Mated
Contents
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
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
ALSO BY A. VERS
Adult Paranormal Romance
Dark Ties
Marked
Mated
Seven Hells
Circle of Fire
New Adult Urban Fantasy
Lost Nights Series
Blood is Forever
Bloody Thanks
Fire & Blood
Hunt for Blood
Blood Lines
Requiem Codices
Grave Night
Young Adult Paranormal
The Covenant Trilogy
Witch’s Hammer
Veil of Midnight
Shadowed Fire
Fire Weaver
Cover Art & Design: Dark Wolf Graphix
Mated
Book 2
Dark Ties
www.authoravers.com
Copyright© A. Vers, 2019
All Rights Reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the permission of the copyright owner.
Author’s Dedication
Thank you to my team. Your help is priceless. A huge thank you to my editor for always being excited for the next read. And to my readers. Without all of you, there would be no me.
To the one who still gives me butterflies…
Mated
Dark Ties II
A. Vers
Chapter 1
Nisha
“I hope you told him to leave.” The voice is thick, angry, and all southern woman through the earbud in my ear.
My eyes roll. “No, Mom, I told him to hang out for as long as he needed,” I retort. Juggling my phone and my keys in one hand, I slam the back hatch to my Jeep with the other. “Of course, I told him to leave. He has until the end of the week to finally get his shit, or it all goes to the curb.” I tuck the keys out of sight in the gas tank cubby.
Normally, I would carry them with me, but I don’t have the patience to manage them tonight. Not with the damn argument still circling my head.
“I warned you about him, Nisha. And you didn’t listen,” she snaps as I close the lid.
For a brief moment, chagrin filters through me. But it’s gone just as fast.
Mom doesn’t trust any man. So her warning me about Chuck is redundant. Especially now.
“Look, as much as I would love to discuss how all men are lower than the scum under the factory,” I say, slipping past the park entrance, “I’m out here at the path. I want to get a run in before midnight.”
Mom huffs. “Fine. But you just remember what I always told you. Ain’t no man good enough for my baby girl.”
I lean against a low pine and mime the words along with her.
“Nisha?”
“Yeah, Mom. I know,” I say as I tuck my phone into the sleeve over my bicep. “Love you.” My tone is all fake cheer.
She gives an aggrieved sigh, and I have the strangest feeling she knows I was mocking her. “Love you too, Nish. Be careful.”
“Always am.”
She hangs up and old school Jackson 5 blares through my headphones. Head bobbing to the beat, I set off at a swift jog down the unused trail at the back of the park.
The path through the scenic part of the swamp is old, derelict, and dark. But I don’t have to worry about slow runners, creepy men, or thieves. No one uses the path but me. No one is crazy enough to.
My sneakers pound the trail, decimating little broken leaves and the half-dried puddles from the storm days ago. A strong Louisiana breeze helps to dissuade the heat. But it’s quiet. In and out of my head.
Running has always done that for me. It drowns out the incessant flow of bullshit that filters into my life.
I veer around a really deep puddle and keep going downward, starting the ascent into the shallow basin. A short creek runs nearby. Its babble is soft this far out, but the big rock on the bank is the best place for a cool down stretch.
My sneakers slide in the makeshift ledges of dirt and roots as I speed down the slope. I grab onto a small sapling to slow my momentum.
It snaps off in my grasp.
I windmill, trying to grab onto anything else as my slick shoes fly out from underneath me.
My hands close over fistfuls of leaves, sticks, and protruding stone, but I can’t get purchase in any of it.
I careen head over heel. My body rolls down the slope, banging and jarring every inch of my flesh with sharp stings and pulsating aches. I cry out. The sound echoes in the trees.
But no one will hear.
I throw my arms up to protect my head, but my vision darkens as my temple slams into something rough. My teeth grit. Everything fades on the pounding beat of my heart, and all sound and light flees as I crash to the forest floor.
The world spins, but I’m not moving anymore.
Nausea and pain rack my body, leaving me whimpering and curled inward on myself.
My eyes flutter open and the trees are mostly still above me. I lightly pat the ground.
Flat, solid ground. No slope.
Tears spring to my eyes in relief. “Oh god.” I laugh, the sound too high, too edged. “I’m okay. I’m really okay.”
I mentally evaluate the aches and pains, running them against my first responder knowledge.
Bumps, bruises, scrapes. My arms and legs bend and relax without problem, even if they are a little stiff. No breaks. Or none that are identifiable without standing.
I roll slowly onto my side as the world continues to sway on its axis. My eyes cast over the basin where I lay. Maybe fifty feet out, my big cool down rocks waits, taunting me. I flip it off and climb slowly to all fours.
