Wolf Kiss (Warrior Wolves Book 1) Read online

  WOLF KISS

  Book One

  Warrior Wolves Series

  by Christine DePetrillo

  Copyright 2017 Christine DePetrillo

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Dar Albert of

  Wicked Smart Designs

  www.wickedsmartdesigns.com

  Edited by Janet Hitchcock

  www.theproofisinthereading.wordpress.com

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owners except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Author Contact:

  Website and Newsletter Sign-up:

  www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/christinedepetrilloauthor

  Dedication

  For those that love to howl at the moon…

  and to amazing reader team wonder women,

  Jen, Katie, and Kari.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Books in the Warrior Wolves Series

  Wolf Fire Sneak Peek

  Books in the Maple Leaf Series

  Books in The Shielded Series

  Other Available Titles by Christine DePetrillo

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Our men’s blood is falling like rain upon parched soil!” Reardon McAlator raised his sword, and iron clanged against iron as he fended off yet another opponent. The earth beneath his feet had soaked in too much of his army’s blood. Too much of his own blood. A gouge in his forearm burned as if it’d been seared with a heated blade. Normally, Reardon cut into other people. He wasn’t the one to be cut.

  “We have no chance of winning this,” his brother, Jaemus, hollered, though his words could barely be heard over the battle cries, the moans of the wounded, and the crash of swords and shields.

  Reardon slashed at the arm of an enemy soldier as he was about to gut Jaemus then swiveled around to stab his sword into the chest of another assailant. The strikes kept coming and, though his army was only outnumbered by a few, they were getting crushed. The Spanish king had hired Reardon and his company of warrior mercenaries to defend his lands. On most occasions this worked out to be a profitable deal for Reardon and his men. They fought mercilessly, dropping body after body, losing none of their own, then collected their payment. They’d become rich lads by killing—something each of them excelled at. They roamed from place to place, did as they pleased in between battles, and generally enjoyed their brutal way of life.

  Until today when the tides had turned against them.

  “If we don’t retreat now, there’ll be none of us left to bury our dead,” another of Reardon’s kin, a cousin, Kole McMannus, yelled as he cut into a man’s neck with his sword, blood spilling out in a warm, crimson wave.

  “Aye!” Reardon held his sword up in the air and waved it around in a tight circle—his company’s signal for retreat. “To the woods, lads!”

  As one, the army bolted for the forest past the river. They sloshed through the shallow water and stomped through the brush until they were far enough away from their opponents.

  Spain’s opponents.

  Reardon often forgot the enemies they fought were never truly their enemies, but other men they’d been paid to fight. That was what they did. Waged war for a price. A high price. Was it all worth it? He questioned that on a daily basis, but he and his men were only good at one thing.

  If you didn’t count today, of course.

  “They fight like beasts.” Shawn McMannus, Reardon’s other cousin and brother to Kole, bent in half, resting his palms on his knees and taking in a few deep breaths. His hands and muscled arms were bloody and bruised like everyone else’s, and his light brown hair was darkened by dirt, sweat, and more blood.

  “Fighting like beasts is usually our job.” Erik Rheagan rested his sword against a tree and flexed his hands. Two of his fingers were definitely broken, bent at odd angles. His face was smudged with blood and his armor was dented in several places.

  “I think we’ve finally met our match.” Jaemus gestured back to the battlefield where the sounds of the enemy’s rabblerousing carried to them on the wind.

  Reardon let out a growl. His men had been sought after mercenaries since he’d assembled them. Legends were written about them. They never lost battles. They never retreated. Victory was always theirs.

  Always.

  Looking over his men now, his fists curled as he took in their injuries, their blood, their defeated expressions. No soldiers under his command should look like this.

  “Get some sleep, brothers,” he said. “They have not claimed victory yet.”

  The men broke off into smaller groups and settled in amongst the trees as the sun slid below the horizon to end their worst day. Reardon, however, went off on his own into the darkness. When he believed himself to be far enough away from the others, he glanced around and stripped off his clothes.

  The change came so easily to him now. He’d lived with the ability for years and it was second nature. As normal as his heart beating, his lungs breathing, his eyes blinking. He didn’t have to think about it. In the early years, the transformation had been painful and scary. Today, it was neither of those. He simply closed his eyes and pictured his other form.

  His wolf form.

  Soon he was running on four huge paws, his fur as black as the night. His keen green-gold eyes saw everything from the tiniest waver in the leaves hanging from their branches to the miniscule insects crawling over tree bark. He smelled the moist earth, the other night creatures hiding in the dark, and sadly, the blood of his lost men, slain under his command.

  Reardon wasn’t accustomed to feeling guilt. Victory did not bring on such an emotion. His men never appeared to regret their decision to join him because who would lament when the prizes were so vast, the glory so encompassing, the lasses so willing to please men who fought bravely? No one. He’d made legends of his men and himself. Every man wanted that.

