Touch a Dark Wolf (The Shadowmen Book 1) Read online

  When I first wrote this story, I had to take out certain elements because the original publisher felt readers wouldn’t want them. One particular element was the reasoning behind people with “special” blood and what that might mean to the evil forces we all know exist both in this world and in the spirit world beyond. So as I revamped this story to release on my own, I went in and added that element. What I previously had to call Elan, those with special blood, I could go back to calling Chosen. I could now explain that the Chosen were the descendants of King Solomon and his seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines from many nationalities that scattered to the ends of the earth upon his death. The bloodline from which King Solomon came had been blessed, so in the paranormal world I built, I made that blood special and created an evil that craved the blessed blood for its power. I hope you enjoy the changes I made. To me it adds fullness to the story and comes so much closer to the tale I wanted to tell so many years ago.

  Reasons do matter.

  Given the history of our world and delving into the events that are currently playing out on the world stage, there are some truths to be seen. Good and evil exist. Religions and ideologies play a huge part in everything that happens. And while there is power in money, if you go back through time, there is more power in blood. In creating the Shadowmen Series, I mixed those truths up a bit and had fun in writing stories that I hope show the hearts of strong men and women who go against the odds to fight a growing evil that threatens to overtake the world.

  Would that I had the resources and could do so in real life.

  Finally, I mention in this story that time travel might not be a person going from one time period to another, but of a person’s heart, soul, and spirit transcending the “normal” time it takes for certain things to happen, to courageously leap forward and grasp what is most important.

  When life and death are on the line, the normal barriers that keep people isolated from each other disappear as they rise to the occasion and fight for survival. This is even truer for a man and a woman, whose hearts are willing to sacrifice all for another.

  I hope you enjoy Erin and Jared’s love story, for their whirlwind tale begins many more that follow.

  Happy Reading!

  There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

  Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

  William Shakespeare (1564-1616),

  Hamlet. Act 1 scene 5

  The mist filling the Tennessee mountain pass was either fates middle finger telling Erin Morgan she was screwed, or a beckoning finger from the grave letting her know that sooner or later she was a dead woman. Sooner, if the budding sixth sense twisting her gut was proving itself true yet again. She’d been trying to shake the feeling, but couldn’t. It was more than just the Sno-Med billboards lining the road, advertising, “Let us enrich your life. We care for you.” Somehow Erin felt that Dr. Cinatas was tracing her escape from Manhattan into no-man’s-land, realizing she was after his jugular rather than hiding.

  She’d never dreamed—make that nightmared—that Dr. Cinatas was a murderer. She’d worked for the devil for months and hadn’t had a clue until this morning. A sudden cold sweat made her shiver. How many people had she unknowingly helped kill during that time? How big a pawn had she been? What evil plan was Cinatas playing out, and why? From what Erin had seen, four people had been murdered to bring one back from the edge of death. Multiply the number she’d help treat by four, and the death toll was . . .

  Oh, God. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her nails biting into the leather padding. A chill shuddered through he body, and her stomach churned with a sickening dread that she could hardly face.

  Don’t think about it! she told herself, trying to force her mind away from the scene that had greeted her that morning, but she couldn’t escape the memory. She couldn’t stop seeing everything in vivid detail.

  She could still smell the antiseptic and the scent of the blood lab at the Sno-Med Clinic in Manhattan. The beautifully pristine marble floors, snow-white walls, fluorescent lights, and gleaming state-of-the-art equipment were all blindingly bright in her eyes. Even now it was hard to imagine that the perfection of it all had been marred by death. But she could still see the bodies on the stretchers. A middle-aged man and woman, and two teenage girls, all dark-haired and wearing colorful clothing, as if they’d dressed that morning with a celebration in mind. The girls had been wearing delicate gold jewelry, crosses at their ears, saints at their throats, and white rubber sports bands on their wrists. The older couple looked as if they’d spent many years toiling just to survive every day. They’d not had an easy life . . . nor death.

