Title – Wolf Hunger (Book 3 of the Dragon Heat series)
Author – Ella J Phoenix
Publication date – March 12, 2014
Publisher – Self Publishing
Preferred posting date – March 14, 2014
Word count - 126,900
Amazon Link - www.amazon.com/dp/B00IYUAGEI/
Twitter - twitter.com/ellajphoenix
When the last box of deadly bullets is stolen, the hunt is on and the
Vampire King’s band of fighters is set for the challenge of recovering it. But
Yara, the shifter-witch, has other problems to face. She must help her leader to overcome the
strange illness that has befallen her before it’s too late. For that, she must go
back to the only place she swore never to return – her home land.
Rafe is a typical lone wolf who spends his nights earning his bucks in
the fighting ring. When he was offered a pardon for his debts in exchange for
the Vampire King’s head, he didn’t even blink, thinking it would be a hard
mission but not impossible. He just wasn’t expecting the saucy shifter-witch to
cross his path and ruin his plans. Now, he can’t get her out of his mind and
the clock is ticking for him to make good on his word.
This is the third novel of the Dragon Heat series – a paranormal
lover’s delight with vampires, shifters, dragons, witches, bathed in magic.
***Warning: this novel contains hot, steamy, descriptive sexual scenes.
Enjoy.***
Chapter One Excerpt:
Chapter
1
The crowd
was clearly not in the mood to cooperate tonight, or the current fighters
weren’t doing their jobs properly. Either way, shit was going to hit the fan
very soon. The usual cheering had been replaced by curses and boos just 3
minutes after the bell rang.
Hidden in
the shadows, Yara cracked her neck, left, then right, then carried on wrapping
her hands with the protective cotton straps. After ensuring both her wrists,
knuckles and thumbs were safely strapped, she pushed off the stool and
stretched her calves. In the corner of her eye she saw Dyam, her vampire friend
and brother-in-arms of sorts, leaning against the bar. His silky-smooth long
hair and olive skin contrasted heavily against those of the other patrons, who
were basically a bunch of supernatural, stinking low-lifes. His chocolate gaze
briefly met hers. He gave her a quick nod, then returned his focus to the
octagonal cage-like ring in the middle of the club. Yara roamed her eyes over
the crowd and spotted her other co-pilot in the mission, the vamp Joel,
standing a few feet from Dyam. Just like his counterpart, the royal bodyguard
exuded a calm that was as reassuring as it was deceiving. Yara had no doubts
that he was ready to pounce at anyone or anything to protect her.
Joel lifted
a blond brow at Yara, as if asking if she would still go ahead with the plan.
She narrowed her eyes at him. By the gates of Hiad, of course she would! Ever
since they destroyed Dr. Burvis’ laboratory in the U.K., where the psycho was
attempting to mass market a bullet-size H-bomb, they had been trying to track
down the last box of the little atomic fellas – the box she had let be stolen. Damn the Soartas! She was still kicking
herself for that. Yara had come face to face with the mugger and what had she
done? Did she kick his ass and snatch the box away? No, she stood there, like a
deer headlights, hypnotized by gods knew what! Now after almost three months
chasing ghosts and dead ends, they had finally got wind that the thief was
going to sell the bullets tonight, and the deal was going down here, at this
fighting joint. And since she had been the only one with access to the place –
let’s just say she enjoyed the occasional bet – it was only natural for her to
set their plan and get that freakin’ box back. They had carefully planned it
all out – while the patrons were focused on the fights, Joel and Dyam would go
in disguised as patrons and search the general area of the club. Sam and
Hikuro, Yara’s best friend and the vampire king’s second in command, were outside,
ready to jump in if needed. Yara would be working on the inside, since she had
easy access to backstage. It was all mapped out and calculated by the second.
In no time, Yara would be able to spot the buyer and the seller, then she’d
call Joel and Dyam, they’d break the deal up, get the box back and tah-dah!
Mission accomplished.