  Today had shown him the other side of the coin, however. He’d been responsible for losing a large part of his ranks by accepting this contract with the Spanish king. Right now, too many of his loyal soldiers lay in pools of their own blood, motionless, never to take another breath again. No more glory would come upon those men.

  And who would mourn them? Only Reardon and the surviving men would, for each had turned their backs on their families, choosing fighting, fame, and riches over love. Reardon had his brother, his cousins, and a few of the other men who were kin in some way, but that wasn’t the same as true family—one that started with the soft curves of a woman and grew with heirs.

  This army was the most family these men were going to get. The time had come to make their bond tighter, more powerful, and less susceptible to defeat. Reardon knew of only one way to do that.

  He stopped running and meandered back toward where his men slumbered. Sniffing around until he found a p
atch of muddy earth, he pressed his front paw into the wet dirt. When he retracted the paw, a perfect print was left behind.

  Reardon shifted back to human form in the shadows of the trees and quickly dressed. His armor was dented too, his garments torn and bloody.

  That will only make us look fiercer in our new incarnation.

  He took a cask to the river and filled it. After coming back to the paw print, he filled it with water and squeezed a few drops of his own blood from the nearly healed slash on his forearm into it. He mixed it with his index finger and chanted words, hoping they would achieve the desired result. He’d never done this before. He wasn’t sure anyone had done this before.

  Canis faelad, wolf soldier. Brothers of the pack. Bound by blood and the full moon’s silver light. Enter the beasts, behold the power, harness the strength. Canis faelad, wolf soldier.

  He drew the water back into the cask, held it up so the moonlight embraced it, and set about offering each of his four closest, fiercest men a drink. When the moon reached its zenith in the black curtain of the night sky, he’d have the champions he needed.

  ****

  Reardon rolled to his back, a sharp rock jutting into his spine. He shifted to sitting and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. A glance around the darkness found his men sleeping on the forest floor as he had been. His keen vision could make out their shadowy forms scattered about, and his exceptional hearing detected those that were in pain. He heard each quiet moan on inhales, each strained groan on exhales. Clenching his teeth, he peered up at the full moon, the great white eye staring down at him.

  Judging.

  Disapproving.

  Chastising.

  “I had no choice,” he whispered.

  Still the moon drilled her light straight into him.

  Reardon grunted and lowered back to the ground. He shifted to his side, aiming to catch a few more hours of sleep, but an agonized cry ripped through the night, and he launched to his feet. Sure the Spanish king’s enemies were upon them, he drew his sword and scanned the area with his enhanced sight.

  No opponents crashed through the brush.

  Another wail of pain rose up, followed by another, another.

  When the forest immediately surrounding him was full of strangled screams, Reardon knew what was happening.

  “Forgive me, brothers.” He’d made the right decision though. It was the only way his army could continue its reign of success. This was the power boost they needed. The four men in charge just below him would recognize that simple fact. They’d thank him for what he’d done to them. Their loyalty would increase tenfold.

  I will be even more powerful as a leader with these warrior werewolves carrying out my orders. My glory will know no bounds.

  “What is happening?” Kole asked from Reardon’s left. His voice was more a raspy growl than human.

  “My body hurts… everywhere.” Shawn was on all fours, his breathing labored.

  Jaemus stumbled to his feet, his arms wrapped around his mid-section as if trying to hold himself together. His brother’s golden brown eyes met Reardon’s with instant understanding.

  Of course Jaemus would know.

  Reardon’s brother was only a year younger and knew of the ceremony—the rite of passage all Seventh Sons born under the December full moon underwent. Jaemus had been lucky not to be that son, but the look in his golden brown eyes now told Reardon his brother knew his luck had run out.

  “What have you done, Reardon?” Jaemus took a few unsteady steps toward Reardon then fell to his knees, cradling his head in his hands. “What have you done?”

  Reardon sheathed his sword. “As leader of this army, I did what needed to be done.”

  “You’ve damned all four of us.” Jaemus pitched forward, his forearms pressing to the ground as he writhed in pain.

  “What is he talking about, Reardon?” Kole supported himself on a nearby tree, his hands clawing into the rough bark and his teeth clenched.

  “Don’t be afraid, lads.” Reardon knew he had to take control quickly, or after their first change these men would be tearing each other apart. They had to save that fight for the Spanish king’s enemies so they could collect their payment and be on their way to their next contract. “Relax yourselves. Let the change happen.”

  “Change?” Erik swiped his hand across his sweaty forehead, his skin a dull shade of gray. “What change?”

  “I’ve given you four a rare ability—an ability that will make us unbeatable.” Yes, he’d given them a… a gift. Only he’d never considered being able to transform into a wolf a gift. It was unnatural. A man should be a man. A wolf, a wolf. The two should never have been able to coexist within one body.

