once twilight fell. Only those catering to vices best indulged in at night dared to open their doors.

In the distance, the strobing beat of a strip club was one such example. A few blocks down, neon flashed. A corner store that catered to those who absolutely needed a midnight snack or a case of beer.

But the places that remained open were few and rare. Most chose to lock their doors once the sun went down. Sturdy, metal guards lined the dirty windows, an almost mandatory accessory to ensure the safety of the goods hidden within. And just like the bars were a common feature, so was the sour smell of fear.

Smart people hurried home before night fell, smothering the streets in a blanketing shadow that concealed predators. Anybody who stayed out, tempting the dark things that walked at night, deserved to be culled. The world had enough stupid people. It wouldn’t miss the few that went missing. Gone because they didn’t listen to their instincts that told them to burrow safely in their homes.

Logan had no time for victims, which was why he ignored the terror he scented in the cool night air. Should have stayed inside where it was safe. He would have kept on walking, patrolling this part of town—my town—had the aroma of the grave not also wafted to him. Not an animal. He wouldn’t have paid that any mind. But the more distinctive stench of a decaying body.

Something dead this way comes.

He didn’t need his inner voice to point out that this wasn’t normal, or natural. Dead things didn’t walk, not without help.

Slowing his steps, Logan took a moment to inhale again. The lingering stench of flesh long past its expiry date was quite distinctive. The sickly, sweet smell revolted his human nature whilst exciting his bestial side.

Time to hunt.

Yes, he would hunt because this was his town, and in his protected zone, dead things weren’t supposed to wander around.

Because when I kill something, it stays dead.

He paused to listen and heard nothing but the distant beat of the music in the club—always a quick tempo for the scantily clad to gyrate their way through a routine.

His eyes, which could perceive things better than any human—even in the dark—scanned the area around him. He noted naught out of place. Nothing moved. Not even the shadows.

He took a step forward and heard a crunch. Too slight for normal ears to hear, but loud for one such as he. A peek at his feet showed the crumbling dirt scattered on the cracked pavement. The trail, much like breadcrumbs, weaved along the sidewalk and ended in front of a door. The sign in the barred glass entrance showed the word Closed; however, a slight push on the portal betrayed its unlocked state.

Peering quickly upward, Logan checked for a bell or other chime that would betray him when he passed through the entrance. Nothing. Shaking his head at his luck—and the stupidity of the storeowner—he quietly eased in, his eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom within.

Racks upon racks lined the interior, each filled. Plastic sleeves in some cases, glossy paper in others, the colors vivid, the titles bold. A comic book store; a new one, which had not yet learned the axiom of home before dark. The death of the hapless employee would make that rule clear in the morning.

The stench of the undead thing hung heavily in the air—damp earth, decay, and the jarring scent of something unnatural. Black magic. The forbidden art the only way to animate that which should remain in the arms of Gaia.

Necromancy was forbidden and had been for a long time. Those caught practicing it received a swift punishment: death. However, even such a harsh sentence didn’t deter everyone. There were always those who thought themselves above the law. It was Logan’s job to hunt them down.

The world, make that humanity, wasn’t ready to find out that the things they feared, the bogeyman and all his monstrous friends, truly existed. We even live amongst you. Neighbors, coworkers, friends… They never suspected, and Logan intended to keep it that way.

A whimper, the smallest of sounds, caught his attention. Logan’s brows rose in surprise. The clerk is still alive? The dead thing must have just arrived because they were not known for their patience when food beckoned. The movies depicting the mindless hunger of zombies strayed close to the truth, but brains weren’t their only diet. Blood and flesh of any kind would do.

They could also open doors, unlike those portrayed on television. Turn knobs, climb stairs, even run if their limbs could handle it.

On silent feet, Logan trod quickly to the rear, a small crack of illumination from the seam of a closed door a bright beacon in the gloom. He paused, hand over the knob as he listened, trying to ascertain the unnatural creature’s position.

Please don’t hurt me, pled a soft voice. He could have told her not to bother. Zombies could not talk or feel. They just followed one instinct: their driving need for blood—preferably fresh. It made them single-minded in their focus. Most of the time.

Some necromancers, if powerful enough, could set the walking nightmares to task, but they needed a truly great power to overcome a zombie’s natural desire to kill and feed.

Zombies didn’t scare him. Yet he did wonder, should he go as himself or his alter ego? A shriek of terror made the decision for him. Kicking the door open with a heavily booted foot, Logan got a quick snapshot of the situation before charging in.

A newly dead corpse, the dirt from the grave still clinging to the folds of its suit, was bent over, its curled fingers reaching for a huddled figure on the floor. The animated body retained enough wits to realize danger had arrived behind it. It attempted to straighten and turn to face him.

Logan was faster—much faster. Wrapping his callused hands around the creature’s neck, he squeezed the soft and pliant flesh. His fingers sank into the skin, repulsing and fueling his need to rid the world of this abomination.

The zombie struggled, stronger than expected. It roused the primal animal within Logan, and he felt that surge of energy pulse through him, his arms bulking with strength, his lip curling back on a canine snarl.

