Sorcha: Wolves of Sorrow, #5

By Elaina Roberts

Sorcha Novik longs to leave her past behind. Sorrow means fear and pain and the weight of never being enough. Not strong enough. Not dominant enough. Not wolf enough. She finds contentment in the intricacies of the electrical systems vital to the wolves' survival and joy in learning the technology of her new world.

Then she meets Zahar. He's handsome, playful, and seems to genuinely see her. Not the warrior her father wanted her to be or the submissive many of the pack treated her as. He sees her and seems to like what he sees.

But Zahar isn't who she believes him to be, and Sorcha carries scars deeper than just her skin. They rip open during a summer storm and nip at her heels throughout her postgraduate assessment. While she and Zahar navigate a relationship Sorcha never expected but cannot live without, they find themselves targets in the saboteurs' vengeful game.

Can Sorcha overcome the trauma of her past, save her mate, and claim the male who sings to her wolf's heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elaina Roberts
• Release date: Sep 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223573685

Book preview

[01]

Sorcha lounged under a tree in the university’s courtyard and soaked in the sun’s warmth. She didn’t miss the endless deserts of Earth Prime with their sandstorms and thin air and ruins, but she did miss the heat. Turning her face to the sky, she gloried in the clear air, the scent of flowers on the breeze, and the hum of students and instructors. This city was vibrant and alive in ways she’d never experienced. Here, she was free to pursue her passions and her pleasures.

Spreading her pretty skirt over the grass, she traced a sparkling silver thread with a fingertip. She loved colorful, silly things like this skirt or the riot of pillows and art scattered throughout her den in the university dormitory. The vibrant clash of textures and patterns in a mix of greens and blues and shocking reds made her den feel like a garden of wildflowers. So different from Sorrow it was more than night and day. It was the stark clash of sepulchral gloom and the brilliance of the sun.

Before her wolf could relax to the point of catching a nap, she opened her bag and pulled out a small chunk of wires and aramidium and fascinating mechanisms. She’d bought the thing off a junk dealer who’d promised her it was a receiver capable of picking up the Rifaniir’s silent native tongue. There was no way to be certain, however, as it transmitted along the same frequency if it worked at all. She’d planned to use the receiver as the basis for her finals project, but after weeks of tinkering with the device, she’d chosen a more familiar route. Still, she kept the device as a private project and worked on it in her spare time.

With her finals project nearing completion, a solar array built entirely from parts not intended for that purpose, she could focus on the receiver. She set a reminder on her comm device for her next class, pulled out her tool kit, and went to work.

The mechanics were easy. She’d worked on the pack’s equipment since she was a juvenile, and the warriors always brought her new devices they’d found during their scavenging runs. When she was sixteen, she accompanied them to a military installation and discovered a treasure trove of comm devices in a building marked as a maintenance school. The devices contained blueprints, technical specs, maintenance schedules, and more. She’d carried them onto the Kaleidoscope and still owned them to this day. They were her most prized possessions other than her tool kit.

Like the devices, Sorcha had carried that kit across the wastes and across the galaxies. Her mentor, Bristol, had taken a traumatized, wounded juvenile and taught her to be a skilled technician. Protective and kind, the older wolf had rebuilt the confidence her father had shattered and proven she didn’t need dominance to be a vital part of the pack. He perished during a run to the nearest oasis, and Sorcha would mourn his loss forever.

Growling at the painful memory, she adjusted the device’s frequency another tic and listened. Nothing. Either the receiver wasn’t picking up, or Rifaniir speech was outside known Earth measurements. Maybe it didn’t have to do with sound frequencies at all but some other measurement unknown to the hybrids left by the humans. She bared her fangs at the device, her wolf in complete agreement at tracking down this prey.

Does that work? asked a voice as smooth as melted chocolate, rich and dark and sinfully appealing. The first time she tried the exotic treat, she’d devoured piece after decadent piece until she was ill. She wanted to do the same now, just wallow in a voice which was a sensuous feast for her ears.

No, but it makes me feel better.

Sorcha looked up and discovered a Rifaniir male as compelling as his voice. Of medium height and with the sleek build of a desert scout, she’d seen him around the campus many times. Sometimes talking to other students, sometimes the instructors. His ability to blend into a crowd was muted by the dominant strength which buffeted her senses any time their paths crossed. Handsome and charming he might be, but that strength was a potent reminder to her wolf that she faced a predator.

She shielded her eyes against the sun’s glare and scowled at him. Predator or not, this was just rude. Do you plan to sit or just loom?

His laughter tugged at something deep inside her and invited her to laugh with him. He’d sheathed his claws today, choosing to charm rather than intimidate. Since you asked so kindly, I believe I’ll join you.

He settled at the base of a nearby tree, one muscular leg stretched out before him, the other bent at the knee. Even in the dappled shade, his skin gleamed a golden brown. The mottled sunlight created highlights and shadows over the harsh angles of his face. His only point of softness, a full bottom lip made for a wolf’s nipping kisses. He was stunning.

Scowling harder at her crazed thoughts, she made another adjustment on the device. What do you want?