  Even before she’d walked across the icy, off-limits lab, she’d known they were dead. Her sixth sense screamed it at her, and her clinical eye had quickly registered the unnatural paleness of their skin and the utter stillness of their bodies. Her panicked breath had frosted in the air and her gut had wrenched with dread as she’d touched them, checking for signs of life—first the young girls, then the middle-aged couple. They’d been strapped to stretchers and drained of their blood. The bags still hung on the hooks above them, tagged for the future recipient: the king of Kassim, Ashodan ben Shashur. Shashur, a close friend of the president s, had been waiting upstairs for Erin to administer the first of four transfusions that were to take place over the Fourth of July weekend.

  Kassim was the smallest but most oil-rich country in the Middle East, and Shashur’s security team, a force equal to the president’s Secret Service, had arrived early this morning. They’d required the skeleton staff at the clinic—her, an aide, and a lab tech—to take a scary oath of secrecy. “Cross my heart and hope to die” didn’t even scratch the surface of what they’d said would happen to her if she told anyone about the king. If word of his cancer reached the wrong ears, it would start a war nobody wanted.

  But why murder for the blood? Surely there were plenty of donors willing to support Dr. Cinatas’s investigative treatment for cancer. She herself gave blood for the cause on a regular basis. She’d been hired by Dr. Cinatas to care for his “special patients,” so all of the clients she’d transfused had been ultra-rich. Now she wondered if the diseased rich were feeding off the poor.

  How many others had been lured to their deaths?

  Don’t think about it.

  She shut her eyes, her body rigid as her SUV barreled into the fog. She wished she could press the gas to the floor and meet her death at the bottom of a rocky ravine. It was no less than she deserved, but she’d see Dr. Cinatas in hell first. Suddenly an icy shiver ran down her spine. Something was very wrong—

  Thunk. She opened her eyes at the hard slam against her windshield. The glass cracked from the center outward, like a spiderweb forming right before her eyes. On the other side of the webbing was something huge and black on the hood of her car. She swerved wildly.

  Pulse hammering with dread, she slammed on the brakes. The seat belt cut into her neck and her pounding chest. Her chin smacked into the steering wheel, ramming her teeth into her tongue. Pain slashed like a hot knife through her, dimming her vision and cutting off her breath. Something had hit her windshield, but it was hard to see what, between the black of the night, the dark of her car, and the mists that hovered just above the ground like ghosts bound by short chains. What had she hit?

  A person? No, she told herself as she strained to see through the splintered glass. The thing was too black all over, and she didn’t see anything to denote clothing. An animal, then? A bear, perhaps, but not a person.

  Thank God. She sucked in relieved air and prayed she hadn’t seriously harmed the animal. Fog whirled so
thickly, she couldn’t tell if the thing was moving or if it even breathed. She didn’t have a weapon to protect herself, so she beeped the horn several times to rouse it, with no result.

  Leaning closer to the glass, she hunched over the steering wheel. Maybe she could drive to the nearest town with the animal on the hood and get help. Swiping her hand over the uncracked portion of the glass, she tried to see through the quickly fogging windshield.

  The black form rose up and snarled at her. She screamed, jerking back as a pair of blood-red eyes with yellow centers stared at her from a jet-black face. Black hands and red, dagger-sharp nails splayed menacingly against the glass. She rammed back in her seat, pressing the door lock button.

  “What the hell?”

  The creature smiled, its lips snarling back to reveal an even row of teeth shaped like ice picks. Evil, as palpable and throbbing as her pulse, hit her, and another scream rose deep inside her.

  She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t move. It was as if icy death had frozen everything but her mind. The creature’s eyes flamed like an ocean of fire, but its gaze centered a cold burn inside her, making her feel as if she’d never be warm again.

  Clunk. Something from behind the creature had flattened it against the windshield. It screamed with rage and struggled against the glass, as the claw of a glittering silver wolf, which seemed to glow against the dark creature, raked across its face, snapping its head to the side.