He gave a firm twist and snapped the zombie’s neck, the cracking sound loud as a gunshot. The walking corpse—spine severed and its body no longer controlled by the mind—dropped to the ground. It twitched a few times, the eyes rolling far enough to stare at him.

Logan stared back. Did someone watch through those eyes?

He raised his middle finger. Waggled it. Stay out of my town, asshole. Because he wouldn’t stand for zombies.

The semblance of life in the eyes faded, the irises taking on an opaque grayness. Death, a final passing, came to claim the body.

The threat neutralized, Logan allowed himself to look at the girl slumped in a heap on the floor. Head down, features covered by a curtain of dark hair. Tiny in shape.

Weak, growled his inner beast.

She’d passed out, more than likely from fear. Most humans couldn’t handle the supernatural. In all fairness, though, most supernaturals tended to have an aversion to zombies. The fact that they even existed was why Logan had stated quite clearly in his will, and to all who would listen, to cremate him when he died. He refused to become a necromancer’s puppet.

The huddled form shivered.

Hey, you okay?

She didn’t reply. Didn’t even move.

Did the zombie bite you? he asked, not because she’d turn into a zombie—it wasn’t a disease, it needed a dead body and magic—but more because a bite from the undead could contain all kinds of bacteria. She would probably need a shot.

A twitch. A subtle movement, then a shake of her head.

No, then, not bitten. Which was good, but Logan still wondered what to do with the girl.

Leave her. The easiest solution. Humans shouldn’t be shown the underpinnings of humanity more than necessary. He and the body should get out of sight.

So why then did he kneel before her, his knees hitting the hard floor, bringing him nearer to her scent?

The impulse didn’t come from him, and yet it pulsed inside like an instinct. A primal command that he couldn’t deny.

Need to get closer.

The strands of her hair had parted, revealing the pallor of her features. Her head sagged to the side, too heavy surely for that slender neck. Her eyes shut as she passed out again.

Look at that fluttering pulse. Tick. Tock. Lick it up.

He fought the urge to tongue it.

Would prefer to bite it.

The urge to let go pulsed through his body, and he fought through it. Breathed deeply. Kept control. But he didn’t do it by turning away from the object of his fascination.

Real men didn’t run from shit.

What is it about her that’s setting me off?

The girl sat with her eyes shut, her arms still hugged tightly around her knees. He inhaled deeply, pulling in the air around him, shutting off the part of his mind that recognized the putrid aroma of death. Human death.

He looked past it, the other perfume nestled underneath it. Vanilla, the spicy-crisp scent of a bean just crushed. Under that…something else. An indefinable layer that made him wonder…is she human?

Doesn’t matter. Smells good, rumbled his other self.

More like interesting. Logan frowned at her frail frame. He’d never smelled anything like her before. Perhaps he was mistaken. He was, after all, in a room with a corpse.

He brought his face closer. Her eyes remained shut, the veins coloring them a bluish purple through the parchment thinness of her skin.

Lips almost touching her skin, he inhaled deeply. Truly got the full effect of her. Delicious vanilla, the smell of it eye-rollingly pleasurable. And did he detect a tingle of power? Whatever it was caused an intense flare of awareness. There was something different about her.

Not human.

Who and what is she?

She couldn’t have lived or worked in this area of town for long, else Logan or one of his pack would have noticed her, discovered her like this zombie had. Her scent, so fresh and sweet, must have proven irresistible to the dead one.

Yummy, yummy in the tummy.

Don’t start with the rhymes. Because they often got stuck repeating in his head.

Not rhymes. Truth. Lick it. You’ll see why.

This boldness from his other half was not new, but the interest in a woman was. Perhaps he should bring her to his home for questioning.

Yes, that’s it. Kidnap a girl and bring her to your house. A girl who will probably freak when she wakes up. Which usually means screaming. And probably threats to call the cops. Logan didn’t exactly want the police involved. It would be hard to explain a dead body.

No, officer, I didn’t kill the body or dig it up. It was a zombie, you see. And I just saved this town. He’d probably get tossed into a psych evaluation for seventy-two hours.

He’d never live it down if that happened. So, probably not a good idea to take her out of here, then. But he had to know what she was.

Maybe she’s dangerous. We should detain her, said his dark side—the hunger a hot flame that licked his skin from the inside.

No keeping her. However, he would keep an eye on her. See what she did once she woke again. Would she remember the zombie? Had she seen Logan?

Not once did he recall her eyes opening, not even a slit. More than likely, she never saw him arrive. Figured. The one time he got to act heroically for a woman, and she wasn’t conscious to appreciate it.

Leaning forward, he slid his arms around her and heaved her slight frame off the floor. He staggered. Not physically, more like his very soul found itself shaken as images flashed so fast he caught only a blur of motion and color—the glint of a sword falling, the red of arterial blood, the dark of a storm forming. Emotion slammed him next, as if a giant bell rang and vibrated every part of him.

An overwhelming urge to protect—Mine—washed over him as Logan cradled her in his arms. He had to keep her safe. Stand guard by her side. Never do her harm.

Protect…

The alien feeling shoved against him, hammering at his mind. Trying to force him to become…what? Her willing servant?

What magic is this? Did she cast a spell on him? Could she even do that? She appeared unconscious. The girl lolled lifelessly. If indeed magic were the reason for his odd reaction to her, then she did it unconsciously. A protective charm perhaps.