It’s hard standing, but I manage.
There’s a tightness to my right ankle that I don’t like. Not quite a sprain, but like it could be if I’m not careful.
“Jesus, you’re fucking lucky, Nisha,” I scold myself. “You just have to run out here. You just have to.” I brush off my clothes and scour the leaves for my lost earbuds.
An audible snap sounds behind me and I whirl. My ankle groans in protest, leaving me hobbling.
“Hello?” I call softly. “Is someone there?”
The woods fall quiet again. Too quiet.
It’s
the unearthly silence of no woodland creatures. No birds, no squirrels. The silence when a predator is in their midst.
An instinct ingrained since the dawn of man has me backing up. My eyes scan the dimness, searching the shadows beneath the thick canopy above.
Glowing gold eyes stare back.
I retreat another step as my heart slams in my chest. “Hello.” My voice is breathy. “You must be part of the local pack.”
No reaction.
I gulp.
“I fell—from the path up there.” I motion carefully back up the slope. “I didn’t mean to come into pack territory. If I need to speak to your alpha, I would be more than willing … you know … to explain why I’m here.”
A low rumble spills out from around those vibrant yellow eyes.
My hands raise slowly. “Or I can just go,” Another step back, “if you prefer…”
The bushes rustle and the first trace of tan and gold fur grows visible under the fat moon. My pulse pounds in my veins.
That low rumble spills again from a dark maw of bright white teeth. The cat is huge, well over six-feet and patched in sleek rosettes. It steps from the brush, and I stop breathing.
My mouth goes dry as its heavy paws silently slap the earth, bringing it ever closer.
Shifters are not as closed off about their second forms as they used to be, but having one so close, so visible … So out in the damn open … I glance upward at the glowing beacon in the otherwise dark sky. My heart skips a beat and I kick myself for not tracking the days.
The damn full moon.
Shit.
“It’s the week of the full moon. Right, of course it is. So, you guys are hunting probably?”
The cat snarls, flashing those deadly fangs.
Icy terror filters through me. “Please. I don’t want any trouble. I know the trail is Silver Rock land. And I won’t run here anymore. Just—please, let me go.”
All that brown fur bristles and the beast lowers on its haunches.
I don’t wait for it to spring. I turn and run.
My sneakers slide over the decaying and still wet leaves, but I’m back up and going just as fast as I fall. The beast crashes behind me.
Inside I scream at myself over and over. Running from a shifter is futile. Stupid. It sparks every damn instinct they have and right now, I’m the big cat’s mouse. But I can’t not run.
I dive across the basin floor, running parallel to the shallow creek. It’s once peaceful babble is inaudible over the rush of blood roaring through my ears.
Low branches scratch at my running gear. Roots tangle in my shoes, sending me stumbling in the little light from the moon above. My head whips this way and that, trying to find a way out. A way up.
I glance along the slope line, searching for footholds or saplings to aid my steep ascent. Something hot flows over my bare legs. I spin and drop.
The shifter sails past, its lean body twisting in midair to land feet away. I scramble up the slope.
My fingers and nails dig deep into rich scented loam. Leaves squish and dirt imbeds in my skin. I slam the toes of my sneakers into the hill and tug with every ounce of strength in my body.
I slide down with a whimper. Burning pain flows over my bare calves. I cry out and kick.
The low snarl sounds again and needle sharp pinches lock into my ankle.
I’m wrenched from the slope.
My body slides over the ground, sticks and small pebbles digging and cutting into my skin. I kick at the beast with my free leg. It releases my ankle and those long teeth gnash.
The cat pounces, ten deadly claws out and aimed for my body.
They rake down my sides like fire. My shorts split along with my skin, leaving hot trickles of blood in their wake. I kick out. The beast snarls and those long teeth clamp into my leg again.
“No. Stop.” I try to pull back. To get away. It’s bulk leans over me, lapping at my blood with a sandpaper tongue. The first nibble makes stars dance before my eyes.
It bites hard at my flesh and I flail at the pain.
I curl in on myself, arms over my head, as I scream and scream. No one can hear me, and no one comes. The burn fades slowly under a wave of darkness as teeth rend my skin.
This is it.
I punch and kick at the beast, unable to see anything past the tears. The pain.
Sharp teeth tear at my stomach, digging deep and eviscerating. Darkness roars over my vision at the wrongness, and I know no more.
Chapter 2
Tanner
The moon is high, nearly complete, and so damn fucking bright it sears my already sensitive eyes as the canopy above thins. Tree branches and thick shrubs scratch at my skin as wisp after wisp of changing mist swirls around my body. The cool vapor tickles my bare sides, adding to the heat in my feverish frame.
