THE REJECTS PACK
The Rejects Pack of Greece has few friends and a host of enemies. Led by wolf-shifter Alekos Ash, and comprised of lone wolves and one human – they’re on a mission to find the Nazi ship that caused the Night of 1000 Deaths. But as pack members search the globe for answers, they find more danger, love, and mysteries than they bargained for.
KILLIAN
Desperate to keep their human packmate Pellos with them, Killian Adeche of the Rejects Pack journeys to the long-lost Library of Alexandria with the mission of re-discovering how to create werewolves. But Killian isn’t alone in the library. Waking up with Moire DeSandre of the Portland Pack and a case of amnesia, Moira and Killian believe themselves to be fated mates. When warlocks invade, Moira and Killian must convince the suspicious librarians to trust them. But as warlocks threaten the existence of the entire Library, Moira and Killian discover that they may have to choose between their own desires and what’s best for their packs.
You do not have to read book 1 to enjoy this book. If you like action-packed romances, shifter wolves, hidden worlds, and library jokes, then you’ll love Killian.
Killian Adeche inhaled and felt a bizarre fizz as his Shifter healing power fixed his lungs for the altitude with each breath. He checked the GPS coordinates on his phone one more time. If he had done the calculations correctly, the doorway to the long-lost Library of Alexandria was about half a kilometer ahead. Unfortunately, it was also about two hundred meters straight up.
He shivered as the creeping Tibetan wind, which was never entirely still among these craggy gray boulders, crept under the edge of his jacket. He wished that one of his packmates were with him. He had never had a pack growing up, and he’d only been part of the Rejects Pack for fifteen years, and yet, how quickly he’d become used to having someone watch his back. He shook his head. The person he really wanted with him was Pellos. Quick with a pistol, level-headed, and reliable as the sunrise, if Killian had dreamed up a best friend in his youth, it would have been Pellos. But Pellos was why he was doing this, and Killian knew that for this mission, Pellos couldn’t be with him. Killian just hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be a wild goose chase.
Before him, the mist parted slightly, and he froze mid-breath. A train of six black-clad men in full face masks and oxygen tanks with guns slung on their backs were hiking along the ridge, clearly making for the same point as Killian. The one in front walked with a tall black staff. It was no hiking stick.
“Warlocks,” growled Killian.
There was no way he would allow them to reach the Library at all, let alone ahead of him. He pulled out his earbuds and rotated through his playlists. He’d moved on from Gloria Gaynor. He had a pack now. He was no longer just surviving. Killian watched the warlocks move up the trail and tapped on Britney. It was time to get to work.
Killian sprang from his rock down to the path, trying to land lightly and hoping that the constant wind would cover the sound of his approach. The 808 drum machines were starting to thump, and he ran forward, keeping low until he was at the tail end of the trail of men. The first two went down easy. Quick swats sent them tumbling down the path. The third one turned and cast a slow-time spell, turning Killian’s movements slower than syrup. In his ears, the song distorted until Britney sounded like a drunk on a street corner, slurring out something about wanting a Bugatti. Killian took a flurry of blows before he could get out a counterspell. The music sped back up and reminded him that he’d better work, bitch. Killian grabbed a warlock by the face, ripped off his oxygen mask, and kicked him down the trail. Behind him, the hard ratchet of a gun being cocked was a sound that would have raised his hackles if he currently had any. Killian turned to face the next threat, already starting to transform and hoping they hadn’t coated the bullets with anything poisonous.
A rock the size of a soccer ball slammed into the warlock’s head, startling everyone.
“There’s a second one!” a warlock yelled, reaching for the walkie-talkie clipped to his jacket. Killian dove for the warlock with the walkie-talkie, dodging a black ball of energy from the warlock with the staff. The radio meant that the warlock had reinforcements, and Killian didn’t want that. He could worry about the guy with the staff next.
Killian grabbed the warlock by the neck and yanked off the radio. He hauled back for a punch but was tackled by two warlocks. They went in low, and Killian saw the flash of a knife. He caught the hand holding the knife, but that allowed the other one to get in some punches and go for Killian’s knees. He staggered backward, searching for good leverage. Behind them, he could see the warlock with the staff preparing a black ball of magic.
There was a roar, and a rock slammed into the warlock with the knife. He flung off the second opponent, sending him bouncing down the trail. He felt a slight lag in oxygen and whirled to face the man with the staff. Instead, he saw a woman pick up the warlock and hurl him bodily down the mountain. She wore black leather motorcycle gear, and a pair of tinted goggles covered her eyes. Her short, dark hair swung in damp tendrils around her pale face as she front-kicked the final warlock down the mountain.
