Love Unbound, page 1
Love Unbound (Helheim Wolf Pack Series #5)
Copyright © 2023 by Lauren Dawes
www.authorlaurendawes.com
The right of Lauren Dawes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
E-book: 978-1-922353-82-5
Print: 978-1-922353-83-2
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity, in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.
Cover design by Deranged Doctor Designs
Interior design by Sly Fox Cover Designs
To my wonderful husband Phil: For all your support, love and encouragement. I don’t think I could have done it without you.
AUTHOR NOTE
Readers, please be advised that there may be some triggering scenes contained within this book. I hope that I have given this subject matter the care and sensitivity it deserves.
PROLOGUE
Two days ago…
Oliver’s feet moved swiftly over the snowy ground, and he relished the feeling of his blood pumping rapidly through his veins. He’d forgotten how much he liked just getting lost in his own mind while he ran, especially running in the hours before dawn. He’d had a lot to think about too – Casey had been in the Helheim territory for almost a week, but he had spoken to her this morning and she was coming home. He wouldn’t admit this to her, but he’d missed her. She was his little sister – she always would be – and his world would once again be realigned when she was back home. However he was feeling about it, though, he knew his father was feeling her absence more strongly.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Oliver dropped onto his stomach. His years of training as an enforcer with the pack forced him to look around, to gather the evidence. He scanned the forest, seeing only undisturbed trees, rocks and shrubs. Flaring his nostrils, he inhaled, but the air was still – not a leaf stirring. Mentally, he counted to ten then, when there didn’t appear to be anyone coming after him, he slowly got to his feet. There was a snap behind him and he swung around, trying to control his breathing. It was dark, and not even his werewolf eyesight in his human form was any help. All he could see were shadows hidden within shadows. He squinted, then his eyes widened as he saw the flash of a gun going off.
The bullet hit him in the side, just below the ribs and to the left. The sting of the silver was immediate, the metal already eating through his body with a slow burn. The scent of his blood washed over his senses, too, and he knew he had to get out of there. He staggered to his feet, propping himself up against a nearby tree. His lungs were working like a bellows, forcing air out of his nose with such force that two streaks of white burst from his nostrils.
He looked over his shoulder at the sound of metal on metal ringing out through the silent morning air. He took a step and buckled, his knees knocked out from under him. Landing on his knees, he felt sweat begin to bead on his forehead. He was exposed. He needed to find some cover, and he needed to figure out who was shooting at him. He dismissed the idea of a hunter almost immediately; it was too damn early for a human to be out shooting, which meant this was a targeted attack.
Pop!
Oliver ducked his head and stayed hunched over as he tried to find more cover. His side screamed with this new position, making his head spin and his vision swim. He blinked away the black spots blooming in his vision, felt the slickness of sweat on his neck and back. Shuffling forward, he tried to stay upright, but it was a losing battle. He could feel the energy leaking from his body, spattering the snow in bright red drops at his feet.
He grunted as he dropped down onto the ground on his hands and knees, the wound gaping with the movement. He heard the blood stream from his body, splashing down his stomach and onto the snow.
“Oliver?”
He heard his name being called, but he couldn’t have been one hundred percent sure it wasn’t a hallucination; his hearing was getting a little spotty now too. He blinked, his lids feeling like lead all of a sudden.
“Oliver?”
This time it was his father’s voice. He opened his mouth to call a reply, but only a moan escaped his lips. He bowed his head, weaving on the spot. He felt sick. Footsteps approached, and the warmth of another body was suddenly beside him. He turned his head, finding Hunter there. His brother placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“It’s going to be all right, Oliver,” he breathed, then in a louder voice, he shouted, “Over here!”
Oliver felt the darkness of unconsciousness descend. When he came to, he was on his back, the cold seeping through his thin running shirt. He could smell his father’s scent and drew strength from it. Oliver cracked his eyes open and saw Hunter and Acario hovering above him, their expressions pinched.
“Christ,” his father said. There was a ripping sound followed by intense pressure on the site of Oliver’s injury. He moaned, trying to curl his body around the pain.
“Sorry,” his father muttered, pressing down harder despite his protests.
“We have to get the bullet out,” Hunter said. “We need to get him back to the house.”
Acario grunted. “Grab his feet.”
The next thing Oliver knew, he was floating, but every misstep and twist of his body was like a hot poker thrust into his side. More apologies were said, but Oliver knew it couldn’t be helped. He had been deep in the forest when he’d been shot, and the ground wasn’t flat.
“Forget it; just get the bullet out of me,” he groaned.
A few more minutes of agonizing jostling and they reached the house. The sun had started to rise, bathing the building in a soft yellow light. Oliver felt the edge of his vision growing fuzzy again, but he beat back the unconsciousness trying to take over. He was bustled through the door where the scent of last night’s dinner lingered.