But I can’t control it. Not now.
Every breath is a pant; a forced inhale of the humid air that fills every corner of Louisiana. A residual trace of swamp flows to my nose, like stagnant water, greenery, and wildlife.
I huff.
My new captain Gage Whitehorn peers at me in the dimness, a question in his cool emerald eyes.
“Got to love running in a bayou,” I quip past my gritted jaw.
He bares his teeth like a flash of white across his shadowed face. “You could’ve changed with the pack.”
I give him the look that statement fucking deserves. “And battle until dawn?” I ask, voice laced with my frustration. “No-fucking-thank you.”
No matter how many times I tell the alphas in and around Lock Lake I’m not after their packs, as soon as we turn, my words fly out the proverbial fucking window. I spend more time trying not to kill their men or the alphas themselves than actually hunting. It leaves me in a foul mood for days. And since the Silver Rock alpha wouldn’t let me on pack land if I was bleeding to death, I have no choice but to come all the way out to the damn bayou.
But going this long without shifting has me on edge, cranky. Which is why we are in the fucking woods at almost midnight.
I glance back at Gage. “Are we sure they’ll be okay?”
He rolls his vibrant eyes. Even in the dark, the color is like spring blades of grass. “Horan and Caine are patrolling the outside of the cabin, T. If anything gets past a demon and a fallen angel …” He shudders. “Fucking Hells, I wouldn’t want to take on Ruin right now.”
I chuckle. “Good point.”
Our brave and fearless previous leader recently found his better half. And if we thought he was a hard-headed son of a bitch before, it’s nothing to how he reacts now. That Lilah Marks, his Consort, almost died two weeks before, is more than enough reason for him to be pissed. But that near death meant the only way to keep her alive was to turn her into a vampire like him. A dark demon of the night.
She’s been out of her transition for days. Now every sound, smell, sight … It’s all overloading her system faster than he can train her. But it’s been the thirst that has been the hardest to handle.
Ruin can only feed Lilah so many times before he has to feed too. But vamp food is hard to come by in the bayou. And it’s not like it’s my first time playing donor.
I glance down at the new bite on my wrist. The twin punctures are already scabbed thanks to my fast healing. They will be little more than two white mars on my tan skin by morning.
Ruin hates it, I know, asking for help and feeding from the team. But a Consort bond is powerful and deadly so early on. Still, it’s why we’re at my old family campground the week of the full moon instead of in town with all the noise and humans.
Because that shit always sounds better during a run.
My eyes roll.
“Shift, Tanner,” Gage prompts. “Then we can get back and relieve Horan from Caine’s incessant mouth.”
I salute him—the gesture part-mocking, part true respect for the Fae warrior—before joggi
ng a little deeper into the trees.
Letting the changing mist flow over me, my bones crack and pop. Each snap is loud in the quiet, and even some of the wildlife stills. My spine burns and my jaw aches, both sensations now oddly familiar after the thousands of times the change has taken me. Thick fur pushes up through my pores, making me itch and twist. Every organ seems to pinch, shifting as my ribcage narrows and presses downward. There’s a sharp burst of fire and my tail springs into existence with the lengthening of my spine.
I press down on my paws, leaning into the pain and letting it wash over me in a wave. If I fight it, it’s always worse.
It takes moments, the change from man to beast. But it always seems longer. The mist begins to clear and I slip into the brush.
The dimness is highlighted in bits of green and soft grays. Every small insect and speck seems to grow larger, magnified. A beetle scurries along, drawing my focus. I pounce, paw clamping over the hard shelled insect. It wiggles under my pads and a chuff leaves me.
“Let it go, furball.”
I peer over as Gage pushes away from a nearby black locust. His solid white curls are in a tight braid over one shoulder. And even if his dark shirt wasn’t strained where his arms are crossed, the scent of gun oil is easily recognizable. His sidearm and mine. I only gave it over when the shaking in my hands got too bad for me to fucking hold it.
He raises a brow, waiting.
My paw slowly lifts, releasing the perplexed insect.
Gage takes it all in with the same snide amusement he has always had. I no longer take it personally. It’s just who he is. “There is bigger game, you spoiled housecat,” he says. “Perhaps an alligator to play with?”
I turn and give him my tail in response before bolting into the trees. His light footsteps trail me, allowing me a sense of pack without ever realizing it.
And I will never tell him that fucking shit either.
We run through the backwoods of the bayou. Even with the moist and patchy ground, my steps are light and calculated. Easy. It’s always easier in beast form.