It would have to be a fucking strong chunk of magic to affect him. Just another layer of mystery that made Logan more determined than ever to find out just who and what she was.

Keep her. Once again, the inane urge hit him. Kidnapping was only a crime if someone pressed charges.

The very fact that he went in that direction mentally decided for him. He gritted his jaw and carried her to the front of the store to set the stage.

He positioned her, ensuring that everything looked plausible. So long as she didn’t remember, her mind would leap to the most logical conclusion.

Once done setting the elements, Logan stood back, fighting an urge to scoop her from the floor.

Don’t leave her.

The magic hadn’t lessened one bit. Logan prided himself on his iron self-control, yet without even trying, this unconscious slip of a girl was so close to making it snap.

She was dangerous. Killing her now would solve that threat.

No.

It wasn’t just his inner self that snarled at the idea. He couldn’t do that. Kill a defenseless woman because something about her frightened him?

I fear nothing.

He turned on his heel, fractured his stare, and returned to the rear of the store to handle the corpse. With the body draped over his shoulder, Logan exited through the back entrance into the dimly lit alley. He hoped no one was watching and reporting. Smart humans kept their blinds drawn at night. Troublemakers tended to have their phones out.

Good thing most of the shit online that went viral was deemed to be fake digital alterations. Humans were as quick to believe as disbelieve. It made hiding in plain sight so much easier.

Logan kept to the deepest shadows as he made his way far from the store—and the girl. Eventually, he found an empty lot, the building that had once stood on it having succumbed to age. The only thing remaining on the cracked asphalt parking lot was a dumpster.

It made a handy pyre. He heaved the body into the overflowing bin. Wood and other flammables would make for intense flames.

While he didn’t smoke cigarettes—anymore—Logan had gotten in the habit of carrying a lighter. Never knew when he’d want to spark a joint, or light a barbecue. Maybe ignite a garbage bin to incinerate evidence of a zombie.

He wasn’t stupid. Fire wouldn’t completely obliterate the evidence. The body would be found. The firemen wouldn’t let this burn long enough to make the corpse ash. However, dental records would show that it was a body already dead. Dug up and used for a prank. It happened from time to time. Damned teenagers.

And if they couldn’t match the body? It would be just another anonymous death in the slums.

Bad things happened at night in this part of town.

Sometimes, the residents got hungry.

The thought of hunger reminded him of the girl. He snapped his gaze from the dancing flames, the heart of them intensely bright. He hoped the necromancer still had enough of a link with the thing to feel a little heat.

Turning his back on the inferno, he headed in the direction of the shop, pulling his phone out but pausing before he dialed the emergency number.

He wanted the body a little crisper first.

The closer he got to the shop—and the girl—the more his steps quickened, the more his other side pulsed with anticipation.

What is she?

The resounding answer, which felt so right, chilled him to the core.

Mine.

Chapter Two

Death is all around. Smell it, the coppery bite of blood. The sickly-sweet fear. The putrid decay of death.

It’s come for me. I can see it reaching.

Its fingers strong.

Its grip unyielding.

When it grabs me, I’ll die.

You are dead.

No. I can’t be. I was saved.

You were forsaken.

I want another chance.

To die?

The hands grabbed her. Squeezed. Stole the very life—

Nooooo. The scream burst out of Adara and woke her. Her eyes shot open. Her hands scrabbled at the hard floor, scooching her back before she raised them to shield her face.

Don’t let it touch me. Even with her eyes shut, she still saw the slack-jawed, gray-skinned face, the thick makeup on it cracked, some of it streaked by fluid. But it was the eyes that scared her most of all.

Dead eyes. Milky and yet lit from within. Staring at her.

Reaching for her.

Blink.

The dead thing was gone.

Did I imagine it?

Sitting up, Adara looked around and found herself behind the store counter. How did I get here? The last thing I remember is being in the back room with that thing about to touch me. And then, nothing.

Another blackout. Had she made it through unscathed?

Jumping to her feet first, Adara frantically patted herself down, wondering if she’d find an injury or signs of an altercation.

Nothing appeared out of place. Not this time. But she wasn’t always so lucky.

For a moment, she saw something else, another place, another time, where she wore torn, stained clothing. Stained with my blood.

The fragmented memory disappeared so quickly, she couldn’t examine it. Did that truly happen? Sometimes, the line between reality and her nightmares blurred.

Had that happened tonight?

Looking around the store, the racks lined up like sentinels in the gloom, she wondered at her sanity.

A zombie? Really? Wouldn’t it have made a mess? It wasn’t as if she’d have stood still while it tried to crack open her head and siphon her brains.

What brains? Would a smart girl be working in this part of town after dark?

It was probably the fact that she was nervous about her first night alone at work—and the reality she’d have to deal with nightfall on her own—that had her imagining a zombie.

Maybe I didn’t have a delusional moment. I could have fallen asleep on the job and dreamed it.

Which wasn’t much better. She glanced at the cameras in the corner of the ceiling. No red light, but that didn’t mean they weren’t recording.

