Beat of my Heart: Cursed & Hunted, #9

By Sheri-Lynn Marean

His destiny is to free the Raizarch wolves from the vampire king …

… but to do so he has to mate someone he doesn't love.

 

All his life, Toren knew he was different but could never understand why.

Until a lone wolf—Zeveride—temporarily joins their pack. A handsome male with vivid green eyes, he takes Toren's breath away and makes him want things he shouldn't.

 

For the Okami wolves, life is about the survival of their species. As the heir of the Okami king, Toren's life is already laid out before him—the Okami king's youngest son of mating age must mate the Raizarch king's youngest daughter in order to fee the wolves.

 

How can Toren refuse? And if he did, how would he ever live with himself?

 

Yet, as disaster strikes and he and Zeveride grow closer, the harder it becomes for Toren to accept his fate. But when the lone wolf who's captured his heart suddenly leaves, Toren tries to forget the male. Except he can't.

 

What's worse, Toren can feel that Zeveride is in trouble.

 

Get it now and feel the beat of your heart as these two wolves navigate an impossible love.

 

**Warning: Contains an MM relationship. 

 

For fans of JR. Ward, Hailey Turner, Charlie Cochet & Macy Blake, Grae Bryan, SJ Himes/Sheena Jolie, TJ Klune, Laurell K Hamilton, Rhys Ford, Mary Calmes, Jordan L Hawk

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sheri-Lynn Marean
• Release date: Oct 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781988636849

Sheri-Lynn Marean

Sheri-Lynn Marean, Author of Dracones Awakening, book one in the Dracones series, did not grow up thinking she would one day be an author. Instead, she grew up riding and working with racehorses, drawing and selling her animal artwork, and of course reading. Sheri fell in love with reading at age twelve and has not stopped reading. One day Sheri decided she would write her own book, with her own characters, doing what she wanted them to do. She began to write and the characters came to life in her head. Now, several years later, she has never looked back. 

Book preview

1

TOREN

Abitter breeze ruffled Toren’s rust-colored pelt as he waited in wolf form for his pack to catch up. A storm was coming, but what kind, he didn’t know. He gazed down the rocky incline at the camp they’d set up in a forested clearing nestled against a towering mountain wall and tried to shake off the foreboding that had been with him for days. Yet despite all he did—despite the run with his pack mates—it hung on, clinging like a leech that refused to let go.

The run had been good, fun, and he should be relaxed. But that wasn’t all that had been plaguing him. It felt like an itch under his skin, a need for something more. It had started five or six years ago, and grew steadily worse every day. And he hated it. Hated the deep loneliness that weighed upon him. He didn’t understand—surrounded by family and pack—what was there to be lonely about? Toren didn’t get why he always balked at his female friends when they offered to become more.

Except that wasn’t the truth. He did know. They didn’t interest him. Not as lovers and certainly not as mates.

Maybe this was his fate. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be happy.

I need to try harder, he told himself, knowing it would fail.

What he wouldn’t give to be like everyone else. The unmated members of his pack never hesitated to enjoy themselves with one another, and afterward they were always so relaxed.

Toren could appreciate how uninhibited they all were, and he was glad for his pack mates. Though it often left him with a sour feeling of jealousy, and that didn’t sit well with him.

It didn’t matter how many times Toren told himself he could change, or how many times he tried. He couldn’t seem to let go of what he wanted, what he dreamed of having. But maybe it was time to let it all go.

He needed to give up his crazy dreams, push what he desired away and bury it once and for all and accept his lot in life.

A blast of wind broke open the mild yet chilly day, howling like the melancholy in his soul as it swept icy fingers right through Toren’s coat. It flowed around him like a mini cyclone, bringing with it a wavering phantom.

Toren blinked, unsure if his sorry musings had conjured up what he was seeing—a pair of vivid green eyes that seemed as real as if they belonged to a person standing right in front of him. Except there was no body, just the eyes that spoke of untold loneliness and sorrow.

Toren couldn’t break the hold they had on him, yet he knew they were set in a masculine face as faint strands of long, dark hair swirled in the currents.

A strong sense of dread, mixed with anticipation, wound through him.

No, wait! Toren silently pleaded, but he was too late. The mirage, or phantom, or whatever it was, drifted away as did the sudden wind.

Toren stood frozen, unsure if his mind was playing tricks or if he’d really seen what he had.

With his wishful thinking, it could have been a figment of his imagination. But while foretelling the future had never been one of his abilities, it did run in his family, so it could be a latent gift.

And if that were the case, what did it mean?

