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  Wolf Called

  Fortitude Wolves - Book One

  Nicole R. Taylor

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Sloane

  2. Sloane

  3. Sloane

  4. Sloane

  5. Chaser

  6. Sloane

  7. Sloane

  8. Chaser

  9. Sloane

  10. Sloane

  11. Chaser

  12. Sloane

  13. Sloane

  14. Sloane

  15. Sloane

  16. Sloane

  17. Sloane

  18. Chaser

  19. Sloane

  20. Chaser

  21. Sloane

  22. Chaser

  23. Sloane

  24. Sloane

  25. Chaser

  26. Sloane

  27. Sloane

  Other Books in The Fortitude Wolves Trilogy

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  About Nicole

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  Wolf Called (Fortitude Wolves - Book One)

  Copyright © 2021 by Nicole R. Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  This book is written in British/AU English.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.nicolertaylorwrites.com

  Edited by: Silvia Curry

  Prologue

  Once upon a time…

  That’s how stories like this usually began, didn’t they?

  Snow White and the Huntsman. A monster at the door, desperate to eat grandma. Three little pigs trying to thwart the Big Bad Wolf. A father searching for his child and a mother doing everything in her power to keep her from him. A wicked witch and a dark prince.

  Power, blood, and sacrifice.

  And a foolish girl, in over her head, finding out she wasn’t normal.

  I lay on the ground, my hair ratty and splayed out beneath me. The ochre dirt of the outback was still warm from the day’s sun, the grit digging into my naked flesh.

  Numb. Bruised. Alive.

  The stars of the Milky Way dusted across the sky, reaching from horizon to horizon. In the distance, I could hear the crash of waves against the cliffside and the roar of the wind as it flew across the ocean and up over the ragged rocks.

  I’d never seen or heard like this before. A switch had been flipped inside me, and now everything was in high definition. The sludge called life I’d been wading through had been transformed into clear, crisp, crystal.

  Understanding.

  I’d been fooling myself. Pretending I was harsh and abrasive like heavy duty sandpaper, full to bursting with bravado that won me no friends and gained me plenty of enemies.

  It was a mask I’d slapped over the truth.

  “Sloane!”

  I heard my name over the howling wind and sat up. My hair covered my naked breasts and I shivered, my humanity flooding back in a nauseating wave.

  “Sloane!”

  The wind turned, driving towards me, and I drew in a deep breath. That’s when I smelt it for the first time.

  Blood, shadow, death.

  Vampire.

  Chapter 1

  Sloane

  I was thirteen when I started dreaming about the full moon.

  Some people would say it’s an unlucky number, that it foretold bad karma coming my way. Too bad I didn’t believe in prophecies, let alone the supernatural. The moon was constant, and now it was a friend in the sky, a comfort to a lone wolf hiding from a dark past.

  The sound of a crashing glass broke me out of my daze, and I blinked. A group of men roared at the big screen TV across the pub, shouting at the replay of their team being slaughtered by the opposition—a contested goal on the second quarter siren.

  I stood behind the bar, a damp tea towel in hand, and sighed. It was just another Friday night during AFL season.

  Nestled in the port city of Fremantle, Western Australia, the Sailor’s Arms was the cheapest and closest pub to the docks, which had been the lifeblood of the southern part of the Perth metro area for generations. It meant the clientele was mostly male and mostly stevedores—hard men with dangerous jobs.

  They piled in after their shifts to get drunk, watch the footy, have the occasional union meeting, and organise the odd picket line. Most of them were reluctant to go home to their wives and kids, lingering for hours on end until the bouncer peeled them off their stools and kicked them out. It wasn’t a Friday night unless someone threw a punch—or any night of the week for that matter.

  It definitely wasn’t how I wanted to spend my nights, but in this day and age, a job was a job. Especially when a person needed an employer who didn’t ask too many questions.

  “Hey, Sloane,” a voice said behind me. “How’s it going?”

  Turning, I smiled as my one and only friend approached. Times were lonely when one’s life was reduced to a fake identity.

  I died a little inside from jealousy every time I saw Yvette. She was tall, leggy, blonde with big blue eyes, and got all the tips and then some. Often underestimated because of her looks, her confidence and resilience were boundless—the former something I sorely lacked—and it was all for her three-year-old daughter Brittany. She worked in this seedy place and picked up extra shifts at two other jobs, her hours based around her kid’s schooling. I never understood how she managed it all, but somehow, she did. That was some superhero magic if I ever saw it. I could barely manage myself, let alone a tiny human.

  “It goes,” I replied. “Same chaos, different day.”

  “How’s the depth?” She flashed me a wink.

  “Above the flood marker. Worst in fifty years, they say.”

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She tied a knot in the bottom of her T-shirt so she could show off her trim midriff. “It isn’t that bad. Hector pays us and doesn’t keep the tip jar.”

  “Yay,” I drawled. “At least there’s always the jar.”