However… it
was easier said than done. The Dungeon, the fighting joint in question, was
famous for holding the most brutal and ruthless fights to ever take place
outside the umbrella of the law. They were usually quick, some even lasting
less than a minute, but the best ones – the ones that really drove the crowd
wild – lasted ten times as long. A massive scoreboard located just above one of
the ends of the cage-like ring displayed the sad tally of the current battle.
The ten-foot iron net shook with another blow from the contestants but the
crowd wasn’t impressed.
“Hey,
gorgeous.”
Yara turned
around to see her “guy” staring back at her. CJ was the Dungeon’s master of
ceremony. Despite his many shortcomings, he had been her contact for a lot of
her “hobbies,” like her underground fights and her poker nights with
morally-questionable individuals. He had even introduced her into her favorite
past-time of late. A naughty smile lifted the corner of her lips. Yep, it was
worth keeping him around, and his half-demon/half-human nature had come in
handy more than once. The SOB had an incredible knack for sensing bad news, and
tonight his gaze carried a weight that didn’t match his relaxed greeting.
“Hey, CJ,”
she replied as gravely. “What’s up?”
“The buyer
is here,” he replied, scanning the area for eavesdroppers.
He lifted
his chin toward the back of the room. Yara followed his hint, and spotted a
tall blond man with grey eyes leaning against one of the pillars on the far
corner.
The buyer
was Phillip – the draco who was working with Dr. Burvis in London, the rat bastard
who double crossed them one too many times.
Yara
clutched her jaw tight. “What about the seller, any sign?”
CJ shook his
head. “No, but I’ll keep you posted.” He started walking away, but stopped,
turned back around and pinned her with his eerie snake-like eyes. “Look, be
careful out there, alright?”
“If I had a
penny for every warning I got, I’d be rich by now,” she answered.
“I’m
serious,” CJ replied.
Yara
frowned, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Is there anything else you’d like to
share, CJ?”
He quickly
scanned the area as if afraid they were being over heard or something. “Weird
vibes in this place tonight. Weirder than usual. Just saying.” He shrugged then
walked off.
Hmm, a knack
for sensing bad news.
A loud thump
followed by a painful grunt called Yara’s attention back to the mission. The
crowd cheered rowdily. And another one
bites the dust, she thought. After a
few seconds, a massive bouncer left the cage carrying one of the fighters over
his shoulders. But apparently the audience wasn’t very supportive of the
winner, because all he got was a shitload of boos and curses. The iron grid
around the ring was the only thing that protected the winner from the empty
bottles that went flying by. She bet that the supposed winner was thanking the Soartas
for the protective grid. People thought the cage-like ring was to keep the
fighters in and protect the audience, but nah, they were so wrong, it was there
keep the angry mob out.
Yara was
very well acquainted with what went down in this sort of hellhole. Only one
fighter was divulged before the showdown. His opponent was a surprise –
supposedly “taken out of the hat.” This way the audience were kept intrigued by
who would fight whom, and throw more money on last-minute bets.
“And now,
for the second fight of the evening we have two very different opponents,” CJ
declared from his safely guarded post near the sound booth. “On one side, we
have the bulldozer of the east mountains, the beast who enjoys ripping his
opponents guts out – Bulldozer Jones!” he chanted, pointing to the opposite
direction.
From her
vantage point, Yara couldn’t see much – the place was packed to the rafters –
but she bet that someone who had been nicknamed after a tractor wouldn’t be
scrawny.
Suddenly, a
bushy head opened the sea of drunks and made its way into the ring.
“And to
fight against the beast of the east,” CJ bellowed over the keyed up cheers from
the crowd, “a queen of the underground circuit, a flower that would tear you
apart and leave you smiling. From the depths of the Amazon jungle, I give you
…”
Oh-oh.
“Yara, the
Brazilian witch!”
Fuck.
The crowd
went crazy, searching for a rose with thorns.
Yara took a
deep breath, straightened herself up and pushed her way through the sea of
smelly males. She didn’t bother using the little side door to the ring; she
climbed the tall iron fence instead and landed expertly on the inside.
The drunken
mob went completely silent. A coin would have been heard dropping on the sticky
floor.