“What happened?” This was his mother’s question. She joined the hovering faces above him as he was set onto the kitchen table, and he tried to smile.
“He was shot,” Acario said, his words clipped. “Hunter, keep the pressure on his stomach. Patricia, get the medical—”
Oliver watched his mother bustle from the room and return with the medical kit. She opened it up, pulled out a pair of tweezers then shoved his father out of the way. He noticed the expression on Acario’s face as she did. He knew things weren’t great between them, but whatever her faults were as a wife, she was still a lioness of a mother.
“You’re going to be okay, bro,” Hunter said in a low voice.
Oliver smiled back weakly, but it soon turned into a grimace when his mother began probing the wound.
“Lie still,” she told him sternly, then started giving both his brother and father other orders. She worked quickly but not painlessly. The moment the bullet was freed from his flesh, Oliver could feel his body start to regenerate. With sweat still marking his brow, he propped himself up on his elbows to watch his mom clean the wound and stitch it up. When the last suture was tied, she wiped the back of her hand over her cheek, leaving a smudge of his blood there.
She turned to Acario. “What the hell happened?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
“We don’t know,” Acario said. He turned away, putting some space between them. Oliver and Hunter shared a look.
Patricia turned her glare to him, waiting for his side of the story.
Oliver shrugged. “I heard gunshots. The next thing I knew, I was bleeding in the snow.”
“Do you think it was targeted or just a freak coincidence?” This question came from Hunter. Oliver turned to his father, curious to know what his take on it was.
Acario frowned. “I mean, it could have been, but who would want to do that? Shooting the alpha’s son is almost a guarantee for war.”
“We don’t have any enemies… Wait, could it have been one of Marcus’s wolves?” Hunter asked. “Maybe one got missed?”
Acario shook his head. “Not possible. We wiped out everyone in the pack as well as his supporters over a year ago. We’re currently in the longest period of peace ever known in US pack history, so who would do something to destroy that?”
Oliver didn’t know the answer to that question, but whoever it was, they’d better be ready for the retribution.
ONE
The rumble of an engine hummed through the back of Saxon’s skull, dragging him into consciousness. He blinked up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of where he was and what was happening to him. But no matter how much he tried to focus on his surroundings, his mind was too sluggish to keep up.
A bump in the road’s surface brought a sharp, distinct ache to his shoulders. He held back the groan when a gentle tug confirmed his arms were tied behind his back. He tried to separate his wrists, testing the tightness of his bonds. He could feel the tell-tale bite of a cable tie around his wrists, and although he should have been able to break the plastic easily, Saxon struggled to do just that.
Over the sound of the engine, there were two voices. One belonged to Mark, the bastard who had seemingly fooled him and the entire Helheim pack into believi ng he was the victim of an accidental biting by a rogue wolf.
Mark had also been the one to shoot Saxon with the tranquilizer dart that was now incapacitating him.
“This is a mistake, Vivian,” Mark said, his voice tense. “He wasn’t who we needed.”
Saxon tilted his head back, straining to hear the conversation over the whir of the motor and the rush of asphalt racing beneath the chassis. The woman replied, but he couldn’t make out the words.
“—need to kill—” Mark spoke again and Saxon’s heart raced in response to the cold tone of the other male’s voice.
“We can still use him,” the woman, Vivian, replied in a dark purr. Saxon had never heard her voice before, and he certainly didn’t recognize her scent.
With his heart still pounding in his ears, Saxon knew he had to find a way out of there. His gaze slid to either side of his body, inspecting his surroundings. It looked as if he was in the back of a utility van – a brand new one judging by the new car smell still clinging to the upholstery on the front seats.
Saxon tried to bend his legs, but his range of movement was limited thanks to the matching set of cable ties on his ankles. They’d been tightened until the circulation was severed, making his toes numb.
Even if he were able to get the ties off, he wouldn’t make it very far on foot. His shoes had been taken off, and the bottom of his jeans had been hacked away, leaving his lower leg – from his knees to his ankles – exposed. He already knew he wouldn’t be able to shift with the drug cocktail floating in his bloodstream.
The van slowed down, veering to the right as it took an exit. Time was ticking away. Saxon had to find a way out, or at least be prepared for when they stopped because he would come out fighting.
The road they were driving on now was far more rutted than the last, the bumps jarring Saxon’s arms, sending the pain roaring through his overstrained shoulder joints. He counted the turns they took, making a mental note of them in case he had to retrace his steps to escape.
Left.
Left again.
Right.
He heard a dog barking—a big dog by the sound of it, kept in the yard behind a chain link fence which rattled with every booming bark.
Sharp right.