  “What have you done to your hair, girl?” Reaching out, she grabbed the long braid that’d fallen forwards over my shoulder and tugged.

  “Ow! That hurts, you know.” I cursed and complained as Yvette undid my hair. Once it was loose, she combed her fingers through my long, almost black locks, fluffing them up.

  “There,” she said, “much better. You’re much prettier when you wear your hair out. You should put a little gloss on your lips, too.” She grabbed me again and tied the hem of my T-shirt into a knot like hers. The material rode up, exposing my stomach, and I flushed.

  “Yvette,” I complained.

  “There. That’s so much better.” She stood back and gave me the once-over. “You’ve got a hot bod, Sloane. You might actually get a few tips from the rabble, or a free drink at least.” She eyed me and tried to fight a smile from pulling at her lips. “Say it.”

  I rolled my eyes and slumped my shoulders. “Thanks, Yvette.”

  Her smile widened and she pulled pint glasses out of the dishwasher. “Hey, did you do your exams yet? How’d they go?”

  I shook my head. “Next week.”

  She beamed at me. “Look at you, university girl. All by computer, too.”

  I shrugged. “It’s a real slog. I’m not sure if I’m gunna pass.”

  Between shifts at the pub, I had a heavy course load and no one to help me with it. No study group, no teacher’s assistant, no lectures. Just an ancient laptop, the Wi-Fi at the local fast-food joint, and my brain to piece it all together.

  Trying to get a university degree online sucked, but I didn’t have the time or money to go i
n person. I had to make do with whatever I could afford. Besides, it was much easier to enroll with a fake ID on the internet—no one checked your picture.

  “You will,” Yvette said. “Just wait.”

  Motion in my peripheral caught my attention, and I turned to serve a customer who’d leaned against the bar. When my gaze collided with the man standing behind me, I nearly choked on my spit. He was my type, which was a rarity around here.

  Rough, devilish, iridescent eyes, messy hair, leather jacket, strong shoulders—the works. This guy checked off all items on my list and topped it off with a stubbled jaw, a tattoo peeking out the top of his T-shirt, and direct eye contact. The perfect man…on paper.

  My heart fluttered for a split-second before I composed myself, shutting off all traces of spark. Life was complicated enough as it was without adding the constant disappointment of dating to the mix. Truth was, I didn’t have the time.

  “Sloane,” the man said, looking me over. “That’s what you call yourself?”

  My expression faded. “Excuse me?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “It’s nice.”

  I frowned, my heart skipping a beat, and his lips quirked as if he’d heard the change in tempo.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Best hurry this up.

  The man stared at me, his hazel eyes burning a hole right through me. I squirmed and swallowed hard.

  “Are you going to order something?” I asked. “I’ve got other customers waiting.”

  The man looked down the empty bar and raised his eyebrow. “Slow night, huh?”

  “There’s a lull right now,” I fired back. I pointed to the big screen TV across the pub that was showing tonight’s AFL match between the Pies and the Dockers. “Third quarter just started.”

  The man followed my finger and rolled his eyes.

  Down the bar where Yvette was pulling a beer for an actual customer, she met my gaze and mouthed, Are you okay?

  I nodded, hoping I wouldn’t regret it.

  “I don’t want a drink,” the man said, leaning forwards. “I’m here for your protection.”

  “W. T. F,” I scoffed. “That’s a good one. You? Protect me? Worst pick-up line ever.” I turned to walk away, but his hand shot out and grasped my arm, his cold fingers biting into my skin. “Let me go.”

  “Your father sent me,” he murmured.

  My heart literally stopped beating for what felt like a full minute. My so-called father had never shown interest in me once in my entire life. Not even when my mum died did he put up his hand to take on his fatherly duties. I’d been shipped off to foster care, and good thing, too. He was a criminal, and a notorious one at that, which was why I’d done everything in my power to disappear.

  I wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.

  Wrenching my arm away, I snarled, “I don’t have a father.”

  The man’s eyes darkened. “He’d beg to differ.”

  Why? What did he want with me? The thought flashed through my mind like a bolt of lightning. Looking at the guy in front of me, I tried to weigh my options, but he wasn’t about to let me.

  His eyes narrowed. “If I can find you, then so can they.”

  “They?” I scowled, annoyed by the vagueness of it all. “What is it this time? Was it an expansion job that’s turned into a turf war? Did he try to steal someone else’s corner by the local milk bar so he could sell his little packets of powder? I know how these things go. Revenge begets revenge, and that revenge begets more revenge. Why do you think I want nothing to do with him? He wasn’t my father. At least, he wasn’t the one I needed.”

  “Still, he is and—”

  “Look, whatever your name is…” I waved my hand at him.

  “Chaser.”

  I snorted. “Really? That’s your name?”

  His eyes narrowed in warning. “This isn’t a joke.”

  “It never is.”

  “Is everything okay here?”