Yara roamed
her eyes over them, clearly showing she wasn’t seeking anyone’s approval, and
met a bunch of confused looks. Some guys stared at her face, others were locked
on her red sports bra and spandex shorts, but none had any idea of what to make
of her.
Then someone
shouted, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
And the
cursing started again, followed by very creative indecent proposals.
Yara ignored
them all. Having been in that ring a couple of times before, she knew the
crowd’s disapproval would come sooner or later. Not worth wasting her time;
instead, she focused on reading her adversary.
Being more
than a head taller than her, Bulldozer Jones did his nickname justice. His neck
was the size of her thighs; his chest was so puffed up that his bulging arms
were resting on a 45-degree angle away
from his body. His bushy red hair was thick and short, looking more like a fur.
Long sideburns framed his disproportioned face, and matched his fat nose.
She sighed. Ai, Apa Dobrý, this was going to hurt.
With virtually no rules and no referees, there were only two ways to end a
fight in the cage – as the winner or a corpse. You could do whatever you wanted
to earn your cash in the ring, except shape-shift or use magical powers. That’s
why it was very rare to see a female name on the scoreboard.
Yara flicked
a glance at the panel on the far wall. CJ’s assistant was holding her name in
his hand, as if waiting to see if it was worth the effort to put it up or
not.
So
encouraging.
“Last bets,
fellas!” the bookie, and owner of the joint, shouted from somewhere near the
bar.
A swarm of
males surrounded him, waving dollar bills up high and shouting “On Jones! On
Jones!”
Yara rolled
her eyes but deep inside, she’d have bet her money on the bulldozer as well.
She took the opportunity to scrutinize the room. Phillip had disappeared. The
guy who stole the bullets from under her nose in London would have arrived. The
cage was a few feet higher than the standing audience, so she should be able to
spot him easily, but would she recognize him? Their encounter had been so quick
and he had been protected by the shadows, so despite her acute eyesight from
her panther inmã, all she could get was a glimpse of his amazing biceps and
ripped abs.
Dyam moved
from his spot near the exit to the crowded front row. His eyes were filled with
concern. She gave him a reassuring nod, but deep inside her panther paced
anxiously. She could do this; she had won many fights like this before. The
main question was at what cost? She liked
her limbs how and where they were, and would like them to stay that way.
The bell
rang. Bulldozer Jones jumped forward, like an ugly bear in heat.
“I’m gonna
make you beg, love,” he drawled. “And after I take you down, I’m gonna show
real fun.”
“Charming,”
Yara replied.
She lifted
her fists high up, to shield her face, and kept her feet light, skipping in
place. It would be a lot harder for Heavy Jones here to hit a fast, moving
target. Her only chance was to use her speed and agility against his sheer
strength.
He came at
her with the arrogance of a bulldog, drooling and all. Yara’s stomach churned
at the sight of his ugly yellow teeth. Without ceremony, he threw a cross punch
at her. She quickly shifted her balance and hunkered backwards, missing the
guy’s wrist by a few inches. She then slid underneath his still outstretched
arm and punched his exposed ribs, several times. Bulldozer hunkered down,
obviously feeling the pain.
For the
second time in the night, the crowd went silent. Sharp intakes on breath and
curses of disbelief replaced the earlier slurs.
“Yara, look
out!”
Dyam’s shout
brought her back to the present. She turned around, forearms high for
protection but it was no use. Jones’ fist connected to her right ear with such
a force that she saw stars. She stumbled sideways and before she could recover,
a tight bear-hug locked her in place, whooshing the air out of her lungs.
Not good, not good at all. She tried to break free, but
Bulldozer’s thick arms were like an anaconda around her.
“That’s it,
bitch, struggle for me, I love a fighter,” her charming opponent drawled just
inches from her nose. Then he clacked his teeth together, as if giving her a
snapshot of what he’d really like to do to her. His putrid breath reached her,
making breathing even harder.
The crowd
went absolutely insane.
Dark spots
filled Yara’s eyesight, her oxygen intake was running dangerously slow; a few
more seconds and the Bulldozer would succeed in blacking her out, or worse,
cracking all her ribs.