Killian slowly reached up and took his earbuds out. The sound of Britney Spears faded away, and for a long moment, silence reigned on the mountain. Then the girl turned to him, pushing up her goggles to reveal intense green eyes. She grinned, showing long canines that slowly shrank into normal human teeth. He inhaled sharply but had no idea what to say. He’d only met three female shifter wolves before, and all of them had been at least a century older than he was. They had been nothing like this vixen in front of him.
“You must be Killian,” she said. She sounded American.
Killian felt a dark streak of fear race down his spine. No one should know where he was, let alone who he was.
“Yes,” said Killian. “Who are you?”
“I’m Moira,” she said, still smiling.
He liked that smile but didn’t get any closer to her. Suspicion held him back.
“How do you know who I am?” No one liked his pack. The last time he’d told other wolves where he was from, they’d threatened to kill him.
“I was told to expect you,” she said, her chin lifting and her eyes twinkling. She was taunting him.
“By who?” he demanded, reluctantly taking a step closer to her. He wanted to sniff her. He wanted to run his nose along her neck and smell her breath and feel the heat of her body. But offering unwanted advances to a female wolf was a mistake that few made twice, and he trusted her probably about as far as she could throw a warlock. “Only my pack know I’m here,” he added.
She flashed another grin, her head tossing back a little in amusement. He wondered how he looked to her. All of her gear looked expensive. He was wearing his same old traveling clothes and canvas backpack. The bag had been all right for a poor South African kid when he was setting out to look for other Shifters, and he was attached to it. Now he wished he’d let Alekos kit him out properly. She would think his pack couldn’t afford any better.
“That is a bit of a long story,” she said. “But let’s just say it involves Fae, family, and the Pact.”
Her mention of the Fae was interesting. There weren’t many left, and they had magic that other Supernaturals didn’t. But there were other mysteries in that sentence.
“What’s the pact?” he asked.
“Didn’t your pack get any of the letters?” she asked with a puzzled frown, her head tilting. Her teasing tone had shifted to regular curiosity. “Grandpa said he sent them to everyone.”
“Grandpa?”
“Albert DeSandre. We’re the Portland pack.”
“Australia?”
“Oregon! The United States!” Her hands went to her hips, and now she sounded annoyed. He shrugged. Her outrage made him feel less suspicious but more confused.
“Seriously? Grandpa didn’t send you any letters? What pack are you from?”
“The Ash Pack,” he said cautiously.
“I don’t remember the name,” she said, her forehead wrinkling. “And I read the lists before I left.”
Killian knew damn well their pack wasn’t on any of the official wolf lists. The lists were a historical database of sorts. They tracked who married whom and when pups were born. Killian knew Alekos had sent their names to the European packs, but he also knew that if the other packs had bothered to respond, they had returned the missives to Greece. The Venetian pack had notably sent it back in ashes. He doubted that any of them had added the Ash pack to their lists or that Alekos had even bothered to try the American packs. Killian realized that Moira, while she might have been given his name, had no idea who he was. He felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment because once he told her, she would hate him too.
“People don’t really like my pack,” he said, trying to be honest. “I don’t think we’re on anyone’s mailing list.”
Moira gave a rich chuckle. “Well, then that means we’re practically guaranteed to get along. My pack pisses off a lot of people. Well, I say my pack… I mean mostly my immediate family.”
“Troublemakers?” asked Killian, smiling back at her.
She took a step closer, and he inhaled the delicate scent of her. He felt a flutter of nerves in his belly. Troublemakers had his name, and they had sent Moira to find him. Why? It couldn’t be good, could it? He never got that lucky.
“That does sound like our kind of people,” he added, feeling wistful. It would be nice to know other wolves, although Killian knew what he really meant was that it would be nice to know Moira.
“Oh, you have no idea,” she said.
“I think I’d like to get an idea,” he said, matching her step with one of his own. “I’m Killian.”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I know.”
“Killian Adeche,” he said, feeling his cheeks grow hot.
“Moira DeSandre,” she replied.
He was almost close enough to touch her, and he wanted that more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. There was a shout from below them, and his head snapped around, remembering that they weren’t alone on the mountain.
“Fucking warlocks,” said Moira derisively. “I should have dropped a bigger boulder on them.” Then she turned to him with another of her brilliant smiles. “Race you to the door?”
“Yes,” he agreed instantly, although he felt like he would have agreed to anything she suggested.