Okay, yeah, that was rude, but he was just too much. Too playful. Too dangerous. Too impossibly gorgeous with the silver starlight glittering in his midnight eyes, and streaks of the same metallic hue in his dark brown hair. His scent teased her wolf, the soothing notes of sturdy pines and rich, moist soil oddly familiar. There was something else, something subtle stalking between the trees and lurking beneath an unexpected bite of ozone. That missing note served to remind her the Rifaniir were ambush predators who struck like a flash of lightning.

If you’d prefer I go, I will, he said quietly. No playfulness in him now. His voice held only sincerity and a note of regret.

She set the device in her lap and ran her fingers through her hair. Sorry, I’m being rude. I get snarly when I’m frustrated, but I shouldn’t take it out on strangers. I’m Sorcha.

Zahar. What’s made you growly?

Nothing for class. She rotated the device in her hands, debating whether or not to reveal its purpose. The warriors in the pack believed the Rifaniir would object, but Sorcha wasn’t convinced she could complete the build without help from one of the natives of this planet. It was a gamble. She wasn’t ready to trust this too-curious stranger, but she couldn’t deny its existence. Maybe he’d unintentionally reveal a clue. She tossed it over to him with a smile. Guess.

He took his time studying the device, and she took the opportunity to admire him. He wasn’t broad like Izabel’s director. Ranoch Til intimidated all but the strongest warriors in the pack with his powerful presence and impressive build. While Zahar was powerful, a soldier if she had to guess, he didn’t send her wolf’s tail between its legs in submission like Vaistu Elloufen. Their razheen’s dominance was a terrifying thing of teeth and claws. This man, however. She stole glances while putting away her tools. He was delectable.

Zahar’s gaze sharpened as he studied the device, and his spine straightened. A receiver. Does it have recording capabilities?

Right now, it doesn’t even have receiving capabilities, she answered dryly. As far as I can tell, it’s nonfunctional.

Your goal? He opened a side panel and arched a brow. He’d discovered one of her additions to the device.

Am I going to get thrown in a musty dungeon if I refuse to say?

His lips twitched. Maybe, or maybe I’ll chain you to my side instead.

A truly unbearable punishment. She retrieved her device and issued a challenge of her own. Meet me again, and I might tell you.

He laughed, but there was a gleam in his eyes, a reminder of the predator within. She’d drawn his attention, made herself interesting to this powerful male. Her wolf stretched awake and prowled inside her mind. The normally passive creature liked the scent of this Rifaniir, wanted to get closer, sniff out that hidden note. Packing away her project and tools when her comm unit beeped, she decided to take a chance and play with this gorgeous male. It’d make the rest of this class term so much more enjoyable.

***

She ran into Zahar two days later, her claws out and her wolf baring its fangs at anyone who approached. Professor Wrexyn, a thin male with stark white hair and a supercilious air about him, reset the classroom’s comm units citing a security breach. That wasn’t the issue. Dr. Yariell Arlo, her instructor for the Advanced Electrical Components class, reset the students’ comms weekly. The issue was that, unlike Arlo, Wrexyn keyed the devices’ access to the Rifaniir’s audible speech range. A range outside a wolf’s ability to hear or speak.

What’s wrong?

Zahar’s dominance pushed her to answer. She snarled, instead. Back off, Rifaniir. I’m in no mood for more of your people’s games today.

Games? I don’t understand.

Sorcha stepped onto the lift platform and punched the button for the ground floor with a clawed finger. He joined her, leaning back against the rail with one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded over his chest. She curled her lip to bare a fang. Korlyn’s Glen is welcoming until it’s not. Most have learned over the past few weeks not to choose violence, but that doesn’t mean they’ve stopped being petty fucking annoyances. Today was the very definition of petty. It gets old.

The stars in his obsidian eyes faded one by one and left a sea of black shimmering with iridescent color. It was as strange as it was beautiful. Menace radiated off him and sent her wolf into a wary crouch, but he kept his voice even. Please, tell me what happened.

Sighing, she did. It’s not like it was a secret. This was her fourth class with Prof. Wrexyn, and he’d pulled some version of this kind of bullshit every single term. She tried to avoid his classes but not all offered alternate instructors. Administration was less helpful than a screen door in a sandstorm, so she’d learned to deal. She’d ask another student to unlock the comm unit and reprogram it herself. Hazife wouldn’t mind. The mind games played by Wrexyn and his compatriots pissed them off, too.

They act against their razheen’s decrees, Zahar said once she’d finished the story.

She shrugged. Razheen Elloufen isn’t here, and the administrator doesn’t care. He’s still mad about the formal complaint lodged against him by Director Til and a Dr. Jai.

The complaint was justified. They could have removed him from his post. Instead of learning from that incident, he chooses to retaliate against the wolves. His frown grew deeper, the aura of danger gaining strength until Sorcha bit back a whine. She needed to reassess his threat level. Perhaps he was stronger than she’d originally guessed. Unacceptable. Has anyone contacted the razheen’s office?

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was mostly nerves and bordered on hysteria, but there was amusement also. Are you being serious right now? The platform settled, and she started toward her den. I’m nobody, not even a mid-level dominant. I can’t just wander over to the razheen’s residence for a visit.