The van slowed down to a crawl, bouncing over a deep curb before gravel began pinging the undercarriage. The engine cut, then both doors opened. Playing possum, Saxon closed his eyes and lay still, ignoring the unnatural angle of his arms and the pain radiating out of them. The rear sliding side door opened, cold air rushing into the back and bringing with it the smell of pine needles and fresh snow.
“He’s still unconscious. How much did you give him?” Vivian asked.
“He should come around soon,” Mark replied.
A strong hand landed on his shoulder, pulling Saxon up. He was hoisted up onto Mark’s shoulders, his head thumping against the small of the guy’s back. Saxon was carried up a few steps, which creaked under their combined weight, and taken into a room that smelled of mildew.
“Where do you want him?” Mark asked.
“Against the wall, there.”
A moment later, Saxon was dropped onto a hardwood floor. He couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his lips as the movement jostled his arms.
“What the fuck?” Mark said.
Saxon opened his eyes and stared at the double-crossing bastard. “I’m going to skin you alive,” he growled, meaning every damn word.
Mark’s wolf shifted impatiently behind his eyes. “You’re not really in any position to make threats.”
“I’m not threatening,” Saxon replied. “I’m making you a goddamn promise.”
The guy actually had the nerve to grin. “The last I checked, you were the one tied up.”
“Stop talking and tranquilize him again, Kade.”
Wait? Kade?
Vivian handed Kade a small syringe. Saxon tried to jerk away, but it was useless. There was a sharp pinch on his thigh, then darkness chased away the light.
TWO
A clock chimed out in the hallway, drawing Andrea from her thoughts. In her lap was a copy of The Great Gatsby, the pages dog-eared, the spine lined. She’d read it a dozen times before, but somehow knowing exactly how it ended didn’t stop her from picking it up again. Andrea had escaped into the library after lunch, curling up in front of the fireplace in the chair she now thought of as hers. She listened to the chime, counting them out as the sound reverberated around the apartment.
Two.
Three.
Four.
How long had it been since she’d eaten? She couldn’t have been reading for more than a couple of hours.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
“Drae?” Avon called from the doorway.
Twisting around in her seat, Andrea looked at her alpha. “Yes?” she whispered.
“I asked Alejandra to make us some dinner. Are you interested?”
Andrea placed her book down and stood up. She was shaky on her legs, especially after sitting down for so long, and her hips were stiff.
“How are you feeling? Are your hips sore?” Avon asked.
She shrugged. “They only bother me if I’ve been in one position for too long.” Andrea stepped out into the hallway and headed in the direction of the kitchen. Avon moved silently beside her, taking her elbow when she started to limp slightly. He opened and held the door for her, too.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She slid into one of chairs set up at the small table. Alejandra was at the stove, stirring something that smelled like caldo de res. Corn tortillas were already on the table along with a fresh salsa and a sweating bottle of water.
Alejandra was Avon’s human housekeeper, who had no idea that her boss was not only a werewolf, but also the alpha of the Jotenheim pack, whose territory stretched from California to New Mexico and up through Nevada and Utah. She cooked and cleaned for him during the week, but the weekends were her own. Andrea tended to pick up where Alejandra left off for those two days. It seemed only fair after Avon took her in.
“Water?” Avon asked, holding the bottle in front of Andrea’s glass.
She nodded, watching the cold liquid pour from the spout. She had been staying with her alpha at his house for nearly seven months now. How she came to live there was something she didn’t want to think about too hard. Her body was still healing, and her mind would take a lot longer.
“How’s the book?”
She smiled. “It’s as good as it’s always been,” she told him, looking down at the soup that had just been placed in front of her. Andrea thanked Alejandra and inhaled the rich scents of cilantro, beef and tomato from the bowl. She waited until Avon took his first bite before picking up her spoon and tasting her food.
“You’ve done it again, Alejandra,” Avon complimented, wiping the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin.
“Gracias, señor Miller.” Alejandra’s Spanish accent was still thick, her Rs rolling rhythmically, despite living in the US for over two decades.
“It’s very good,” Andrea added quietly. The older woman smiled warmly and nodded before excusing herself from the kitchen. For a long while, there was only the sound of them eating until Avon broke the silence.
“Andrea, I have some news about Rick.”
Andrea’s free hand clenched around the napkin in her lap. Without looking at her alpha, she said on a bare whisper, “Yes?”
“A date for the mediation and trial has been set.”
Her head jerked up as if pulled by an invisible string. “Already?”
“It’s been nearly seven months since you came here.”
Of course, she thought. It was to be expected. She’d just gotten comfortable living with Avon, living without fear. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow.”
Andrea dropped her spoon into the bowl. “Tomorrow?” she squeaked.
Avon took her shaking hand in his. “The sooner we have this trial, the sooner it will be over.”