Right. Time to
end this circus.
Yara lifted
her knees up and planted her both feet firmly on his thighs. Using them as
leverage, she pulled back as far away from the stinking rat as she could, and
then rammed her forehead into the fucker’s nose. A crack and a grunt later, she
was free to breathe.
“You fuckin’
bitch! You’re gonna pay for this,” he bellowed holding his bleeding nose. But
in no time, he was charging at her again, arms outstretched, like a bull in
Pamplona.
Yara swirled
around, hooked her left arm on his and in a fluid movement, she dragged him
down and over her, lifting his heavy body by her feet. Bulldozer did a
cartwheel in the air and crashed down with a loud thump on the arena.
The crowd
cheered and more profanities were suggested, together with marriage proposals. Hmm, that’s an improvement. But Yara
didn’t have time to laugh at the crowd’s change of heart. Before Jones could
recover, she climbed on the thick fence, then jumped, elbow first, on top of
S.O.B.’s stomach.
“Oooh,” the
audience shrieked.
Feeling the
love in the room, Yara stood up and swirled around slowly, making sure they all
saw the message stamped on the back of her shorts – “Dream On.”
Suckers.
Her respite
didn’t last long, though. Jones shook his head awake, pushed off the floor and
roared at her. Yara stood her ground, showing him no fear, but then, the
unthinkable happened. He started heaving and growing and getting heavier at
each breath. Smoke came out of his abnormally enlarged nostrils and two horns
emerged from his forehead, at the same time a set of immense wings popped out
of his shoulder blades. His eyes turned bright yellow and his skin got covered
in thick red fur.
Oh. Fuck.
The
Bulldozer was a Lamassu deamon, aka a freaking winged bull.
Her evening
was getting more promising by the second.
“Hey! No
shifting!” she heard someone yell, but the crowd had gone even more berserk
with the promise of a good blood-spilling showdown.
The Lamassu
lunged forward. His spike-like teeth glistened with moisture. The ringmaster
was giving no indication that he intended to stop the fight, so it was up to
her to get her ass out of that cage, and fast. At the same time that Jones
lunged at her, she shifted to the right, dodging his attack by a millimeter. Leveraging
off the guy’s own weight, she leaped off the ground and landed on his back. He
tried to get her off him, but, as she predicted, his arms were much too thick
to reach back. She rode him to the left, then to the right, making him lose his
balance. In no time, they crashed to the ground. Advantage #1: neutralized. While on the ground, the Lamassu
couldn’t use his height and length against her. Next step, neutralize
Advantage #2: his freaking wings. With her left hand, she quickly pinned
one of his arms to her chest, while her right hand locked his elbow
out-stretched. She then placed her left foot on his hip, pivoted her body
exactly forty-five degrees to the right, then swung her left leg up, wrapped it
around the bastard’s neck, and squeezed. The beast tried to fight her off, but
the beauty of an arm-bar move is that no matter how big you are, the more you
struggle, the more you choke.
Thank you,
Brazilian jiu-jitsu!
After a few
moments of more struggles, his limbs lost the strength, went floppy then
completely still. He wasn’t dead, Yara knew it for a fact, but the beast was
going to enjoy a little nap before waking up with a headache from Hiad.
She took a
deep breath and stood up. The crowd replied with applause, whistles and other
less-polite noises. Joel was clapping his hands together, his loud laughter
adding to the audience’s cheers. Even Dyam’s grim face showed a hint of
amusement. She winked at him. He shook his head in disapproval but she noticed
his lips curving up in a small smile.
Now all they
had to do was find the thief, get the box of bullets and get the hell out of
there. As per protocol, she would be taken to the back room to receive her
share of the winnings. And as per their plan, she’d use the opportunity to
access the secure area and find the bastard thief with the box.
Yara’s eyes
perused the room, looking for CJ, but didn’t find him. Instead she met the most
amazing grey gaze. Fearless. Powerful. Viral.
Wow.
The pair of
eyes belonged to a dark haired, tall man with sharp features and broad
shoulders. Even his long sleeved T-shirt wasn’t enough to hide the well-defined
muscles underneath.