The sound of paws tearing up the ground—of his pack mates as they finally caught up to him—brought Toren back to the here and now. Amid yips, grunts, and good-natured snarls, they ran by, kicking up mud as they passed him on their way down the trail. Then slowing, they entered camp, leaving a muddy mess in their wake. Some headed to the cooking food, while others dropped down and lay panting. A couple morphed into clothed human forms and then joined their families.

He had a great bunch of friends, and right now, though they were grown up, they still enjoyed playing and frolicking. Yet when it was time to teach the younger pups, or take their turns on sentry duty, they embraced that as well, for they all knew how fleeting their time here could be, how quickly everything could end.

As youngsters, it had been hard to sit tight and hide when the enemy found them. Harder still when the sounds of battle filled the air along with the scent of blood and death.

Yet, they’d always had one another’s backs and still did. Toren loved his pack and would willingly die for any one of them, as he knew they would for him.

A large wolf, coat a shimmering deep golden-brown, stopped beside Toren.

One of these days I will beat you, Deetan said via mind link as his tongue lolled and laughter gleamed in his dark-golden eyes. Though they were born the same day, his friend was a much bigger-boned wolf. Deetan’s rugged, masculine beauty, combined with a wicked sense of humor, made him well sought after by the single females.

Power shimmered as the other male took his human form. In worn black jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt, Deetan’s gold eyes glowed as his shoulder-length brown hair fluttered in the wind. He focused on the unmated females below. One smiled and waved up at him.

Deetan grinned. I’m feeling horny.

Toren also changed into his two-legged form, adorned in similar clothing, grateful that they didn’t feel the cold like humans did. However, he’d definitely felt the frigid wind that had brought the green eyes to him. Toren shook off the strange occurrence and remained silent, aware of his muscle-bound friend standing so close. He purposely avoided looking at Deetan, as lately, the thoughts running through his mind, while confusing to him, would undoubtedly horrify Deetan.

Deetan grabbed his arm as Toren was about to leave. I’ve seen you watching me with them.

Toren froze and the blood in his veins turned to ice.

"I know you’re Kyrian—our king’s—son. Deetan stared at him. And that comes with certain expectations, but sometimes you have to do things for you. Understand?"

What exactly are you saying? Had Deetan figured out his secret?

You watch me with the females, yet you haven’t bedded any, Deetan responded.

Toren shrugged, not ready to admit the reason why.

Look, I know your father and uncle keep a sharp eye on you, so I can understand you being self-conscious about it, Deetan said.

They’re just protective, Toren protested, even though he was twenty-three years old.

I know, and with the life we live—the danger—I totally understand. I also know that you’re expected to mate a certain female. But you are a grown male. Surely your father wouldn’t begrudge you a little fun first, would he?

No, of course not. Toren’s father wasn’t the problem. He was.

So, come out with us tonight, we’re heading into the city.

From the corner of his eye, Toren spotted a massive black wolf exiting the forest. He shivered at the sight of his uncle, glad the male was family, ’cause Soroyan was one of the most ferocious wolves ever born.

What are you doing, pup? Soroyan asked telepathically as he sauntered by.

Toren scowled. Nothing, and I’m not a pup anymore.

Compared to me, you’ll always be a pup. Then he was gone.

He call you a pup again? Deetan asked.

Toren blew out an annoyed breath. I don’t think he’ll ever stop, no matter how old I get.

Yeah, probably not. Deetan slung an arm over his shoulder. So, you coming with us tonight or what?

Despite how much he wanted to see Denver, Toren shook his head. His father didn’t want him spending time in the human world. It was a bone of contention that usually filled Toren with anger, but this time he was fine with not going. For if he did, he knew what would be expected of him by his friends, and he wasn’t ready to have sex with a female. No, not tonight.

2

MYSTICAL PULL

Cursed. Zeveride was definitely cursed. He had to be. This pull that dug its claws in and drove Zeveride to follow where it led, might have been intended as a gift, and sure, he would occasionally arrive in time to save or help someone. But more often than not, he’d arrive too late and end up staring at the remains of some poor soul, knowing that the curse was laughing its ass off at him.

Feet aching, Zeveride ignored the cold, his hunger, and the trickle of anticipation that swept like tiny needles throughout him. Why couldn’t this so-called curse, or gift—whatever the fuck—ever send him to a warm sunny place? Like a beach, or somewhere he could relax and soak up some rays and save a turtle, bird, or fish. Maybe a beached dolphin or whale.

’Cause just once it would be nice not to chase death and danger.

A chill shivered over his spine as he entered what felt like the dangerous part of this experience. Though this time, it didn’t reek of evil magic.