I hope nobody caught me napping. She needed this job. People with a past, or a lack of identity, couldn’t be picky when it came to employment. Dr. Forrester had gone out of his way to help set Adara up with a job at the comic book store. She couldn’t screw this up. He might send her back to the sanatorium otherwise.

I won’t go back. Let someone else wear the jumpers and sleep in a room with bars on the windows and locked doors.

A glance at her watch resulted in shock as she saw how late it actually was, lending credence to her sleep theory.

Perhaps if the nightmares didn’t come every night I’d feel more rested.

Not that she remembered them when she woke. However, not remembering didn’t mean she could ignore the signs. Fatigue, aching muscles, her jaw throbbing as if her teeth had clenched for too long. Sometimes, she would waken damp with sweat, her sheets twisted all around. She wondered what exactly she dreamed that left her face wet with tears and her palms bloody from digging her fingernails too deep.

It’s late. Stop mooning about and get your butt home. Step one, close the store for business.

Peering over at the door, she noted the flipped sign. When had she flipped it?

I didn’t. That thing did when it came in and—

Forget…

A heaving, shuddering breath in, and the tension in her eased.

The sign was flipped. She didn’t remember it, which was nothing new. Dr. Forrester had said she might have forgetful moments given her previous head injury.

What about remembering things that just couldn’t have happened?

"Hey, Dr. Forrester, I saw a zombie." Clang. That was the sound of the door locking shut because Dr. Forrester would send the men in the white coats for her.

He’d said to call him if weird stuff started happening. In other words, if she began to lose her mind. Why else but to put her back where she belonged?

Because you’re crazy. Not crazy.

Just imagining things, things that didn’t exist. Red eyes…the pupils a dark burgundy. The iris, a bright, glowing flame.

Panic clawed at her, and her breathing hitched in fear. All because she remembered impossible eyes.

So crazy, but she wasn’t about to call anyone and admit it.

Freedom felt too good to give up.

So long as I don’t do anything stupid during my blackouts, it’s all good.

As for the hallucinations? Didn’t some ancient tribes swear by them as symbolism for the days to come?

What does imagining a zombie mean for my future?

That she should probably tackle the vegetable drawer in her fridge. Something had died in there, and the landlord hadn’t removed it before she took up residence.

Home. Time to leave work. She emptied the till, not much to remove, not when most people now used plastic or even the tap of their phone to pay. She peeled off her work smock, the big button that screamed, Ask me about the hero of the month, catching on her hair. She folded the garment over her arm as she headed to the back room—the closet-sized cubicle laughingly called the employees’ lounge—to grab her coat. Her steps faltered on the threshold as she noticed the slight splintering of the doorjamb.

The door was kicked open, bouncing off the wall. It didn’t distract the foul one reaching to touch me. A dark warrior with blazing eyes appeared and... Adara shook her head. It never happened.

Never. Happened.

She kept repeating that even as she averted her gaze from the crumbles of dirt on the floor. She grabbed her coat and fled the storage room.

Hurrying back to the front, she couldn’t help but see in reverse how the thing had entered the shop. Headed straight for her, its mouth opening. A word floating free, croaked and frightening.

Didn’t happen.

There was no zombie, and yet she flew out the door, almost sobbing when she tried to lock it unsuccessfully with trembling hands. Calm down.

She stopped moving and ducked her head. She breathed, just like Dr. Forrester taught her.

Breath.

In.

Out.

Slowly, the anxiety in her eased. Her shoulders dropped, her breathing stopped rushing in and out in hot puffs.

With a calmer demeanor, she brought the key to the lock again. The tumbler clicked into place, and Adara turned around to face the dark street. She slipped the keys into her purse, leaving her hands free. As her eyes darted left to right, she couldn’t help but note that the dim pools of light cast by the street lamps were too few and far between to really distinguish any threats in the murk. Her fingers laced.

Unlaced.

She wrung them as she tried to keep the fear of shadows from rendering her immobile.

I didn’t have this problem yesterday.

Yesterday, she’d finished work at twilight and hurried home, still in the presence of other pedestrians.

Tonight, the sidewalks loomed, big and empty.

All the better to chase you on, my dear.

She almost heard the voice out loud. Its sibilant hiss made her skin prickle.

There was no one here.

She took a step.

Chuckle.

Her head whipped to peek over her shoulder.

Is someone watching me?

Such paranoia. Why would anyone spy on Adara? If someone did, then it wouldn’t bode well for her.

Stop standing around. Move.

Taking a steadying breath, Adara hunched her shoulders and took off at a brisk pace, the only way to outrun the ghosts of fear. The spot between her shoulder blades danced with awareness as she walked, urging her to look behind.

Someone is following me. She hastened her pace and kept her eyes forward. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. Remember what the doctor said, it’s all in my mind.

The sense of someone—or something—watching refused to leave, and warning bells rang in her head. What if it’s not my imagination? This isn’t exactly a nice part of town.

Adara quickened her pace, vowing to get a can of mace before her next shift. Or perhaps she could ask for a day shift, one where she went home before dark like everyone else on the street.

No one else seemed to work that late. At least not people who liked to wear neck-to-toe clothing.

Be happy you have a job. This employment, along with her government assistance, meant she had a place to call home. And it wasn’t the asylum.