  Suddenly Erin could move, as if released from a spell that the black creature had somehow placed on her. Every fiber of her being shouted at her to get the hell out of there, to escape the wild creatures fighting on the hood.

  She stomped on the gas, lurching the Tahoe forward and slamming the creatures against the glass so hard, Erin thought they would break through into the car.

  Through the cracked glass, she saw the wolf-like thing had the black creature by the throat. It turned to her. Slivers of moonlight reflected off its metallic coat and made its eyes eerily glow. Its gaze, a bright, clear blue like the hottest part of a flame, met hers, burning itself into her mind, making a connection she couldn’t even begin to describe. An otherworldly feel with a primal edge seeped deep inside her, as if a greater spirit resided within the animal, but one just as deadly as that of the other evil creature. She shivered.

  The black creature reared up and sank its teeth into the wolf’s chest. The wolf shuddered and howled, its scream chilling her soul.

  Looking her way again, the wolf opened its fanged mouth. LEAVE NOW!

  Erin heard the words as clearly as if a man had shouted in her ear. She put the SUV in reverse, pressed the gas pedal to the floor, and flew backward, bouncing the tangle of black and silver from her car hood. Then she shifted into drive and plunged forward, determined to leave what she’d seen behind.

  It’s not real. It’s not real, she told herself. Yet her hands and body shook so violently, she had to fight to drive. She careened wildly across the road, barely able to see through the fog and cracked windshield. Her sweat-slick palms slipped along the leather steering wheel, leaving only her embedded nails to help her grip. Her stomach whirled with nauseating fear that seemed to worsen rather than ease as she escaped the creatures.

  Then she hit a wall of thick fog, one that blinded her. Suddenly, the road disappeared, and she went flying into a black void.

  A wave of grief tore through the Shadowmen as Jared’s howl reverberated into the spirit world, piercing the souls of those fighting for Logos. One of their brethren, one of their valued warriors, had fallen prey to the bite of a Tsara, a spiritual assassin from the damned. Worse than death itself, the rabid infection would spread evil throughout the host, taking control of his mind and rooting into his heart. It was fatal and irreversible. And in the wolf’s howl they could hear the echoing horror of the one who’d been damned.

  It was just a matter of time.

  As the Blood Hunters, elite warriors of the Shadowmen, crossed into the mortal realm, a stormy wind swirled, whipping down through the atmosphere. Whenever in the mortal realm, the Blood Hunters appeared in their mortal forms, warriors of muscle and might and substance with the ability to shape-shift into their wolf-like Blood Hunter cloaks at will. Inside the remote Tennessee mountain cave, the warriors gathered around a fire, silent as it flared hotly then flickered feebly, casting deeper shadows on faces already darkened by sorrow. The cold mortal ground was a filthy place for so great a warrior to have fallen.

  Sven had brought Jared’s fallen body to the mountain cave, not far from where Jared had killed the Tsara before falling unconscious from the pain of the assassin’s evil poison. Grieving, he’d waited on his knees beside Jared as the other Blood Hunters arrived.

  Aragon, the leader of all Blood Hunters, stormed about the cave, stirring a whirl of dirt to cloud the air. He stopped and gazed at Jared’s fallen form, agony tearing though him. “You should have executed Jared the moment you reached him. Maybe his soul could have been spared.” His harsh voice sliced through the silence. “It’s too late to save his soul now. I already feel the poison in his heart. By Logos’s justice, what were you thinking, Sven? The millennium of Jared’s sacrifices will now end in ruin.”

  Groaning, Sven shut his eyes but forced himself to his feet, ready to bear Aragon’s wrath. “I couldn’t kill him. I’d but hoped the legend was true.”

  “Hoped! That is your excuse for cowardice? We’d decided after Pathos was poisoned that we’d rather die than stake our souls upon a legend!” Aragon shouted.

  “Kill him now,” Navarre said. “I cannot bear to watch what will come when he wakes.”