  And now he’d passed this on to his most trusted soldiers. His loyal comrades. His brethren—the only brethren he knew. All in the name of wealth and glory.

  More tormented cries rose up, filling the night, tearing at Reardon’s soul. The noise was too much to take. He cupped his hands over his sensitive ears, trying desperately to muffle the tortured sounds, but they echoed in his head just the same. His first shift had been the epitome of suffering, but that was nothing compared to watching his faithful men twist in agony, cry out in pain as their bones cracked and reformed. Faces elongated, backs arched, hands and feet became massive paws with sharp claws. Bright white, razor-sharp teeth glowed in the moonlight and eyes flared like candle flames.

  By the time the metamorphosis was complete, a pack of four large, muscular wolves stood before Reardon. The rest of the army—still human—looked on in shocked silence, almost as if they were waiting to be torn to shreds.

  Reardon was about to shift to defend himself against the newly turned wolves, but a moment later, in one unified motion, all four of them lowered their heads to the ground in a show of submission. Silence permeated the forest. No more cries of pain. No more questions. No more accusing glares. Just an allegiance as strong as any blood bond. The human soldiers, as if in a trance, bowed as well just behind the line of wolves.

  One word flashed in Reardon’s mind.

  One word erased the overwhelming guilt that had threatened to consume him only seconds ago.

  One word united his new army.

  Alpha.

  They recognized him as the leader of this newly formed pack and something swelled in Reardon’s chest. All this time he’d been alone in his ability to shift. A man and yet not a man. Now part of his army was exactly like him.

  A large silver-furred wolf was the first to raise its head and approach Reardon. The golden brown eyes were unmistakable.

  “Jaemus.” Reardon reached out a tentative hand and breathed a sigh of relief when the wolf nosed his fingers.

  His men were still his men despite the choice he’d made without their consent.

  “We still have a contract to fulfill,” he said. “What say you?”

  At their howls of agreement, Reardon partially shifted. His legs, arms, and torso were that of a man, but his head had become a wolf’s, with teeth thirsting for enemy blood. His fingernails had lengthened to deadly claws perfect for gutting a man.

  Around him, Jaemus, Kole, Shawn, and Erik shifted in the same manner and picked up their swords and shields as did what remained of his human soldiers. One glance at them and Reardon knew they had become an invincible fighting force. The image of them alone was enough to send men running.

  And men running made perfect prey for wolves.

  With a roar, Reardon led his army out of the forest and to the river. They crossed easily in the dark night with their enhanced vision. Even the human soldiers appeared to be enhanced though they had not been changed by the rite. When they reached the enemy camp, most of the soldiers were asleep, their weapons close by.

  But not close enough.

  The descent upon the lambs was flawless. Brutal. Primal.

  By the time dawn came, only one army was still standing.

  ****

  “You’ve done well. I knew I could trust you
r skills.” The Spanish king accepted the sword of the slain enemy chief from Reardon with a grin of approval. “We never would have succeeded without your assistance.”

  “It is our calling.” Reardon bowed his head, accepting the king’s praise. He and his men had left no survivors, so any reports of wolfmen attacking died on the battlefield. His own human soldiers hadn’t cared how they’d won. They just wanted their riches. Reardon’s secret weapon was still secret.

  “Allow me to deliver the agreed upon compensation for your services.” The king motioned to ten servants nearby who scurried forth, pairs of them toting large, ornately decorated chests which they set at Reardon’s feet. The vessels themselves would fetch a high price regardless of the wealth they contained. “I hope you find this satisfactory.”

  Reardon lowered to one knee as Jaemus, Kole, Shawn, and Erik moved in closer behind him. He lifted the lid of one of the chests, his eyes drinking in the sight of gold and jewels heaped high—their largest bounty yet. In all his thirty-eight years, Reardon had never seen so much treasure in one spot.

  “Aye, this will do quite nicely,” he said to the king. “You know how to find us should you require our services in the future.”

  “I do, and thank you.” It was the king’s turn to bow his head to Reardon and his four most trusted soldiers.

  Each of the men easily hefted one of the chests—increased strength among their new abilities—and followed Reardon out of the palace. They doled out the earnings fairly then headed for the ships, the sweet shores of Ireland awaiting their homecoming. When the journey was complete, the first stop was at the nearest tavern where much of the riches were spent on food and drink.

  Mostly drink.

  The only problem, however, was the thirsts of the men who had been changed didn’t appear to lessen as the drinks were consumed. In fact, throats burned. Mouths remained parched even after jugs and jugs where tossed back. Kole and Shawn attempted to distract from their thirst by eating the juicy legs of lamb the tavern was famous for serving, but their hunger was insatiable.