All things to be grateful for…except for one. A teensy rebellious part of her wondered how Dr. Forrester thought placing her at a nighttime job in such a rough part of town would aid in her recovery, given her history with violence. Did it make sense for a victim to work in a location that just screamed accident waiting to happen? He knew Adara feared the dark. Was scared of so many things.

Fear is normal. The important thing is to not let it control you.

She could almost hear Dr. Forrester’s voice. She should try and trust him. He just wanted her to be normal again.

Or he wants to get me killed. She couldn’t help the stray paranoid thought. As if her mind conjured it, danger answered.

Two hulking figures stepped out from the shadows in front of her, and Adara halted.

Well, look what we have here, Tom. I think we’ve found ourselves a date, said an ugly fellow who stank of alcohol and sweat.

I just want to go home. Her statement trembled.

Why, that sounds like a mighty fine plan. Why don’t you lead the way? Tom, who looked just as disreputable with an unshaven countenance and greasy, stringy hair, showed teeth stained yellow and brown.

No. She wanted to say it, yet the word was stuck as Adara’s mouth went dry. She knew she should run, say something, but she froze like a deer in headlights, mesmerized by the disaster she saw coming.

The fellow called Tom leered at her with blackened teeth. His fetid breath made her stomach roil as he leaned down to peer at her face. I betcha you’re real happy you found us, aren’t you, darling?

Adara found the strength to shake her head and take a step back, then another. And that was as far as she went. Tom’s friend had circled behind her, and his arms wrapped around her, python-like bands that held her immobile. Adara wanted to scream with the unfairness of it all. Not again. Where that thought floated from, she didn’t know because it departed as quickly as it had come.

Tom shook his head. Where do you think you’re going, pretty girl? We aren’t done with you yet.

Silent tears wetted Adara’s cheeks, the only outward sign of her terror. The scream she longed to let loose caught somewhere in her throat, although it echoed loudly inside her head. Help me! Please, someone help me!

And then, unlike last time, someone—make that something—did.

Chapter Three

The growl emerged low and menacing from the shadowy mouth of the alley beside her. Deep and primal, it didn’t belong in the city and caught her attackers’ attention.

Adara turned her head to see and gasped. Bright green, glowing eyes hung as if suspended on invisible wires, luminous and frightening. So scary, she almost didn’t notice the wolf they belonged to. But as he stepped into view, she couldn’t ignore the immense beast.

He stood as tall as her shoulder, thickly muscled, his fur the black, sinful deepness of the witching hour, his teeth white, gleaming, pointed fangs.

All in all, the wolf looked dangerous. And angry.

The arms around her relaxed as her captor stepped away.

Sure, run and leave her as the snack.

She held out her hands and whispered, Good puppy? The words held a querying note. Possibly the last thing she’d say if the wolf were hungry.

A low rumble emerged from him, and the hackles on the beast’s back rose in a ridged spine.

That didn’t bode well. She closed her eyes tight. She didn’t want to see him coming. She uttered a cry as fur brushed past her fingertips. Soft fur, not sharp teeth.

Opening her eyes, Adara watched in astonishment as the wolf, paying her no mind, stalked past her, intent on the two brutes who no longer looked so cocky.

Tom and his friend threw themselves prostrate on the ground and addressed the wolf.

We didn’t know she was protected, said Tom, his eyes wide with fear.

We didn’t mean her any harm, blubbered his friend.

Still growling, the wolf continued to stalk them, slow steps, his back low.

Don’t kill us! Tom begged.

The wolf feinted in their direction. Tom and his buddy scrambled to their feet and ran, squealing in high-pitched fear.

Good. She almost applauded but didn’t want to draw the creature’s attention. Let him chase bad guys instead.

Except the wolf stopped moving. He stood still and watched the retreating thugs until they faded from sight. Then the beast turned those bright green eyes on Adara, and she had the sudden urge to pee. Like, right now. In her pants.

Am I imagining this? It seemed so real.

The wolf padded toward her, pounds and pounds of muscle and teeth. Adara held tightly to a hysterical giggle. How’s that for luck? I avoided rape so I could be mauled and eaten.

Run, you idiot. Run before he gets you. Because she could totally escape a wolf on foot. Wouldn’t giving in to her fear and making herself into fleeing prey paint a larger target on her?

Despite the icy cold coursing through her veins, she stood her ground. Clenched her fingers into tight fists and waited breathlessly as the beast approached. At least the wolf had stopped growling, and its hackles were down again.

Could it possibly mean me no harm? I should be so lucky.

Stopping in front of her, the large wolf sat. The big shaggy head tilted as it stared.

Adara’s heart stopped, and she held herself extremely still. This close, she could truly size up the beast. Immense, at least compared to her.

The vivid green eyes stared at her. No hint of Cujo in the gaze. More like reassurance and, oddly enough, intelligence.

Does it understand what it saved me from tonight?

He dipped his head then glanced at her again, his muzzle parted, but gave the impression of a grin, not a growl.

She blinked. If this weren’t a wolf, she’d almost get the impression he wanted her to pet him.

He is a canine. Why not pet him?

Because he was liable to bite off her hand.

If he wanted to bite her, he could. But he hadn’t. He’d done nothing but save her. Surely, that deserved a reward.