What about the ka-Razheen? She’s part of your pack.

No, not really, and it’s through no fault of hers. If I were her, I’d probably laugh in the face of any wolf of Sorrow who approached her for help. We all let her down in so many ways.

Sorrow’s wolves were very, very good at failing to protect their own. They’d alienated Shoba, ignored William’s perversions, and never once questioned a father’s insistence on warrior training for his non-dominant child. A shudder ran through her and carried the memory of a crushing weight on her chest, a searing pain, and then days of helpless fear while her life dripped away drop by bloody drop.

Slamming the door on those memories for that path led to madness, she paused at the entrance to her building. Look, I’m not concerned about myself. I have friends who’ve helped me in similar situations, and I’ll see if they’ll do it again, but the pack has pups who’ll grow up in Warrior’s Weald. I don’t want them to deal with this crap when they get older. We left Sorrow to make their lives better not harder in different ways.

I know someone who can help. He stopped in the doorway of the building, his body silhouetted by the setting sun. Again, the past beckoned. Sorcha pushed it away with teeth-gritted determination and ushered him into the building. Will you let me contact them on your behalf?

One, she said over her shoulder as she pressed her palm to the reader by her door, I can’t stop you. And two, won’t it be considered just a rumor if you say something rather than me?

Not if you let me reprogram your comm unit, then I’ll have proof.

Zahar followed her into her room and froze. She’d painted the walls in the colors of the desert. A dark reddish-brown at the bottom which gradually faded to a pale tan midway up the wall. The lines weren’t straight, instead they flowed like the undulating shapes of the sand dunes in the wastes. Above the dunes, she’d painted a brilliant sunset in reds and yellows and purples. Flickering light spheres hung from the ceiling like stars. The room might have been dark and dreary if not for her art and trinkets and pillows in every imaginable hue. It reminded her of the vibrant merchant stalls which roamed the wastes, the one piece of Sorrow she remembered with joy.

Grinning at his shocked expression, she drew her device from her bag and placed it on the small bar attached to the kitchenette. You don’t like it?

It’s stunning. His voice was an awed whisper. Like a market center on the edge of the Aerincael Wastes. Warm and vibrant. Colorful and cozy. If I close my eyes, I can almost hear the merchants hawking their wares or feel the wind in my hair. He touched a finger to one of the light spheres, ran his hand over a sunny yellow pillow woven through with threads of shimmering black. This is incredible.

It was her turn to stare in shock. He understood. This Rifaniir, this near stranger, had taken a single look at the chaos of her den and grasped the reasons why she enjoyed the multihued turmoil. He saw the coziness in the profusion of color, the peace in the riotous order. He saw her. She didn’t know how to reply, what to reply.

He turned, then, and ran the back of his finger down her cheek. You fit here, a vibrant butterfly in her garden.

Heat burned her cheeks even as she rolled her eyes. Butterflies don’t have claws, Zahar. She tapped the sharp tips on his arm, a wicked urge to tease bubbling inside her. "Unless… Do butterflies have claws on Barif?"

Catching her hand, he brushed his lips over her clawed fingers. Now you’re being silly. Let me unlock this comm unit so you can do your work. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll let me take you to lunch and show you parts of the merchant square those not born in Korlyn’s Glen rarely get to see.

I think I’d like that.

[02]

Sorcha dressed the next day with care. She chose her favorite frothy skirt made of gathered rows of patchwork cloth and paired it with a shimmering sheer top over a fitted camisole with a scalloped neck. A gleaming black belt hugged her waist and held a pouch containing her toolkit, receiver project, and comm device. Her chunky boots matched the belt. Her hair was too fine for an elaborate style, so she pulled part of it back and let the soft curls frame her face. She had no experience with the cosmetics worn by so many of her classmates and didn’t think a date with the sexy Rifaniir was a good time to experiment.

A date for lunch, she reminded herself sternly. Just lunch and some exploring. But she hoped for more. Wolves weren’t meant for solitude, yet the few lovers she’d taken while on her new planet had seen her as more of a curiosity than a person. She didn’t want to be an experience to tick off on their mental list, that strange thing they hadn’t fucked before, but she wanted Zahar. Maybe he’d be her experience? She chuckled and tucked a stubborn lock of hair back into the clip.

When he arrived at her door, he took her breath away. He wore black pants with silver piping down the outer seams, a black shirt with silver embroidery on the collar and cuffs, and a stunning smile. The bouquet he offered her was a beautiful explosion of color, the flowers created from scraps of aramidium, discarded bits of broken devices, and ribbons of every type of fabric. It was the most amazing gift anyone had ever given her. It proved yet again that he saw her.

Zahar. She traced the burnished edge of one petal, twined a curled ribbon around her finger. These are beautiful. Thank you.

You like them? He followed her into her den and watched her choose a colorful pot in which to place them. Sliding his hands in his pockets, he leaned his shoulder against the wall, a vulnerable expression on his face.

Like them? No. She set the pot in the center of her small bar and turned to leap into his arms. I love them!

He caught her around the waist, his eyes sparking with lightning stars and his smile brilliant.