Claimed by the Pack: A Wolf-Shifter Menage Romance (Chronicles of the Hallowed Order Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1 - Serena

  2 - Serena

  3 - Serena

  4 - Damien

  5 - Serena

  6 - Serena

  7 - Broderick

  8 - Broderick

  9 - Serena

  10 - Serena

  11 - Serena

  12 - Damien

  13 - Broderick

  14 - Serena

  15 - Serena

  16 - Damien

  17 - Serena

  18 - Broderick

  19 - Serena

  20 - Broderick

  21 - Serena

  22 - Damien

  23 - Serena

  24 - Serena

  25 - Karessa

  26 - Serena

  27 - Serena

  28 - Damien

  29 - Serena

  30 - Broderick

  31 - Damien

  32 - Karessa

  33 - Serena

  34 - Damien

  35 - Broderick

  36 - Damien

  37 - Serena

  38 - Serena

  Shared

  About the Author

  ~ Claimed by the Pack ~

  A Wolf-Shifter Menage Romance

  Chronicles of the

  Hallowed Order

  Book III

  Krista Wolf

  Copyright © 2018 Krista Wolf

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior consent of the author.

  Cover image: Stock footage — story is unrelated to subject/models

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  1

  SERENA

  From what I could tell, the two assholes were still behind me. The third one… not so much. I couldn’t risk a look back yet, at least for now. But I could still hear them, huffing and puffing, trying to keep up.

  Unfortunately for me, they were gaining.

  It was stupid, going out this late. Going out at all, really. I’d actually been ordered not to do it, but like most orders I didn’t like I’d promptly disobeyed. I’d done it anyway, stupid or not.

  And now here I was.

  “Wait! Hold up!”

  One of them yelling again. Wasting their breath. I should’ve saved mine, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Fuck off!”

  I turned left at the next nameless junction. All of these alleyways were the same. A new series of cobblestones spun out before me, jagged and narrow, looking exactly like every other godforsaken alley I’d sprinted through in the last few minutes.

  I hated this part of the city for its cleanliness. Its complete lack of anything to hide behind or jump into — a doorway or an alcove. Shit, I’d give anything for a dumpster right now.

  Paris was nothing like New York.

  “You’re to stay inside the hotel, Ms. Weston. Don’t fuck around. Sit on your hands like a good girl and wait to be contacted.”

  Xiomara’s words rang loudly in my ears. It was the ‘good girl’ part that got me, I think. That, plus the fact that I was never any good at sitting on my hands.

  Besides, I really wanted a drink.

  It wasn’t the first time I disobeyed the Head of the Order. It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. If Xiomara found out though, the ass-chewing I received wouldn’t be worth a hundred nights of drinking.

  Well… maybe a hundred.

  Footfalls. Close. Closer than before.

  Shit.

  Up ahead the alley forked sharply. I let instinct pick my direction just a split-second too late. The indecision cost me; for a moment I lost my footing, pinwheeling wildly, taking on even more speed as I tried to regain my legs. When I finally did, I risked a quick look back. A quick look was all I could afford.

  They were almost on top of me now.

  You’ll just have to do it, the little voice in my head said sternly. Don’t even think twice.

  It was a dumb move, picking these darker streets. Trying to lose them here, rather than gain the safety of a more public avenue. But damn, it was almost midnight. It was unbelievable how early people went to bed here. Again, nothing like New York.

  A hand touched my shoulder. Time was up.

  “Gotcha!”

  I dropped to the ground, curling myself into a tight ball. The momentum rolled me painfully. I could feel the cobbles stabbing across my back, my elbows slamming hard as I skidded to an ungraceful stop.

  My move however, had the desired effect. Asshole number one went sailing over me, his legs completely taken out by my body. I watched as he went cartwheeling into the street, yelling in pain as he locked his arms out to protect himself from eating the pavement.

  I was up quickly, and spun around to face my other pursuer. The guy with the greasy ponytail — the one who’d attacked me initially — looked almost surprised to see me. He slowed for a second, probably trying to figure out what happened to his companion, before sprinting directly my way.

  Do it.

  My arm shot out.

  It happened in a flash, the way it always did when I went hard with it. One second I was focusing on my target, and the next I was flat on my ass… and it was all over.

  The guy didn’t just fall backwards, he flew. I saw his body bend into a ‘U’, his chest collapsing inward as it took the full brunt of the impact. His ponytail flew forward as the rest of him sailed back, his face contorted into an almost comical expression of fear mixed with complete, unbridled astonishment.

  That was my favorite part. I loved that part.

  Then he hit the wall, harder than I’d even intended. And to be honest, I’d intended pretty hard.

  I heard a muffled ‘crack’ that could’ve been his spine, or his head, or whatever else. Then he slumped to the ground, his limbs at odd angles. Like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

  In the end though, I looked too long. Because when I turned back to find asshole number one, he was no longer where I’d left him.