  Aragon lifted his sword, yet rather than slicing through the unconscious body of his brother, he hesitated, recalling the many years he and Jared had walked through time fighting Heldon’s forces. How many sacrifices had Jared suffered, saving them all from the deathly consequences of their mistakes? Aragon’s stomach turned, and a cold chill ran through him. Resolved to save Jared from Pathos’s fate, he let his sword fall.

  “Wait!” York flung his sword out and up, deflecting Aragon’s deathblow. “What if it isn’t just a legend? It’s been a millennium since a Blood Hunter was bitten. How do we know there is no hope?

  “Pathos was the last to be bitten and is now the most powerful werewolf for the damned.” Breathing heavy, Aragon forced out words rather than the cry of frustration he wanted to vent. He didn’t know if he had the strength to lift his sword against Jared again. “That is proof enough. There is little that can be done for a spirit once in the mortal world. And Jared and I made a pact to never let a brother cross the line again.”

  Rather than finding his salvation, Pathos had joined the Vladarian Order and preyed upon the Chosen in the mortal realm, those who were of King Solomon’s blood begotten through his seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines, who had scattered throughout the world upon his death. The evil craved the blood of the wise king’s seed, which Logos had blessed, and Blood Hunters, a force within the Shadowmen Warriors, were their protectors.

  Sven fisted his hands. “Weren’t there others before Pathos? Blood Hunters who did find salvation?”

  Aragon sighed. “Yes, a long time ago, before the earth became so vile, the Vladarian Order so strong, and the mortal seed of the Tsara so evil. Heldon’s influence has grown. We all know that. It is better to die than become one of the Fallen and serve Heldon and the Vladarians.”

  “I say we give the legend a chance.” York eased his sword to the ground.

  “Why?” demanded Aragon. “Why risk it?”

  “Because Jared deserves it,” said Sven.

  “He was defending a woman, one of the Chosen?” Navarre asked.

  “Yes,” said Sven.

  “And she saw Jared in his Blood Hunter’s cloak?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rather than leaving Jared to awake and wander the mortal world alone to find salvation as was done to Pathos, why not leave his mortal body with one who is Chosen? They ar
e special within the mortal realm. Perhaps it will help.”

  “I agree,” said York. “Jared is lost to us, but he deserves the chance of having his soul redeemed by finding love within the mortal world.”

  “What if we’re wrong?” Aragon said harshly, hands fisted around the hilt of his sword.

  “Then I will kill him,” Sven said, stepping forward. “I will descend into Heldon’s freezing fires and hunt him if need be, but I won’t let Jared serve the Vladarians or fight with the Armies of the Fallen.”

  Aragon nodded, and prayed to Logos’s mercy that he was wrong and that the power of human love could save a spirit from being damned. Because if he was right, Sven had just committed himself to a death sentence, and Aragon, too. As leader, he wouldn’t let a Blood Hunter journey there alone, nor would he leave Jared’s fate in the hands of another. No Shadowman had ever survived Heldon’s fires.

  Aragon held up his sword. “Then there is only one thing left for us to do.” Lifting his blade high in the air, he waited for the other Blood Hunters to join the points of their swords to his.

  His sword glowed blue, like the purest heart of a flame, and he brought the broadside of it against the gaping wound on Jared’s chest, where the virulent poison of the Tsara had already spread and sealed the evil inside.

  From inside his pristine New York City penthouse overlooking the Hudson, Dr. Anthony Cinatas reclined on a white divan and sipped a supple merlot from Chateau Petrus, his preferred vineyard for smooth red wines. He’d been trying to soothe himself after the day’s disturbing events, but had been rudely interrupted by Kassim’s king. Cinatas watched with growing irritation Ashodan ben Shashur’s righteous pacing across the snowy carpet, white robes billowing with each angry step. His sandaled footprints marred the carpet’s nape, destroying the perfection of the white sea. The man, if you could call the beast such, was livid over the Morgan incident. Were it not that Cinatas himself had suffered at Erin Morgan’s hand, he would be pleased by Shashur’s distress. He hated the man’s arrogance.