Swallowing hard, and with a courage she didn’t know she possessed, she held out a trembling hand and stroked the top of the wolf’s head. She didn’t speak, though. Somehow, saying "good doggie" seemed insulting. Besides, she didn’t trust the words to come out.

The fur between the wolf’s ears slid softly across her fingers, softer than she would have thought given its shaggy length. Like warm silk. She rubbed him, the contrast of her pale flesh against his fur stark. In the dimness of the street, he was pure darkness, making him blend well with the night.

Her body relaxed as she realized that the wolf didn’t intend to eat her. A miracle she didn’t want to question.

Thank you, she whispered to her bestial savior. Never mind that it probably couldn’t understand her, and his very appearance was strange. After all, wild beasts did not roam the city. But then again, dead things should not walk either, after being laid to rest. Perhaps she hallucinated or dreamed still.

At least this is a good fantasy for once. Perhaps her luck was about to change.

I should go home now. Before she tempted the Fates.

Those nasty bitches always meddling…

She blinked. The voice in her head quieted, but the wolf was still there.

The beast stood and faced the direction she’d traveled in before the untimely encounter. It glanced back at her as if to say, Are you coming? Maybe she did imagine it. Maybe she was already at home in bed. She didn’t care. Adara smiled at her unlikely hero, a tremulous curve of her lips that felt alien. Will you walk me home, sir wolf?

Again, as if it understood, the great beast nodded its head and, with a slow pace to match hers, escorted her home. And for the first time since she’d woken in the hospital, Adara felt safe.

Chapter Four

You let her pet you.

I did. His wolf’s smug reply.

Alpha wolves aren’t supposed to be petted. Especially not the leader of a pack.

This is what I think of rules. His beast’s visual idea of what he thought involved a lot of hip thrusting.

It seemed his wolf was feeling cocky since he was currently in the driver’s seat, which meant that Logan got to sit back and reflect on what the fuck had just happened. Starting with his pathetic need to follow the girl.

Transforming into his four-legged self, he ghosted after the girl—more like a woman, he realized. The fragile nature of her beauty just made her seem younger. He was calling himself all kinds of stalker when those asshats had stepped from the shadows to accost her.

Should have eaten them.

His wolf still wasn’t happy at his restraint. Usually, that kind of behavior would have resulted in a torn throat or two, definitely some blood, and a whole lot of warning to anyone else who thought it was okay to attack women in his part of town.

Logan had restrained himself more because he instinctively knew violence would frighten his skittish puzzle. Although why he should care about her feelings, he couldn’t answer. Which meant the thugs got away. For now.

But they’ll pay later.

That kind of douchery did not belong in his town. He would return to hunt them down and ensure that they didn’t hurt anyone else. It was his job. The punks, obviously new to this part of the city, needed to be reminded who ruled the night here. They might not believe in the monster under the bed yet, but they would soon learn to fear. Mortals sat at the bottom of the food chain, and they’d do well to remember that fact.

As Logan kept pace with his mystery lady, he tried to figure out why she’d proven less afraid of him—a big, bad wolf—than those two thugs. Hadn’t she ever read Little Red Riding Hood?

Apparently not, because she’d petted him like an overgrown dog, and the worst part—the part he would never admit to his pack—he’d liked it. When she smiled at him, her whole face lighting up, he might have promised her anything had he worn his man shape in that moment. As it was, his bestial side had appointed itself her protector.

Who will protect me from her? Whatever magic this female hid, it had to be potent to affect a rough-around-the-edges male such as him.

You should run, little girl, because this wolf wants to eat you.

But he wouldn’t because eating people—even strangely fascinating ones—was wrong. Just like peeing on the neighbor’s car was wrong. As was howling at chickens in order to make them lay some fresh eggs.

Of course, Mother only chastised Logan after they’d collected the warm eggs. And she never wasted them. He’d enjoyed his ill-howled gains with thick-cut toast, sausage, bacon, grits, and freshly squeezed orange juice.

Having managed to exchange one hunger for another—his momma’s home-cooked meals—he managed to concentrate better on his surroundings. The woman walked by his side, her fingers lightly resting atop his fur even though he didn’t need her to guide him.

Now that he’d homed in on it, her scent stuck out from the rest, and it was easy to trace her path home. A long walk past many blocks. Past alleys with watching eyes—and hungry mouths. Past rooftops whereupon perched the more aerially inclined predators. Past the grates alongside the sidewalks where things slithered.

A good thing he’d come across her. Her very innocent nature acted as a lodestone for bad things.

She needs a keeper.

Someone to keep her safe from harm. That person won’t be me. Logan’s only interest in her centered around finding out who and what she was. If she proved a threat, he’d eliminate her in a heartbeat.

His wolf didn’t like that one bit. His canine lip peeled back, and a growl rumbled forth, causing the slight steps beside them to stumble.

Stop that. You’re scaring her, Logan growled back.

Now, who’s protecting her?

Logan had fallen into a trap. If he could have, he would have scowled.

Arriving at a tenement building that, judging by its dilapidation, had never seen better days, she slowed down.

Keep going. You don’t want to stray here.

Except she turned toward the steps going in. Surely, she didn’t live here?