  Damn.

  I was still scrambling to my feet when something hit me hard, in the back of the head. An explosion of silver white sparks obliterated my vision. I fell again, for a third time in as many minutes, and this time I knew I wouldn’t be getting up. I was too drained. Too dizzy. Both from the blow, and from what I’d just done.

  “You still wanna talk?” I sneered. I needed time. A distraction, maybe. “You still—”

  He kicked me, doubling me over. A cheap shot. It knocked the wind out of me though, which meant I couldn’t talk. I spat at him instead. He didn’t like that at all, and I really couldn’t blame him. It occurred to me that the peace and quite of my hotel room — as boring as it was — sure sounded good right now.

  You’re a jackass, Serena. Xiomara’s voice again, this time in my head. An insolent, rebellious-for-no-reason jackass.

  The man standing over me already had his fist raised for another blow. There was murder in his eyes. And something else, too. Something more primal, more savage and—

  “Umffhh!”

  I blinked as my attacker disappeared entirely from my vision. Something hit him sideways, something that knocked him clear to the other side of the alle
y with vicious, blinding speed.

  There was an opportunity here. I seized it. I was up in a heartbeat, backing away and keeping my eyes on the two men now struggling against one another. The asshole who’d kicked me was getting the worst of it. He was on his back, getting repeatedly punched in the face by some pretty-boy blonde with a flowing, shoulder-length hair and really fast fists.

  My conscience screamed at me to go help him. The rational part of my brain forced me to take another step backwards.

  What are you doing?

  My attacker kicked upward, connecting hard with a knee. As my would-be hero was rocked onto his back, I found myself rushing forward.

  A repeating horn blared, loud and obnoxious, followed by flashing lights. I thought it was an ambulance at first, but then I remembered where I was. In Paris, the monotonous two-toned sound meant the police were arriving. And judging from the volume, very soon.

  Now, even.

  I glanced back again, unusually torn. My handsome savior was back on top again, raining down blows. He was going be okay. Arrested probably, but okay.

  I on the other hand…

  He looked up for a second, and we locked eyes. Was that a smirk? I thought it could be. My hero was beyond handsome, almost to the point of being pretty. His jacket had fallen off, his exposed body accentuating a lean, muscular physique that was slender yet still rippled with muscle. He looked like an athlete. Or with the long golden hair, some kind of surf god.

  More flashing lights. The noises grew louder, and now they were accompanied by yelling voices.

  Go!

  My hero broke eye contact and took off running. I ran in the opposite direction, passing two full blocks before ducking through to the next alley. From there I made a series of blind turns, each crazier than the last. Every street brought me deeper, closer to the heart of the Gordian knot that made up this stupid tangle of a neighborhood.

  And then I saw it; a neon blue sign. A bar or nightclub, still open: Le Sirène.

  Off in the distance I could hear shouts and commands. The crackle of a bullhorn. But still, nobody in my alley. Nobody in my alley yet.

  I ducked through the doorway before that happened, melting easily into the dimly-lit smoke and shadows.

  2

  SERENA

  The bar was more crowded than most at this hour. By the time I’d crossed the room and settled into a stool that put my back to the wall, I was among a good thirty or more people.

  Settling in, my eyes shifted left and right. Nobody had seen me, or even wanted to take notice. To everyone except the bartender, I’d been there forever.

  They’re not really looking for you, I told myself. Relax.

  I’d come here to relax. Hell, I’d risked getting jumped outside my hotel to relax. Might as well relax.

  I ordered a double shot of bourbon and slammed it quickly, tipping the bartender twice what the drink cost. He smiled appreciatively, then I ordered a beer. It came in a glass — always with a glass with these people — and a strangely rounded glass at that. At least in England they used pint glasses. Something big and solid you could really wrap your fist around.

  England…

  A lump formed in my throat, unbidden, unwanted. Rather than continue along down that path, I used my beer to swallow it down.

  The minutes ticked by, and still no one came. If anything, the police were looking for the two guys beating the piss out of each other in the alley. An image of my handsome savior floated to mind, all hair and stubble and rugged jawline. Whoever he was, I hoped he’d gotten away. Probably some midnight hero, jacked up on alcohol and feeling especially brave.

  But who were those other guys?

  Slowly I played the scene over in my mind again; the three strange men approaching me, just outside my hotel. Walking calmly, but just a little too quickly. One of them grinning a malevolent grin. Another one grabbing my arm…

  I wondered which of the three I’d sent hurtling into the wall, and whether or not he’d be alright. Probably, I thought to myself. Then again, I’d been amped up. Pumped with adrenaline. And when that happened…

  Well when that happened, all bets were off.

  I shoved the memory of my attackers from my mind and took another long pull from my beer. It was a lot warmer than I would’ve liked. That was a thing here too — if you didn’t order your beer cold, you got whatever you got. Just another annoying mental note to jot down on this already long, bullshit trip.