He seemed to be the only supe able to smell the Ilyium’s magic when they used it for evil, though in all fairness, he’d not asked every nonhuman he met if they could. But the ones he had, hadn’t any idea it left an odor.

Zeveride squinted up at the winter sun for a quick moment. Then he lowered his head again and trod on toward whatever awaited, putting one foot in front of the other. It was no use to try and avoid it, he’d been there and done that, and learned that when the drive was upon him, he was better off just following it.

However, he’d been walking for days and was ready to end this journey. Like it would be so easy.

He only made it a few more paces when the mystical force that had brought him out to the Colorado Rockies, suddenly changed direction.

Zeveride glanced up the highway, then gazed westward.

His pulse began to race. Though he stood in human form, he inhaled deeply, parsing the different scents around him. He might not be able to catch as much as he would as a wolf, but he still picked up a lot.

Zeveride slid his water bottle from the side pocket of his pack and, without taking his eyes off the rugged, snow-crusted landscape, uncapped the bottle and then slowly sipped.

He’d spent most of his life wandering the world, mainly in North America. He went where he pleased, when he wanted. The only change to his willy-nilly schedule was when he was drawn in a specific direction. It started the night he’d seen his mother die and his pack slaughtered.

He should have died with them, but he’d been spared. Why, he never knew, and throughout his life, Zeveride couldn’t help but wonder if he might’ve been better off dying like the rest of his pack.

As a hawk glided overhead, drifting lazily, Zeveride hesitated to move. The old fears never failed to return. What would he find this time? He’d lost track of the number of places he’d been sent only to discover his people—the Okami—lying broken in a pool of blood.

One was too many, but the hope that he might show up in time to help—to lend himself to the Okami’s fight against the Ilyium—was all he had. If that didn’t end up being the case, then at the very least, he could bury the dead.

Except, seeing the needless death and destruction hurt. Each time it took another piece of his soul away, leading him to ask questions all over again. Why had he been sent here to this spot? What was the point? Was fate bored and liked to see him chase his tail?

Zeveride didn’t know if he believed in fate, or the gods, but he couldn’t discount them as there was much he didn’t understand. Like the fact that some Okami wolves had unique gifts, or magic as he liked to think of it, and could do amazing, good things. Some had mediocre magic that wasn’t very useful. Then there were the curses, of which Zeveride was almost sure he had.

Still, in all his thirty years, none of the drives that urged him in a specific direction had ever left him feeling so tense. Which couldn’t be a good sign, could it?

No. Never before had his heart quickened in such a way. It was as if his search had finally ended. Which made no sense whatsoever. He wasn’t searching for anything, just living day by day, sometimes in the human world, sometimes in nature as he’d been born—a wolf.

Zeveride gazed back at the distant city of Denver and another shiver shook him. Somehow, he was aware that if he continued in his current direction, he’d be forever changed. He couldn’t say why, and it honestly didn’t matter. It was just something he knew deep in his bones.

Again, a faint whiff of wolf—pack—drifted to him on the breeze. Not death this time, but living, breathing souls.

It was a good sign, yet Zeveride hesitated. The sense of danger had increased, the itch within growing stronger. He was entering the territory of another pack. A dangerous one. Powerful.

With each step forward, his stomach began to percolate with what felt like a cauldron of acid, and tension drew sweat from his pores even though it wasn’t warm out.

Zeveride drew in a deep breath and continued onward, caution in every step. As bad as his life sometimes sucked, he wasn’t ready for it to end.

Yet, as he grew closer to his destination, and despite the fear—the dire warning to tread carefully—his heart began to thump with excitement.

Which made no sense. A pack was a pack, wasn’t it?

The thought of being around others like him was always enticing, because, as good as he’d grown at keeping who and what he was from the humans, it was much easier being with supes like him. They already knew what he was, so he only had one secret to hide and it wasn’t this so-called gift that led him everywhere by the dick. No, it was another one. One that pretty much no Okami shifter he’d ever come across would be able to understand, never mind accept.

And he’d met a lot of the packs out there. He’d helped them when he could, and then they’d nicely ask him to move on. Not many wanted a stray who might take a female from one of their own.

Though there was one pack he’d yet to come across.

Could this finally be it?

This strange intensity might make sense if he’d found the pack.

Either way, the idea of joining others like him for a little while, instead of subjecting himself to the cloying scent of humans in their artificial world, was a good enough reason to press on.

Zeveride found a well-traveled deer trail and left the asphalt for the forest. He began to climb, following his nose, taking a different path when it veered off until he came to a tiny clearing with a few large boulders.

He stopped.