Logan’s nose wrinkled, his keen sense of smell overcome by the fetid stench that hung like a miasma around the building. The scent of human urine reigned supreme but vied with that of garbage left exposed long enough to draw maggots.

This is where she lives? He couldn’t imagine this delicate creature living in this vilest of habitats. Even the rats steered clear of this place. Had Logan worn his human form, he would have shaken her and asked what she was thinking. Surely, she could find somewhere better to live. Even the homeless in their boxes enjoyed a cleaner environment.

He felt her fingers tangle in his fur, and to his even greater surprise, she threw her arms around him and hugged his muscled, furry body. Logan’s gaze darted around, and he was ready to snarl at anyone who might be looking and laughing. To his relief, they appeared alone.

I wish I had something to give you.

How about answers?

I don’t even have a bone.

Now that was just insulting.

Thank you, she whispered by his ear, her fresh scent a sweet ambrosia that momentarily overpowered the funk. Then she left, her slight frame darting inside and up the dark stairs, skittish as a rabbit.

Ah, hell. Despite all the reasons to ignore the woman, he dashed for the door before it closed. Holding his breath, he quietly followed her in and up. He hung back when she reached the third floor, emerging only when he heard the metallic sound of a key scraping in the lock as she let herself in then the click and rattle as she bolted and chained the door shut.

No screams. No thuds from inside. He paused a moment longer to listen before he padded down the hall, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Say, like another reanimated corpse.

The only things he discovered were the usual scents that came with human misery—the lingering smell of things cooked in too many spices, the pall of nicotine smoke that hung in the air, and the skunkier aroma of weed that clung to the very fibers of the wall.

But those were everyday scents. None justified staying.

Time to leave. He didn’t want to. He knew he had to.

Logan couldn’t spend the night here. A pack leader had responsibilities, and those didn’t include minding a strange slip of a girl.

She’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t open the door.

He told himself that many times as he left. It didn’t reassure.

Which was why he had to promise himself—and his wolf—that he’d return tomorrow.

He only hoped she lived through the night.

Chapter Five

Adara dropped wearily into the armchair she’d covered with an old, clean blanket. The ruined springs dug into her backside, but it was still more comfortable than the floor.

What a night. A zombie I may or may not have dreamed. Thugs. And then a giant wolf to my rescue.

Alice and her Wonderland had nothing on Adara’s life. All she lacked was an evil villain cackling Off with her head.

Your life isn’t a movie or a story. This was her reality. One that defied explanation.

Why me? she whispered. Why? Finally alone, her nerves stretched taut, she gave up trying to hold it in and giggled hysterically.

A wolf? Of all the things to imagine, she’d chosen a canine. I don’t even like dogs. Her body shuddered with forced mirth until the laughter turned into racking sobs as the shock set in.

I’m so scared. Something she could only admit to herself. She couldn’t tell the doctor; he’d lock her away again. She couldn’t tell anyone because she was alone.

Forsaken…

The safety she’d wallowed in while recovering in the hospital, coupled with an inability to remember, had kept her free of fear. That cocoon disappeared when she found herself dumped from her safe asylum nest and subjected to a splintering mind.

How long before I completely lose it?

Zombies and wolves. Even she knew it was crazy. And it would only get worse. How would she survive? When would the fear and nightmares she lived with each day stop feeling like a heavy stone dragging her down?

There’re pills in the bathroom. The ones the doctor gave you to help you sleep. Enough to end it all. Now.

No. I don’t want to die. Adara hiccupped and tried to rein in her emotions. She didn’t want her insidious thoughts to win. Suicide wasn’t the answer. Things would get better. They had to because, seriously, how much worse could it get? She’d already hit rock bottom.

Fearful that she might not control herself by taking just one sleeping pill, she decided to go without. She certainly felt tired enough to sleep for several days.

In the asylum, she’d eagerly waited for the little pill each night. It sent her into blissful oblivion. She liked that dark, quiet place.

But she couldn’t keep hiding in it.

So…no pill tonight. Just sleep. Adara left her uncomfortable chair to huddle on her mattress, which lay directly on the floor. She cocooned herself in several blankets, trying to stay warm, but still, her teeth chattered. It wasn’t the chill of the room but rather the shock.

Why do bad things keep happening to me? I’m not completely stupid. I know something occurred in the store, much as I’d like to pretend it didn’t, and as absurd as it seems. However, something saved me from that creature, and then, I was rescued again from those thugs. Why? And the better question, who? Who cared enough to bother?

Did it matter? Despite the danger she’d courted this evening, there was a bright side. At least she’d escaped the hospital. In the end, it wasn’t any safer than the real world. Not with the covetous eyes of the new male intern making her cringe every time she turned. All she’d had was fear—her constant companion after everyone else had abandoned her.

Exhaustion overcame Adara, yet her eyes refused to shut. How crazy to fear sleep?

Relax.

She breathed deeply, focusing on one thing, something that made her feel comforted. It used to be a chair. A giant, worn, burgundy seat in the corner of the recreation room at the asylum. It hugged her. Protected her back. She could even tuck her toes under her and keep them from getting nibbled.

Nibbled by what?