  It had been four days already — a long, monotonous four days stuck at the top of some random hotel. The room service was good at least, but by now I was restless. Beyond restless.

  And lonely too.

  Here in the bar, at least there were people. Music played, glasses clinked. I soaked it all in, not even realizing how much I’d been starved for these things these past few days. Normally I enjoyed being alone, but being told to isolate myself somehow bothered me.

  As time wore on and no one showed up to get me, I reveled in the smug satisfaction of having gotten away with something. A few things, actually.

  “Fuck you Xiomara,” I toasted, hoisting my glass.

  I drank in peace. For a little while, anyway. Then the bartender came my way again, this time with a troubled look on his face. I knew right away something was up.

  Damn. And I was this close to actually having fun…

  “’Allo’ miss,” the man said awkwardly. The French accent on his English was hard, but better than most. “I don’t normally do this, but the gentleman at the end of the bar would like to… well…”

  “Well what?”

  “He’d like to know when you plan to buy him a drink.”

  My eyebrows came together in confusion. The man looked embarrassed.

  “His words,” the barkeep said, putting his hands up defensively. “Not mine.”

  I scanned the entire line, everyone at the bar. I should’ve just started at the opposite end.

  There, in the very last seat, sat the long-haired blonde guy from the alley.

  He looked younger than me, but not by much. His jacket was still missing, exposing a set of broad shoulders and tight, well-built arms that looked flexed even when they weren’t. And he was handsome too — even more so than in the alley. Almost model handsome. Obnoxiously handsome.

  “He wants a drink, does he?”

  The bartender shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

  He ignored me the entire time I watched him, smiling and laughing with some pretty brunette who sat on the stool to his left. For some odd reason it made me instantly jealous. I wanted to be that brunette. I wanted to be the object of his attention, his laughter.

  That smile…

  “Send him one,” I said. I pushed another of France’s colorful bills forward, an orange one this time. “Know what? Send her one too.”

  The drinks arrived, and they drank them. The guy didn’t even look up. He kept smiling, laughing, even flirting with the girl next to him. It was absolutely infuriating.

  I should’ve moved on. Should’ve been thankful for the help in the alley, and not blown up whatever the guy had going on. I owed him that much at least. But being ignored — that just didn’t gel with me. It wasn’t my thing.

  “Hey,” I said, grabbing the barkeep. “Send them some shots also.”

  When the shots showed up they drank those too, toasting each other like they’d ordered them themselves. As far as the girl knew, maybe they had. She seemed nice enough, but totally oblivious.

  He however, knew exactly what he was doing.

  It turned into sort of a game: me staring hard at the guy who’d saved me in the alley, so much I thought he might burst into flames. And him doing his best to ignore me. So far he was winning. And I really, really hated to lose.

  I decided the change tactics. I wanted patiently until the girl put her drink down on the bar. Then, as she worked to tie her hair back with a headband, I balled my right hand into a fist…

  …and unclenched it by fli
cking my fingers outward, rapidly.

  The glass sailed into her lap, splashing her drink everywhere. She jumped back in surprise, leaping from her bar stool, wiping with both hands at her chest.

  That’s when the guy from the ally finally looked at me.

  It wasn’t a dirty look, but it wasn’t a good one either. There was curiosity there, but also something else. It was almost a look of… well… of knowing.

  That part made me uncomfortable. Here I was, screwing around when I ought to be laying low. Making a scene instead of melting into the crowd.

  Getting worked up instead of relaxing. The little voice inside my head was relentless. Causing trouble when I really should be avoiding it…

  The brunette left for the restroom, presumably to clean up. Her would-be suitor glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was gone, then stood up and made his way over to me.

  He took the stool next to mine, turning right in to face me. His leg was touching my leg. His eyes — sky blue and every bit as beautiful as he was — locked onto my own.

  “So…”

  It was all he said. He dragged the word out, letting it trail off into nothing.

  “So…” I went right back at him.

  Verbally we were at a stalemate, but not at all when it came to body language. The pretty boy from the alley was definitely leaning into me, his hand practically brushing the outside of my thigh. His looks got even better up close. He had high cheekbones and smooth, unblemished skin. Full, soft-looking lips that made for a very kissable mouth.

  “Where I come from,” I said matter-of-factly, “the men buy the women drinks. And not the other way around.”

  He had an elbow on the bar now, his blonde hair pinned over one ear. It shimmered like corn silk. It looked too good to be real.

  “And where I come from,” he said in a perfect American accent, “when someone owes you one, you usually pay up.”

  My mouth almost went tight. I stopped it just in time.

  “Oh? Is that right?”

  “Sure is.”

  He didn’t have a New York accent like mine, or one from anywhere in New England. It wasn’t southern either. Midwest maybe? Further out?