This was as far as he could go. The territory in front of him was scent-marked. Zeveride pulled a sandwich he’d picked up in the city from his backpack, then set all his worldly goods on the ground. He unwrapped the food and then took a bite, leaning against one of the craggy rocks.

Again, a faint current of air carried the smell of pack, followed by that of a much more powerful creature. One who was quickly making his way to Zeveride.

It wasn’t one of the guards either. Zeveride couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there and was glad they were. It meant this pack was protected.

But whoever was nearing him was something—someone else. Someone extremely dangerous.

Zeveride shivered as he sensed the aggression headed his way. If he was right and this was the pack he thought it was, then this might be the pack’s enforcer.

Not that he was afraid. There wasn’t much Zeveride couldn’t handle. He was a large wolf and thanks to fighting for survival all his life, he’d grown tough.

He hadn’t had a choice if he wanted to continue living.

Still, he wasn’t looking to get into any altercations today.

It would be nice to have a friendly place to lay his head for a short while. Short being the keyword. He generally left before he wore out his welcome.

But not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to finally belong. To stay in one place and not have to move all the time.

He didn’t see that happening in the foreseeable future.

Zeveride slid the empty sandwich wrap into his backpack and sat down beside it.

He didn’t wait long.

The air thickened and the fine hair on the back of his neck prickled, urging him to shift. He fought the compulsion and kept his human form. The other wolf was close.

Despite telling himself to stay calm, Zeveride tensed even more and kept his hands by his sides. I intend no harm to you or your pack. He spoke quietly and without challenge to the wolf whose presence felt like a barely contained thunderstorm behind him.

Silence met his words, then a brutal wave of power—needlelike prickles—flowed over and around him.

He couldn’t move.

Zeveride fought his wolf’s panic, but it wasn’t easy. His beast didn’t like what was happening. However, if he gave in and changed form, no doubt he’d not live to see another sunrise.

Sharp as razor blades, the dark energy entered him. His beast fought harder as it sizzled, hot daggers of lightning, piercing as it sought the truth of his words.

Zeveride drew in slow, even breaths, willing his wolf to remain calm. The old bastard was testing him, waiting to see what he’d do. Would he show fear, shift, maybe draw on his power in retaliation?

Most wolves would have found it impossible not to react.

Zeveride wasn’t most wolves.

The enforcer—for there was no longer any doubt in Zeveride’s mind as to who this was—had no reason to hurt him. At least, that was what he told his own beast. Except we’re close to the male’s pack, his other half reminded him.

That was true, and not all wolves were completely sane either. But he pushed that thought away, relieved that his beast seemed content to let him take the lead.

Zeveride closed his eyes and lifted his face to bare his throat, letting the other male know he was willing to accept whatever was to happen.

Then the perusal was gone.

Zeveride blinked as the biggest wolf he had ever encountered moved to stand in front of him.

The male’s coat was as black as Zeveride’s, though this creature had streaks of red in his.

He’d found the Okami king’s pack.

It was never a good idea to challenge a more dominant wolf, but Zeveride was also a dominant. And now, something told him that if he cowered before this male, he’d be headed back to the city. That is, if he were allowed to live.

He met the deadliest pair of red eyes he’d ever seen.

A rage so dark, so deep it was seared into the soul of the other wolf, made Zeveride flinch inside.

This was sheer folly, and to hold the other’s gaze for more than a split second?—likely suicide. But then no one had ever claimed he was smart.

Out of respect, Zeveride had submitted to the enforcer’s brutal evaluation, even though he wasn’t a submissive. The other wolf needed to know that, in the off chance he allowed Zeveride to join the pack for any length of time.

Honesty. What an interesting concept, the large breast said telepathically.

Zeveride reinforced his mental shields. I have nothing to hide and don’t believe in wasting time. It wasn’t easy, but he held back his snarl. He didn’t like anyone in his mind. Nor was it custom for one to dive in without being invited. However, this male didn’t strike Zeveride as one who cared about what was custom or good manners.

Not a small wolf himself, Zeveride appreciated the size of this foe and knew he’d more than met his match.

The eyes studying him were fiercely intelligent, but at his words, Zeveride swore he saw a flicker of humor. Then it was gone. Maybe he’d just imagined it?

Another blast of energy charged the air and the wolf became a huge black-haired male with turquoise eyes who looked just as ferocious in human form.

Zeveride remained seated. I’m Zeveride.

The enforcer narrowed his eyes. You’re a lone wolf. I smell it on you. What are you doing here?

I was … drawn … here. I’d like to seek hospitality if you’ll have me. It was the same thing he said to every pack he came across, well, the hospitality bit. He didn’t usually let anyone know that some kind of supernatural force