She shuttered her mind and tried to imagine that chair, except it turned ebony and hairy. And suddenly had eyes, vivid green ones. The shaggy wolf sat in front of her closed lids, his gaze reassuring.

Sleep. I’ll guard you.

For some reason, she trusted him. She let loose her hold on the waking world, slipping into a deep slumber, but not an easy one. Without the drugging effect of the pills, she found herself in that other place—the one she forgot every time she woke. But I know this place.

Knew it with the hazy recollection of déjà vu, and yet she didn’t recall ever actually seeing it. Only in her dreams, and it was always the same. A vast field of swaying grass, the green fronds long, some of them gone to seed, the smell of it fragrant. Interspersed among the vibrant green were flowers, the blooms much like poppies but of every imaginable color. In her dream, she sometimes plucked them and inhaled their vibrant scent.

Thinking of it had her reaching for a bloom. She snapped it from its stem and held it up. Stared. The hand holding the flower didn’t appear like her hand. It was stronger. Callused. Capable of doing things.

Nothing about Adara’s dream-self resembled her. In this imaginary world, she was tall with waist-length platinum tresses. Her body toned rather than emaciated.

She always found herself dressed in white from head to toe—white leggings that hugged her skin, the material soft and stretchy. Her feet clad in boots made of a supple leather so malleable she would have said synthetic except that sounded wrong. She wore a slim-fitting silky tunic, buttons marching up the center. Almost like a uniform.

There was no mirror in this place, so she never saw the face. Would it even be her face? Nothing else resembled her.

Not even the attitude.

This brighter version of herself had something Adara had yet to find—courage. When dreaming as her alter ego, Adara felt as if she could take on the world. She always enjoyed this part of the dream, even knowing what was to come. The ugliness that left her shaking and weeping when she woke in bed.

As with every other time she dreamed, she walked across the field of green grass—on my way to see…

Who? She could never quite see a face.

The verdant ocean of color and life brought her great joy—but not as much happiness as…

A blank spot. Something missing.

Forget.

She found herself at the edge of a huge forest. It loomed over her, ancient and mighty, a veritable wall of gnarly giants whose spreading branches blocked the bright sunlight that streamed from an unseen sun. Shadows hid under those boughs.

Secrets, too.

Adara screamed at her dream-self to turn away, to not enter the woods, but her brave projection never seemed to hear. Would this shining version stop if she knew what was to come?

Probably not, because in the moment before I enter, I am happy. The last time I recall ever being such.

I step into the forest and, immediately, the warmth of the sun ceases bathing my skin. Cool air, a light breeze hinting at the darkness of the woods, kisses my flesh.

But I don’t shiver. I’ve nothing to fear.

I move deeper into the forest. I’ve been here many times before. Too many to count.

The bright light fades the deeper I go whilst the pockets of darkness spread.

The forest is old, and I can almost hear its slumbering snore. Perhaps that is why they’ve warned people not to come here.

I am not afraid.

A mournful wail emerges from the gloom ahead of me. A pathetic sound that stabs me. With no fear and good intentions, I head toward the heart of the forest. Here, there is no daylight. Nothing to warm the earth and grow a seed. Brown leaves and twigs crackle underfoot. Dead brambles and thickets snag at my clothing and hair. Minor distractions. I brush them off and push on, the heartbreaking cries putting haste to my step.

Ahead, I can see a huddled figure, a tiny, fragile thing, her knees drawn up so that frail arms might hug them. Hair as dark as the coal burned to stave off the cold covers her features.

A part of me wants to stop now and turn. Run from what comes next.

Running is for cowards. That girl needs my help.

I head toward her, only to halt as a sound draws my attention. I whirl, and my smile starts out as one of welcome but quickly fades.

Out of the shadows steps a demon, a nightmarish creature with leathery gray skin, burning eyes, and a hulking body.

I do not even feel a quiver. I fear no evil. I am the light against it. Step aside, foul creature from Hell, I order.

The squat and ugly demon laughs instead. If it isn’t the favored one. We’ve been waiting for you.

How did they know I’d be here? Had I been betrayed?

Surely not…

The first hint of fear almost makes me shiver.

But I will not show it.

My sense of bravery means I won’t back down even as I am screaming inside to run away. I never run from the danger. And thus, the reason for what happens to me next. You are no match for me, demon.

But her dream persona was wrong. And that demon wasn’t alone.

Adara—all sides of her—screamed even as her body slept, the sound so high-pitched, so haunting in its misery, it sliced through the night and the minds of those able to hear.

It rolled out in an incoherent call, one full of misery, a request that begged.

Help me.

Chapter Six

If that’s all the business we have for tonight? Logan glanced around the room at his packmates. The meeting had gone quickly—once he arrived late from his patrol.

Before anyone could reply, his skin goose pimpled. His head swiveled toward the door, and he frowned.

Do I hear screaming? A shiver ran through his body like the shadowy step of death on his grave. For a moment, he felt an urge to run to the woman’s apartment. To check that she was safe.

Except, judging by the chatter of his pack, no one else heard it.

Only me. And he was being stupid. He couldn’t hear the woman from here. You’re just looking for an excuse to see her again. He squashed that idea. He needed to get to bed. The workday would start in only a few hours