  I glanced at Yvette, who’d approached when things had become heated. We had a code behind the bar. When things got tense, check in. If things got out of hand, call in brute force. We had a zero-tolerance policy in place for a reason.

  “Yeah,” I said, not breaking eye contact with Chaser. “He was just leaving.”

  “You’ll regret it,” he said, not even glancing at Yvette. “It’s bad this time.”

  “It’s bad every time,” I shot back, “and I’m not interested.”

  “Do I need to get Bobby?” Yvette asked, glaring at Chaser. Bobby was the bouncer, otherwise known as the one-man brute force security squad.

  I pointed towards the exit. “He was just leaving.”

  Chaser held up his hands and smirked. His lip pulled up on one side more than the other, giving him a devilish allure.

  “No need,” he said. “I can take myself.”

  Chaser shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and strode through the pub like he owned the joint. People—who I knew were their own special breed of violent—stepped out of the way to let him through, which didn’t bode well. Other dogs knew when to bow to an alpha.

  “What was that about?” Yvette asked, her forehead creasing. “Is everything good with you?”

  “It’s nothing.” I didn’t dare look away, worried if I lost sight of him, he’d double back and go for round two.

  “Didn’t look like nothing.”

  Just as Chaser was about to walk through the exit, he glanced over his shoulder. His gaze caught mine, and he smirked. Turning my back, I knew it wouldn’t be the last time he graced me with his presence.

  Yvette gave me a ride home after the pub closed for the night.

  I usually took a bus and walked a couple of blocks in the dark, but she wouldn’t let me go by myself, not after the altercation with Chaser. I could look after myself, but I didn’t argue.

  Yvette’s little red Suzuki Swift zoomed across the bridge near the docks and into the suburbs, bouncing along the road. The orange glow of streetlights flashed overhead as the radio blared some top-40 pop song. Not my taste in music, but driver’s choice.

  I barely listened as she filled me in on her daughter’s latest school report and the in-depth account of the little girl’s gold-starred artwork.

  I stared at the three-quarter moon rearing over the city, my mind uneasy. My father had sent Chaser to find me, which meant I hadn’t done a good job of hiding. A fake ID was no longer going to cut it. He knew where I worked and would soon dig up my address…if he hadn’t already.

  What did he want? Had my life been threatened by his enemies? Or did he need me to do something for him? Had to be one of the two. Either way, something big was going down and I had to cover my tracks.

  I’d hardly registered the trip when Yvette pulled up in front of my building. She let the engine idle as I jerked upright.

  The apartment block was a mid-rise, made from what felt like one continuous slab of concrete that was cast and set in the 1970s, otherwise known as the land that soundproofing forgot. It was a complete dump—five stories with twenty apartments—but the rent was cheap, and it had an entrance that gave the illusion of security with its coded fob system. All I had to do was press the tag against the sensor and the lock would click open.

  “Sloane…” Yvette worried her bottom lip, then turned to face me. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “That guy grabbed you and you just shrugged it off. It would’ve rattled me.”

  I breathed deeply as a sharp pang of anger threatened. “What was I supposed to do?” I asked her. “I’m not going to cry about it. He wanted a reaction, and I wasn’t going to give it to him. He knew it, so he moved on. That was it.”

  “But—”

  “You know what guys are like in that place,” I said, fishing in my pocket. I peeled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to her. “For some petrol.”

  “Oh, Slo, you don’t have to.” br />
  “I know, but I want to.” I smiled and folded her fingers around the pink plastic note. “Thanks for the lift.”

  She looked me over with a frown as I opened the car door. “You call if you need anything, okay?”

  “Sure.” I hopped out and waved as I crossed the footpath. I totally wasn’t going to, but if it put her mind at ease…

  Yvette waited until I was inside before she pulled away, the Suzuki Swift taking off down the street like a red bullet.

  Hightailing it up the stairwell, I reached the fifth floor and pushed out into the hallway. The sound of televisions cranked all the way up and the odd bark of a dog echoed through the concrete as I made my way to my flat. Rounding the corner, I came to a screeching halt when I saw Mrs. Adelstein at her door.

  She was wearing her usual getup, which consisted of a fluffy pink dressing gown and matching slippers. Tonight, she had purple rollers in her greying hair, and her wrinkly hand was clutching her dressing gown together over her chest.

  Mrs. Adelstein was a selective agoraphobic. She didn’t like to go outside the apartment block but revelled in the business of everyone who lived in it. I was sure she had notebooks filled with surveillance on all her neighbours, including me. All that was missing was her tinfoil hat.

  “You’re home early,” she said, glaring at me. Obviously, I’d messed up her timetable.

  “I got a lift from a friend,” I replied, stepping around her.

  “I see. That’s good. It’s not good for a young woman to be out after dark.” She clucked her tongue. “The news is bad these days. Always a story about a girl being murdered or…you-know-what.” She shook her head and one of her rollers came loose. “Terrible. Terrible.”