Again, wow. Her panther purred inside.
She frowned.
I know him, her mind uttered, but from where? A tightness curled in
her heart, something she’d only felt once before – when the Soartas placed her at a crossroads that changed her life
forever. Yara blinked, trying to deal with the flood of feelings that
threatened to overwhelm her. Focus! Focus
on the mission!
The sound of
the cage’s small iron chains opening up reached Yara’s ears. The bookie got
inside and gestured for the crowd to shut up. They complied, barely. “This
fight is a ‘no contest’!’”
“What?” Yara
shouted in utter disbelief.
“It’s not
valid.”
“Why?”
“Because
shifting and magical tricks are not allowed in my ring.”
“I didn’t
use any magic,” she growled between clenched teeth.
“But he shifted,” the bookie retorted,
pointing at the Lamassu deamon still napping on the floor. “And that’s not
allowed.”
Loud cheers
mixed with angry curses swamped the house.
“You
worthless prick!” Yara shouted. If that weasel thought she’d let him take that
win away from her without a fight, he was terribly wrong. She had gone through
Hiad to get them inside that club tonight. She was not giving up now.
She opened
her stance and prepared to give the bookie a piece of her mind, when the fence
was suddenly shaken so hard that made both of them stop halt.
“Let her
fight me,” the guy with amazing grey eyes said.
He looked at
Yara as if daring her to accept. She glared back at him, and couldn’t stop the
low growling from escaping her mouth.
“Let her
fight me,” he repeated, louder this time. “And if she wins again, she takes the
winnings … from both fights.”
There, he’d
done it. The crowd stood up and roared, showing their support with whistles,
clapping and more obscene proposals. She glared at the mob, unable to mask her
annoyance. Seriously? Every time?
Yara turned
back around and faced the owner of the ridiculous idea. “I won the fight with honor, no cheating. I deserve my share.”
“And your
share you will get,” the bookie said with a sleazy smile. “All you need to do
is defeat our champion.”
Champion?
Ai, Apa Dobrý, her night couldn’t get any better.
As if on
cue, the crowd cheered again, like the filthy monkeys they were.
Yara quickly
searched for Dyam. He wasn’t happy. He ran his tongue over his teeth and shook
his head, a clear sign of “don’t you dare accept this.” Joel was right there,
too. Murder stamped on his face.
Did she have
any choice in the matter? If she backed down from the challenge, they’d never
be able to come back to the club – hell, they’d probably be kicked out like
rabid dogs and miss out on the chance of retrieving the black box with the last
sample of the atomic bullets. No, she couldn’t let Phillip get his hands on
that box. If that happened, their entire efforts in London would have been for
nothing, and Hiad would break loose. Literally.
Yara exhaled
a tired breath. She had no other choice but to agree with fighting this new
guy. “Whatever. Just don’t spring any wings or horns when you lose, alright, champ boy?” she sneered.
Grey Eyes
bowed ceremoniously, then leaped over the grid and landed smoothly in the
middle of the ring. The bookie took his cue and quickly made himself scarce.
At close
range, Yara was able to scrutinize her new adversary better. He wasn’t handsome
in a Hollywood sort of way. His beauty was rough, savage, but very handsome
nonetheless.
He grabbed
the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.
Ai, Apa Dobrý.
Yara’s jaw dropped involuntarily. His broad shoulders and pecs were covered in
intricate tattoos. His square jaw carried a delicious stubble, that matched
perfectly with his deceivingly disheveled brown hair. There was a raw vibe to him that permeated in the
air like the amazing scent of dark spices he gave off. And reverberated all the
way to her core.
We’ve
definitely met before … but where?
That was so
not the analysis she needed to be doing right now. She shoved the wanton
wonderings back into her subconscious, and focused on the planning her fight
moves.
He stood
imperially on the opposite side of the ring, watching her, but not giving her a
hint of opening the tally.
She cocked
an eyebrow at him. “So are we doing this
or what?” she asked.
A lazy,
crooked smile played on his lips. “Let’s dance.”
AUTHOR BIO
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